by Frank Martinet
Susannah hated the cane. She'd gotten it plenty growing up. Her parents had been the old-fashioned type and had enrolled her in a private 'traditional' school. Brierwood had been strictness defined. Everyone got the cane there.
The joke was, if you weren't being caned, you were being slippered, and if you weren't being slippered, it was because you were naked in the corner waiting for the cane.
She and her friends had called Brierwood 'caning school' since it seemed the primary thing they were taught was how to take a beating properly. Everything had to be just so for a thrashing. You couldn't get up, cry out, or even make a fuss after, or the whole beating would be repeated an hour later. One learned quickly with that kind of motivation.
Even the good girls were caned at Brierwood. Every pupil started off the week with three strokes. Mondays were dreaded more than usual at Brierwood. During first period roll call, each girl had to come to the front of the room and touch her toes. Her teacher would then raise her skirt, lower her knickers, and apply three crisp strokes to the bare buttocks.
For the younger girls this was with a lightweight junior cane of the classroom variety. Stingy, but it barely left a mark. Older girls got the senior cane. Still a classroom model and not as severe as the Headmistress level, but it definitely left red welts. If your bottom was already striped or you got another caning later in the day, the little beating hurt.
Even this 'playful' thrashing had to be taken with mettle. Brierwood girls were to be tough and anyone who couldn't take a mere three strokes properly was sent to the Headmistress for a real caning. Worse, upon your return, you had to show the class your new stripes and hold position while the original three were repeated!
Susannah had not been a particularly good girl. She was the bubbly sort, enthusiastic and eager, the type who would leap without looking and act without pondering the consequences. She felt she was caned constantly at Brierwood, most of the time unfairly or for trivial offenses such as speaking out of turn (her most common fault).
Perhaps that made the Brierwood canes sting extra, since so many of her thrashings seemed undeserved. The pain was certainly intense. No matter how many times she was caned, it never hurt any less. In fact, it got worse, as she graduated to more severe canes and harsher punishments the older she became.
But it wasn't just the agony - she hated everything about the process. She dreaded the shame of being selected for punishment, the humiliation of lowering her knickers and showing off her bare bottom, and then the embarrassment of not enduring her beating properly. She was always terrified during a caning that she might react wrongly and reach out a hand to comfort her blazing bottom - or wiggle or yelp or do anything else the administration regarded as uncouth - and then have to undergo a repeat of the entire process an hour later.
Getting a caning at Brierwood was like juggling dynamite.
Susannah had never been so glad to leave an institution in her rear view mirror. She was done with school and with the cane, and entered the workforce without plans to ever return to either. It had been years since her last encounter with a springy rattan and she thought that was wonderful... except why was she thinking about Brierwood so often?
Her dreams lately had been disturbing, filled with reruns of her school thrashings. Usually everything was vague. She couldn't see the faces of her teachers or Headmistress, but knew she was there to be beaten. She was often completely naked and the canings were ridiculously severe. Instead of six strokes, it was twelve or twenty. She often woke in terror upon hearing the horrible sentence, lying back in her bed and feeling a strange unease and something akin to guilt that she'd escaped her proper punishment.
She'd hated Mondays since her school days, but now as a grown woman she felt a bizarre nostalgia for those simpler times. If only all I had to worry about was a mere three stroke caning! she thought with a rueful glance at the profile of her rear in the full-length mirror.
Come to think of it, she'd been doing that a lot more as well: fondling the full cheeks of her bum, squeezing and patting them as she admired their reflection. She'd always had a prominent rump, even as a kid, but in her twenties it had swelled into a pert ball. Her broad hips had something to do with that.
She was still slim overall, a petite woman, pretty with dark hair and a lovely white-toothed smile, but there was a heaviness about her hips that she didn't totally dislike. It felt appropriately feminine to her, though when she moved she noticed her ass more.
Joel didn't seem to mind it. He often complimented her figure, especially that full arse, cupping the cheeks with his hands and squeezing, or goosing her when she wasn't expecting it. He was quite the scamp at times. He'd even smacked her bottom once when they were making love. Susannah had enjoyed it thoroughly.
Had that been what had inspired her recent trek down memory lane? Or perhaps it was the garden canes Joel had purchased last month for the tomato plants he'd put in the back yard. Susannah had eyed those sticks warily, chills shooting down her spine as she imagined herself bending over and one of those rods whipped into her naked buttocks.
Whatever the reason, Susannah couldn't stop thinking about her canings at Brierwood. Everything seemed to remind her of those times. When she bent to pick up a dropped spoon and felt the tightening of her skirt across her bottom, she could almost feel the cane cutting into her rump. When her boss frowned at her for forgetting the milk for his tea, she felt the faint reprimand keenly, and her first thought was that at Brierwood, such a flaw would have had her touching her toes for six of the best.
Then there was everything with Joel. He was out of her league, she felt. He was university educated, an executive at the company where she worked, a star on the rise with big things in his future. She adored him, and she thought and hoped he loved her, but he tended to be critical. He wasn't cruel or mean, but he did have high standards.
If she wore the wrong shoes or her dress was inappropriate for the dinner party they were attending, he would scold her and she'd feel like a naughty little girl. If she slacked in her housecleaning or got behind on her bills - very common - he'd frown and shake his head in a way that made her want to weep.
Lately she'd been thinking that he ought to take one of those garden canes and use it on her bottom!
Her bare bottom.
Oh, the thought of Joel caning her was bizarrely stimulating. What was wrong with her? The cane was awful, a horrible thing. Had she forgotten how much it hurt? Had she forgotten the unbearable shame and humiliation? Perhaps she ought to be thrashed harshly just as a reminder of how bad it was!
But there she was going again, daydreaming of Joel stinging her posterior with a long, flexible cane. It wasn't just a mere sixer, but a royal dozen. Perhaps a baker's: thirteen cherry-red stripes across the rounds of her full bottom. Real weals, like the ones Headmistress Clarke gave. Raised welts the color of raw beef. Crimson streaks that spanned the full width of Susannah's buttocks, from hip to hip, marks that would be tender for days.
It was bizarre, but despite how much Susannah hated the cane, she wanted it. It made no sense. She couldn't explain it. Just the thought of being whipped made her weak in the knees and left her panting with terror... yet she still wanted it.
She wanted to feel the sharp, shocking, penetrating sting of the rod. She wanted to feel the thrill of her silky knickers gliding off her plump bottom, leaving the cheeks naughtily naked. She wanted to feel the shame of not taking her punishment properly and being sentenced to a repeat. She wanted to sense Joel's male sternness, his masculine strength as he punished her harshly, her flaws slowly excoriated.
It was crazy, but that's what Susannah wanted. She'd bought three real rattan canes online. They'd been delivered and she was staring at them in awe, thinking that she'd gone mad. Though they were different grades, they all looked harsh to her. Much too severe. She'd lost her mind.
But then she was naked, standing in the corner with her hands on her head, the canes prominently on the table. There was no question what was being demanded, what had to happen. The only thing she wasn't certain about was whether Joel would do it.
Susannah tormented herself with imaginings that he would use all three canes, giving her a dozen from each, leaving her buttocks sore and welted beyond endurance. Then there was the worse fear that he wouldn't use the canes, that he'd leave, disgusted by her perverse desires, horrified that the sweet, delicate beauty he'd fallen for was really a filthy slut who got off having her bottom smacked.
There was the jingle of keys and the creak of the front door. She heard a footstep in the foyer and tensed. Her sex was so alive it was like a living creature, a separate being, juicing and tingling with a fierceness that she'd never felt before.
"Susannah?" Joel called from the kitchen. There was no sign of dinner. She'd been too distracted by the delivery of the canes. She shivered, wondering if that crime alone was worthy of a caning. Then she mentally chided herself for thinking there was a question. Of course it was worthy - not having a hot meal ready for her man was a serious offense that deserved a harsh caning, perhaps even more than one.
The footsteps came closer. She held her breath. Then he was in the room. She could sense the stillness. He was in the doorway, staring at her. She could feel his eyes roving over her naked bottom. It was like he was caressing her sex it was so excited. She was terrified, but thrilled, as though hanging to a cliff's edge by her fingernails.
Joel said nothing as he stepped into the room. She heard him touch the canes, perhaps selecting one. Susannah felt dizzy and faint. This was a hundred times more intense than any of her beatings from Headmistress Clarke at Brierwood.
"I see dinner isn't ready," he said softly. "It isn't even started, as far as I can tell. Is my peach being rebellious?"
"I... forgot," Susannah said haltingly, her voice wavering.
"You know I'll have to punish you severely."
"Yes sir."
Susannah tensed, but she felt more comfortable now. The tone was familiar, similar to what she'd experienced so many times at Brierwood. She'd been bad. She was going to be caned. It was going to hurt. There was nothing she could do to get out of it. This wasn't a dream where she was going to wake up. This was real. Joel was going to give her the beating of her life and she could hardly wait.
"You didn't read my texts?" Joel said.
It was an odd thing for him to ask and for a second, Susannah was confused. She shook her head. She still couldn't turn and look at him. She felt like she'd explode if she did that.
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