Amy Turner was determined to test the new headmistress. Unlike the majority of the well-behaved daughters of the wealthy, she was a thorn in the side of the staff at the very expensive private boarding school in the heart of England’s stockbroker belt.

Excellent at sport and good at art, she was thought likely to one day be captain of a prominent hockey, netball or rowing team. If only she could rein in her feisty, provocative spirit which frequently triggered an incident. She was loud, in your face, and rebellious but also tall, strong, athletic, and a courageous leader.

To the other girls, Amy was known to be good fun if you were on the right side of her, and a prankster and mischief-maker who enjoyed the occasional cigarette, not because she enjoyed it (she didn’t) but because it was forbidden. She didn’t care about getting caught either. Amy Turner was habitually in the headmistress’s office to be disciplined for yet another offence which usually meant two strokes of the cane across her non-writing left hand. The school had readily adopted corporal punishment when it was reinstated in private establishments.

Most of her classmates were terrified at the prospect of being called to the headmistress’s office to get the stick, but not Amy. The retiring head had worked several years beyond her effectiveness, and more recently the school’s discipline had started to slide. She no longer had the dominant authority to maintain proper order, and Amy thought her efforts with the cane were laughable. What were the other girls worried about? Another droning lecture and two taps on the palm?

At the start of Amy’s final year, the frail old Mrs Johnson was replaced by a quietly spoken middle-aged woman with piercing blue eyes. Amy was keen to find out what she was made of and became frustrated that despite several months of goading she hadn’t managed to provoke one of the teachers into sending her to Miss Yates, or ‘Ma’am’ as the silly trout wanted to be called. The long-suffering staff generally agreed that the best strategy for dealing with ‘troublesome Turner’ was to ignore her.

At last, finally, she managed to get into the new head’s office by swearing at the English teacher when she caught her smoking. Commanded to “Come!” by an icy voice when she knocked on the office door, she marched in with a swagger. Miss Yates was reading a set of notes laid out on her desk and leafing through the punishment book which Amy knew contained many references to her behaviour.

There was no welcome or preamble. “Quite a performance I hear,” said Miss Yates calmly. “And a serial offender.”

Amy Turner really didn’t like this woman. The new headmistress pressed a button on her conference call phone.

“I don’t want to be disturbed except for those with a summons. I’m in session.”

The disembodied voice of the school secretary came back with a polite response.

“Of course Ma’am. There is just one other this afternoon.”

Miss Yates didn’t respond but turned to Amy instead.

“Come with me,” she demanded, and opened a door behind her desk. Amy had always assumed it was some kind of store cupboard but to her open-mouthed astonishment it turned out to be a whole new room. It wasn’t a very big room, more of a badly-lit annexe. Weird. It had three old-style school desks which looked like they came out of an architectural salvage yard, a tall cupboard, an officious-looking desk and a heavy chair.

“This, young lady, is where recalcitrant, rude, defiant, and objectionable individuals come to learn a harsh lesson. This is the Punishment Room and if you’re not very careful it is where you and I will be spending a lot more time.

The headmistress dragged the weighty chair in front of the desk. It was upholstered in worn but plush and polished leather.

Miss Yates looked Amy up and down.

“Hmmm, tall enough,” she said, and swivelled the chair through 180 degrees so the back was facing Amy.

“Come here, Turner,” said the headmistress in a most forthright manner, which affronted Amy. Even old Johnson called her Miss Turner.

“At once!” she snapped, jolting the girl into action.

“Lift your skirt and bend over.”

“What?” exclaimed Amy.

“If you are hard of hearing, it is pardon not what,” she shrilled back in a louder voice. “And to you it is ‘pardon Ma’am!’

“Now lift your skirt and get over the strapping chair!”

Somewhat confused by the reference, Amy was bullied into complying. She wasn’t used to this kind of relationship where staff commanded and she obeyed. Hesitating, she fumbled with her skirt, hitching it up to her waist and leaning forward.

“And be quick about it girl!” rapped the headmistress.

“Up on tip toes, hands gripping the chair edge, head up and eyes to the front.”

To Amy’s utter astonishment, Miss Yates then came behind her, gripped the waistband of her standard-issue navy blue school knickers and turned them inside out and down her thighs, making her bottom completely bare.

“Miss what are you doing?” Amy exclaimed indignantly as she rose from the chair.

“Back in position girl! How dare you defy me!”

Amy pouted but resumed her lewd position.

“When I put you on the strapping chair,” said Miss Yates, emphasising the opening word, “it will always be with your skirt raised, knickers down, bottom bare, and gripping the sides of the seat with your head up and eyes to the front. You will not stray from this position until I say you can.”

The headmistress returned to her seat, pulled the lid off her fountain pen and started writing in the punishment book. Amy had a good view, elevated as she was just in front of the desk and ordered to stare straight ahead. Miss Yates quietly dictated as she wrote.

“Smoking, profanity and impertinent attitude unbecoming of a lady. Disrespectful to staff.”

She stopped writing and replaced the pen lid.

“A bare-bottomed ride on the strapping chair is the remedy, and I think we’ll start with six.”

She rose, opened the top drawer of her desk and retrieved what Amy could see was a thick piece of dark tan leather about 18 inches long and three inches wide. Anyone who had been summoned to the new headmistress’s office had been tight-lipped about what happened inside and now she could see why. Amy also had a pretty good idea about what was going to happen next.

“On tip toes, head up, eyes to the front,” Miss Yates repeated in a smooth even voice.

Suddenly a band of fire cracked across Amy’s bare backside with a loud splat and she turned in shock to the wielder of the strap.

“Aaaagh!! Ow! Miss!!!” she screeched with great consternation.

“Eyes to the front! And it’s Ow Ma’am! I will not begin your punishment until you comply with the terms of my discipline.”

For once, Amy did as she was told and another lash of fire painted her backside red.

“Ow!! My bum Miss!” yelled Amy. “It hurts!!”

“If you must howl and shout something rude, it’s ‘Ow my bottom Ma’am’, but I’d prefer you to show the courage and dignity we expect on the hockey pitch. And of course it hurts. It’s a punishment and we still haven’t started properly because you insist on being disobedient. Eyes to the front.” The headmistress’s voice was soft but direct.

The strap leathered her impudent bottom once again. Amy tapped her toes on the floor like someone running on the spot but managed to stare straight ahead, gripping the chair rail with all her might and screwing her face in pain.

“That’s one,” announced Miss Yates before branding her behind with another fierce stroke.

“Aaaaaghh! Miss-Ma’am!” Amy waggled her burning rump on the chair top.

“Better. Bottom up. Keep still,” announced Miss Yates softly and then repeated the medicine.

“Ow!! Fuh.” Amy just about managed to stop herself cursing as she twisted on the chair. She didn’t think it was possible for her bottom to hurt so much.

“Careful. You are learning not to be profane.”

“Oh Ow! Ow! Ow!” Amy gasped and grizzled as yet another searing stripe of leather bit into her bare bum.

Somehow, for the remaining strokes, she managed to stay on the chair despite wriggling and swaying and humping her injured and swollen buttocks every which way.

The headmistress merely left her there to sob while she completed another entry in ink pen.

“Pull your kickers up,” she said at last. “Sit at a desk and use the fountain pen and paper inside to write your letter of apology which I will have on my desk in 15 minutes. It will begin ‘Dear Ma’am’ and finish ‘Yours most humbly, Amy Turner’. The rest of your contrition will be from your own hand.”

Miserably and tearfully, Amy began the task.

She was about halfway through when there was a timid knock at the door.

“Come!” boomed Mis Yates.

A younger or possibly just a very much smaller girl scuttled into the dingy room.

“Ah Lisa Taylor. Insolence and disobedience. Six. You know what to do.”

“Yes Ma’am,” replied the girl.

Amy watched with fascination as the girl turned the chair around, knelt on the seat, lifted her skirt, peeled her knickers down and bent over, gripping the sides of the chair. She waited bare bottom for Miss Yates to be ready to deal with her.

A couple of minutes later Amy saw the headmistress take the same strap from the top drawer, present it to the girl’s pale behind and then lash it down hard leaving an instant red stripe across her cheeks.

“Oh Ow! One! Thank you Ma’am!

“Aaagh!! Ma’am! Two! Thank you!”

Miss Yates gently encouraged the miscreant.

“Bottom up. Good girl. Keep still. Four left.”

“Oooh Ow! Three! Thank you Ma’am!”

She swayed with the last application, bringing gentle but firm rebuke.

“Bottom!

“In position. That’s it. Now. Head up.”

The girl squealed and squirmed and bounced her knees on the chair as the leather tortured her bare seat, but she didn’t swear or miss the count.

“You may rise,” is all the headmistress said at the conclusion.

The girl gingerly replaced her knickers over a hot and angry-looking rear end, smoothed down her skirt and took a seat in front of Amy where she quickly started writing a note.

Before Amy had managed another sentence, the chastened girl was back at Miss Yates’ desk proffering her letter. The headmistress took it and read aloud, mainly for Amy’s benefit.

“Dear Ma’am. I wish to apologise for my totally unacceptable comments when asked to complete my history assignment, and for my reluctance to begin a new project. I recognise that this was insolent and disobedient and will endeavour to behave in a manner befitting a member of this school in the future. Thank you Ma’am for correcting me with six strokes of the strap on my bare bottom which I know I fully deserved. Yours most humbly, Lisa Turner.

“Very good Lisa. You are free of guilt and the incident closed. All privileges are returned and you may now visit the gala on Saturday. You are dismissed.”

The girl curtseyed with a “thank you Ma’am” and promptly left.

“Did you learn anything Turner?”

Amy winced again at the use of her surname and sniffed.

“I think so Ma’am.”

“Good. Because if I’m not satisfied with your apology then I’ll have you bare bottom for another ride over the strapping chair. And we’ll have them properly counted next time.”

She turned the chair round so the back was once again facing Amy.

“Just in case we need it this afternoon,” said the headmistress. “Once a week in my study until I see a change in attitude. We shall later be discussing your performance on and off the playing field and whether you are giving of the best of yourself and making the most of your obvious potential.”

Amy’s bottom was still hot and smarting and she really didn’t fancy another dose. She was also irritated that she had shed a tear and so meekly obeyed the new headmistress without further questions, but at the same time she knew she had a deep-seated need for strong coaching. She’d met her match and it was going to be a long and challenging nine months.

The End

© Davis Marks 2025