by Frank Martinet
Headmistress Belinda Monday sighed as she studied the girl standing before her. Stephanie Willows was a pretty girl with short dark hair and a voluptuous body. She was intelligent, but didn't use it enough, favoring the favor of the popular crowd.
"Can you explain to me what's going on, Stephanie? This is your fourth tardy this month."
"I'm just slow in the morning," said the girl. "I have trouble waking up and getting going. School starts too early."
"Have you thought about going to bed earlier? Setting up a second alarm clock?"
"No, Miss."
"Well, you should. You know that Middlebrook Academy has strict attendance standards. I've already given you two detentions for this problem."
"I'm sorry, Miss."
"Over three hundred other girls all manage to arrive at school on time."
Stephanie bowed her head and managed to look slightly ashamed, but Belinda wasn't buying it. "You're eighteen now, Miss Willows. A senior girl. You've been well warned and yet you keep committing the same mistake. I'm afraid I have no choice left but to try a new method."
The dark hair shifted as the girl raised her head. For the first time, nervousness flittered through her eyes. "What... what are you going to do, Miss?" she squeaked.
"I'm going to cane you, Stephanie. Four strokes."
"Oh! But Miss-"
"You've left me with no other option."
"Please, I won't be late again, I swear!"
"Remove your skirt and lean across my desk please," said Belinda, ignoring the girl's phony promises. She stood and went for the top cane of the three on the wall. The senior was thicker and twenty centimeters longer than the medium cane she usually used, but she felt a sharp shock was required.
When she turned back, she was disappointed to see that the pretty girl hadn't even moved. She was standing there squirming, wringing her hands, and pleading with a sorrowful face.
"All right then, Stephanie. Since you haven't obeyed my instructions, your caning will now be six strokes!"
The student gasped and quickly began to cooperate. "Oh no, Miss Monday. I'm doing it, see? There's no need for extras!"
"It's too late for that. It'll eight if you don't hurry up and get yourself in position."
Groaning mournfully, Stephanie tossed her pleated skirt aside and rushed to throw herself across the Head's desk. She was a good-sized girl, more robust than plump, with a strong, powerful hind end that thrust up from the edge of the table.
Belinda roamed around to approach the girl from behind, eyeing the extraordinary twin globes covered with ordinary white nylon knickers. She pulled at the already taut fabric, tugging it tighter, so that the cloth hugged the rounded flesh and sank into the deep crevice between the mounds. This allowed slightly more exposure on the sides of the arse as the undergarment rode up. The headmistress wished she could have thrashed the girl on the bare bottom, but school regulations didn't permit that.
"Remain in position until I tell you that you may rise," she said firmly. Then she whirled the narrow, flexible length of rattan into the trembling buttocks. There was the sharp sound of air being cut in two, followed by an even sharper crack of wood snapping.
"Eek! Ow! Ohhhh!" howled Stephanie, her dark eyes bulging. She gripped the desk frantically, squirming as hot pain lanced through her tender backside. Her meaty arse cheeks quivered, and even through the thin panties the glowing pink welt was visible.
A second stroke doubled the pain, and by the third the senior girl was sobbing so uncontrollably her bottom was too much of a moving target for the headmistress to reliably strike. She waited patiently for the girl to calm down.
"Oh Miss Monday, please! I can't take any more. You've no idea how much that beastly stick hurts!"
Belinda almost smiled. The schoolgirl didn't have a clue what she was talking about, for Belinda had followed in her mother's footsteps. In fact, she was ahead of the woman, for her mother had been 34 when she was first promoted to Headmistress. Belinda had been just 31, the youngest ever at Middlebrook.
Growing up with a headmistress mother had not been easy. Not only was she an expert at corporal discipline - and it was used a lot more liberally in those days - but Beverly Monday had supplemented any school discipline with her own brand at home. She'd known every time Belinda had done the slightest thing wrong, and any lines or detention or even a scolding from a teacher earned the young woman a tight caning from her mother after school. So Belinda knew exactly what Stephanie was feeling, and in fact, had endured far worse.
"You've only had a lousy three," the Head said with a laugh. "There are five more to go."
Stephanie groaned, shuddering, and then threw her head up and yelled lustily when another stroke whipped into her arse and seared her skin like a branding iron. To her credit, she stayed in position, though her bottom did dance about far more than was necessary. The Headmistress was amused that in the girl's discomfort, she hadn't even noticed the increase in her sentence.
Belinda beat the girl soundly, driving the cane hard into the solid seat with every stroke, just as her mother had taught her. She spread the cuts, distributing them evenly so that the eighth and final one was low, right into the crease between buttock and thigh. Then she admired what she could see of the ladder of scarlet marks, pink weals showing at the outskirts of the snug knicks.
"Very well," said the Head after two minutes of watching the sobbing girl writhe. "You may get up and get dressed. Have you learned your lesson? You will not be tardy any more?"
"Never!" hissed Stephanie. "I'll be on time every day, I promise."
"Good. Because next time it'll be a dozen."
The pretty pupil shuddered at that idea. She slipped on her skirt, moving gingerly, and rushed out of the room as fast as possible. She didn't even say goodbye or thank her chastiser.
Manners today, thought Belinda with a heavy sigh. Girls just aren't raised as they used to be.
She put the cane back and did paperwork until noon. There were two other disciplinary situations to handle in the afternoon, but they were minor, and since both girls were first-time offenders, she let them off with warnings. She did, however, note that both of the nervous girls focused their moist eyes upon the canes on the wall. It seemed that the story of Stephanie's thrashing was making the rounds and frightening the young.
Belinda stayed for a couple of hours after the last bell, as usual, and then walked home, for her house was just fifteen minutes from the school. She wasn't overweight, but she had inherited her mother's hips and with a desk job, she took every opportunity she could to get in a little more exercise. She was 35 now and any dessert seemed to attach itself to her ass. Not that her on-and-off boyfriend, Dennis Lamb, seemed to mind. He was always buying her chocolates and when she complained they'd make her fat, he just laughed and said she was onto his plan.
She unlocked the front door of her little cottage and looked around for Rover, her Siamese cat. He usually got up from his nap to pose in the living room, tail twitching, when he heard her key in the door. But this time he wasn't there. She put her keys and purse down and took off her jacket and threw it on the sofa. Then she kicked off her heels and headed for the kitchen.
"Oh my Lord!" she gasped when she saw her mother seated at the kitchen table. Rover was nearby, pretending to be disinterested in human activity.
"Hello, dear," said Beverly Monday. Though retired for several years now, she still looked healthy and vibrant for sixty-nine. Her white hair was perfectly coifed, her dress immaculate, and her earrings and bracelets matched.
"What... how... I didn't know you were coming," stammered Belinda. "You, uh, startled me."
"Does a mother need to warn her child when she's in town?"
"Of course not. You're welcome. I was just surprised. I didn't see your car outside. And however-"
"That's because it's in the shop," said Mrs. Monday. "It started wheezing and coughing suddenly, and since I was near here and I knew your Dennis is a mechanic, I brought it to him. He was gracious enough to bring me here and let me wait inside instead of that noisy shop of his."
"Oh, that's good," said Belinda. She wondered why Dennis hadn't called her. He supposed he was too busy, and had probably had to rearrange everything to accommodate her mother. She wondered if he would be available for dinner. They hadn't made specific plans, but often ate together.
As if reading her mind, her mother spoke up. "Dennis said he'll be working late and not to wait on supper for him. I told him not to trouble himself, that my car could wait until tomorrow, but he insisted that he'll get it done tonight. He's certain he understands the problem and has the parts in stock."
Belinda couldn't help but feel vaguely disappointed. "I suppose we could go out," she suggested.
"We certainly can't eat here," said Mrs. Monday, nodding toward the sink which was piled with dirty dishes.
"Oh, I've been meaning to get to those."
"And the laundry, too, I suppose?"
"Well, yes, of course. I've been busy."
"And that cat box stinks to high heaven."
"I was going to clean it tonight," Belinda said quickly.
"Is this the way you live when I'm not around? Perhaps I should have surprise visits more often."
"It's not always like this, I swear," said Belinda, wondering why sweat was trickling down the back of her neck and she felt like she was being questioned by the Inquisition. "I've just been so busy with work-"
"You said that. I find it hard to believe that being headmistress of such a small school takes up so much of your time that you can't even do the dishes before you go to bed."
Belinda flushed. She wanted to defend Middlebrook Academy, which was an excellent institution regardless of its size, but she'd already lost that argument years ago.
"I was Headmistress of over a thousand girls for thirty years, and I raised four children and an invalid husband during that time. Did I ever miss making a meal? Was the house ever in disarray?"
"Of course not; you had your children to do all your housework," Belinda snapped crossly. She knew as soon as she said the words it was a mistake, and her face flushed with horror. "Oh Mother, I didn't mean-"
"Of course you did. And it is clear to me that you need a lesson. Bring me your cane."
"Mother! I'm 35 years old! I'm a Headmistress."
"And so am I. I might be retired, but I still know cheek when I hear it. Now fetch me that cane and I just might only give you your age in strokes."
Belinda gasped. Her heart pounded and she wanted to scream, but instead she found herself hurrying down the hall to her bedroom. Tears prickled her eyes as she pushed aside the hanging things to find the rod hidden in the back corner. It was the 'adult' cane Mother had bought her for her twenty-first birthday, a fierce 120-centimeter length of springy rattan. It had been used on seven memorable occasions, including twice while Belinda was on her first teaching job, until she'd found her own place at age 25.
For reasons she hadn't known, she always kept the cane oiled and ready for use.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.