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"Hey, Alice -- you gonna get the stick?"

I glared resentfully at fair-haired older girl approaching to torment me.

"What makes you ask that?" I whispered, glancing around to make sure others wouldn't overhear.

Jemma grinned saucily and spoke loudly.

"Heard you got your third demerit in a week -- third one's the charm, girl. Always an automatic trip to the HM, bent across his desk, six-of-the-best."

I struggled vainly for dignity but I could feel my cheeks steaming. My prepared defensive response vanished from my mind at the terrifying image Jemma painted.

"S-s-six?" I mumbled, trembling despite my resolve to act brave before my mates.

"He wouldn't do six, would he? It's my first time!"

By this time Andrea and Fiona were approaching, wonder and amusement on their faces.

"You got a third?" asked Andrea, a touch of respect in his voice.

"Ouch!"

"Buck up, Alice," grinned Fiona, punching me on the shoulder.

"It goes quick. Bam! Bam! Bam! and it's over."

I nodded glumly, staring at the floor. My stomach twirled with sick fear. How could this be happening? How could I have been so stupid? It was all that girl's fault -- a blonde named Gretchen. When she smiled prettily at me and slipped me a note to pass to her friend Rene, I couldn't refuse. Of course I was the one caught. I didn't dare tell Mrs. Davenport the truth -- I simply nodded when she wrote me down for a demerit. Fortunately the teacher didn't recognise the handwriting. So now I was in the lockers, changing into the required gym kit, readying for my trip to the head.

"Better get going," said Jemma, laughing as he pointed to the clock.

"It's nearly four o'clock. If you're late the Head gives 'em pants and knickers down."

Icy terror lanced through my body as I stared at the older girl in disbelief. She couldn't be serious, could she? The head would cane me bare bummed?

But Fiona and Andrea weren't denying her assertion, which meant either they were party to her joke or she was telling the truth. Slipping on my white gym shirt I hurried from the lockers, the laughter of the girls echoing after me. My dawdling had cost me -- I had exactly three minutes to reach the head's office. I made it, though I was panting and flushed when I got there. The pretty secretary, Melinda, took the note I offered her.

"I-I -- gasp -- am here to-to... to see the Head."

I hung my head low, embarrassed.

"Oh!" she said.

"I see you've been a naughty girl, Alice. Better go right in. The Head's not here but you can wait in her office."

She gave the note back to me with a sympathetic smile. I gulped and nodded, my hand trembling shamefully as I grabbed the piece of paper. My face burning, I turned away quickly and started down the long corridor to the Head's office. Her door was at the far end, nearly twenty feet away.

"Headmistress Grimm" the sign on the door read.

I'd only been inside once before, not long after arriving at school, and that time I'd gotten a stern lecture and six strokes with the slipper across my skirt. Even now my bum tingled at the memory. Suddenly I felt woefully under dressed. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a dark room filled with Dreadful Things.

I could feel the invisible presence of generations of naughty schoolgirls crying, and I could hear the appalling "swish-crack!" of a slender cane whacking a tender arse.

I flicked on the light, fully expecting to see dozens of teary-eyed girls staring at me woefully and rubbing their sore bums, but the room was deserted.

The room was exactly as I remembered it. A large bookcase stretched across the wall in front of me. To my left was a small couch where guests or waiting students would sit, large stuffed chairs on either side. To my right was the Head's huge mahogany desk, clean and tidy, and gleaming with shine. Next to the desk were wooden filing cabinets and storage systems.

But the Featured Item was on prominent display behind the desk. Attached to the wall was a large wooden gun case with a glass door. Through the glass I could see three crock-handled canes. They were light brown, slender, and slightly warped from years of use. My mouth went dry as I stared at them. Though I didn't want to see them, I couldn't have looked away for a million dollars. The shortest one was at the bottom. It was perhaps two-and-a-half feet long and very thin. That, I knew, was the junior cane. It was most often used on first offenders, and usually on the hands.

The other two were the same length -- over a yard -- but the top one was much thicker. It was frightful, and I prayed that I'd never taste the senior cane. Surely for me it would just be the junior one, hopefully no more than two or three strokes. Time passed with agonising slowness. The room was as still as a tomb. I was nearly afraid to breathe because any sound unnerved me. After an hour of twiddling and fiddling and impatient wiggling on the sofa, staring at those horrible canes, I glanced at the clock above the door. It was four-ten. I nearly began to weep. It was bad enough to be caned -- worse was the interminable waiting! Finally I heard a slight creak from the corridor.

Every muscle in my body tensed in horror as footsteps approached. The door slowly creaked open. But instead of the ponderous bulk of Mrs. Grimm, the Headmaster, a man entered. My gasp was distinctly audible in the quiet.

He turned and looked toward me.

"M-Mr Craven!" I nearly shouted, leaping to my feet.

The Assistant Head was every schoolgirl's dream. I was horribly embarrassed at him finding me here. This was the last place on earth I'd want to meet Mr Craven. His opinion of me, if he even had one prior to this moment, must be extremely low. I flushed and bowed my head.

"I-I'm waiting for the Head, Mr," I whispered, to ashamed to look at him.

The man shut the door firmly behind her. My knees felt weak. Instead he was smiling slightly.

"Yes, I know, Alice," he said.

He stood and faced me. He was a large man, tall and imposing, athletic and strong. I had absolutely no idea how old he was, but he seemed far too youthful to be an Assistant Headmaster.

"Mrs. Grimm was called away on a family matter this morning. I have taken over her duties for the day."

His words slowly drifted into my thick skull and penetrated my brain. The Head was to cane me. The Head was gone. He was taking over for the Head.

Therefore, he was to cane me! I staggered back and nearly fell I was so surprised.

"But sir--"

The thought of a caning from Mrs. Grimm, as severe as that was, now seemed like a mild torture compared to what I was facing. Was I excited?

Was I afraid? Was I curious? Was I about to laugh or about to cry? I had absolutely no idea.

"This is your first time, isn't it?"

He opened a folder he'd brought with him and studied it intently for a few minutes. The silence was deafening. I kept hearing echoes of canes swishing and cracking in my head. Finally he put down her folder and shook his head at me.

"I see that you are a consistently naughty lad, Alice," he said.

My knees wobbled in terror.

"While you've only been here once before -- that was for cheek, and you got six with the slipper -- you seem to regularly earn demerits, one or two a week it seems. Your behaviour isn't bad, just naughty. This time, however, it seems to have caught up with you."

"Make no mistake, young Alice -- it shall be the cane for you today."

I trembled and shook.

"Oh, please, Mr," I murmured, but my voice was so soft I could scarcely hear it myself.

Tears had gathered in my eyes and a blinked them back furiously. I couldn't let Mr Craven see me cry. I was eighteen years old now. A big girl.

"Buck up, Alice," I said to myself.

I stood straighter and nodded solemnly at the man. He smiled back.

"Please give me your note," he ordered.

I did not move.

"Hello? Your note, please. Alice! I am speaking to you!"

It took all my strength to comprehend her instruction and move forward. I held out the note, willing myself not to tremble. It was in vain. As he took the piece of paper from me his hand squeezed mine gently but firmly.

"Be brave, lass. It will be over soon," he whispered.

I flushed and looked away in shame. He read the note in silence, then placed it inside the folder and put that on the desk next to her.

"Shall we get started?"

Frightened beyond belief, but somehow incapable of running away, I placed my hand in his. He led me behind the desk. Walking next to him was a dream. Letting go of my hand, he sat in the Headmistress' large leather chair.

"Come across my lap," he said quietly.

I stared at her in terror and confusion. What was she doing? This was no way to administer a caning. I'd expected a lecture, perhaps, but not... this, whatever this was.

"Ma'am?"

"Shhhh," he whispered, placing a slender finger across my lips.

"Do not speak. You are frightened and nervous. This is your first time. I understand. Please, let me give you a little spanking. It will relax you and prepare you for the cane."

Horror or horrors! This man was asking to spank me as though he was doing me a favour! Every instinct in my body and brain told me to flee. I imagined myself turning, rushing to the door and flinging it open, and running down the corridor and pasted Melinda, the beautiful secretary. But I couldn't move. My feet were nailed to the floor. So I stood and stared in dumbfounded apprehension, my hands moving behind me on their own accord, protecting my bottom. I didn't resisted when Mr Craven's gentle hand took my arm and pulled me forward.

If he had been placing my head into a guillotine I wouldn't have struggled any more or less. I was like a rag doll, limp and pliable. I felt myself being drawn forward and down, and I went along helplessly. My face passed closely over Mr Craven's lap. I was staring at the floor on the other side of him, my heart pounding so loudly it hurt. My belly settled across his lap, my legs dangling. I could feel my face burned with shame. This was impossibly humiliating. I moaned, wiggling as best I could.

"Be still," came the sweet voice, and I felt a hand gently squeeze my bottom.

I'd never felt anyone grab me like that and I froze in fear and wonder. My body quivered with bewilderment. Electricity was shooting through me. I sweated profusely though the room was cool. My mouth was dry and I could not speak. The hand rubbed my bottom gently, caressing me, and I felt like I would explode the tension inside me was so great. Suddenly the hand was gone and my bottom tingled and felt naked and alone.

I heard the dull "whack" long before I felt it.

The hand was already high in the air when a dull warmth flooded through me and I realised with astonishment that Mr Craven was indeed spanking me like a little girl! The hand came down again, the warmth intensifying. I cannot say that it hurt. Over my skirt and knickers I was fairly well protected, and Mr Craven was not spanking me very hard. In my confused state he could have placed a branding iron against my skin and I doubt I would have felt it. But it was horribly humiliating. I whined and moaned, kicking my legs and fidgeting, pleading with him to let me up.

Mr Craven ignored me completely, concentrating on whacking my bum as soundly as he could. He spanked slowly and deliberately, and nothing I did varied his tempo in the least. Soon the dull warmth became a mild burn, and then a sizzle, and I began to writhe and turn my bottom to avoid the blows. It wasn't something I did consciously -- I couldn't help myself. There was no escaping the spanks, but I did manage to rotate my bottom so the spanks never landed in the same spot twice in a row.

"Stop wiggling," scolded Mr Craven, not halting his discipline in the least.

"You are a big girl now and should be able to take a little girl's spanking without fidgeting so much!"

I tried to be still but the burning was growing hot and uncomfortable.

Breathing was becoming difficult and I gasped for air. My legs kicked and thrashed and Mr Craven intensified his tempo. Now he was spanking me at a blow per second, a rapid bam-bam-bam that threatened to overwhelm me. I moaned loudly, wiggling frantically.

"Please, Mr! No more, Mr! It hurts!"

But the hard spanks continued. Tears stung my eyes and I shook my head furiously. It was not fair. How could he do this to me? Dread filled me as I remember the caning was still to come! Surely not. Surely this spanking was my punishment. He couldn't seriously expect to cane me in addition to spanking me! Suddenly the hand was resting on my bottom again, the strong fingers kneading and squeezing my backside.

"Feels good and warm," he announced to the world.

"Have you had enough, young Alice?"

"God, yes!" I gasped, moaning.

"Please, no more. Please let me up!"

"Certainly," he said, giving me a final couple pats on my backside.

"Get up now."

He helped me up, sliding me to his right so my feet came in contact with the floor and I could rise. My left hand brushed across his thigh as I stood. My face went hot and I couldn't look at him, but he didn't appear to take any notice of my action.

"Ready for your caning, Alice?" he asked boldly.

"Oh, Miss," I groaned, tears rushing to my eyes.

"Please have mercy!"

"I told you, Alice, you were going to be caned today. I am a man of my word. Now, which cane shall it be?"

I blinked and stared at the man through my tears. He had turned away from me and was unlatching the cane case. He slid the glass panel up and studied the canes. To my horror he took down the senior cane! She bent it experimentally in her hands.

"Ah, a nice stout cane this one. Been here for generations."

And with the senior cane no less!

"But this one's too severe for a first caning, I think. Perhaps in a few years, when you grow into a young woman you'll be ready for a woman's caning."

I nearly wept with relief as he replaced the senior and took down the tiny junior cane, bending and swishing it through the air.

"Not bad," he murmured thoughtfully.

"Stings, I'm sure."

He winked at me again, as though his thoughts and my thoughts coincided.

"But you're much too big a girl for a whipping with this one. This one's for little girls. No, I think the medium cane will do perfectly."

Dread overcame me as he put the junior back and took down the middle one, fully as long as the senior cane, but much thinner and lighter. It would sting and leave marks, but the marks would fade in a few days. Stripes from the senior cane lasted for weeks. The tension of this game the man was playing, drawing out my punishment inexorably, got to me suddenly. With resolve that astonished me I boldly stepped forward to the desk and bent over it.

"How m-many, sir," I asked bravely.

The assistant headmaster seemed delighted by my courage, walking quickly around the desk to stare at me from behind. I flushed and bravely held position.

"The standard punishment for a first offence is three strokes," he said mildly, "but you are a very naughty girl, are you not? Don't you think I should whip this bum much longer?"

His hand patted my rear as he spoke and I shuddered.

"Please, Mr!"

"Yes, at least four, I think. Perhaps more, depending on how well you take them. You will be a good girl for me, won't you? Staying in position and not crying out and making a terrible fuss?"

I moaned and shook my head. The desk was hard and my awkward position felt dreadfully exposed.

"N-not too hard, Mr, please," I begged.

"I've never had the cane before."

"Then we must make your first experience with it memorable," said the man, and I heard the chilling sound of the cane swishing through the air.

My bottom twitched and the heat from my earlier spanking felt quite pronounced.

"I will warn you right now that I take canings very seriously. A caning does no good unless it's a stiff one, and I make mine the stiffest."

"Oh, please, Mr!"

"Now buck up, lass. Be brave. It will be over soon and you'll be the better for it."

Something hard pressed against the seat of my shorts and I tensed my legs in anticipation. My palms were sweaty as I gripped the opposite side of the desk. How much would it hurt? I thought. There was a long pause, then a swish followed by a loud firecracker explosion. Intense, blinding pain overwhelmed for a few seconds, and then I became aware of a deep and biting ache across my bottom. The stroke had landed full across both cheeks, high across the top of my bum. The stinging was amazing, but it faded quickly. I blinked back tears and realised with surprise that I hadn't cried out.

"There's a good lass. Well taken. Stay down, now. That's one,"

I was more conscious for the second stroke, and gasped loudly. The pain was worse -- much, much worse. My fingers went white as I gripped the desk with all my strength so I wouldn't rise up. I couldn't let Mr Craven see how much he was hurting me. The line of agony across my seat felt like a hot branding iron against my bare skin. Surely he had sliced clean through my skirt. I could scarcely believe I had survived.

"Steady now. That's two."

Swish-CRACK!

"Ahh hhaah ahh!" I yelped, writhing in misery on the desk.

Tears spilled unbidden from my eyes and splashed across the polished wood.

My fingers hurt from their impossibly tight grip but that was nothing compared to the pain behind me. It rose and flooded through me, searing and burning. That stroke had been low, near my thighs, and I thought I would die the pain was so bad. My entire arse was on fire, all three stripes sending painful messages of alarm to my brain. I choked back sobs and moaned, stamping my right foot in a desperate measure to diminish the pain.

"That's very good, Alice. Well-taken. I told you it wasn't so bad. Just one more, then we'll rest and take a look at those stripes."

The teacher's words flowed over me like water. I couldn't understand a word he said, but only sensed his tone. She found this an amusement. It was a hard thing perhaps, but nothing more than that.

"It will be over soon" he kept saying, as though that made everything alright.

Well it had taken an eternity to get this far. Soon wasn't soon enough for me. I knew without any experience that the last stroke would be the hardest. I didn't see how I could endure it. I knew it would have me screaming around the room, dancing and holding on to my arse with all my strength. Mr Craven would see what a baby I was, and he would be disappointed that I couldn't take my caning like a big girl. It hurt me to realise this, but there was nothing I could do about it. He was about to whip my arse a fourth time and it was going to be the worst pain of my life. I would just have to fight it the best I could. There was the soft swish and the cane struck me hard across my lower bottom, slightly below the previous stroke. Sharp, indescribable agony flooded over me, and for a few seconds I thought I was dead. Then the pain eased, slightly, and I could breath again.

To my amazement the pain wasn't nearly as bad as before. Until then each stroke had built upon the previous, becoming more and more unendurable, but the third stroke had seemed to be the peak. The fourth stroke only extended the pain. It was agonising but it was endurable. I had not screamed and jumped about the room uncontrollably. I had taken my caning like a woman!

"Very well done," said the soothing voice of the man.

"I know how hard that was for you. The first caning is always the worst."

His hand rested on my back as I shuddered and quivered, huge sobs bursting from me uncontrollably. I wept more from relief than from pain, for the pain was already fading. The caning was over and I had survived!

Suddenly I tensed as the man's hand palmed my bottom. He touched me gently, I knew that, but still his hand hurt and brought forth a huge, choking sob from deep within me.

"Oh, please, Mr," I groaned, wondering what other possible torture she could have in mind.

"Stay in position, lass," he scolded gently.

"Let's just have a look at those stripes, shall we?"

I couldn't protest though every nerve in my body screamed in disagreement with his plan. His fingers grasped the elastic of my gym shorts and slowly drew them down. I could not breath in my terror. Surely he did not intend --

Of course he did. My white cotton knickers quickly followed my gray skirt to my knees and I lay there and wept in the purest misery, too utterly exhausted to argue with the teacher.

"Oh, very nice," he murmured softly.

"I can see four distinct stripes here. This first one is a bit weak, but the other three are indeed crackers."

His finger went out and carefully traced each stripe for me, as if I couldn't tell where they were from the feeling. My arms and hands ached from my awkward position, but I couldn't have moved to save my life. I lay there and let the man play with my bare bottom for God only knows how long. He poked and squeezed and patted and pinched, and I just moaned and wept and prayed for an end.

"There's quite an opening here, lass," the man said, his hand carefully caressing the empty space between the first and second stripes.

The three final ones were grouped together at the base of my bottom, leaving the middle area clear.

"That's the trouble with caning over a skirt: you can't see where the strokes land."

"Your mates are going to tease you about this white area," mused Mr Craven, still caressing me.

"I think we should fix that. What do you say to two more, with feeling?"

I didn't answer, too weak from shock to move my mouth.

"Come on, lass. It will be an even six. Your mates will be impressed. I'll put them right here so your bum will be well-striped."

I didn't have to ask if he meant to cane me bare bottomed. He was already lifting the cane and stepping back. I was too terrified to move. A distant impulse pricked at me to run for the door, but something held me in position. There was a sharp swish and followed by a louder, more intense pop. The pain was startling. It came at me faster, a rush of stinging that took my breath away. Mr Craven mercifully didn't give me a moment to think about it but promptly whipped the cane down again, this time a bit lower, and I had no doubt that my bottom held six parallel strokes. I rose up, howling in and grabbing my rear in distress. My face was streaked with tears as I danced and sobbed.

"Oh, please, Mr Craven!" I moaned.

"No more, no more!"

He smiled and approached me, kissing my cheek lovingly.

"I think you've had enough, dear," he whispered.

"You learned your lesson, didn't you?"

"Oh yes, Mr, yes!"

"Good."

He hugged me. I forgot about my nakedness. I forgot about the pain in my behind. I forgot where I was and who he was. I clung to him, weeping without restraint. He hugged me for a second longer, then pulled away. I thought I would die with shame as he knelt in front of me, slowly drawing my knickers up. The cloth against my bottom was a painful irritation, but I scarcely noticed it, too stunned at the man seeing me so exposed. He didn't seem the least bit bothered, however. When I was dressed he stepped away from me, took up the cane, and returned it to the case. He closed the glass door and sat in the chair. He opened a drawer and took out a black book I recognised as the punishment log. He carefully wrote for several minutes, then turned and offered the book to me to sign.

His inaccurate entry read: "Alice Simpson, 18, received six strokes of the cane across her skirt as punishment for mild but continual misbehaviour culminating in three demerits in this week. Punishment administered by Angelo Craven, Assistant to the Headmistress."

I signed. He smiled broadly at me.

"Very good, Alice. You're a good lass. I hope I shan't have to cane you again soon."

"Me too," I breathed.

But as I shut the door softly behind me, the weals on my bottom aching as I walked, I wondered: had I told the truth?