Hello, welcome back and fond greetings. I trust that you all had a good weekend. If you were lucky perhaps you even got some spanking in.
Sadly I didn't, but then, life is a vale of woe, or some such shit.
Anyway today I have something almost new.
A few years ago I wrote a story called "Over!" about a school girl caning. I uploaded it to the Library of Spanking Fiction, and it was one of my most popular there.
I read it again the other day, and I really rather liked it, although I recognised a couple of places where it could be improved.
Accordingly I have lightly rewritten it, and here it is in all of it's swishy glory. I think it's quite a bit better for the changes, and I hope that you all approve. I particularly like the character of the snarky narrator, who I must return to one day.
I'll talk to you again after storytime.
The grain of the desk meandered, Amazon-like, across it's finely polished surface. I traced it's path, my eyes glistening with unshed tears. I'd be damned if I'd give Hurley the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
My fingers were wrapped around the far edge of the desk, knuckles white with the strain as I held on for dear life. Odd, that the desk was exactly wide enough for me to do that; I wondered how all of the other girls managed.
The near side edge of the desk dug into my stomach, as I bent across it; my legs were slightly trembling columns as they forced my bottom into a perfect curve.
Sighing I placed my cheek against the cool surface; my breasts were crushed against my blouse as I allowed the desktop to take my weight.
Even stretched tight as my body was I couldn't prevent an involuntary tensing of the muscles in my bottom. They pressed against the short tight skirt, and a pool of nervous sweat tickled the small of my back where it formed a crater.
Damn. I wished I'd worn a longer skirt, with a slip underneath it. As it was the only protection I had beneath my skirt were a worryingly thin pair of sheer black briefs, and they were already plastered against my behind.
The wait was eternal; here, I thought, was the absolute proof of reincarnation, as I lived my life over and over, in the decades that I leaned there.
I could hear Hurley pacing the floor of her study, like an angry bull seeking a matador. Now and again she swished her cane through the air. It sliced through, doing terrible damage to the little oxygen molecules that tried to dive out of it's way.
I swallowed. Soon the hum of it's passage would be punctuated by the crack of it's arrival. And I knew just where too.
Miss Hurley cleared her throat; I could picture her, standing prim and tidy, with not even a single hair out of place, as she held the cane against her long sensible grey skirt.
Just the type of thing I should have been wearing.
"Adamson, I can't tell you how disappointed I am to find myself in this position once again.” Oh yeah, it's all about you, isn't it? “Usually when I cane a girl for bullying that it the end of the matter. But only three weeks after the last time, here we are again.”
It didn't seem to have occurred to her how disappointed I was to find myself in this position once again.
"It is particularly disappointing to find myself in the position of having to cane an eighteen year old girl, an upper sixth former. And, I believe, the oldest girl currently at St Grimley's.”
I couldn't see why she felt it necessary to go through all of this again. We'd already discussed the matter at great length. She'd told me what had been reported to her, and I'd explained that I only gave that daft bitch Jensen a little push; the fall, and the cut on her head were pure accidents, caused by her being just bloody clumsy!
Always assuming that she hadn't taken a dive just to get me into trouble.
That had gone over about as well as the Sex Pistols at a Silver Jubilee party. Miss Hurley looked at me as though I had hawked up a green one on her plushly carpeted floor.
"You know very well that we have no tolerance for bullying here at St Grimley's School for Girls. We have a set of rules and they are enforced strictly. I fail to understand why you thought it a good idea to pick on that poor girl, especially so soon after our last conversation had ended so uncomfortably for you.”
Which meant that she whacked my arse last time, and she was about to do it again.
"I dislike using corporal punishment on my senior girls, but your repellent actions, and the school rules, leave me absolutely no option. The fact that you are legally an adult does not protect you whilst you remain at my school.”
It didn't bloody feel like she disliked it, not when she was lashing that whippy bloody stick of hers across my bottom; it seemed to me that she was well into it!
"Bullying is an offence, not only against the poor girl that you assaulted and terrified, but against the student body as a whole. My pupils can only excel if they feel able to attend school without the fear of being victimised by creatures like you.”
Oh fine; how about the violent assault she was about to commit? How can you teach someone that bullying is wrong by hitting them? I felt pretty much like I was being bullied by Miss Hurley.
"This ridiculous story that you told me, that it is somehow Jensen's fault that you chose to viciously shove her, is nothing but a cowardly lie. It seems that all you have learned from your previous punishment is that it would be advisable to avoid a second one.”
Well, yeah! Of course I didn't want to get caned again – it bloody hurt! And anyway, it was Jensen's fault. She had made out with my boyfriend, and that attracted a standard toll – she owed me her lunch money for a week.
It wasn't my fault the stroppy cow refused to hand it over, and then had the nerve to say Anthony had come on to her. Like he'd see anything in her stringy body!
Thinking about it I was pretty sure that I'd showed a lot of restraint by not ramming her teeth down her sodding throat; maybe I would have if she hadn't bumped her head. But no, one little push and she goes down like a dandelion in front of a lawn mower, and then rushes off to tell the nearest teacher. And I end up bent across Hurley's desk again.
"I only wish I were allowed to administer more than six strokes. I am not. In view of this I will repeat the dose, as last time. Hopefully this time the lesson will sink in. I will not have bullying in my school.”
Yeah, unless you're the one doing it, you hypocritical cow!
"Adamson, I trust that you are now ready to take your medicine?” Oh great, now she thinks she's a bloody doctor!
I assumed the question was rhetorical; apparently I was wrong.
"Are you ready girl?” she snapped, thrashing the air once more. Damn, wrong time to piss her off.
"Yes Miss.” I lied, in my most unconvincing voice. How are you going to be ready to get your arse beaten with a flippin' great tree trunk.
Hurley walloped it through it through space once more.
"Very well then. You will remain in place until I am finished.”
I winced in anticipation as she lay the stick against my bottom; it brushed against me where I stuck out most, and she tapped it against me, two or three times, like a golfer addressing the ball.
You know that old Joni Mitchell song? You don't know what you got 'til it's gone? Well, it was like that. The absence of the cane against my bottom was massive, as she pulled back her arm.
Sound travels pretty fast, and I heard the swoosh of the cane falling before I felt it's impact. There was just time for an aborted shiver of fear before I felt a dull blow across my cheeks.
There was a line of pressure, and then the cane was on it's way back upwards. Hey, this wasn't as bad as I remembered.
The cane had begun it's second descent (the change in noise being unmistakeable) when the sting began to assert itself, like a line of fire ants nibbling a straight narrow line across my behind.
I almost made the error of looking back, to check exactly what was happening, when a handy distraction arrived just in time.
This time there was no pause before the sting took hold; it seemed to originate deep within the muscles, rather than on the surface where the cane had bitten me. The stroke had landed just below the first, which was now blazing in it's own right. It almost seemed as though I had one large wheal across my bum. Bloody hell, but she was good at this!
Ah, wow! I had been distracted by my consideration of the first two strokes, and the third arrived unexpectedly. It exploded across the dead centre of my bottom. I yelped, entirely without control, and jerked my body against the desk.
I could almost feel the extra weight of Miss Hurley's self satisfied smile, as she took a moment to admire her handiwork.
Shit, shit, shit! I no longer had time to process the effect of one slashing blow before the next arrived; the stinging effect of one was still flaring as the next joined it.
Ever put your arse into a beehive? Well, me neither, but I don't need to – I know just how it feels!
I looked at my knuckles; the skin across them was cracking with the effort needed to hold on. I knew that if I let go my hands would leap to cover my bottom, and then I'd just be in more trouble.
This was my life now; an eternity of burning hateful pain.
My feet did a little uncontrolled two step in response to the latest invasion. My bottom, without reference to the rest of me, tried to beat a hasty retreat. This resulted in my body going into an entirely ineffective wriggle. I must have looked like a fish struggling for breath on the riverbank.
That reminded me; breath! I panted. Trying to distract myself from the universe of pain in my bottom, my mind wandered. Pregnant women did breathing exercises to help dissipate the pain; would that help when you were being caned?
Holy shit! She really put all of herself into that one! It cut across the other strokes, pouring a bucket of burning lava onto my poor abused bottom.
Jesus. She really was frighteningly good at this. I wandered where she went to practise.
This time I did the whole lot; gasping, panting, shuffling and jigging.
"Oh, get up girl, and keep still, won't you? This isn't a dance competition.”
I obeyed half of this; I jumped to my feet and clutched at my scalded arse with both hands, while my feet performed a quite creditable Irish Jig.
Hurley let me get away with this for a few seconds; I didn't care for the smile she had all over her face whilst we watched my futile efforts to control myself.
"Right then, I'll just enter that in the book.” she said, reaching for the large red volume (I bet it wasn't as red as my bottom was). She added a line of small neat letters, and then closed it once more.
"Alright Adamson. Compose yourself. I don't expect to see you here again; there is no excuse for bullying. You must learn to treat others as you yourself would wish to be treated. You may go now.”
I turned and shuffled through her solid oak door, closing it quietly behind me. Outside I repeated my jig, and spent a few minutes performing a firm but gentle massage of my bruised hindquarters.
I had P.E later, and the girls would be keen to see the damage.
Well then, what had I learned from that experience? Two things really.
If Miss Hurley believed that you should do unto as others as you'd want them to do unto you, then she must be a bloody masochist!
And when I got Jensen back, I had to be subtle about it.
Oh yeah, I'd learned that alright.
Well, I hope that you enjoyed reading that as much as I did writing it; I think it's pretty decent, nice flow and entertaining characterisation.
Of course, there is just the smallest chance that I may be biased. Highly unlikely though.
The accompanying pictures were selected purely because they show adult school girls being caned. As I was feeling lazy they were all selected from one place; the really rather wonderful Institute of Discipline.
Hurry back soon.
All the best