“Admiring my canes, Ms Pearson?”
“Oh, Headmaster.” The young probationary teacher swung round, startled. “Well, they're not a common sight these days.” The object of attention was a mahogany wall-board that held three such articles in a horizontal display.
“No, indeed not. And if I dared to use one in this day and age, I'd be out on my ear. If not on a charge of assault.” He made a resigned gesture. “But take one down if you're curious. The middle would have been standard senior fare.”
It had a slightly sticky feel and she smacked the flexible length against her palm a few times. “Ooh, this is so springy, Headmaster. And it's no lightweight.”
“Prime Malay rattan. Nothing to touch the way it tends to wrap itself round the target. But it does take practice to achieve accuracy.”
She pictured herself bending over with the rod biting into her bottom and felt her scalp prickle. “It must hurt, sir. I mean really hurt.”
He chuckled. “As intended, Ms Pearson, as intended. Six strokes and the boy – or girl – would rarely be back for a repeat performance. And since we're a military school, it continued to be employed long after it was gone from the general system.”
“So you'll have used these yourself, Headmaster?”
“Only as a young man, I'm afraid. Though – and I'm not sure why – I do keep them regularly waxed and ready. But now, Ms Pearson, you must have come to see me about something else.”
She had been staring at the yellowish rod bent between her hands and came to with a start. Returning the cane hastily to its place, she picked up the sheaf of papers she'd brought. “I'm going to need some signatures, Headmaster.”
He took them and reached for his pen. “No problem. I'm hearing good reports of your work so far. And I gather you've moved into a flat in town, Ms Pearson?”
“Yes, thank you, sir. I'm sharing with a friend.”
He scribbled his name on the pages required and passed them back. “Well, I hope that means you'll be with us long term. The school could do with more young blood...”
oOo
“Wow, you were hot tonight, Jeanie.”
She turned to let Barbara snuggle in close. “So were you, girl.”
“Yeah, but you were leading the way. I was just caught up in the tide of passion...” She started to giggle and soon they were both convulsed.
“Shit, Barb, we're like a couple of schoolgirls who've just discovered sex.”
“Instead of their respectable teachers. But seriously, whatever it was got you going like that, I want some.”
Jean hesitated, then decided to confide in her lover. “Well, I had to get my HM to sign stuff today and he's got these canes mounted on the study wall.”
“Canes? Thought they disappeared in the stone age.”
“Bit more recently than that in Military Schools, apparently. Unlike your enlightened Academy. I mean they're not used, of course, but they're obviously dear to his heart. So he took one down for me and handling the thing gave me a real funny feeling. Couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like to bend over for six of the best.”
“Fucking painful, Jeanie. That's what it would be like.” She gave a little shudder.
“Sure. That's what canes are – were – for. But I'm not the only person in the world to find the idea just a teeny bit exciting, am I?
“Shit. I'm sharing my bed with a perv. Ouch!” She pulled away from the poke in her ribs then rolled back in.
“No lover, of course you're not. Can't see the appeal myself, but I do have an old mate who's in the business of catering for all sorts of tastes. And if you wanna, like, explore this weird fancy of yours, that gives me an idea...”
oOo
She pushed the door open beside the plate that read STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL and went in. When the jangling of the bell died away a face appeared at the hatch on the right.
“You must be Jean. Come on through.” Inside was a well-fleshed woman in a black dress dripping jewelry who held out her hand. “I'm Carol. And Barbara told me something of what you're after.”
She led the way along a passage to a small room at the back. Hung with black curtains it was softly lit with a bench down one wall and a frame about waist high in the centre of the floor. On four legs braced with cross-struts it sported a domed leather top.
“Why don't you try it out for size?”
Jean quailed for a moment – talk about jumping in at the deep end – then took hold of its sides and draped herself over.
“Now I know to be authentic you should be touching your toes or grabbing your ankles –”
“Oh no, this feels perfect.” Far more than would a bending posture, the device raised the target area to a position of prominence and with a rush of excitement Jean could almost hear the swish of the instrument and the thwack of its impact.
“You certainly look as though you belong there, my girl. And please don't take offence if I say what a gorgeous bum you're showing off.” She gasped a little as the hands roamed lasciviously over her backside.
“It is only the cane that interests you, isn't it? Because if you ever want to, um, broaden the experience, it would be my pleasure to give you a good spanking. Trousers and pants down over my knee, the works.”
The enthusiasm was infectious and Jean got up laughing. “Sorry not my thing, but I will bear that in mind.”
Carol put a hand on her arm. “It's okay, really. If I got up close to you, Barbara would skin me alive.”
Back in the office, she explained the arrangement she had made. “It's only provisional, you understand. Both parties may decide that once is enough. But with any luck I think we may have a match. A good fit of expectations.”
oOo
“Mmm...he's a lucky man, you know. I mean, being into caning arses – which I'm not – he will have a real beauty to work on here.”
Face down on the bed Jean wiggled her bottom under the caressing hands. “Well, thank you. And this time tomorrow, Barb, you'll be able to inspect the damage.”
“Getting nervous? Guess you must be.”
“Sure. I mean who volunteers for what used to be a schoolboy's worst nightmare? Bending over in Headmaster's study. I must be crazy.”
“Okay, it's going to hurt. That's the point, right? But you're a big girl, you can take it. Thing is, though, you are sure of the man?”
“Carol is, and I reckon that's good enough for me. A 'professional gentleman' is all she knows of him personally. He's been there with two different women, she says, and left both very happy. It's strictly a caning, nothing more. Six strokes to the seat of my trousers, no touching, no talking. I won't see his face and he won't see mine.”
Jean turned over and sat up. “But that, Barbara, is quite enough about my arse. On your back, girl and spread. Show me that juicy cunt.”
“Ooh, dirty talk. I love it. Attagirl...”
oOo
Five minutes before the appointed hour Jean made her way down the narrow passage between the buildings and turned her key in the door at the back. Inside she went to the left and found the black-lined room with its small but sturdy punishment horse.
The lighting was soft, save for a beam that picked out the area of its surface more brightly. She smiled to herself. He would have an excellent view of his target and little else so she decided to dispense with the mask. In any case, she would surely have control enough to keep the head facing forward.
Jean took off her jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. She was clothed in a black T-shirt and the white cotton knickers that could have been worn by a schoolgirl about to undergo a formal caning. They were topped with black trousers of a stretch material that clung to the contours soon to be the focus of attention.
She lowered herself across the frame and put her hands round the bar, balls of her feet on the floor at the back. The leather top under her belly made her feel in a strange way secure. It was a position she could hold. Then there was a noise in the passage and, dry-mouthed, she tightened her grip.
Suddenly there was another presence in the room and the sound of the door closing. After a silence broken only by the thudding of her heart the rod pressed against the centre of her seat and she braced herself against the pain to come.
It was every bit as bad as she'd imagined. The impact drove her hips into the leather and an instant later a line of fire seared her buttocks. Fuck, how it burned. She writhed helplessly until the ferocious smart eased then forced herself into stillness. Get a grip, girl. You have to do better. Five more and they're not going to hurt any less.