by Frank Martinet
Headmaster Walter Jennings leaned back in his leather swivel chair and thoughtfully eyed the two nervous figures facing the wall across the room. Rachel and Julia were two of the prettiest girls in the school - that was evident even from this rearward angle, with their long dark and brown hair corralled into pony tails down slender backs, and their gray pleated skirts pinned up to expose snowy knickers covering plump round bottoms and long creamy thighs - but they were also two of the naughtiest. The mischievous pair were always getting into trouble, pulling pranks on fellow students or teachers.
This time the two had sneaked into the administrative office and reversed the labels of the school's loudspeaker system so that when Mr. Purvis went to read the morning's announcements, he really switched the microphone off, and when he turned it off after finishing the report no one heard, he was actually turning it on. The result was that the entire school had heard him sweet-talking Miss Ellis, the Head's secretary. It was an inept display, full of classless charm and crudeness, and all the more hilarious because no one could imagine that the lovely twenty-six-year-old blonde beauty would have any interest in the balding, overweight, bespectacled fifty-year-old administrator. Headmaster Jennings had rushed to the office as soon as he could, but he'd been unable to stop the man from making an utter fool of himself. Now his second-in-command was the school laughingstock. Jennings was not amused.
It would be the cane. He knew that and the naughty girls knew that, but then they'd hardly tried to cover their tracks, bragging to everyone about their accomplishment. Striped bottoms would only enhance their status among their peers. It frustrated the headmaster because he was desperate to give these young ladies the sharp shock they deserved, only he was at a loss of how to do it. He'd tried every instrument in his arsenal, from strap to paddle to a wicked assortment of the best rattan, and yet look who was back in his office, brazenly defying his authority again.
There was a sudden crackle of the intercom on his desk and a red light glowed. The sultry voice of Miss Ellis came through the small speaker. "Excuse me, sir, but your eleven o'clock is here. Mr. Agonovsky."
"Who?" growled Jennings. "Miss Ellis, I'm in the middle of a delicate operation! He'll have to wait."
"Yes sir, I know. But you remember Mr. Agonovsky, sent by the Home Office? The CP Engineer?"
Vaguely the headmaster remembered the memo. "He's here to check that our canes and tawses are up to code, I suppose. Show him the implement closet and let me concentrate on the matter at hand."
"Yes sir," said the woman's voice, except her tone was anything but agreeing. After a breath's hesitation, she continued. "Except that he might be able to help, sir. I, uh, mentioned how you were occupied, and he would like to observe your technique."
"Oh blast it!" grunted the headmaster, forgetting that his visitor could hear his half of the conversation on the intercom on Miss Ellis' desk. "Fine, send him in."
A moment later the door to the office opened, the two girls in the corner turning nervously to see who was entering. The man was most unimpressive: spindly with thick glasses. He looked like a librarian if you didn't take into account his rough work clothes, which would have been at home on a plumber or electrician. Behind him trailed a young woman. She wore baggy denim overalls that could barely hide her voluptuous figure. Breasts the size of cantaloupes strained the shoulder straps across her chest. Her blonde hair was pulled severely tight into a bun at the back of her head. She was clearly pretty and young, perhaps twenty, but her face was intense with effort as she lugged two large black cases and deposited them with a sigh in the center of the room.
"What's all this?" Jennings asked as he stood. "Walter Jennings, Headmaster."
"Edwin Agonovsky. This is my assistant, Trisha Minor. We brought some equipment with us. Tools of the trade."
"So, Home Office sent you to harass me."
"Nothing like that, sir. I'm here to help. I appear to have arrived at the ideal time." He nodded toward the two girls in the corner.
"Yes, I was about to deal with these two. They've outdone themselves today and I am trying to decide a punishment that will teach them a lesson they'll never forget."
The engineer pointed to the lean narrow straight cane on the headmaster's desk. "Is that the cane you were going to use?"
"The senior, yes. They're both sixth formers. Rachel's seventeen and Julia's nearly so. Sturdy girls accustomed to the cane, so it's necessary."
"Then you do need my help, sir. That little twig's only going to teach a girl that she can get away with murder."
"Excuse me?" Jennings had difficulty hiding the irritation in his voice.
"It's far too light a rod to have any impression. I can see that from here. Let me show you."
The engineer picked up the rod, nodding thoughtfully as he bent and swished it. "As I thought. A crude model, hardly optimized for the task at hand."
"That's my best rod! Nearly a meter of genuine Thai rattan."
"Indeed. But this rod has not been properly cared for, I'm sorry to say. When was the last time you oiled it?"
"Uh, well, I don't remember."
"How long have you been headmaster at Darlington Prep?"
"Eleven years."
"And you've had this cane all that time, I'm sure. And never once have you oiled or waxed it. It hasn't even been sanded or tested."
"Actually I ordered it a year after I arrived. So it's barely ten years old."
"A fine cane like this needs loving care, sir," said the engineer. "It also should be optimized."
Despite his irritation, Jennings was curious. "That's the second time you've mentioned that word. What does that mean?"
Grinning, the guest snapped his fingers. Trisha quickly hefted a case to a chair. When it was settled, she opened the top revealing a large assortment of tools. There were shears and hammers and chisels and bits. The headmaster recognized a power drill and a jigsaw, but many other things were beyond his experience. He watched as the girl laid down a large plastic cloth on the carpet and then removed a hand-held sander.
"The hundred and fifty grain to start," said Agonovsky, and the girl expertly fitted a fresh square of sandpaper to the device. She ran the power cord to an outlet and in a moment the room was filled with the buzz of the machine. As she held the tool, Agonovsky carefully massaged the cane against the vibrating sandpaper. He rotated the rod so that all sides were smoothed equally.
"What are you doing?" asked the Head. The two girls in the corner had forgotten to face the wall and were openly staring at the proceedings with concerned curiosity.
"Several things. First, taking off ten years of wear and tear and polishing the wood. Just a thin layer. It needs to be as smooth as a baby's arse. Second, I'm leveling the cane, to improve the balance. Finally, I'm degrading the midsection. See, we want the handle to be stout, so you can grip it. The tip also should be wider, both for weight and impact. But the middle area should be lean and smooth, no thicker than the end of your little finger, for maximum whip. This will decrease air drag."
As he worked, the man paused periodically to judge the rod's weight and bend. Several times he held the cane lengthwise, like it was a telescope, and looked down the length carefully. He had Trisha put in six hundred grain paper for the final sanding step. The entire procedure took only minutes in the man's expert handling, and soon the girl was massaging the rod with a rag dipped in sandalwood oil. When that was finished she applied wax to coat the rod and protect it. Then she eyed Agonovsky inquisitively.
"Are we going to weight the tip, sir?"
"You're a mind-reader, Trish. Just what I was thinking. What would you guess is the optimal weight?"
The girl held out her arm with the center of rod resting across her flat palm balancing it. "Twenty grams?"
Agonovsky frowned and shook his head. "We want to hurt these girls, not tickle them. Thirty at least. Get me the drill with the number seven bit."
Jennings looked on in distress as the team began to drill the end of his best cane. He wanted to protest, but the man did seem to know what he was doing, and so the headmaster kept his peace. He watched nervously as the end of his cane was drilled, hollowing out several inches of the tip. It was like observing a surgery. Trisha inserted a narrow cylinder of heavy lead into the hole and carefully plugged the end with glue and wood putty.
Grinning, Agonovsky tested the rod with a swish through the air. The whir was noticeably louder than before, and the cane bent more as it cut the air.
"Perfect. More aerodynamic, more whip in the tip, and it's as smooth as glass. This here's a beaut, gov'ner!"
The engineer handed the cane to Jennings who accepted it reverently, and completed a few test swishes himself. At the wall, the two girls gulped and looked worried.
Jennings was impressed. "I can feel the weight in the end. It really gives a drive to the stroke. I must try a practice stroke on a cushion."
He removed a plump pillow from the loveseat in the corner and placed it on his desk. Then he delivered a sharp overhand strike with the rod. The wood cut the air like a scythe and divided the cushion in half with an alarmingly loud 'thwack!'
"Marvelous!" he cried. "You're a genius, Agonovsky! A true genius."
"I know my canes, sir. Now, why don't you have a go at those two? See if you can't make them regret having bottoms!"
"That I shall do, young man. That I shall do!"
Walter snapped his fingers, startling Rachel and Julia. They trotted over obediently, looking glumly at the revised rod in his hand. His broad enthusiasm also made them nervous.
"Over my desk you miscreants! Side by side and let's get those knickers down!"
"Sir, with him here?" cried Rachel. It was clear she didn't like the strange visitor at all. The idea of dropping her drawers in front of him was repugnant. But the Head's grim expression told her she was fighting a losing battle and in a moment, two pairs of absolutely lovely bottoms were on display.
Rachel was the dark-haired one, taller and slimmer, with a round bubble-shaped butt that practically begged for the cane. Brown-haired Julia had shorter legs and broader hips for a plump bum with a deep overhang. The Head started with Rachel, slicing his new cane across the center of her buttocks with a frightful snap. The girl started upward, her eyes bulging, and it was clear that the stroke was much more severe than she expected.
"Eerk!" she grunted. "Arghuuuooo."
"Stay down. You've got eleven more beauties just like that one coming."
"Oh sir, that's not fair! A whole dozen? It was just a joke!"
"A joke your bottom will be intensely regretting."
Jennings noticed the bright red line blossoming across the honey-colored skin was much darker on the right side where the weighted tip had dug into the far cheek. He really liked the way the weight lent urgency to the stroke. He could tell that at the end of the swing the tip of the cane kept going with extra verve, providing remarkable additional sting.
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