Slightly Damp

From Blushes Supplement 22

Annie’s headlong dash across the quadrangle was caused not by lateness, but by the sudden thunderstorm, which had transformed the rather close and humid morning into a close and wet morning.

Her visit to the block on the far side of the property had been longer than she had expected, and she had to return there or face the normal penalty.

Grabbing the yellow anorak off the peg just inside the service entrance to the main block, she rushed off on her mission, and managed to get back in plenty of time to complete her tasks.

It was still raining as she walked over to the main block again, and she hardly heard the shout with the hood up: ‘Oi, you there lass!’ Turning, she could make out the caretaker trotting towards her.

‘What y’doing with my waterproof, then?’ he demanded.

‘Oh I’m sorry Mr Johnson. I didn’t know it was yours. I thought it belonged to someone else. Sorry.’

‘Not good enough, lass. Have to report you.’

‘Oh, but you don’t have to do that, surely, I only borrowed it!’

‘So you say. And how do I know you were ever going to return it? And what were you doing round at t’back entrance, any road?’

‘Well, I…’

‘Have to report you, then, won’t I?’

‘But I’m bound to get… you know.’

‘Ay, a good hiding, I shouldn’t wonder.’

He glanced down at the tight blue shorts and white knee socks Annie wore, the line of her knickers clearly visible beneath the shorts. It was an admittedly appealing sight.

‘Of course, I could decide to deal with you myself.’

It was a risk, as his authority certainly did not extend to chastisement of the girls. A risk worth taking, he calculated. Annie glanced at him nervously: ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, you still gets your arse tanned, but it won’t be nearly as bad if I have to deal with you myself.’

‘Oh.’ Annie nodded swiftly. ‘Alright then, as long as I don’t get reported. Not too hard, though.’

A swift walk took them back to the caretaker’s office and maintenance workshop. He disappeared into a cupboard at the end of the workshop and came out brandishing a school cane.

‘Oh, I didn’t think you’d…’

‘Got to be the cane, lass. Haven’t got anything else to use on you. You’ve got the arse for it, so don’t worry: all be over in a few minutes.’

She pondered the wisdom of asking to be spanked instead, but the idea of feeling his horny hands on her bare bum was too much to bear. The cane seemed the only option.

‘Into the office with you.’ Her bouncing rump was an entrancing sight as she walked before him and stopped by the table. The bare legs were slightly sun-tanned, smooth and firm. He would enjoy chastising this little minx.

‘Ever had the cane before?’ he asked.

‘Er… no sir, never.’

‘First time for everything, eh?’ he smiled, and bent the cane in a semi-circle between his hands. She was surprised at its flexibility. ‘All the better to whack you with,’ she thought with an inward smile.

‘Take those little shorts down and bend over the table, I think,’ he announced after a short pause for contemplation. ‘And your briefs, of course,’ he added.

‘But…’

‘It’s up to you, my lass. Bare arse or off you go on report.’

The two layers of cotton were pushed down in surrender, and Annie finally lay, attractive and very, very bare, over the end of the table. The caretaker could not believe his luck. He patted her exposed right cheek affectionately: ‘How old are you?’

‘Just eighteen, sir.’

‘Good, good. Eighteen, eh? Well, three sixes are eighteen, so let’s settle for two thirds off for good behaviour. Six strokes, I think. You can handle that with such a lovely arse, can’t you?’

Annie didn’t mind the backhanded compliment, but the feeling in her stomach was anything but the result of flattery. The anticipation of the sleek cane was instilling nervousness then panic. If only he’d get it over with!

‘Right, my lass. Here we go.’ She heard the cane swish hard through the air, but felt nothing, a second swish, and nothing. ‘Just practising, lass, nothing to worry about: want to make sure you get hit fair and square, don’t we!’

Annie’s bottom tensed, but the moment it relaxed there was a brief whirr and the uncomfortable burn of the cane. Not too bad, though, he was keeping his promise of a mild beating. Another whirr, a more intense burning, and she wriggled further over the table.

There was a pause as he delivered two or three more practice shots to the air before lining up on Annie’s buttocks once again. The two cane marks were split by the division between her cheeks, the tramline effect already evident.

‘Four more to come.’ I know, she thought, I can count. The third was a lot harder, and extracted a loud screech and a sudden grab for the far end of the table: ‘That was hard!’ Annie protested.

‘Wasn’t hitting you hard enough before, was I?’ He was right, unfortunately, but she hadn’t realised that he’d noticed. If she’d had any sense, she would have laid on the protest earlier. His finger ran along the deeper, angrier tramline he had just created, the corrugation in the skin rather alarming. Perhaps he had hit her a little too hard.

The fourth stroke was less severe, and the fifth even milder, but he made up for it by delivering a real sit-up-and-take-notice stinger to finish with, which brought Annie to her feet with a yelp and a frantic massaging of her gluteal extremities.

He watched as she pummelled at the abused flesh. The caning had been an education for him, and beneficial for the girl too. The taste of disciplining tender female flesh brought with it the urge to repeat the experience, perhaps with a different implement, perhaps a different target. Or then again, the same implement and the same target, but twice as hard. That would be very interesting.

‘Not too bad, was it, lass?’ he asked with a smile.

‘Suppose not,’ Annie agreed a mite sullenly, still rubbing forlornly. She reached to pull up her knickers and shorts, but he stopped her.

‘No, no, just slip them off, and stand in the corner.’

Annie didn’t think to disobey, handing shorts and knickers to him and walking, striped buttocks undulating gently to the corner, there to contemplate the error of her ways — and the injustice of it all.