Annette’s father was posted to a new, very senior Establishment role to one of the former Commonwealth countries in Asia, which meant that the whole family was going to be uprooted. Annette and her sister were both apprehensive and a bit excited about such a big move, especially as it meant leaving their current highly respected school in England and starting at a new school in The Far East. The new school was apparently run by Nuns and was where the vast majority of well-to-do ex-patriots went.

Annette’s parents decided the move would take place over the summer holidays which would allow time for the container with their belongings to be shipped. Leaving their old school for the last time was a sad day as Annette said goodbye to many of her friends. However, there was the summer holidays to look forward to and the big move to Asia. As ever, holidays go quickly and the whole family were soon on the plane heading for the Far East from Heathrow. The accommodation that had been arranged for the family by their father’s office was wonderful and soon after came the day when they would start at their new school.

Everyone seemed very nice and they were both made very welcome by their new school chums and the teachers. However, one thing was very clear; discipline was upheld in a much stronger way than back at their old school and it was not long before one of the boys in Annette’s class was summoned to the front, told to face away from the class, drop his trousers and bend over the form table with his bottom on show to everyone. The teacher then went to her cupboard and selected a long cane and methodically thrashed his bottom six times.

This was the first time Annette had ever witnessed a caning and it had an interesting effect on her. She found it arousing to have watched the boy bend over as his underwear tightened across his bottom before receiving six fearsome whacks which could only have been extremely painful. For the next few days, every time Annette thought about the boy’s caning she felt a sexual twinge. This was not to be a one-off and over the next year Annette witnessed quite a few more canings. Each time it had the same effect on her. Certain teachers used the cane more than others and Annette would often look forward to classes taken by them and hoped that someone would misbehave and receive the inevitable caning.

There was another reason that Annette was finding these caning sessions exciting. She had been brought up by her mother to be very careful about never showing any sign of her underwear, especially when getting out of a car or when rising from a sitting position. This had been drummed in to such an extent that Annette actually found the thought of any boys seeing her underwear in itself quite thrilling and naughty, and part of the excitement of watching pupils being caned was that they always had to drop their trousers.

So far, all the canings that Annette had witnessed involved male pupils and it had been assumed that girls were not subject to such punishment. But to everyone’s surprise, later in the first year a pretty Eurasian girl was accused of misbehaviour, summoned to the front of the class and told to remove her skirt. Annette remembers the moment as the girl dropped her skirt before being told to bend over the table. The teacher involved was one that had a reputation for giving particularly severe canings and apparently there was a complete hush in the classroom as the girl bent across the desk with her pants tightening across her slim bottom.

Annette imagined with complete horror being in the girl’s position, more because of being completely exposed with her pants on show to all. The six strokes that followed were severe, and had the girl crying out from the very first whack. If Annette felt aroused by watching a boy getting the cane, she was even more affected by watching a girl being thrashed. And whilst the idea of bending over with her own knickers on display was horrifying, there was also something incredibly powerful about the thought.

Annette vowed to ensure that she never ever did anything to receive such a caning, and all the way through the next year she succeeded in staying out of trouble. She still enjoyed watching others being exposed with their trousers round their ankles and the occasional girl having to remove their skirt before getting six of the best, and found every occasion extremely arousing always resulting in a certain dampness between her legs.

But try as she might, Annette and three other girls were accused of mucking about whilst all being in the Upper Sixth. To their complete horror they were informed that all four were going to be caned and were summoned to the front. Annette watched in shock as the first three girls suffered their canings bent over the form desk with their skirts raised up and placed over their backs. It was then Annette’s turn and she did not know what was worse between the horror of all the boys seeing her bent over with her bottom completely exposed with her pants on display or the fear of the pain that was inevitably about to follow.

She imagined others that felt as she did when she was watching a caning and getting aroused, but in this case it was her bottom that was exposed and her bottom that was going to be caned. However much Annette thought how much the cane would hurt, she was simply not prepared for what happened next. Having left her in position for what seemed like an eternity, the teacher touched her bottom and took the cane back and brought it down to whack Annette’s bottom right in the middle and caused a loud gasp. She could not believe how painful just one stroke had been.

Fifteen seconds later, she received a second blow of equal severity and to all in the classroom there were now two red stripes visible through Annette’s white panties. After another fifteen seconds, a third whack struck Annette’s bottom and was immediately followed by an even more desperate gasp. Annette was gripping the far side of the desk for grim death.

Despite the pain, Annette was mortified about everyone in the room who would inevitably be focussing on her exposed bottom as it was being caned. The fourth stroke struck Annette’s bottom a little lower above the crease and in part caught a bare part of her bottom either side of her pants. If anything, there was a slightly longer gap before the fifth stroke stuck above the centre of Annette’s bottom, causing an even more urgent gasp, but she knew that she had only one more to endure.

It was known that the final stroke was usually the hardest and the teacher did not disappoint as the cane was taken back a little further before thrashing Annette’s bottom for the final time, causing an even more anguished cry. She was told to remain in position as the teacher put the cane back into the cupboard.

Eventually she was told to stand and return to her seat, and as she stood her skirt fell back into position. She faced all her class mates feeling a sense of extreme shame that they had all witnessed her being caned across her knickers. She took the few paces back to her desk with the agony she was feeling in her bottom making sitting down almost impossible. For the rest of the day Annette felt terrible and could barely look anyone in the face that had watched her caning and although the extreme pain did start to die down, she was sharply reminded every time she sat down.

She did however continue to enjoy watching others being caned and became aroused every time. Also she had to admit that thinking back to her own caning caused her to feel sexual feelings in a very confusing way. The pain of getting the cane was something she would never forget but it was almost as if the extreme embarrassment of being made to expose herself, which had been so dreadful, also turned her on.

Returning to the UK, there has only been one relationship during her time at university where Annette had been spanked. After having knocked a glass of wine over, her then boyfriend suggested that she needed a spanking and seeing the glint in her eye she was soon over his knee with her skirt raised receiving a good whacking. Annette told him about being caned at school and from that point onwards sex and spanking became synonymous for the both of them.

During this phase of Annette’s life, it was clear that a powerful and confusing part of her sexuality laid in the memories of being exposed in front of others for her caning at school. And at around this time another very powerful event occurred. Attending a party that became more of an orgy, Annette found herself surrounded by about six men who were in varying states of undress. Her memory is vague, but it was clear that something had been put into her drink that took away any sense of judgement. She was undressed and later it became clear that in the presence of her boyfriend Annette was seriously abused by several of the men. In Annette’s own words, “it was having been used as a sex toy  by all those different men that night which unfortunately strengthened my own personal feelings of inadequacy and lack of self worth.”

For Annette, the relationship with her boyfriend broke up after this rather disturbing incident which she could not forgive him for, in that he allowed it to happen. She went on to graduate and move into the teaching profession. Some years later Annette fell in love and married a man who sadly did not share an interest in any form of spanking.

Now, well over twenty years later married with grown up daughters the memory of that day when she was caned in the Upper Sixth in front of the whole class is something she thinks about almost every day. Her secret is something she has never talked about, but when anyone talks about corporal punishment in any context her ears always prick up and she feels a sense of arousal.

It was not clear what prompted Annette to do something about this hidden desire to once more experience the cane, and preferably in front of others, but prompted she was and she decided to explore the world of spanking online. Coming across the ‘Over the Desk’ website, she decided to contact Kenny Walters as a very tentative first step. Kenny was receptive and suggested that she write her story for the sister site ‘OTD Memories’ which is exactly what she did. He also suggested that he put her in touch with a friend of his by the name of Pat who he felt may be able to help her.

Over the next few weeks a number of emails were exchanged with Pat and one of the suggestions was to arrange for Annette to visit the ‘Spanking Schoolroom’ in Waltham Cross. She was attracted to the idea, but initially the suggestion was for Pat to give Annette a caning on a one-to-one basis. This would have been fine, but the missing bit for Annette would have been being caned across her knickers in front of others to replicate the extreme embarrassment of being exposed in just her underwear at school all those years ago.

Independently of her conversation with Pat, Annette discovered that in Buckinghamshire there were parties held called ‘Pants Parties’. She was excited about this idea where apparently everyone attending strips down to their underwear and there was clearly a CP theme involved. Annette was excited about this concept and after thinking about it decided to take the plunge.

The party was to be held on a Friday evening, and it was an extremely nervous Annette that drove to address given. Everyone was welcoming and, once all had arrived, the doors were closed as a sign that it was undressing time; the females down to their bra and knickers, the men to their underpants. This was surreal for Annette as she removed all her outer clothes down to her brand new plain white bra and knickers. With a gin and tonic in hand and making polite conversation, she felt her knicker elastic ‘twanged’ by a man who said: “You have a lovely bottom that I think needs the kiss of my cane”.

In Annette’s words, she felt her stomach fall by two feet as the potential reality of what had been burning inside for over twenty years might be just about to actually happen. She was led to an adjoining room by her wrist where about eight or nine people had just witnessed another woman being caned who was clearly in great pain. Annette was placed over the side arm of a large easy chair with her legs stretched out behind her and her face literally pushed into the soft seat cushion. Her bottom, encased in tightened knickers, was prominently presented to the caner and all in the room who gathered round behind her to witness another caning.

This was what Annette had dreamed about for all these years; the sheer shame of being so exposed in front of so many people and about to suffer a caning that she had not experienced for over twenty years. The caner told her that she must remain in position as he touched her bottom with the three foot cane for the first time before slowly taking it back over his shoulder and bringing it down to thrash her bottom low down above the crease. Annette would have been silly to not think this was going to be painful, but she was not ready for such a painful stroke, which immediately took her back to her caning when she was seventeen in Asia.

The shock was immense, but she stayed in position for almost a minute before the second stroke struck her bottom a little higher and was equally as painful. It occurred to Annette that she had not agreed a number of strokes and wondered what she was in for. The third stroke came a minute later with no warning and hit just below the centre of Annette’s bottom and got an involuntary gasp, but she stayed in position with everyone in the room watching avidly as there were now three red stripes that could clearly be seen through her thin pants. The caner was in no hurry and a minute later he thrashed her for the fourth time right in the centre of her bottom and again getting a anguished gasp.

The caner, turning to the audience, asked: “Do you think this lady needs six-of-the-best on her bare bottom?” To which everyone nodded.

Without any reference to Annette, she suddenly felt her knickers being lowered and taken right off, now leaving her bare bottom with four distinct stripes exposed for all to see. The next two strokes came slightly quicker with only about a 30 second gap, and were incredibly intense and painful. Annette was really starting to struggle and certainly was unable to stay still. At this point, another man stepped forward and took hold of Annette’s wrists. She had already suffered six strokes and if the promised six-of-the-best was to be it, she had four more to go.

The third across her bare bottom, or seventh in all, was an absolute peach, right across the centre and caused almost a screech from Annette who was now held in position by the second man. The caner left a full minute before taking the cane slowly back and bringing it back down to hit her bottom a little higher.

Whatever Annette had expected, this was far from enjoyable and was much more painful then she remembered. Maybe it was simply more severe or maybe her memories had been rose-coloured by the intense desire to feel the cane again. With two to go, Annette’s bottom was now badly marked and it was difficult for the caner to find gaps of white virgin bottom, but he was quite skilled and the ninth found a space just above the crease that caused an even louder gasp from her.

Everyone in the room had not moved an inch since Annette’s caning started almost ten minutes previously and knew this was the last stroke. She was held firmly by the second man as the caner landed a fearsome whack right across the centre of Annette’s bottom, inevitably on top of a previous stroke, and this caused another very loud gasp from her.

As the second man let go of Annette’s wrists, she leapt to her feet completely naked from the waist down, giving everyone a full view of her pubic triangle as she massaged her wounded bottom. She had just suffered ten strokes of the cane, six of which had been to her bare bottom. It was why she had come and, whilst she had not agreed a number of strokes, it had been consensual.

It was at this point that the man who had held her wrists took her left hand with her wedding ring and asked if her husband was present. Annette told him that he was not, to which he replied: “If that is the case, he will not know you have been disciplined and he would also not know that you have been fucked.”

At this point Annette was pushed back over the arm of the chair and taken from behind. It was not what Annette had expected but she was in no position to object. This was borderline consensual and led to Annette beating a hasty retreat.

Overall, did she regret the whole experience? The caning was very painful and worse than expected, although it was something she had wanted and gave her pleasure looking back. The embarrassment and shame of lots of people seeing in her underwear was slightly diluted by everyone being in the same state of undress. But the sexual act was something she would have preferred not to have taken place. Now it has happened, she has powerful feelings about so many people having watched her being caned and taken from behind so publicly.

Will Annette ever want another experience? Will she go to the Spanking Schoolroom? Time will tell.

Told in the third person by a friend.

AF

I received my first caning in only my second week at Grammar School. It was in 1963 and I was 11 years old. It was a History lesson and I hated it. The schoolmistress suddenly told us that we were to get a test on the lesson and handed out a question sheet to us all. Needless to say I performed very badly. She marked our answers very quickly and handed them back to us. She then announced that anyone who got less than 6 marks should see her at the end of the lesson.

The lesson ended and we were dismissed except anyone who got less than 6 marks. Everyone left except for me. I reported to Miss M and she asked me why I had got such a low mark. I tried to bluff my way out of it but she said I had not paid attention. She then told me to go to the school office and collect the cane and book. My heart sank and I tried pleading to no avail. I walked to the office and the secretary took some brief details before handing over a crook handled cane and a book. I was horrified because I had not seen a cane close up and it seemed longer than I had envisaged. I walked back down the corridor and got teased by some kids who knew that the cane was soon to be used on me.

I entered the classroom and Miss M stood up. She took the cane and the book from me. She opened the book and I watched as she wrote my name in it. I recall that she then picked up the cane before telling me to remove my blazer and bend over a desk in the front row. While I removed my blazer I noticed Miss M flexing the cane. When I was bent over Miss M adjusted my position and then stood alongside me. I felt the cane touch my bottom and made one last plea but she merely lifted the cane and it soon hit my bottom hard. I remember that it did not hurt initially but soon I felt a burning sensation. Miss M gave me two more hard strokes before walking away. She signed the punishment book before telling me to stand. I had tears in my eyes and wanted to rub my bottom. Miss M then told me that I would get six strokes next time and told me to return the cane and book to the office. I was teased by other kids as I walked back down the corridor.

I handed the cane and book into the secretary who smiled and suggested I should wash my face before going out to the playground.

I was the first pupil in my class to be caned at Grammar School and had lost my ‘caning virginity’ less than two weeks into my time at the school. It was a harsh introduction but thoroughly deserved. I had not been paying attention and deserved my punishment. One final point is that Miss M kept her promise and I did get six strokes later that year from her.

PLa

My second caning at grammar school occurred just before Christmas holiday in 1963. I was 12 by now, having had a birthday since my first caning.

It happened in a History lesson taken by Miss M again. Miss M was dressed formally with a white blouse and black tight skirt. She wore high heeled shoes like most ladies of that era and looked stunning to a teenage lad. However her lessons were very formal and I hated History. Miss M was droning on as usual and I was watching a rugby match on the school field. Miss M spotted me and told me that I had a detention for not paying attention. The lesson continued and I tried to pay attention but I struggled. Miss M decided to have a quick verbal test on the lesson. All the kids before me got their answers right and then came my turn. I can not remember the question but I do remember giving her a cheeky answer which made the class laugh. Miss M was furious and told me to stand outside the door and report to her at the end of the lesson. I knew I was in big trouble and felt very nervous. Miss M had already warned me earlier in the term that my next caning would be six strokes. It was a long frightening wait until the end of the lesson and I had butterflies in my stomach and felt sick.

The bell finally sounded and the class left. I was summoned in and Miss M read me the riot act before my worst fears were realised. I was told to go to the office and collect the cane. I walked slowly to the office and spoke to the secretary who took some details and handed me the crook handled cane and punishment book as previously. I walked back to the classroom and entered. Miss M was sat at her desk marking books. She stood up and took the book and cane. I stood and watched while she entered my name in the book.

She stood up and picked up the cane. She stood there and pointed to a desk at the front of the room and said the words all pupils dreaded: “Remove your blazer and bend over the desk.”

I removed my blazer and bent over. Miss M adjusted my posture before I felt her stand at my side. She reminded me that I was to remain in position or extra strokes would follow. She also said that I was to get six strokes. I felt the cane tap on my tight grey shorts and soon heard it swish. It hit my bottom hard and shortly after I felt a line of heat where it had struck. Miss M continued, stroke after stroke followed and the tears started. Finally it was the sixth stroke. Miss M tapped the cane hard which made me wince when it touched a previous stroke before she gave me the final stroke. It was extra hard and low down. I recall yelping out with pain.

Miss M told me to stand before reminding me that I still had the detention to serve. She signed the book and handed the cane and book to me. I was told to return them to the office and dismissed.

I walked back to the office wiping my tears as I walked. I passed some pupils who grinned at my obvious discomfort. I handed the cane and book to the secretary who smiled and said she hoped my pain would subside soon. I liked her because she was so kind.

I should have known better than be cheeky with my answer, having already got a detention, but I was like most boys of my age and felt invincible. I learnt a painful lesson which was fully deserved. I was never cheeky to a teacher again and paid attention during History lessons after that.

PLa

At break time I reported back, guessing what she had in mind for me as I and a number of girls had been there before. Miss H had a teenage family of her own and made full use of her training when it came to discipline at home, so she kept telling us.

As expected, her own stool, which stood taller than ours, was in position awaiting my arrival as was a slipper which was resting on her table. She never minced her words and with “immature” and “grow up” ringing in my ears I removed my blazer and positioned myself over the stool.

I knew I had only myself to blame and from previous experience knew this lady could seriously sting a girls bottom. On this occasion, I had a short skirt on which could be flipped back.

She pulled back the skirt to reveal my knicker clad bottom and, knowing the slipper would soon be arriving, I gripped the stool harder. I wasn’t wrong. It slapped into my bottom with a frightening slap. I couldn’t stop myself yelling at its intensity.

After slap two I yelled louder and longer before slap three landed. The fires of hell were now burning in my bum and the tears began. Slap four and I was now getting more distraught, kicking my feet and rolling about on the stool.

Slap five, I could hold on no longer and was up off the stool frantically rubbing at my throbbing bum, before assuming the position once more. I felt totally humiliated now as the skirt went back up once again and Miss H let fly with her slipper. Up off the stool, I shot my hands once again on my knickers and howled like a girl half my age.

Break was nearly over by the time I left, my bottom feeling twice its size and my ego reduced by half.

Annie

I attended a primary school in the south of England between 1959 and 1963. It was a strict school and the cane was used regularly. During my four years there I felt the cane on three occasions and the ruler four times. My first time was with a wooden 12 inch ruler and I got one whack on each hand for misbehaving from my class teacher, Mr R. This was in my first year.

In the second year I moved into a class taught by Mrs H. She gave me one whack with her wooden ruler on each hand on two occasions. It got worse in the third year. My teacher was Miss P, a spinster in her 50s. She gave me three whacks on my left hand with her long ruler for misbehaving. This was about 2 feet long and 1 inch wide.

But I also got my first caning that year. I was shouting in class and got sent to the headmistress. Mrs S was a tall lady in her 40s who patrolled the corridors during lessons. She heard me shouting and came into our class. She spoke to Miss P and then summoned me to follow her. We entered her office and she gave me a lecture before pulling out a book. I watched as she wrote my name in it. Then she stood up and took a straight handled cane from a shelf. I was ordered to hold out my left hand and she gave me three strokes. I was then dismissed.

It got worse in my last year there. My class teacher was Mr C. This was unusual because most teachers were ladies. I got caught running in the corridor one day and was sent to the headmistress. She wrote my name in the book before giving me two strokes on each hand. Boy did that hurt! When I was dismissed I was warned that my next caning would be harder.

I tried to avoid any more visits to her but I got caught playing football in one of the classrooms during lunch. This was obviously not allowed but also the classrooms were out of bounds unless it was raining. Another visit to Mrs S followed. I got a lecture before the inevitable caning. To my horror Mrs S used a longer and thicker cane this time. I got three strokes on each hand. As she put it, three for playing football and three for being in the classroom without permission. I had never felt so much pain and my hands were very swollen and red afterwards.

Luckily this was my last caning from her. I left at the end of the year and went to a strict grammar school. I would like to say things improved but sadly they didn’t. I got the cane 18 times there in five years. I have written about some of them already. So counting my primary school canings I was caned 21 times in 9 years and a total of 109 strokes. Not a record to be proud of!

PLa

In the second year at grammar school I got my first canings from men teachers. It may sound surprising that I had not been caned by them before but the majority of my teachers were ladies. However that changed quickly in the first term. I was 13 at the time and was running along a corridor. I ran into a lady teacher, Mrs G, and knocked her over. She was furious and marched me to the deputy head. I was not taken to the Headmaster because he was on long term sick leave.

The deputy, Mr L, listened to Mrs G and then asked for my version. I admitted running in the corridor and colliding with Mrs G. He asked me what punishment I deserved for assaulting her like that. I said that I deserved a caning. He agreed and said it would be a severe caning. This made me frightened.

Although I had been caned in the first year this was my first caning by a male teacher. Mr L was a fit man in his 40s and I feared the worst. He went to a cupboard and removed a crook handled cane which looked thicker and longer than those used on me previously. He also removed a book and started writing in it. Finally he stood and removed his jacket and rolled up one of his shirt sleeves. Meanwhile Mrs G had placed a chair in the middle of the room.

I was told I was to receive six strokes and they would be on my bare bottom. He explained that he and the Headmaster were permitted to do this in serious cases. He also explained that normally the school secretary would witness his canings but on this occasion he felt it appropriate for Mrs G to do it. I agreed as she was the victim in this incident.

Mrs G stood behind the desk so I was facing her when bent over the chair. She was in her late 20s, long blond hair in a pony tail, a large curvy lady, and wearing a formal black dress with high heeled shoes. I removed my blazer and was told to stand at the chair back.

Mr L then told me to drop my trousers and pants and then bend over the chair back. I did as I was told and waited for my fate. Mr L stood alongside me and soon his cane touched my bare bottom. It felt strangely cold but that soon changed when he whipped it down for the first time. The burning pain followed and I let out a slight yelp.

The second stroke seemed harder and I yelped louder. Tears had started flowing by now. Three more strokes followed with the same result. The final stroke crashed down hard and low, making me cry out loud. Thankfully Mr L retreated behind the desk. He told me to face him. I was rubbing my bottom furiously by now, totally oblivious to the fact that my front was fully visible to both teachers.

Mr L tactfully suggested I get dressed and I realised and got dressed. Mr L asked me to apologise to Mrs G which I did before he asked how many detentions I had that term. I said one, so he awarded me one which was to be served the next night after school. This meant one more in the term meant a repeat visit to him. I was then dismissed and rapidly made my way to the toilets to freshen up.

Well, as you can guess, it did not take long before I got the third detention. It was in a music class with Mrs G as the teacher. What a surprise! The next morning my name was read out in assembly along with a fifth form girl. I was sent to the deputy Head and she was sent to the senior mistress.

Mr L was a long time coming and the girl had already had her caning before he arrived. As I expected, she left rubbing her bottom and red eyed. Finally Mr L arrived and ushered me in. The secretary soon followed. Mr L read me the riot act about my behaviour before announcing that I was to get six strokes. I removed my blazer and stood behind the chair. He ordered me to drop my trousers which I did before bending over the back of the chair.

The secretary moved forward and tucked my shirt up before gently pulling down my pants. I did not have long to wait and soon the first stroke arrived, closely followed by the next two. Mr L seemed in a hurry that day. The last three were slower and harder making me gasp as the pain arrived. The last stroke was extremely hard and low as usual. Finally it was over and I wiped my tears away.

I was told to stand and to my relief the secretary was stood behind me. She was very tactful in not adding to my embarrassment. I rubbed my bottom furiously before I was told to get dressed. I was dismissed and went to the toilet to freshen up before reporting for registration. Luckily I never visited him again but I did get three more canings in my second year but that’s to be told later.

PLa

My third caning of the second year was in a music lesson with Mrs G. This was the lady who I had knocked over in the corridor who now seemed to find any reason to punish me. Luckily for me, she only taught music.

Mrs G had us practicing hymns and after some time she told us we had finished. Like an idiot I slammed by hymn book closed very loudly. She looked up from the piano and demanded to know who did it. I admitted it as everyone else was looking at me. Mrs G told me to report to her at the end of the day.

The day passed slowly and my thoughts were on the caning I was sure to receive. I reported to Mrs G as instructed at the end of the day. She was sat behind a desk marking some books when I arrived. She told me that she was fed up with me and she was going to cane me. I was told to collect the book and cane. As usual the secretary smiled when I arrived and soon handed them to me.

I walked back with a heavy heart and fearing a very hard caning. Mrs G was in her late 20s, long blond hair in a pony tail, a large curvy lady, and wearing her normal long black dress with high heeled shoes. She had placed a stool in the middle of the room by the time I arrived back. She took the cane and book and told me to remove my blazer. I removed my blazer while she wrote in the book.

Mrs G told me to bend over the stool and then walked towards me. She made me adjust my posture until she was satisfied. Then she stood alongside me. Mrs G touched the cane before quickly lifting it back. It quickly cracked down and I soon felt the burning pain cross my bottom. I did not have long to wait for the second, third or fourth strokes which got me grunting as the pain bit. I was relieved when I heard her walk away and decided to stand up and rub my bottom.

Mrs G was not happy with this and ordered me back over the stool. I did so quickly. Mrs G then walked back to my side and told me I had two more strokes for moving without being told. She touched the cane again and soon it hit my bottom hard. Tears were rolling down my face as she lined up the sixth stroke. It was extra hard and low, resulting in a loud yelp from me. Mrs G then walked away again. I dared not move and stayed bent over.

Finally Mrs G told me to stand and replace my blazer. Mrs G handed me the cane and book before dismissing me with a warning that any future bad behaviour would result in a visit to the Headmaster. I walked back to the office and handed the cane and book to the secretary. My walk home was slow and painful. Mrs G was the only teacher I disliked. She seemed to enjoy any chance to inflict pain on me for minor offences.

PLa

My fourth caning of the second year was in a chemistry lesson being taught by Mr B. He was in his 50s and a stickler for safety. During the lesson I was mucking around and spilt some acid. Mr B noticed immediately and told me to clean it up. He also told me how to do so safely.

When I had completed the clean up he told me I should not be mucking around in a chemistry lab and I was to be punished for it. He told me to remove my lab coat and report to the office for the book and cane. I duly reported to the secretary who smiled and handed them over. It was a long walk to the science block and I finally entered the lab.

Mr B had finished the experiments by now and the class were all sat on stools. I handed him the cane and book. I watched as he wrote my details in the book. He then picked up the cane and told me to bend over and touch my toes at the front of the class. This was not easy for a tall boy like me but I managed to achieve a position he was satisfied with eventually. Mr B then stood alongside me.

I felt the cane touch my bottom and shortly after it cracked down hard. I struggled to stay still due to the force used. Mr B repeated the dose even harder with the second stroke. I found staying in position very hard and would have preferred to have bent over a chair or desk. Mr B then administered the third stroke which I greeted with a cry of pain. Tears were starting to roll by now. Mr B then lifted his cane and delivered a really hard and low stroke making me stumble forward. I cried as it hit.

To my relief he then walked away and announced to the class that any future mucking around in his lessons would get the same. I was told to stand and he handed me the book and cane to return. I took them back to the office and the secretary offered me a tissue to wipe my eyes. I returned to the lab just as the bell rang for the end of lesson. I never played around in a chemistry lesson again. Lesson learnt the hard way.

PLa

After a very painful second year I vowed to behave better in the third year. It started out well but just before Christmas it went all wrong. I was 14 by now and beginning to notice girls and their effect on me. I was in a Latin lesson being taught by Miss H. She was tall and slim, long black hair, black spectacles, in her 20’s, and liked wearing long tight dresses with black high heeled shoes.

During the lesson one of the girls was called to the front of the class for misbehaving. She was given a detention and told to return to her seat. As she walked past me I gave her a playful whack on her bottom. Very politically incorrect now, I know. She giggled and Miss H looked round. She demanded to know what was so funny and the girl told her I had given her a playful smack for being naughty. Miss H asked me if it was true and I admitted it.

She told both of us to report to her at the end of the lesson. At the end of the lesson it was break time. We reported to Miss H and she told us she was disappointed in us. She told us that, as we thought it was funny to be smacked on the bottom, we were going to be caned. She sent the girl for the cane and book. Meanwhile I was told to move the teacher’s chair to a side of the desk.

The girl soon returned and Miss H started writing in the book while we were told to remove our blazers. Miss H told me to stand outside the door and ordered the girl to bend over the chair. I listened intently and heard four strokes of the cane and some cries of pain. The girl then came out and I was ushered in.

Miss H told me to bend over the chair. I waited as she walked to my side. I felt the cane touch and Miss H told me I was to get three strokes of the cane. The first stroke hit hard and central, making me wince as the pain arrived. Miss H hesitated before bringing the cane back on my bottom. It soon cracked down again with the same result. Miss H hesitated again before delivering the third stroke hard and low. I let out a loud gasp but managed to prevent the tears.

Miss H walked away and told me to ask the girl to come in. We were then given a lecture before Miss H told the girl that she did not have to serve the detention as she had been given an extra stroke of the cane. I was given the cane and book to return. We walked out together and I gave the cane and book to the secretary. This had been one of the least painful canings I endured. I had expected a lot harsher caning for my actions.

PLa

My second caning in the third year came just before Easter. I got a detention for forgetting my text book in a geography class. I attended the next evening and the teacher in charge was Miss W. She was in her 30s and a PE Mistress who played hockey at county level. She was wearing her sports gear of short skirt and polo type top. Her ginger hair was short and practical for a sports person.

There were four of us in detention and Miss W got us writing lines. I got distracted by a rugby match on the field outside. Miss W noticed and called my name. I was so engrossed I did not even notice until she was stood alongside me.

Miss W asked what was so interesting and I said I got distracted by the rugby. Miss W told me that the idea of detention was that I did an hour’s hard work which I clearly was not going to do. She told me to go to the secretary and collect the book and the cane. I reported to the secretary who handed me the cane and book. I walked back fearfully in the knowledge that Miss W was extremely fit and was likely to cane very hard.

I walked in and Miss W took them from me. She started to write in the book and told me to remove my blazer. I did not have long to wait before I was ordered to bend over the teacher’s desk. Miss W warned the other pupils to continue work or they would also be caned.

Miss W stood alongside me and I felt the cane tap. Shortly after I heard the swish and felt it hit hard and central. I soon felt the burning line I had come to know well. Miss W continued and the second stroke hit harder still. It had hit low on my bottom and was so painful. I yelped loudly. Miss W continued and soon the third stroke cracked down equally low and hard making me cry out loudly. To my relief Miss W walked away. Miss W then told me to stand.

She handed the cane and book to me and told me to return them. I walked to the secretary who took them and made my way back to detention. Miss W told me to sit and continue my lines or I would be sent to the Headmaster. Despite my pain I managed to complete my detention. At the end we were all dismissed.

Miss W had proved that PE Mistresses certainly caned hard and effectively. I was so glad I only got three strokes, a full six would have been too painful. Thankfully she did not teach me for any lessons and I felt sorry for girls in her PE classes.

PLa

My final caning in the fourth year was in the last week of the school year. I was 15 and demob happy, looking forward to the school holidays. We were on a trip to London and not in school uniform visiting a museum. I was now fully appreciating the beauty of ladies and there were plenty in London.

I was in a group and saw a lovely lady nearby. She was in her 20s at a guess and wearing a mini skirt and tight fitting top. I made some comments about her body to a friend, deliberately loud enough for her to hear. She immediately looked around and came over. She asked me which school I was from and I told her. She asked me to take her to one of the teachers so I took her to Miss K who was in charge of our group.

The lady spoke to Miss K for a few minutes before Miss K came to me. Miss K said the lady was upset by my comments and suggested that I apologise. I walked to the lady and said I was sorry for my comments and upsetting her. Miss K spoke to the lady again and the lady left.

Miss K then came to me and told me that I was to remain with her for the rest of the trip and to report to her during registration the next day. The next day I duly went to registration and informed my form mistress that I had to report to Miss K. Not surprisingly she already knew. I walked to Miss K’s classroom where she was the form mistress for a first year class. I knocked on the door and she ushered me in.

Miss K was in her late 20s, average build, straight long dark hair, curvy and wearing a tight green skirt, a white blouse, green jumper and black high heeled shoes. She taught History but had never taught me. She told me to go to the school secretary and collect the cane and book. I suspected that was likely but hoped I might get off with a lecture as it was the last week of term.

I walked to the office and the secretary answered. I told her I had come for the cane and book which she handed over. I walked back to the classroom along deserted corridors as everyone was in registration. I entered and Miss K took them from me. I noticed she had moved furniture around and placed a chair in the front of the class.

Miss K started writing in the book and I started removing my blazer without being asked. Miss K picked up the cane and flexed it before telling me to bend over the chair back. I bent over and noticed that every pupil in the class was staring at me. Miss K then announced to the class that I was being caned for being rude to a lady in London. She told them that none of them would have seen her use a cane before as she did not usually agree with it. However this was one occasion that she felt deserved it.

Miss K stood alongside me and then the cane touched my bottom. Miss K started tapping, rather hard, which stung my bottom. Before I knew it she had lifted the cane and it landed hard on the top of my bottom. The burning line soon arrived and I attempted to alleviate it by tensing my bottom. Miss K told me to say still. She paused before the tapping returned hard and vigorously. Then the second stroke landed just below the first. I could not stop the yelp that followed, much to the amusement of her class. Miss K told them to behave or they could join me. Miss K delivered three more hard strokes each slightly below the previous one. Each had the desired effect and I had tears starting.

She then tapped the cane very hard right at the lowest part of my bottom before she lifted the cane back. One of her pupils told me she lifted it over her shoulder but I do not know if this was an exaggeration. It landed extremely hard at the lowest point of my bottom, resulting in a loud cry of pain. Some of her class laughed until she warned them again to be silent or they would be next. I suspect this was an idle threat as she had probably wanted me to be humiliated by their laughter.

This was one of the most embarrassing canings I suffered. I could see all those first years’ eyes looking at me through my tears. I was very pleased to hear her high heels click away from me. She told me to stand. I was told to replace my blazer before being handed the cane and book. She dismissed me with a final warning that it would be the Headmaster next time. I thanked Miss K before leaving.

I had truly expected to be visiting the Headmaster for a hard bare bottom caning. I walked to the office and handed in the cane. The secretary was retiring at the end of the week. She said she hoped that would be the last time she handed the cane and book to me. She was a lovely lady and I thanked her for her comments and consideration when I had been there previously. I quickly freshened up before returning to class just as registration ended.

This was a very humiliating and painful punishment I suffered especially when teased by the first years in break. Did I deserve it? Definitely, because I embarrassed a lovely lady with my comments and been very rude. My next lesson was very painful and I got warned several times by the teacher to stop fidgeting. Miss K had delivered a very expert caning for someone who did not use the cane normally.

Pla

My third and fourth canings in the third year came in English lessons being taught by Mrs F. I was 14 at the time and now aware of the female form. Mrs F was short, slim and curvy, in her 50s, greying hair and wearing a smart dark blue polo necked top which showed her attributes, dark blue skirt and dark blue high heeled shoes.

Mrs F collected in our homework before telling us to read some chapters of a book. I did not understand the book and asked the girl next to me for help. Mrs F heard me speak and told me to stand up. I was awarded a detention which would have made three in that term.

At the end of the lesson I approached Mrs F and asked if she would cane me instead of the detention. Mrs F asked why and I made an excuse that I was going out with my parents the next evening. Mrs F hesitated but finally agreed after I pleaded. I was sent for the cane and book and made the familiar journey to the secretary.

I was soon back and handed the items to Mrs F. She told me to remove my blazer and started writing in the book. Shortly after, she told me to bend over her chair. I was mesmerised as she flexed the cane. Soon Mrs F was at my side. I was surprised because she was left handed and not standing on the side I expected.

The cane tapped several times before the cane cracked down on my bottom. I gasped slightly as the pain arrived. It was not long before the second stroke arrived low and hard. I gasped again. I was then somewhat shocked as I heard Mrs F walking away. I hoped she had finished but she then asked me if this would have been my third detention this term. I said it would. She returned and stood alongside me.

To my horror she said: “I had better give you six then.”

I was terrified and realised she knew my game. Was I going to get six more? I got four more hard strokes from her which brought out the waterworks. Mrs F then walked away. I stayed in position until Mrs F told me to stand and put my blazer on. I had escaped with six not eight strokes.

She told me that she did not often give in to pupil’s requests but had realised what I was doing. She told me I was not the first to try that deception and would not be the last. I apologised to her. I should have realised an experienced teacher would have seen through my attempted deception. I was given the cane and book and soon returned them to the secretary.

I suppose it had been a good day overall for me. Instead of a detention and six strokes of the cane from the Headmaster, I had escaped with only six strokes from Mrs F. Lucky me, but at least I kept my trousers on!

I got my repeat performance from her in the next term so there were no detention fears. I had not done my English homework and Mrs F told me to see her at the end of the lesson. I suspected a detention was to follow but could not understand why she had not just awarded me it there and then. But I did not learn from this and was not paying attention, as usual. The result was that Mrs F noticed and sent me out of the room. At the end of the lesson she called me in. She was dressed in a tight fitting black dress with black high heeled shoes. She looked so elegant, very professional and smart.

She told me she was fed up with my attitude to her lessons and was going to give me a detention for the homework issue but had decided that I needed a more serious reminder. She offered me a choice of either a caning from her or I could choose to report to either the Headmaster, deputy Head or senior mistress and take their punishment.

I did not need any thinking time and immediately chose a caning from her. I am sure she knew my choice, given her other options. She told me to go and collect the cane and book. I made my way to the secretary who immediately handed them to me. I reported back to Mrs F and handed her the cane and book. She told me to remove my blazer and started writing in the book. When she finished she picked up the cane and flexed it several times before ordering me to bend over her desk.

I felt excited watching her but frightened of the pain I knew would follow. I bent over as directed and waited as I heard her high heels clicking as she walked towards me. I remembered she was left handed so was not surprised where she stood this time. When in position she announced that I was getting four strokes, two for each offence, and a further two strokes because it was two offences making a total of six. I soon felt the cane tapping and the first stroke arrived, followed by the burning sensation I was familiar with. Mrs F calmly and deliberately delivered strokes two, three and four. She then tapped the cane again and stroke five cracked down making me cry out. Finally she tapped the cane for the sixth time. I knew it would be low and hard but was still surprised at how painful it was.

Mrs F then told me to stand and replace my blazer. She handed me the book and cane and then dismissed me. I took the cane and book back to the secretary who was her normal compassionate self. Mrs F was nicknamed the pocket rocket by the kids and she certainly lived up to it. How could such a short slim lady cause so much pain? She was an excellent teacher. I never resented Mrs F because I deserved the cane both times, painful as they were. She was also very fair because she need not have given me a choice even if she knew I would never choose the Headmaster, deputy Head or senior mistress.

PLa

Up until I was 7 years old I attended a kindergarten/prep school in a North western suburb of London. The school was run by a very kind lady and her husband. I was quite bright and got on well there. Any naughtiness was dealt with by a mild slap on the hand, at worst.

At age 7 it was decided that I should go to the local primary school. Whilst I was quite confident that I would cope with bigger classes and possibly better structured work I was concerned that I might get hit. I was a very advanced reader and had read school stories like Billy Bunter, 5th Form at St Dominics and others with much caning etc.

My parents did their best to allay my fears. Firstly, they said it is very rare that anybody is smacked at school theses days and only VERY naughty boys  ever got hit. Being a generally good boy I was bound to avoid any such incident.

On the first day of term, I joined a class who had been taught in infants by Miss O, so they knew what she was like. To me, she was an imposing figure and, although she was probably in her early twenties, she seemed really very grand.

Our first lesson was arithmetic. Miss O showed us exactly how to fold the page in our book in half and to write the sums in the left hand side and the answers on the right opposite. This was not THAT long after WW2 and we had to be careful not to waste precious materials.

I had been put at the front desk by the window and a girl, Ruth G, was sitting next to me.

After a little while we were called out to show Miss our work. I was the first and, although not everything was correct, I had done well enough to earn a ‘Well done’ from Miss O.

Next up was Ruth. As soon as she saw the girl’s book she became very annoyed. Ruth had not followed instructions and her work was messy and all over the page. After telling her off for a few moments Miss O opened her cupboard and produced a big white plimsoll.

“Bend over,” she ordered.

The hapless girl did as instructed. Miss O the flipped up the back of Ruth’s gymslip and delivered three firm, stinging cracks across her bottom. Ruth was then told to sit down and do the work again.

She was red in the face and in some distress when she returned to her seat. I had learned two important lessons within half an hour of being at school:

1) Parents lie to children

2) You don’t mess with Miss O.

Over the next 4 years most of the class, myself included, felt the effect of a slipper on our bottoms but by the time we left and Miss O had become Mrs B, all of us had great affection for her and had been very well taught.

HL

I was never any good at Art, and Mrs B asked the class to paint EITHER a scene from our school trip on the Royal Daffodil from Tower Bridge to Canvey Island, OR a scene from our summer holidays.

I decided to try to paint a scene of the Ford plant at Dagenham which our boat had passed. My first effort was pretty dreadful, I must admit. Mrs B grumbled about wasting paper and paint but gave me another chance. If anything this effort was even worse and I was hugely castigated and told that I was to try again but if I could do no better, then ‘Woe betide’.

I decided to change the subject and painted my impression of the Swiss mountains, which I had visited last year. I was quite pleased with my effort, especially the snow clad peaks which resembled a Toblerone chocolate. She took one look and accused me of trying to be funny. She told me that no mountains looked like that and hauled me out to the front of the classroom. She pushed me over her desk and gave me my first ever six of the best. She hit me very hard and it was all I could do to hold back the tears, which were a mixture of pain and indignant anger. When I got home I saw that my bottom was still red and bruised!

This story has a twist in its, rather sore, tail.

The next art lesson, we had to paint a monogram designed around our initials, my initials being H and L.

I painted what looked like a TV aerial. At that time there was a childrens’ TV presenter with my initials. He was known as HL.

I showed Mrs B my effort with not a little trepidation.

“That is excellent,” she said. “Look class, Harry has made his monogram like a TV aerial to remind us of the presenter, HL. It is easily better than anybody else’s effort. It will go on the wall!”

I am certain this was her way of apologising for her treatment of me on the previous week.

HL

Twice a year we heard the dreaded words ‘it’s cross country today, girls’.

My heart would sink for I hated it. It was a run round the school and its perimeter rather than a cross country. It was something I could easily achieve but didn’t want to. As a sixteen year old, running around the school in your knickers didn’t seem cool so I made the decision to duck into a gap where dustbins were stored. I knew the line would pass the other side on its way back and re-joining would be easy.

I realised idea my was not original when I found myself with a bunch of other girls pulling the same stunt. As the gaggle passed the other side, we blended in one at a time and then ran back to the gym for a shower.

As we arrived back at the gym, the changing rooms and showers were to the right, but Miss Winton, with a piece of paper in her hand, sent me left before ticking my name off her list. I found myself in a line consisting of those who had cheated; how she knew I’ve never worked out but, as the last arrived back, reprisals began.

One at a time, we were called into the gym to bend over the leather buck. Miss Winton’s thick ruler was raised and was soon cracking hard into offending backsides. The usual expectation would have been for her to stop at six, but no, she was making an example of us and didn’t stop until we had all received twelve.

As the first distraught girl shuffled out of the gym, the rest of us stared in disbelief of what was to come. The second girl took her place and we all moved one step closer to our destiny of which we could do nothing but wait our turn.

All too soon, I was next in the queue for punishment and I felt myself shaking at the prospect of my walk to bend over the buck. My turn came soon enough and I trudged over to the place of punishment and bent over for my twelve strokes. My resolve to remain stoic was broken after three whacks. I swear she was venting her anger on my bottom as I kicked and screamed as the onslaught continued.

At nine strokes she stopped and walked round the buck. “Do you wish to see the headmistress?”  She asked.

Six of the best or three more from her, it was my decision.

“Three more, Miss.” I mumbled through my tears.

At least the break had given my rear some breathing space before the final three descended. Like all the girls before me, I shuffled back to the door to join the end of the queue before the last two were dealt with.

Once complete, Miss Winton lectured us on cheating before dropping the bombshell that we were to return at four o’clock with kit to run the circuit again. Dismissed from the punishment line, we had to shower and change before the last lesson of the day. It had to be double Geography. I was due a slippering for no homework handed in last lesson and at four I found myself bending over again for six whacks of the slipper.

Normally, this wouldn’t have been too bad, especially from her as she didn’t lay the slipper on with the venom that some did, but after that whacking I got in the gym, a smack with a feather would have felt painful. Then it was back to the gym. Miss Winton was waiting and aware of my other meeting as the last two of the others set off on their run.

“Last one back gets the stick again.” She told me, and I still had to change.

I was off as quick as I could, determined to catch those others up despite my throbbing bottom, but that was the same for all of us. I was disappointed to see the two of them enter the gym not far in front of me and, on reaching the door, was immediately ordered to bend over. My bottom received another crack with the ruler.

The other two, however much they thought not being last was all they needed to do, were in for a shock. Doing just about doing enough to leave me trailing in last was a big mistake and Miss Winton wasn’t going to let it pass. They too were made to bend over and, unlike me, got three apiece on top of the previous twelve for not trying.

Now it was time to face mum. Peter, my brother, had already heard on the school grapevine what had happened and told mum I had a hockey practice to attend, but that was to cost me. I had to show him my damaged bottom and let him rub his hand around it. I didn’t really understand at the time but I didn’t dislike it and anything was better than mum finding out the truth.

Annie

I was late for biology. Lateness with Miss H had happened for a couple of the girls previously and the resulting bottoms were not something you courted. I ran down the corridor slap bang into my art teacher; the drawings she was carrying flew everywhere. I was very apologetic and helped her pick the drawings up. She knew I was late and delayed me as long as she could before demanding I see her at 4 o’clock.

I scurried along to the biology lab, only to find a line of girls still waiting for Miss H. It occurred to me I had rushed for nothing and now had an after school meeting with my art teacher. 4 o’clock arrived all to quickly for me. It’s amazing how slowly time can pass when you are willing it to speed up, and to my surprise I wasn’t the only one she wanted to see, for there at her door were three other. All were either first or second years. I, a fourth year, must have stuck out like a sore thumb.

We were all called in together and this had me worried. There was no doubt she would slipper me; I expected nothing less, but in front of a boy, surely not. It turned out we had all broken one or more of the school rules that day and our bottoms were going to pay the price. She kept the boy and sent the rest of us out. One of the girls asked me what would happen next.

“You’ll soon find out.” I replied.

There were two loud cracks of leather on bottom, before the boy shot out of the room rubbing his bottom furiously.

“Does that answer your question?” I asked the girl who was now looking rather worried. “Don’t fret.” I told her. “I’ll get a lot more than two.”

Next she called the three of us in. Her sandal was already off.

“You first, Annie; show these two what to do.”

I removed my jacket and she clipped up my skirt to leave my maroon knickers on display. One of the others sniggered until they were told to do the same. Their skirts were also clipped up out of the way. They now had their knickers on display and the sniggering had certainly stopped as the realisation stepped in.

I was ordered to touch my toes and duly did, determined to put on a show that would not alarm the other two. With each whack, I gritted my teeth and tried to keep a smile on my face when common-sense said howl like hell. The trouble was, the less noise I made the harder she landed that shoe. She must have thought the lesson wasn’t getting through, so by the time she had finished my bottom was aflame and there was no rubbing for me as I stood back in line with my hands on my head.

The next girl was stood in position and told to touch her toes. Her crime was not having her school tie fastened properly. I did feel sorry for her; two cracks of the sandal for that, the old grouch must have been in a bad mood. The first crack landed across her right cheek followed swiftly by a second to her left. The swiftness of the second didn’t give her time to react from the first but after the second she was in floods of tears and visibly shaken by the experience.

Number three had seen the reaction and was in tears as she bent over. Eating sweets in school had been her crime and now punishment time awaited her. She was a chubby little girl, who could perhaps do without the sweets and, with a bottom to match the rest of her, I wondered how much effect the sandal would have. I didn’t have to wait long as two swift strokes smacked into her stretch knickers. She howled at each stroke and danced on the spot. This was a testament to the effectiveness of that sandal, not that I needed telling. She was lucky; no hands on head time for her. It was clips off and straight out of the classroom for some frantic rubbing for the three of us.

Annie

I recall as a youngster being fascinated by the cane and the idea of someone being spanked, although I wasn’t spanked at home. I do remember watching Billy Bunter on TV; he was always getting caned, so maybe this was the cause. But I do remember such thoughts at age about 7 or 8.

An incident that occurred while staying at my grandparents, who lived in a different town, also excited me. I was playing at the house of a friend there one evening, in the living room with both our mothers present. We were playing round the table and he just stopped running round, stood still with his legs slightly apart and deliberately wet his pants.

His mother was not amused! She took him into the next room where I heard some shouting followed by the unmistakable sound of a belt landing, accompanied by howls. When he emerged, he didn’t look any too happy, clearly having been strapped for his antics. I often wished I had the courage to pee myself like that. And the thought of getting strapped for it too? Well, that made the whole prospect seem so exciting.

At primary school, if you misbehaved, then you would get smacked by the teacher. That would involve either, if necessary rolling up the sleeve, getting you arm slapped, or else, at this time, boys wore short trousers, pulling up the trouser leg, or skirt if it was a girl, just enough to allow the thigh to be slapped.

I remember there was a dinner lady who had a glove she carried with her and used to protect her hand while she gave a slapping. I always used to hope she would never catch me getting up to mischief, because with that glove she used to give your legs a really good slapping. It always used to make me cry.

I got slapped several times and used to fear that happening, yet I found the punishment exciting.

In the junior part of the school, the headmistress had a cane, which was given on the hands, both boys and girls, but not very often. I got it once, but I could hardly feel a thing.

Then followed the 11 plus, which was the system in operation for secondary school selection at that time. I was awarded a place at one of the two local grammar schools for boys. It was for boys only. It was also on the register of public schools and it considered itself a leading player in that circle.

I was the only one from my school to be awarded a scholarship to that school. I remember how it was stated, almost with terror, by some pupils at the primary school, that if you misbehaved at this school, you got the cane on your BOTTOM! The very idea of that seemed to instil horror in the minds of most other students. I remember that threat had for me a peculiar fascination.

Well, I survived at this school for about 18 months, but of course, the inevitable happened. I remember that first occasion well. I knew I had done wrong and deserved to be punished. I had expected the cane to really hurt. After all, there seems to be little purpose in caning someone if it is not intended to hurt.

I entered the headmaster’s study with anticipation. Would this hurt more than getting my legs slapped? After the customary lecture on what I had done, I was told I was to get three strokes. I was commanded to toe the edge of the carpet, then bend over and put my hands below my knees. Those three strokes of the cane were delivered in quick succession.

It had finished and I felt nothing. Then there was a sudden explosion of sting, though not real pain. It certainly produced a good sting, but no more.

I came out of his study feeling really disappointed and cheated. I felt I hadn’t been punished properly. It hadn’t been quite the painful and challenging experience I use to receive at the hands of our dinner lady! This may sound crazy, but I felt I had really wanted it to hurt and make me cry.

Still, the sting was a new and exciting experience. And I went to the toilet and felt my bottom. I could feel the double ridges produced by the cane, and they felt so hot to the touch. That night I admired the red double tram lines in the mirror and could still feel the ridges. The ridges soon disappeared, but the lines lasted abut a week before they faded completely.

So the experience was exciting and left me with the hope it would not be my last caning and that on the next occasion, maybe he would decide I needed to be punished more severely and would this time hurt me and make me cry.

I was caned several more times at school, each one equally disappointing and unsatisfactory. On one occasion, the headmaster told me not to bend over too far because he didn’t want to hurt me too much. He had told me I was going to get six strokes, and I thought this time it might hurt me, but no such luck!

I was left with this overwhelming desire to be caned properly; caned by someone who understood that the sole purpose in caning someone was to make it hurt.

As a young adult, I would fantasise about such things. In those pre-internet, days, making contact was not that easy. But I did eventually find ways to make contact and feel the cane as it was intended, but that is another story, maybe for later.

DD

We had a system at school for dealing with girls who we considered had been out of order or had snitched on another girl. It was quite simple really. We lined up along the gym wall and formed a tunnel with our hands on the wall and forced her to enter one end and exit the other. She had no choice, she would have been pushed in if necessary and as she made her way to the other end she would be kicked or get her bottom smacked as she passed by. The system was in place long before I started there and the teachers tended to turn a blind eye to it.

One girl who wasn’t well liked emerged rather battered from her ordeal; she hadn’t been quick enough through. The day after, her mother had been in to school and made a serious complaint about it. The day after that, the boys were sent out of assembly and the headmistress stood on the stage. She made it quite clear that the school would not condone what she called a barbaric practice, plus all the girls involved would be identified and caned.

She read out three names and asked them to stand. She then asked for the girls to admit they were part of it by also standing up. Two did, and the rest of us stayed firmly seated. The five of them were sent to her office for six of the cane.

That morning the witch hunt began and by lunch time we were all identified and told to report to the gym. To our surprise it was Miss Winton who emerged complete with her stick. The headmistress was officially on a course for a few days, had only come in to deal with this matter, and had left it to her to deal with.

So instead of the cane we were to receive six of the stick. There were six of us lined up, but when asked the question two were excused for a week and sent back out. As there were now only four of us she lined us up in the gym and told us to bend over. She flipped our skirts out of the way and stood at the end of the line. She gave our bottoms two hefty cracks then moved on to the next girl, and so on down the line. She then went down the line giving us another two whacks, and then again until we had all received six.

There were some sore bottoms in the school that day, but the five that got the cane would have got the sorest bottoms of all. As for the two that were delayed punishment, they got the cane when the headmistress was back.

Annie

Probably my first recollection of spanking being a turn on was nearly 35 years ago. I was sent to my aunt and uncle’s home to stay for the night and following day. My parents had to go out of town and my aunt was to watch over me for a day or two.

I was around 9-10 years old at the time. My aunt and uncle lived on a rural southern Indiana farm. They had two children. Their son was around 16 years old and their daughter was about 14-15 years old. Even though they were considerably older than myself, I enjoyed having them to play with.

I was at their house to spend the night. That evening, my cousin, Barbara, and I were in the family room watching TV. I was on the sofa and she was lying on the floor in front of me. It was getting late, or at least late for a kid my age to be up. I believe it was around 9:30 pm or 10 pm. She was laying on the floor on her stomach looking at a magazine and listening to the TV. Her parents were in the kitchen. Her mom was doing dishes and my uncle was drinking coffee at the table.

From my vantage point, to my right was the kitchen. I could clearly see my aunt doing dishes. I could not see my uncle at the table but could hear their faint conversations.

My aunt hollered into the family room to my cousin: “It is time for bed!”

Barbara hollered back: “Okay, mom!”

She made no movement towards the bedroom door which was in front of me and to my left a bit. I was a little concerned that she didn’t go. In my house I listened to my parents and knew if my mom said to do something she meant it.

A few minutes later, my aunt yelled a little louder: “I said it was time for bed!!”

I don’t quite remember what Barbara replied, but it was pretty hateful. I continued to watch television. At this point I will never forget the sound of a belt being unbuckled and pulled through the loops. As I turned to my right I witnessed my uncle rounding the corner coming through the opening from the kitchen to the family room. He had his belt doubled in his hand and was coming toward Barbara.

She screamed: “I’m going, I’m going!!”

My uncle replied: “It’s too late for that. Now we are both going.”

He gave her a light swat with the belt as he was pulling her up from the floor by the arm. She had a night shirt on that came down to mid thigh. As he pulled her up, I briefly saw her panties as the night shirt was shifted up. I was simply mesmerized.

My uncle dragged her by her arm to her bedroom with his belt in his other hand. I shifted myself to the other end of the sofa to get a more direct line of sight to Barbara’s room.

He forcefully told her: “Get the back of that shirt pulled up and get your ass over the end of that bed. And do it now or, God help me, I’ll will beat your ass until you won’t sit for a week.”

I could see her in full sight. She pulled the back of her night shirt up as she laid across the foot of the bed.

He told her: “You have needed this for a few weeks now. I don’t care if I have to do this every night, your attitude is going to change.”

With that, he drew back and gave her what looked like a very hard lash with the belt over her underwear. She screamed bloody murder. He drew back and swung at her just as hard again. She again screamed at the top of her lungs.

She then screamed something at him. I could not make out exactly what. I assume more hateful remarks of some sort.

Her dad, then much to my surprise, grabbed her underwear and literally pulled her pants off of her. I was in disbelief. This was the first time in my short life I had seen a female’s bare ass. Even though she was 14-15 years old, I was dumbfounded.

With that, my uncle laid into her about 6-7 more times with his belt. I really had lost count and lost track of time. I was really in a daze.

When I assumed he was done, because he was lecturing her in between her sobs, I retreated to the other end of the sofa. I could hear him putting his belt back on. He told her to get in bed and get to sleep. He came back through the family room back to the kitchen and didn’t say a word.

A few minutes later, Barbara came walking through the family room on her way to the bathroom. She was crying uncontrollably. She was in the bathroom for quite sometime. She returned to her room after about 5-10 minutes, still sobbing.

I asked my aunt where I was to sleep for the night. She got me a blanket and I slept on the sofa.

The next morning, I was awake first. I could hardly sleep after what I witnessed the night before. Barbara’s brother, Scott, came down from his room shortly after I awoke. He asked what all the commotion was about last night.

I simply just shrugged my shoulders. He went to the kitchen and asked his mother the same question.

She replied: “Your dad dealing with your sister’s smart mouth.”

Later, Barbara came out from her room, still in her nightshirt. We all sat down for breakfast and no one mentioned the night before. After breakfast, Barbara went to take a shower and I went outside to play. Shortly she came out to keep me occupied for the day until my parents came to get me. We played in the yard together.

She asked me: “I guess you heard me getting a spanking last night?”

I just kind of nodded my head; yes. Little did she know I witnessed it. And in my opinion it was hardly a spanking at all. More like a bare ass whipping, I thought.

Barbara said her dad really spanked her but it didn’t really hurt. That was pretty much a lie. I knew better. She had screamed bloody murder.

Some 35 years later, Barbara is still a smart mouthed woman who still disrespects authority. Every time I see her, I recall that night and how it mesmerized me. I see her bad attitude and lack of respect and often think how she needs another trip or two to the bedroom to correct her, even when she is nearing 50 years old.

RS

This happened many years ago when I was going to St Anthony’s School in Mill Hill, London. It was just after lunch and I was in class talking with my friends, Mark and Nicholas. When Sister Stephanie told us to get on with our maths, the others did as they were told but I continued to talk. I was warned that I would be spanked if I kept talking, which of course I ignored and carried on talking.

I got told to go to Sister Stephanie for my spanking, which I did not do straight away. I was then told sternly to go to her and I did. She made me stand beside her with my hands on my head as she pulled my trousers and pants down. Then she pulled me over her knee. She always stroked the bottom cheeks and thighs to make sure she could reach all of the bare bottom and thighs with out having to move much.

She would then give the bottom a few hard slaps to let you know how hard she was going to spank you. Then she started the hard spanking, moving her hand back and forth as she landed some very hard smacks. She continued to smack my bottom harder and harder, making the cheeks bounce as her hand landed on the right and then left cheek moving down to the thighs. After landing a hard volley of smacks to left and right thighs, she moved back up onto my bottom and landed a lot more very hard smacks, moving up and down the left and right cheeks to make them very red and sore.

She continued to spank my bottom until it was very red and sore.

Later that day, Miss Di Palma took me into her class room, took my trousers down and made me go over her knee. She then started to spank me very hard. She lectured me about my behaviour as she continued to spank me harder and harder. Eventually, she paused to pull my pants down and then continue spanking me on my bare bottom.

BH