Peter Pan: The Missing Scene

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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.

Peter Pan: The Missing Scene

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

A supposed 'missing scene' from the Peter Pan movie, where Wendy gets caned for drawing pictures of the flying boy. (Approximately 2,777 words. Originally published 2012-02.)

Mathematics was excruciatingly boring!

Wendy stared at the page of dreary numbers. They swam before her eyes and she sighed, receiving a grim look from Mrs. Wilkshire, who paced at the front of the room with her thin black switch at the ready.

Alarmed, Wendy concentrated for a few moments, but then her mind drifted. There was only one thought in it, of course. The boy. The strange flying boy dressed in green who had come into her room last night. He had floated above her bed, watching her. He was young, just a little boy, really, but what on earth was he doing there? And how could he possibly fly?

With a quick glance up to ensure that the teacher was far away, Wendy flipped the page in notebook. Her sketch was crude but it made her heart flutter. She'd drawn the boy with wings above her bed, though in truth she couldn't remember if he'd actually had wings. She'd seen him so briefly. He'd been frightened when she'd awoke and he'd flown away, right out her bedroom window! How strange and marvelous this was. It was quite the adventure. She--

Wendy

With a tremendous _splat_ the leather switch landed right across Wendy's doodle. Her stomach lurched and her eyes popped in terror. She looked up to see the stout figure of Mrs. Wilkshire right on her shoulder. The woman's tightly-bound gray hair and equally gray complexion promised nothing but severity. Wendy's bright blue eyes pooled with tears.

"On your feet, child!" roared the woman.

The other girls started, some openly staring, some pretending to focus on their studies. Gulping and trembling, Wendy slipped off her chair and stood next to the intimidating woman. The peaks of the girl's cheeks, which normally held a hint of pink, were suddenly crimson. She stared at her toes in shame. There was really very little she could say.

"Hold out your right hand."

Wendy's hand shook as she obeyed. She winced as the black leather whip went up in the air and then there was a dry hiss and a snap and fiery pain blossomed across Wendy's right palm. She gritted her teeth, a tiny yelp escaping. Fresh tears flooded her eyes. She stood there, palm held out, while twice more the vicious switch seared her hand. She looked up imploringly at the stern-faced woman, but there was only fury and coldness.

"Other hand!"

Shuddering, Wendy struggled to bring up her left hand. It was a challenge to not jerk it away, but she was terrified of angering the teacher even more. There were rumors that for severe discipline a girl might be caned across her bottom! Wendy didn't want that at all and stubbornly kept her hand in position despite the three glowing welts laid across it.

"Right hand again."

"Excuse me?" Wendy's right hand was already throbbing, the swollen marks darkening from vivid red to a deep purplish cherry.

"You heard me, child. Your right hand. Now!"

Young Wendy couldn't help but sob as she held out her right hand again. It wouldn't stop shaking no matter how she willed it, and twice the teacher had to scold her for shifting her hand away. The strokes of the lithe switch were like red hot wire laid across her palm. She wanted to scream and bit her lower lip to keep her cries to herself. Her ears burned. She could sense the classroom tittering at her punishment, girls giggling and whispering, though faintly enough to keep out of Mrs. Wilkshire's purview.

"Left hand."

Though Wendy had expected nothing else, it was still traumatic to have to show her sore hand for further correction. The strokes of the switch were white-hot and angry. Wendy could barely see for all her tears, which trickled down her face. She was scarcely aware of anything but the awful throbbing pain as she stood at the blackboard afterward, nose firmly pressed into the circle Mrs. Wilkshire had drawn. It smelled heavily of chalk dust and Wendy's nose itched, but she didn't dare move or make a sound for the next hour of class.

Eventually the teacher ran the bell and dismissed everyone, but she coldly ordered Wendy to stay. It was ten miserable minutes before Wendy was freed from the blackboard and placed in front of Mrs. Wilkshire's desk. She stood nervously, her eyes on the incriminating notebook. The teacher was turning the pages. She stopped on the drawing of the flying boy.

"This," said the woman, indicating the figure on the bed, "I recognize as you in bed. But who or what is this?" The pencil tapped the flying boy.

Wendy blushed. "That... that's a boy," she said. She spoke with a slight defiance, for she knew that if she told the woman about the flying boy she wouldn't believe her. Adults were like that.

Mrs. Wilkshire sucked in her breath sharply. "A boy! How lewd! I am writing a letter to your father, child, and I am recommending he thrash you most severely. Such shocking behavior is just unacceptable. We are a dignified school for young ladies of breeding and _quality_."

The woman's smug attitude irritated Wendy. Foolishly she blurted, "Father won't whip me. He never whips me."

Mrs. Wilkshire glared at the girl. "Your mother, then. She can take you in hand."

"Mother never beats me either. She is kind and loving and gives me kisses!"

Angry now, the teacher growled, "Your nanny, then. Surely you have a governess that disciplines you?"

Wendy giggled. "My nanny is a dog!"

"A dog!"

"Yes, a wonderful Neufoundland. The most marvelous animal in the world!"

Mrs. Wilkshire snorted. "I shouldn't be surprised. After seeing this... this abomination, I should have known your home life was in trouble. Your parents are lax with you, child. You are wanton!"

"I am not!" Wendy gave a little stamp of her foot hoping it would convey her outrage, but it sounded and felt petty. It also made the teacher furious.

"Fetch me the cane!" she roared. "The long one. If your parents won't beat you, then I shall have to do the duty."

Wendy shivered, a mouse running down her spine. She cursed her foolish pride that had made her speak. She should have simply accepted her reprimand without protest. Now she was in for it!

Sullenly she retrieved the long rattan rod from the bin in the corner. It was heavier than she expected and with ever step closer to the teacher she realized how much such an instrument could wound. Would it be on her hands again? Surely the woman wouldn't--

"Over the desk."

Mrs. Wilkshire took the cane and tapped the tip on one of the student desks in the front row. Wendy tried to calm her shaking as she leaned across the worn surface. The desks were on a raised platform, high enough so that when she was in position her feet left the ground and dangled uselessly. With her sore hands she gripped the other side of the desk to hold herself in place.

Quickly and remorselessly, Mrs. Wilkshire lifted the girl's long white skirt and pinned to her waist. Wendy blushed furiously as her knickers were exposed. Then these were drawn down, shocking the girl. Wendy gasped in horror as cool air wafted across her naked bottom.

"Oh no, Mrs. Wilkshire! I'm sorry! Please don't cane me! Not on my bare...." Wendy broke off, unable to even say the word.

"Shush, child. You know very well you deserve a sound thrashing. If you were my child and behaved as naughty as you have, I'd give you a thorough spanking before bed every evening for a fortnight! And a healthy dose of the strap each day before school. You'd soon learn to concentrate on schoolwork instead of wasting your time on lewd extracurricular activities!"

"Please, Ma'am," sobbed Wendy, true terror invading her soul. "I'll be good, I swear I will. I'll do my work and I'll never doodle again. I'll never think of boys again, either, not even ones that fly!"

"Fly! What on earth, child? You really have the most wicked imagination. I shall conceive to thrash it out of you. Now stay in position. If you get off that desk I shall recommence your punishment from the beginning."

Wendy wailed at that awful concept, but then felt the first stinging strike of the long slender cane. It whipped cruelly across her seat, her chubby bare nates bouncing wildly as she kicked and shrieked. It felt just like she'd been splashed with hot oil. The second cut was even worse, robbing her of all breath. It wasn't until a long moment later, after the livid third, that she could gasp and weep again.

"Oh Ma'am, please! Have mercy!"

"Be silent, child, and take your beating like a big girl."

The stick whipped hard into the plumpest meat and Wendy wanted to leap out of her skin. She had a sudden fantasy of being able to fly like that boy, swooping up into the air, away from the strict Mrs. Wilkshire and her vile cane.

All her cries and protests and howls of pain did nothing to deter the teacher, who believed in harsh punishments. Though Wendy was usually a sweet girl, very lovely and dainty and obedient, it was clear to the woman that the young girl's innocent face and charm was nothing but an act. Her discipline had been neglected and Mrs. Wilkshire half-blamed herself for that, wondering if she'd been too tender with the girl. Clearly what was needed was sternness to eliminate the lascivious thoughts the child was experiencing. She resolved to be extra-severe with Wendy from this moment onward, hopeful that a strict and frequent dose of the rod would quell the girl's lecherous nature.

As she caned, the lean stick leaving painful imprints of scarlet and crimson across smooth pale skin, Mrs. Wilkshire saw with surprise and sudden insight that the young girl was developing into a woman. She was still boyishly slender, but would not remain so for long. Already her hips were widening and there were faint tufts of pale brown hair curling from between the threshing legs. The girl's buttocks were well-formed, plump and firm like ripe fruit. With the hips already swelling, there was a strong hint that Wendy would be a heavy-bottomed girl.

_No wonder the girl was thinking such naughty and scandalous thoughts!_ sighed the teacher. The girl was at a confusing age and with such neglectful parents to guide her, her wild imagination was taking her to dangerous places. It would be up to Mrs. Wilkshire to ensure the girl kept on the straight and narrow path.

Mrs. Wilkshire whipped in another solid stroke, pleased with the stoic way Wendy absorbed the cut. The girl squealed and moaned and shook her bum vigorously -- she had remarkably agile buttocks, very round and springy -- but she obediently stayed in position across the small desk.

The teacher walked around the girl, giving the cane weals time to work, while she analyzed Wendy's pretty face. Her expression of utter torment was heartbreaking. Her wide blue eyes dripped solemn tears. The girl was indeed a beauty. Still young, but her lips were thick like a whore's. Mrs. Wilkshire wondered why she'd never noticed Wendy's wantonness before.

_At least she has plenty of bottom for beating_, thought the teacher as she returned to the plump behind and laid down another track. She watched as the white line flushed pink and then scarlet. A good stroke, deep into the thickest meat at the base, where it did the most good. Wendy would not sit easily for the next several days.

She'd originally planed on giving the child a mere six, but now that she saw the sturdy target she had to work with and realized the true naughty nature of the girl, Mrs. Wilkshire laid on several more stripes. Such a fine bum was a treat to punish and since the girl was clearly deserving -- just look at the lascivious way she was waggling those hips -- the teacher went for the full dozen. Some might have called it cruel, but she reasoned that it was the best thing for Wendy in the long term. A little suffering now would keep her out of the gutter in the future.

After the twelfth, Wendy thought for certain it was over. There was a long pause and she could hear nothing but her own weeping. Her backside was on fire and no matter how much she wiggled it, the pain continued unabated. When she'd caught her breath and her mind had resumed normal operation, she was shocked to hear the teacher say, "A baker's dozen, I think," and give her a final slash that was twice as vivid as any of the previous cuts. Wendy's cries shook the rafters.

"Ponder your sins while I finish this letter to your father," said Mrs. Wilkshire. Wendy writhed on the desk, her legs dangling helplessly. She itched to massage her scalded nates but couldn't let go of the desk. She could only weep and wish she would be allowed to go home.

Yet even that prospect filled her with trepidation. Her bold words to the teacher notwithstanding, Wendy was uncertain as to her fate. It was true her father had never whipped her, but that did not mean he wouldn't now. What would her parents say when they heard of her drawing? She'd meant nothing illicit, but adults had trouble understanding such things. Perhaps they would decide she had been punished enough at school, but then again, if they were angry with her, she might get another whipping before bed. But even that was preferable to lying here at school with her bare bottom on show!

Her fate grew infinite worse, however, for before she was released there was a small rap at the door. Wendy looked up with a cry of horror. A scrubby young boy with a face full of freckles stood there. He was grinning at her. Wendy wanted to die. She started to wiggle off the desk but was heartily reprimanded with a sharp smack to her bottom from Mrs. Wilkshire's palm.

"Do not move, child. I have not dismissed you yet."

Wendy's rump burned as much as her face and ears as the boy marched right up next to her and received the sealed envelope from the teacher. He listened to Mrs. Wilkshire's delivery instructions and promptly set off -- but not without a long glance at Wendy and surely an eyeful of well-striped naked bottom!

Poor Wendy had to lie awkwardly on the desk for another quarter of an hour before she was finally dismissed and allowed to pull up her knickers, lower her dress, and depart. She left with a stern lecture and a warning that Mrs. Wilkshire was going to keep a strict eye on her and for any further mischief she could expect plenty more of what she'd just received. Though it wasn't stated in so many words, Wendy got the impression that it would make little difference how she behaved: bare bottomed canings were going to be a significant part of her future.

It was with a heavy heart that Wendy left school that day. She blushed the entire way home, her bottom throbbing and aching with each step. She imagined everyone she passed could see right through her garments and knew that she was a naughty lass who'd just been thrashed. She walked slowly, dreading what would greet her at home. She had the most ominous feeling that this time she'd gone too far and her father _would_ flog her. Even her mother might spank her, hopefully with just a loving hand but perhaps with her ivory hairbrush.

And yet in another way Wendy couldn't wait to get home. She was filled with a strange desire and hope to see the flying boy again. She wondered if he would return that night. She itched to know more about him.

Suddenly she stopped dead, a man bumping into her from behind, his knee colliding harshly with her sore bum and making her yelp. He glared at her and she blushed and mumbled an apology, but her heart was racing regarding a horrible thought. What if the flying boy came to her room tonight while her father was whipping her? He would see her naughty stripes and nakedness and watch her cry like a child. It was the most humiliating thing Wendy could imagine and she almost hoped the boy wouldn't return.

Almost.

The End

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