by Frank Martinet
Maisy was a petite girl with the body of a slut. It was as though God had taken a 5ft 8inch girl of voluptuous proportions and squished her down to 5ft 2, expanding everything to the point of absurdity. Her tits were bigger than coconuts and a casual look would suggest that her hips were more than twice the diameter of her waist, though it was an optical illusion and she wasn't quite that curvy.
Still, she was plenty sexy for Derek, who thought she was hot enough to risk a caning. Unfortunately for him, the reverse was not true.
He was eighteen and a senior at Brentwood, the private boys academy a mile away and across the river. He had no idea that the womanly Maisy Davis was the same age as him. Nor did he realize that the prestigious Heatherly Hall, which was a much smaller and more exclusive school, also favored the rod for punishment. Everyone at Brentwood thought girls were delicate and only got the slipper.
Derek had rendezvoused with Maisy on two prior occasions and he approached this third with the same confident swagger. He couldn't wait to see Maisy and let her take him in her sexy mouth and then turn her around and put his cock up her big bottom. The gardener's shed wasn't the most romantic location, but it was deserted at night. Besides, he didn't care where they met. He would have been happy to do it in a coffin in a cemetery.
"Maisy!" he hissed. "You there?"
The shed was dark, as was most of the stone building behind. Only a few lights were on, probably teachers up late reading. Derek pulled open the wooden door and went inside, pausing on the threshold for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He saw the vague shape of the riding lawn mower, shadowy tools hanging on wall hooks, and heavy shelving full of equipment and landscaping supplies.
Where was Maisy? His cock twitched with excitement at the thought of her fulsome little body, with the huge pillowy breasts and that plump, sexy ass. He grinned, undoing his jeans and pulling out his eager dick. The relief was intense, the pants too cramped for his arousal.
He heard a sound behind him and turned, realizing that she was a few seconds late and just arriving.
"Hey there, sexy," he said in a low voice as the door swung open. His hand was on his cock.
Then he froze, frowning. The figure in the opening was definitely feminine, but much too tall to be Maisy. The silhouette was closer to 5ft 8, nearly his height of 5ft 11. But she was sexy. He saw a trim waist and prominently curved hips, and bosoms that were half the size of Maisy's but still wonderful.
"You're not Maisy," he said with a shrug. "But Derek ain't picky. Let's see those titties!"
The figure didn't move, looming large in the doorway. There was something vaguely intimidating about the woman and Derek felt the first prickle of uncertainty.
"Who are you?" he said.
"Someone who protects my girls!" came the response. The voice rang with adult authority.
"Oh shit!" cried Derek, realizing he was caught. He started to run forward when the figure made a move. Something silvery flashed in the moonlight and tiny alligators suddenly bit the young man right in the chest. Lightning flashed and the jolt was so strong his knees buckled and he went down. The electric charge continued to buzz and it robbed him of all motion ability, except for being able to fall flat on his face.
When Derek became aware of things, the first thing he noticed were two points of pain on his chest. Then he tried to move and discovered his hands were fastened behind his back, pinned so tightly he was helpless. He struggled to open his eyes, his brain arguing with him, and slowly the darkness parted to reveal he was still in the shed, though lying on the floor.
Above him towered the woman. She was now inside the shed and from the moonlight streaming through the open door, Derek caught sight of the taser in her hand.
"Up!" she commanded. She waved the weapon and the young man felt a surge of fear as he vividly remembered the flash of pain when she'd shot him.
"Who are you? What are you going to do with me?" he cried, scrambling to his knees. From there it was a delicate balancing act with no arms to brace himself, but through sheer strength he forced himself into a standing position.
"I'm Ms. Lauren Dour," said the woman sharply. "I'm the headmistress of Heatherly Hall. And you, young man, are in serious trouble."
"I didn't do anything! And this is kidnapping!"
The woman laughed. "Give it up, Derek Myers. It's over. Maisy sold you out. I gave her the choice between talking and an extra dozen with the cane and it turns out she values her skin more than yours. Fancy that."
Derek groaned. The bitch! he thought. She'd set him up. He'd thought it odd she wanted to meet midweek when before she'd been so adamant that the weekends were the only safe time. And if the Head knew his name, she probably knew he went to Brentwood. Skidmore was going to skin him alive. Derek would be lucky to escape with less than a dozen from the headmaster's most vicious rod.
"What happens now?" he asked dully, realizing that with his hands bound, even if he was able to run, he couldn't climb the wall.
A few minutes later they were in the office of the headmistress. Derek sulked as he watched the woman pick up the phone and dial. She asked to speak to Headmaster Skidmore, told the answerer who she was, and waited while the man was fetched.
Ms. Dour turned slightly away from him, the phone tucked under one ear, and he got his first clear look at her. What he saw surprised him. First, she was young and attractive. He wasn't sure how young - she certainly wasn't student age - but she wasn't as old as his parents who were in their forties. He guessed she was around thirty, which seemed young to run a prestigious school like Heatherly Hall.
The headmistress was wearing casual clothes, blue jeans and a green sweater. She looked like a normal person. Her face was round, with a cute nose and thick lips. Her hair was dark and cut short, which added to her appearance of youth. She wasn't rail thin, but she was not fat at all. She had strong hips and nice apple-sized tits, at least what he could tell through the sweater. Her ass certainly filled out the back of the jeans nicely. If she wasn't about to ruin his life he'd have banged her. He might anyway.
He heard his name and realized the headmistress was talking to Skidmore, his headmaster. His stomach tightened. Derek hated the cane. Especially the way Skidmore used it. He was old-fashioned and didn't skimp on corporal justice. For an offense like this, the beating would be pants-down. Maybe just ten, but probably twelve. Derek would survive, but it wouldn't be fun.
His ears suddenly perked up as he heard the woman saying, "Would you like me to handle the matter, sir? It's no trouble. I'd be delighted to give this boy a good thrashing."
Derek's heart quickened when he heard those words. From anyone else he would have thought it sounded awful, but the pretty headmistress made it sound delightful. He suddenly found himself praying the old man would agree.
"How many would you suggest? Really? Two dozen? No, that's not an issue. I have no problem with that at all. I'll take care of it. Since it's late, I'll have Mr. Myers returned in the morning, if that's all right. Sure. Thank you, sir. Sorry to bother you."
Ms. Dour hung up the phone. "I don't suppose you heard any of that. That was your headmaster, Paul Skidmore. As you can imagine, he's perturbed with you. To put it mildly. He's agreed that I should handle your discipline. If he's not satisfied, he'll add another dose when you get back to Brentwood."
Derek would have laughed with relief if he didn't find the situation so humiliating. The young headmistress looked strong and fit, but a punishment from her was nothing compared to what Skidmore would do. It was just shameful to be slippered by a woman. A dozen to each cheek was nothing at all.
"Fine," he said. "Beat me and let me go."
"You'll cooperate? Or do I need to wake up my secretary, Miranda, and have her help hold you down? I could call for some prefects, too."
"God no," muttered Derek with a shudder at the prospect of more witnesses to his humiliation. "I'll cooperate."
"Good. Then I'll get my cane."
Derek tensed. Cane? he thought. But girls only get the slipper! Then he remembered the headmistress saying something about caning Maisy. That distracted him for a few seconds as he imagined that girl's gorgeous bottom offered up for the rod, scarlet stripes spanning the cheeks.
He was jolted back to reality when he saw the headmistress opening a wall cabinet which was filled with rods, paddles, and leather straps. His jaw fell open. He began to sweat as he saw her select one of the longest, most vicious rods in the collection. It was easily six or eight inches longer than the senior stick Skidmore used.
"Wait a minute!" he cried. Then he hesitated, not wanting to appear worried. He tried to act casual. "You... you didn't say I was getting the cane."
Ms. Dour laughed. "What did you think, that I'd slipper you like a child?"
"Of course not. But I thought you told Skidmore something about two dozen?"
"I did. You're getting two dozen of my finest." The woman held up the long rod to the light as though it was a sword and she was inspecting the reflectivity of the blade.
"But... but that's absurd!"
The woman turned to face him. "Why do you say that?"
"That's too many. The maximum is twelve."
"It's what your headmaster suggested. He didn't say anything about any maximums. We don't have any set limits here at Heatherly. Twelve is usually the most severe dose, but on occasion - multiple offenses, or repeated failures - I've given out twice nine. Two dozen seems reasonable to me, especially considering your age and the offense."
Derek felt dizzy thinking about two dozen strokes. Then he remembered that this was a woman and he relaxed. That must have been why Skidmore had suggested that quantity - two dozen cane strokes from her was like one cane stroke from a man.
The woman was studying him. She leaned back against her wide desk, cane across her front. It looked dangerous. She looked dangerous. Derek felt his pulse quicken.
She cocked her head. "You said you'd cooperate. Is that still the case?"
"Sure," Derek said, trying to sound confident and unworried.
"No, I don't trust you. I'm going to leave your hands bound for your caning. I won't tie you down unless you need it, but I will add extra strokes if you don't take your caning properly. Two dozen is the minimum, so if you think that's too many, you'd better obey."
"I said I'd cooperate and I will."
"Good. You can start by kicking off your shoes."
Derek looked down at his sneakers. He shrugged, figuring she was wanting to prevent him from running away. It didn't matter. He wasn't going to run. Where could he go?
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