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Six Is Enough
(****, MMMF/ffffMMF, Severe, nc caning)
A group of teachers wager on who's the best caner. (Approximately 6,551 words. Originally published 2006-12.)
We were in the lounge one lazy Saturday afternoon. Elizabeth had made crumpets and was serving them hot with butter and honey with our tea. I watched her fulsome figure with mild interest; while at nearly thirty no longer young, the English teacher was not a child either, and possessed a healthy bosom, though unfortunately her face was too stern to be considered a true beauty. I thought with a pang of Maria, the lovely Spanish girl I frequented on occasion in town, but sadly she'd returned to her native land a month ago.
It was then that Thomas casually remarked, "I had to give Rebecca Simpson a sixer yesterday."
This perked all our ears, for young Becky was a real minx, as saucy as a two-penny whore. She was frequently beaten, but it wasn't near often enough in the minds of all who knew her.
"I hope you gave them hard," I muttered.
"She felt them," he shrugged. "The problem is, she's a hardened one. Six for her is like three for most lasses. She deserved a full dozen."
"The Head won't stand for that," pointed out Elizabeth. "We must follow the Board's new regulations: only the Headmaster may administer more than six."
"I know that! Why do you think I'm complaining? The brat was smiling when I finished. Six, bah! It's nothing!"
"I'm afraid I agree with Thomas," I put in. "This restriction on discipline is truly hampering. I had to beat a big fifth former last week. She deserved nine, at least. Six merely annoyed her."
Elizabeth offered me another crumpet, which I accepted with a winsome smile. "The Board is worried about excessive punishment," she said. "That incident in Reedley last year--"
"That man overstepped his bounds!"
"It couldn't happen here," added Thomas. "We don't use the reformatory cane."
"All the same, the girl had permanent marks--"
"Bah! Don't believe a word of that. The press made that sneeze into a tempest."
"He's right, Miss Temple," I nodded. "My cousin used to teach at Reedley and he spoke with several of his former colleagues there and they all assured him that the girl was never beaten excessively. The marks were routine. It was her mother who had the faint heart. She came weeping to the Headmaster every time her daughter got the stick. Quite pathetic, really."
"Ah! Parents!" cried Thomas. "They're the ones who need thrashing."
"But more than six," I interjected. "A grown mother can surely take a full dozen, perhaps even a baker's."
"Two dozen with the birch."
"On the bare buttocks!"
"Really!" gasped Elizabeth, glaring Thomas and I. "I dare say if the two of you ran this school there'd be nothing but flogging all day long!"
"Sounds good to me," laughed Thomas.
"I bet they'd graduate better educated. Nothing prepares you for the world like the cane."
"Obviously you were beaten in school."
"I was. And I'm all the better because of it."
"You enjoyed it?"
"Far from it. It was dreadful. The worst was the waiting. At my school we were beaten at the end of day. There was nothing worse than going through school all day knowing you had a beating to go to at the end. Sometimes -- if you were really unlucky -- you'd get sentenced to beatings from different instructors. You had to go get four or six or whatever from one prof, and then go to the other for the next dose. It was the worst thing I've ever had to do."
Elizabeth shook her head sadly. "That sounds ghastly."
"But I profited. Nothing in my life has seemed quite so difficult since. And I survived. That knowledge has comforted me more times than I can count, that I could endure that experience and come out breathing."
"Weren't you beaten in school?" Thomas asked.
Elizabeth shrugged. "Not often. Twice I got three strokes. I thought it horrible and didn't want to experience it again."
"Three! That's all? I should think a broad-bummed girl like yourself should sleep through a mere three."
At that the woman blushed. "I was just a girl. Twelve. Much too young for six... or worse."
"Bah! Girls are tougher than boys, I swear it's true."
"You don't think we're the weaker sex?"
"Fairer, sure. Weaker? I don't know. I just know that I've thrashed boys and girls and the girls took it just as well or better than the boys."
"Once again, I find myself agreeing with Thomas. It's a world record!" I laughed. "But I've seen the same myself. Before coming here to Covington I was at Fitzbridle, and I swear a mere sixer would have those boys hopping from foot to foot. Here six is a yawn."
"Girls have more padding... below," murmured the history man.
"Thomas! How dare you!" scolded Elizabeth.
"It's the truth, isn't it?"
"That's not something that's, er, proper... to discuss in public."
"We're hardly in public," I said. "You're a woman. Tell us. Is it true?"
The woman face reddened again. "Well, it's true we're a little more... round... down there," she conceded, "but--"
"No, no. I think we're all familiar enough with the differences in sexual anatomy. The question is, is it true that that's the reason girls have an easier time with beatings?"
The blush was deeper this time. "Oh! Well, I have no idea."
"That's right," Thomas pounced. "You haven't had more than three, have you?"
Elizabeth shook her head.
"We could change that," I said with a broad wink to Thomas.
"James!" gasped Elizabeth. She leapt to her feet as though I was about to attack her. She faltered when she saw I was laughing. "Oh! I swear you're just as bad as _him_."
Thomas added a little brandy to his tea and took a large sip. He tipped the cup at Elizabeth in a mock toast, as if to thank her.
"I just wish we weren't limited to six," he said with a sigh. "How do they expect us to teach without giving us the tools we need?"
"I find six perfectly adequate," said Elizabeth. "You two brutes just find delight in tormenting young ladies."
"But your students are younger," I protested. "Thomas and I teach the upper classes. Many of those girls are fully grown with sturdy seats that can take quite a beating."
Thomas nodded. "I have eight or nine eighteen-year-olds. They are women. Six to them is nothing."
"Rebecca's only seventeen."
"So? That just proves my point even more: if seventeen-year-olds are so jaded, it's all the more true for older girls."
"I've had girls of sixteen take six without a whimper," I said grimly. "It's not just a question of age."
"Perhaps you don't know how to properly use a cane," snapped Elizabeth crossly.
"Would you like to find out?" I snapped back, equally annoyed.
"The woman has a point," said a new voice, a deep rumble from the rear corner. I turned in surprise. It was the new Latin instructor, Lucas Erskin. He was an odd duck, quiet and aloof, rather superior. I'd completely forgotten he was in the room. Thomas and Elizabeth looked just as surprised as myself.
"What are you saying?" I asked.
"Technique can overcome many limitations. Caning is not just about force or quantity."
"Are you saying six is enough?"
"When used judiciously, with the correct technique, yes. Six can be salutary."
"Would you like to wager on that?" Where the words came from, I don't know. But they were out before I thought about it, and there was no taking them back.
"I'd be delighted. What are the terms?"
I thought for a moment. "You give six to a girl of my choosing and we'll see if she squeals. If she doesn't, I win."
"The concept is sound, but the details need work. For instance, we need to define, exactly, what is meant by a 'squeal.'"
"I want to get in on this," inserted Thomas suddenly. "You can't break a girl like Rebecca with just six."
"I think he can," said Elizabeth firmly, returning to her seat. "Put me down in Lucas' favor."
"We should all compete," I said, my interest growing. "Let's each pick a girl and see if we can make her squeal with a mere six."
"What? Four students?" asked Elizabeth.
"Why not? Then we can compare our skill with the rod to Mr. Erskin's here."
"But there aren't four girls due a beating. We'd have to wait until--"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," cried Thomas. "As if we need an excuse! Half these girls deserve a beating a day and don't get it. The things they get away with! Do them good, a nice sound caning."
"We don't even have to tell them what it's for," I added. "They'll assume it's for some misbehavior they thought they got away with. I suspect they'll even confess, when confronted!"
Elizabeth still looked doubtful, but then a solemn voice rumbled from the corner: "A tight thrashing never hurt a girl," and she wavered. "It's only six," he added, and it was obvious that clinched it. We were going to have our caning competition!
"So how do we go about it?" Elizabeth asked with a sigh.
"We need to select some girls," said Thomas. "I want Becky Simpson!"
"No, we must select them for each other." We looked at Lucas. "It's only fair. If we pick for ourselves, we'd surely pick weak-spirited things who'd easily break down."
"Good idea. I know just the girl for you: Nancy Parker." I grinned as smiles formed across the faces of Thomas and Elizabeth. Nancy was a big sturdy eighteen-year-old, tough as a donkey, and just as ornery. I'd beaten her on several occasions and it was like beating a rug. She hardly blinked!
"Fine," nodded Lucas. "Than you get Doris Mayberry."
I frowned. I'd secretly been hoping that with Lucas' recent arrival he wouldn't know the tougher girls. Doris was a big-framed country girl who could take a beating almost as well as Nancy. "Sure," I muttered with a smile, but inside I was seething.
Elizabeth giggled. "I nominate Sarah Harding for Thomas."
It was another good choice. Sarah was only seventeen, but tall for her age, and active in athletics. She'd be difficult. I'd never beaten her, but I'd seen her thrashed by Peter Johns once, and she'd taken nine with hardly a whimper. (That was back before the new stroke limitation.)
Thomas looked glum, obviously thinking thoughts along my own, but he nodded. "Fine, then you can have Harriet Miller."
That seemed an odd choice to me. Harriet was eighteen, to be sure, but very pretty and elegant, not exactly a broad-bummed tough girl. Perhaps Thomas knew something I didn't.
"So that's decided. Now what implement shall we use? A classroom cane? Or something harder?"
"Definitely a classroom cane," said Elizabeth. "It would be cheating to use something else."
"I agree," added Lucas. "For a fair competition we must use standard equipment."
"But we all use the same rod," I said firmly.
"Of course." Lucas paused, then continued. "There is one other thing."
"The girls ought to be bare bottomed."
There was a hushed silence.
"Beating on the bare?" hissed Elizabeth. "That's undignified."
"It's standard for the Head," said Thomas.
"Punishment isn't meant to be dignified, my dear. It's supposed to be humiliating. Besides, it'd be unfair to allow the protection of clothing. Different girls wear different thickness of garments."
"They could be punished over their knickers. If we have them wear regulation knickers, they'd all be the same thickness."
Lucas shook his head. "Unsatisfactory, my dear. For proper discipline, I must be able to see the target."
"Is it legal?" Elizabeth asked doubtfully. "Mightn't we get in trouble?"
"There's nothing that says we can't," I stated. "I've read the regulations." I blushed as the others looked at me. "It's true. The regulations suggest caning over knickers, but it's only a suggestion. It's only tradition that faculty cane over clothing and the Headmaster on the bare bottom."
"Besides, it's the only way I cane," said Lucas in a commanding tone, and we stared at him in surprise. I suddenly remembered hearing that he was a real tartar with the rod; I'd overheard some girls complaining about him. I'd never heard that he caned on the bare, but it made sense somehow.
"Then that's decided. What else do we need to agree on?"
"We must define a 'squeal,' as you put it."
"I don't like squealing," said Thomas. "Some girls are naturally noisy and some are mutes. It's not a fair test."
"It's just showing control. A girl who can keep quiet during a beating is in control over her emotions, so it's proof that it's not hurting her unbearably."
"How about a positional test?" This was from Elizabeth. The males in the room were surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"We have them touch toes or grab a ladder rung or something and if the girl lets go or rises, she's broken."
There were shrugs of agreement from all. "Why not both?" I mentioned. "Vocalization or getting out of position are violations of form. The girl is broken." Something hit me. "We need a penalty for breaking. It must be severe. If not, the girl might squeal -- or get up -- too easily."
"An excellent point," murmured Lucas. "We are permitted up to three extra strokes for rebellion or reluctance."
I shook my head. "Three won't do it. It must be extremely severe. I vote we promise the girl an extra whipping... no, two whippings, tomorrow and Monday."
"That's too cruel!" cried Elizabeth.
"No, it's fair. All a girl has to do is take her six in good form to avoid the additional beatings. Unless she's an idiot, she'll give it her utmost."
"I like it," said Thomas. Lucas nodded, and finally Elizabeth also agreed.
"Anything else? Or shall we send for our victims?"
"There is one small thing."
"The stakes. We have a wager. What are the stakes?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. We're all teachers, so I doubt any of us have enough money to make it interesting."
Lucas shook his head. "I had something other than money in mind. What you said earlier... about the lovely Elizabeth here. It gave me a wicked idea. What say we put our own bottoms on the line?"
There was an eerie quiet.
"You mean, we'd play for beatings?" murmured Thomas.
"Yes. Six, just like we give our students."
"The winner canes the loser?"
"But there could multiple winners," I said. "What if two or more of us break our girls?"
"Winners grin, losers weep."
* * * * *
"They're all here," I said, opening the door ajar and peering through the slit. "Doris, Sarah, Harriet, and Nancy."
"They nervous?" grinned Thomas.
"Seem more glum than nervous."
"They know they're to be beaten?"
"Suspect it, probably. Why else would they be sent for on a Saturday afternoon?"
"I guess they'll know soon, after the first one."
"So who's going to be first?"
"I vote Thomas start," said Elizabeth.
"Then she's second," Thomas retaliated.
"I will conclude the entertainment," said Lucas.
"I guess I'm third, then," I said. "So call in Sarah."
Thomas did and she entered looking rather somber. She was tall and slender with straight blonde hair that went down to the middle of her back. Though athletic, her body had nicely developed feminine charms. Lucas confronted her.
"You're to get six," he said brusquely, without preamble. Sarah didn't blink, though she swallowed hard at the news. "I don't have to tell you what this is for, as I'm certain you know."
Apparently Sarah did, for she didn't argue. She obediently stepped to the stool where indicated and bent forward, grasping the lowest rung on the other side. This put her bum up high, and it was a nicely shaped bum. I got to see just how nicely shaped when Thomas carefully folded up her skirt and after a moment's admiration, quickly drew the tight knickers down to her knees. The buttocks were not particularly large, but were nicely fatted. They would be delightful to beat.
Sarah appeared to be quite distraught that she'd lost her knickers. This bothered her much more than the news that she was to be beaten. She looked around at us in alarm and consternation. For a moment she seemed likely to protest, but eventually she shut her mouth and didn't say anything.
Lucas stepped up in front of her. "Miss Harding. You are about to be given six-of-the-best. This is going to be a severe beating, and I do mean severe. Your behavior is unspeakable and you are going to be thoroughly thrashed.
"To show how contrite and remorseful you are, you are going to accept this punishment bravely and with total stoicism. That means you will not vocalize your distress, or speak in any manner, until the correction is complete. You also will remain in proper position -- that means hands on the lower rung, feet firmly on the floor, and bottom offered up for the cane -- until you are given permission to rise. If you violate any of these rules in the slightest manner, you will be beaten again tomorrow and again on Monday! That's two beatings in addition to today's thrashing. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes sir!" gasped Sarah, a frown of concentration distorting her pretty face.
"Good. Then let the punishment begin." Lucas nodded at Thomas, who stepped forward with the long classroom cane.
There are many techniques to beating a girl. Sadly Thomas used the crudest, the brute force approach. He simply lined himself up beside and slightly behind Sarah and whacked the cane as hard as he could into the meat of her bottom.
The results, of course, were equally crude. The marks were irregular and uneven, a messy crisscross of lines, the inconsistent coloring varying from a mild pink to almost black. Because Thomas was trying so hard to hit hard, some of his strokes were wild, including one that caught Sarah low, across the tops of her legs, and one that caught her high, at the base of her back. Worse, the cane did not connect with her buttocks evenly, so that often it was the middle part of the rod that connected with her left buttock first, stealing energy from the whippy tip of the rod. Still worse yet was the fact that such heavy strokes tend to bruise and numb rather than sting -- and it is the sting that causes a girl to break.
None of this is to say that the beating didn't hurt; Sarah was obviously feeling the beating, which was a good deal more severe than average. Still, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, and she'd no doubt suffered worse punishments. She gritted her teeth and gasped a few times, and frequently shifted her feet and wiggled her bum about, but it really wasn't much of a contest. She easily survived the six and finally, when Thomas realized he was beaten and gave her permission to rise, she rose up with a crimson face and hastily gripped her bottom with an expression of intense unhappiness. It was quite beautiful to see, but she was so attractive I wished I could have seen her properly beaten.
Grumpily, Thomas handed the rod to Elizabeth. "See if you can do better. I'll fetch Harriet for you."
Harriet was a mature girl, both in body and mind. At eighteen, she was fully grown, with an elegant, if somewhat modest, shape. Her serious face was frowning as she entered.
"It's six," Lucas told her sternly, without preamble, the moment the door shut.
"What for?" She spoke with a defiance that surprised us all.
His cold eyes met hers. "You disappoint me, Miss Miller. I thought you were old enough to know and admit your faults without the assistance of administration."
"I've done nothing wrong."
"Of course you have, you impudent wench!"
"What did I do?"
"If I have to tell you, it'll be nine." There was a cold silence. Lucas waited, then continued. "What will it be? Six or nine?"
The girl's eyes flashed fire. Sullenly she curled her lower lip down and with great resentment muttered, "Six."
Lucas gave his "stoicism" speech and Harriet's jaw went hard with determination and I knew she would be difficult to break. In a trifle the girl's skirt was up and her knickers down. Harriet might have had a modest figure, but her buttocks were surprisingly attractive. The smooth bare cheeks, though smallish, were pale and elegantly curved, with a nice deep grove between the twin mounds. I sat up straighter, suddenly extremely interested in seeing this pretty lass soundly thrashed.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, was taking practice swings with the cane, flexing it, and stretching her arms. She looked rather elegant herself, especially with her eager grin and the slight flush of exertion on her face.
Harriet said nothing as the first stroke licked in. It was not a particularly hard stroke, delivered more with precision than vigor. The weal was merely bright scarlet, not the deeper maroon of a vicious stroke. The second arrived in precisely the same place, as did the third. I immediately realized Elizabeth's technique. She was counting on cumulative pain breaking her charge, and no doubt intended to lay all six strokes in the same weal. It was not a bad idea -- I'd briefly considered it myself -- but like Thomas' all-strength strokes, this technique tends to numb after the third or fourth stroke. Sure, the buttock looks hideously beaten -- the weal in this case was purple and black and oozing slightly -- but there isn't that much actual pain. It certainly hurt Harriet, but not as much as it could have. Elizabeth seemed surprised and quite disappointed when Harriet failed to emit even a squeak, and Thomas couldn't stop smiling.
For my turn, I had decided to use a different technique. Doris was a big gal with a full figure and an even fuller bottom: it looked positively massive went bent over and presented. Just one cheek was larger than both of Harriet's. It was a fine buttock and I looked forward to whipping it -- but it was indeed a tremendous challenge. I spent several minutes studying the buttock in question, preparing my plan.
Finally, I began. I placed the first stroke in the center of the underbum, and I struck hard, but let the whip of the cane do most of the work. It put Doris on tiptoe, let me tell you. Her big butt cringed and wobbled, and I saw her jaw working nervously and her eyes bulging with surprise, but my plan of shocking her into expression with a harsh beginning had failed.
For the second stroke I worked lower, in the crease, where the skin's quite sensitive. The tip of the rod dug in deep and I'm sure she felt it, but you wouldn't have known it by her impassive expression. She was like a big milk cow, calmly chewing her cud and ignoring whatever you did to her. I beat her hard, and then harder, and still she didn't move. Her eyes were closed and her face was very still, suggesting inner turmoil, but she was remarkably stoic.
I was growing nervous now. What if I failed? It had been a long time since I'd suffered a sixer myself and I no real ambition to relive such an experience. The game had seemed easy before we started, but these girls were tougher than I'd realized.
Desperate, I took a run for the fifth stroke. A run doesn't really help that much -- it interferes with aim more than anything, especially if you aren't practiced. If you know what you are doing it can gain you some slight momentum, but mostly it's intimidating to the victim, who sees or hears your run and knows that incredible pain is coming. I hoped it might unnerve Doris. I should have known better. The stroke was pretty good, solid across those broad hips, but the cane was just too light. Doris was a big girl and I needed a stout prison cane to have much of an impact.
I drove in the last stroke with all my skill, but my heart wasn't in it, as I knew I'd lost. When Doris stood up a moment later, I saw she was weeping and her red eyes looked at me with fresh respect and alarm. I guess I had hurt her. Unfortunately, it hadn't been enough.
"Maybe nobody will win," I said to Lucas, but the look he gave me was more than mere confidence in his skill, it was supreme faith.
But of course he hadn't met Nancy Parker yet. She stepped in calmly as though she hadn't been outside listening to us beat her three peers. She said nothing when the sentence was announced, only showing concern when told of the consequences of an improperly taken caning. I guess even for her two more beatings on top of this six did not sound pleasant.
She was a beautiful girl, tall and healthy, and I felt myself become aroused when her lovely bottom was bared. She was big -- nowhere near Doris' category, but she certainly had sturdy wide hips -- and her buttocks were nicely shaped with a pleasing under-curve. Her flesh wasn't sickly pale as some girls but the color of honey, a golden hue that was lovely to admire.
Lucas did not begin immediately. He took his time testing the rod, swishing it in the air, stretching his muscles, and walking around the girl. He made sure she could see him, could see the long rod, could see how strong he was as he easily flexed the stick into a U-shape. I realized then that we were in presence of a master. Lucas was in a different league.
Immediately I began wondering why I hadn't thought of his techniques. He first scolded the girl. Nancy is hard and strong, but even she was sweating as she listened to his stern lecture. It was all vague stuff and nonsense about "morality" and "naughtiness" and "living up to school standards of behavior" and such, and no doubt the very dryness of the speech frustrated and irritated the girl and made her wish he'd just hurry up with the beating.
But Lucas wasn't about to make this easy for her. Oh no. Like a genius, he drew out this uncomfortable period of the punishment. My admiration of him increased.
He crossed to behind Nancy and stood glaring at her marvelously presented buttocks as though they had insulted him. "Such a full bottom deserves serious discipline," he growled. "I ought to beat these buttocks bloody." He reached out with a hand and to the astonishment of Thomas and Elizabeth, gripped Nancy's fat left cheek and shook it sternly. Then he gave the right mound a sharp little slap. The girl winced at this humiliation and I saw that she was deeply troubled by this unusual development.
But Lucas had hardly started. Next he played with her buttocks with the cane. He proceeded to tap the cheeks gently, teasing her, and ran the tip of the rod between the huddled cheeks making Nancy shiver with genuine despair. As he did this, he continued his insults and lecturing, scolding her for being so naughty and needing a sound thrashing, berating her for requiring him to do his "uncomfortable duty" and beat her most soundly, and promising her a thrashing she would never forget.
"I'm so disappointed in you, Miss Parker. Eighteen years old and still being spanked like a child. I shall do my best to make this correction something you will dread in the future. I am going to give you six strokes. I realize that for someone of your maturity six is a ridiculously small number -- you deserve three dozen with birch at least -- but I am not unskilled at using this feeble rod and I vow that these six will be intensely memorable. I am going to weal your buttocks so severely that at this time next week you'll still feel them, lines of quivering pain throbbing across this broad bottom of yours."
The tip of the cane indented the right cheek harshly as he spoke the last few words, drawing a mewing shudder from the girl. Already she was having trouble maintaining position and he had hadn't even struck her yet!
With newfound appreciation, I realized his genius. The most fearful thing is fear itself, so the saying goes. It made much more sense to terrorize the girl _before_ starting the beating as that way her own imagination, spurred by her fears, would unnerve her even more than the familiar sting of the cane.
Lucas continued his pressure on the girl. He marched around her, whipping the cane through the air, its sharp hiss making her eyes go wide. "You're a big girl, Miss Parker. Eighteen, yet about to be spanked like a child. I hope you will handle yourself well. I want a composed beating, an adult beating. No fussy crying or fidgeting, no vocalizing, no noises, no nothing. I want you as a still as a stone, my dear. I want you to demonstrate total stoicism. No matter how hard I beat you, no matter how much this thin cane cuts your buttocks into chunks of bloody flesh, you will remain silent and in position. If you so much as move an inch -- just an inch, Miss Parker -- out of position, if just one finger comes off that lower rung you're holding so tightly, if you make the slightest sound, I will beat you again tomorrow and again on Monday!
"That's right: two beatings in addition to today's thrashing! All for making the tiniest gesture or sound that tells me you aren't taking today's lesson with total composure and absolutely *perfect* comportment."
The cane once again tapped and poked the bent cheeks, wobbling the flesh so that Nancy's buttocks appeared to be trembling in fear. I was in awe. Lucas was more than a genius -- he was a super-genius. I could see Elizabeth and Thomas were puzzled. No doubt it seemed odd for him to be reminding her so sternly that she shouldn't squeal, since that's exactly what he wanted her to do, but the genius was that he had already unnerved and frightened her, and now he was setting up not squealing as an impossible challenge. The poor girl was probably overwhelmed and depressed, already thinking that there was absolutely no way she was going to survive this beating without squealing and she was sure to earn the two extra beatings. What a depressing feeling! It would enhance the beating, making every stroke hurt even worse, and as her every instinct cried out for her to cried out, she'd be a hundred times more likely to give in to those instincts. After all, right now she was convincing herself that it was hopeless to resist.
Finally Lucas seemed ready to begin the actual punishment. He stepped behind her and brought the cane up level with her bottom. Nancy, I saw, was trembling, her hands gripping the rung with way too much force -- she'd quickly exhaust herself if she wasn't careful -- and she was covered with nervous sweat.
But Lucas was not finished talking. As he lined up the rod for the first stroke, his voice went from stern to kindly. "I do apologize, Miss Parker. This flimsy bit of wood I've been given is woefully inadequate to the task. I should like to give you a choice beating, to really drive home the lesson you so desperately need, but my hands are tied. I am required to use this little rod, so light it's scarcely fit for use on a three-year-old, and I'm limited to giving you a mere six strokes. I shall therefore, as you no doubt expect, have to make full use of every stroke I have available to me. You can count on no lighter strokes, no lesser blows, no letting off. I shall be as strict as I can be with the limited resources available to me."
There was a long pause. "Miss Parker, are you ready to receive your chastisement?"
This question produced a tiny gasp of astonishment from Elizabeth, who stared at Lucas as though he was an alien. Once again, I was impressed with Lucas' skill.
Nancy, bent and still waiting for the first stroke -- it had to have seemed like hours of impatient agony for her already -- was now forced to *ask* for her punishment.
"Yes sir," she croaked, her voice breaking nervously. She shifted her hips slightly, her buttocks shivering as though eager for the rod. Considering how long she'd been waiting for this, she might well actually be eager.
"What are you asking for?"
"Please sir, I'm... r-r-ready f-for my b-b-beating, sir."
She sounded anything but, I reflected grimly. Her eyes were wild, looking around nervously, unsure if Lucas was going to begin or torment her with further delay.
Suddenly, without any warning, there was a quick slice of air. I saw only a blur. Even as the crack of the cane echoed through the room and Nancy writhed miserably as a purple welt ate into her buttocks, I realized I had hardly seen Lucas move. He was astonishingly fast. One moment he was standing there calmly, the next the cane was drawing purple from those golden cheeks.
If the effect on me was surprise, on Nancy it was devastating. I knew instantly that she was lost. Already her composure was nearly gone. She was weeping and her buttocks were quivering violently with wild shudders. Her breathing was in gasps and she looked like she was about to be ill. The weal blossoming across her bottom impressed me greatly: it spanned the full width of her buttocks, which meant he'd connected with the entire stroke, and it was evenly colored except for the tip, which was darker.
I figured Lucas would go slow and give her time to "enjoy" the stroke, but like lightning he struck without warning, a vicious slice low into the crease between buttock and thigh. It was a scorching blow and Nancy looked ready to explode. Her eyes bulged, she was biting her lower lip so hard it was bleeding, and her body rocked back and forth in helpless agony.
Now when I figured Lucas would strike her a third time -- while the iron was hot, so to speak -- he again did the unexpected. Now he put the cane down and chatted calmly with her.
Walking in front of her so she could see him bending the cane, he calmly muttered, "Well, this little toy isn't a proper cane, but I guess I'm getting some sting out of it. Are you feeling it, Miss Parker? Are you learning your lesson?"
"Oh sirrr!" groaned the girl. "Please!"
"But we've got lots more to go, don't we? We've just started. And of course we've got a repeat of this tomorrow and another round on Monday."
This just made the girl break down into hearty sobs, and it was then, again moving unbelievably fast, that the rod slashed down across that beautiful rump yet again.
Nancy lost it. She threw back her head and yowled to the moon. She fell out of position, falling on her ass to the floor, actually, reaching back and grabbing her fiery posterior.
"Just as I thought!" cried Lucas. "You want to come back tomorrow and Monday. You must be enjoying this, Miss Parker."
"No!" cried the girl. "Please, no more! I can't take it!"
I watched in disbelief. This was the girl I'd given nine to not more than a month ago and she'd hardly batted an eye. Now she takes three -- just three strokes with an ordinary classroom cane -- and she's writhing on the floor as though her legs have been lopped off? As high as it had been, my admiration for Lucas went up still higher. The man was superhuman.
Of course Nancy got her final three strokes. These were not drawn out quite so severely. Once she was back in position Lucas beat her soundly, leaving her buttocks beautifully marked with crimson and purple. She screamed at every stroke and seemed utterly terrified of Lucas. When it was over she begged and pleaded with him to let her off at least one of the promised beatings, but he would have none of it.
"I will see you in my classroom tomorrow at four o'clock. Sharp," he said sternly. "Monday at the same time. And I think I'll find a proper cane to use instead of this feeble twig."
The latter speech almost made Nancy swoon with terror and she rushed from the room as though she feared he might elect to beat her some more right then and there instead of waiting for the next day.
There was a long silence after the girl had departed. Elizabeth refused to look at anyone, but studied the floor intently. Thomas was snarling. Lucas was smiling. "Well? Shall we get started?"
"What are you talking about?" It was Thomas, of course.
"That wasn't serious. You don't expect--"
"Yes. Yours. Bare. Six strokes. Just like you gave the lovely Sarah."
There was nothing for it but to cooperate. At the time of the wager, six had seemed like a little thing, nothing to fear. But after seeing Lucas at work, all of us were sobered and alarmed. Even Elizabeth seemed to be trying to figure out a way out.
Thomas did not take his beating quietly. He roared at every stroke and followed it with a stream of invective against Lucas. He swore mightily. "Fuck! That's too hard, you bastard! Oh my God, you've cut me in half, I swear."
Elizabeth bravely bared her full bottom for six. At first she tried to maintain some sort of modesty but after just three cuts she was exposing everything without a thought. I wanted to lust after body and thought I'd enjoy seeing her whipped, but instead I could only cringe as I pictured my own ass in her position. It really was an unhappy experience. Lucas was cold and did not make it a game. He struck hard and for real, and Thomas and Elizabeth were both weeping when it was over.
It was my turn next. I shuddered and tried to act nonchalant as I dropped my pants. It had been a long time since I'd last been beaten. The pain was familiar, like a favorite wine, but far more intense than I remembered. It swept through me, crippling me, overwhelming in its ferocity. I howled and kicked and writhed and forgot all about my nudity. Lucas really did his best and the six weals across my buttocks were all huge and puffy and lasted over a week before fading.
Afterward, as the three whipped ones of us took solace in our misery, Lucas calmly lit a cigarette and blew puffs of smoke at the ceiling.
"That was enjoyable. Anyone for a rematch?"