Back to face her first caning

My darling wife’s due home before very long: she’s been acting as a Florence Nightingale looking after her parents, and I can’t wait to hold and hug her. Oh, and to spank her, of course.

I’ve been toying with ideas for the “first scene back”. Much as I want to upend her over my knee for an OTK hand-spanking, it seems a shame to waste the comparatively rare opportunity of her having a bottom that’s gone unwhacked for quite so long.

So I’m picturing a schoolgirl, in a renowned college where corporal punishment is very much the last resort. Housemasters and Housemistresses can and do cane, but it’s a comparatively occasional occurence. And those rare canings are more ceremonial than cruel: it’s the very act of bending over to be caned (a maximum of four strokes, across a girl’s skirt, with a light cane) that punishes more than the pain.

It’s the Headmasterial canings that are truly to be dreaded. He always gives six strokes. Always on the bare. Always with a senior cane. But only one, maybe two girls per term find their way to his study. And Haron could be one of them…

Or it’s the end of term. The three sisters know the tradition: they line up outside Daddy’s study on the first evening home, and one-by-one are called in to hand him their school report. They watch as he reads, crave his praise, dread his disapproval. He reads nice comments aloud: “I’m so pleased with Mrs Watson’s comments about your hard work in Geography this term.” And he raises an eyebrow, and asks for an explanation of any misconduct or shortcomings.

The end of every discussion is marked with a hug, and a “lovely to have you home”. Only on some occasions, where a girl has fallen short of the high standards that she and he would expect, that hug is prefaced by an instruction to “take down the cane from the top of the bookcase”, and a carefully-administered, loving correction.

Haron’s always been the good girl of the three: the one who comes top of her class, who shines even more than her ever-so-clever sisters. She’s listened over the years as the two elder girls have gone in before her. She’s learned to worry for them if the conversation has started to drag on for much longer than usual. She’s heard the whacks, the sobs; participated in the cuddles afterwards. And, as the youngest, she’s then gone in last – to be praised. Always, to be praised.

This time it’s different: the first year she’s been alone in the line, her sisters now at University. And it’s the first time she’s known that her report she’s held in her trembling hands would disappoint, her lack of self-discipline in the run-up to the exams reflected in a series of unacceptably low marks…