Curiosity Causes Carol Considerable Pain

"We will have some tea shortly. My wife will bring it into the office – if you would please step this way". He opened another door while led into an office that could have come out of any movie impression of a headmaster's study from the grimmer days of the education system. "Please sit down". He indicated a chair and we sat as his wife came in carrying a tray of tea and cakes, which she placed on a side table. She also sat, without pouring the tea, which struck me as a little odd.

"Now Miss.", the man started, "If I understand it correctly, you contacted us because of a long held curiosity about the corporal punishment that used to be used in schools and an underlying desire to find out for yourself just what it might have been like to be on the receiving end of such punishments. Is that correct"?

"Yes, Sir". I agreed.

"And am I correct in assuming that one of the main things that fascinated you was the cane"?

"Yes, Sir".

"I thought so – we saw the way in which you looked at the cane on the table. Well, instead you have found out a lot of other things – some of which you may never had even dreamed about. Am I right"?

"Yes, Sir".

"But you are still wondering about the cane – perhaps a little disappointed in this visit"?

I hesitated – suspicious about where this conversation was leading. "No Sir. Well I suppose so, in a way, Sir".

"Yes. You know that is the real reason you came. You know that you want to be punished in the traditional manner. You also know that there have been occasions that you should have been so punished and if the rules had not been changed by silly know nothing do-gooders you would have been punished. Right"? He took my left ear and forced me to stand up.

"Well, answer me – has the cat got your tongue"?

"Yes Sir. No Sir". I stammered, suddenly frightened. I imagined that this was something like what it would have been going to the Headmaster's office to receive a punishment.

"You are going to be punished for your bad conduct. You will be caned like the naughty schoolgirl that you are. Do you understand"?

"No Sir. I mean yes Sir, I understand, but please don't cane me". I was genuinely frightened and started to cry.

"It's no use trying to use tears to get out of this. You have come to me to be punished and you will be punished. Save your tears until you have something to cry about and instead reflect on why you are here. Take off your jacket and put it on the back of the chair. Now stand just there with your hands on your head".

I quickly did as I was told and stood trembling.

I felt a movement and the lady was pulling my panties down to my knees. She then lifted the back of my skirt and pinned it up.

"Place your feet about a foot apart, bend over and grip you ankles. Do not move until you are told to or the stroke will not count. My wife will could the strokes for us. You will receive twelve".

I bent and felt the cold air around my nether regions that were still warm from the shower. I also felt more exposed than I had when totally naked in the other room earlier. I felt like a teenage schoolgirl about to be punished. This felt so real and humiliating and scary. Gripping my ankles tightly I waited for the swishing behind me to stop and the beating to begin.

Suddenly I felt the cold tip of the cane being measured against by taught bottom. A few little tentative taps - a pause – during which the fear and anticipation grew to almost unbearable levels and then, SWISH – Crack! The cane seemed to wrap around my bottom, the tip digging into the side of me right cheek. The pain seemed to radiate out from the fiery line across the centre of my rear end. Eyes tightly closed, I gritted my teeth and clenched my bottom. "One".

Just as the pain seemed be reaching its zenith SWISH, CRACK. A little lower this time. I stayed as still as I could, trying not to cry out – willing the pain to dissipate as quickly as possible. "Two".

SWISH – CRACK. Higher up across the top of my backside. I gasped but held still –tears mounting behind my tightly shut eyes. "Three".

SWISH-CRACK. I lost the grip on my ankles and only just stopped myself from standing upright. Stiffly I bent back down and, quivering all over, braced myself for the next stroke. "Four".

The waiting seemed longer, the SWISH – CRACK. A loud moan escaped and I started panting and the waves of pain pulsated through me. My thighs and bottom were now twitching non-stop and the lines of fire were like individual brands across my bum. "Five".

The quiver in my thighs was still uncontrollable as I bent there in tears as the next stroke came quickly SWISH – CRASH. Right under my bum at the join across the top of my legs. I screamed – half rose again – forced myself to avoid touching the injured spot by pushing my hands down and shaking them. "Six".

The whole of my legs were now shaking and my feet were almost bouncing on the floor. It was difficult to stop myself falling over as I bent and gripped my ankles again. Hardly had I assumed the position and SWISH – CRACK. Slightly angled across my bum – crisscrossing the existing lines with that cruel tip just digging into the top of my thigh. I stood up and danced about holding my fiery behind and crying loudly and uncontrollably. "Does not count". "You sadistic bitch", I screamed at her. "And an extra one for use of bad language", said the man. "Perhaps, for her own good, you had better hold her across my desk".

I was led to the desk and bent over so that my hands gripped the far side and my pelvic region pressed against the near side with my legs out at a slight angle - totally immobile as the lady held my hands in place.

The man moved to the other side of me and, using a backhand I think, he delivered the seventh blow again. SWISH – CRACK. Right on top of an earlier stripe. My whole body was now shaking with the pain and my crying. "Seven".

SWISH- CRACK. "Ah. Ah. Ah, Ah. I gasped out as I gripped the desk and kicked my legs. "Eight".

The lady had barely had time to say "Eight" and the next blow fell. I was still kicking about so much that I struck me across the top of my legs about an inch or so below my bum. I screamed again and my legs and bottom became uncontrollable – the rest of me being retained in place only by the grip of the lady. "Nine".

There was movement again and the man had resumed his place on the left of my body. SWISH – CRACK. "Ten".

SWISH – CRACK. "Eleven". I have no idea where the blows had landed – only that I seemed to be on fire as if had had sat on a hotplate and the stinging lines had turned into one big hurt. No amount of trying seemed to be able to control my legs and bottom from quivering and my stomach was sore from being slammed against the edge of the desk as the blow fell.

I was panting, gasping, moaning and crying as there was another SWISH – CRACK, and another crisscross stroke flailed even harder across my burning bum. I howled. "Twelve".

"Now, there is the extra one for band language. Please try and hold still." I was beyond saying anything.

SWISH – CRACK. Even the lady's strong grip and the awkward position across the desk could stop me standing up – albeit shakily – and stiffly trying to walk around the room as I held my scorched backside and legs and cried out the only thing I could actually say, "Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah...."

"I'm sorry, that does not count. I thought you had learned better self-control. Get back over."

I continued to dance about. "Quickly, or there will be two more." I moved, not too quickly, and bent back over the desk. I lay there sobbing and shaking. SWISH – CRACK. It was the hardest blow of all and seemed to push my flesh right in to the bone, as it stung my like a giant wasp. All I could do was howl and moan. My body couldn't move and I lay there across the desk for some time just crying my eyes out and panting with the agony.

"You may get up now." I carefully rose and stood – totally exhausted with the ordeal.

"Please go and stand in the corner, face to the wall and hands on your head." I stood totally absorbed in the pain in my backside. In the back of my mind I reasoned that I would be expected to stand there for twelve minutes. I didn't care any more. .....

At the end of the time I had stopped crying and the panting and quivering had also ceased. I just hurt! "Pull up you pants". I carefully eased them over my bruised posterior as the lady unpinned my skirt. "Go and wash your face and freshen up. We will then have some supper." Unfeeling, except for the pain in my upper legs and backside, I went and did as she bid. I now knew how my sister had felt when she had been caned and then strapped. It was, I figured, an effective punishment that few schoolgirls would wish to repeat.

Back in the office and I was invited to sit with them and have supper. They had changed back to their friendly and pleasant selves – quite unlike the characters that they had been playing over the past few hours. The pain in the butt was exceedingly uncomfortable but the supper was very nice and I began to recover my stability as the tears (which I later realised were caused by exhaustion as much as pain) and shivers stopped. Within about an hour I was ready to go home to bed.

They ordered and paid for a taxi for me – insisting that it was not right for a young lady to be walking about alone at that time of night and that they did not think I would be wanting to take a bus. As I left they both commented that they thought that I had handled myself very well – especially as this was the first time I had ever experienced anything like what I had that evening – and said that now that they knew where they were I should feel free to call them at any time.

And so, home, carefully undress in the privacy of my room where I could again take a close look at the damage I had received, very delicately smooth some cold crème onto my bruised and scared bottom, and gently slide into bed. Once I had found a comfortable way to lay I soon feel into the deep sleep on utter exhaustion and awoke quite late the following morning as I rolled over onto my tender backside.

Looking in the mirror I saw that the bruises had come out blue and the red scars of the cane where they crossed my bottom and dug into the sides were raised welts – tender to the touch and destined to be reminders of my punishments for many days to come.

Would I ever repeat that experience? Well that remains to be seen and will perhaps be the subject of another story! All I can say at this time is that I have no post experience regrets and only a lingering pain to keep the memory alive for a while.