anarchistic_masochist
15-06-2010, 09:03 PM
Ladies and gentleman, the wait is finally over. There is a CP scene here this time!!! Enjoy...
As usual, she was the first to arrive. Her tutor gave her a curt nod as she took her customary seat. A few minutes later, her classmates sidled in, the cobwebs of sleep still clinging to their tired, vacant faces. Mr Todd, her tutor began to call the register, addressing the assembled girls by their surnames in traditional 1950’s fashion. The usual chorus of “here, Sir” from the girls as they acknowledged their presence, was interrupted by the unscheduled arrival of Mr. Tennant, who usually entered the class on a Friday to announce exam results just before lunch time. Everyone stood up, as was the custom when a teacher entered the room. Mr Tennant stood there, beside the Form Tutor, in front of the whole class. He looked so tall and imposing, wearing a grim expression, with eyes that seemed to bore into their very souls. Tucked under his arm was the Manila Folder of Doom that informed any student that was destined to pay the ultimate price for failure.
“I apologise for my unscheduled visit, Mr Todd,” Mr. Tennant began, his eyes ****ning the class. “I thought I would take the liberty to come here now, just to congratulate the class on a superb run of results.” The class breathed a collective sigh of relief. The air felt a little crisper; their hearts a little lighter. Myra’s head swelled with pride. Mr. Tennant, already infuriated with her smugness, immediately seized upon this latest display of self-satisfaction. “I don’t know why you’re celebrating, Miss Longford. You’re the only student that has failed to come up to scratch!” He walked slowly to her desk where she sat; her insides shrivelled at his words. With her heart beating a samba on her ribs, her mouth dried up and it was suddenly impossible to swallow, let alone speak. “F-failed, Sir? How? There must be some mistake! I never fail English subjects!”
“Do you dare to question me, girl?” came Mr. Tennant’s aberrantly menacing reply. Myra froze, and then, defeated, hung her head. “No Sir.” A sliver of a smirk crossed his lips as he leant over, inches from her face, gotcha! He was going to milk this moment for all it was worth. How the mighty has fallen! Now he was determined to teach this impertinent little madam a lesson. “My study, 12 o’clock sharp, after Double Science. Don’t you dare be late…” With that, he turned on his heels, and strode out of the room, leaving a distraught Myra sobbing, with her head in her hands.
*************************
Science was usually Myra’s favourite lesson. She excelled in Chemistry and Physics and she should have been discovering the joys of Potassium Permanganate, but all she could do was watch that clock, as it ticked inexorably to noon. The aptly named Mr. Bunsen, the Science Master noticed that she wasn’t her usual exuberant self. He somehow knew that she was waiting for what must have felt like her own execution. It was ten-to. Myra’s bosom heaved as she glanced over at him. He gave her a wry smile and nodded his head in the direction of the classroom door. Mr. Bunsen was a kindly teacher, who rarely felt the need to resort to any form of physical chastisement. No student dared to cross him though; he would simply delegate what he saw as an unpleasant task to Mr. Birch, the Headmaster! No one wanted to be sent to him! Laboratories can be dangerous places and he tolerated no horseplay. After one verbal warning, a further infraction would be met by a silently scribbled note, a passport to pain, to an appointment with Mr. Birch’s fearsome dragon cane!
Myra acknowledged the science master and exited the room. Her classmates whispered amongst themselves and some giggled maliciously. They, too, were sick of Myra’s smugness. Let’s see how she likes her bottom striped! “All right class, settle down!” barked Mr. Bunsen. “Unless, of course, you would like to follow her!” Not surprisingly, a studious silence once again descended upon the room.
That large oak door beckoned once again. Myra, not for the first time that week, made her usual uniform checks. She knew that Mr. Tennant was in a particularly vindictive mood and she did not want to provoke him further. She knocked… “Come in!” came the reply. She entered. Mr Tennant was sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his enormously large leather chair with arms folded and face like thunder. Upon his desk was the implement that was due, in a few minutes, to be impacting her defenceless flesh. “Close the door.” She obeyed, closing it very softly. She looked over at him like a frightened rabbit, eyes begging for her next instruction. She felt that she could not breath without his permission. “Stand in front of the desk.” Again, she complied. Her hands were clasped in front of her and her head was bowed, a picture of perfect contrition.
“Well, Myra,” he began, “do you know why you’re here?”
“For failing the English Grammar Exam, Sir.” She replied in a small voice.
His eyebrow arched. “Did I say that you had failed?” His voice was sharp and cut right through her, making her wince. Oh yes, thought Mr. Tennant. You can cower, young lady. “You said I didn’t come up to scratch, Sir,” she pleaded. “Exactly. You didn’t meet the standards that are expected at this school. When I made the terrible mistake of sparing your worthless hide the last time your presence graced this office, what did I say to you?”
Panic gripped her. Eyes wet with tears and mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, she struggled to articulate a reply. What? What did he say? Is this a trick question? Is he trying to catch her out? Mr. Tennant took sadistic pleasure in seeing her squirm. He picked up the Senior Cane that had previously lain upon his desk and started to flex it, adding to Myra’s already obvious distress.
“Well, girl I asked you a question! What. Did. I. Say?”
“I don’t know Sir…”
“You don’t know,” he echoed mockingly. “Well, Myra, allow me to jog your memory!” He returned the cane to its original position and stood up. Myra’s eyes followed him. He started to circle her, like the leader of a pack of hungry wolves and Myra instinctively craned her neck to keep him in view. She immediately wished she hadn’t.
“Face the front! Hands on your head!” Myra jumped, whimpered and complied. Standing behind her, just to her left, he hissed into her ear. “I said that I expected nothing but one hundred per cent concentration and commitment from here on in, did I not?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“And did you give a hundred per cent in that test, Myra?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“LIAR!!!” he bellowed and a sharp stinging palm smacked her still-clothed backside. Myra whimpered and shook, but didn’t dare depart from her position.
“You got a ‘C.’ Your grades are normally far, far better than that, so don’t you DARE lie to me!!” He circled her again
“Yes Sir! Sorry Sir!” Her voice shot up several octaves.
“You will be! I saw your smug and arrogant little face as you rushed through that test, like it didn’t matter. I bet you didn’t even revise, did you?”
Still with hands glued to her head, she blinked away tears as she bowed her head.
“Not much, Sir.” She replied, with a sigh of reservation.
“And does ‘not much’ qualify for a hundred per cent commitment and concentration, girl?”
Myra sniffed. “No, Sir.”
“Right…now we’re getting somewhere.” He picked up the cane once again and stood right in front of the now petrified Myra and flexed the instrument of pain inches from her face.
“You are to receive nine strokes of the Senior Cane on your clothed bottom, Myra, and may I say, it couldn’t happen to a more deserving individual. I usually reserve such a penalty for bullies, but if there’s something else that I can’t stand, it’s arrogance!”
“Yes, Sir.” Her shoulders began to quake. Tears must surely follow.
“I defended you! I convinced the Headmaster that punishing you for failing your Maths test was unduly harsh, and what did you do? Threw it back in my face, that’s what! I am very, very disappointed and utterly disgusted with you, young lady! You’ve made me look like a complete fool and put my position at this school in jeopardy, so for that, Myra, you will pay very dearly!”
Myra said nothing. She awaited the order to lift her pleated skirt and “assume the position” i.e. bend over and touch her toes. Upon Mr. Tennant’s instruction, she jack-knifed her young, supple body and grabbed her ankles, the white cotton fabric tightly hugging her buttocks. The Senior Cane was a 32-inch long, ten millimetre thick, pain-giving instrument of precision. It did not just have the sting of its junior sibling, but the pain was deeper and more penetrating. It was just as well that she still was allowed to keep her knickers on.
Mr. Tennant lined up his first stroke. Although he seldom saw the need to resort to punishing errant students like this, he was still expertly precise – he had to be. If a mis-stroke landed too high, the tailbone could be fractured, leading to permanent damage. This was the only reason he practiced on a large black velvet cushion that sat incongruously in the corner of the room.
Myra waited for what seemed to be an eternity. “You are to count the strokes, Myra and thank me for each and every one. Failure to do so will result in the stroke being re-applied. Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, Sir,” came a small voice from near the floor.
Tappity-tap-tap. She felt the cold wood touch her knickered backside. It rested momentarily, and then it was no longer there. Myra closed her eyes….
Hiss – crack!!! A line of fire burned across the centre of her bottom. Myra bit her lip and exhaled sharply, as the words “One Sir. Thank you Sir,” tumbled out. The initial thud of the cane was painful enough, but it ignited a searing burning agony within her. Mr. Tennant waited for about 30 seconds, to allow Myra to feel its full effect, but denied her the chance to recover before the next was applied.
Thwack! Jesus! Not again! The cruel rod bit into her buttocks once again, leaving its crimson imprint. Myra still managed to repress a cry of anguish, and gave the required response. Mr. Tennant was annoyed. She should be in tears by now. Perhaps he was out of practice. Perhaps he was too soft. Perhaps he wasn’t caning her hard enough. Perhaps Mr. Birch was right! No. It cannot and will not be. He momentarily glanced at the glass pane of the store cupboard door, as he thought he detected movement from within. He shook his head dismissively and re-focussed his attention to the task in hand. You’ll feel this one, Missy he thought as he pointed the cane towards the ceiling, and then he hissed through his teeth he brought the implement slicing into Myra’s now desecrated derriere. Whoosh! Cr-aack!!! Myra gasped and squealed with the pain. “Three, Sir!” she shrieked. “Thank you, Sir!” Her cringing, castigated cheeks quivered delightfully as her arse was crucified with every whack. Myra’s body shook with sobs and she was now bawling loudly, her bottom now a roasting mass of scarlet. The next three strokes were spaced evenly across her shuddering flesh and the last three were all aimed, quite deliberately, across the gluteal crease, where bottom joins thigh. How Myra managed to keep count and give the responses, she didn’t know. Her knickers offered ****t protection. But thank Christ! It was over! She remained in position until she was given permission to stand up. She did so, and oh! How she longed to rub those aching cheeks! She dared not; to do so without permission would result in more punishment, so she placed her hands back upon her head so as to avoid giving in to the temptation.
“Well, well, Mr. Tennant! Finally saw the wisdom of my words, did you?” Mr Birch had been watching the proceedings from the store cupboard! He emerged from his hiding place, his face beetroot red and with flies undone. What he had been up to in there left very little to the imagination. Mr. Tennant jumped with shock and felt a trifle embarrassed. Myra felt sick.
“Mr. Birch!” began Mr. Tennant. “What…?” “I wanted to see if you were up to the task, Mr. Tennant.” He interrupted. “I observed you from a clandestine location, as I feared that you would go soft and wimp out again. I’m happy to say that I was wrong. But knickers up, Mr. Tennant? The humiliation and embarrassment caused from a bared backside will make her punishment she will never forget in a hurry!” Myra stared defiantly at the perverted sadist with pure hatred.
Mr. Birch turned his attentions to the now heroic miscreant that stood before him. “You think that was punishment, girl? We haven’t finished with you yet!”
“We?” Mr. Tennant was caught off guard. He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. “Watch and learn, Mr. Tennant. Watch and learn.” Again, Myra was the subject of the Headmaster’s unwholesome attentions. “You, girl, bend yourself over that desk! That’s right, grip the other side.” Myra had no choice but to obey. “Legs three feet apart! That’s it! Wider girl! Wider!” She complied, now in a trance like state. It was as if, to protect herself, she had shut her mind down and left her body. Resistance was futile. He roughly pulled down her white cotton regulation knickers to her thighs, revealing a backside criss-crossed with livid red wheals. There was also evidence of mild bruising, and now she was going to be punished some more? This was crazy, inhuman. But she was powerless to stop it and so was Mr. Tennant, who could only watch helplessly as the demonic headmaster disappeared into the cupboard, only to return with a 32 inch, 12-millimetre thick Super Senior cane! Myra momentarily turned her head and whimpered. When would this nightmare end?
As usual, she was the first to arrive. Her tutor gave her a curt nod as she took her customary seat. A few minutes later, her classmates sidled in, the cobwebs of sleep still clinging to their tired, vacant faces. Mr Todd, her tutor began to call the register, addressing the assembled girls by their surnames in traditional 1950’s fashion. The usual chorus of “here, Sir” from the girls as they acknowledged their presence, was interrupted by the unscheduled arrival of Mr. Tennant, who usually entered the class on a Friday to announce exam results just before lunch time. Everyone stood up, as was the custom when a teacher entered the room. Mr Tennant stood there, beside the Form Tutor, in front of the whole class. He looked so tall and imposing, wearing a grim expression, with eyes that seemed to bore into their very souls. Tucked under his arm was the Manila Folder of Doom that informed any student that was destined to pay the ultimate price for failure.
“I apologise for my unscheduled visit, Mr Todd,” Mr. Tennant began, his eyes ****ning the class. “I thought I would take the liberty to come here now, just to congratulate the class on a superb run of results.” The class breathed a collective sigh of relief. The air felt a little crisper; their hearts a little lighter. Myra’s head swelled with pride. Mr. Tennant, already infuriated with her smugness, immediately seized upon this latest display of self-satisfaction. “I don’t know why you’re celebrating, Miss Longford. You’re the only student that has failed to come up to scratch!” He walked slowly to her desk where she sat; her insides shrivelled at his words. With her heart beating a samba on her ribs, her mouth dried up and it was suddenly impossible to swallow, let alone speak. “F-failed, Sir? How? There must be some mistake! I never fail English subjects!”
“Do you dare to question me, girl?” came Mr. Tennant’s aberrantly menacing reply. Myra froze, and then, defeated, hung her head. “No Sir.” A sliver of a smirk crossed his lips as he leant over, inches from her face, gotcha! He was going to milk this moment for all it was worth. How the mighty has fallen! Now he was determined to teach this impertinent little madam a lesson. “My study, 12 o’clock sharp, after Double Science. Don’t you dare be late…” With that, he turned on his heels, and strode out of the room, leaving a distraught Myra sobbing, with her head in her hands.
*************************
Science was usually Myra’s favourite lesson. She excelled in Chemistry and Physics and she should have been discovering the joys of Potassium Permanganate, but all she could do was watch that clock, as it ticked inexorably to noon. The aptly named Mr. Bunsen, the Science Master noticed that she wasn’t her usual exuberant self. He somehow knew that she was waiting for what must have felt like her own execution. It was ten-to. Myra’s bosom heaved as she glanced over at him. He gave her a wry smile and nodded his head in the direction of the classroom door. Mr. Bunsen was a kindly teacher, who rarely felt the need to resort to any form of physical chastisement. No student dared to cross him though; he would simply delegate what he saw as an unpleasant task to Mr. Birch, the Headmaster! No one wanted to be sent to him! Laboratories can be dangerous places and he tolerated no horseplay. After one verbal warning, a further infraction would be met by a silently scribbled note, a passport to pain, to an appointment with Mr. Birch’s fearsome dragon cane!
Myra acknowledged the science master and exited the room. Her classmates whispered amongst themselves and some giggled maliciously. They, too, were sick of Myra’s smugness. Let’s see how she likes her bottom striped! “All right class, settle down!” barked Mr. Bunsen. “Unless, of course, you would like to follow her!” Not surprisingly, a studious silence once again descended upon the room.
That large oak door beckoned once again. Myra, not for the first time that week, made her usual uniform checks. She knew that Mr. Tennant was in a particularly vindictive mood and she did not want to provoke him further. She knocked… “Come in!” came the reply. She entered. Mr Tennant was sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his enormously large leather chair with arms folded and face like thunder. Upon his desk was the implement that was due, in a few minutes, to be impacting her defenceless flesh. “Close the door.” She obeyed, closing it very softly. She looked over at him like a frightened rabbit, eyes begging for her next instruction. She felt that she could not breath without his permission. “Stand in front of the desk.” Again, she complied. Her hands were clasped in front of her and her head was bowed, a picture of perfect contrition.
“Well, Myra,” he began, “do you know why you’re here?”
“For failing the English Grammar Exam, Sir.” She replied in a small voice.
His eyebrow arched. “Did I say that you had failed?” His voice was sharp and cut right through her, making her wince. Oh yes, thought Mr. Tennant. You can cower, young lady. “You said I didn’t come up to scratch, Sir,” she pleaded. “Exactly. You didn’t meet the standards that are expected at this school. When I made the terrible mistake of sparing your worthless hide the last time your presence graced this office, what did I say to you?”
Panic gripped her. Eyes wet with tears and mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, she struggled to articulate a reply. What? What did he say? Is this a trick question? Is he trying to catch her out? Mr. Tennant took sadistic pleasure in seeing her squirm. He picked up the Senior Cane that had previously lain upon his desk and started to flex it, adding to Myra’s already obvious distress.
“Well, girl I asked you a question! What. Did. I. Say?”
“I don’t know Sir…”
“You don’t know,” he echoed mockingly. “Well, Myra, allow me to jog your memory!” He returned the cane to its original position and stood up. Myra’s eyes followed him. He started to circle her, like the leader of a pack of hungry wolves and Myra instinctively craned her neck to keep him in view. She immediately wished she hadn’t.
“Face the front! Hands on your head!” Myra jumped, whimpered and complied. Standing behind her, just to her left, he hissed into her ear. “I said that I expected nothing but one hundred per cent concentration and commitment from here on in, did I not?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“And did you give a hundred per cent in that test, Myra?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“LIAR!!!” he bellowed and a sharp stinging palm smacked her still-clothed backside. Myra whimpered and shook, but didn’t dare depart from her position.
“You got a ‘C.’ Your grades are normally far, far better than that, so don’t you DARE lie to me!!” He circled her again
“Yes Sir! Sorry Sir!” Her voice shot up several octaves.
“You will be! I saw your smug and arrogant little face as you rushed through that test, like it didn’t matter. I bet you didn’t even revise, did you?”
Still with hands glued to her head, she blinked away tears as she bowed her head.
“Not much, Sir.” She replied, with a sigh of reservation.
“And does ‘not much’ qualify for a hundred per cent commitment and concentration, girl?”
Myra sniffed. “No, Sir.”
“Right…now we’re getting somewhere.” He picked up the cane once again and stood right in front of the now petrified Myra and flexed the instrument of pain inches from her face.
“You are to receive nine strokes of the Senior Cane on your clothed bottom, Myra, and may I say, it couldn’t happen to a more deserving individual. I usually reserve such a penalty for bullies, but if there’s something else that I can’t stand, it’s arrogance!”
“Yes, Sir.” Her shoulders began to quake. Tears must surely follow.
“I defended you! I convinced the Headmaster that punishing you for failing your Maths test was unduly harsh, and what did you do? Threw it back in my face, that’s what! I am very, very disappointed and utterly disgusted with you, young lady! You’ve made me look like a complete fool and put my position at this school in jeopardy, so for that, Myra, you will pay very dearly!”
Myra said nothing. She awaited the order to lift her pleated skirt and “assume the position” i.e. bend over and touch her toes. Upon Mr. Tennant’s instruction, she jack-knifed her young, supple body and grabbed her ankles, the white cotton fabric tightly hugging her buttocks. The Senior Cane was a 32-inch long, ten millimetre thick, pain-giving instrument of precision. It did not just have the sting of its junior sibling, but the pain was deeper and more penetrating. It was just as well that she still was allowed to keep her knickers on.
Mr. Tennant lined up his first stroke. Although he seldom saw the need to resort to punishing errant students like this, he was still expertly precise – he had to be. If a mis-stroke landed too high, the tailbone could be fractured, leading to permanent damage. This was the only reason he practiced on a large black velvet cushion that sat incongruously in the corner of the room.
Myra waited for what seemed to be an eternity. “You are to count the strokes, Myra and thank me for each and every one. Failure to do so will result in the stroke being re-applied. Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, Sir,” came a small voice from near the floor.
Tappity-tap-tap. She felt the cold wood touch her knickered backside. It rested momentarily, and then it was no longer there. Myra closed her eyes….
Hiss – crack!!! A line of fire burned across the centre of her bottom. Myra bit her lip and exhaled sharply, as the words “One Sir. Thank you Sir,” tumbled out. The initial thud of the cane was painful enough, but it ignited a searing burning agony within her. Mr. Tennant waited for about 30 seconds, to allow Myra to feel its full effect, but denied her the chance to recover before the next was applied.
Thwack! Jesus! Not again! The cruel rod bit into her buttocks once again, leaving its crimson imprint. Myra still managed to repress a cry of anguish, and gave the required response. Mr. Tennant was annoyed. She should be in tears by now. Perhaps he was out of practice. Perhaps he was too soft. Perhaps he wasn’t caning her hard enough. Perhaps Mr. Birch was right! No. It cannot and will not be. He momentarily glanced at the glass pane of the store cupboard door, as he thought he detected movement from within. He shook his head dismissively and re-focussed his attention to the task in hand. You’ll feel this one, Missy he thought as he pointed the cane towards the ceiling, and then he hissed through his teeth he brought the implement slicing into Myra’s now desecrated derriere. Whoosh! Cr-aack!!! Myra gasped and squealed with the pain. “Three, Sir!” she shrieked. “Thank you, Sir!” Her cringing, castigated cheeks quivered delightfully as her arse was crucified with every whack. Myra’s body shook with sobs and she was now bawling loudly, her bottom now a roasting mass of scarlet. The next three strokes were spaced evenly across her shuddering flesh and the last three were all aimed, quite deliberately, across the gluteal crease, where bottom joins thigh. How Myra managed to keep count and give the responses, she didn’t know. Her knickers offered ****t protection. But thank Christ! It was over! She remained in position until she was given permission to stand up. She did so, and oh! How she longed to rub those aching cheeks! She dared not; to do so without permission would result in more punishment, so she placed her hands back upon her head so as to avoid giving in to the temptation.
“Well, well, Mr. Tennant! Finally saw the wisdom of my words, did you?” Mr Birch had been watching the proceedings from the store cupboard! He emerged from his hiding place, his face beetroot red and with flies undone. What he had been up to in there left very little to the imagination. Mr. Tennant jumped with shock and felt a trifle embarrassed. Myra felt sick.
“Mr. Birch!” began Mr. Tennant. “What…?” “I wanted to see if you were up to the task, Mr. Tennant.” He interrupted. “I observed you from a clandestine location, as I feared that you would go soft and wimp out again. I’m happy to say that I was wrong. But knickers up, Mr. Tennant? The humiliation and embarrassment caused from a bared backside will make her punishment she will never forget in a hurry!” Myra stared defiantly at the perverted sadist with pure hatred.
Mr. Birch turned his attentions to the now heroic miscreant that stood before him. “You think that was punishment, girl? We haven’t finished with you yet!”
“We?” Mr. Tennant was caught off guard. He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. “Watch and learn, Mr. Tennant. Watch and learn.” Again, Myra was the subject of the Headmaster’s unwholesome attentions. “You, girl, bend yourself over that desk! That’s right, grip the other side.” Myra had no choice but to obey. “Legs three feet apart! That’s it! Wider girl! Wider!” She complied, now in a trance like state. It was as if, to protect herself, she had shut her mind down and left her body. Resistance was futile. He roughly pulled down her white cotton regulation knickers to her thighs, revealing a backside criss-crossed with livid red wheals. There was also evidence of mild bruising, and now she was going to be punished some more? This was crazy, inhuman. But she was powerless to stop it and so was Mr. Tennant, who could only watch helplessly as the demonic headmaster disappeared into the cupboard, only to return with a 32 inch, 12-millimetre thick Super Senior cane! Myra momentarily turned her head and whimpered. When would this nightmare end?