There had been a slight but perceptible change of tone in his last remark and Emily had noticed it. Her expression of cheerful cooperation flickered for a moment as she realized that she really did not know what to expect from this master who was now staring at her naked bottom, with a cane in his hand. He was not the Reverend. She felt a flutter of anxiety in her tummy. But surely it couldn't be too different, even if things seemed not quite the same. Anyway, there was little she could do about it, other than trying to bemuse him by letting him see a hint of her privates. But there was another flutter in her tummy, this time more like fear. The fact that he was in his shirtsleeves suddenly struck her anew. Somehow this seemed to make him look more threatening. She saw him raise the cane with a look curiously like confidence and determination, and then she felt its thin length placed across her cheeks. The sensation was familiar but her bottom seemed so helpless, she suddenly realized, even though she had so cheerfully presented it in its present, vulnerable state. Her eyes started darting around, searching for some clue to whatever was going to happen.

Oswald himself had realized that, whatever was to happen, it was between him and Emily's bottom, that it was critically connected to the presence of the cane in his hand, and that he should stop looking at Emily's face. He raised the cane to lay it across the bottom lifted before him and felt its thin length making contact with the skin of the paired spheres, the further curve perfectly repeating the nearer across the dividing cleft, their skin so pale and smooth, so perfect and so … waiting! The moment sent a sudden shiver through him. But it was a shiver that clarified his mind. With a peculiar increase of confidence he shifted his position and his stance so that his arm was comfortably extended and the cane was resting evenly across both cheeks of Emily's bottom. He lifted and lowered the cane several times, judging how it would fall when he delivered the stroke. It seemed, indeed, just like serving in squash, only much more exciting, and at what a convenient level Emily's bottom was, he thought, gratefully.

It was like serving in a game of squash. Forget what your opponent was thinking, breathe evenly and keep your eye fixed firmly on the ball … which was, in this case, the line where his cane was resting across Emily's bottom. He remembered clearly the sensation when he had practiced on the couch. The cane had to be lifted high enough and brought down hard enough to produce both the swish and the thwack. He concentrated.

Emily in this instant knew that it was going to be very different from what she had expected when she had knocked on the door. Suddenly frightened, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tried to concentrate everything inside her head, excluding everything outside it. For a few moments everything was completely still, but Emily was focussing so intensely inside her own head and Oswald was focussed so intently on her bottom, that neither of them noticed the silence. For Oswald, the moment of decision came in a flash.

SwishThwack! For a moment Oswald had a sudden, quite physical, sense of success. Whereas in squash, however, he would have known what to expect from his opponent without even thinking, now confusion erupted. The momentary sense of achievement was cut very short by a wild shriek from Emily. Oswald found himself staring at her abrupt transformation, half upright now, hands clutching her bottom, eyes and mouth wide open as she stared, shocked, apparently into empty space.

If Emily was more shocked than ever before in her life, Oswald himself was almost as surprised. He had not even thought about how Emily would react to the cane. Now he suddenly found out and was completely at a loss. What had he done? Had he made the stroke much too hard? But he certainly could have made it even harder still! What on earth could he do with this young woman who was sobbing and stamping with outrage in front of him. He found himself catching with pleasure momentary glimpses of her crotch as her hands remained glued to her behind.. The thought passed through his mind that, if Emily's earlier revelation of her pubic area to him had seemed oddly deliberate, then the moments of similar exposure now were not. They were simply the careless result of her desperate attempts to deal with the pain in her bottom.

His mind, rather belatedly, began to work more logically. Pain must go with the cane as inevitably as wet followed water. Indeed, and the obviousness of the point quite took him aback. This was exactly the purpose of what he was doing! As if to confirm this dawn of understanding, Emily had finally closed her mouth and refocused her eyes, on him. "Oh sir! That hurt so much!"

"Of course it did, Emily, that is exactly the purpose! This is a punishment that should persuade you to reform your behaviour!" Oswald barely recognized his own voice in these words, but at least they seemed to be coming out of his own mouth. He was, of course, completely ignorant of the strange calculations and understandings that had governed Emily's actions. "Oh sir! I promise, I really promise that, that I'll behave! Please don't cane me again!"

"Again?" Oswald still felt that he was speaking at the dictation of some higher authority, but he was happily grateful for it. "There will be no "again" if your behaviour improves. But your punishment on this occasion is the result of misbehaviour already perpetrated. "Again" is what you and I will now do! Bend over, again, so that we may conclude this punishment and it will then be up to you to ensure that it doesn't happen again!"

Emily was staring at him in pained astonishment, partly, of course, because she did not wish to resume the position that would inevitably be followed by another stroke of the cane, and partly because this was not the Mr. Turnbull she had known.

"Bend over and touch you toes again. If you don't do as I ask you, then I will extend your punishment." This threat surprised both of them, for Oswald had no idea of whether he was authorized, or whether he would dare, to exceed the allotted six strokes. But it worked, for Emily, with a gulp of dismay, dragged her hands away from her still smarting bottom, turned back to face the desk, bent down to touch the floor and, once more presented her bottom in the time-honoured position.

It was the same bottom, the first female bottom, that he had first seen a few minutes before. But somehow it now looked quite different and, certainly, he was looking at it quite differently. Emily's skirt was still securely folded into its waist and Oswald had just begun to register, again with some surprise, the reddening mark across her cheeks, when he observed that her knickers had been dislodged by her protests and had now slipped down to her feet. He saw that this was keeping her from placing her feet apart. When she had first done this, of her own accord, he had noticed it without really thinking about the results. Now, increasingly educated in the niceties of a caning, he realized that the parting of her legs served to expose what lay between her thighs. Though still not bold enough to make too obvious use of such opportunities, he nevertheless knew he was excited by simply seeing that Emily's most hidden intimacies could be seen, if he chose to look, and he was inspired to take some action.

He reached downwards with the cane and pressed its tip into the crotch of Emily's knickers, pinning them to the floor. "Step out of your knickers (goodness, he probably had never even spoken the word before!) … they are impeding your position!" Bending forward allowed his gaze to penetrate a little more deeply between her thighs, but the fact that her legs were now closer together meant that all he could glimpse was a fascinating combination of flesh pressing together in the parting of a slight concavity between her thighs. His command to Emily resulted in slight variations of these briefly more intimate glimpses of those other lips (he knew the word labia), between her thighs, as she moved in response. He still, however, could not see as much of her as he was hoping.

Emily, slowly putting her mind back together, knew perfectly well that Mr. Turnbull's intention was to make her expose herself more obviously. Her visits to the Reverend had familiarized her with this habit. She began to hope that gratifying Mr. Turnbull's desires might possibly soften the unexpected severity of his assault on her bottom. So she twisted and lifted first one foot and then the other out her knickers. Improvising with growing hope, she then asked, from her still inverted position, "Shall I pick them up and put them on a chair, sir, so that I don't get tangled with them?" She noticed, hopefully, that he had to drag his eyes away from her proffered rear to answer her.

Oswald, though his mind still dithered between his new-found incisiveness and his normal indecision, thought there was probably some benefit to this suggestion, "Er, yes … please do that."

Emily promptly reached for her knickers and straightened up again. Standing up even for a few seconds made her feel a little less threatened and the benefit for Oswald was immediately, if briefly, demonstrated when she turned away from him to walk over to the chair. Her bottom, as she took these few steps, seemed even more beguiling and he was just observing, with considerable curiousity, the rippling of the bright red line of the cane across its two mobile cheeks when, after placing her knickers on the seat of a chair, she turned and presented to him a fully frontal view of her crotch.

Once more Oswald's thoughts were stopped in their tracks. Emily was again gratified to notice the downwards flick of his eyes and, desperately improvising further, suggested, "Perhaps you could just have me stand here, with my hands on my head, or a book or something, for a quarter of an hour, or something like that! Like we do in gym! I mean, I do really know what a caning would be like now, and I promise I wouldn't do anything bad again!" She almost went on to suggest that she could take of all her clothes as part of the punishment, but couldn't think of a way to say that with it sounding altogether too suggestive.

Oswald's thoughts were going along a very similar path for an instant, but he couldn't think of a way to make it sound remotely appropriate either. His newly found authority suddenly reasserted itself, however, "Procrastination will not do you any good at all … you are here to be caned and caned you will be. You have only received one stroke so far and you still have five to go. That is, unless you choose to make such a fuss that I am obliged to give you even more!" There was that threat again … well, at least he could make it!

Despair settled in Emily's mind. Whatever had gone wrong had gone so terribly wrong that there seemed to be absolutely no hope of it going right again. Whatever else she could or couldn't do, however, it was probably better to keep Mr. Turnbull happy, rather than risk making him unhappy. Resigned, she went back to her place in front of the desk and, once again, reached down to present her still smarting bottom in the required position, taking care to place her feet apart, even a little further than they had been before.

For a moment Oswald, now seeing more clearly that his cane had left a mark that looked as though it might well become a serious bruise, was again disconcerted, but then he thought, hopeful in his own way, "Well, if that's the result of my first stroke then that's probably that's what's supposed to happen, and I must be doing something correctly! Now I have to make five more!"

With that, he raised his cane to Emily's bottom again, laying it along the mark of his first stroke, summoned up the skills he already possessed, and with conscious confidence swept the cane up, and down.

Swishthwatt! Emily had known it was going to hurt again, but the burst of deep fire across her behind took away both her breath and her mind. "OW! Oh … oh … OW!" Oswald had but a brief moment to feel the hint of another stroke well made before Emily's agonized jerk in reaction had her, once again, half-upright with hands clasping her bottom. He stared at her for a moment but his reaction was not the same as that of the first occasion. Something was starting to seem very different. Rules were being established, and they were both beginning to know what they were.

Emily opened her eyes and took several deep breaths, hands pressing hard into her bottom cheeks as the initial shock of the cane's second impact receded into a throbbing burn. She looked at Mr. Turnbull, who looked back at her. She knew he had changed. He was holding the cane in both hands again, slowly bending it to and fro. The message was completely clear. The caning would continue and Mr. Turnbull now knew exactly what he was doing. For Oswald, his confidence made him feel almost generous. "Bend over again and stay in position … if you do so and behave properly through the remains of your caning, then you will receive six, and that will be that!" Never would he have guessed that he could say such things!

Emily would not have thought so either, but now she knew also. She opened her mouth, but remained silent. Tears were beginning to fill her eyes. She took another deep breath and, once again, bent over, staring at the floor, overwhelmed by dismay. She knew she was offering her now throbbing bottom for an entirely real beating, a punishment that she could not avoid.

"Good! Stay in that position and, as I have said, your punishment will be six-of-the-best, and only six." As Oswald was pronouncing these words, now sounding curiously both strained and also rather pompous, he returned his attention to the bottom that he recognized as the center of this event. He now saw that his second stroke had landed almost exactly along the first. The welt was visibly swelling, and was already turning purple in places where the two strokes had exactly coincided. Goodness! This really was a bruise! No wonder Emily had leapt upright on this stroke too! That must have really hurt! Intrigued by the observation of this further effect of his work, however, he found himself adopting a quite deliberate approach to the task. He decided that he had to avoid the area of this plainly rather severe damage to Emily's bottom for the remainder of her punishment.

He was beginning to feel as though he were already an experienced caner. He tapped the lower curve of Emily's bottom thoughtfully as he decided on where to aim his next stroke. Emily started slightly and he saw a sudden tightening of her cheeks in reaction to a fear that the stroke was coming. But Oswald was now taking his time, realizing how much control he was now wielding over this normally charming but rather cheeky pupil. The authority of the cane! He decided that he would deliver each of the four remaining strokes lower than his first two. The lower curve of Emily's bottom somehow seemed both appropriate and inviting. And he would take care to aim each stroke just below the preceding one.

As he prepared to administer this intention, the realization that had just struck him suddenly swelled up to entirely fill his mind, threatening almost to paralyze his actions: this bared bottom was once again stuck out in front of him, awaiting his administration of the cane, as a consequence of the exercise of his authority … an authority that he had never knew he had! An authority that the cane had miraculously transferred to his person! And now he saw even more clearly how sharp and bright was the bright crimson and purple mark curving around the two bottom cheeks, slightly askew but more or less across the crown. The result of his own action! He was becoming better at absorbing the successive revelations of this event, but this still caused him some surprise. His mind had to put this together, his earlier realization that the purpose of a caning was indeed to produce significant pain in the bottom of any young woman who had to suffer such punishment, and the now apparent physical result of this punishment, in the form of the bruise that recorded the cane's imprint with such startling clarity. This was all quite extraordinary! His reactions, however, were changing. His cane was already resting across its target, his target, for his next stroke!

But now he found himself, as though his understanding of the situation could penetrate his mind only bit by bit, staring very hard at the cane he was gripping very firmly, as it lay across Emily's bared and up-thrust bottom, pressing slightly into the pale firmness of its flesh, the smooth swells marred only by that crimsoning line, just below which he had laid his cane for the next stroke. The sight of that mark continued to amaze and possess his mind, partly because he himself had caused it, but partly because it seemed to be changing even as he looked at it. He noticed with surprise that it was now a visibly raised a ridge, swelling in the flesh of her bottom as it curved across the twinned spheres, the deep cleft between them bridged not only by that welt but again by the cane itself as it lay there, an extension of his own arm, its thin, hard, length against the skin, threatening the next stroke. He realized that, in aiming just below that welt, he had laid the cane exactly across the slight widening in her bottom cleft that indicated where, he knew, her anus lay, just hidden from view. How extraordinary it was that he should have so unexpectedly found himself, not only confronted by one of his pupils half-naked, but also observing so intimate a part of her in such a privileged manner! The intensity of sensation in his crotch made him realize that, whatever his brain might be saying, he was increasingly excited by this, and by the knowledge that her even more intimate secrets lay only just out of sight, if only he could find an excuse to bend down and look between her legs. He wondered about dropping the cane.

He would, of course, have been very surprised to know how the headmaster himself managed these events and, as it was, he had to remind himself of why both he and Emily were there. Even as he brought his concentration back to the cane, and his duty to administer it, however, he also suddenly realized that he found administering Emily's beating equally exciting, perhaps even more than the hope of catching a glimpse of what was to be seen between her thighs. The vivid sensations he still he had of the two strokes of the cane as they had landed made him eager to give her a third. He realized, in yet another surprised moment, that this third stroke would be initiated, quite simply, by the action of his own right arm, and that his duty, amazingly enough, seemed to be exactly that. Then he found this powerful desire, both to deliver the next stroke and to observe the continuing effects on Emily's bottom, merging with another, to reach out and press the flesh of her cleft apart so as to completely reveal for his own satisfaction the entrance of her anus. This was so confusing! But while he couldn't do the latter, he could certainly do the former and, as he prepared to do so he also found himself, rather unexpectedly, wondering whether Emily herself felt the closeness of these two threats, to the cheeks of her bottom and to that aperture, the opening into its very centre.

Emily's feelings were, in fact, much more confused. She was not in a state to wonder explicitly whether her earlier provocativeness had been a mistake. Indeed, she still retained the vestige of a hope that she could use her physical attractions to her advantage, and she certainly was not thinking of trying to regain her modesty in any way. The very startling shock of that furious pain in her bottom, once, and then a second time, had simply absorbed all her feelings about this part of her anatomy. Neither she nor Oswald had any informed notion of how hard a beating should be and, although Oswald could easily have made it even harder, this was actually very severe for a caning on the bare bottom of a schoolgirl, and one who had not been genuinely caned before . But all he could do was to assume he was proceeding correctly and all she could do was to try to survive it. At this moment she was bending over, fingers stretching down to touch the carpet, looking back at him in the terrified expectation that the two most painful moments in her life up to that point were about to become three.

A moment of stillness and silence, then swishhTHWATT! The stroke was a little harder than the first two and it landed where Oswald had aimed it, a little lower. Emily jumped and gasped loudly but she managed, with great difficulty, to remain bending over. This more resigned acceptance of her third stroke allowed Oswald to register more clearly a peculiarly satisfying sensation, of the cane's swish through the air and its thwack across the bottom. Like the game of squash again! What had the Reverend said? Something about caning being an art? At the time he had barely noticed this remark. Now he found himself remembering and agreeing with it. The realization that his last stroke had landed almost exactly where he had aimed it convinced him that it was also an art, one that he knew he was enjoying. He was, of course, still aware that Emily at the business end of the cane was obviously finding this experience very painful. He certainly was not a cruel person, but this fleeting moment of guilt was neutralized by the sudden thought that what he was doing, after all, was simply continuing the noble tradition of English Education. He had a duty! He would continue!

As the mark of Emily's third stroke grew more darkly crimson, Oswald raised his cane again, laid it just below it the third stripe, and pressed it firmly into her bottom for a moment. He noticed with interest how the pressure of his resting cane slightly indented both her cheeks. That was where his cane would land! Then he released his fourth stroke with exactly the same force. SwishhTHWATT!

Oswald realized that, at least for him, the sensation was rather similar to the moment when he made a perfect return on the squash court, with the satisfying sound and feeling as his racquet hit the ball exactly in its center and the ball ricocheted off the wall exactly where it would cause his opponent the most difficulty. The Headmaster had been quite correct! But the cane actually seemed infinitely more satisfying than the squash racquet, in the way that the sudden THWATT! seemed to explode in the flesh of Emilys' twinned bottom cheeks, causing her bottom to suddenly lift in protest and, now that she was more or less keeping her position, leaving him to contemplate in his own time the clear record of his aim as the mark grew red across the flesh – with no need to rush across a squash court as he himself became the object an opponent's return!

Though Emily kept her position, more or less, her bottom jumped at the impact of the cane and for a few moments, as she gasped and struggled to absorb the pain, her hips pumped and twisted, up and down and from side to side. Oswald, who had never before acknowledged the ways in which he could be aroused by such movements of a female bottom, let alone when it was naked, looked on entranced. His interest increased yet more when he saw that the swivelling of Emily's bottom from side to side, and the effects of these movements in her cleft, were resulting in very fleeting but nevertheless unmistakable exposure of more anatomical details. There was no doubt! Now he was granted an unmistakable glimpse of that of that small, embarrassing private aperture that he had been imagining hidden in its normally invisible state, between the cheeks of Emily's bottom. He knew what that was! And then there was something much more mysterious, at least to him, a glimpse of another cleft and two parallel folds of flesh, soft and pressing lips, even deeper in that hollow that seemed to open up between her thighs. These revelations passed by Oswald' eyes in a mere moment, but their effect lingered. He wonder again how he might justify a more probing examination of the female secrets that Emily had seemed almost ready to offer him, at least before her caning began. He thought again about dropping his cane but by now she was looking back at him, from her inverted position, and he thought it would be shamefully obvious.

There was no obvious way of achieving that desired view at this precise moment, which seemed, irresistibly, to demand his administration of the next stroke. So he raised his cane once more and returned it to Emily's bottom, his aim now adjusted to just below the crimsoning line of the fifth stroke. SwishhTHWATT! As the stroke cut across the firm flesh and the feel and sound of its impact reverberated through his hand and hearing, and the blur of the cane came to rest, he noticed that it had ended up much higher up the bottom than the mark it had left, which was already growing red across the lower cheeks, just below the darker crimson and blue lines of the preceding welts. Puzzled for a moment, he then realized that the cane's lively resonance of the cane in his hand came from its rebounding and bouncing over the bottom on impact. This was much better than hitting a squash ball! The experience of caning seemed to grow more fascinating with every stroke. He was almost forgetting about poor Emily, at the receiving end, until he noticed her alternately gasping and blowing out air, with wide-open eyes staring at the floor, while little contractions rippled through her bottom.

Oswald contemplated the results with a satisfaction that grew with the mark that his cane had just produced. Five strokes! One more. Almost without thinking he found himself announcing this fact, "This will be your last stroke. It will be one that you will remember!"

The caning had been so painful that Emily was barely even capable of realizing that this really would be her last stroke. But Oswald now suddenly realized what this meant. This really would be the last stroke! This extraordinary experience was about to end! He had turned his gaze once more to Emily's bottom with a growing feeling of dismay. He did not want the experience to end, but he was desperate to administer another stroke because he was now finding it so profoundly exciting. His cane was already resting across the lower part of Emily's cheeks, below the existing four welts. Even beyond the purple bumps within the first double welt, its edges were acquiring a distinctly purple tinge. The marks left by his third and fourth strokes were already visibly swollen –and in a manner that Oswald found even more fascinating, for they now had distinctly raised, parallel edges, dark crimson along a paler groove. They had become perfect imprints of the cane. Oswald had never imagined a cane could leave such a welt, let alone seen one. The thought that they had originated in the actions of his own arm seemed peculiarly exciting. No wonder that he could feel the cane's impact so clearly as it cut into the flesh of Emily's bottom . He wanted to touch the raised welts – were they soft, or hard? But he didn't dare find out. His fifth stroke, although its mark was already crimson, had not yet swollen in this way. Below it, still smooth, the lowest part of her cheeks curved in to the creases marking the conjunction of her bottom with the backs of her thighs.

Oswald contemplated, yet again, the fact that those secrets of female anatomy, still a mystery to him lay so close, within those folds of flesh. He realized that he wanted, in some ways, to thrust himself up between her legs, into those still hidden secrets. But he knew he could not. There was no way to explore that threatening desire, except through his cane. What did remain for him was its final stroke. The cane's final stroke. His final stroke. Emily's final stroke. With the cane. It would be somewhere there, on the still untouched lower edge of Emily's bottom. Exactly where should he aim it? With the same interval between it and the fifth stroke that he had left between that one and the fourth stroke? Or a little lower, more or less in the middle of the still untouched flesh? Or lower still, closer to the crease?

Oswald decided that this was where he would aim. Somehow the crease's proximity to the still hidden secrets between Emily's thighs made this the most exciting place to aim. If his fingers could not reach in there, then at least his cane could get as close as possible, biting into her flesh, across her cleft where it widened at that crucial junction.

He carefully moved the cane to just above the crease, pressing it into the resilient flesh and sawing it gently to and fro. This made the cheeks move slightly. He tried to make her cheeks shift enough to reveal her anus again, but it didn't work. He had to concentrate on how to deliver the stroke. It would have to cut in at rather a low angle to meet her bottom properly. He shifted his position slightly to make this easier.

How hard would he make the stroke? He knew that he wanted to make it harder than before, as though it to make a last and more intimate contact with this bottom that had so unexpectedly taken over his life. But he was still sufficiently in touch with the peculiarity of his situation to know that this would be inappropriate. He would try to make it a bit harder. Not too much harder, but a bit. He took a last good look at Emily, bending down to reach to the carpet, her skirt still firmly tucked in at the waist, the nakedness of her body from waist to calves rising to that simply marvelous summit of her bottom, the contours of its rounded, up-thrusting cheeks that had been so smooth a few minutes previously, now marked by four distinct ridges – even the mark of her fifth stroke was now visibly raised. She had squeezed her eyes tightly shut in the agony of waiting for her next stroke. Oswald took a last, calming breath, settled his concentration, and …

His cane lifted quickly, high above his shoulder, and swept down again. SWISHHTHWATT! The urgency of his desire had overwhelmed him at the last moment, as he raised his cane for the last time and brought it sizzling down across Emily's bottom with almost all the energy he had. The cane buried itself in the flesh at the base of her bottom with an explosive report and for a split second he saw its full roundnesses flattened by a shock wave of the impact. He knew he had made the stroke much harder than it should have been. It was as though he had tried to bury himself in Emily's bottom. But by then it was too late. Emily reacted with a wild shriek, almost falling over, hands flying to her bottom and her body half-straightened as she stared wide-eyed into space. Her shriek turned into gasps and moans. Her feet stamped the floor and she closed here eyes again, her mind turning inwards as she tried to absorb this final explosion of pain that had erupted so overwhelmingly in her bottom.

Oswald knew he should be feeling guilty, as he stood there, the now lifeless cane now drooping from his hand. But the sensation of that final impact still seemed to reverberated in his stomach. And his eyes darted to and fro as he tried to catch what he knew would be his last fleeting glimpses of Emily's pubic area, afforded by her frantic movements.

Finally, as they calmed down, she opened her eyes again and the two of them found themselves staring at each other. It was a very strange moment.

It was over. Both Emily and Oswald realized, with a peculiarly confusing sense, that they were emerging from another world, a very astonishing world into which events had suddenly catapulted them. Now they found themselves returning, equally helplessly, back into the one where they had lived in before. But it could not be exactly the same, and the return was confusing, to say the least. Emily was still bending forward, naked below the waist as she had willingly offered herself before the events had taken such an unexpected turn. But the throbbing, aching heat in her bottom was as new and strange as it was, inescapably and painfully, also real. She could think only of how much it had hurt. At this moment she had completely forgotten about the bulge in the front of Mr. Turnbull's trousers, though it was still most decidedly there.

For Oswald, everything was rapidly beginning to seem utterly strange, and unbelievable, except that there was no doubt whatsoever about Emily's presence before him, and the cane in his hand. He forced himself to speak, somewhat unsteadily now that the Voice of Authority had deserted him. "Er … um … you may stand up now, and dress yourself properly again!" Emily straightened up, tears running down a face that was red, but not nearly as red as the bottom that was now mostly obscured by her clutching hands. She shuffled over to the chair and pulled her knickers back on. He had a final sight of her red-striped bottom as it disappeared inside the blue undergarment and under the skirt that she now untucked and straightened out. She looked exactly as she had before, a school girl, standing there, with out any visible sign of what had just happened to her bottom, except that her hands were clasped to the back of her skirt. But she certainly didn't feel the same.

For a few moments she remained there, reluctant to turn again and face Mr. Turnbull after everything that had just happened. Oswald recovered enough sensitivity to guess what was going on in her mind. "Now that we are finished, Emily … you may go … and I hope you have learned the appropriate lesson from this … er … unfortunate matter!"

She turned, mouth pursed in a mix of physical and psychological discomfort. Her face was still red and wet with tears. She swallowed hard, for she didn't really know what the lesson should be. She brushed her wet cheeks with a hand, "Yes sir, thank you sir! I … er …." Then she walked across the room, face downcast, opened the door, and hurried away, hands still clasping her sore bottom.

On her way back to the private cubicle that was the privilege of a senior girl, she saw a few of her friends. It was clear to them that she was upset but she passed by their surprised enquiries without replying, leaving them looking after her in surprise. Shutting her cubicle door behind her with relief, she threw herself on her bed, face down. Her hands, naturally enough, slipped behind her, under the waist of her knickers, and began to rub her still throbbing bottom. She was astonished to feel how swollen it was, with the ridges so high, so hard and so hot. She lay there, sobbing, for about ten minutes. Soon enough, however, she found herself anxious to see what the results of her punishment actually looked like. She got up from the bed and turned her back to the mirror on her dresser. Though no one knew better than she how painful the caning had been - indeed, she was the only person who knew - she was still shocked to see the corrugated state and the colourful appearance of her own bottom. With her knickers once again pushed down and her skirt hauled up, she twisted back as far as she could to inspect the damage. Five crimson marks! But there had been six strokes! Then she noticed how the highest mark was purpling and swollen. Of course! Now she remembered how the two first strokes had seemed higher up across her bottom and how the second had hurt so much. He'd hit her twice in the same place! She could see the ends of the two separate splaying out on the outside of her right cheek. And that welt just above the creases, it was almost as large and as purple as the highest one. That last stroke had been so awful! He had hit her so hard! She'd almost lost her balance! The brute! She'd thought that the cane was a joke, but now she knew, and saw, that it was anything but. She realized that the rumours she'd occasionally hear about girls really beaten in other schools were not just rumours after all. How could anyone do this to her bottom? But Mr. Turnbull had done so! She'd never known that anything could be that painful! Let alone something that anyone did to you on purpose! With dismay, she ran her fingers carefully up and down and from side to side over the corrugations, especially the double welt that was so swollen and the lowest one, where he'd practically cut her in half! The welts were still very tender and her whole bottom was still so sore. She'd never forget that awful sound that had seemed almost to explode inside her! Slowly, as she relived the shocking experience, she began to recover. She found a jar of skin cream and started to rub it very carefully into her damaged behind.

It took a considerable effort on Oswald's part to pull himself together when he was left alone in the room, still holding the cane. For a few moment he tried to recapture in his mind's eye the now departed scene. . He swished the cane. But now there was no target. He regretted that he had missed the opportunity to look more carefully between Emily's thighs at the secrets that he had only glimpsed, but he couldn't think of any way he could have managed it. Finally, he took the cane back to the cupboard and closed its door, went to sit at the desk, and carefully wrote in the record book that he had left open "Emily Forster, April 6, 1937, six-of-the-best." It seemed an inadequate account! He closed the book, replaced it on the shelf and stood up. There was nothing in the room at all that gave any hint of what had just happened. But the uncomfortably confined pressure in the front of his trousers was still there. He rearranged himself and his trousers again, put on his jacket, which he hoped was long enough to hide the embarrassment, and left the headmaster's study. He returned at once to his lodging, where we will not follow him, except to note that, as he sought relief, his mind was filled with a wildly confusing swirl of image:, Emily bending over, lifting her skirt and pulling down her knickers, a bared bottom, willingly offered to him and then, not so willingly, jerking under the cane's swish and thwack, crimson marks and anguished howls, glimpses of intensely private anatomical details, and still that ultimate mystery, what did it actually look like, deep between her thighs? For the moment he would live with the knowledge of the cane. .

One might have expected that the outcome of these events would have been unfortunate, but this was not really so. Emily's bottom indeed remained sore for a couple of hours and uncomfortable for much longer. She found an excuse to avoid the evening showers and kept events to herself that night. But when she got up the next morning and examined her bottom in a mirror, finding that she could still feel how her flesh was hard along the still brightly coloured bruises, now surrounded by a mauvish sort of halo, she decided to make the most of it. She told some friends what had happened and they refused to believe her until she showed them the indubitable evidence of her bruised bottom. They were, of course, astonished and some of them examined it with an extraordinary degree of fascination. They were in a study at the time, with Emily lying over the edge of the table with skirt up and knickers down, feeling simultaneously both proud and embarrassed, with her friends clustering and clucking around her bared behind. until they could keep the door closed no longer. When they demanded to know how much it had hurt, she had tried to cover both sides of her reputation by replying, "Oh! A lot! … But I didn't really mind!" She also allowed these friends to feel the still swollen marks and this effectively made even more vivid the reports that began to circulate ever more widely around the school. Everyone was, of course, were amazed and Emily, as she had hoped, soon found herself a celebrity, particularly in the ten days or so during which the marks of the cane remained visible. What made this even more gratifying was the view of other girls, carefully fostered by Emily herself, that the caning represented a strange kind of uniquely intimate relationship between herself and Mr. Turnbull, one of which the other girls immediately became peculiarly jealous. "Why!" she had exclaimed to much giggling, "You should have seen the bulge in the front of his trousers!" Emily herself, however, subsequently took great care not to repeat her mistakes and, since she graduated from the school at the end of that year, was not involved in any further such events.

Unavoidably, of course, she and Mr.Turnbull had met in maths class the day after Emily's caning. Mr. Turnbull had at first tried to avoid meeting Emily's eyes, but soon failed in this attempt. He had discerned a distinctly accusatory expression on her face and she had been pleased to see a distinct reddening of his. For Mr. Turnbull, inevitably, there had been a reversal of the very peculiar feeling of disjunction at the beginning of Emily's caning, when he had found it so difficult to reconcile his sudden view of her bottom with the view of her face that was his normal, daily experience. Now he had to try to suppress, not only his vivid memory of the bottom she was now sitting on, but also his curiousity about what it now looked like. This curiousity was never satisfied, for he never saw her naked again. It was, however, definitely in his interest to re-establish something like their normal relationship of master and pupil. And Emily considered it in the interests of convincing her friends that there existed some particular relationship between them. They thus were back on friendly, if ambiguous, terms by the end of the class.

The Reverend Calder, when he returned, naturally discovered something of what had happened. At first he was dismayed. But then he realized that the development could be turned to his advantage. By careful planning he managed to get one girl, and then another, and then another, back into his study for the kind of "punishment" that had been his speciality. His reputation was thereby restored and the practice continued. At the same time, he realized that he could now treat the occasional serious offences among his pupils quite differently. He himself did not dare to try to administer a severe caning, having little confidence in his own physical prowess, but he now asked Oswald to take on this duty. The satisfaction for the Reverend himself was simple. The offending young woman would be summoned to the study where the Reverend waited with Oswald. Oswald would administer the caning while the Reverend, as Headmaster, remained to observe it, with great gratification to himself. For Oswald, who now fulfilled his role in such events with confidence, the event with Emily had been an obvious and very satisfying turning point. He never caned a girl as hard as his last stroke for her had been but, on a few occasions when a young woman reacted to the cane with an exceptionally vigorous protest, was finally granted a full, if brief, glimpse of what actually lay deep between their thighs. But the memory of his first encounter, with Emily's bottom, never faded through many subsequent administrations of the cane, and, indeed, he always remained profoundly grateful to her.