yvonne canedYvonne practiced her pout, making little sucking noises and clicking with her tongue. It was a habit she had when she was bored or as in this case nervous. The pixie-haired blonde had been sitting outside the headmaster’s office for 20 minutes now and as break was nearly over Yvonne was getting rather concerned that someone might come by and see her there. She certainly didn’t need any questions right then.

To distract herself she looked around at the dark dingy corridor that led to the Headmaster’s study. Even here there was no carpet, just a dark-stained parquet wooden floor that went right to the edge of the wall and the hideous extra high skirting. On top of that the whole building stank of waxy polish with an undertone of stale sweat and creosote. It smelled like school.

Yvonne clasped her hands on her tummy to supress the nervous ache there, bending double so that she was folded over her knees and could see up the corridor for any embarrassing witnesses. The noises from break were getting louder if anything and maybe they were all coming back.

“Come on, come on Parkie, you said break time,” she muttered and then flushed with a start and sat-up with a glance to the door.

Mr Parks had very big ears and missed nothing. Yvonne gulped and haled her breath for an age before she relaxed again.

That morning two girls in her class had been discussing the cane and why only boys got it. They shouldn’t have been talking at all but had kept their voices low. But Yvonne had listened in all the same.

“It isn’t only boys,” Mary Mulligan hissed, “Pamela Dolby got it and that tall redhead in the upper sixth, it is just that girls don’t talk about it.”

Tell me about it, Yvonne had thought bitterly. Then there had been a kerfuffle about Slade and if they were better than the Who and a fight had broken out.

Yvonne always thought that boys in high-waisters and brass shoe caps looked silly, but the plucked parrot-headed mullets, if anything, were even worse. They were all short spikey hair on top and long straggly bits down the back; on girls as well as boys yet. What happened to the 60s cool, she sighed. Why did all the boys have long hair and dress like pansies? Then she considered the Slade fan and his skinhead. At least he looked manly, or would do if he wasn’t such a boy.

Yvonne ran a slow hand through her own short hair. She would have loved long hair but hers was way too thin and anyway long hair was getting to be big hair and it wasn’t a look that suited her.

So it happened that when the headmaster’s door suddenly opened Yvonne was taken by surprise.

“Yvonne,” he said darkly. The word on his lips as good as a summons.

His face carried a scowl and he moved with the deliberation of a busy man in a hurry. He was a large powerful man who always wore suits and at the best of times he had a permanent look of anger on his face. Today he looked positively apoplectic.

Yvonne drew upon a long slow breath as if savouring a ciggie and then let it go in a deliberate exhale. Then dragging herself to her feet she rolled her eyes like a sullen teen and stomped into the room.

Parks was looking at her disapprovingly as she entered and without prompting she straightened up with her hands at her sides.

“You know why you are here,” he said sharply.

Yvonne looked off to her right and blushed even as she tried to look bored.

“Sss-er,” she mumbled.

“What was that?” Parks barked out.

“Yes… Sir,” she said belligerently.

“Still have an attitude haven’t you Yvonne?” Parks sighed.

“It’s not fair Sir and anyway you said…” Yvonne tried to sound sneering but it came out with a slight whine.

Her accent sounded as if she was a college girl in the making with a pseudo London East End veneer. Most of the girls spoke even more City Street than that these days, he quietly observed; why did so many middle class girls ape their working class inferiors? And, he thought, what was wrong with the county accent? These days it seemed to be driven out by TV and he missed it.

“Yvonne,” he said sharply, “Do shut up. I am not interested.”

Yvonne rolled up her eyes and let herself slouch.

“Stand up straight when I am talking to you,” Parks snapped.

“You weren’t saying anything Sir,” Yvonne said in a superior voice, but she straightened up all the same.

Parks fixed her with a stare until she averted her gaze.

“That will cost you,” he said at last and this time Yvonne bit her lip.

As she watched her crossed the room and opened a tall cupboard next to the window. From inside there was a familiar scraping of wood and Yvonne felt her tummy tingle. She didn’t need to look to know that the headmaster had removed a cane from a hook inside.

“Please Sir… I…” Yvonne tried to supress the panicked begging that threatened to burst from her mouth and took half a step backwards as she bounced at the knees in a gesture of supplication.

Parks sighed and levelled the cane over his right shoulder like a guard outside Buckingham Palace.

“You know the drill Yvonne,” he said wearily as he advanced on now cowed girl. “Bend over the desk.”

Yvonne nodded and half turned to face the heavy wooden furniture with its green leather top. This time it was harder to obey and she leaned over it awkwardly as she stuck her bum out behind her. It was a stupid and embarrassing posture but she knew from previous experience that she had to do what he expected.

“Yvonne,” Parks said in a tone of significant impatience.

Yvonne swallowed and then with a blush she reached back and raised her skirt. Her small white knickers did nothing to hide the small tight domes of her bottom and for a moment Parks marvelled at the prominence of such a backside on so slight a girl.

“You are already going to get three extra for your impertinence on top of the six you already had coming,” Parks said wearily. “Any more dumb insolence from you and I’ll make it a dozen.”

“Sir I wasn’t…” Yvonne wailed.

“We’ll make that a baker’s dozen, shall we?” Parks snapped, “Care for any more?”

Yvonne gasped but her hands were already tugging at the waist of her knickers and she slid them readily enough down to her knees. Now two pools of heat boiled under her eyes and threatened to spread to her ears.

Behind her Parks viewed her hasty compliance and bottom up stance with approval but he was suddenly disconcerted by the tight lightly plumed purse that peeked out at him from between the top of her thighs.

“Legs together,” he coughed and in some discomfort averted his eyes.

Yvonne shot back a look with some horror and snapped her heels closed at once. This more or less covered her personal area but served to push her bottom up and out a bit more; now a fitting target for the cane.

Now satisfied Parks stepped forward and stretched his neck as he worked his shoulders in tight circles by way of preparation. The target was well-presented and it was easy to tap the long narrow stick across the firm tight flesh.

Yvonne let out a faint gasp as the cane touched her across the behind and she flinched as it tapped her twice. After a beat the third touch came down hard full across the crowns of her bottom. In response she inhaled sharply, lifting one foot from the floor as her grip tightened on the desktop.

Parks waited for a moment and then struck her again hard just below the first dark pink line that crossed her skin.

“Mmm,” Yvonne grunted as she squeezed her eyes shut.

As she did so her bottom arched up a little more and Parks took the opportunity to cane her again with a stroke that crossed below the first two so that she wagged her behind back and forth like a wagging dog.

There were now three sharp lines of pain crossing her bottom and Yvonne reached back and traced the first with her fingers. She could feel where the flesh had risen in a long ridge and her finger recoiled as it stung with the contact that hung across the dull biting ache where it throbbed.

“Get your hands away,” Parks barked at her.

She hastily obeyed.

Parks lay another stroke and then two more, each descending below the others until there were six risen weals marking out a plum-coloured bar pattern across her pale white flesh. By now Yvonne made a crawling motion over the desk as if swimming away from the assault on her bottom; even panting as if she had swum a race. These short ragged breaths moved her shoulders and even Parks could see she was close to tears.

The cane strokes had reached to just above the sitting area on her bottom now and although the points of impact had swollen into long bumps, the redness had begun to ‘bleed out’ into the spaces between the welts.

Yvonne’s breathing suddenly became shorter and the movement of her shoulders faster so that she trembled to into herself. Parks realised that she was already crying and paused to let her recover somewhat.

“Are you ready?” he asked gently.

After a pause Yvonne nodded and seemed to steel herself. Her ankles pressing together as she straightened her legs to once more elevate her bottom to the utmost.

“It would be over now had you not come here with an attitude young lady,” Parks remarked.

Yvonne nodded. It was a tiny movement of her head and she whispered, “Yes Sir, I’m sorry Sir.”

Her words were moist and as she stole a glance over her shoulder Parks could see pearls of tears gathered at her eyes and rolling down her cheek. Still there was a task to do and he was ready.

Three slow strokes cut into the under curves of her bottom in slow measured swipes. Each one landing like a blade at four or five second intervals and each continuing to saw into her where her bottom turned under to meet her thighs; a prime siting area before her punishment. Now sitting would be a privilege denied her for a few hours at least.

At each cracking stroke she screamed now, all pride and resistance scattered as recklessly as her cries. Yvonne was so lost in her pain that she didn’t register the wrapping sound until the door suddenly opened.

“Ah… headmaster… you’re… eh… busy with eh… a student…” the male voice said uneasily.

“A student… yes… Yvonne,” Parks hated being interrupted and for a moment he wondered if Yvonne had opened her legs again but was too self-conscious to glance in that direction.

“I’ll come back,” and the man was gone.

Yvonne’s eyes were wide in horror over the desk and she strained to remember who it might be. The headmaster didn’t have to name her did he?

Parks was thinking much the same, but he hadn’t expected anyone to enter unannounced. Well there was nothing for it now. So with a renewed resolve he turned back to Yvonne’s bottom.

He placed three more strokes down hard. Returning once again to the top part of her bottom he casually filled in the spaces he had left until he reached lower curves.

“One more,” he said firmly.

Yvonne went ridgid and pushed her bottom right to brace herself. The stroke fell hard and she screamed.


“Did you see the headmaster?” Janice Merry, the school secretary asked as David Stanmore came back down the corridor.

“Eh… no, he was busy with a student,” Stanmore said uncomfortably.

As he spoke Yvonne’s last scream echoed down the passage and Janice rolled her eyes and shrugged as she smiled lightly at the punitive drama.

“So I hear,” she chuckled.

“Yes well quite,” Stanmore said tartly. “Some girl called Yvonne, one of the six formers by the look of it.”

He blushed as he realised the implication of what he was saying and hid his discomfort with a mutter. “Don’t remember a student called Yvonne, not a sixth former anyway.”

Janice gaped for a moment and shot a quizzical glance back up the corridor.

“Yvonne you say? Oh she is definitely a student,” Janice said quickly, “A very naughty girl by the sound of it. Anyway I’ll make an appointment for you.”

Stanmore didn’t care that she seemed to be hurrying him away. He was only too happy to leave.

“Yes thank you,” he replied with a wave.

Yvonne reached the corner at the end of the corridor where the general office was and stopped. She had made heroic efforts to pull herself together, but any fool could see she had been crying. And from the slow careful steps she took, her hand clamped firmly to her bottom, any fool could have seen why.

Break was long over and now Yvonne was confronted with the admin staff coming back from tea. Although at the moment all she could see was Janice and she was studiously studying some papers and not looking up.

Yvonne took a deep breath and supressing a wince tried to walk casually past the desk.

She almost made it to the outer door when Janice must have looked up.

“Oh Miss Baker,” she called.

Yvonne froze, not daring to turn around.

“Miss Baker your training assignments are ready,” Janice pressed. “How is it all going anyway? Must be strange being the teacher so soon after completing your own studies?” There was no hint of mockery or edge to the secretary’s voice, although anyone watching her face might have seen a hint of tongue tickling the inside of her cheek.

Yvonne took a deep breath and carefully turned around, her best smile forced onto her lips.

“Oh thank you Mrs Merry… eh… can I… can I pick them up later?” Yvonne said in a strained voice.

“Of course,” Janice smiled encouragingly. “I’ll put them in your pigeonhole. Oh, did you just see the head? Only I thought he was with a student.”

“N-noo,” Yvonne squeaked, hoping her blush wasn’t too obvious. Nor was it clear if she were denying seeing the head or not.

“But then you are a student teacher aren’t you? Much the same thing isn’t Yvonne?” Janice smiled pleasantly.

Yvonne’s blush couldn’t be contained now.

“Ah… did… did Mr…? Did he say anything?” Yvonne could barely supress her panic and unconsciously her hands had strayed to her bottom again.

It was a motion that Janice didn’t miss.

“Mr Stanmore? He was just here yes. He told me the head was with a student as a matter of fact. A six former he thought. Must have been I expect… don’t you think… Yvonne?” Janice didn’t actually wink but the set of her face suggested it.

“I expect,” Yvonne squeaked and hastily turned away to flee as fast as her ‘wounds’ would allow.

11 Responses to “Yvonne”

  1. 1 PDBB

    Just love the stories of the *older* young lady getting punished; be it a misapprehension,a mix up or as a mutual agreement that went *horribly* wrong, such as the *returnee* (to home) sagas.
    I was wondering if this young lady still lives at home, would the Punished at school – Punished again at home doctrine still hold up?

  2. 3 ArtieKat

    Reblogged this on The Discipline Society and commented:
    My most favourite scenario – courtesy of DJ Black

  3. DJ –

    You are so mean! What could that sweet little teacher’s assistant possibly have done that would require such a punishment? Hmmm? Nothing, that’s what. Sometimes we girls are just trying to be good and some meanie, like this Headmaster, just appears out of nowhere and bam we’re over a desk with our undies pulled down. At least that’s how it always seems to happen to me 😉

    That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!


    • 6 PDBB

      It’s obvious why she was summoned and *on the carpet*. It was a matter of attitude;like so many young adults (seemingly mostly women) display today (and in need of adjustment) and the fact that she has to remember her place. As Dylan said, “Y’ gotta serve somebody…” And doesn’t the *short, sharp, shock* save so many words of rebuke. And isn’t it *remembered* much longer too. and after all, there is the word *student* implied in a teacher trainee?
      Forwardness and even rebellion has its place but it is the place (job) of a mentor to put it in its proper perspective. Be it with *undies* down and across a suitable work station – desk or lap!

    • 8 DJ

      this was based on two girls at my school – one of whom was a student teacher. I’ll let you imagine how much I imagined and how much was true. 😉

  4. 9 Michelle

    Very nice story indeed Sir. Would love to hear more about Miss Yvonne’s student teaching

  1. 1 chross.blogt.ch

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: