The Cane, Miss Bush, and Me Part 1

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The Cane, Miss Bush, and Me Part 1
As the sun rose above the rooftops of the houses on the opposite side of the street, I was awoken by a bright shaft of light which speared through the gap between my curtains and onto my face. I turned my head to glance at the clock on my bedside cabinet and saw that it was only 6.50am, a full forty minutes before my alarm clock was due to go off.

My cock was rock hard, it often was when I awoke and with an image of Miss Bush in all her naked glory projecting through my mind, I wondered if I’d been dreaming about her during my final moments of sleep. Mind you, I’ve never been good at remembering my dreams, so that was something I’d likely never know for certain.

Damn, what was I doing fantasising about the Headmistress of my school, no teenager was supposed to fantasise about their Headmistress, surely?

Karen Bush though, was not typical of a Headmistress back in those days. According to Mrs Chadwick the maths teacher, Miss Bush was thirty four years old. The wizened old maths teacher had made it perfectly clear to our entire year group that she disapproved of someone of that age being appointed Headmistress.

“What does she know about running a school,” she had said. “I was teaching ten years before she was even born, not much more than a girl herself, and don’t get me started on the way she dresses,” added the tweed clad, bespectacled, old teacher, in a transparently disapproving tone.

Well, for someone of Mrs. Chadwick’s advanced years, Miss Bush was bound to seem young, but for me at the age of eighteen, there was no denying that I had developed an uncontrollable crush on a woman not that far short of twice my age.

There were plenty of beautiful girls close to my own age around and I knew that some of them fancied me, so what the hell was I thinking?

Since Miss Bush’s arrival at the school at the beginning of the Spring Term, I’d demoted Michelle Conway from the number one position on my ‘wanking list’. I always kept ten girls on this most secret of lists stored in my head, that was my rule, and called upon their images and personalities to stimulate the endless and often bizarre fantasies which drifted within my somewhat wild and strange imagination.

With Miss Bush taking over at number one, Kimberly Davis, who held the number ten spot and was a former number seven, had to be dropped. I didn’t particularly want to lose her, but well, rules are rules as they say.

Michelle Conway was an auburn haired beauty who was in my year group and prior to Miss Bush’s arrival had been at the top of my list for quite a while, never failing to bring me quickly to the boil whenever I masturbated about her.

Unbeknown to Michelle of course, she had even helped me cross the finishing line when I’d given into Helen Broderick’s persistent requests for me to fuck her at the school Christmas disco. Helen Broderick really wasn’t my type, rather plain faced, with lank, mousy hair that looked like it needed a good wash, she did have a fairly decent figure though.

The disco hadn’t gone according to plan in so far as my ‘shagging’ plans were concerned. I’d arrived late and out of the girls I was keen on, they’d either decided not to attend or were already paired up with someone else. In order to at least not go home completely empty handed, I decided to give Helen a go.

With the disco predating Miss Bush’s arrival, I’m sure that without thoughts of Michelle Conway percolating through my mind as I did my best to fake the ‘pleasure’ I was having with Helen, I would never have reached a finale.

I had slipped away with Helen from the disco as Bachman-Turner was in full overdrive and utilised a crash mat at the far end of the sports cupboard. Well, at least Helen went home satisfied even if I didn’t!

Almost immediately on her arrival at the school as Headmistress, Miss Bush had captured my interest. She was totally beautiful, wild ringlets of golden hair cascaded onto her shoulders and framed a face that had an almost feline quality, with the bluest eyes I had ever seen. Her figure was magnificent in every way and the short, tight skirts she favoured wearing, displayed sumptuous thighs and a neatly packaged bottom that to me was totally mouth-watering.

She even drove a British Racing Green Triumph GT6, no boring old Morris Minor for her.

I simply couldn’t understand why such a beautiful woman chose to be a headmistress, she could have been a model or a movie star or simply taken life easy and married a handsome millionaire.

Another glance at the alarm clock on my bedside cabinet told me that I now had exactly thirty one minutes before the alarm was due to go off, ample time to put Miss Bush through her paces.

Clutching one of the previous day’s socks from the floor beside my bed, I slipped it over my rigid cock and began working myself in earnest as I put my mind to creating yet another fantasy starring the beautiful headmistress who so infatuated me.

As I masturbated, to thoughts of Miss Bush naked as I held her over my knee and firmly spanked every square inch of her delicious buttocks and upper thighs with my hand, Denise Fletcher, who was number six on my list, drifted into my fantasy, I’m not sure where she came from but she was a welcome intruder anyway.

A few months earlier and just before Miss Bush’s appointment, Denise, an attractive, dark haired girl in my year group had been sent by Mr Taylor our English teacher, to the then Acting Head, Mrs Abbott. Denise had failed to hand in her homework for the second week in a row and returned to class some twenty minutes illegal bahis siteleri later with her eyes red and her face heavily tear-stained. She informed Mr Taylor that she was unable to sit having received six strokes of the cane, making me so glad that my desk covered the view of the bulge that almost instantly developed in my trousers.

With permission granted by Mr Taylor for Denise to stand for the rest of the lesson, she positioned herself in front of her desk, two rows ahead of me and in the line to my left. For the remainder of the lesson I struggled to keep my eyes from being transfixed on the shapely and doubtless, well-striped posterior that molded the back of her regulation grey, pleated skirt so admirably.

Denise’s caning had certainly opened up another wonderful chapter of fantasies for me.

As I continued to work my cock and build my fantasy, Miss Bush suddenly presented as fully clothed as she ordered Denise to take down her knickers and bend over the desk in her study. I, it seemed, had completely vanished from a direct part in the fantasy, but with two of my favourite females providing the entertainment, I was more than happy to retreat.

The blistering and relentless caning which followed, had Denise all but climb over the desk as she contorted wildly, the once creamy canvass of her perfect, naked buttocks soon embossed with a wild pattern of vivid, red weals as her screams near raised the ceiling.

With the caning complete and my cock simmering, my thoughts raced to Denise being made to drop to her knees in front of Miss Bush as the Headmistress slipped down her own knickers and raised her skirt before inviting Denise to lick her back and front.

“Get your tongue right into my cunt and arsehole,” ordered the Headmistress sternly as Denise’s tongue began to slowly emerge from between her deliciously full lips.

Although I tried to delay the inevitable, my self-control gave way and I released into my sock before Denise’s tongue even so much as made contact with the Headmistress’s intimate parts. Oh, how I wished I’d lasted long enough for Denise to lick out those enticing holes!

With my wanking fix now over and my cock slowly shrinking, I tossed my sock back onto the floor and clambered from my bed, still comfortably ahead of the time my alarm clock was set for, I eased back the curtains and peered out of the window.

The Summer of 1976 had been blessed with Mediterranean like weather, it was hot, unbelievably hot, day after day. This particular day seemed like it would be no different to the days and weeks that had gone before it, not a cloud in the sky and even at this early hour it was already very warm.

When I arrived at school, my first lesson of the day was English. To my dismay, Denise Fletcher was off sick. Damn, after her major role in my early morning wank, I’d like to have seen her for real, if only to recharge my appetite as I would doubtless require her services during my customary bedtime wank if Miss Bush was ever going to get those holes of hers properly licked out!

With my A Level exams rapidly approaching I knuckled down and spent the day in studious mode, for me there was nothing like the pressure of time to get me focused. I was a bright enough student, but lazy where academic endeavours were concerned, but with a final surge I was confident that I would be able to achieve the grades I required to go to university.

The heat of the day and the fact that school uniform had to be worn, with the only dispensation for boys being the option to not wear a tie, meant that by the end of the day I felt uncomfortably hot and sticky. Girls though, faired far better as during the Summer Term they were allowed to wear thin, lightweight dresses.

As I left school for home, I was accompanied by Michelle Conway and a repulsive girl called Rachel Fox from the year below us, both of whom caught the same bus as me. A gap in the perimeter fence to the rear of the school grounds provided a perfect shortcut to the bus stop and as we made our way in that direction, our route took us past the outdoor swimming pool.

Perhaps I thought I was impressing Michelle, after all she was still number two on my wanking list, or maybe I genuinely felt the need to cool down, I’m not sure which, but I decided to jump into the shallow end of the pool fully clothed and briefly submerge myself.

As my head rose from beneath the water, I wiped the water from my eyes and as my vision slowly cleared, to my horror saw Miss Bush standing at the poolside with Michelle and Rachel now nowhere to be seen.

“TOBIAS JAMES, get out of the pool and go to my study now,” shrieked Miss Bush. I quickly climbed up the ladder and out of the pool, the weight of my sopping clothes making this a challenge in itself.

Standing on the paved area which surrounded the pool, I ran my hands firmly down my body in an attempt to squeeze as much water as possible out of my clothes, watching it sizzle and evaporate almost instantly, as it landed on the red-hot slabs.

Miss Bush gave me an angry look,” In my study now James,” she commanded, her arm raised and a forefinger pointing towards the school building.

As I headed back into the school, Miss Bush was hot on my heels before overtaking me as we entered the corridor which led to her study, so that she could unlock the door and lead me straight in.

As I stood on the rug in the centre of the room, water still dripped from my clothes.

“Take off your clothes and shoes, you can’t stay in those wet things,” she growled. “It’s okay Miss Bush,” I responded, canlı bahis siteleri “They’ll soon dry out in the sun on the way home.” The expression on Miss Bush’s face was enough to tell me that she was unimpressed with this suggestion.

“I said take them off James, now do as you’re told, I’ll get you a towel to dry yourself.”

My clothes were of course, wet through and through, I could even feel my testicles squelching amidst the sogginess of my Y-Fronts and wondered just how much of my clothing I was going to be asked to remove.

I’d been naked many times in the presence of Miss Bush, but only in my masturbatory fantasies as I prepared to spank and fuck her, but ‘Oh my God!’ this would be totally different.

As I quickly removed my blazer and shirt, Miss Bush went into her private cloakroom which adjoined her study, returning moments later with a small hand towel.

“This will have to do, I don’t have a larger one, now dry yourself off,” she said, handing me the towel which seemed only marginally larger than the face flannel I used at home.

I was naked from the waist up and began wiping the upper part of my body dry. “Take the rest off, James, you need to remove all of those wet clothes.

”My mouth fell open, I really was going to have to present myself fully naked in front of Miss Bush!
Slowly I began to remove my trousers and socks, somewhat hesitatingly followed by my underpants. I now stood in front of the Headmistress, just as nature had created me, apart from the gold St Christopher I wore around my neck.

As I dried the lower part of my body with the towel I was convinced that Miss Bush was stifling a smile. Hell, she was probably enjoying every part of this, and if she was in any way enjoying the view of my cock I wondered what she’d have thought if she’d known how frequently I’d worked it to the many perverse thoughts I’d had about her own luscious body!

At this moment in time though, I felt somewhat void of sexual feeling, embarrassed beyond belief, and even the thought of the role Miss Bush had played that day in my early morning wank did little more than add to my inner humiliation.

I was often told that I was a good looking young guy, five feet ten in height, blond hair, blue eyes with a well toned body, and respectably endowed. I had never been concerned about being seen naked by the opposite sex, in fact, I usually relished it, but at this particular moment I would have happily let the ground swallow me up.

“What on earth did you think you were doing?” said Miss Bush, her voice just slightly raised but otherwise controlled.

“I was just cooling off Miss, I felt really hot,” came my attempt at a reply which I knew would likely be received as a feeble explanation.
“You could have drowned,” she responded.

I was a strong swimmer, perhaps the best in the school and was fully aware of the effects of being fully clothed in water. After all, I’d taken care to enter the pool at the shallow end which barely came up to my waist and so wanted to challenge what to me was a ridiculous remark that insulted my intelligence and ability, I decided though, it was best not to.

“So, assuming you didn’t drown you would happily have gone home in a soaking wet uniform so that all and sundry would have wondered what kind of school I’m running here.” In my mind I had to resign myself to the fact that I hadn’t really thought that bit through.

“I’m sorry Miss Bush, I really am, I’ve only got another five weeks before I leave here for good and I promise I won’t do anything like this again.”

“I think we need to make sure of that James, don’t you?” said Miss Bush sternly. “I expect the older pupils in this school to set a good example to the younger ones. Heaven forbid if one of the younger pupils decided to follow your foolish lead and actually did drown.”

I hung my head, she did have a point, as this was something else I hadn’t properly thought through. Damn, prior to this moment, I had been totally infatuated by this woman, even fantasised that she felt the same way about me and here I was getting told off as if I was nothing more to her than just another naughty schoolboy.

With my eyes following her, Miss Bush walked across the study and opened the dark stained, colonial panel door adjacent her cloakroom. I was aware that this led into a stockroom, I’d been in there a number of times as a younger pupil when running an errand to collect books for one or other of the teachers.

Miss Bush disappeared into the stockroom, returning a moment or so later clutching a sturdy, crook handled cane which appeared almost three feet in length. “A few strokes of this should make sure we don’t get any more foolish behaviour from you,” announced Miss Bush as she flexed this fearsome implement between her hands.

“Oh but Miss,” I began. “Not the cane, I’m nineteen next month and I’m plenty old enough to be out working for a living, I’ve never been caned before.”

‘Oh my God!’ I had started the day masturbating about Miss Bush, naked and over my knee as I zealously spanked her bottom with my hand before she had mercilessly caned Denise Fletcher’s delectable bare bottom.

Knowing that she was now about to cane my own bare bottom, I felt a certain relief that my fantasy that morning hadn’t included me caning Miss Bush, perhaps if Denise Fletcher hadn’t come along it would have and maybe it would have been me with my tongue poised to attend to Miss Bush’s holes!.

I almost wanted to tell her that she was about to send my masturbatory fantasies into turmoil, in fact, maybe I’d never be bahis firmaları able to masturbate ever again after this!

Having such a beautiful headmistress at the mercy of my vivid imagination had created so many possibilities, but now as I was about to be caned by her, I would surely never feel the same about her ever again.

As I watched Miss Bush lay the cane on the surface of her desk before hastily moving the telephone to the window sill, followed by a couple of folders and a large blotting pad, it became hard to identify my true feelings. Part of me so wished this wasn’t happening, whilst curiously there was another part of me that was slowly beginning to feel aroused by my predicament.

God, there had never been a single female, including Miss Bush, who appeared on my wanking list, that had avoided being caned in my fantasies as I masturbated to their torment. Some had even been caned for real in school, simply adding to my arousal. Perhaps, I tried to convince myself, getting my own bottom caned would actually be a positive experience!

With the surface of the desk now unencumbered Miss Bush retrieved the cane and used it as a pointer to guide me into position.

“Grip the far edge, bend right over, and look straight ahead of you,” she instructed as the percussion of the cane making contact with the edge of the desk left me in no doubt as to the unforgiving hardness of this much feared implement. “You’re going to receive twelve strokes for your stupidity James, are you ready?”

I fidgeted for a moment or two before settling into position and as my fingers clutched the far edge of the desk, I did as instructed and looked straight ahead of me, focusing on the panoramic photograph of the whole school from the previous year which hung on the centre of the wall.

“Okay James, try to keep still,” said Miss Bush as I felt the cane being teased against the centre of my buttocks. “I’ll do my best Miss,” I replied before gritting my teeth in anticipation.

With my head remaining forward, I stretched my eyes to the left and could just about glimpse the peach coloured blouse and short, cream skirt Miss Bush was wearing, but barely did I have chance to return my gaze to the photograph on the wall, before the first stroke land squarely across the centre of my bottom.

If I had any thought from the initial impact that the cane was less painful than I expected, this was purely momentary as a split second later the stroke fully ignited in my buttocks and felt as if I’d had a red hot poker thrust against me. “AH, AH, AH,” I shrieked.
The second stroke followed swiftly, as did the third and fourth, each one compounding my agony. I tried my hardest to avoid further vocal response, limiting myself to the hiss of the air that passed through my teeth as I inhaled deeply after each agonising stroke.

All of the times I’d fantasised about girls on the receiving end of a caning, I’d never actually considered the true pain this fearsome implement imparts.

Miss Bush it seemed, was a ‘no-nonsense’ caner, I had heard tales from fellow pupils who had been acquainted with this implement that Mrs Abbott was a ‘slicer,’ favouring a more vertical stroke as if trying to slice off the buttocks of the unfortunate recipient with each stroke.

Mr Pickering however, had been nicknamed ‘the interrogator’ due to the lengthy pauses between strokes as he questioned or lectured his victims about their behaviour as they writhed to their anguish.

As the fifth stroke bit deep into my buttocks it was swiftly followed by the sixth and seventh. I felt some solace amidst my agony that I was now beyond the halfway point. In true ‘no-nonsense’ fashion the remaining five strokes were administered quickly.

As one stroke followed another, I barely had time to catch my breath and as the full ignition of the previous stroke exploded in my bottom the next one had arrived.

With my caning finally over I was desperate to rub my burning buttocks, but knew I’d have to wait, recalling Peter Harrison in my year group saying that he’d been given extra strokes by Mr Pickering for rubbing himself without permission.

“Okay James, stand up.” I was eventually ordered. The pain in my buttocks was close to unbearable and I doubted my bottom would have hurt any more if I’d immersed it in boiling water, yet despite the unbearable agony, I suddenly realised that my cock was displaying an almost full hard-on.

Working the muscles in my groin I tried to reduce my erection before revealing myself to Miss Bush, hoping that my current bent over position shielded her view of this embarrassing display.

“Unless you want more strokes, I suggest you stand up now James,” growled Miss Bush.

Despite my efforts, my cock was still hard and as I turned and faced the Headmistress I could see that her eyes were immediately drawn to the rigid member that stood before me.

“Have you got your PE kit?” Miss Bush asked. I shook my head, thankful that she chose not to comment on my erection. “No Miss, it’s at home, we haven’t got PE until tomorrow so I didn’t bring it.” I answered with the agony in my bottom causing my voice to be strained.

“Wait there, I’ll be back in a minute,” said the Headmistress as she hastily exited the room. As I stood alone in the study, I began to massage my wounds, the hard swellings in the middle of each cheek testimony to the severity of my punishment. I also tried to work the muscles in my groin in an attempt to reduce the size of my cock before Miss Bush’s return.

Miss Bush arrived back a short while later with a borrowed PE kit and a large pair of elasticated plimsolls from lost property and a plastic carrier bag to put my wet clothes into. Donning the ill-fitting items, I was granted permission to leave and headed for home, desperately hoping that I wouldn’t meet anyone I knew on the way.

To be continued

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