Caroline's Punishment Day

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1995-2009 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Caroline's Punishment Day
Part 1

(****, F/f, Severe, n/c teen discipline)

A naughty young lady is given a series of punishments by the school headmistress during an all-day Saturday punishment session. (Approximately 13,539 words. Originally published 1996-04.)

"You again! How dare you! Of all the arrogant, childish, disobedient, rude, socially unacceptable students you are the worst!" raged Madame Fesse.

But I wasn't listening to her tirade. Instead, my eyes were focused on the stash of long brown canes standing in the bin behind her desk. I knew that in just a few minutes I would be bending across that desk, my skirt lifted, and one of those sticks cracking welts across my arse. I would leave with good stripes to show off to the girls.

The only real question was how many. Usually it was six, though occasionally eight. Once I'd gotten twelve--that was when Mary Margaret and I got caught stealing sweets from the local shop. This time I expected at least eight, perhaps even the full dozen. I sensed Madam F was tired of my many visits to her office.

"What I am going to do with you, Caroline?" she was saying. She sighed and sat her bulk down behind her desk. "I grow weary of these visits of yours. This is your third in less than a month! I can scarcely the count the number of times I've been forced to cane you since you've come to St. Bennoit's."

I nodded sollemnly and wished she'd hurry and get it over with. Canings were dreadful enough with her lecturing me for hours!

The headmistress was deep in thought, her head tilted against her palm. She suddenly started up as though coming to a conclusive decision. "Caroline," she said, her eyes snapping fire at me, "I am not going to cane you."

My heart leapt in glee and then sank in despair. Surely if it wasn't the cane that left only one thing–expulsion. I was being sent home! It seemed I'd outsmarted myself and pushed the envelope a bit too far.

"Please Madam--" I started but she cut me off.

"I'm not going to cane you _today_." Her eyes bored into me and I shrank in shame and stared at the floor. "Your behavior has gotten to a point that a mere caning will not do. Perhaps at seventeen you are too old for the cane to be enough of a threat. You are in need of a Punishment Day. Therefore, this Saturday you will report to me at 7 a.m. The entire day will be devoted to your punishments, and I can assure you that you will be one contrite young lady when we are finished!"

"But Madam," I interrupted, "Saturday is Games Day."

"Not for you, it isn't!"

I frowned. The old bat knew how much I enjoyed soccer. Even worse, this weekend was the informal championship with our top rival Pellington. Not to be immodest but without me on wing we'd surely lose! This really wasn't fair at all. But I saw the headmistress was resolved and I wisely kept my mouth shut.

"You will dress in your school uniform," she continued. "But bring your games outfit, too. And don't even think of being late!"

I mumbled an agreement and she let me go. In the hallway I realized I was trembling and I leaned against the door to catch my breath. A movement from down the hall caught my eye and sure enough, it was Mary Margaret, my best friend and frequent criminal collaborator, peering at me.

"I didn't hear the stick," she whispered, emerging from her hiding place. "Don't tell me they put you out!"

I shook my head dismally. "Even worse. She's keeping me in on Saturday and going to cane me all day long!"

"Rotters!" exclaimed MM, her eyes wide with fear. "But then you'll miss the game!"

"I think that's the idea. Curse that witch!" I openly glared in the direction of the headmistress' study and gave a rude gesture with my arm. Mary went pale and I laughed bravely, though inside I felt a growing knot of despair. What tortures did Madame F have in store for me?

* * * * *

The wait for Saturday was the worst. Word regarding my fate had quickly spread and everywhere I went people eyed me sympathetically, which only served to make me more nervous and think constantly of my impending doom. My studies worsened and I failed a test on Friday. I couldn't concentrate at all and three times I got slippered for not paying attention. The three days I had to wait for my demise lasted forever.

Friday night I could barely sleep. I woke several times covered with sweat, heart beating in terror, my breath raspy with relief when I realized it had only been a dream caning, not the real thing. Still, I was up early and standing in front the headmistress' door before 7 o'clock. I was nervous but determined to bear it. I could not let down my friends or show myself cowed by this bitchy teacher.

Madame Fesse let me in promptly at seven. She did not speak but immediately sent me to the corner with my hands behind my head. I stayed there for fifteen minutes or so while she worked at her desk, and then she called me over. I stood at attention in front of her, my arms at my sides.

"Your uniform is slovenly," she said pointing to my crooked skirt and uneven socks. "But at least you are on time."

"Yes, Madame," I said.

She folded her arms in front of her and glared at me like a vice cop interviewing a suspect. "Why you are here?"

"To be punished." I bowed my head and tried to look suitably ashamed.

"And why are you being punished?"

"For being rude to Madame Travor."

The headmistress nodded. "And what else?"

"I-I'm not certain. I guess for being sent for the cane so much."

"You are the most consistently naughty girl at this school, Miss Caroline. I have warned you repeatedly that I cane you in excess of the other girls, but it seems to have no effect."

"I-I'm sorry, Madame. I don't mean to be such a problem. I don't know why I'm always in trouble."

"Well I _do_!" roared Madame Fesse, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look her straight in the face. "You are always in trouble because you do not _think_ of the consequences to your actions. You have a smart mouth and an arrogant attitude."

"No I don't--" I started to say, but I stopped myself. My face burned and I felt grumpy and sullen.

"I can see that you disagree with my assessment of your character," said Madame. "That is a sign that I am correct. Now, here is what we are going to do. Today is Punishment Day for you. You will remain in my office all day. You will not be permitted to leave for any reason. I have a series of punishments and tasks for you that will last throughout the day. You will cooperate and accept your punishments like an adult. If I hear any backtalk or if you attempt to prevent a punishment, we shall conduct another Punishment Day a week from next Saturday. Do you understand?"

A shiver went through my body. "Yes, Madame."

"All right. Let us begin your first punishment." She stood and walked to the small sofa. She sat down and smoothed her skirt across her lap. "Come here."

I obeyed, my heart in my mouth. I knelt on the couch beside her and stretched myself across her lap. My bottom was imminently spankable in this position, and that made me nervous. I half-wished she would just cane me instead of the childish punishment she had in mind.

Immediately the headmistress lifted my skirt to expose my white panties. Her hand grasped to waistband and pulled downward, exposing my bare bottom. It was humiliating. I felt like a child. I must have made some sort of sound because she scolded me then, telling me what a naughty child I was and how I needed to be spanked like a child. I didn't answer.

Her palm gripped my bottom with a tight squeeze and then released. My bottom was bare, exposed, vulnerable. Then the palm returned, this time moving at high velocity, and I felt the first of many stinging slaps.

It wasn't a painful spanking. Each slap stung my skin and a few made me wiggle a bit, but even twenty spanks weren't as bad a single stroke of the cane. But it was humiliating. Here I was, practically an adult, lying half-naked across the lap of a woman, my naked bottom being slapped like I was a small child. Tears came to my eyes as I thought of how I must look.

Finally it was over. Madame made me get up and go to the corner again, but I was not allowed to touch or cover my bottom. I stood with my hands behind my head, my skirt tucked into the waistband, my panties around my knees. She went back to her desk for a few minutes. At five of eight she stood and took a large slipper from her drawer. I'd never been slippered by her before, but from the way she caned I was positive it would sting.

"Don't bother moving," she said. She placed her left hand on my shoulder and proceeded to whack my backside with the slipper. I didn't budge at first, but after a dozen zingers on each cheek and no sign of slowing, I started to fidget. It was really starting to burn back there! She didn't hold back but kept whacking me until the clock struck eight. I was practically howling when she finally stopped--though I kept my lips firmly shut--and my entire arse felt like I'd sat on a hot stove. I knew without looking that every inch of my bum was fire engine red.

"Well, I suppose that will have to do for now. I'm off to breakfast. You wait here and don't even _think_ of covering up or touching your bum! I'll send someone along with some breakfast for you shortly."

"Y-yes, Madame," I whispered, my voice cracking. After she had gone I sniffed and cried a bit and felt sorry for myself. I did touch my ass, of course, feeling the warmth and the pebble-like stiffness that was already forming.

Suddenly the door opened and I just managed to return my hands to behind my head when in walked Suzy Dominquez. I just about melted through the floor. I hate Suzy D. I swear they invented the word bitch just for her. She and I have a long-running feud and I blame more than a few of my canings on her. But of course she's the headmistress' pet.

"I see you're having a wonderful day," she said primly, setting down a tray of breakfast goodies. I could smell the fresh croissants drenched in butter and jam. There was hot chocolate too, and my stomach rumbled. I made to turn around and help myself but Suzy stopped me.

"No you don't! Madame Fesse said you are not to move. As you are too busy being punished to eat, I am to feed you. If you do not cooperate I will tell her and she said she'd let _me_ cane you!"

That thought was too horrid for words and I froze. Suzy brought me a large piece of the warm bread and when I opened my mouth she shoved it in, almost choking me. It tasted good, though, and I swallowed it eagerly. She fed me piece by piece, making snide comments on my state of undress and red bottom the whole time. By the time I'd finished breakfast my face burned almost as much as my ass.

She didn't let that last too long, however, pinching my bottom and even slapping my butt a me a few times. I wanted to strangle her but I feared her threat--it would be just like Madame F to let her cane me. My bottom was so sore her little slaps actually hurt, but I pretended it was nothing, actually coming up with the courage to giggle. This enraged her and she drank most of my hot chocolate herself, offering me the dregs and managing to spill some down my chin and onto my blouse. We both knew the headmistress would punish me for that.

"I'll see you at lunch," Suzy said with a sneer as she gave my rump one last pinch. Then she was gone and I was alone. Here it was still early on Saturday morning and already my bottom felt sore. What was to come?

* * * * *

The headmistress returned not long after Suzy left, but she did not speak to me until 9 o'clock. Then she had me pull up panties up and come to her desk. "I think you are ready for the cane," she said sternly, reaching--to my horror--for the senior boys cane. "Six of the best now will certainly change your arrogant attitude."

I wanted to protest that I wasn't arrogant at all, but of course that would have only proven her point, so I remained silent. I dutifully bent across the desk. My skirt was still lifted but she did not take down my panties, thank God, but I supposed she just wanted to save that for later.

There was that dreadful _swish_ followed by the even worse _thuck_ as the cane struck home. I was up on my tiptoes instantly, biting my lip to keep from screaming. That had been a howler, all right. One of the worst I'd ever gotten. And it hadn't even been on the bare!

Swish-thuck! came the second one, as bad or worse than the first, and then the third. The third is always the peak. Subsequent strokes don't really increase the overall amount of pain--they just prolong the agony.

Somehow I remained in position and quiet for all six, though I was sweating profusely when it was over and the headmistress' desk was damp with my tears. My arse felt like it had been scalded.

"To the chair, my dear. Have a seat," ordered Madame Fesse and I obeyed silently, though the chair was wooden and hard. I couldn't help but fidget a bit as I sat down, earning a sharp glance from the mistress.

She handed me a clipboard with a blank piece of lined paper clipped on it. "You will write down your punishments as you receive them," she said. "You may write down your first three now."

Silently I wrote:

        1. Hand-spanking on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        2. Slippering on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        3. Six of the best with senior boys' cane (through panties)

She nodded with approval at what I'd written. "Good. Now will shall continue your punishments." My heart quivered at that news. Surely she couldn't keep this up all day!

Madame Fesse handed me several more sheets of paper. "You will now write, in your very best script, 'I will be prompt and attentive and well-prepared for all my lessons, and I will not be rude to my instructors.' You will write that 200 times and you will receive one stroke with the cane for every line that is inadequate or unfinished. You have until noon, so I suggest you begin promptly."

My math skills are not the sharpest, but even I knew that 175 minutes was not going to be enough time to finish 200 lines! I feverishly began to write, being careful to write clearly and without error. It was laborious and mundane work, however, and I found my mind wandering constantly. I imagined my friends out on the field enjoying games while I suffered. I forced myself to concentrate on the writing, cracks of the cane echoing in my ears and spurring me on.

Madame Fesse did not spend the entire morning in her office. She left for long periods but I did not even attempt to take advantage of her absence to get into mischief--I was too fearful of not being able to complete my writing assignment. My hand soon cramped and my pace slowed considerably, but I could not afford to lose any time.

At eleven o'clock Madama Fesse returned and checked on my progress. She did not seem pleased. "Stand up!" she ordered, and I obeyed, glad for the break. She picked up the slipper and gave me a dozen wallops on each cheek to provide me with "incentive."

I sat down on my newly warmed bottom and tried to concentrate. A had finished only 109 lines and I knew I was behind. That last hour was the worst. Every sound had me on edge. I could hear the clock ticking away in the corner and every time I glanced at it it seemed that minutes, not seconds, had passed. Soon I had completed 150 but there was less than a half hour left. I raced onward, not daring to let my sore fingers slow me down.

At ten till Madame Fesse returned but did not speak to me. I pressed forward, writing frantically. I could almost feel the cane across my bottom. I was still twenty-five lines behind and I knew that not all of my lines would pass inspection.

At noon on the dot there was a deep sigh from the headmistress and I saw she was watching me closely and shaking her head. "Please, Madame," I begged. "Just five more minutes. I'm almost finished!"

"Time is up, Caroline," she said sternly, her face a rock. "Please fetch me the cane and wait in the corner while I tally the results."

I slowly stood and handed her the clipboard. I'd only completely 188 of the lines and I figured at least four or five others she'd discount, perhaps more. I stared into the bin of canes and wondered which one she wanted me to take. Surely not the senior--not for a dozen or more strokes. Even the girls' junior cane would be quite severe punishment. But if I selected the wrong cane she might punish me even more harshly.

With a deep breath I bravely picked the junior boys' cane. It was lighter than the senior girls' but thicker than the junior. It would mark but not bruise especially. I hoped Madame would have mercy on me.

I went to the corner and waited with the cane in my arms, shuddering each time I heard her cluck her tongue in annoyance and her pen scratch the sheet. It seemed she was disqualifying far more lines than I had expected. This was no doubt about to my worst flogging ever!

"This is disgraceful penmanship, child!" scolded Madame Fesse finally. I heard her approaching me and I literally winced. "You obviously have a great deal to learn when even the threat of a good caning does not improve your script!"

"Please, Madame," I breathed. "There wasn't enough time--"

"Silence! You have failed in your assignment. I count only 156 good lines here and I'm being generous. Now, hand me that cane!"

My heart pulsed in my throat as I gave the cane to the headmistress. She nodded at my choice. "Excellent choice, girl. I can see that at least you appreciate good discipline. As a reward I shall give you another choice: if you wish I will use the lightest cane but it will be on the bare. What do you say? Light and bare or heavier and knickers?"

I knew instantly that the headmistress would prefer I choose the lighter cane. There were two reasons for this. One, I knew she'd prefer my humiliation at accepting a bare bottom punishment, and for another, I knew she'd prefer me less marked as we still had half a day of punishment to go. Hoping to please her I agreed. "May I fetched the light cane, Madame?"

"Certainly, Caroline." I took the cane and exchanged it with the junior girls'. "Remove your knickers and skirt and up over the back of the chair with you." She pointed to the large stuffed chair next to the sofa and I quickly obeyed though my palms were damp with sweat and I could not hear myself think.

Standing half-naked I climbed up onto the chair and bent over the back, my feet on the seat. The headmistress came forward and had me kneel on the arms of the chair. I did not like this as it spread my legs widely and I could feel cool air between my legs and across my bottom. It made me feel far too vulnerable, but I obeyed, my breasts peeping over the back of the chair as I settled into position. I used my hands to brace myself.

"What is 200 minus 156, Caroline?"

"F-forty-four," I breathed.

"Forty-four what?"

"Forty-four, Madame."

"Better. Now these shall not be too severe, young lady, as you have a great deal of punishment coming to you. But you shall feel them. I want you to count them for me and ask for each one."

"Yes, Madame."

"Begin, please."

My mouth was dry. I hadn't had anything to drink all morning except a few sips of hot chocolate. I swallowed and murmured, "Please, Madam, may I have the first stroke?"

She answered me with her cane, a sharp retort that stung like a dozen hornets across my arse. I sucked in my breath and slowly let it out, fighting for control. If this was light punishment I was surely doomed.

"One. Thank you, Madame. May I please have the second?"

Thwick! The cane bit into me and I winced. The pain was not unbearable, but it was distinct. After a few seconds the sharpness wore off and I could breathe again. I would not be sitting down comfortably for some time after this!

Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! came the cane. Over and over it stung me. Each stroke was aimed to sting a fresh spot. Tears went to my eyes and I fidgeted on the chair. My breathing was labored and it was difficult to count. "T-twenty-three, Madame. Thank you. M-may I p-please have a-another?" Thwick!

I cannot describe to you the horror of those hours on that chair. The time was interminable. I clenched my teeth and held my position with all my strength and will and prayed constantly for the punishment to end. It was slow and arduous, the only sounds my labored breathing, the soft flick of the cane, and my weak thank you and "May I have another?"

It was not the pain that made it so awful--it was the endurance. I was forced to participate in my punishment, and that broke me. By the end I was sobbing, tears dripping copiously from my eyes. It seemed too good to be true that it was over, but I could not stop crying.

Madame Fesse had me return the cane to the bin and then go to the corner, this time without my skirt and panties. I stood there shivering, my arse blazing and throbbing, and prayed this day of punishments would soon be over. My heart practically stopped when I saw the clock read only twenty after twelve. Surely that caning had lasted for a least an hour! But there was still the entire afternoon to go.

* * * * *

Lunch was brought to me by Suzy. I did not feel like eating but she told me I'd better or she'd report me. I did drink the ginger beer she offered me, though it caused me to realize I had an urgent need to relieve myself.

As I slowly chewed the ham sandwich, Suzy admired my stripes. She touched them, and even flicked a few with her index finger. It made me want to scream but I did not. I could not let her see me cry!

"These are beautiful marks," she said softly, her hand caressing my bottom. "Though they are faint and light. I would so love to give you a few. Won't you let me? I could use the junior cane so it wouldn't mark."

"Don't even joke like that, Suzy!" I cried out in a rage. "If you try it I will--"

"You will what?" She pressed her face against my cheek and I saw her expression was one of triumph. "One word from me and Madame Fesse will let me cane you with the senior cane," she said. "Would you like that?"

I fell silent as I saw her plan.

"Come on, Carol," she whispered. "Just a couple strokes. The headmistress never needs to know."

"Oh, all right," I said with a sigh. The thought of Madame Fesse watching while Suzy caned me did not appeal to me. Better to get it over with in private. "The junior cane. And not too hard!"

"Of course," said Suzy, and I heard her rummaging in the cane bin. Soon there was the swishing sound of cane being thrust through the air. Next thing I knew there was a crack and a burning line of fire across my arse. I yelped and grabbed my bottom with both hands, pressing them against the fire of my buttocks.

I stared at Suzy in disgust. She was holding the longer junior _boys'_ cane! "You bitch!" I roared. "How dare you!"

"Fine," she said with a shrug. "I'll just tell Madame Fesse that you did not appreciate your food!" With that she took the small container of yogurt and splashed it across the carpet. "Oh, dear! Look what you have done. The headmistress will be furious!"

"You're a dead bitch, Suzy!" I screamed as she left, giggling at my rage. "You're fucking dead!"

But in my heart I knew my threat was empty, for it wasn't her that was dead, it was me.

Caroline's Punishment Day
Part 2

(****, F/f, Severe, n/c teen discipline)

A naughty young lady is given a series of punishments by the school headmistress during an all-day Saturday punishment session. (Approximately 13,539 words. Originally published 1996-04.)

The next ten minutes were agony. I tried to clean up the spill but it was hopeless--the stain from the strawberry yogurt was quite obvious. I rose as Madame Fesse entered, her expression livid. Suzy followed discretely behind her. The headmistress did not even greet me, but sat on the sofa and ordered me across her lap.

"Might as well remove the rest of your clothes," she said, and I did not disobey. I took off my blouse and my bra and shoes and socks. Completely nude I laid across her lap. Suzy was watching from the corner and that made me feel just dreadful.

"Madame--" I began but the lady cut me off with a sharp slap to my bum.

"Silence!" she roared, and then began to spank me. It was nothing like the spanking earlier. This one hurt. I don't know if it was because she was angry or because my arse was already rather beaten, but every spank brought tears to my eyes. In just minutes I was writhing and whimpering, and then I was begging her to stop. Tears poured down my face as I pleaded with her.

"Please, Madame, please! It hurts, oh! Ouch! Please!"

"Be quiet! Don't be a baby!" she scolded, and I blushed as I heard Suzy giggle. The headmistress snapped at Suzy. "Hand me the slipper."

"Noooo!" I wailed, and received several harsh slaps in reward. The slipper was produced and began to rapidly heat up my backside. I couldn't hold back the tears at this new assault. I sobbed like a broken heart, writhing and convulsing. The pain was fantastic--each wallop felt like a hot iron pressed against my rump. I squealed and wiggled my ass like it was a flag. Suzy giggled again and I flushed with shame. It wasn't fair for her to see me like this.

"I think that's enough for now," said Madame Fesse finally. She swatted my butt indicating me to get up. I stood shakily on my feet, weeping. I was totally naked, thoroughly spanked, and standing in front of one of my least favorite peers. I was mortified. Suzy would not fail to spread the word of my breakdown to all the other girls. My reputation for toughness would be gone.

But it wasn't over. Through my tears I saw Madame Fesse was going to the cane bin. She selected one and gave it to Suzy. "Since you're just a petite girl you may use the senior boys' cane. Give her six of the best."

I wanted to scream. Instead I was told to grab my ankles and hold on for dear life. I did so, watching an upside down Suzy approach me, and eerie grin on her face.

Now I wouldn't call myself an expert on caning, but I've received more than my share. I wouldn't put Suzy among the best but she wasn't the worst. The fact that she was using the thicker cane didn't help, and neither did the painful state of my ass. I yelped and sweated and moaned and suffered during the seven strokes (her third only partially connected so Witch F let her redo it).

When it was over I was sent back to the corner and Suzy and Madame left. I cried quietly and felt very sorry for myself. My bottom was really sore and I had the dreadful feeling that the headmistress was not finished yet. As it was only shortly after one o'clock most of the afternoon remained, though I couldn't imagine what could be worse than I'd already endured.

* * * * *

I didn't have too long to wait as the headmistress returned at about 1:30. By this point I was almost frantic, crossing my legs and feeling deep pains in my lower belly. I'd never had to pee so badly in all my life. All the "excitement" had put this need completely out of my mind but I could no longer ignore it.

"What is with you child!" she exclaimed when she saw me. "Stand up straight or I'll really give you something to fidget about!"

"Please, Madame--I need to use the facilities. It's most urgent!"

The woman's stern face softened and she smiled. "Ah, you do, do you? You haven't soiled my carpet, have you?"

"No, Madame. But I cannot hold it much longer. Please let me go!"

"You shall hold it as long as it is necessary!" she snapped. "I will be back in a minute. If you soil my carpet I shall flog you."

I scarcely cared at that point, so desperate was I for relief. I'd been so nervous to arrive on time for my punishment this morning I had neglected to relieve myself. Now I regretted my impatience. Surely a few extra strokes of the cane would have been worth avoiding this suffering.

I heard the door open and saw Madame was back. She was carrying a small bucket and a large paper towel. She placed the towel on the floor near me and put the bucket on top. "You may use that," she said curtly, and went to her desk. "Don't you dare spill or you will be punished."

I couldn't believe this. Did she really expect me to urinate right in front of her? But she was bent over her papers and ignoring me completely. I stared at the bucket. It seemed to grow smaller as I looked at it. It would be difficult to not spill. I knew that was the idea, of course. She wanted an excuse to punish me.

My bladder was insistent, however. I could wait no longer. Blushing, I squatted over the bucket feeling terribly ashamed of myself. I was nothing but an animal in a cage, my life exposed for all to see.

It was difficult to position myself exactly, but with my hands I managed to maneuver my opening over the bucket. I tried to release just a little as a test of my aim, but I could not. It flooded out of me in a gush, droplets splattering. A part of my mind felt horror at that, but most of me was blinded by relief. It felt so good to release that terrible burden. I peed and peed and breathed a deep sigh when I was done.

I stood slowly, wishing I had something to wipe myself, but the headmistress was busy writing in a notebook. With nothing else to do, I returned to my corner position, hands behind my head. I felt much better, though of course my body was still sore.

Time passed slowly. I could hear Madame's pen scratching paper and the clock ticking. Outside echoed the faint sounds of shouting and laughter as the girls played in the fields. I longed to be out there. I believe at that moment I would have given anything to be out there. Anything. I truly regretted by disobedient behavior that had caused me to end up in this situation, and I vowed to myself that I would never, ever, do anything naughty again.

When the clock struck two the headmistress rose and inspected the bucket. I'd almost forgotten about her threat but when I saw her lifting the paper towel and inspecting it minutely for droplets I felt a quiver in my belly. "I see you long for further chastisement," she said primly, pointing to various tiny stains on the towel. "I think one stroke per drop would be fair."

"Madame!" I gasped, but she was approaching me with the towel. She carefully pushed it between my legs and patted me dry. She studied the towel and nodded, and then took the bucket and left.

"When I return," she said.

Oh, I was in a terrible state. My bottom was so sore and yet I knew she hadn't really caned me yet--surely that would be her final punishment of the day. But what would be the condition of my arse by that time? It was already as sore as it had ever been after even my worse canings. A serious caning on top of what I'd already received truly frightened me.

The headmistress was gone a long time, which made it all the worse. Every sound set me on edge and I thought it was her returning. And yet I longed for her to return and get my punishment over with. But she did not return until almost 2:30. When she did she was carrying a fearful leather tawse.

I stared at it in horror, my fear evident on my face. She saw that I was afraid and smiled at me. "Good. I am glad you are finally learning to respect my implements of punishment." She showed me the tawse then, its three tongues thick and heavy, each about fifteen inches long. I was as pale as snow, and my stomach felt like I'd drank sour milk.

"It was difficult to count your spill," the headmistress said grimly, "but I estimate that there were approximately fifty drops. Would you say that is accurate?"

What could I say? "Please, Madame, I am too sore--"

"Of course you are, dear. That is the point. But I will let your bottom have a rest now. Come over to the sofa and bend across the arm."

I obeyed like in a dream where I had no control over my actions. My naked body stretched over the end of the sofa with my rump high in the air. My breasts and face pressed into the seatcushions and my legs sprawled out behind me. I felt woefully exposed.

"Caroline, do I need to tie your legs down? Or can you do this without kicking? You shall receive ten extra if I have to tie you down, of course, but if you kick during the whipping I shall give you double."

At this point I seriously doubted my ability to accept anything calmly. "Please tie me, Madame. I don't think I can stop from kicking. I am so sore!"

"Very well. It shall be sixty strokes, then, thirty per side." She knelt at my feet and I felt her binding my ankles to the legs of the sofa. This arched my back higher and felt impossibly awkward. My legs were more spread, too, exposing me utterly. I began to cry just thinking of that leather strap striking my delicate hind end.

When I was successfully bound in position--I believe she used strips of cloth--she picked up the tawse and marched behind me. "I want you to count and ask for these out loud," she ordered. "If you fail the stroke shall not count and you will receive an extra one as a penalty."

"Y-yes, Madame," I whispered. My voice was trembling despite my resolve to remain calm. I heard the snicker of the leather as she lifted the strap and then there was a woosh and a loud slap. Pain flooded through me, impossible pain, a stinging so fierce it felt like the skin had been taken off the back of my right leg.

Then the horror hit me and my stomach knotted in fear and excitement. She was not whipping my ass but my legs! My tender thighs were to receive this fearful strapping! I felt a mixture of relief and increased terror. My legs were unblemished and fresh--this assault was like starting over. Tears poured down my face and I huge sobs swelled up from deep inside me as the lash came down again, striking the same portion of my right leg. Again and again it struck, and I howled without control. My hands shot behind me but only succeeded in covering my bottom which she was ignoring. I tried kicking but it was to no avail--I was bound fast and all I could do was thrash my upper body which did nothing to shield my burning leg but succeeded only in scrapping my breasts across the sofa and made me look and feel quite ridiculous.

The headmistress whipped me in groups of five. Five strokes to the right thigh, all in the same tender spot, and then the same to the left leg. Then back to the right, this time a little lower, on fresh, unwelted skin, and then it was the left's turn. She did this until my legs were welted all the way down to my calves. She even whipped the insides of my legs, wrapping the tawse around my thigh so the tips of the tongues lashed the delicate flesh of my inner thigh. The final set of ten she gave me up high, right in the crease where the thigh and buttock join. I do believe this is the most sensitive part of the body--at least it felt like it to me at the time. I did not stop crying once during this flogging and even when she stopped and untied me, I continued to weep and moan.

Madame left me alone in my pain. I stood in the corner without being told. It did not even occur to me that I might be allowed a different position. Often when she ordered me in the past I felt a resistance, the gambler inside of me daring to disobey. Now I felt nothing but remorse, nothing but a desire to please this fierce woman.

When she returned and told me to lie facedown on the sofa I groaned but obeyed immediately. I feared some new torture. Instead she knelt beside me and I saw she held a small basin and a washcloth in it. The basin was filled with water and in the water floated ice cubes.

She took the icy rag and rung it a bit and then placed it gently across my rear. I gasped at the touch--it felt like absolute zero it was so cold. My skin went numb. It felt so good I began to cry. She wetted the cloth again and proceeded to wash me, caressing my punished buttocks and legs.

"Your punishment is not over, Caroline," she said as she bathed me. "There is still much more to go. It is not yet three o'clock. I haven't even caned you yet, not really. So don't think this moment of rest means you have escaped what you deserve."

"Yes, Madame," I whispered hoarsely. "Thank you, Madame." I said it because it occurred to me, but the strange thing was that after I said it I realized it was sincere. I wanted nothing more than this day of punishment to end, yet I was truly grateful for what Madame Fesse was doing. It was what I needed, what I deserved.

After the bath Madame F put a soothing ointment on my wounds (there really was very little marking, she told me--mostly light welts and few blisters). Then she placed a thin blanket over me and suggested I take a short nap. I was too exhausted to argue, and though the davenport was not the most comfortable bed, it felt like heaven to me. She left and in minutes I was sound asleep.

* * * * *

I awoke with a start and saw the headmistress was standing near me. "Please rise," she said firmly, and I stood up, shedding the protection and comfort of the blanket. I glanced at the clock and saw it was a quarter to four. I had slept for nearly an hour. I felt much improved. I was still sore but I realized with a deep pit in my stomach that I had felt nothing yet--the headmistress would not be satisfied with a punishment that left me feeling this good afterward.

I saw with a start that the headmistress was not alone: behind her stood Sally Werth and Peggy Nue. Both were dressed in games clothes but were rather muddy and disheveled. I saw instantly from the marks the two had been fighting. It did not surprise me. Both were seniors and renown for their competitiveness.

"Wait in the corner," Madame Fesse said to me. "I'm afraid I must interrupt our session for some business." I quickly obeyed, blushing as I knew the girls could see my scarlet bottom. I shouldn't have worried, however--the two of them were about to be very embarrassed.

"Sally, Peggy," said Madame sternly, "across my desk, now!" I heard a scurrying and pictured the girls bending and stretching across the wide desk, their bottoms thrust out behind them. I heard the rattle of canes and I felt a surge of excitment in my belly and between my legs. This time the cane was not for me!

There was a period of quiet and I wasn't sure what was going on. I risked a quick peek behind me. The head had her back to me and didn't notice--she was busy pulling down the girls' knickers and pinning their skirts up!

"You girls ought to be ashamed of yourselves! Fighting, at your age! I've never heard of anything so childish." The headmistress continued to scold the girls as she prepared them and I could clearly imagine their fear and nervousness. Then the cane went back with a slight sucking sound.

Whisst-CRACK! The caning was fast and furious--eight of the best delivered in classic cracking Madame Fesse style. The girls' hissed and oooched and Sally even yelped and stood up. (She got two extra for that.)

When it was done the room echoed with gunshots. Both girls sobbed quietly. "You may both leave," said the headmistress firmly. "I hope you have learned your lesson. If I hear of any further incident between you two--I don't care who starts it--you will _both_ be in here for two dozen with birch!"

Cries of "Yes, Madame!" and "We're sorry, Madame!" spilled from the girls as they tearfully dressed and exited with their tails tucked well between their legs. Out of the corner of my eye I watched them go--I'd never seen such sheepish faces.

Perhaps they were like mine.

"And now for you," Madame said. I turned to see her black eyes blazing at me. "Over my lap," she said, sitting herself on the sofa. As if I was eager for it I laid myself across her legs, my bottom tingling in anticipation. She began to spank me hard. She slapped my bottom cheeks every which way and my thighs, too, especially the sensitive insides. Tears filled my eyes but I felt a calmness inside. This was nothing more than I deserved, nothing more that what I needed. Everything was as it should be.

"Fetch me the slipper, Caroline," she said finally, and I climbed off her lap and retrieved the dreadful leather shoe from her desk. I bent back over her lap and she began to wallop me hard with that slipper, every swat bringing tears to my eyes. I was moaning and whimpering when she stopped but not once did I try to stop her or plead for mercy.

"Please put on your games clothes," the headmistress said. My heart leapt to my throat. Could my punishment be over? But she dashed my hopes. "Please update your punishment log and then we shall continue. And do not forget any of your punishments or I shall have to remind you of it with another dose!"

I slowly dressed, my undergarments and shorts feeling strange and constricting to me. Sitting on the hard wooden chair I took up the clipboard and began to write down my punishments. I did it slowly and carefully, not wanting to miss any. When I had finished this is what I had written:

        1. Hand-spanking on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        2. Slippering on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        3. Six of the best with senior boys' cane (through panties)
        4. 200 lines
        5. 44 with the light cane for incomplete lines
        6. Hand-spanking on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        7. Slippering on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        8. Seven with senior boys' cane on the bare bottom (administered
           by Suzy Dominquez)
        9. Thirty strokes per leg with leather tawse (bare thighs)
       10. Hand-spanking on the bare bottom (five minutes)
       11. Slippering on the bare bottom (five minutes)

"Not too bad," said Madame Fesse when she read my notes. "But you have forgotten one of your slipperings."

"Madame?"

"Don't you remember? I gave you two dozen in the middle of your lines. I did it to encourage you, but it seems it was not enough as you do not remember." The memory came back to me and I cursed myself. How could I have been so forgetful?

"Come on, pull down your shorts and knickers." It felt more degrading standing with my shorts at half-mast than to be completely naked. Madame took the slipper and began to wallop my rump soundly. I yelped and wiggled and began to cry before she'd finished. She gave me two dozen on each cheek so I'd be sure to remember it this time, and I vowed to keep better track of what she did to me. It made the punishments worse, however, because I had to pay close attention to them.

After the slippering I pulled my shorts back up and stood watching the headmistress. She went to a cabinet behind her desk and took out an oblong wooden board with a handle. "Caroline," she said, "Do you know what this is?"

"It-it looks like a paddle."

"Very good. And what is it used for?"

I felt rather cross at her treating me like a child. "I suppose for whacking my bum!"

She glanced at me sharply, and then nodded. "Absolutely correct. The Americans favor this over the cane. I've never understood why. It does have one advantage, though--it does not mark the way a cane does. I've always wanted to compare the two. Would you like to help me in an experiment."

This last was not a question and I knew better than to disagree with her by now! "If you wish, Madame."

"Oh, good. Now stand right there in the middle of the room and bend over and grasp your ankles. I'm going to give you six of these and then six of the cane and you tell me which is better."

Oh, God, I thought miserably. This is going just _so_ amusing. But out loud I said, "Yes, Madame!" and took the position required.

She let me keep my shorts on, I will give her that much. But the paddle hurt. It was very different from the cane, but it hurt. The first thing I noticed was that the force of the blow nearly knocked me over. With the cane one moves forward out of fear or in a desire to escape. But the paddle pushes you forward. It's a struggle not to fall over--you literally must thrust you butt _toward_ the blow to counteract its push.

The second thing I noticed was the sound. I'm used to the sound of the cane--I've heard it all my life. It's a dreadful but comforting sound, ranging from the soft thwip of a light stinger to the rifle report of a heavy cracker. The paddle, however, sounded like a cannon going off right beneath me. It felt like an explosion too. Unlike the cane which places a specific line of fire you can still feel two or three cracks later, the paddle punishes your whole bottom. It felt like every inch of my ass was sizzling. My eyes watered and by the end I was crying a bit.

After six blows of the paddle which left me dizzy and gasping, my butt pulsing like a beating heart, the headmistress put down the paddle and went to the cane bin. I watched her from between my legs and almost cried with relief when I saw she was returning with the petite stinger, the junior girl's cane. This wouldn't be so bad at all.

Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! The blows were quick and sharp, tiny little itchy stings that made me wiggle my bum and wish I could grab it and squeeze all the pain out. Thwick! Thwick! Ouch! But my shorts kept the bite out of the blow. I didn't even tear. Thwick!

"Not bad, Caroline. You took those well. Now tell me about the paddle. How did it compare with the cane?"

I had not been told to stand so I remained bent over. (Amazing how effective those lessons from childhood can be!) "It smarts, Madame," I said slowly. "It spreads the pain all over, like a slipper."

"It was worse than the cane, then?"

I shrugged. "It was different. I cannot really say."

"Then you need more practice!"

"No, Madame!" I cried out, but it was no use. She was already readying the paddle. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! They came quickly and without warning. I gurgled and moaned loudly and waggled my rump, hoping the headmistress would give me a break. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

"There," she said pleasantly, as though complimenting my penmanship. "Let's compare that to the senior cane, shall we?"

I had no say in the matter. Thwack! Thwack! It was the girls' cane, fortunately, not the boys. Thwack! Thwack! To think just this morning the girls' cane had frightened me. Thwack! Now I thought of it with relief! THWACK!

"Oooch, Madame!" I cried after the last blow, a particularly sharp one to the crease. "That really smarts, Madame. I-I think I've had plenty of practice now."

"Nonsense, young lady. We haven't yet compared it to the senior boys'. Put your head back down, here we go." WHAM! WHAM!

"Arrrgh," I groaned deeply, the heavy paddle somehow sending heat into my very soul. WHAM! "Oh, please, Madame!" WHAM! WHAM! "Oooohhh!" WHAM!

"There you go, Caroline. Six of the best. What do you think? Is this paddle a worthy implement of punishment?"

"Yes, Madame!" I fairly wailed. Tears dribbled down my cheeks and I was having difficulty breathing, bent over like I was. "Please, Madame. I've had enough."

Madame Fesse clucked her tongue at me. "But you haven't tasted the cane yet, dear. It is said that the senior cane can be felt through clothing. Is that true of the paddle?"

"I don't know, Madame, but I do not wish to find out. Please, I've had enough!" I was near beside myself with terror. But the headmistress would not be diswaided.

"Buck up, dear, and take your medicine. This is for your own good, you know." THWACK! I nearly bit my tongue off. The pain was agonizing, fierce like a red hot poker. THWACK! THWACK!

"Arrrrggghh, ooooh, pleeezzz!" I moaned desperately. THWACK! came the impersonal reply. Frantically I gripped my legs and prayed this would soon be over. THWACK! "Ooochh!" I screeched in alarm. My forehead was dripping with sweat. THWACK! I almost collapsed in relief.

"Excellent, my dear. Now stand up." I rose, my back creaking and my head swimming. I felt like I'd been underwater for about a week. The world around me seemed foreign and distant. My body screamed at me.

"T-thank you, Madame," I said gallantly, desperate to please the woman and make up for my panic.

"Oh, we are not finished," she said, and something inside me broke. It was nothing significant, nothing shattering--a simple balloon releasing its air. But I knew at that instant that whatever else happened I was different from then on. I had been transformed, broken, pushed beyond my limits with that one casual phrase. And it was just. It was as it should be. I nodded and bowed my head in submission. I was too exhausted to fight.

"Pull down your shorts and knickers," said Madame Fesse. "I want to try out this paddle on your bare bottom."

Wordlessly, I obeyed. Cool air rushed across my arse and the temperature of my skin seemed to be twenty degrees higher than I had thought. The mistress' hand patted my bottom and I bent over without a sound.

WHAM! The paddle roared into me like a thunderclap. It flat scared me shitless. I squealed and tears burst from eyes. WHAM! I began to sob. The pain was amazing, the force of the blows astonishing. Every wallop nearly knocked me over and the incredible rush of stinging made me want to scream. Again and again it smacked me but I was too far gone to even notice. I was lost somewhere in my mind, separated from the pain of my body. I watched myself being punished with indifference. It no longer mattered. It was as it should be. I deserved it.

Caroline's Punishment Day
Part 3

(****, F/f, Severe, n/c teen discipline)

A naughty young lady is given a series of punishments by the school headmistress during an all-day Saturday punishment session. (Approximately 13,539 words. Originally published 1996-04.)

Suzy brought me my dinner. It seemed I was not join the other girls at all today. I was careful to obey Suzy and I ate my food without hesitation or complaint.

Suzy asked to see my bottom and I took down my games shorts for her to examine. She gasped and when I saw her pale face I knew my bottom must be in dismal shape. But it mattered little to me.

She was nicer to me after that, even splitting my cake with me. She let me drink my milk myself (rather than be fed) and even fetched me a second glass. She said I needed the fluids with all the crying I must have been doing. I did not say anything.

"May--may I touch your bottom?" she asked. I shrugged and tried not to move as she did so, but I couldn't help but whimper out loud when she brushed a particularly sore spot.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Caroline!" she said quickly. I turned, my mouth opening with an angry retort when I saw there were tears in her eyes. She was truly sorry!

I sighed. "It's okay. I'm getting used to it."

Suzy smiled at me shyly then. "How much more do you have to go?" she said, a touch of awe in her voice.

"I have no idea. Perhaps she intends to keep this up all night."

"Surely not!" Again, a voice filled with admiration and respect. It made me feel slightly less miserable.

I shrugged again. I was becoming apathetic.

Suzy gathered up the dinner dishes and prepared to go. She seemed distracted. At the door she paused and then ran back to me. I saw she was crying. "Oh, please, Caroline, I'm so sorry about the cane earlier. I had no idea--"

"It's okay, Suzy." She looked up at me with tears in her eyes, and I saw with surprise she was a very pretty girl, in a mousy sort of way. Then I realized she was a very lonely girl, and I felt sorry for her. "It's really okay," I repeated.

"If you want I can tell Madame what really happened--that you didn't spill the food."

"Are you crazy? She would be certain to cane you!"

"It would be nothing more than I deserve. I feel so terrible!"

Suddenly I was no longer angry at Suzy. I smiled at her. "Don't give her the pleasure," I said. "Let it go. It's me she wants. No sense both of us getting in trouble."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Now get out of here before she misses you."

Suzy left then, and I felt better, though when she'd gone the room seemed empty and foreboding.

* * * * *

At about seven Madame Fesse returned and had me change into my school uniform. As I put the skirt back on I wondered why she wanted me dressed. Somehow I knew it wasn't because she was finished with me.

When I was dressed and standing in the corner, Madame came near me and lifted my skirt, motioning to me to hold it up. Then she carefully pulled down my underpants to my ankles, baring my sore bottom and legs. I saw with despair that her slipper was tucked under her arm and sure enough, the second I was naked she began to spank me with it. It was just what she called a "warming up" but it felt quite hot to me. She swatted me all over, including the backs of my legs. I was crying when she stopped.

"Do you need to use the facilities?"

It came so unexpectedly that for a moment I didn't understand the question. Then I realized I did indeed need to use the restroom. I nodded. "Yes, Madame." Would she really let me go? Surely she didn't expect me to use the bucket, did she?

She didn't. Instead she guided my panties up over my bottom (none too gently I might add) and returned to her desk. "You may use the lavatory at the end of the hall. Do not run but make your way like a respectable girl. You have exactly four minutes. You shall received one stroke of the cane for every second over that time. Starting now." She nodded at her watch as she said this last bit, and I quickly darted for the door, slowly down as I realized I was running.

It took me half a minute to get to the restroom. Even as I arrived I knew it was not enough time. I was so nervous and I so dreaded anyone seeing me that when I finally got in I couldn't go. I was desperate--my bladder was full but I was one huge raw nerve. (Not being able to sit on the toilet didn't help either.)

I finally managed, though. But I knew I had taken too long. A stroke a second seemed like such a ridiculous penalty--yesterday I would have laughed. Now it didn't seem so funny.

Madame did not say anything when I entered. After a short pause I went to my corner and waited. She was grading papers or something and didn't speak to me for almost an hour. I was ready to scream when I finally heard her close her gradebook and sigh. I heard the unmistakable sound of canes rattling and my skin crawled. It felt like the temperature of the room had dropped twenty degrees.

"All right, Caroline. I suppose we'd better get this over with." I turned, my heart pounding. I felt a slight relief that she was holding the lightest cane. But that probably meant a lot of strokes. Just how many minutes late had I been?

"Go to the sofa," she said pointing with the cane. "Lie on your back and point your legs to the ceiling."

I obeyed, trembling. My legs were above me. She put her hand on my ankles and pushed them toward my face, leaving my bare legs and open target. "Hold your legs right there," she ordered.

"Y-yes, Madame," I said. I gripped my legs and held on for dear life.

"You were almost two minutes late, young lady!" scolded the large woman. "After I warned you, too. I shall not be gentle." With that she began to flick the back of my legs with the thin cane. She did it fast and without pause. I scarcely had time to feel one whip before another landed. Soon it was just pain bursting all over my legs; I could no longer distinguish individual strokes.

The worst was my position. I looked up through my legs and saw the towering figure of Madame Fesse, her face grim, her lips pinched into a fierce snarl, the cane whipping through the air again and again, the light wood cracking across my bared haunches just inches from my face. I began to blubber and cry in panic. It was too much. It was too humiliating. I could not take it any more!

I whined and wiggled and moaned loudly, but the cane flicked on. I heard the snicker of each stroke more than I felt it, and the sound depressed me and filled my stomach with despair. Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! it came as regular as a clock but far faster.

Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! There was nothing I could do, no way to escape. Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! I gripped my ankles tighter and prayed I wouldn't let go. Snick! Snick! Snick! Would this never end? Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! I felt like it had lasted for hours. But the regular Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! continued on and on, lulling me into a peaceful state. The pain no longer bothered me--it was always there, had always been there, would always be there. Instead I felt calm. The Snick! Snick! Snick! of the cane was like a heartbeat. I wiggled with it, moaned with it, sighed with it. It was a part of me, I of it. We were one. Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Snick! Ah, such contentment, such bliss. It could last forever.

Suddenly there was silence. I felt alone, lost, abandoned. I opened my eyes and stared upward in bewilderment. The dark eyes of Madame Fesse bored into me. "I told you that you may get up, Caroline. Or would you like more of the cane?"

The pain rushed at me. My legs sizzled. It hurt to move. But I managed to slowly put down my legs. My body was stiff and sore as though I'd been in that awkward position for hours. Slowly I crawled to my feet, the cushions of the sofa scratching my legs with needles. My legs were shaky as I stood and I as looked down I realized my blouse was soaked from my tears. I hadn't even been aware I'd been crying.

"Stand in the corner," said the headmistress sternly. "I shall finish your punishment shortly."

I was too tired to argue. I went and stood, my chest heaving, my body tingling all over. I was damp with sweat and I felt very hot. My hair was messed and hung down into my eyes but I didn't adjust it. All I could think about was that right now--this moment--I was not in unbearable pain. I could breathe--I could feel. In a few minutes I might be weeping again, but right now I was not. I kept telling myself this. "Enjoy the moment," I thought.

Indeed, I had plenty of time to do so. It was not long after the hour, and Madame returned to her desk and did not say anything until almost nine. I was left with little to do but ponder my upcoming punishment and savor the remains of my previous discipline.

I ran to the desk eagerly when she told me too. I bent well over and did not flinch when Madame roughly took down my knickers. "Are you contrite?" she asked me.

"Yes, Madame," I answered.

"Do you feel you have learned from this day of punishment?"

"Certainly, Madame."

"What have you learned?"

I sniffled, my heart fluttering a little. "I learned that I have a great deal to learn. I learned that I must obey my instructors at all times and without question. I learned that disobedience and a loose mouth will lead to severe punishment. And I learned I shall have to work very hard to complete my assignments on time."

"Excellent!" cried Madame Fesse. "You have indeed learned something. Now I am going to finish your punishment now with twelve of the best followed by a sound birching. This final lesson shall be one you remember for a very long time."

"Yes, Madame--" I started to say, my mind spinning with the word "birching." My heart started pounding as I saw she was swinging the most senior boys' cane.

The rapping caught us both my surprise. "Come in," growled Madame Fesse, and I knew from her tone she was not pleased.

Suzy D. entered. I knew immediately what she had come for and I almost broke position to warn her, but something stopped me. I hesitated--perhaps deep down I was wanting her to confess.

"Madame Fesse," Suzy began, pausing in fear as she saw me sprawled across the desk. Her small body seemed to shrink as she bowed her head. "I am sorry to bother you but I must confess!"

The headmistress frowned. "Confess what?"

The girl's eyes darted toward me and then returned to the stern face of her superior. "It was my fault. I spilled her lunch, Madame. Not Caroline. She was innocent. I was mad at her and I wanted to cane her."

Thunderclouds broke across Madame Fesse's face. Her grimace turned into a scowl. "Are you saying you deliberately lied to me so you could punish an innocent girl?"

Suzy burst into tears. "Y-yes, Madame. I'm sorry! I-I was angry with Caroline. I wanted to see her hurt. But I had no idea she--she'd be punished so severely. Now I feel awful!"

"Not half as awful as you will feel shortly, young lady. You do realize I shall have to punish you?"

Suzy bowed her head. "Yes, Madame. I understand. I am truly sorry. I know I deserve to be punished."

"Very well. Caroline: stand up. It looks like you shall have a partner for your caning."

I stood up slowly. I wasn't sure if I felt better having Suzy get the cane with me. I think it made me more nervous. Now I had an audience.

But Madame was busy thinking. "Actually, Suzy, it was Caroline you injured so I think it would be fair to have Caroline carry out your punishment. Yes, I think that would be fair. Suzy, remove your clothes."

Trembling with unspeakable terror, Suzy began to strip. I realized as I watched her that this was her first time facing the cane. I knew she'd gotten the slipper once or twice--but she was always weaseling her way out of trouble it did not surprise me that she'd never gotten the stick. She was petrified. I suddenly felt very tender toward her. What courage she had coming to confess!

When she was nude Madame Fesse gave me the cane. "She gave you six--you will give her twelve plus six for punishment. Make them count. If they are not hard enough I will give _you_ a reminder of what the cane should feel like!"

My hands became sweaty and my heart fluttered. A moment ago I had been in Suzy's position, ready to receive the cane. Now I was giving the pain. The switch did not make me happy.

I pulled back the cane and brought it forward slowly, aiming it carefully at the meatier part of Suzy's petite bottom. I did not want a misplaced stroke that would truly injure her. I tapped her bottom lightly and then did my real swing.

The cane whipped through the air and struck with loud snap. I was surprised by how deep the cane went into Suzy's bottom before bouncing out. Vibrations ran up the cane and buzzed my fingers. I watched as Suzy sucked in air so rapidly she pratically choked, and I waited for her to regain her composure. It hadn't been that hard of a blow but the effects were remarkable. A crooked red line appeared across Suzy's snow-white bottom.

The second stroke made her cry out. It landed a little lower than the first one, and it was straighter. The far tip sank deep into her ass and I saw when I pulled the cane back the mark was dark, almost purplish, in that spot. I knew it was bruised--she'd still be feeling that in a week.

I was so flustered by the bruise that my third stroke was weak. Madame Fesse shook her head sadly and simply held out her hand. I gave her the cane and grasped my ankles. She lifted my skirt and let me have a good one which put me on my tiptoes even through my panties.

"That is a how you cane someone," she snapped, and handed me the cane. Suzy was still in position, nervous as a cat in firecracker factory. I gave her a new and improved third stroke, this one causing her to moan and hiss loudly, and Madame pronounced it satisfactory.

Again and again I snapped that cane across Suzy's petite arse, wincing when I saw her struggling and crying. I knew it hurt her a great deal. My hands trembled and I felt sick inside. It was one thing for me to be caned this severely--I deserved it and was used to it. But Suzy was a virgin to the cane. This was not fair.

By the tenth stroke Suzy's ass was a mass of weals. She was a small girl, and young, perhaps fifteen--her bottom was not wide like mine and did not have as much surface area. I was forced to overlap the strokes even though I knew that hurt her very much.

After eleven I paused. Suzy was sobbing and no longer even attempting to take her caning with dignity. I knew she was past the breaking point and I did want to cane her any more. But Madame was insistent. "Unless you want to take the rest of her strokes, continue."

The twelveth blow was right in the crease and it was a hard one, harder than I had intended. Suzy leapt to her feet and howled, putting her hands behind her and clutching her bottom. This was grave mistake--I'd heard of Madame F starting punishments over for this violation.

"Please, Madame. She's had enough," I pleaded with the headmistress. "I was the one she hurt--I forgive her. I don't hold a grudge. Isn't that good enough?"

Madame looked at me and her eyes were cold and hard. "You wish to take the remaining six for her?"

I'd like to say the devil made me do it, but it was a benevolent gesture. Something possessed me, however, because I nodded. "Yes, Madame, I will."

Madame Fesse's expression did not change. She nodded curtly and ordered me to strip. "Lean over Suzy," she told me. "Cover her body with yours. I want her to feel your pain."

Suzy tried to protest but I did not let her. I am not an especially big girl, but I dwarfed little Suzy. I leaned over her and placed my palms over hers, pressing both our hands into the desk. Suzy was on tiptoes to reach the other side; I reached it easily.

Suzy's bottom pressed against my belly and crotch--I was astonished at the warmth of her skin. I could feel the welts pulsing. I leaned forward until my breasts were pressed against Suzy's back, my long hair falling onto her shoulders. I could feel Suzy fidgeting underneath me. It felt warm and good. I hugged against her and whispered very softly, "Everything will be fine." She was crying quietly.

The nearest comparison to the pain of a caning is that of a red-hot branding iron pressed against your naked flesh. But that is meaningless unless you've experienced a branding. I've never done so, but imagine that caning that day was worse.

You see, in a branding you'd be restrained. I was not restrained. I had to restrain myself. It was a tremendous effort of will to lie there quietly and accept that pain, to feel those searing strokes surging through your body and do nothing. To hear obscene howling and discover with distress that it was yourself doing the screaming.

I wept into Suzy's hair under my chin, drenching her thoroughly. I bounced my heavier body on her--I could not help it. I could hear her grunt when a sharp blow made me jerk but I could not stop myself. The pain was beyond anything I'd felt all day. I ground myself into poor Suzy, drawing comfort from her quivering flesh pressed against me. I reveled in her naked bottom pushing into my crotch, the hot ridges of the cane marks scratching my hips and belly. I knew I shouldn't take pleasure in her suffering but I could not help myself--I was beyond conscious thought. I simply reacted.

The caning lasted forever. The strokes were all across my bottom--eighteen finger-thick welts, several overlapping. I could not stop crying. When Madame Fesse stopped I did not move but laid across Suzy and simply wept.

"Do not move," said the headmistress, and I heard her go out the door. Suzy, to my sympathy, burst into sobs beneath me.

"It's all right," I whispered. "Everything's all right. The pain fades quickly."

"Noooo, it's not that," moaned the girl. "It's--"

"It's what?"

Suzy's voice was almost silent it was so shy. "It's you. You're rubbing against me. But you stopped. Please don't stop. It feels so good!"

"You don't mind?" I gasped.

"No! Please continue. It hurts me deep inside and it feels wonderful." She shuddered and I saw she was not lying--she was gaining orgasmic pleasure from our bodies touching. She began to thrash violently on the table, writhing against me.

"Be careful, Suzy." I said. "If Madame F notices--"

"I don't care!" Suzy wailed, but she wiggled a little less obviously.

We were silent for a moment, which was fortunate, because Madame Fesse returned. I glanced over my shoulder and saw with dread that she was carrying a large bucket filled with a liquid. In it were several long birch bundles, each made up of half-a-dozen rods. I did not have to ask who they were for.

"All right, Caroline," said Madame. "We shall have your birching and then your punishment day will be over."

"Yes, Madame," I whispered, surprised that my voice was steady and strong. Somehow I did not fear the birching as much as I expected. Perhaps I had grown numb, in mind if not in body.

The headmistress did her job efficiently and with perfection. The first six strokes were light ones. Even never having been birched before I knew they were light. They stung (especially the salty water) but the pain was slow to arrive. One heard the splatter of branches and like a Polaroid coming to focus one began to feel the pain seeping through your skin, dozens of points of fire blazing where buds from the birch had struck.

The second set of six was given with a fresh birch after a five minute rest period. Suzy and I squirmed and fidgeted during this--it was awful to be so close and yet so far away. My bottom burned with a dull fire and I wanted to really wiggle into little Suzy, rub myself against her most thoroughly, but the headmistress was watching. Instead we lay quietly, jerking spasmodically, and waited for Madame to continue.

When she did it was across my thighs. She striped them thoroughly, each stroke stinging large areas of my legs. It was far worse than the strap or cane--I vowed at that moment to never earn a birching again.

The third set (with a fresh birch) was not six but twelve, and it was the hardest yet. Madame did not limit herself to my legs or bottom but struck freely everywhere. She had me spread my legs wider so she could swipe the insides of my thighs. When she did so I heard Suzy screaming in agony and I dimly realized she'd tasted a few stray branches. But there was nothing I could do about it.

We writhed together, sharing our pain. Our moans blended together like a song, the smacking of the birch keeping count. It was almost like a dance, our quivering bodies trembling in agony and anticipation.

When it was over I stood. It hurt to stand. My flesh was nothing but weals and bitter welts. Suzy got to her feet, her body stiff and sore. She was still crying. Madame told her to leave and she did so, gathering her clothes and leaving without dressing. It was almost time for bed anyway and I knew she did not feel like wearing clothes right now.

Madame Fesse went to her desk and took up the clipboard where I had written my punishments. "Please complete your list. And don't forget to fix your mistake from earlier." I did so quickly, writing while standing, my mind frightened that I should forget something. But when I gave her the list she was pleased. She read it out loud to me:

        1. Hand-spanking on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        2. Slippering on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        3. Six of the best with senior boys' cane (through panties)
        4. 200 lines
        5. A dozen with the slipper on each cheek (bare bottom)
        6. 44 with the light cane for incomplete lines
        7. Hand-spanking on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        8. Slippering on the bare bottom (five minutes)
        9. Seven with senior boys' cane on the bare bottom (administered
            by Suzy Dominquez)
       10. Thirty strokes per leg with leather tawse (bare thighs)
       11. Hand-spanking on the bare bottom (five minutes)
       12. Slippering on the bare bottom (five minutes)
       13. Two dozen with slipper on each cheek (bare bottom)
       14. Six with wooden paddle (through games shorts)
       15. Six with light cane (through games shorts)
       16. Six with wooden paddle (through games shorts)
       17. Six with senior girls' cane (through games shorts)
       18. Six with wooden paddle (through games shorts)
       19. Six with senior boys' cane (through games shorts)
       20. Six with wooden paddle (bare bottom)
       21. Four dozen with slipper (bare bottom and thighs)
       22. 150 strokes with light cane (thighs)
       23. 18 strokes with senior boys' cane (bare bottom)
       24. 24 strokes birch (bare bottom and thighs)

"Now make a copy of that and sign them both," finished the headmistress. When I had done so and she approved it, she said: "I want you to pin this up on the wall beside your bed where you--and everyone else--can see it. It will remind you every day of the penalty for disobedience and arrogance. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Madame." I nodded eagerly, scarcely daring to believe that I might finally be set free.

"Good," she said. Suddenly she smiled at me, and I saw she was not so unpleasant. There was a certain gentleness about her demeanor that I had not seen before. "I am sorry this day was necessary, Caroline."

I bowed my head. "Me too, Madame. But I understand. I deserved it."

"I know you did, but I am still sorry. I hope you have learned your lesson and I shall not have to discipline you again?"

"Never again, Madame!" I vowed in complete earnestnest (and utterly wrong).

She smiled, and it was a smile that filled me with pride. "You may go."

"Thank you, Madame. Thank you taking the time to care for me."

"Yes, dear," she whispered, watching me go.

I hurried to my room, trotting down the empty corridors naked, carrying my clothes in my arms, swearing to myself I'd never return. By my bed I pinned the punishment sheet to my wall. It filled me not with horror, but a strange detachment, like it had happened to someone else. Then I realized it was true. I was a different person now. The old Caroline was gone.

I didn't especially miss her.

The End

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Frank
The Flogmaster
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