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A Game of Bowls
My friend Anna, whom I have known since we were classmates, came to stay with me recently. We went out and about a lot but the thing we most enjoyed was chatting. We had both had strict upbringings and liked to compare notes. She told me a story from the past that simply astonished me.
Of course, you never know with Anna whether her stories are real or invented. But anyway, here it is and I leave readers to decide for themselves whether to believe it or not, whether some of it true, or none of it, or all of it. This is what Anna told me. In places where I have been unable to restrain myself I have put in my own comments in square brackets like these [ ].
Anna’s account
I had been instructed to report to Miss Kenworthy at 6 pm one evening, on the dot without fail. She would be expecting me. [Miss Kenworthy was the headmistress, young and beautiful but extremely strict.] They had told me that if I was going to Miss Kenworthy I would be receiving corporal punishment for sure. Ten minutes in her presence would leave me in tears with a sore bottom that I would not be allowed to rub. As I walked slowly up the stairs to her office I reflected on the events that had led me there, my repeated bad behaviour, my failure to attend detentions, my poor performance in tests (especially spelling tests), and then finally a letter to my guardian that elicited an instant reply permitting the school to administer whatever punishment it thought I deserved, including corporal punishment.
I stood outside Miss Kenworthy’s door; I knocked and waited. There was no answer. I knocked again without response. As I wondered what to do I heard the percussive sound of hard footsteps coming down the passage, and saw the headmistress approaching me. I wasn’t fooled by her smile as she looked at me.
“Are you waiting for me?”
“Yes Miss Kenworthy, I am Anna. I have been sent to you.”
“Ah yes, Anna, I have received a report about you from your tutor. Wait here and I will call you in. I need to check a few details.”
I waited, my heart thumping uncontrollably. I thought I might even be sick – much good that would do me.
Then I heard a peremptory “come in Anna”. I opened the door and slowly entered the room. Miss Kenworthy was not – as I had expected – sitting at her desk looking sternly out at me. She was standing by the window, looking out at the pretty garden below. Her head turned to me…
“Come here Anna,” she said, turning towards me. As I approached, she pointed down into the garden. “Isn’t it beautiful, Anna? Would you like to go down and sit in it for a while?”
This was not at all the question I was expecting her to ask me, and I replied somewhat hesitantly.
“Yes, I think it would be nice, Miss Kenworthy, but it’s not really what I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting, Anna?”
She went over to the desk and picked up what looked like a hand-written note. “What do you think your tutor thinks you deserve?”
“A punishment.”
“I think he does, Anna, because you have not been behaving well, have you?”
“No Miss Kenworthy.”
“We will talk about your behaviour. And we must think of ways of making you improve. But I will have to punish you as well, and I am sure you know how we punish here.”
“Will you cane me Miss Kenworthy?”
“That is one possibility, Have you been caned before?”
“No Miss.”
“Or received any corporal punishment? A spanking for example?”
“No Miss, never.”
[I am reasonably sure that Anna is lying here, but she insisted it was true. She might have been hoping it would secure a milder punishment from Miss Kenworthy, but events were to prove otherwise.]
Miss Kenworthy’s smile returned.
“Well, in that case it will be a new experience for you. As it is your very first time, we are going to play a game. I call it bowls, but it’s not the usual game of that name. She pulled back a screen and on the chest behind it were three large glass bowls – goldfish bowls perhaps but there were no fish in them. Instead there were heaps of little paper pieces folded into small squares.
She pointed to one of them “In this bowl, Anna, the slips all have names of the implements that I use for punishments – slipper, brush, strap, … switch, cane, and so on.”
“And so on” left an uneasy feeling in my stomach.
Then she pointed to the second bowl. “In this one all the slips of paper have numbers on them. Not all the numbers, just the numbers from 6 to 36 that are multiples of three. We – that is, you, pick one slip from each bowl. Together they tell us your punishment.” She picked a slip from the first bowl, looked up at me and asked me to tell her the number. It was a 9, so I said “nine, Miss.”
“And this one?” She handed me a slip from the second bowl.
“Hairbrush, Miss Kenworthy.”
“So, your punishment would be nine cracks with the hairbrush. I call them cracks, Anna, not smacks. They are much harder then smacks and they make a sound on your bottom like the crack of a rifle. You understand?”
“I think so, Miss.”
“You will understand soon, Anna. But now, I expect you are wondering about the third bowl, aren’t you? What do you think that is for?”
I really could not imagine; I looked down at my feet.
“They tell us something very important about your punishment, Anna. Pick a slip from the third bowl. Tell me what it says.”
I took a slip and unfolded and read it.
“It says ‘over panties’ Miss Kenworthy.”
“Then you would be fairly lucky, Anna. You would get your nine cracks of the hairbrush with your skirt removed, over your panties. The others say things like ‘over skirt’, ‘on hands’. The one to avoid at all costs is BB. I’m sure you can work out what that means, Anna.”
I knew, and blushed deeply. I had heard of bare bottom spankings and narrowly escaped one myself.
“I have a question, Miss Kenworthy.”
“Go ahead, Anna.”
“Suppose I pick a 36, and a cane, and a BB. Would that not be too extreme?”
Miss Kenworthy had this strange capacity to frown and smile at the same time. It was a signal to beware of.
“It may seem that way Anna, but rules are rules and there can be no exceptions. If that happened you would receive 36 strokes of the cane on your bare bottom, just the same. It would be a severe punishment but it would be a necessary lesson for you. You would deserve it and you would soon be crying, and your bottom would be very sore for several days.”
Miss Kenworthy look fixedly at me for several minutes, wondering – I suspect – whether I would burst into tears or run from the room. But I held my ground, and so did she.
“Now Anna, we will play our game in the garden and pick the slips of paper for real. There is a shed in the corner with everything we need in it. And a bench for you to go over, and a table to put any clothes you have to take off. I will take two of the bowls and you can take the third one. Do not drop it!”
Her look grew quite menacing. I was sure that if I broke the bowl I would not be sitting down for days.
In the garden I picked the first two slips:
‘36’
‘Switch’
My hand trembled as I reached into the third bowl and slowly extracted the fateful last slip.
“Go on Anna. The third slip. I am waiting.” Miss Kenworthy’s impatience was withering.
I read out the dire and inevitable instruction; the two letters were printed in bright capitals followed by a huge exclamation mark.
Miss Kenworthy’s face lit up.
“Ah, Anna, exactly what you deserve; how wise to let chance decide. And how opportune. You have picked a switch from the bowl and now you can pick one for real in the garden. Look over here.”
She led me to a little group of willow trees and took hold of a branch.
“How about this one? Fetch the secateurs for me.” There was a pair of secateurs among a collection of cutters on the workbench. I took it over to where Miss Kenworthy was smiling expectantly.
“You cut it, Anna. Carefully now.”
“I will give you 12 on your legs then 24 on your bottom. Bare of course – from the waist down, where it matters.”
[At this point Anna became upset and she has asked me to continue her story as I remember it.]
Narrator
Miss Kenworthy had a reputation for baring girls’ bottoms that could only be described as sensuous, the nakedness revealed so slowly and tenderly that it was difficult to comprehend that discipline was to follow. The feeling of vulnerability produced in the miscreant was so physically intense that many girls were on the brink of tears before a single smack had been delivered. The smacking could often be more pleasurable than disciplinary, and there is little doubt that Miss Kenworthy was aware of this. With boys, whom she disciplined sometimes, it is said that the first smack – when it finally came – could result in an orgasm.
Anna’s complexion reddened and a frown formed as she told me this part of the story and went on to describe the punishment. It was administered with such finesse, first on the backs of her legs and then – just marginally harder – on her bared bottom, that the stinging sensation seemed to emerge and intensify naturally. Miss Kenworthy’s sensuous administering of strict corporal punishment was so effective that it completely justified its use long after other institutions gave it up, and it belied all the indications Miss Kenworthy gave of strictness tempered with clemency. For some it might be enjoyable, but it was always painful and shaming, as Anna realised when she stood in the corner.
Anna could barely keep back the tears when the strokes moved up from her legs to her bottom, and Miss Kenworthy intensified the feeling of suspense by placing the switch against the crown of the poor girl’s bottom and gently sliding it across and tapping with it, then withdrawing it for an agonisingly long time before bringing it down again with a sharp flick and a crack that was guaranteed to produce a gasp. With three or four still to be given the floodgates opened and poor Anna was sobbing.
Finally Anna was sent into a corner of the shed that had been prepared as the naughty corner, with mirrors placed strategically to show up the miscreant’s tell-tale features: a red tearful face, trembling hands, and a bottom that could light up a bedroom.
Listening to this part of the story, I had become deeply suspicious of Miss Kenworthy’s behaviour towards Anna, and felt sure that the lottery had been fixed to ensure a severe punishment: I would bet all my money that all the numbers were the highest and the implements the most severe and painful.
I asked Anna whether she had thought to confront Miss Kenworthy with this suspicion – and if possible to sneak into her room and re-examine the evidence.
“ I did indeed,” Anna told me, “but it did not work out well. I chose a time when I knew Miss Kenworthy would be absent (I had seen her leaving in her smart little car). But I was discovered by her secretary. I was given two options: she would either inform Miss Kenworthy of my trespassing, or I would do so myself. She handed me a fourth bowl. It had a solitary slip lying at the bottom. I took it and opened it.
It contained the single word ‘birch’.
“You can hand that to Miss Kenworthy when she comes back.”
I asked Anna what followed.
“I never gave Miss Kenworthy the paper,” she said with a laugh. “I kept it. I still have it.” With that, she put a hand in her pocket and took out a little piece of paper, and handed it to me. “I got away with it.”
I looked hard at Anna. “You cannot leave it like this. It’s not too late.”
Anna looked at me knowingly. “No, it isn’t.”
*****
Some time later I saw Anna again and asked her about the outcome.
“The willow was in season, so ….. “
There was a brief pause. Then: “Miss Kenworthy was asking after you,” she told me. She would so like to see you.”
“For a game of bowls Anna?”
Anna’s nod said it all. So I made an appointment to visit Miss Kenworthy when the willow was in season again. I will tell you my own story another time.
ASA’S NOTE
A very well written engaging story, full of well described feelings. The idea of the bowls is brilliant. More please!
My time is more limited these days, a while ago I would have put photos to it even had a shoot and invited him down.
…. But, alas I am just too busy.
If you fancy sending a story, please do, but be prepared to be patient. It could lead to a regular page like ‘B’
Good Luck!
