From: <100576.724@compuserve.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking
Subject: Jennifer gets the cane
Date: 8 Apr 1996 13:48:18 GMT
Keywords: Cane Punishement Spanking

Henrietta Adams' reputation preceded her. I was at my last year in the sixth form college when we first met. We were warned by the jungle telegraph that our new head of History was a strict disciplinarian.

I also had a reputation. As I grew older I realised that my wilfulness and disobedience could gain the admiration of my peers and I played regularly to my devoted audience. Miss Adams, however was another matter.

During her first history lesson, I tried my luck and ignored the lecture as I talked to my neighbour. Several times Miss Adams told me to keep quiet and on each occasion I ignored her. Finally her patience snapped and I realised that I had pushed my luck too far. Miss Adams stared across the classroom and our eyes met.

"Jennifer, how many times have I told you about talking in class?"

"I don't know miss."

"If you hadn't been talking, perhaps you would have been able to keep count." A ripple of sniggers passed through the class. "Quiet." The giggles ceased as quickly as they began.

"Stand up, Jennifer." I did as I was told, unaware of what was to come next. I had been expecting a scolding or detention, something like that. "I'm tired of your persistent disobedience and disruptiveness," Miss Adams was saying. "Are you listening?"

Unfortunately, I wasn't. "Not especially," I replied defiantly. Now let's see who's in charge here.

"Jennifer! This really is the last straw. Come to the front of the room."

"Sorry." I squeezed out into the aisle between the desks.

"Sorry, what?"

"Sorry, Miss."

Aware that my classmates were watching me, I swaggered to the front of the room and stood in front of Miss Adams' desk. "Now," she was saying, "what are we to do with you?"

"Miss?" I feigned innocence and recieved my well deserved giggle from the audience.

"You have a record of wilfulness and still you come back for more. Clearly detention hasn't worked."

"No."

"No?"

"No, Miss."

"So, what will?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know much, do we?"

Again the stifled giggles from my classmates. I was tiring of this game, I was used to being looked up to by my peers, being a subject of ridicule didn't feature in my plans.

"There is one remedy," Miss Adams said, reaching into her desk. My eyes popped, in her hand she held a cane. One of those old fashioned types wielded by Victorian schoolmasters. "Lost for words?"

I was. She couldn't mean it. "You don't..."

"I do."

"No, no one canes pupils these days..."

"Well I do. Take your knickers down and lift your skirt above your waist," she instructed.

"You can't mean it..."

"I can and do," she replied, "now, do as you're told, or the punishment will be worse."

"Please, you can't..."

"Right, that does it." She stepped around the desk and placing a hand on my shoulders pushed me forwards so that I was bent across the desk, with my bottom facing the class. My hip bones pressed against the hard wooden desk and my face rubbed against its rough surface. Helpless, I felt her lift my skirt over my waist and her hand reach for the elastic in my knickers. With one sharp pull she yanked them down to my knees. I could smell the old polish in the timber of the desk, yet at the same time I felt vulnerable as the cool air touched my exposed bottom. The room was silent.

"Now, how many strokes shall I give you?"

I didn't answer.

"Then I shall decide myself." The cane hummed as it moved through the air before landing on my bottom with a sharp crack.

"Ow!"

"Shut up and take your punishment with some dignity."

Some dignity. The cane swished again. Crack! "Mmmf."

"I said shut up."

I couldn't; the pain welling through my burned cheeks was intense - and I had only suffered two strokes.

Swish, crack! "Ahhh!"

Swish, crack!" Ow, ow, ow, oh jeez!"

"I said shut up, now for every time you yelp, you'll get another stroke."

Trembling with pain and humiliation I waited for the next kiss of the rod. Humming again, it struck, sending fire through my flesh. I couldn't help it, I reached a hand to protect myself. The once smooth flesh now had hardening weals striped across it. Miss Adams snatched my hand away and brought the cane once more down on my exposed bottom. Swish, crack! Swish, crack! Swish, Crack! "Ow! Ow! Ow!" "I warned you." Swish, crack! Swish, crack! Swish, crack! With each stroke, my legs kicked out, the edge of the desk cut into my pelvis causing a double pain.

"Stay still!" Her hand pressed down on my back, pushing my face into the timber of the desk. Swish, crack! Swish, crack! "Ahhh!"

Swish, crack! My legs kicked out again. The cane cut deep into my bare bottom, sending a burning through it. Now my audience had something to see. Swish, crack! Swish, crack! Swish, crack!

After what seemed an age, the punishment stopped. I started to stand. "No, stay for a moment, let the others see the price of disobedience." So, for several minutes, I stayed, prostrated across the desk, with my burning, bruised behind on view to the class.

Later, in my room, I looked at the damage in the mirror. Where my buttocks were once creamy white, they were now purple and bruised, with bloody welts forming hard ridges across them. Running my fingers along those welts, I could again feel the caress of the cane, each cut endelibly printed on my mind as well as my sore bottom. I wondered what I could do tomorrow, by then the pain would have eased.

I could hardly tell Miss Adams that I'd enjoyed every minute of it.