A Serious Lesson

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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.

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A Serious Lesson

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

A schoolgirl who thinks spankings don't hurt learns otherwise. (Approximately 1,601 words. Originally published 2003-12.)

"All right, let's get this over with," grunted the blonde angel. "Over the desk, right?"

I stared at her in surprise. To say she was cute would understate matters in the extreme. She was gorgeous. She wasn't tall, but she had a womanly body. Except it was obvious she was young. Very young. Her file said she was eighteen, but with her cute button nose and flawless skin she could have passed for fifteen.

It was her confidence and attitude that made her seem older. She was dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting pink shirt that showed off her mature breasts. The distinct nipples revealed she wasn't wearing a bra. She was munching a wad of gum like she was bored.

"Come on, lady, just paddle me and let me go. I've got a date."

"You're Marla Prescott."

"Duh."

"You know why you're here?"

"Yeah, yeah. I was in the hall without a hall pass. That's four swats. Hurry it up, will you?"

"You don't seem very concerned about your impending punishment."

"It's not my first time," she said dryly.

"I can see that in your file."

She grinned at me saucily. "Hey, I could take ten from Principal Bass without a problem, so I don't think I'm much worried about four from you."

I nodded thoughtfully. My predecessor was a big man, six-four and two-ninety. Ten swats from him should have been intense. This young lady obviously needed a serious lesson.

"I don't like this habit of yours of needing to be paddled so often. You're in here at least once a week."

"That's my problem, not yours."

"I intend to make it your problem, young lady. I am not Principal Bass. I'm Ms. Veronica Lackley and intend to teach you to obey school rules."

"Well, make it quick. Ron's waiting for me in the parking lot."

"He'll just have to wait. I am not going to rush this. First, remove your jeans."

"What!"

It was the first hint of nervousness in her voice. I ignored it. "You heard me."

"But you can't... you're going to whack me over my panties?"

"Of course not."

"Oh. But I--"

"I'm going to 'whack' you on your bare bottom!"

That shut her up for a few seconds. Then I delivered the sucker punch.

"I'm not going to paddle you, however. I'm going to thrash you with this rod." The long brown cane I produced would have produced shivers of terror at my old school. But Marla was naive. She shrugged.

"That little stick? Principal Bass used a big Texas paddle!"

"I'm also not going to give your four strokes: I'm giving you twelve."

"What? You can't do that! No hall pass is four swats."

"For regular students, yes. But you're a persistent infringer. According to the school's bylaws, I have the right to escalate the punishment if you persist in violating the rules. My report shows this the ninth time this term you've been caught without a hall pass."

Suddenly Marla looked a little uncomfortable. She eyed the stick in my hand dolefully. "Whatever. Can we just get this over with?"

"Certainly, my dear. Front and center. Slide your panties down to your ankles and bend at the waist and touch your toes. You will stay in that position until I tell you to rise. Is that clear?"

Marla looked annoyed at having to bare her bottom, but she still didn't seem afraid. I decided to push that.

"Don't be a coward now. You stay in position. And don't whine or cry or fuss like a little girl. Take your punishment like a big girl."

Her lips and jaw set into a grim expression and I knew she was ready. She was determined not to give me the satisfaction of crying, and confident she could do it. I was just as determined and confident I could make her cry.

Her ass was amazing. She had nice high cheeks, full and round, with a deep crevice. The flesh was extremely pale like fresh milk and I knew the marks would be delightful. I lined up the first strike right in the center of her ass and took a few steps back for a run-up.

THWACK!

There was a sudden silence as the echo of the cracking cane died. A strange mewing cry came from the pursed lips of the girl, her face ashen as she staggered from the pain. I watched as Marla's body shuddered and wavered. It was obvious the painfulness of the stroke had surprised her.

The weal, as I'd anticipated, was a beauty. It was full across both cheeks, right in the center, and almost perfectly horizontal. It was wide and tremendously deep, with thick ridges and brutal reddish-purple coloring. It grew darker as I waited. Marla's butt quivered involuntarily as though eager for more.

"Eleven more," I said calmly, stepping back, pleased when her face went a shade paler at my words. I wanted her to remember how much pain was still to come and be overwhelmed at the thought of enduring more of those stingers.

Number two I put above the first, up high at the peak of her bent arse, where the padding was thin and the sting intense. The cane went a little wobbly on me, the tip angling to cut sharply into the upper right cheek.

Marla gritted her teeth and shook her head violently, her honey hair shivering like the quivering tale of a pony. She made no sound and didn't even offer a hint of rising, but I could tell she was feeling the impact.

"Ten more," I said pleasantly, twirling the cane as I walked away. I could only imagine Marla's dreadful anticipation as she watched me from between her splayed legs.

The run for this one was a couple steps longer, and I lashed the cane deep into that glorious ass with every ounce of momentum and energy I could muster. Even the swish sounded deadly. The explosion when the rod impacted the flesh was like thunder in a can. It hurt my ears it was so loud.

I'd placed the weal down low, where the plump cheeks bulged impudently outward. I saw with distinct satisfaction that the force of my blow had flattened the flesh, enabling the weal to form across the inner cheeks down low at the base of the girl's arse. The imprint of the rod was so deep, and such a dark, angry purple it made the other two look pink in comparison.

Marla writhed in wordless agony. Tears and sweat glistened on her face, random strands of transparent blonde hair pasted to the shiny cheeks. Her bent body, taut with unbearable tension like a drawn bowstring, shivered in frantic distress.

Suddenly there was a pronounced "blat" as the girl broke wind. Immediately her face flushed hot crimson and she stared fixedly at the floor.

"Feeling it, are we?" I asked rhetorically. The ruby buttocks shifted in silent response. I trotted away, whistling the cane through the air as I walked. Then I gathered myself, took a deep breath, and ran, driving the cane home.

I must confess: Marla's stoicism impressed me. While she was familiar with a certain degree of corporal discipline, she'd obviously never suffered a true beating. Her paddlings had been a few intense swats over thick jeans. This was a bare bottom thrashing of the highest order. I doubted a prison guard could have whipped a rebellious inmate any harder than I was whipping this teenage girl, and yet she took it.

It was impossibly tough. I could tell the stress she was feeling by the way her muscles strained, by the way her body held in so much potential energy. She was like a bomb about to explode. But she found the strength from somewhere. She endured. The wealed buttocks writhed and twitched, but where always waiting for the next stroke.

Disappointed I hadn't been able to make her rise and thus earn extra strokes, I lashed down the rod in the twelfth and final stroke. Again the body shuddered. Marla's buttocks were purple and black cruelty on a scarlet backdrop. Several of the raised weals oozed crimson fluid. This was a whipping to remember.

In my desk I found a cloth and a bottle of disinfectant. I didn't warn Marla but placed the damp cloth against her ass, wiping away the few droplets of blood and making sure the medicine was pressed into the wound. Beneath my palm I could feel her body shudder. Movement rippled through the muscles of her ass as she staggered at this new assault, the sting of the prickly disinfectant intense.

"All right," I said finally. "You may leave."

She didn't look at me as she dressed, wincing as her panties were suddenly too tight for her ass. When she reached the door, I spoke a last word.

"Well taken, Prescott."

There was a moment of frozen time. The girl at the door hesitated, then glanced back. Our eyes met. She didn't speak and her expression was neutral. There was no smile, no frown. But we communicated. Her eyes glistened with tears. She nodded imperceptibly and disappeared, her movement stiff with pain as she walked out the door.

There was no need to lecture her. She understood. A punishment had been required and it had been excruciatingly delivered, that was all.

She and I understood each well. There'd be no more childish behavior and no more childish punishments. She was an adult and from now on deserved an adult's discipline.

The End

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