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Sarah Caned
As the stroke of midnight rang out from the school clock above the quad we ranged along the far wall of the gymnasium. We must all have had the simultaneous thought that Sarah would funk it and not turn up because we all stiffened in mild surprise as the door creaked open. There was only one light switched on and at first she had difficulty spotting us on the other side of the room. She. too, registered surprise at seeing us all but strove to move confidently as she approached the Head Girl, Rowena.She was dressed, as, directed, in the regulation white aertex shirt, with the shadow of her bra clearly visible, navy pleated gym shorts, white ankle socks and white plimsolls. Her hair was caught back in an elastic band and she looked for all the world as though she were about to take part in a normal sports lesson. Rowena circled her, carefully inspecting her outfit for faults, evidently finding none. She stood directly in front of Sarah and they stared into each other's eyes, willing the other to speak or look away.
Eventually, Rowena stepped back and addressed Sarah.
'Well done, Peachez! You have arrived punctually and dressed according to my instructions. I assume from this that you wish the punishment to proceed as agreed?'
Sarah looked away and mumbled an affirmative response
'Good, good. I suppose you are dressed exactly as required?' Rowena asked ominously. We looked at each other in confusion: anyone could see that Sarah was wearing our full PE kit. Still regarding the toes of her gym shoes, Sarah muttered something to the effect of 'Of course', but started violently as Rowena snatched up the side of the flared shorts, revealing scanty pink knickers beneath. Again, once we were in the sixth form, school rules about underclothing were not enforced, but evidently Rowena wanted Sarah to fully adopt the role of naughty schoolgirl, panties and all.
‘I really don't think these are regulation knickers, Peachez. ' she said 'Remove your right plimsoll.' The embarrassment Sarah felt must have been almost matched by that of the rest of us. There was a games mistress in the school who, if she caught a pupil wearing non-regulation briefs for her class, would make the girl remove one of her plimsolls and spank her behind with it. Surely Rowena wouldn’t ... ? But she did. 'Touch your toes. Peachez’ she commanded and then proceeded to slap the backs of Sarah's thighs twice, just below her bum-cheeks. A red disc appeared on the back of each leg, obviously quite painful, but Sarah stoically ignored them as she replaced her shoe and tied the lace. She then presented herself to the group once more, now slightly flushed.
'We won't waste time, Peachez,' said Rowena fetching the long whippy cane from where she had earlier propped it in the corner. 'Tonight's punishment is for breaking school bounds and as you know, you are to receive ten strokes of the Head Girl’s cane across your bottom. Tell me that you agree that the punishment is fair and that you wish me to administer it now.'
After a moment's pause. Sarah recited, 'I broke school bounds and deserve to receive ten strokes of your cane across my bottom. Please begin my punishment, Rowena’.'
'Bend ever the bars, Peachez.'
The horizontal parallel bars had been set up with the lower one just a few inches above the floor. The other one was fixed around waist level. The equipment used to facilitate a thrashing varied according to the Prefects' moods: sometimes it was the vaulting horse, on the other occasions the box,yet others might find the victim kneeling over the low wooden forms. By far the favourite piece of apparatus, however, if the girl was well-developed, was the horizontal bars, positioned so that she had to really stretch to grip the lower beam and thus accentuating the target area.
Sarah sighed in resignation to her fate, stood on tiptoe and draped herself over the hard smooth wooden upper bar, grasping the edge of the wooden beam with her fingertips and spreading her legs to maintain her balance. We all knew, from personal and vicarious experience, how difficult it was to maintain this position, because it put a great strain or one’s leg muscles and one always felt that the slightest movement of either limb would cause one to roll over the bars completely. The feeling of vulnerability was therefore very intense. We knew from information gathered throughout the grapevine that at St Pats only one bar was used at waist level with the boys arms spread along it. However, we preferred our technique - or at least, we did if we were the caner rather than the girl to be caned.
Rowena stood behind and slightly to the left of Sarah, her arm raising the supple cane high slowly and deliberately. We were mesmerised by the sight, silently arranging ourselves around her, but well out of the range of the cane, for a better view.
Suddenly the weapon sliced through the air – far too quickly for our eyes to follow and landed and landed with an echoing CRACK across Sarah Peachez's curvy rear. She grunted, but retained her composure. The second stroke fell after a moment’s pause, giving the recipient just enough time to fully appreciate the effect of its predecessor before impact of its own sting slightly lower down the navy-clad rump. Apart from a short gasp and adjusting her fingers on the lower rail, though, Sarah remained quietly dignified despite the burning in her bottom.
The loose-fitting pleated shorts rode up and flared over her raised bottom outlining it perfectly and revealing the frill of the illicit pink panties clearly visible. On being reminded of this additional disobedience Rowena clearly decided that further humiliation was deserved and grabbed the waistband of the shorts and dragged them down to poor Sarah’s knees. Somehow the sight of the two plump bum-cheeks tightly clad in a tiny pair of sexy knickers was even more shocking, and of course to some of us very arousing! Her bottom was scarcely protected and our Head Girl imparted the next stroke with slow deliberation – landing with full force across the drum-tight nylon - a heart-stopping WHIP-THWACK - on a different section of Sarah's behind and timed to afford maximum effect. Throughout, Sarah remained almost silent, very obviously striving not to give Rowena the satisfaction of a response, and this was increasing Rowena's anger.
Rowena stared at the gossamer-thin pink panties disappearing up between Sarah’s well caned bottom cheeks with a glint of relish in her eye. She whipped the cane down again to let loose another scorcher and grinned as it sent the full moons wiggling and jiggling. . She was disappointed that Sarah wasn’t showing more reaction by now; she would dearly enjoy observing the unfortunate inmate demonstrate her tears and cries of discomfort. After the fourth stroke, Rowena allowed a longer pause than had hitherto been the trend –possibly to rest her caning arm - and delivered a short lecture.
You must realise, Peachez, that I am not administering this punishment out of personal anger, but because you have behaved in such an outrageous manner that no other way can be found to make you suitably penitent.You acknowledged as much when you asked me give you the caning. We are now hallway through this stage of your thrashing: the next four strokes will encourage you to reconsider your actions and modify your behaviour in the future. I also hope that the fact that I have exposed your knickers to the rest of the prefects will make you obey school uniform rules in future.
Stepping back, she raised the cane high so that it whistled its way on to the target - the flesh just below the line of Sarah's skimpy panties. There was a harsher sound of impact and now it was impossible for Sarah not to react. She groaned deeply as the cane struck home, and then let go of the lower bar for an instant in a reflexive impulse to rub her rear. She knew better than to do so, however, and with her lower lip visibly trembling, she forced herself to remain in position. Rowena paused for several seconds, during which Sarah must have felt all our eyes burning holes in her up-thrust buttocks.
Despite their differences Rowena had considerable respect for Sarah’s ability to take a licking with the minimum of fuss. She waited patiently between strokes, confident that Sarah would eventually settle back into the required position for the thrashing to proceed. Nonetheless, she could tell from the protracted wiggling and jiggling of Sarah’s plump buttocks and the heartfelt pants she could hear her victim emitting that she had thoroughly nailed Sarah Peachez.
Rowena’s arm swooped down again, the cruel house cane slicing through the air in a perfect arc and cutting across the fattened cheeks at the base of Sarah’s backside. By any standards it was a regal stroke and even Sarah’s sympathetic friends and fans couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer majesty of the manner in which the beating was being delivered. But the thwacks of the cane were music to the girls who were jealous of her beauty, and every time Sarah’s head reared back with her face contorted in agony the wicked prefects were filled with glee.
Sarah Peachez was not having a good time of her session under the punishing cane. Rowena’s careful accuracy meant that the first four strokes had all landed cleanly across the middle of her backside. There had been plenty of wraparounds but no high strikes, which she was grateful for, but with a limited target area under her knicks the Head Girl was now landing the strokes in close proximity to each other on the bare flesh of her underbum. Sarah gritted her teeth. She knew that the next few minutes were going to be even more excruciating but she was determined not to howl or blub.
Number seven landed loudly, parallel to and just below the stroke before. Now Sarah's instincts got the better of her and she brought her arms up to grasp the upper beam, her back arching, gasping, with hot tears spurting from under clenched eyelids
'Get back into position at once, Peachez!'
'No,' Sarah sobbed 'Please, Rowena, that's enough. You've made your point. I'm sorry about what I did but I just can’t take any more...'
She turned to face her chastiser but just the look on Rowena's face compelled her to once more take up her undignified stance. Slowly, she once again upended herself, three lurid red weals now glaringly visible below the flimsy knickers.
Once again, Rowena made her wait, all but inviting us lesser prefects to feast our gaze on Sarah Peachez’s humiliation. My knickers were soaking by now, and I knew the caning was having the same effect on most of the watching girls.
Finally, as it if it would never happen, the cane described its shrill arc, landing with a startling THWACK below its predecessors. There were now four angry parallel lines close together on the soft vanilla-toned flesh. The effect on Sarah was almost comica1 as she sobbed and spluttered and kicked her legs compulsively, Rowena observed silently until Sarah quietened down again and then raised her arm for the final two swipes.
By now Sarah was beyond responding and merely sobbed hysterically as the first arrived predictably even lower just where her bottom cheeks joined her thighs. Rowena's interest was obviously waning now that Sarah had lost control and been reduced to begging in vain. She stared impassively at her victim's heaving backside and the fiery band at the top of Sarah's legs. The marks from the plimsoll slaps barely showed in comparison.
Although the delivery of such low-riders was officially frowned upon and discouraged, it was generally accepted that an occasional very low hit was going to occur in the cut and thrust of a whipping, and Rowena had clinically taken aim and fired off a perfect shot, right on the money.
Sarah, a veteran with several tight canings already under her skirt, knew that the last stroke would be the hottest, ripest, spiciest stripe of ten sizzling strokes. The cane cut across the tippy tops of Sarah’s thighs with a crack that echoed around the gym. Every watching girl in the hall winced. Sarah howled and writhed, twisting herself about in agony and jerking her tortured bum from side to side on the beam as her hands flew to her burning bottom and thighs.
It was a long, long time before Sarah's crying subsided into pitiful whimpers and the beaten girl eventually managed to ease herself back over the parallel bars and stand upright.
Her face looked as red and puffy as the area Rowena had punished, and she made no attempt to wipe away the tears and snot running doen her cheeks. She just rubbed and rubbed her anguished posterior. She looked a sorry sight with her gym shorts down by her ankles and her pain as she bent down to pull them up was all-too-obvious.
Her face looked as red and puffy as the area Rowena had punished, and she made no attempt to wipe away the tears and snot running doen her cheeks. She just rubbed and rubbed her anguished posterior. She looked a sorry sight with her gym shorts down by her ankles and her pain as she bent down to pull them up was all-too-obvious.
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Nika and the Birching Bench
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The Riding Whip
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Endart Pamalee
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Milena
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Sophie Caned
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In the Reformatory
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IF....
Posting this story with multiple pictures has proved too difficult for some reason, sorry.
Most people have seen the film IF which begins with an intense caning scene. Unfortunately for it it is a boy who is caned, but I have often imagined that caning meeted out to a beautiful schoolgirl. This story explores that theme. Enjoy:
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Most people have seen the film IF which begins with an intense caning scene. Unfortunately for it it is a boy who is caned, but I have often imagined that caning meeted out to a beautiful schoolgirl. This story explores that theme. Enjoy:
The hall was not very large, perhaps twenty feet by thirty,
with a row of chairs lining each wall leaving a clear space in
the middle. Half a dozen prefects stood together in a group
watching her enter, and one of them had a bundle of
professional-looking canes tucked under his arm. Her mind
reeling beneath an intoxicating mix of trepidation and
anticipation, Milena guessed that he must be John Emery, Paul's
co-prefect in charge of correction.
Trying not to look either defiant or frightened, she stared
straight ahead and kept her chin up even though she could not
stop her lower lip from trembling at the prospect of suffering
the cane in front of all these young men.
Paul introduced her all round as if she had merely come to
take tea with them. John Emery looked very much like his
fellow officer, only dark-haired whereas Paul was blond. The
introductions complete, John suggested they begin. 'By the
way, are you wearing panties?' he asked her.
Milena lowered her eyes as she mumbled that she was.
'They will have to come off,' he said. 'The boys aren't
allowed underpants in the gym shorts they wear in correction.'
She laid her purse on a nearby chair, and then reached under
her dress, somehow getting her trembling fingers into the
elastic of her panties. She drew them slowly down her legs,
balancing carefully as she stepped out of them, one foot at a
time, and laid them on the chair as well.
'Right, stand here.' Paul indicated a point on the floor where a
white line, much scuffed, was painted on the boards. 'You have
to keep your toes on this throughout, or you'll earn yourself
extras.' He waited while she placed her sandals where
generations of feet had stamped and writhed in pain. 'Now
bend over and grip your ankles, and don't let go until you're
given permission to do so. I'm sure you know the drill from
your days at school.'
She did, and bending right over, steeled herself to stay down no
matter what. It was a year or so now since she had left school,
but receiving extra strokes over and above one's sentence for
rising prematurely was a lesson that, once learned, a girl did
not easily forget.
Hearing movement behind her, she bit her lip in anticipation,
but a member of the committee abruptly postponed her
torment.
'Look here,' he said, 'we can't have this. That dress is far too
loose. The folds will wrap round the cane and absorb the cut,
especially the lower ones, which are the ones that really count.
She'll have to take them on the bare.'
There was a quiet discussion, which she was not invited to
join, and then hands took hold of the hem of her blue dress and
pulled it up across her back, leaving her buttocks bare. The
cool air in the hall caressed her naked flesh, making her
intensely conscious of the fact that young men were treating
themselves to the appealing sight of her smooth white bottom,
enticingly bare and tightly stretched as a result of her position,
her peach-shaped cheeks and the slenderness of her thighs
accentuated by the taut nylon of her stocking-tops. Nor was
that all they could see; the air felt even cooler on her lightly
haired, plump little vulva, pouting and mysteriously moist
despite her fear. Moreover, the way she was bent forward
pulled open the deep space between her buttocks and revealed
the delicate, lightly browned whorl of her anal dimple, the
exposure of which filled her with an even hotter shame than the
baring of her virgin slot.
'That's better,' Paul said from directly behind her, 'and this
way we will be able to see the effect of the cuts as well. Six of
the very best coming up,' he announced. 'You take the first
three, John, and I'll finish her off.'
This time there was no interruption; she heard footsteps on
the parquet behind her, the sound of a quick step, something
whirred like a wasp in the air above her, and the blow fell.
She bit down hard on her lip, and groaned. Oh, this was
really going to be bad! She had thought Myra could cane, but
this was at least three times worse. For a start, this cane was
whippier than anything her guardian had ever used on her, and
these were men - strong young men. Both principal actors
looked as though they could be the captains of games with their
muscular shoulders, firm forearms and strong wrists. They
were also, in a sense, professionals. But she was forced to
cease this breathless analysis of her caner's skill when the next
stroke landed, just like the first one, excruciatingly low on her
bent hinds, printing a thick angry line just above her highly
sensitive crease. She gasped, and her head strained back as she
fought to overcome the agony surging through her.
Again the thump of trainers behind, and the rod lashed into
her a third time. After an initial shocked intake of breath, she
whimpered from the pain blinding her, and tears she could not
control ran down her cheeks. Her fingers fluttered
on her ankles as she resisted an overwhelming desire to stand
up straight.
There was a slightly longer pause between strokes then as
Paul took over for John, and then the pattern resumed. If she
had hoped for even the slightest diminution in severity, she was
doomed to be disappointed.
Paul had viewed her baring with interest. It was not the first
time he had seen a female naked below the waist, but never
before under these circumstances, with her bent over and
awaiting correction. Her firm, pale rounds swelled invitingly,
deeply cleft and showing below and behind them the pouting
plumpness of a well grown pudendum, fleshy lips fringed with
soft brown curls. And between her plump buttocks the pucker of
her anus, all the more on display because Milena had
instinctively taken a wide-legged stance, undoubtedly learned
at school as the one affording the most stability under the
disorientating blaze of strokes from a cane on raw flesh. Now
three thick parallel welts marked her pale rounds, their heat
almost palpable as her burning cheeks writhed slightly despite
her admirable control. Paul was determined that his cuts would
be at least as well defined; John had set him a challenge he was
happy to take up.
He measured his distance with a practiced eye, picking his
mark where John had left a pulsing welt across the girl's
cringing buttocks. It was placed quite low, the tip of the cane
biting in on one end leaving a particularly angry plum-hued
lump. Two steps, and he unleashed his stroke, driving his
shoulder down and, at the last moment, imparting added
velocity with his wrist. The thud of the impact jarred
satisfactorily up his arm, telling him he had struck true,
although just above where he had aimed the blow. Never mind;
he had the range now, he could place his shots where he chose,
and she would not complain he had not done her justice with
this first cut.
She did complain, but only to herself. Pride kept her from
crying out, but her knees quivered as she absorbed the waves of
pain that continued to surge through her seconds after the rod
bit deep into her tender flesh. Then the sound of footsteps
behind her heralded another of the same, and this time when
Paul stepped back he was gratified to see her knees turn in and
rub briefly against each other with a slight rasp of nylon. Yet
she straightened her legs again without being spoken to, and
with two springing strides forward, he delivered the last cut.
The cane sank deep into her soft flesh, and a new burning
weal sprang up to join the others. Now she carried six thick
pulsing welts across her throbbing hinds, evenly spaced in the
lower part of her pert cheeks so that they would be directly
beneath her when she sat down. He watched the involuntary
clenching of her beaten flesh for a moment, admiring his
handiwork and giving her a chance to show what she was made
of. He had to give her credit; those were as tight a six as he had
seen, and she had taken them well - as well, or better, than any
boy. And she was still bent over, awaiting permission to
straighten up as she had been trained to do.
'All right, you can get up now,' he said. 'Go and sit on the
bench outside.'
Red-faced, Milena rose, and her dress fell back down over her
bare and beaten bottom. She walked to the door with as much
dignity as she could muster, endeavouring to control the widelegged,
bent-kneed gait her sore buttocks demanded, her hands
clenched into fists at her sides from the effort she had to make
to move gracefully.
'And keep your hands off your bottom,' one of the other
young men called after her. 'You haven't been dismissed yet,
and no boy would touch himself there until he was home.'
She closed the door behind her, and then sank down onto the
bench, carefully adjusting her throbbing cheeks against the
hard wood. She would have preferred to stand, but they had
told her to sit, and she wasn't about to give them the
satisfaction of faulting her for disobeying orders in an effort to
relieve her pain. So for about five minutes she endured the
discomfort of her aching flesh against the unfeeling timber until
at last she was dismissed, and she could walk on unsteady legs
to the toilets for a good, long cry.
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Miss
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Endart and the Paddle
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Jenny's Caning
'This is a standard school cane,' Annabel held it up, 'standard
to Westbury, that is. I would rate it as quite severe compared to
the one used at the school I came from, although we did go
even tighter at times, and for a school beating, if you were ever
so foolish as to earn one, you'd get something even longer and
heavier than this. Still, this is a good rod, and I think Miss
Poussin will be well marked by the time I've finished with her.'
They were all crowded closely together in the room, so
everyone saw how Jenny's bent buttocks cringed a little during
this lecture, but she kept quiet and held her place, awaiting the
first of her six cuts.
She did not have to wait long. Annabel briefly rested the cane
across the proffered buttocks to mark her place, took two short
steps back, and then sprang forward, her arm moving from the
shoulder with her wrist making its contribution to the rod's
velocity so that it lashed squarely across the fleshy bottom, just
below its trembling centre. She then stepped back to admire her
handiwork.
At the moment of impact the track left by the cane was
bleached white, all the blood driven out of the skin as the
prostrate girl gasped beneath the shock of the assault. But even
as everyone watched, the mark turned a bright red from the
returning onrush of blood, the bruise spreading and swelling
until it rose above the surrounding skin in a clearly defined
welt. Jenny groaned from the rising pain but remained
motionless, determined to show all these girls how a beating
should be taken.
Satisfied that both Jenny and her audience had fully benefited
from their contemplation of the cut, Annabel took two prancing
steps forward again, and sent the second lash home. Another
gasp from her victim, another flaming track followed by
another miserable groan, and the bruise thickened perceptively.
She felt a surge of lust, and of pride at how well she was
striking the flesh at her disposal. Her arm and her wrist had not
lost their cunning despite prolonged absence from the sport
since leaving the strict academy where she learned this deadly
trade. With her eye fixed firmly on her squirming target she
started her run again, and thrashed the rod home directly
between the two close parallel tracks already throbbing across
the deliciously submissive buttocks.
Jenny managed to absorb the third blow as stoically as the
rest, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to hold back a scream
of agony as Annabel paused to let the cuts sink in, and to let
her audience savour the full extent of the suffering they were
committing themselves to should they choose full equality with
the boys by voting to accept corporal punishment. When she
was satisfied the latest welt had matured into a thick, rope-like
bruise, and the other girls truly appreciated the nature of the
beast, she struck again, this time aiming a little lower to catch
the bent and tormented girl exactly on the faint crease
separating her buttocks from her thighs. It was a cruel blow
delivered to the most tender area of her cheeks, but she judged
that Jenny could take it, and she wanted to demonstrate the
ultimate cane stroke, at least as far as the buttocks were
concerned.
True to her resolve, Jenny absorbed the searing anguish of this
vicious cut without crying out, but her hips writhed and the
muscles in her upper thighs twitched in distress. Only two to
go! Her lower lip was almost bleeding now, but she couldn't
help sinking her teeth into it again hearing the thud of
Annabel's rubber-shod feet behind her as the head girl made
another run. Oh, just above the last one! A full-blooded stroke
across the fattest part of her bent hinds would be a kindness
compared to these slices into the sensitive skin underneath her
fleshy mounds, but Annabel was not about to let her off with
anything but the tightest sixer she could manage pour
encourager les autres.
When the last stroke fell, it too landed right in her overhang.
She whined as the pain rose in time with the swelling welt, but
held her position as she had been taught to do. She would not
let Myra down; this had to be a perfect demonstration.
Annabel stood back, and surveyed her work. The fleshy
buttocks were thickly scored. The six were tight indeed, hard,
swollen and laid close together in a restricted area that would
be directly beneath the girl when she sat down. For lasting
effect, there was nothing like a well scored sit-upon whose
soreness would produce flinching reminders of the beating for
several days to come, reinforcing the disciplinary message of
the stinging cane.
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'There now,' she said, after an interval long enough for the
other girls to take in the ravaged bottom on display before
them, 'I think that should serve as a sufficient demonstration of
what we would be committing ourselves to. Quite a deterrent, I
think you'll agree, but nothing to threaten a girl's health, and as
far as her dignity is concerned, that's up to her. As Miss Poussin
has so ably shown us, such a test of fortitude and bearing can
be endured without forfeiting feminine dignity.'
There were murmurs all around, mainly of assent, and some
of relaxation after the tension of an exhibition not entirely
innocent of lust. Annabel turned to her still bent victim. 'Thank
you, Jenny, please rise now and take your seat again. We are
about to vote on the issue, and there may be other questions
you can help us answer to everyone's satisfaction.'
Not trusting herself to speak, Jenny straightened up painfully
and pulled her panties back up over her hips. She would have
preferred to discard them completely, but she was mindful of
her promise to Myra to do everything she could to win these
girls the benefit of a regiment of rod and slipper similar to the
one from which she herself benefited. Limping slightly, she
walked back to the chair allocated her, and sat down gingerly.
Those nearest to her detected her slight gasp as her bottom
came in contact with the unyielding wood, and everyone could
see her crimson face and tear-filled eyes.
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