Cane Reaction

Story by Andrew Grantham from Janus 35 with illustrations by Paula Meadows

Sandra winced as she pulled up her knickers. The tight elastic kept digging into the six weals adorning her mature, though still teenage, bum-cheeks.

‘I will not tolerate lateness!’ thundered Mr Hunter, the Headmaster.

The pretty girl flicked away black curls from her face. ‘I’m sorry sir,’ she stammered. ‘It’s the buses!’

Actually it was one bus in particular that was often late, and inevitably when a certain young driver was at the wheel.

‘I am not interested in transportation problems!’ raged Mr Hunter. ‘My only concern is with the smooth running of this school. And it cannot be run properly when the pupils fail to arrive on time!’

Sandra was sorry she had spoken out. She ought to have just accepted the caning and walked out of the Head’s study without saying a word. Now Mr Hunter was about to deliver a lecture.

‘When I was your age, my girl,’ he intoned. ‘I walked to school.’

Mr Hunter droned on and on. Sandra pretended to listen, but her thoughts were miles away.

She had a date that night — a nice bloke too! Mr Hunter’s stingers were subsiding as regards the pain, but the marks would still be there for several days. She would have to be careful just how far she allowed her current young man to go. She couldn’t let him see her poor behind in the state it was in. That would be too humiliating.

She inwardly cursed Mr Hunter — and the young bus driver too.

----//----

The two girls at the bus stop kept looking at their wrist-watches.

‘Oh dear. We’re going to be late,’ groaned the blonde Carol.

Her companion, a leggy redhead, transferred her school bag from one shoulder to the other. ‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘Looks like it!’

‘We’ll get the cane, won’t we, Ginny?’ wailed the blonde.

‘Yeah,’ sighed Ginny. ‘Looks like it.’

Carol’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh dear!’ she groaned. ‘I’m usually early. I’ve never had the cane before.’

‘I have,’ Ginny told her. ‘Lots of times. I’m a bit fed up with my arse looking like a piece of corrugated cardboard every time the bus is late.’

Then she giggled and her green eyes twinkled. ‘Mind you,’ she added. ‘The sight of my bum after a caning doesn’t half turn on my boyfriend!’

Carol blushed. To think that Ginny probably wasn’t a virgin. How awful! Or was it?

No member of the opposite sex had yet seen her bare bum. Her heart sank. It looked as though Mr Hunter was going to be the first. And soon!

‘Here it is!’ announced Ginny.

The red-and-white single decker swept round the corner and approached the stop.

‘And about time too!’ snorted Ginny as she strode up onto the platform of the bus and handed over the fare.

The driver was young — very young in fact. He was good-looking too. Carol hadn’t seen him before as she usually travelled on the earlier bus to make sure she was in school on time.

‘There’s a lot of traffic in the High Street today,’ sniggered the driver.

The two girls sat on the long seat at the front of the bus. The driver winked at them as he drove along.

‘You aren’t going very fast!’ shouted Ginny.

‘There’s a speed limit on this stretch,’ replied the driver. ‘Do you want the police to get me?’

Ginny turned to her companion. ‘He goes slowly on purpose,’ she told her.

‘Why?’ asked Carol, looking anxiously at her watch.

‘Because he knows we’ll get the cane for being late — that’s why!’ was Ginny’s answer.

The blonde girl was absolutely horrified that the young driver would want to get them into trouble.

‘He thinks it’s hilarious,’ continued Ginny, ‘that grown-up girls like us should get the cane.’

‘It’s nothing to laugh at,’ sniffed Carol, looking somewhat enviously at a teenage girl sitting halfway down the bus. The same age as the two schoolgirls, she casually inhaled on a cigarette and flicked over the pages of a magazine. She was probably going to be late for work but she wasn’t going to have a cane applied to her bottom.

Carol kept looking at her watch. Ginny shook her head. ‘It’s no use,’ she told her. ‘You might as well accept the fact. We’re late!’

The blonde slumped back in the red leather seat and imagined what the caning would be like. Her imagination ran riot!

The bus driver was certainly taking his time. Carol got to her feet a long way before the school stop but Ginny pulled her down again by her arm.

‘It’s no use, Carol,’ she repeated. ‘It doesn’t matter how late we are — it’s still six of the best on the bare!’

The bus slid to a halt and the doors ‘whooshed’ open.

‘You’re going to get your bottoms smacked, you naughty girls!’ laughed the driver as they got off. ‘Don’t forget to show me the results in the morning!’

‘I wonder how you’d like it!’ shouted Ginny angrily before the doors closed on them.

The young driver was still chortling as the bus drove off.

----//----

Ginny emerged from Mr Hunter’s study rubbing her eyes with her balled-up fists. It didn’t do Carol, who was fearfully waiting her turn for the cane, any good to see her like that. The pretty redhead was generally regarded as a tough nut.

‘Oh golly!’ groaned the just-caned girl, moving her hands to rub her bottom instead of her reddened eyes. That really hurt! He’s not half laying it on this morning!’

Carol’s heart sank further into her shoes. Ginny could have been more diplomatic, she thought. But perhaps it wasn’t easy being diplomatic when your bottom was on fire.

‘NEXT!’

The Headmaster’s study door was wide open, but the roar was so loud, it would have been clearly heard a hundred yards away even if it had been shut.

A feeling of panic enveloped Carol as she walked to the study. She was tempted to turn away and run — she didn’t have to attend school, apart from the fact that she wanted to go on to University.

However, she kept putting one foot in front of the other until she was standing in front of Mr Hunter.

Her breathing almost stopped when she saw the crook-handled cane the Headmaster was holding in his right hand.

‘I will not tolerate lateness!’ he thundered, launching into his usual tirade.

Carol stood, terrified. She wanted to listen to what he was saying, but her thoughts were concentrated solely on the menacing length of thin wood in the Headmaster’s strong hand. That very cane had brought tears to Ginny’s eyes and the redhead was a lot tougher than she was!

She was only vaguely aware of the instruction to lean over the chair in the centre of the study and she did not move with the alacrity expected by Mr Hunter.

‘Didn’t you hear me, girl?’ he roared.

Poor Carol was in such a state that she knocked over the chair.

‘You clumsy girl!’ snapped Mr Hunter.

‘I’m sorry sir,’ sobbed the petrified blonde. Now the Headmaster was in an even worse mood. He would take it out on her poor virginal bottom, of that she was sure.

Poor Carol didn’t, at that stage, know how right she was. One of Mr Hunter’s pet hates was clumsiness.

She put the chair back the way it had been.

Roughly, the Headmaster bent her over so that her head was resting on the chair seat and her bottom was poking high up into the air.

She was aware of her navy blue pleated skirt being raised higher and higher.

‘Tut, tut, tut!’ exclaimed Mr Hunter as he surveyed her backside. ‘When I raise a girl’s skirt, I expect to see a bare bottom ready for the cane. I do not expect to see a pair of knickers in my way!’

Carol raised her head. ‘I’m sorry sir,’ she whimpered. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘You’ll jolly well know the next time, young lady!’ growled Mr Hunter, tucking the cane under his left arm.

Carol resolved, there and then, that there was not going to be a next time. In fact she wouldn’t be in the position she was now if that awful young bus driver had not deliberately gone so slowly. She had a good mind to report him to the bus company.

Mr Hunter tugged at her white cotton knickers and yanked them over her backside and down her legs.

Carol felt the cold air on her bum. She was terribly embarrassed at the fact that she had to expose that part of her body anyway. However, it was only her bottom and not…!

It was only then she realised that if she did not keep her legs together then Mr Hunter would be able to see… well, everything!

She was still thinking about that part of her rather delightful body when she heard an unfamiliar sound. It was a sound that was to become very familiar!

‘Ow-ee!’ she yelled out suddenly. It felt as if her bottom had been attacked by hundreds of stinging bees. Of course it was only a well-struck cut of Mr Hunter’s cane. Only! That willowy wand was a near-lethal weapon when it was in the Headmaster’s hands with his sights on a youthful bottom. It was a form of catharsis and relaxation for him.

‘Keep still, girl!’ The rasped command made Carol realise that her rear end was writhing furiously. She stopped it, tightened the muscles of her bum-cheeks and bit her lip.

Whoosh!

Whap!

‘Ooh… ooh… ooh… ooh!’ Carol let out a high-pitched shriek as the cane paid its return visit

The fire seemed to course through her body but nowhere was the fire fiercer than at the point of impact, where the blazing sensation was sheerly intolerable.

Before she had time to recover, Carol’s bottom squirmed again under the goading cane. Tears flooded her eyes and her shoulders heaved with little sobs.

The torment was terrible and what made it worse was the fact that it was someone else’s fault she was having to undergo a bare-bum caning.

‘Yeeek!’ she cried as the thin cane again sank into her tender young flesh. She made to get up but Mr Hunter roughly forced her head back onto the chair seat.

Before the first stroke had whacked into her bum, she had been worried about revealing the secrets between her legs. Now she no longer cared. It called for too much effort and concentration to keep her thighs pressed together, and hardly seemed important anymore.

Crack!

‘Oh oh oh oh!’ she wailed as Mr Hunter delivered another blow to her buttocks. Her feet performed an involuntary dance routine on the carpet and her striped arse shook wildly from side to side.

The sixth stroke seemed worse than the other five put together. It felt for all the world as if tongues of scorching fire were licking every inch of her posterior. Her whole body shook as it reacted to the awful pain that followed the Crack!

Gasping for breath, and still bending over the chair, Carol listened in horror as Mr Hunter addressed her for the first time since denuding her bottom.

That was your six strokes for arriving late. In addition, I am giving you two more — one for reporting for a caning still wearing a pair of knickers and an extra one to cure your clumsiness!’

Eight strokes! She was one of the best-behaved girls in the entire school. Yet here she was, just a few weeks short of leaving, having to endure a painful, humiliating ordeal that was all the fault of someone else.

There was only a short pause after the Headmaster finished speaking. Then the sound of the cane slashing through the air was followed by a sharp crack and an agonised yelp as the whippy wand took another bite of flesh.

Carol had never known such agony. It was the worst day of her young life. From now on she would certainly make sure she got the earlier bus. She wasn’t going to suffer such a horrendous happening ever again. And it wasn’t over yet!

Mr Hunter paused before delivering the final cut. He was not normally strongly affected by the sight of a young bottom, he had seen so many of them. However, the one he had at his mercy was a particularly lovely bottom. It was a charming sight. At least it had been before he had started to work on it!

The pale skin had been turned deep red and was traversed by seven angry, crimson weals.

The girl had tried to protect her modesty, but had had to abandon the attempt after a few strokes as she had been unable to keep her legs together. At least she had tried — not like some of the girls who brazenly bared their delights as they bent forward to bury their head in the chair.

Carol’s thighs were taut with expectation as she waited for the final blow to her battered buttocks.

Mr Hunter was an indiscriminate caner. He simply hit bottoms as hard as possible. The strokes and stripes were never spaced out systematically.

Thus, when the eighth cut dug into Carol’s bum, it sliced across several still smarting weals. The resultant pain was indescribable. It was excruciating. The blonde jerked upright her hands shot to her bum and she performed, to her own vocal accompaniment, what seemed to be a frenetic tribal dance.

Mr Hunter could not help but stare at the crop of golden curls adorning her mound. Caning wasn’t normally a pleasure-giving experience for him, but Carol Barker of the Upper Sixth was arousing feelings within him that had been dormant for a long, long time.

Gradually the hurt began no subside a little and Carol, realising the exhibition she was giving, hurriedly hauled up her knickers and pulled down her skirt.

She sniffled all through the first lesson and sat as still as possible on the hard wooden seat so as not to aggravate the stinging throbbing.

Ginny and Carol commiserated with each other at lunchtime. The blonde repeated her vow never to be late again. The redhead, however, pulled a wry face.

‘I have a problem getting up sometimes,’ she admitted, ‘so I quite often get the later bus. Whether I’m late or not depends on who the driver is.’

Her face began to brighten. ‘At least I’ll be turning on my boyfriend tonight,’ she laughed. ‘Even more so than usual, that is,’ she quickly added.

Carol didn’t have a current boyfriend, not that a boyfriend would ever see her bum anyway — or so she told herself. That evening, she met one of her girlfriends and they went for a walk before deciding to have a coffee on the way home.

They sat at an empty table and took their time with the hot drink. Penny was a good friend of Carol’s. She was in her last year at a college which was not as strict as the one the blonde girl attended. Carol was very fond of Penny but she did not confide in her about the awful caning she had received.

Suddenly Penny looked up at someone who had just entered. ‘Ooh, he’s nice,’ she remarked.

Carol turned around and was amazed to see the young bus driver. He wasn’t in uniform but was casually dressed in a tee-shirt, jumper and jeans.

‘Well, well, well,’ he declared when he caught sight of Carol. ‘It’s our naughty schoolgirl!’ Chatter stopped and heads turned. He spoke loudly: ‘Who got her pretty botty caned this morning, then?’

Carol went red, stood up and made to leave. It was probably the worst thing she could have done.

‘Let everybody see the marks on your bum!’ he taunted.

Carol wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow her up. The young patrons of the cafe were laughing at her and urging her to ‘bare her arse’. Even her friend Penny was smiling.

Suddenly the young bus driver made a move and he gripped Carol around the waist. Then, to her intense shame he took hold of the hem of her skirt and lifted the garment up to her waist.

Everyone in the café, Penny included, left their seats to have a look. Carol, of course, had her knickers on, but they were so short and skimpy, they were no more than just a tiny little V on the expanse of her bum-cheeks. The stripes caused by the cane showed up clearly on either side of the thin cotton covering.

The shouts and remarks of both customers and staff caused Carol a great deal of distress. Her face had become a sheet of flame.

‘Let me rub it better!’

‘Get ‘em off!’

‘What a lovely arse!’

Carol could see, through the many mirrors lining the cafe walls, multiple images of her wealed and bruised backside. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life. But then, mercifully, it was harder to see, for her eyes had filled with tears for the second time that day.

Carol struggled out of the bus driver’s grip, lowered her skirt and, leaving Penny behind, she ran out of the café. After showing her bottom, she could never show her face in there again!

----//----

‘Over the chair!’ ordered Mr Hunter.

Obediently, Sandra did as she was told. Roughly, the Headmaster lifted up her skirt. The brunette’s bottom, pink and shiny, was ready and waiting for another ‘six of the best’.

Sandra balanced on her sturdy but shapely legs as she waited for her bottom to be marked up yet again by the thin, springy cane.

Mr Hunter didn’t waste any time. He raised his much-used instrument of correction.

Whizz!

Whapp!

Sandra’s bottom contorted as the painful fire coursed through her body. She was well used to the cane but she was never able to bear it with a stiff upper lip.

Whoosh!

Crack!

The second stroke was perilously near the first one. Sandra yelped like a scalded cat.

Her reaction became more vociferous with the next stroke. Her thick, dark curls swayed from side to side. So too did her rosy red, striped bottom. Tears cascaded down her cheeks.

The strength behind the cane strokes was all-powerful and it never diminished. Mr Hunter could swing the cane all day if he thought it necessary.

‘Ow… ow… ow… ohhh!’ wailed Sandra as her wounded bottom surrendered to another attack from the thin bamboo. She realised that her legs were spread so wide she was nearly doing the splits. Painfully, and as quickly as possible, she regained her modesty.

Whackk!

The fifth cut buckled her at the knees. She couldn’t cry out as the breath had left her body. Her bum-cheeks writhed furiously.

Two things consoled her as she waited for the ‘sixth of the best’. She had only one more stroke to absorb. But wonderfully, it was the last day of term — her last day at school. That awful bus driver could be as late as he liked from now on. After today it wouldn’t be her problem. Or Ginny’s. Or Carol’s.

The sixth of the best was the worst one of all for Sandra. The cane was delivered diagonally across the five weals Mr Hunter had already put there. The pain was devastating. She shot upright, her hands glued to her bottom, hopping first of all on one foot and then on the other. Her dainty breasts bobbed up and down as she did so, her bottom an infuriated blaze.

‘What do you think this is?’ thundered Mr Hunter angrily, ‘A dancing class?’

Twin waterfalls of tears ran down the girl’s cheeks. She stopped hopping and turned around to face the Headmaster, clearly showing off her curly black bush. Mr Hunter pretended not to see it.

‘Sorry sir,’ she wept, her shoulders shaking. ‘It hurt me so much I couldn’t help it!’

‘I’m giving you one more for this exhibition!’ Mr Hunter told her coldly. ‘Bend over again!’

Shocked by the Headmaster’s instruction, Sandra sullenly turned around to poke her bum into the air once more. Who was it had said ‘schooldays are the happiest days’? Whoever it was had never had the cane off Mr Hunter.

Whizz!

Smack!

‘Aye… yee… aagh!’ screeched Sandra as the thin flashing stick dug into the tops of her tender thighs.

Carol, who was waiting outside in the corridor, screwed up her eyes. She had heard everything, even the whirr of the cane as it had sped through the air. Despite her vow, she had risen late and had missed her usual bus. When the next one had come along, she had been mortified to find the driver was the young man who drove slowly so that the girls on his bus would be late and get the cane.

Sandra hobbled out of the Head’s study furiously rubbing her sore buttocks.

With her head downcast, Carol sighed and walked in to take the place of the dark-haired girl

 She bent over and placed her head on the leather seat of the chair.

Mr Hunter flicked up her skirt. The firm and beautiful peach arse was all ready. The Headmaster licked his lips, aware of a disconcerting pressure from within his underpants.

He resolved to take his time over the pretty blonde girl’s posterior. It was the end of term and he would have six whole weeks to wait before he could use the cane once more. And with regret he realised that he would never have the chance to cane this particular bottom again.

----//----

‘You’ll all get your backsides stung!’ grinned the young driver as the bus approached the school stop. ‘You’re all late!’

His remark was directed at Carol, Ginny and Sandra who were sitting on the long seat at the front of the bus. The three girls smiled at one another.

‘Hey!’ cried the driver. ‘Aren’t you getting off?’

‘No,’ Ginny told him. ‘School finished yesterday!’

‘We’re going to the terminus,’ grinned Carol.

‘The terminus?’ echoed the driver. There’s nothing there. It’s in the middle of nowhere.’

The bus gradually emptied until, when it came to the final stop, in a desolate spot, the three girls were the only passengers. The engine was cut and the driver got out of his little compartment to stretch his legs.

Almost before he knew what was happening, the girls had him over a seat. Ginny, something of an expert in the removal of men’s trousers, soon had him bare-arsed.

Carol held up the garden cane she had ‘borrowed’ from her father’s greenhouse. The young man bit his lip and groaned.

‘We’re getting our own back. You’re going to get six of the best!’ the blonde delighted in telling him.

‘From each of us!’

Very gentlemanly of Andrew G to give the girls a happy ending, with justice being served — not a scenario much favoured by Alan Bell or RT Mason, for whose girls things usually go from bad to worse.