The Disciplinarienne

This is a story by Mark E DeSade.

"Julie, I've had just about enough of your cheek!"

Mary Whentworth was beside herself and was up in arms about what to do about her errant sixteen-year-old daughter. "I know this is a tough age, but I shall not be spoken to like this -- not in my own home!"

It had been a tough day around the Whentworth residence indeed. First, Julie had just recently moved back in under her mum and dad's roof, after having lived with her boyfriend the past six months in what her mother termed, "a state of rebellion." This hadn't worked out and now she found herself home again and having to abide by her parents' rules. Now she was faced with either going back to school full time or finding employment.

Julie didn't like either of her choices and her attitude truly reflected this. It had sharpened considerably, spewing forth a bitterness and a hostile resentment towards her mother for her own failings.

"I'm afraid, Julie, that the time has come."

"For what!?" the miscreant teen shot back, her voice dripping with disrespect.

"For the cane, young lady. Time for six-of the-best to be laid squarely across your backside, you sassy little recalcitrant!"

"And you're gonna do it? I don't think so," Julie shot back sarcastically, her face turning scornful as she snickered under her breath.

This was a little girl headed for big trouble.

Mary Whentworth picked up a copy of the London Times, turning to the advertisements. An ad had caught her eye earlier that morning: "Disciplinary problems in the home? Hesitant to punish? Call Brentwood College." The ad seemed simple enough. But would they understand the delicacy of her situation; that she, already in her mid-forties, had never learned to properly wield a cane. Much less, never having administered a "proper" caning with anything heavier than a junior cane. Certainly she felt as if things were so far beyond her control that a caning by her hands was simply out of the question. She picked up the telephone and dialed the number to the college.

The voice on the other end was pleasant enough.

"Hello?"

"Yes, hello ... my name is ... Mrs. Mary Whentworth and I ..."

"You're calling about the ad in the Sunday Times," the voice said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, Ma'am, I am. Actually, I'm calling for my daughter.

"I understand," came the calm voice on the other end again.

"You do?"

"Indeed. You have a misbehaving child in need of discipline, correct?"

"Well, yes."

"I'm the headmistress of this establishment, Miss Von Stern. Would you like for your daughter to be caned, or is that too severe a punishment for her? How old is she?"

"She's sixteen and fairly well-built. That is to say that her bottom could definitely withstand the cane. And Lord knows she needs it."

"I understand completely," Miss Von Stern said as she looked down at her roster of trainee Schoolmistresses and Governesses.

"I have someone in mind who would be perfect for the task at hand. She's just finishing up her training here and is familiarizing herself in the disciplinary arts. She's given quite a lot of canings as of late, some, actually quite a lot, to private homes where discipline is lacking. Would you like for her come to your home and administer some discipline to your daughter?"

"I would indeed. Thank you. What would the charge be, if I may ask?"

"Oh, no charge, we do this completely gratis; as a service, and we're happy to provide it -- as it benefits both parties we feel. My Mistresses and Governesses get the live disciplinary practice they so need to fulfill their prerequisites. And the parents, they don't have to fuss with the punishments themselves."

Mary Whentworth gave the headmistress her address and they made the appointment for precisely three o'clock that afternoon.

Julie had only half believed any of this was going to come about when she saw a very good looking young redhead approaching the door with a case tucked neatly under her arm. She rang the doorbell.

Julie started to answer the door, but was cut off by her mother.

"Hello," came the very formal voice of the lady, dressed in a white blouse and pleated black skirt and heels. "I'm Miss Armstrong, I believe I have an appointment."

"Yes, please come in," Mary Whentworth somehow managed to stammer out, shaking her hand as the gentle looking young lady entered, catching eyes with Julie, whom she knew instinctively she'd be disciplining in a few short moments.

"I've been updated on your condition here in the home, so I'd like to get right down to business, if you don't mind Mrs. Whentworth?"

"No, not at all."

Julie sized up Miss Armstrong: At barely 5'2", and with long elegant red locks past her shoulders and deep-set green eyes, she was hardly an imposing figurine at that thought the recalcitrant teenager.

Miss Armstrong took off her coat, then placed her long black case on the table as she made eye contact with Julie once again -- this time a seriousness enveloping her face; a businesslike proficiency that Julie somehow likened to that of her mother. But this woman was different somehow. There was an air of seriousness that was a bit uncalming.

Mary Whentworth sat down, sipping her tea, watching what was unfolding before her very eyes. What she had dreamt of and wished for now for so long was finally about to come to fruition. For her daughter to finally get her just desserts. To finally feel the sting of the dreaded cane she'd been promised for so many years, but had been unable to deliver by her own hands.

"Julie, I'm sure you know why I'm here," Miss Armstrong continued.

"Yeah, you're supposed to ... punish me?" The teen's voice was again filled with a combination of wild disbelief and rebellious laughter.

"I'd like for you to clear the area here in the living room, move the furniture to the sides and bring me that old-fashioned chair in the corner. Place it in the center of the room. Just the chair. That's all I want to see there. Do you understand?"

Julie rolled her eyes, deciding to play out this charade to its fullest. After all, how bad could a "caning" from this diminutive woman be? She'd go through this, then tell her mother it was much ado about nothing.

Julie did as she was instructed and the chair was in place.

Miss Armstrong turned to Julie's mother: "Would you happen to have a spare house shoe I might use? Or perhaps one with a flat heel, a sandal, perhaps. One with some pliancy to it?"

Mrs. Whentworth bolted up out of her seat and went to her closet where she found a fifteen year old sturdy elegant sandal with a half-inch heel with a metal tip attached to the flat of the heel. She quickly returned and handed it to Miss Armstrong, who smiled with delight at her counterpart's proficiency.

Julie's eyes widened to full aperture now, watching the transference of the shoe from her mum to Miss Armstrong.

The Disciplinarienne sat down, calmly, on the seat of the chair, and with shoe in hand, called for Julie to come to her. Julie balked. How could she back down now, after boasting so much pride in front of her mother and this strange woman? She lowered her head and went to Miss Armstrong, who took her in one graceful motion by the hand and draped her across her lap, positioning her for punishment. It took a few moments before Julie was sprawled across her punisher's knee just right. Then Miss Armstrong laid the shoe on Julie's back as she very deliberately folded up her skirt onto her back, exposing her knickers. This brought a wave of shame across Julie's flushed facial features.

Miss Armstrong turned to Julie's' mum, who sat spellbound. "Would you like for this to be bare bottom, Mrs. Whentworth?"

Mrs. Whentworth did not hesitate and answered an immediate yes.

Miss Armstrong then slowly peeled down Julie's knickers, showing for the first time in a long time a well-rounded, unblemished, unpunished bottom.

She picked up the shoe, and in a very soft yet commanding voice, disciplined Julie verbally: "I want your head turned away whilst I spank you, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Ma'am," came the cheeky tone again, through clenched teeth this time.

"That's better. I think we're making some headway now. Also, I want your toes pointed inward. I don't want you clenching your bottom cheeks during this, do you understand, Julie?"

"Yes, Ma'am," came Julie's reply, a bit more feeble.

Miss Armstrong picked up the shoe again and without a moment's hesitation, began whacking away at Julie's poor behind. Six crisp, stinging whacks to one cheek, then another six to the other. Then twelve on one side and twelve on the other. Finally, after five solid minutes of this, Julie could keep her toes pointed no longer. Miss Armstrong stopped, a frown appearing on her fawnlike features.

"What did I tell you about those toes, young lady?"

"I'm ... I'm sorry, Ma'am."

"Well, get them back into position, we're just getting started here."

Julie repositioned her toes correctly, turned her head away as the tears started to flow. The vision of her mother, sitting at the kitchen table sipping her tea was simply too much for her to bear. She broke down completely, and the caning itself had still yet to be administered!

Finally, after another few minutes of torrid whacks applied with the shoe, Miss Armstrong let Julie up -- but with a warning not to rub her bottom.

Julie stood, crying, wanting to rub the sting out of her bottom as her Disciplinarienne strode to the table and opened her black case, removing two different crooked-handled canes. She bent the first one, an office cane, or "junior" cane which was quite thin, between her capable hands. Julie looked up to see this as she broke down again in tears, knowing fully now what fate awaited her. Then Miss Armstrong swished the cane quickly through the air and, shaking her head, replaced it back in its case. She then pulled out a senior cane, the type most frequently used in her establishment. It was longer and had a larger circumference than the office cane. It was also heavier. She gave a wry smile as she swished this cane, knowing it would be the rod to impart the bulk of Julie's lesson this afternoon. Miss Armstrong walked over to where Julie was by the chair and ordered her to kneel on the seat.

"Up on it, and I want you reaching over and grabbing the chair legs," do you understand?

"Yes, Ma'am. I do."

Miss Armstrong fussed with Julie's posture even more this time, taking the cane and using it as a pointer, motioning her to arch her back as she reached down low.

"Bum up, head down. And DON'T jump off that chair if you know what's good for you."

Julie was now sobbing incessantly, the tears flowing down her face as if a river had run amok. Her mother sat silently, watching with breathtaking fascination the absolutely flawless pre-punishment delivery Miss Armstrong was performing before her eyes. Never had she seen her daughter so controlled by a woman. So contrite. And THIS woman? So young, just out of college herself. And so tiny! How, she thought. How could this be possible?

Miss Armstrong, pleased with Julie's posture, went forth with the pre-caning rituals which she was now honing. She rolled back her skirt again, over onto her back and but did not have to fuss with her knickers which were still at the tops of her knees. Julie's sore bottom showed; welts from the heel of the shoe had "marked" her significantly already. Her bottom was literally a deep shade of crimson from the spanking and getting redder with each passing moment. Miss Armstrong took the cane and placed it between Julie's thighs, spreading them apart just a bit. "Turn your head from me ... I do not with to see your face as I cane you, young lady."

"Yes, Ma'am," came Julie's weak response again. The young girl complied totally and without question, having already been thoroughly disciplined by this woman -- yet the punishment was far from being over.

"You're going to receive a six-of-the-best caning, young lady," do you know what that means?

Julie nodded her head that she did.

"Followed by a five-barred gate." Do you know what that is?

Julie shook her head.

"You'll very soon find out. Now, on with it. Head down and bum up. Legs spread wide apart ... that's it. Bum up. Higher … higher … higher!"

Miss Armstrong drew the cane back to its full apex and with a lightning-quick motion and flick of her wrist, landed the first cane stroke squarely in the middle of Julie's bum. The tip had not wrapped around the edge and she was pleased with her first stroke in more than a week. A full-ridged horizontal cane mark quickly appeared as Miss Armstrong smiled to herself.

Julie let out a hysterical cry. Miss Armstrong pushed her back down and the errant girl obediently grabbed hold of the chair legs again, offering up her bum for further chastisement.

"How many was that, Julie?"

"One ... Ma'am."

"Very good. Do not lose count, or we start over. Do you understand. Do not jump off that chair, or we start over."

"Yes, Ma'am," Julie said, wiping her tears.

Miss Armstrong readied the cane again, slashing four vicious cuts in succession, one on either side of the first two then two cuts directly in the middle. The ridges fast-appeared again and were trapped within the fullness of Julie's bottom. No sloppy weals, just well-placed ladders exactly a half inch apart. The Disciplinarienne was truly pleased with herself, with how far she'd come as a Mistress of the cane. This would be nearly the hundredth caning she'd administered (she kept a detailed diary of every caning) and she felt very at home administering its style of discipline to the wayward.

"How many more, Julie?"

The girl paused, finally answering in a very meek voice. "

"Two?"

"Correct. Prepare yourself Julie Whentworth!"

Miss Armstrong measured her distance with the cane as Julie bent forward again. The Disciplinarienne swished the cane through the air and it landed just below the other cuts, directly on the seat, where sitting is a reminder. Not one weal was touching another. Julie let out another hysterical scream. How could she bare one more? And what was this "five-barred gate" her Mistress had mentioned?

"One more, Julie, then it's all over. Get into position. ... that's it, head down, bum up."

Miss Armstrong repositioned herself almost even with Julie's head, aiming her cane diagonally back across the previous five weals. This last stroke was meant to be the severest, "connecting" all six cuts thus making the caning appear as if it were a "gate."

Swishhhhhhhhhh .... Thwacckkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!

Julie remained in position, taking in a quick short breaths before breaking down into tears of pure contrition. Miss Armstrong watched, silently, to see if Julie would disobey her by rubbing her bottom or jumping off the chair. The girl remained motionless, except for her heaving body giving forth to her incredible sobs. Mrs. Whentworth sat, silently, too, satisfied that the job had been done properly and that possibly there was some hope for her daughter's immediate behavior problems.

Miss Armstrong, without uttering a word, then went to the table and replaced her cane, put on her coat and handed Julie's mother a white business card, which said, very simply, "Miss R. Armstrong ... Disciplinarienne." There was also a telephone number at the bottom.

The two exchanged admiring glances and Miss. Armstrong looked back over to Julie who was still bent over the chair, now deeply immersed in self-pity and the remnants of a good cry.

Julie looked up for a moment, catching Miss Armstrong's eye. She emotionally mouthed the words, "thank you" to the schoolmistress as her tear-stained face showed no signs of rebellion whatsoever. It was as if she was thanking this woman, this stranger, for taking the time, for showing her the attention, for disciplining her -- as she had so badly needed and wanted all these years, but was somehow unable to communicate to her mother.

Then the Disciplinarienne, her case tucked under her arm, gracefully exited the Whentworth home as elegantly as she came -- a wry sense of satisfaction washing across her soft, yet very satisfied face.

But would there be a need for her to return?