My School

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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.

My School

(***, M/f, Edgy, nc caning)

A man writes about his fantasy of a girl's school. (Approximately 1,030 words. Originally published 2006-02.)

If I was going to start my own private academy, I'd insist there'd be caning. Frequently caning, constant caning, in fact. I'd make it like the worst of the cruel spanking stories you read where young girls are subject to beating for the slightest transgression.

Five seconds late for class? No excuses: it's time for the cane. Sloppy homework assignment? A caning. Missing a button on your vest? Bend over for the cane. Glare at a teacher? Six of the best!

However, unlike those fictions, canings at my school wouldn't hurt. Not really. They'd sting a little and be embarrassing, but unless you committed some dreadful wrong, the canings are just for show.

I'd use a light balsa wood cane that would barely mark the flesh. It'd sting and if you were given a high dose -- perhaps a dozen -- you'd feel it. But canings at my school would usually be two, three, or four strokes. For more serious offenses it'd be six, eight, or ten. If you really crossed the line you might be sent to the headmaster for a "real" caning. There you'd face six minimum, with a real willow rod, and you'd have weals and everything.

The purpose of the light canings, of course, is to ensure that there'd be plenty of them!

You see, I'm a realist. While I enjoy the fantasy of reading about a schoolgirl suffering "24 of the best" for violating curfew or stealing or whatever, I know that in real life, two dozen weals across a bottom is some intense punishment. If that happened, say, once a month, it might be tolerable. But more than that isn't feasible: your bottom would just be too marked for further caning.

But I love the _concept_ of a girl getting sixty strokes of the cane. I love the _concept_ of a naughty girl have a "bad day" and getting whacked in every class, six here, a dozen there, and running up a three-digit total by the end of the day.

The cool thing is that in my school, such scenarios would not only be possible, they'd be likely!

I'd put down a mandate that every class session must include at least three canings. Sort of like a highway patrol's ticket quota. The teachers would be searching for the slightest fault and if they even imagined a girl was doing something wrong, they'd pounce on her for a thrashing.

Because the canings in my school are so mild, they'd always be on the bare bottom. A girl to be punished during a class would have to go to the front of the room, take down her panties, and bend over with her bare ass to her peers. Then she'd get her stinging cuts.

The strokes wouldn't be unbearable. No weals, maybe a few faint crimson lines that would fade within minutes. The cuts would sting like mad for a moment or two, then settle down. It'd be painful enough you certainly wouldn't seek it out, but you could be gasping and giggling through the "punishment."

That's the attitude I want. The girls at my school should be a tiny bit nervous, but accept and take whatever corporal punishment is assigned with a sigh and a joke. There'd be pride in taking your strokes well. The whole thing would be very good-natured, with neither teacher or student resenting the other.

"Come on Sarah, step up and take your licking!" a teacher would say.

With a deep sigh, totally exaggerated for her friends benefit, the lovely teen would rise and go to the front of the room. Her lower lip would curl into a bit of a pout.

"This isn't fair," she'd say. "I was only asking Jess if I could borrow a pencil."

"You know the rules. No talking without permission. Now bare that bottom, young lady. You're getting four strokes!"

"Four! Talking is supposed to be three."

"I said four, now bend over or I'll make it five."

Sarah gets in position, her sleek bare bottom exposed for the cane. There's a gentle _vip!_ and she lets out a light "Ouch!" Her bottom wiggles deliciously and she reaches around to rub it.

"Hands on the desk!" Vip! Vip!

"Ooooooh!" Sarah stamps her feet playfully, attempting to rid herself o the sting. "Ow ow ow!"

VIP! The last one is always a bit stronger, a nice deep stinger that makes Sarah gasp loudly and moisture glitter in her green eyes.

"Ohhhhh, sir, that one really hurt!"

"Have you learned your lesson you lady?"

"Oh yes, sir. Always bring a spare pencil to class."

"Oh no, not that lesson. The other one."

"Don't talk without permission?"

"Yes, that's right. NOW we're going to punish you for not coming with a pencil as you're supposed to do."

"Oh dear, not more whipping!"

"I'm afraid so. Four more for not bringing a pencil."

"I brought one, but the tip broke."

"No excuses!" Vip!

"Ouch!"

Vip!

"Oh!"

Vip!

"Ahhhhhh!"

VIP!

"Ow ow ow!" Sarah reaches back and rubs her buttocks urgently, hissing through clenched teeth. "Please sir, that really stung."

"You may return to your seat."

"Thank you, sir."

That would be a typical caning scenario. Of course a girl like Sarah would probably suffer several canings throughout a typical school day. She'd get three in math for missed problems, two for running down a corridor, four for being a minute late to geography, a total of nineteen in English -- one for every spelling error in her paper -- and we mustn't forget the eight she just endured for talking and forgetting her pencil. Later that evening -- for this is a boarding school, of course -- she might get three at dinner for not eating her Brussel sprouts (one stroke for each legume), and if she was involved in Dorm 6's pillow fight, _everyone_ got six from the housemistress.

So Sarah would go to bed with a tingling bottom full of the memory of forty-five stingers. Her bottom's only a little red, and already cooled off, but she knows that tomorrow she'll be baring her bottom for more strokes of the cane. After all, it's inevitable at my school.

The End

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