Sophie’s sacrifice

21Sep10

The narrow stairwell smelt of floor polish and ancient oak.

When she last made this journey, she had sneered at the tacky ordinariness of an old rickety staircase in such an inauspicious school, now they seemed so intimidating. As she climbed, each creak put Sophie in mind of the scaffold steps. She paused and took a deep breath.

At her old school, they had chores and crushes. The crushes had been for the good girls and the chores for the nasty oiks that got caught. Sophie Rawlings had not been nice, but then she had never been caught. Captain of the hockey team and vice-head girl, she had been an ascending star.

Then daddy had gone and lost the money. Well as it turned out it had never been his in the first place. Daddy had been as much a cheat as she had. Only he had been caught. For a while, prison had beckoned but ‘they’ hadn’t wanted to make a fuss.

Sophie had. And what a fuss she had made. All those years bunking off lessons and getting little crush swats to do her homework had never mattered at the time. An expensive finishing school and some minor royal would have seen to her good life, all gone one rainy afternoon halfway through her last term with a visit from a rather common detective.

“You can always do your last year again darling.” Her mother had said. “Then we can get you into a university. I am told they have grants and things, you know for the common people who don’t have money.”

“Like us you mean.” Sophie had snapped. “Oh mummy you are pathetic. I am almost 19 why do I have to go back to school anyway?”

“Well we do seem to have a tiny cash flow problem at the moment its true, but we are hardly common.” Mummy had sounded put out. As well she should, what about her. No more skiing and the prospect of spending a whole year at some oiky little school chocked full of little oiks.

In the end they had found her, what her father had termed ‘an inexpensive independent school.’ In other words, a second rate private school for sad little wannabes from suburbia.

From day one, she had refused to cooperate. Not with school uniform, not with her teachers. She had torn up her report cards in her teachers’ faces and as for detention, what a common little custom, she never attended no matter how many times they sent her there. What could they do about it?

Oh there was the occasional reminder that the school still had the cane, the cane what a joke. The last time anyone caned a girl it was three across the palms and that was a so-called last resort.

At the end of the first term, Sophie had been dragged up before the headmaster for a ticking off. Her attitude had earned her a three-day suspension. Giving the little weasel of a man the finger got her a holiday, so their point was?

She had been warned that any more misbehaviour on her part would mean permanent exclusion.

Borrowing the dyke art teacher’s car had been a brain wave. Driving it through the school rose garden had been the icing on the cake. She was finally free.

The morning she was due to see the head to get the happy news she had come late to breakfast. She had spent an hour getting dressed to kill. She was going to show them all. But on the stairs she had over heard her parents talking.

“I’m so sorry Miranda.” Daddy had been close to tears. “I know I failed us. I don’t have anything left. Selling the Bentley got her a place at that school, now what are we going to do?”

“The little madam will just have to go out to work.” Mummy had said.

“As what? She has absolutely no qualifications and she has just burned her last chance of getting some.”

“Well what do you want me to do about it? She is the precious little princess we always wanted, only now she is a princess with no kingdom.”

Sophie had sat down on the stairs at these words. Her father had loved the car. She remembered that when all else was lost, he still had a decent car. She didn’t know he had sold it to pay for the Grange.

Mother’s coat and jewels, come to think of it, they had gone too. What else had they sold?

“Oh you silly bitch, what about me, what about my holiday…” Her words to her mother popped into her head.

Her eyes were drawn to a turn of the century scene of Damascus on the stairwell. There was a fat man in a sedan chair being carried through a busy market. The market traders had always looked so noble to her and as a child, she had hated the lazy little fat man. Now she saw that she was the silly little fat man. She felt sick.

She remembered her old school and the words of her friend when she wasn’t made head girl. Sophie had wanted to be head girl so much, why wasn’t it her?

“Sophie, everyone knows you are the best. You’re the prettiest and certainly the most stylish, but you always want everything now. You have no sense of sacrifice or delayed gratification.”

The silk yellow scarf at Sophie’s throat was suspiciously similar to the one on the fat man in the picture. She tore it from her neck.

It took another 10 minutes to get into her school uniform.

That had been the day before yesterday. Her meeting with the headmaster had been a difficult one. There was no way she was to be forgiven and no way her parents would get a rebate on the fees. One more chance, she had begged.

Finally, she had been given a choice, just one chance to show that her repentance was sincere. She had taken it.

The creaking stairs accused her with each step, like she was dirty stop out coming home late. The fire door at the top was even louder. She so desperately wanted to sneak quietly to her fate. Even the rapping on the headmaster’s door sounded too loud.

There was no answer. Hours ticked by, days even. She went to knock again.

“Come.” He called from within before her knuckles made second contact with the wood.

Sophie regarded the door with horror, that handle looked so large and threatened her with its ornate brass. She couldn’t touch it.

“Come in.” He said again.

Before she could move the door opened. It was a rather sour-faced Miss Randall, her form tutor, who opened it.

“Come in Sophie.” She said gently.

The headmaster looked far from a weasel today, he stood a head taller than Sophie and on reflection he looked rather athletic for a man in his 50s.

“Miss Rawlings, well you came at least.” He sighed. “This is all rather unnecessary don’t you think?”

“Yes sir.” Sophie whispered.

“Miss Randall is here for obvious reasons.” He said nodding to her form teacher.

Sophie returned half a shrug to show her lack of understanding.

“It’s school policy.” Miss Randall said quietly.

“I would rather you weren’t here miss.” Sophie said meekly.

Miss Randall opened her mouth and then closed it turning to the headmaster.

“I propose to give you eight on the bare Miss Rawlings.” The headmaster said grimly. “I mean to make sure that I never see you in this office again.”

Sophie’s jaw hung open and she looked to Miss Randall for rescue. Although she had not had the courage to think about it, she had expected something like six of the best on her bottom, she supposed. But eight and bare?

“Sir I…” Sophie looked from Miss Randall to the headmaster and back again.

“Miss Rawlings you are 18, you can refuse, but the other day you signed a consent form. You seemed most eloquent in your request for another chance. Have you changed your mind?” The headmaster asked as if he had been expecting this.

Sophie was white and her mind raced. The old Sophie would have raged at the suggestion, just like the pompous man in the market.

“No.” She whispered.

“Alright Miss Rawlings just slip your things down and bend forward across my desk.” The headmaster said, suddenly sounding business-like.

Miss Randall nodded in agreement.

Sophie swallowed and reached under her dark grey pleated skirt. She fumbled for a moment with her white cotton briefs, grateful at least that as a member of the upper sixth she didn’t have to wear the horrid navy blue ones.

She blushed as the elasticated cloth pulled away from her bottom and upper thighs. They clung for a moment around her knees before she finally allowed them to fall. There was a rattle of static from her hold-up stockings with the motion.

Miss Randall suppressed a knowing smile at the sound. There was always so much less fuss with a younger girl wearing cotton socks. It was so undignified for these sixth formers, she observed.

“Lean forward Miss Rawlings.” The headmaster said again.

Sophie leant reluctantly forward and took hold of the far edge of the desk.

“Miss Randall if you would.” He said.

Miss Randall moved forward and took hold of the hem of Sophie’s skirt. Then she slowly pulled it up to reveal first Sophie’s stockinged thighs and then the stocking tops. Then she paused and looked to the headmaster for the final go-ahead.

The headmaster regarded Sophie’s skirted bottom for a moment as if re-considering and then he nodded.

Miss Randall pursed her lips and raised the skirt into the small of Sophie’s back unveiling her neat white bottom. The girl gasped a little as she felt the air on her behind.

Sophie’s bottom was pert and firm, so that it stood out in profile like two almost perfect domes. Miss Randall was a little envious and took a moment to study where the definition of the muscle blended in with the flaring of Sophie’s hips to form an almost perfect circle.

“Stand a little closer to the desk please Rawlings.” The headmaster said. “And keep you feet together.”

Sophie blushed, but did as she was told, acutely aware that motion served to elevate her bottom still further so that it was high and tight.

Although Miss Randall was firm in her sexual allegiance to men, she could not help being aware of the eroticism of the scene and she felt a tingle down below with a certain tightness to her lower belly. She glanced at the headmaster’s crotch with a blush. He showed no outward sign of anything but pure professionalism, but then he was wearing a long suit jacket that was firmly buttoned at the front.

Miss Randall watched as he crossed the room to a cabinet by the window. Inside through the glass front along side two or three sports trophies were three canes in a rack. One was short, no more than a yard long, and rather thick. A second was slightly longer and decidedly narrower. The last, the one he picked, was longer still and although no slimmer than the second, was darker and more flexible.

Miss Randall found herself wondering what such a stick would feel like across her own bottom. Or Sophie’s for that matter. She turned her attention back to Sophie, whose smooth white bottom was framed by the dark bands of her stocking tops and the crumpled skirt piled onto her back. Sophie herself was looking back nervously over her shoulder, her attention taken by the rattle of the cane as it came out of the cabinet.

“Are you satisfied that all is in order Miss Randall?” The headmaster asked as he took a practice stroke that caused both women to jerk involuntarily.

“Yes…” Miss Randall croaked before swallowing and starting again with more resolve. “Yes headmaster quite in order.”

The headmaster nodded at this and then put the stick down on the desk beside the half naked Sophie. He means to draw this out then, Miss Randall thought, her mouth dry as the tension took its toll on her nerves. How much worse for Sophie? But the headmaster waited only for as long as it took him to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves. Once this operation was complete, he again took up the cane. Sophie started at the sound of the wood being dragged across the desktop beside her.

The cane warbled as he agitated in the air above Sophie’s exposed and vulnerable bottom, Miss Randall watched the girl shift a little as she took a firm hold on the far edge of the desk.

The first stroke came suddenly. There was a distinctive swish followed by a crack. It came so fast Miss Randall almost missed the stroke and if it wasn’t for the ripples and the stark white line on Sophie’s bottom she would have wondered if he had struck at all.

Sophie grunted and lifted her right leg so that her knee was tucked one behind the other. It hurt worse than she was ready for and yet it wasn’t too bad, she thought. Then instead of fading the pain poured into the line that had been cut across her bottom like water flooding a sinking ship.

“Ah oh.” She murmured as she gritted her teeth.

Miss Randall watched the white line on Sophie’s bottom first turn pink and then red.

There was a long pause as the headmaster drew back his arm with the look of an angler or pro-golfer. Then he cast again.

This time Miss Randall saw the stroke bite home and saw Sophie’s head jerk.

For Sophie the second stroke hurt worse than the first for a moment and then eased. The first stroke on the other hand was still growing in intensity like a fire. Then like the first, the second stroke gathered itself and Sophie had to ride the wave of two lines of pain across her bottom.

“Eeeeh.” She let out a long sigh.

Miss Randall’s hands fluttered around her throat before committing themselves to pressing against her face. The two plum-coloured lines on Sophie’s bottom were starkly drawn and as she watched, they began to rise to neat ridges.

The third stroke landed below the third and after a few moments Sophie began to breath heavily.

“Please I can’t…” She didn’t finish, but her right leg stretched out and her toes scratched at the carpet as she hugged the desk.

The headmaster waited as Sophie squirmed and panted on the desktop. There were now three dark ridges on her bottom.

The fourth stroke flicked up and under Sophie’s bottom and she was lifted to her toes as if trying to take her bottom above the pain. At the same time her breathing became ragged and she dipped her knees. This pushed her bottom back obscenely and Miss Randall glimpsed her womanhood between her thighs.

“Please keep your legs together Miss Rawlings.” The headmaster said in irritation.

Sophie clenched her knees and turned her thighs side on as she attempted to ride out the growing waves of pain. The headmaster waited.

“Halfway now Miss Rawlings.” He observed. Although he knew that four more was much worse than double the punishment.

He waited until Sophie had regained some composure and was no longer squirming and then he gave her the fifth stroke.

“Ahhh.” She vocalised, her bottom bucking back and up.

That stroke had taken her across the fold at her thigh tops.

The pain, as with the others continued to build, until her breathing was hoarse she began the little clicking sounds of the first sobs in her throat.

The sixth stroke was placed above the fifth but below the fourth to create a band of pain and colour.

There was a long pause and then Sophie choked on a great sob. Still the headmaster waited. Sophie found the courage to look back at them, her eyes wet with tears.

The seventh stroke sliced her across the crowns of her bottom right in the centre of the array of standing welts. Sophie gave a hearty scream.

Miss Randall chewed the thumbs of her clenched fists pressed to her face.

“Oh my gosh.” She whispered.

The headmaster looked at her and smiled in sad sympathy.

For Sophie the pain felt like sword cuts burrowing ever deeper into her bottom. She broke at the pain and was lost in hopeless sobbing.

“Never knew a girl to take an eight without this.” The headmaster observed. Then to Sophie he said, “I trust there will be no more arrogant disruptions from you Miss Rawlings.”

“No sir.” Sophie sobbed.

“Let’s finish this.” He nodded.

Sophie wailed realising it was not over. She was ready to beg now, anything. No more naughty brat I promise, she prayed silently.

The final stroke astonished her. All nuance of building pain was replaced with a band of fire. She was not to feel worse until she suffered childbirth some years later.

“Alright Miss Rawlings we’re done.” The headmaster said quietly as he returned the cane to the cabinet.

Sophie didn’t hear him. She was clawing at his desk as she writhed sobbing.

Miss Randall watched the tamed girl’s antics, amazed that no two strokes crossed each other so that Sophie’s bottom sported a neat pattern of eight ridges on the lower half of her bottom, right where she sat. Or used to, Miss Randall thought ruefully.

Sophie was left to her misery as the headmaster re-buttoned his sleeves and replaced his jacket.

“Alright Miss Rawlings you can go home. I expect to see you back at school on Monday for a fresh start.”

“Yes sir.” She wept as she got unsteadily to her feet.

At some point, Sophie’s knickers had been kicked across the room. Miss Randall picked them up and handed them to her student. Although Sophie had no hands to spare to take them as both were clamped to her bottom as she did a stiff legged dance in the middle of the room.

“Thank you Miss.” She said at last. Then she very humbly said. “And sir, thank you.”

She held out her hand.

He looked at it puzzled for a minute and then smiled and took it. They shook.

“Sorry sir. Miss.” She said meekly as she took slow careful steps towards the door.

Once ensconced in the senior girls lavatories, it took her ages to bring her crying under control and repair her make up. Then safe in knowledge that the other students were at their classes, she gingerly lifted her skirt to inspect the damage in the mirror. She was impressed. She pressed at the ‘scars’ hissing at the pain, but not being able to help doing it again. Then a sound in the hall outside her caused her to hastily drop her skirt and squirrel away her knickers into her bag.

Once outside as she limped towards the school gates she was surprised to see her mother waiting for her.

“How did your meeting with the head go?” Her mother asked.

“It’s all settled they are going to let me stay.” Sophie said brightly.

“Are you sure it’s what you want?”

Sophie nodded.

“Come on let’s get some coffee.”

“I would rather walk.” Sophie said quickly, pointing nonchalantly over her shoulder as if she had forgotten something.

“Come on you can kneel on the back seat. Your not the first little madam to get a thrashing.” Her mother snorted.

“How’d you know?” Sophie gasped. “I didn’t want you to find out.”

“It had to be a very grand gesture on your part to convince them to let you stay. When I saw your rather interesting gait, it didn’t take much to guess what it was.”

“I had it coming didn’t I?” Sophie blushed.

“I rather think you did daring.” Her mother said emphatically.

Ends.



11 Responses to “Sophie’s sacrifice”

  1. Her Mother has a lot if nerve acting so self righteous after spoiling the girl to that point. Great story, DJ.

  2. 2 opsimath

    Another exciting and sexy story of a hard caning – quite lovely! Thank you, Damian.

  3. 3 Poppy

    I adored this. It perfectly captures what it feels like to be that age on the cusp between selfish child and resolute woman and those teachers were just how they are. As for the caning, I nod and whisper that you got that right too. You do seem to know a lot.

    • 4 DJ

      Were you ever caned at school Poppy?

      Although I never was – the rickety stairs in this story were taken straight from my old school.

      DJ

  4. I was never caught, DJ. They had the cane and they did it on the bum but I was never caught despite getting up to many, many naughty antics.

    I had such a good reputation that when I was finally caught (I allowed it to happen) in my ball gown, having a smoke with the great school saint statue for comapany, the master just gasped at me. He said my name in such shock. I can see his face even now. I smiled, wished him a good evening and swooped past.

    Your school sound a lot like mine, except all our stairs were stone.

  5. Oh my. That is an incredibly hot story, DJ! Mmm! 🙂

    Reminds me of my old headmistresses laying the cane between us on her desk the day she expelled me from school. In her eyes was the longing to use it – and I was full of dread and longing too. In the end, she didn’t, but I was breathless for the rest of the day!

    • 7 DJ

      tell us more 🙂 (or don’t)

      where were you at school and when?

      • 🙂 The year was was 1977. The school was a private school in the south of England. The headmistress, who was elderly by then, had bought the school with £100 in the 1930s and ruled it with her senior Mistresses – all unmarried like herself – with a rod of iron and a glass cabinet in the corner of her study which had three canes in it and a slipper. It was an army brat school, so discipline was encouraged. The slipper spent much time in the Matron’s Room in the boarding house, usually just as a threat – and actually this school was much less vicious than the two convents I spent my primary years at. Nuns? Violent! As you can tell, DJ. I have much inspiration from these institutions and I’m sure some of it will become subjects to go into at greater length!
        Aer

  6. 9 George

    Hardly anything is better for a young woman her age…

  7. 10 Paul

    Hi, DJ
    I wanted to congratulate you on your story writing, but especially on Sophie Sacrifice. I think you are a master (no pun intended) of the school plot and I only wish that you would write a few more. Without doubt, you are the best school CP writer I’ve read. Outstanding! The drama! The characterisation! The excitement!
    I loved the ‘Angela series, and you wrote a beautiful American plot for ‘Over the Desk called ‘All at Sea.’ I loved both. But nothing beats Sophie’s Sacrifice. I have read it over and over and adore every moment.

    May I ask some questions on the plot? Thank you.

    Prior to Sophie’s self redemption, she recalled how the school would remind her they still had the cane. She thought it was a joke. ‘The last time anyone caned a girl it was three across the palms and that was a so-called last resort.’ This was clearly a school that rarely caned, so why did the head resort to eight on the bare and not on her hand, like she said was the norm? Was on the bare reserved for the most heinous crimes that would otherwise mean expulsion? And did students get a choice between the two.
    From the plot it’s clear bare bottom canings took place on occasion, because of Miss Randall’s thoughts on panties sliding over tights and its rustle for the older girls, and how easy it was for younger girls.

    Can I assume this was an all girls school, or was it a mixed establishment?
    Thank you, DJ for an excellent plot

    Paul

  8. 11 DJ

    Hi Paul,

    thanks – very kind of you to say – not sure that its true – but thanks anyway.

    As for school stories in general – they are actually tricky to write and keep real.

    the story is set in a time when girls could be caned but rarely were – and usually had to opt-in rather than take an automatic suspension – where boys on the whole had to opt-out.

    where they were caned it was invariably on the hand. However at my school at least one girl opted for a bottom caning and I heard of boys being caned with rather less layers.

    When I wrote this I had assumed that bare bottom caings were a fantasy – although I did read the county regulations that were in force until 1986 and it did specifically permit bare-bottomed cainings for girls in state and independent schools. Since that time I have been told that in some schools (mixed and all-girl) that girls were routinely caned on the bare bottom right up to the late 1990s in certain schools in England.

    This story is actually about growing up and the caning of a woman (which is how I was able to write it).

    >American plot for ‘Over the Desk called ‘All at Sea.’

    By All at Sea I think you mean: https://voiceinthecorner.wordpress.com/2010/07/27/adventures-of-the-trespassers/ ?

    as for the other reference Over the Desk – I cannot place it.

    Thanks again – I hope this is what you wanted to know.

    DJ


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