A School Tale
I have to confess that as a teenager I had a few ambitions. One of my goals though from about the age of thirteen was to be properly punished at school; given what we called at the time 'corporal punishment'. I wanted to be caned across my bottom and I wanted this to be done by the head teacher. I can’t really say why this was an ambition, after all I was very familiar with the process and the outcome of being caned at home, where I had to do very little wrong to be on the receiving end. Perhaps it was that a caning in school seemed much more romantic, less individual and lonely. In the school stories I read traditional punishment given to both boys and girls has a sense of camaraderie about them that my experience at home did not have. The frisson of waiting outside the Head's office; the shared anxiety of being with others in the same situation; the nervous tension when being summonsed into the room; the shared humiliation and the companionship of others afterwards, these were experiences I wanted to share.
As none of the schools I attended used corporal punishment often and particularly on girls this was a difficult ambition to fulfil. I knew that I was going to have to be really naughty , probably much more naughty than I would have to be at home to be caned. However, this only heightened the sense of excitement.
Corporal punishment was largely none existent in my junior school. Really naughty boys were smacked occasionally and girls never to my knowledge. Being caned was also rare in my secondary school. I knew that it would be a difficult task to fulfil my ambition. Although Dr Torridge, the head teacher, used to cane the boys occasionally, but only perhaps once a term. Mrs. Weaver was the deputy head mistress rarely used the cane on a girl let alone across their bottom. Also, girls were rarely given corporal punishment at Westfield. I think in the time I was a pupil there we only got to know about two girls who were given the cane and both of them got it across their hands.
Some of the teachers did use corporal punishment, while some of the men teachers used to smack boys pupils occasionally in class for bad behaviour it was in PE that it was used regularly. Mrs Jones, the girl’s PE teacher was a regular user of the slipper on us girls. Indeed, her reputation for slippering the girls had reached the girls in the local junior schools before we had even arrived on the new school premises. Indeed in our first gym lesson we had with her in Year One she told us that she had the headmaster’s permission to use the slipper and that we could all expect her to use it on us. She regularly used what she called her ‘jones special’, adult size ten gym shoe on girls in our class for a wide range of infractions such as poor behaviour, tardiness in her lessons, lateness, failing a gym kit inspection and anything else she could think of!
As a result by the end of the second year about half of the girls in our class including myself had bent over in our gym shorts to be seriously whacked across our bottoms for something Mrs Jones did not like. However, my ambition would not have been fully satisfied if I had only been slippered by the gym teacher, I was a bright pupil in the top set, who did well in lessons and came near the top of the class when we had exams. And so, even when I started to behave badly, I was initially treated leniently and let off with a caution. I realised that in order to stand any chance of being caned let alone by Dr. Torridge I would either have to do something really awful or undertake a whole series of very serious offences.
Of course I never let on about my ambitions to anyone else. This was a private dream that I was not prepared to share. Anyway my friends would not have believed me.They would have thought I was a crank, an odd ball, a nutter! The class would have laughed at me and called me 'dippy' and possibly ostracised me. They would not have understood me and from the beginning of this need I felt they were best left in the dark. Although I was no different from my close friends, who at thirteen, were increasingly dreaming of boyfriends, petting and various forms of close contact; of having our generally still tiny breasts fondled and perhaps letting a boy put his hand up our skirt to check out the thrill, my keenest desire was that my bottom should be the recipient of far more aggressive and intimate activities.
From the early part of my third year, I set out with a purpose to reach my goal. I set myself a double incentive, to be punished by both a female and a male member of staff. I did not care about the order in which it happened, or who did it. Certainly, a gorgeous hunk of a man teacher would have added to my personal pleasure but it did not really matter. I was determined to have both scalps as soon as possible. As I expected at first when I set about achieving my ambition with some purpose, my increasingly poor behaviour was put down to high spirits and regarded as a tomboy phase I might be going through. Although I was reprimanded and told on a number of occasions that I should behave better, 'Leave her and she'll grow out it' seemed to be the common approach by my teachers.
During that school year I tested every teacher I met and was constantly troublesome to everyone. Over the year the forgiving and forget approach moved to frustration and finally exasperation. However, despite all my efforts for over six months I was no further to achieving my ambition. Once when Mrs. Weaver, my form teacher, was 'having ‘a little chat with me' she remarked that she did not know what to do with me. I thought that I did but naturally remained silent on the matter.
Because of my continuing war of attrition, I increasingly found myself being shouted at by irate teachers, sent to stand in cold corridors, seated at the back of other teacher's classrooms and sent to other teachers. Most of my punishments for being sent outside were detentions and lines until the day I was found standing outside a classroom by the head teacher, Dr. Torridge.
He did’t like pupils standing in the corridor, so once had asked me what I was doing outside a classroom and who I was he took me to his office and gave me a real 'dressing down'. He finally said that if he found me outside any other classroom again, I would be in serious trouble. This, I felt, looked distinctly promising on the one hand but as it had been the first time he had seen me it could be quite a wait until I was found again. In fact it was not long at all, the next afternoon in fact. There I was standing outside my geography classroom again for being rude as he walked towards me. After walking into the classroom to speak with my teacher all he said was "come with me, I am going to deal with you!"
Following him down the corridor to his study, when I got there I was told to wait outside the door. He was inside only a short time and When he reopened the door he merely told me to wait there until the end of school and he would see me then. This did not seem too bad, even though it would be a long wait as afternoon school had only just begun.
At quarter to four, after the end of school bell, he called me into his office and stood me in front of him. It was the classic picture, the irate head teacher and the naughty pupil. "I've been checking up on you", he said as I stood before him. "Your teachers tell me a sorry tale Wendy", he continued, “bad behaviour and rudeness in class throughout this term and most of last term too. Your work does not seem to have suffered though, homework completed on time and up to standard and your class work and tests, everything there continues to be up to scratch. It's all very odd", he said, "so odd in fact that I rang your mother this afternoon."
At this I visibly trembled. I knew what the outcome of this would be, whatever happened here, I knew once at home that I would be on the receiving end of a good hiding. Like most parents of the time my parents always said that if they ever found out that any of us had been in trouble at school they would see to it that we were punished at home. I knew that my dad would probably cane me for this once he knew about it.
"Yes Wendy," the head continued, "I asked your mother what she would recommend I do to punish you. Do you know what she said?" he added.
Of course I knew. However, I looked at him and decided to say nothing. As far as I was concerned this could be my golden chance and silence would probably be construed as insolence. A useful attitude I told myself, towards my goal, and to be punished by the head teacher would be the ultimate. Avoiding his eye I stared at my shoes and rolled my hands firmly down the back of my skirt with a certain feeling of anticipation. It was probably now or never I told myself as the anticipation went firstly to my stomach and then to my more private parts. There was the beginning of a familiar feeling I associated with home, a tightening of my buttocks; a feeling of wanting to go to the loo and the slight, yet familiar, wetness of anticipation around my fanny. This, I realised, was the closest to my goal so far.
I was aware at my age even that the shape of my bum in my school skirt was provocative. A number of older boys had said that they 'fancied' me and suggested what they would like to do with me. As I said earlier, I had let Andy touch me up, kiss me, and put his hands on my breasts and up my skirt. So far he was the only one who I had allowed. However, I was not so certain about the effect of my adolescent body on adults, particularly teachers or head teachers. Nevertheless, as Dr. Torridge continued talking to me I made my bum stick out as much as possible and looked him in the eye. This was as if to say 'come on then, let's see what you really are going to do! Whatever the effect on him, he seemed to ignore this gesture totally and continued his comments.
He said, to my surprise, "When I rang your mother this afternoon. I had a long and very interesting conversation about you. She told me that you are often very naughty at home. Is this true?”
My response was made only to inflame the situation. "What a stupid question," I responded, "if my mother says so then its bound to be true, isn't it?"
I knew my barefaced cheek would encourage him to think that his only recourse would be to punish me severely. In my own way I was daring him to think that only some form of corporal punishment was the answer. It was at that moment that moment our minds met.
As a result of my cheek the head’s eyes nearly popped out of his head and he looked at me as if he could not believe what he was hearing. Nevertheless, this did not stop his flow.
"Your mother tells me you have been severely punished on a number of occasions," Dr. Torridge continued, "she also advised me that if I cannot get you to do what you are told I should do the same."
At this point it was clear to me that he had considered the situation. His next comment confirmed it. After a slight pause he said, "I don't usually cane girls but just now your father rang me to find what was going on. His response was exactly the same,” he said. “The only way he could get you to learn was by the use of physical punishment. I understand, Wendy, that he uses the cane on you regularly. Is this true?" he asked.
"Oh yes, sir" I replied, after what I felt was a well-worked pause. "He has done that sometimes but he also uses a slipper and hand-spanks me as well." I added this in the hope that the head would take the hint.
"Right," Dr. Torridge responded after another short pause as if he had made a big decision. "Your parents both think that you need such a punishment now. I think they are right too. By all accounts from your teachers your behaviour has been dreadful recently and if your parents say that the cane is the only way to make you learn then I shall have use it. You do realise that for your recent behaviour I could probably expel you from here. Which would you prefer; a caning or being expelled?”
I did not hesitate, "cane me please", were the words that came into my mind but again I did not say anything straight away. Again I hung my head inspected my shoes and pretended to think. After an appropriate pause I looked up into is face and said, "I will be caned, sir."
"You are sure?" was his response.
"Yes sir," I said as my tummy churned with anticipation and the juice around my fanny increased. My excitement was now electric, I knew now that he would cane me. I had achieved my goal. I also knew that I would get a double dose, as I was sure that when I got home my father would certainly see that I was bent over to receive more from him.
"Your parents punish you on your bottom," Dr. Torridge said, "They told me I should do the same. I am not asking what you think here though,” and pointing to the large table in the middle of the room he told me "You will bend over this desk Wendy.”
As I walked over to it he moved his papers around on his desk and prepared a space for me to bend over. I knew that usually with the boys he merely told them to touch their toes. If he had told me to do that he would have seen my short school skirt rise up over my bottom and reveal what I was wearing underneath. I knew this would embarrass him and that it was unlikely that he would ask me to do this. In all honesty, I had expected him to cane me across my hands.
To hear the head teacher say "Bend over the desk, Wendy" was, nevertheless, a shock and I still did not really believe that he had said it as I gingerly got over his large desk. I tried to get as comfortable as I could but this was difficult. There was not much room on the desk for me to do as he had asked me. As awkward as it was, I made sure that my long legs were revealed to him as far up as I could manage. Give him some excitement too, I felt.
To embarrass Dr. Torridge, and to give him the view I was sure he wanted, I had done a little preparation while I was waiting outside his room. Firstly, I had made sure that my school skirt, which was short, indecently short, at the best of times, had been rolled as high as possible before I entered his room. As I stood straight before him I knew that it only just covered my bum, when I bent over it must rise well up to reveal for him an excellent picture of my blue knickered bottom.
As I went over the desk I actually made sure that my skirt went even higher and that there would be no doubt as to what he could see. I was sure that this was what he really wanted, a proper look at my tightly knickered arse. The caning was I felt also an excuse for him to get an eyeful. If it was not then that was exactly what he was going to get anyway. I wondered if he had got a ‘hard on’ but there was no way I could find out.
When I was in place to receive there was a short pause. I am sure that he spent the time looking at what lay in front of him. A thirteen-year old girl, mature for her age with a short blue school skirt that had risen up and showing matching regulation knicks, exposed for him to view. I wondered if he had ever seen such a sight before. You dirty old man, I thought.
The headmaster gave no indication of how many strokes I was to receive, or even that he was about to begin. He said nothing to me at all. All I heard was the first swish of the cane through the air and the crack as it hit me across the middle of my bottom.
He had given me no half measure. He had brought the cane down to hurt me. I screeched with the pain, shouted "my bum, my bum" and rubbed myself vigorously where the first blow had landed.
"Settle down!" he instructed almost immediately. I do not know if this was what he always said to pupils he caned or if it was because I was making so much noise. Nevertheless, I wriggled again before resuming my position across the desk. The first stroke had hurt but I made sure that as I got down for the rest of my punishment that my skirt had risen up even further up my bottom. I wanted him to see what he was doing and that I was defiant.
Almost immediately, and again without any warning the cane wheeshed through the air and came down on my defenseless backside. As I had heard it coming through the air I had managed to squeeze my buttocks together, in an attempt to avert the pain but that was all.
This time the stroke had cut into me just above where the first one had landed. His positioning was unusual in my experience. My training from home had always indicated that a caning was done from the top of the buttocks and worked down it with successive strokes. In this way I had often been raised on to my tipi-toes with each stroke in an impression that actually after each stroke my bum was widening out as if asking for more punishment.
The third stroke came immediately after the second and hit me on the point where my bottom meets the top of my legs. In actuality Dr. Torridge had missed my bottom altogether and hit my exposed skin. It was the stinging agony of being hit on the bare flesh that made me blubber. I dared not stand up. I just gripped the side of the desk and cried my eyes out. He was a butcher this man, I thought. He had no idea of subtlety or style; he just hit you as hard as he could on wherever the cane landed.
The tops of my legs were in agony but he gave me no time to compose myself before resuming. The fourth stroke, which followed after I had settled down again hit me on more or less the same place as the third. This stroke effectively made my bottom rear up off the desk and made me push hard into my knickers to accommodate the pain. As a result my bum stuck out more and more.
The fifth stroke was delivered before I had resumed my position across the desk and while I was totally unprepared to receive. This stroke, which was swiftly delivered, brutalised me in a way that none of the previous ones had done. I had no idea where it had hit me, just that it had caught me in a way that none of the other had done, with my bum in the air. My tears were now unstoppable. I was crying for mercy and wriggling uncontrollably. My buttocks were red hot with five hard strokes of fire laid across them. There was no way I could suppress the pain. I jumped up and yelled in agony, pulled and pushed at my buttocks through my knickers and screamed. ‘No, no you’re hurting me. I’m sorry!” I cried. “Stop! Stop!” I shouted as I writhed in agony snatching at my knickered bottom to try to quell the pain.
To my horror, as I took my hands away from my bottom my knickers came with them. Their elasticity had gone and I could feel them coming away from my flesh. I did not know what to do or where to put myself. My training told me to bend over the desk properly again but my decorum said do not do it.
As if surprised at what he was seeing, Dr. Torridge said nothing for what seemed ages. Then he said very quietly but with firmness. "You will have six strokes, bend over my desk again for the last one."
Leaving my knickers where they were I bent fully over the desk again. I wasn't’t sure what picture the head got now. I knew the middle of my bum was still covered but I think my flesh at the sides of my bottom were now exposed. Although I didn’t think he could see my cunt I was determined he was not going to have a full view of my arse. Within seconds Dr Torridge had picked his spot and brought the cane sharply down on me for the last time. Again this strike left me in agony and I heard myself shouting "aaaagh, aaaagh nnooooooo" as I rubbed my bottom again and again.
I remained across the desk for some time after this last stroke. Dr Torridge seemed to have no inclination to ask me to move. Standing behind me he was merely content to watch my antics and gymnastics as I tried to recover my composure and keep my knickers covering my buttocks. I knew that despite anything I attempted to do he would must have a view of both my exposed arse hole and my fanny as I gyrated about on the desk.
I was so humiliated. A man I hardly knew, who had been given permission to do this by my parents had thrashed my arse with a venom that I had rarely known before. What was worse I had lost my knickers as he had done this and he had seen parts of me that he should never have done. I did not know what was worse, the punishment exposure of by bare bottom, or the humiliation.
"Stand up Wendy," he said eventually, as my tears were beginning to subside.
I did as he asked and pulling my skirt down over my aching flesh I and letting my knickers fall round my ankles turned to face him.
"You shouldn't have done that," I said with some anger.
He looked at me with an air of superiority and said "I doubt you will go broadcasting it at home, particularly after what you're about to receive when you get there and in the state you are in."
I stood and looked at him in disbelief. You bastard I thought, you have got it all planned. After this threat Dr. Torridge told me to pick up my knickers as I looked very silly with them around my ankles . After doing this and standing with them in my hand Dr Torridge said little more to me except that he would ring to tell my parents I was on my way home.
At this a new reality hit me, horrible things that I did not want to face up to were in the front of my mind. He was ringing my parents so that they could check the time I took to get home and my parents could be prepared for me. I also realised that I was now only half way through my punishment. I knew that my father would repeat what Dr. Torridge had given me, at the very least. Finally and perhaps most importantly, I would be wearing no knickers. My father would certainly punish me with my bottom bare anyway but I wondered if I would be able to get away without his needing an explanation as to how I had arrived home in that state. I thought glumly that this was very doubtful.
Dr Torridge told me to go home and I left his study feeling weak after what I had received and in the knowledge of what I would receive again when I got home. My bottom continued to hurt horribly as I left his study and no amount of rubbing could assuage the pain. The caning I had received was not all that was new; I could feel the spring breezes swirling round my knickerless buttocks as I walked across the schoolyard towards the street.
Although very pleasant to feel these breezes barely cooled my heavily stinging bottom. Half way to the school gate I was met by one of the young caretakers who leered at me with some pleasure as I approached him. "That took some beating," he said, and laughed. "I bet you well warmed up now." It took me a moment or two to work out what he meant. Then I realised that he must have seen everything through the head teacher's study window. Its position had afforded him a grandstand view of my being bent over Dr. Torridge's desk, the caning I had received and the view of my bare arse when my knickers came off. I was so embarrassed I just bowed my head to avoid any eye contact with him. As I passed closer he remarked, "A nice ripe pair you've got there. Mind you they look more like Laxton's at the moment." To make things worse he laughed again and said, “would you like me to rub them better for you?” At this I ran away as fast as I could in the circumstances, carrying both my embarrassment and humiliation with me.
By the time I reached home my bum ached only a little less than when I had walked out of Dr. Torridge's study, where his prediction of a repeat dose was a racing certainty. As he said he said he would, Dr. Torridge had rung my parents and talked over my caning. Well almost… he made no mention of my exposed bottom and failed knickers. Nevertheless, I knew to avoid further punishment beyond what I could already expect I had to get home and put on another pair of knickers before either of my parents saw the state that I was in. Apart from the questions they would ask and my embarrassment at having to explain myself, I also knew that if it was found that I had nothing on under my skirt it would certainly result further punishment. I felt there was little chance of this as they would be both waiting for me to get home.
There was no escape from the wrath of my parents when I got home. As I expected, when I opened the front door, both of my parents were waiting for me in the hallway, my father with a cane flexing in his hand. So this was to be it. I was to have a repeat dose of the cane from him and he would find out that my bottom was uncovered. I had no chance.
What did surprise me though was the cane. I had expected to punished with the bamboo style garden cane which was kept in the kitchen cupboard and had been used on me before. This was the only cane I had seen in our house. However, the one my father held was not like that at all. It was a lot more sophisticated. It was like those you see in school stories, long, ever so thin and was curved at one end. I wondered where he had got it from and how long he had had it. It was so thin that he could flex it easily in his hands as he held it in front of me. It was very frightening to see him standing there with it and I wondered how much damage it was going to do to my bottom.
However, it was my mother who spoke first. "So Dr Torridge caned you," she said, "what a disgrace you are, Wendy. To all of us and yourself. I've no doubt that you deserved it." She continued, without any hesitation. “We have already warned you what would happen if you were naughty again, haven't we?"
"Yes mum," I said, hanging my head to acknowledge that I knew this.
"You are a very naughty girl, Wendy. You deserve a severe punishment now. Go upstairs and put yourself over the chair in your bedroom at once. I shall be up directly to deal with your bottom again. A caning at school when I was a girl meant another at home.”
So far, my father had not spoken. All he continued to do was to flex the cane in his hand with some menace, and look at me. I knew I had no choice and that I must obey my mother's instructions. Nevertheless, I walked past them and went upstairs as slowly as I dare. Being punished twice in one day was never nice. There was little pleasure to be gained from a second experience on the same day. With Dr. Torridge earlier, it had all been about ambition and my adrenaline had flowed. Now it was about coping with pain and suffering. I knew that my mother would spare my bottom no mercy and it would be sore for days afterwards. So sore I would not want to sit down and would want t eat my meals standing up. Nevertheless, as I went up the stairs I was still gently smoothing the back of my school skirt with my hands. I could feel my aching bum cheeks through the material although was trying hard not to think about what was going to happen to them next.
It was just a sense of dread of what I knew I was going to suffer at the hand of my mother and also perhaps my father. When he had spanked me that had been bad enough but the cane! I knew that could only be worse! The thought of that thin, whippy instrument I had seen in his hands being brought down across my bottom again today was too much. I had to blot out all such thoughts.
I thought I knew exactly what would happen next but I was wrong. Thinking I had time before my father arrived, I went into my bedroom and opened a drawer to find a new pair of knickers that I could put on. However, just as I was picking them out of the drawer to my surprise, my mother arrived, holding the cane in her hand. I did not expect that she would come upstairs to punish me instead of him.
"What are you doing?" she said when she saw that I had one of my drawers open and a pair of my clean knickers in my hand.
I turned to face her, feeling very silly trying to hide my knickers behind my back.
"I told you to put yourself over that chair," she said pointing to it with the cane. "I think it would be advisable if you did as you were told now."
Immediately I dropped my knickers on the floor and rushed to the chair and bent over it as she had requested. I tried to keep my secret a moment longer and pulled my short skirt as far over my buttocks as possible. Even doing that I still realised that in a few seconds all would be lost. When she discovered my plight I knew that my mother would 'go bananas'. The stern caning I had expected, ever since Dr. Torridge said he was going to ring my parents would now be laid on without mercy.
My mother came towards me and, as I expected as a preparation for my punishment, lifted my skirt to expose my bare bottom. "Stand up, Wendy", she commanded when she saw my bare buttocks in front of her. I did so and was faced with a barrage of questions from her. As I expected, she did not hesitate to ask about the whereabouts of my knickers.
"What have you been doing?" she said to me. And without waiting for a reply she added, “What have you done with your knickers? Why are you not wearing any pants? What is the meaning of this? I want an explanation immediately," she said, jabbing her index finger at me.
I knew that I had to tell the truth, after what had already happened I knew that only the truth would do. I told her about the elastic giving way when Dr Torridge had punished me. I tried to say that really I had nothing to do with it. "It wasn't my fault, mum!" I pleaded with her. "Of course it was…” she responded, "who else could be responsible? You are responsible for the state of you own clothing. No one else can be at your age. If you had not been so naughty as to need a caning it would never have happened. Now would it?"
"Did Dr Torridge ask you to remove your knickers?" she continued. "Did he take them off you or did he ask you to remove them before he caned you," she asked. "That sort of thing is not right and I shall ring him to complain if he did interfere with you. Even though I told him to cane you I'm not having that!"
So it was my mum's idea that Dr. Torridge should cane me. What a bastard she was too, I thought. How dare she do that to me? However, as far as the sexual abuse issue was concerned I tried to put her mind at ease. I told her that Dr. Torridge had not asked me to expose my bare bottom to him, nor had he taken down my knickers himself. It had happened, I told her, and because I had wriggled so much with the pain of the caning that he had given me. Really, it had been an accident. “It was an accident”, I tried to tell her, through my tears.
"So when did it happen?" she asked.
When I told her she went berserk. The truth angered her further and a whole raft of accusations and comments were thrown at me. It was all so bewildering to me as she shouted both comments and questions in my face not waiting for answers. The headmaster had seen my exposed bottom! How much had he seen? My skirt had been raised when he caned me? Had I kept my knickers over all of my buttocks throughout the caning? Had I managed to keep my legs together? No of course I couldn’t have she told me. I could only have wriggled about and exposed myself across his desk. He must have seen my privates. Did he touch me? Eventually she told me I should be ashamed of what had happened. She also said had never heard anything like it.
Finally she calmed down and told me how embarrassed she was! I should be ashamed of myself. How dare I do such as thing! What a slut I was. What would the headmaster think of me? What would he think the rest of my family now? I was a disgrace to the whole family.
At this point my mother told me to remove my skirt. "I will punish you properly for what you have done,” she said. “I will punish you severely. You are an absolute disgrace; I will see that you cannot sit down for a week. Do you hear me!" She shouted again. "Do it now!"
I removed my skirt and, as a result of my anxiety rather than placing it on the bed, my trembling fingers ensured that it fell on the floor. I was told firstly "pick it up and put on your bed." As I did so she hit me hard across my bottom with her hand. Then she said "turn round and face me."
With my bottom stinging even more and the tears coming into my eyes again I turned to face my mother. Again she told me that my behaviour was unacceptable to both her and my father. "You will be punished severely for what you have done both in school and for the embarrassment you have caused us by loosing your knickers when the head caned you. I wonder if it was deliberate”, she added. "I shall tell your father when I have finished with you and I shall tell him not to spare you in the least. You are a total disgrace," she repeated again.
There was to be no protection from my mother, I realised. I just hoped that my father would not follow after her and cane me again. Three times in one day! That would be unbearable. I also suspected that my mother would be a better master of the implement than my head teacher had been.
After she had spoken my mother turned me round and inspected the damage to my rear. She counted the red streaks across my buttocks and caressed each one of them with her hand, as if she were gently smacking each line that had been drawn there. Although it did not hurt me, it made my bum feel really odd.
“He gave you six then,” she said. I knew this was a rhetorical question and said nothing. My mother finished whatever fetish this was by noting that Dr. Torridge was no master with the implement. “He was savage, very heavy handed I see. There is no finesse here, just power.” she remarked to no one in particular. Again, I felt, a sign that she was telling me that she thought she could do a better job.
Having inspected my arse, my mother then told me what she expected of me when she punished me. "I will cane you properly," she told me, "and you will put yourself over that chair for me to cane your bottom. You will receive as many strokes of the cane as I see fit," she added. She also told me that, unlike Dr, Torridge, she would start my punishment at the top of my bottom and each stroke would be just a little lower than the last and that she would cover my entire buttocks with red wealds until she reached the top of my legs.
She continued, saying "Each stoke will be as hard as I see fit and if you stand up or dare swear during the punishment, I will start again at the top of your bottom. You will not get up at any time unless I tell you," she commanded, "and you will remain over the chair until not only I have finished with you but also your father has finished with you and tells you to move. Do you understand?”
"I shall punish you severely," she added ominously, "as will your father when he comes upstairs. You will not even think about being able to sit down for many days. And you will only want to sleep on your tummy without your duvet. You will learn we mean business here."
Then I was asked again if I understood what she had told me. I said I did understand what she had said, although I did not really know if I did. I was scared; my mouth was too dry to reply properly. I merely nodded to her, squeezing my buttocks together as tightly as I could at the same time.
"I will cane you now as I was caned myself many years ago," my mother told me. "You will receive no mercy from me, Wendy. I will thrash you and not only that, I will make sure that your sister and brother see what has happened to you. Before this night is out they will see what happens to disgraceful children in this house."
My mother then picked up the pillow from my bed and placed it over the back of the chair in my bedroom. She motioned me to get into position and prepare myself. I knew how to prepare myself for this. It was part of the ritual.
The thrashing I received seemed to last forever. As she had described, she counted one, two, three…as she brought each swish of the cane down successively lower across my already throbbing bottom from the top of my orb to its base. My pyrotechnics were to no avail. Each slash of the thin, whippy stick was placed with some venom on my already bruised skin. She had counted to fifteen before she stopped. She then put the cane down and left me without saying a word.
I was in paroxysms of pain but I had no time to think about that as my father followed my mother immediately into my bedroom. He must have been waiting for her to complete her part in this just outside my bedroom door and he came in with purposeful footsteps, merely telling me to remain where I was until he had finished with me. I did so with my uncovered, and now severely painful, bottom still completely exposed waiting for his chastisement. To my knowledge this was the first time he had seen my bum uncovered since I was a little girl in nappies but he said nothing about it. In fact he said nothing at all except "I see your mother has done a good job on you already. Wendy, you will now be punished by me. Are you ready?" As with my mother previously, and trough my unstoppable tears I said was as ready as I ever would be and I braced myself for what I did not really know, except that it was bound to hurt me.
To my surprise he did not use the cane across me. At first I did not realise what it was he was using to beat me with. As he was doing so, I worked out that whatever it was, it was long and thin but not as thin as the cane. It seemed to have more flexibility. He somehow just flicked his wrist and it could inflict great pain across both of my buttocks at the same time. It really hurt though every time he hit me I was in great distress. He hurt me with it much, much more than any spanking he had given me before.
It turned out that it was a riding crop he had used. I saw the implement lying on the bed when he had finished with me, which like the cane, I did not know he had. It was about three feet long with a narrower point than the base with a handle. By the time he had finished he had given me ten very solid, firm strokes across my buttocks with each cutting into my already broken skin where my mother's caning had just stung me.
This pain, when he had finished, was inconceivable. I hurt so much I just cried and cried. I could not stop the tears running down my face but I did not dare scream and shout, as I would have liked to do. I thought this might have got me into more trouble. Although I squeezed my buttocks as tight as I could in an attempt to control my suffering they were both now a sheet of pain and nothing I could do seemed to help. My buttocks felt scorched from the agony of the caning and the whipping that I had received at home in a way that Dr. Torridge with all his crude thrashing had not managed to execute.
When I had calmed down a little my father told me that I could have no tea and that I was to stand in the corner of the dining room without both my knickers and skirt while the rest of the family ate their tea. This, he said, was to let Jane and Peter see what happened to naughty children. He said seeing what had happened to me would act as a deterrent for them.
Before they were allowed to eat tea, Jane and Peter were told of my naughtiness at school and of the punishment I had been given, both by Dr. Torridge and subsequently by them at home. During this time of the story telling I was placed facing the wall so my painful buttocks were in view for them to see. My naked bottom with its red stripes and increasingly purple blotches was enough to make both my sister and brother agog with curiosity. As the story unfolded both of them listened in a shocked silence to my parents, only sometime glancing furtively at the retribution that had been taken out on my backside.
They were told that I was not allowed tea and that I could not sit down. My sister giggled at this and said, very quietly, but enough to be heard around the table, "that must be true anyway." No one commented at her remark but I knew if it had been me who had said it in similar circumstances, my bottom would have immediately been attended to. I felt I was beaten for everything I did that was wrong and Jane got away with everything. I felt that a good spanking would have done her good, as she smugly sat there looking at me and hearing about me misfortunes. Life was so unfair, I thought at the time.
Over the years I had learned from my gran, to bathe myself immediately after a heavy punishment. On this occasion, of course I had had no chance to do this. I had to wait until after tea was finished to do this and to inspect the damage. What was to be seen was not a pretty sight. My bottom was covered in red grooves you could put your finger in and a number of painful purple and pink blotches that would take ages to go away. Although I hurt immensely and had cried all my tears away and I would be unable to sit down properly for a long time, I also realised I had achieved my ambition. At least there was some consolation in that.
