This is from the book Sorority of Submissive Girls, variously attributed to P.N. Dedeaux or Carl Buono:
‘We’ll start now.’
‘Please. You’re not going to …’ Rowena was alarmed as much at the fear she felt as anything.
‘I use a cane. Fetch me the one in the bottom rack above your bed.’
‘But I’ve just been …’
‘I don’t want to have to order you a Demerit as well.’
Sick inside, Rowena turned. In the bedroom beyond, three slender exclamation marks stood over her bed. She chose the lowest and, it seemed, the leanest, a long thin yellow rod which wiggled like a live thing as she carried it back to her senior. There was a knob at one end for grip.
Alison Riley accepted it and flexed it expertly, almost in two. ‘This is a light correction cane but I think you’ll find it stings. The ones we use in the House are less bendy, and hurt more. One of your duties is to keep these sticks polished, gleaming. Now move those chairs out of the way and come and bend over here.’
Here was in front of the empty fireplace, ranked with logs. Rowena cleared the space with averted eyes, her pulpy features a picture of anxiety.
The cane-tip tapped the polished bar of the grate.
Rowena stood on the end of the bearskin rug and doubled to do so. The brass felt cold in her fingers. Almost at once she again felt her skirt lifted onto her back. Two thumbs hooked in the waistband of her tights and eased them down her hips to her knees. She felt utterly exposed and irrationally humiliated. After all, it was only a girl behind her. Resentment mounted in her, turning into resolve – she’d show this Senior she could take it, with the best.
‘I’m, glad to see you have a good full fanny, Rowena. I shall enjoy caning you a lot. Brace back your knees and tuck your head right down. I’m going to hit you here.’ The cane end touched the rectangular red of the paddle’s deepest weals. ‘Four for four. I’m a fairly good golfer, so all in all I think you’ll know you’re beaten by the time I’ve finished with you.’
She walked away, Rowena imagined her going back to the bedroom perhaps, when she turned and in a pair of prancing strides paced forward and wrapped the licky yellow stick round the centre of the well-bent and naked posterior in front of her. Rowena gasped as if she’d been thrust into icy water. The razor-like flash of fire across her tenderest flesh mounted maddeningly, until her breath came short. Before she knew it there was
another dry whirr, like the sudden parting of curtains behind her, completed by a solid meaty snap, as the cane cut.
‘Auouuuu … OW!’
‘I said, ‘brace back your knees’.’
‘I’m trying, Miss.’
‘Well, try harder then.’
If only she could get through three. Then she could hold it after the fourth, until the word of permission to get up came.
The lithe rod lashed round her and dug into the same line of scalding welt. Rowena struggled but as the pain rose and rose she put her hands behind her, feeling the solid hot ridge where the tip had fallen on the right. Slowly, as the pain drenched over her in another irresistible wave, she rose erect, her face clenched.
‘Bend over at once, Pledge. You have another coming.’
‘I caaa-n’t. It’s unspeakable. I’m sorry, but …’
‘Well, if you can’t take four, I’m going to have to give you lots of practice before first Hell Night.’
Rowena closed her eyes. The word ‘Please’ was turned into a stifled whine in her mouth. She was aware of herself holding her behind and spasming the centre of her body like some coarse bump-and-grind dancer’s. Tears rushed to the corners of her eyes.
‘Please. I’m not used to being caned like that.’
‘Well, you’d better pluck up your courage for the next month, my dear, if you want to get into Beta Rho. It doesn’t hurt you any more than it does anyone else.’ Rather boredly the languid blonde tossed the cane onto the sofa. ‘We’ll try that four over before you hit the sack tonight.’