The morning after she’d been caned

I woke early, before Haron, delighting in the feeling of my lovely wife stretched out naked alongside me. I put an arm around her, and she snuggled closer into me. And then mind immediately flicked back to the previous afternoon’s scene, in which she (as a schoolgirl in a scene) had received a dozen hard strokes of the cane…

My hands reached down, and gently squeezed her backside, half-waking her as she squealed in discomfort. And then I let her fall back asleep.

I’d never previously thought about a schoolgirl awakening in her dorm the morning after a sound dose of corporal punishment. She’d have slept on her front, naturally. Her first waking thought would naturally be of the previous evening’s caning. She’d reach back, gingerly, touching her buttocks, wincing at the pain and feeling the ridges of the parallel weals that the strokes had raised. She’d wonder whether the marks, so visible the night before, were still as plain to see – but it would be too dark for her to check, and she wasn’t so sure that she wanted to see.

Her mind would race through the events that had unfolded in her housemaster’s study shortly before lights out, replaying the mental movie that would forever prove so difficult to dislodge from her memory. His words would burn in her mind – his ‘disappointment’; how ‘she should have known better’; how he’d ‘expected better from a girl of her calibre’. The feelings of shame, of her incredulity at having been so stupid to have ended up in this situation, would come rushing back.

Her face would burn with embarrassment, knowing that he’d see her first thing after showers, at breakfast. What would he think of her now, this man she so respected? Would he still be so ‘let down’ by her conduct or might (dare she hope) have forgiven and (surely not?) forgotten?

And then she’d contemplate the questions that would inevitably follow her around the dorm, the class, the whole school for the remainder of the day as she became the centre of the other girls’ ever-so-curious attention. “So did he really cane you?” “How many?” “What had you done?” “What did he say?” “Did it hurt?” “Is he writing to your parents?”

And she’d try to put on a brave face, to pretend that it hadn’t been that bad, knowing all the time that it had, but that she’d be so much better in future. That she wanted to make him proud of her, to show him that she was the good girl he’d always taken her for, before he’d had to make her touch her toes in his study…