Chapter 21

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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 21
Miss Arler

(*****, F/f, f/F, Severe, Teen caning)

Erin learns more about her riding instructor. (Approximately 3,597 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

One of the special privileges at St. Esther, available to those students not on report, is a weekly trip to town. This event takes place on Wednesday afternoons and it is a wonderful time to get away from the school and spend some pocket money.

The trip is not supervised, though usually one or two teachers goes along just to keep an eye on things or to do some shopping of her own. Mostly we just split into small groups and go off on our own, and as long as we don't cause any trouble and are back on time, everything's dandy.

Approximately a week and a half after my "session" with Miss Arler in her office, Mary and I went shopping together in town. It was a glorious Wednesday afternoon and we had hours left of our free time and resolved to spend it wisely. If felt wonderful to be free, even if it was just for a few hours.

After admiring the clothes in a dress shop for half an hour, Mary decided to pop into a book store in search of an elusive copy of a novel she'd been searching for, and I remained outside, my taste for books being more than satisfied by what we were _required_ to read for class. Well, I waited and waited, but after a full twenty minutes Mary didn't emerge. I grew more and more impatient. I must confess that my temper grew hot as thought of all the exciting things I could be doing instead of pacing the sidewalk and waiting for my friend.

So it was with real anger that I stormed into the bookstore, running up and down the aisles looking for Mary. She was nowhere to be found. I searched the entire store (it was not that large) and frantically began a search again, this time fuming and muttering to myself. It was at this moment that I rounded a corner at breakneck speed and collided with a tall figure and we both tumbled to the floor.

"Oooch," I cried out as my head knocked against a wooden bookshelf. "Why the hell don't you look where you are going!"

The words were out of my mouth before I could bite my tongue. Immediately I knew I shouldn't have spoken. As girls of St. Esther we were expected to maintain a certain level of behavior and decorum while in town. We carried "the repuptation of the entire 87-year history of St. Esther" on our shoulders, as Madame Thornley liked to say. And dressed in our school uniforms there was no chance I wouldn't be recognized as a St. Esther girl.

"I think, young lady, that you'd better speak for yourself!" snapped a sharp, very familiar voice.

My eyes went wide as I saw in astonishment that the woman sitting in an undignified heap before me was none other than my riding instructor, Miss Arler!

"Miss Arler!" I gasped, a shiver going down my spine.

"Ah, my dear Erin. It is you who runs through a quiet bookshop with the speed and blindness of a mad bull. I should have known." She stood then, brushing off her long dress. She was dressed like a fine lady--she even wore a shawl around her shoulders and carried a large black satchel. I could scarcely recognize her out of her riding uniform. I kept watching her hands, wondering where her long riding crop was hidden. I'd never seen her without it and it seemed almost an extension of her body.

Miss Arler reached out a hand and helped me to my feet. When I was standing, however, she did not give me my hand back, but gripped it tightly. "I think we shall see what your headmistress thinks of your behavior," she said sternly.

"Oh no, Miss! Please!"

The lady stopped. "Do you have another suggestion? Surely you don't expect your behavior to go unpunished, do you?"

I shook my head miserably. Of course not. What child thinks of escaping punishment? What a silly concept. "No, Miss Arler," I said softly.

"Well then. But perhaps I should take care of this myself, right here?"

I looked around at the crowded shop. I could just picture this strong woman taking me across her knee right in full view of these strangers. My face burned with shame. "Oh, no! Please, Miss Arler, not here! Anything but here!"

"We shall go to my house, then," she said firmly, pulling me along after her. Suddenly I stopped resisting and followed willingly. My heart trembled at the thought of being inside the home of the beautiful Miss Arler. What would it be like?

As we exited the shop who should be standing by the door but Mary, pacing frantically and looking worried. When she saw me her eyes went wide. "Erin! What happened? Who--"

"Your friend needs a lesson in manners," said Miss Arler sternly. "I shall take care of the matter personally. Be assured that she will be back at the school promptly at five."

And with that we were off, trotting up the street leaving my friend Mary staring woefully after us. I, on the other hand, felt a curious mixture of exhilaration and trepidation.

Miss Arler lived on the East side of town, in a modest two-level home at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was painted a soft white with a light blue trim, and neat garden and tall green hedges surrounded the place. I stood on the narrow porch and waited while Miss Arler unlocked the front door, and then we went inside. Neither of us had spoken since we left Mary.

Once inside the house, I instantly was at home. The place was warmly decorated and well-kept though obviously lived-in. A little-used davenport hugged one wall, with a low-lying coffee table just in front of it. A number of magazines were spread out on the table, and a casual glance from me revealed these were mostly equestrian, though I did notice one current event weekly.

Miss Arler vanished with "make yourself comfortable" and I wandered the room examining things, attempting to deduce more information about this strange teacher of mine. The main living room wasn't very large, but it opened directly into the dining area, which looked little used and was elegantly laid out with a beautiful cherry-wood table and a cabinet of rose-petal patterned china in the far corner. I felt intimidated by that room and did not go inside. The kitchen was more my speed, small and homey, but with an infinite amount of mysterious cupboards. The smells of baked goods and recent meals reminded me of home.

"Would you like some tea?" Miss Arler stood at the entrance to the kitchen, her bright eyes following me. She had changed clothes, exchanging the long dress for informal gray slacks and a tight-fitting blouse of pale blue.

"Uh, no thank you, Ma'am," I stammered, startled to be caught in the midst of my investigation.

"Shall we begin then? We do not have much time."

Something in the way she spoke turned my limbs to gelatin. I had well over two hours before I needed to be back at St. Esther. What on earth kind of horror-caning took two hours?

"Please remove your uniform and place it neatly on the davenport," said Miss Arler briskly. "I shall return shortly. And I want you completely naked, young lady--no knickers or undergarments of any kind. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Arler." My voice was slightly tainted with bitterness and obeyed her orders with precision. As I undressed I carefully folded my clothes and placed them in a neat pile on the davenport, growing more and more apprehensive by the second. Finally I stood naked in the center of the living room, the air chilling my nude body and making me feel tremendously exposed and vulnerable.

After several minutes Miss Arler had not appeared and this only heightened by nervousness. I wandered a bit, as much to keep busy as to bring some warmth to my limbs. It was with a depressed heart I realized that soon I would be more than warm enough.

At the opposite side of the living room, near the entrance, was a large wooden hutch filled with books and knick-knacks and curios. These I studied intently, my mind desperately attempting to distract itself from my purpose at being in this place. I saw there were a number of petite china dolls, each dressed in fancy gowns from a different time period. There was Elizabethan, Renaissance, several variations of more modern dresses, and even a few styles I recognized as French and American.

Below the doll collection were several framed photographs, and these I studied eagerly. One of was of a petite curly-haired girl riding a pony, a grim-faced army colonel standing to one side, pride radiating from his stiff smile. Another photograph consisted of a colour close-up of the same man, still military uniform though much older, his hair and moustache gray, his smile stern but pleasant. I looked at this photo for a long time, amazed at the depth of wisdom and knowledge in the man's steel-blue eyes.

"That's my father," said a soft voice behind me. The tone was warm and filled with sadness, and it didn't startle me at all. I turned and saw Miss Arler standing behind me, looking at the picture over my shoulder. Her face was softer than I remembered, and her eyes glinted with moisture. She glanced at me then, staring steadily into my eyes--not as a teacher to a student, but as woman to another woman--and her eyes were sad but joyful.

"He passed away just over a year ago," she whispered. "He was a wonderful man. He raised me himself, you know. My mother died in a car accident when I was a baby, but he never once hired a maid or housekeeper. He insisted on doing it all himself. People used to tell him he was crazy--that he should remarry and give me a mother. But I didn't need a mother. Not with a father like him. He gave me more love than ten ordinary mothers and fathers." She sniffed and blinked back tears. She was not looking at me but staring off into space, remembering. "I miss him very much."

"I-I'm sorry," I said, feeling rather inadequate for the situation. I didn't even know anyone who had died. "I mean, I'm sorry that he died--"

"It was for the best," Miss Arler said sharply, her tone reverting back to her traditional briskness. "It was cancer and it would have done no one any good for him to linger."

I carefully set the picture back on the counter. There were others I didn't really see--a blur of ancient black and white faces; a young couple standing in front of an old Bentley with an old plain white house in the background; a young woman dressed in full English riding gear accepting a golden trophy vase at an official ceremony; and a few others.

"Sh-shall we get down to business?" I asked bravely, feeling a strange desperate need to change the subject. The room felt much smaller, and Miss Arler was much too close to me. I wanted to run away, to get some fresh air.

"Certainly." Miss Arler pointed to the coffee table and I saw with a squirming stomach that it was covered with a collection of crops, straps, whips, canes, and even a thick wooden paddle. My consternation must have shown on my face because Miss Arler laughed gaily and pushed past me to pick up a thick leather tawse, it's end split into several tails. "We have quite a selection to work through, Erin. Shall we begin with this? I don't know if you have tasted the tawse yet, but it is exquisite."

I shook my head. What was this? She was making this sound like a wine-tasting--surely she didn't expect to use _all_ of those dreadful items on me?

But indeed she did. We began with the tawse. She made me stand up straight and tall with my hands held straight above my head. Then she licked me three times on my buttocks and three across the back of my legs. "Exquisite" she called it. Well, it certainly was a distinctive fire. It wasn't the deep bruising of the cane, and while it had some of the sting of the crop, it went much farther, its width and tails striking a larger area with each crucial strokes. I howled and wept immediately, unprepared for such burning.

Miss Arler giggled. "Why, Erin, you are carrying on so one would think you were a novice to such punishment. Perhaps we should return to the crop--you seem more comfortable with that."

"Y-yes, Ma'am," I said, though I winced as I thought of the crop crashing into my blistered bum. These I bent over for, grabbing my ankles and holding on for dear life. They came quickly and without pause, six across my arse and six across my thighs. This pain was more familiar, and though I gritted my teeth and wept bitter tears I did not scream out loud.

"Much better, dear Erin," said Miss Arler in an ordinary, pleasant, friendly voice. It was as though she was commenting on my penmanship, or how well I'd walked Dusty in a circle.

"Have you felt the American paddle?" She put down the crop and picked up the wooden board. I shook my head miserably and wiped tears from my eyes. "Let's do a test, then. Come across my lap."

She moved my clothes off the davenport and seated herself and I draped myself across her lap. It felt strange lying there like that. It was an intimate embrace, of sorts, and strangely comforting. Yet I was filled with apprehension and nervousness. My legs pressed against Miss Arler's slim thighs and I felt a pang of jealousy for her slim figure--my own bottom felt huge and thighs monstrous. I could feel her palm pressing against my bottom and it felt good across the weals from the crop.

Then the softly rubbing hand was removed and a cold wooden board pressed against me, its weight threatening, its size and hardness promising severe pain to come. Cold, irrational terror gripped me and I could not help but whimper in dismay.

There was a soft explosion and my arse ignited with fire. Again and again it came, waves of heat swarming through my body. It was amazing, like nothing else I'd ever felt. The cane is unbelievably intense within a very narrow range. The paddle, on the other hand, warms the entire bottom. Even with all the real estate I had back there it soon felt like every inch was beaten raw. I was sweating and moaning and sobbing huge tears into Miss Arler's clean sofa cushions.

She rode me like a horse. I bucked and wiggled and thrashed about but everywhere I went that paddle found my buttocks and blistered them soundly. It was devastating. There was nothing I could do to escape it. I was overwhelmed with pain to the point that I could barely feel it, but just the sound of that heavy board whacking against my bare flesh caused a fresh explosion of sobs from my soul.

"There. That's a well-toasted bottom," said Miss Arler in a pleased voice, her ice-cold hand quickly passing across my steaming arse. I moaned and cried and lay limp, exhausted, my body glistening with sweat. My bottom was so sore I could not stop weeping.

"Oh, Ma'am, please, Ma'am! I'm sorry I ran into you at the shop and was so rude. I'm very, very sorry! It will never happen again, I swear! Please, Ma'am, I've had enough. It hurts, it really, really hurts!"

"But we haven't had the cane yet!" exclaimed the woman in astonishment. "Surely you don't want to miss out on the cane!"

"Please, Miss Arler," I moaned pitifully. "Not the cane. Not now." I struggled to my feet and turned and knelt before the woman, grasping and kissing her legs and feet. "Please have mercy. Please."

The lady frowned slightly, and licked her lips. "Well, somebody's got to get the cane. It's not a proper thrashing without it. If it's not you, I suppose it will have to be me."

With that she stood walked to the center of the room and kicked off her shoes. While I watched with my lower jaw dangling open like a broken gate, she slipped off her gray slacks and her blouse. She stood before me in a white brassiere and a pair of full cut white panties with her hands on her hips and an expression of annoyance.

"Well?" she asked. "Are you coming? The canes are there on the table. I think twenty should be enough." She motioned toward the table and my eyes traveled to my choice of slim brown rattan and bamboo canes. My hands began to tremble.

"Miss Arler! Y-you can't be serious--"

But as I turned I saw that my teacher's white panties were gathered around her ankles and she was bent at the waist, her slim legs straight, her naked arse pointing at me. "Come on," she said gruffly, her voice slightly muffled coming from between her knees. "Hurry up and let's get this over with. Or I'll give _you_ the cane. It's your choice."

That solved my indecision. There was no way I wanted any more punishment today. I quickly went to the table and selected the longest cane, a slender piece of knobby bamboo. I could tell from the weight it was a boy's cane, probably a senior. Twenty with it would be excruciating.

Miss Arler's bottom was very beautiful. She was slender and fit and her bottom was full and round, with a deep cleft. Though her legs were pressed tightly together, her sex peeked out at the base of her arse. I looked away from it, embarrassed at my teacher's exposure. The skin of her bottom was a flawless alabaster I hesitated to mark. Without thinking I reached out and caressed the smooth cheeks. In moments this silky flesh would covered with purple welts pulsing and swollen. The thought made me shiver, and yet, as I imagined how Miss Arler's rump would look after the caning, I began to desire to see it for real. I saw the gentle curve of her buttocks into her thighs and I thought, "A thick weal right there would serve her right!" I was astonished and a little horrified by my sadistic thoughts.

There was little time to ponder this, however, as Miss Arler was growing impatient. I stepped back and lifted the cane, bringing it to just touch the woman's bottom as I carefully aimed. I'd never caned anyone before, but as I was familiar enough with the concept from the other end of the stick I figured it shouldn't be too hard to learn.

The cane whistled through the air. There was a soft thuck! as it connected. Miss Arler tensed slightly, and then giggled. I saw there was barely a red mark on her butt. I'd have to swing it much harder if I was going to make a dent in her arse!

Swish-crack! Much better. That time she went up on her toes a bit and even gasped slightly. Swish-CRACK! Even better yet. She grunted at that one, and the livid line across both cheeks--though a bit crooked--was testament to the pain.

Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Very quickly I became a proficient caner. I used my intimate knowledge of the caning process to pick my spots well, and though I didn't always hit exactly where I aimed, I could tell it was enormously effective when I did.

After about a dozen strokes Miss Arler's bottom was quite red and striped. She was not crying or protesting, however, but only moaned occasionally and swayed from side to side and wiggled her hips. I caned on, making sure I stung her in the crease several times, and then gave her a couple criss-cross blows that cut diagonally across the marks I'd already placed. Next I put two across her thighs causing some distinctive tiptoe action I could well relate to. My final blow was naturally the hardest, and I placed it in the crease where the buttocks are the plumpest and most tender, and since I'd already beaten this area fairly extensively, it caused Miss Arler to yelp out loud. When she slowly rose I saw her eyes were glistening with tears.

"T-that was very well done, Erin. Reminds a great deal of my father. You will make a fine teacher some day."

"I'm not going to be a teacher. I'm going to be a movie star!"

Miss Arler smiled at me though her face was still strained with tension from her beating. "You can be whatever you'd like, my dear. I won't argue with a girl holding a cane!"

I saw still had the cane in my hand and threw it on the table as though it was a live poker burning my palm. "Are--are we finished, Ma'am?"

Miss Arler nodded. "Yes, I think you've suffered enough for one day. Do you agree you've learned you lesson?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Good. Then let me get my coat and I will walk you to St. Esther's."

More to come next week!

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