Asshole Caning

Asshole Caning
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David Adams

Caning , School

20th Dec 2019 20th Dec 2019

9 Minutes

Published
20th Dec 2019 20th Dec 2019

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Karen Lewis had survived for several years in the firm but fair environment of St Mary’s School for Young Ladies, under the usually benevolent if strict regime of Dr Hopkins. Hard work, good behaviour, and a scrupulously fair approach by the staff had kept her clear of sufficient levels of trouble to avoid any painful encounters with such objects as slippers, belts or canes.
It is perhaps therefore somewhat unfortunate that an end of term Christmas party got the better of her, and while taking place off site, and thus outside the ban on alcohol on the school grounds, she had failed to notice the time, returned late, much the worse for wear, and stumbling around hard enough and occasionally singing loudly enough to disturb those sleeping occupants of the rooms she passed.
One of those rooms belonged, as was only proper, to her Housemistress, who hearing the noise was confronted with the sight, at nearly 1 in the morning, of one of her girls lurching, now with the support of a friend who had rushed from her room to support her, along the corridor, expressing her love for those around her, and dressed in a top and skirt that would never have passed muster as acceptable wear for an out of uniform St Mary’s girl. Practicalities being practicalities, Karen was manoeuvred to her own room, helped into her pyjamas, a large glass of water summoned, and a bucket provided by the bed.
Unsurprisingly, Karen was in no state to get up the following morning, barely even noticing the various bells that regulated the girls’ day, but finding increasing pain from the throbbing of her head. Visits from the Housemistress, Matron and friends brought the comfort of support, paracetamol, and more water, until Karen was able to emerge for lunch, even if she didn’t eat any of it, and a spell on the sports field that afternoon, if not actively engaged in, at least provided the opportunity for some fresh air.
Dinner after that produced a summons to the Housemistress later that evening.
“Are you recovered?” she was asked.
“Still a bit sore, if you must know” Karen answered.
“And vowing not to drink that much again?”
“Girl, you made enough noise coming in to wake us all. You should be glad of your friends who tried to keep you out of my way.
“Still, now you’re sober and the hangover cleared, we need to discuss last night.”
Miss Henderson reached for a piece of paper, and prepared to add some more details to the report form. Karen answered, carefully but clearly, where she had been, how she had got there, agreed that she knew she was out far too late, apologised that her clothes were far too revealing to be acceptable for a girl of this school (“Would you want appear before the Headmaster dressed like that?”), and acknowledged that her behaviour had fallen far short of the conduct that should be expected of a girl in her position.
“Well, Dr Hopkins will see you at 9:30 tomorrow. With the details on this form, you are almost certainly looking at a dose of the cane. Please wear full formal uniform. Socks not tights. Do not be late.” Miss Henderson passed Karen the Pupil Referral Form, with the details of the appointment already laid out.
“Oh Karen!” Imogen had been Karen’s best friend for years. “We told you to come back with us, but would you listen”.
“He was with another girl. That’s the worst of it. I needn’t have bothered. And then I couldn’t care.”
Imogen patted Karen’s hand. “Drink your Chocolate, forget about him. What happened with Miss H, by the way?”
“I’m to see Dr Hopkins in the morning. Full uniform, so no laughing when I appear.”
“And what, confined to the grounds, lines, litter picking, something like that?”
“No, nothing like that. I wouldn’t tell the others, but … “
Imogen’s eyebrows shot up. “No. A slippering? For one night out?”
Karen shook her head. “I’m a disgrace to the School, Immy. All of it, drunk, noise, singing, the cute little skirt, being looked after by Matron. A bad example for the younger girls. So …” She looked away.
“What, Kaz? Suspension? Umpteen detentions?” She glanced at the expression on her friend’s face. “The Cane? I remember when Alice Mortimer got caned. She was in pain for ages. Tell me it isn’t true?”
Karen nodded. “The Cane. At 9:30 tomorrow morning. Probably from Dr H.”
The two girls finished their drinks, and went to bed. Karen laid out her uniform for the morning. For a couple of years, VI Formers had been permitted to dispense with the Blazer, and wear tights rather than socks, and in some instances shorter skirts were creeping in, except on special occasions, so Karen checked she had everything she needed. As she was about to turn off the light, a thought took her back to her cupboard. Looking at the Uniform rules pinned inside the door, she rummaged around until she found the oppressively dull Navy Blue Regulation Knickers all girls were meant to wear. Better safe than sorry.
The morning came with the ringing of the 7 am bell. Karen shot to shower, and then returned to get dressed. Better not to put off, she reasoned. Underwear, plain white bra, blue knickers. No tights, but long grey socks. Karen buttoned her blouse, thinking with each button of a stroke of the cane. Then the pleated kilt, its blue and green tartan reaching to just above her knees. Tie. Grey Blazer. The hat could wait for later. Referral form in her pocket. Breakfast, then collect her books for lessons, then morning tutor group.
“Up for an award, eh, Karen?” “Yeah, goody two shoes of the year, probably.” Banter, from the less friendly members of the class. “Nah, she skived off yesterday, so they want see where she is today.”
At the start of her first class, Karen waited at the front. “Please Mrs Taylor, I need to see Dr Hopkins at 9:30, may I be excused then?”. “Put your hand up and ask, but not before 9:20” was the reply.
Karen made her way to her desk. Slinking into the seat, she checked she could see the clock. She fitfully engaged with the lesson, until at 9:21 she raised her hand. “Yes Karen?”
“I’m required to see Dr Hopkins at 9:30. Please may I be excused?”
“Why do you need to see Dr Hopkins?”
“I’ve got a referral form, Mrs Taylor, summoning me for that time.” Karen hoped this would be enough.
“Very well. You may go for your caning.” Karen heard the gasps from some of the other girls, but had no time to wait.
Dr Hopkins’ office was in the Main Building, the original school building before the additional blocks and boarding houses were built. Grand and imposing, containing the Hall and a grand staircase, the building could be intimidating even under normal circumstances. Outside the study was the Secretary’s office.
“I’m to see Dr Hopkins”, Karen told the Secretary.
“Indeed. He’ll see you shortly. Wait by the door, facing the wall, hands on your head.”
Karen waited. Bells went. Break time. Girls streaming past to get to lessons. Must be past 10 by now. The door opened. The Deputy Heads came out. The door closed. Then reopened.
Karen stepped through the door, held open by the Headmaster. This is it, she felt.
Indicating a spot in front of the great wooden desk, she was directed to stand. Taking a seat behind the desk, Dr Hopkins looked at her.
“I am most disappointed in your behaviour. This is not the conduct I would expect of one of my most able pupils. Having read the report, and, I must say, viewed the skimpy clothing you came back to us in, I feel there is no alternative but a sound dose of the cane. Do you want to say anything?”
Karen shook her head. “No, Sir” she added.
“Well, there’s no point hanging about, then. Blazer and hat on the hooks, then go to the school desk over there.”
Karen did as she was ordered. Dr Hopkins went to a cupboard, and took out a thick cane and a leather bound book. She heard him open and write in the book. Then came the footsteps as he crossed the room to where she was standing.
“You will receive the full 12 strokes. They will be on the better bottom. Lie across the desk, holding the far side, keeping your bottom high.”
This was better than she had thought. Imogen’s suggestion of a second pair of knickers now seemed sensible, not a risk. Then she felt the skirt move, lifted clear of her bottom. Then a deft movement tugged her knickers down her thighs.
“Right over, Lewis. Now this is going to hurt, so I want you to hold on as tight as possible.”
Karen felt the cane touch her bottom, as the Headmaster worked out his position. The cane lifted, and after a moment, she heard a swish, a great CRACK, and then a blaze of pain burnt in a line across her buttocks. She pulled a grimace on her face, let out a breath, and waited.
Again, swish CRACK. A new line of fire. Tears already welling up in her eyes. And a third time, cane the swish and the CRACK. Karen gasped, and kicked a leg. The Headmaster waited for her to put her foot back down, looking at the cane marks as he did so. Then two strokes, CRACK CRACK, one high, one low. This caused a yelp to come from the poor, agonised girl.
Then one more, this time landing just above the crease above the thighs. CRACK. Another yelp, and the tears more flowing.
CRACK. The cane landed between the the lower two marks and the first. Karen fought to breath evenly. This was worse than anything she had imagined. The eighth stroke was again high, landing with its resounding CRACK just below the earlier high stroke.
Karen caught her breath again. There was probably no helping the tears, but she could adjust slightly over the desk, keep her bottom high, and now wondering what the wait CRACK … That brought a yell and kick of both legs, as the cane bit into the top of the thighs.
“Feet down, Lewis. This is not a gymnastics display”. Karen lowered her feet to the floor again, but in the knowledge this would be followed by another stroke.
CRACK. Back to the bottom for this one, somehow finding space in the painful lined already there to strike unmarked flesh.
CRACK. This time, the stroke, seemingly harder than before, crossed over the rising welts from the previous strokes. Karen was now in real tears, sobs rising in her body. And the Headmaster walked away. Paused s moment, then returned.
Swish. Swish. Karen’s bottom tensed, but no stroke landed. Then, finally. Swish. CRACK. The pain shot through her. Her arms clenched, hands tight on the desk. Her legs twitched. And now hot, mesh tears flowed.
“I said, you may stand, unless you want more” Dr Hopkins’ voice broke through to Karen’s hearing. “Tuck up your skirt, and hands on your head. Stand facing the wall by the door.”
Karen shuffled to the place directed, all the while feeling the fire burn across her bottom. She heard the Headmaster writing again, and the sound of a paper bring placed in a file.
“Turn around, come here.” Karen turned, and went back to Headmaster’s desk. “Sign here”. She signed the book where shown, then on the instruction, pulled up her knickers and let her skirt down, wincing at the touch of the material pulling tight across her marked bottom. Tears still burned her eyes, but she had mastered the snivelling. The Headmaster was now walking her back to the door, where she out on her blazer and hat. He opened the door, but appeared to be waiting for something before letting her out.
“It is the done thing to thank a Headmaster for caning just received, and state it was well deserved.” He held out his hand.
Karen took it, and in a bit of a shock gulped out “thank you for caning me. I truly deserved it”.
“Not at all Lewis. I truly hope you have learnt your lesson, and this experience will not be repeated. You may return to your lessons.”
Karen walked back to her next lesson, knowing looks she would get as she returned, wondering how she was going to sit on the used chairs.
Still, one thing was for certain. Karen had no intention of ever repeating that particular experience.
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