For perhaps obvious reasons there have not been any school caning stories on this blog. So this is a first. This story is inspired by two unrelated experiences.

Firstly, at school, an older girl had to redo the whole of her upper sixth year. Her younger sister, who was in the lower sixth, took immense pleasure telling everyone that she had had to sign the corporal punishment consent form because she was 19. There is no evidence that this was ever needed, girls were rarely caned at school, and in any case, most sixth form punishments were private, although there were rumours about another girl.

The second was a post made to a spanking forum from a woman who was caned by a teacher at her school on several occasions and later accepted canings on the bare from him after she left school, when he became her private tutor to help her with her college work.

Angela’s story is probably a work of fiction, but then truth is often stranger than fiction.

Angela’s Story

When I was 18 I made not only a complete bodge of my A levels, but the re-sits as well. Consequently, I had to retake my last year of sixth form, if I wanted to go to college.

My parents were furious and I was promised a hard year of knuckling under. I was told that there would be big changes at home and I would definitely not be going out on a school night until the end of the year.

I argued that I was old enough to decide that for myself but I was soon to realise that my adult status was to be postponed. This was brought home to me when on my first day back in September when I was pressurised by my dad to sign the consent form allowing corporal punishment, something I as a legal adult, near 19, had to agree to rather than my parents.

I can’t say I found it any easier the second time around and I was soon in trouble with my work. I also tended to resent being at school at all, which turned me from a lazy but otherwise good girl into the bane of my teacher’s lives.

As result, I got detention, something that never ever happened to sixth formers at our school. I was mortified. To make things worse I had to sit with younger kids and with my hands on my head in complete silence for the hour I was kept in. After five minutes I rebelled and stormed out of detention while the hapless Miss Giles, an elderly but ineffectual teacher, made squawking noises because she didn’t know what to say, I openly laughed in her face.

The next day I was called to see my head of year, David Ashley, who gave a right bollocking and ordered an imposition, two hundred lines: ‘I must respect my teachers when I am being properly corrected’. Of course, I had to apologise and take another detention.

Somehow, some of my fellow sixth formers had found out about my detention and I was a laughing stock. So when I again had to sit with my hands on my head with mostly fourth formers, I again rebelled. I didn’t even bother to do my lines.

This was on a Friday and I didn’t tell me parents about any of this. So we had row because they couldn’t understand why I was so on edge.

Then on Monday morning, I was again called in to see my Head of Year.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” He was exasperated rather than angry. “If I suspend you, you will get so far behind I don’t think you can catch up. Is there even any point you being at this school?”

I just wished we could forget the whole thing and I could go back to being a good girl, quietly fail the year, and leave. That was not a conscious thought, but it sums up my attitude at the time I think.

“I don’t know sir.” I think I said.

“Well you leave me very little choice. I have to recommend that you either accept the cane or go before the head to discuss exclusion options.” He said gravely.

I felt sick. I was being given two unthinkable options. I begged for another chance, I think I would have even sat in detention with my hands on my head, or believed I would at that point. It was then that he told me that he would inform my parents.

“Actually you don’t have to do that, I am over 18, and this is between you and I.” I tried to sound assertive and grown up.

“Well if you are going to be suspended then of course we will have to discuss it with your parents, don’t be childish.” He was angry.

“Not if I have the cane.” I said.

He thought this over and said that it would be ‘rather unusual’. But I insisted and he told me to report to his office after school and he would consult with the Head.

After the meeting I felt a rush of nausea again and went to the cloakroom, but wasn’t actually sick. I did as I was told that evening and was kept waiting for 15 minutes with people giving me odd stares as the passed me in the hallway. Eventually I was called in.

I was told that if I insisted the Head said I was quite correct and that the school had no obligation to inform my parents if I accepted a caning. I was as horrified as I was relieved to hear this. Mr Ashley said that I would have to get it from him but that I was entitled to a witness, a female member of staff. I protested, I really didn’t want anyone to see this I thought.

He said that I didn’t have to decide now, as I would have to report to him the next day after lunch. He told me that he had no intention of caning me with my skirt flapping about and if I wanted to be caned like a boy then I should report to him after lunch wearing my gym shorts.

Again I protested, I really didn’t want to be seen reporting to my head of year in my gym kit in the middle of the afternoon, it would be all over the school by home time that I had been caned.

He said it was up to me, but if I didn’t report in my kit, I would be caned on the knickers.

It was terrible having to wait and I cried myself to sleep that night and you can imagine how the next morning dragged on. I thought about how embarrassing it would be to be caned on my knickers, but how much more so to be seen waiting outside Mr Ashley’s office in my gym kit. I don’t think I really believed that it was going to happen.

I had a free period that afternoon and a couple of friends asked me if I wanted to go out for lunch and get back late. I pretended I had to work. I didn’t eat much at lunch, unless you count my nails. I must have gone to the lavatory about five times.

Waiting outside Mr Ashley’s office was like being in a dentist’s waiting room or an exam, only worse. To make things worse he didn’t say anything when he came back from lunch, he just paused to note my attire.

When his door finally opened again, I felt light-headed it seemed a long walk to stand in front of his desk.

“I really think you should allow me to call Mrs Anderson.” He said. She was my tutor.

I shook my head.

“Alright.” He sighed. “Bend forward over the desk and lift your skirt.”

I was surprised how easily I was able to comply. I felt more silly than anything else, bent over with my bum sticking up.

“Have you ever been caned or slippered before?” He asked.

I shook my head.

He nodded, then said: “It will be six, hold the desk tight and don’t stand up.”

The first stroke was much worse than I was expecting and it was all I could do to draw breath. It took me by surprise, not just because I thought he would say more, but the sound was terrific.

I yelled at the second and promptly started crying.

What really got to me was that the pain kept getting worse after he struck, then just as it started to ease he struck again. Also it seemed to take a long time, but the whole thing must have been over in less than two minutes.

I didn’t get up, but just lay across his desk crying my eyes out. When at last I could speak, I just said I was really sorry.

“I am sorry too. You know you still have to have detention and now I want 500 lines. Aren’t you a silly girl?” He said kindly. “Get up and adjust your skirt.”

He waited until I had stopped crying and gave me some tissue and then I went to the cloakroom. Of course I looked. It was quite a sight and the dark reddish-purple lines were really hard to the touch and sort of stood up.

Two days later, I had to sit at attention with my hands on my head in detention. It was embarrassing and painful, but there was no way I was going to storm out this time. It was also embarrassing to have to go to hand in my lines to Mr Ashley, knowing that he had seen my knickers and caned my bottom. He just tore them up and put the bits in the bin without looking at them.

Then we had a long chat about my work and how I was finding staying on an extra year. Strangely I found that I like him enormously and was strangely pleased when he said I should come to his office once a week to review my work.

That was the beginning of my year being mentored by a man who had caned my bottom.

To be continued.