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“You may now prepare for your punishment. Sally, please take Carrie to the rest room. Angie, you may accompany them.’
Ten minutes later, the toilet flushed and shortly thereafter the three emerged, Carrie still dressed and her wrists still bound. On a signal from the Headmaster, Sally removed the scarf from Carrie’s wrists. “Carrie, your punishment will now begin. Please remove your skirt, panties, shoes and socks and place them neatly on the chair,” order the Headmaster.
Carrie did so, fear of the consequences of disobedience overcoming her sense of mortification. She stood, hands to her sides, awaiting further instruction.
“Mr. Evans, you may decide whether Carrie will retain her blouse. It may be cold in here but it is likely to be warm for her after a few minutes.”
Justin suggested that it should be removed to prevent overheating. Carrie did as instructed. Standing naked, with her small, pert breasts and narrow waist and patch of reddish pubic hair, she still looked like a high school girl. The various freckles often sported by redheads added to the little girl look.
“Carrie, please get up onto the strapping bench.” Shaking, Carrie climbed the wide, black leather upholstered bench and lay face down. The adjustable center was uplifted to raise her hips about six inches. Sally took Carrie’s wrists and secured them to two leather cuffs at the head of the couch, so that her arms were straight ahead and at full stretch. She then secured her ankles the same way at the other end. The Headmaster placed a wide leather strap that was connected to the center of the couch over Carrie’s waist and secured it so that the curve of her hips was more pronounced. Carrie was now largely immobilized. She felt more helpless and vulnerable than she had ever felt before.
The Headmaster had Sally bring him the medium rattan, and then Sally sat with the others. The Headmaster took a position to Carrie’s left, and swung the cane through the air a few times. Carrie flinched at the sound. He then measured the cane across her upturned bottom. She flinched again at the tapping. The Headmaster stood back.
“Carrie, you will now receive the 30 strokes you have earned by your misdeeds. Please call for the first one.”
Carrie froze, and it took her a second to realize that this was it. “One, Sir!” she called, not wanting the caning to start but not wanting to make any mistakes.
The Headmaster measured the cane again, brought it back, and brought it back down with an ear-splitting crack across the center of Carrie’s bottom. It took a second to register but then, as the blood rushed back to the impact site, Carrie felt as though her behind had been set on fire. The intense burning was twice as bad as what she had felt over her skirt two weeks ago. It kept getting more intense and seemed like it just wouldn’t stop. Carrie allowed 15 seconds to go by, desperately not wanted to call the next one. How would she ever get through 30 strokes? Finally, she called out “Two, Sir!”
The second stroke hit about an inch under the first, just as loudly. Again, an initial sting, then the appalling smart as the blood rushed back. Carrie’s eyes teared, and she pulled at the wrist straps, desperately wanting to rub her bottom. She couldn’t do this! There was no way! But she wasn’t getting out of it, either. She had to steel herself for the rest. Was it possible? She forced herself to call out “Three, Sir!”
With only a second’s hesitation, the Headmaster gave her a third stroke at the very base of her bared buttocks, just above her “sweet spot.” Carrie screamed.
“You cheated yourself, Carrie. You only waited 12 seconds between strokes. You’re allowed up to 30. If you call it too soon, you’re just inviting more punishment. Wait at least 25 seconds, but just make sure you don’t miss your count.” The Headmaster must have known what a predicament this placed his victims in. He gave them at least some time to recover in between strokes but at the possible cost of missing the count and incurring penalty strokes. It was all part of the discipline process, he reasoned.
Carrie did wait longer this time – 20 seconds. She called out “Four, Sir!” The Headmaster gave the next stroke without hesitation. He knew that Carrie would start taking longer soon. He was right. Carrie started to beg, asking for a break, saying she couldn’t take any more right now. The Headmaster ignored her, as she mentally calculated how long she could delay before calling for number 5. As it was, she took 26 seconds, almost missing the count, before calling out “Five, Sir!” Again, the next stroke followed, as hard as the earlier ones, without hesitation.
The next two went much the same way. Carrie waited almost 30 seconds but finally called the stroke. On the eighth stroke, however, Carrie miscalculated. She waited as long as she thought she possibly could, but just as she was about to call it, the Mr. Logan said “Time! One penalty stroke.”
“Eight, Sir!” Carrie screamed loudly and desperately. But it was too late.
“Sorry, Carrie, I am going to re-do stroke seven, and you are to call for number eight afterward.”
“No, please, I can’t take it! PLEASE, DON’T!!!”
The Headmaster ignored her, and swung the cane down on her cheeks. Carrie screamed. She now had to call number eight again, and didn’t dare to incur another penalty stroke. She waited as long as she dared, and yelled “Eight, Sir!!” after about 20 second. The Headmaster showed no mercy. He brought the cane down on the exact same spot. Carrie screamed again.
Carrie started doing something else, too. She had struggled in her bonds, testing them as far as they would allow her to move. She slid her hips as far as they would go, as though that might move her out of range of the cane. She tried to kick – to no avail. She wiggled her hips and rubbed her thighs together in an attempt to make the sting dissipate. Then she noticed it. If she rubbed her thighs back and forth just right, she could stimulate her pussy lips and, to some extent, her clitoris. It caused a strange feeling of comfort, despite the fire burning on her bare buttocks. She was desperate for more contact with her pussy lips, but there was nothing to rub them on. All she could do was rub her thighs back and forth, in a frustrating yet somewhat fruitful attempt to arouse herself. The minimal success she was having was indeed a source of comfort. As her arousal increased, the sting did indeed dissipate, or at least became less pronounced. It was like a shot of morphine.
The Headmaster must have known she would do this, having had her tied in this position. Would he notice? Did she dare continue? She tried to make it less obvious but it was hard to do. Indeed, it was noticed. By all. “I see you are having trouble keeping still, Carrie. Remember my instructions? I may yet add more penalty strokes if you don’t control yourself.” Carrie couldn’t stop, however. As frustratingly difficult as it was to arouse herself, bound as she was, it was all she had. She continued, well beyond shame although aware of the seven sets of eyes watching her every move.
CONTINUED BELOW
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