Chapter 13

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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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Erin's Adventures
Chapter 13
Home for the Holidays

(***, M/f, Intense, Teen caning)

Hard to believe, but Erin's caned again. (Approximately 900 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

School was out and I was depressed. It was a crazy thought, especially from me, who'd always abhorred school. But I missed my friends, I missed the strict routine of classes and meals, and I missed Ariana. I knew I would see her again in less than a month, but to me a month seemed like a year, and even a few weeks were unbearable.

My father was pleased to see me. It sounded like the school was doing me a world of good, and he told me that he'd had good reports from the headmistress, which surprised me a little, considering I'd gotten the cane twice from her. But at St. Esther the cane was a matter of course--I suppose my behavior was considered normal by their standards.

Mum was doing well, Tommy had lots of fascinating stories from his first year at the university, and my friends were still around. I called up Donna and a few others, and at first it was exciting to hear everything that had been going on at my old school. But soon I realized that I was different. I wasn't a part of these people's lives any more: I no longer cared about Sally Mae's problems with her boyfriend Micky (with whom she'd been fighting with for over a year), or Donna's frustrations with Mrs. Dubecky, the maths teacher. Their complaints seemed shallow and petty to me now. All in all, life at home was hopelessly dull.

Even Christmas was a letdown. It was nothing like when I was little and the presents, even the littlest items, were as cherished as life itself. It wasn't that anything was bad or wrong--it was just that it was different--my values had changed, I had new friends now, and I felt out of place at home. I was growing up.

Apparently I was not completely grown up, though. The week after Christmas my father called me into his study. His expression was grim and I wondered what on earth I could have done--near as I could tell I'd been an angel since I came home.

"Please sit down, Erin," my father said. I obeyed though I made sure he saw my puzzled expression. He frowned and picked up a piece of paper off his desk.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked. I shook my head. "It's your grades from school."

"Oh."

"I'll be frank with you--they are terrible."

"Oh?"

"Yes," said my father sternly. "Perhaps your behavior is improving, but your studies are not. Look at these marks! I will not let you get away with this. I am going to punish you, and woe to you if your spring report isn't vastly improved!"

I didn't know what to say. I knew that I had been a little distracted these last couple months, but I didn't think my grades were that terrible. Slowly I got to my feet as my father fetched his cane. It was an enormous cane--very long and spritely, and memories of past canings flashed through my mind and my stomach turned queasy at the thought of the upcoming pain.

"Home again," I thought grimly, wondering why I was so disconnected with reality. Shouldn't I be weeping, begging, or running away?

But I did not disobey. Since I was wearing pants instead of a skirt, I calmly stood and removed them, placing them on the sofa. Then I bent over my father's desk and gripped the other side with my hands, bracing myself. Fortunately for my growing sense of modesty, my father let me keep my panties on. They were too thin to offer any real protection anyway.

The first stroke was not as bad as I had expected; my time at St. Esther's seemed to have done me some good. The second and third strokes were harder, but by then I was prepared for the pain. Soon it was simple endurance, not fear of the unknown. By six I had tears in my eyes and was wiggling a little. By father caned harder, and slightly faster. By the I was sweating profusely and wanted to beg him to stop, but something inside me refused. My eyes were watering like crazy but I made certain that I didn't cry.

Finally, after twelve violent, almost angry blows, my father put down the cane. I raised myself up and thanked my father for the beating. Blinking back my tears, I quickly put my jeans back on, uncomfortable as they were. I could not allow my father to see that he had hurt me. He watched me, and I could tell he was astonished at my endurance.

"I hope you have learned your lesson, Erin," he said awkwardly, going to his desk and sitting down as though he had important work interrupted by our session. "And don't forget: if your marks aren't better next term I shall give you marks of my own!"

This last was said with a bravado that felt feeble and false to me, but I did not react. "Yes, Daddy," I said. "Thank you again for the caning. I deserved it."

My father purposely looked away, studying a paper on his desk with rapt attention, but I could feel his disbelief.

"You are welcome, Peaches," was all he said.

More to come next week!

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