My name is Florence Mason and I was born in December 1965. I was brought up in the Scottish Borders and attended local schools until I was 12 years old. My parents are farmers and I had an idyllic childhood living on the farm and enjoying a large circle of friends who I met through school and the local Young Farmers Club. Then one day my parents sat me down and told me that I would be going away to boarding school in Fife when I was 13. Initially I was devastated but soon realised that this was part of growing up and that I would soon make new friends and that I could continue to see my old friends during the school holidays.

I'm an only child but I've always had the regular company of cousins and other children to ensure that I was socially confident. I played a lot of sport growing up, mainly hockey in the winter and tennis in the summer, and I knew that this would be a help to me at my new school. I soon warmed to the idea and it wasn't long before we were packing up and driving across the Forth Road Bridge on our way to the next chapter in my life.

I settled very quickly. There was a large intake of new girls and I soon established a network of friends from all over the UK and even some from abroad. The school was very traditional with a high emphasis on academic achievement and a desire to compete at the top end of inter-school sport. The atmosphere was generally kind and inclusive amongst both staff and pupils. However I soon found out that if I didn't behave as required then I got my bottom slippered. Quite hard!

A slippering could be administered by any member of the teaching staff and would typically be administered 'there and then'. You had to bend over, touch your toes and the teacher would then raise the back of your skirt or dress. Between four and, only occasionally, eight strikes would then be applied to your bottom, which was only covered by your knickers. Four was certainly unpleasant but any more than that and your bottom rapidly felt like it was catching fire! Teachers used a rubber-soled plimsoll and this left your bottom very red. The showers were not particularly private and we all knew if a girl had been recently slippered.

I got my fair share of slipperings and it wasn’t considered to be much of a big deal. Once you got into senior school this form of punishment stopped. The cane, though, was an option throughout my time at that school, but it was only administered by Mrs Jackson, who was the school headmistress and, as far as we could tell, it was only used to punish a girl who was caught smoking. However persistently naughty a younger girl was, she would only earn longer and more frequent slipperings rather than have to endure a caning, unless she was caught with a cigarette!

So as time slipped by in my final school year, my days of being slippered were well behind me.

In the autumn term of that year I was thrilled to be appointed as captain of the first-eleven hockey team whose matches were played during the winter term which started in January. When we returned to school I arranged with our Head of Hockey coach that we would have a trial match amongst all the girls who might be good enough to represent the school in the first-eleven. This we did and we had a hard fought match of 30 minutes each way on the school's artificial grass pitch. We swapped players around during the match and by the end we had, more or less, established our eleven best players.

I should say at this stage that I had played in the school lacrosse team during the winter term. I wasn't the captain and I considered myself fortunate to be selected. It's a very physical game and after all of that effort and excitement I found that I needed some way to relax and unwind. I achieved this by slipping around the back of the adjacent sports hall and having a quick smoke. This area was very overgrown and there were no windows at the back of the building. It was as close as you could get to being totally safe. Nobody seemed to notice that I went missing for a few minutes and I always planned ahead by concealing a cigarette and a little box of matches in the secret pocket that all games skirts seemed to feature. I had a little spot by the sports hall wall, surrounded by brambles, where I could conceal myself.

So after the trial hockey match I adopted the same procedure. It was bliss. Eyes closed, leaning against the wall. Just me, my thoughts and the cool smoke filling my lungs.

“Florence, what on earth do you think you are doing?”

I was jolted out of my blissful trance. My heart plummeted.

“I'm sorry Mrs Jackson,” I stammered. “I'm really sorry, it won't happen again,” I pleaded.

In reality I knew what was going to happen.

“OK Flo,” she continued in a much kinder voice, using the name I was known by throughout the school. For a split second I thought she was going to let me off.

“I am going to cane you for this,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You might have been enjoying your cigarette but you are now going to get a very sore bottom!”

“Yes Miss,” I replied. “I thought that you were going to say that.”

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, Flo. If you do not follow my instructions exactly there will be further consequences for you.”

I had a pretty good idea what 'further consequences' would entail!

“I want you to go directly from here to my study. When you get there, let yourself in and take off your trainers and socks which must be left by the door. Next, go to the store cupboard to the right of the fireplace. On the top shelf there are two canes. Pick one and place it across the middle of the meeting table. Then I want you to move the chair at the end of the table nearest the door and place it by the wall to the left of the fireplace. I want you to then remove your games skirt, fold it and place it on the seat of the chair. Next, you must stand at the end of the table, lower your panties and pull your hockey shirt up to your chest so that it is well clear of your bottom. I want you then to bend over so that your upper body is lying flat on the table with your legs together. Is that clear?”

“Yes Mrs Jackson,” I replied.

“OK, good,” she responded. “I want you to stay lying on the table until I'm ready to give you your caning. If you carry out my instructions I'll not give you any more than six. I've got a couple of other matters to attend to so I'm not sure how long I'll be. You'd better get going.”

With this, I departed the scene. I couldn't believe how bad this situation was. I'd never been caned before and I just knew that I was about to find out how much more it was going to hurt than a slippering. Also, there was the shame and humiliation that I was about to suffer. This part seemed almost worse. Would my parents be informed? Would anyone hear me being caned? Would I manage not to cry out during my punishment? If I cried would my eyes be red when I went back into school? One thing that I could rely on, my friends would all know I'd been caned when I was in the shower and they saw the stripes left after my punishment!

I was soon letting myself into Mrs Jackson's study on the first floor of the main school building. It was a cold January day, but her room was toasty warm despite her window being slightly open. The table that I had often sat around at various times in the past was in front of me as I went in with the fireplace, plus roaring log burning stove, to my left and Mrs Jackson's desk to the right. There was a large window on the far wall which overlooked the main school quadrangle below. I was still buzzing from both the hockey match and the encounter with Mrs Jackson; I knew that my skin was glowing with face and legs, in particular, looking unusually florid. I took off my shoes and socks as instructed, leaving them just inside the door.

I really wasn't looking forward to confronting the canes, but it had to be done. However there were only two of them on that top shelf, which came as a bit of a surprise. They were both about the same length but contrasted greatly in terms of thickness and 'whippyness'. I sensed that this, for me, was an important moment in the process. If I'd had a large soft bottom I think I would have gone for the thicker cane. Although my bottom had a reasonable covering of softish flesh on it in those days, it was definitely on the small side. I figured that, although the thin cane might sting more, I would be better off with the lighter implement. I therefore chose the thinner cane and placed it on the table as requested.

I could feel a danger of becoming uncomfortably hot in that room, so it was a bit of a relief to take off my skirt and allow a bit of air to circulate. When it was neatly folded on the chair that I had moved, I took up position at the end of the table; suddenly this whole episode was becoming horribly real. I lowered my underwear. I was wearing what you might now call 'sports briefs'. They were navy, quite elasticated for a tight fit and cut higher around my legs than the traditional knickers that some girls wore.

I noted that Mrs Jackson had asked me to lower my underwear, not to take them off entirely. She hadn't asked me to place them on the chair with my skirt so initially I just lowered them to the top of my legs where they were happy to stay given the elasticity of the material. My bottom was bared and there was free access to all parts. However a nagging thought occurred to me that they were only partially lowered. She had specifically said 'lowered'. So I eased them down over my slender legs and when they were below my knees gravity took over and they were soon hanging limply around my ankles. I grabbed my hockey shirt and pulled it up so that I could just see the bottom part of my breasts, given that I wasn't wearing a bra. Hopefully - job sorted!

With legs together, I bent forward and was soon resting my tummy and chest on the hard surface of the table. Mrs Jackson hadn't told me what to do with my arms so I held them up so that I could rest my head on my hands. I was looking to the right at Mrs Jackson's desk with her large old-fashioned wall clock behind. The time was 4.15 pm and I suddenly thought; how long is she going to keep me waiting?

I concluded it was best not to look at the clock. I turned my head to look the other way. But this was worse. There was a big mirror above the fireplace and I could see all of my partially naked body in it! Long legs, little bare bottom poised waiting to be caned, lower back, then scrunched up hockey shirt and finally my anxious face staring back at me. I could feel the heat from the stove on my exposed body and the light gave my skin a lovely warm glow. I liked what I saw, but not under these circumstances.

My final option was to look out of the window, but it was dark outside and my eye was inevitably drawn to the cane that was to be used on me shortly. Had I chosen the right one? Too late to change now. After this length of time, Mrs Jackson would be expecting me to be dutifully in place awaiting my punishment, not scurrying around choosing canes.

Looking at the clock turned out to be the best option. By this stage it was showing 4.30 pm. By 4.45 pm I was starting to get both uncomfortable on the hard table and, also, increasingly anxious. There was nothing else to think about apart from the obvious. I was acutely aware that I was partially naked in that room and that my bottom was exposed, waiting to be caned. How could I have been so stupid? The cigarette was nice but I was a long way short of being desperate for a smoke and I was clearly wrong about my hiding place being safe. To this day, I don't know who shopped me. Someone must have tipped off Mrs Jackson. She had no other reason that day to be in amongst the brambles at the back of the sports hall.

Then I heard the door behind me open. ‘Thank goodness!’ I thought. ‘Let's get this over with.’

“Oh, hello Flo,” I heard Mrs Chambers say. “Sorry, I didn't realise that you were in here.”

Mrs Chambers was the school secretary.

“Unfortunately I am,” I replied. “Mrs Jackson caught me smoking and she's going to give me the cane.”

This was perhaps a bit obvious, but I felt that I had to provide some sort of explanation.

“Oh dear, Flo.” She sounded genuinely concerned. “Do you want me to put more logs on the fire?” she offered.

She seemed worried about me being cold, given my lack of clothing.

“Yes please. Thank you,” I replied.

This she did and, after depositing some papers on Mrs Jackson's desk, she had a few more questions for me.

“Is this your first time being caned, Flo?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I've been slippered a few times though.”

I don't know why I offered up this extra piece of information. It wasn't really relevant, but I suppose I was just trying not to sound like a complete novice.

“Are you sure that's the best cane to have chosen?” she followed up with.

To be honest I really wasn't wanting this embarrassing conversation with Mrs Chambers. I know she meant well but I was an 18 year old girl, an adult in the eyes of the law! To be honest, I felt both silly and humiliated. I just wanted to be left alone until Mrs Jackson found the time to punish me.

“Thanks, but I've heard that the thin one is better,” I responded. “Apparently it stings a bit but less pain at impact than the other one.”

I hoped that this would mark an end to the conversation, but Mrs Chalmers seemed determined to be helpful.

“I'm not so sure,” she replied. “I've had to attend a few canings over the years when Mrs Jackson has had problems with particularly reluctant girls. I've seen both canes in use. The thinner one will sting more, but also it will whip round the sides of your bottom leaving quite long red marks. Also, it is a less accurate implement which will leave a series of overlapping marks producing quite an angry, reddened area. Your bottom might heal in less time but in the short term it won't look pretty at all. You might not be too worried about looks, but I can assure you that the thicker cane will leave you with much neater markings.”

With this, she came round to have a look at my bottom.

“Yes, your bottom is small, but it also looks quite firm. Mrs Jackson is a very accurate caner with the thick cane. This thick cane would leave you with six short marks on each side and they would be evenly spaced from just above your legs to just before your fleshy bottom becomes your back. The impact of the heavy cane will be severe, but you'll be left with bruising rather than a mass of soreness. Obviously your call, but I would swap the canes if I were you.”

Actually, I was now feeling that her comments were constructive.

“I'll swap them over for you if you want,” she offered.

“OK, yes please,” I replied.

This she did, and with that she was gone.

The clock edged round to 4.55 pm and then I heard the door open again. This time it was Mrs Jackson.

“Thank you Flo,” she said. “Looks like you have carried out my instructions perfectly.”

She laid a kindly hand on my bottom and gave it a few pats, presumably to gauge how to apply the cane.

“I see that you've gone for the thick cane, Flo. Good choice,” she said enigmatically.

I said nothing about the conversation with Mrs Chalmers.

“Please grip the edges of the table,” she continued. “I don't want to see your hands move during your caning. I'll not be happy if I see your hands trying to protect your bottom.”

I stretched out my arms as requested and laid my head on the hard wooden surface.

“I'm going to give you six strokes of the cane, Florence. You are a naughty girl, given that you know smoking at school is strictly prohibited. You also know the consequences for being caught and, to your credit, you have not tried to argue your way out of your punishment. Are you ready for me to cane you?”

“Yes Miss,” I replied. If I wasn't ready by then, I never would be!

She collected the cane from the table and gave it a couple of swishes through the air.

'Please go easy on me,' I thought.

She then took up position between me and the chair by the wall, with the cane in her right hand. Without further warning the first stroke landed. For a split second I heard the noise of the air around the cane as it moved towards me, then the impact followed quickly by the pain. I can only liken this moment to stubbing your toe on something hard. You know you've done it but there is a slight delay before the flooding pain follows.

I bore the first stroke in silence. I was surprised at how loud the noise was as cane met flesh. Plimsoll on bottom is a very noticeable and distinctive sound, but I immediately thought that anyone in the quadrangle would probably hear what was going on. I resolved not to add to the sound of the caning in progress by adding in any vocals of my own.

The second and third stokes were equally painful and I sensed that Mrs Jackson was moving down my bottom towards the top of my legs. They seemed to be impacting on both cheeks equally which, I suspected, was confirmation of a sign of good technique. In a funny sort of way I felt safe in Mrs Jackson's care. I knew she was intent on teaching me a painful lesson but she also clearly knew what she was doing. Fair play. I deserved the cane and she was delivering it.

That said, the second half, apart from the initial shock of the first stroke, was clearly worse. I sensed that she was finding it more difficult to find gaps, and the pain was either building or my resolve was crumbling. Maybe both. Either way I was struggling to contain my emotions. I could feel little sobs forming in my mouth and by the fifth and sixth stokes I was needing to shout out loudly to cope with the searing pain.

Then it was over.

Mrs Jackson asked me to get up and stand in front of her desk before I was allowed to rearrange my clothing. My hockey shirt, though, did fall down and it partially cover my still bare bottom.

“You can rub it if you want,” she said kindly.

This I did and I could feel the little ridges where the cane had bitten into my flesh.

By then Mrs Jackson was sat behind her desk filling out my entry in the school Punishment Book.

“We only have to do this for canings,” she explained.

Soon she had finished writing.

“Please check, Florence, and sign it when you are ready.”

There were a few names above mine that I recognised, but I also noticed that I was the first caning of that school year. That day's date was in the first column, followed by my full name, the nature of my offence (smoking), the implement used on me (cane) and the number of strokes (six). Mrs Jackson's name was in the column headed 'staff member' and my name was in the column headed 'pupil'. There was a space after each of our names for our signatures. There was no mention of the fact that I'd taken the strokes, with no protection, on my bare bottom.

After that I pulled up my panties, put on my games skirt before retrieving my socks and trainers. I was soon dressed again and ready to go. As I left the room I glanced at the clock; 5.15 pm. My caning had taken 20 traumatic minutes from start to finish.

I just wanted to get back to my room on the other side of the quadrangle to recover. I was horrified to see a collection of girls all standing below Mrs Jackson's open window when I entered into the quadrangle. There were a couple of my friends and some other younger girls. This was the last thing that I wanted, but I clung to the notion that they might have been there by coincidence. I tried to breeze by them nonchalantly.

I soon realised that they knew exactly what was going on and, in their eyes, I was a bit of a hero.

“Gosh, you took that well,” said one of the girls who I barely knew. “When we had counted to four, we hoped that would be it. To take six from the cane is incredibly brave!”

I decided to run with the mood as dying from embarrassment was probably the only other realistic option.

“Thanks girls!” I replied. “Sorry if I was a bit noisy during the last two but it was getting rather painful. My advice to you is; don't get caught smoking!'

With that I fled to my room for some much needed peace and solitude.

The End

© Julie Baker 2024

Julie welcomes contact from her readers. Email at: julie.baker_cane@mail.com or Julie’s Twitter address is: @JulieBaker_cane