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.’
‘But…’
‘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, ‘N…no, 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!’ …it didn’t hurt.
Some of the usual good R.T. Mason stuff: males of mature years in positions of authority using deplorably underhand tricks to get at the bottoms of poor fifth and sixth form girls for their own pleasure. Nothing wrong with that! It does make me wonder what else do headmasters actually have to do other than pursue the prettier senior girls. They don't even do any teaching, maybe read out a few announcements in assembly, which girls are on report that day etc. It does seem like the ideal job.
ReplyDeleteI do think Dr Lawrence is far too lax with girls in his Cane Club - sherry and lesbian activity - whatever next!
All a bit too cosy-wosy for my taste. Given that all or certainly most of these stories, in reality, are a tad far-fetched why put the headmaster in a situation where his disciplinary powers are somewhat compromised, so that he has to dodge and weave, and manufacture clandestine circumstances for putting his cane into action across nubile teenage bottom flesh? It is certainly no more fanciful to imagine that he doesn't have to do any of that, particularly at the time when the story was written when corporal punishment was still permitted in schools and I would wager that a majority of the adult population were in favour of it (though, admittedly, probably not in the manner depicted here!). When one's 'victims' become an all too knowing, sherry-quaffing little club of sixth form lesbians, playing along with 'the game', being afforded special privileges in return, even deriving some kind of sexual frisson out of the Head's disciplinary predilictions, it does undermine the power dynamic somewhat, for me at least anyway. I prefer my pretty 6th form schoolgirls to be far more guileless, tearful and nervous, trembling with fear at the prospect of their knickers coming down for an excruciatingly painful and humiliating encounter with a school or Headmasterly cane. And my school and Headmasters likewise to be under no restraint whatsoever with regard to their power to discipline in the manner that they see fit and doubtless enjoy. 'Educating Sandra', earlier on this blog and allegedly by the same author, is a very powerful instance of this. Roue's St Angela's stories also, especially when Mr Evans is involved!
ReplyDeleteI, for one, don't mind stories which allow for complicity between a Headmaster and favoured senior girl prefects but I dp tend to prefer examples where a wanton girl with privileges sadistically relishes her opportunities to get others who have caught the Headmaster's eye into trouble for him. Girlish spite can be a turn-on. There was at least one excellent story on this theme in a Blushes magazine or one of its offshots but the details, I'm afraid, are lost in time.
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