So, there we were, all four of us standing in a line in front of the headmistress’s desk; all four of us guilty as charged. That’s Sue Evans, Elizabeth Benson, Mary Williams and me, Clare Peters. Our headmistress, Mrs Booth, had spent the last ten minutes lecturing us on the perils of leaving school during the lunch hour without permission. Of course we knew it was against school rules, but I do think Mrs Booth overdid it a bit when she talked about us getting abducted (surely not in our little sleepy town), involved in an accident (just possible, I suppose) and not being able to show our presence if there was a fire drill (we never have fire drills in the lunch break).

Then, after the lecture, came the sentencing. Four strokes of the cane each. The cane! What? Yes, we knew Mrs Booth used the cane from time to time, but we never for one moment thought we’d ever get it. I wait for one of my friends to protest, but no one does. Should I protest? Would Mrs Booth listen? Do I have the nerve to question the great lady’s judgement? No, like the others, it’s somehow easier to just accept our fate.

More pertinent now is not what will be done, but how. I don’t know anyone who has been caned by Mrs Booth, and I don’t think the others do either. It’s fifteen minutes after lunch break ended and we should be at our first lesson of the afternoon. Is she going to do it now, or are we going to have to come back after school? What if she canes us now on our hands; how will we cope with writing stuff during the remaining lessons? Then, if she canes us across our bottoms, how are we going to sit through the remaining lessons. That’s all assuming she does it now, of course, and I think she is. I can just feel it.

Mrs Booth stood up, and went towards a tall cupboard at the side of her study. She opened the door, and any thought it might be put off until later disappeared. She took out a slender rattan cane, more or less straight, but with the crook handle school canes are often said to have. It was over two feet long, perhaps not as long as three feet, and as she returned to her desk it kind of wobbled slightly.

“You will all stand facing the wall next to the door. I shall call you across to my desk one by one. You will adjust your clothing so I am able to cane you across the seat of your knickers, and bend across my desk. I shall then administer your four strokes. Afterwards, you will return to face the wall with your friends until you have all received your punishment. Is that clear?”

I glanced at Elizabeth to my left and Mary to my right. Their faces were strangely white, and I guessed mine was probably the same. No one spoke. I suppose there wasn’t anything to say. I certainly couldn’t think of anything.

“Good. All four of you go and stand facing the wall next to the door.”

We all turned round and slowly went towards the wall behind us. We discreetly exchanged glances with each other, but of course no one dared actually speak. As we stood side by side now facing the wall, the big question on my mind, probably all our minds, was who would be dealt with first.

I was close to panic mode. I tried to reason whether it would be better to be the first, or the last, or somewhere in between. I was sure the punishment would be the same for all of us, whatever the order, so it was just a question of whether I would prefer to get it over with straight away and not have to worry as Mrs Booth worked her way through the rest, or whether it was better to leave it until the last possible moment when I would have the other girls’ experience to go on.

“Elizabeth, come across to my desk.”

So, I wasn’t going to be first.

Elizabeth is medium height and slim, with long brown hair which she invariably wears tied back in a ponytail. We were all in school uniform of black skirt or trousers, white blouse and red pullover with a black band around the V-neck. That day, Elizabeth was wearing trousers.

We had been told to face the wall, but we all looked around as Elizabeth stood in front of the desk. She was already undoing the button on the waistband of her trousers and the room was so quiet we heard her sliding her zip down.

Mrs Booth had all her attention on Elizabeth, so she didn’t notice us watching as Elizabeth’s brief white knickers were being exposed. After she bent over, those little white panties became tightly stretched and they rode up to leave the lower parts of her bottom uncovered.

Did Mrs Booth mind that we were watching? She hadn’t explicitly told us not to look round, just to stand facing the wall. Perhaps she felt that it would add to our punishment if we did witness each other getting caned. When Mrs Booth lined up the first stroke, and Elizabeth noticeably stiffened, we were all holding our breath. I think we all jumped when she hurled the cane sharply across the seat of Elizabeth’s tiny white knickers, Elizabeth most of all, of course.

Mrs Booth certainly wasn’t in any hurry. It must have been at least ten seconds before she took aim and whacked the cane a second time across Elizabeth’s slim bottom. I couldn’t see Elizabeth’s face because it was covered by her ponytail, at least from my vantage point. All I saw was her jump as the cane struck her bottom.

As I looked sideways, I could see we were all captivated by poor Elizabeth’s punishment. After the third stroke had been applied and Mrs Booth was lining up the fourth and final stroke, I began to wonder who would be the one to replace Elizabeth. Actually, what really worried me was, would it be me? My thoughts were interrupted by the crack as Mrs Booth completed Elizabeth’s caning.

“Right, Elizabeth, pull your trousers up and go back to facing the wall with your friends.”

I was still watching what was happening out of the corner of my eye, and Elizabeth must have been only too glad to get away from the close attentions of Mrs Booth because she gave her bottom a quick rub, pulled her trousers up to her hips and scuttled back to the wall. It was only when she was back in line that she fastened her trousers properly. Then she stood facing the wall and rubbing her bottom through the trousers.

“Mary, come to the desk, please.”

Mary, a short girl, also with long brown hair, looked horrified. She looked at each of us, although there was nothing we could do to make it easier for her, and slowly turned to approach our headmistress. Mary was wearing a black pleated skirt as part of her school uniform.

“Just bend over the desk, Mary. I’ll pull your skirt up out of the way.” Mrs Booth sounded quite warm and friendly as she spoke, but I don’t think Mary was able to appreciate our headmistress’s compassion.

Mary at least was able to bend across the desk, but she looked round as Mrs Booth carefully folded up her skirt and I saw the look of horror on Mary’s face as her white panties with a pink polka dot pattern were fully revealed. Mary turned her head to the front when Mrs Booth ran a hand across the seat of the panties to smooth them out.

Perhaps Mrs Booth realised Mary’s distress, because she dished out her four strokes much quicker than she did with Elizabeth. Was there a useful tactic there, I wondered. The downside for me was that there were now only two of us left.

Mary returned to the wall in a flood of tears and clutching the seat of her skirt after gravity had covered up her knickers. Mrs Booth had provided Mary with a few tissues and she stood mopping at her face and blowing her nose. My ears were poised, waiting to hear the dreaded summons.

“Susan, please.”

Not me! I was grateful, I think, as I watched tall, blond Sue turn away from the wall and head for the desk. She showed remarkably little emotion as she stood and, without being asked, simply unzipped her black trousers and pushed them down her long legs. She bent over equally impassively and presented her shapely round bottom, only partially protected by brief white panties, for Mrs Booth’s attention. Oh, if only I could be that plucky!

The first stroke seemed louder than any of the others. Was Mrs Booth treating Sue more firmly? Did she think Sue’s willingness drop her trousers and bend over without being asked was a sign of disrespect? Lesson for me; don’t be too eager!

I saw the second stroke catch Sue low down on her bottom. It seemed a really hard stroke and I heard Sue grunt when it whacked her bottom. I kept looking at the wall as I heard Sue’s final two strokes being applied. They were loud and I’m sure quite painful, although Sue barely made a sound. She was sent back to the wall. I knew what was coming next, but I waited to hear Mrs Booth’s words.

“Clare, your turn.”

All three friends looked at me with worried faces as I turned and headed for the desk. It seemed to take longer than it should to get there, but I think that was just in my mind. I was wearing a tight black skirt, so couldn’t stride out like Sue, but I’m sure that wasn’t the problem.

Mrs Booth took one look at my skirt and said, “I think you’ll need to undo your skirt and slip it down, Clare. There’s no possibility we could fold it up above your waist.”

She was right, of course. I reached behind and undid the button and slid down the zip, and felt the waist loosen. It was a matter of moments to slide it down over my hips until it sagged down below my knees, and there I was with just skimpy white knickers covering about half my bottom.

“Bend over, please Clare.”

I was still standing there with my knickers on show in a bit of a daze. I wasn’t deliberately waiting to be told to bend over. I placed myself in the desired position with my forearms and my upper body flat on the desk and my bottom presented to receive my punishment. Mrs Booth gave me a bit of a warning by tapping the cane twice against the seat of my pants, but the sudden shock when she applied the first stroke still took me completely by surprise in the sense that it hurt far more than I was expecting. I felt my back automatically arch, although I did manage not to scream.

I waited, and waited, before suddenly the second stroke thwacked across my backside. If the effects of the first stroke were beginning to ease, the second stroke brought them all back with a vengeance. I realised I was getting the slow deliberate caning, not the quick rapid fire that Mary got. I’m still not sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

Then, just as the instant pain was beginning to ebb, the third stroke whipped my bottom. Yes, it hurt like the devil, although again my reaction was limited to my back arching and a loud grunt.

By now, I was just wanting Mrs Booth to hurry up and get the final stroke finished. I pushed my bottom out to encourage her, but it didn’t seem to work. When finally she did give me my fourth stroke, which felt harder than the previous three, I was almost grateful.

“Stand up, Clare. Pull your skirt up. The rest of you, come here.”

We were back standing in line in front of the desk, me still pulling up my skirt, the others giving their bottoms the occasional rub.

“Let this be a warning to you, girls,” Mrs Booth said, looking at each of us in turn. “Rules are in place for a very good reason, and there are consequences if you break them. Be in no doubt I won’t let you off so lightly if you appear before ma again. Understood?”

We all murmured our comprehension.

“Good. Now go.”

The End

© Kenny Walters 2026