A Brid'e Nightie

A bride’s nightie

Having just experienced my first visit to the Demon Headmaster’s study (though when north of the Border he should really be The Demonic Dominie), I thought other’s contemplating a visit might be interested in an account of the proceedings.

I presented myself at the study door in some trepidation, as the Dominie’s reputation had preceded him. On being bid to enter, I explained that I had been sent by my form teacher with a disciplinary request. I handed over the letter recounting my misdemeanours, which the Dominie read with gathering brows. The form teacher had recommended a sound bare bottomed spanking; a view which the Dominie heartily endorsed.

Seating himself on a hard backed chair, he commanded me to lower my shorts and pants and get over his lap. With trembling fingers I unbuttoned my shorts which fell round my ankles, where my underpants soon joined them. Seconds later I was bare bottom up over the Dominie’s lap, feeling very exposed and vulnerable. With good reason, as there followed a steady barrage of stinging spanks to my exposed nates, which quickly turned from trembling paleness, through blushing pink and clenching crimson to blistered beetroot, and had me gasping and squirming over the Dominie’s knees.

Finally the fusillade ended and I was allowed to rise, my hands flying to sooth my scorching cheeks. I was bidden to dress and leave, which I did with alacrity, struggling to pull up shorts and pants and get out as quickly as I could – an undignified sight!

It seemed like only minutes before I was back in the Dominie’s awe inspiring presence, and handing over a second disciplinary request, this time for a more serious offence. The Dominie was needless to say not pleased to see a recidivist and made it clear that previous convictions would certainly be taken into account! This particular infraction was deemed to merit an introduction to “Mr Dunlop”, the Dominie’s size 11 rubber soled plimsoll.

A chair was placed in front of the desk and I was commanded to bare myself and get up on it, stretching across the desk to grip the far edge. Shorts and pants soon reacquainted themselves with my ankles, and I reluctantly mounted the chair and stretched forwards across the desk, a position which brings one’s bare bottom into considerable prominence and leaves little to the imagination of anyone standing behind the culprit.

A sentence of 14 strokes was pronounced and I was instructed to count each one, thank the Dominie for it, and politely ask “please may I have another Sir”. As if being in this vulgarly exposed position and having Mr Dunlop leaving his tread marks over my lewdly exposed buttocks was not bad enough, I was going to have to thank my punisher for the whacks and even politely request the next one! How shaming.

Mr Dunlop made intimate acquaintance with my bare bum in an explosive fashion, which had me gasping out a hasty “One Sir, thank you Sir; please may I have another”. Another duly arrived, and then, after the ritual had been repeated, another, and another, and so on until at last “Fourteen Sir, thank you Sir” had been gasped out and there was a brief respite for my smarting cheeks.

I was ordered to dismount and shuffle, shorts and pants still languishing round my ankles, to the study wall where, with nose pressed to the wall and hands on head, unable to rub my agonised bum, I had to stand with my glowing cheeks on display for any passing pupil or teacher to see just how naughty lads were dealt with. After what seemed like an age, but may only have been five minutes, I was allowed to ease my pants and shorts up over my tyre marked posterior and beat an ignominious retreat from the study.

Too soon thereafter I was knocking on the study door a third time and, having been bid to enter in foreboding tones, was handing over a third disciplinary request from an unhappy form teacher. This offence was more heinous than the last, and deemed to merit the tawse to palms and bottom. Arming himself with the tawse, the Dominie instructed me to hold my palms up, one above the other, and proceeded to apply six stinging strokes to my uppermost palm, each to be counted and thanked for as before. These were hot strokes and my upper palm was stinging madly when I was instructed to cross my palms over before the hitherto untouched palm was given the same treatment.

By the time the Dominie instructed my to lower my shorts and pants, my throbbing fingers could barely manage the fly buttons on my shorts! Soon both were pooled around my ankles once more and I ruefully remounted the chair and stretched across the surface of the desk. Bare bum now suitably exposed and elevated, a sentence of eight strokes was pronounced. The Dominie’s belt proceeded to wrap itself, intimately but explosively, round my exposed nates, each loud crack followed by the ritual “One Sir, thank you sir”, etc. until all eight had been delivered and my bum felt as if I had been sat on a hot stove for half an hour or so. A minute later and I was stumbling from the study, my still smarting digits struggling to pull my pants and shorts up over my bruised and swollen buttocks.

My final visit of the afternoon was not long delayed. When he saw me for the fourth time the Dominie’s ire was fearsome. The fourth disciplinary request recounted an infraction of such degeneracy that only a severe caning could exculpate. I was to receive 12 strokes with the junior cane, followed by a further dozen with the senior cane. My shorts were soon falling around my ankles once more, shortly followed by my underpants, and I remounted that awful chair again.

The Dominie insisted I press my stomach firmly onto the desk top, in order to elevate my bare and trembling cheeks to the right level, presenting him with a tightly bent target. I felt very exposed and embarrassed as I complied, aware of the lewd sight I must be presenting to him.

The junior cane was soon tapping across my cheeks as the Dominie measured his distance, before the first swish, whack as it burned a line of fire across both buttocks. After a sharp intake of breath I managed to gasp out “One sir, thank you sir”, before number 2 arrived with equally explosive effect. By the time number 8 had been delivered I was gripping the edge of the desk as if my life depended on it and my bare bum was performing an obscene dance of its own in a vain attempt to assuage the terrible smart. I wondered how I would manage to thole the remaining 4, but I needn’t have worried, as the Dominie delivered them anyway.

Sweat was breaking out on my forehead as I heard him switch canes for the second dozen. I was commanded to remove my shorts and pants completely, as “you won’t be needing them again for a while”. I dismounted briefly to comply, before remounting my shameful perch and proffering my abused buttocks once more. My corrugated cheeks clenched in dread as I felt the senior cane tapping them as the Dominie measured his distance.

The 12 strokes that followed were even more severe than the first dozen. It was only with difficulty that I was able to gasp out the numbers and my thanks for Sir’s attentions, and St Vitus would have been proud of the gyrations my arse was performing in response to the intolerable sting imparted by the Dominie’s cane.

At last it was over. Number 12 had been shakily counted and thanked for and Sir replaced his cane on the rack. However, he was not quite done with me yet, as I was made to remain in position, with my lividly striped cheeks on display for some minutes, so that I might be an example to any passing pupil of what might lie in store for infractions of the school rules.

After what seemed like an age I was finally allowed to rise. Gingerly, I descended from my painful perch, one hand rubbing the throbbing weals on my bare bottom while the other recovered my pants and shorts from a nearby chair. It was a very sore and repentant boy who was finally allowed to thank Sir for the trouble he had taken in correcting me and made his way gingerly from the study.

I have uploaded a couple of photographs showing the results of the Dominie’s attentions.

So, if you are contemplating a visit to The Demonic Dominie, when he is next in Scotland, be prepared for your pants to be up and down like a bride’s nightie and to be nursing a very tender posterior by the time he is done with you!