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Friday, 3 February 2017

New Girl for the Cane Club

Story by R.T. Mason from Janus 27
Dr Lawrence’s eyes, as he gazed out of his study window, were fixed on a particular girl walking across the school lawn — a pretty Sixth Former with shoulder-length corn-coloured hair, in the white blouse and short grey skirt and red-and-grey tie of Southbourne School for Girls. As she walked away the rear of the pleated grey skirt swayed rhythmically, giving evidence of a full, shapely bottom beneath. It was on this in particular that Dr Lawrence’s eyes were so intently fixed.
Sixty-ish Dr Philip Lawrence, Headmaster of Southbourne School, while presenting a kindly, reassuring image to the world at large, in fact routinely practised an activity which, if made public, would certainly not be approved of. For Dr Lawrence derived his greatest pleasure from caning the bare bottoms of selected members of his Upper School — Fifth and Sixth Formers. And he liked to regularly and routinely indulge in this particular pleasure.
Watching the girl, Dr Lawrence reflectively rubbed his chin — a gesture he was wont to make when faced with a major decision. That girl with the corn-coloured hair was not on his select list of girls whose bottoms he was intimately acquainted with, in part at least because she had only been at Southbourne School for a few weeks. But during those few weeks Dr Lawrence had more and more felt the urge to add her to his little group. That group which certain of its members had been known to refer to as his ‘Cane Club’.
The Headmaster moved from the window to sit at his desk. From a locked drawer he took out a leather-covered notebook and idly thumbed through its pages. The book contained quite a number of names — girls who, past and present, had allowed their bare bottoms to be bent over Dr Lawrence’s polished oak desk or over the arm of that armchair in his sitting room. Because the mere fact that his pleasures, if generally known, would cause some awkwardness, to say the least, did not deter the Headmaster from indulging in them.
The best things in life might or might not be free but they certainly tended to be those not approved of by the man in the street. And so one had to proceed with caution, that was all. And one certainly could not be indiscriminate. The object of desire must be identified on an individual basis and pursued only after due thought and consideration.
Lengthy thought and consideration had been given to the girl with the corn-coloured hair and the swaying bottom.
Just occasionally, of course, good fortune could make this normal cautious approach unnecessary; as when a girl might be found out in some embarrassing situation. Shoplifting would come into this category, as would engaging in sexual activity — something normally strongly disapproved of by parents. Once alerted to anything of this kind Dr Lawrence could move in directly, swiftly and firmly. The price for avoidance of public disclosure of the unfortunate act would be made crystal clear.
If she was a sensible girl the price would be acceptable. She would agree to what the Head wanted and also agree that it would be kept quiet, just as her own shortcoming would likewise be kept quiet. And then, probably with a sense of relief, she would, behind the locked door of Dr Lawrence’s study or sitting room, allow her knickers to be removed and her quivering hindquarters bared.
With bottom bare she would duly bend herself over the top of the Head’s finely polished desk or over the arm of his armchair. That sense of relief, as like as not, would now abruptly disappear as the cane jolted into bared buttocks.
But even so, was it not preferable to having everyone know she had been caught nicking a powder compact from that shop in the High Street? Or having her parents informed that she had been discovered in the act of sexual intercourse with a most undesirable youth in the local park?
However, by and large, girls whose bottoms Dr Lawrence desired to become more closely acquainted with could not be relied upon to go shoplifting; nor to engage in illicit sex. The girl with the corn-coloured hair, for instance, could she? If not and the Head wanted to proceed, then he would have to fall back on a strategy of attrition.
Yes, attrition. Wearing the subject down by making her life pretty well unbearable in just about every more-or-less legitimate way he could. Then, when the poor girl was close to despair, to send the Head Girl to have a word with her.
Needless to say, the Head Girl at Southbourne School was always a member of Dr Lawrence’s Cane Club — a young lady with a choice seat which regularly felt the impact of the Headmaster’s cane. Because he himself chose the Head Girl and it was naturally much more satisfactory to have in this key position a girl who was well acquainted with what went on behind locked doors at Southbourne School.
Anyway, as far as the girl with the corn-coloured hair was concerned Dr Lawrence had now considered and thought just about long enough. Yesterday had clinched it. When he had watched her in her gym class, in T-shirt and tight brief shorts, bending and stretching and vaulting on the horse. With the full firm cheeks of that bottom rolling and flexing and seemingly intent on bursting free of their scanty skin-tight covering.
Yes, that had clinched it. He had to have her in his little group.
‘Christina Harvey,’ queried Dr Lawrence. ‘Not known to have any unfortunate little habits, is she? No guilty secrets?’
He was addressing his Head Girl, Justine Greenaway, the following evening in the privacy of his sitting room. Justine was a pretty, shapely girl, as Head Girls at Southbourne School always were. Auburn hair cut attractively short framed a face with large green-brown eyes and a full sensuous mouth which, for her visit to the Head, had been emphasised with bright pink lipstick. Lipstick was not generally allowed in school, of course, but for an intimate of the Head on a visit to his rooms it was quite all right and indeed encouraged.
Justine was standing in front of Dr Lawrence as he sat in his armchair and she was in the process of undressing. She had removed the red-and-grey Southbourne tie and was now unbuttoning her blouse. Under it she had no bra, and her breasts jutted out firm and full with pink nipples matching the pink of her mouth.
Justine’s hands went to the waistband of her grey pleated uniform skirt. ‘Christina Harvey? No, sir. She seems straight as an arrow as far as I know.’
Justine had a good idea what the Head’s query meant — he probably wanted her in the Cane Club. And if Christina hadn’t done anything she could be blackmailed with, then Dr Lawrence’s other technique would have to be put into force. Her life would be made a misery — until she was ready to break. Justine experienced a frisson of excitement at the prospect. She rather liked the look of the new girl herself.
She dropped her skirt to the floor and stepped out of it. Justine now had on, with her black medium-heel court shoes, dark nylons held taut by the slim straps of a pink suspender belt, plus a brief pink silk thong between her legs. As with the absence of a bra, this sexy wear was not the normal attire for a girl at Southbourne School. But it was the kind of thing the Head liked on one of his special girls in the privacy of his own quarters.
Justine turned to present the Head with her full bare bottom. Bare, that is, except for the narrow strap of the thong dividing the cheeks. Certain catty elements in the school had been heard to say that Justine had a fat bum and it was certainly larger than the average. But it was also firm and shapely, flaring out from a slim waist.
It was a bottom which, as far as Dr Lawrence was concerned, always seemed to cry out for the cane. He had been caning it for almost two years now, since Justine was 16.
Dr Lawrence’s hand ran caressingly over the silky smooth flesh. Justine had a truly splendid bum — but he was also thinking of the as-yet-unexplored rear divisions of 18-year-old Christina Harvey. The girl with the corn-coloured hair.
Justine, when Dr Lawrence had finished his preliminary fondling, went over to the armchair. She bent herself over the arm, face down in the seat. It was a familiar position. She gritted her teeth in readiness as the Head went to get his cane.
Moments later the cane hissed through the air, and landed with a CRACK!...on Justine’s up-thrust nude buttocks. She gave a gasping grunt — then steeled herself for the next.
Although she had been getting it for almost two years now, that didn’t mean it stung any the less. It stung like bloody blazes in fact, and today Dr Lawrence was laying it on even more than usual it seemed. Probably the old devil was thinking about that Christina who seemed to have caught his fancy.
Justine hung on, gasping and jerking her bottom as the cane kept rising and falling. It hurt all right but it could also get you going. She had developed a love-hate relationship with Dr Lawrence’s cane by now — it hurt but it was decidedly arousing. She thought hotly of that boy she had met in the summer. But unfortunately there were no boys here at Southbourne School.
The caning stopped at last and the bucking of Justine’s hips subsided. Her full bottom bore red tramlines and criss-crosses. She got up from the chair, her two hands behind her rubbing at her smarting backside. Her whole body felt on fire. There weren’t any boys at school — but there was her room-mate Rosalind Chambers.
Justine replaced her skirt and blouse, then her blazer. Dr Lawrence put his cane away, then slid his hand up Justine’s skirt to her glowing bottom.
‘Perhaps Rosalind will put some cold cream on it for you!’ he said, a knowing gleam in his eye.
Justine flushed. The Head knew about her and Rosalind. If they hadn’t been in the Cane Club he would have been down on them like a ton of bricks. As it was he treated it with amused tolerance.
Five minutes later Justine was back in the room she shared with Rosalind. She closed the door, then locked it. Locking your door was also something only allowed if your name was in the Head’s leather-covered notebook.
Justine put her hand gingerly to her bottom. ‘Christ! it bloody well stung tonight!’
Rosalind, sitting at her desk, looked up and smiled. ‘Oh poor Justy! So you’re all hot and sexy then?’
Rosalind put her books away and stood up. Eighteen, like Justine, she was slightly shorter than the Head Girl, with a gamine prettiness and masses of brown curling hair. Her skin-tight pink pyjamas showed off a firmly-rounded figure with pert pointy medium-sized breasts and tight buttocks.
Justine, as she had done half an hour earlier in the Head’s room, removed blazer, skirt and blouse. She pirouetted in front of her friend, firm bare breasts swaying and with the red marks of her recent caning still very evident on her buttocks.
Rosalind laughed. ‘Yes, he has marked you up!’
She moved close to briefly embrace Justine, then stripped off her pyjamas. Justine removed the rest of her garments and they climbed into bed. The room had two single beds, but as usual, when it was not just sleep they had in mind, they both got into the same bed.
As they grabbed each other Justine said, ‘He’s after that new Christina.’
The blitz began the very next day. The Head instructed all Christina’s class teachers that they were to send all the new girl’s work to him for scrutiny. He said he had been having another look at the reports from her previous school and it seemed Miss Harvey tended to be rather lazy and get by with the least possible effort.
Those masters, newer ones, who did not know Dr Lawrence were somewhat amazed at this edict. They were generally well satisfied with Christina’s work, and she seemed a well-motivated and likeable girl — in addition to being a very attractive one. But other masters, those who had been around awhile, had seen this sort of thing before. They shook their heads wryly... but nonetheless complied.
Dr Lawrence had Christina in his study the next afternoon at 4 o’clock. He could hardly contain his excitement. She was just so appetizing — quite a tall girl with a full womanly figure and with that softly pretty face and the thick shoulder-length blonde hair. A real beauty! The front of Dr Lawrence’s trousers was really twitching and it was all he could do to refrain from taking action there and then.
Yes, it would be so easy to tell her her work was not good enough and he was going to cane her and would she please take all her clothes off, and bend over his desk.
But caution and good sense prevailed. He was dealing with an unknown quantity and could be treading on very treacherous ground. All he had built up over the years could so easily fall apart if he pounced before he had done the ground work.
He produced his sternest expression. ‘I have looked at your work, Miss Harvey, and it is quite simply not up to scratch. Definitely not good enough for Southbourne School. A one hundred per cent improvement will be immediately needed before you approach the standard we require here.’
Christina looked dumbfounded. She had received no complaints from any of her teachers, and indeed had never had any at her other school.
The Head continued, ‘So you’ll have 500 lines to be handed in tomorrow. “I am eighteen years old and my work should reflect this — I intend to do much better in future.
Tears started in the big blue eyes. Writing lines was for junior girls. To be made to do them in the Upper Sixth was the height of humiliation. And it was all quite unfair.
‘And you will have no passes out of school until further notice.’
‘Would you rather I wrote to your parents?’ inquired the Head icily. ‘To tell them how badly you are doing?’
Christina’s parents were in the Diplomatic Service and had just been posted abroad. That was why she had had to transfer to a boarding school. Dr Lawrence naturally knew this. The last thing they would want right now would be to hear their daughter was having trouble at her new school.
Eyes downcast, Christina mumbled, ‘, sir.’
Dr Lawrence had guessed as much. ‘Good! Dismiss then.’
At the door Christina got a sharp slap on the bottom. The Head couldn’t resist it — a foretaste of the great delights in store.
The pretty blonde went straight to her room and had a good cry. The interview had been simply devastating. She had thought she had been getting on so well at her new school — the masters were all right and the girls were nice too. And now this. Wiping her eyes she began to copy out those awful awful lines.
When her room-mate, Emma Pearson, came in Christina pretended she was writing a letter. It was just too humiliating to admit she had been given lines.
The next day she duly delivered them to Dr Lawrence — only to find he had something else to complain about. He said she didn’t look very fit and that could be partly the cause of her poor work. He told Christina to do some running on the spot.
Flushing slightly she took off her blazer and complied. The corn-coloured hair started bouncing up and down — and so did the two firm full breasts under the thin bra and blouse. Christina wasn’t particularly keen on sport, apart from tennis, but she was probably as fit as the average 18-year-old girl.
Dr Lawrence, naturally, wasn’t satisfied with her efforts. ‘Knees higher! And faster! Faster!
‘Hopeless!’ he pronounced after a few minutes. Take your skirt off and let me see some real effort!
Christina looked at him; bit her lip; then slipped off the pleated grey skirt. Underneath were tight brief white knickers with a white suspender belt fastening her nylons at mid-thigh. Red-faced, she started the stationary running again — firmly rounded thighs pumping rhythmically up and down. The Head’s eyes gleamed.
‘Come on — faster! And get those knees up!
By the time he finally said she could stop, Christina felt she was going to collapse. She was really gasping and she felt damp with perspiration.
As she replaced her skirt and blazer Dr Lawrence said, ‘We’ll definitely have to do something about this, my girl. You’re really in dreadful shape. I shall have a word with Mr Martin; and also Rosalind Chambers.’
Mr Martin was master in charge of Games and PT. Trim Rosalind Chambers was Captain of Athletics; and also of course a girl with her name in Dr Lawrence’s little leather book.
‘Christina Harvey,’ intoned the Headmaster. ‘As Justine may have told you, I am not too happy with that girl and feel she needs bucking up a bit.’
He was addressing Rosalind Chambers in his sitting room. Rosalind had just been for a training run, then showered and put on a fresh track-suit for her meeting with the Head. Her abundant brown curls were still damp from the shower. Under the red-and-grey track-suit Rosalind had nothing on except a dusting of lilac-scented body talc.
She smiled sweetly at the Head. ‘Justine said she thought you wanted Christina in the Cane Club.’ Rosalind could be very direct at times.
Dr Lawrence flushed slightly. ‘I’m sure I did not say that to Justine. And also I wish you girls would not use that term. It’s so easy for it to slip out when others are around.’
‘Oh sir, I’m the very soul of discretion.’ Rosalind looked across at the drinks cupboard. ‘I wouldn’t mind a sherry, sir, after my run.’
‘Certainly — pour yourself one by all means.’
As usual Dr Lawrence was notably lenient with girls on his list. As long as a girl was prepared to bare her bottom and bend over when requested, she could certainly have a sherry. And the Captain of Athletics, as they both knew, was going to be bending over very shortly.
Rosalind had been in the Club almost as long as Justine. It had been one of those occasions when the Head was able to exert a little blackmail. Sixteen-year-old Rosalind being caught in bed with an Upper Sixth girl together with a variable speed vibrator. Both girls had quickly agreed to go on the Head’s list if he would keep things quiet.
The Sixth Former had only three months left at school — three months of canings — but Rosalind had another two years. Fortunately, as girls often did when it became a regular thing, Rosalind developed that same love-hate relationship with the cane which her friend and room-mate, Justine Greenaway, had.
‘Do you want my track-suit off, sir?’ inquired Rosalind, glass in hand.
‘Naturally, my dear. But I hadn’t finished about Christina Harvey. I want her on a hard rigorous training schedule, to smarten her up a bit. I’ve spoken to Mr Martin and I’d like you also to do some work with her. Some long cross-country runs. I want her to be suffering.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Rosalind had put down her sherry glass and was unzipping her track top. Her pert breasts popped out and she stuck them out at the Headmaster as she slipped her arms out of the jacket. The track trousers then came down and off and Rosalind was nude except for ankle socks and sneakers. She stood still as Dr Lawrence’s hand slid appreciatively over firm lilac-scented flesh.
‘Very nice,’ observed the Head. For the moment the girl with the corn-coloured hair and the sumptuous bottom quite disappeared from his mind.
After a few minutes Rosalind went to bend herself over the arm of the chair, raising up a firmly rounded bottom which was healthily glowing from her run and the shower. She wriggled the pinkly glowing bum a couple of times and gritted her teeth.
CRACK!...Aaaooww!’ It hurt, of course, it always did. It was only afterwards that you thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad. While it was happening it stung like blue murder.
The cane rose and fell, each stroke punctuated by a sharp yelp from Rosalind and leaving behind it a nice red stripe. The round bare bottom, in spite of its experience of this sort of thing, was jiggling and dancing. And Dr Lawrence, eyes hot, had that wonderful sensation when it seems that all of a sudden the front of a man’s trousers has been cut much too tight for him.
The Head seemed in fact to want to go on and on. Rosalind, through her gasps and yelps, wondered if he had perhaps forgotten that a girl was prepared to take only so much. She finally brought the session to an end by sliding off the arm of the chair and onto the floor.
She rolled onto her back. ‘Sir — that’s enough! You must have bloody well given me twenty!
Dr Lawrence pulled her to her feet. He had got a bit carried away, rather mesmerised by the squirming pink bottom. And of course he had a lot on his mind at the present. The breaking-in period with a new girl was always a bit worrying.
He ran his hand over the red-striped bottom — and asked Rosalind if she’d like another sherry.
Seven o’clock the next morning and Christina Harvey was feeling absolutely shattered — ten times worse than after that running-on-the-spot session in the Head’s study. She had just been taken on a killing half-hour cross-country run by Mr Martin. It had been absolutely dreadful. They had gone at an impossible pace and at every sign of flagging Mr Martin had kept her going with sharp slaps at her bottom and thighs.
Christina hadn’t taken much notice of Mr Martin before. He was just the Games Master and she wasn’t much interested in sports. She had noticed that he liked watching girls undress for games and PT, and was not above running his hand over you in the gym, but that was what Games Masters tended to be like. At Christina’s other school the Games Master had been the same.
But now suddenly it was all different. Yesterday Mr Martin had come up to her in the corridor and, thrusting his rather fierce pink face close up to her, barked:
‘We’re going to have to get you into shape, young Miss. Get that body firmed up!’
And his hand had reached out and squeezed one of Christina’s breasts. A breast which filled a 36-C cup but at the same time was notably firm and jutting out without the support of a bra — as Mr Martin knew because he had more than once seen her breasts nude in the changing room.
He had then squeezed the other one, pronouncing, ‘Yes! Definitely need firming up, Miss.’
Christina had just gasped. Life at Southbourne School had abruptly turned into a nightmare. And the nightmare had continued when this morning she had to get up at 6.15 and, still half asleep, put on knickers and bra, and T-top and running shorts and sneakers. And then her track-suit. All under the greedy eye of Mr Martin. And then had to go out with him on that cross-country run.
After 10 minutes he had made her take off the track-suit. So that he had bare thighs and her bottom in just the brief tight running shorts to slap at.
Back in the changing room Christina was virtually sobbing with exhaustion. Mr Martin pushed her up against the wall and started stripping off her sweat-wet garments. When he had got her nude his hands briefly ran over her, and then she was told to get up on the massage table. Christina stumbled to the table and, with the aid of the Games Master’s very helpful hands, climbed up on it.
Hard male hands ran all over her body as she lay first on her front and then her back. The hard hands squeezing and kneading her soft exhausted flesh. Squeezing and kneading so hard that Christina was immediately gasping with pain. Squeezing and kneading every single part of her...
At last he had finished and was telling her to get down. Then leading her to a shower which he had turned on full blast. He pushed her in... and Christina gave a howl of anguish. The water was ice-cold.
When she finally got out of the gym block it was 8.30, time for breakfast. She had Mr Martin’s awful words ringing in her ears:
‘You’ll be having exactly the same programme every day this week, my girl. And it will continue until you’ve reached a reasonable state of fitness.’
Mr Martin, it must be said, knew well enough what Dr Lawrence wanted with Christina. Jack Martin was one of those masters who was well aware of the Head’s little pleasures and when Dr Lawrence had spoken to him he realised at once that Christina was to be broken in to be recruited to the Head’s caning group. Mr Martin was happy to cooperate. For one thing it was very pleasant to train a pretty girl and push her to her physical limit. Among other things there was the excuse for those nude massages that he loved to give.
But also, once a girl was submitting to clandestine caning by the Head Jack Martin could get in on the act as well. His own pleasure was not so much the use of the cane as spanking. Bare bottom spanking. As with caning, spanking was something you did not practise on just any girl, for if she wrote home about it there would certainly be parental complaints. But with girls who were not going to write home, it was a different story.
So Mr Martin was certainly going to work enthusiastically in the softening-up process with Christina Harvey — the girl with the corn-coloured hair and the full but enticing bottom. And the firm jutting tits with nipples sticking out like fat red thumbs when she came dripping out of an unpleasantly cold shower.
Rosalind Chambers, of course, had also been recruited to work on Christina. The trim Captain of Athletics sought her out at lunch time that same day and said the two of them were to go on a cross-country run at 4 o’clock, after classes. Headmaster’s orders.
‘But I’ve been on one dreadful run already today. With Mr Martin,’ wailed Christina. ‘I just can’t do another!’
‘I’m afraid you have to,’ replied Rosalind. ‘Like I say, it’s the Head’s orders.’
And so in running shorts and tops they went out at 4 o’clock, slim ultra-fit Rosalind setting a pace which Christina could barely keep up with. For the pretty blonde it got worse and worse. After about a mile and a half she simply collapsed to the ground and started sobbing.
Rosalind, who was not feeling any strain at all, stopped and sat down with Christina. She put her arm round her. Although she didn’t know the new girl well as yet, she liked her. And she knew what she must be going through now that old devil Lawrence had decided to put the screws on her.
‘Cheer up!’ she advised. ‘Have a rest and then we’ll go on.’
I just can’t!’ sobbed Christina. ‘I ca...can’t go on. N...not with any of this. You... a...and Mr Martin... And the H...Head. I just wa...want to die.
Rosalind bit her lip, feeling rather rotten about the whole thing — not that it was her fault. ‘Cheer up,’ she repeated. ‘It’s not that bad.’
Christina wiped her eyes. ‘Wh...what’s happing anyway? I mean... everything was all right, and then suddenly...’
Rosalind kicked at a stick lying on the ground. ‘I can’t tell you. But it’s the Head of course.’
Christina turned towards her, eyes wide. ‘Can’t tell me what?’
And then Rosalind who was not particularly good at keeping her mouth shut did tell her.
‘What d’you mean, he wants me?’ gasped Christina. ‘He wants to screw me?’
‘Oh no, not that. He...he wants to cane you. But of course caning is a very hush-hush business.’
‘Well, he can cane me. I’d rather have the cane than all this other misery.’
‘But it’s because it’s not allowed, you see. I’m not supposed to be telling you this; but this is how he operates. You’ve got to be really broken down. Having a really rough time for several weeks. And then he can be good and sure you’ll do what he wants and won’t tell.’
Several weeks!’ gasped Christina. ‘I’ll be dead before that’s up!
‘Well, that’s how it is,’ said Rosalind. ‘Unless he’s got something on you. You know — blackmail of some sort.’
‘Look — if he wants to blackmail me, I... I’ll rob the Bank of England. Or go to bed with all the masters. Anything’s better than this.’
‘I don’t think there’s any need for that,’ said Rosalind. She thought for a bit. ‘Look, I’ll have a word with Justine Greenaway. Maybe we can think of something.’
She got up and pulled Christina to her feet. ‘Come on. And we can walk for a bit if you’re really whacked out.’
‘You should never have told her!’ scolded Justine. ‘The Head would hit the roof if he knew. What if she writes to her parents and spills the beans?’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Rosalind. ‘She’s not going to do that. But I’ve thought of a really super idea. Something that will get her off the hook and be really swoony for us two. Have you ever thought about a threesome?’
Justine’s eyes opened wide.
‘Yes. Us two — with Christina. In bed. I quite fancy her; although naturally not as much as I fancy you, Justy. But then she can write out a confession to the old boy about her misdeeds, so that he’ll have that on her. And... well, she won’t need to be persecuted any more.’
Justine was looking open-mouthed, barely able to take all this in.
‘And Justy — we can also get hold of a cane. And warm up that nice soft bottom of hers. Hot her up — and also give her a taste of what she’ll be getting from the boss. Well?’
Both girls burst into excited giggles. They grabbed each other, embracing. Between the giggles, Justine said she could sneak a cane out of the Head’s study when he wasn’t there...
Christina was invited round to their room that same evening. Justine locked the door behind her. Rosalind handed out coffee and they sat down, Christina with a somewhat anxious look. She had just been writing out another 500 lines for the Head. What was coming now?
Rosalind said, ‘Christina — you mentioned on our run going to bed with all the masters if it would stop this business that the Head has started. Well, we don’t think that’s necessary but, er, well, you could come to bed with the two of us.’
Justine, flushing slightly, said, ‘As you know it’s strictly verboten but at the same time, with no boys around, it does go on. Rosalind and me — well you need some outlet, don’t you, otherwise you go mad in a place like this.’
Christina was looking dumbfounded — it took a while for what they were saying to sink in.
Justine said, ‘I’m sure you must have indulged before, Christina. At your other school.’
‘So what do you think?’ asked Rosalind.
Christina was now red in the face. ‘Bu...but what about you two? I m...m...mean you’ll be in trouble as well if I tell him.’
Rosalind airily explained that the Head knew all about them already. And allowed it because they were on his list.
‘Once you’re in the Club life here is pretty free and easy,’ added Rosalind. ‘Apart from the actual caning of course, and you get used to that.’
Rosalind moved to sit next to Christina on Justine’s bed. She put her arm round her. ‘Of course we could just say we did it. But it’ll be much more fun if we actually do it, don’t you agree?’
With the alternative being weeks of misery until Dr Lawrence felt ‘quite sure’ about her, Christina was not going to argue. Anyway with the awful strain she was now under, the prospect of a little sex play was not at all unattractive. For one thing it would not be Christina’s first time.
And then Justine produced the cane. One of Dr Lawrence’s two-foot whippy rattans, a length he didn’t normally bother with. Christina’s eyes opened wide once more.
‘Don’t worry!’ smiled Justine. ‘It won’t really hurt. It’s quite a turn-on in the right dose. And it’ll be an introduction to our dreaded Headmaster’s little pleasures.’
Rosalind gave Christina a kiss on the mouth and then pulled her down on the bed. After a little embracing Rosalind sat up and turned Christina over on her back. She was lying with her hips over the edge of the bed. Holding her skirt down Rosalind pulled Christina’s skirt up to her waist, exposing that full shapely bottom in tight white knickers.
Justine sprang forward and grabbed the knickers, yanking them down to the tops of Christina’s nylons. The splendid bottom which Dr Lawrence had set his heart on was bare — and Justine had the cane in her hand and an excited gleam in her eye.
CRACK!... It bit sharply into the soft flesh. Not as hard as Dr Lawrence would do it but a nice sharp stinger. Christina gave a gasp and the bottom jerked. Her face was in the bedclothes with Rosalind firmly holding her shoulders.
CRACK!... The cane came smartly down again. Christina gave another muffled ‘Oooff!’ This had all happened so suddenly that she had barely had time to think.
Another muffled gasp as the cane stung her soft bottom again. Then Rosalind’s face was down close to hers. Breathing hotly into Christina’s ear:
Is it nice?!
Christina’s head was going round and round and she didn’t know if it was or not. The cane kept coming down on her bottom, each delivery a sharp sting like a persistent hornet or wasp. But at the same time it wasn’t as bad as one of those killing cross-country runs. She felt Rosalind’s tongue in her ear...
The caning finally stopped and a hot-faced Justine was pulling Christina’s knickers on down her legs and off. Then all three girls were in a giggling struggle on the bed — a kind of all-in wrestling match. In the middle of this Rosalind and Christina fell off the narrow bed onto the floor.
They paused for breath. And then Justine was pushing Rosalind’s bed up against her own; then checking that the door was locked. And then all three girls were undressed and in the two joined beds.
Giggling and gasping. Groaning and yelping and grasping at each other. Three soft female bodies intertwined together and getting more and more aroused by the minute.
The next day, right after Morning Assembly, Dr Lawrence had an unscheduled visit from his Head Girl. Unscheduled or not, a visit from vivacious Justine Greenaway was always welcome. The Head got up to quickly go and lock his door — and then was immediately grabbing for Justine’s bottom.
She squirmed away saying she had a lesson and couldn’t stay. Otherwise in no time flat she’d be over his desk with her knickers down.
‘No sir. It’s just I’ve got something important to tell you, sir. It’s Christina Harvey. She’s got a confession to make, sir. And when you hear it — well, you’ll be able to put her in the Cane Club right away.’
Justine’s words at least caused the Head to stop his grabbing and groping. She slid away from him.
‘Shall I send her in, sir?’
Justine had quickly moved to the door and unlocked it. Well, you had to keep on your toes with Dr Lawrence if you didn’t feel like a caning. Otherwise he would probably decide to give you a warming-up first, and then see Christina. And a girl didn’t want to be caned all the time.
‘Uh yes,’ he said, as the full meaning of Justine’s words slowly dawned. ‘Yes. Yes, send her in by all means.’
Justine went out and almost immediately there was a hesitant knock and Christina appeared. The girl with the corn-coloured hair, looking somewhat flushed and apprehensive and with a note in her hand.
She quietly closed the door behind her; looked up at the Head, then quickly down again. She held out the note.
Dr Lawrence tore it open.
‘Dear Dr Lawrence. I am writing to confess to improper behaviour with Justine Greenaway and Rosalind Chambers. I spent two hours in their room yesterday evening during which time improper and unladylike behaviour took place. I am willing to accept any punishment you see fit to impose, but should be very grateful if you could see fit to keep this matter confidential, if you don’t mind.
Your obedient pupil, Christina Harvey.’
Dr Lawrence looked up, face flushed.
Contritely Christina said, ‘I’d rather the punishment was not cross-country running, sir. Or awful lines. But... I don’t mind a caning, sir.’
The bit about the cross-country was said with special feeling, for before breakfast Christina had been taken out on another dreadful run by Mr Martin. Followed by a massage and cold shower.
Dr Lawrence made a ‘hrrmm’ noise. He was experiencing a rapidly increasing tension in the front of his trousers. As well there was a sense of exultation and relief. That period of attrition, which was frustrating to say the least, could be terminated forthwith, and this lovely girl’s name go immediately in his leather notebook.
But cautiously he said, ‘Caning, young lady, is not, er, strictly speaking a legitimate form of punishment.’
Christina raised her long lashes and lowered them. Her softly pretty voice came again — ‘That’s all right, sir. I won’t tell. I mean if you won’t tell on me, sir.’
The feeling of exultation was overwhelming. And at the same time the tension in Dr Lawrence’s trousers felt near to breaking point.
‘Can... can you please lock the door,’ he said.
Christina went to the door as he looked again at her note.
‘I think... if you could be rather more specific. If you could just add “I engaged in unacceptable sexual practices,” I presume that is what we are talking about, and it would make it stronger from my point of view.’
Christina took the Head’s pen and complied. As she did so she felt his hand sliding over her bottom.
‘Good!’ he said, having a final squeeze and then putting the note in his drawer.
‘Very good! Well, I think in that case we can now forget about lines and cross-country runs and suchlike. Would you like a sherry, my dear?’
Christina said, ‘No thank you, sir.’
‘Very good. So if you could now remove your blazer. And skirt.’
The blazer came off; then Christina dropped her skirt. Underneath, her nylons were fastened with that pink satin suspender belt which Justine had worn earlier. Also Christina was wearing no knickers — just that same pink silk thong which Justine had worn. At either side of the thin pink strip, at her pubic mound, crisp curls somewhat darker than corn-coloured sprouted out.
When Dr Lawrence had had a good look, Christina turned to present her splendid bare bottom.
Trembling slightly, the Head reached out two hands. It was almost unbelievable. The girl with the corn-coloured hair was now his. The bottom of his dreams, soft but firmly resilient, was in his hands.
Moments later Christina was bent over the Head’s desk, her arms outstretched to grip the farther edge and those magnificent nude hindquarters now thrust up and out for Dr Lawrence’s pleasure.
Christina gave a gasping yelp at the first CRACK!... of the cane. It bloody well stung all right — a lot harder than when Justine had done it. She gritted her teeth in readiness for the next.
A second CRACK!... a second agonized yelp. A renewed writhing dance of the full, sumptuous buttocks. Yes, it bloody-well hurt all right but it was not something that the girl with the corn-coloured hair couldn’t take. Not something that she was completely unused to.
Because she had also been caned at her other school. Had in fact been in a very similar Club to the one she was now being initiated into. At her other school it hadn’t been called the Cane Club, but The Headmaster’s Little Circle. A Little Circle of older girls who for special privileges allowed the Head to use the cane on their bare bottoms.
Yes, in a way what was happening now was rather like coming home. Not that... ‘Aaoooww!’ didn’t hurt.

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