Friday, 20 August 2010

Miss Sidney

The long summer holidays see the school - usually busy with the movement of over one hundred quantly uniformed schoolgirls, its ancient walls resounding with the echoes of their girlish laughter - unnaturally still and quiet. The caretaker uses the time to splash some paint on the barest of classroom walls; the groundsman tends the winter sports pitches in preparation for the coming hockey and lacrosse season; most of the teachers disappear for several weeks not to be seen again until the start of term, and I enjoy the peace and quite of my study, attend to my memoirs and have a week by the sea at my sister's house in Frinton. But just a week. For the reins of Headship are not easily relinquished and although the summer vacation necessitates but the lightest hand on the tiller, I still prefer to remain on site and supervise the preparations for the new school year. But I would be lying if I were not to say that it can be a little lonely.

Although frequently to be found inflicting well-deserved pain upon their naked rears, I feel nevertheless that I am one of those rare teachers for whom the company of his or her charges is - on the whole - entirely enjoyable. I do so like the liveliness of school in term-time; I do so miss the adolescent chatter; I confess, I even miss the spankings. Far be it from me to join the ranks of those who take pleasure in inflicting punishment on tender young behinds, but the sight of a pair of taut buttocks exposed to the sharp admonishment of my senior rattan is nothing if not one of the perks of the job. Of course, my heart bleeds for the girls who burn with shame as they bare their bottoms and touch their toes; naturally I wince for them as the red weals encroach across the pale, virgin flesh; without question, I regret the reappearance in my study of the same girl, signaling the abject failure of a previous punishment.

But no matter. Twelve weeks of no spankings is not so great a hardship, especially if one is blessed with the company of one's young senior housemistress for much of the vacation. For Miss Sidney has abjured the joys of a south African winter for the gentler pleasure of an English summer, remaining in her quarters in the school house for all but the briefest of forays into town to meet with friends, or purchase some new shoes, or an outfit or some such similarly feminine entertainment. I confess it has been especially pleasant for me, as I have been able to plot and plan with the aid of a trusty lieutenant, and enjoy the company of one of the most able, intelligent and attractive colleagues it has ever been my pleasure with which to share a staffroom.

Miss Sidney and I have enjoyed strolls around the ample school grounds, a spin in my Rolls, cream teas in the local village, pints in the pub and late suppers in my study. We have also, on occasion, enjoyed the full range of those, ahem, more 'intimate' pleasures more often reserved for the conjugally conjoined. It has indeed been a blessed summer.

But you aren't hear to read of my contentment, are you? I suspect, given the number of followers whose avatars feature either their own or someone else's naked buttocks that you 'tune in' as-it-were to keep abreast of the spankings I administer, maybe pick up a tip or two and possibly comment on our never-ending need to inflict corporal punishment on shapely female rears. And I am not about to disappoint you.

You may recall some time ago my writing of one of the most shapely female rears it has ever been my pleasure to gaze upon, on the occasion of last year's school fete. Miss Sidney - our intrepid Housemistress - was prepared you may recall to bare and indeed bear all in the cause of our chapel roof, making a tidy sum by having the girls (and one or two boys) pay handsomely to whip her rump. Well of course, I have had the opportunity since that day to reacquaint myself with the curves and proportions of that pretty near perfect gluteous maximus on more than one occasion. I have already hinted at just such an occurrence in this very post. What I have not divulged, however, is the circumstances under which it befell me to imagine I had before me not the bottom of a shapely female colleague, but the rear of a contrite schoolgirl eager to receive the punishment she deserves. Those circumstances were thus.

I was at work late the other evening in my study when I heard a knock at my door.

'Why Miss Sidney!' I exclaimed. 'This is indeed a pleasure.'

She was wearing a rather small black dress of the kind frequently sported by young ladies of a more sophisticated disposition. As I had observed only the other evening, Miss S is nothing if not an athlete - a fact I knew of course thanks to witnessing her energetic spankings of her charges. I knew, of course, of her past in South Africa; I surmised she was no stranger to being on the receiving end of a thrashing; indeed, I imagined her stoicism at the school fete was borne of bitter experience.

We chatted for a while about this and that. I discussed my plan early next term to take a tour of neighbouring schools to better acquaint myself with their own disciplinary foibles. Miss Sidney readily agreed to my suggestion that she take the reigns of Headship in my absence. Then came the blow.

'But I feel I should admit to you, Headmaster,' she began solemnly, 'that I haven't always been worthy of your high opinion of me.'

'My dear?'

'No. I'm ashamed to say I've been rather slacking recently; I've only beaten half-a-dozen girls in the last term; I've still a pile of outstanding marking from my last three classes; and my house log is at least three weeks overdue.'

'My dear!' I began, 'We all know how stressful and busy those final weeks of term can be...'

But I was not allowed to continue.

'And that's not all, sir.'

I have to confess to a certain stirring in the loins at her use of the word 'sir'.

'No sir,' she went on. 'I'm afraid I've something rather serious to confess.'

'Go on,' I ventured in my most encouraging tone.

Miss Sidney then proceeded to regale me with the following information. It seems that the half-dozen or so spankings she admitted to administering during the summer term were not - as I assumed - inflicted on several different pairs of buttocks. Oh no. All six had been administered on the bare behind of Miss Sidney's House Prefect, for a variety of rather trivial misdemeanours and solely for the satisfaction my colleague received on witnessing this young lady's vulnerable nakedness.

'I mean, it's not as if I play for the opposition,' she went on. 'I'm not like Miss Andrews [she, dear readers, is the gym mistress] taking advantage of my position in the girls' locker room. I'm a healthy, red-blooded female [I could vouch for that] and I'm ashamed and puzzled by what's happened.'

'My dear,' I soothed, 'such things are by no means uncommon. Indeed, I have, on occasion, been obliged to instruct a well-thrashed girl to submit herself to a private, oral examination as a means of relieving the sexual tension. I understand.'

'You're too kind,' she replied. 'And you're a man; I'd find it hard to credit if you didn't get excited by the sight of a pair of shapely female buttocks. As for myself...'

The discussion went on at length, covering a wide-range of issues but it was clear no amount of rationalisation was going to suffice. Miss Sidney was naturally worried by this development - the first such of her teaching career - and was on the verge of handing over responsibility for corporal punishment in her House to her assistant before I made it clear that such a move was unnecessary as well as unacceptable.

'In that case,' Miss Sidney went on, 'there's only one thing for it. I shall have to be punished for what I've done. I need both to pay the price, and feel the pain by way of aversion therapy.'

She stood up and lifted the black dress up over her head, shaking her long brown hair and letting the garment fall to floor while standing before me, naked. I could not but enjoy the view. Her breasts pert, compact and focussed on a small, dark nipple; her pierced naval; the delicate cut-strip of dark hair above her neat pudendum; the long, tanned legs; that curious tattoo she sported on her ankle. I was in no mood to hurry things along.

'Will you beat me please, Headmaster? Will you whip me with the sjambok that I used so shamelessly on Keely Brooks? Will you hurt me, please? I deserve the pain; I need it. And I'd like you to be the one to inflict it. You have to be the one. You are the one.'

All the time she was making this little speech her gaze was as unflinching as it is when she takes aim with that wicked sjambok at a pair of adolescent buttocks. Her dark brown eyes spoke of sorrow, but also great determination. She knew what she wanted, and she was going to get it.

'Well, I dare say I could contrive to flick that damned leather thong at your backside a dozen times,' I answered.

'A dozen times?' she laughed. 'Oh no, Headmaster. You don't understand. I've been a wicked, wicked woman. I deserve the strictest punishment.'

'What do you suggest?' I asked.

She looked, for the first time in the entire exchange, at the floor momentarily. Then she straightened up, stretched her arms and ran her hands through her hair and announced, 'one hundred...'

'My dear...'

'... and fifty.'

She held my gaze again, defying me to contradict her. My mind was in turmoil. I was torn between an urgent desire to take Miss Sidney in my arms, and the need to administer the justice she so craved. But the thought of over one hundred lashes with that wicked implement left me cold; I had no desire to permanently scar the smooth olive skin of those perfect curves, as such a punishment would inevitably entail. She could sense my misgivings.

'I know this must be difficult,' she went on. 'I know how hard it's going to be, but you must see that it is the only way.'

'I'm afraid I couldn't possibly...'

'Please!' she demanded, and for the first time I could see traces of anxiety in her eyes. She looked down at the floor as tears began to well up and flow. Suddenly, she picked up her dress and ran from my study. The silence must have lasted for, oh, at least fifteen minutes before my attention was distracted by a knock at the study door. Miss Sidney entered, wearing nothing but stockings, suspenders and a black lacy bra. And in her hands, proffered to me as she stepped towards me was the wicked five foot length of pleated tan-leather rhino hide I was to whip her with.

I sighed, and rose from my chair.

'Very well, Miss Sidney, if you insist. Bend over!'

 

Friday, 16 July 2010

New Prefects

Busy just doesn't adequately describe the current state of affairs here in school, and as you may have noticed, I have hardly had the time to write any new posts. Dear Lord above, some days I have hardely even had the time to write my entries in the punishment book, there have been so many. The warm summer weather we have been enjoying recently seems to have gone to the girls' heads. Uniform infringements have been an almost daily occurance and there have been other, more serious, transgressions necessitating the administration of more strokes of the cane to one girl's bare bottom than it has ever been my misfortune to apply. But I digress. Having not the time to update you on our doings here, I have invited one of our new Year 12 prefects to write a guest post describing an unfortunate incident which certainly tested her authority, as well as endurance. She writes...


I was proud so to be appointed as a school prefect last term. I take my duties very seriously. Whereas some of the others wander round their duty area, sniff the air and stroll back to the sixth-form common room, I stay out all break, walking up and down, making sure that no-one misbehaves. It's my job. I do it well. I take a pride in what I do. Once or twice I catch somebody where they shouldn't be; I send them on their way. Occasionally, somebody might argue - then I sent them to stand inside outside the staffroom where they had to wait for the captain to take their names. Only once recently have I had any serious problems, and that was earlier this term.

For some reason I had changed my duty area. Instead of walking round the yard and making sure that no-one strayed onto the grass, I was at the back of school, behind the boiler room, where no-one should have been at all. But the boiler-house was the equivilent of the bike-sheds in our school. If any mischief was to take place, that would have to be the setting. There were enormous bins to hide behind, and small, low walls to duck beneath. The area was like a maze. Hiding was easy, which was why the area was usually patrolled by two prefects. But that day, there was only me.

I rushed straight there as soon as I got out of lessons. Arriving early and preventing trouble seems to be the best way of approaching any situation. But I was at the other end of school, and by the time I got to my duty area anyone with lessons nearby would already have arrived and be well hidden. As I raced along the corridor I had visions of the fifth-formers locked in clinches hiding behind every corner. So when I opened the door and walked outside I was relieved to see that there was no-one there. I walked around to check. Nothing. No sign of anyone. I walked back to the door and made to go inside. And then I heard it. Somebody was giggling, well not giggling, trying not to but not quite succeeding. I stepped back into the yard and stopped. No sound. I had imagined it. No. There it was again, two voices this time, coming from behind the fence that surrounded the base of the chimney. I marched towards the sound, making as much noise as I could. I was cross. I wanted them to hear me coming. But they didn't. Or at least, I assume they hadn't given the state of undress they were in. Let me describe what I saw as I stepped around the far side of the fence. Two sixth-formers in an intimate embrace, the girl with her skirt lifted and her knickers round her ankles, the boy with his belt undone and trousers round his ankles. I walked over to them, expecting them at any moment to break off, to look ashamed, to say sorry, something. But they just carried on. And as I stepped towards them I could see the boy's hand moving slowly and rhythmically up and down the girl's crotch. Slowly, methodically, rhythmically, sexily.

"You two!" I shouted. "What do you think you're up to?"

The girl looked up.

"Oh" she said, surprised. "Where's Jessica?"

"Away," I said, not knowing if she was. "She sometimes joins us" said the other. "You can if you want to, as she's not here."

Jessica was Head Girl. Something in the way the girl looked at me, and in the way she spoke persuaded me she weren't exactly lying.

"The Headmaster will hear of this," I told them. I was shocked.

"Fuck off!" the boy said before he clamped his open mouth to the girls lips.

I grabbed his shoulder.

"Want some, do you?" He turned and scowled at me.

"Get dressed - now!" I ordered.

"Come on Jen" the he said. "She'll only make it worse for us," and he started buttoning up his shirt.

"Ok, then. Have it your way," said the girl. "We'll see what Jessica has to say when she gets back to school."

"Oh no we won't" I said, and marched them straight to the Headmaster.

The Headmaster at our school - who you know, of course -  is in his forties I suppose, tall and suntanned with small a beard. Of course I'd heard about his punishments, even seen some of them on stage. I'd seen the marks they left on girls' bare bottoms when they were in the showers after PE. But I never dreamt I'd witness one at such close quarters.

After listening to my description of events, The Headmaster told them they were going to be punished, and punished severely.

"You know how," he said to them.

He reached behind a cupboard and took out a long, thin yellow cane. I made to leave.

"No, stay" he told me. "I think you should see what happens to pupils who are rude to prefects."

He pointed to a place just on the edge of the large square carpet in the middle of his study.

"Now, you two are going to get the cane" he told the misceants. "Who wants to go first?"

Neither of them spoke. They both looked at the floor.

"Well, it had better be you then" he said, pointing to the girl.

"What's wrong?" he asked her. "You had plenty to say when you were apprehended, didn't you?"

He told her to take two steps forward, so that she was standing in the middle of the study.

The girl did as she was told.

"Now, remove your skirt" he said. She fumbled with the zip, and then stepped out of it. She looked up at him.

"Place it on the chair" he told her, pointing to it with his stick. "Then come back here and touch your toes". She quickly walked to the chair, and placed her folded navy pleated skirt across the arm.

"No" he said to her as she bent over, "I said touch your toes. Now, bend right over - do it properly" He waited for her to do exactly as he asked. Then he stepped towards her, placed his thumbs in the elastic waistband of her knickers and tugged them down sharply.

"I think we'll do this properly today" he said, "don't you?" The girl nodded silently. "And you," he nodded to the boy, "can stand over there and count." He clearly wanted him to have a good view, just like me. He wanted him to see what was happening, what was going to be happening soon to him.

The head stepped to one side and began measuring the cane across the girls bare buttocks. I saw everything. Her bottom, obviously. But her crack as well, just bulging out between her legs a little bit; the pink lips protruding through some wispy strands of hair like soft pink rose petals. "How many strokes do you think she deserves?" the Head asked me. I shrugged. I didn't know. 'Six, maybe?' I suggested. I thought that six was what you got. Six of the best, I'd heard them say. But I was wrong.

"Oh no," he shook his head. "I think that's far too lenient, don't you?" he asked the boy. He didn't answer.

"I said, don't you think six a little lenient, young man?"

"Yes, sir" the boy mumbled quietly.

"You see, young lady - even your boyfriend thinks that you deserve the strictest punishment". He swished the cane a few times in the air. The girl squeezed her cheeks together.

"I think we'll give you twelve, young lady" he announced, "and you can have another six on top of that for being cheeky." Her face flushed and her mouth fell open.

"You will call each stroke out nice and loudly, thanking me each time. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir" she replied.

The head took aim. He tapped the cane across the taut white mounds of flesh, then drew it back, then tapped again. The girl flinched, but the headmaster wasn't ready. He was aiming carefully. 'I want you to remember this, young lady'. Then with a rush of air he finally brought down the cane across her buttocks. The noise cracked like a rifle shot. It must have hurt - the girl shot up and grabbed her bottom with both hands, digging in her nails.

'BEND OVER' shouted the headmaster. And stay down. Do as I tell you, and count each stroke out loud. If you forget, that stroke won't count.' I'm sorry sir, the girl sobbed. 'And?' he went on. 'One, sir - thank you sir.' she sniffed and bent forward once again. The next stroke made a lightening white line flash across the pale cream of her flesh, which then immediately turned red. The headmasters aim was good. 'Two, thank-you sir' the girl called out, then 'Three' and 'Four' and 'Five' and there was now a burning grid of red across both cheeks, as if straight lines had been drawn across her buttocks with a lipstick. Number six cut down diagonally across the other stripes, making a pattern like a five-barred gate. 'Six, thank you sir' the girl called out through gritted teeth. 'I think we'll pause there, for a moment' said the Head, tapping the back of the girls bare legs. 'You may stand up for a moment'. The girl stood up, and twisted her head to see the damage to her bottom. The boy stood watching her, no doubt contemplating what was soon to come to him. Their eyes met, briefly. Faint traces of a wry smile flickered on the corner of the girls lips. She rubbed the cheeks a little, but there wasn't much that she could do. As she bent down once again, she placed her legs apart and turned slightly, as if to give her boyfriend an even better view.

The next six strokes were counted out and then again the Head allowed the girl to rub her bottom.

"Unless you would like to do it for her?" he asked the boy, sarcastically. I caught their eye. They would have done. They would love to. There was something about what was happening that they both found a tiny bit exciting.
'Right, young lady - stand there in the corner. Your turn now' he said to the boy. 'Bend over' and the boy stepped forward, and immediately bent down to touch his toes. 'Oh, no' said the headmaster. 'That will never do. Your girlfriend didn't have the protection of her skirt and knickers, did she?' The boy shook his head. 'Stand up, and take your trousers down'. The boy stood up, and started loosening the button of his trousers. He looked across at me, then stopped. 'Not shy, are you Appleby?' the Head asked, seeing the direction of his gaze. 'You weren't shy when this young lady found you, were you?' 'No, sir' said the boy. 'Neither were you shy of giving your opinion, were you Appleby?' 'No sir' the boy replied. 'Which is precisely why you'll be getting six more strokes than your young lady. Now, bend over.' The boy stepped into the middle, with his trousers round his ankles. The headmaster pulled his pants down, then took aim. This time he drew the cane up high above his head and sliced the air and cut into the buttocks with enormous force. Blood filled the red line he had made. 'One, thank you sir' the boy responded. Stroke two was even harder. And stroke three was harder still. The girl turned round to see. The noise was terrifying. The fourth stroke missed the buttocks, slicing across the top of the thighs instead. 'Ow! Thank you sir, four - thank you, sir' The boy grunted. Five and six hit the same line made by one and two. The line was swollen now, and tiny spots of blood began to trickle down the smooth flesh. 'Seven, thank you - ahh, sir'. 'One more then' said the Head. 'Eight, thank - you - sir'. The boy stood up and limped over the corner. 'Stand there, face the wall, hands on head'. Miss Lacy, it is now your turn again,' he said. Jen's knickers were still around her ankles. She shuffled to the middle of the room. 'Lets get rid of these' the Head said, hooking them onto the end of the cane.

'Now, how many have you got to come?'

Six, sir' she said.

'Well then' and he tapped the floor, then bent the stick against her back, encouraging her down.

Six more' he said, and tapped the poor girls bottom. He seemed almost to be searching for a fresh white bit of skin. The red had spread across her buttocks like a tan. He tapped the yellow cane across the topmost of her thighs, ust where they meet the bum. 'We'l try here' he said, then lifted up the cane as high as he could go. Then - thwack - it hit exactly at the spot he'd aimed. 'One, thank you sir' the girl said.

'One?' he asked 'Eleven more to come, then?'

'No sir, I mean seven sir, thank you sir'

'That's better' and he tapped the swollen little line the first stroke he had given her had made.

Ow! Eight, sir - I mean, thank you sir!'

Then nine was back on the girls bare legs, and ten. He was trying not to cut her. But her legs were softer and would hurt more. For the last two strokes he tapped the middle of her bum again, the peak of the flesh as it stretched out over her thigh bone like a taut sheet. 'Te-e-en, thank you sir' she stuttered. 'I mean eleven, thank you' 'One more then, said Mr Lacy. Better make it a good one, hadn't we?' Without waiting for an answer, he stepped back two paces, then ran up and sliced the cane across the flesh.

'Twelve, thank you sir' she shouted, panting slightly, still bent over

'Ok, put these back on' the Head said as the girl stood up, flicking up her knickers with the cane 'and stand there, in the corner. Put your hands on your head and face the wall.'

You, next, boy he added, hurrying through the punishment, having suddenly seemed to lose interest. When he had finished, he invited me to stay and sent the others back to lessons.

So, Miss Gordon, what did you think? he asked. I didn't know what to say. 'Very good, sir' I replied inadequately. 'Good - you approve, then'

'Yes, sir' I replied. He started fingering some papers on his desk.

'Never had the cane, I see' he said.

'I haven't, sir' I told him.

'Far too well behaved' he said, not entirely approvingly. I said nothing.

'It would be a shame to leave the school without experiencing everything it has to offer, don't you think? he asked me.

'And nobody is perfect, are they Keely?'

I sat with my hands between my knees and shook my head.

'So you must have once done something wrong, something that you got away with, donlt you think?'

'I...I suppose so, sir,' I muttered.

'And it would be wrong not to get what you deserve - unfair, don't you agree?'

'Er ... yes' I said.

'So, tell me Keely. What misdemeanours haven't we found out about?' he asked.

'I don't know, sir' I said.

'Oh come, now' he replied. 'Don't be coy. You've just agreed there must be something.' then he paused. 'Or maybe there are so many that you can't remember?'

'No' I shouted, but my mind was still a blank. I had to think of something. But I couldn't.

'No homeworks copied?'

'No, sir!'

'No cheating in exams?'

'Sir!'

'Or on cross-ccountry runs?'

I caught his eye. A look as if he knew already. I hung my head.

'You see, I knew there would be something, didn't I? when was it? In the first-form?'

And I nodded.

'The short-cut?' he enquired.

'Yes, sir' I replied. 'It wasn't only me, sir, though' I looked at him imploringly 'and it was so cold; I coulnd't run that far again, sir. I'd have died'

'I know, I know' he said. 'I understand. It happens all the time.' he said. 'Miss Peacock brings the girls to me, and I watch as she slippers them, and it's forgotten. Not a problem.'

Good, I thought.

But youlre now in the sixth-form. Youlre a prefect. You should set an example to the school, he told me. That makes it a bit more serious, he told me.

'Really, sir?'

'I'm afraid, so yes' he said.

'The slipper is for small girls, anyway' he said. 'as you well know. You don't think I'd have caned Miss Marchant if she'd been a junior, do you?'

No, sir I replied, of course...

'And you surely don't think I should slipper you? he went on.

There was no reply.

'Well then' he sighed 'the cane it is'. He got up and went over to the corner.

'Now, you've seen what happens Keely,' he said. 'I'd be obliged if you would step out here and touch your toes.

I looked at him.

'Yes, Miss Lacy, with your knickers down if you please.'

I lifted up my skirt and then I bared my bottom quickly, bending over at the same time as if somehow that would make the move less shaming. With my hand on my knees I stood there, waiting for the first touch of the cold cane. But it didn't come.

'How many stroke doe you think such a crime deserves?' I heard him ask.

'Er, six?' I said again.

'Six of the best!' he said and then he tapped my buttocks. 'But that would be what you deserved back then' he went on. 'You're so much older, now - and wiser. Therefore such a misedemeanour is more serious' he went on. was he going to ask for more. Eight? Ten, perhaps, or twelve? How was I to answer?

'But there is your record to consider, too' he went on. 'You've been a model pupil. Honours and achievements in every sphere of school activity. And this little incident was a long, long time ago,' he said. He tapped the cane against my skin. I flinchd, and my knickers - which I had peeled down just far enought to show my cheeks and nothing more, slid down to my knees.

'Right, six it is' he told me. Are you ready?

'Yes sir'

'Well then, bend right over. Touch you toes, Miss Lacy.'

As I did I felt my cheeks part and my vulva suddenly exposed. My bum was small. The flesh stretched tight across the bone just like the boys had done. The girl had much more padding. I wondered if it was that - rather than the force of the cane strokes - which drew blood. I was aboout too find out. I who had never even been son much as spanked at school before. The House Prefect and form-captain; Keely Lacy, whose names was up in gold on all the honours boards for music, for achievement, for service to the school, for netball. And now, one final school achievement was being added to a long list. I was about to get a bare bum caning, just like all the others. It was my turn. I had had to wait so long. But here I was, my bottom pointing upwards for inspection and a hiding. The hiding of my life. The yellow stick that I'd just seen slice into the flesh of Jenny Mumby and Richard Appleby was now about to whip down into mine.

'Call out every stroke' he told me.

And I did.

Friday, 30 April 2010

New intake day

I thought I'd better stop by and pen a brief up-date on our activities here in the countryside. Nothing of significance has happened lately, unless you count the morning I had to cane the entire fifth-form for their collective misbehaviour the previous evening. Indeed, it was a very good job things had been rather quiet in the punishment department since that little al fresco flogging I described in my last post, otherwise my poor right arm would barely have been able to maintain the strength to wield the cane across three dozen different bottoms in a single morning!

Mind you, such occasions are as nothing compared to whole-school canings of yesteryear, days when - merely to maintain the deterrent effect of corporal punishment - every girl would mount the stage at the front of the assembly hall and be reminded of what fate awaited her if she transgressed during the coming academic year. Ah yes, in my younger days I could deliver six stinging blows across a couple of hundred bare backsides and still have the energy to take the remainder of the day off and play eighteen holes of the school golf course, where the swish of my wood on the tee would remind each girl, sitting rarely gingerly on wooden chairs in classrooms up and down the school, of precisely where the strength she had felt an hour or two ago had been gained, and no doubt cause not a little sympathy for the little white ball I had sent sailing down the fairway.

But I digress, though not too far, for it is soon to be the time of year when we show the 'new girls' round the school and make decisions about which ones to admit to our hallowed groves of academe. All prospective students sit our entrance exam, after which they are given a tour of the school and invited to participate in a little sporting activity. Thence lunch is served in the refectory before the girls assemble in the hall for me to address them. I welcome them to the school, express my hope that they have enjoyed the day and tell them all about the noble history of our institution. I regale them with tales of former glory, recount some of the more notable achievements and drop the names of some of our more distinguished alumni. I introduce some of my trusty lieutenants and invite the Head Girl to say a few words.

Once over, I usually invite questions. As my eyes wander up and down the rows of eager faces looking for the first hand to go up it often crosses my mind to speculate about both girl and question. Who will ask the inevitable question about the length of prep? Will it be the rather shy looking girl with huge dark eyes and with the long, dark bunches? Which one of them will ask about the refectory menu? The rather well-fed looking blond girl in the middle, or the slim, attractive, sporty-looking girl at present picking her nails. My prediction of the content of each question is usually impeccable, but I am often surprised by the identity of the questioner.

Last year, however, I was utterly flummoxed by both interlocutor and enquiry when one girl - tall, confident and darkly, almost bewitchingly good-looking - asked whether the cane, which I had of course shown to the assembled girls as part of my talk on the school's disciplinary methods, actually hurt! I could hardly believe my ears! Not only had this girl clearly never been on the receiving end of a few sharp strokes of the rattan, it was quite obvious from the nods and eager upward glances that her fellow prospective pupils were similarly inexperienced.

Of course, I should have seen it coming. Girls these days are much more used to corporal pleasure than pain. Why, some of them have even been known to express surprise that the water in the post-PE showers is cold, or that we forbid the use of swimming costumes when using the lido. I suppose, therefore, it should have come as no surprise to be asked such a question by a young lady clearly ignorant of traditions and practices and woefully unprepared by her previous schools. And clearly no blame can attach to the questioner in such a situation, and I merely invited the Head Girl back to the lectern to inform the girl of her personal experience of the cane, of which there was - thankfully - plenty.

But it occurred to me that such a serious omission in a young lady's education is not something we should accept. I have noticed girls in recent years become slightly more demure about the removal of their underwear prior to a caning and, indeed, less stoic in the receiving of it! In the past year one rather naughty girl has almost constantly worn the leather anklets and wrist-bands that clip rather neatly to the fittings on the flogging horse, so as to ensure that she receives her rather frequent chastisement accurately across both buttocks and to eliminate the need to strap her up each time she is summoned to the stage. The lengths we sometimes have to go to. Why, until recently I was even obliged to offer the girl my hankerchief as a gag, so loud were her protestations.

So it occurred to me that this year we should perhaps introduce our prospective students personally to the fate that almost certainly awaits them if they are successful in their applications. The Governors agrees wholeheartedly, and further suggested that a girl's ability to take her strokes ought to be part of our selection process. Thus it will be that - in a few short weeks - girls will not only have their academic prowess assessed, but their physical ability to withstand six strokes of the cane on their bare bottoms. It may necessitate a slightly shorter speech on the afternoon of their day with us, but no matter. Once I have finished, once the Head Girl has spoken and once questions have been taken I shall be inviting each girl up on stage in turn to feel the sting of rattan on her bottom. The Head Girl will assess each candidate and awards marks out of ten according to the girls' ability to maintain position and receive each stroke without fuss. Such marks will then be added to the candidate's performance in the entrance examination before making her an offer. That way, we should ensure that we get only the right calibre of students both in mind and body.

Some girls, I hear on the grapevine, are already practising, so desperate are they to be successful in their application. Indeed one girl - whose sister is already at the school - approached me directly to ask if I would consider giving her the hiding of her life so that she may better be prepared for her ordeal. I felt, however, that such behaviour would be rather infra dig and told the girl to approach the local vicar instead (he plays off a single-figure handicap).

All of which leads me to conclude that it was no bad thing, no bad thing at all to have had to beat the bottoms of an entire year group just recently.

After all, Headmaster's need their practice too you know. Which reminds me, I have an appointment now with one of my sixth-formers. If you'll excuse me...

Thursday, 11 March 2010

Spring

I do so love this time of year, don't you? In the last few days it has seemed at last as though Winter might finally have passed and Spring begun to take its place. Ah, the welcome sunlight; the green shoots telling of warmer times to come; the sound of birds beginning to sing their Spring songs. I like nothing better at this time of year than to leave my study and wander round the grounds of the school, occasionally 'breaking bounds' to stroll around the neighbouring village, taking in the sights and sounds of a life beyond the school gates. I have no qualms about leaving my position. My able and trusted lieutenant Miss Sidney maintains more-than-adequate disciplinary standards while I am away, and it does me good, I feel, to take in the fresh spring air outside the confines of the school.

There is a rather charming village green I am often in the habit of frequenting. At times, if the warmth of the sun permits, I may rest a-while on one of the charming wooden benches and contemplate the finer things in life whilst at the same time filling my lungs with some of the freshest English air it is ever my pleasure to breathe. That is, until the other day.

I was - as I have just outlined - enjoying one of these daily constitutionals, listening to the sound of birdsong and admiring the newly emergent snowdrops and first showings of the daffodils when my nostrils were rudely and suddenly assailed by the unmistakable aroma of tobacco smoke. On further inspection I noticed it was emanating from an automobile parked at the side of the village green a little forward of my own position. As I approached the car, I distinctly saw cigarette ash being tapped out of an open window. I heard voices; female voices. There was laughter. I paused in order to better hear the topic of teenage conversation. And this, dear reader, is what I overheard.

"So I said to him, I said 'Sir, I don't mind you spanking me; I don't even mind you caning me. I dare say I might possibly enjoy you caning me..." At this point the speaker was interrupted by hyena-like howls of laughter. Once the car's occupants had recovered their composure, the storyteller went on.

"Yes, I might even, you know, get some pleasure from it," the young lady went on. Pleasure? Really? From punishment? This was news to me, and rather disturbing news at that.

"But I draw the line at you videoing it," the girl went on.

I should explain, at this point, that the School Governing Body has recently introduced some small amendments to our disciplinary code, one of which is the insistence that all acts of private chastisement in my study must be recorded by means of video-tape so as to ensure absolute propriety. Not, I hasten to add, that there was any suggestion that things were otherwise. Good Lord no. The days have long gone when I might insist on certain driot de seigneur in respect of a freshly spanked young lady. Still further remote are the days when the deflowering of a virgin was an accepted part of the School Curriculum, a service expected - nay, demanded - by parents keen to ensure their daughter's 'first time' was both memorable and enjoyable, the likelihood of which at the hands of some fumbling adolescent was unlikely, to say the least. Ah, the days of champagne picnics in the woods; of soft-lighting in the master's bedroom; of candlelit suppers followed by a little personal tuition.... But I digress. Back to the occupants of the car, all of whom - as will now be clear - should neither have been smoking nor out of school, still less sitting in their uniforms inside a car discussing the finer points of the school's disciplinary policy.

"And what did he say?" asked one of the young ladies.

"Well," continued our narrator, "he told me that - as a special favour - he would give it to me on the bare but have the camera at the other end."

"The other end?" laughed one of the girls.

"You know," the first girl went on, and I saw her rise a little in her seat and slap her bottom.

"So he filmed your bum?" the other cried excitedly.

"Yes, I suppose..."

"And you asked him to?"

"Er, yes..."

"Good Lord Hannah!" someone said. "Why not just let him point it at your face?"

"Because... well, you never know where those tapes might end up," Hannah went on. "I don't want my face for all to see on YouTube or something, especially not if I'm getting a caning."

"So, you'll have your bare bum up there instead?" asked the girl sitting in the driver's seat.

"Well, yes... at least nobody'll know that it's me," the girl concluded, to more laughter.

Making a mental note to discuss this at the next meeting of the governor's disciplinary committee, I strode purposefully towards the car and cleared my throat. The girl in the front passenger seat swung round, saw who had been listening, and went white. The others quickly extinguished their cigarettes and fell silent.

"Ladies, if you would be so kind..." I opened the door of the car and invited all four of them to step outside. A sorry sight they looked as they stood - crestfallen - in a line with their heads bowed, awaiting the inevitable.

I reached for my wallet.

"Now ladies," I began. "It is clear to me that at least one of your number has some slight objections to the school's new policy of videoing punishments." Nobody spoke. They had all said enough.

"Yes, and it should be perfectly obvious that you are all - having been caught both breaking bounds and smoking - now due the most severe chastisement."

"Yes sir" the four girls chorused.

I handed Hannah a £5 note from my wallet and instructed her to cross the green to the village shop - a most excellent establishment, well stocked - as these places often are - with multifarious goods including items of a horticultural nature.

"I believe you know what I require you to purchase, Miss Gresham."

The girl nodded, and trotted off across the village green.

"Forgive me ladies," I addressed the remaining three girls. "But would you oblige by following me to the wooden bench in the middle of the green?"

To say that Laura French, Hayley Underwood and Jessica Vaughan followed with reluctance is something of an understatement. These girls are all highly intelligent creatures; they saw - all too quickly - what fate awaited them, and were no doubt quietly cursing their friend Hannah Gresham's outspoken objections to video punishments. But for her, the girls would soon be safely standing behind the locked door of my study awaiting several strokes of the cane in relative privacy. And the tapes - contrary to anyone else's fears - will never end up broadcast to the nation on such things as YouTube. Oh dear me no! For they are kept secure in a locked cabinet, from whence they are only periodically removed in order that the governors may satisfy themselves that girls in my jurisdiction are both justly and appropriately punished.

"Ladies, I think we can dispense with the formalities. You know you must be punished; you know why. And now - I gestured towards the returning Hannah, clutching to her bosom a bundle of yellow garden canes - you know how."

"But sir..." one of the girls protested.

"No buts, my dear. Your friend has made it quite clear that she objects to having her chastisement recorded for posterity. As there is no possibility of dealing with you any other way once back at school, I propose to carry out the sentence right here, in the middle of the village green. You may each remove your pants and skirts and turn around and touch your toes."

By this time Hannah had returned. Handing me the canes - and my change - she looked only slightly startled by the sight of three pairs of fresh young buttocks bared before her. More puzzling, I fear, was the fact that I began the process of chastising her three friends while ignoring Hannah completely. I had a little surprise in store for her.

I selected the most malleable of the garden canes and flexed it gently, swishing it through the air a few time and tapping the bare buttocks of the first girl in the line.

"Laura, you are to receive six strokes of the cane - three for being out-of-school, and three for smoking. You will count each stroke aloud."

Raising the bamboo high above my head I paused, then sliced the rod across Laura French's naked buttocks. The noise resounded round the village green which at this time was otherwise deserted, much to the girls' relief I feel.

'One thank-you sir' the girl trilled.

Again I raised the cane, this time bringing it down diagonally across both cheeks from top to bottom.

'Two thank-you sir.'

Stroke three effectively met the second at the apex of the young girls gluteous muscle, thereby neatly inscribing an angry zeta across the nubile flesh. Having thus described a rather pleasing pattern I turned my attention to Miss Underwood. Being slightly fuller of figure, Hayley's naked buttocks presented a slightly larger target and I selected a somewhat thicker instrument of punishment. Again I laid down three firm strokes before moving to Miss Vaughan.

Ah, Miss Vaughan. Recall, if you will, my mention earlier of times past, when the duties of a young, athletic Master would include one-to-one tuition in the art of love-making. Ladies like Miss Vaughan would be always be among the last, the very last, to be summoned to my study for some extra-curricular activity, their virginity having been allowed to ripened in the dormitory like some majestic Claret until - after hearing tale upon tale of the wonderful de-flowering of her classmates - the chosen one would be so eager, so willing and positively bursting with anticipation for her own special moment of sexual education. Oh, Miss Vaughan if only you knew (I thought) as I gazed down at those slender, sun-tanned legs, at those tender, naked cheeks and at the nascent beauty of those untouched, rosy lips so delicate and so teasing in-between her taut athletic thighs.

Shaking myself from such reverie, I delivered three firm strokes of the cane to Miss Vaughan's bare bottom, before returning to the first girl in the line and dispensing the remainder of her punishment. She counted her remaining three strokes in a loud, clear voice - as I demand - and then remained in position as I moved along the line. Three more for Hayley Underwood were expertly delivered and stoically received and I found myself once more at the teasing sight of Jessica Vaughan's pert - and now striped - bottom.

Raising the thinner of the garden canes I cut a further weal across the top of the young lady's thighs.

'Four thank-you sir,' was all the sound the young girl made.

The next stroke arched around the apex of her nates and bit deep into the delicate flesh.

'Five thank-you sir,' she almost sang.

The final stroke, I thought, had better be my best. So I held the cane aloft, paused, then swung the rattan down with all my might, blistering a red trail on the sweet spot of the girl's posterior, just above the creases where curving buttocks end and smooth long thighs begin.

Oh, such sweet spring pleasure. And there was still more to come. For watching the proceedings - in addition to a small crowd of villagers who were now gathering to watch the spectacle - was Hannah Gresham: Hannah, who had so objected to the thought of other people seeing her get punished.

Allowing the other girls to stand - their knickers still loose around their ankles - I felt I ought to put on something of a show.

"Now Hannah," I began, "as chief culprit I will deal with you much more severely than the others." The young girl nodded in agreement.

"You have not only been caught breaking bounds and smoking, but you were heard discussing aspects of school life in a deeply disrespectful manner. You seem not only to regard aspects of school life as the subject of entertainment, but also to derive a certain dubious pleasure from the practice upon your person of corporal chastisement."

There was some laughter from the growing crowd of villagers.

"Well young lady," I went on. "I can assure you that the following punishment will be a good deal less enjoyable to you than any you have hitherto received. And if - by some fortunate quirk of nature - you find the slightest satisfaction in the fate that now awaits you, you have my full permission to enjoy it to the full." The young girl briefly looked surprised. "For I intend," I went on "this morning, here on the village green, to reinstate the balance of pain and pleasure in such punishments firmly to the benefit of the former. Now, remove your skirt."

The girl folded her skirt across the back of the wooden bench and then smartly stepped out of her navy-blue school knickers. I then instructed her to kneel on the wooden bench and drape her upper body down so that the palms of her hands were on the floor. I asked two of the other girls to each take a firm grip of one of the girls ankles, holding them down to the seat of the bench so that she couldn't move. The other girl then knelt down on the floor by Hannah's head and grasped her wrists. Thus secured, I delivered my verdict, as much to the onlookers as to the girl herself.

"Hannah Gresham will now be given twelve strokes of the cane - double the number received by her classmates - for her wanton and lascivious behaviour. They will be administered by me on behalf of the school in my capacity as Headmaster." I scanned the faces of the growing crowd which by now seemed to have doubled in size and to include one or two students from the neighbouring boys'' boarding school.

"And I would invite any one of you," I addressed the crowd,"who feel so inclined to step up to the bench and deliver yor own chastisement once the school's has been completed. For I am in no doubt that girls like Hannah Gresham are throughout the year a source of irritation and annoyance to the people of this village. They break bounds, I know, and make themselves a nuisance to the local residents as these young ladies have just demonstrated." I gestured to the three girls freshly spanked. "Consider it your duty, therefore, to chastise this young lady," and I paused to tap the girl's posterior, "in leiu of all the other girls who may have in the past been a nuisance to you."

Moving among the small crowd I handed out the remaining garden canes. A few were taken up immediately by some of the younger male onlookers; I offered one to the local vicar; the Squire had the remainder. And together, we gave Hannah a hiding to remember. It will be some considerable time before she feels but the slightest quiver of pleasure at the thought of physical chastisement. Miss Vaughan - whom I appointed teller - called out a grand total of two hundred and fifty strokes, many of them delivered with slightly more force than even I could muster. Who would have thought it of the local vicar?

And the Squire was so impressed he immediately called for the Village Green punishment to become an annual ritual. Which is all well and good.

But will we ever get a volunteer?


Monday, 1 February 2010

No more piercings!

Just a quick update to let you all know that Emma Newlove was duly caned this morning in assembly. She was escorted naked to the stage by Matron, her bodily piercings on full display. Once on-stage, I used the tip of my cane to indicate precisely where the offending items were located. I pointed out that although Miss Newlove's piercings punctured the clitoris and nipple, we would not tolerate piercings to ANY area beneath a young ladies clothing. (I understand some girls have started the rather odd practice of having their navel's thus adorned; rest assured, I will be ensuring a full inspection of tummy buttons in the next few days!)

The contrite girl then turned her back to the assembled pupils, masters and mistresses and lowered herself across the table in the middle of the stage. With her bare bottom thus presented, I raised the cane high into the air and began the young lady's public chastisement. She received a total of 21 strokes of the cane for her inappropriate bodily adornments, followed by a further 6 for the original offence of skipping prep last Thursday evening. I then added 3 more strokes 'for luck', ensuring that they were the most effective stripes I could administer, and I am pleased to say the girl bore it all with fortitude and resolve.


She remained in position across the table as the school was dismissed, so that pupils could see clearly as they filed past the stage what fate awaited them if they were caught with similar embellishments to intimate parts of their anatomy - to whit, two dozen stinging red adornments to their bare backsides!


Once the last girl had left the hall, I walked Emma - rather shaky on her legs but determined not to show any weakness - to Matron to collect her clothing. Once the girl had dressed and been dismissed, I instructed Matron to commence an intimate inspection of every girl in the school - selected at random to maintain an element of surprise - in order to uncover any further transgressions. The lady was already picking up the telephone to summon the first group of girls as I left the Medical Room. Let us hope her investigations reveal no further instances of this silly behaviour. For I sincerely hope never to repeat such a spectacle as greeted school this morning for some considerable time.


Saturday, 30 January 2010

Emma Newlove

My friends, I am rather at a loss to know where to begin. Although I now boast three decades of pedagogical experience, although I have chastised upwards of five hundred teenage girls and although I have encountered some highly unusual transgressions, I have never before had to punish a girl for having a piercing. Down there.

Allow me to explain. When a girl is summoned to my study, when I have listened to her side of the story, and when I have determined what I consider to be the correct course of action it is customary for me to require the girl to remove certain items of apparel. So as to allow the rod of chastisement to do its work unimpeded, a girl who is about to be punished will remove her skirt. If a girl is before me for a first offence, she may not be aware of the requirement to divest herself of any other item of clothing and I may choose not to disabuse her of this notion. She will, of course, have heard tell in the girls' dorm that the cane is administered to the unclothed buttocks. She may have seen such a spectacle in assembly, for it sometimes necessary to carry out a caning publicly. But a girl's natural modesty will in all probability persuade her to remain covered for as long as possible. And the sight of yet another naked bottom is not something I now find myself awaiting with quite the same degree of anticipation. Of course, years ago as a young headmaster, who wouldn't have enjoyed the spectacle of a shapely young bare bottom? Who could resist the peachy roundness of taut adolescent flesh. Indeed, when I first accepted such responsibility, the girls who bent before me where - at eighteen - not far removed from my own tender years. In the first flush of youth I must confess to rather enjoying the sight of a creamy young white bottom bared for my attentions; as a healthy, red-blooded English male I have at times allowed my gaze to linger on the smooth cheeks pertly presented upwards for my disciplinary ministrations. And, yes, I have at times allowed my eyes to wander to that dark and secret corner where a maiden's greatest treasure dwells.
But no matter. Once a girl has been 'shown the ropes' she knows to smartly step out of her knickers too and stand to attention before my desk. Only at this stage will the girl be informed of the severity of her punishment. But thus unattired, my eyes can scarce avoid the said young lady's pubic region. And my, how things have changed 'down there'! When I first started as a young House Master, girls always stood before my desk with their modesty somewhat preserved by a little bush of pubic hair. Not all young ladies were as hirsute as the rest. Those with blonde hair, in particular, appeared to benefit from less 'protection' than their brunette sisters. Red-headed girls, on the other hand, sometimes seemed to have an impenetrable layer of wiry strands. (One felt some sympathy for their boyfriends!) But I digress. My point is this. The girls who stood before me did so au natural; as nature intended, without artifice or interference.

Then, about a decade ago, I started noticing what I can only describe as a 'trend' towards a certain amount of depilation. Girls standing naked from the waist down waiting for their caning did so with their pubic hair cropped close to the skin; a few went further, and seemed to be engaged in elaborate pubic topiary! I beat them soundly for it, of course. At least, at first. But the time soon came when not a single girl would present herself before me with a full bush on display. There were sometimes little tufts above an otherwise nude pudendum, or some frankly improbably artistic styling. Redhead, blonde, brunette it didn't matter. At one time every girl I caned came with her hair either shaved or trimmed. But always there. No matter how much seemed to be removed, no matter how artistically it was styled, there would always be some small vestige of their natural state. Until, of course, one day when a girl removed her pants and stood before me with a vulva quite as smooth and hairless as her buttocks. I caned her for it, of course. I instructed Matron to examine every girl to find out which of them had opted for the full 'Brazillian'. That very evening I gave a dozen strokes to twenty further culprits. And the numbers grew. Girls increasingly seemed to feel the need to divest themselves of every last trace of their pubertal state. And as beating every girl was not an option, the boundaries of acceptable behaviour were once again re-drawn.

Now I have, thus far, been exceedingly open about where my eyes might wander. Seated at my desk, having informed an unfortunate pupil that she is about to be beaten, having watched her carefully remove her skirt and - in the majority of cases - smartly step out of her regulation knickers, I am unfailingly greeted by the sight of her naked maidenhood at eye-level. And when I say naked, as I think I have explained already, I mean naked: bare, exposed, smooth, hairless, nude - bereft of the merest hint of any covering.

Thus is was when Emma Newlove presented the other morning. Her offence had been relatively minor: skipping prep. I was prepared to give her a swift half dozen strokes and say nothing more about it. As a senior, she has seen - or rather, felt it all before. She nodded as I told her of her fate, unzipped her skirt and stepped out of her knickers. Hands on head she stood before me, eyes forward, every inch the attractive young lady. And then, as I rose from my chair to select a cane, I noticed what I thought was something glinting in-between her legs. Now I am emphatically not the kind of person who gratuitously seeks the shame and embarrassment of my charges. On the other hand, I am in loco parentis. It is my duty to ensure my charges are healthy both of mind and body.
'My dear' I began, 'would you mind?' I motioned for her to sit down on the bentwood chair behind her. With her legs demurely closed she waited.

'Now, my dear' I continued, 'I intend to call Matron. There is something of which I feel she ought to be aware.

Within minutes the Matron was at my side. I dismissed Emma temporarily and explained the cause of my concern. On Miss Newlove's return, Matron smartly instructed her to lie upon my chaise-longue and to spread her legs. I turned my back and took in the view from my study window. The fifth-formers were busy a lacrosse; some seniors were practising their archery. Miss Sidney was patrolling bounds, I noticed. Very vigilant of her.

'Headmaster?' The voice of Matron summoned me from my reveries.

'I think you'd better take a look.'

Turning my attention to what lay between Miss Newlove's legs I cannot but admit that I was shocked. Not only was the area completely bald, as seems to be the fashion these days, not only were her fresh pink labia delicately protruding like the petals of a flower, not only was the tiny bud of her clitoral hood withdrawn, not only was the clitoris itself exposed but there, like a fairy version of a bulls nose-ring was a band of silver through the clitoris itself.

'As I suspected' Matron pronounced triumphantly. 'And I wouldn't be surprised if there aren't more...'

'More?' I gasped, and looked a little harder.

'Oh yes, headmaster,' and with that Matron shouted and the girl stood up quickly and began unbuttoning her blouse.

'Now, take your bra off girl' barked Matron.

The girl did as she was told. Her pert breasts thrust from the restraining influence of her brassiere and upon contact with the January air, the nipples stood erect. And there, through the left, was an identical ring to that we had seen between the girl's legs.

'This puts an entirely different complexion on things,' I declared. And I wasn't only thinking of my own rising colour. 'Oh no, this will never do' I told the girl.

'I will desist from caning you now,' I said, 'for the offence of missing prep.' The girl sniffed, hanging her in shame.
You will report to Matron first thing on morning. You will remove every item of your clothing. And at the end of assembly, Matron - if you would oblige - will bring you up onto the stage before the school is dismissed.

'But sir...'

'Enough! Or I will reconsider the twenty strokes I am minded to administer. You will present yourself on the stage with these... forbidden items of adornment on display for all to see. You will then turn round and lay across the table with your bare bottom facing school. I will then deliver twenty-one strokes of the cane. You will remain in position, and silent, throughout. At the conclusion of your punishment I shall dismiss the school while you remain, face-down across the desk with the marks of your chastisement on display. That way, the school will be left in no doubt about my feelings on the matter.

I can scarce credit it, dear reader. Had I not seen it with my own eyes I might have struggled to believe it. I think I can say without fear of contradiction I have never in all my years seen anything quite as unusual. I have made accommodation of all manner of girlish fads as regards the most intimate corners of their nubile bodies. But on this I will not be swayed.
Emma Newlove will ensure that no girl, however else adorned, will ever present herself be-decked in such a way again.


Friday, 27 November 2009

Class of 2009

Oh my friends, I have been so neglectful. I am truly sorry. There is so much for me to tell, but I fear this is neither the time nor the place.

Since September I have been rushed off my feet. The new intake of sixth-form girls have all been successfully inducted, most are getting on with their studies, a few are proving to be a cause of mild concern but nothing that six swift strokes of the cane can't cure. In fact, the class of 2009 looks likely to be one of our most successful academic intakes for some years. I have high hopes. Several girls are already thinking of applying to Oxford or Cambridge; all are likely to be accepted. They work hard in school, play with energy and commitment on the hockey field, enjoy themselves in the dorm and accept and uphold the traditions of the school as if they had been born to them. Not once has a new girl demurred when instructed to remove her knickers; no trace of surprise or flicker of resentment has crossed a girl's face when told she is about to get the cane; and never has a group of girls been so grateful and so stoic in receiving of their just deserts. I like that in a girl. Those that howl, those who protest their innocence, those who insist on their inability to withstand any form of corporal punishment are my biggest challenges. Training a girl to meekly touch her toes and to remain both motionless and silent as the cane is laid across her naked bottom is an art. But it is an art that takes considerable time. And while I am grateful that the lower sixth have not been such a challenge, I have been surprised by the number of senior's who have needed training.


You would expect, perhaps, that a young lady who had been at this establishment for some time would be used to things by now. After all, they will have seen how it is done. They will have seen what happens when the rules are broken, how a girl is dealt with and - most important - how a young girl takes her punishment. So it always comes as a surprise when girls like Josie come along. Bright, confident, articulate and hard-working, Josephine had never been sent to me before the beginning of this year. And then it was only for some minor uniform infringement. But, as I pointed out to her, as a prefect, as a senior, she had a duty to uphold the highest standards. What, in a junior girl, would be regarded with some tolerance and dealt with in a less public manner did, in her case, warrant full exposure to the attentions of the school. I informed her that she would receive six stroke of the cane the following morning after prayers. In front of the school. Well, she wailed and protested. She objected and persuaded. She cried and she pleaded. All to no avail. The next morning, she was summonded up on stage, told to remove her knickers, bend across the desk, and caned. And that should have been an end to it.


But it wasn't. Oh no. The girl made such an exhibition of herself, kicking and screaming, shouting out and begging, that I was somewhat taken aback. Never has such a spectacle been presented to the school. What the new girls made of it I don't know. I simply could not let the matter rest. So, with the girl sobbing, kneeling at my feet after her public caning, I announced to the school that what they had just seen should be expunged from their memory; that this morning's punishment had - in effect - not happened. That Josie would be caned again as if this whole unseemly episode had not have happened, and that I would ensure that - when the strokes were next applied - the young lady would present a model of the willing and submissive participant in our disciplinery proceedings.


I swept from the stage and returned to my study. Consulting the Housemistress, Miss Sidney, we devided a plan of desensitisation for Josie, which would start as soon as this morning's marks had faded. First of all, each evening, Miss Sidney would summon Josie to her study. There, she would be stripped and spanked with ever increasing severity, until Miss Sidney became convinced that the girl could take it. Next, the slipper would be applied to the young girl's bottom. We agreed a dozen strokes at first, increasing in multiples of six until the girl could take 120 in a single session. We knew it would take time. We knew it would take up valuable resources, bith of energy and stamina. But no matter. Girls have to learn to take their due. And at times, that includes taking it in front of other people.


Therefore the next stage of the desensitisation project involved my attending some of these evening spanking sessions. I witnessed Josie take the slipper, the only noise being the swish of the implement through the air in Miss Sidney's study, and the loud smack as it made contact with young Josie's buttocks. She did not flinch; she uttered not the slightest murmer. And, when Miss Sidney had finished, the girl adjusted her clothes and turned and thanked her Housemistress sincerely.


'I think this young lady might be ready for the cane' I told Miss Sidney.


There was but the slightest flicker of anxiety across the young girl's face. But then she stoutly replied:


'Of course, sir. I'm ready when you are.'


It was agreed that a private caning would preceed the public spectacle. And we thought it best if there were witnesses. I therefore proposed to administer the punishment at the conclusion of the next meeting of the governing body. An audience would be ready and waiting in my study. The girl could enter at the close of business. I would invite her to prepare herself, select a cane, she would step forwards to the middle of the room, her back to the committee table, and would touch her toes. I would lay the cane across her cheeks, and give her six of the very best. And we would see what happened.


And so, this evening, this little spectacle will be performed before a select group of onlookers. If successful, the girl will then be punished once again before the school. And if the training hasn't worked, we will have to repeat the exercise once again.


You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd sometimes think that some of our girls took pleasure in the whole thing.