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The Birthday Treat Chapter 7

An unexpected and unwelcome bonus
The BirthdayTreat by Sylvie Johnson

as told to John Larame


In the entrance hall Miss Fisher’s talking to mummy - Christ! supposing she somehow sees that I’ve got no knickers on - but as I go down she disappears in the direction of the office, leaving mummy to watch me with a broad grin as I reach the ground floor. I’m still hopping from foot to foot and there’s no way that I can stop my arse squirming around all the time. She’s obviously entertained by my hopeless attempts to act normally and seems in no hurry to cut short the performance by going out to the car.

“That was nice. We were talking about how Mrs Fox used to do it when she was Head of Discipline in my time. Miss Fisher told me why you got ten by the way, and she said that if your name’s on the board again she’ll tell Nikki Reid to give me a ring so that I can come and sit in the ante-room to awaken a few memories.”

No way! I try to imagine what it would be like to take a caning with mummy listening in the room next door and then watching me cantering around afterwards. I bet she’ll love it if she gets the chance but I’ll have to make extra sure that she doesn’t. There are six more weeks till A-levels start and I’ll have to be very, very careful. After that I should be safe. Unfortunately, mummy’s next remark reveals that fate has another very unwelcome twist in store.

“We aren’t going just yet, by the way. Miss Fisher would like another word with you. Apparently you didn’t quite manage to keep bent over for all ten, in spite of what you told me. Ah! - here she is now.”

I freeze in horror as she emerges from the corridor followed by Mrs Reid, with eighteen inches of polished leather strap in her right hand. Surely she can’t possibly be going to use that on me after what I’ve been through already? I’m not left in doubt for long.

“Right then, Sylvie. You probably hoped I didn’t notice that you weren’t bent right over for the tenth stroke. I wasn’t going to worry about it until talking to your mother just now, but she’s been telling me how the girls got strapped twenty years ago. I usually get Mrs Reid to hold them down over a chair, but apparently the Head Girl always used to be in the ante-room during canings and her way of holding any girl who didn’t last out was rather different. Since I owe you a couple with the strap, I thought we could try it out now.”

I stare at her in horrified silence. Can she really mean to beat me in the middle of the main entrance hall where anybody might see - and hear - me? She obviously reads my thoughts and grins.

“I don’t think we need to worry about having an audience. Everybody’s gone home now unless your friends are still upstairs - and since it was your fault that they got caned, it’s only fair that they hear you get your full punishment. I’m sure that Mrs Reid will be happy to play the part of Head Girl.”

I look pleadingly at mummy, but my heart sinks as she nods her head with enthusiasm. She’s really going to enjoy seeing me suffer just as she used to. She smiles at me with her eyes sparkling.

“Go and stand in front of Nikki, dear.”

I unwillingly do as she says, my hands still pressed against my skirt over the ten continually throbbing stripes. Mrs Reid lifts up the front of her skirt - revealing the tops of her boots and her panties - and a commanding tone comes into her voice.

“Bend down and put your head between my legs.”

I hesitate and look at her in amazement, but am given no time to object. Miss Fisher puts down the strap and, with both hands forces my head down and forward. Mrs Reid’s thighs close round my neck and I’m trapped. I feel her leaning forward to take hold of my wrists. I struggle feebly as they are lifted with my skirt away from my burning bum and held high up my back, revealing my well-marked rear. There’s an ominous silence as Miss F studies my knickerless posterior.

“Mrs Reid, would you let Sylvie stand up again please.”

I stagger backwards and straighten up, red-faced and panting slightly.

“Dear me, Sylvie, we seem to have a problem. You know as well as I do that going home improperly dressed is a serious offence which I can’t overlook. However, since I feel in a generous mood I’ll offer you a choice. You can either report to me after school on Monday and renew your acquaintance with the Number Three cane or take an extra two with the strap now. Which will it be?”

As a choice it leaves an awful lot to be desired. From what I know about the strap, it’s going to be pretty impossible to take two with any kind of control, let alone four. On the other hand, a Monday appointment will mean six on an arse that will still be far too tender to take the full dose without my jumping up at least once. The fact that mummy has been already invited to my next caning makes my decision inevitable.

“I’ll take the four now, miss”

“Good. Over you go again, then.”

There’s no point in resisting. Once again my head is clamped between Mrs Reid’s legs and my wrists and skirt held high up my back. For a few brief seconds I study the top of her boots, wondering whether Jess and Tracey are surreptitiously watching my ordeal from the top of the stairs. I would imagine that it’s more likely that they’re both busy trying to ease their knickers over their aching bums in case they should meet Miss Fisher on the way out.

In the position I’m in, I can’t hear all that well and therefore get no warning when the first blow from the strap falls from the right with an almighty “thwack!”, followed immediately by the second from the left. My slightly muffled howl of anguish and stamping feet echo round the hall. I try to jerk free but Mrs Reid is ready for me and I feel her muscles tense to hold me more firmly. The strap has landed both times across the centre of the previous strokes and all ten seem to explode at once with a totally uncontrollable stinging. I’m still desperately trying to break free when Miss Fisher delivers the next two. This time she places one on each side of my buttocks where Number Five’s tip bit in so viciously and I scream in agony. Mrs Reid releases her grip and steps backward. I spring upright and my boots clatter on the marble floor as I set off at a furious pace, hands once again working frantically in a vain attempt to ease away the pain. The tears well up in my eyes as I dance, unable to gain any relief and past caring how I must look.

After watching my antics for a couple of minutes, Miss Fisher disappears in the direction of the staff room with Mrs Reid and mummy picks up my school bag and heads towards the front door. I have no choice but to follow her, still massaging my burning cheeks.

I writhe my way across the car park - hoping passionately that there’s nobody around to watch me - and climb carefully into the back of the car so that I can kneel upright on the seat. The worst of the sting from the strap is starting to ease off and I wonder if I can persuade mummy to let slip a few details of her experiences of punishment at school. She’s usually not very communicative on that subject, but it’s the first time she’s actually seen me dance after a caning - not to mention watching the strapping - so she might be more willing to talk about it.

“For God’s sake drive slowly, mummy. My bum’s as sore as hell.”

“I expect it is, dear. I wouldn’t think that Miss Fisher was much good at her job if it wasn’t. In my day a visit to Mrs Fox after school always meant that you’d have to eat your dinner off the mantelpiece. Even breakfast next morning could be a bit tricky. By the way, we were going out for a meal tonight but perhaps it had better be a take-away instead.”

This sounds quite promising, though I could do without being reminded of how I’m going to have to spend my evening. I probe a little further.

“It can’t possibly have been as bad as what I’ve just had. Miss Fisher really canes hard and she’s ever so accurate. It was really awful, mummy, even before I got that bloody strap. I bet that Mrs Fox never made it hurt so much.”

Her mac rustles as she turns briefly to glance back at me.

“Don’t you believe it. She was Head of PE and ever so fit. She used to play squash three nights a week so you can guess how strong her wrist action was. We used to get the cane a lot more than you do - most girls could expect six PD after school at least once a month. Even the Number Three was too much for some of us and her Number Four was an absolute bitch. We often ended up getting strapped as well. She had a Number Six too which she used for giving twelve. Nobody could cope with that one. It was four feet long with ridges all the way down and the marks lasted for weeks. I wonder whether it’s still around.”

Better and better. I try again.

“I thought it was horrible over the horse. My bum seemed to stick out for miles and I’m sure I was showing everything I’ve got.”

Mummy chuckles quietly.

“Yes, we all knew about that too. Whoever designed that bloody thing knew exactly what they were doing. However often you tried to find some way to bend over it without looking as if you were just crying out to be thrashed as hard as possible, you could never manage it. You still always ended up thinking that Mrs Fox was looking straight at your clit the whole time.”

“Did you ever get ten?”

“Never you mind. Let’s just say that when I saw you dancing across the entrance hall it brought back all sorts of memories. I knew perfectly well what you were going through. If you want to find out how many I got, you’ll have get into the Head’s office to take a look at the old punishment books but I wouldn’t recommend it. Mind you, if you try it and get caught, I’ll be able to take up Miss Fisher’s invitation to come and see your display again. You’ll definitely be the star attraction. I thought you put on a really good show today, by the way. I must change my pants when we get in. I’m afraid I got quite damp, watching you hopping around in front of me.”

Just what I need - she’ll be giving me marks out of ten for entertainment value next. She turns the car into the drive of our house and comes to a stop by the front door.

“Mind how you get out dear - don’t go and bang your back-side against anything. We mustn’t have any unladylike rubbing in front of daddy, must we? I’ll come up to your room in a few minutes to check that you’re okay.”

I know what that means. She wants to get the thrill of seeing the damage properly. I wonder if she’s got any cream that I could rub in to ease off the pain a bit.

Daddy meets us in the hall.

“Hallo, you’re late this evening. I’m just doing drinks. Sylvie, do you want the usual vodka and orange?”

Mummy laughs out loud and my reply is short and to the point. I run up the stairs to my room leaving him with his mouth gaping in amazement. I think I’ll become teetotal in future.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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