This afternoon I got an email from Abel: “This is your end-of-term report: print it and put it in an envelope, but don’t read it. Tonight you will come to collect it from the Headmaster.”
Oooh, I thought. Ooooooh. I sent the attachment to the printer with my eyes shut.
In the evening, after Abel had arrived home, I jogged upstairs to change into my school uniform (this time it was a maroon skirt, white shirt, maroon-and-silver striped tie and white cotton knickers; it’s my oldest uniform, and I’m quite fond of it), pulled my hair into a neat pony-tail, and made sure I got rid of all nail-polish and cosmetics. (You can never be too careful when going to see the Head, unless you want to be in trouble deliberately.)
When the Headmaster opened the envelope, here’s what he found inside:
I – or rather this girl called Helen Watson – was in a lot of trouble! She got a long lecture about academic integrity, applying oneself to one’s studies and similar rubbish matters, after which she – and I – had to bend over and grasp the edge of the desk.
Up went my skirt, down came my knickers. I was to get 5 strokes, one for each subject in which I had, quote, underperformed, unquote. Abel had picked a cane that isn’t my favourite by any means: a short, straight, very stiff reformatory stick. Each stroke felt like an individual cut. I howled my way through the final three, barely aware of the admonishment to control myself. (My usual thought at moments like this is: “If you don’t like the volume of my screaming, you don’t have to hit this hard”. Not that I ever *say* it – not at the time, anyway.)
Even pulling up my knickers afterwards was incredibly painful, as the elastic brushed against each double welt. I smoothed the skirt back down, and shuffled out of the office – only to come back a second later for my cuddles, now as myself. Abel looked terribly pleased with himself for composing the report.
He seemed surprised that I wasn’t keen to continue the scene by bringing the report home to my father, but there was no way I could take any more lecturing, never mind spanking. What does he think I am, a masochist?
OMG how very cool!
Oh I so wanna do that with A. now. Especially now that I’ve got pretty close to a proper uniform.
LOL — though I’m with ya, Haron. If the spanker doesn’t like the sounds that result from whacking a girl, he indeed shouldn’t hit so hard! 😉
He probably thinks you are masochist, yes, so do I :). Nice story. I still can’t conceptualize how hard the man must be hitting you. I normally get 25 cane strokes and no welts, but I think it’s because I am not whacked nearly as hard.
Made me wanna go ahead and order a uniform skirt, but not yet.
And – thank you, Helen-Haron very much for sharing. I’m on my way to cut a switch in the orchard in the rain, it must be nice and flexible this way.
I most certainly don’t think Haron is a masochist. If that were true, she’d be enjoying it. Which isn’t quite the point.
(Says he with evil grin).
Dear Headmaster,
Your commitment in nurturing the connection between body and mind in the pursuit of academic excellence is most admirable. It must be an onerous duty for you; nevertheless one with its own rewards.
One must consider however, the distinct possibility that the method of behaviour modification utilised is only skin deep and may not achieve the desired result of mitigating errant academic underperformance.
My greatest fear is that the young lady may indeed choose to continue her academic aberrance in the lusty pursuit of more of the same next term. Are you able to assure the Council that your methods and technique are truly effective?
Sincerely
Miss Jane Sawbutt
Chairman – Disciplinary Committee
Greens Farm Academy for Girls
It’s just such a strange thing this desire to be spanked, I always want my limits pushed. I asked J. last night that I wondered why I don’t welt that much – and he said – “You want welts, I’ll give you welts, come here. What you need to get welts,” he said, “is hard caning and no warm-up.”
By then, of course, I already had 10 hard strokes for something. I was terrified. And I wanted it nonetheless. I wanted him to make me cry, ultimately, too. Yet, I tried to resist because at the time the fear may have been greater than lust. “Get up there,” he told me (I had previously knelt on a sofa with my hands on its upper edge).
“Two hard ones,” he said. Since I still resisted, he said, “I am going to count to 5 – if I get to 5 it is going to be 5 hard ones.” By 4 I was up there.
Was followed was indeed hard. I think I screamed somewhat longer that I normally do. It did indeed produce welts, which looked like thin (I have a thinnish cane) double crimson lines with white line of raised flesh in between, right where the cane fell. It’s this “sharpness” of the cane strokes which I found terrible. I agree with Haron that it almost feels like a cut. I certainly cried afterwards.
“Any harder than this, and I will begin to draw blood,” J. said, which is, of course, where we draw the line. I don’t think I want it “any harder” either – but I did tell him “This is how hard I want you to do strike me next time you do this.”
I begin to understand the idea of six strokes being plenty.
I do want to add, however, that with pain, as well as with money, “more” is only good up to a certain point, then it begins to be the same. I think it’s important to keep things “fresh” to a certain degree, lest you get jaded and stop deriving satisfaction from pursuing either.
(Sorry, was too lazy to turn this into a blog post and put more effort into it at this point).
Do you think I am a masochist?
Miss Sawbutt should know that the young lady concerned was informed that she would have a half-term review with the Headmaster next term, to allow him to check that her performance had indeed improved. You can rest assured that she will be dealt with appropriately at that time should the necessary improvements not be forthcoming.
And sending Amber a hug: girls who’ve been caned should always be given hugs. (What a lovely account!)
Amber: Your post was so heartfelt and I totally ‘get’ what you were saying. The line between desire and fear is so fine. Just think for a moment all that you have learnt/experienced in so short a time. It’s quite enpowering I think. I’m guessing it made you feel rather ‘heady’. The definition of a masochist in my dictionary is ‘a person who derives sexual excitement and satisfaction from his or her own pain or humiliation’. Well, that sounds about right doesn’t it, but the word has always had a negative connotation, and you have certainly turned that connation on its head!! Anything that achieves this much mutual happiness and harmony has to be looked on in a positive light. (No, the clock is right – am waking at odd hours right now.)
Headmaster: Miss Sawbutt thanks you for your response to the above matter. It is pleasing to know that appropriate measures have been put in place to monitor Miss Helen’s progress. Such a lovely girl – we wouldn’t want to see her be lead astray. The Council has every confidence that the Headmaster of our fine institution will work towards the best interests of the girls in his charge. I do hope that you have a restful festive season, headmaster, although it would be the perfect opportunity for a little maintenance of the instruments of discipline, if I may be so bold as to make the suggestion.
Thanks, Abel, that so sweet of you. Hugs for Haron, too (albeit belated).
I had a terribly kinky dream last night, including my favorite subject – small town community meeting – and your favorite subject – (public) punishment of a bright but wickedly irreverent young woman – myself. And a certain walnut paddle with an intricate design carved in it instead of holes. I kid you not. It was so vivid, scary, and humiliating. (You know, small town America with odd local customs, think The Lottery only not lethal. Of course, my immediate community is nothing like that
*sigh of relief*)
On a different note, just to boost your pride and joy in your recent performance, I’ll tell you that I decided that I would ask J. to do a “school” scene with me as a Christmas present. I am getting easier this way with years – I don’t ask for stuff anymore – mostly things that are edible or to take me out to dinner or well… this. I wanted to post here but it got long and I will post the details of the negotiation on my blog instead.
Thanks for the inspiration – you two are the best for that sort of thing.
Amber
Glad to be of service!!!!
And can’t wait to read the account on your blog 😉
Abel and Haron: Yeah, all jokes aside, thank you very much for the ‘Miss Helen’ episode. BRAVO!! to Abel for all the effort that went into this, and a special thank you to Miss Helen, who endured/enjoyed this. “Your wish is my command”??? Wellllllll, why would a girl ask for a possession for Christmas when she has an English gentleman making an offer like that???? A very Merry Christmas to you both. (Now what could I possibly give in return??)
If you were a shepherd, you could give a lamb? (sorry, can’t resist silly jokes sometimes).
I’ve still got my old school uniform.. and all of my shockingly bad school reports. Mabey i should have been punished!
Bex – nice to welcome you to our blog
Real old school reports are incredibly inspiring as a source of grown-up fun. A girl really can’t win – if it’s a good report, then the smallest critical comment can be picked on and ‘discussed’. And if the whole report is bad… Let’s just say it wouldn’t be laps of the hockey pitch!
Now, there’s a thought. I wonder how many readers still have their school reports? Anyone willing to share memorable comments for our delectation?