Four dozen

Taking your advice to heart (and probably keen to avoid disappointing you), the curly haired lass asks for an extra dozen for the first of her canings from you. Since her bum and the backs of her thighs are already quite welted, you'll spread the chastisement out to make sure she can take more in future, if needed. You choose a heavy, three foot long cane that'll leave deep bruises to throb for days and tell Anthea to put her hands behind her back and prepare for the first dozen to the fronts of her thighs.

"Please may I have the first stroke, Professor." She looks straight ahead, politely requesting the commencement of her ordeal, so you oblige her without delay.

It's not the hardest swing you've ever given, landing half way down her muscular thighs, but she lets out a ululating wail and starts to bend forward slightly, until you catch her by putting the rod under her chin and guiding her back into position.

"Thank-you, Professor. Please may I be permitted to receive the second stroke." She sounds on the verge of tears already.

"I'm going to repeat that stroke," you reply, "because you didn't stand up straight."

"Hmm, thank-you, Professor. I'm sorry—aaargh! Ah! Thank-you for repeating my first stroke, Professor. Please may I be permitted to receive another."

You smile inwardly at her reaction when you lay the repeat directly over the original and significantly harder, too. Tears are beading in the corners of her eyes, but she stays still this time. Standing on the far side from you, Lorna is carefully avoiding anything that might give the impression she's taking an interest in what's happening next to her, but you can tell from the rapidity with which her chest is rising and falling that she's growing increasingly anxious as she realizes how hard it may be to bear her own upcoming flogging.

You put the next few strokes lower down Anthea's thighs, returning to the original intensity. Although she's starting to tremble slightly and whimper whilst thanking you, she's coping quite well so far. When she asks you for the fifth stroke, you put it above the first one, making her gasp, then follow up with a sixth so close to her crotch that she probably felt the breeze from the swing on her hairless snatch.

"S-s-s-six, thank-you, Professor. Please may I have another."

"I want you to think about why you're not working to the required standard." You pause the caning for a moment to speak to the chastened teenager, then whip the stick down in between the first and second blackening bruises.

"Ohhh! Seven, thank-you, Professor. Yes, I'll do that. Please may I have another."

"Consider whether it's lack of effort…" The next goes between the second and third.

"Ugh. Eight, thank-you, Professor. Please may I have another." The first tear falls.

"…or not devoting enough time to your studies…" You strike just above the lowest of the earlier blows.

"Nine, thank-you, Professor. Please may I have another." She nods to show she's listening and taking on board what you're saying to her.

"…or needing to ask more questions about the assignments before you start…" You cane her just above mid-thigh.

"Yah-ah. Ten, thank-you, Professor. Please may I have another." She twitches, but just stays still.

"…or not getting the support you need from your colleagues…" The next is right under the highest one.

"Aaargh. Aaargh. Eleven, thank-you, Professor. P-p-please may I have another." She finally starts to cry in earnest.

"…or just not being good enough. Whatever it is can be fixed, but only if you know what's wrong in the first place."

You complete the first dozen on the only strip of flesh not already turning black, between the fifth and eleventh stripes and she sobs out her thanks, shoulders heaving. You run your palm over the brunette's shapely thighs to assess the damage, brushing your fingers across her pudenda in the process. Her skin is hot to the touch and perhaps slightly abraded and swollen, but any weals have yet to form. You might return to this area later, but for now you want to give the bruising time to set in, making her more sensitive to any further punishment, so you take one of the chairs from around the walls and place it in front of another, facing to the side.

"Kneel here, Anthea," you instruct and she hastily obeys, walking stiffly and with deep breaths to control the pain surging through her legs. You sit on the other chair to put yourself at the right level and tap the cane on her calves.

"Please may I be permitted to receive the thirteenth stroke, Professor," she begs again, the short break sufficient for her to regain her composure slightly.

You lift the rod and swat it down on the fleshiest part of her calves, making her yelp. Again, you work downwards first, intending to go back up towards her knees later, but after three strokes, not only is she weeping freely, voice wavering with every thanks, but her legs are starting to shake, drumming against the seat of the chair upon which she's kneeling.

Using one hand to hold her trembling limbs still, you rest the cane on your lap and take a pen from your pocket, balancing it on the girl's ankles, just above her heels.

"Hold still, Anthea," you admonish her. "If my pen falls off, I'll give you a dozen to the soles of your feet."

"Yes, Professor," she sobs. "I'll try my best. Please may I be permitted to receive the sixteenth stroke."

Due to the break, you decide to resume at the very top, under her knees, working your way down to her heels.