Amy Masters stood at the back of a queue of six girls waiting to be spanked. She had been ordered by a prefect, June Norton, to report to the gymnasium at four o’clock dressed in her games kit for a spanking to be delivered by one of the games mistresses. She watched miserably as girls, in two lines of six, were ordered to walk up in turn to a vaulting horse, bend over it, grab the front legs and receive three swats.
Amy was furious. At lunchtime, she had taken a shortcut, technically out of bounds, behind the science block on the way to afternoon registration. Out of bounds, but not usually regarded as a serious offence. Several girls were standing outside the rear entrance of the science block chanting and making a general noise. She stopped to observe the demonstration. Suddenly a door opened and an angry headmistress, accompanied by two senior prefects and a science teacher, appeared. The girls scattered in all directions. The prefects gave chase, rounding up some of the demonstrators.
‘I wonder what those silly girls were thinking,’ thought Amy, never one to get into trouble. Imagine her alarm when she felt the hand of June Norton on her shoulder.
“Gotcha!” exclaimed the senior prefect. “Name?”
“Hold on a minute,” exclaimed Amy. “I’m not involved in this nonsense. I was just making my way to afternoon registration.”
“Oh really?” smirked June, who had captured two other girls. They were standing close by looking guilty.
June was not in a believing or forgiving mood. Anxious to show the headmistress she was enthusiastically carrying out her orders to apprehend the demonstrators, Amy’s name was recorded and she was ordered to report to the gymnasium at four o’clock, in her games kit, for appropriate punishment.
Horrified at this sudden turn of events, Amy forcefully pleaded her innocence.
“This is crazy. I refuse to be drawn into this. I’m not going to be punished for something I didn’t do.”
“You’ll have to appeal to the deputy headmistress. She’s doing some of the spankings,” answered June, slightly on the back foot after Amy’s vigorous denials.
Perhaps this girl was innocent, in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that was not the prefect’s concern. She had captured a possible offender and this was bound to please Miss Evans, the dour headmistress.
Amy made her way to afternoon registration. She was so angry. Confiding in her form teacher, Mrs Prowse, she was close to tears.
“I understand your angst, Amy, but make sure you don’t make matters worse for yourself. Have a word with the deputy headmistress.”
Amy was grateful for those words of sympathy from her teacher, but did not hold out much hope of a reprieve.
“Don’t wait for me after school, Susan. I’ve got to report to the gym at 4 o’clock for a spanking,” explained Amy miserably to her friend, still distressed but calmer.
“So I’ve heard. I’ll wait for you. It’s that bossy cow June Norton who got you into trouble, isn’t it? She needs taking down a peg or two.”
It was an uncomfortable afternoon for Amy. At twenty minutes to four, she collected her games kit and headed for the changing rooms, accompanied by her friend, Susan. Eleven other girls who had been involved in the demonstration were already getting changed and, unlike Amy, appeared unconcerned and were chatting and laughing.
Amy was immediately aware that she was not part of this group of demonstrators and wondered if any of them would stand up for her. Just as she was giving consideration to talking to one of the girls, June Norton and fellow prefect Alice Schofield walked into the changing rooms and demanded silence.
“We are here to supervise you lot for your spankings. Any girl caught talking will be getting extra spanks. You’ll be lining up in two rows of six. Miss Timpson will be spanking six of you and deputy headmistress Mrs Ashcroft will be dealing with the other six. We’ll be checking you out to make sure none of you are wearing extra protection under your knickers.”
“You’ll love checking us out, won’t you June?” asked Millie Coates sarcastically.
June ignored the comment. “You can head up the first line, Millie. Jayne, you head up the second line. The rest of you, fall in behind one of these two. Jump to it. I’ve got a date this evening, so I don’t want any delaying tactics.”
The girls, mumbling their discontent, obediently conformed to the prefect’s order and the two lines of girls were marched out into the gym, with Amy bringing up the rear of one of the lines.
“I want to speak to Mrs Ashcroft about your false accusation,” stated Amy defiantly.
“Waste of time,” grinned June. “But if you insist, you are in the right line to beg and plead to Mrs Ashcroft. She will be spanking you.”
The girls lined up as directed by the prefects. Two vaulting horses had been placed alongside each other at one end of the gym. Ominously, a two inch wide and fifteen inch long leather strap was placed on the top of each horse.
June contemptuously addressed the girls. “Right girls, when your name is called, walk forward and mount the vault, grabbing the front legs. You will each be getting three lashes of the strap over your bottoms. Quite painful, I know, but I will enjoy watching you get your comeuppance. After you have received your punishment, dismount and return to your place here. Then wait for dismissal. Tonight, you will each write out an apology to Miss Evans. You will produce a 500 word essay on the need for school discipline and hand it in to Miss Evans tomorrow morning.”
There were gasps of dismay from the girls. Amy was beside herself with fear of the strap, and she was still angry. How could this be happening to her?
“Quiet!” shouted June. “Alice and myself are now going to carry out inspections to check none of you are cheating. When we stand alongside you, lift your gym tunic and we will pull down your knickers for inspection.”
More complaining from the girls came to no avail. The prefects were enjoying the chance to display their authority. They moved purposefully along the line of six girls under their command, pulling down their knickers and satisfying themselves there were no attempts to add extra protection. Amy watched June moving down the line until she came alongside her. She made no move to lift her tunic.
“I’ve told you,” said Amy. “I want to speak to Mrs Ashcroft, and you’re not going to pull down my knickers.”
But June thwarted her, lifted her tunic and delivered a stinging smack. She didn’t try to pull down Amy’s knickers and check for extra padding.
“That’s you sorted,” sneered the obnoxious prefect.
“Stand to attention, girls. Mrs Ashcroft and Miss Timpson are approaching,” announced June.
“Thank you, June,” smiled the deputy headmistress. “Hello girls. This is a most unpleasant situation, so let’s get it done quickly and we can all get off home.”
The two teachers took up their positions adjacent to the vaulting horses and picked up their leather straps. Much to the consternation of the onlooking girls, they both took practice swishes and then announced their readiness. Miss Timpson was the senior games mistress and had responsibility for carrying out corporal punishment on behalf of the headmistress. Mrs Ashcroft took some games lessons and had been a keen hockey player in her younger days. She also was authorised to carry out corporal punishment.
“Millie Coates, step forward please.” The order came from June for the first of the girls to receive a spanking.
Millie, a confident and outspoken student, and probably the organiser of the protest, walked the five yards to the vaulting horse and effortlessly mounted it. Without being told, she grabbed the front legs. Her long, blonde hair flopped untidily over her face as she lay over the padded horse. Her gym tunic rode up to reveal her bottle green gym knickers.
All eyes in the gymnasium were on her bottom, and the tension in the hall rose noticeably as the deputy headmistress raised her strap. It came down with a flourish, connecting sweetly across the centre of Millie’s buttocks, causing her to gasp and involuntarily quickly raise and lower her hips. Before the second swat could be applied, Alice Schofield called out to Jayne Hartley to step forward.
The onlookers, waiting for their turn, now had a choice which of the girls to observe. As Jayne positioned herself over the vault, Millie’s second swat was initiated and caused her to cry out.
The chastisements continued, thorough and efficient. The walls of the gymnasium echoed to the sounds of the names of girls being called by the two prefects, the strap landing on their teenage bottoms, the girls crying out, some more than others. Amy watched with trepidation as girls, having received their thrashings, painfully stumbled back to the line, invariably clutching their bottoms.
“Amy Masters.”
After about ten minutes of witnessing girls being put through the process, the call for Amy came from June Norton. She walked slowly towards Mrs Ashcroft, passing several girls consoling each other. The deputy headmistress greeted her with a not unfriendly smile.
“Hop onto the vaulting horse and let’s get it done,” she said. No anger. Quite matter of fact.
Amy was determined to have her say. “This is not right, Miss. I wasn’t involved. June picked on me when I was just passing by. I didn’t even know what was going on. I shouldn’t be spanked.”
Mrs Ashcroft was not unsympathetic. “I don’t know if you were guilty or not. I wasn’t there. I’m not passing judgement. I’ve been given the task to spank the girls on this list and you are on the list. So I need you to comply.”
“What if I refuse?” Amy was emotional and tears were trickling down her cheeks.
June intervened. “We’ll force you over the vault and hold you down.”
Mrs Ashcroft held up her hand, motioning June to be silent.
“The headmistress has decided your punishment and if you refuse you will have to go before her and explain. She might believe you and you will escape punishment. But, if she finds there is no evidence to exonerate you, then you can expect to be caned quite severely for time wasting and prevaricating. Your choice.”
Poor Amy was faced with taking an undeserved spanking now, or go to the headmistress and probably get a caning. That would be rather more severe than a spanking with the leather strap. Mrs Ashcroft waited patiently. In her time, she had delivered many spankings, some of which she accepted were undeserved. She couldn’t let that concern her. She did feel some pity for the distressed girl, but she just wanted to get home, looking forward to enjoying an evening meal prepared by her husband.
Her mind snapped back to the present. “What’s it to be Annie?”
“It’s Amy, Miss, not Annie,” interjected June with another of her smirks.
“Sorry, Amy,” apologised Mrs Ashcroft. “Have you received punishment of this kind before?”
“I did once get four strokes of the cane, Miss.”
“You clearly got over that. You’ll get over this too.”
If only Amy could have more time to decide. Three lashes from that strap appeared quite painful, if the moans of the girls were anything to go by, but Miss Evans’s cane was definitely very painful and she didn’t want another dose of that. Not sure she was making the right decision, she clambered onto the vault.
As soon as she was in position, Amy heard the whizz of the strap, followed by a scorching torment to her bottom. She flinched, gasped, and briefly released her hands from the legs of the vault. But any intention to rub her bottom was circumvented by the delivery of the second stroke. She cried out, just like most of the girls that had gone before her. The third stroke landed on her bottom just below the first stroke. Before she had chance to catch her breath, Mrs Ashcroft was helping her dismount the vault.
Crying and gently rubbing her viciously stinging bottom, Amy hobbled back to the line. She was the last of the girls to receive the punishment.
Mrs Ashcroft addressed the twelve very unhappy young ladies.
“Thank you all for accepting your punishments with dignity. Let this be a lesson to you. Good behaviour, good manners and respect for others are what this school demands of its pupils. Go home, write out your 500 word essays, and let’s put an end to this debacle. Goodnight girls. Dismiss.”
Mrs Bayliss tapped on the headmistress’s door and entered. “June Norton is here to see you, headmistress.”
“Thank you, Mrs Bayliss. Please ask her to come in.”
June Norton entered, brimming with confidence after being earlier thanked and congratulated by the headmistress for organising the punishments of the twelve demonstrators.
Edith Evans gave a rare smile and motioned June to sit down.
“Once again, June, thanks for the work you and Alice did to help sort out those silly girls. Apparently, they were demonstrating against the suspension of Eunice Jolly for her reckless behaviour in the science lab. However, there is a fly in the ointment and it needs my attention.”
June’s confidence slightly dipped.
“Amy Masters.” The headmistress waited for June’s reaction.
June tried to appear unconcerned. She felt the eyes of the headmistress scrutinising her, and began to feel slightly uncomfortable.
Miss Evans, not getting a reaction from her prefect, continued.
“Master’s so-called written apology was a diatribe. The cheeky girl wrote in block capitals: ‘I REFUSE TO APOLOGISE’. She then went on to write that she was completely innocent, that you would not listen to her, and the school disciplinary system is a joke. At first I was furious, but when I calmed down I thought this girl must be incensed to dare write to me in this manner. I did some investigating.”
June realised that events were swiftly moving against her. “If I’ve done something wrong, I apologise. I always have the school’s best interests at heart.”
Ignoring June’s attempt to apologise, Miss Evans continued.
“My investigations led me to discover that Amy Masters would have had no reason to demonstrate with those girls. She is not in their class; she does not take any science subjects. To my knowledge, she has no connection with the girl who was suspended.”
Miss Evans paused. She detected June was showing unease.
“I went to the trouble of interviewing Millie Coates and asking her why she thought Amy might be mixed up with the demonstrators. She said Amy had nothing to do with the demonstration and thought she had been apprehended for being out of bounds.”
June gulped. This was not looking good.
“So you see, June, if you had taken the trouble to investigate, as I have, there would not have been a miscarriage of justice. Poor Amy would not have suffered the ignominy of a thrashing.”
“I don’t know what to say, headmistress,” stuttered the prefect.
“Don’t look so crestfallen, June. You made a mistake. Everyone makes a mistake at some time. I select prefects because of their integrity, confidence and ability to supervise girls in their charge. You fit the bill perfectly, but as you know I demand the highest standards from my prefects and on this occasion you slipped up.”
“Yes, Miss. I can see I have let you down,” June responded, hoping her honesty might help her out of this predicament with minimum consequences.
“I am pleased you acknowledge your lapse. You are an excellent prefect. I can see you are upset, but I think a reminder of the necessity to adhere to high standards at all times is appropriate. I’m going to cane you.”
“Oh no! Please Miss,” June spoke haltingly. This, she was not expecting. Earlier in the day and after being warmly thanked for her efforts, she was even wondering if she might be made up to deputy head girl, but the day was turning out to be a catastrophe.
“This will do you no harm, June. A simple reminder to gather all the facts before making a decision.”
The headmistress, expressionless, picked up her internal phone.
“Mrs Bayliss, please bring me June Norton’s file and the punishment register.”
“It will take Mrs Bayliss a couple of minutes. After your caning, I want you to seek out Amy Masters and apologise. When I spoke to her, she accepted my apology with good grace.”
June sat nervously under the gaze of the headmistress, who was completely without compassion. This was her way. A hard lady. Not well liked by everybody, and she did not care.
“You will soon get over this and be a better prefect for it, June. Don’t let this one incident get you down. Perhaps whilst we are waiting for Mrs Bayliss, you could turn the chair round for you to bend over.”
As June was complying, Mrs Bayliss entered, placing the file and register on the headmistress’s desk. She then retreated, unable to hide her surprise that an upper sixth form prefect was going to be caned. Surely not. Wasn’t this girl the apple of Miss Evan’s eye this morning?
“Is it true? Is June Norton going to be caned?” asked Mary, Mrs Bayliss’s young assistant, hardly able to contain her excitement.
“Get on with your work, Mary. This isn’t being laid on for your entertainment,” responded Mrs Bayliss.
The headmistress, showing no compassion, spoke firmly to June. “Lower your trousers, June. I’m going to give you four strokes of the cane over your knickers.”
In a state of disbelief, June obeyed.
“Grab the seat of the chair and lower your head as far as you can,” ordered the headmistress. “You need to get your head lower and your bottom up.”
Not content with June’s positioning, she said, “Stand up. You must give me a good presentation of your bottom. Because your bottom is rather small, you need to thrust it out so I have a good target, or I will be overlapping strokes. Shall we try again?”
June obliged, her skimpy satin pink knickers stretching tightly over her petite bottom. This time, her position satisfied Miss Evans.
“Deep breath. Hold tight.”
And so the caning of prefect June Norton commenced. The headmistress selected her medium cane, delivering an introductory stroke less than full power; a warm-up stroke to prepare her quarry for the next three. Warm up stroke or not, June was surprised with its sting and it caused her to yelp, wiggle her bottom and bounce up and down on her toes. She took time to settle.
“Ready?” questioned Miss Evans.
“Yes, Miss,” replied June as she steadied herself.
The second stroke hurt as it pummelled June’s bottom, dead centre. Catching some bare flesh, a tell-tale red tramline appeared. June grunted, her knees involuntarily buckled, and she did well not to get up. Again, Miss Evans waited patiently for June to recover her position. An uncontrolled sob showed the chastisement was getting through to the hapless girl.
Miss Evans lined up her next stroke, taking care not to overlap the first two strokes. She wanted to give the girl something to think about, but she did not want to break her. With her usual accuracy, she discharged the stroke just below her previous two efforts, causing June to cry out. The tears were now flowing. Miserably, she waited for that final explosion of pain that would soon be exercising her. It came. She slumped to the floor and, still holding onto the chair, with her head resting on the cushion, she sobbed.
Giving June a couple of minutes to recover, Miss Evans reflected that she had caned girls with rather less drama, but understood girls had different pain thresholds and made no judgement. She replaced her cane in the cupboard and returned to her desk to complete the punishment register.
“All done and dusted. Sign the register when you are ready.”June arose from her kneeling position and gingerly pulled up her trousers, a rather painful process as she attempted to unsuccessfully avoid catching the four swollen ridges decorating her bottom. She slowly approached the desk and picked up the pen to sign next to the entry started by the headmistress.
Belatedly offering June a tissue, Miss Evans dismissed her bewildered and traumatised prefect.
“Return the punishment register and your file to Mrs Bayliss on your way out, please June. I’ve decided not to make an entry of this incident on your file. Learn the lesson and let’s put this behind us.”
June, deeply embarrassed, unable to hide her discomfort, and feeling sorry for herself, entered the Administration office holding the punishment register and her school file. With a deep sense of shame, she offered them to Mrs Bayliss.
Mary, the young assistant, had managed to find some paperwork to put into the four-drawer filing cabinet. The filing cabinet was located against the wall shared with the headmistress’s office. From this position, Mary was able to hear, if not everything that was said, the sound of the thwack of the cane striking June’s rear end, and the subsequent yelps. Mary, for reasons best known to herself, found this to be fascinating and stimulating. As the years passed by, she never lost the feeling of excitement at the prospect of a student being subjected to corporal punishment.
“I’ll take those,” offered Mary, and June handed over the punishment register and her file.
June was grateful to hear a sympathetic voice, and smiled weakly through her tears.
“That was tough,” said Mary, summoning as much pity as she could. “You’ll get over it very soon,” she said, without any idea of how long it would take for June to get over it, but it seemed kind to offer some assurance.
The ordeal was not quite over for June. She had to seek out Amy and apologise. This would be humiliating, but needed to be organised. How best could she find Amy alone to deliver a private apology? She couldn’t. When not in lessons, Amy and her friend Susan were always in each other’s company and today was no exception. June would have to deliver the apology in the presence of Susan.
June timidly approached Amy and Susan. They saw her, and Susan bristled, ready to give June a piece of her mind, as was her uncompromising style, but Amy held her friend back. June’s red eyes and sorrowful facial expression left them in no doubt she had been crying. The three of them stood facing each other and nothing was said for a couple of seconds. The embarrassing silence ended when June offered her apology.
‘I’m really sorry, Amy,” she stuttered.
“And so you should be!” snapped Susan. “You caused Amy to be unfairly thrashed and then you get away with this insincere apology!”
“Actually, I have been caned by Miss Evans; four strokes across my bottom. And it burns like hell.”
“Good!” retorted the unforgiving Susan.
Amy was more forgiving. It was in her nature. She had been vindicated by the headmistress, and June’s apology was good enough for her.
“I accept your apology, June.”
The three girls went their separate ways.
The End
© Robert Roberts 2022