The tiled floor must have looked very interesting. Juliet played with her hands nervously as her eyes remained downcast all throughout the scolding. There he went again telling her how we don’t try and cheat on a test in this school, how we don’t lie to not one but *two* teachers about it, how we don’t fight with the girl whose work we tried to steal and how we don’t snap back defiantly on top of it all when told to report to the Headmaster’s office...

She wasn’t listening, scared as she was. That wait was being too long, and it was too short when he sentenced her to...

“Six of the best, miss Hershey. And don’t think I’ll be easy on you just because it’s your first caning.”

The sterile tone in his voice made her shudder. As she stood and lowered herself across the desk, memories of the other girls’ accounts of “it” flooded her mind. The cane. Long and whippy, held there for everyone to see. Some said it didn’t hurt much, but they were probably just trying to look though. Truth was, when Mr. Harris caned a girl, she would cry, hard, and wish she had been good in the first place.

But even all this was swept from Juliet’s mind as the principal lifted her plaid chequered skirt and peeled her white cotton panties to her knees, revealing her alabaster white, chubby bottom cheeks. She shivered in the room’s cold atmosphere and goosebumps spread all over her skin, only to be rekindled when the tip of the cane tapped across her bare rump.

She didn’t speak, or even plead for mercy or anything. A few tears rolled down her cheeks already as he lifted the instrument and brought it down across her buttocks with a loud whack.

“Aiiieee!” Juliet felt the urge to grab her cheeks, but restrained herself, having heard it could cost extras. She just focused on the line of searing, throbbing white pain cutting her backside.

Down again it came, and again Juliet shrieked as her tears flowed freely. By the third lash she was indeed begging, and after the fourth a hand tentatively reached back; she could touch one swollen, freshly raised weal on her tender teenaged flesh for just a second before Mr. Harris grabbed her wrist and pushed it out of the way.

“Don’t do that again,” he confirmed her fears. She’d been lucky after all.

*Swish... crack!*

Not so lucky.

*Swish... crack!*

Definitely not! But at least it was over.

Julie sobbed heavily as her bottom went numb. She didn’t want to be caned ever again, she didn’t even understand why she was this time, caught as she was in her pitiful wailing... and most of all she did not understand why part of her was cherishing that stinging, tingling feeling back there. And down there, actually.

Her face cheeks blushed deep red too, but there were no panties to cover those as she was dismissed from his office.

– The End –

– This story was entered into the 2004 Summer Short Story Contest, in the “Not My Kink” category –

This category is supposed to be for authors to write stories containing elements which, they declare, are “not their kink”. Basically, a typically X/f author like me could present an M/m spanking-and-gay-sex story, which is a total turn-off for me. I find it a *very* cool way for one to apply one’s talents! This is my first attempt. Few things are less interesting to me than schoolgirl stories, schoolgirl uniforms... and canings. Hopefully I did a good job anyway.

This story does not necessarily represent the author’s point of view about anything. It is simply a work of fiction. The characters herein portrayed are invented and do not resemble reality to the best of the author’s knowledge. This account is entirely fictitious. Any similarities to other persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

This story is written for the sane amusement of adult readers. It does not intend harm and does not promote violence of any kind, including spanking. No offence is meant to any group, ethnicity or individuals.

The author does in no way endorse the non-consensual disciplinary spanking of actual children and/or teenagers.

Copyright © 2004 Haley Brimley. Contact for information and/or feedback.