by Frank Martinet
Chelsea Osgood was the epitome of a good girl: modest, blond, pretty, and with a flawless academic record. Even with Bentford's extraordinarily high standards she'd made it to the end-of-term without a single demerit.
That was why she was so nervous at being called to the Headmistress' office in the middle of Latin prep. She knew what was to happen and she was terrified: her reward for her good behavior was nothing more than a taste of the cane!
Every girl at Bentford was swished once per term. It was mandatory. It was considered a character builder. The theory was that no girl was truly good, so if one did manage to slip through the cracks it was clearly an oversight, and she should be given a little punishment anyway, just in case. As founder Millie Bentford had written so many years ago, "A regular dose of the rod does a young lady far more good than harm, keeping her on her toes and out of trouble."
At least an end-of-term swishing was now more of a token event, a mere three strokes with a lightweight 'sampler' rod. Punishment canings were always at least six, Chelsea knew, supposedly with a stiffer, thicker stick. Even those were considered trivial by most girls at the school. Canings were a routine part of life at Bentford. Any demerits after your first earned you the cane, and the tally wasn't reset until the next term. Since it was almost impossible to go a whole week without a demerit, most girls earned a dozen thrashings a semester. Things didn't become serious until the tenth, though: that's when the minimum jumped to eight and the junior rod was replaced with a senior cane.
A few select girls - usually older, but not always - joined the twenty-per-term club. These young women were the most recalcitrant and faced a tight dozen with the reformatory cane. Chelsea had seen the scarlet, finger-thick weals decorating the plump buttocks of such girls and nearly passed out from terror. She couldn't fathom how they could bear it. Just a regular six sounded deadly to her.
Headmistress Clarke was a lovely woman of thirty-six with a heavy bust and broad hips. Her round face was always friendly and cheerful, even when you were in dire straits. She beamed at Chelsea and welcomed the petite blond into her domain.
"Welcome, Miss Osgood," she said, standing behind her large immaculate desk. The room was cozy, more like a library or a study than an administrative office. There was a small fireplace in one corner, several leather-padded chairs and an ottoman, and many of shelves held first editions.
"Headmistress," said Chelsea nervously, with a neat curtsey.
"Please, have a seat. Let's have a little chat. I haven't spoken to you since your arrival. You seem to have fit into Bentford splendidly. Not a single demerit. That is quite remarkable. Only a handful of ladies manage that each term, you know."
Then why must I be beaten? Chelsea wanted to say. Instead she just nodded politely.
"As you know, today I'll give you a little bit of the cane. Just three strokes, nothing at all. Just a tickle to remind you to keep behaving well." The woman seemed to wink at the young blond, as though they were in on a joke together.
"Since it's your first time, do you have any questions for me? About the procedure? Sometimes girls are a little nervous and I don't want this to be a burden for you. It's really nothing, nothing at all."
Then why bother? thought Chelsea bitterly. She had a million questions, but her mouth was full of cotton and she felt paralyzed. She couldn't move or do anything. She just sat there with a dumb look on her face and said nothing.
"No questions? That's fine. Just let me know if you think of any. Let me explain what we'll do. As you know, Bentford floggings are always administered on the bare buttocks. That's only fair, of course, so all students are treated the same, and it's actually for your safety. Some consider it a little embarrassing, but I want you to relax and not feel self-conscious. Think of this like visiting the doctor. Like a medical professional I've seen thousands of young ladies' bare bottoms and it's just routine. Besides, you're a beautiful young woman and have nothing to be ashamed about. I'm sure your bottom is just as pretty as the rest of you!"
Clarke laughed at this, showing lots of strong white teeth, and Chelsea half-smiled nervously, unsure what was so funny.
"Did I show you our canes during your welcoming? I'm sure I did. I usually do. But in any case, here they are if you want to see them." She pointed to the rack on the wall.
"There are four grades. The lightest and shortest is the one we'll use today. It's just a sample cane, really. Only twenty-four inches long and light as a feather. It still has some bend to it, though, and it delivers a nice snap on bare skin. You'll feel a little bite, hardly more than a bee sting, really. You wouldn't feel a thing over trousers with it, though. Not enough weight.
"Now this one," the administrator said, lifting a longer rod from the rack, "is the junior rod. It's used for most punishments at Bentford. Four extra inches may not sound like that much longer, but it gives the cane more leverage. It's heavier, too, and two millimeters thicker. Not very severe at all, really, but if you find the Sampler stings, you'll want to avoid the junior as it's much worse."
The woman replaced the junior cane and pointed to the next cane up. "That's the senior. A full thirty inches and 10 millimeters thick, it strikes with some serious authority. It is only used for grave corrections or if you get more than ten demerits in a term. It leaves more than a red mark - the weals are puffy and raised and you feel them for several days.
"Now the reformatory rod is way at the top. I won't even bother telling you about that one. It's a yard long and very painful. Only a few girls are naughty enough to earn that one. The minimum with it is a dozen, so you're in for a real ordeal. But you're a good girl and don't even need to think about such things!"
Clarke returned to lightweight sampler and flexed it, swishing it through the air a few times. Chelsea watched in terrified awe, too frightened to even react. She was a mature girl for her age, both physically and mentally, so intellectually she knew that three little strokes with this small stick wouldn't damage her in any way, yet there was something dreadful about the experience of being corporally punished that overwhelmed her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't stop sweating like a whore.
Suddenly she gasped loudly for air, her body desperate for oxygen, and the headmistress looked at her in astonishment. "Are you all right, Chelsea?"
The little blond panted for a few breaths, gradually recovering, and she blushed in shame. "So-sorry, Ms. Cl-Clarke. I'm... I'm just... I'm just... so scared!"
There. It was out. She'd said it. She shyly raised her wide blue eyes up at the woman, hoping for mercy or sympathy. Instead what she got was the tinkling laughter of the older woman. It wasn't cruel or mocking, but genuine delight, and in a weird way, charming. Chelsea blushed further, but her heart relaxed a little, and she even half-smiled.
"Oh sweetheart!" said the woman, kneeling beside her pupil. "Have I frightened you with all my tales of reformatory canes and wealed bottoms? You must forget all that. Those are bad girl punishments. You're a darling, wonderful young woman, bright and pretty, and you must trust me, this won't hurt a bit!"
"Then why bother?" blurted the teen without thinking. She immediately bit her lower lip, shocked at her impudence. Perhaps she wasn't such a good girl after all, she thought. Maybe she really did need caning.
But Headmistress Clarke just smiled. "What an excellent question!" she cried with pleasure, her lips spreading from ear to ear as though Chelsea had just solved Goldbach's conjecture. She really did have a nice smile, such perfectly even white teeth, that Chelsea felt herself comforted despite her rude outburst.
"I take it you've never had any experience with corporal punishment at all?"
"No," said Chelsea with a shake of her head. "My parents aren't opposed to it, obviously, sending me here, but it just never came up. Unless I was spanked when I was too young to remember it." She blushed that she'd said the s-word out loud.
"That explains it. Your education has been neglected. You no doubt think of punishment in a negative way, as though it were something shameful and wrong."
"Of course. You think it isn't?"
"Certainly in some situations it should be," said the woman. "For example, in cases of repeated offenses or outright defiance the punishment should be severe to act as a deterrent. But in most other cases punishment shouldn't be thought of as bad. It's just normal, routine, as regular as breathing. It's part of your training, of your education. It becomes part of you."
The headmistress paused, thinking for a better explanation. She brightened. "Let's compare it to something simple and ordinary. You look like you have nice teeth. I bet you have excellent dental hygiene. I trust that you brush and floss regularly?"
"Morning and night," said Chelsea. "My mom taught me that."
"Excellent. Now that's so routine for you, you probably scarcely think of it as a burden, am I right? Yet there is work and even discomfort involved. It takes time and energy and it's a hassle."
"I guess."
"A small hassle," smiled the woman showing her own excellent teeth. "Think of spanking like that."
Chelsea stared at the teacher in bewilderment. "The two things are nothing alike. That makes no sense!"
"But they are alike, that's my point. It's difficult for you to see because you've never looked at it from that perspective. But dental hygiene is preventative, right? A little suffering today will have long-term benefits of good dental health."
"Sure."
"Corporal punishment is no different. It's a small sacrifice today with long-term benefits of positive behavior."
"But I haven't done anything wrong!"
"Your teeth still rot if you don't take care of them, even if you haven't misbehaved."
Chelsea considered this. There actually was some bizarre logic to it. It was confusing, but maybe she had been looking at it all wrong.
"Look at it another way. Have you ever known anyone who hated brushing their teeth?"
"Oh, of course. Lots of people find it a terrible chore."
"Their attitude toward it is negative."
"Yes."
"Wouldn't you say they look at flossing the way you think of spanking?"
Chelsea's little mouth fell open. She'd certainly never looked at it that way. The idea was ludicrous. Her first instinct was that it couldn't be right, that spanking was nothing like brushing your teeth, but she prided herself on having an open mind and not being too set in her ways. She gave the concept a chance.
She remembered the way her little brother always whined about having to brush his teeth before bed and how he tried to get out of it, lying and saying he'd done it, even going to the point of wetting his toothbrush so Mom would think he'd obeyed her.
Now, if that had been her and she was to get a spanking, wouldn't she have reacted in a similar manner? She could picture herself complaining, begging to be let off, "just this once," coming up with excuses about being too tired or not feeling well. Anything to escape a spanking, right?
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