Chapter 22

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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 22
Business as Usual

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

More lessons from Miss Arler. (Approximately 743 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

I told no one of what had happened at Miss Arler's that afternoon. When Mary saw me, I hinted that I'd been caned, but I was reluctant to go into details, and Mary didn't press. I wasn't exactly sure what to think of the event. Caning my teacher was a strange and bewildering experience, though it was rather enjoyable. I did not understand why Miss Arler had volunteered. Had she done something wrong and felt she deserved the cane? Or did she _like_ being caned? That was something I could almost understand--my own ordeals with the cane had taught me that it is a powerful experience, emotional as much as physical. I wouldn't exactly call it enjoyable, but it did meet some secret need in my heart.

Regardless of how I interpreted caning Miss Arler, there was one thing I was confident in: she and I were very close. In fact, I felt closer to her than to Ariana, at least in some ways. On the surface Miss Arler was cold and distant and very proper, but inside she was warm and caring, just a quiet woman who missed her father. On the walk to the school she'd told me that he had been a Colonel in the army. He had been very strict with her as a child, and she still remembered every stroke of every caning she received from him.

"No one could cane like my father," she said, and her voice was wistful and sad.

"Is that why you are so generous with your crop during our riding lessons?"

She laughed and shook her head. "No, I use the crop because I know what naughty girls like you need and deserve!"

Miss Arler was probably right--we certainly rode better after a good cropping, and in general our behavior had improved tremendously from when we'd first arrived under her tutelage.

On Saturday I was more excited than usual about going riding. This was because I was going to see Miss Arler, and with our new friendship I hoped to learn more about her. It also, I must confess, made me feel a touch superior to my classmates. I didn't say a word about it, of course--but my secret did make me a bit smug.

The second we arrived Miss Arler wiped the smile off my face with her crop. "Eeek!" she screamed in outrage when she saw me. She pointed at my feet and rolled in eyes in overdone despair. Then her eyes glowed with fury and she pointed the long crop at me with no question about what she intended.

"Your boots are a despicable, filthy mess!" she snapped. "Get in position, now!"

I was stunned. Bewildered, I slowly turned and bent over, my bottom tingling in anticipation. THWACK! came the crop and I actually hissed slightly. Miss Arler was not being gentle at all but cropping me as hard as she could. My bum was still sore from Wednesday (not to mention a slippering or two I'd gotten since then).

She gave me six blows and I started to rise. "Where do you think you are going, young lady? Just for that display of arrogance, we shall give you another six. You do not get up until I tell you to!"

I bent back over. Tears burned in my eyes and my face was flushed and hot. This was so unfair! Why was Miss Arler being so cruel to me? Did we or did we not have a special relationship? I felt betrayed, confused, bewildered. I did not understand anything, and though the cropping hurt considerably, I cried because my world had become incomprehensible to me.

Twice more that day Miss Arler gave me the crop, each time for minor offences. I saw the other girls glancing at each other in horror and surprise--they feared for their own bottoms if the teacher was going to be so unreasonably strict.

She did crop a couple of the other girls, but those were for typical offences--noone else was treated as strictly as me. I went home with a sore behind and an even more wounded heart. I tried to catch Miss Arler's eyes to see what was happening behind them, but she would not look directly at me, and her expression was one of stern annoyance. Apparently we were nothing special after all.

More to come next week!

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