A nursery cane

Since April is in the middle of a caning, you decide it is only appropriate to use another cane on her hands. Accordingly, you walk over to the rack and test some of the lighter rods with a few swings through the air. You settle on a straight-handled eighteen inch length of fibreglass about as thick as your little finger, which you are sure will provide a sufficiently acute level of distress.

When you saunter back to the black undergrad, you see that she has managed to regain some composure and in fact is no longer even crying, although from her stiff posture you can tell that she is still in great discomfort. You position yourself on her right, so that the faster-moving tip of the cane will hit her left hand.

"Six of the best, young lady."

"Thank-you, Professor. Please may I have the first stroke?"

You rap the cane across the middle of her palms, raising an immediate weal. The blow was clearly far more painful than April was expecting, as she jerks her hands back and closes her fingers instinctively to protect her **** palms.

"O-oh!" The shocked fresher gasps out, before returning her hands to their proper place. "I'm sorry, Professor. I'll try harder."

"I'll repeat the stroke," you reply, sweeping the cane down once more, without giving her a chance to respond.

The light rod lands on top of the existing welt, forcing a cry of agony from its recipient, although she manages to keep her hands in place my sheer **** of will.

"One, thank-you, Professor. Please may I have the second?"

The crack of fibreglass on flesh echoes round the room and another weal appears just below her fingers. April does her best to stifle her shriek, but her arms are beginning to shake with the effort of offering herself up to your chastisement and she is starting to sob once more.

"Two, thank-you, Professor. Please may I have the third?"

The next stroke cuts across her fingers at the first knuckle and the weeping teenager flinches for the second time, immediately stretching her hands back out to receive further punishment.

"That's another repeat."

April is trembling so much that you hit much closer to the tips of her fingers than before, but from the low whine she produces, it doesn't sound any less painful.

"Thank-you for the third stroke, Professor," she sobs. "Please may I have the fourth?"

You strike the heel of her hands and April lets out a wail as her hands move down slightly, before returning to position. You decide that the motion was slight enough not to require a repeat.

"Four, thank-you, Professor. Please may I have the fifth?"

You aim between the first and second strokes, but thanks to her helpless shuddering, the rod ends up impacting the swollen weal from the first, repeated blow.

With a heartrending howl, pulls her hands away for the third time, not quite knowing what to do with them. She tries to clutch her head in her hands, but her palms are too sore to touch anything, so she just brushes her sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes instead.

"Hold them out," you admonish, and she obeys, but is still shaking too much for you to be able to hit your target reliably. You step round in front of the bawling girl and take hold of her right hand and bend her fingers back to tighten the skin on the centre of her palm, then give a sharp blow lengthways across the offending appendage. Repeating the action upon her left hand, you take up a new location on her left side and tell her that the stroke will be repeated and you expect her to moderate her vocalizations.

This time, your aim is true and April's palms are rapidly coming to be as ridged as a washboard.

"Thank-you for the fifth stroke, Professor," she moans. "Please may I have the last?"

You place it on the heel of her hand and with a final wail and a flurry of tears, it is done.

"Thank-you for punishing me, Professor. I'll never put my hands in the way ever again."

"Very good, April. Now get back in position and prepare for the first stroke. We're starting over."

The young woman slumps in despair; everything she has already endured has been for nothing and the repeated punishment will undoubtedly be worse. The time it took to cane her hands has allowed bruises to form, making the already-sore flesh of her buttocks even more tender and sensitive. As her shoulders heave with silent sobs, you gently chivvy her back into compliance.

"Come along, girl. No point delaying. Get back over the table or I'll have to start adding extras."

April forces herself to return to the correct position with a groan and gingerly places her ravaged palms in contact with the tabletop. Swapping your nursery cane for the one you were using previously, you prepare to start again.

*THWACK*

"Uuuuuuuuh. One, thank-you, Professor. Please may I have another."

This time, you start lower down, close to her sit spot. The centre of her buttocks is too badly ravaged to take many more strokes, so the lower curves and her thighs will have to take the brunt.

*THWACK*

"Ah, ah, ah, ah. Two, thank-you, Professor," she sobs helplessly for a few seconds before adding "please may I have another."

*THWACK*

Her body is as rigid as a statue when the cane lands on the top of her thighs.

"Three, oh," her head drops for a moment, but she straightens again. "Three, thank-you, Professor. Please may I have another."

It is the last time she is able to react with any semblance of dignity, as the fourth stroke overwhelms her resistance and she begins bawling once again, barely able to get out the required words.

*THWACK*

The fifth lands in the middle of her thighs, which quiver like jelly, her toes drumming an involuntary tattoo on the floor as hysteria once again threatens to take control.

*THWACK*

Her knees bend as she sobs out her thanks and you resolutely inform her that she has earned yet another repeat.

*THWACK*

"Aaah!" The agonized girl holds her breath for a moment, then lets it out in a garbled rush, "six-thank-you-Professor-I-promise-to-help-Debbie-do-better. Uuuugh." It's as if she physically can't get enough air into her lungs to be able to cry as hard as she wants to.

You step back to survey your work. April's buttocks are covered in raw welts and her thighs bear a ladder of livid stripes which will be a warning to other girls that your chastisements are something to be truly feared. As the weeping brunette regains her composure, you consider your tip.