by Frank Martinet
Breeanne couldn't believe what was happening. Her stomach was swirling around like a flushing toilet. She hadn't slept a wink all night, absolutely terrified she was going to get caught. And now here she was, waiting outside the principal's office. Caught.
She certainly hadn't meant to destroy the trophy case. It was all that bitch Glenda's fault. She knew just how to push Breeanne's buttons. Breeanne thought she'd done pretty well to ignore the girl's taunts for as a long as she did and not take the bait. But Glenda just wouldn't stop. And Breeanne really had just been trying to push her out of the way. She hadn't intended for the girl to fall into the glass case and smash everything. It was just bad luck.
Breeanne had run away, but she knew Glenda was going to report her. Breeanne had managed to attend Claremont Academy for three years without facing discipline, and now she was certain to get the cane. It was so unfair and frustrating! Glenda deserved the cane, not her. Breeanne had never even been spanked!
Though Breeanne loved Claremont, from the very beginning she'd been nervous about their strict discipline policy. The school was avant garde in terms of academics, but old-fashioned in their approach to punishment. Though some people said it was the other way around, considering how out of fashion corporal punishment was these days and how academic standards had dropped.
Breeanne's parents had left the final decision to her. She'd researched all the pros and cons and finally decided that the school was worth the risk. She'd mentally prepared herself for the ordeal by assuming that she would get the cane in her freshman year.
But then she hadn't. And she made it through the last two years unscathed as well. She'd gradually forgotten her worries about the cane. She was a good girl and would never get it. Except now, at seventeen years of age, three weeks into her senior year, she was to be caned. The surprise of it made it that much worse.
Her stomach rumbled and she wondered if she was going to be literally ill. Why was this taking so long? She looked at the clock again and saw that only a minute had passed since she'd last checked it. Time was playing tricks on her. It had felt like a quarter of an hour at least.
Suddenly the door opened. A prim-looking secretary was standing there. "He's ready for you," she said, and stepped aside so Breeanne could come into the room.
Breeanne had been to Mr. Deane's office many times, but only in her capacity as a student liaison or to receive a commendation. She'd never once been in trouble before, and now the place seemed foreign and intimidating.
She crossed the outer office and pushed open the heavy inner door to Mr. Deane's sanctum. The room was the same as always, but instead of finding it interesting and comforting, Breeanne now saw it as confining and as grim as a prison warden's quarters. The thick carpet, the leather-bound books, and the small window that looked out onto the courtyard all seemed wrong. Even the fireplace, which she used to find charmingly old-fashioned, now seemed creepy, like something you'd find in a haunted house.
Principal Deane himself had changed. He was a youngish man, just into his forties, and looked handsome with dark hair flecked with hints of gray. But now his blue eyes were cold, his lips pursed with sternness, and his slim physique only made her think how briskly he would wield a long, wicked rattan rod across a girl's tender hindquarters.
"You... wanted to see me... sir?" Breeanne panted nervously.
"I do. We've had an incident of vandalism," said the man. "Someone destroyed the trophy case last night."
Breeanne's knees felt like jelly. She felt like she was at the top of Mt. Everest where the oxygen was so thin that no matter how much she breathed, she couldn't get enough air. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her heart was pulsing so loudly she could barely hear the principal.
"Don't worry, we're going to find who did it," Mr. Deane said firmly. "We take these matters very seriously."
Breeanne's head swam. She couldn't believe her luck. So Glenda hadn't snitched after all! That was an unexpected turn of events.
But Breeanne didn't really feel relief. She wasn't sure if the news was too new, or she was just disoriented by the twist she hadn't expected. Maybe she felt guilty. She worked her tongue and finally found her voice. It came out small and faint.
"What... what will happen to them?"
"They'll be soundly caned, of course. Possibly expelled, depending on their record. Do you know something? Do you know who did it?"
Breeanne shook her head, unable to trust her voice. Her chest had a weight of a thousand pounds on it. She hated lying to Mr. Deane, but she had no choice. She didn't want the cane.
"That's too bad. I was hoping you could help. Could you put the word out? Any information anyone has, we need. You can let people know that I'll be more lenient if the culprit gives him or herself up."
"S-sure, Mr. Deane."
"Good. That's all I wanted. You can go."
Breeanne turned to leave, her heart racing. She felt like running away as fast as she could, but figured that might make her look guilty. But then she felt she was walking too slowly. What was wrong with her? Her legs were all rubbery and it felt like her feet were stuck in thick, gooey tar. It took her an age to reach the door.
She froze with her hand on the handle. She couldn't turn it. Her hands wouldn't work. Blood was pounding in her ears. She knew what she had to do. She had known it since the instant the principal revealed he didn't know who had broken the trophy case. She didn't want the cane, and she felt like falling on her knees and begging for any other punishment. Except that she was seventeen and a senior, not a child. She knew students were caned every day and didn't make a fuss about it. Why was she so special?
Breeanne spun around and faced the principal. He realized something had changed and looked up, a puzzled frown appearing on his face. "Yes, Breeanne?"
"I did it."
"Did what?"
"The... the trophy case. It was me." She blurted it out, trembling as she spoke. She could already imagine the cane striking her bottom, though she had no real idea what it would feel like. The rumor was that it hurt.
Mr. Deane put down his pen. "What are you talking about, Breeanne?"
She took a deep breath. "Last night. I got in an argument with... someone. It doesn't matter who. She said some rude things to provoke me and I lost my temper. I pushed. I was just pushing her out of the way. I swear I wasn't really trying to hurt her. But I guess her feet got tangled up and she went stumbling into the trophy case. The glass broke and she grabbed at one of the shelves and the whole thing just came down."
"So it wasn't vandalism, just an accident?"
"Yes sir."
"Was this other girl hurt?"
Breeanne shook her head. "Just a few scratches from the glass. I think she was more scared than injured. She was screaming and cursing at me, so I ran away."
The principal shook his head. "This is serious, Breeanne. The girl could have been badly hurt."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"You know how I feel about fighting."
"It was just an argument. Nothing physical."
"Until you shoved her into the trophy case."
Breeanne winced. "I guess so, sir. But I swear I didn't mean that. I just wanted her to leave me alone."
For a long moment the principal didn't speak. Then he said, "Here's the problem, Breeanne. If this really was just an accident, why didn't you or the other girl report it? Not doing that makes it seem like a cover-up of a crime.
"The other issue is that the whole school is on alert for a vandal. Everyone is expecting the culprit to be caught and punished."
Breeanne's heart was in her throat. She was nodding. "I know, sir. You'll have to cane me."
It must have shown in her voice. "You've never been caned, have you?" he said gently.
"No, sir."
"Were you spanked as a child?"
"Never."
"I see. I suppose you are very frightened right now."
"Yes sir. Terrified!"
"But you did the right thing, telling me." He cocked his head. "You seemed glum when you first arrived. I take it you thought I had asked you here because I knew and I was going to cane you."
"Yes, sir."
"When you realized I didn't know it was you, you were going to leave. But you didn't. You confessed. That was very brave of you."
"I really don't want the cane, sir. I... I'm not good with physical pain."
"Who is?" smiled the man. "The cane will hurt, Breeanne, but it's not that bad. It's not like we're cutting off a hand for stealing, like they do in some countries. We're not barbarians. Do you know why we use the cane?"
"No sir."
"Mainly because it has minimal side effects. It stings intensely, but only for a few seconds. I will warn you that when I say intense, I mean intense. It's shocking how much it hurts. But it's quick. A moment later and you're okay. You're sore, but you're not in agony.
"There's still some residual discomfort, of course. The cane leaves swollen red marks on your bottom that can take a few days to fade. You'll remember the caning each time you sit down for a while. But it's nothing permanent.
"The key is that initial sting. You'll remember that for the rest of your life. It's such a profound pain that you'll remember it and think twice before shoving someone into a trophy case again. Do you understand?"
Breeanne swallowed hard. "I think so, sir. Is it... I once got an electric shock. I must have been about ten or eleven. I plugged in a toaster in an outlet and got zapped. Knocked me to the floor. For a second, I thought I was dead. It really hurt. And then it was okay. I wasn't hurt. But I was terrified of going near that toaster and I've been cautious about plugging things into electrical outlets ever since. Is the cane a bit like that?"
Mr. Deane smiled and nodded. "A short sharp shock. I've heard the cane described that way, so that an electrical shock is a good analogy. The main thing I want you to understand is that you won't be injured. You'll hurt a bit, and there'll be some pain afterward, but it'll be bearable."
"I understand, sir. I... I think I can take it."
"Good." He grinned. "Because it's not like you have much choice."
Breeanne's smile was weak. "I deserve it, sir. I know that. I shouldn't have lost my temper." Even though I was provoked, she added in her mind.
Mr. Deane looked thoughtful. "Do you know how canings are done?"
"No, sir."
"Since this is new to you, let me explain so the process will be familiar and not so alarming. First, we'll do the caning in just a few minutes. That may seem too soon to you, but it's a blessing, as you won't have to dread it all day. We'll get it over with and you'll be out of here in fifteen minutes. Sound good?"
"I suppose."
"Okay, here's the procedure. Now Claremont is an equal opportunity school, so we make no distinction between the sexes. All our students are beaten the same way: on the bare bottom."
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