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/f, Severe, Teen caning)
Erin gets it from the prefects. (Approximately 800 words. Originally published 1998-02.)
It was odd, but other than private canings from Ariana, I'd never been given "the prefect treatment" from the other leaders. Usually several times a month the prefects would take girls downstairs to the boiler room for a "public" session with the cane. This was far different from a private caning with your prefect--this was a caning with a roomful of your friends watching. I'd attended many of these, but I'd never experienced one myself. I wasn't sure I was missing anything.
One day, late that year, I got into an argument with Prefect Lydia. She was snotty girl, as naughty as any of us lower girls, but she got away with it because she was both lucky and a prefect. Her attitude infuriated me, however, and I usually avoided her because inevitably I ended up bent over for the slipper.
My argument with Lydia that day was most trivial--it had to do with which school was going to win league soccer match that Sunday. For some reason I was in a stubborn mood that day and refused to give in. We argued and argued until Prefect Denise, who was nearby, said, "Why don't you have a wager on it?"
A small crowd had gathered to watch us pair off--no doubt expecting to watch me get a dose of the slipper--and at this suggestion the girls all cheered and my fate was sealed. Lydia and I glared at each other.
"I have no pocket money left," I said sullenly. "I can't wager."
"Wager something else," someone said. Suggestions poured forth.
"Do the other's homework for a month."
"Shave your head."
"A dozen with the slipper," said another, and I saw my chance. There was nothing in the world that appealed to me more than whipping snobby Lydia's bare bottom.
"The cane," I said daringly. "I'll wager the cane. The winner canes the loser."
Lydia glared at me. "I'll bet that. How many?"
"Six of the best."
"Six is a child's punishment. I say a dozen."
"I can take a dozen in my sleep."
"So can I."
"Eighteen then." The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I'd said. Yipes! There was a good chance I'd lose this bet--my team was more of an emotional favorite than skilled players. Well, they'd better play the game of their life on Sunday!
Lydia reached out her hand. "Downstairs, bare bottomed, everyone watching. Eighteen strokes, winner to loser. Is it a deal?"
My palm was sweating but I couldn't back out now. "It's a deal."
I won't bore you with the suspense of waiting I had that week--the countless looks of sympathy and support from friends and the derision and laughter and mock cane strokes from my enemies--suffice it to say that my team lost miserably, and Sunday night I found myself in a packed out boiler room, naked as the day I was born, and watching Lydia approach with the long white cane.
She did not disguise her gloating. "Over the table," she told me, and over I went, swearing to myself I'd never make another wager as long as I lived. It wasn't the pain I feared as much as the humiliation of being caned by Lydia, of all people, and with all my friends and enemies watching.
The first stroke took my breath away, but I stayed in position. By the third I was sweating, and after the first six I was starting to fidget. Lydia was an excellent caner, striking consistently and soundly. The second set was delivered almost on top of the first and it was all I could do to not scream. My eyes teared by I did not cry, determined to keep that prize away from my tormentor.
She saw this and struck me even harder for the final set of six, but by that time it was too late--I was riding high on the pain and further strokes didn't bother me. Lydia thrashed me black and blue, eighteen of the best, but I did not cry. Everyone watching was very impressed, and a few of the other prefects scolded and teased Lydia, suggesting she had gone light with me. That, of course, infuriated her, and I knew I should stay out of her way because she had it in for me.
Lydia had won the wager, but I had won the respect of my peers--never once had I suggested backing out of our deal, something I heard numerous people mention wouldn't have been the case had our positions been reversed. Lydia was a coward, and that made her resent my bravery all the more. I'd have to watch her in the future.
More to come next week!