A Letter From Louise by S M Ackerman

A senior girl caught breaking the schools rules is taken to the headmistress’s office where she experiences one exhilarating caning.

Copyright © 2010 by S M Ackerman, all rights reserved. Not for Sale. Not part of any published work.

My story starts when I am eighteen and in the latter years of my private education at a girls only boarding school. It is one of those old sturdy institutions, and despite that image quite a nice place to be educated; if you take out the fact that your life had to center around being a member of a one gender community for most of the year.

I had been a full time boarder since I was five and now my education was fast closing to an end. During my years I had always been one of the nice girls, you know the kind, neat, obedient to the rules, always working hard and quite popular with my companions. Teachers thought me to be a nice girl, and I suppose I was, I had certainly, until that fateful date, never been in any serious trouble. I was by the age of sixteen a school prefect and by eighteen I was House-head-girl, which gave me certain obligations and I saw to them to the best that I could.

One of those obligations was making sure that other less senior girls obeyed the school rules. The Headmistress had called all the seniors together to inform us that she had decided there was too much smoking going on, and that it had to be stopped. We were told to be vigilant and to report any infringement of this ban immediately. What followed was weeks of checking and double-checking; the smokers were quite well known to the prefects as was where they smoked. The Headmistress announced the clamp down to the school at assemblies, giving fair notice of the doom that would fall on anyone caught breaking the rules.

I do not know to this day why I did what I did, what possible quirk of rebellion triggered in my mind on that fateful day; but something did, and that is indisputable.

I was checking the toilets and without any success when something caught my nose, a smell of burning sulfur as from a match. It wafted into the toilets through an open window, emanating from the service passageway behind the toilets. I left and walked around the block until I came to the entry door. Girls were not allowed through this door; I pushed gently, hoping it would not squeak. It didn’t. Passing through, I walked on tiptoe to the one and only bend in the passageway and then stopped. I could clearly hear two voices, they were young sounding, maybe third or at most fourth year students.

I stepped around the corner confronting them both just as Mary B took a long lung full of smoke. Caught red handed without any defense they looked shocked. I held out my hand and the cigarette was passed to me. I should have immediately clipped it and taken them to the Heads Office, but instead I looked at their terrified little faces and indicated that they leave. I decided to be lenient with them despite the clamp down.

The cigarette burned between my fingers, gently smoking away as I held it tight; then it happened, my aberration, as I have said already. I do not know what possessed me, but I lifted the filter end to my lips and sucked; not a wise thing to do if, like me, you are a nonsmoker. It tasted foul, the smoke entered my throat, then my lungs and then the coughing exploded. I coughed almost nonstop for ages and then dropped, well more like threw the foul thing to the floor, but it was too late.

Standing at the corner behind me and having watched me smoking, was the Gym Mistress. She was both shocked and annoyed to catch a senior (and a head-house-girl) flagrantly breaking the school rules, and especially when that said girl was supposed to be enforcing them. Sensing her presence, I turned around just in time to see a look of pure shock registering across her face, but only for just a second or two as our eyes met. Then it vanished, and what replaced it bode badly for me. Anger, disgust and determination erupted to shatter any illusions I might have. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t need to, she turned, then as if summoning a disgraced puppy dog, she clicked her fingers for me to follow her; not that I needed, or would get any medals for guessing exactly where she was leading me.

Like a disgraced puppy, I lowered my head and with a heartfelt fear growing in my belly I followed the mistress out and around my school, and in through the main entrance. Girls turned to watch – her leading, me trailing, my head down, (junior girls at that) as I was led to my doom. Whispers behind hands filled my ears as I passed through the center of a parted gathering. They all knew somehow, and they watched, glad that it was me, not them, being led to the office of the Headmistress.

At the door the Gym mistress pointed to ‘the chair’, and obediently I sat, my head held low, not daring to meet her eyes. She knocked on that door, a dull hollow booming sound that filled the corridor where I sat waiting. The sound echoed up the stairwell opposite to ‘the chair.’ The Gym Mistress vanished through the open door, closing it behind her; denying me any hope of hearing her telling the lady waiting within of the disgusting behavior of one of her more senior girls.

That was when the lesson ended and bells began to ring. Seconds later the thunder of hundreds of feet scurrying along corridors began. The noise grew louder as the stairwell filled with pupils, all eager to get from one classroom to another. Hundreds of girls on the move at once, travelling in a herd, like buffalo on the plains; amidst them the word of my disgrace had spread. As many as possible would be heading down the stairs opposite to see if the gossip was true. There I sat, alone, scared with my head down, waiting on that bright yellow vinyl covered chair. I was the culprit caught and waiting to receive an interview with the Headmistress; waiting to find out my fate, and receive my due punishment.

Every one of those descending girls would be looking at me, knowing the truth of my situation. Some would be quite enjoying seeing my discomfort and fear. Some had sat on this chair, waiting, solely because I had placed them there and gone into that office to report their crimes. They would be the gleeful ones, girls seeing their desire for revenge played out before them, seeing my distress and fear, seeing me brought low from my position of superiority over them.

Perhaps I should explain the chair. It’s the most horrid yellow vinyl and has been placed outside of the Headmistresses door. It’s used solely for girls ordered to attend the Headmistress for discipline. As I was that day, the culprit sits in that chair and is made to wait. How long depends on the Headmistress, although I have heard of girls being kept in this seat throughout most of the day. Seen after their interview in the toilets, they always cried their eyes out. Now it was my time; I was a chair virgin, but as of that day I would not be again.

My yellow house-badge almost matched the colour of the chair as I waited, filled with anticipation and dread. I wondered, was that bitch of a Gym Mistress telling the harridan of a Headmistress about me? Whatever it was, I would sooner or later be paying penance for my actions. I thought about trying to explain, to tell her that the Mistress was mistaken, but I soon realised that all that would achieve would be to infuriate the Headmistress further; and therefore make my attendance in her offices so much more demeaning and pain filled.

As I said my head-house-girl badge was bright yellow, and as such clearly visible against the dark blue of my jacket. As I waited, girls poured in an endless stream past me. Some glancing and smiling; trying to reassure me, to offer me support in some cases. Those who had been in my position previously were shaking their heads or frowning, knowing something of what I might receive. Whatever they had experienced in that room would be nothing to what I expected to experience; what with me being a school member of long standing that had let down myself, my house and my Headmistress by my actions. Any hope of leniency vanished further into the recesses of my mind the more I thought about my situation. I am in for it, and that is a fact; the words filled my thoughts, fear filled my belly, and my bottom involuntarily twitched against the hot sticky grip of the yellow vinyl.

The headmistress’s office door was literally thrown open, and out stalked the gym mistress. She glanced down at me, a half smile, half sneer, then she walked right by. Girls halted their decent down the stairs; crushing into one another, allowing the teacher free passage. Some watched and understood the implication for me, as I was held in her downward glance. She, I knew right then, had been painting a picture of my behavior, and in such vivid colours that there was (not that there ever really had been) no chance of my being dealt with on a verbal level.

My headmistress stood in the open doorway with a cane held tightly in her hand, its tip resting alongside of her tweed skirt. The look on her face said it all to me; she was disappointed in me, horrified to have me waiting for her personal attention, and angry that a senior girl, and house-head, should need to be sent for discipline. I looked down in shame as I stood up from the vinyl seat in anticipation of being summoned into her room.

She stepped back, turning away from me, and as she headed deeper into her domain, I followed knowing that the next few minutes were set to be the most mortifying of my entire life – well so far. I closed the door behind me not wanting those that still lingered around the stairs to be able to see what happened to me.

My headmistress stood by a black lacquered cupboard, her hand slowly reaching out to open the door. I watched as her fingers gripped the wooden knob, then the door swung out on twin metal hinges, revealing a rack on which hung a variety of disciplinary equipment. Her hand reached in, her fingers caressing the leather straps of a tawse, before passing on to select and grasp a thin black cane (she had discarded the one she had been carrying). As she removed her chosen implement and turned around to face me, she swished the new rod through the air. The whistle that accompanied the move made my heart jump, and my stomach do flip-flops. I had never heard a sound quite as terrifying as it made as cane sliced through the air. The thought of it cutting down and lashing across my skirt filled me with dread. The cane tilted, pointing at me and then indicating towards the desk. Its shiny leather surface glistened in anticipation of my bent body, or so it seemed to me as I approached it.

I bent without instruction, stretching out and reaching across to the far side of the desk. The headmistress took up a position directly behind me. When she placed the cane next to me, I heard it clatter as it settled on the wood and leather. Her hands touched the hem of my skirt, lifting it, folding it back across my bottom, revealing my non-regulation, lemon yellow panties. Fingers gripped the elastic, and with a single jerk she pulled downward, lowering them to my knees. The feeling of deep humiliation that exploded throughout me as my last vestige of modesty was removed broke me. I gulped and tears formed in my eyes; it wasn’t right my being bent over this table, it just wasn’t right. I did not deserve to be treated like a culprit.

I started to rise and my fingers loosened their grip on the table edge. As the cane lifted from the desktop to swish through the air, something strange happened, some feeling of wetness developed in my groin, arousal filled my soul, whilst unbidden desperation forced my fingers to tighten their grip once more.

When my headmistress moved to my left, I gulped again as the cane gently tapped against my bottom. Then I gulped for the last time as the thin stick departed from my flesh – soon to return though, and with the power of my headmistress’s arm, and then her wrist, driving it back.

What did it matter if my being here was right or wrong? I was here and I was naked from the waist down. My headmistress was about to thrash my bare bottom with her cane. The lust took over, I gulped as I felt the first of what I now hoped would be many strokes of her cane, cutting deep into the tender flesh of my virginal bottom.

Fire exploded in a straight line across both bottom cheeks. The tip of the cane lashed hardest against the furthest point of contact. I jerked with shock, pulling hard against the desk edge, jiggling my cheeks, putting on a fine display for my headmistress. The second and third stroke swiftly followed the first, each equally demanding of my appreciation and grip to stay down.

Stroke four lashed only against my left buttock; its tip whipping deep between the crease of my bottom, adding a fire the like of which I had never imagined to exist. My sex reacted instantly, juice filled and flooded out from between my sex lips and I could feel the distinctive feeling of a fast approaching orgasm. The horror of displaying such an event to my headmistress helped me suppress my desire for a second or two, but then the cane lashed again, and my restraint failed completely.

My orgasm flooded out of me as the sixth stroke exploded. My headmistress must have realised what she had done to me, because she did not stop thrashing me at six. I received a further four more of the harshest of strokes, during which I screamed out my pleasure and thrashed around on her desktop. Finally my orgasm passed, as did my caning.

Cool fingertips lightly traced my bottoms lash marks. Her voice spoke to me for the first time. “I hope that this will teach you a lesson, my girl. I sincerely hope that I will not have to repeat this caning anytime soon. Understand, my girl, if I find you sitting on my punishment chairs again, you can be certain that I will make you wish that you had never been born. Is that clear, girl!”

Clear as it could be. All I needed to do if I wanted a repeat of my orgasmic discipline was to sit on her chair and wait. Somehow, I do not think that I was the only one in the room that hoped the chair would be occupied and quite soon, or that a naked bottom, my naked bottom, would be subjected to a very harsh thrashing, a very harsh thrashing indeed – I hope.