This story begins when I was in the lower sixth form of an all-girls private school in south west England. As a teenager, I was a total handful, undisciplined and disrespectful to my parents as well as the teaching staff. I guess it was only on account of the high fees my parents paid each year that the school kept me on. That said, I wasn’t the only one who misbehaved like me; I had friends, one in particular that I will call Beverley.
I’m not sure who first thought of it, but several of us thought it a good idea to search girls’ coat pockets and bags when they were hung in the large cloakroom situated at the east end of the main school building. It wasn’t that we needed money or anything else that we found and stole, it was simply the excitement of doing something wrong and the idea of causing inconvenience and annoyance, and we never took anything of real value.
Of course, girls who had possessions stolen reported it to the teaching staff, who then passed the information onto the headmistress, Miss Carol Daines. She, or maybe some other staff member, then decided to set a trap, and Beverley and I walked straight into it. We were discovered with our hands in the raincoat and bag of a fifth form girl neither of us knew particularly well. Certainly, we had no hard feelings towards her.
The two teachers who caught us, gym mistress Dawn Phillips and Geography teacher Heather Davies, marched us straight to the headmistress’s study, and there we both stood, in our uniforms of navy blue skirts and grey blazers, staring down at the thick-pile carpet while Miss Daines peered at us through her horn-rimmed glasses.
When she eventually spoke, Miss Daines gave us both the telling-off of our lives.
“What you did was theft, plain and simple. I find it hard to believe that two girls, senior girls, could act in such a way towards their fellow pupils. What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Beverley looked towards me.
“Sorry, miss,” was all I could think of.
“Yes, sorry, miss,” Beverley then added.
“You do realise I could call the police and have you charged with theft, don’t you?” Miss Daines continued.
I remember biting my lower lip. Beverley just stared into space.
“Yes, miss,” I finally replied.
Mention of the police becoming involved was something I don’t think either of us had considered. It had been just a prank to us. I suddenly realised we might be in serious trouble.
“For the moment, girls, you are both suspended. Miss Phillips and Mrs Davies will allow you both to collect any personal belongings you may have and then escort you off the school premises. I need time to consider just how we deal with this situation. I will telephone your homes in a day or two and advise my decision. Now go!”
The next few minutes passed in a blur. I felt so embarrassed being taken to our form room to collect our bags and a few personal items, and then to be accompanied out of the sixth form annexe and out of the main gate. Of course, everyone knew, or seemed to know, why this was happening. I think my face must have been bright red throughout, and I saw it was the same for Beverley.
“That was awful,” I said as Beverley and I walked towards the bus stop.
“Do you think she will involve the police?” Beverley asked. “Once she’s been able to think about it, I mean.”
“God, I don’t know!” I retorted, then added to placate Beverley, “I don’t think she wants to, if only to keep the good name of the school intact. Otherwise, I think she would have already done it. I think we’ll likely be expelled.”
“That would be horrible too,” Beverley replied. “I’d hate to have to find a new school at this late stage of our school careers, and you can bet everyone would know. So awkward, so embarrassing!”
“Speaking of awkward, what are we going to tell our parents?”
“The truth, Paula,” she replied. “We have to. Miss Daines says she’ll phone our homes in a day or two. Better our parents hear about it from us, rather than an unexpected phone call from school.”
Beverley was right, of course, not that I was looking forward to breaking the news to my mother. My mother was definitely the disciplinarian in our family; father was more laid-back. It even crossed my mind that mum would punish me herself, even before getting the phone call from Miss Daines. Although she hadn’t spanked me for several years, I had the feeling something like that would be the first thing on her mind. But would she consider a simple spanking enough of a punishment?
The bus journey home was undertaken more or less in silence. Beverley and I were probably trying to clarify in our minds just how we were going to breach the subject to our parents. When I got home, my mother was in the kitchen peeling potatoes.
“Paula? You’re early. What’s wrong?”
“Bit of a problem, mum.”
As I explained the predicament, I saw my mother peeling the potatoes ever more slowly, and the expression on her face getting more and more stern.
“For goodness sakes, Paula, why would you want to steal from the other girls? You get a generous allowance every week, and if you needed extra money we’d likely give it to you. What on earth were you thinking of?”
I shrugged. “It started out as a bit of a prank. You know, like fun? Then Beverley and I walked into a trap set by, I guess, Miss Daines.”
“So, she’s suspended you both? For how long?”
“Until she decides what to do with us. I guess all options are on the table. She even mentioned involving the police, which is what really worries me.”
Mum put the potatoes into a pot, covered them with water and set them on the cooker on a low heat.
“How soon will you know?”
“Miss Daines said she’d phone in a day or two and let us know her decision. Oh mum, I’m so sorry. I’ve been so stupid. What am I going to do?” My teary-eyed response wasn’t entirely false.
Mum put the kettle on and placed two cups on the kitchen counter. I could see she was thinking hard, and at least was still talking to me.
Coffee made, she sat down at the kitchen table and waved me into the chair opposite.
“My first inclination,” she began. “Is to take you into the lounge, turn you over the back of the sofa and thoroughly tan your backside.”
I coughed, playing for time. I sipped my coffee and replied, “If only that was the end of it, I’d suggest we do that right now.”
As soon as I spoke, my heart missed a beat. I half expected her to get up and drag me into the lounge. I was wearing a pleated skirt that day, and I envisaged her folding it up above my waist and maybe even tugging my brief white knickers down. Would she even stop long enough to draw the curtains so the neighbours couldn’t see? My fears were all worryingly quite possible. Thankfully, we both continued sipping our hot coffee, and for the time being at least it seemed mum was still thinking.
“So, Miss Daines mentioned calling the police. Did she suggest any other possibilities?”
“No, not really. Just that we were suspended until she makes her decision.”
“I know what I’d do in her shoes.”
I clamped my lips together. I, too, knew what mum would do, and it would be extremely painful to my bottom. I didn’t reply.
“I’m wondering,” mum began, surprisingly calm. “I’m thinking we need, if at all possible, to avoid Miss Daines calling the police and having you charged with theft. That would be awful and mean you having a conviction recorded against your name.”
I nodded.
“And then we need to avoid you being expelled. Moving to another school at this stage would not be helpful for your education.”
“True,” I muttered with another nod.
“And even a period of suspension might harm your studies if it was more than a few days.”
“Which I think it would be,” I murmured.
“Which leaves the obvious option.”
It wasn’t obvious to me. “What’s that?” I asked, without really thinking.
“We ask that she canes you both. Miss Daines does have a cane, I presume?”
“Yes, a couple of girls got two each on the palms of their hands for playing truant a couple of months ago.” I couldn’t really see how a couple of whacks on my poor little hand was going to be considered sufficient punishment.
“It would have to be substantially more than that!” mum retorted. “Maybe ten or twelve across your backsides. What do you think Beverley would have to say about that? More importantly, what would her parents say?”
“I really don’t know,” I replied honestly. “Maybe.” I was still thinking about how I felt about that.
“It would keep it within the school,” mum continued, as though trying to sell her plan to me. “No court action, no expulsion, no looking for another school, no suspension and no missing out on your studies. It might be the ideal solution.”
“Do I get a say in this?” I asked.
“Do you have a better idea? One that keeps you out of court, not looking for a new school and not missing vital lessons?”
I thought hard. Unfortunately, while the thought of such a thoroughly good hiding was far from appealing, no alternatives came to mind.
“I guess it might be for the best,” I whispered, feeling I’d just sentenced myself to an extremely unpleasant ordeal.
“Go to your room and get changed out of your school uniform. I’ll speak with Beverley’s mother. Let’s see what her thoughts are.”
I went to my bedroom and stripped down to my brief knickers and bra, then lay on my bed. I remembered seeing those two girls waiting to be caned, stood outside Miss Daines’ study, facing the wall with their hands on their heads, and being laughed at and teased by everyone who went past. That seemed part of the school’s ritual of being caned; an extra part of the punishment so girls could show their disgust to the guilty parties. Would Beverley and I be subject to similar treatment? Or would we, as senior girls, be allowed to escape that?
I could hear mum on the telephone, speaking to Beverley’s mother, although I couldn’t hear what was being said. Would she agree to Beverley being caned too? How would Beverley take the news when she heard? How quickly would it be done? What would I wear? All sorts of thoughts rushed through my head.
When the talking stopped, I pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt and went back downstairs.
“So?” I asked.
“Beverley’s mum, Mrs Adams, does see that canings might be the best solution in all the circumstances. She’s going to speak with Beverley and with her husband. If they agree, then I will phone Miss Daines tomorrow and organize it.”
Did that mean there was still a hope we might not be caned? I kind of wanted there to be a block to the plan, at the same time realizing the other possibilities were in many ways even worse.
Telling dad what had happened and what mum was proposing was embarrassing, but he took it all in his usual calm manner. After mum weighed up all the options, dad agreed the cane was probably the best choice. I listened in on the discussion but didn’t speak. Perhaps I was still hoping for a magic get-out.
The next day, I overheard mum phoning the school and speaking with Miss Daines. I wasn’t sure whether Beverley’s parents were really supportive of mum’s idea. Apparently, Miss Daines said she would continue thinking the matter over and let us know.
I spoke to Beverley by phone several times over the following couple of days and she, like me, wasn’t at all sure about being caned, but also couldn’t come up with a better alternative. Then, Beverley and me, and our mothers, were called into a meeting with Miss Daines. We arrived for the ten-thirty appointment and were immediately shown into Miss Daines’ study.
“I’ve been considering what action we should take to resolve this matter,” Miss Daines began. “And I think the best solution is that I expel both girls. I’ve considered your idea about caning them, Mrs Smith, but I don’t think that would be a sufficient punishment. I usually regard four strokes, two across each palm, the maximum. It’s just not enough for the disgraceful thing your daughters did.”
“Miss Daines,” my mum replied. “I totally agree four strokes would not be enough of a punishment. I’m thinking ten, maybe twelve, strokes across their backsides. In other words, a damn good hiding!”
Miss Daines looked shocked. “I’ve never administered more than four strokes, Mrs Smith. It’s meant as a short sharp lesson for girls to behave themselves in future. No, I’m afraid expulsion has to be the school’s response.”
But mum wasn’t giving up that easily.
“Miss Daines, we pay quite hefty fees for our daughters to attend this school. We expect you to teach them to a high standard academically, but also to instill in them a high standard ethically. We all know that being forced to change schools at this late stage could have devastating effects on their futures. I implore you to think again.”
Our headmistress thought long and hard before she answered. “How do you feel about your mother’s idea, Paula?” I felt Miss Daines staring at me. I wondered how she wanted me to reply.
I coughed. Mum also looked hard into my face. I knew how she wanted me to respond. I coughed again and noticed both Beverley and her mother watching me. So many thoughts rushed through my mind. How could I answer in a way that would please them all?
“I suppose, ma’am, the caning would be best for us.” My voice was weak and unconvincing, but at least I’d responded as honestly as I could.
“Beverley?” Miss Daines turned to my accomplice.
Beverley just nodded slowly while biting her lower lip.
“Mrs Adams?”
“I suppose it would be for the best.”
That was pretty much the end of the interview. Miss Daines agreed in principle to arrange for Beverley and me to receive the cane, but she needed a few days to consider the details of how it would be carried out. I was thinking that now the decision had been made, Beverley and I would be caned then and there, but that apparently was not to be.
It actually took a week for all the details to be sorted out and for our sentences to be confirmed. On Friday, we were informed that we should present ourselves at Miss Daines’ study at 12.00 noon on the following Monday when we would each receive ten strokes of the cane, administered across our backsides. At least my mum seemed pleased she’d got the result she wanted.
The cane was not unusual at my school and it was always done formally in the same way. The girl or girls had to stand outside the headmistress’s study facing the wall with hands on head until they were called in. After punishment, they then had to return to the corridor and face the wall again until Miss Daines sent them on their way. Other girls passing by would tease the offenders and, if there were no teachers around, pinch or smack their bottoms.
The target of all this formal and informal correction was usually the younger girls who got in the most trouble of all kinds. It was rare to see a senior in that situation. We had special privileges like being allowed to wear a more adult-looking uniform; either a smart navy blue skirt as opposed to short plaid schoolgirl skirt of the lower school, or even dark blue or grey trousers, and we didn’t have to wear the school blazer, just white blouses with a collar. We felt and were in a different, superior class to the younger girls.
So, when Beverley and I received our sentences, and the timing, we half-expected we would suffer the shame and disgrace accorded to other girls who attended the study for caning. It was clearly not going to be a discreet, private, after-hours visit to the headmistress in her study.
We later found out that my mum had even at one point suggested we be caned in front of the whole school to make it especially humiliating, but Miss Daines thought that a step too far. Of course, Beverley and I considered the choice of timing. It was a warm June day and all the windows would likely be wide open. The whole school would be eating their lunches on the manicured grass below Miss Daines’ study windows and would hear what was happening to us; an extra humiliation.
At a quarter to twelve on the following Monday morning, Beverley and I took up our places in the corridor outside Miss Daines’ study. At first, we hovered nervously, looking up and down the corridor. When no one was in sight, we took up position facing the wall with our hands on our heads. As soon as we had done that, though, classes finished and the corridor thronged with girls fetching their packed lunches and looking forward to eating them in the open air. I felt my bottom being pinched and slapped numerous times as girls passed us by, and Beverley got the same treatment.
We were both surprised when the door opened and Miss Peterson, the games mistress, probably the fittest woman in the school, who taught PE and swimming, called me into the study. As I entered, I immediately saw the cane lying on Miss Daines’ desk. I also noticed the telephone, the intercom to the secretary’s office, a desk lamp and two trays for pending documents had already been moved to either side of the desk, leaving a clear area in the centre.
“So, Paula, you are to receive ten strokes of the cane,” Miss Daines announced, as if confirming my punishment. I really didn’t need to be reminded.
“Yes, miss,” I whispered when she seemed to be waiting for an answer.
“Miss Peterson will administer the strokes, Paula. She’s younger and fitter than me.”
No doubt my mother had insisted on thorough thrashings for both Beverley and me. I looked at the games mistress, dressed in a navy blue tracksuit, but couldn’t read anything in her blank expression. I had no doubt, though, that she would do an extremely effective job.
Being that Beverley and I had been each sentenced to receive ten strokes, I knew already that we would be caned across our bottoms, so I was expecting it when Miss Peterson ordered me to bend over Miss Daines’ desk. I stepped forward and began leaning over, my heart really thumping against my chest. I got right down until my upper body was flat on the desk and wriggled around until I felt my bottom was best positioned for what Miss Peterson was about to do. I knew I was going to be thrashed and it seemed sensible to cooperate. Miss Daines lifted my pleated skirt high up to my shoulders to fully expose the semi-brief navy blue panties I’d chosen for the occasion.
I felt the cane tapping my stretched panties as the gym teacher took the measure of her target. The cane felt cool and even pleasant, but I knew that wouldn’t last. Soon it was lifted high and whisked down hard as it sliced into my tender cheeks. She seemed to put all her strength into it and my bottom had such thin protection. I gasped but stayed in position.
The cane continued to lash my thinly protected bottom with just a few seconds between each stroke. Each swing of the cane brought a fresh dose of sharp agonizing pain, but I resisted the strong instinct to jump up and grab my buttocks. I was in this position for punishment and it needed to be carried out, or so I kept telling myself.
Suddenly, it was over. My bottom ached and was just so sore, but I knew I had survived. I was told to stand up, and felt my skirt more or less fall back into place.
“Thank you, Paula,” Miss Daines said. “Please go out into the corridor and send Beverley in. Make sure you stand facing the wall with your hands back on your head.”
“Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.” I glanced briefly at Miss Peterson who smiled at me as I headed for the door. I kept my hands well away from my bottom, thinking Miss Daines and Miss Peterson might shout at me if I did anything in their presence to sooth the aching soreness. Despite the pain, being shouted at would be too much to bear. Tears were running down my face as I left the study.
Out in the corridor, Beverley looked anxiously at me as I retook the position of facing the wall with my hands on my head.
“Your turn,” I told her. “You have to go in now.” I’m sure Beverley wanted me to say how good or bad it had been, but I couldn’t think of anything to say that might make things easier for her, so I said nothing.
Beverley had chosen to wear a smart trousers suit in pale gray, with a short jacket that stopped just below her waistline, thus leaving her bottom clear. I moved closer to the door and, with no one in sight, I put my ear against the walnut door. I heard Beverley being told to drop her trousers and bend across the desk. Less than a minute passed before I heard the unmistakable thwish and thwack of the cane striking Beverley’s bottom. She was getting the same hiding I had just received.
After the ten strokes had been applied, there was a little shuffling about and then Beverley came out into the corridor to stand next to me. I could see tears running down her cheeks.
“Sore?” I asked, stupidly.
Beverley nodded. I could see she was struggling to stop herself crying, but with little success. She looked up and down the corridor.
“Has anyone come by?” she queried.
“Not so far,” I replied. “I guess they’re all enjoying their lunches and listening to us getting thrashed. I’m sure our dear headmistress had her windows wide open for that very purpose.”
I fully expected to be left standing like this for a full ten minutes, but we were left there for longer, maybe as much as twenty minutes. Eventually, Miss Daines came out of her study and told us we had taken our punishment and were now free to return to our classes.
Wherever we went for the rest of the day, and the following two days, we were teased unmercifully. Our bottoms were pinched and slapped, always when there wasn’t a teacher present, but we both knew we just had to put up with it. It was all part of the ritual. The following day, when we changed for gym, all the other girls in the class wanted to inspect the damage to our bottoms.
After school on the Monday, mum was waiting for me when I got home. I had to not only confirm I’d received my punishment, I also had to go to my room with mum so I could take my skirt and panties off and show her the evidence.
The End
© Jennifer Carr 2026