She suspected that she was not the first, or the last, to be introduced to corporal punishment whilst at school. Perhaps the difference was the pleasure, to accompany the pain, was also taught to her.
She? At that time she was 17. Not unattractive. Tall and blonde. And with the improbable name of Angelica. Her mamma having read too many romantic novels.
Angel (an inappropriate nickname) hated lessons, much preferring to giggle and talk about boys with her schoolgirl friends. None of them had any sexual experience or knowledge other than sweaty clutches received behind the bicycle sheds. Or pants pulled down to allow the taking of their virginity. No finesse or expertise. A few girls exaggerated and embroidered the truth of what had happened to them, but they all loved to hear the stories, feel themselves wet between the legs. Having to discreetly wash the stained knickers and dry them on the radiators in the school toilets before going home. I listened but did not comment.
Angel had a ‘crush’ on the Head Boy at school. She made her interest obvious, smiled at him, wore as much make-up as she could get away with. He didn’t seem to notice.
‘Show him your bottom!’ That was the advice of her best friend, Sue. That’s me. ‘Just observe him,’ I continued when she laughed, ‘he only looks at a girl’s derriere.’
The situation didn’t have to be manipulated she told me later, still red-faced at the memory of it. She was collecting her panties at the end of the school day (we had enjoyed listening to a few saucy stories) when a gust of wind exposed her not only to him, but to the rest of the Upper Sixth.
She tripped as she ran to hide herself from their view. It would have been better for her if she had allowed time for the skirt to cover her ‘embarrassment’. Now on the floor, on her elbows and knees, bare bottom in the air, all Angel could do was crawl into the doorway away from their gaze.
‘My blushes went all the way down to the cheeks of my bum.’
I think it was pure chance that the wind blew Angel’s skirt, but I don’t think she is so innocent and naive she would have missed the opportunity to make him notice her.
It was less than 24 hours later when she was summoned to see the headmistress. I knew why. I had been there myself. All the boys at school seemed to delight in commenting about her attractive bottom. It was pinched and slapped so many times that it was sore.
Later I comforted a severely chastened Angel. I have done so many a time since. Why? Let Angel tell you her story. Then you will understand why I never told the story, preferring discretion.
I stood before Miss Rule. She was large in bosom and bum, her waist tightly nipped. We girls used to laugh behind her back, imagining the whalebone corset and bloomers underneath her white frilly blouse and tweed skirt. Her shoes, slightly incongruous for a teacher, black high heels. The hair, swept back in a French pleat, made her look slightly older than her 40 years. I trembled slightly. I was not laughing now. I had heard that Miss Rule administered stern punishment to both boys and girls at school.
‘I hear you like exposing yourself to everyone’s view, Angelica.’ It was a statement rather than a question begging an answer. ‘We expect young ladies to conduct themselves with rather more decorum. I’m going to make the punishment fit the ‘crime’. Bend over and place your hands on the stool.’
Miss Rule pointed to a low stool in the middle of the room. I was given no chance to refuse as she moved me towards it. My posture felt demeaning as my lowered hands forced my backside up into the air.
‘Legs apart.’ I obeyed. I felt my skirt being lifted up and over. She pulled my knickers down to my knees. Not content with that, Miss Rule rolled my thigh-high socks down. I had never felt so vulnerable before.
‘You certainly have a pretty bottom.’ Miss Rule’s hand moved over the contours of my upended backside and the inside of my thighs. ‘Feel nice? I am going to give you a few more sensations before I am through.’
I had no time to be surprised or protest. A stinging slap landed with such force that I felt my bottom move even after she had taken her hand away.
Thwack… thwack. She gave me another five on that cheek and evened it up with another six on the other side.
I collapsed sobbing, but she pulled me to my feet. She held me tightly whilst she rubbed my tender rump.
I had forgotten about the make-up I had been wearing at school. Miss Rule’s white blouse was covered in the mascara that had run from my lashes because of the tears.
‘You naughty girl!’ She sponged at the blouse with a tissue. ‘You’ve ruined it.’ Miss Rule took off the offending garment.
‘Oh, Lord,’ I thought. ‘She does wear a whalebone corset.’ The pale pink corset only came to her breasts. These were bare — voluminous with big red nipples. I realised I was staring at her and quickly lowered my eyes. I did not want to get into further trouble.
I tried to pull my knickers up. ‘Leave those alone. They’ll be down for some time yet. Stand in the corner.’
Miss Rule unfastened my skirt so it fell down around my ankles. I stood, unable to hide the marks of her hand on my bottom. Her nipples rubbed against the back of my blouse.
‘I am going to use the cane on you now. You have been a very bad girl, haven’t you?’ I nodded my head and felt another slap on my bottom. ‘Haven’t you?’
‘Yes, Miss Rule.’
I heard the cupboard door open. It was rumoured that a sizeable collection of canes were kept there. Those who had experienced them said nothing. It was almost like a select club.
Miss Rule ordered me to undress completely. She had removed her skirt and stood, cane in hand, waiting for me to comply. I was mesmerised by what was a very attractive woman. The flesh-coloured corset firmly grasped her stomach and hips. Metal stays helped to keep her upright carriage. Four suspenders over a pair of short bloomers held up a pair of shiny silk stockings. The slightly old-fashioned clothing hid this sexual side of her.
I stripped off my clothes then Miss Rule sat me down on her lap. She fondled my titties and rubbed my now erect nipples with her fingers and thumb.
‘I like to feel your hot bottom on my thighs.’
I was embarrassed because my cunny juices had started to flow and frightened that I would be in more trouble if I marked her stockings. She noticed the wetness and her fingers moved to touch it. She parted my soft downy pubic hair. I felt my clit being moved from side to side. I squirmed with the pleasure of it.
‘I’m going to give you something else that will make you squirm. It will give both pleasure and pain. The two sensations will eventually be combined.’
I did not fully understand. But I wanted this sensation to continue.
She was gentler than before but just as firm as she positioned me — this time over her desk. I was stretched out, legs wider apart than before. Miss Rule placed a cushion beneath my hips to raise my bottom higher than the rest of my body.
‘I like to tilt it towards the cane,’ Miss Rule purred with the satisfaction of seeing me readied in this manner. The position forced my breasts against the hard surface of the desk. She did not make these more comfortable, merely placing my rolled-up panties in my mouth — ‘So you will not moan or scream out loud.’
‘I am going to use this nice straight cane. It’s just right for a girl like you.’
The pain inflicted was indescribable. I heard the swish as the cane moved through the air, the thunk as the first stroke made contact with my rump.
I dropped the rolled-up panties from my mouth and screamed. Miss Rule was not amused. I felt her hot breath as she whispered in my ear: ‘Make another sound and this will be the softest touch you will feel today.’ She pushed the gag towards me. This time I pushed it into my mouth myself. I bit onto it as though my very life depended on it.
I lost count of the strokes that rained down. She paused after each one, her hand stroking where the cane had made contact.
She lightly touched the inside of my thighs and cunny with her fingers. I heard myself moan with pleasure. She alternated the pain and the pleasure until I was unable to distinguish between the two.
My bottom moved up to meet the cane. I could not control it. I kept telling myself that school pupils never had more than six or twelve of the ‘best’. Just as I was beginning to think I would not survive another stroke, another touch, I heard the door open and close again. Miss Rule was midway with the cane and I heard her gasp. The cane did not make the expected contact.
‘You started without me, Miss Rule.’ I recognised the voice and turned my head to see the Head Boy. He lifted me from the desk. His face showed concern and he was clearly angry with Miss Rule.
‘We are never too hard with new recruits. I suggest you change places.’
To my surprise Miss Rule obeyed him. She bent over the desk as directed. The rigid corset clearly pushed into her soft flesh and she did not protest.
He offered me a comfortable chair. I could only sit supported with cushions, sideways on. Direct contact made me aware of the ridges and bumps made by Miss Rule’s cane.
The Head Boy took several types of cane from the cupboard. A thin swishy one… ‘This will make thin red lines,’ he explained. ‘Mere decoration. A big backside like this needs a very hard, thick, short cane to impress any discipline on it. I will warm it up with the tawse. Make it red all over.’
He offered it to me. ‘Perhaps you would like to do that?’
I shook my head, then I remembered the hiding she had given me. He unhooked the suspenders from Miss Rule’s stockings and pulled down her bloomers to expose the big, round rump. I enjoyed the next five minutes until he stopped me and took over the task of punishing Miss Rule.
It was obvious that the Head Boy was an expert. Through the rose hue left by the tawse, the thin cane whipped down to leave a criss-cross pattern on Miss Rule’s ample buttocks. She did not flinch or cry out, although I thought I saw an involuntary shudder of her rear when the Head Boy selected a short, thick, knobbly cane.
‘This instrument is for mature ladies,’ he informed me. ‘That’s correct, Miss Rule?’ She did not answer immediately which cost her a severe smack from the instrument in question. ‘Isn’t that so, Miss Rule.’
The Head Boy was slightly placated by her reply. He moved closer, rubbing his hands over her arse.
‘You know why I am going to cane you?’
He tapped her bottom lightly but firmly. ‘Tell me more.’
‘I was too hard on the girl.’
‘How hard do you think I should be on you? Think carefully now. If I don’t like your answer I will treble plus 50 the number of strokes you think you ought to receive. Think about it.’
He moved over to me. My sore bottom seemed to fascinate him. He sat down beside me and pulled me over his knee so that he could touch and pat my bottom. ‘I wanted to get it to that state myself,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll give it some attention later.’
My mind could not understand all the sensations his words and touch gave me, but my body did. The juices flowed from my well-lubricated crease. I pushed my bottom against his hands and rubbed my titties against the shiny buttons of his blazer. My hands went to undo the zip of his trousers. The bulge there looked so inviting.
I felt stinging slaps on both my thighs. ‘Later, I said.’ He pushed me gently away and turned his attention to the lady still spread-eagled across the desk.
He accepted the corrected answer. After all, he had two ladies to attend to.
‘I think I’ll use the short, straight cane to warm you up properly first.’
Miss Rule counted every stroke of the cane she received. She did not cry out loud but the occasional gasp escaped her lips. For this breach of discipline the Head Boy followed through with an extra stroke of the cane. Miss Rule knew she could not count these.
Occasionally, he stopped to rest and admire his own handiwork. He smiled as he caressed the well-whipped bottom and thighs. He invited me to feel the heat the cane generated. He guided my fingers into the opening between Miss Rule’s legs. It was wet and sticky but I enjoyed touching her private place. She pulled away but the Head Boy told her to keep still. My fingers moved in and out. I was inexperienced but the Head Boy encouraged me to explore and feel. He also directed me to place my hands on the buttocks that were receiving such a stinging onslaught. To feel every bump the hiding had raised. From the edge of her corset to the top of her stockings, Miss Rule’s body was covered by the marks of the cane.
The Head Boy told me to go back to my chair and watch whilst he administered the last part of Miss Rule’s punishment. He picked up the short, knobbly cane.
I watched as the cane made contact with her bottom. The flesh turned white for several seconds before a rush of blood came to the surface of the skin and raised an angry red weal.
The final few were given with such severity that I screamed out for Miss Rule. The Head Boy stopped. I realised that he would not tolerate this behaviour by the look of irritation that momentarily clouded his face. Then he smiled. I had given him a new game to play.
‘I understand. You are concerned that Miss Rule is suffering. She has been caned many times before and will continue to receive the attention of a Master. But I like compassion. You can help Miss Rule.’
I was completely bewildered. How could I help her?
The Head Boy searched the cupboard again. ‘Put these on.’ He handed me a pair of high-heeled shoes. I did as he ordered. They pinched slightly but I decided against complaining. The heels were so high I almost toppled over.
The Head Boy held my hand to steady me then led me towards the lady waiting to have her punishment completed. The Head Boy stood me behind Miss Rule and stood back as though inspecting the scenario. He had a practised eye and, summing up that I would need more height to help structure the scene he had envisaged, he moved the low stool next to Miss Rule and lifted me onto it.
‘Bend over.’ I followed his instructions as meekly as Miss Rule had.
The next 15 minutes were the ultimate (in as much as I had ever experienced) in agony and ecstasy. My legs were spread wider than Miss Rule’s. Each time the cane was brought down on my waiting backside, my clit rubbed onto the corset. I cried. I earned several more on my thighs for my bad behaviour.
Eventually the caning ended. The pain remained. Both the Head Boy and Miss Rule were very kind to me. They both shared me. The Head Boy sat me on his lap, facing away from him, so he was able to both view and feel my caned bottom. His large prick penetrated my cunt.
Initially, Miss Rule stood in the corner, her well-beaten bottom on display, but the Head Boy eventually signalled her to join us. She knelt before me and rubbed her nipples against mine. I had large tits but Miss Rule’s appendages dwarfed them in comparison. They were round and firm, a mirror image of her now very attractive-looking bum. Her fingers spread the lips of my vulva to expose the throbbing, erect clit. The rest of the opening between my legs was filled with cock.
The Head Boy pulled me towards him so my striped bottom rubbed against his loins. My back arched and my legs opened further. Miss Rule moved down and jiggled my clit with her tongue. The Head Boy pushed harder and harder until I thought I would explode.
When Miss Rule left my breasts unattended he took over. Fingers pinching at both nipples. Occasionally, he would slap them to make them tingled. Different sensations for me to experience.
I wasn’t a virgin. However, I couldn’t compare having a boyfriend groping under my clothes in the intimacy of a darkened cinema, or humping me against an alley wall, with the fucking I was receiving now.
‘Aaargh…’, I shouted, over and over again. I kept coming but they did not stop. I thought I would die from the pleasure of it.
Miss Rule lifted her head. ‘I think it’s my turn now.’
The Head Boy lifted me off his huge cock. I trembled to think I had managed to encompass it. I watched as Miss Rule bent herself over his knees so that he could again feel the results of his caning. She rubbed his cock with her tits.
‘This arse has lost some of its heat,’ he informed her. They swung into a well-rehearsed routine. Miss Rule positioned herself to present a willing rear and waited to receive several more strokes. She knelt on the stool, elbows supporting her body, ready for the onslaught to begin.
Only two strokes of the cane were needed to bring Miss Rule to the point of her orgasmic release. The juices flowed, her body shuddered. The Head Boy striped her bottom with four more well-placed strokes whilst she remained kneeling.
Judging by the shafting he gave her, he had only been toying with me. They started by Miss Rule accepting him as she had taken the caning. Then he turned her on her back. Her legs opened and her knees came up, feet entwined around his neck. I thought he would split her in two but from the ecstatic look on her face it would not have concerned her if he had.
The Head Boy finally came, balls slapping against her backside. Short, sharp, shuddering movements. I admired the control he exercised in waiting for his climax until he had satisfied us both.
I did not have to explain to anyone my late return from school. My family were too involved in their respective careers. Miss Rule suggested I tell them I was participating in ‘extra-curricular’ activities. ‘An art group. They’ll never expect anything to be produced from that. At least not until the end of term, then you can say it didn’t turn out to your satisfaction.’
Miss Rule was also solicitous towards me, draping me over her knee so that she could tend to my sore bottom, gently massaging it with cream to cool it down.
‘Of course you will be satisfied,’ she continued moving her hand slightly so that her fingers could administer the cream between my legs. ‘You can tell them we were doing artistic things with cane!’
Angel attended the ‘extra-curricular’ sessions every week for the rest of her school year. It became apparent to her that she was not the only girl singled out for this treatment. I pointed out quite a few girls in the changing rooms who had bottoms marked by more than a redness from an occasional classroom chastisement. They could not hide the fact that they belonged to the ‘cane club’ as bottoms were shown off by the tight, high-cut knickers whenever we did PE or when we had showers together.
I also explained to my dear friend one day that the Head Boy (we never referred to him in any other way — except when the cane was wielded by his strong hand, then Master came easily to us) had not ‘saved’ her from the wrath of Miss Rule. He was just annoyed she had not had her initial ‘training’ from him.
Angel became angry. Without saying a word she had me face down over a school desk and, holding me by one hand, lifted my skirt with the other, pulled down my knickers far enough to leave my bottom bare and gave me a sound spanking. It was the first hiding Angel had ever given, but certainly not the last.
The Head Boy did not always attend the ‘club’ — much to Angel’s dismay. However, she met several more ‘Masters’ and learnt to enjoy their ministrations.
Sometimes it was just us girls, under Miss Rule’s tuition, of course.
Angel started to excel in this department. Her experience with my bottom gave her a taste of the pleasure of giving, as well as being a submissive receiver. Angel practised on me to help her improve.
Her school grades also improved. She soon caught up to the same standards as mine. Miss Rule saw to it that our constantly bruised botties came in for extra attention if we failed in our school work. The ‘detention’ slips were merely pseudo messages. It was cloaked as an order to attend Miss Rule’s study for correction of school work. We knew it really meant the cane would be working expertly on our naked backsides. The consolation was the equation that pain equalises pleasure.
Angel and I passed our examinations and gained places at university. We left school, as did all the rest of the Sixth Form. All of us off to different parts of the country — all to pastures new.
What happened next is another story.