..... and makes a useful discovery about male sexuality
Hello; Rachael here again; let me take you back in time again to my school days in the fifties. Don’t think of me as I am now, although I’m told that I’m not unattractive but rather imagine me at the age of 18. I’m sitting at my desk in class, its one of those with a sloping hinged lid and my bottom is perched on a hard wooden chair. I am wearing school uniform of course and I’ve already told you what that consists of but for all those of you not paying attention…….report to my study after prayers…….(LOL)...I’ll tell you again; dark green blazer with school badge on breast pocket, dark green pleated skirt, white blouse, green striped tie, black nylons and black shoes…...oh yes and for those of you remotely interested in such matters(!) and against all school rules…..white satin knickers with lace front….oh yes and a matching bra of course.
I was taking a risk with the undies because as I’m sure you’ll remember (strange how men seem to remember these things) my uniform called for me to be wearing plain cotton knickers in dark bottle green and although a plain bra was acceptable, what I was wearing was not what could readily be described as ‘plain’. The reason for this infringement of school rules? The usual of course! After school I had a hot date with a rendezvous on the back row of the cinema. I was looking forward to receiving some furtive groping in the dark, the thought of which was already starting to harden my nipples.
The lesson I was supposed to be benefiting from was English Literature, usually my favourite subject and the one in which I would later read for my degree at Oxford. However, on this occasion studies of Shakespeare’s Henry V (even though the passage under consideration made reference to “turning the Dauphin’s balls to gunstones” and I was hoping later that evening to have a similar effect on a certain young gentleman at a similar stage in his studies at the neighbouring Boys’ Grammar School) failed to completely distract my attention.
Most of my classmates were invariably reduced to fits of uncontrollable sniggering when this part of the play was discussed. Any reference to ‘balls’ and especially if a man’s name was linked to them would reduce the average teenaged girl to hysterics and I suspect that nothing much has changed in this matter over the years. The mistress had to ignore this and carry on with the lesson but on this particular occasion she failed miserably to so do. She observed Danielle passing a note to Wendy. Both girls were ordered to the front of the class and the note demanded for inspection. Miss Norman was not amused by Danielle’s discovery in the text of the phrase “Pistol’s cock is up” and the rather obvious remarks made by that young lady to her friend. Both girls were to be made an example of and Miss Norman went to the classroom cupboard and fetched her cane.
Wendy as the lesser offender was dealt with first. She was ordered to hold out her right hand and received a fairly hard stroke across the centre of the palm. She then held out her left hand and received a much harder stroke which would also have cut across the centre but at the last minute she flinched and pulled her hand back so that the cane caught her across the finger tips. The first stroke had made her gasp but the second caused her to cry out, push both hands between her legs and frantically grip them between. After a short time she was ordered back to her desk and Danielle was ordered forward.
Danielle was ordered to bend over and touch her toes. Miss Norman pulled back the girl’s blazer and then her skirt and swished her cane through the air a few times before tapping the centre of the bending girl’s bottom.
Four times in quick succession the pliant three foot bamboo made contact with the proffered area. Each one caused Danielle to jerk forward and clench her cheeks. Each one caused her to gasp and the final effect was that when she was told to go back to her desk she had tears in her eyes and had to rub her bottom before resuming her seat.
Corporal punishment in class was common in those days and it was almost an expectation that someone would be given a sore bottom in public every day. Indeed there were days when in the course of a normal day several girls were slippered, strapped or caned. As I think I’ve mentioned before, most girls including myself found the sight of others being beaten a considerable turn on and this day’s events were having their usual effect on my juices. My downfall was my already high expectations of my evening’s date and I just got carried away.
My skirt had ridden up my thighs under my desk and without thinking what I was doing I was rubbing my right hand against my fanny through my knickers. Perhaps Miss Norman saw what I was doing under the desk; perhaps my facial expression gave me away; who knows? Suddenly her voice burst into my into my private world
“Rachael! What on earth do you think you’re doing? Stand up girl!”
I rose to my feet, frantically pushing my skirt down as I did so, but not with complete success because the hem at the front became caught up and I was exposed before the class in my hot date knickers and it was also quite obvious to everyone what I had so recently been doing.
There was a stunned silence in class and then the expected words from the mistress as she picked up the cane she had just replaced on her desk.
“Come out here Rachael”
With faltering steps, I walked to the front of the class and stood in front of her, my skirt still held up and everything on show.
Miss Norman looked down at the centre of my body, up to my very red face and back down to my waist. She took in the non-uniform knickers and could also hardly fail to note their dampness. “Well” she said, flexing the cane between her hands, “I think its time you stopped being a spectator and took an active part in the proceedings, don’t you?” I said nothing. “In these particular circumstances, I shall save you further embarrassment” she said, “follow me”, and so saying she led the way out into the corridor. My heart sank. Corridor canings were always more severe as they afforded more area for the downswing. They were also given on the bare bottom. I had never before been subjected to this ordeal, but had heard about such beatings from girls who had. I knew that once we were outside, my classmates would be more than casually interested in listening to my punishment and that would include Wendy and Danielle! It occurred to me that it was most unfair that some of them would probably be indulging themselves at my misfortune as I had done at Danielle’s but with no chance of suffering the same fate!
Once outside in the corridor, Miss Norman wasted no time. “You know very well that you are not wearing uniform knickers so I can’t cane you in them. You will remove them and give them to me”. I wriggled out of them and handed them to her. “Thank you Rachael” she said, “Now bend over, part your legs and grasp your ankles”. When I was in position, she pulled my skirt over my back and stepped back behind and to my left. “I’m giving you four strokes for your infringement of school dress rules and six strokes for your extraordinary behaviour in my classroom”. I gasped; ten strokes of the cane on my bare bottom was an awful thing to contemplate. I knew the class would be straining uselessly to hear the conversation in the corridor but would count the strokes as they fell. When they continued beyond six there would several damp pairs of knickers on the other side of that door.
I braced myself as Miss Norman positioned her cane across the centre of both buttocks and then drew back her arm. With a sound THWACK, the stick landed on my bum and as usual for a brief moment I felt no real pain and then a searing line of fire scorched across me. There was no time to react because numbers two and three quickly followed it within an inch of the first and across both cheeks. As the fourth was on its way I flinched to one side and so the stroke fell awkwardly mainly on my right hip and curled round the side. I screamed in protest involuntarily and tried to reach behind to rub the area but I was ordered to replace my hands around my ankles. Five and six were aimed at that area where bottom joins thighs and the remaining four from the bottom of my buttocks and right up to the top in an even spread.
“You may stand up when you are ready” the mistresses voice sounded unnaturally loud in the silence following the ten loud cracks of a senior school cane impacting on an 18 year old backside. “If you wish to go to the lavatory, you may do so and as the lesson is almost over, you do not have to come back into class ……… and no Rachael”, in response to my hand held out for my knickers, “you may collect these at the end of term; go to Matron, she will furnish you with a pair more in keeping with your school uniform”.
When I got to the toilets I was pleased to find that they were empty. I looked at myself in the mirror. My bottom was a fiery crimson with most of the ten strokes clearly visible over the throbbing swollen orbs and I was wildly sexually excited and actually brought myself to a climax standing in front of the mirror. In a way I was glad not to have any knickers to pull over my bottom and what I was NOT looking forward to, was reporting to Matron and having to pull a large baggy pair of uniform knix over my aching rump. However, I knew that if Miss Norman found out that I had not followed her instructions I should probably find myself staring at the floor again and getting an even sorer bottom.
The worst thing though, was that I was painfully aware that I couldn’t go through three hours on the back row of the cinema that night and that I should have to think up some plausible excuse to escape from my date.
Actually, I totally failed to think of one and was forced to confess what had happened to me. It was then that our relationship assumed a new mature dimension and I realized the sort of excitement which is generated in the male sex by fantasies of girls being beaten. It is knowledge which I have used very much to my advantage over the years.
If you enjoyed this story, you probably know the meaning of 'OTK'. I've posted a story called 'OTK and the aftermath' which has always had less readers than the other 6. It must be that people don't understand the title. See what you think!