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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SSC: The Caning
(*****, MM/f, Severe, caning)
A girl suffers a misunderstanding. (Approximately 489 words. Originally published 2000-08.)
I was sick at the thought of the Head's cane. I'd had it once at my old school. Just four strokes, but it hurt like hell. I'd sworn I'd never earn the cane again.
Unfortunately, St. Anne's was very strict. Only my third week and here I was at the Head's!
I'd never met Mr. Davenport, but I'd heard he was a devil with the rod. He once gave a girl six strokes just for chewing gum!
Nervously, I knocked. I heard a cough and went in. Mr. Davenport was younger than I'd expected, and rather handsome. He seemed surprised to see me.
"Mr. Davenport?" I asked.
"Oh, uh, uh, yes?"
"Miss Riley sent me... for the cane!" I blurted out, tears flooding from my face.
The man furrelled his brow. He didn't move, just thought.
"Uh, can't we get it over with?" I asked. "I hate waiting."
The man looked around and saw the bin of canes in the corner. He retrieved one and motioned for me to bend across the desk.
He raised my skirt, then whipped the cane across my knickers. The pain was excrutiating. I flung my head about and gritted my teeth to keep from screaming as he struck again and again. Six strokes. It was hideous. My eyes watered and I couldn't help but rub my bum furiously.
"Go stand in the corner," he said, and then he went out the door in a great rush. I wondered if he needed to use the lavatory. Funny how he took his case.
Ten slow minutes passed. My bum was hurting a bit less. Then the door opened and a man entered. He was tall with white hair and wore wireframe glasses.
He glared at me. "What are you doing here?"
"I've had the cane, sir." I wondered who he was.
"Ah? Who sent you?"
"Very well." Then he drew a long cane from the bin. "Touch your toes."
"But sir, I've _had_ my caning! Mr. Davenport caned me not ten minutes ago!"
The man frowned. "_I_ am Mr. Davenport, young lady."
My jaw fell open. "Then who was the man who caned me?"
"Caned you? What a silly story! Bend over _now_ or it shall be eight!"
"Eight it is, then!"
Weeping silently, I bent over. My skirt was raised and lines of fire rained down. I couldn't stay still. Twice I stood and he didn't count the strokes. My bum was streaked with welts when it was over.
"You may go."
As I reached the door the Head's secretary popped in. "Oh," she said when she saw us. "Did the gentleman leave?"
"What gentleman?" asked Davenport.
"Why, the salesman."
Mr. Davenport looked at me and cleared his throat. "Did he leave his name?"
"No, sir. He said you'd called him."
Mr. Davenport apologized to me, but the salesman was never identified.