Silence is Golden

This story contains graphic descriptions of consensual and non-consensual corporal punishment and descriptions of caning. If this offends you, you may prefer to stop reading.

Although the setting of this story is within a school, all the participants in this story are adults over the age of eighteen years. None of the characters depicted are real, and any similarity to real places or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Please comment and score. Any constructive criticism, positive or negative, is welcome. Far too few folk comment or score.

As always, any errors in editing are mine and mine alone. As I sometimes do, I have included endnotes which both explain the background to this story and some of the colloquial English terms which I have used, and non-British readers may not understand. If you do not wish to read them, then please don't.

Silence is Golden

This is the story of my sexual awakening and how I learnt that I was a bisexual and a masochist. None of us chooses our sexual orientation, and I don't know why I need to feel pain to be fulfilled. I'm simply wired that way. This is how I got to where I am now. I know that if I had made different choices earlier in my life, I wouldn't be here, writing this today.

I don't claim to be perfect, so please don't judge me.

SW

August 11 th, 1993. Liverpool

***

I remember my first day at the Senior school. It was a frightening experience. I was a twenty-three-year-old woman with a lot to learn about the ways of the world, and, not for the first time, I doubted my decision to come and teach there.

***

I had been privately tutoring French for two years while living with my ailing mother and my younger sister, Mary. After my mother's death the previous December, I had been left with nowhere to live. She and I had shared the rent on a semi-detached house on the outskirts of Plymouth, and while my earnings covered the rent, her widow's pension, work pension, and savings covered everything else. Fortunately, Mary had already left home and was away at University in Liverpool studying history and receiving a full student grant.

Mt father had died five years earlier of a heart attack. He was French and had met my English mother in 194I when she was nursing him after he was seriously injured at the Battle of Damascus. Following his evacuation from the beaches of Dunkirk with the British Expeditionary Force, he fought with the Free French Army and was dispatched to Syria, where he lost his right foot. He had been a language teacher before the war and was fluent in English, German, and French, and following his injury, he worked as an interpreter and translator for the military. After the war, he continued to work as a translator and court interpreter, this time as a civilian. It was only natural that I learned English and French from birth, and later my father tutored me in German.

I was born in 1943, a year after my parents married. My mother later told me I was a "lucky accident," and it was five years later when my sister, Mary, arrived. I had a loving upbringing, albeit in a world with post-war rationing, shortages of food and clothes, and in a tiny, cramped flat. I remember sharing a room with my baby sister until I was twelve years old.

My father was a confirmed Anglophile and was extremely grateful for being evacuated to Britain and to the Allies for liberating France. Although he returned many times to visit France, he continued to live in England. My mother did not want to live in France and could never get to grips with the language. She would get very frustrated when my father, sister, and I conversed in French, but he insisted it was important we continue to practice the language.

I was an intelligent child, but not exceptionally so. I passed my eleven-plus examination and was accepted to a local grammar school, where, unsurprisingly, I graduated with straight As in A-level English Language, English Literature, French, and German.

Teacher training followed, but before I could get a job at a school, my mother suffered a stroke and was partially paralysed on her left side. She was only forty-six years old when it happened. The doctor suggested that the stress of losing her husband may have caused it. Then, two years later, she was dead. She left my sister and me a thousand pounds each, but that would not last forever, and I needed a real job and somewhere to live.

When I saw a job advertisement for a French Language teacher at a public school near Exeter, it was the perfect answer. Although the salary was not excessive, a small cottage was offered rent-free to the "successful candidate." When I applied for the job and attended the interview, more in hope than expectation, nobody could have been more surprised than I when I was offered the job.

***

So, there I was, on the stage at morning assembly, on the first day of the summer term. Sitting on the stage with me were the other members of the teaching staff: fifty-two men and including me, four women. In front of us in the large hall, over three hundred boys were assembled - a sea of faces, and all their eyes were focused on me.

The headmaster, Mr James, was on his feet speaking, but I barely heard what he was saying...... until he called me forward to introduce me.

"This term, we have a new member of staff. This is Mademoiselle Corbin, who will be teaching French and German. I know that you will all make her very welcome."

Standing beside him, I suddenly felt exposed and naked, but I knew how important it was to appear confident, so I pulled my shoulders back and smiled. The pupils would have seen a tall, dark-haired young woman with a good figure wearing a long black dress, a white cotton blouse, sensible black leather shoes, and a black school gown. I hoped I looked the part that I was there for.

***

The school was a typical 1960s British all-boys public school. The pupils were between eleven and eighteen years old, and because of its semi-rural location, most were boarders. Their parents paid a pretty penny for their sons to attend this bastion of privilege, where educational standards were high, and sporting achievements celebrated. On the wall of the assembly hall was a large wooden board on which the names of old boys who had won a place at Oxford or Cambridge were inscribed in gold letters. Next to it, a line of framed rugby shirts celebrated the three English and two Welsh internationals the school had produced.

The price of this excellence was not just money. Discipline was strictly enforced, and caning was a common punishment. Teachers were permitted to administer up to three strokes over fully clothed buttocks. This summary punishment was conducted in front of the class. For more serious offences, boys were instructed to change into gym shorts and a top and visit the headmaster, who decided their punishment. Additionally, school prefects, in their last year at school, were allowed, with their housemaster's permission, to give up to three strokes of the cane over fully clothed backsides.

At the girls' grammar school I attended, caning was a punishment of last resort and rare, and I was never caned - neither had my parents spanked me. I was most unhappy to wield the cane and confided my concerns to Mrs Murphy, one of the geography teachers. She told me she understood my reticence and sent boys directly to Mr James when necessary.

"I tell them to change into their gym kit," she said.

***

My pupils were, in the main, well behaved, although, as is often the case, soon after taking up my post, I needed to demonstrate my authority. It was the last lesson of Friday morning, at the end of my first week at school, and I was teaching the upper sixth arts class in preparation for their A-levels in just a few months' time. One of the boys was showing off and became rude. His name was Hall, and he was not very bright, having been kept back a year because of his poor academic performance. This made him one of the older boys in the form, and he had passed his eighteenth birthday. He was not expected to get to university, but this did not concern him since his father was an army officer, and he planned to join the military as well.

He put his hand up in class.

"Yes, Hall."

"Are you married, Miss?"

"What does mademoiselle mean?"

"Don't know, Miss."

I sighed. If he didn't know now, there was no hope for him.

"In French, mademoiselle means Miss, and madame means Mrs," I replied. "No more personal questions."

I turned to pick up a book from my desk, and when I looked up, his hand was raised again.

"Yes, Hall, what is it now?"

He looked me directly in the eye before speaking.

"Does that mean you're still a French virgin then, Mademoiselle?"

I heard a murmur of disbelief ripple around the room as Hall continued to look at me with a smirk on his face. I looked down at my desk, composed myself, and for the next minute busied myself writing. When I looked up again, Hall had a look of triumph on his face and the boys were whispering amongst themselves.

"Class, silence! " I snapped.

The room fell instantly silent, and I continued. My voice was cold and calm. I hardly recognised it as being my own.

"Hall, come here."

For just a moment, I wondered what I would do if he refused, but he must have realised that he had already overstepped the mark, and he stood and approached my desk.

"I shall not cane you," I said. "I am not strong enough to do a thorough job, and three strokes are nowhere near enough for your impertinence. Change into your gym kit and report to Mr James with this note. When he is finished, you will join us again in this class. Do not even think about not coming back. If I do not see you back here by a quarter to one, I will give you another three strokes on top of whatever Mr James has given you. Now, run along."

***

For the next five minutes, there was some fidgeting amongst his classmates, but this settled once I started to discuss the upcoming A-level examinations. I had trawled through several years' past papers from each of the different examining boards that set the exam papers and provided the boys with a list of the most common topics and questions. The boys were more interested in this than whatever was happening to Hall.

That is, until he returned. It was twenty to one when there was a knock on the door, and I called "enter."

It was Hall He was wearing shorts and a sleeveless top and had black plimsolls on his feet. His face was flushed, and his eyes were red.

"I'm sorry, Miss. There was no time to change."

"Go to your seat and sit down," I said. "There are another five minutes before the bell."

"Miss," he said.

"Yes, what now?"

"I'm very sorry, Miss."

"Thank you, now please go to your desk."

Secretly, I was pleased that he had been well punished, and it was with some satisfaction that I watched him wince with discomfort as he lowered himself into his chair. I was sure I was not the only one in the room who wondered how many strokes he had been given, just as I was sure that I had established myself as someone not to be trifled with.

***

I was eating my lunch in the staff dining room when Mr James approached.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Of course not, Sir."

"Headmaster or Head will do, Mademoiselle Corbin."

He sat and continued to speak.

"What that young man said is inexcusable. I am minded to expel him."

"Please don't do that, Headmaster."

"Why not? I thought you would approve."

"He is a rather stupid young man who will be leaving in a matter of weeks. Expulsion will solve nothing but will only make his remark more noteworthy. He has been punished, and I would now like to move on. As far as I am concerned, the matter is closed."

"Very well, if those are your wishes? I shall talk to him later and explain to him why he should be thanking you."

***

That evening, I was in my cottage unpacking boxes when there was a knock at my door. When I answered, the school matron, Rose, was standing on the step with a bottle of wine in her hands.

"Hello. I hope I'm not interrupting. I've brought you a housewarming gift. I thought you might need a drink."

"Oh, that's so nice of you. Won't you come in? The place is dreadfully untidy. I'm still in the process of moving in."

She followed me into the kitchen, and I pulled up a chair for her to sit while I found two glass tumblers and put them on the table.

"No wine glasses, I'm afraid," I said." But there must be a corkscrew around somewhere. I know I've seen one."

Rose reached into the pocket of her summer jacket and pulled out a corkscrew.

"Voila!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't sure you'd have one."

***

I was introduced to Miss Rose Lavington by the Headmaster on my first day at school. We had visited the sickbay where, dressed in her blue nurses' uniform, she exuded a no-fuss calm. Like me, she was a miss, but she was older than I, in her late thirties, I imagined. She was an attractive woman, tall and slim with long black hair and ice-blue eyes. When she spoke, her voice was soft, and her accent was Scottish.

I had lunch with her twice during the first week, and had taken an almost immediate liking to her, and it appeared the feeling was mutual. She was an excellent listener and had reassured me that being one of only a few women in a predominantly male establishment was not all bad. She had warned me about a few of the teachers. Mr Bull was all mouth if you found yourself alone with him, and Mr Evans had hands that wandered unless you told him firmly to desist. One or two old schoolteachers believed women had no place at the school, and Mr Humphries, the Latin teacher, would not converse with the ladies unless it was imperative.

She did not talk much about herself, and I knew little about her. She had been working at the school for five years, having previously worked at a girls' boarding school in London and was unmarried.

***

"I know all about your conversation with Master Hall," said Matron, taking a sip of wine. "News travels fast. Apparently, Mr Humphries thought it was a good reason women teachers shouldn't teach boys. It caused a stir in the common room, and Mrs Grey told him he was a bigoted old coot.... But that's not how I found out. I watched Hall being caned."

I put my glass down and looked at her in surprise.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I witnessed Hall's caning. Head sent him to fetch me to witness his punishment. He's done it before when he plans severe punishment. Last year, I watched a birching *. I suppose Head wants me there because I'm a nurse, although I think he also likes to embarrass the young men he is punishing."

She paused before continuing to speak.

"Hall deserved everything he got, and more."

Then, she fell silent.

"And? " I asked.

"And what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me what you saw?"

"Mrs Murphy told me you found the idea of using a cane distasteful. But now you want the details?"

"That's not what I said. I said I was unhappy to cane a boy because I've never seen the cane used or felt it myself. In any case, I wanted Master Hall to be properly punished by somebody who knew how."

"So, you are curious?"

"Of course, I am. Very."

"Good, I've been teasing you. I'll tell you exactly what happened...."

***

"Just after noon, Hall turned up at the sickbay. He was extremely nervous and told me that the headmaster wanted me in his study straight away. He had been told to say no more than that. When I arrived outside the Head's study, Maureen, the school secretary, waved me through and told Hill to sit and wait. Inside, behind the closed door, a grim-faced Mr James was talking to Mr Dewar, the Physical Education teacher. They appeared to have a difference of opinion regarding the seriousness of Hill's offence. The headmaster handed me your note, and I was reading it when Mr Dewar spoke.

'It's just a few high jinks, Headmaster. The boy doesn't know when to stop.'

'I disagree entirely,' said the Head. 'He was being deliberately offensive and trying to undermine the authority of a member of staff at a time when she is trying to find her feet. If we do not support Miss Corbin and make an example of Hill, the school is at risk of losing a valuable member of staff. Furthermore, he is not a boy but an adult and is responsible for his actions. Additionally, he is a dislikeable bully, and I look forward to his departure from the school.'

He turned to me.

'What do you say? Matron.'

I have found it easier not to get involved in disputes between members of staff, so I was noncommittal.

'It's not for me to say, Headmaster. I am not a member of the teaching staff.'

'No, but you are a woman and a valued member of the school staff.'

I thought before I spoke.

'It is a deliberate insult, and she should not have to tolerate it.'

'Thank you, Matron.'

He pushed a button on the intercom on his desk.

'Mrs Wallace, send him in.'

***

Mr James sat at his desk, and Mr. Dewar and I stood behind him. Hill entered the room and closed the door behind himself.

'Come here,' snapped the headmaster. 'Hands by your side.'

He looked at Hill with disdain before continuing.

'Quite frankly, your behaviour is a disgrace. I intend to make you regret your actions, young man....... Are you wearing anything under your shorts?'

'No, sir.'

'Please pull your shorts down and show me.'

Hill looked at me and hesitated.

'Matron is a nurse. Do it!'

Reluctantly, he pulled his shorts down to reveal his nakedness.

'Good. Now step out of them. Take that chair in the corner over there, place it in the centre of the room, and kneel on it.'

Hill looked at him in disbelief.

'Oh yes,' said Mr James. ' I intend to flog you on the bare. The alternative is expulsion. Your choice.'

I watched the young man hesitate, then slowly remove his shorts. Then, he retrieved a low-backed wooden chair from its place, placed it on a Turkish carpet that covered a large area of the polished wooden floor, and knelt on the seat. He was a ridiculous sight, wearing only a sports vest and black plimsolls with his big pale bottom and shrivelled wedding tackle on show, but I don't think he saw any humour in his situation.

Once kneeling, he looked expectantly across at the headmaster, who stood and picked up a long, thin rattan punishment cane from the desk. Then he put it down again and made a show of preparing himself to deliver the flogging. As Hall looked on, he removed his gown and hung it on a hook on the back of the door, removed his jacket and tie, undid the top button on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves.

'Lean over the back of the chair and hold onto the stretcher with both hands,' he instructed. 'Now, push your bottom up and present it to the cane.... Good... Stay like that during your punishment. If you let go of the stretcher or raise your knees from the chair, the stroke won't count, and I will administer it again, plus one penalty stroke.'

He had been standing a little away from where Hill knelt, waiting, but then he suddenly took a step forward and brought the cane sweeping down across the pale buttocks. The cane whooped and slapped. The power and ferocity of the stroke took me by surprise, as it did Hill, who gasped and momentarily let go of the stretcher with one hand. Mr James stood back before looking across at Mr Dewar.

'I'm going to need you to hold him. Mr Dewar.'

The PE teacher nodded, crossed the room, stood in front of the chair, and placed his hands on each of Hill's shoulders, holding him firmly in place.

'He's ready, Headmaster.'

'Excellent, keep hold of the stretcher, and do not let go again.'

This time, Mr James was more measured. He assumed a position to his victim's left. Meanwhile, I moved from where I had been standing behind the desk to a position directly behind Hill. From there, I had a perfect view of his buttocks. A long, deep-crimson welt was already visible across the centre of his backside.

The cane tapped one, two, three times - before it was lifted away, raised high, and driven loudly and forcibly against the soft flesh. The whooping of the cane was halted abruptly by the crack of its impact, followed by a loud sob of pain. The buttocks jerked and writhed, and within seconds, a second red stripe appeared above the first, and slowly started to darken.

Fifteen seconds later, the process was repeated. This time, the sobs grew louder. Mr James stepped away.

'That's the repeat stroke and the penalty stroke, he said. Now we'll start the punishment. Six more of the best would appear to be appropriate. What do you think, Matron? '

I heard a loud groan of anguish when six of the best were mentioned. Nonetheless. I thought the headmaster was being lenient.

'He would take another dozen easily with no overlap, Head.'

'Thank you, Matron. I shall endeavour to make every one of the half dozen strokes as painful as possible. A dozen would be excessive.'

He was a stocky, powerful man and as good as his word. Six more times the rod rose and fell. Six more times, the flexible rattan cane bit deep into the pale white flesh, pain on pain as the punishment was given - and taken. After each stroke, the buttocks shuddered and jerked, moving erratically from side to side in a useless attempt to alleviate the dreadful pain I knew, from experience, they must be feeling. Each time, he paused and impassively watched the buttocks wriggling. Only when the bum had stopped moving did Mr James utter two words,

'Bum up.'

Then, as Hall's bum muscles trembled and clenched in anticipation, the next stroke was given. The frantic movement began again,..... and Hall sobbed, and soon he cried. The punishment took no more than a few minutes, and then it was over. The headmaster placed the cane on his desk, and Mr Dewar let go of Hall, who got slowly to his feet.

Master Hall was a deeply sorry young man; his buttocks were hot and painful and scored by nine parallel deep purple lines. But there was something else. I could not fail to notice that his penis, flaccid when he mounted the chair, was now hard and erect."

***

After Matron stopped talking, I said nothing for a moment. I needed time to process what I had heard, and I had some questions. Before I could speak, Matron had a question of her own.

"You don't approve? You sent him to the head. You knew he'd be caned."

"Of course, I approve. He was rude, and if I hadn't done what I did, my authority would be gone. He deserved punishment, and is a grown man. Caning was fair and appropriate.,,,, But does Mr James often cane on the bare bottom?"

"Very rarely. Wearing a pair of shorts offers no protection from the cane and preserves the boy's decency. He wanted to embarrass the lad and increase his sense of vulnerability, and be able to see exactly where he was placing his strokes and the damage he was doing. If you are planning a serious flogging, that's important."

"I'm impressed, Matron, you appear to know what you are talking about."

"Please call me Rose, Miss Corbin, at least when we are alone, and yes, you will learn a lot more about caning if you continue to teach at this School."

"And you must call me Simone.

"What a lovely name."

There were some unanswered questions that I still had, but which I was loath to ask. I was shy and had only just met Rose. I did not yet want to admit it, even to myself, but I was curious about watching a man receive a bare bum flogging, and the thought excited me.

I poured Matron and myself a second glass of wine and changed the subject, but after the third glass, the conversation returned to caning. By then, we were both relaxed from the drink. I rarely drank more than a glass of wine and had become quite disinhibited, and Rose had become more talkative.

"You thought Hall got off light then? Rose."

"Yes, I would have given him a half dozen more."

"Have you caned someone then?"

"Oh, yes."

"What's it like?"

"Mostly it's a job. A few strokes on a clothed bum. Nothing special. Sometimes, rarely, it is special. I caned a young man for sexual indiscretion once and watched him birched*. He was an adult, he took it on the bare, deserved what he got, and it was extremely exciting. Watching Hill get his was exciting, too. I told you he had an erection when Head had finished with him. I can almost guarantee that when he's alone tonight, he'll masturbate and fantasise about you or even me."

She paused.

"I'm sorry. I've embarrassed you. I've said more than I should have. I don't normally drink this much....... I'll say this, though. Some of the boys, male teachers, and even female ones will be undressing you with their eyes. That's fine. It's normal, and you should be flattered. You are a very pretty woman, Simone."

***

After Matron left, I washed the glasses, put them away, and tidied the kitchen. Then I prepared myself a hot chocolate before bed and sat in the lounge to drink it. While Rose's account of Hills' beating had excited me, the thought of her caning a man's bare bottom was making me horny. It was clear that she knew how to use the cane, and she had said that she enjoyed using it. Then, I wondered if she enjoyed caning women on the bare as well. It was with that thought that I went to bed. The alcohol had made me sleepy, and I fell asleep quickly.

That night, I had a vivid dream. I do not remember my dreams very often but sometimes wake in the middle of one. When I do, if the dream is a nightmare, I am happy to return to reality, but if it is a pleasant or interesting dream, I sometimes wish I could catch it again and dream it until it finishes.

That night, I dreamt I was naked and kneeling on a wooden chair in Mr James's study. Maureen, his secretary, was holding me down, and Matron was standing behind me with a long cane in her left hand, and her right hand was between my legs, fingering my snatch. Somehow, I knew that the reward for coming would be a caning.

That was when I awoke, and it took a few moments for me to understand I had been dreaming. My mind told me I was grateful that none of it was real, but my body was telling me something vastly different. Between my legs I was soaking wet, and I was as horny as hell.

I threw off the bedsheet, slipped out of my nightie, put my fingers to my slit, and started to rub. As I wanked, I tried to recall the dream and imagined it was Rose's fingers that I was feeling, not mine. I held the thought and moved my fingers faster, and my arousal grew. Half an hour and three orgasms later, I was satisfied.

A week ago, I was a "normal" young woman who, although still a virgin, liked men. Now, I knew that I could like women too and had discovered an interest in corporal punishment. It was bloody confusing.

***

There was one other pupil in the Upper Sixth who had passed his eighteenth birthday. His name was George Walker, and he, too, had repeated a year, but through ill health and not poor performance.

Looking at George, it was difficult to believe he had ever been sickly, and whatever had happened, he appeared to have left it far behind. He was a very handsome young man with brown hair, brown eyes, and strong masculine features. To add to this, he was tall and well-built with a lean, muscular body. He was a school hero, captain of the school firsts in rugby and cricket, and a school prefect. He was bright enough to always be in the first six in his class without being called a swot.

And he fancied me. I saw him looking at me when he thought I wasn't looking, and when he was meant to be looking at me, when I stood in front of the class, I could see the admiration in his eyes. He was not the only pupil at the school who was in love with me. Without being vain back then, I was considered exceptionally beautiful, and being pestered by men was a fact of life.

George's admiration was doomed, of course. Teachers do not consort with their pupils if they know what's good for them. It is fair to say that I did like him. Not only was he good-looking, but he was mature for his age, and despite his successes remained modest. In the States, he would have been voted as "the most likely to succeed," and he already had his entrance to Oxford University arranged.

***

There was something else about George - something that only he and one other person knew about - that is, until I found out. This paragon of virtue was fucking one of the school cleaners.

The cleaner's name was Mrs Llewellyn. Her first name was Blodwyn, but nobody used it. She was a thirty-year-old local lady who had worked at the school for several years. Her mother had also worked at the school in her time, and Mr Llewellyn's sister and cousin worked in the school canteen at lunchtime. True to her name and surname, Mrs Llewellyn was Welsh and spoke with a lilting musical accent. She was a stout, but remarkably pretty woman with red hair and freckles, and a big arse, She was married to a seaman who was absent for long periods at a time, and I supposed this was what gave her the opportunity and inclination to be unfaithful to him. I later discovered that Me Llewellyn was a wife-beater who often took his belt to his wife when drunk and had a reputation as a loudmouth and a bully in the local village.

I never found out how their affair started, although I was instrumental in finishing it.

I discovered their secret by chance. It was a Saturday evening in late June, and A-levels were over. The boys participated in field trips, sports, and for some of them, university prep work. I had gone into the village to the small shop to replace a bottle of milk that I had accidentally dropped and broken an hour earlier, and was returning to the school, when I saw George sneaking out of the school through some bushes that bordered the grounds. His behaviour was so suspicious that I decided to follow him, and he led me to a small, isolated house at the edge of the village, where he crept around the side of the house to the back door. I could not see who let him in, but I stood for a moment on the lane, wondering what I should do next. There were no neighbouring houses close by, and that may have been the reason for their indiscretion. The lounge light was on and the curtains open when I saw Mrs Llewellyn kiss George on the lips before they left the room, and it went dark. Moments later, the upstairs front bedroom light came on, and Mrs Llewellyn appeared and drew the curtains.

There was nothing more for me to do. As I walked away from the house back to the school, I tried to find an innocent reason for George's behaviour and his visiting the house, but there was none. The only possible explanation was that they were fucking, and I wondered what I should do about it.

My father always said that a wise man takes time to examine his options before deciding. I decided to tell nobody what I had seen, and sleep on making a decision. All day Sunday, I pondered what I should do, and by Monday morning, I knew. I would speak to Mrs Llewellyn and tell her that I knew of her affair and ask her to come to see me in the evening regarding what was to be done about it. She would have a full day to worry about the consequences of her indiscretion.

Just after my first lesson, I found her alone, cleaning the windows in the physics lab.

"Good morning, Mrs Llewellyn."

"Good morning, Mademoiselle Corbin."

"May I have a word?"

"Of course."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you that I have learned of your relationship with George Walker."

As I said this, she went white with shock, and any lingering doubts I may have had about their guilt disappeared. I waited for her to sit down before I continued.

"This is a serious breach of school rules, and it cannot continue, but we also need to discuss what needs to happen next. I haven't reported this to Mt James, yet, and I am the only one who knows of your affair. Now is neither the time nor the place to discuss this, so please can you come to my cottage at eight o'clock this evening and we will talk further."

I looked at her, but she said nothing.

"Is that clear? "I asked.

"Yes, Mademoiselle."

"Please don't be late."

***

Mrs Llewellyn arrived at the cottage at eight o'clock. I had my speech prepared. I had left her stewing all day, but had already decided that I would take the matter no further.

She was a consenting adult, and so was George. He was leaving school forever in a month or so, and their affair was unlikely to continue much longer. Even if it did, what business was it of anybody except her husband, and he didn't sound like the nicest of men. I certainly wasn't a member of the morality police. If I reported her and George to Mr James, she would lose her job, and George would be birched or expelled, or both. Equally importantly, the reason for George's punishment would be impossible to hide, and somebody would talk. Inevitably, Mr Llewellyn's sister, who worked at the school in the canteen, would find out, and so would he.

I did not want to let her, or George go unpunished, but I could see no alternative. If I made their affair public, her life would be ruined forever, and so would George's. My conscience wouldn't let me do this, and I could only hope that Mrs Llewellyn's narrow escape would ensure she slept with no other pupil in the future.

So, I sat her down and prepared to tell her what I had decided. I never got a chance. Before I could say anything. Mrs Llewellyn started to speak.

"There's something I wanted to say. I'm dreadfully sorry for what George Walker and I got up to, and to say it's all my fault. He's a young man who chanced across a lonely woman who was willing to sleep with him. I deserve to be punished, but not him. I know I do, but if you tell Mr James about us, I will lose my job, and my Bill will learn. I might as well die. Please, please, isn't there some other way I can make amends without you reporting me?"

"What will happen if your husband finds out?" I asked.

"He will divorce me after he takes his belt to me."

That is when, I am almost ashamed to say, I had my lightbulb moment.

"There might be a way."

"Oh, please, anything."

"Anything?"

"Yes."

What if I ask Matron to punish you, and we tell nobody your secret?

"How will she punish me?"

"How are most transgressions punished in this school?"

"With a cane"

"Yes, with a cane, on your bare bottom. If you agree to that, nobody will ever know your secret. I promise."

Mrs Llewellyn stared at me wide-eyed, and then she smiled before she spoke.

"Oh, thank you, thank you so much."

For just a moment, I felt guilty, but then the feeling passed. I reasoned that it wasn't my fault if she didn't know how to keep her mouth shut. She had talked her way into a beating, and although she didn't know it yet, she had taken George with her.

In my mind, it was the perfect solution. She and George would be severely punished, while their secret would remain safe, Rose would get a task she loved to do, and I would finally get to watch. Justice would be done, and I was so excited.

***

After Mrs Llewellyn left, I rang Rose and asked if I could pop around. It was important, and I'd rather not wait until morning. I walked through the grounds to her apartment in School House, where she met me at the door. We sat in her lounge and drank coffee.

"So, what's so important?"

"I want you to cane Mrs Lewellyn and George Walker."

She looked at me in disbelief.

"The cleaner... and Walker, the good-looking boy in the upper sixth. Are you serious?"

"That's the pair, and yes, I'm deadly serious."

Rose continued to look dubiously across at me before she spoke again.

"And what do they think of your idea?"

"She's willing to take her punishment. He doesn't know he's in trouble yet, but he'll accept."

"And why do they need to be punished?"

That was when I told her everything; Mrs Llewellyn's adultery with George, her request not to be reported to the school and her willingness to be caned instead. I did not tell Rose that I had been willing to ignore her affair until she had "volunteered" for corporal punishment in place of exposure. She would prefer a discreet, short, sharp lesson to losing her job, her marriage, and her reputation.

" It would also be better for Walker if he were punished by you rather than receive a beating from the headmaster and face possible expulsion."

"It's not a difficult choice to make," remarked Rose. "I do not approve of adultery. It causes so much misery. They must both be well punished."

"She told me it wasn't his fault."

"Don't be so naïve, Simone. It takes two to fuck."

I was startled to hear Rose use bad language. She was normally so ladylike. My surprise must have shown.

"I'm sorry to use bad language, Simone, but sometimes only that suffices. Some might say that she is more guilty because she was unfaithful, is older, and a woman can always say no. He was a young man following his John Thomas, but he must have known she was married, and he knew she was a school employee. No, both must be punished."

"Very well, what should their punishment be? What would you consider appropriate?"

Rose sat back and thought for a minute whilst I waited patiently. Eventually, she spoke.

"A couple of years ago, Mr James punished a man his age for a similar offence. He was bound naked over the birching block and given eighteen strokes with a bundle of hazel rods*. George will be naked and receive eighteen with the cane. Mrs Llewellyn should get the same."

She paused.

"Will you tell them?"

"Certainly "

"We'll need to use the cottage."

"That's fine. They can come via the path from the lane behind the cottage. It comes through the woods, and nobody will see them come and go."

"You have that dining room at the back with the oak table, don't you?"

"Yes, I haven't used it since I've moved in. There's only the table, chairs, and a sideboard in it."

"Perfect."

***

The following morning, at the end of the last lesson before break, I asked George to stay behind. When we were alone, and the classroom door was shut, I confronted him.

"I've asked you to stay behind because I want to talk about a serious infringement of school rules."

I paused and looked at him. I wanted to see how he would react, and I thought I saw a flicker of anxiety cross his face before I continued.

"Do you have any idea what I might be talking about?"

"No, Miss."

"So, you have either forgotten that you are sleeping with Mrs Llewellyn, a school employee and a married woman, or you don't think that this is a serious infringement of school rules."

Then, I saw the panic cross his face.

"Both, Miss. I mean neither, Miss."

"Did you know a boy was birched and threatened with expulsion for a similar offence only a few years ago?"

"No, Miss."

"Well," I said," you are a very lucky young man. At present, only Matron and I know about what you and Mrs Llewellyn have been up to. and if you agree to what I am about to say, nobody else will ever find out."

"Please, Miss."

"Very well. I have spoken to Mrs Llewellyn, and she is understandably very keen that this matter is not made public and Mr James does not find out. She would lose her job, her reputation, and her marriage. Given this, she has accepted a caning as punishment for her actions. Now you must do the same. If you accept, end the affair, and accept a caning, this matter will be closed. If you do not, I will be forced to report you both to the headmaster with everything that will follow. I do not think either of you wants that?"

"No, Miss."

"So?"

"I will take your punishment. Thank you, Miss."

"Not mine, Matron's. I understand she is far more proficient with the cane than I am.. But I will be present, watching. Don't thank me yet. I have discussed this matter with Matron, and we have decided that eighteen strokes on the bare buttocks will be an appropriate punishment for each of you. I want you at my cottage next Friday evening at six o'clock sharp. You will both have all week to anticipate a severe thrashing and consider the error of your ways. I will inform Mrs Lewellyn of your decision.? You are not to talk to her again. Is that understood?"

"Yes. Miss."

***

Mrs Llewellyn was the first to arrive, followed five minutes later by George. I met them at the kitchen door at the rear of the cottage and took them to the dining room. The wooden shutters at the windows were closed, and the curtains drawn. The room was illuminated by electric bulbs set in a glass chandelier. There, the pair sat in two wooden chairs, sitting against the wall facing the heavy oak table in the middle of the room. As instructed by Rose, I had placed a cushion and four lengths of rope on the tabletop.. In the corner, leaning against the wall and standing on a towel, were four punishment canes. Rose had soaked them in water for the previous two days, and they had been draining since noon.

It was a hot summer's evening, and I gave them each a glass of iced water and instructed them to wait. Quite deliberately, I am sure, Rose was late arriving. She didn't turn up until a quarter past the hour. I had never seen her wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt before, and her curvy body was on show. She was all business from the moment she arrived.

"Are they here?" she asked.

"Yes, in the dining room, waiting."

"Good, let's have a word."

I followed her into the room where the pair were silently sitting.

"Good evening," she said. "You both know why you're here....... Mrs Llewellyn, you told Mademoiselle Corbin that you were the only guilty party. We disagree. Otherwise, George would not be sitting next to you. However, because you are the guiltiest, you will watch George punished before I get to you. Now, I'm going to have a cup of coffee, and then we will begin. When I return, I expect you both to be sitting here completely naked with your clothes neatly folded under your chairs. Please do not disappoint me. That would be very unwise."

***

Twenty minutes later, we were back in the dining room. As instructed, they were sitting naked with their hands in their laps covering themselves.

"Oh my," said Rose." Why so modest? You've seen each other naked before, and once I have each one of you bent over that table, the only thing you'll be thinking about is your arse and what I'm doing to it. George, stand up and bend over the table with your arms stretched out in front of you and your legs spread."

Silently, as I looked on, he did as instructed. Without his clothes, I could see he was lean and muscular with a flat tummy and broad, well-toned, but extremely white buttocks. Between his legs I caught my first sight of a man's balls and penis, which swayed between his legs as he walked to the table. It was then that I noticed my arousal and the wetness between my legs.

Quickly and skilfully, Rose tied him, legs apart, arms stretched wide, over the table. When she was satisfied he was firmly bound and his body pulled tight against the table, she stood back.

"Take his seat, Simone, next to Mrs Lewellyn. You'll both have a good view from there."

Then she selected a cane from the corner of the room and quickly swished it back and forth through the air, and a few drops of water flew off.

"Always soak a cane if you have time. Adds weight and makes it more flexible."

I was becoming increasingly excited by the scene in front of me. George lay quiet and immobile; the only sign of his apprehension was an almost imperceptible quivering of the muscles of his behind.

As Rose stood, half crouched, with her feet firmly planted and slightly spread, she measured the rod across his buttocks. She had a look of concentration on her face, and I thought she was beautiful. Then, her eyes narrowed, her lips parted, she threw the rod behind her back, stepped forward, and struck. using her elbow and wrist to add power to the stroke. The cane hummed. then cracked before bouncing away. I saw a white line momentarily appear, which within seconds began to turn red. Simultaneously, George gasped, and his buttocks clenched and relaxed three times before he was still again. Then, the twitch returned.

"One," announced Rose. "Mrs Llewellyn, I want you to count from now on. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Matron."

Rose returned to her position, took aim, and delivered another vicious cut. Another red line appeared, his buttocks bucked and moved from side to side, and he groaned loudly.

"Two," said Mrs Llewellyn.

It took at least ten seconds for his buttocks to stop writhing, and Rose waited patiently before driving the cane powerfully across them, causing them to frantically gyrate, and forcing him to let out a cry of pain.

"Arrrrrrrggggghhhhh."

"Three."

I was transfixed by what I was witnessing. The sight of Georges' wriggling bottom was so erotic. The fact that he was dancing to Rose's tune made it so much better, and I leaned forward in my seat to get a better view.

Whoooooop.... Thwaak.... "Aaaaarggghhh!."

"Four."

Whoooooooop.... Thwaaaak.... "Aaaaaaaarggghhhh!!"

"Five"

Whoooooooop.... Thwaaaaaak.... "Aaaaaaaaaaaaarggghhhh!!!"

"Six"

After the sixth stroke, Rose paused. Now it took George at least half a minute for his bottom to stop moving and for him to quieten, and then the room was silent.

I looked at Mrs Llewellyn, who was sitting next to me. Her hands were still in her lap, and she did not appear to have moved. If she was concerned by the damage the cane was doing to her lover's arse, the pain he was suffering, and her imminent punishment, she did not show it, as she stared impassively at the scene in front of her.

Rose stood, placed the cane across his bum cheeks, raised it high over her head, and brought it slicing down. As the rattan cane slapped against his skin, he let out a cry of pain, and his buttocks shook violently. This time, she didn't wait but immediately raised the rod and struck again. She delivered six strokes in less than twenty seconds as he yelled and his bum twisted this way and that, in a useless attempt to escape the attention of the cane.

"Twelve."

Rose put the cane down.

"That's enough," she said. "He doesn't need six more."

I was trembling with excitement as I surveyed Rose's handiwork. George's once milk-white bum was a tapestry of bright red stripes, and, between my legs, I was leaking. I felt no sympathy for George. He deserved everything that he had been given. I wondered how I had lived twenty-three years and was only now learning about myself. I was seriously turned on.

And so, despite his discomfort, was George. When Rose released him from his bonds, a very horny Mademoiselle Simone Corbin, French virgin. was treated to her first sight of an erect penis, Just not in the circumstances I imagined it would happen.

***

"Please stand against the wall while I deal with Mrs Llewellyn," said Rose to George, before turning to Mrs Llewellyn. "Come here and bend over with your belly on the pillow."

Mrs Llewellyn stood and moved to the table. She seemed eager to comply and stretched out her arms and spread her legs without being told to. For the first time, I got a look at her body. She had a pear-shaped overweight body with big torpedo tits, a narrow waist, a bulging tummy, and a huge flabby bum with thick fleshy thighs. The skin of her buttocks bore the faint marks of previous beatings. She was no stranger to corporal punishment, and I was very much looking forward to seeing her thrashed. She was tied over the table and ready when Rose spoke,

"She has a huge arse. I'm going to lay nine across each cheek from the left. You can come closer if you want."

I moved my chair so that I was no more than a yard from her rear end and adjusted my bottom on the hard wooden seat I was sitting on, and for a moment wondered how Mes Llewellyn must feel as she lay waiting. Up close, the dimples, blemishes, and marks on her bum were clearly visible, and for the first time, I thought that I could smell fear. I wondered if Rose could sense how horny I had become, and I desperately wanted to rub myself, but knew it would be improper. It would have to wait until I was alone later. It was just then that I turned to look at George, who was standing against the wall behind me, looking on. His dick was still hard and erect, and I wondered if he had the same thought. At that moment, I would have happily given him my virginity.

Rose spoke. Her voice was calm and measured.

"You'll not find me as forgiving as I was to George. You are an adulteress. You deserve everything I am going to give you: eighteen strokes of the cane. Do you want to say anything?"

"No."

"Very well."

Rose had selected a fresh cane. Now she moved it back and forth, and it whistled loudly. I waited for Mr Llewellyn to react, but she did not move and lay quietly waiting.

Rose stepped up, adopted her stance, and took aim before drawing her arm quickly behind her back and then bringing it rapidly forward. The cane whistled loudly before cutting into the right bum-cheek with an even louder slap. As the cane impacted the right bum, it appeared to bury itself in the soft plumpness, and the flesh rippled. Moments later, a pink line appeared, but Mrs Lewellyn did not react. Rose waited ten seconds before striking again, and then a further ten seconds before she delivered the third cut. Three parallel pink lines traversed the right buttock, but not a sound had left Mrs Llewellyn's lips.

I saw Rose frown before moving closer and lifting the rod high above her head. I anticipated what was coming and was not wrong. Six hard strokes rained down in quick succession. The effect was immediate and gratifying. The victim's buttocks quivered and jerked, and her lower body ground lasciviously against the tabletop and continued to do so for almost half a minute after the last stroke fell. Meanwhile, she had let out a long cry.

"Noooooooooo!!!"

"That's better," remarked Rose.

Now she shifted her attention to the left cheek. Mrs Llewellyn's resistance was broken, and she felt every one of the last nine strokes. The punishment was unhurried. Each stroke was delivered at regular thirty-second intervals - almost five minutes of agony. As each vicious stroke left its mark, her bottom jerked violently, and she moved her head from side to side. Rose saved the best for the last three strokes - on each occasion, directing the flexible cane so that it wrapped around the left cheek, embracing the curve, and the tip bit deep into the skin of the cleft. Mrs Lewellyn wailed throughout.

***

We left them to put their clothes back on, and Rose sat in the lounge whilst I made a pot of tea. It all seemed a little surreal after everything that had happened. When the two lovers appeared, I asked them to sit, and watched them lower themselves, carefully, into an armchair. I offered them tea, and Mrs Llewellyn asked if I had anything stronger.

"A large brandy, perhaps?"

Now that her punishment was over, she became very chatty, as if we were old friends, and she had come to visit. In retrospect, I think it was the relief of knowing that no one else would learn of her affair. George sat quietly and drank his tea.

It was half past seven, and still light, when Mrs Llewellyn walked down to the lane behind the cottage, where a taxi was waiting to take her home. Rose had offered her a lift, but she had refused. Now, Rose would take George back to sickbay and find some salve for his bottom.

"Do you have any wine in the fridge?" asked Rose." I'll be back soon.."

She and George walked to the front door, and I opened it for them, but just after I had shown them out, Rose turned to me and whispered in my ear.

"No touching whilst I'm gone, Simone."

I did a double take. I remembered what she had said about men wanking after a beating. She must have noticed my arousal. It was embarrassing, but not overly so. I had little doubt that Rose enjoyed administering the canings.

Whilst I waited for her to return, I switched on the television, but there was nothing of interest showing, so I switched it off. Instead, I put on a Françoise Hardy LP, but even that did not hold my attention for long, and my mind kept returning to the canings I had witnessed and of George's long hard cock. I tried to imagine how it might feel to strip naked and submit to the cane, and soon the longing between my legs returned. I tried to distract myself by washing the teacups and tidying the kitchen, but it was useless, and I could not forget what I had seen. It was then that I entered the dining room and picked up one of the two unused canes and carried it back into the lounge. By now, it was eight o'clock, and Rose should have returned ten minutes ago. I wondered what was keeping her, put a Stones record on my turntable, and waited. Part of me wished that Rose was not returning so that I could have a wank, but I kept thinking that she would return any minute.

My eyes rested on the cane. I picked it up and ran my fingers along its length. The rod was polished smooth, just over a yard long and a half inch in diameter. I doubted it weighed more than a few ounces, and I wondered how it could be so effective. I swished it backwards and forwards through the air, and it whistled softly. Distracted, and with the Stones playing at top volume, I didn't hear the knock at the door. The first I knew of Rose returning was when I heard a loud rapping on the glass of the lounge window. and saw her face peering in.

I went to the front door and let her in.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you. I was beginning to think that you weren't coming back."

"Obviously,"

"Where were you?"

"I'm sorry, I was delayed,..... but I'm here now."

"She looked at the cane I had placed on the coffee table, and then back at me, and smiled.

"You want to feel that don't you?"

I didn't know what to say. I felt my face going red.

"What," I croaked.

"You want me to cane your bare arse, don't you?"

I didn't know what to say, so I answered obliquely.

"Maybe I deserve it."

Then, I explained how I had decided to let Mrs Llewellyn and George go scot free, and how she talked herself and him into their canings.

"I wanted to watch them caned," I explained.

"Have you ever been caned?"

"No."

"It hurts."

"I saw."

"Go into the dining room, strip naked and lie over the table. I will then give you six strokes of this cane. If at any time you want me to stop, say red. After six strokes, I will pause. If you want me to stop, say red, or if you want me to deliver six more, say green. If you need time to think, say amber. Anytime you say red, I will stop. I don't think you deserve punishment, but I am happy to oblige if you think you do. I don't need a reason to cane you. I will start with gentle strokes and increase the intensity. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good.."

***

I lay over the table where, only ninety minutes earlier, George and Mrs Llewellyn had been, and for the first time experienced the simultaneous emotions of fear, need, sexual arousal, and excitement that only a masochist can understand - and I could feel the dampness between my legs.

Rose stood over me with the cane in her hand, and then I felt it rest on my bottom before it was lifted away, and a second later fell across my bum cheeks. For a moment, I felt nothing, and then a mild stinging. Seconds later, the rod impacted again; this time, the sting was more intense.

I felt Rose's hand brush against my bum and move between the cheeks. I willed her to move her hand lower to my sex, but she lifted it away, and then the third stroke fell. This time, I heard the rod whistle gently, and for the first time, it hurt, and I gasped. I felt her hand again, gently caressing my bum.

"You're doing well," she said. "Relax and take deep breaths."

The fourth stroke arrived. It whistled, cracked, and scalded my skin - and I sighed. Again, she gently ran her hand over my bottom, her fingers tracing a path across my skin. I gasped softly. This time, not from the impact of the cane, but the growing need I felt between my legs. I could feel my juices running down the inside of my thighs. Rose must have noticed it too.

"Oh my, you are a naughty girl."

I felt the cane placed across my nates, before it was lifted away, and I heard a loud whistling and a crack, just before I felt a band of fire across my backside. I groaned loudly and resisted the urge to rub my bottom with my hands but could not prevent it from jerking involuntarily from side to side.

Rose paused. For maybe fifteen seconds, she waited. She later told me she was giving me a chance to use my safe word. Then, I heard her speak.

"Very well."

And another band of fire crossed my bum. I lay waiting for the next stroke when Rose spoke again.

"That's six... traffic lights."

In my pain,.... and arousal, I had lost count. I took a deep breath.

"Green."

"Brave girl," said Rose approvingly. "Now you can touch yourself. It will make the intolerable tolerable."

I hesitated, but my need was too great, and I reached down between my legs with my right hand and, parting my labia with my fingers, found my clitoris. Slowly at first, and then faster, I began to rub. That was when my education truly started. There was a high-pitched whistling, the rattan bit into my flesh, and I imagined a white-hot poker had been placed across my naked bum. The pain grew in intensity, peaked, and slowly receded, leaving a hot, burning ache. It hurt like fuck but only served to feed the need deep inside my cunt and my fingers moved quickly on my bud.

I was still busy with my clitoris when the next stroke landed, bringing a fresh band of fire and making my buttocks jerk and writhe.

Behind me, I heard movement, and I clenched my buttocks in anticipation of the next stroke, but it didn't arrive.

"Don't look," said Rose. "I'm getting comfortable."

A minute passed, and then she appeared, walking around the table until she stood facing me. She was naked. The table hid her lower body, but I could see her big round tits and her erect nipples, and my fingers continued to work between my legs.

The ninth stroke was the hardest yet. The rod shrieked before it landed, kissing deep into both cheeks, and I groaned in agony or ecstasy - I could no longer tell one from the other. My bum was still jerking and wriggling, the pain barely peaked, when another stroke fell, and as I shrieked, deep between my legs, my orgasm hit me.

I had never felt anything approaching the pleasure of those moments. Waves of pleasure spread from deep within my cunt, and from my clit, engulfing my entire body. As my orgasm rolled on and on, and as my body trembled and shook, Rose applied the cane twice more. The rod left deep red welts, but caused no pain, only fuelling my rapture.

I do not know how long my orgasm lasted. It could have been thirty seconds or even a minute. I was oblivious to anything but my pleasure. Slowly, the world came back into focus. Although my buttocks felt hot and burning, it was almost pleasant, and I felt a combination of post-orgasmic torpor, endorphin-fuelled calm, and the excitement and satisfaction at tolerating a caning.

***

Rose helped me from the table and held me tightly in her arms, our bodies entwined. She kissed me on the lips, and then I kissed her back.

"Take me to bed," she whispered, and, wordlessly, I took her by the hand and led her to the staircase which led upstairs to my bedroom.

There, she lay on the bed and watched me as I stood in front of my mirror and inspected my behind. I was able to count at least eight discrete red parallel welts crossing my cheeks, and when I ran my fingers over them, I could feel the ridges.

"So brave and so very beautiful," said Rose.

"So beautiful and so very cruel," I replied.

Rose smiled and spoke again.

"Please come here and lie on your tummy. I want to kiss it better."

For now, her need to inflict pain was spent, and she was very gentle, showering my aching buttocks with tiny kisses.

"Lie down," I murmured. "Your turn."

***

Flat on her back, legs apart, knees bent, she looked down at me, as I lay, belly down with my head between her thighs. Her bush was glistening, her need clear. I placed my tongue between her fleshy cunt lips, teasing them gently apart, and began to lick. I was unhurried, moving my tongue slowly up and down, exploring her crack, and she began to leak. Then I transferred my attention to her bud, flicking my tongue back and forth against it, and I felt her thighs tighten around me. Now cocooned by her flesh pressing against my ears, I entered the silent world where there was nothing but her slit, her clitoris, and my tongue. My saliva and her love juice mixed and dripped down my chin, and she raised her hips, presenting herself to me.

On and on I went, trying to prolong her pleasure until she could wait no longer. Her thighs trembled and tightened around me, her pelvis jerked and ground against me, and a flood of juices ran over my lips and face.

A little later, I lay on my side, gazing at Rose, who was smiling.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked.

"I've never been with a woman or a man before."

"Really,"

"Really."

Nobody spoke for a few moments.

"You're a treasure, Simone. I never thought you'd enjoy the rod and me."

"Neither did I, Rose."

***

It was still early, and the sun had barely set, but I was exhausted.

"I'm tired," I said.

"Go to sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."

"Won't they miss you at School House?"

"I'm signed out for the weekend. Nobody knows where I am."

***

When I woke, it was light and I could see the naked form of Rose, who was sleeping peacefully beside me. She was sleeping on her front, and she had discarded the sheet on the floor, revealing her perfectly formed body.

I did not wake her, but realised I was lying on my back with just a little discomfort and a warm glow in my bum to remind me of my first (but not last) caning. Rose must have heard me stirring because she turned towards me and opened her eyes. I didn't speak, but simply leant across toward her and we kissed. The kiss was long, deep, and enthusiastic, a harbinger of the physical pleasure that would follow.

We lay together side by side, each one of us with our legs apart and fingered one another. As my fingertips described small circles on her bud, so her fingers worked on mine.

"I brought my toys, said Rose. They're in my case. I brought it upstairs last night when you were sleeping."

"I didn't see it yesterday."

"You were too busy playing with the cane to even hear me at the door."

"Well, you were late."

"I was busy."

"So you said. What were you up to?"

"Something you would have enjoyed. Giving George a hand job.... I'm not a complete bitch and he was so hard. I didn't want to waste it, and I couldn't fuck him could I? That would have been hypocritical, and much as I love men, I had you waiting."

"How did you know what I wanted?"

"You made it very obvious. You were so hot when you were watching them get it."

"Her words had added to my excitement, and I moved my fingers a little faster against her clit. In turn, her fingers moved more quickly on me."

We no longer spoke. There was only giving and getting.

We fed off each other's lust, and our fingers were a blur. Suddenly, her fingers stilled, her body stiffened, and straight legged, she began to rock backwards and forwards, and her cry of release filled the room.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

As her beautiful face contorted, and as she climaxed, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, I put my fingers on my twat and continued to rub. I felt her hand on mine, and then her fingers found my slippery bud, and I came too, oblivious to the discomfort in my bum, and conscious only of the all-consuming pleasure deep between my legs.

We were not finished yet. That weekend was a time of further discovery. Before that day, I had only used my fingers on myself. Never before had I felt the fingers or the tongue of another on my clitoris, giving me so much pleasure. I had never tribbed or sixty-nined, and when Rose held her wand against my sex, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

On Monday morning, as I donned my prim and proper school uniform and tied my hair into a bun, I was a different woman. It excited me so much to sit in the teachers' common room amongst my colleagues with cane marks on my bum, and I knew it would not be long before Matron thrashed me again. Next time, she would not be gentle with me. She had told me that before she left the cottage on Sunday afternoon.

Next time I'm going to use the strap after I cane you.

I remained a virgin but knew that I would soon not be. Rose had opened my horizons and whetted my appetite. I was a bisexual masochist and proud of it.

***

It is the nature of things that they change, and the school was no different. Teachers came and went. Mr Humphries retired, and a younger female teacher took his place. What he said when he was told of this is not recorded.

Mrs Llewellyn left the school and moved to Cardiff.

I learned to use the cane. Three hard strokes across a trousered bottom always did the trick, but couldn't compare with the punishment of the adulterers.

Whilst Matron and I were not an item (the risk of being found out would have been far too great, and we valued our jobs). We were fuckbuddies, and she had bent me over naked and vigorously applied the cane or strap (and often both) to my unprotected arse on close to a dozen occasions in the next four years. As she had said, before my first beating, she didn't need to have a reason.

I was no longer a virgin. I had embraced my bisexuality and had fucked three men over the years, None of the relationships lasted. None of them was Mr Right, and there was always Rose if I was truly horny, although the price of fucking her could sometimes be a sound spanking.

I was on the pill, just in case.

***

Then, in September 1970, on the annual school prize-giving day, George appeared at the school. It was after the ceremony, and a crowd of teachers and parents mingled in the School Hall, drinking tea and eating sandwiches. Mr James called me over while he was speaking to a young man who had his back to me.

"You remember George, don't you?" he asked. He's working in Plymouth with an import-export company. He did well at Oxford and got a first in French. We're going to have to put a star by his name on the honours board.

George turned towards me, smiled, and held out his hand.

"Hello, Mademoiselle Corbin, thank you for being such a good teacher."

"You were always an excellent pupil."

Mr James moved away to speak to one of the school governors, and I was left alone with George. He had changed in a very subtle way. He held himself with more confidence and, out of school uniform, and dressed in a lounge suit, he cut a dashing figure. It occurred to me that he was approaching the age I was when I started teaching at the school.

We chatted for a minute, neither one of us referring to the day he came to the cottage. Then he asked me out.

"I always liked you as a teacher. Can I ask you something impossible back then?"

"You can ask."

"I'm in Exeter on Friday evening. Can I take you to dinner? To thank you."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd want to thank me, but yes, I'd love to have dinner with you."

***

By early Friday evening, I was ready. Dressed in a navy mini skirt, a black and white chequered blouse, and black boots, I looked good. My hair was freshly washed and dried, and I took my time carefully applying makeup. The cottage was tidy, Clean sheets were on the bed, and everything was ready.

Just after half past seven. George pulled up in a racing green MGB GT. I couldn't help but be impressed. He explained it was a present from his parents for doing well at University. Neither of his parents had been fortunate enough to attend university. The Second World War had punctuated their youth. They were understandably proud of him, and I understood why.

We spent a pleasant evening in an Indian restaurant in Exeter, and I discovered that he had turned into a pleasant and knowledgeable young man. His French was excellent, albeit with the accent that English people speaking French never seem to shake off. He had spent a year abroad in Orleans, and I envied him that. Four years earlier, the gap in our ages and the teacher-pupil relationship had been a gaping chasm. That evening, we were two young people enjoying one another's company. By the time we got to dessert, we both knew we were going to fuck.

I waited until we were back at the cottage and drinking coffee before I told him that the caning he received from Rose only happened because Mrs Llewellyn talked herself and him into it.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. " It's water under the bridge. It happened over four years ago. If I bore a grudge, I could report you and Matron to Mr James. He can't hurt me or Blodwyn anymore, but you would lose your jobs. Don't worry, though. I would never do that, even though I could see how much Matron enjoyed causing my discomfort, and you loved watching it."

"Come with me," I said, and led him to the dining room at the back of the house.

The room was shuttered, four ropes and a pillow waited on the oak table in the centre of the room, and a long, heavy punishment cane stood, draining excess water, on a towel in the corner of the room.

George stood silently for a moment before turning to me.

"You want me to cane you? Simone."

"Yes, you know how to use one, don't you?"

"I was a prefect. Of course I do."

"You owe me twelve hard strokes."

He looked at me and smiled.

"No. I owe you twelve strokes with interest.

He did a quick calculation in his head."

"Twelve at 10 per cent compounded over four years comes to around eighteen. That's what you'll get..... Eighteen hard ones across your bare bum..... Is that what you want?"

I paused for a moment. I had figured on a dozen, but I was in too deep to back out.

"Yes. It's what I deserve."

"You're sure. Eighteen strokes will hurt like hell. You don't have to do this."

"I know, but I need to."

"Very well."

"You'll need to tie me down. I won't be able to hold still, and there's one more thing,..... when you've finished with me, and before you untie me, I want you to fuck me. I won't need any foreplay. I promise you I'll come."

George looked at me, smiled, and shook his head.

"If that's what you want," he said.

***

"Now, I'm going to finish my coffee. When I return, I expect you to have removed all your clothes except your stockings and boots and to stand by the table facing the door. Whilst you are waiting, I want you to think about the thrashing you are going to get. I promise you that very soon you will regret what you have asked me to do."

Alone in the room, I did as I was instructed and stood waiting for George to return. I felt deliciously naked and vulnerable, and I felt fear and excitement in equal measure. Between my legs, the animal need was growing.

When George returned to the dining room, he was naked and had a lob on. When I had seen him naked before, my attention had been centred on his bum, and although I had seen his erection I had no yardstick (forgive the pun) by which to measure it, never having seen another one.

Now. I realised how tall he was and could see his well-muscled arms and shoulders. It was clear that he could swing a cane with much more power than Rose if he wished.... His prick was circumcised, thick and long, bigger than any I had seen in any of my boyfriends......

And I found myself shivering.

He crossed the room, picked up the cane, stood before me, and quickly swished the rod through the air. As it moved, the flexible rod bent almost double, producing a loud whistling as it cut through the air. Between his legs, his erect, angry prick swayed from side to side as he moved.

You'll feel both of these soon enough, he said. Now put the cushion under your belly and bend over the edge of the table. You know how. You've seen it before.

Then, legs apart, arms stretched out in front of me, he bound me tightly to the table, and I heard his voice.

"You have a beautiful body, Simone, but you have marks on your bottom. Who placed them there?"

"Matron."

"Ahhh.... Let's see if we can outdo her, then, shall we?"

I felt the cane rest against the skin of my bottom, and then, it was lifted away. There was a loud whistling noise and the crack of wood on flesh before, after a moment's respite, I felt the rod cut into me, and I felt a familiar intense red-hot burning pain which increased in intensity over a few seconds before peaking and leaving a deep-seated discomfort. I took a deep breath and tried to control my breathing.

I waited for the next stroke, and then I felt the rod resting on my skin - and then I didn't - until it sliced down again. This time, the whistling and the sound of impact were much louder. I felt as if a white-hot poker had been placed across my bum, and I jerked and wriggled, and tried not to cry out.

When the third stroke arrived, the pain was atrocious, and I bucked and pulled at my bindings. This time, George did not give time for the pain to peak before striking again but delivered the fourth and fifth strokes in quick succession, and the pain was agonising. I could no longer stay quiet, and as my rear end rotated, first right, then left, then back again, I heard myself cry out.

"Nohhhhhhh!"

I heard George speak.

"Deep breaths, Simone. You can do this. Remember you wanted it."

He gave me a minute to recover before he delivered the sixth stroke. It hurt badly, but was tolerable. I remember thinking that George had started to feel sorry for me, but he later denied this. Between my legs, I had started to drip.

After the fifth stroke, I had begun to panic, but now I was in control again. I took long, deep breaths and relaxed. The cane whistling and cracked, wrapping itself around my bum cheeks, gifting me pain, and I welcomed it. And as the caning progressed, so my need to be fucked grew, The sixth to twelfth strokes were given at thirty second intervals, and then I lay waiting for George to continue. Instead, he stopped.

"A dozen's plenty," he said.

Almost immediately, I felt his nob between the lips of my cunt. I was so wet, his fat cock stretched me, he slid inside, and It felt so fucking good. I was already close to coming, and as he drove himself in and out, I screamed, as paroxysms of pleasure welled up from deep inside my cunt and filled my body. He didn't stop, but continued to pound at me, and my orgasm rolled on and on.

Eventually, I could take no more.

"Enough," I screamed," enough. Let me up and I'll suck your cock dry."

I knelt on the floor in front of him and took him between my lips. He held my head between his hands, and I slowly moved my mouth up and down his shaft, stopping occasionally to concentrate on his swollen, bulbous, pink tip.

My bum was swollen and on fire as I fellated him. I felt like a naughty, well-punished whore, and I loved it, just as, at that moment, I loved him for hurting me so badly. Now, more than ever. I wanted him to come inside my mouth - his first reward for what he had given me. My head was bobbing quickly back and forth when he began to moan. His groans grew louder and louder, and I moved faster still. His cock swelled in my mouth, and I felt it start to pulse, and he filled my mouth with streams of salty semen.

***

Much later, we talked. In the meantime, we had fucked some more, and now it wasn't just my bum that was sore and glowing. I had ridden him to a mutually satisfying climax before he took me from behind once more, and I wrapped my boobs around him and gave him a tit job.

"I don't know you were worried about offering Blodwyn a caning when you didn't have to. It was a little hard on me, but not her. The bitch deserved it"

"Matron told me she gave you a hand job. It can't have been all bad."

He chuckled.

"A hand job is not worth twelve strokes of the cane, unless you are a masochist."

"Why did you say Mrs Llewellyn deserved her punishment? You must have liked her. "

"Of course I liked her, I was eighteen and horny and she was my first, Blodwyn was the village bicycle, she was shagging at least two other guys at the same time we were fucking. That's why she's back in Wales. Bill, her husband, caught her in bed with her sister's husband.

That caning didn't do much to make her mend her ways, though, did it?"

***

Epilogue

The events I have described happened over twenty years ago. George and I are married and live in Liverpool, where he now has his own import-export business and I am a head teacher in a local state school. We don't cane our pupils. That was banned in state schools in the UK in 1987, although public schools still use it.

Rose is now employed at a girls' school near Birmingham. I haven't seen her for several years, but we stay in touch with the exchange of Christmas cards.

George and I have one daughter who is now twenty years old and at University studying Biology. We have never raised a hand to her, and neither George nor I believe in the corporal punishment of children.

The corporal punishment of consenting adults, and in our relationship, wives, is a completely different matter. My fifty-year-old buttocks are just a little bigger than they were when George first bent me over the table in the cottage, but they still need a regular dose with the cane or strap. George is always very happy to provide it, and he knows that I will fuck him silly afterwards.

I still don't know why I am wired the way I am, and I don't care.

***

* This is described in my story, The Making of a Masochist.

***

Endnotes

In the United Kingdom, the term public school does not mean a government-funded school but means a private school where fees must be paid. This confusing label owes to the fact that historically most schools took their pupils from a local area or a particular group, whereas fee-paying public schools were open to anybody regardless of where they lived or what their background was, and in that sense they were public and open to all.

***

Historically, the 11 + exam was taken in the final year of primary school when children were aged ten to eleven years old. It was an especially important exam which examined skills in arithmetic and English and included elements of IQ testing. Based on the result, pupils were directed into different educational pathways. Successful children were allocated to grammar schools, where education continued for seven more years and was academic and tailored to progress to University or higher education. Those who failed were sent to secondary modern schools, which offered a broader curriculum for a further five years, or some were sent to technical colleges for practical or vocational training. The eleven plus has been criticised for being a life-changing selection tool which was employed too early in a child's life.

***

At grammar and public schools, there are seven years of secondary education. The last two years are known as the lower and upper six forms. During these last two years, pupils specialise in subjects relevant to their plans. At the end of their final year, pupils take their A (advanced) level exams normally in three, but more rarely in four or even five subjects. A-level grades are used by Universities, other centres of higher education, and by employers as a measure of suitability.

***

A swot (UK English) is a student who spends hours reading textbooks and revising for exams.

***

John Thomas is a British slang term for the penis dating back to the mid-eighteenth century. John Thomas was a Welsh poet who used several different ways of describing the penis in his poetry. These included "cuckold's stick" and "sheep worrier", and eventually his name became to mean penis, DH Lawrence later popularised this usage in his book, Lady Chatterley's Lover.

***

Blodwyn is a Welsh name meaning white flower.

***

Bicycle is an early twentieth-century slang word sometimes used to describe a woman who rides a lot and is therefore promiscuous.

***