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(****, F/f, Intense, n/c caning)
A young man tells about the caning one of his girlfriend's received when he was in school. (Approximately 2,695 words. Originally published 1995-10.)
My girlfriend got caned once. We were in secondary school; she was not quite sixteen. I was seventeen, older and much respected by her. That summer she had to take an extra course because her marks in maths were so poor. So every morning she went to school and I couldn't see her 'til afternoon.
One afternoon her mum told me she couldn't go out with me. "Why not, Ma'am?" I asked. "Is she ill?"
"Likely as not," she mumbled scornfully. "She's forbidden to go out the rest of the week!" With that the old bag closed the door in my face.
Dejected, I wandered down the walkway to the street as though I was leaving, but once out of sight of the house I doubled back and made my way to the north side of the house where Sherry's room was located. It took me three tries but I finally managed to get a pebble to tap gently against her window. Two minutes passed and I finally did another. This brought a figure to the window. I waved, and she slid open the aperture.
"Richie! What are you doing 'ere?"
"Can I come up, luv?"
She looked frightened and nervous, which was unusual for her, but nodded. I scampered up the trellis and managed to grasp the window sill and pull myself inside, but it wasn't easy.
Once inside I took a good look at her. Sherry is very pretty, in a simple sort of manner. She's very prim and proper and never gets in trouble. She has short blond hair which she keeps trim around her face, large blue eyes, a dimple of a nose, and she has rows of even teeth which beam whiteness when she smiles.
But today this was a different Sherry. Her hair was dishevelled and her eyes were large, puffy, and red, as though she had been crying. Even her clothes, a casual blouse and skirt combination, seemed rather an odd fit, as though she had dressed hurridly and without much care.
"My God, Sherry, what happened to you!" I exclaimed.
In response, she through herself into my arms and began to sob. "Oh, Richard, it was terrible! I got the cane today! From that evil Mrs. Crachet, too. I though I'd just die, Richard. I thought I was going to die it hurt so bad."
Now this was the most astonishing news I'd heard in my entire life. As I mentioned, Sherry is a good girl. I seriously doubt she'd ever been slippered even, let alone taken the cane. I hugged her tightly and a picture came into my head, one of dear little Sherry being asked to remove her knickers and bend across the headmistress' desk. I felt something stir in my pants and I realized I found the idea of Sherry being caned erotic!
"Slow down, Sherry," I whispered and hugged her. "Now tell me all about, everything. Don't leave out a word. Start at the very beginning."
I stretched her out face down on the bed, and sat down near her. I could see the bulge of her bottom right near my hand, but I refrained from lifting her skirt, though I was dying to see those stripes. "Go ahead, Sherry," I said gently. "I'm listening." As she talked I begin to massage her shoulders.
Slowly, after a couple false starts, Sherry told me the story. "You know how I hate maths, Richie," she said and I nodded. "Well last night I didn't bother with my studies. I was tired and didn't feel like it, and besides, who needs maths anyway!
"Well, Miss Thomson sent me to the headmistress. Not for a caning, of course. No one would be caned for something so minor. But she thought a lecture from Mrs. Crachet and notice sent home to my parents would help my demeanor.
"I was in a foul mood as I marched along the corridors to my fate. I knew father would be furious when he found out I wasn't taking my studies seriously. I took the next corner rather sharply, my head down and my mind thinking of my father's stern expression, and bam! I ran right into Mary Parker, rounding the same corner from the opposite direction!
"She was furious with me. She'd just been caned by the headmistress and was in an even worse mood than me! The crash had caused her to fall on her sore bum and I saw she was crying, which further embarrassed her. She stood and slapped my face. She and I have never gotten along--I can't even remember the source of our disagreement anymore--but her slapping my face was too much to bear. I slapped her back and in a moment we were at each other's throats.
"Suddenly there was a shout and Mrs. Denson, the English teacher, was pulling us apart, students crowding around the open door of her classroom to watch. 'Fighting!' she screamed. 'You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You come with me to the headmistress right now!' And she marched us to the head's office.
"My face and arms were stinging with slaps and my elbow hurt something terrible from being banged against the floor, but nothing hurt as much as my spirit. My face was flushed red as brick I was so ashamed. How could I have been so stupid? But it was too late for that; we were standing shamefully before Mrs. Crachet, heads hanging down.
"She attacked Mary first, astonished that the girl should return so quickly from one caning for another. That made my heart just drop to my toes, Richard, hearing her say that. It meant she was going to give us the cane for certain, and I began to quake in terror. But then Mrs. Crachet turned to me and said she was ashamed of me, that I'd always been an exemplary student but now I was caught fighting like a child! 'Maybe it's time you tasted the cane,' she said sternly, and I felt tears come to my eyes and my stomach turned little flipflops I was so nervous."
"She did Mary first, and I had to watch. She pinned up her skirt so only her thin cotton panties protected her from that dreadful cane, and made her bend across her desk and grasp the other side. Mary seemed quite familiar with the position, I dare say. Her panties didn't quite cover all of her buttocks, and I could see a couple red marks on her right side from the previous caning.
"Mrs. Crachet stood back and lifted the cane incredibly far back, as though she was a cricket batter or something. I couldn't imagine how hard she was going to strike poor Mary, and I was absolutely petrified with fear. Mrs. Crachet cackled and said condescendingly, 'I guess three wasn't enough this morning, eh, Mary? Shall we see if six helps you remember to watch your behavior?'
"Then the cane came down with a whistle and a sharp 'Crack!' that sent shivers down my spine. I watched as the cane flattened Mary's bumcheeks for a second and then pulled away, her cheeks springing back to life. Mary let out a yell and began to cry immediately, and I saw she was wiggling her bottom slightly. A long red stripe lay across her buttocks.
"Again and again that cane came down. I couldn't believe how hard Mrs. Crachet swung that rod. Every blow sounded like a gunshot, and I couldn't see how Mary managed to stay in position and keep her hold on the desk. Finally it was over. It seemed like the entire caning had lasted only seconds, now that it was suddenly my turn. I began to cry in fear and could only tremble as a sobbing Mary was led to a corner to stand with her skirt still up and her hands on her head.
"I stood patiently as Mrs. Crachet pinned up my skirt. My bottom felt painfully exposed. She tugged at my panties to make sure they fit snuggly and I had to bend across her desk. I was stretched almost to tiptoe to reach the other side, my bum thrust out behind me. 'Fighting is a serious offense,' she said sternly. 'Though it's your first time, Sherry, I'm going to give you six of the best. Don't let go of that table or the blow won't count and you'll earn an extra to boot.' I sobbed at this news, not knowing how I was going to endure this punishment.
"She touched my bum lightly with the cane to line up her stroke and then I heard the whistle and crack and felt a tremendous pressure across my buttocks. For a fraction of a second it was just pressure, no pain, but then suddenly I felt a burning as though a red-hot poker had been pressed against my rump. I cried out--I couldn't help but want to scream--and wiggled frantically. It didn't help but I couldn't stop myself.
"There was another stroke, very close to the first, and though I thought it impossible, it was even worse than the first! A third came down and I thought for certain I would pass out. How could anyone endure such agony? I sobbed and moaned and wiggled, completely out of control.
"When the fourth one struck it was too much. It caught me low, right above my thighs, the tip of the cane burying itself in the thickness of my right cheek. The pain was unbelievable, more than I could have ever imagined. Without even realizing what I was doing, I had stood upright and grasped my flaming bottom in my hands and stood jumping up and down and howling like I was being murdered."
"Oh, Sherry," I interupted. "That's terrible! _Never_ let go of the desk! That's the worst!"
"Don't I know it," she said grimly. "Mrs. Crachet was furious with me. 'Get back over that desk, you big baby! Take your caning like a good girl. That one didn't count and you're getting an extra!' I sobbed and prayed this would be over soon, that I could somehow make it through.
"The cane came down again and again, searing, burning stripes that caused me to wiggle my bum into all sorts of unnatural positions. I couldn't stand still it hurt so much, but there really wasn't much movement I could do, bent flat across the head's large desk.
"I don't remember much of those last strokes. I just laid there and wept. Some were harder than others, I know, because at least once I told myself I could take the next one but it proved an even worse blow than I had expected, catching me near my thighs or crossing over a previous stroke.
"Finally it was over. I had to stand painfully up and be put next to Mary with my hands on my head for a half-hour. All I could think about was how dreadfully marked my bottom must be and how much I wanted to reach down and caress it, but I could not move.
"Oh, Richard, it was the most humiliating, most painful, most horrid experience in my entire life! I thought I would die, I really did!"
"Shhhh," I whispered. "It's all over now." I patted her back and she laid her face in her pillow and cried quietly. I hesitated. Would she let me? No harm in trying. I carefully touched the hem of her skirt. "Sherry, would you let me see?"
She froze for a moment. We had not slept together yet. Her christening was to take place in a month's time, of her sixteenth birthday. Though I had touched her, I had yet to see her naked. But this was different, wasn't it? It wasn't for sexual pleasure, but for medical comfort. She nodded.
My heart beating wildly, I lifted her skirt. I'd seen girl's bottoms before, mind you, but none after a caning. And Sherry was special, too.
I folded the skirt up out of the way before I looked at her ass. First of all, it was gorgeous. Twin mounds of graceful curves and sleek thighs and dark mystery between those legs. Then I saw the cane marks, red weals peaking out on either side of her panties. I took a deep breath. How far would she let me go?
Gingerly, I slipped my hand under the top waistband of her panties and lifted it upward, away from her skin. Gently, I pulled her panties downward, careful to keep the cotton from rubbing against her bottom as took them down. I wasn't entirely successful, having to pause several times as Sherry moaned in pain as my finger or the elastic waistband brushed across a tender mark.
When the panties were down around her thighs she told me to "take them off," so I did. She sighed with relief and wiggled herself to a more comfortable position. I couldn't believe the red weals across her bottom.
Counting carefully and using my imagination, I was able to identify eight separate strokes of the cane across her bottom. Each weal was a thin track of twin ridges, swollen and raised a few millimeters. Some of the welts overlapped and merged and almost felt I could detect welts raised on welts! The skin around the welts was rash red and the welts themselves were almost purple in some places.
"Wow!" I breathed. "That Mrs. Crachet of yours canes just as hard as any headmaster I know. I've seen boys less marked than this!"
Sherry moaned and wiggled her bottom. "Could--could you put some ointment on me?"
I was surprised but delighted. "Certainly." I stood and found the container on her dresser and returned. Taking a big glob I plopped it right in the center of her left cheek.
"Oooohhh," she coed. "It's cooooold. But it feels good," she added. I spread the cream around very thickly, using half the jar. I did her right cheek the same way, and then came back and began to work the cream into the welt. This was painful, but Sherry just moaned and told me though it hurt it felt wonderful.
With Sherry's naked bum glistening with oily cream before me and my hand caressing her welted flesh I felt my cock swell in my pants so much I had to adjust my position. Though she kept her legs pressed tightly together I could see dark hairs creeping out from her crotch and just a glimmer of her secrets between. I contented myself with oiling her bottom good, even down her crack, and poking my finger deep between her cheeks to get the cream everywhere. I could feel her body tense when I did this, so I quickly went back to massaging her bottom, and she relaxed.
When I finished her bottom gleamed and shined like a freshly waxed and polished automobile. I gave her jiggling bum a final squeeze and stood and wiped my hands on a tissue. I knelt and kissed her cheek soundly. "I think I had better go," I whispered. "You should get some rest."
She nodded, smiling at me prettily. "Thanks, Richard. You were wonderful. This part of a caning isn't bad at all. If I didn't have to go through the first part I could take the massaging and creaming all the time!"
"Well, you just stay out of trouble, little girl," I said with mock sternness, wagging my finger at her. "No more fighting for you or you'll get double that!"
She giggled and sighed, deeply. "Not to worry there. Mary and I made up afterwards. She's not so bad. I told her I was sorry for knocking her on her bum. If I had known how badly a caning had hurt I would have let her slap me a dozen times!"
We both laughed and I slipped down the trellis. Sherry stayed stretched out on her bed, skirt folded up to keep her glistening bare bottom exposed.
*** Comments on this story or series are appreciated. ***