I was the head teacher of a private girl’s school in England from the early seventies until the mid-eighties. Corporal punishment in schools is still legal and accepted by many parents. I had joined the school, having worked in a similar school, where there were discipline problems. This showed itself as drug-taking and promiscuous sex when girls visited the local town.

The school had a lax disciplinary policy which focussed on asking the parents of problem girls to come to the school to discuss these matters. This policy was ineffective, and we lost pupils. I was a senior teacher, with responsibility for maths and physics, and a general overview of all science teaching up to the ‘A’ level. I was despairing, as I could see the school was on the way to bankruptcy. The late payment of salary two months in a row prompted me to go to the headteacher and ask her to consider re-introducing corporal punishment to turn things around.

This fell on deaf ears, so I looked around for another job, and I found myself on the shortlist for the post of headteacher at a school with an excellent reputation, and which achieved outstanding examination results every year. I attended my interview with its governors with minor trepidation, and wearing a ‘power outfit’ dark blue trouser suit of a ‘militaristic’ cut, with padded shoulders and a choker. With my healthy figure, I thought I looked the part.

The interview proceeded well, and at one point they asked me what I thought about the school’s corporal punishment policy. I said I approved of it and would have no problems in carrying it out. One old fellow kept on at me.

“What experience have you had of Corporal Punishment?”

I wondered if he meant on the receiving or dispensing end, both of which I knew about. I paused for a second and replied, “My father was an old-fashioned disciplinarian, who was concerned about his daughter. He caned me moderately hard from the age of sixteen. It never happened to me at school.”

My last school was not a corporal punishment school, which I think they knew.

“The first school where I worked for eight years before my present job used corporal punishment. I was a junior teacher and never gave it. I sent girls to the headteacher, and I witnessed them receiving corporal punishment. These methods of punishment are excellent for healthy girls, and the rod of correction always does them the world of good.”

Following this revelation about my experiences, this line of questioning stopped!

My interview had gone well and three days later, the chief of the governors called to tell me I had got the job and to wait for the formal letter. It arrived, and I resigned from my current job, finished that term’s teaching, and left for pastures new. Before the start of term, I arrived at the school and spent time in my office to prepare.

I sent for the gym teacher, who was ex-services and attractive in a butch way. This turned me on, but I disguised my Sapphic feelings by choice of dress and an authoritarian act, which was not the real ‘me.’ If corporal punishment was to take place, but for any reason, I could not carry it out, we agreed the gym teacher would do it for me.

“Certainly, with pleasure. I did it for the last head teacher in those circumstances.”

She looked at me, her tongue almost hanging out. It was obvious she was ready for Sapphic contact, and it was only a matter of time. One action I took on arrival was to read the compulsory ‘punishments book’ which detailed all corporal punishments which had taken place in the school. There were about two canings a week, which was quite a high number for a school with five hundred pupils. The school year was about thirty-eight weeks long, so about eighty girls a year received corporal punishment

This meant, in statistical terms, a majority of girls would get caned at least once during their time at the school. Many did not, and as usual, there were repeat offenders. There was a record of the type of cane used. The younger girls under sixteen never received corporal punishment.

At age sixteen, the ‘number two’ medium cane saw more use, although the ‘number one’ thin cane figured as well for first-time offenders. On the rare occasions when a sixth former got caned, it was invariably the ‘number two. ’I saw a handful of ‘number three’ canings with a thicker, longer cane, some of these being eight strokes with the added comment, ‘given in gym, naked buttocks, over the horse.’

The offence that seemed to attract eight strokes of the ‘number three’ was a repeated offence of being caught smoking, and on very rare occasions, ‘promiscuity.’ The school did not cane girls for solo masturbation, despite some parents requesting it, and I refused. It is not a disciplinary matter. I found the rods of correction in a coat cupboard in my office. There were four canes in there. Two of them were about thirty inches long and about a quarter inch thick. I thought they would give a sharp sting but do no damage.

The other two were both about three feet long. One was about a third of an inch thick and the other, just less than half an inch thick. The number one was one of the two thin canes, the number two was the one-third-inch thick cane, and number three had to be the heavy half-inch thick cane.

It made sense, and I wondered what eight strokes of the number three used hard on a bare female bottom would feel like. I imagined it must be very painful indeed. My father had always carried out my corporal punishment at home with a thin cane and it was sufficiently painful.

Term started. I held my first assembly wearing my ‘power suit’ with my academic gown on top and I thought I would issue a warning.

“Any girl who I catch smoking will get the rod of correction applied to her bottom with all the strength in my right arm.”

The girls would try me out, and I had worked out the location of suitable smoking hideaways. There was a handicraft and arts shed with a rear door that led down an incline through a small wood towards a lake. At the far side of the lake, there was an ornamental shelter which would give excellent cover for a girl feeling like taking a quick drag.

During the war, the government had requisitioned the school and the military authorities had erected a boundary chain-link fence. They made a footpath for a guard patrol inside the fence. I could walk down the footpath to see what was going on behind the shelter. If anyone was going to try it on, it would be a girl during an artwork or carpentry class. They could sneak out the back door of the shed, nip around to the back of the shelter, and have a smoke.

The ‘smoking’ event would most likely take place when the timetable showed girls would be present in the shed. I made three patrols and found no one, but on the fourth trip, I found two fifth-formers smoking. They did not spot me until I was within twenty feet of them. I made them stamp out their cigarettes and took them to my office, where I got out their records.

They were both quite good academic performers, but one was rebellious (which I didn’t mind). I thought she was the dominant one, so I sent the milder one out whilst I spoke to the rebel.

So I asked her, “Was it your idea, her idea or a joint enterprise?”

The girl, Nancy, lowered her head and said softly, “It was my idea, miss.”

Her honesty was great, and I said so.

“Nancy, has your bottom made the acquaintance of the cane already at this school?”

She raised her head, looked me in the eye and said, “Yes, miss. Twice.”

“What for please?” I enquired, to receive the reply, “Repeated talking in class the first time and repeated disobedience last time.”

“When was the last time?”

“About six months ago.”

“That would have been March or April this year?”

“It was early April, just before the Easter break.”

I got out the book and found the entry, Nancy W, six strokes of ‘number one.’ She was sixteen. She deserved a dose of ‘number two’ and six strokes, as I did not approve of smoking. Poor Nancy was going to be a warning to the rest. Her caning would take place in the gym and I would walk through the school holding the cane.

“Nancy, clearly you are not learning your lesson. You will receive six strokes of the medium cane, positioned over the horse in the gym and on the bare.”

She put a hand up to her mouth and said, “Oh no, miss, please not over the horse and on the bare.”

“Nancy, one more word and it will be eight strokes. Now go outside and wait for me.”

She had a while to think about it, which always improves things.

It was time to call the other girl, Felicity S, into the office. A tear was running down one cheek already, so I resolved to temper justice with mercy.

“Felicity, was it your idea, Nancy’s idea, or a joint enterprise?”

“Miss, we decided together.”

At least she hadn’t sneaked on her friend and it probably wasn’t her idea.

“Felicity, has your bottom made the acquaintance of the cane already at this school?”

“No, miss.”

“Felicity, as you know, smoking at this school is always a caning offence, even for a first offence. I’m afraid you will have to bend over the back of the chair and take six of the best, but I will use the lightest cane and not with full force, as it is your first offence.”

“We don’t want an accident, so please relieve yourself in my toilet.”

I opened the door to the loo and removed the key so she could not lock herself in. She went in and I shut the door. There was the sound of the loo being used and after about a minute, Felicity emerged looking at the carpet. I lead her over to the chair and with my hand on the back of her neck. She bent her over it sideways to the seat. Her hands gripped the legs on the far side. With the curtains drawn, I lifted her skirt, getting her to stick her little bottom out, tap-tapped the cane on her panties and ‘crack.’

A moderate stroke cracked across the middle of her pert little rump. Felicity let out a yell, putting a hand back and rubbing her bottom.

“Felicity,” I said, “Stop that and take it like a lady. It wasn’t a hard stroke. If you do it again, it will be extra strokes.”

I never gave extra strokes, but it was good for discipline to have said it.

“Yes, miss.”

Tap-tap again, then ‘crack,’ and another light stroke landed about an inch below the first one.

There was another yelp from Felicity, and a lot of wriggling, followed by sobbing. I gave her about thirty seconds to recover. Tap-tap ‘crack’, a third stroke. It landed with moderate force, but higher. There was more yelping, wriggling and hopping about, which is all acceptable behaviour. Tears were dripping on the carpet. My experience told me this young lady would be no more trouble, and it was time for praise.

“Felicity, you are a brave girl, you are taking it well and it’s halfway now.”

A sort of “Yes, miss,” choked out.

Tap-tap-tap ‘crack’ and the usual reactions followed it. I waited for her to compose herself, then tap-tap-tap ‘crack,’ and stroke number five cracked into her bottom, still on un-caned flesh. Oh, the joys of applying the rod of correction to a pert bottom! The strokes were leaving little red ridges on her skin. They would sting for a few hours and then leave gradually fading marks for three or four days to add to her humiliation.

Those of you who are familiar with traditional English caning will know the final sixth stroke is harder than the others. It crosses the first five strokes to form a ‘five-barred gate’ pattern. This has the added effect of setting the first five strokes on fire at the crossover points and this gives rise to an acutely painful and memorable end to the caning!

“Here comes the last one Felicity, It’s almost over.”

I flicked my wrist considerably harder, and the angled stroke cracked home. ‘Crack,’ louder than the first five. Felicity let out a loud yell, jerked upright, and rubbed frantically at her bottom. She danced around a little because she had earned that privilege. Tears flowed in buckets as she calmed herself. She sat down for a few minutes whilst I finished talking to her.

“Felicity let it be a warning. You are a bright girl, and I don’t want you to ruin your future. Does it hurt?”

Between sobs, she replied, “It’s not too bad now miss, it stings a bit and feels hot.”

“I must write to your parents because you have received corporal punishment, but I will tell them you were very brave and no further action is required. The matter is closed. So dry your eyes, go off to your dorm, have a hot bath, and bathe the marks. It will help.”

Felicity got up, and I hugged her.

“Don’t worry, Felicity. You were silly and have paid for it like a brave girl.”

“Thank you, miss. I will never cause trouble again.”

She walked stiffly out of my study. It was unlikely Felicity’s pert rump would again experience the rod of correction during her time at school. I was wrong.

Perversely, it was the first time canings of the unlucky and penitent, such as Felicity, which I most enjoyed. Watching their reactions to the first cane strokes they experienced in their young lives was exciting!

With the ‘number two’ cane tucked under my arm, I emerged from my study, locking the door.

“Nancy, lead the way to the gym.”

Downcast and red in the face, Nancy led the way. There was silence as we made our way and a lot of stares at the yellow rod of correction under my arm.

When we arrived, Andrea, the gym mistress, was there.

Once in the gym, I asked Nancy to help me lift the vaulting horse towards the more secluded end of the gym. Window blinds concealed our activities from prying eyes.

Nancy helped me to assemble the top four stages of the vaulting horse, which, when she bent over it, would lift her far enough so her feet would be just off the ground. She could hold on to the hand-hold slots in one of the lower stages.

Before we began, I said, “Nancy, go to the toilet and relieve yourself. Come back with your panties removed and don’t take too long.”

While she was in the loo, I asked the gym teacher to witness the caning and afterwards, to comment on how I carried it out. I had no formal instruction on how to give a caning, only having read a manual on it.

Nancy did as I asked and came back, clutching her panties. She lay across the horse and gripped the two hand-holds cut into the side.

“Nancy, this will be a hard caning. I will let you recover from each stroke and give you the next one when you say ‘Ready, miss.’ You should not take more than a minute to recover between strokes.”

“Alright miss, I will try my best.”

Her voice shook a little, but she still had herself under control, a situation which I intended to change. I lifted her skirt right up. She was a bigger, heavier girl than Felicity and there was more bottom to cane.

I rested the cane on her bottom and asked,

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, miss,” she replied.

I swung the cane back and cracked home a very hard stroke, flicking my wrist right at the end. The cane bit hard into her buttocks, making them tremble with the shock and then it sprung back. There was a gasp from Nancy followed a few seconds later by a yell as the pain rose to its agonising crescendo. She writhed about on the horse and kicked her legs. It was about forty seconds before Nancy composed herself and whispered, “Ready, miss.”

I gave her another hard stroke, which landed about half an inch above the first one. The first stroke had produced a deep purple welt which was swelling angrily. This time Nancy burst into loud sobs as she again writhed about on the horse. A minute went by with no word from her, so I tapped the cane on her bottom and said, “Nancy?”

“Ready, miss,” she replied between sobs. I swung home another real stinger. Nancy let out a frenzied scream they would certainly hear outside the confines of the gym. This was going to be good for discipline, but I gave her a pause between strokes at the midpoint. It was a severe punishment, and I had to give her time to handle it.

I waited at least two minutes before Nancy quietened and said, “Ready, miss.”

“Let’s get it over with, and I will give you the last three strokes.”

“OK, miss” replied Nancy. ‘Crack, crack’ and I gave the angled last stroke, ‘crack,’ as hard as I could. Nancy was howling and in floods of tears. The cane was warm from the energy used when it crashed into her tight bottom. It took her five minutes to subside, and I said, “Take your time and get up when you are ready. I will help you off the horse if you need it, Nancy.”

Nancy replied, “Help me up, please miss, it hurts so much when I move.”

I got hold of her around her waist and helped to lift her to her feet. She stood there sobbing and clutching frantically at her bottom, which was heavily lined with six purple ridges beginning to turn black and swell up over a sizeable area. Nancy slowly walked on tip-toe to the changing room and leaned against the wall, sobbing her heart out.

I waited until she steadied. After about ten minutes, her sobs died away and Nancy gingerly put her panties back on.

“Nancy, you must go to the matron and let her look at your bottom and see if it needs any treatment. But I expect you to behave now. I have an even heavier cane, which I will use on you next time there is any trouble.”

“Miss, I will behave now. I will go to the matron.”

Nancy walked slowly and painfully away. Poor Nancy! Had I overdone it? Should I feel guilty?

I asked the gym teacher, “How did I do, please?”

“You did very well. I could not have done much better.”

“My father caned me growing up, but it was never as hard as that, so I don’t know what a very hard caning feels like.”

The gym teacher smiled and said, “I could oblige if you would like to find out!”

She had correctly assessed my sexuality! It takes one to know one.

“I feel bad about caning a girl so hard, but it is necessary to keep them on the straight and narrow. Part of me hurts for them, and I feel sorry after the event. I need to experience at least what they go through if I’m to keep doing it. It’s a case of ‘don’t give it if you can’t receive it.’ In my psyche, it has to be that way. So it is the best way you can help me, and we can enjoy the mutual experience.”

It was the end of the school day and the girls would have gone to their dormitories or were doing an activity away from the gym area. The gym horse was in place already.

“Let me lock the doors. I’m going to the loo and then strip off to the bare and go over the horse. Please give me six strokes as hard as you can once I am in place.”

It was the number two cane. Use of the heavy rod would normally happen with a girl draped over the horse, but I had not yet taken it to the gym office. Had it been there, I would have asked for it. With my skirt, stockings, and panties removed, I got over the horse. My feet on tip-toe just touched the floor.

“Ready.”

The cane went tap-tap on my bottom, and then ‘whistle crack’ A line of white-hot fire blazed across my rump. It was beyond my experience. With my eyes shut and gasping for air, I waited for the next one.

‘Whistle crack.’ The second stroke crashed into me. The excruciating pain was much worse than I had experienced at the hands of my father.

This went on until I had received the six strokes. My buttocks quivered with a life of their own and my pussy was twitching in a manner I had never known before. I wanted six more strokes.

“Please, give me another six strokes, as hard as you can.”

The next set of six strokes took me to their agonising conclusion. Despite the awful pain, I had an earth-moving orgasm.

Andrea said, “Come to my office and I will take care of you.”

In the office, Andrea, who was a beautiful, cute and muscular lady, laid me on the couch and fingered my pussy. She found my G spot and went to work tapping and rubbing it. I had multiple orgasms. The caning had ignited my senses in the whole pelvic area. Eventually, I stood up and put my stockings, panties, and skirt back on.

“How about you?” I asked. “Do you switch?”

“Yes, I do, but I like to get in the mood first. It’s much better for me if I switch after sexual contact.”

“Thank you so much for what you just did. Why don’t you come over to my house in two hours? It will give me time to finish my day here and get ready. It will be comfortable there.”

Andrea replied, “It’s been too long since I had a lovely session. I can bring my ‘implements.’ I’ve got a triple stinger cane and a few other things. The triple cane stings like a gazillion bees and because the rods are thin, it doesn’t bruise much. I love to feel it just before I have a seeing-to with a strap on, and if possible, after I have given a session.”

“I would like to try a strap-on as long as the ‘organ’ is not too stiff. It would be a novel experience for me. Do you have one?”

“Yes, I’ve got three. You can see all of them.”

“Thank goodness. It’s not long to wait.”

Back in my study, I rubbed my aching bottom and then filled up the punishment book. I wrote the two obligatory letters to the parents, in Nancy’s case, telling them it had been a hard caning with Nancy over the vaulting horse. In both cases, I said the matter was closed, and I hoped they would not take further disciplinary action against their daughters.

When I finished the letters, I went to the clinic. I found Nancy lying on a bed with her bare bottom being worked on by the matron with ice cubes to reduce the swelling. I didn’t mind it. When the punishment was over, it was time to rehabilitate the girl. My caning had been highly effective. Her marks would last for at least a fortnight and she would feel them for the first week.

The matron took me to one side in her office and said, “I’ve rarely seen such dramatic effects from a caning; I hope her parents don’t complain.”

“They won’t. They are grateful for the firm discipline and the excellent academic results here. The word will get around and it will help to maintain discipline. I’m sure I will never need to cane her again.”

It was the end of a tiring but exciting school day and I went home.

The doorbell rang and there was Andrea in black leather gear! Andrea put her head to one side and said, “It’s my turn now.”

“No, please, I was only halfway through being taken care of. I want six more cane strokes and relief, please. I’ve showered and I’m ready for it. We can do it in my bedroom. I brought the heavy cane, as I needed to feel it. Let me prepare and give me six strokes with it, as hard as you can, please. Can you cane me naked? I find it so arousing if the lady caning me is in the buff! It’s your turn later tonight, I promise.”

After I came back from the loo, I stripped off, and with a case of nerves, knelt on the bed, bottom up, head down. Andrea was there, stark naked. It was the first time I had seen her naked, and she was a cute figure of a woman. The muscles in her arms scared me, but I admired her firm breasts, neat labia, and shaven mound!

“OK, I’m ready.”

“You are very naughty. I have had to put off my overdue relief to satisfy you, and I am going to make you pay for it!”

The muscular Andrea caned me at full force. The cane howled through the air like a banshee and hit my bottom with a terrific crack. It was agonising and at the finish; I saw the world through a red mist and my blood roared through my ears with every heartbeat. I was close to passing out with the pain. From now on, I would only give the heavy cane to the very worst and older miscreants. It was too close to torture, and to find out was necessary.

I collapsed on the bed, and Andrea rolled me onto my back. My buttocks were trembling and twitching with a life of their own which communicated itself to my vagina and I was already on the verge of an orgasm. Eighteen strokes in one day were a few too many. But the bedding was soft and laying on it did not increase my pain. She gently fingered my G-spot and nibbled at my clitoris, and the pain slowly subsided. Andrea showed me one of the more flexible strap-ons and said, “How about this one, please?”

“Fine, please screw me with it.”

Andrea got into its harness, applied lubricant, and eased it into me. It was nice. It filled me up, and it was a fresh experience. But it was less arousing than having a good fingering of my G-spot and my clitoris licked. After a few minutes, I had an orgasm, but I had had better from manual and oral stimulation. It was a let-down. But never mind. I owed Andrea sexual stimulation before I would cane her. Andrea felt the atmosphere and withdrew the strap-on.

She said, “I was leaking from the stimulation of caning you. Let me wash my parts in the shower and then we can enjoy ourselves.”

A sixty-nine would soothe the fires in my bottom. If Andrea wanted to receive a strap-on, then it might work better for her if she was already in an orgasmic state. Andrea returned from the shower. Before she got herself arranged for a sixty-nine, she fondled and kissed my breasts. It was heavenly.

Andrea said, “I’ve got a little leather flogger and love to have it used on my breasts. Would you like to feel it first?”

“Yes, but later after we have gone down on each other, please. Andrea, I’m desperate for it.”

We positioned ourselves for a sixty-nine. Andrea’s vagina was already pulsing. Our activities so far must have got to her. She responded well to my fingering and nibbling of her clitoris, at which she was an expert at ministering to me.

After perhaps thirty minutes of this, Andrea said, “I’m ready for my caning, followed by a strap-on session from you. It might be best if you put on the strap-on before you cane me, so there won’t be a delay if you put it on after the caning. We can try the little leather flogger later.”

“When did you last receive the cane?” I asked her.

“About a year ago, when I met a girl who was more Domme than me at one of ‘our’ venues. She tied me up and gave me twenty-four strokes. I howled and screamed until the orgasms started. She was a vicious brute and a sadist. I don’t go for that.”

“How many do you want tonight?”

“The last time, the cane was about eight millimetres thick, so it was thinner than your number three cane. Let’s try for six strokes to start.”

“OK. Andrea, it’s your turn now.”

She stood up and bent forward over the bed, supporting her weight on her forearms. Her legs were parted, and everything was on display. Her labia were deep crimson, and she was soaking in a state of full arousal. I put a towel on the floor for her to stand on to catch any drips, which was likely.

“Please, start by giving me six hard strokes with the number three cane. Don’t worry. I am very used to it,” she said.

“I would like twelve strokes in total unless you feel I deserve more.”

If her expertise at caning errant girls was indicative, I was inclined to believe she was used to receiving a caning. Those who are expert at giving it often have received a lot of caning in their past.

“As you wish. Are you ready?” I asked, tapping her shapely rump with the cane.

“I will tap your bottom twice as a warning before each stroke and then give you the stroke. You will say ‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ which is what the girls are supposed to do. I will wait twenty seconds and give you the next stroke. Is that clear, please, Andrea?”

I tried to make myself sound as butch as possible.

“Yes, it’s clear,” replied Andrea, sticking her bottom out.

I wished our girls would do that during their punishments, but then, I would wonder why they appeared to be enjoying it! ‘Tap-tap, whistle crack.’ The first stroke landed across the fat part of her rump. There was almost no reaction.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” she said.

We carried on like this and I caned her harder with each stroke. The cane whistled through the air. Rarely had I caned a girl so hard. The welts started as a grey line but filled in deep red within seconds. She got herself under control and the caning continued. There was remarkably little reaction from Andrea, but she stood up after the sixth stroke, a pained expression on her pretty face. Her buttocks must have been in agony and she must have an enormous pain threshold.

“I can understand why you are careful about the girls receiving your canings if they were anything like that,” she said. “Please give me the last set of six strokes with the triple stinger. I need to feel it. Please use the same procedure.”

I gave her the first stroke with the triple stinger cane. Andrea jerked and yelped as the stroke landed. After the fourth stroke of the second set, I could see that Andrea was having an orgasm. I gave her longer to recover before the fifth stroke and even longer before the last stroke. Andrea leapt up and frantically rubbed at her well-thrashed rump, writhing and groaning as she did so.

“You wicked girl,” she said, “That’s one of the hardest, if not the hardest, caning I have ever had, and it gave me an amazing orgasm. Give me the strap-on now.”

She bent forward over the bed and presented her vagina to receive the strap-on dildo. I applied lubricant and slipped it into her. Pounding away at her bottom, she yelped as I rubbed against the cane marks.

“Keep on like that. It’s wonderful. My cane marks hurt, but when you rub against them, my vagina turns somersaults.”

There is no feeling or feedback when you ‘give’ the strap-on and that’s a problem. Fortunately, there was plenty of reaction from Andrea, and we had a wonderful session. The next time, the journey would be faster, because we knew more about each other.

I wanted to know how Andrea got into ‘spanking.’

“Andrea, how did you find out that you had a spanking kink, please, if you can answer it without embarrassment? If you can’t, I understand.”

“It was my father. He was ex-Navy and once I was sixteen, he used a navy boy cadet ‘defaulters’ cane on me. It was agonising even for three or four ‘cuts,’ as he called the strokes. But it was a huge turn-on. I knew other girls attracted me, much to my parent’s anger.”

“At seventeen, they caught me in a Sapphic embrace in our garden shed and threw out my friend. He dragged me into the basement room, tied me over a big sea chest and gave me twelve ‘cuts’ of that naval cane on the bare. He left me there for an hour with my bottom burning and stinging. When he untied me, in my room, I masturbated myself to sensations I had never experienced, but I knew I could not tolerate a caning like that again.”

“On my eighteenth birthday, I went to a Royal Air Force recruiting office. I was very fit and shortly after, I got two indifferent A-level passes. They took me. So ‘I ran away.’ After twelve years of service, I left and went into sports teaching. The Air Force quietly tolerated Sapphic relationships if you were discrete about it, and I never looked back.”

“Andrea, thank you so much. It was my father’s canings that got me going. We have a lot in common.”

We relaxed on the bed, gently fingering and kissing each other. It was nice for us to have each other around when the need arose.

I watched Felicity and Nancy carefully for a few days. They were both subdued, and Nancy was in pain when she sat down. I told Nancy that I gave her a hard caning to bring home to her, that the school would not tolerate smoking, and that it was in the interests of her health that I had done so. She accepted it, I could see.

Felicity, whilst not in pain, took too long to get over her punishment, which worried me. I took her to my office for a pep talk.

“Don’t let it upset you. They caned me as a girl so I know how you feel. Please cheer up. You are intelligent, with a wonderful life ahead of you.”

She smiled and said, “Miss, I wanted to talk to you. Please, cane me again, this time on my bare bottom. I have been so miserable because I felt I had let myself down by being such a coward. This is my chance to prove that I can accept a caning. It all happened so fast the first time, and I didn’t have time to prepare mentally.”

I was speechless for a moment! Felicity bent over the chair, lifted her skirt, and lowered her panties to the knee. After I locked the door and turned the blinds around, I got out the thin cane.

“Are you sure? The last time, you were so distressed.”

“Yes, miss. I am ready for it this time. I won’t disappoint you and thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

“OK. It will be six with the thin cane. This is a private matter. It won’t go into the book and I won’t inform your parents.”

I tried to use about the same force as used during her first caning. In Felicity’s eyes, it was ‘therapeutic.’ She took it so much better, gasping and wriggling about, but no yelling and no rubbing. She stood after the last stroke, pulled up her panties, and lowered her skirt.

“Thank you, miss. I will get over it immediately because I can live with myself now.”

Felicity went up a long way in my estimation. I never had to cane her again, and she became an excellent prefect.

There were no girls sent for caning for about three weeks. I wondered what was going on behind the scenes because this was unusual and it ended unexpectedly.

The head girl, Carol R., was a striking-looking, intelligent and athletic young lady and came to see me one morning, with an ancient and dog-eared set of Heads Girl Rules and Responsibilities. I had not been aware it existed, but I felt I had to support her. Carol said since my caning practises had become known; many of the girls would not provoke the teachers, and they had turned their attention to the prefects.

Carol showed me a paragraph which said, ‘The head girl may for repeated cases of rudeness, insolence or wilful disobedience by a junior girl, request on the production of corroborated evidence of two other prefects, the headteacher cane the girl.’

I thought about it for a moment then asked, “Carol, do you have a junior girl in mind you are recommending I should cane, please?”

“Yes, miss,” she replied without hesitation.

I looked at her in a little surprise and said, “Please let me think about it. Leave me now and come back in half an hour. But I have a question. Did you ever receive the cane here or elsewhere?”

Carol grinned and replied, “No miss, never. Not here, and my parents didn’t do it to me.”

“Is this the first time you have asked for a girl to be caned, and do you know if it was common in previous years?”

Carol thought for a second then replied, “Yes, miss, this is the first time I have made such a request and it was rare in the past, I think.”

I opened the study door and Carol left. “Come back in thirty minutes.”

If Carol had never received a caning, she would have had no direct experience of the power of the cane to punish. I needed to offer Carol and other prefects their first experience of a short caning.

Carol returned on cue, and I let her into the study. The four canes were on my desk. Carol sat down, and I handed her the thin cane.

“Carol, this is the lightest cane which I use often on first-time offenders. I don’t give it full force for most first-time offenders, but it still ‘cures’ them.”

I handed her the medium cane.

“If it is a repeat offender, or it is a more serious offence, they may get an application of the medium cane used harder.”

Next, I gave her the heavy cane.

“If it is a seventeen-year-old, or a sixth former, or it is for a serious offence, she may get caned with this heavy cane. It is agonising and the girl will feel it for two weeks at least. I don’t show mercy on those occasions.”

Carol was silent and I could see was thinking hard.

“Miss, I have seen the bottoms of a few girls who have received a caning, including Nancy, so I have some idea of what it must be like, but no direct experience.”

Carol stopped, looked away, and bit her lip. I waited expectantly.

“Miss, please, give me a few strokes of the medium cane so I can feel what it is like. I don’t think I need the heavy cane and probably the thin cane wouldn’t be sufficient at eighteen years.”

I smiled at her and offered, “Carol, I think it is an excellent idea to let you know what it is like before you recommend the caning of a younger girl. Would you accept three strokes of ‘number two’?”

Carol looked at me and without hesitation, “Yes, miss.”

“Right. Let’s have you bent over the chair. Leave all your clothes on.”

Carol followed my directions and bent over the seat of the chair, sticking her bottom well out and gripping the legs. I lifted her skirt, pulled her panties up into the crack of her bottom to expose plenty of bottom flesh and took aim with the medium cane.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, miss,”

“I will give you the three strokes with about ten seconds between them.”

I took aim and ‘crack,’ I placed a hard stroke across the fat part of her bottom. Carol let out a gasp and wriggled just a little but remained in place, head down. I aimed again and ‘crack, ’ a slightly harder stroke, which landed quite close to the first one. There was another louder gasp, wriggling and a brief movement of the feet. Carol was taking it well. ‘Crack,’ I planted a real stinger lower down. Carol would be under no illusions about the pain of a caning.

Carol gasped. “Ow Ow Ow.”

She slowly stood up and rubbed her bottom. She was not in tears, although her face was a screwed-up and rather red.

“You took it very well. Would you like five minutes in my toilet to freshen up and compose yourself?”

“Yes, please, miss.”

I opened the door. I heard her use the loo and run the taps. About five minutes later she emerged, the redness fading from her face and much of her former pre-caning poise back in place. I asked her to sit on the chair over which I had caned her.

“Well Carol, tell me about your impressions, please.”

“I thought it would hurt, but not that much. It takes over all of your mental processes when it is going on. But the pain goes away afterwards. I can sit on it although I can feel it burning and stinging.”

What an excellent reply, I thought. “What do you think about the psychological effects?” I asked.

Carol thought for a moment and said, “I volunteered. I had nothing to feel guilty about, and I wasn’t afraid. But if it is a guilty younger girl, the pain and humiliation of it would be enormous.”

Carol was a smart girl and had thought it through quickly.

“So, what are you going to do?” I asked.

Carol thought again for a moment and then said. “I am going to call the other two prefects involved in my study. I will show them the marks on my bottom and talk them through what happened, and see what they say.”

What an excellent demonstration of maturity, I thought. She was neither prudish nor ashamed and was going to involve the other girls in the whole thing.

“Carol, when you are ready and if possible, within the next day or so, please see me again and we will discuss the action we will take.”

“Certainly miss, and thank you for helping me with this matter.”

“Carol, it’s what I’m here for!”

Carol returned the next morning at the break. I sat her down, stared at her and said, “What have you decided?”

“I showed my caned bottom to my two friends and talked about how it felt. One of the other prefects involved (Jane B.) once received four strokes of the ‘number one’ cane and she immediately said she understood and one dose of the cane had turned her around forever (not true!). We reviewed what we know about the girl Sarah J. and we have written out this list of her wrongdoing over the last two weeks.”

I read the neatly written list, which was signed by the three of them. The worst item was a case of bullying by a younger pupil when they had caught Sarah with a washbasin full of water. Sarah had been trying to hold the younger girl’s face under the water for a few seconds. This was extra shocking and could be very dangerous and alone warranted the acquaintance of the rod of correction.

“Carol, I agree with you. Let me look at the punishment book.”

“Miss, we know Sarah has received the cane before. It was last year in about February, I think.”

“Thank you, Carol,” I replied, going to the approximate date and finding the entry.

“Sarah J. six of the ‘number one’ cane on the seat for repeated insolence,” I read out aloud.

I decided it was time for the short sharp shock of six strokes of ‘number two’ again applied on the bare bottom with the miscreant bent over the horse.

“Carol, it will be six of the medium cane for Sarah. For the effort you have put into this, I’m going to let you and your two prefect colleagues assist and witness the event.”

“Thank you, miss. We were hoping you might allow us to see whatever you decided.”

I thought for a moment. A good time for a girl to receive the cane is at the end of the school day and before the evening meal. If you give a hard caning to a girl immediately after a meal, there is a risk of her vomiting, which is vital to avoid.

“Carol, please be here at four-thirty this afternoon at the end of the last lessons. Warn your two colleagues to be here, too, please. Thank you for the effort you have put into this and now you can go.”

“Thank you, miss,” replied Carol, and she smiled as she left my study. I looked at the timetable and located the class where I could expect to find Sarah J and made my way down there. I opened the classroom door.

“Excuse me, please, Mrs A” (the teacher’s name), I said.

“Sarah J, report to my study at four-thirty sharp this afternoon.”

“Yes, miss,” replied Sarah, looking rather shocked. I smiled at Mrs A and left.

Sarah J. was a large, tough-looking girl from an army family. I had reason to believe she was subject to strong discipline at home, and this was a point I needed to discuss with her.

Four-thirty came around and there were four of them waiting outside my office, Carol, the two prefects Jane B and Rachel F, with a worried Sarah J.

I let them into my office and made them stand in a little semi-circle at my desk with Sarah near the centre. With the written ‘Crime Sheet’ in my hand, I looked at Sarah and read out the details to her. In particular, I asked about the wash basin incident with the younger girl.

“Sarah,” I asked, “Is this true?”

She bit her lip and replied, “Yes, miss, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever provocation that girl had caused to you, your actions could have ended in disaster. You need to be caned for it alone.”

Sarah looked at me. “Miss, I was sure it would be a caning. You might find out, so I admit to smoking cannabis in the town. I’ve stopped, but I did it for a dare with two other town girls and no one else from this school is involved.”

This was another enormous shock. Sarah was a tough girl, and I needed to check her disciplinary history.

“Sarah, are you subject to corporal punishment at home?”

“Yes, miss, I’ve had quite a lot of canings at home since I was sixteen. I get up to twelve strokes sometimes.”

“And how does it affect you?”

Sarah cast her head down, “I behave myself until it stops hurting and for a few days more, then I forget. My dad doesn’t do it too hard, and it’s only a thin cane.”

“You have received the cane before at this school?”

Sarah seemed embarrassed, and said, “Three times already, miss.”

This was a little surprise, but I knew about the most recent application.

“Sarah, things have come to a head. You have been behaving disgracefully. You are a big tough girl and I intend to give you a caning you will never forget. Will you accept it?”

Sarah looked me in the eye and said, “Yes, miss.”

She sighed but did not burst into tears. I went over to the cupboard and took out ‘number three.’ It was necessary. Sarah deserved a severe thrashing and would be sore afterwards. I led the way to the gym. The girls helped me get the horse arranged to caning height and into position. As usual, I directed Sarah to relieve herself and come back, panties removed.

When she returned, I positioned her over the horse.

Andrea sensed what was going on and appeared.

I nodded and said, “Miss F, please witness my caning of these girls.”

“Certainly Ma’am.”

“Sarah, as part of your punishment, I am going to allow the head girl and prefects to watch. The yellow uncle (the cane!) is going to talk to your bottom. You may yell out, but may not touch the marks. Stay in position. I will give you thirty seconds between strokes. Now get ready.”

I tap-tapped the cane on her ample and naked rump. She was a big girl and I could see she was sexually mature. She needed a severe thrashing to straighten her out. I swung the cane back, ‘crack’ as a full-bodied stroke crashed into her buttocks. She jerked and gasped, but did not yell. She wriggled a little, but stayed in place.

It was amazing she was taking it so bravely. I counted up to thirty in my head, then tap-tap ‘crack’ another terrific stroke, producing a much louder gasp from Sarah and some frantic breathing, but no yelling or loss of control. This was a tough girl. There was no sign of tears either, and I was laying it on.

There would have been floods of tears from most girls by now and thirty seconds passed then ‘Crack’, as I caned her bottom lower down. This time, there was a yell of pure pain. After gasping, rapid breathing and wriggling, she had taken it courageously, and there were still no tears. Six strokes might not be enough.

I resolved to try increasing the force with a brief run-up and a swing. At an angle to the horse, I half-ran in and swung around in time with the stroke. These actions decreased the accuracy but increased the force. ‘Crack’ and the cane bit deeply into her buttocks and sprang back. There was a frenzied scream from Sarah and at last, she burst into tears. I had taken her beyond her limit. I would finish it rapidly, but I thought I should warn her.

“Sarah,” I said, “The last two will be in quick time. Brace yourself.” I stepped back again, ran in and ‘Crack,’ I paced back again, ran in and ‘Crack,’ it must have been the hardest cane stroke I had ever given to anyone up to that day and with the heavy cane. Sarah was howling and crying and writhing about on the horse, now clutching and rubbing frantically at her bottom. I let her sobs subside and then asked the two prefects to help me lift her off the horse.

“Sarah, you have been very brave and paid for your wickedness and stupidity. The hard application of the rod of correction has set your bottom on fire, and the matter is closed. Jane and Rachel will assist you to the matron’s office.”

Carol remained with me. I wanted to talk to her.

“Carol, what did you think about her punishment?”

“Miss, it was severe, but she deserved it, the silly, wicked girl. She is strong and will recover.”

I looked at Carol and said, “If this is going to be repeated, all the prefects should understand what is involved in a caning. I would be grateful if you would hold a meeting with them and find out who amongst them has received a caning at this school. Make a list of names and approximate dates and I can verify the fact from the punishments book.”

“If any of them have received the cane at home, they must produce a letter from their parents to confirm the fact. But if a prefect has never received the cane, they ought to pluck up courage, visit me and I will give them two strokes of the number two cane. It will let them know what it feels like. I will give it over the panties, and slowly. This will allow her to recover between the two strokes, but otherwise, I will expect ladylike behaviour on her part.”

“I will carry out these canings in strictest confidence; they will not appear in records anywhere.”

Carol looked at me and replied, “Miss, I think it is an excellent idea and I will see to it within the next two days.”

Carol was as good as her word and within the next week, five previously un-caned prefects had received two moderately hard strokes of the number two cane across their pantied bottoms. They had worked out a procedure, arriving individually at the end of the school day wearing a pair of immaculate white skimpy panties. The girl knocked and told me she was there and why, and without a word, bent over the chair and thrust her bottom out.

They all took their two strokes without a tear, straightening up afterwards and shaking me by the hand.

However, Jane B., who had received four strokes of the number one cane, came to me. She asked me if we could have a private discussion, and of course, I agreed. Jane said her first caning had not been very hard. She told me since then, she had been a ‘multiple defaulter’ but no one had caught her, and so she ought to receive six strokes of the number two cane, or she could not live with herself.

“Are you sure, Jane?”

“Yes, miss. I can’t carry on as a prefect if you don’t do it.”

There was only one thing for it, so I locked my study door, rotated the curtain blinds, and got out the number two cane. Her caning would be hard, but not full force.

“Jane, do you need to relieve yourself?”

“No, thank you, miss. I did before I came to see you.”

“Bend over my desk and grasp the far side. This is going to hurt, I’m afraid, and try to take it as bravely as you can, please.”

She obediently bent over. I lifted her skirt, and after I did so, she reached back and lowered her panties.

“Do you want to receive your caning bare bottom, please Jane?”

“Yes, please, miss, I know some girls receive the cane on the bare bottom, so I need to feel what it’s like.”

“As you wish.”

I rested the cane on her bottom and she didn’t flinch.

“Ready?”

Jane nodded.

‘Whistle crack.’ A hard first stroke, not full force, but hard enough. A grey line appeared on her bottom, turning crimson. Jane gasped and wriggled, but bravely remained in place. Her caning was resolving her dilemma.

Once she had calmed herself, I gave her a second stroke and offered some comforting words. She would have pronounced cane marks on her bottom, but not excessively. I wondered if the other girls would see the marks and I would ask her at the end of her caning. Jane made it through to the finish of her six strokes. She stood up, pulled up her panties and looked at me, red in the face but not tearful.

“You are a very brave and wise girl. Your request and fortitude during your caning are a credit to you. It won’t go into the book, nor will I write to your parents. This is between us.”

It was the sort of thing I wanted to see from my girls.

“Thank you, miss,” Jane said in a surprisingly steady voice.

“I can support the policy because I know what a thrashing with the medium cane is like. Maybe not if a girl gets it over the horse in the gym, but I can guess what it is like.”

“Well done Jane. You are so straightforward and you will succeed in life. I’ve got one question. Will your dorm mates see your marks?”

“Yes, miss. I won’t go flaunting them, but if they see them and ask questions, I will tell them what it’s all been about. It’s fine miss. They know me!”

I was a little surprised, but if I ordered Jane to be silent, I knew it would not work! I let Jane out. The number of girls referred to me for a caning by prefects and the head girl increased thereafter. There was a dramatic improvement in discipline at the school.

Jane subsequently did very well in her life. I often wondered if the rod of correction helped her on her way!

At the end of her time at the school, Carol came to me and asked for eight strokes of the heavy cane stretched over the horse to draw a line under her past, admitting she had been guilty of undetected misdemeanours. She knew Jane had requested and received a caning, had seen her caned bottom and listened to her explanation. Carol could not live with herself if she had not received a similar caning.

We arranged for a session late one evening in secrecy. I gave her a severe thrashing as she had requested, and Carol took it courageously but cried like a baby. I took her to my flat afterwards and ministered to her flaming bottom, but not in a Sapphic manner. When she recovered, I got out the punishment book, and we reviewed it.

The total number of canings had decreased during the year, but they had been more severe, with a greater number of strokes per caning and often the use of the ‘number two’ cane. I did nothing Sapphic with her or any of the girls. As they were under my authority, it would have been illegal to have touched any of them. They were the ultimate forbidden fruit. My system was working, and I commend it to the authorities in this undisciplined age!