My web site tells of the first experience of getting the cane from our games teacher at school. Many of you, dear readers, have asked to know more about it. As the experience is so vivid in my memory, it's no effort to recall the details. At school, games was one of my favourite activities, and I was never happier than when playing in matches. The games teacher was in her thirties, married, had children, and took games part time. She was no battle-axe, so punishments did not figure large in her repertoire of teaching skills, but she was pretty tight on discipline, so us boisterous girls were bound to get into trouble sooner or later.
Her 'weapon of choice' was a rubber soled gym shoe, the 'AK47' of private school discipline. Punishments were delivered after matches while we were having our showers. If a girl deliberately fouled another player, was caught cheating during a game, or some other unsporting offence, the teacher would call out the name of the guilty party. Said named and shamed girl would, still dripping wet, go to the end of the shower room and bend down and touch her toes.
Now as you might expect, during her school years, your favourite girl had experienced many an intimate acquaintance between the sole of a gym shoe and the cheeks of her botty. Dormitory patrol, after lights out, by the duty screw (or teacher as they preferred to be known) would often yield of crop of miscreants, eating sweets, reading forbidden magazines, sending texts to friends, or even consuming contraband alcohol. Offenders would be made to bend over for a dose of the gym shoe over their pyjamas. But somehow, I always managed to avoid looking remorseful, and with a bit of cheek or a smirk on my face, managed to motivate the teacher to amplify my share of the punishment. The feel of my pj's being pulled down and baring my bottom was a great thrill, as it still is! Then accompanied by a chorus of gasps from the rest of the dorm', there followed the distinctive sound of the gym shoe being applied to my soft girlish derriere.
A gym shoe certainly stings, but when applied, after games, to a bottom still wet from a shower, the experience reaches a whole new spectrum, in short, it bloody well hurts!
It was once said that the conflicts of the world were fought on the playing fields of Eton. Whoever wrote that had not seen, normally well behaved girls, play with unbridled aggression in netball or hockey! It was rumoured that the girls' school hockey finals at Wembley, had rougher play than any football Premier League grudge match. But our school was different. Enduring the experience of contact between hard rubber and wet botty, while touching your toes, works wonders for ensuring good conduct on the playing field! If this was not a sufficient deterrent to errant ways, it was nothing compared to the consequences that befell anyone misbehaving in a match with a visiting team from another school. The games teacher was determined to maintain the reputation of the school, and so ensured this by increasing the level of punishment for any serious misdemeanours. This meant only one thing, the cane. It may have only happened a few times a year but was most effective for all that.
Caning was never done in the showers. The condemned damsel would shower and dry off, and dressed just in her towel would report to the games office. This 'office' was really just a changing room for the games staff, with its own showers. But it had a table and chairs, so maybe that's why it got called the office. Most of the girls had never seen a caning, except those who had suffered one! Oh, for those brave enough to hang about in the corridor near the office, a caning could be heard, and that was bad enough. The swish of the cane through the air, followed by the snap of rattan against sweet young cheeks, especially if followed by a wail from the recipient, sent a chill down the spine of the audience. Any girl returning to the changing room with six red stripes across her bum, guaranteed the rest of us played fair for the rest of the term!
My turn came on the day of a tournament against visiting schools. A number of matches were held, and tensions were running high with each school bent on victory. It was in the second half of a match in which we were leading. In response to a pass, I jumped to catch the ball, but feeling a stab of pain in my side, dropped it. A girl in the other team who was marking me, had just delivered a punch to my kidneys. I whirled round and gave her an elbow in the ribs, shouting 'f**k you' as I did so. The whistle went, play stopped, and the referee came over. The inevitable happened and we were both sent off.
Equally inevitable were the consequences. I was to report to the office. With a lump in my throat the size of a cooking apple, I showered and dried off. The showers were very quiet that afternoon, with me getting concerned looks from the other girls. Of course, dear reader, yours truly had acquired a reputation for taking punishments in my stride, but I was about to enter a new league. Wrapped only in my towel I padded down the corridor to the office. Going in I was surprised to see the games teacher was not alone. The games teacher from the other school was there, and so was the girl who punched me, like me dressed only in a towel. My look of confusion was answered instantly by our games teacher. Apparently the other teacher had seen what happened, and had asked that her girl receive the same punishment. Well, it was fair of the other teacher, but not surprisingly my mind was focused on the instrument now being flexed in the hands of our games teacher. My legs started to quiver, as they still do when I see a cane about to be used on my rear end.
The teacher told me to remove the towel and bend over with my hands on the seat of a chair in the middle of the room. The lump in my throat had gone, to be replaced by very large butterflies zooming around in my stomach. I was grateful for being able to be dealt with first, so the other girl had to watch my punishment, before getting her own. I removed the towel and went straight to the chair and bent over. As my hands gripped the side of the seat, I felt very anxious, but ready to take my punishment. Six strokes followed, with little delay between. All I knew was the pain started with the first stroke and got worse with each that followed. When it was over, I stood and rubbed my botty for all I was worth. The other girl's face was completely white, and I was glad that mine was first. As I watched she got the same six strokes, and though the teacher was not caning hard, on our soft girly cheeks it still hurt like billy-oh. Being dismissed, I left the office to see a crowd of girls in the corridor, still spellbound at the sound of the two punishments. On returning to the changing room, there followed an inspection of my stripes with intense comments of admiration from the other girls
Within a few days the red marks faded, but by that time most of the senior school had viewed them in awe. Yes, dear reader, I was one of only a dozen or so girls in the school who had been caned, but also was already starting to wonder how long it would be before I could take another dose of the rattan devil! It was four more times in all before I left. Oh, there were other punishments, with the gym shoes, and leather straps, of course, each delivering its sublime dose of pleasure.
Spanking has been part of my life ever since, but I strictly ration myself, because I want each punishment to be completely real. After all, a punishment that isn't a punishment, isn't a punishment!
If you feel that this girl deserves some more discipline and you would like to apply it yourself, then just give me a call on 07515 007 720 or email firstname.lastname@example.org. My website is at www.naughtycatherine.org
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