Disciplinarian

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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Disciplinarian

(*****, F/FFfff, Severe, severe schoolgirl caning)

A teacher must thrash her students properly or suffer the cane herself. (Approximately 3,227 words. Originally published 2003-12.)

"How does it look for this evening?" asked the Head as Ingrid entered. They were in the teacher's lounge, smoking after supper. It was Ingrid's turn as Disciplinarian. Every night at 9 p.m. the Disciplinarian for the day caned the girls who'd been put down in the book for a thrashing. Ingrid handed the Head the large black punishment book and watched as she flipped to the current page.

"Ah, only three tonight," muttered the Head. "Damn shame. I really think we're getting lax. These girls need discipline."

There were murmurs of agreement from the other teachers, including Ingrid. From across the room, Sarah pipped up, "Perhaps you can get a couple of them to repeat." There was a chorus of approval at this idea.

Evening punishments were held in the punishment chamber, with the girl bent over holding on to a pole near her ankles. The rule was if she stood up before the thrashing was complete, she had to repeat the punishment. The repeat included any strokes that hadn't been completed the first time. So a mere six might easily turn into a dozen if a girl couldn't control herself. A favorite pastime by the teachers at Ecole Serioux was trying to get girls to repeat. There was nothing more amusing than seeing the look on a girl's face after she'd just taken a number of sharp cracks of the cane and now had to look forward to starting over from the beginning.

Looking at the book over the headmistress' shoulder, Monika remarked, "You've got Jenny for a niner. That shouldn't be too difficult to repeat."

"Yes, but the other two are sixers," commented Sarah. "And Carrie's a senior. She should be able to take six like drinking a glass of water."

"Looks like your work's cut out for you," nodded Monika.

"Sound challenging. How about we make it interesting?" suggested the Head.

Though her belly twisted in apprehension, Ingrid was in no position to refuse the Head anything, so she nodded. "Of course, Headmistress. What did you have in mind?"

"Come back here after your session, and we'll give you exactly what you gave those girls... minus any repeat strokes. If you can get all three girls to repeat, you'll be in for a treat." She giggled at her rhyme, the others laughing as well. "If you can't get any of them to repeat, well, it'll be your bum that's striped tonight."

Ingrid did the math quickly: two sixers and an niner, that was 21 strokes. Ouch. She had damn better be sure she got at least one of them to repeat, preferably two or more.

"Come Monika," she said. Monika was the Assistant Disciplinarian for the day. "It's almost nine."

"See you when you're done," called out the Head as the two teachers departed.

Outside, Monika hurried after the suddenly determined Ingrid. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

The voluptuous blonde gritted her teeth. "I'm going to thrash these girls so hard they'll be begging me to repeat," she grunted.

"And if they don't?"

"I can't think about that." Already her bottom cheeks were quivering. As bravely as she spoke to Monika, she knew in her heart that the likelihood of all three girls repeating was almost nil. Perhaps the niner, but the two sixers were most likely hopeless. Still, she would give it a damn good effort. Her ass depended on it.

The girls were waiting outside the punishment chamber. Three glum faces, heads down, postures of defeat. Ingrid glanced at the book and double-checked the names and punishments: Carrie for six, Jenny for nine, and little Anne for six.

Ingrid decided to begin with the senior. She'd be the most difficult to break, and she wanted to save Jenny for when she was "in the groove" and in full command of the rod.

She and Monika entered the chamber and shut the door behind them. Ingrid went for the long penal cane, the most brutal weapon of them all, and gave a few practice swings. She needed to be in good form for this as she couldn't afford to waste a single stroke. Thinking about that gave her an idea.

"Monika, dear, how about a favor?"

"What's that?"

"I need to warm up if I'm going to make every stroke count..."

"Oh, shit, Ing, no!"

"Come on, just a couple. If I don't get these girls to repeat I'm in for it myself."

Monika frowned, torn between wanting to help a friend and reluctance to put her own bum on the line. Finally she nodded. "Just two, and I get to give them back to you tomorrow, with interest."

"Fine," agree Ingrid, flexing the long penal cane. Monika slid down her knickers, raised the back of her dress, and bent over. Her buttocks were large and womanly, presenting a luscious target for the rod. The skin was smooth, for it had been a month since Monika had last been thrashed.

Ingrid lined up the cane carefully, pulled back, and let the buttocks have it. The rod whistled through the air and connected with the naked flesh with a sharp snap. Monika grunted, wobbling forward, but stayed in position. A bright red weal, pulsing and hungry, blossomed across the fair cheeks.

"One," muttered Ingrid. It had been a solid stroke, but the rod had landed at an angle, and the imperfection irritated the teacher. She swung even harder for the second, putting her full weight behind it, and was rewarded by a sharp yelp from Monika.

The brunette slowly rose, her hands rushing to her burning backside to rub the two glistening weals that throbbed there. "God, Ing, did you have to do it so tight? That really stung!"

Ingrid laughed. "I think I'm ready. Send in Carrie." Still rubbing her bum, the other teacher pulled up her knickers, then smoothed her dress down. She hurried to the door and let in the tall senior girl. Carrie was full-bodied, a bit on the stout side, and her big bottom looked capable of taking a couple dozen without any problem. While Ingrid was delighted to thrash such a splendid target, she felt depressed that it was only for six strokes.

When Carrie took off her knickers, however, the two women got a surprise. Carrie's bottom was pale and unblemished, as white as fresh cream.

"Wow, you must be living right," commented Monika. "When was the last time you were thrashed?"

"Seven weeks ago, just before the break," said Carrie solemnly.

"That must be a record. Or else the school's gone lax."

"I've tried very hard to be good this term," said Carrie. "I don't like the cane at all."

"Bah! It builds character," grunted Monika. "You do want strong character, don't you?"

"Y-yes ma'am. But I'd prefer if there were another way to get it!"

"Wait a second," said Ingrid. "You were the one who got two weeks in solitary last term."

Carrie blushed. "Yes ma'am. I, uh, made a sound in church."

Ingrid giggled. She remembered the girl now. Now wonder she was cane shy. Carrie had farted during the Sunday prayer. It was like a bomb went off. The school broke into uncontrollable laughter and the Head was furious. She demanded the guilty party present themself and Carrie had honorably stepped up.

Her punishment was two weeks in solitary, with six of the best for breakfast and dinner. Normally solitary beatings were let off on Sundays, but because of the nature of her crime, Carrie was given double doses on Sundays. When her punishment period was over, the girl who emerged was as quiet as a feather, and so obedient and cooperative she'd gone six weeks without a thrashing, a minor miracle.

"Well, I'll bet you remember this beating," grunted Ingrid. "It's going to hurt."

Carrie looked mournful as she draped herself over the bar. This was a waist-high metal pole that she could lean over. Another pole cut across her shins, and this was the one she was to grab and hold on to for dear life. Bent in position, her large bottom curved and presented itself magnificently, and Ingrid smiled as she flexed the cane. Even if should couldn't make Carrie repeat, this was going to be a pleasure.

Monika knelt beside the girl, watching her hands closely. If Carrie let up even one hand, the teacher would see it.

Ingrid stepped back several paces and took a run at the girl. She used all her momentum, her weight, her strength, and a little bit of wrist action to bring the long rod down across those plump bottoms. There was a crack like a gunshot and Ingrid watched and felt the cane sink deep into the schoolgirl's flesh. A fraction of a second later the cane sprang back, leaving behind a glorious crimson weal, thick and hearty and pulsing.

Carrie gave a tiny gasp and a little moan, but didn't move at all.

It had been an excellent blow, Ingrid decided. A little off center, the tip dropping down a bit leaving an unlevel weal, but it was a solid strike, and must have hurt like blazes. Five more like that and maybe even the big senior would crack.

After four, however, Carrie seemed as implacable as ever. She held her position firmly, moaned occasionally in dull protest at the pain, and wiggled her bottom. Her buttocks were scorched. Four scarlet weals crisscrossed the cheeks, the tips turning an angry purple. The penal cane was wicked indeed.

For the fifth, Ingrid gave it all she had. It didn't feel that different from the previous blows, but she aimed it lower, at the base of the bottom where the thighs began. Perhaps that was what did it. To the utter astonishment of both Ingrid and Monika, Carrie leaped up in agony, clutching her bottoms furiously. Bitter tears dripped down her cheeks.

"That one doesn't count!" cried Ingrid in triumph. "Go back in line and wait until I'm done with the others: you've got eight more coming and they're going to be severe."

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss," whined Carrie. "I don't know what happened. I guess I'm out of practice."

One down, thought Ingrid. "Send in Jenny," she said to Monika. She was feeling good and it seemed right to do the nine before she got tired.

Jenny was a honey blonde with a splendid figure and a pretty face. She was frequently in trouble, however. This was her second booking this week (a third would mean twelve). This was made more evident when she removed her knickers and bent over the bar: her buttocks were already decorated with the marks of discipline.

"Looks like you've been naughty," said Ingrid.

"Yes Miss," answered Jenny cheerfully. "I got booked on Monday, and yesterday Miss Clausen gave me two hours detention which I worked off in here."

Each hour of detention could be exchanged for six strokes of the cane, an excellent bargain, since detention was unbearably boring and usually resulted in a thrashing anyway. The caning was with the lighter classroom rod, not the penal cane, but they still stung and left nice marks.

Jenny's calmness before her thrashing made Ingrid nervous and irritated: no doubt Jenny thought she was caned so often she could handle anything, but Ingrid would show her. She brought the rod into the pert flesh with everything she could put into it. Jenny didn't even move.

After four, Ingrid was becoming worried, and after six frantic. In desperation she laid on the final three strokes in exactly the same place -- the tender crease of flesh between buttock and thigh -- and she lashed them down every five seconds, hoping the rapid pace would overwhelm the girl. It didn't. Ingrid's heart dropped when she saw Monika shake her head sadly. Jenny's grip hadn't faltered at all.

"You may go," Ingrid said dully. Shit! She was in for nine strokes from the Head. Six was bearable, but nine was tough. More than nine was unthinkable.

Anne entered tentatively. She was a tiny thing, and looked far younger than her sixteen years. She was slender, and though her bottom was petite, it jutted out nicely for the rod. Like Jenny, she'd recently been thrashed.

"I got a dozen from Miss Myers last week," she explained as she bent over the bar. "I failed to turn in an essay."

Ingrid hoped the existing marks would make the thrashing less endurable for the young girl. She felt some sympathy for the little thing, for the heavy penal rod would devastate her small bottom, but she remembered her appointment with the Head and hardened her heart. This was no time for sympathy. She needed to thrash this girl bloody if she had any hope of escaping the same fate herself.

Anne was surprisingly tough, however. She took the first three without a sound, and though the fourth sent her into quaking shivers, she didn't let go of the pole. The fifth overlapped several of the other weals and drew blood, but still Anne didn't release her grip. Ingrid put all she had into the final stroke and was glum when Monika shook her head.

"Get out of here and send Carrie back in," she growled angrily.

"Thank you, Miss," murmured Anne as she slipped her panties back on. A blotch of dark liquid oozed from her right cheek, staining the panties. No doubt she'd get another thrashing when she took the underwear to laundry.

Ingrid used her anger as motivation to deliver a terrible beating to poor Carrie, but for the repeat the girl was bound as per regulations so there was no danger of extra strokes. She screamed and hollered and wiggled her buttocks back and forth frantically, but no matter what she did the cruel cane kept finding her cheeks and scoring them with deep weals.

"Fuck," Ingrid muttered when Carrie had limped off. "Fuck fuck fuck!"

"You did get eight in repeats," Monika said sympathetically. But it was obvious that she wasn't the one about to be flogged.

"Let's get it over with," muttered Ingrid, and they set off for the lounge.

Inside, the other teachers were all gathered. The Head beamed when Ingrid and Monika entered. "Ah, back so soon? I trust that's bad news?"

"Yes Headmistress," nodded Ingrid. "I'm afraid I failed. Carrie repeated after the fifth stroke, but Jenny and Anne were unbreakable."

The Head's face went dark with anger. "Appalling. You do need lessons in caning technique." She turned to Sarah, who taught mathematics. "What's the total?"

Sarah faced Ingrid. "You said Carrie broke on the fifth? So eight repeats?"

"Yes."

"That would leave thirteen, Head."

"Ah, a baker's dozen! Perfect. Prepare yourself, Ingrid."

Ingrid didn't need to be told what to do. She quickly stripped nude. Everyone admired her voluptuous body and in any other circumstance she'd have been flattered. "Where do you want me, Headmistress?"

"Over the coffee table."

Ingrid spread herself out on the table and prayed she'd be able to hold the position. The glass on the table was icy against her mashed breasts, but soon it would be slick with her sweat.

The Head took up a long cane and Ingrid saw with despair in was a penal cane like the one she'd just used so cruelly. While framed as a game, the Head definitely meant this to be serious punishment.

It had been a couple months since Ingrid had last been thrashed, which worried her a bit. Like Carrie, she was out of practice. She was a graduate of the school and had loads of experience as a student, but she'd only been caned a few times as a teacher. The Head liked all her staff to keep in form, however, and frequently dished out thrashings for no reason other than to keep a teacher in practice.

While Ingrid waited for the pain to begin, the Head complimented her on her fine ass. "Such magnificent cheeks," she praised. "Plump and juicy, round and firm, big yet not huge. Just perfect."

As Ingrid blushed, the beating began. The first stroke was right across the middle of her ass, and Ingrid had to admit the Head knew what she was doing. The thick weal stretched fully across both cheeks, the tip bringing forth a little purplish color to the magenta stripe.

Two more had Ingrid wiggling. She was lying mostly flat across the table, her hips hanging over the end leaving her ass the highest point of her body. Her legs were as wide apart as they would go, and she didn't dare think about how she looked to the others.

The next three dug in deep into the underhang of Ingrid's buttocks, and she had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming. The three had been placed nearly on top of each other and she was positive she was bleeding on the right. When the seventh arrived in the same place again, Ingrid involuntarily cried out, digging her toes into the carpet to hold herself in position and waggling her ass back and worth.

"We're past half-way," grunted the Head. "Are you learning anything?"

"Yes, Head," nodded Ingrid. "You whip better than anyone."

If she'd hoped the flattery would appease the headmistress, the plan failed. Strokes eight, nine, and ten were just as vicious, though at least they were a little lower across the backs of the upper thighs.

By now Ingrid's buttocks were livid with crimson and purple, with only a couple areas of unpunished flesh. The Head concentrated on those for the final strokes, filling in the color, every cracking blow sending wild gyrations of movement from the flogged teacher.

"All right," sighed the Head finally. "I think that's thirteen."

Slowly Ingrid got to her feet. She felt wobbly and dizzy, and her buttocks were like a monstrous blister. She put her hands back to gently feel the wealed flesh. The lines were as thick as fingers, swollen and throbbing, and it was like there was a whole highway system across her ass.

"Thank you, Head," she said gently, with her head down. "That was most memorable."

"Good. Perhaps you will take your duty as Disciplinarian more seriously next time. Remember, I want these girls to know they've been punished. A repeat they don't want is certainly evidence of a sound beating."

Ingrid didn't know how she could beat any harder, but somehow she would. She had no choice.

Suddenly the Head turned to Monika. "Aren't you Ingrid's roommate?"

"Yes Head."

"I thought so. Ingrid needs practice caning and you shall volunteer. Six three or four times a week over the next couple of weeks should be sufficient, don't you agree?"

Monika's face was pale, but she nodded. "Of c-course, Headmistress."

"Wouldn't do you any harm, either. Good practice." She faced Ingrid again. "And by the end of that time I shall expect to see you making Monika repeat every time, is that understood? If not, I'll deal with you again and it won't be so lightly."

"Yes, Head," agreed Ingrid, though inside she was terrified. Her bottom shivered in dreaded anticipation of an even worse thrashing. She glanced at her friend and saw Monika was even more nervous. The next couple weeks were going to be interesting, to say the least.

The End

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