Bathroom Sink Drama

A follow-up to Early Morning Call from Uniform Girls 20

‘But you can’t, sir!’ Melinda protested.

‘I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, young lady. Mr Hyams has given me instructions that you are to be thrashed.’

‘But the cane!’

The spanking the grim-looking man had given her that morning was still vivid in her memory, and the thought of a pliable cane being wielded by that same eager hand was a source not so much of concern, but of terror.

‘Seven o’clock sharp, Melinda, on the landing. Gym kit.’ He turned sharply and was gone.

Melinda pouted. She couldn’t argue. What Mr or Mrs Hyams said, was law. And if Mr Hyams had said she must be thrashed, there was no way out of it. The rest of the afternoon passed in nervous anticipation. After her sleepless night preceding the early morning spanking, she was tired and irritable with the other girls during the day.

One of them, Amanda, correctly surmised the reason for her snappy mood: ‘Going to get our little bum whacked again, Melinda? Naughty girls always get whacked Melinda. Didn’t the buggers tell you that before you were sent here?’

‘No they bloody didn’t,’ Melinda whined.

‘Well someone must have signed the form agreeing to corporal punishment, mustn’t they?’

‘I still don’t see why I should get the cane.’

‘Cane… Strap… Paddle… Slipper… they all give you a sore bum, so there’s not a lot of difference, really. Just a question of degree.’

‘Oh shut up,’ Melinda mumbled, and shuffled off to get changed. The gym shorts had — rather eccentrically —small braces clipped to the waistband. The braces tended to be of such tensile strength that they hitched the dark blue shorts deep into the labial and gluteal curves to form a second skin of delightful proximity to the original.

White cotton vest and ankle socks, and white shoes, completed the uniform. She splashed water on her face and looked into the mirror. Her eyes looked tired, the worry lying behind them evidence of her impending trauma.

The cane. She had never received the cane before. But then, prior to that morning, she had never even been spanked before. What would it be? Not six of the best, the number she had heard bandied round her dormitory? She hadn’t done enough to warrant six, surely. But there was always talk of ‘The Hyams Dozen’, alluding to Mr Hyams’ penchant for administering a full twelve strokes plus one with the chosen implement.

As she climbed the stairs to the landing she spotted Cheryl, also clad in gym kit, following her from the changing rooms.

‘You getting it too?’ she whispered as they reached the landing.

‘Yeah… got caught outside the grounds. Amanda said you get it bare bum, too,’ responded Cheryl.

Bare bum! With the cane! Melinda could not countenance the pain threshold she would shortly be experiencing. From one of the rooms off the landing, she heard the sudden, short Whrrpp! of a descending cane, and the sharp impact followed by a high-pitched yelp of pain. She raised her eyebrows in a questioning look at Cheryl.

‘It’s Suzanne, I think. She’ll be catching it in there.’

As if to confirm Cheryl’s comment, an even louder impact sounded through the door, and the scream of the suffering recipient was cut short by a harsh voice — a woman’s voice — ordering her to bend down again.

Mr Hyams appeared as if from nowhere and, grabbing Cheryl by the shoulder, pushed her in front of him into another room. A thick leather strap, cut into two or three tails at one end, was hanging from a thong round his waist.

Melinda heard him order: ‘Right, vest and pants off, and bend over that high stool, my girl. This leathering should teach you to think again…’ before the door slammed shut.

There was a pause, during which time the cane sliced down once again, and without warning a loud slap as the strap arrived for the first time across Cheryl’s naked rear-end. No responding yelp, another slap, and a high bleat of protest.

Melinda was so distracted by the alternate swish of the cane from one room and Cheryl’s bottom catching the tawse in another that she didn’t hear him come up behind.

‘Both rooms in use, eh? Right, into the bathroom, then. I haven’t got all evening.’

He was, as Melinda expected, carrying a long, slender length of malacca cane, which he swished menacingly through the air as he followed her into the large bathroom.

She turned to face him, back to the sink, as he sat on the edge of the bath. ‘Spanked you this morning, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Caning you this evening. Not a very good record is it?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Slip your braces off, girl.’ He noticed her enlarged nipples under the taut fabric of her vest, and saw her shiver. The room was indeed cool. He would have to warm it up.

‘Turn round, and take your knickers down,’ came the inevitable command. Melinda obeyed, and lifted her vest up.

‘Lift it up, Melinda, and face me.’

Once again, she was exposed to his salacious gaze, breasts bared, sex revealed.

‘Good. Very good.’ He pointed with the cane at her knickers.

‘Get ‘em down.’ Melinda pushed them further down her thighs.

‘Turn around and roll your vest up out of the way.’

It took Melinda some time to get the vest positioned as he wanted it, rolled into a neat sausage just below her bust. The light tan the summer had given her body identified clearly the area for chastisement, the pale creaminess recovered from its dawn chastisement.

‘Feet either side of the pedestal.’ The cane tapped to indicate how wide she should spread her legs. It was a large, old-style piece of porcelain. Melinda’s legs were well spread, and she bent slightly forward to grip the high taps with both hands.

A hand on her shoulder pushed her further forward, and the brush of the slick, wicked cane caused her to flinch. Melinda’s buttocks were well-fleshed, an appealing target crowning the firm thighs — parted now as demanded.

The cane rose, until by half-turning she could see it close to the ceiling. Less than a second after it disappeared from view, she experienced the first of six blazing, slicing, excruciating strokes across her bare bottom, the injustice and the pain combining to force tears into her eyes which dropped like a dripping tap into the sink below.