This is a work of fiction suggested by real events.

At 18 I had two close encounters with the cane; both of them in my last term of Sixth Form College. I was generally a good girl and had for the most part escaped any run-ins with either Mrs B the head of year or the deputy head who handled discipline. But during my last days things were to go rather awry.

My first encounter was a close call. I had recently acquired a boyfriend, always a distraction at that age and as a result had overslept causing me to miss a mock exam. Mrs B who would usually have handled it was preoccupied with the rest of the exam preparations and I was referred to the Deputy Head.

Although I was certain I would get no more than a bollocking and perhaps a detention, my tummy did flip-flops all the way up the usually forbidden main staircase and all the way to the waiting area outside the DH’s office.

It was one of those early summer days when everything was fresh and the sun poured through big old windows setting the dark wooden floors to glow in a taunting way that served to emphasise that there was definitely somewhere you would rather be.

Outside I could even hear of kids calling out as they played football, or my game back then, netball. I was rather keen and not to mention good at it.

So I arrived at the DH’s room rather in a funk. Well-founded in my view as no sooner had I got there I saw another girl already waiting. About my age, she looked as white as a sheet and totally fixated on chewing her nails.

Just then the door opened and a furious looking DH strode out of his office to glare at us both. He was a big man with wild unkempt hair and given to wearing tweed. He looked terrifying.

“Who are you?” he barked at me.

I told him, adding that Mrs B had sent me.

“Ah yes, the skiver,” he drawled, “Skipped out on the mocks wasn’t it?”

“Just one sir,” I blurted, “And I only overslept, I didn’t mean to.” I probably sounded a bit whiney.

He grunted and turned to the other girl. I don’t remember her name now, but he seemed very familiar with it and judging from the reluctantly way she stood up and followed him into his room I guessed she was just as acquainted with him.

Now although he closed the door behind him as he followed her in, it swung open a bit and he didn’t seem to notice. So hoping for some clue to my fate I sat on the corner seat where from that position I could hear and see somewhat into the room.

“This is the third time this term,” he scolded the girl before launching into her complete verbal destruction.

I don’t exactly recall her crimes now, but there were a lot I think. He terrified the life out of me anyway, so you can image how she was feeling. Then he said something like, “Okay girl, you know the drill.”

As I watched she turned around and lifted up her skirt. Then he moved behind her and yanked her knickers up tight so that her bum was just about bare. I hadn’t seen the stick at that point and just gaped.

It all happened so fast. First there was swishing sound as he lined up the cane noisily and then he brought down across her bottom really hard. A white line appeared on her pale exposed bottom and she jerked, but that was all. Then he caned her several times more at about four second intervals. I forgot to count, but there may have been six or eight strokes. By the last two or three she made moaning grunt sounds and had trouble holding position.

Her bum was amazing. The white lines quickly turned pink and kind of stood up in little long bumps. Then it was over and she stood up and dropped her skirt.

She was crying when she came out and hurried past me without looking my way. Then it was my turn and I thought I was going to be sick.

As I entered the cane was still on the desk and the DH had a face like thunder. I barely heard a word he said as I got my bollocking and it wasn’t until he set me an imposition and told me to get out that I realised that my bottom was safe. For the rest of the day I felt as if I had fallen from a great height and was still falling.

*

Later the following term discipline all got a bit lax with the usual demob happy soon-to-be-ex-students getting into various unsavoury hi-jinks. I guess I got carried away.

A group of us girls dared each other to remove our kickers and tease the boys with them. Of course we had on long skirts, not like today and carried along with the mood was like being drunk. Some of the girls did a moony into a classroom, although I wasn’t up for that and if my knickers hadn’t of been snatched and thrown over a fence I would have put them back on.

To make up for cowardice and lack of adventure I took a dare to burst into a classroom and shout ‘you mugs are all slaves to the system.’

Unfortunately what I took to be a normal class of one of the lower years turned out to be an exam in progress.

As I sat outside the Deputy Head’s office my stomach was in knots and all I could think about was my last near-miss with the cane. Surely I reasoned I was beyond such things, but even I felt I had gone too far.

Worse still I had been apprehended straightway and had not had chance to sort out my underwear deficit. I mean what could I say that wasn’t going to make the situation worse? I had never been so self-conscious.

This time there was no one waiting and the DH came from up the hall as if called away from something important and breezed past me. At his door he yelled, “come along we haven’t all day,” my only signal that I should follow him into his office.

He smiled sternly over the rim of his glasses as he suggested I was too old for such pranks. Then he said he understood about it being the end of my school days and said that he remembered his. He even asked what I was going to do next and what college I was going on to.

I was more than a little self-conscious knowing I had no knickers on and was disproportionately embarrassed. But for a while it didn’t seem so bad. It wasn’t until I relaxed a bit that he got a little fierce and pointed out how thoughtless I had been. I wholeheartedly agreed and blushed to my ears. But nevertheless I thought I had dodged a bullet again. After all I was 18 now and about to leave.

Then he said, “You seem to have a bit of a track record around messing up exams don’t you?”

I was about to protest, but I remembered why I had been to see him before.

“Yes Sir,” I said in a miserable voice.

“As you recall I let you see the consequence of such behaviour last time. It seems that you didn’t take the hint,” he said in a casual semi-breezy semi-stern way.

It was then that I began to suspect my fate and wasn’t entirely surprised when he said, “I think you know the drill don’t you?”

I felt as if the floor had come up to meet me and I entertained the idea of faking a faint.

“Bend over girl and lift up your skirt,” he snapped.

I couldn’t get the words out and he was truly terrifying so when he barked out the order again I just jumped to it.

“Good God,” he gasped, “More bloody pranks.”

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” I squeaked and made to rise. I could have died.

Then he said, “Stay where you are. Don’t think I haven’t seen it all before.”

I heard him pick up the cane. I heard it rattle on his desk. But I was still mortified and more concerned about showing the man my bare bum than anything else.

“You will take three extras for this little display and any fuss and I’ll double it,” he barked.

The swishy crack seemed to come from a long way away but the line of fire across my bare bottom was indescribable. I jerked upright and grabbed at my bum. I remember thinking I shouldn’t let my skirt drop.

“Down,” he bellowed, caning me again hard as I obeyed.

I sucked air in and out as I made little blowing sounds, this as two lines of burning pain sawed into my backside. I felt hot tears brimming behind my eyes and it was almost impossible to stay bent over.

I think maybe the caning took less than a minute but to me each stroke was spaced out by an age. By five or six (one’s ability to count is compromised I promise you) I was crying openly and my bottom felt like I had sat on a grill.

At one point I thought it would never end and panicked as I remember what he had threatened about doubling it. But after what I later counted as nine the punishment was over.

He let me sob it out for a minute or two and then he offered me a hanky before shaking my hand.

“Thank you Sir, sorry Sir,” I said. It was the way in those days, but I don’t remember I how I knew that.

Later I inspected the nine hard dark reddish-purple lines that stood out in ridges on my bottom. I was absolute riveted by the sight and feel of them. It was three days before I could sit easy again and they took about 10 days to go completely. For the last five of those they were just yellow-brown streaks that ached when I prodded them.

I was actually disappointed when they finally faded and have been fascinated by corporal punishment and spankings ever since. I think if I hadn’t left that term I would have been back somehow.