Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1995-2009 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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(****, F/ff, Intense, Teen caning)
Erin visits the Head. (Approximately 1,206 words. Originally published 1998-04.)
Amazing as it may seem, I did not get caned by the headmistress at St. Esther until my third week. After that first dreadful Monday I feared that on Tuesday I'd find myself in her office, but it didn't happen. I really did try hard to avoid it, and for once in my life my efforts to avoid discipline paid off. I studied hard, stayed out of trouble, and thought before I spoke.
I still faced routine discipline from prefects and instructors, but after my afternoon of slippering from Mr. Masters this was not something I feared. I was still smiling after a sharp dozen from Ariana, something she seemed to think I needed a couple mornings a week. She never gave me a reason for it, and I finally stopped asking. It became our own little routine, and every morning I woke up with my heart pounding, nervously wondering if she'd be there.
My first caning from headmistress Thornley was almost boring in its cause--I'd piled up too many demerits. Five demerits in a single week is a caning from the Head, and though I'd gotten four my first week and three my second, I topped the limit on my third.
So early Friday morning I stood outside the head's door and waited. The head liked to get her discipline work done before breakfast. There was another girl there, an older blonde girl named Heather. We chatted a bit, very quietly. She was to be caned also, and for the same offense.
At seven o'clock sharp headmistress Thornley opened her door and let us in. I was very nervous but resigned. Heather seemed rather bored, but I suspected this was nothing but a mask. We were made to stand in front of Madame's desk while she lectured us, strongly emphasizing her surprise at seeing me so soon in her office, and informing me that I was "starting off on the wrong foot." Then she told Heather to get into position.
Heather bravely went forward and bent over the desk, so low her chin almost touched the wood. She placed her hands flat on the table. Headmistress Thornley went behind the girl and lifted Heather's skirt and tucked it under the waistband. Heather's knickers were next, coming down to her knees. Then Thornley went to her cupboard and drew out two canes--a long heavy senior girls' cane and a thinner shorter junior one. I hoped the junior was for me.
She set the junior cane on the davenport and approached Heather with the longer one. Without a word she began a vigorous caning. It took my breath away. Thornley pulled the cane high into the air, well above her shoulder, and took a step forward as she delivered the stroke. The whistling of the cane through the air was drowned out by the terrible crack of cane across bare flesh. Heather visibly jumped and grunted, and a bloom of redness sprang up on the white flesh of her bottom. Slowly this formed into a thin red line that cut across the exact center of both cheeks and was very straight. I was impressed.
The second stroke was higher, slightly above the middle of Heather's arse. The third was mid-way between her thighs and the middle. By this time Heather was fidgeting a bit, but had made no real sound after that first grunt. I was impressed.
The next two strokes were parallel ones just below the middle mark. Then there was one just above the middle, and then three fast and hard ones right at the base, in the crease, all three right on top of each other. These final three caused Heather's head to go up and thrash about and I thought I heard her yelp a bit. When she finally stood I saw she was weeping, though she made no noise. She pulled up her knickers and undid her skirt.
"Thank you Madame Thornley," she said, and came and stood next to me. It was my turn now! Heather had gotten nine strokes. Of course she was a senior girl. Perhaps I would only get six?
I went to the desk and bent over. I could see droplets of Heather's tears as I got in position. I knew that mine would join hers shortly, and that caused a quivering in my belly.
I felt the head lifting my skirt and cool air gather around my arse. As my knickers came down I felt my cheeks flush with shame and I trembled a little. This was not going to be good, I could tell already. I hadn't been this nervous before a caning since I was ten!
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Madame Thornley pick up the junior cane. This was a relief to me, though not much, for I saw that it was almost as thick as the junior boys' my father uses. Madame didn't say a word but stepped behind me. Indeed, the room was thick with silence and had been since she'd ended her lecture.
The first blow was unbearable. It caught me full in the center of my arse as I expected, but the pain was so much more that I was prepared for it made me nautious. I knew the first blow is always the worst, but that was small comfort. Already I knew an unmistakable truth: this woman knew how to cane!
The head did her job without excess emotion or coddling. She simply caned and caned well. I got six of the best, each precisely placed, well apart so I could feel the individual weals, and she waited a different amount of time between each stroke so I never knew when to expect the next. I hadn't noticed that technique during Heather's beating, but during my own it became my nemesis--I was used to my father's regular as clockwork stroke every fifteen seconds.
I couldn't help but break down and sob. I think it was the four or fifth blow. I didn't even care that Heather was watching me. I was just fourteen. It was okay for me to cry, right? I don't know if Heather thought I was a baby or not but the headmistress seemed pleased to see me blubbering.
"Very good, Erin," she said when she'd finished. "I'm glad to see that punishment has some effect on you."
"Yes, Madame," I said through my sniffles. "Thank you, Madame."
"You are welcome. Now both of you have just fifteen minutes of breakfast left. I suggest you hurry."
Heather and I left the office together. As soon as the door closed behind us she turned to me. "Crackers but that was choice! Are you okay? You ought to see the lines she gave you! I've never seen Old Thorn go so hard on a youngster before."
"I'm fourteen!" I protested.
Heather grinned. "So? I'm seventeen and your caning was almost as bad as mind. Do you have some kind of reputation she's trying to break down?"
"I-I don't think so. I don't know."
"Well, I'd watch out, if I was you. She's got it in for you."
More to come next week!