Story from Janus 37 by Simon Banks
The beautiful grounds of St Millicent’s School for Girls were basking in the lovely cloudless June morning, but for James Mackie, Deputy Head, the splendid grounds, the beautiful morning, meant nothing. The dour Scot, fiftyish, tall and thin, bore a typically grim expression on his angular rimless-spectacled face. It was now halfway through the last week of Summer Term. So in just a couple of days another batch of what Mr Mackie regarded as his natural prey — the Sixth Form girls — would be leaving and would be forever beyond his gasp. Or more specifically beyond the reach of his cane. The thought made Mr Mackie grind his teeth.
Mr James Mackie could rightly be regarded as a man with a chip on his shoulder. He had never been able to forget his own background — a poor Tayside family and meagre State education — and bitterly contrasted this with that of the St Millicent’s girls, almost all of them coming from well-off middle-class homes. He blamed his own hard upbringing on what he saw as the rich and grasping English. And in consequence derived his greatest satisfaction from caning their daughters’ bare bottoms, at times with a cold fury.
Today he had made a tour of the grounds but typically not to admire them. Rather he had been on the lookout for any girls who might be caught breaking some school rule (trespassing into areas forbidden to them, absent without excuse from class, leaving litter, etc, etc) and whom in consequence he could take to the Correction Room for a salutary caning.
But James Mackie had unfortunately found no girls in any of these categories and he was therefore in a worse mood than usual as he re-entered the main School building. The warm day might reasonably have been expected to yield transgressors of some sort but it had not, or if there were any he had failed to detect them. Tight-lipped, angry in particular at the latter possibility, he made for his room.
And as he turned the corner from the Entrance Hall he walked straight into three sixth-formers, chattering away and quite oblivious of where they were going. All three were in non-uniform summer dresses which the Head permitted school-leavers to wear in their last week of term. Three school-leavers! Well, after drawing a complete blank in a wearying trek around the grounds this was a sudden and startling change of fortune. He was quite taken aback for a moment — but quickly recovered his poise.
‘You girls... what is the meaning of this? Slouching along in that slovenly manner and knocking into members of staff — like common shop girls or worse. You will all, of course, be punished.’
Oh yes: all three would definitely feel the touch of his cane on bare succulent hindquarters. But one of the three, by an amazing stroke of luck, just happened to be the girl Mr Mackie most fancied in the whole school. Most fancied caning, that is. Julie Gilbert: she would definitely be his first treat. The opportunity couldn’t wait; he felt so urgent about it.
‘You two girls, I shall deal with you later. You may go now and I shall send for you when ready.’ The two girls he indicated went off, silent, cowed. At least their punishment was not immediate.
‘Miss Gilbert, you will come with me. Now!’
Julie Gilbert, eighteen-and-a-half, was indeed a choice victim for Mr Mackie: pretty, of course, with long blonde hair, and tall and slender but at the same time shapely with firm high breasts and rounded hips. The pretty face now with a look of utter dismay. With only days to go to the end of her school career, out of the blue this had to happen! The worst fate possible at St Millicent’s — falling foul of Mr Mackie, the dreaded Deputy Head.
Like the other two girls Julie had the next period free and they had been going to sit outside in the sun until lunch-time. Now instead of that pleasant prospect she was being hurried along the corridor by the most feared man in the school to a destination she knew only too well — the Correction Room.
The Correction Room, as its name implied, was where girls were routinely taken for correction, i.e. where they were caned or strapped. There were exceptions: the Head mostly caned in his study and other masters did occasionally simply keep a girl behind after class to take her knickers down and administer a spanking or caning on the spot. But generally speaking the Correction Room was where such treatments took place.
It was a plain functional room; windowless and lit by a single overhead light and containing only a chair, a desk, and a cupboard. Quite small, but big enough for its purpose: that is, allowing sufficient room for a cane or strap to be swung over a girl’s bottom as she either bent over the back of the chair, hands on the seat, or lay over the seat with hands on the floor on the other side.
On the desk was a register of punishments meted out, and in the cupboard together with miscellaneous bits and pieces were two leather straps and a number of rattan canes of various lengths and thicknesses. It was a room with tearful memories for many St Millicent’s girls past and present, especially the prettiest ones. And not least among those with unhappy memories was the slim sixth-former now being ushered in by the Deputy Head. At one time or another she had been brought here by almost all the masters during her school career.
The most recent occasion had been Mr Martin (History) three weeks before. Then, naturally, Julie had been wearing normal St Millicent’s uniform: white blouse and red-and-blue striped tie and short pleated grey skirt. It had been unpleasant of course: over the chair and skirt up and knickers down and four with the strap on her bare bottom. It had stung all right but had not really been absolutely unbearable. Because a beating from Mr Martin — or any other master except Mr Mackie — was never quite unbearable. But Mr Mackie: well, he could make any girl in the school beg for mercy. He was notorious.
Inevitably Julie had been here before with the Deputy Head. She shuddered at the recollections, but the last time had been a good two months ago and she had had every hope of leaving school without a further taste of it. Julie didn’t have any classes from him and was normally careful to keep out of his way. Now, she felt close to tears already, her bottom flinching in anticipation. She thought of the sunny lawn outside. Other girls happily laughing...
Julie was wearing her new dress — she’d put it on when she saw it was going to be such a nice day — mauve-flowered cotton lawn, calf-length and full-skirted, with dark nylons and a pair of matching-coloured patent shoes with medium heels. A super outfit — at sad odds with the stark Correction Room and its hated function. It was all like a bad dream.
Mr Mackie locked the door and, pulling the chair to the desk, sat down. ‘Right, Miss! Come here please.’
With wide and frightened eyes, Julie complied, to stand nervously at his side. He opened the register, placing it — part of his ritual — fussily in the centre of the desk top. He would follow his usual routine, not caning immediately but taking his time, allowing a build-up of the pretty girl’s nervous tension, while he savoured her fear.
‘Well, Miss, what have you to say for yourself?’
‘P...Please, sir... I... I didn’t know. I mean... I... we... were just talking and...’ 18 or not, she was close to tears. And her voice was abnormally squeaky.
‘Well, young lady, I am sure you will know shortly when you feel the cane on your bare bottom. I find that has a most salutary effect even on girls of your age. Really I should have thought at this stage of your school career — when you are shortly due to leave — that you would know better. It’s quite appalling, in a girl of 18.’
Julie, flushing and with her head hung, was silent.
‘And as for that dress you’re wearing: well, it certainly would not be allowed if I were Headmaster. You would all be in uniform. I suppose underneath you have some equally unsuitable garments?’
As Mr Mackie spoke his hand went behind Julie and up under the hem of her skirt, inside her slip. Up the backs of her long legs... nylons... bare upper thighs... to her bottom. She certainly was not wearing regulation school attire, for what James Mackie’s hand encountered were loose-legged French knickers, of lace-edged silk.
‘Good gracious! What is this?’ he slid his hand up inside one leg of the knickers onto Julie’s bare bottom. ‘This is quite disgraceful! I should not imagine that even the Head would countenance such garments: you are virtually bare!’
And to illustrate this statement, and without fully realising what he was doing, Mr Mackie’s hand came round into the loose crotch of Julie’s knickers. Suddenly the hand was between her legs... touching bare flesh.
Julie squirmed violently and gasped, ‘Sir! Please..!’ Automatically she closed her legs... but only succeeded for the moment in trapping the hand where she least wanted it.
‘Oooh!’ Her own hand shot down protectively. ‘Oooohh!’
Mr Mackie, red-faced, extricated his hand from that warm and intimate region. It had been a quite involuntary action on his part, after discovering the French knickers. Bottoms were one thing but the puritanical Mackie basically disapproved of what girls had between their legs and it had been a shock to find he suddenly had his hand on it. It was all the wretched girl’s fault of course.
He started blustering, ‘Don’t you realise, Miss, that this sort of garment is an open invitation to any Tom, Dick or Harry to put his hand there? Or do worse? An open invitation to any common rowdy?’
Julie, embarrassed and shaken, nervously straightened her dress. It was really awful! What he said was typically mean and vindictive. They were simply pretty knickers, that was all, but you might expect Mr Mackie to think up some awful interpretation. She bit her lip. She was anyway rather sensitive at present down there where his hand had gone. Not that she engaged in full sex as yet, although her boyfriend, David, was always trying to persuade her to start. But they did indulge in frequent heavy petting sessions, with considerable manual stimulation.
And in addition to this she had in the last two weeks been getting something rather similar from the School Doctor, in the Sex course which the Head encouraged school-leavers to take. They were private sessions, one girl at a time, in which Dr Robson made you strip down to bra and knickers and lie on his couch, where certain things would be pointed out to you. Julie did not enjoy these sessions.
Anyway what with the Sex course plus David, Julie was sensitive to the slightest touch, and the Deputy Head’s rough blundering hand had just sent shivers through her, and a feeling of shame. And still to come was the frightening caning. She felt tears welling in her eyes again.
Meanwhile Mr Mackie was concentrating on the register: leafing back counting the number of entries with Julie’s name. He looked up, his eyes beady behind the spectacles.
‘Really, Miss, the number of times different masters have found it necessary to bring you here... Well, I find it quite unacceptable. You seem to have spent the whole of your school career contravening some rule or other.’
The tears appeared now. It was just not fair what he said. The only reason she was in the book so often was that masters liked to take her knickers down. Almost always they were trumped-up reasons of some sort or another.
Mr Mackie closed the book. ‘And on top of that you have the audacity to go about the school wearing items of clothing more suitable to a woman of the streets!’
He looked hard into Julie’s tear-filled blue eyes. ‘Well, Miss, all this is not nearly good enough. It is quite obvious that the canings you have had in the past have done nothing whatsoever for you. But I can tell you, young lady, I intend — today — to try to remedy that. I intend to give you a caning which you will remember for a long, long time to come. And really I think it’s the best possible school-leaving present you could have.’
Julie, fighting the tears, could say nothing. Mr Mackie went on, ‘And please, I quite fail to see why you are crying yet. I should at least wait until you feel the cane on your bottom. You may well feel like crying then, of course. Indeed you may!’ His Scottish accent gave his final exclamation a special intonation.
He went to the cupboard and after perusing its contents drew out a medium weight whippy jointed cane. ‘Ah, now then!’
In front of Julie he flexed it, almost into a complete circle. ‘Yes, Miss. I think this will be suitable for that bottom of yours. Now: we will delay no further.’
Mr Mackie moved the chair away from the desk into the centre of the room. ‘If you will just prepare yourself. The usual position, and please do stop that crying until you have something to cry about. You are supposed to be 18, I believe?’
Haltingly Julie went to the chair... and got herself down over it so that her bottom was over the seat, head down the other side and hands on the floor. It was a position she was only too familiar with. Mr Mackie showed no delay now. Hands went eagerly to the hem of her full skirt, lifting it and a pink slip underneath, both up to her waist. Revealed were the lovely long nylon-clad legs, leading to bare white thighs above. Straps of a pink satin suspender belt held the nylons taut and disappeared into open-legged pink knickers. Pink silk French knickers edged with cream lace — the garment which had caused such offence to the Deputy Head.
With his face bearing a prim look James Mackie’s greedy fingers slipped into the waistband of the knickers and drew them down... to the tops of the nylons. Mmm... oh yes! His eyes glistened. The surprisingly full bottom for a slim girl, its pale cheeks an invitation. And below, where the cleft of the bottom met the thighs, inevitably revealed by the unfortunate girl’s posture, a bush of brown hair — with, if you wished to look, no doubt further details to be seen.
James Mackie did not wish to look. He did not wish to think about that portion of her. In her last term now, he guessed she would be taking that Sex course which the Head was so keen on. It was, thank heavens, not James Mackie’s province and he had no wish to have anything to do with it. He did not know details and had no wish to, but he did know that the purpose was in effect to teach girls to enjoy sex — and that unquestionably met with his strongest disapproval.
What a girl wanted was not someone teaching her to enjoy sex but the cane. A good hard caning of her bare buttocks. And that was something which Miss Julie Gilbert was about to experience. Yes indeed! Her full white bottom was just waiting for it. His hand reached out. Ah yes...
Julie, hair falling about her lowered face, waited. For, inevitably, the next stage: the hand on her bared bottom, fondling, feeling. And his voice, prim and controlled now:
‘First I will give you my usual instructions, Miss, although by now you really should know without being told.’ The hand got on with its busy task. ‘Keep the legs straight so that the bottom is kept elevated. Keep your head well down. And do try to keep the bottom quite still so that the cane can be properly applied.’
The hand squeezed and stroked the silken-smooth globes. ‘Departures from these simple rules may well result in extra strokes. And I will just repeat that I do intend — today — to give you something special. To remember when you have left St Millicent’s. A special leaving present, as I have said.’
A final squeeze of the bottom and the hand left. Not long now to wait. A few seconds of awful anticipation. No more than the time it took to reach for the cane. And then raise it...
CRACK! A breathtaking jolting cut right across the full meat of the under-curve of Julie’s bum.
‘Ooohh! Ah! Ooooohh!’ She squirmed and shuddered with the fearsome stinging pain. Mr Mackie was as good as his word. She had never had it like that before. Never... anything... like that!.. Julie was already crying unashamedly.
‘Keep the bottom still, girl!’
She couldn’t, of course, and he would have been disappointed if she could. As long as it was back in position for the next...
CRACK! A second, fully as hard, parallel and an inch below the first. Another anguished cry as the bottom’s desperate writhings redoubled.
But the girl’s cries and writhings served only to spur Mr Mackie on. With icy concentration he continued — taking his time and applying deliberately measured slashes to the jerking, twisting bottom. CRACK!.. CRACK!.. The cane rose and fell...
After five all semblance of Julie’s control had gone and she couldn’t help snatching her hands from the floor to desperately protect her bottom. She caught the sixth stroke partially across her open palms before Mr Mackie angrily jerked the hands away.
‘Miss Gilbert, whatever do you think you are doing! Get those hands back on the floor immediately!’ He sounded outraged.
Julie, almost incoherent: ‘I... I’m s...sorry, sir. Oooh! I c...can’t... Ooh... no m...more, sir. P...Please no m...m...more.’ The tears were flowing. She sounded utterly piteous.
‘What are you talking about, Miss! I have certainly no intention of terminating a caning halfway through. Did I not promise you something special? Now get back into position immediately. And if you can’t control yourself I shall keep you here through the whole of lunch-time.’
He paused only to mop a perspiring brow: the result of his exertions or perhaps some other cause.
‘Yes, Miss, I shall be quite happy to do so. Really it is unheard-of that a member of the Upper Sixth cannot take a caning properly. Now get back and control yourself!’
Sobbing, Julie resumed her proper position.
‘Get the bottom up, now!’ The tone very tart.
Trembling and crying she complied. Her bottom was decorated with five fiery stripes — three precisely placed, parallel and within an inch of each other, as Mr Mackie liked, but the other two, due to an excessively squirming backside, were further apart and at slight angles. Not perfect, her tormentor told himself, stung by this aesthetic imbalance, but on the other hand good evidence that she was undoubtedly feeling it.
‘Keep still, Miss, and I shall give you three more. Plus of course the one which you so disgracefully cheated on.’
It was Mr Mackie’s intention to give Julie these — as hard as the preceding ones — and then to tell her she was to have six more, for improper behaviour. But when he had delivered four more stingers on the twisting squirming rump it was obvious, even to James Mackie, that she’d had enough. Well, one didn’t want repercussions.
So he contented himself with two extra biting slashes across the backs of her thighs above the nylon tops, as hard as he could make them. A little something for that infantile squirming around which really a sixth-former should be able to control.
Like a nightmare it was finally over. Mr Mackie surveyed his work: the sobbing trembling girl, the scarlet-striped bottom... Yes, she would remember it all right.
Julie stumbled to her feet when told to, and still shaking and crying, fumbled the pink knickers back up under her skirt. The stinging pain was made worse by the seat of the knickers tight across her bottom. Mr Mackie’s hated unctuous voice:
‘Now, Miss: I do hope that is something you will remember.’
She could hardly gasp!
‘Because I am very saddened to find these shortcomings in your behaviour just on the point of your leaving St Millicent’s. I had sincerely hoped that you would have been proof against them by now. You will be expected to carry the school’s standards with you, you know, after you have left here, as a living example to the world at large.’
Julie’s mouth opened but nothing came out save for a panting gasp. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘Very good. Well, I hope it has been a good lesson for you. You may go now.’
Mr Mackie unlocked the door. As she went out past him, none too steadily, he repeated, ‘Remember now!’
And lifting her full skirt he gave her throbbing bottom a final sharp slap.
It was almost lunch-time when Julie got out of the Correction Room. Mr Mackie went off to enjoy his lunch — and savour the prospect of those two other charming bottoms to be enjoyed in the afternoon. Julie, on the other hand, didn’t go to lunch. She couldn’t face her friends and couldn’t face the thought of eating either. She wandered aimlessly, conscious only of pain and the shock of what had happened.
Her day wasn’t over though. There was another event to come which would significantly relate to Mr Mackie’s ‘school-leaving present’.
The first was an appointment she had with the School Doctor an hour later. He would make it clear how easy it was for you to become aroused, with great emphasis on the risks of an unprincipled man or youth doing this to you and then getting you pregnant. So of course his efforts had a highly moral purpose.
Dr Robson made Julie take off her dress and petticoat and lie on his couch in just her underwear. He spoke to her for a few minutes and then he was ready to start on the next stage. She slipped down her knickers — and not surprisingly there, still very obvious, were the marks of Mr Mackie’s caning.
‘I think I can guess who’s done this,’ said Dr Robson with a shake of his head as he ran his hand over the red-striped bottom. Mr Mackie’s little pleasures were well-known to his colleagues.
He remarked that it must have stung. That was the understatement of the year, thought Julie, struggling not to start crying again. And then Dr Robson said something which, at the time, seemed to the pretty 18-year-old quite ridiculous.
‘Of course, on the other hand caning can heighten sexual pleasure, you know, Julie. Because at the subconscious level pleasure and pain are closely related. In fact it is not unknown for a couple to use caning as an added stimulus in their sexual enjoyment.’
Well, she did find it quite ridiculous. She didn’t tell Dr Robson that she thought he must be off his head, but that was just about what she thought. She was of course a quite inexperienced 18-year-old and it was not surprising that the School Doctor’s remarks were difficult to believe.
Dr Robson asked, ‘Don’t you feel more sensitive, Julie? More easily arousable?’
Julie bit her lip. She felt more sensitive all right: she felt like crying. Dr Robson’s hand was now actually caressing her. She felt she could hardly think straight. Then he told her to turn over and lie on her back... and relax...
But naturally nothing improper took place. He only spoke to her, soothingly and caressingly. Helping her to come to terms with the cruel experience she had undergone that morning in the Correction Room. She needed Dr Robson’s reassuring words. Words which went round and round her head as she lay there with her clothes off, feeling the heat throbbing out from her bottom beneath her where it pressed into the slightly prickly surface of the School Doctor’s couch. Sending tingling sparks shooting through her body, all of them bearing the same glowing message.
Julie Gilbert relaxed totally, finding peace and a sensuous feeling of well-being in the Doctor’s hypnotic speech. He was talking about caning, among other things. All sense of the physical shock she had earlier experienced had left her body, her eyes were closed and her mind was in a dream, with her boyfriend David and Dr Robson and Mr Mackie and his cane all tumbling across the screen of her consciousness. She did not even remotely suspect that there would be a lifelong effect: of bringing her into the fold.