punishment
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Over the years, I’ve written many stories. Some include an element of spanking, albeit quite light. I have to admit, I do like the occasional situation where, usually as part of foreplay, or during sex, I get a kick out of being spanked. A hard slap, or two, across my bum cheeks, while I’m being taken doggy style, always adds that little extra thrill. On occasion, a particular friend of mine has used a leather belt on me. Actually, that’s one situation I do like. Standing there, watching a man unbuckling his belt, is ever so stimulating.
I’ve never been into hard BDSM, although, I have been caned a few times. Fairly low-key stuff, the hard-core BDSM fraternity would say. In my case, there are certain rules. Firstly, I do keep my knickers on. Actually, this, for me, makes it more real. At school. and I’m talking late 60’s, early 70’s here, when corporal punishment was the norm, bare arsed thrashings were certainly not the norm. At my school, and I’m sure this was probably fairly widespread, us girls got the strap, or similar, and the boys were caned. I remember reading an article in one of the papers back then. A girl had been caned for her repeated misdemeanours and, on the basis that this was a rarity, the story had hit the press. I can tell you that this wasn’t as rare as you may think. As pupils, we were always given an option. Take your punishment or, if you refuse, we’ll inform your parents. The upshot was usually that, with your parents’ consent, you’d get the thrashing, and, probably get another one at home. I know a few girls who were caned, and kept it quiet, in order to avoid another beating at home. I remember one girl, always in bother, and she refused to submit to being caned. The Headmistress wrote to her parents and, a couple of days later, the mother arrived at school and, much to the girl’s horror, picked up the cane from the desk, handed it to the Head and told her to get on with it. Apparently, her mother stood there, arms folded, and watched her daughter squeal as the Head caned her.
Anyway, where was I. Oh yes. I made the point about bare-arsed was certainly not the norm. For punishments, the boys had to strip to just their underpants. Forget the idea of Just William, or Billy Bunter stories of boys shoving exercise books down their trousers. For us girls, I remember, if you were in the earlier years, say up to 14 or so, you bent over a stool and the Head of Lower School would carry out the punishment after pulling your skirt up to your waist. As Seniors, 15 to 18, the Head of Upper School would make you strip to your bra and knickers. Again, no chance of wearing 6 pairs of knickers and a pantie girdle. I still can’t understand why socks and shoes had to come off, though.
Anyway, that’s the preamble done and dusted. Now, let me tell you a story.
One night, I was cycling home with a boy, from my class, and we were having a bit of a laugh. It was July, I remember, a hot afternoon and, being a bit of a show-off, he veered off the path, up somebody’s drive and cycled across their manicured lawn, shouting me to follow. Knowing this was a stupid thing to do, but, not wanting to be seen as a wet lettuce, I followed. We both ended up crashing into some bushes and sprawled out on a freshly planted flower bed. The lady came running out of the house, shouting abuse at us. We quickly got back on our bikes and raced off, but, not before he shouted, “Fuck off, you silly old cow.” “I’ll be round that school tomorrow, you mark my words,” came her quick response.
At home, I thought no more about the incident until, later that night, I was in bed and, suddenly, I sat upright, a cold sweat on my brow. My school had this thing about being good neighbours and taking care not to give the school a bad name, a Cardinal sin in their book. Two boys had been thrashed the previous week for kicking a ball over somebody’s hedge and, in retrieving it, damaged a garden ornament. Yes, they’d also shouted abuse at the homeowner, displaying their masculinity, NOT. I couldn’t shake off this image, in my head, of being hauled to the Head’s office and getting my punishment.
I met up with my classmate and we cycled to school. I mentioned the previous night’s incident and he laughed it off, totally unconcerned. Until, that is, we cycled through the school gates and there they were, the Head and the “Garden Lady”. My heart sank as the woman pointed in our direction and the Headmistress beckoned us over. Of course, there was no point denying it, and, after parking our bikes, the Head and Mrs Thompson, as I learned she was called, marched towards the school, the Head turning to us and barking, “Follow”.
In her Office, the Head spouted on about evil deeds, and wicked behaviour, while Mrs Thompson nodded continuously. Evil, wickedness, a bit over the top, I remember thinking. After several minutes of listening to her and us apologising profusely, Mrs Thompson was still of a mind to call the Police. The Head suggested that it might be better to handle this in school. Mrs Thompson’s response was that she didn’t believe detentions and lines worked sufficiently well and asked the Head what she had in mind. The Head went to her cupboard and removed a cane and a thick leather strap. Placing both on her desk, she said, “I think I can say with confidence that they won’t do it again, Mrs Thompson. You are quite welcome to watch, if you like”. “No, that’s fine with me. I’m glad to see you still believe in the old ways. None of this mamby pamby, softly softly stuff”. “Oh, you can rest assured they won’t be riding their bikes home tonight. In fact, I’ll guarantee they won’t want to sit down for a day or two.”
She left her office, walking Mrs. Thompson to the school reception area. I just stood there, frozen to the spot, looking at the leather strap, my mouth slightly open. I’d had the strap as a 14 year old, twice. That one was much thinner with a few knotted tassels. It hurt, as it was supposed to, but, this one, well it looked vicious. It was 9 or 10 leather strips, totalling about an inch thick, stitched together with a couple of metal studs added, presumably to make sure it doesn’t fall apart following overuse. It must have been about 15 inches long and about 3 inches wide, with one end slightly narrower, presumably an area for the punisher to grip. Christ, what have I got myself into, I thought, imagining the Head laughing aloud as she swung this in my direction.
The door slammed shut, startling me back to reality. Picking up the cane, she swished it loudly and, pointing to Johnny, barked, “Strip to your underpants”. Using the cane as an aid, she pointed it in my direction, “You” she shouted, then swinging around, pointed the cane towards the open door of a meeting room adjoining her office, “In there. Strip to your bra and knickers and don’t come back till I tell you”. I went into the meeting room, not closing the door. She followed me and went to a small window which looked back into her office, and closed the blind. She left, firmly closing the door behind her.
I started to strip, sitting on a chair to remove my socks and shoes. I undid my tie and, having placed it on the table, undid the cuffs of my blouse, before working on the buttons. I stood up to remove it and placed it on the table, next to my tie. I undid the zip on my skirt and slipped it off. I pulled my knickers up slightly, feeling how thin the cotton was. I was suddenly overcome by feelings of trepidation. The cold wooden flooring on my bare feet, the skimpy feel to my knickers, I felt so vulnerable, knowing that, in a few minutes I was going to be bent over a chair and thrashed. Then, I heard her barking at Johnny,“We haven’t got all day. Get a move on.”
I couldn’t help myself. I tiptoed to the window and, gently lifted one lat of the Venetian blind. Just a quarter of an inch was all it took to give me an unimpeded view of her office. He was now down to his underpants. His hands were clasped in front of his bulge area. She was sat behind her desk. “Face the door and put your hands on your head”, she instructed. This pose afforded her a side view of him, yet, he couldn’t see towards her because of the position of his elbows at the side of his face. I had a side view of her, sat in her chair. She was staring intently at him, her gaze transfixed on his bedroom tackle area. She was shuffling papers on her desk and picked up one batch. She gave the impression she was reading them, but I could see she was looking over the top of them, still towards his cock area. Then, still holding the papers in her right hand, her left hand went down into her lap. God, the side of her dress started to move up her thigh. She was getting off on this. Her legs were opening wider. Fucking hell, she was playing with herself. After a minute or two, she stopped, stood up and adjusted her dress. She walked past the desk, collecting her cane as she did so. Grabbing a stool from the corner of her office, she threw it into the middle of the area, allowing it to fall on its side. “Pick that up”, she snarled. Obediently, he did so. He stood next to the upright stool. She gripped the cane under her armpit and, standing behind him, she started to push his underpants down. He reached for the waistband, obviously baulking at this. She stopped, and grabbing his arm, screamed “Don’t you dare stop me”. She returned to his pants, this time one hand round the front, the other at the back, pushing them slowly towards his thighs, baring his bum and his cock completely. The hand at the front, brushed through his thick pubes, grazing down the length of his cock. Bear in mind, he was 17 and, to all intents and purposes, a full-grown man. “Don’t want you cheating, do we. Don’t want you hiding a text book down here, do we.” Gripping his buttocks firmly, she added, “Want to hear you begging me to stop thrashing you, don’t we.”
She pulled his pants back up and patted his bum. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. You dare stand up, before I tell you and…………..”. She pulled the front of his pants away from his belly, allowing herself another glimpse of his cock, adding”……………………..these are off”, before letting go of the elastic and letting it recoil against his flesh.
Swinging the cane hard against the plastic covering of the stool, making a sharp crack sound, she screeched, “Over”. Obediently, he bent over the stool and gripped his hands tightly around the wood support between the two front legs. Before he’d chance to get comfortable, THWACK, the first stroke hit him. He’d barely managed to complete his first gasp when another THWACK sent his head jerking backwards. He tried to gasp again but another THWACK drowned the sound. THWACK………………THWACK………………………THWACK. His legs, now off the floor, bending at the knees.
I watched, in awe, my hand covering my mouth. She’d stopped now, one hand holding the cane, the other down his pants, squeezing his buttocks so hard, Johnny writhed in pain. I’d counted 6, maybe it was over. No chance. She removed her hands from his pants, and ripped them down his legs………..THWACK…THWACK…THWACK…THWACK…THWACK………………………………….It took less than 5 seconds for her to deliver those 5 strokes and, then, standing a little further away, lifted the cane high in the air before delivering the final blow THWAAAAACKKKK, that sent Johnny crashing to the floor, his hands both holding his bruised buttocks.
“Stand up. Hands on your head. Compose yourself”, she ordered. He bent to pick up his underpants. “Leave them there”, she added. God, I could see the welts from where she’d beaten him. She sat down, and, again, confident nobody knew what she was doing, the skirt started to hitch up again. This time, the hem was up to her waist and her left hand disappeared down the front of her knickers. I could see from the rapid movement of her wrist, she was most definitely wanking herself, taking the opportunity of an unimpeded view of his cock, coupled with the graphic marks of her own sadistic handiwork.
After a couple more minutes, she told him to dress and get out of her sight. I sat on a chair by the table waiting for her call. I was somewhat dreading the call, but, those feelings were somewhat tempered knowing that she was already revved up. Us girls had our suspicions of her being a lesbian, based on her frequent visits to the Gym when we were all showering. So, maybe she’ll get off on seeing me almost naked. As a quick afterthought, I removed the two cup pads from my bra and put them in my jacket pocket. There, feast your eyes on these puppies, I thought, as I looked down at my nipples, poking through the fabric. Although I’d just turned 17, I had nice, firm 36 DD’s. “Come in”, she called, “Your turn, now.” I stood in front of her desk, my legs already turning to jelly. Oh yes, her eyes alternating between my nipples and my little white panties. She got up and, picking up the stool, put it back in its upright position. She stood in front of me, her face still flushed from her pussy play, her breath warm on my face. “I’m sure you’ve no added protection under these”, she said as she reached down and pulled the front waistband of my knickers away from my body. “But, we must make sure, mustn’t we”, she added. Before she could do anything further, I stepped back and slipped them down my thighs, showing my thick dark pubes. I turned slowly, showing my arse was bare under the miniscule garment. God, did I detect a little appreciative mmm as she licked her upper lip.
She told me to pull them up and, being a good girl, I leant forward and, squeezing my breasts inwards, with my upper arms, making them almost spill out of my bra, I did what I was told, and pulled my knickers back up. “Pass me the strap”, she demanded, pointing to the weapon perched on her desk. I picked it up and, feeling its rigidity, my hand trembled slightly, as I handed it to her. “Bend over the stool”, she said, slapping the seat hard with a swipe of the strap. Over the stool, I reached to grip the bar, just like Johnny had done. But, being shorter than him, I couldn’t quite reach. I repositioned myself, my legs slightly open at the sides of the stool, and, on tiptoe managed to grip the bar.
She put the strap down, in the centre of my back and, with her hands now free, she delicately pulled the waistband of my pants towards my waist, although the miniscule garment was never going to reach that far. Then she turned her attention to the elastic around the top of my legs. Using her thumb and forefinger, she held the micro-thin cotton fabric, ever so lightly, and ran her fingers from my side, right the way to my crotch, gently aiming to cover a little bit more of my bum cheek. When she got to my pussy area, her knuckles touched the edges of my pussy. I impulsively clenched my buttocks and opened my legs a little further. She repeated the exercise on my other leg and, this time, as I opened my legs a little bit more, I let out the faintest of gasps. She clearly recognised I was getting wet and I felt her knuckles lingering longer by my pussy. As she removed her hand from inside my knickers, she deliberately pushed her knuckles further into me. She patted my bum as she picked up the strap.
I lay there, clenching and unclenching my buttocks, wondering when the first blow was going to come. I looked between my arms, through the legs of the stool. She was stood behind me, perfectly motionless. Assuming she was getting an eyeful, and enjoying it, I wriggled a little, to give the impression I was getting more comfortable. During that manoeuvre, I opened my legs wide, before returning to their partially open position.
WHAACK. I arched my back as I felt the searing heat spread through my bum cheeks. I didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of knowing that she was hurting me, so, desperately trying not to squeal, I gripped the stool tighter. WHAAACK, another one hit me on the other cheek. My bum felt like it was on fire. I clamped my mouth shut. No way was I going to let her know she was hurting me. WHAAACK. This time, I couldn’t stop myself. I thrust my head back, letting out a loud gasp, as my knees bent, my feet almost kicking the back of my thighs. As the pain subsided, I realised I was getting ever so wet and, impulsively, opened my legs wide, curiously wanting her to see the sexual effect she was having on me. As I closed my legs, I felt the strap being placed on my back, again, and her hand going under the waistband of my knickers. As she squeezed my cheeks, I felt her finger trace a line down my bum crack. Then, more pain as she dug her nails into my cheeks. “Not so cocky, now, are you”, she growled.
She withdrew her hand and, once again, picked up the strap. THWAAACK………………………THWAAACK. My whole body shook as the two consecutive blows achieved their aim of giving me pain. This time, I couldn’t stop myself, and reached behind myself, shoving both my hands down my knickers, gripping a cheek in each of them. This had the effect of pushing my knickers down my thighs, baring my backside completely. “Hurts, doesn’t it”, she commented, softly, as she, too, started to stroke my cheeks. “Yes Miss, I’m sorry”, I whimpered.
She was now squeezing the inner sides of my thighs, the tops of her hands both edging towards my bared pussy. Moving to my side, one hand still perilously close to my pussy, she moved the other to my head, running her fingers through my tousled hair. She whispered, “You know, I really don’t like doing this, but, I see it as my duty, part of my job to make good people of you girls.” My mind went back to my brother’s experience at school. He was caned by the PE master, once, after a swimming lesson, and apparently, the teacher had a raging hard on, his cock almost ripping through his trunks. Stupidly, I muttered, “Sorry, Miss, I thought you were getting off on it.”
She grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. Bending down, her nose almost touching mine, “Getting off. You’re going to struggle getting off this stool, when I’ve finished with you, lady. I’m going to thrash the living daylights out of you.” That’s when I felt real fear. A male friend told me, years later, that he liked taking corporal punishment and he, in fact paid for the experience. But, no matter what, it was impossible to recreate the situation where he had no control over what was happening, the use of safe words, etc. I had no control over the situation I was in, now. She grabbed the strap of my my bra, yanking it towards my neck, her fist between my shoulder blades, pushing my upper body downwards. She yanked my bra harder, this time my tits coming completely out and pressing into the plastic top of the stool. THWAAAACK, the next blow dug into my bum cheek, the tail end of the strap making a loud CRAAACK as it slapped down my thigh. THWAAACK, CRAAACK, another. I tried to jolt my head back, unable to do so, as I was anchored to the stool by her brute strength. “Please stop, Miss, I didn’t mean it”. THWAAACK, CRAAAACK, was her reply. My legs were up in the air, my knickers now hardly covering any of my bum. THWAAACK, THWAAAAK, THWAAAACK, CRAAAAAAACK. She was losing it. I screamed out loud, begging her to stop.
The next thing I felt was her pulling my knickers down my legs and gripping both my bare bum cheeks. As she dug her nails into me, she leant forwards, her mouth next to my ear. I felt her hot breath as she panted, obviously out of breath from her physical exertions. “Now, come on, you little bitch, let’s see you get off my fucking stool and stand up.” She moved to one side as I stood up, my legs visibly shaking. I automatically reached behind to try to soothe the stinging pains coursing through my backside and thighs. As I tried to stand up straight, my panties dropped to my feet. As I was still a bit wobbly, I stepped out of them, to avoid tripping myself up. I looked straight at her. She was smiling broadly at me, as I, completely the opposite, had tears rolling down my cheeks. I stood there, mouth open, panting and grimacing from the thrashing I’d just had. She walked to the desk, picked up the cane and, while swishing it loudly, said, “Next time you’re in this office, you’re getting this and you won’t be wearing these, “ she added, as she picked up my panties with the end of the cane and, extending her arm, pushed them in front of my face.
“Now, get dressed and get out of my fucking sight”.
Needless to say, I was a good girl after that. Now, I’m not one to harp on about differences in society, today, and the causes, but, I do think that stopping the use of canes etc., in schools has seen a drop in behavioural standards. Yes, some teachers went a bit too far, and I do think quite a few did get off on beating pupils, but, in my school, there weren’t many boys or girls who bent over the stool for a second time.
I’ve never been into hard BDSM, although, I have been caned a few times. Fairly low-key stuff, the hard-core BDSM fraternity would say. In my case, there are certain rules. Firstly, I do keep my knickers on. Actually, this, for me, makes it more real. At school. and I’m talking late 60’s, early 70’s here, when corporal punishment was the norm, bare arsed thrashings were certainly not the norm. At my school, and I’m sure this was probably fairly widespread, us girls got the strap, or similar, and the boys were caned. I remember reading an article in one of the papers back then. A girl had been caned for her repeated misdemeanours and, on the basis that this was a rarity, the story had hit the press. I can tell you that this wasn’t as rare as you may think. As pupils, we were always given an option. Take your punishment or, if you refuse, we’ll inform your parents. The upshot was usually that, with your parents’ consent, you’d get the thrashing, and, probably get another one at home. I know a few girls who were caned, and kept it quiet, in order to avoid another beating at home. I remember one girl, always in bother, and she refused to submit to being caned. The Headmistress wrote to her parents and, a couple of days later, the mother arrived at school and, much to the girl’s horror, picked up the cane from the desk, handed it to the Head and told her to get on with it. Apparently, her mother stood there, arms folded, and watched her daughter squeal as the Head caned her.
Anyway, where was I. Oh yes. I made the point about bare-arsed was certainly not the norm. For punishments, the boys had to strip to just their underpants. Forget the idea of Just William, or Billy Bunter stories of boys shoving exercise books down their trousers. For us girls, I remember, if you were in the earlier years, say up to 14 or so, you bent over a stool and the Head of Lower School would carry out the punishment after pulling your skirt up to your waist. As Seniors, 15 to 18, the Head of Upper School would make you strip to your bra and knickers. Again, no chance of wearing 6 pairs of knickers and a pantie girdle. I still can’t understand why socks and shoes had to come off, though.
Anyway, that’s the preamble done and dusted. Now, let me tell you a story.
One night, I was cycling home with a boy, from my class, and we were having a bit of a laugh. It was July, I remember, a hot afternoon and, being a bit of a show-off, he veered off the path, up somebody’s drive and cycled across their manicured lawn, shouting me to follow. Knowing this was a stupid thing to do, but, not wanting to be seen as a wet lettuce, I followed. We both ended up crashing into some bushes and sprawled out on a freshly planted flower bed. The lady came running out of the house, shouting abuse at us. We quickly got back on our bikes and raced off, but, not before he shouted, “Fuck off, you silly old cow.” “I’ll be round that school tomorrow, you mark my words,” came her quick response.
At home, I thought no more about the incident until, later that night, I was in bed and, suddenly, I sat upright, a cold sweat on my brow. My school had this thing about being good neighbours and taking care not to give the school a bad name, a Cardinal sin in their book. Two boys had been thrashed the previous week for kicking a ball over somebody’s hedge and, in retrieving it, damaged a garden ornament. Yes, they’d also shouted abuse at the homeowner, displaying their masculinity, NOT. I couldn’t shake off this image, in my head, of being hauled to the Head’s office and getting my punishment.
I met up with my classmate and we cycled to school. I mentioned the previous night’s incident and he laughed it off, totally unconcerned. Until, that is, we cycled through the school gates and there they were, the Head and the “Garden Lady”. My heart sank as the woman pointed in our direction and the Headmistress beckoned us over. Of course, there was no point denying it, and, after parking our bikes, the Head and Mrs Thompson, as I learned she was called, marched towards the school, the Head turning to us and barking, “Follow”.
In her Office, the Head spouted on about evil deeds, and wicked behaviour, while Mrs Thompson nodded continuously. Evil, wickedness, a bit over the top, I remember thinking. After several minutes of listening to her and us apologising profusely, Mrs Thompson was still of a mind to call the Police. The Head suggested that it might be better to handle this in school. Mrs Thompson’s response was that she didn’t believe detentions and lines worked sufficiently well and asked the Head what she had in mind. The Head went to her cupboard and removed a cane and a thick leather strap. Placing both on her desk, she said, “I think I can say with confidence that they won’t do it again, Mrs Thompson. You are quite welcome to watch, if you like”. “No, that’s fine with me. I’m glad to see you still believe in the old ways. None of this mamby pamby, softly softly stuff”. “Oh, you can rest assured they won’t be riding their bikes home tonight. In fact, I’ll guarantee they won’t want to sit down for a day or two.”
She left her office, walking Mrs. Thompson to the school reception area. I just stood there, frozen to the spot, looking at the leather strap, my mouth slightly open. I’d had the strap as a 14 year old, twice. That one was much thinner with a few knotted tassels. It hurt, as it was supposed to, but, this one, well it looked vicious. It was 9 or 10 leather strips, totalling about an inch thick, stitched together with a couple of metal studs added, presumably to make sure it doesn’t fall apart following overuse. It must have been about 15 inches long and about 3 inches wide, with one end slightly narrower, presumably an area for the punisher to grip. Christ, what have I got myself into, I thought, imagining the Head laughing aloud as she swung this in my direction.
The door slammed shut, startling me back to reality. Picking up the cane, she swished it loudly and, pointing to Johnny, barked, “Strip to your underpants”. Using the cane as an aid, she pointed it in my direction, “You” she shouted, then swinging around, pointed the cane towards the open door of a meeting room adjoining her office, “In there. Strip to your bra and knickers and don’t come back till I tell you”. I went into the meeting room, not closing the door. She followed me and went to a small window which looked back into her office, and closed the blind. She left, firmly closing the door behind her.
I started to strip, sitting on a chair to remove my socks and shoes. I undid my tie and, having placed it on the table, undid the cuffs of my blouse, before working on the buttons. I stood up to remove it and placed it on the table, next to my tie. I undid the zip on my skirt and slipped it off. I pulled my knickers up slightly, feeling how thin the cotton was. I was suddenly overcome by feelings of trepidation. The cold wooden flooring on my bare feet, the skimpy feel to my knickers, I felt so vulnerable, knowing that, in a few minutes I was going to be bent over a chair and thrashed. Then, I heard her barking at Johnny,“We haven’t got all day. Get a move on.”
I couldn’t help myself. I tiptoed to the window and, gently lifted one lat of the Venetian blind. Just a quarter of an inch was all it took to give me an unimpeded view of her office. He was now down to his underpants. His hands were clasped in front of his bulge area. She was sat behind her desk. “Face the door and put your hands on your head”, she instructed. This pose afforded her a side view of him, yet, he couldn’t see towards her because of the position of his elbows at the side of his face. I had a side view of her, sat in her chair. She was staring intently at him, her gaze transfixed on his bedroom tackle area. She was shuffling papers on her desk and picked up one batch. She gave the impression she was reading them, but I could see she was looking over the top of them, still towards his cock area. Then, still holding the papers in her right hand, her left hand went down into her lap. God, the side of her dress started to move up her thigh. She was getting off on this. Her legs were opening wider. Fucking hell, she was playing with herself. After a minute or two, she stopped, stood up and adjusted her dress. She walked past the desk, collecting her cane as she did so. Grabbing a stool from the corner of her office, she threw it into the middle of the area, allowing it to fall on its side. “Pick that up”, she snarled. Obediently, he did so. He stood next to the upright stool. She gripped the cane under her armpit and, standing behind him, she started to push his underpants down. He reached for the waistband, obviously baulking at this. She stopped, and grabbing his arm, screamed “Don’t you dare stop me”. She returned to his pants, this time one hand round the front, the other at the back, pushing them slowly towards his thighs, baring his bum and his cock completely. The hand at the front, brushed through his thick pubes, grazing down the length of his cock. Bear in mind, he was 17 and, to all intents and purposes, a full-grown man. “Don’t want you cheating, do we. Don’t want you hiding a text book down here, do we.” Gripping his buttocks firmly, she added, “Want to hear you begging me to stop thrashing you, don’t we.”
She pulled his pants back up and patted his bum. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. You dare stand up, before I tell you and…………..”. She pulled the front of his pants away from his belly, allowing herself another glimpse of his cock, adding”……………………..these are off”, before letting go of the elastic and letting it recoil against his flesh.
Swinging the cane hard against the plastic covering of the stool, making a sharp crack sound, she screeched, “Over”. Obediently, he bent over the stool and gripped his hands tightly around the wood support between the two front legs. Before he’d chance to get comfortable, THWACK, the first stroke hit him. He’d barely managed to complete his first gasp when another THWACK sent his head jerking backwards. He tried to gasp again but another THWACK drowned the sound. THWACK………………THWACK………………………THWACK. His legs, now off the floor, bending at the knees.
I watched, in awe, my hand covering my mouth. She’d stopped now, one hand holding the cane, the other down his pants, squeezing his buttocks so hard, Johnny writhed in pain. I’d counted 6, maybe it was over. No chance. She removed her hands from his pants, and ripped them down his legs………..THWACK…THWACK…THWACK…THWACK…THWACK………………………………….It took less than 5 seconds for her to deliver those 5 strokes and, then, standing a little further away, lifted the cane high in the air before delivering the final blow THWAAAAACKKKK, that sent Johnny crashing to the floor, his hands both holding his bruised buttocks.
“Stand up. Hands on your head. Compose yourself”, she ordered. He bent to pick up his underpants. “Leave them there”, she added. God, I could see the welts from where she’d beaten him. She sat down, and, again, confident nobody knew what she was doing, the skirt started to hitch up again. This time, the hem was up to her waist and her left hand disappeared down the front of her knickers. I could see from the rapid movement of her wrist, she was most definitely wanking herself, taking the opportunity of an unimpeded view of his cock, coupled with the graphic marks of her own sadistic handiwork.
After a couple more minutes, she told him to dress and get out of her sight. I sat on a chair by the table waiting for her call. I was somewhat dreading the call, but, those feelings were somewhat tempered knowing that she was already revved up. Us girls had our suspicions of her being a lesbian, based on her frequent visits to the Gym when we were all showering. So, maybe she’ll get off on seeing me almost naked. As a quick afterthought, I removed the two cup pads from my bra and put them in my jacket pocket. There, feast your eyes on these puppies, I thought, as I looked down at my nipples, poking through the fabric. Although I’d just turned 17, I had nice, firm 36 DD’s. “Come in”, she called, “Your turn, now.” I stood in front of her desk, my legs already turning to jelly. Oh yes, her eyes alternating between my nipples and my little white panties. She got up and, picking up the stool, put it back in its upright position. She stood in front of me, her face still flushed from her pussy play, her breath warm on my face. “I’m sure you’ve no added protection under these”, she said as she reached down and pulled the front waistband of my knickers away from my body. “But, we must make sure, mustn’t we”, she added. Before she could do anything further, I stepped back and slipped them down my thighs, showing my thick dark pubes. I turned slowly, showing my arse was bare under the miniscule garment. God, did I detect a little appreciative mmm as she licked her upper lip.
She told me to pull them up and, being a good girl, I leant forward and, squeezing my breasts inwards, with my upper arms, making them almost spill out of my bra, I did what I was told, and pulled my knickers back up. “Pass me the strap”, she demanded, pointing to the weapon perched on her desk. I picked it up and, feeling its rigidity, my hand trembled slightly, as I handed it to her. “Bend over the stool”, she said, slapping the seat hard with a swipe of the strap. Over the stool, I reached to grip the bar, just like Johnny had done. But, being shorter than him, I couldn’t quite reach. I repositioned myself, my legs slightly open at the sides of the stool, and, on tiptoe managed to grip the bar.
She put the strap down, in the centre of my back and, with her hands now free, she delicately pulled the waistband of my pants towards my waist, although the miniscule garment was never going to reach that far. Then she turned her attention to the elastic around the top of my legs. Using her thumb and forefinger, she held the micro-thin cotton fabric, ever so lightly, and ran her fingers from my side, right the way to my crotch, gently aiming to cover a little bit more of my bum cheek. When she got to my pussy area, her knuckles touched the edges of my pussy. I impulsively clenched my buttocks and opened my legs a little further. She repeated the exercise on my other leg and, this time, as I opened my legs a little bit more, I let out the faintest of gasps. She clearly recognised I was getting wet and I felt her knuckles lingering longer by my pussy. As she removed her hand from inside my knickers, she deliberately pushed her knuckles further into me. She patted my bum as she picked up the strap.
I lay there, clenching and unclenching my buttocks, wondering when the first blow was going to come. I looked between my arms, through the legs of the stool. She was stood behind me, perfectly motionless. Assuming she was getting an eyeful, and enjoying it, I wriggled a little, to give the impression I was getting more comfortable. During that manoeuvre, I opened my legs wide, before returning to their partially open position.
WHAACK. I arched my back as I felt the searing heat spread through my bum cheeks. I didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of knowing that she was hurting me, so, desperately trying not to squeal, I gripped the stool tighter. WHAAACK, another one hit me on the other cheek. My bum felt like it was on fire. I clamped my mouth shut. No way was I going to let her know she was hurting me. WHAAACK. This time, I couldn’t stop myself. I thrust my head back, letting out a loud gasp, as my knees bent, my feet almost kicking the back of my thighs. As the pain subsided, I realised I was getting ever so wet and, impulsively, opened my legs wide, curiously wanting her to see the sexual effect she was having on me. As I closed my legs, I felt the strap being placed on my back, again, and her hand going under the waistband of my knickers. As she squeezed my cheeks, I felt her finger trace a line down my bum crack. Then, more pain as she dug her nails into my cheeks. “Not so cocky, now, are you”, she growled.
She withdrew her hand and, once again, picked up the strap. THWAAACK………………………THWAAACK. My whole body shook as the two consecutive blows achieved their aim of giving me pain. This time, I couldn’t stop myself, and reached behind myself, shoving both my hands down my knickers, gripping a cheek in each of them. This had the effect of pushing my knickers down my thighs, baring my backside completely. “Hurts, doesn’t it”, she commented, softly, as she, too, started to stroke my cheeks. “Yes Miss, I’m sorry”, I whimpered.
She was now squeezing the inner sides of my thighs, the tops of her hands both edging towards my bared pussy. Moving to my side, one hand still perilously close to my pussy, she moved the other to my head, running her fingers through my tousled hair. She whispered, “You know, I really don’t like doing this, but, I see it as my duty, part of my job to make good people of you girls.” My mind went back to my brother’s experience at school. He was caned by the PE master, once, after a swimming lesson, and apparently, the teacher had a raging hard on, his cock almost ripping through his trunks. Stupidly, I muttered, “Sorry, Miss, I thought you were getting off on it.”
She grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. Bending down, her nose almost touching mine, “Getting off. You’re going to struggle getting off this stool, when I’ve finished with you, lady. I’m going to thrash the living daylights out of you.” That’s when I felt real fear. A male friend told me, years later, that he liked taking corporal punishment and he, in fact paid for the experience. But, no matter what, it was impossible to recreate the situation where he had no control over what was happening, the use of safe words, etc. I had no control over the situation I was in, now. She grabbed the strap of my my bra, yanking it towards my neck, her fist between my shoulder blades, pushing my upper body downwards. She yanked my bra harder, this time my tits coming completely out and pressing into the plastic top of the stool. THWAAAACK, the next blow dug into my bum cheek, the tail end of the strap making a loud CRAAACK as it slapped down my thigh. THWAAACK, CRAAACK, another. I tried to jolt my head back, unable to do so, as I was anchored to the stool by her brute strength. “Please stop, Miss, I didn’t mean it”. THWAAACK, CRAAAACK, was her reply. My legs were up in the air, my knickers now hardly covering any of my bum. THWAAACK, THWAAAAK, THWAAAACK, CRAAAAAAACK. She was losing it. I screamed out loud, begging her to stop.
The next thing I felt was her pulling my knickers down my legs and gripping both my bare bum cheeks. As she dug her nails into me, she leant forwards, her mouth next to my ear. I felt her hot breath as she panted, obviously out of breath from her physical exertions. “Now, come on, you little bitch, let’s see you get off my fucking stool and stand up.” She moved to one side as I stood up, my legs visibly shaking. I automatically reached behind to try to soothe the stinging pains coursing through my backside and thighs. As I tried to stand up straight, my panties dropped to my feet. As I was still a bit wobbly, I stepped out of them, to avoid tripping myself up. I looked straight at her. She was smiling broadly at me, as I, completely the opposite, had tears rolling down my cheeks. I stood there, mouth open, panting and grimacing from the thrashing I’d just had. She walked to the desk, picked up the cane and, while swishing it loudly, said, “Next time you’re in this office, you’re getting this and you won’t be wearing these, “ she added, as she picked up my panties with the end of the cane and, extending her arm, pushed them in front of my face.
“Now, get dressed and get out of my fucking sight”.
Needless to say, I was a good girl after that. Now, I’m not one to harp on about differences in society, today, and the causes, but, I do think that stopping the use of canes etc., in schools has seen a drop in behavioural standards. Yes, some teachers went a bit too far, and I do think quite a few did get off on beating pupils, but, in my school, there weren’t many boys or girls who bent over the stool for a second time.
Trish
- 02.12.2022
- 10
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