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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Trial and Error
(****, M/f, Severe, nc caning)
A Disciplinarian has trouble deciding which cane to use. (Approximately 1,085 words. Originally published 2007-09.)
The grim man studied the slip of paper for a long time, so long that Ashley became nervous and almost impatient. But eventually the Disciplinarian just nodded curtly and motioned toward the punishment trestle. "You know what to do," was all he said.
Reluctantly, Ashley began to strip. This was not her first time to see the Disciplinarian, though on her previous visits she'd been beaten by Mr. Randolph. Mr. Morsink was new. She wondered if he'd go easier on her and hoped that would be the case.
She eyed him out of the corner of her eye as he studied the huge rack of canes on display. There were dozens and dozens of them, in every shape and size and color, made from a variety of woods, from the classic rattan to stout malacca to whippy willow. Some were thick and heavy, practically penal grade, while others were thin and light, designed for children.
To the teen's relief, the man selected a basic elementary school cane. It was merely two feet long and extremely light. It wouldn't hurt much at all. Ashley forced herself to look somber instead of relieved.
Grateful, she stretched out on the trestle, her nude body conforming to the shape of the device. Her buttocks were the highest point of her body, the soft curves thrusting upward as though eager to receive the whipping.
Mr. Morsink did not waste any time but delivered a sizzling blow right across the middle of Ashley's bare ass. It stung like a dozen bee stings, but was bearable. It was nothing like a stroke from a real cane. She wondered how many he'd give her. If it was just a sixer she'd walk out of here laughing!
"Hmmm," mused the man. "That left hardly any impression at all. Let's try that again." The light sting came again, and Ashley wiggled a bit to make him think it had hurt her.
Apparently he wasn't convinced, however, as he returned the cane to its place on the rack and came back with a slightly longer rod. It was still an elementary school cane, however, and Ashley was not too worried. The two strokes with it were a bit more impressive, at least from Ashley's point of view, but Mr. Morsink was not impressed.
The third cane he tried was a prefect's rod, commonly used on freshmen, and the only cane prefects were allowed to use. Ashley was intimately familiar with these sticks and knew that with the right person administering them they could be rather painful. Mr. Morsink was an expert, it seemed, for the three strokes he delivered were outrageously stingy.
But still the Disciplinarian was not satisfied. He returned with a different cane and tested it. Two more lashes into Ashley's now-sore rump and she was starting to wonder how much longer this was going to continue.
A few more junior canes of various lengths and girths were tried, Some were worse than others, but the accumulation was alarming. When she saw the man bringing back yet another rod, this one a hefty senior cane, she pleaded, "Sir, arr... aren't we done yet?"
"Not yet, stay still," was the implacable response, and Ashley gritted her teeth and endured some really heavy strokes from several of the longer canes. These were beastly thing, three feet or longer, with plenty of whip, and she could feel the weals swelling across her bare flesh. She'd completely lost count of the number of strokes she'd received but it felt like her whole bottom had been whipped off. What was Mr. Morsink doing?
There he was, studying that damned bank of canes again, ready to choose yet another to torment her with! He made his selection -- this a thin willow rod, no thicker than a pencil. The agony was indescribable. Ashley had never felt anything like it. It cut in like a razor, the sting positively sickening. He gave her three with it, two down low at the tops of her thighs where it was pure murder, then set it aside for another senior rod.
Five canes later, Ashley sighed in relief that they were done. Mr. Morsink was putting all the canes away and she slowly and achingly got herself off the trestle.
"Just what are you doing, young lady?"
"Oh! Oh please, sir, I thought we were done!" Ashley's face was a panic of terror.
"We are finished with the selection phase, but now it is time for your punishment."
"I believe the willow was the worst, for you, correct?"
Ashley stared with unhidden hatred at the thin cane that had felt like it was cutting her flesh open. She couldn't speak. But she didn't need to, for Mr. Morsink already knew the answer.
"In position, please. It shall be twelve."
"Would you prefer more?" he asked coldly.
She shook her head violently. "But you've already..." Her hand flashed to her well-whipped bottom.
"Those do not count," he scoffed. "Mere testing, to see which rod is the most effective for you. Every child is different. For some it's the longer, heavier canes which bruise and penetrate. For others it's the thinner cane, like this one."
There was nothing for poor Ashley to do but drape herself over the trestle once again. This time she screamed and kicked at every livid stroke from that nightmare willow, so thin and cutting, more like a switch than a cane. It was the worst thing she'd ever endured, worse than even the long testing phase. She foolishly fell off the trestle twice in her writhings and earned herself three extras for a total of fifteen purple stripes on top of the crimson tracery that already existed. The three extras were taken while she touched her toes with repeats for rising, and she had to bite her lip and hold on for all she was worth to get through it without penalties, but somehow she did.
"I hoped you learned your lesson," warned the Disciplinarian, "Next time it'll be two dozen."
Ashley just whimpered, a hand to her swollen, crimson buttocks, a veritable moon's surface of weals and welts and blisters. But she had to admit it had been an effective punishment: she had developed an aversion to that willow unlike anything she'd ever known. She'd take two dozen with the governess cane over six with the willow. There was no way she'd _ever_ do anything to get sent to the Disciplinarian again. No way.