The Caning of Annette and Erin

There are those who might find parts of this story distasteful, but I wish to relate to you all how it all happened. I'm not perfect, and my willpower sometimes fails me. You might judge me as an opportunist and maybe that's true, but I believe in life that one should take every opportunity that's on offer. I'll let you be the judge of my guilt.

I need to go back over twenty five years to my early teaching career; looking back it was all a bit bizarre really as I was only about five years older than the more senior students. I was teaching maths and science at Carrington High School, a smallish country school with just over three hundred students. As well as teaching maths and science, I was also the first fifteen rugby coach which took up a fair mount of my so called free time. My other responsibly was the discipline master for the male students which included the handing out of any well deserved canings. Against the general consensus that teachers actually enjoyed punishing students, I did not. In fact it was a chore that I tried to rid myself off, but with a shortage of male teachers at Carrington it wasn't to be. But I confess to agreeing that it was an effective method maintaining the required behavioural standards of the students. Since the world wide abolition of corporal punishment in western schools, there has been a remarkable increase in disrespect and wayward behaviour of our young people. I've always liked the saying that you reap what you sow; and this is a fine example of not giving our young, values, direction and consequences.

One disadvantage of having a shortage of male teachers was the problem that some female teachers sent boys to me for discipline for rather minor misdemeanours on a regular basis. I rectified this problem by one day demanding they witness the delivery of six of the best to a student who vandalised school property. The look on the female teacher's faces at the savagery of the punishment greatly reduced the number of referrals to my office. A lesson well learnt I think.

The female students did not miss out on their share of discipline. Mrs Prescott, the head mistress was a formidable lady when crossed, and had no hesitation in using a leather strap or a cane on wayward female backsides. She could be fierce when crossed and I have no doubt the female students were more scared of her than the male students of me.

It was a week before end of year examinations were to begin that Annette Mears got into trouble. Annette was one of those girls who liked to push all the boundaries but cunning enough to avoid any detection or resulting punishment, well, until now. She was a big strong girl in the last year of school, dominant both in size and in school hierarchy. The mistake and cause of her demise was the stealing of a piece of jewellery from a first year student. When the student would not back down from Annette's bulling tactics and threatened to inform a teacher, Annette decided that she would hand out a beating. Unfortunately Mrs Prescott, on one of her tours of the playing fields caught her in the act of handing out that beating. Once both girls were ordered to her office, it didn't long before Mrs Prescott got to the root of the situation. Although Annette tried to lie her way out of the situation, the head mistress was too well experienced to be duped.

It was the intention of Mrs Prescott to firstly expel Annette from the school, and secondly contact the police due to the severity of her attack, which included kicking her assailant while she was on the ground. It would have meant Annette leaving school without sitting her final examinations, which I might add she was bright enough to pass. Her parents pleaded with the school to let her stay at school, and after a couple days of negotiations, Mrs Prescott finally agreed to allow Annette to sit her examinations so long as she left afterwards, and that she received 6 strokes of the cane. Unfortunately for Annette, her embarrassed and angry father was ex-army and had a firm belief that the punishment should fit the crime. He agreed that the six strokes should be administered forthwith and well delivered. It would be fair to say that Annette was devastated at the news as much as the teachers and students alike were pleased. I reckon we could have sold tickets to the event to see Annette Mears get her comeuppance.

So how did I become involved you might ask? Well, on the morning that Mrs Prescott was to deliver those six stokes was a stormy morning. The high winds caught the door of her car and collected her right elbow as she was getting in. Not only was she in a fowl temper from the pain it inflicted, the resulting injury prohibited her from any thought wielding the cane effectively. Mrs Prescott was adamant that Annette was not going to escape or even delay her punishment, but her endeavours to get one of the female teachers to administer those six strokes fell on deaf ears. I wasn't surprised as not one of them had ever administered corporal punishment in the past.

At 10 am that morning, I was summoned to Mrs Prescott's office and informed that I would have the privilege of delivering six strokes of the cane to Annette Mears formidably sized rear end. I of course was not happy, for it was an unwritten rule that male teachers did not punish female students. However my argument fell of deaf ears. Mrs Prescott was in mood to argue and I would deliver six of the best in her presence, and any leniency on my part would not be tolerated.

A few minutes later Annette was escorted into the office where she received a fierce dressing down from the head mistress. Her staunch demeanour faded as she eyed the selection of canes lying on the desk, and what bravery was left disappeared when she learnt that it was to be me who was going to be holding the business end. Annette's tears and apologetic pleads were ignored as she was directed to the middle of the office and to bend over touch her toes. Mrs Prescott's eyes then fell on me; a nod to get on with it told me my responsibilities were clear. I selected a thin wispy cane from her desk and gave it a flick to test its flexibility, it would do the job.

The first thing that stuck me as I positioned myself and measured off the distance was how big my target was. Annette Mears backside was a vast wide space, her dress pulled tight over the large buttocks. My first stroke cracked hard down and a loud wail of Annette's anguish filled the room half a second later as the searing pain took hold. Her knees slowly gave way and her body fell to a squatting position. Mrs Prescott ignored the urgent pleas for forgiveness and ordered Annette to stand up or receive additional strokes. When she finally did manage to assume the required position, I could see the horizontal indentation of my first stroke on her dress, and promptly delivered my second a perfect inch below.

Without going into more detail, I think you get the picture. The caning of Annette Mears was a long drawn out affair. The shuffling of feet, the squatting after each stroke and the wailing cries of despair only prolonged her agony. I half expected Mrs Prescott to stop me after four strokes, but she waited most patiently until the sixth stroke was administered before the blubbering wreck of a young girl was ordered to leave the office. Mrs Prescott smiled as she thanked me for my efforts, that girl was well due for it she informed me.

There was no doubt that Annette was a different person after her caning. Evidently half the school heard her pleas for mercy and the wails of her pain. Her reputation of being strong and confident had gone; the other students were no longer in fear of her and treated her accordingly. From my point of view, Annette was the only female student I ever disciplined. While I didn't feel too bad about it, I certainly was not going to let it happen again, if I could help it.

It wasn't too many years after that episode when I left Carrington and began lecturing the sciences at university. Right from the start I loved university life, the students older and wiser, and there because they wanted to learn. The years flew by; I married and had two wonderful children. Our divorce was caused by my philandering ways, just one affair too many for my wife to contend with. And that was the problem with university life, disproportional amount of females who freely enjoyed soothing their sexual appetite with men, even married ones like me.

By the time I began to reach my mid fifties, I was still in good shape, physically, emotionally and full of mischief. I was both well respected as a lecturer and as a person, my list of friends long and my social life more than adequate. Part of it I think is my fine sense of humour. I have an uncanny gift of making people laugh, even at my own expense, for if you can't laugh at yourself you shouldn't laugh at others. My love life was a string of mostly short relationships which usually ended amicably on good terms. In other words, life was full on and good.

Like any teacher, from time to time you run into your old students and it great to see how they've developed into adults. Thankfully, mostly are an asset to our country, but a few are fine examples of why some people shouldn't be allowed to breed, namely their parents. But I can't remember a time when any of my old students gave me a hard time, for even back then I was considered a good teacher.

It was pleasing to see a new cafe open up on a corner close to where I was living. One of my other vices in life is coffee, there is nothing like a finely blended coffee made just how I like it, hot and strong. Like other coffee lovers, I will travel a fair distance out of my way to get it just right. I waited a few days after the café opened before making my appearance, just to make sure all was okay. I was not disappointed, both my latte and the accompanying home made Russian slice were worth the compliment I offered in return. The woman behind the counter smiled.

"You don't remember me then?" she asked.

I looked into her face, her features and mannerisms somehow familiar but not that I could put a name to. I shook my head.

"Annette Mears."

My brain clicked into gear at the name, and then the big round backside bending over in front me registered. I smiled politely and replied that I did indeed remember her. We chatted for a few minutes about those school days, but not about the day we both remembered most. Life had treated Annette well for she had turned into a handsome woman. Not beautiful by any means, but her hair was nicely styled above her rather attractive face. While her breasts were substantial, her body curved nicely into a knee length skirt and flat shoes.

It was only natural that our interactions developed over time, the craving for the perfect cup resulted in a regular morning visits. If the café wasn't busy, Annette would often sit at my table where we would chat. The stories of our lives were swapped; mine consisted of my days after Carrington, fatherhood, divorce and my life as a single lecturer. I learnt of Annette's journey, she married young, had one child before her own marriage break up. I soon learnt about her wayward daughter Erin, now nineteen years old trouble with a capital T. A spoilt brat by all accounts and who liked nothing better than to drink copious amounts of alcohol and smoke marijuana. Annette seemed comfortable in taking me into her confidence and explained that her daughter had been left a sizable inheritance by her grandfather. While an impatient Erin wasn't able to get her hands on all the money until the age of twenty five, she did get a weekly allowance under the control of her mother. The problem was that this allowance was quickly squandered on drugs, alcohol and good times, and that Erin wasn't above stealing from her mother to make up any shortfall. The problem was that Annette has limited means of controlling her daughter behaviour. The one time that she turned Erin's allowance off, she borrowed from friends and then stole from her mother to pay it back. My heart went out to Annette, for she was no doubt a good person and mother. I could often see the tears in her eyes when Erin's name came up in conversation.

It was a flippant comment by Annette that started the whole thing, the suggestion that maybe a good caning was required. It was the first time that her own caning had ever come up in conversation, but Annette confessed it was the turning point in her bad behaviour. She told me that she had not feared anything until that day, but her caning was both humiliating and painful, and the marks on her backside were visible for over a week. It was another flippant comment that she might bring Erin around to my home for a dose of the same medicine, we both laughed at the audacity of the idea. It was then forgotten, but only by me.

It was a few weeks later that Annette brought it up again after she had caught Erin red handed stealing money from her handbag. She had put a stop on her daughter's weekly allowance and had no intention of reinstating it. Erin had just laughed and suggested that she would give in eventually. It was then a frustrated Annette told her daughter that she wouldn't be getting her allowance until she agreed to a good caning from an old teacher friend. This was of course all news to me, for it had been many years since I had swung a cane. I wisely declined the offer for all the right reasons, mainly was it assault? Annette wouldn't take no for an answer, and each time I dropped in for a coffee was asked if I would change my mine. My answer was always an emphatic no.

So what changed my mind? Early one morning I had the pleasure of meeting Erin for the first time. While she was no doubt a good looking girl, both tall and vivacious, her arrogance was overwhelming. In front of other café patrons and myself; she badmouthed and ridiculed her mother something terrible reducing her to tears before sneering at us on her departure. A tearful Annette fled to the rear of the cafe and hid in embarrassment. Again my heart went out to her. Over the next few days I considered Annette's request, for in this instance maybe a good caning was well deserved. It was also apparent that Erin was making her mother's life a misery at home. So, I finally relented and offered my services.

The smile on Annette's face was great to see, for the first time she had some leverage over her daughter. It had now been sometime since Erin's allowance had been stopped and she was in no doubt getting impatient, but it still didn't amount to giving her mother any respect, in fact quite the reverse. Annette suggested to me that she would offer returning the allowance only if she agrees to a caning. The next day Annette advised me that her daughter declined the offer and told her to 'get fucked'. A now motivated mother hid her cell phone, cancelled the home phone line along with the broadband internet connection for good measure. The pressure was now on.

It took a week before Erin came to the party, the loss of her income was bad enough, but the missing cell phone and disconnected internet swiftly curtailed her social activities. Erin all of a sudden became a nice girl and pleaded that she had changed forever. Her wise mother knew better and didn't give an inch. A second week passed before Erin accepted her fate.

I watched with some fascination at the proceedings, but the day that Annette informed me that I was to administer the punishment was the day that I got cold feet. But a perceptive Annette made it clear that there was to be no backing out on my part. The first problem I had was to find a cane or two. It was off to the local garden nursery where I found suitable canes normally used for staking tomato plants and tall shrubs. I then got to practice my swings on a cushion strategically positioned on the couch. It didn't take long to perfect both my swing and accuracy.

The chosen night was a Tuesday and I was more than nervous by the time Annette and Erin arrived at my apartment. By this time I had moved the lounge furniture to the sides of the room to give me room to swing my newly acquired weapon. The difference between mother and daughter was obvious, Annette confident and determined, Erin trying to be brave but failing miserably. She had made the mistake of wearing tight jeans which would offer little protection for what was she was going to receive. Again my reservations came to the fore and wondered what resulting repercussions there might be.

"Are you okay with this?" I asked.

Erin looked at me with utter contempt.

"What the fuck do you think?" she snapped. "Just get this over with so that I can get out of here, I just want my fucking life back."

"Okay." I said pointing to the middle of the room. "Stand over there, bend over and touch your toes."

Erin turned to her mother, "I fucking hate you."

The hurt on Annette's face was plain to see, and my anger soared. Without hesitation, I picked up the cane I had previously chosen for its flexibility. Erin glanced at it wide eyed as her fear mounted, but obeyed my second request to bend over. Her tight backside trembled as I placed the cane on it to measure off the distance. I raised it high in the air and brought it down solidly across her buttocks resulting in a loud crack as it bit home. A loud sigh escaped from her as the pain registered. I waited another few seconds before delivering the second a perfect inch below. Erin's legs sagged but she steadied herself for the third. A brave girl I thought to myself, for I'd seen a lot of big tough boys buckle at this sort of punishment. She took the third stroke well with the exception a little whimper, but it was the forth stroke that did it. It was the perfect stroke, the exceptional timing providing a louder crack that filled the room. Erin cried out loudly as she stood up clutching her backside.

"Please, no more." she cried as she paced the room in tears. "I can't take anymore."

I looked over at Annette to question what to do.

"We've come this far, let's finish it." she replied without hesitation. "Keep going."

Erin pleaded with her mother, but she wouldn't relent an inch. Erin was eventually ordered back to the centre of the room and bend over, the problem was that her legs were now shaking so much she couldn't stand. I suggested that she bend over the back of the arm chair, and the final two strokes were delivered amongst tears of despair. When it was all over, Erin ran head in hands from my apartment without saying a thing. I looked over at Annette who had tears running down her face. She thanked me before taking her leave; thinking back I don't think it was easy on any of us.

I avoided the café for the next few days as I felt most uncomfortable about the whole episode. But when I bravely returned, Annette greeted me warmly again thanked me for my services. She told me that Erin was now towing the line, especially as she threatened a repeat performance if she gave anymore trouble. When Erin complained, her mother suggested that she could leave home anytime she liked, but life was far too comfortable there for her to do that. I honestly thought that that would be the end of all the problems, but it wasn't to be, it was just a short six weeks before Erin returned back to her old habits. Up to this point, my handling of this situation was beyond reproach as far as I was concerned. But it was all about to change, I was about to let myself down as well as Annette. If I'd known what was about to happen I would have probably packed my bags and done a runner.

Annette had taken a week off to visit friends on the other side of the country and the running of the café had been left to her trustworthy staff. On the Saturday there was a one hundred dollar short fall when cashing up, something unheard of amongst the tight working team. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Erin had visited the café during the day and had been left alone in the vicinity of the cash till. The senior waitress rang Erin about the discrepancy which was first denied but then admitted on the pretence that her mother owned the café and she could do what she wanted. Unfortunately, the next call went to Annette who went ballistic at her daughter's theft. She immediately hung up and rang her daughter. Erin was given two options, either she took another caning or the theft would be reported to the police. At first Erin didn't believe her mother would have the guts to get the police involved, but her mother's anger boiled over. The decision was Erin's, but she had to make that decision right now. Not wanting a police record, Erin made the only decision she could.