Stop, start, restart…

21Dec13

waitingFacing out was embarrassing, but at least the front of her blouse covered her down to the top of her thighs. However, every time someone passed down the hall for the lavatory or to get something from the storeroom they had to pass her.

Tammy tugged at her blouse again in agitation just thinking of it.

Some of them just averted their eyes as they passed, after all none of them knew when they might be next, but one or two tried to catch her eye as they smirked. These were the worst and it was hard not to glance back. A blush festival followed these times, not that a shame-face wasn’t a more or less permanent state of affairs so long as she was in disgrace.

Once before she had been sent on an errand into the main room dressed just as she was now. There the rest of them were gathered and getting past a dozen pair of eyes wearing just a blouse and socks was about as mortifying as it gets; well almost, she also remembered worse things. There weren’t any holes deep enough. That time had been quite bad enough.

“Mrs Eldridge, he says… I mean may I… I have the other c-cane please,” she had to say half naked in front of everyone as if nothing at all was amiss, but her voice was a croak.

“What was that dear?” Mrs Eldridge had asked. Was she for real?

Tammy glanced around the room with her head bowed. They were all watching with varying degrees of openness. She could swear that Jenny even had her book upside down. Many of them were nudging each other and laughing. Well she did herself when it was one of their turns.

“May I have the other,” she had swallowed, “cane?”

“Do speak up,” Mrs Eldridge had said impatiently.

There was open laughter now.

“May I have the cane, please?” Tammy had said quickly and a little louder.

“That’s better,” Mrs Eldridge scolded her; always that d… darn p-word, she thought, not daring to curse even in her thoughts.

Now she was waiting again. God she hoped he had the cane he needed this time.

Then his study door opened and he leaned out.

“Come in Tammy,” he said wearily.

Head down and still blushing she ducked in quickly, grateful to be out of the public eye at last.

“Now where were we?” he said in a bored voice. “Ten strokes this time wasn’t it?”

The cane was already in his large strong hand. And if she could have found the courage to look up she would have seen the matching strong jaw and disapproving disappointment on his face.

“Please Sir it was eight,” she squeaked.

“Are you arguing with me girl?” His voice was sharp.

“No I…”

“We’ll make 12 then, that will suit you so much better,” he told her with an air cut of the cane. “Now bend over and grab your ankles.”

“Oh Sir,” she wailed.

“At once or I’ll make it 14,” he warned her.

“Yes Sir,” she groaned as she obeyed.

The posture pushed her bottom out behind, now well exposed beneath the hem of her blouse. Now she had to wait.

The clock ticked by, one of the old fashioned carriage types. It was the same one that marked out the minutes and hours of her corner time. As if it wasn’t bad enough, it took each moment and slowed it down to a crawl. Tammy tried not to count, but the sound was hypnotic, emphasising her bottom’s peril rather than distracting her.

The first stroke was a shock. Like déjà vu she heard the fore stroke after it struck and then seemed to feel it twice. She greeted it with a faux yelp for form’s sake and then grunted in earnest as it really hurt.

There was a plum line square across both cheeks and he measured the next stroke against it, placing it sharply below.

This time she was ready and riding the wave of sting she held out for three beats before she hissed. Now her bottom was scored with two neat mauve lines.

Over the next minute and a half the next six came at irregular intervals. It was a bitch to hold still and twice he had to warn her not to move. At seven she had even dropped to a crouch in order to ride out the burn. That had earned her one last warning.

She was breathing hard now and tears stung at her eyes. Crying was a bitch too. The teasing was worse then.

The ringing of the phone was a welcome interlude and she took a better hold of her shins.

“Sure, can do,” he told the person on the other end. Then he said, “Oh me, well you know… right now I am dealing with one of those… exactly so…” he laughed.

There was a long segment where he didn’t speak and then it got technical and he had to write something down.

All this took an age and the ache in Tammy’s knees and back began to rival the sting in her bottom. Began to, but in no way overtook it. Then at last he finished the call.

“Now where were we?” he said, swiping at the air with the stick again. “Six of fourteen wasn’t it?”

Tammy baulked and half stood up.

“Please Sir,” she wailed, “It was eight and it was only 12 Sir.”

It should have been eight in total she thought ruefully.

“Well which is it, eight or 12, make up your mind,” he growled at her, “Anyway, are you arguing with me again?”

“No Sir, it was…” she sniffed, half swallowing the next word, “Never 14, only 12, we were on six, I mean eight,” she said insistently, becoming flustered.

“I’ll tell you what, let’s start your 14 over again and then we will be sure won’t we?” he said pointedly.

“Ooh Sir,” she groaned.

“You can count them with effusive thanks,” he added as he struck her hard across the bottom.

“Ah, nyah,” she grunted, and then slowly she hissed, “One, thank you Sir.”

The next one caught her where she sat and she fair shrieked for it.

“Two-whoo, thank you S-sir,” she said miserably.

Four minutes later he was done and having totally surrendered she was sobbing hard.

“Now get that behind of yours back out in the hall and face the wall. You can stay there until tea time,” he scolded. “And I want your hands on your head.”

“Yes Sir,” she sniffed.

This time she would be spared meeting accusing and amused eyes, but everyone would see near two dozen hard welts on her bottom and tea time wasn’t for hours.



2 Responses to “Stop, start, restart…”

  1. 1 paul1510

    Damian,
    I’m so glad my school wasn’t quite so bad.
    Paul.

  2. 2 Edmundo

    First rate punishment. The embarrassment was key. Naughty women are so much secure in such a setting. A striped bottom, full and bare for all to enjoy. Sweet tears, a runny nose and the liberating knowledge that all is forgiven. What could be better?


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