Several years ago, I was the headteacher in a major capital city in Southeast Asia of a private girls’ secondary school that taught in a rather traditional British manner. We catered partly for the children of wealthy expatriates, of whom there was a large number, but we took local girls as well, usually from wealthy local families, although we ran a scholarship system for less well-off local girls. I was the only expatriate on the staff.
By the time of this story, I had been in the job for about ten years. My salary depended in part on how much profit we could make, so that was part of my motivation. Perhaps the rather low basic salary put people off, but in my situation, it was less important.
Discipline was always a potential problem. Several of the girls came from expatriate families who, whilst they lived in the country, did not live in or near the Capital. We had to decide how to deal with the worst examples of indiscipline. When I took the school over, it was in near terminal decline because the previous incumbent was a weak character.
At my first opportunity, I discussed all this with our senior teacher, who was also a national of the country and had been working with the British for most of her adult life.
This lady was firm in her opinion that one reason for the problems experienced by my predecessor was his discipline policy. In earlier years, the ‘final deterrent’ had always been the use of the cane, but my predecessor had done away with it. Caning girls was legal in a private school and I knew it went on in the state sector in the country. Shey showed me a copy of the former discipline policy. This requested all parents to fill up a form stating their choice of actions for the most serious cases of repeated indiscipline.
The first choice was the expulsion of the girl without being caned (taken up by about half of the local parents) and the second choice was that the girl would receive a caning from the headteacher alone in her study. A third choice was that the girl would receive a caning from the headteacher but with a female member of staff present (taken up by most of the expatriate parents and locals who agreed with the caning policy).
Finally, the fourth choice was that the girl would receive a caning from the female gym teacher with me present (taken up by a few among the parents). The gym teacher was of the Sapphic persuasion. Canings only applied to girls of sixteen or older. We would not cane the younger girls. The school took other disciplinary measures with them.
I resolved to develop a policy immediately, so I had copies of the forms duplicated and sent them to the parents of all girls. The answers came back in a predictable style.
Part of my marital problems arose from the fact that I was of a mildly Sapphic disposition. Caning the girls ‘turned me on.’ So I wondered if spending time with this local lady would lead to anything. For several years I had kept my feelings secret, only allowing myself relief during local holidays at resorts where like-minded ladies congregated.
Without the experience of giving or receiving canings, I read it up on the internet and found an amazing amount of advice! I had to find a member of staff who would be present during the canings. It wasn’t a surprise that it was the local staff gym teacher, and I interviewed her. We politely discussed the fact that I knew about her sexuality.
She said, “Don’t worry. I regard our pupils as the ‘forbidden fruit,’ at least until they leave us. I can contain myself on the school property.”
Unfortunately, we were both on the ‘butch’ side of our coin, the gym teacher being more so than I. Perhaps the lady had not realised I was of a mildly Sapphic persuasion. She said nothing, nor made any sign that she had guessed during our meeting.
The serious discipline problems were almost all amongst the expatriate children. Too many of the expatriate girls behaved like little madams, looking down on the locals. A swift, hard application of the cane to their pretty bottoms was very much in order. Drugs were too easily available in the city and we had a problem with it. The school used a trained sniffer dog regularly and without fail; it found drugs.
So we had a problem with the expatriate girls and drugs. If a girl tested positive for drug consumption or was found in possession, we informed the parents. They had the choice of the girl leaving the school or submitting to three canings of a hard six of the best applied at two-week intervals after the first caning. I or the gym teacher gave them on a Friday at the finish of the school’s teaching hours. A girl had all week to think about what was coming, and she would be sore all weekend.
The policy, to which the parents had signed up, described this and the vast majority of the parents went for the caning option. There were always a few very sore girls who paid the price for their stupidity. I would line them up outside the office and they would draw tickets to determine the order in which I would cane them. It did them the world of good to wait outside listening to the sounds of the caning and the screams of the girl to whom it was being applied.
The gym teacher would be there and hold down any girl who tried to stand up or otherwise obstruct the caning. This lady was always a little flushed in the face, even if she had made no physical effort during the proceedings and I could see her squeezing the cheeks of her cute bottom together! When the gym teacher caned a girl, she carried it out in the gym with me present and I thought, did it harder than me. One tough girl asked for two lots of nine strokes, and I granted her this. Of course, I did them extra hard, and the last three with the thicker cane.
“Complain to your parents, if you dare,” I said to her.
The discipline policy worked wonders. Most of the parents said their daughters hated my canings and said it did them the world of good. Caning the girls ‘on the bare’ did not take place; unless the parents requested it. There was a box to tick in the discipline questionnaire if they wanted the girl caned bare and a few did. Otherwise, I avoided it, as I thought that the punishment should avoid any extra humiliation, which I was sure many of them would feel.
Before caning her, I said to the girl, “You know why you are here and I hope this punishment will stop you from being so stupid in the future. It will hurt you a great deal. Please try to take it like a lady.”
I warned the girl that every time she tried to rub it was two extra strokes. After I showed them the thin cane I was going to use, I showed them the two thicker canes. I warned the girl that if she came back again, I would use the thicker cane on her. They bent over my desk. If the girl could not control herself, the gym teacher held her down and there was a two-stroke penalty for this. At least two strokes would always cross over the rest by intent. There was no point in tickling them. It was most unusual if the girl did not leave in floods of tears, rubbing her well-thrashed rump.
About three months after the start of the new discipline policy, at the finish of a caning session involving the positive drug test girls, I said to the gym teacher, “I feel a little sorry for them, but it’s for the best. Thank goodness I never went through that. It must be hard for them, knowing they are going to get three sets of six strokes.”
Miss Celia put her head to one side and said, “It’s never too late to experience something. Were you never caned?”
“No,” I replied. “My parents never caned me, and they didn’t do it at school. What do you mean, ‘it’s never too late,’ please?”
Celia smiled. “They caned me many times from the age of sixteen, and these days, I see a friend who takes care of it. Would you like to find out how it feels? I always think it’s best to have experienced what you dish out, don’t you?”
This was a little forward, but Celia had a good point.
“Would you oblige me, please?” I asked.
“Certainly,” replied Celia. “Where would you like to do it?”
“We can do it at my house,” I replied. It was the end of the school day.
This was a separate small building on the school grounds. It was modern and built of local brick and reinforced concrete. We were close to the flight path to the airport, so they built it soundproofed.
“Are you free now, please?” I asked.
“Yes,” smiled Celia, “I’m ready if you are.”
“Can you give me half an hour to finish a few things here, and then come over to the house, please?” I asked.
“Sure, I will be there,” replied Celia.
I put things away, locked up, found a thin tube to hide the canes in, and went to the house. Celia arrived on time.
“I must shower first,” I said. “Would you like a drink, please?”
Celia said, “I don’t drink alcohol, but please, could I have a fruit juice?”
I kept freshly squeezed mango juice in the fridge and poured her some. Mangos were cheaper than apples.
“We can do it in my bedroom,” I said. “It’s the most soundproof room in the house.”
Upstairs, I took a shower and Celia followed me. I came out of the shower naked apart from a bathrobe around me. Celia had stripped off to her underwear. She put her arms around me and kissed me on the lips.
“I should get ready, too. I’m sure you know that giving and watching the canings turns us both on. We ought to admit it,” she said.
Looking her in the eyes, I said, “Celia, you are correct.”
I was no prude and had been yearning for regular sexual relief for a few years. A sore bottom would not be much of a price to pay for it. She prepared in the bathroom. I was very naughty and sneaked a look. She had not closed the door and I could see her take a pee, and then go into the shower. Celia noticed me and smiled. “It’s natural, isn’t it?” she said and laughed a little. My bottom was going to suffer for this impertinence, I knew.
“How do you want me for my caning?” I asked.
Celia said, “We ought not to rush things. You are not here for a punishment, quite the reverse. You will take a caning much better if I stimulate you first, and I know how to do it.”
So I lay on the bed, very moist between the legs. I took her hand and kissed it.
“Please, I can’t wait,” I said.
Celia gently inserted a finger into my vagina and found my G spot. With little flicks of her finger, she went to work on it while kissing my clitoris. This was the most expert stimulation I had ever received, and I was moaning with pleasure. My first orgasm arrived in perhaps less than a minute. I wasn’t looking at a stopwatch. We carried on like this for a while. I was kissing and caressing Celia’s breasts as she went down on me. It was time to offer her similar pleasure, so I asked, “Would you like me to go down on you, please, Celia?”
She replied, “Please, cane me first, then go down on me immediately after the last cane stroke. I love oral attention when I have just received a sore bum. When it’s your turn for me to cane you, I will have had orgasms during my caning (a total surprise to me) and from you going down on me. When I give you a caning, I will orgasm again at least once.”
“Your response to a caning is presently unknown, but I have seen you give canings, and I think you enjoy some arousal when you do it. Am I right, please?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I replied. I didn’t want to talk, wanting to get on with it because I was so aroused by the overall atmosphere and her words.
Celia stood up and bent forward over the bed, supporting her weight on her forearms.
Her legs were parted, and everything was on display. The labia were deep crimson, and she was soaking in a state of full arousal. I put a towel on the floor for her to stand on to catch any drips, which I thought was likely.
“Please, start by giving me six hard strokes with the thin cane. Don’t worry. I am very used to it,” she said. “And I would like twelve strokes in total unless you feel I deserve more.”
If her expertise at caning errant girls was indicative, I was inclined to believe her.
“As you wish. Are you ready?” I asked, tapping her shapely rump with the thin cane. “I will tap your bottom twice as a warning before each stroke and then give you the stroke. You will say ‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ which is what the girls are supposed to do. I will wait twenty seconds and give you the next stroke. Is that clear, please Celia?”
I tried to make myself sound as butch as possible.
“Yes, clear,” replied Celia, sticking her bottom out. The good girl!
I wished our girls would do that during their punishments, but then, I would wonder why they appeared to be enjoying it!
‘Tap-tap, whistle crack.’ The first stroke landed across the fat part of her rump. There was almost no reaction.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” she said.
We carried on like this and I caned her harder with each stroke. The cane fairly whistled through the air. Rarely had I caned a girl so hard.
There was remarkably little reaction from Celia, but she stood up after the sixth stroke, a pained expression on her pretty face.
“I can understand why you were concerned about the girls receiving your canings if they were anything like that,” she said. “Please give me the last set of six strokes with the thicker cane. I need to feel it. Please use the same procedure.”
I gave her the first stroke with the ticker cane, which was also slightly longer. Celia jerked and yelped as the stroke landed. The welt started as a white line but filled in deep red within seconds. She quickly got herself under control and the caning continued. After the fourth stroke of the second set, I could see that Celia was having an orgasm. I gave her longer to recover before the fifth stroke and even longer before the last stroke. Celia leaped up and frantically rubbed at her well-thrashed rump, writhing and groaning as she did so.
“You wicked girl,” she said, “That’s one of the hardest, if not the hardest, caning I have ever had, and it gave me an amazing orgasm. Go down on me NOW.”
She lay on the bed with two fingers in her vagina. I removed them and with one finger; I felt for her G spot while nibbling at her clitoris. My husband could never get this right and seemed not to care. If you show me a marriage where the man doesn’t eat pussy well, I will show you a broken home. Her pelvic muscles were in spasm.
Possibly we lay there for almost an hour experimenting with mutual activities, when Celia said, “It’s your turn for a sore bum. How many strokes would you like, please?”
“Twelve strokes please, but for my first experience, perhaps I should wimp out and you give them with the thin cane, but don’t stop after number six, please,” I replied.
“No matter what, I will have an orgasm while I’m doing it and I will use the same procedure as you. Bend over, please,” she said.
I obediently bent over, resolving to take my first-ever caning with as much courage as I could muster.
The first stroke seared across my unaccustomed rump. There was an instant of numbness followed by an obscene, white-hot line of pain. I had felt nothing like it, and in that instant, I understood the power of the thin cane to punish. Somehow I got through the twelve strokes, but I ‘broke the rules’ by reaching around and rubbing. At the finish, I was in floods of tears.
“Come on,” said Celia, “Let me make you feel better. I had another orgasm while I was caning you, but you were in such pain you didn’t notice.”
She wouldn’t let me lie on the bed, but put me in a kneeling position with my bum up and went to work with fingers and tongue while massaging my cane marks with the other hand.
Celia said, “Let me stay longer. The pain of the caning will decrease quickly because I used only the thin cane. You don’t know it yet, but you will probably feel so horny, and want something done about it.”
“Did you know that many of the girls, the evening after the caning, ‘help each other out’? They try to do so quietly because if the dormitory mother hears them, she comes around with a thick leather strap and gives them six strokes with it, right on top of their cane marks. I’m reliably informed it is agonising, but the girls don’t complain because some of them like it and all are afraid of what might happen if they had the nerve to complain!”
“I brought a leather strap with me. Would you like me to give you a few strokes with it on top of your cane marks? “
“Yes,” I said, “The fact of dormitory mother’s activities makes me realise I should know...
