Brought to Book

The final part of the Discovered trilogy, from Blushes Supplement 4, although the chronology of the three parts would indicate that this was originally intended to be the middle part of the trilogy but they got published out of order.

Caretaking at the 6th form college in Norfolk was an easy life for Mr Rogers. Until the evening he discovered 18-year-old Amanda Travis photocopying ‘A’ Level exam papers in the headmaster’s secretary’s office. When corporal punishment had been banned at the college two years ago, Rogers had removed the canes from the headmaster’s office as ordered, but had kept them in good working order ready for the day they might be needed again. His fantasy became reality when he was able to administer a sound eight-stroke thrashing to pretty Amanda’s bottom [for full story see Discovered in Blushes 10]. But his work wasn’t finished there, for Amanda’s two accomplices had been called back to college to receive their caretaker’s comeuppance.

Amanda went down to the main entrance and peered through the glass to see her two friends’ anxious faces: her telephone call from college earlier had demanded their presence, and warned them to wear jeans in preparation for a possible whacking. To Victoria Lushington and Susan Hatcher, the possibility was daunting to say the least. The unhappy trio went quietly up to the headmaster’s office where the caretaker was waiting.

‘Ah, here you are: Lushington and Hatcher. I’m afraid Amanda not only had the most dangerous part to play in your little plan, but she has already paid for it. Face the door, and drop your jeans and panties, Travis,’ he ordered.

Amanda didn’t hesitate, but pushed the clothing down clear of her backside for the two other girls to exclaim: ‘Jeeesus!’ ‘You’ve been swished, Mandy!’

‘Yup,’ said Amanda matter-of-factly, and with perhaps a little pride. ‘Eight of the best.’

‘So I can see’ said Vicky, walking closer to Amanda and running her fingers gently over the bare corrugated surface: ‘Wow, that must have hurt like hell.’

‘Right, pull your jeans up, girl,’ he paused for effect, ‘Now you, Victoria, and you, Susan, have a simple choice. You can either report to the headmaster in the morning, when I shall have told him of your little plan, or you can follow Amanda’s example and take your medicine here and now. In which case, of course, no more will be said about the matter. However, you will not be able to see the history papers you were so intent on obtaining.’

Vicky and Sue looked at one another. Though Amanda had warned them that they would probably be caned, the sudden dawning of reality and their impossible position if they wished to stay at college made them both feel a little queasy in the stomach.

To fill the silence, Mr Rogers asked: ‘And how old are you two?’

Victoria: ‘17, Mr Rogers.’

Susan: ‘Nearly 18.’

‘17, then,’ he added.

‘Yes,’ Susan admitted sullenly. She had thought that by appearing to be older she might lessen the punishment. But any hopes of that were dashed.

There was an even longer pause. Finally, Amanda blurted ‘Look, you toads, you’re in this just as much as I am. I just happened to get caught at it, that’s all. So make up your minds, then we can all go home.’

‘How many will we get?’ asked Victoria.

‘Six,’ confirmed Amanda, ‘and I got it bare.’

‘Bare? You’re kidding!’ Susan shrieked. ‘I’m not taking my knickers down for someone to whack my bare backside with a piece of bamboo, thank you very much.’

‘I’ll take the cane, Mr Rogers,’ Victoria said quietly.

‘Very good, Lushington. I assume from your friend’s outburst that she declines that option?’ the caretaker smiled.

‘Too right. Who ever heard of a girl getting her bare bottom caned. It’s bloody ridiculous. It can’t happen nowadays,’ Susan whined on.

‘Well, it has happened tonight. And it’s about to happen again, so you’d better believe it, Sue,’ suggested Amanda. Another pause.

‘I’ll take the cane if I keep my knickers on. I’ll take my jeans down, that’s OK, but not bare. How about that?’ Susan continued.

‘I’m sorry, Hatcher, but it’s six of the best on your bare bottom or a visit to this office in the morning for a probable expulsion. Certainly disqualification from the history examination. So the choice is clear.’ Rogers was determined not to be brow-beaten by this forceful little madam. If he succeeded in persuading her to take the cane as he wanted, she was going to feel the full weight of his irritation with her performance.

‘I’ll take an extra stroke, to make it seven,’ suggested Susan.

Rogers shook his head.

‘Eight, then,’ she said desperately.

Rogers ignored her and asked Amanda to fetch the cane from the desk: ‘Right, this is it. Hatcher and Travis, wait outside in the secretary’s office while I deal with Lushington,’ Amanda handed him the cane, crook-handle first.

‘Thank you, Amanda. Do have a word with Hatcher and see if you can get her to think straight.’

‘I will…’ A wink at Victoria. ‘Good luck!’ She shut the door.

‘Now, Victoria. Have you been beaten before?’ said Mr Rogers, relishing his role of authority as he swished the cane through the air.

‘No… no… I had the slipper once at school, in PE class.’

‘How many did you get?’ he asked.

‘I think it was four, sir.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well, it stung a lot. Yes, it did hurt. I only had gym knickers on you see,’ she rambled on nervously.

‘Right, well, you won’t have the benefit of that protection this evening. How old were you when you were slippered?’

‘Sixteen, sir, I think.’

‘Never been spanked at home. Staying out late, that sort of thing. Smoking, perhaps?’ he suggested.

The anticipation of telling the pretty teenager to take her knickers down and bend over was almost as great as the pleasure he had received from disciplining Amanda a mere three-quarters of an hour ago.

‘I did get whacked at the riding stables last year, for smoking in the boxes. But I had jodhpurs and everything on,’ answered Victoria, not fully understanding the reason for all these questions.

‘What were you whacked with, my girl?’

‘Oh, a riding crop. It was actually a junior instructress who beat me, but it was only half a dozen and she didn’t hit too hard. I had to bend over one of the stable half-doors for it. It was more embarrassing than anything.’

‘Ah. Well, what you’re about to get will be more painful than embarrassing, I think. Would you take your jeans off, please?’ Victoria slipped her light jacket off and undid the belt at her waist before tugging the fashionable army-green jeans down her legs: ‘You want them off sir?’ she asked.

‘That’s it.’

A moment later, the girl was standing on the carpet in just T-shirt and knickers. Pale green knickers, which fitted snugly round the full roundness of her bottom without cutting into the cheeks. Sensible knickers, as some might say, thought Rogers.

Victoria turned to face him, her lion’s mane of dark hair swept back off her face. Her T-shirt was one of those cut-off affairs which end midway between chest and navel. There could be no cause for him to tell her to get it off, as it hardly obstructed anything, let alone the target area. The breasts beneath were small and contained in what appeared to be a lace-trimmed half-cup bra.

The bottom, on the other hand, was full and round. Some might accuse Victoria of not watching her weight, but others appreciated the ripe curves of her buttocks against the firmly muscled thighs, particularly on the athletics field where she excelled at the sprint. Her sports knickers always had the habit of riding up her bottom to expose a thick band of bare flesh on both cheeks, which attracted the usual comments from male onlookers.

Her face was not pretty in the conventional sense, but the combination of stylish hair and a dazzling set of white teeth combined to make Victoria an attractive girl.

Rogers decided to vary his method, and pulled a heavy armchair into the centre of the room.

‘Come here behind the chair, Lushington.’

The girl moved to stand up to the back of the chair, and slipped her fingers into the waistband of her knickers ready to take them down when ordered. Rogers noticed this, and was glad he wasn’t to have the same argument he had had with Amanda. No trouble with this girl.

‘Take them down,’ he nodded, and the youngster thumbed them off her hips and down her thighs until they rested in a bunch at her knees. She stood then with her hands resting lightly on the back of the armchair.

‘How many strokes are you getting, girl?’ he asked.

‘Six, sir,’ she confirmed.

‘Bend over,’ he snapped, and she bent quickly, well over the armchair, her legs straight and slightly apart, the back of the chair reaching to her waist to allow her to lower the upper part of her body over it and down into the softness of the cushions on the other side. Her hands were placed on the padded arms on either side, and her head turned to ask the caretaker: ‘This OK, sir?’

Her bottom visibly relaxed as she let herself lie across the armchair’s back, then tensed again as the flesh felt the cool malacca cane measuring the swing up and back to rest ominously on the mid-point of her backside.

‘As you receive the strokes, I want you to call out the number, one to eight. Understood?’ asked Rogers, again varying the method he had adopted with Amanda, who had had to call out the number of the stroke before she received it.

‘Yes, sir. Sir?’

‘Yes, Lushington, what is it?’

‘Well… I know this is meant to hurt and everything…’

‘It will, girl,’ he interrupted.

‘Yes, I know, and I’m sure you’ll lay it on pretty hard, and I accept I deserve to be beaten… but I wondered if you’d be careful not to cane me where the marks will show below my swimsuit. I’m in the finals next Monday, and I don’t want everyone to see any marks.’

‘And how do I know where your swimsuit ends?’ Rogers asked irritably.

‘I’ll show you, sir,’ she stood up and traced a line with her fingers up the lower part of both cheeks from her crotch to her hips.

‘With a high-cut swimsuit like that, there’s no way I can avoid making marks. The cane goes right across both buttocks, and you’re bound to see marks on the right where it wraps itself round.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘You’ll just have to find another swimsuit.’

‘Right, sir,’ she sighed, and bent over again.

It was a terrific bottom, and as the cane whistled down to make contact, the flesh quivered and rippled to the impact: ‘One, sir.’

The girls outside stiffened as they realised Victoria’s punishment had begun. They had been worried by the long time it had taken for things to get going in there.

The cane bit deep for the second stroke right across the centre of both bare cheeks, and Victoria managed to get out: ‘TWO!’ before she had to wriggle further onto the chair to keep her position.

Outside the main building, an elderly man paused for a moment as his dog lifted its leg and did its business on a pillar. He had thought he’d heard the swish of a cane in action, something he hadn’t come across since his school days decades ago. Surely they weren’t still in use?

He walked slowly into the courtyard where the headmaster’s study overlooked the paving stones, his little terrier trotting behind him in the darkness. The first floor window had its curtains drawn, but the top window was slightly open. Yes, there it was.

A definite swish, followed by the whack of contact with its target, and then, to his astonishment, a girl’s voice calling out: ‘Three, sir!’

Surely they didn’t still thrash fillies here? Again, the swish, followed by a meaty thwwaack, a high-pitched yelp from the recipient, and the cry of ‘Four, sir!’

The man stood still under the window. Was she getting the full six, he wondered? His question was answered almost immediately by the arrival of the fifth stroke across the lowest part of Victoria Lushington’s bare rump. The cane drove the flesh up in a ripple reaction before it fell away to leave its tramline of red — the result of a proper beating, a half-hearted punishment leaving only a single bar of red without the ridges associated with a cane’s proper use.

‘FIVE, sir?’ Victoria shouted, her voice rising in pitch with each successive blow. Rogers paused for a moment, surveying the striped bottom of this sturdy teenager over the chair, decided on the position for his last stroke and laid it hard and fast across a portion of flesh still unmarked: ‘JEEEZZZZZUZ’ bellowed Victoria, ‘SIX! Yowwch. Of the best. Pheww!’ she added, struggling to her feet.

‘Stay there, girl,’ Rogers ordered, walking to the door and opening it to call in Travis and Hatcher. The two looked at one another and then at Vicky’s brightly-decorated bare bottom still bent over the chair.

‘You can get up now,’ he said, and Vicky turned tearfully to her friends, the hot atmosphere in the room producing a thin sheen of sweat on her flesh, which gave her the appearance of being rubbed in places with baby oil.

‘Well, Hatcher?’ Rogers asked.

‘It’s hot in here, Mr Rogers. Could I open the window?’ asked Amanda.

‘Yes, but make sure there’s no-one in the courtyard first.’ Amanda peered through the centre of the curtains, saw no-one and drew them fully back before pulling the top window half-way down. She could not have seen the panting old gentleman below, his dog tugging impatiently at his trouser leg. He couldn’t believe what was happening here, but the show wasn’t over yet.

Susan Hatcher turned to face Mr Rogers: ‘I’ve decided to take the punishment from you, Mr Rogers, in order not to go against my friends. But I’m taking it under protest.’

‘I see. Well, you and Lushington had better sign these forms, then,’ he replied, handing them each a copy of the form which Amanda had been required to complete, which gave Rogers the consent he required to punish them. The details had already been filled in by Rogers. They both read swiftly through, and signed at the bottom, adding their addresses and ages in the spaces left blank.

‘This is unbelievable, you know.’ Susan went on. ‘My dad’s a lieutenant-colonel, you know, and if he heard about this he’d kill all of you. What a bunch of welchers!’

‘Oh belt up, Sue,’ chorused the two other girls.

‘Get your jeans off, Hatcher,’ said the caretaker, seizing control.

Outside, the old man stiffened as he realised there was another instalment to come. With the curtains now drawn back, he would have to get over to the other side of the courtyard if he was going to be able to see what was happening. The windows in the old building went almost to the floor, which should allow him a fair view if they were near it.

Susan, meanwhile, had removed her jeans, and on Rogers’ insistence and with a little help from Vicky and Amanda had taken off her rugby shirt top, which belonged to her boyfriend.

Standing there in skimpy pale blue briefs and an equally skimpy brassiere, she felt utterly humiliated. The knowledge that she was about to be thrashed didn’t improve her outlook:

‘Where do you want me then?’ she demanded.

‘Come over by the chair, my girl,’ ordered Rogers, picking up the cane again. The armchair, in the centre of the room, was in full view of the large double window, but Rogers decided against using it again and pushed it away to the wall.

‘Stand there,’ he tapped the tip of the cane on the carpet in front of the window, and Susan stood on the spot, facing towards the window. Had she seen a figure out there? She was sure there had been a movement.

‘Turn round, girl, and take your briefs down.’

Susan turned away from the window as the old man shuffled across the courtyard, keeping clear of the light; he now has a clear view of proceedings, for as Susan pulled her knickers just clear of her bottom she was standing directly underneath an overhead light and was lit from behind by two wall brackets either side of the window. Floodlighting could hardly have done a better job.

‘Get them right down, Hatcher. Don’t be silly,’ barked the caretaker. Susan pushed the flimsy fabric down her thighs, and covered her bush of hair with her hands.

‘Six of the best. Bend over, and touch your toes.’

Susan took a final look at her two friends, who had been allowed to stay and watch her suffering, and bent down to adopt the required position. Her slim figure was athletically powerful, but her bottom was a compact, rather flat target lacking the fully-fleshed springiness of Victoria’s rear-end.

Outside, the old man’s breath came in rasping snatches as he drank in the sight of this attractive young lady bending over in the classic position for a good hiding, almost naked, and — most gratifying of all — she was going to get it too, right on the bare derriere, and right in front of him.

Rogers lifted the cane, and without bothering to measure his swing, took a wickedly powerful slash at the 17-year-old’s bare bottom which made the cane bend backwards on the downward stroke to whip rapidly forwards as it arrived at its destination.

‘One,’ Victoria and Amanda chanted in unison.

The old man flinched as the blow landed, driving the girl up onto her toes and forcing her fingers to leave their position for a moment. But she didn’t utter a sound. The next two strokes were equally ferocious, but still the girl remained silent. Victoria and Amanda counted out the blows, and the marks across Susan’s buttocks bore witness to the fact that she was being beaten soundly: the vivid ridged double lines ran almost the full width of both cheeks.

Still the teenager remained bent, as the fourth and fifth strokes arrived. But still she remained silent.

Rogers was developing a grudging admiration for the stoicism of this strong-willed girl. The sweat on her forehead was plastering the short dark hair to her face, and the sheen of sweat had spread to the small of her back and the lowest part of her buttocks.

‘One more to come, Hatcher,’ Rogers announced unnecessarily.

‘Yes sir, I know,’ hissed the girl.

In the courtyard, the old man held his breath as the last stroke whistled down to bite into the slender target for the final time. It’s job done, Rogers tossed the cane onto the armchair. Susan swayed up on her toes with this last assault, then her body visibly sagged with relief, and she stood erect. ‘SIX!’

‘I didn’t say you could get up, Hatcher. Bend over at once. I’m giving you an extra stroke for that.’

Susan looked balefully at him, tilted her head up and gave her friends a cool stare before turning to look the caretaker in the eye.

‘Touch your toes, Hatcher, and fast, or it’ll be two strokes,’ he commanded.

The girl’s body sloped down, her knickers slid gracelessly to her ankles, and she bent fully over for the extra stroke. Rogers measured the cane carefully to land just above the twin creases where cheeks joined legs, and let fly. The rod whirred down to its target and landed perfectly, the welt of its presence immediately visible.

‘Seven!’ chorused Victoria and Amanda. ‘God, that was a juicy one, Sue. Did it sting?’ asked Victoria.

Susan gave no response, but stayed bent over until, after about half a minute, the caretaker told her to stand and get dressed.

Outside, the old man watched the girl pull up her briefs and walk off to fetch her jeans. Then he snapped the lead on the terrier and walked slowly off into the night.

‘Well done, Sue. How do you stop yourself yelping, though?’ asked Victoria. ‘Your bum looks like a barbecue!’

‘Is that all, Mr Rogers?’ asked Susan.

‘Yes, that’s it girls,’ he confirmed. ‘You can go home now, and take a long cool bath!’

‘Thank you,’ replied Susan acidly, before stalking out of the study. In the outer office, as soon as the other girls had joined her, she smiled thinly. Rogers followed to unlock the main door and let them out.

As the trio disappeared round the corner, Susan let out a cry like a wounded animal and slumped against the wall: ‘What’s up, Sue?’ shouted Vicky nervously. A single scream was all she gave, and a shudder, then it was over.

‘Just my way of handling the pain, Vicks, meditation, concentration, all that: but you have to let it out afterwards.’

At this moment, the old man trotted slowly round the corner to come face to face with the girls: ‘Is someone hurt?’ he asked.

‘We’re all bloody hurt here,’ retorted Amanda.

‘Oh dear, not an accident I hope?’ the man continued, concerned.

‘No, just a bit sore round the back,’ Victoria smiled.

‘Oh, I see. Well, I’m not surprised. Did you get it too?’ he asked a startled Victoria.

‘No, no, we’re all fine, sir, really. Thanks for your concern,’ she burbled cheerfully, tugging the others after her as they sauntered casually out of the college gates, sporting three very red bottoms.

The old man grinned.

Down in his own little room, the caretaker carefully rubbed the cane with a linseed-oil-soaked cloth before wrapping it up with the others.