The clever young women of 6B should really have known better. Yet it had taken only ten minutes for their unsupervised class to degenerate from hushed tittering to infantile rowdiness.
This was despite being warned on their admittance that as grown adults in the most senior year, all were now quite old enough to have their bottoms smacked. Every one had sat demurely in the Headmistress’s study, wearing her prim new uniform, and made a solemn promise to behave. Nevertheless, all had soon broken it.
Their tutor had even plucked one of her many canes from the wall, swishing it through the air with an intimidating swipe. Every new enrollee had been left in no doubt of what punishment meant here. Skirt up, panties all the way down. Touching toes. At least six stinging pink stripes, followed by a mandatory visit to the school nurse for a bottom inspection.
This introductory warning had kept the newcomers to the boarding school on their best behaviour - for a short while at least, as if the sound of that threatening swish was still loud in their minds. New friends would talk about it in hushed whispers, Did she show you the cane? Do you think she means it? One by one, they’d discover she absolutely did.
Who can say who started the fire? The ruckus might have been kindled by the mischievous trio who’d been sitting on hot coals following their earlier bottom smacking appointment, perhaps slyly keen to get their classmates into trouble too. Yet equally well the anarchy could have slowly smouldered, sparks jumping between desks as neighbours acted up. Giggles were the fuel of delinquency without stern admonitions to trample the flames.
Without the disapproving scowl of authority, it never took long for an entire room to be shrieking and cavorting like silly little schoolgirls. The Headmistress observed the mayhem unseen for several minutes, observing none of the students were working quietly as they’d been told. Once their collective culpability was incontrovertible, she swept through the doorway, her black gown fluttering in her wake, as if an apparition of an avenging angel. In an instant, the silly hullabaloo was smothered by a guilty silence.
Who started it was irrelevant, all that mattered now was the nature of the consequences. Mass canings could be effective, but she’d already decided against whacking the twenty rascals. Sore bottoms were an important sanction, a reminder of who was in charge, but they never reformed the boisterous. Besides, when groups were rowdy, pink stripes could become a shared badge of honour, fuelling bravado, even encouraging future hijinks.
It was vital this dangerous outbreak of naughtiness was treated before an epidemic of misbehaviour spread further. Infections of any kind were the responsibility of the school nurse, so it was only natural she should administer the cure. Public humiliation was the only truly effective remedy.
Whilst the Headmistress went ahead to make arrangements, twenty blushing faces waited with noses pressed against the wall of an adjoining corridor, their arms folded behind their backs. A prefect moved down the line, dutifully lifting each skirt, folding and tucking it out of the way into the waistband. Those found wearing their school knickers tugged up tight like thongs got them pulled up even higher, until they were forced up onto their tiptoes, the thin band of fabric nipping between their lips.
Once all were prepared, the troublemakers were escorted towards the sickbay. The nurse was waiting for them in a hallway, her blue nitrile gloves already clinging tightly to her slim nimble fingers. Accompanying her was an assistant, a trolley of clinical-looking items, and a knee-high padded stool that no one ever seemed to use for sitting on.
Their nurse was a recent graduate, and already widely respected. She possessed eye-catching auburn hair and a smile that could flick from stern to compassionate with a twitch of her lips. Even those in perfect health had made her acquaintance, as any who’d bent over for the cane were required to kneel on her infamous stool to have their bottom marks recorded. Yet her sweetness soothed a sore bum quicker than any lotion. Her gentle touch could make frowns melt away and tummies flutter.
.
.
One by one, the Headmistress points to the closest miscreant in the line. She shuffles nervously forward, arms still folded behind her, halting just before the ominous stool.
“State your full name,” the assistant insists.
Each girl does as she’s told, blushing as she announces her full name aloud, like a court appearance before a judge and jury. The assistant flicks through the pages on her clipboard, locating the girl’s prior inspection record.
“Two prior entries,” she announces, loud enough for everyone to hear. “No prior temperature takings. One post-caning inspection. Caught masturbating once.”
The latter had been an unforgettably embarrassing night. She’d sneaked to the toilet, thinking she’d been so discreet, but hadn’t noticed the suspicious prefect on her tail. In the cubicle, there was a conspicuous lack of peeing, which had prompted a shocking knock on the flimsy door just as she was rubbing disgracefully. Her blush was evidence enough, and she was escorted shame-faced to the nurse to assess her guilt.
Inspections mattered since school rules dictated that those who’d climaxed earned a more serious punishment than those discovered with just sticky lips. The nurse’s skilled fingers had tugged back her hood, those who were post-orgasmic were exquisitely sensitive. That her subject had come so quickly on those clammy blue gloves simply confirmed she’d been interrupted just in time.
She was still sent to the Headmistress, to endure an excruciatingly embarrassing interview, where she was quizzed on how exactly she’d been touching herself. Questions so intimate they left her desperate for her caning to begin.
After finishing her bend-over dance, her panties were kept in escrow until she had attended a detention. She sat on her hot new stripes to write a candid essay about what she’d been fantasising about when she was caught. Watching other girls get smacked bottoms, as it turned out. On her return to Miss’s study, she exchanged her confession for her knickers.
Much stricter treatment awaited those who’d climaxed illicitly. The standard sanction was a month wearing a chastity leotard beneath her uniform. Its thick padded gusset was designed to muffle illicit rubbing and keep out stray fingers. All toilet visits had to be supervised by trusted staff as the wearer completely undressed. Then there was the weekly inspection appointment with the nurse, who’d stroke and probe and shave her bare.
Yet the nurse sees too many vulvas to remember individual visitors. The young woman standing before her is just another naughty girl in need of her compassionate attention. The nurse tugs down her patient’s white knickers with practised efficiency, all the way down to the toes and off, so she can scrutinise what’s inside.
“Regulation knickers. Stained. Vaginal discharge, conspicuous arousal,” the nurse observes.
The assisting prefect scribbles down everything on her notes, then takes temporary custody of the confiscated underwear.
“Bend over.”
The miscreant kneels obediently on the heavy steady stool, leaning forward to rest her hands on the floor. The nurse delivers a few smacks of encouragement between her thighs until she’s spread her legs wide enough. Then her gloved hands grasp both cheeks, splaying them apart, so all assembled get a good view of what’s between them.
“No pad or tampon. Mons trimmed. Vulva shaved. Labia swollen, glistening. Clitoris erect.”
The nurse dictates clinical observations loudly and clearly, quite aware how embarrassment begets compliance. Even the boldest are squirming now, their initial brash swagger evaporated, knowing their own wetness will soon be part of the public record.
Though evidence of arousal was never cause for surprise. The young ladies had been naughty and were here to be disciplined. Breaking rules was exciting, and so was getting caught. Punishments were arousing, even if they were embarrassing, or even painful. Especially so when you got to watch the punishment of others.
“Faded lines indicate a recent caning.”
Group inspections were the perfect opportunity for a class to discover who’d been behaving themselves, and who had naughty marks on their bottoms.
Now the nurse plucks a tissue and reaches between her patient’s legs. All assembled stare in silent fascination as she slowly wipes backwards, from hood to lips to bottom hole.
“Considerable wetness. Anal margin could be cleaner,” she announces after a moment spent assessing the collected residue.
Nineteen grimacing faces flush, dreading the disgrace their own wiping could reveal.
Now the thermometer is prepared. To those watching it seems huge, almost comically bulbous. The nurse nimbly slips on a disposable hygienic cover, then smears one end with a generous dollop of lubricant jelly. Moments later, the decumbent recipient gasps as it’s firmly pushed into her bottom hole.
Once appropriately deep, a single slap on her bum is the cue for the assisting prefect to start her stopwatch, commencing 90 seconds of mortifying shame. Like six of the best, without the whacking. The recipient can’t help but clench. The rude intrusion summons secret memories of her boyfriend’s thick teasing finger. She’s acutely aware of the sticky damp smear between her legs, and can only pray her ordeal will be over before she visibly drips onto the stool.
The thermometer juts out from between her buttocks and towards the watching crowd like an accusing finger. It wordlessly rebukes them. You silly girls! Your folly got us into this. This is all your fault. Your turn will come. I’ll be in your bottom soon.
Time almost up, the assistant begins a countdown that the whole class is expected to join. The final 10 seconds are called out in an excruciatingly embarrassing chorale.
The thermometer is withdrawn, read, and recorded, though its value is really irrelevant. Another tissue wipes her clean, before a final hard spank signals she can rise. Her white panties are returned, tucked into the waist of her skirt, where they dangle over her bare bum like a bunny’s tail.
“Back in line.”
She bashfully retakes her place alongside her accomplices, now bare beneath the waist. She feels so exposed, like her stiff clit is poking beyond her lips like a fingertip.
Her best friend is summoned next. The routine is repeated. She shuffles forward to the line to announce her name. Inspected after a caning six times, after masturbating twice. She feels the combined stares of her peers like a laser beam, heating the nape of her neck. Is that disapproval, or admiration? Fame and infamy can be so difficult to distinguish.
She feels her snug panties pull away, sliding down her thighs and calves. She steps out of them compliantly, and then they’re gone.
“Regulation knickers, pulled up tight. Conspicuous sticky damp spot,” the nurse observes.
When instructed, she bends over, exposing the darker smudge around her crinkled hole. Perianal hyperpigmentation, as the nurse would call it. Her pink puffy lips are conspicuously glistening. She surprises herself by pressing into the nurse’s hand as she’s thoroughly wiped. The insertion makes her gasp, yet still she finds herself yearning for the thermometer to be wiggled in and out.
The next hour will afford plenty of time for each girl to contemplate their misdemeanours. Blushing as the little rod of blame points back towards their guilty faces, as they await their turn to do the pointing themselves.
By the end of their very public humiliation, many will wish they’d been granted the one-minute mercy of a short sharp whacking. Performing penance whilst touching their toes. Today’s lesson will linger, not getting the spanking you deserved is the squirmiest punishment of all.
Yet even so, everyone will dream of the school nurse tonight.
Another story?
This is the latest in a series of kinky short stories, here’s the previous one…
Highly erotic story. Instead of the expected caning they were subjected to humiliation in its place. I wonder how many of them got themselves off thinking about the nurse that night.
Exceptionally well written.