The Dastard


1 dastard caned in libraryShe hadn’t done anything, well not much. That was the only thought that ran through Katie’s mind as she sat in handwringing confusion outside the housemaster’s study. It had been week’s since she had been in the slightest trouble, surely that would count for something.

Katie heaved a heavy sigh and turned her lip-chewed face to the dark wooden door closed against her. Her thick unruly blonde hair was just about regulation length for a senior girl and she had taken at least some effort to keep it above her collar. At 18 it had been a hard road to learn that skill.

She had been waiting for what seemed like an age now and from time to time she fancied she heard someone at the door handle. Each time something in her tummy lurched and her head was set spinning. Not that it was her head she feared for, it was the other end that was in peril.

As she sat, footsteps would advance and retreat, never revealing themselves as they stopped short at the corridor’s end or on the landing above. Just as well, Katie thought, it would be embarrassing if anyone should see her waiting there. That would be the worst of it, she told herself. Then as time dragged she dwelt upon what sins Mr Brinkley could have uncovered, two dozen small transgressions dancing through her mind in an endless parade.

And so it went on, turn and turnabout in her head.

She was just beginning to think that it would never happen when her housemaster was suddenly standing there in the unheard open door.

“Miss Kendal,” he sighed wearily, “Come.”

Katie rose to her feet with the enthusiasm of a man going to the gallows. “Yes Mr Brinkley, Sir,” she said, forcing the words out through a tightened throat.

“Now tell me why you are here,” Brinkley said sharply.

“You sent for me Sir,” Katie answered, a little too quickly she thought.

The housemaster closed his eyes with impatience and adopted a look of dejection.

“Is it about ducking hall duty Sir?” she ventured.

Brinkley eyed her suspiciously but held his tongue.

“Or… or being out of bounds on Tuesday… I-I thought… well Peters said he wouldn’t say…” she spluttered.

“He didn’t,” Brinkley growled.

Katie winced and looked at her feet. “I know my grades have… well I got a C minus last time,” she gushed mid-sentence, “That’s better than a D or… or… you didn’t ask me here about my grades did you Sir?”

The housemaster was slowly shaking his head. “Anything else?” he groaned.

Katie pursed her lips and shrugged.

“Miss Kendal, let’s get this over with,” Brinkley said wearily as he found his cane, the thin one that seemed to taper to a razor point. “You know the pack drill, I want to do this properly, you don’t need to be told.”

“Yes Sir.” It was a moan.

Katie walked solemnly forward, reaching under her skirt and by the time she reached the back of the tatty old armchair in the study’s corner she was already hauling down her regulations knickers.

“Let’s not take all day,” the housemaster snapped as he made to follow.

Katie felt heat flare in her face as she flopped over the chair-back and flipped up the hem of her skirt.

“Sixers or eights?” Brinkley said officiously.

“Eights!?” she blurted, unsure if the number or its plurality shocked her most.

“My thinking exactly,” he sighed, “And thrice eight is…?”

“A lot Sir,” Katie gasped.

“Are you being cheeky girl?” Brinkley barked.

“No Sir I…”

“One more quip like that and I’ll round it up to a score.” His tone held more promise than threat.

Conscious now that her large bare bottom was upturned skyward to his gaze, Katie swallowed hard amid a hot face and neck.

The first cut was needle sharp and stung to the point of fire. Her eyes and mouth gasped wide as she rolled with it. Shiiiit, echoed through her mind; that and other words she dared got give voice to.

After a small age in a curious tone Brinkley said “No?” The next stroke quickly followed.

Katie grunted and she had to grip the chair as another line of pain sawed under the first.

There was another long wait before the housemaster muttered “are you sure?” and caned her again. “I mean you can count them and thank me any time now.”

“Oh,” Katie panted and rapidly nodded her head. Of course, high-jump pack drill, he was abloody stickler for protocol.

“Four, thank you Sir,” she yipped as the next stroke came.

“Miss Kendal, the first stroke is always one,” Brinkley said in a bored voice.

“But…” Katie wailed.

He didn’t wait and the fifth stroke was a bitch.

“One, thank you Sir,” Katie squealed. Her arms clawed at the soft seat of the chair as she panted harder than would ever be the case on a sports day run. Worse still there were five fiery biting lines across her defenceless bottom that just wouldn’t quit. “Ah-shheesh,” Six she amended. “Two thank you Sir.”

“Now you’re getting it,” the housemaster said encouragingly.


I won’t cry, I won’t cry, I won’t… “Eeeh,” Katie yipped, “TwelvethankyouSir,” she added in gabble.

She was huffing and puffing as she rode the burn and despite her pledge, deep pools clung to her red-rimmed eyes and threatened to leak down her face.

“Six more to go, would you like a break?” Brinkley said pleasantly.

He is enjoying this, the bastard, Katie thought bitterly, but breathily she said, “I would like to go on Sir.”

“Very well,” he said crisply and sliced another sharp stroke just above the fold where her thighs met bottom.

“Ahhhh,” Katie finally broke. The tears were certain and gentle now, she was almost dignified in her surrender to them, almost. “Gaaa,” she grunted as he caned her again.

“H-how m-many?” she groaned as she tried to openly sob.

“Good save,” Brinkley said enthusiastically as if they were at a rugger match. “Do pay attention girl. The last count was 12 for some reason. Since you were brave enough to ask I’ll let you off with one penalty stroke for not counting the last two. But don’t do it again as I’ll give you an extra stroke for each miscount from here on in.”

Katie’s eyes were wild in her head and she almost protested. Almost, the stroke reminded her of the consequences of rebellion.

“Ffffferteen…” she hissed, “Ffankoo Sir.” It was getting hard.

“Six more to go,” Brinkley said cheerfully and caned her again.


As Katie got unsteadily to her feet tiger’s claws still spanked her bottom and tears cascaded freely down her face. Although she was proud that she was still keeping it together.

“Thank you Sir, sorry Sir,” she said as she proffered timid fingers. She actually felt better now. Her many sins had been playing on her mind not knowing when the cane would fall like Damoclean Sword.

Brinkley shook her hand and smiled warmly. “Have you decided on a university yet?” he asked in a friendly tone.

“No Sir,” Katie sniffed, wanting to be anywhere but there.

“Well you’re get to it,” he told her encouragingly.

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” she replied wiping her eyes and something unpleasant from under her nose. Then she moved as if to leave, hoping he would dismiss her.

“Don’t you want to know why I called you here?” he asked casually handing her a book.

There was a long pause as he mind grappled with the object cold in her hand.

“You’ll need this to make your college applications.” He offered an exasperated smile.

Katie gaped, the sawing hellfire in bottom very briefly forgotten.

“You bastard,” she said under her breath.

Brinkley grinned like a tiger and pain flooded the claw scrapes across her bottom again.

She blanched.

“I am going to assume that you find me cruel and unpleasant and that you weren’t questioning my parentage.” He sounded like a teacher now. “The word is dastard and you are probably right. But you have a foolish mouth and we will discuss that again after prayers on Friday. Expect at least eight won’t you Miss Kendal? At least.”

“Yes Sir,” Katie said miserably. It was going to be a tender week.

6 Responses to “The Dastard”

  1. oh oh that is vintage and real bringing back the memories of the pain on her bottom with each stroke and silent comment from within; oh yes that is how I an most of us felt in the library of our school too or in the masters office. good story thank you

  2. 2 Tony

    Her confession was good for her soul but bad for her bottom. She has more to look forward to adds to the excitement of the story.

  3. 3 Svetlana

    Schoolgirl stories were my introduction to corporal punishment fiction and they are still a favourite. I really like Katie’s character: just a little bit stupid under pressure, but brave and with a sense of dignity and not least with a mischievous spirit that is not completely subdued even in a situation like this. I always read such stories identifying with the heroine, but her housemaster is a very legitimate villain in this one: He is well aware of his role in the eternal rugger match between girls and teachers, but detached enough to watch his “opponent’s” moves with the sympathy of a spectator.

    One expression that leaves me puzzled is “high jump pack drill”. If someone explained it, I would be grateful because I always like expanding my British schoolgirl vocabulary. (“Dastard” is already added. 🙂 )

    • 4 DJ

      Mixed metaphor alert I am afraid – intentionally mocking on my part – its the sort of cliche my teachers used

      high jump = big trouble with serious consequences as in “you are for the high jump my girl.”

      pack drill = military term meaning usual or well known procedure

  4. 6 DJ

    Thanks everyone for your comments 🙂

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