Fiction: School Caning (M/F, assembly hall)

The assembly hall at St. Michael’s Catholic Academy was silent as Amanda Clarke stood at the back of the stage, awaiting her punishment. Both boys and girls watched from the audience, their eyes fixed on her, filled with curiosity and anticipation. Known for his strictness, Mr. Collins, the headmaster, was uncompromising in his approach to discipline. Today, he would be making an example of Amanda, and the entire school was present to witness it.

Mr. Collins called her name, and Amanda, cheeks already flushed, made her way forward. Her heart pounded as she approached the front center of the stage.

“Amanda,” he began, his voice carrying firmly across the room, “you have repeatedly broken one of the most critical rules of this school by leaving school grounds without permission. Not once, not twice, but three times now, you’ve disregarded our expectations, despite prior warnings and discipline.”

Amanda’s face flushed as she glanced at the assembled students, realizing the gravity of her situation. Principal Collins didn’t allow her discomfort to soften his tone; if anything, he seemed to grow more severe.

“And yet,” he continued, “you didn’t stop at simply breaking a rule you knew well. When questioned about your actions, you chose to lie. You lied to the teachers who work to keep you safe, and you lied to this institution that has shown you patience and guidance despite your repeated misconduct. Since you’ve decided to disregard our rules openly your punishment will be given in the same manner. Today, in front of your peers, you will receive six strokes of the cane with your skirt raised for leaving school grounds. Perhaps this will make the consequences of your actions clearer.”

He instructed her to turn around, so her back was to the audience. The realization struck her that this positioning meant everyone—every pair of eyes—would be focused on her from behind. She felt a pang of dread as she imagined the humiliating spectacle she was about to become.

Sister Margaret, a stern nun who assisted Mr. Collins, stepped forward with her customary silence, reaching out to grasp the hem of Amanda’s skirt. With calm precision, she lifted the fabric, folding it up and tucking it securely at Amanda’s waist, leaving her standing in her white knickers and knee socks. Amanda’s face flushed even deeper as she felt the air against the backs of her bare thighs, painfully aware of how exposed she was. The boys and girls in the audience could see the full outline of her knickers, stretched tautly across her backside, clinging to every curve and leaving little to the imagination.

“Place your hands on your knees, Amanda, and keep your legs together,” Mr. Collins instructed.

With a shaky breath, Amanda bent forward slightly, resting her hands on her knees as instructed. She was excruciatingly aware of the position—her backside was now thrust out toward the audience, every inch of her covered yet vulnerable form on full display.

Her classmates’ eyes were all on her, and she couldn’t escape the thought that the boys and girls behind her could see every line, every curve, every humiliating detail.

Mr. Collins stepped forward, raising the cane and tapping it against her knickers, lining up the first stroke. With a swift motion, he delivered it with a sharp crack across her backside. Amanda felt a fierce sting flare across her skin, but she bit her lip, fighting not to react. The second stroke followed quickly, and then the third, each one deepening the searing sensation. She could feel her knickers clinging even more tightly, emphasizing her shape in a way that felt unbearably revealing, almost as if they provided no protection at all.

By the fourth stroke, her legs began to tremble, but she held firm, hands still gripping her knees. Her face burned, and her mind raced with the knowledge that every student was witnessing her punishment, her shame, her every reaction to each stroke. She tried to block out the thought of what they must be seeing, but the embarrassment was overwhelming.

After the sixth stroke, Mr. Collins paused, addressing the assembly in a stern voice. “At St. Michael’s, we take discipline seriously. Amanda’s actions have shown a disregard for our standards, and she will receive the full measure of accountability.”

He then addressed Amanda directly. “Amanda, because of your dishonesty when confronted by your teachers, you will now receive an additional six strokes with your knickers removed. This will serve as a reminder to you, and to everyone here, that dishonesty carries serious consequences.”

Amanda’s eyes widened in shock and embarrassment as murmurs rippled through the audience. Principal Collins’s stern expression made it clear that there would be no room for leniency.

Amanda’s eyes widened, her face growing pale as the weight of his words sank in. She stammered, her voice breaking. “P-please, sir… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… please, no more…” Her voice grew more desperate, glancing out behind her at her peers, her cheeks flushed with both pain and rising humiliation.

Principal Collins remained unmoved. “Amanda, lying is an offense we take very seriously here. For that, you will receive the additional six strokes on the bare.”

As the stern-faced Sister Margaret stepped forward again, Amanda’s eyes filled with tears, her voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Sister Margaret,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper but thick with fear and shame. “Please, don’t… I’ve learned my lesson, I swear… please don’t take them down.”

But Sister Margaret’s only response was a slight shake of her head, a signal that resistance was futile. With steady hands, she grasped the waistband of Amanda’s knickers and, despite Amanda’s muffled sobs and begging, slowly began to lower them, exposing her reddened skin to the watching crowd.

As her knickers were lowered she stood, pressing her knees together to preserve what little modesty she had left. The cool air against her skin made her acutely aware of her exposure—she was now bare between waist and knees, with nothing shielding her round bottom from the eyes of her classmates.

“Step out of them, Amanda,” Sister Margaret ordered.

With a deep, steadying breath, Amanda stepped out of her knickers, her bare skin feeling even more exposed with each passing second.

Mr. Collin’s spoke firmly. “Spread your legs, girl, and hold your ankles.”

Amanda couldn’t bring herself to do it. She felt frozen, her mind racing with shame and defiance, her body unwilling to obey the humiliating order. Her throat felt tight, and her legs remained locked together in stubborn refusal, even as she struggled with the knowledge that defying Mr. Collins was a dangerous choice.

Mr. Collins waited a moment, letting the silence fill the hall before his voice sliced through it, low and stern. “Amanda,” he warned, “if you don’t comply, you will leave me no choice but to have you horsed by three prefects, and your caning will be trebled. You are already on thin ice—don’t test my patience further.”

The threat hit Amanda like a shock, her eyes widening as she realized the severity of her predicament. The image of being hoisted up, held helplessly over someone’s shoulder, with two others holding her legs apart, her bare bottom and everything else fully on display for a far harsher caning, filled her with dread. The humiliation of her current situation was already nearly unbearable; being horsed in front of the entire assembly would magnify it beyond imagination.

Swallowing hard, she felt her resistance crumble. She couldn’t endure more caning. Her eyes stung with fresh tears as she parted her legs, inch by reluctant inch, her hands shaking as she lowered herself and finally bent over, gripping her ankles. Her legs were now spread as ordered, and she was painfully aware of just how exposed she was, her modesty entirely surrendered.

Every nerve in her body seemed to tingle with embarrassment as she braced herself, feeling the full weight of her vulnerability. She squeezed her eyes shut, mortified at the thought of what everyone must be seeing: not just her bare bottom, but also the more intimate areas that were now visible from behind. Every boy, every girl, every pair of eyes in the hall had a clear view of her most private self, exposed without a shred of modesty. She could feel her classmates staring, could almost sense their wide-eyed shock at her vulnerability.

Mr. Collins stepped forward again, raising the cane and tapping it lightly against her bare skin. The sensation made her shiver, each tap a reminder of the utter lack of protection she had. Then, without hesitation, he delivered the seventh stroke, and Amanda let out a soft gasp, the sting far sharper now on her unprotected skin. The pain radiated through her, but the embarrassment of being so fully exposed, her most private areas on display, was even more overwhelming.

The eighth and ninth strokes followed, each one intensifying the burn across her bare skin. Her grip on her ankles tightened as her legs began to tremble, every instinct screaming for her to close her legs, to shield herself somehow, but she knew she couldn’t. She was trapped in this humiliating position, every part of her laid bare before the audience.

After the tenth stroke, as Amanda fought to keep her composure, her face flushed with the combined heat of pain and mortification. Mr. Collins paused, his gaze narrowing as he observed her trembling stance. Then, he took a step closer, his voice cutting through the silence in a low, reproachful tone that sent a chill through the hall.

“Amanda,” he began, his voice carrying an edge of unmistakable disappointment, “it seems your body betrays you. I would expect a young lady facing discipline to maintain herself with dignity, yet here you are, visibly… affected.” He let the implication hang in the air, each word laden with condemnation.

Amanda’s cheeks flared a deeper shade of crimson as the full meaning of his words registered. She was mortified, her hands gripping her ankles more tightly as her mind raced with the horror of it—he’d noticed, and worse yet, he was making sure everyone else did too. Every student in the hall now sat in stunned silence, acutely aware of her shame, her unintentional reaction laid bare alongside her exposed skin.

“Have you no shame?” Mr. Collins continued, his voice ringing out as he took a step to the side, ensuring the entire audience could see her vulnerable posture, as if he was forcing her to confront the evidence of her reaction. “Perhaps this punishment is not enough if it has stirred such improper responses in you. Your lack of control is an embarrassment to this institution and to yourself.”

Amanda’s body trembled, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, not just from the pain but from the added weight of his words. The shame of it felt unbearable; her dampness had betrayed her, and now, the entire assembly hall was witness to her humiliation. She wanted nothing more than to pull away, to cover herself, but she was frozen, knowing that any movement might provoke further censure.

Mr. Collins paused, tapping the cane against her exposed bottom as if deep in thought, letting the rhythm sink into the silence, every tap a reminder of her compromised state.

Amanda’s stomach twisted, and her grip on her ankles tightened. She felt entirely at his mercy, acutely aware that her body’s response had now become part of her punishment.

As Mr. Collins delivered the eleventh stroke, Amanda’s body jerked slightly, a broken cry escaping her lips. Her grip on her ankles tightened, knuckles white as she struggled to hold herself in position. But as she did, she became mortifyingly aware of a slickness betraying her body’s reaction, a thick, visible strand dangling between her legs. It quivered with each tremor of her body, visible to everyone as it shimmered in the harsh lights above, amplifying her exposure in the worst possible way.

Mr. Collins noticed, his expression hardening further as he paused before delivering the twelfth and final stroke. The crack of the cane echoed across the assembly hall, and Amanda whimpered, feeling another warm surge as the thick strand swayed, glistening, until it stretched downward and met the stage floor in a quiet, humiliating drop.

“Hold that position, Amanda,” Mr. Collins commanded, his tone ice-cold as he glanced down to where the droplets had begun to form a small, glistening puddle beneath her. The assembly sat in stunned silence, the full impact of her disgrace laid bare before them. Amanda’s face burned, fresh tears of embarrassment slipping down her cheeks as she realized everyone—boys, girls, teachers—could see the visible evidence of her shameful reaction dripping slowly, pooling beneath her.

For several agonizing minutes, she remained there, trembling and exposed, as each viscous strand met the floor in quiet, mortifying succession. She could feel every gaze, every shocked and fascinated eye watching her, taking in the undeniable proof of her humiliation. With every drop, her sense of dignity felt stripped away, the minutes stretching endlessly as she remained forced to display herself in such a shameful state.

Finally, as her time neared an end, Mr. Collins stepped closer, his cane in hand. With a slow, deliberate motion, he brought the tip of the cane to rest just beneath her, applying a subtle but insistent pressure against her most exposed, sensitive area. Amanda gasped, a fresh flush of mortification flooding her face as the cane’s tip prodded her, coaxing her body’s response with quiet, relentless precision.

The effect was immediate, her body instinctively reacting to the additional stimulation. Another viscous strand formed and fell, followed by several more in rapid succession, each one a silent testament to her humiliation. Mr. Collins continued the gentle prodding, ensuring every student bore witness to the mortifying display, a final lesson in what he considered Amanda’s lack of self-discipline.

When he finally withdrew the cane, Amanda felt utterly drained, the puddle beneath her now unmistakable. Finally, Mr. Collins broke the silence. “Let Amanda’s shame be a lesson for all of you,” he intoned coldly. “Discipline is not only about behavior but about self-control, which she so sorely lacks today. Witness her, and let this image stay with you.” Only then did he finally give her permission to stand and cover herself, though the memory of her exposure would linger long after she returned to her seat, every humiliating moment seared into the minds of her classmates and herself alike.