by Frank Martinet
Emmeline
At three o'clock sharp there was a rap at the door. "Come in," called the woman, and a young girl entered. She was dark and slender, extremely petite, with a thin, willowy body. She was young, scarcely sixteen, and still developing. But there was something breathtaking about her wide dark eyes that gave her face the beauty of a girl much older.
"You know why you are here," said the Headmistress with a tired, exasperated sigh. "Fetch me a cane and we'll get this over with."
The girl's eyes widened to silver dollars in astonishment. Alarm filled her voice. "Ma'am?"
"Your thrashing, dear. Come on, let's be done with it."
Sweet little Emmeline had never been caned in her life and was terrified. She was a perfect student, both academically and behaviorally. She couldn't imagine what she'd done.
"But Headmistress! What on earth have I done?"
"Don't play innocent with me, child, or I shall increase your dose!" snapped the adult. "Now fetch me the cane. And while you retrieve it, I suggest you think carefully about how many strokes you think you deserve."
Bewildered, the girl stumbled to the large wooden cabinet in the corner where the canes were kept. She opened it and studied the assortment in confusion. Never having been caned, she had no idea what to select. Which one hurt the least? There were great big long ones that looked like they'd slice her in two; she knew she didn't want one of those. She chose one of the smaller, lighter rods, and hoped it wouldn't hurt too much.
The Headmistress eyed the selection coldly. "And how many strokes do you deserve?"
Emmeline thought wildly. She'd heard of girls getting six of the best - surely whatever she'd done didn't deserve more than that! "Six, ma'am?"
"Is that enough?"
"I think so, ma'am."
"You aren't very definitive."
"Definitely so, then. Six is quite severe."
The woman appeared disappointed, but the girl was much too concerned about her own fate to notice such subtlety. She trembled as she was ordered to remove her knickers and her skirt, and she did not seem to understand the proper position to assume for thrashing.
"Obviously I have not beaten you often enough," grunted the Headmistress. "Haven't you been thrashed before?"
"N-no m-ma'am," stammered the frightened girl.
"Well, don't worry. It's just a few cuts. It'll be over in a flash."
But it wasn't. The Headmistress caned slowly, drawing out the strokes and waiting a full minute between. This was partly to ensure Emmeline enjoyed the full effect of each slice, but also because the girl tended to leap out of position after each swipe and it took persuading and stern threats to get her to bend over again.
Emmeline was a lovely girl, with a small but very attractive little bottom. The cruel scarlet welts of the cane swelled up nicely across her pale flesh. But the Headmistress had mentally crossed the teen off her list a while earlier. Emmeline, unfortunately, was not prefect material.
Nicole
Next was a sturdy blonde named Nicole. She was of average beauty, with an ordinary face, not displeasing but unfortunately not exotic enough to be extraordinary. She was thick in the middle and seemed physically strong, but the Headmistress knew Nicole disliked sports and preferred to spend her free time in the library. She was an excellent student, well-liked by teachers, and had never been sent to the Head for punishment. Like Emmeline, she was bewildered with regards to her crime.
"But what have I done, ma'am?"
"If I have to tell you, you'll get double," warned the Headmistress.
Nicole pondered the situation. Her head sank low. "It's not what you think, ma'am. I swear I was in the library. I was studying. I know I was supposed to go to the assembly but they're so boring and pointless and I needed to do research for my Thoreau paper and I--"
A wave of a hand shut the girl up. The Headmistress glared at her. "All-school assemblies are called 'all-school' for a reason," she growled.
"Yes ma'am."
"A prefect that failed to show up for assembly would set a very poor example."
Nicole's eyes lit up. "Oh! Yes ma'am. You're right ma'am. It will never happen again, I swear!"
"Very well. I will let you decide your punishment. Fetch me a cane and tell me how many strokes you deserve."
Nicole looked like she'd just been asked to swallow a rat. She gulped, then moved to the cabinet where the canes were stored. Unlike Emmeline, she had been caned, but not at school, only by her father, and only once. It had been a half dozen strokes across the seat of her pajamas and she'd thought she'd die.
She selected one of the medium canes. The Head frowned when she saw it. "A big strapping girl like you? Don't you deserve a heartier cane than that little twig?"
"This one hurts plenty," argued Nicole, as though she knew something about it. Truth was, she was annoyed at the thought of being beaten for studying, for that had been the reason she'd skipped the assembly. Despite clearly violating the rules, she didn't think she deserved any punishment at all, and certainly not a caning.
"And how many strokes did you have in mind?"
Nicole stared at the woman nervously. "Well, it's my first offense," she began, "and it's not all that bad a thing, missing an assembly to study..."
"So?"
"So I think... four strokes should be sufficient."
"Four!" The Headmistress practically roared her exclamation.
"Yes, four. What's wrong with four? It'll hurt, and I'll remember. I've already promised to never do it again anyway, so a beating's really superfluous anyway."
"Four strokes. Just four strokes with that... baby cane."
"This is a standard classroom cane like all the teachers have."
"I should think a crime like yours would deserve at least a standard six."
"But I was studying. It wasn't like I skipped to go do mischief or sneak off campus and meet a boy or something. I was studying. I really shouldn't be punished at all," Nicole added resentfully.
The words were out before she could stop them. She froze, eyes wide with horror, as the Headmistress rose angrily from her chair.
"It shall be six," snapped the woman. "And because you dare to mock my discipline, I shall add another six as further punishment!"
Nicole gasped, horrified. "Oh ma'am, that's not fair! That's not, that's really not!"
"One more word and I'll make it three sixes!"
Nicole frowned, but didn't speak. The teen was smart enough to know when she was beaten. And beaten she was. Beautifully, by those who admire such things.
Forced to disrobe completely, the tall, mature eighteen-year-old was fully an adult woman, physically. Her broad buttocks soaked up the cane strokes like butter on bread, the crimson weals quickly crisscrossing the pale orbs. She took her beating well, hissing and moaning occasionally, wincing and yelping a few other times. Mostly she was quiet, gritting her teeth and chaffing with resentment that she was being whipped at all.
The light cane did relatively little damage. The welts were thin and mild, the worst an angry red. Where strokes overlapped the skin puffed up and turned dark, deepening to the darkest magenta. But there was no broken skin, no blood, and most of the marks would be gone by morning. Against the extensive area of Nicole's broad bottom the few red stripes looked pitifully inadequate.
The Headmistress was vastly disappointed. She'd held out hope that Nicole would be strong and brave and take quite a beating, but she was wrong. Nicole was definitely not prefect material.
Charisma
It was late and the woman was tired, but she had one more appointment scheduled. She'd expected Nicole to take longer, so she had an hour to wait. She wondered if it would be worth it. Her next "audition" went by the name of Charisma Claret and she was, in the Headmistress' opinion, a toss-up.
Charisma was a beautiful girl of seventeen, with long dark hair, shiny white teeth, and a seductive body that drove men wild. She was gorgeous and knew it. She was also talented, intelligent, and heir to a family fortune worth hundreds of millions. She excelled at everything she did: a four-point-oh grade point average, captain of the girl's soccer team, top debater, editor of the school annual, student body president, and tennis star. No doubt she expected a prefectship to be handed to her on a platter of silver. This would be interesting.
The teen arrived precisely three and a half minutes late. No so late as to be inexcusably tardy or rude, but just late enough to imply that she had more important things to do than visit the Headmistress. The Head had her sit on the sofa and wait for nearly ten minutes while she did some paperwork.
"Ahem," coughed the girl, finally, exasperated at the delay.
The Headmistress looked up. "Is there a problem?"
"I have to meet someone at seven... how long is this going to take?"
"I'll be with you in just a moment." The Head ignored the girl's rolling eyes and calmly put away her work into folders and into her desk. She sat back, studying the girl. Charisma was indeed beautiful, in a haughty, aloof manner that undoubtedly drove even more men her way. Suddenly the Head was extremely interested in punishing this young lady. She had caned her once, a couple years ago. Since then the girl had shown her significantly more respect.
"Since you're in a hurry, let's get this over with. Fetch me a cane from that cabinet," she said sternly.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"But surely you don't intend... I haven't done anything wrong!"
"Don't lie to me. You know very well why you are here."
"No, I don't! I thought I was here about the prefectship."
"If I have to explain your crime to you, you'll be sorry."
The girl pursed her lips. "Is this about Brad?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
"How the hell do I know what you know or don't know?" griped the teen. "I'm not going to tell you about Brad if you don't know about him."
"This could be about a lot things. 'What do you need to be punished for?' that's the question we're seeking an answer to."
Charisma flushed hot pink, her frightened eyes darting toward the cane cabinet. "I don't need to be punished for anything. I haven't done anything wrong."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Prefects must be honest."
"I am always honest."
"Lie number two."
"That's not a lie!"
"Lie number three."
"No, that's not fair! How'd you get three anyway?"
"You said you don't need to be punished for anything - that's Lie Number One. Then you said you're always honest: Lie Number Two. You repeated that with Lie Number Three."
Charisma sniffed haughtily. "If I've done something, you have to prove it. You can't punish me without proof."
The Headmistress smiled. "Oh, I think you'll provide the proof."
"What? Incriminate myself? Fat chance!"
"So you don't think you deserve to be thrashed for anything? Nothing at all?"
"No, I don't. My behavior has been exemplary, as always."
"Even with you and Brad..."
"It was nothing. We just kissed..." Charisma froze, realizing she was saying too much.
"This happened when? You know boys aren't permitted on campus, and you aren't allowed off. So if you've been near a boy recently, you violated strict school rules."
Charisma hesitated. "This was a long time ago."
"Oh? And Brad would confirm this?" The Headmistress picked up the phone and dialed. "Headmaster Norton Uly, please. This is Nadine Jones. Thank you."
Charisma darted forward suddenly, placing her finger on the phone's hang-up switch, disconnecting the call. She did not realize the Headmistress had only pretended to dial.
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