A Caneable Bottom

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 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.

A Caneable Bottom

(****, M/f, Severe, semi-consensual caning)

The Head canes a thin girl. (Approximately 1,421 words. Originally published 2016-05.)

At first Jones wasn't impressed. The girl was Hollywood thin, with a waist he could almost span with two hands and legs like toothpicks. But she had a sweet face with a warm, welcoming smile. Nice teeth grinned at him. She didn't seem the least bit ashamed of being sent to the Head for a thrashing.

"Emma, is it?"

"Yes sir."

"You know why you're here," he said sternly.

"I suppose you're to cane me. That is what you do here."

Jones sighed. A tough girl. "Of course you're going to be caned. What I meant is, do you understand why?"

The girl's smile widened. "Because I wore these jeans instead of that silly skirt?"

"That is correct. St. Wilber's has a dress code."

"At my old school, we got it off on Friday's."

"Not here. The dress code is always in effect when you're on campus."

"That sucks."

The elderly headmaster nodded. "For your bottom, I suppose it does. Now do you know the procedure?"

"I suppose I bend over something and you whack my bum?"

"I'll even let you choose," said Jones with a grin, liking this perky girl despite her insolence and ridiculous skinniness. He pointed to the davenport behind her, the stool near the wall, and then his desk.

The girl considered the choices. "Do you mind if I test them out?"

"Be my guest."

She tried the desk first, leaning forward toward him so that he could see her surprisingly heavy breasts through the top of her blouse as they weighed down the thin fabric. She held the position for a moment, then moved to the stool. Here she was angled away from him slightly, and he saw with surprise that her ass bubbled out cutely.

When she got up and moved to the sofa, he was even more impressed. Despite a waspish waist, she actually had hips and her petite ball of a butt waggled beautifully. Jones sat up straighter, discreetly adjusting his trousers under his desk.

Instead of bending over the back of the couch, Emma had knelt on the cushions and leaned across the back. This meant that the headmaster had a great view of her butt from where he was sitting. The jeans were drawn taut across the pert surface and the man was stunned at how attractive the girl had suddenly become.

"I prefer this, I think," she said over her shoulder.

So do I, thought Jones. He stood, turned, and grasped a long thin cane from the rack on the wall. It was a tough rattan, pencil thin like the girl, but nearly a full meter with tremendous whip. Even through the greenish-gray jeans it would cut in severely and leave some memorable weals.

When Jones turned back, working hard not to grin in anticipation of delight, he froze, astonished. For young Emma was lowering her jeans. The white panties were the size of a handkerchief, a tiny triangle of fabric snuggled between pale, pert mounds of rotund flesh. Before the man could protest or explain, the girl slipped the knickers down to her knees as well. He stared at the creamy white buttocks with the distinct split between them in disbelief.

Tell her to pull those pants up, he told himself, but no words came out. He watched in silence as Emma separated her knees more for better stability, and leaned her breasts against the back of the sofa.

"How many am I to get?" she asked, sounding unconcerned.

The usual dose for a uniform violation was four, probably just three for a first offender, but Jones blurted out "six" without thinking about it. Emma nodded. "I'm ready," she said.

It took him a moment to move. A part of him was moving, but it wasn't his feet. He just couldn't believe the marvel of that pert bottom that mooned before him. The girl was skinny, but her ass was ridiculously cute. It was round and tight and absolutely made for caning. He couldn't wait to see the pale flesh striped with thin red weals.

He strode forward, stretched out the length of rattan across those tiny buttocks, and drew back for the first swipe. Then the wood swished and cracked. He'd positioned himself far to her left so that the very end of the stick caught her butt. The momentum was tremendous. The sound was loud, a sharp snap that had to be unbelievably stingy.

Emma gasped and wiggled her bottom furiously. Her hips churned as though waggling a tail. The buttocks rocked. Jones felt faint. His erection was so intense he wondered if he was about to have a heart attack.

Across the white flesh a thin line was forming. It was pink, but quickly settled on a bright scarlet. It was slightly swollen, little ridges on each side of the welt.

"Wow," muttered Emma. "That really smarts!"

Yet despite her words, she didn't seem bothered. She held herself still, calmly waiting for the next stroke. Jones laid it on slightly harder, an inch below the previous cut. It sliced in hard and deep, right across the crowns of both cheeks. Again the girl reacted, wiggling and hissing. Twin red lines danced and twisted.

When she was still, he delivered the third. This was into the underbum, right where the flesh started to curl under. It made her squeal a little, and she leaned over further and gripped the sofa harder. Her wiggling was more jerky, more frantic. Jones paused to let the pain sink in for a moment before continuing.

The final three were all low, right into the base of the butt. Emma grunted and groaned. She didn't wiggle so much, though the headmaster drove the cane in with increasing force. He made sure the last stroke was the hardest and most memorable, just above the girl's slim thighs. By then she was draped so far over the back of the davenport that he was practically caning under her, bringing the thin stick up into the pert ball of succulent flesh.

"Stay where you are and think about what got you here," he said sternly. "No rubbing."

Emma obeyed, writhing a little. Though she wasn't crying, her eyes were moist and she was chewing on her lower lip. After a few minutes of silence she muttered, "That is a wicked cane, sir. Beastly thin."

I hadn't realized you were going to take down your pants, he thought, but didn't say. He focused on admiring the six raised weals that decorated the small but chubby bottom.

"You took them well," he said, indicating with a wave that she could get up. She rose, gingerly touching her fresh weals. She was in no rush to get dressed.

"My parents are fans of the rod. Been getting a steady dose since I was a tot."

"Are they going to add to these stripes?"

"If you tell them."

"I'm afraid I must. All corporal punishment must be reported."

Emma sighed. "This is going to make Fridays annoying."

"What do you mean?"

"When I wear jeans."

Jones' eyebrows rose. "You're planning to dress like this again?"

"Of course."

"You'll be thrashed again."

"I know," said the girl, unconcerned. She eased the pants up over her delicate knickers and tenderly striped behind. The jeans were so tight they looked like they had to be cutting off her circulation.

"You're okay with that?" Jones demanded, astonished.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You could choose to wear the uniform."

Emma laughed and shook her head. "I'd rather have the caning."

"Isn't it two canings?"

"I suppose it is, though my mom will probably wait until Saturday for my supplementary. She seems to think two canings in one day might hurt a girl."

"Sounds like your weekends will be interesting."

"That's one way to put it." Emma was dressed again and looking no worse for the wear. It gave Jones a wicked idea.

"Perhaps..." he began, then stopped. He saw her looking expectantly at him. She waited patiently as he worked out his thoughts. "If you're serious about wearing jeans every Friday, perhaps we should just set up a standing appointment for you before school."

"Not after?"

"Before is good, because then you get to feel it throughout the day. But both is even better."

"Both!"

"Yes. Two canings. But just five strokes each. And I won't tell your parents."

Emma's dark eyes brightened. "So just ten total?"

"That's fair, isn't it?"

She nodded, grinning. "It's a deal!"

The End

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