Caned Hard by Beautiful Miss Adams

Many, many years ago I made an appointment with a counsellor to attempt to understand myself and live a more fulfilling life. One of the first things she asked me to do was to write a sexual fantasy for her, which I did. I sent it to her as requested so she'd have time to peruse it before our next session. But I never heard back from her. Anyway, this is the fantasy:

I had just avoided a slippering from the green track-suited, stocky, and powerfully built, sandy complexioned, Mister Butcher the P.E. teacher, when the internal phone buzzed...

October 1973: I was just eighteen years of age and my name, Matt Triewly.

'Butch', as he was more commonly known, marched over and with barely concealed irritation, picked up the receiver.

"Sports hall, Mister Butcher speaking... yes, he is... right you are!"

The sports master turned and then barked at me in his strong Yorkshire accent: "Triewly! Get yourself down the headmaster's office - pronto!"

I felt momentarily self-conscious as I briefly became the focus of attention for the class. I made for the exit, pushing against the reinforced glass of the wooden framed doors, and emerging into the corridor. My bare feet padded on the mica tiles and bar a pair of borrowed navy-blue sports shorts, I was completely naked, the wearing of underpants being forbidden on the grounds that they were unhygienic after a vigorous and sweat inducing games session.

That day, however, I had forgotten my kit bag, fortunately, Joe Bayley's mother had slipped his old shorts into his bag should his newly purchased ones proven unsuitable for whatever reason. Joe, by lending them to me had saved me from the trauma and humiliation of a three-stroke, full force, slippering with a gym shoe in front of the rest of the class.

Two weeks previous I had received one stroke for being late and that was bad enough - the pain was horrendous, though thankfully subsiding rapidly. At home that night I had, by twisting round uncomfortably, inspected my naked buttock in the bathroom mirror - there was a patchy purple-black imprint of a sole on my soft pink skin, and still tender to the touch!

Anyway, Butch had exercised clemency on this occasion for me not being suitably attired and I was permitted to continue with the gym session topless. 'But' he had added chillingly, 'there would be no second chance!'

I carried on down the long corridors past classrooms where I would catch glances from other pupils. I wondered why I had been summoned to the Head - I wasn't aware of any wrongdoing.

The Downs High School was comprised of three separate buildings: two blocks for general education and one exclusively for science and technology. The school had become comprehensive after a merger between the neighbouring Grammar and Secondary Modern schools.

I now left the East Block by its main door and into the sunny but chilly autumn air, a gentle gust of wind causing me to shiver slightly due to my partially clad state.

I felt conspicuous, and not a little embarrassed when passing giggling female students.

I don't suppose it had taken me more than five minutes to reach the headmaster's study - it had seemed longer though. I knocked tentatively on the plain wooden door, yet I was convinced I had nothing to fear.

A crisp, 'cut-glass', female voice bade me to enter. I did so.

Miss Katherine Adams, the recently appointed headmistress, sat upright at her desk. I cannot deny the fact that she was entrancing - she was in her early thirties with boyish bobbed hair framing a neat-featured, face tanned from active outdoor pursuits. Her build and posture confirmed her athleticism, but most of all I was struck by her eyes: piercing and cobalt blue.

"Why aren't you properly dressed for physical education?" she enquired, calmly enough.

"I forgot my kit, but I managed to borrow some shorts, Mister Butcher said it was okay this time--"

She broke in abruptly: "In future, Mister Butcher will be instructed to administer a severe slippering to any boy who breaches the dress code, however minor. The problem with this establishment is that we are still suffering from the laxity of the previous incumbent," her voice softened, "to continue, I haven't called you in to berate you for your oversight..."I breathed a little easier but What a bitch! I thought. Rumour had it that she was a lesbian and even had a partner.

"Well, I must say that your academic record, apart from French, is good, Triewly. I would imagine that you will do rather well in life..." she looked me up and down, "and love."

I felt rather awkward at the last remark but started to feel relaxed as the meeting was obviously concerning some of my recent job applications.

"What are your plans when you leave?" she enquired sincerely enough.

"I'm actually hoping to join the Civil Service working in the field of Chemistry."

"You don't feel that perhaps your career would be better served by attaining A' Levels then University?" she suggested.

"Um, probably but there are part-time college courses such as O.N.C and H.N.C which are well recognised, besides my mother is unable to work and my father is on a modest income. I don't want to be a financial burden to them."

"Perhaps you are right, an individual will naturally find their true level within a career structure regardless of qualifications, which brings me to this..."

She handed over a slip of typewritten paper which I willingly accepted.

Christ, I thought - it was the absence note from last week when I had skived off last Friday due to attending Pete Randall's 'farewell do' the evening before he departed for the army. I had composed it quietly in the early hours of Sunday morning, on my mother's typewriter, the contents apologising for my non-attendance on Friday due to a 'stomach bug'.

"Spot the deliberate mistake." Her lips twisted malevolently into a half smile.

Buggering hell! I had signed my own name instead of my mother's.

"It would appear that you have attempted to take us for fools, Triewly!" Her tone was now serious.

"I do not take lightly to boys truanting, especially in their last year which is the most crucial."

"I... really m-must a-apologise... Miss," I choked out.

"Too late," she retorted coldly.

I experienced my testicles tingle as they constricted with fear.

She slipped off her Westminster Grey jacket to reveal a white sleeveless shirt. Her upper limbs were still tanned and appeared strong after a summer engaging in open air pursuits. Tiny little freckles and moles coaxed out by the sun adorned her bare arms and her golden arm hairs reflected the daylight. I was confused, she was a demon in the guise of an angel. I desired her though I trembled.

She opened her drawer and rummaged around momentarily before producing a garden cane: bamboo, yellow, knotted, thumb thick and about eighteen inches long. With an end in each hand, she tested its strength by first flexing it. Satisfied, she stood up and cleared a few files from her bureau, placing them on a filing cabinet in the corner.

To this day, I can recall the green whorled pattern of the carpet and the magnolia decorated walls with water colours of local rural scenes and the afternoon sun streaming through the large single window.

"Turn round, drop your shorts and prostrate yourself along the length of the desk. Grip the edges. Do not move till the punishment is complete."

Her tone was matter of fact, yet I swear her lips curled cruelly. I obeyed and hoped she hadn't noticed my involuntary erection which was flattened between the surface of the desk and my lower stomach. I had lowered my shorts, and I was naked from the ankles up.

I was facing the window as three pretty sixth form girls glanced in. I could see, but not hear them laugh at my plight - my humiliation was total.

In the corner of my eye, I caught the sight of Miss Adam's bare arm rise. There was a blur followed by a brief 'whooshing' then a 'crack!' The agonising red-hot stroke shook my unclad body - I gasped.

The second blow felt as though my skin was being sliced by a sword.

"Ah!"

Curiously, despite the terrible suffering, I could feel my penis swell.

The now excruciating sting of the third stroke caused a tear to flow down my cheek.

"No more please, Miss!" I begged. In vain.

"Silence boy, unless you relish an extra one!" she reprimanded.

I gripped the edge desperately.

There was a pause, the calm before the storm. Then the fourth and last one was delivered, I'm sure, with even greater force and venom than the previous three. Her taut, caning arm, viewed through the misty, peripheral vision of my watering eyes, almost touched the ceiling then curved with a 'forearm smash' and seared into my already burning posterior. I screamed and nearly leapt up, only fear of more compelled me to remain in position.

"That will do, straighten up so that I can ascertain whether medical attention is necessary. Keep your hands by your side."

I wanted to grasp my flaming behind, but I had learnt to obey without question. I managed to stay still whilst she inspected, what must have been, welts behind my back.

My seven-inch cock remained stubbornly proud. I prayed that she couldn't see it.

"I must be losing my touch," she seemed genuinely disappointed. "Normally when I mete out punishment, I break the skin. Right, turn and face me."

What?! Oh my God! How embarrassing!

She laughed derisively.

"Back on the table!" she commanded. "We'll soon address that!"

I was terrified as I once again assumed the caning position - I surely couldn't take any more!

"No, I mean lie with your back on the table!"

It was bizarre - what was she up to now?

She lowered and closed the slats on the Venetian Blinds then flicked on the fluorescent lights. I manoeuvred myself, gingerly, onto the desk and lay back. I expected more torture, but nothing prepared me for what happened next.

Standing in front of me, she unbuttoned her shirt, discarded it casually onto the carpet. She deftly unclipped her black bra but placed that on the back of her chair - she was completely topless!

I had found her arms alluring enough but this was beyond belief. Her torso was also sun bronzed and well-conditioned. Her breasts were large but firm and her nipples, brown, pert. The mound of her left breast was home to a rather beguiling mole and sexy freckles topped her strong shoulders.

For the first time, I became aware of a faint flowery fragrance - she had moved close. With her left hand she stretched across my chest and gently rolled my sensitive left nipple between her fingers and her expression was now one of compassion and concern.

"Sorry I had to make you suffer so, but it was very, very, necessary and for your own good."

Her right hand, so recently and mercilessly instrumental in my agonies, grasped my impossibly hard member and began to move rhythmically along my shaft. I moaned with the anticipation of release. She teased me a light kiss on my lips, like a butterfly alighting upon a flower. Her every caress drove me swiftly, feverishly, and inexorably to ecstasy--

I climaxed explosively, my hot juice shooting across her nude arm and bosom and immediately sank back totally spent, totally satisfied.

Calmly, she wiped my seed off her flesh with a hankie.

I wanted to weep, to declare my undying love for her and throw myself into her arms - but she was an enigma.

"Tidy yourself up and return to class," she commanded. "I trust you not to speak of this incident though nobody would believe you anyway!" she smiled thinly.

I walked uncomfortably and totally satiated out of her study, her palace of pain and pleasure, never to bodily return...

Except when the 'fever' gripped me, and I would once more present myself to Miss Adams though, alas, only in my dreams!