by Frank Martinet
The whole way down the long corridor Olivia kept telling herself that this wasn't a 'real' caning. After all, it was just a reminder. Just three strokes. That was hardly anything. Just three little stings and she'd be done. It would be over in less than a minute.
So why was she sweating? Why was her heart thumping out an SOS distress signal? Why was her stomach so twisted into knots it felt like she'd swallowed a dozen squirmy sea snakes?
"Miss Carter?"
The tall, heavyset woman turned, her ruddy face beaming when she saw Olivia. She squinted through thick lenses, her magnified eyes making her look eerily like an owl. Her friendly smile made Olivia need to pee.
"Oh yes, child. Come in. What can I do you for?"
"A... reminder, Miss. Mr. Santini sent me."
The blond girl passed over the teacher's note and waited while it was studied. It had taken the history man just a few seconds to scribble it, but Miss Carter poured over it as though it was the Dead Sea Scrolls. It was a long time before she sighed and put the note away and in the meantime, Olivia felt like she might regurgitate her lunch.
She did not like being in the Discipline Room. It had a foul odor, like a mixture of sweat and fear. It appeared to be an ordinary office, with four walls and a door, a desk, several chairs, and a cabinet, but Olivia knew better. This was a vile place, a place of screams and suffering, a place one only came to for punishment and terror. It was the very falseness of the room that made it so disquieting. She would have been more comfortable if it had looked like a dark dungeon from the Inquisition.
"Are you certain all you need is a reminder, my dear?" said Miss Carter cheerfully as she headed for the cabinet. "Is there some other sin wearing on your soul you'd like to atone for while you are here?"
"No, Miss. Just the reminder is fine."
"It's no trouble, dear. I don't mind. It's just as easy for me to administer six or a dozen as it is three."
"Three is plenty," said Olivia.
"That's a shame. A healthy young lady like yourself can hardly feel a mere three. It really ought to be an even six. Let me see your bottom."
The woman abandoned the cabinet, leaving its twin doors open so Olivia couldn't help but see its dreadful contents. She wanted to shut her eyes to avoid looking at the ominous assortment of wickedly long brown canes, black leather straps, and rigid wooden paddles. She cringed as the woman took her arm and rotated her forty-five degrees and stood staring at her backside. The examination made her feel that portion of her anatomy inordinately.
"Ah yes, a fine round sit-upon, very plush and generously fleshed and able to take a sound thrashing. Such a fulsome seat certainly won't feel a simple three. Allow me to deliver a nice nine. I am certain I can fit that many lines across those hinds without overlapping."
Olivia frowned, growing irritated and worried by the woman's strange insistence on increasing her dose.
"I'm just here for a reminder, Miss Carter," she said firmly. "Just three. And Mr. Santini is expecting me back shortly."
"Now there's no need to be impudent, young lady. We have plenty of time. Discipline is of vital importance and there's no sense rushing it. It's no different from the art of cooking: a raw meat pie is worse than useless, and hurrying a spanking is so ineffective one might as well not even bother."
Olivia wanted to suggest that they didn't bother, then, but she wisely held her tongue.
Now the woman began to sort through her collection of canes, taking out a rod and bending it, swishing it, and then rejecting it for reasons she did not reveal. Olivia worked to conceal her impatience. She was hardly eager for the cane, yet the delay only increased her agitation. The decision came down to two rods that looked for all purposes identical as far as the girl could tell, but the woman seemed unable to choose.
"Let me see your bottom again," she said suddenly.
This time Olivia's skirt was drawn snug to her body and her bottom rudely felt by the woman's meaty paws. The youngster wanted to ask if such handling was truly necessary, but decided such a question might be considered impertinent and suffered her embarrassment in silence.
"There's too much material here. Remove your skirt and drawers."
"Miss?" Olivia felt a sharp stab of horror in her belly. Was she to be beaten raw? Surely that was not permitted!
"I just want to examine the target properly," explained the administrator. "Selecting the proper implement for chastisement is not a task to be taken lightly. There are many factors in play and one of the most important is the precise shape and nature of the buttocks to be beaten."
Little of this made sense to the worried girl's mind, but she reluctantly stepped out of her skirt and carefully lowered her knickers. Bare, she felt even more ashamed, her face flushing rouge all the way to her ears. She was also quite chilled below, for the room was cool. The cold made her nude flesh all the more sensitive and noticeable.
"Much better, much better. Oh, you are a lovely thing, aren't you. So pretty. Thin-waisted, but you'll have broad hips later in life, that much is certain. How old are you now?"
"I'll be eighteen in April."
"You are developing fine, just fine. A nice little fleece in front, I see. But it is your backside that concerns me. It is quite sturdy. I suppose you take after your mother? Is she solidly built?"
Olivia shrugged. "She is very beautiful."
"Of course! I would expect nothing less. She has certainly passed on her beauty to you, as well as a plump set of beefcakes back here." A heavy palm gripped and squeezed, fondling the flesh for such a length that Olivia began to sweat.
"For meat like this nothing but the best will do. I shall use the heavier rod. It's not quite as flexible but I need the weight to get through all this fat behind. Oh yes, this shall be a most instructive caning. I think you shall remember this reminder for quite some time. It's a shame it's only three. A bottom this fine deserves far more. Are you absolutely certain you wouldn't like six of the best?"
"No, Miss!"
"I shall make them very tight, I promise!"
"Just... just the three, Miss Carter, I beg you!" Olivia was nearly in tears in her desperation.
"Oh, all right. Such drama over a few additional strokes! I honestly don't know why the school even bothers with these 'reminders' - utterly useless, giving out doses of a mere three strokes. What good is that? Does the threat of three strokes unnerve you, child? Of course not! Three is for young children, not a young woman like yourself. It ought to be at least six, and preferably a lot more for a girl with your posterior, especially if it's for punishment. What did you do, anyway?"
"Excuse me?"
"What was your offense?"
"Oh. I... uh, talking out of turn," Olivia said with a slight blush.
"A common fault. Yet three strokes is hardly going to stop you, is it? It should be six. Shall we make it six? Touch your toes, now."
"Uh, no, Miss, uh-" Olivia bent, her mind whirling in confusion. She felt the woman's hands on her naked bottom again, massaging the smooth flesh and then gently pinching the lower curves where there was the most fatty tissue.
There was an alarming sharp whistle behind her and Olivia looked back in fright to see the woman had chosen her rod, a vicious yellow stick of immense length, and was hissing it through the air in practice.
"Miss, my knickers!" begged Olivia urgently.
For two more swishes the woman ignored the blond, but when the speech was repeated, she finally frowned and focused on the girl.
"Oh yes, I suppose you'd better get dressed. Unless... would you prefer I beat you on the bare bottom? It's not a bother. I personally prefer it as it allows me to see the marks I lay down. Very helpful. Not strictly necessary with a strict stick like this one, but it does make my job easier. And you'd certainly feel the strokes more efficiently without all that dreadful clothing."
Olivia didn't even bother to respond to the ridiculous question, but simply yanked up her underwear as quickly as possible and hurried to replace her skirt.
"Just a second. I see the problem." A palm quickly pressed itself to Olivia's bottom for a moment. "Yes, that's it - cold as a miser's heart. We need to get you warmed up, child. It wouldn't do to cane you on an icy bottom. No, that wouldn't do at all."
The cane was set on the desk and the woman returned to her cabinet. She emerged holding a small wooden bat. It was flat, its surface area not much greater than a spread palm, and it was nearly as thick. She gripped it by the sturdy six inch handle and tapped the blade of the paddle against her hand.
"Miss Carter? What are you doing?"
"Don't worry, child, I know exactly what I am doing. I'm a trained professional, you know. I have a certificate in Chastisement from the Royal Academy. The instructor was adamant that spanking a cold bottom is extremely unhealthy as well as being unreasonably painful. Thus a proper warm-up is essential."
"But I'm only here for a reminder!"
"Of course, and I assure you, I won't forget about that. Three strokes coming, and I shall make them most memorable. Don't worry about a thing! But first we must warm these chilly twins."
Olivia squealed as the wooden flat was swung mightily against her left hind-cheek. "Eeek! Oh, Miss!"
The woman laughed gaily. "Smarts a little? Even through all that fabric? I'm impressed. This board is sturdier than I remember. Hold on now, a few more."
The stroke was repeated on Olivia's right half, a stinging wallop that made her eyes water. She squealed again, stunned at the intensity of the pain. Twice more the wood made sharp contact, Olivia beginning to weep in confusion and suffering.
The paddle was sized so that it nearly covered her whole cheek and each slap left the flesh raw and tingling. Her skirt and undergarments seemed to have no effect, as far as she could judge. The vile burning sped right through to her naked flesh.
"Bend forward a little, child. I want these next few to get underneath you properly."
Olivia didn't want to cooperate but had little choice. Disobedience would only give the woman justified cause for extending her punishment. She bent, feeling her rump thrust out behind. Her skirt tightened like a hug over the twin mounds and she was so aware of her bum that it felt like she was nude. The hard spank of the paddle reinforced that notion, stinging the lower curves of her arse with such a sharp, penetrating tingle that she gasped, her voice high-pitched and tense. A second smack thumped into her right half and she moaned.
Miss Carter settled into a rhythm, rapping the paddle from one chubby hillock to the other. Olivia quickly lost count of the blows, the pain overwhelming her. She resented the spanking enormously, for it was so unfair. She'd been sent for a simple reminder - three cuts with a lightweight rod, which she had yet to receive - and already her buttocks were on fire.
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