Spring
Thursday, March 11th, 2010There is a rather charming village green I am often in the habit of frequenting. At times, if the warmth of the sun permits, I may rest a-while on one of the charming wooden benches and contemplate the finer things in life whilst at the same time filling my lungs with some of the freshest English air it is ever my pleasure to breathe. That is, until the other day.
I was – as I have just outlined – enjoying one of these daily constitutionals, listening to the sound of birdsong and admiring the newly emergent snowdrops and first showings of the daffodils when my nostrils were rudely and suddenly assailed by the unmistakable aroma of tobacco smoke. On further inspection I noticed it was emanating from an automobile parked at the side of the village green a little forward of my own position. As I approached the car, I distinctly saw cigarette ash being tapped out of an open window. I heard voices; female voices. There was laughter. I paused in order to better hear the topic of teenage conversation. And this, dear reader, is what I overheard.
“So I said to him, I said ‘Sir, I don’t mind you spanking me; I don’t even mind you caning me. I dare say I might possibly enjoy you caning me…” At this point the speaker was interrupted by hyena-like howls of laughter. Once the car’s occupants had recovered their composure, the storyteller went on.
“Yes, I might even, you know, get some pleasure from it,” the young lady went on. Pleasure? Really? From punishment? This was news to me, and rather disturbing news at that.
“But I draw the line at you videoing it,” the girl went on.
I should explain, at this point, that the School Governing Body has recently introduced some small amendments to our disciplinary code, one of which is the insistence that all acts of private chastisement in my study must be recorded by means of video-tape so as to ensure absolute propriety. Not, I hasten to add, that there was any suggestion that things were otherwise. Good Lord no. The days have long gone when I might insist on certain driot de seigneur in respect of a freshly spanked young lady. Still further remote are the days when the deflowering of a virgin was an accepted part of the School Curriculum, a service expected – nay, demanded – by parents keen to ensure their daughter’s ‘first time’ was both memorable and enjoyable, the likelihood of which at the hands of some fumbling adolescent was unlikely, to say the least. Ah, the days of champagne picnics in the woods; of soft-lighting in the master’s bedroom; of candlelit suppers followed by a little personal tuition…. But I digress. Back to the occupants of the car, all of whom – as will now be clear – should neither have been smoking nor out of school, still less sitting in their uniforms inside a car discussing the finer points of the school’s disciplinary policy.
“And what did he say?” asked one of the young ladies.
“Well,” continued our narrator, “he told me that – as a special favour – he would give it to me on the bare but have the camera at the other end.”
“The other end?” laughed one of the girls.
“You know,” the first girl went on, and I saw her rise a little in her seat and slap her bottom.
“So he filmed your bum?” the other cried excitedly.
“Yes, I suppose…”
“And you asked him to?”
“Er, yes…”
“Good Lord Hannah!” someone said. “Why not just let him point it at your face?”
“Because… well, you never know where those tapes might end up,” Hannah went on. “I don’t want my face for all to see on YouTube or something, especially not if I’m getting a caning.”
“So, you’ll have your bare bum up there instead?” asked the girl sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Well, yes… at least nobody’ll know that it’s me,” the girl concluded, to more laughter.
Making a mental note to discuss this at the next meeting of the governor’s disciplinary committee, I strode purposefully towards the car and cleared my throat. The girl in the front passenger seat swung round, saw who had been listening, and went white. The others quickly extinguished their cigarettes and fell silent.
“Ladies, if you would be so kind…” I opened the door of the car and invited all four of them to step outside. A sorry sight they looked as they stood – crestfallen – in a line with their heads bowed, awaiting the inevitable.
I reached for my wallet.
“Now ladies,” I began. “It is clear to me that at least one of your number has some slight objections to the school’s new policy of videoing punishments.” Nobody spoke. They had all said enough.
“Yes, and it should be perfectly obvious that you are all – having been caught both breaking bounds and smoking – now due the most severe chastisement.”
“Yes sir” the four girls chorused.
I handed Hannah a £5 note from my wallet and instructed her to cross the green to the village shop – a most excellent establishment, well stocked – as these places often are – with multifarious goods including items of a horticultural nature.
“I believe you know what I require you to purchase, Miss Gresham.”
The girl nodded, and trotted off across the village green.
“Forgive me ladies,” I addressed the remaining three girls. “But would you oblige by following me to the wooden bench in the middle of the green?”
To say that Laura French, Hayley Underwood and Jessica Vaughan followed with reluctance is something of an understatement. These girls are all highly intelligent creatures; they saw – all too quickly – what fate awaited them, and were no doubt quietly cursing their friend Hannah Gresham’s outspoken objections to video punishments. But for her, the girls would soon be safely standing behind the locked door of my study awaiting several strokes of the cane in relative privacy. And the tapes – contrary to anyone else’s fears – will never end up broadcast to the nation on such things as YouTube. Oh dear me no! For they are kept secure in a locked cabinet, from whence they are only periodically removed in order that the governors may satisfy themselves that girls in my jurisdiction are both justly and appropriately punished.
“Ladies, I think we can dispense with the formalities. You know you must be punished; you know why. And now – I gestured towards the returning Hannah, clutching to her bosom a bundle of yellow garden canes – you know how.”
“But sir…” one of the girls protested.
“No buts, my dear. Your friend has made it quite clear that she objects to having her chastisement recorded for posterity. As there is no possibility of dealing with you any other way once back at school, I propose to carry out the sentence right here, in the middle of the village green. You may each remove your pants and skirts and turn around and touch your toes.”
By this time Hannah had returned. Handing me the canes – and my change – she looked only slightly startled by the sight of three pairs of fresh young buttocks bared before her. More puzzling, I fear, was the fact that I began the process of chastising her three friends while ignoring Hannah completely. I had a little surprise in store for her.
I selected the most malleable of the garden canes and flexed it gently, swishing it through the air a few time and tapping the bare buttocks of the first girl in the line.
“Laura, you are to receive six strokes of the cane – three for being out-of-school, and three for smoking. You will count each stroke aloud.”
Raising the bamboo high above my head I paused, then sliced the rod across Laura French’s naked buttocks. The noise resounded round the village green which at this time was otherwise deserted, much to the girls’ relief I feel.
‘One thank-you sir’ the girl trilled.
Again I raised the cane, this time bringing it down diagonally across both cheeks from top to bottom.
‘Two thank-you sir.’
Stroke three effectively met the second at the apex of the young girls gluteous muscle, thereby neatly inscribing an angry zeta across the nubile flesh. Having thus described a rather pleasing pattern I turned my attention to Miss Underwood. Being slightly fuller of figure, Hayley’s naked buttocks presented a slightly larger target and I selected a somewhat thicker instrument of punishment. Again I laid down three firm strokes before moving to Miss Vaughan.
Ah, Miss Vaughan. Recall, if you will, my mention earlier of times past, when the duties of a young, athletic Master would include one-to-one tuition in the art of love-making. Ladies like Miss Vaughan would be always be among the last, the very last, to be summoned to my study for some extra-curricular activity, their virginity having been allowed to ripened in the dormitory like some majestic Claret until – after hearing tale upon tale of the wonderful de-flowering of her classmates – the chosen one would be so eager, so willing and positively bursting with anticipation for her own special moment of sexual education. Oh, Miss Vaughan if only you knew (I thought) as I gazed down at those slender, sun-tanned legs, at those tender, naked cheeks and at the nascent beauty of those untouched, rosy lips so delicate and so teasing in-between her taut athletic thighs.
Shaking myself from such reverie, I delivered three firm strokes of the cane to Miss Vaughan’s bare bottom, before returning to the first girl in the line and dispensing the remainder of her punishment. She counted her remaining three strokes in a loud, clear voice – as I demand – and then remained in position as I moved along the line. Three more for Hayley Underwood were expertly delivered and stoically received and I found myself once more at the teasing sight of Jessica Vaughan’s pert – and now striped – bottom.
Raising the thinner of the garden canes I cut a further weal across the top of the young lady’s thighs.
‘Four thank-you sir,’ was all the sound the young girl made.
The next stroke arched around the apex of her nates and bit deep into the delicate flesh.
‘Five thank-you sir,’ she almost sang.
The final stroke, I thought, had better be my best. So I held the cane aloft, paused, then swung the rattan down with all my might, blistering a red trail on the sweet spot of the girl’s posterior, just above the creases where curving buttocks end and smooth long thighs begin.
Oh, such sweet spring pleasure. And there was still more to come. For watching the proceedings – in addition to a small crowd of villagers who were now gathering to watch the spectacle – was Hannah Gresham: Hannah, who had so objected to the thought of other people seeing her get punished.
Allowing the other girls to stand – their knickers still loose around their ankles – I felt I ought to put on something of a show.
“Now Hannah,” I began, “as chief culprit I will deal with you much more severely than the others.” The young girl nodded in agreement.
“You have not only been caught breaking bounds and smoking, but you were heard discussing aspects of school life in a deeply disrespectful manner. You seem not only to regard aspects of school life as the subject of entertainment, but also to derive a certain dubious pleasure from the practice upon your person of corporal chastisement.”
There was some laughter from the growing crowd of villagers.
“Well young lady,” I went on. “I can assure you that the following punishment will be a good deal less enjoyable to you than any you have hitherto received. And if – by some fortunate quirk of nature – you find the slightest satisfaction in the fate that now awaits you, you have my full permission to enjoy it to the full.” The young girl briefly looked surprised. “For I intend,” I went on “this morning, here on the village green, to reinstate the balance of pain and pleasure in such punishments firmly to the benefit of the former. Now, remove your skirt.”
The girl folded her skirt across the back of the wooden bench and then smartly stepped out of her navy-blue school knickers. I then instructed her to kneel on the wooden bench and drape her upper body down so that the palms of her hands were on the floor. I asked two of the other girls to each take a firm grip of one of the girls ankles, holding them down to the seat of the bench so that she couldn’t move. The other girl then knelt down on the floor by Hannah’s head and grasped her wrists. Thus secured, I delivered my verdict, as much to the onlookers as to the girl herself.
“Hannah Gresham will now be given twelve strokes of the cane – double the number received by her classmates – for her wanton and lascivious behaviour. They will be administered by me on behalf of the school in my capacity as Headmaster.” I scanned the faces of the growing crowd which by now seemed to have doubled in size and to include one or two students from the neighbouring boys” boarding school.
“And I would invite any one of you,” I addressed the crowd,”who feel so inclined to step up to the bench and deliver yor own chastisement once the school’s has been completed. For I am in no doubt that girls like Hannah Gresham are throughout the year a source of irritation and annoyance to the people of this village. They break bounds, I know, and make themselves a nuisance to the local residents as these young ladies have just demonstrated.” I gestured to the three girls freshly spanked. “Consider it your duty, therefore, to chastise this young lady,” and I paused to tap the girl’s posterior, “in leiu of all the other girls who may have in the past been a nuisance to you.”
Moving among the small crowd I handed out the remaining garden canes. A few were taken up immediately by some of the younger male onlookers; I offered one to the local vicar; the Squire had the remainder. And together, we gave Hannah a hiding to remember. It will be some considerable time before she feels but the slightest quiver of pleasure at the thought of physical chastisement. Miss Vaughan – whom I appointed teller – called out a grand total of two hundred and fifty strokes, many of them delivered with slightly more force than even I could muster. Who would have thought it of the local vicar?
And the Squire was so impressed he immediately called for the Village Green punishment to become an annual ritual. Which is all well and good.
But will we ever get a volunteer?
