Carrie Gets the Cane

[skuttrusk]

Teaser: “Ahem. Yes. Now, where were we?” His eyes alighted on the cane. “Ah yes. Now, with your
perverted behaviour, you’ve made me lose count, you filthy young trollop. I shall have to
start all over again. One!”

THWACK!
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: Carrie Gets the Cane
Author: Skuttrusk
Content Warnings: Carrie cums in this one, something that hasn't been allowed much, if at all, since.
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This is the first Carrie story I ever wrote, based very much on one of the original Carrie cartoons in Mayfair magazine. It was wild how a regular, "mild" porno mags regular featured rape scenes played as a joke, with the victim as butt.

Stylistically it's different: I was writing for a Carrie fan website so no use of the "r" word (rape) and no swearing except the mildest terms. It was interesting to work within those strictures and I have very occasionally done that again. Let me know if you like it this way. I also had Carrie orgasm during her abuse, to make it less like rape, ostensibly, but really just to humiliate her more. Since then, I've tended to deny her orgasms except in the direst moments when they will make her torment infinitely worse.

This story is more about corporal punishment than rape, though it has plenty of both. The injustice of punishing a victim for her rape appeals to me very much. One girl who read this called it "the most detailed spanking I have ever read." Reading it again, I found a few ways to make it even harsher...
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Carrie Gets the Cane

Carrie tensed as Mrs Ravisham approached her bare, upraised bottom. The she sighed: the
cold cream was soothing on her sore rump, and Mrs Ravisham’s touch was gentle, loving.
Perhaps too loving. Carrie wondered how she had ever gotten into this situation.
Certainly she had never set out to become a schoolteacher, but things just seemed to
happen to her. She had not done very well academically – something about her seemed to
distract those around her, the teachers, the other schoolkids and even their parents. Carrie
was always attracting attention, although really it was the last thing she wanted. And she
had a way of getting into mishaps, which had a bizarre tendency to result in her losing her
clothes.

Of course, this was disastrous at school. For an eighteen year old girl to catch her skirt in a
door and fall in the mud was extremely embarrassing, to say the least, but with Carrie it
always seemed to happen on the one day she’d forgotten to put panties on, and there was a
crowd of boys nearby. There she’d be, face down in the muck with her bare bottom raised,
pointing straight at them. Boys being boys, one couldn’t really blame them for reacting as
they did, although such behaviour wasn’t really appropriate for a schoolyard in full view of
the street. Crowds of onlookers took to gathering by the fence, hoping for a show and rarely
being disappointed. What seemed unfair to Carrie was that she was the one who got
punished by the teacher. After enduring the unwelcome attentions of a quartet of horny
teens, being made to bend over for a caning seemed a bit much. It was just her luck to live
in the one county in England where corporal punishment had not been banned. (Strange
how it was always the girls who received such chastisement, though …)

As time went on, and Carrie’s misfortunes continued (if somebody had a yo-yo, Carrie would
get entangled in the string and somehow end up naked and bound for all to see … and feel;
in the school canteen, she would be the one to trip over an ankle accidentally extended by
her maths teacher and end up soaking wet on the one day she’d neglected to wear a bra; in
the science class, some bright spark would pick that moment to discover a new chemical
that dissolved clothing, as well as apparently causing unheard-of aphrodisiac responses in
eighteen-year-old boys … and girls) the punishments tended to escalate. Why the
headmaster thought that punishing her bare bottom in front of the whole school assembly
would be a good cure for her presumed exhibitionism, Carrie couldn’t imagine. Inviting her
classmates to join in for a few whacks each certainly made the ordeal both more painful
(forty pupils to a class really was too much) and more humiliating, but it didn’t seem to stop
the regrettable incidents involving duck ponds, see-saws, paint-pots, rainstorms, and
whatever was around.

Still, Carrie somehow managed to scrape through her exams and leave school without
suffering anything more severe than acute embarrassment, amorous molestation, and many
nights nursing a red-raw rump. But why had she gone directly into teacher training and
thence back to school? It just seemed like another of the accidents that were always
happening to her.

Mind you, naïve and innocent as she still was, Carrie sometimes realised that what was
happening was not entirely down to fate. Her voluptuous figure and babyish blonde locks
often attracted the attention of both men and women, and something about her air of
vulnerability encouraged them to take advantage. Carrie exuded not only sexual charisma,
but also a pure eroticism that she was not fully in control of. Something about her suggested
to anyone in her presence that their attentions would not go unrewarded. Perhaps it was
Carrie’s helpless, hapless nature that made people think she could easily be tricked or
tripped out of her clothes (which she had to admit was true). Or perhaps it was this inner
lustiness that somehow told anybody around that, however much she protested against
their fondling her breasts or pinching her bottom, she would not actually make too much of
a fuss, would submit to their depredations, probably with an almighty orgasm at the end of
it, all the while protesting weakly that she was a good girl, and why was everybody always
taking advantage?

There had been many incidents. Once a simple trip to the cinema had provoked a near riot.
Carrie had mistakenly gone in to the auditorium screening Slave Girls of Araby, instead of
the one showing the nice romantic comedy. She had just realised her mistake after watching
forty-five minutes of attractive screaming girls being flogged and violated by their dusky
masters, when she felt a pair of hands seize her bosoms. The man in the seat behind was
making improper advances. Standing up to tell him off only attracted the attention of the
other patrons, who all seemed to be male and in a state of excitement. Soon, Carrie had lost
her top and her skirt – she called for the manager, and then discovered him pulling her
panties down – while the projectionist had unhooked her bra and was lasciviously rolling her
nipples between finger and thumb.

Struggling towards the fire exit, a now-naked Carrie had to run a gauntlet of groping,
tweaking, poking, spanking hands, all aflame with desire after watching half a kinky sex film
and finding themselves with a real prospective sex slave literally within their grasp. And
after seeing three reels of kinky pornography, Carrie had little doubt what they intended to
do with her.

Bursting from the cinema, Carrie fled naked down the cold, dark city streets, her body
sheened with icy sweat, her breasts bouncing energetically as she tried to keep ahead of the
panting mob.

Bumping into a policeman seemed like a bit of luck, at first. It was almost comical to see the
lusty mob suddenly stop their mad charge and look around, innocently whistling. But when
he arrested her for streaking, she had cause to doubt the kindness of fate. And of course,
her luck again, there was a press photographer on hand to snap pictures of her as the
copper handcuffed her wrists behind her back, pictures that adorned the front page and
inside spread of the next day’s local paper, accompanied by her name, address and phone
number.

Fortunately the judge dropped all charges … although he was rather demanding in the way
he required her to convince him of her innocence, forcing Carrie to perform acts in his
private chambers that would have been censored if they had appeared in Slave Girls of
Araby …

And thanks to the local rag’s unwelcome publicity, Carrie found herself on the receiving end
of many heavy-breathing phone calls, with accompanying filthy suggestions, and began to
receive uninvited gentleman callers who could often be most insistent – not to say forceful.
The handsome ones she didn’t mind so much, but even the plump or old ones were often …
rather overpowering. So although she escaped the violent lusts of an entire cinema of pervs,
over the coming weeks she probably satisfied an even greater number of the male
populace.

Still, her teaching work at Ravisham High had gone swimmingly at first. True, the older boys
had made no secret of the fact they lusted after her, and few days passed without some
minor embarrassment being inflicted on the helpless girl. A bucket of water positioned atop
an ajar door could be relied upon to soak her to the skin, requiring her to teach the next
hour’s lesson in cold, translucent clothing. A skipping rope could be used to trip her, which
would certainly provide an entertaining glimpse of underpants, but would probably result in
her becoming hopelessly entangled and losing her blouse as well. And the canteen was still
before Mr R appeared. The esteemed headmaster glowered at the mortified Carrie as a
mouthful of white goop trickled down her chin and spattered over her bounteous cleavage.
If the journey to the dorm had been fraught with fear and shame, the journey from there to
the Headmaster’s Office was little better. Carrie had barely the strength to stand as the
surprisingly vigorous older man dragged her down the corridor by one sore wrist. This left
her one free hand to cover herself, which proved to be insufficient.

Contemplating the problem with a kind of dazed clarity, Carrie decided she need not worry
about covering her bottom from the boys of 6B, who had followed her out of the dorm and
were watching her plight with ill-disguised glee. Since they had spent the last half-day
getting to know her posterior very well indeed, it didn’t seem to do much good to deprive
them of the sight of it now.

Of far greater concern were the myriad pupils emerging from their classes to see what the
fuss was about. Carrie felt these young, unformed minds very much needed to be protected
from the sight of her big round breasts, presently jiggling from side to side as she staggered
on weak and weary legs behind the furious head teacher. But they also should be spared the
sight of her pubic region, and the evidence of multiple seductions oozing from it. Even if
they reacted with hilarity and delight at the sight of these things (which they clearly and
noisily did), they ought to be protected. But Carrie had only one free hand, to either cover
her breasts or her puss.

Mostly she tried to keep her legs together and cupped one boob in her palm while trying to
shelter the other with her arm, though it kept bouncing into clear view. And then there was
the issue that, as she passed each classroom door she presented the impressionable minds
with an unobstructed rear view, which, since she was being bent forward as Mr R dragged
her unrelentingly onwards, was inclined to be more than usually explicit.

“What’s going on?” asked excited young voices. “Miss has been giving the boys on 6B an
extra lesson … in anatomy,” said a voice Carrie recognised as Rachel’s. Loud giggles from
everybody, and a few shocked cries from the more proper girls. “The dirty bitch!” “She’s
nothing but a little slut!”

“What’s she like?” asked the boys from other classes, as they greeted the conquering
heroes of 6B. “Not bad,” said one young champion. “She swallows!” cried another,
provoking loud yucks from the girls. “She takes it up the bum!” declared another of Carrie’s
suitors, one who had just recently enjoyed her rear entrance no less than three times. More
cries of disgust from the girls, even as they began to think about what that must be like and
how soon they could try it themselves.

All this heated discussion reached Carrie’s burning ears, and try as she might she could not
blot out one word of the shameful analysis of her body (the girls all judged her breasts to be
too big; the boys declared she had a “fat arse,” which was a bit rich since few of them had
abstained from ravishing it), her sexual prowess (6B mostly judged her “just fair”, although
some praised her oral skills, and hotly debated whether she had climaxed six times or only
five -- Carrie would never admit to anyone the shameful truth: it had been eight times) and
some speculated as to whether she would be fired, or arrested, or kept on until everyone
had had a go.

Finally the Headmaster’s Office was arrived at. Carrie stood for long moments while Mr
Ravisham fumbled with his keys. It was draughty in the hall. Carrie’s nipples were firm as
pips. The assorted pupils of Ravisham High were gathered close around, as Ravisham
fumbled endlessly with the door to his office.

“Mr Ravisham, this isn’t what it looks l--” began Carrie, somehow certain that once she
was inside the time for explanations would be over. But before she could utter another
word, a hand clapped over her mouth, and Rachel leaned in close to whisper in her ear.
“Don’t go telling tales, miss. It wouldn’t be nice to get these boys in … legal trouble. And it
wouldn’t work, when I tell the police how you were asking for it. They’d believe me, and the
other girls. So just let the boys have their fun. It’s not like they hurt you, not really. And you
can hardly claim you were a virgin. Just put it down to boyish high spirits. They were having
a laugh. So be a good sport, let Mr R think it was your fault, or otherwise it’ll be the girls
who grab you next time, and we won’t be so gentle.”

And with those shocking words, the wicked lass drove her point home, literally – jabbing her
trusty steel dividers into Carrie’s poor bottom again, she left a double set of pin-pricks in
first one cheek, then the other. Rachel’s hand was still clapped over Carrie’s mouth, so the
only sound to escape was a soft squeak. Once more for luck, Rachel stabbed the spikes into
Carrie’s sensitive bum, this time pricking the delicate region between her two openings,
sometimes called the “taint” (because it-ain’t one thing or the other). That was very sore,
and Carrie screamed through Rachel’s fingers. Rachel swiftly unhanded her victim as Mr R
opened his office door at last and turned to see what the fuss was about.

“You were saying?” he demanded, tapping a foot with theatrical impatience.

“N-nothing,” sighed Carrie, as her teenaged nemesis smirked in triumph. Rachel’s fingers
were sticky with the boy-juice smeared around Carrie’s lips from her multiple oral
experiences, and as Carrie watched in shock the salacious teen licked her fingers clean of
goop and waved a cheeky goodbye to Carrie as Mr R yanked the startled teacher into his
office and slammed the door.

Instantly Rachel kneeled at the keyhole to watch the fun, as the rest of the school gathered
close to the door to listen in on Carrie’s ensuing punishment.

It was an unusual way for a headmaster to chastise one of his staff, but as Mr Ravisham explained, it was an unusual situation. He had never encountered a teacher misbehaving in as indecent a manner as Carrie had done. He had no wish to involve the police, but a punishment must be delivered, and it had to be a particularly severe one. The old ways might be sneered at by some modern educationalists, but Reggie Ravisham had never lost his faith that a good old-fashioned spanking could correct the naughtiest of students.Carrie did express surprise at the way Ravisham had made her bend over a small school deskwhile he tied her wrists to the legs. Additional binding secured her ankles, each to its own desk leg, so that her legs were indecently spread and quite immobile. Thus bound and helpless, the naked and exhausted wretch could not help but offer her rear up for its just desserts. But pupils were never tied up in this fashion!

“Your case is different, young lady. Since your crime is so much greater than that I’ve ever had to deal with from a pupil, so must be your punishment correspondingly severe. And there’s simply no way a delicate young lady like yourself could withstand such brutal punishment if you were not thoroughly restrained first.”

Carrie gulped.

“I’m going to cane you, my girl. Twelve hard strokes from Old Snappy, a Victorian bamboo
instrument of torture which was retired from use in 1867 after my predecessors decided it
was a cruel and unusual punishment. In your case, it’s a punishment to fit the crime. For in
no way could you possibly argue that your infraction of our school code has not been
outrageous, flagrant, obscene and downright whorish.”

“Well, actually …” began Carrie, but Mr R silenced her by banging the cane down on the
desk before her.

“No arguments! Twelve strokes seems a mild enough repayment for your shameful and
lubricious conduct. Corrupting the minds of our young men! And it’s clear as day to me now
that your previous ‘accidents’ in which you contrived to bare your young body before the
school were nothing of the kind, but deliberate acts of disgusting exhibitionism designed to
provoke the lustful gaze of lads too innocent to resist your depraved wiles!”

“Oh now wait --” began Carrie.

“Silence, slut!” declared the head, banging the cane again. “I should beat you twenty times,
once for each young soul you have besmirched, but I take pity upon your youth and
womanly frailty. Besides, Old Snappy has been soaking in brine for the last hundred-odd
years, and I really don’t know what it will do to you. Twelve strokes, then, which you shall
count along with me. One!”

And with that he swung the cane with full force onto Carrie’s bottom. THWACK! The stinging
pain was instant and extreme, driving the breath from Carrie’s abused body in a long sigh.
And after the initial shock, the burning sensation was just as bad!

“One …” repeated Carrie in a small voice.

“Two!” cried Ravisham, really getting into the swing of it now. He hadn’t thrashed any pupils
for ages, and never a young woman of Carrie’s age and attractive assets. His second stroke,
consequently, was even more satisfyingly savage than the first, adding a vivid red stripe just
above the one he had so exquisitely marked Carrie’s buttocks with.

“Two …” choked Carrie, and this time her voice was joined by an enthusiastic chant from the
pupils and teachers gathered outside. Even if only Rachel could see the show (the keyhole
affording an excellent view of Carrie’s upraised bottom), the rest were enjoying the
soundtrack immensely.

“Three!” cried Ravisham with genuine glee. This was fun! He must instigate more regular
beatings for the sixth form girls. It did them good, morally, and more importantly, it did him
good.

“Three …” repeated Carrie hoarsely, drowned out by her delighted fans outside. Hot tears
sprung to her eyes, as the searing heat raged through her bottom and tingled her ravaged
loins. A strange, unwelcome sensation was building in her peachy puss.

“Four!” cried the head, delivering the hardest smack yet across the red-striped expanse of
the quaking blonde’s rump. Ravisham also was becoming excited with the situation, and it
lent zest to his work and power to his elbow.

“Four …” chanted Rachel at the keyhole, fingering herself frantically as she rejoiced in the
sight of her teacher being so abased. Miss would never wield any authority after being thus
degraded in front of everyone. She would be an even bigger pushover than before! Rachel
silently exulted in the many ways she could imagine making poor Carrie’s life even more
uncomfortable in the days and weeks to come.

“Five!” panted Mr R, depositing another nasty love-bite on the bound beauty before him,
enjoying the way she squealed at every stroke, and the way she sobbed so pleasingly
between strokes!

“Five …” gasped Carrie, barely able to speak, fighting back the arousal that burned between
her spread thighs, and still suffering the blazing heat of the previous four strokes, now
augmented by an even more vicious fifth.

“Six!” and this time the cane bent like a Turkish scimitar as Ravisham cut the air with it.
WHOOSH and THWACK! Followed by the stimulating sounds of female distress – was there
any more pleasing music for a headmaster’s ears?

“Six!” chanted the throng outside. Having already enjoyed the spectacle of Carrie’s nudity at
considerable length, they had no trouble imagining the delightful scene playing out in the
Head’s Office.

“Seven!” wheezed the over-excited head teacher, taking a run at it this time, thus increasing
the force of his blow without any loss of accuracy. To Carrie it seemed as if the punishment
had just increased tenfold in severity.

“YOOOOOWWW! Seven!” she screamed, that overwhelming and unwilling orgasm just
tipping past the point of no return. She threw her head back, blonde hair sticking to her
sweat-soaked face (an aesthetic detail appreciated and memorized by the rapt Rachel) and
saw to her alarm a series of faces pressed against the window. The school gardener, nurse,
and entire janitorial staff (a total of six middle-aged men) had gathered to observe her
comeuppance!

“Eight!” cried Ravisham, taking a longer run-up this time, having found the results of the last
strike particularly pleasing. The stripe raised across Carrie’s bum had been twice as red and
angry-looking as the previous six. This one was twice as red again. What fun!
“Eight,” said the lips of the men drooling at the window, eating up every moment of Carrie’s
misfortunes. Although Carrie could not hear them through the window pane, now steaming
up with their hot breath, she could see them keeping count. And they could certainly hear
the strokes of the cane upon her soft skin, and the cries of shame and defilement she let out
at each excruciating impact.

“Nine!” announced Mr R, using the whole length of his office as a run-up to get the
maximum force into this blow. In the whole history of corporal punishment, it is doubtful if
any girl ever received a swipe so savage, so well-aimed, and so downright effective.

Carrie came.

The poor girl couldn’t help it. The day’s exertions had left her in a highly over-stimulated
state. Her body was already tender and aroused, able to feel both the pain of the cane’s
swats upon her skin, and the lustful heat generated in her privates, with unusual intensity.
The eight orgasms that had overwhelmed her unwilling body earlier had left her primed on
the brink of a ninth, and the delicious humiliations inflicted upon her had unsettled her so
that she was powerless to resist. Carrie came.

Loudly. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she cried, unable to help herself. There could be no disguising this
one (she had managed to keep just one of her earlier crises to herself, thrilling her young
assailants with the knowledge that they had torn at least a half-dozen shuddering climaxes
from her reluctant sex). This time, everybody knew. Mr Ravisham, watching her body spasm
and writhe in the throes of a mighty convulsion of lustful pleasure, certainly knew. Rachel,
kneeling at the keyhole with three fingers embedded inside her hot snatch, reaching a little
crisis of her own, knew. The men watching in silent rapture at the window knew (they could
hear the swat of the cane and Carrie’s very vocal response even through the double-
glazing). And even all the crowd outside the door were in no doubt: Carrie was enjoying her
punishment.

Mr Ravisham was too stunned at first to react. The he simply lashed out, aiming a couple of
quick swipes at the thrusting, wiggling backside before him. These smacks of Old Snappy
weren’t particularly vicious compared to the drubbing he had just delivered, but they had
this cruel edge: they delivered two vertical lines to Carrie’s poor bottom, cutting across the
nine horizontals, sending the spasming girl into a whole new world of intermingled pain and
pleasure. Carrie’s eyes rolled back in her head, her tongue lolled lasciviously around her pink
lips, her arms and legs tensed against the bonds restraining her, and she shuddered in
agonizing bliss. Girl-juice ran down her creamy thighs.

“She loves it!” exclaimed Rachel to her classmates. “Miss loves having her bottom
thrashed!”
“I wish we’d known that,” moaned one of the boys of 6B. “We could have had even more
fun with her.” He thought of the minutes he’d spent rogering Miss as she lay imprisoned
beneath him, and wished he’d thought to smack her bottom until her cheeks glowed rosy
red.

“You had more than enough fun with her, judging by the state of the poor girl,” sniped Miss
Juggs, the PE teacher, to general laughter. But inside the Headmaster’s Office, nobody was
laughing …

“You brazen hussy!” spluttered Ravisham, outraged at Carrie’s sexual fireworks display.
“Actually enjoying your chastisement! I have never witnessed such a vulgar display of
perversity and downright kinkiness in my life!”

Carrie sighed. His unkind words seemed wholly justified. She knew she was very bad to
respond in such a way. But in her dreamy state she could only accept the names she was
being called as fact. Not something to get upset about, just an appropriate way of describing
a dirty, naughty girl who did what she had just done. Some of the names Mr Ravisham called
her were unfamiliar, harsh-sounding words she had never encountered, but she could sort
of figure out what they must mean. She couldn’t blame him, after her disgraceful display.
She had taken a strict disciplinary action, performed upon her bare bottom in good faith,
and turned it into something smutty and suggestive. She felt thoroughly ashamed of herself,
and at the same time, dreamily content in a post-orgasmic glow.

“Oh dash it all!” said Ravisham, unzipping.

Carrie’s ears perked up. “I have a feeling the lesson is about to begin,” she thought,
fatalistically, as the twenty-first intruder of the day entered her aching love-box from
behind.

At the keyhole, Rachel’s eye widened still further, and in her panties, her slippery fingers
gave her little rosebud a slightly-too rough tweak, sending her over the edge again. She
never dreamed she’d see what she was seeing now: Mr Ravisham moving from position to
position upon and around the bound Carrie, taking her first in one opening, then another.
Absolutely no possible location or angle of attack was left untried.

“What’s going on?” asked one of the boys of 6B. “It’s gone dead quiet.”

So Rachel gave the assembled listeners a blow by blow description of everything that was
being done to poor Carrie, sparing no obscene or degrading detail …

Flash! Carrie was seeing stars as Mr Ravisham’s athletic ministrations brought her to her
tenth mind-blowing explosion. But no: the flashing lights she saw were actually camera
flashes. Mr Gropely, the art teacher, was at the window, taking assorted views of the lewd
display Carrie was being so forcibly made a part of. “Just the thing for my private portfolio,”
he thought to himself, adjusting his powerful zoom for some extra close-up shots. And there
were publications that would pay handsomely for such candid shots, too, he thought. Of
course he’d have to blank out Mr Ravisham’s face – wouldn’t do to embarrass the old
fellow. The look of outraged ecstasy on Carrie’s flushed features, however, was definitely
one for the books.

Mr Ravisham lay back gasping, all passion spent. Carrie lay before him, thoroughly ravaged
in every conceivable way, soiled with the seed of Mr R. The dignified gentleman now
attempted to recover his poise.

“Ahem. Yes. Now, where were we?” His eyes alighted on the cane. “Ah yes. Now, with your
perverted behaviour, you’ve made me lose count, you filthy young trollop. I shall have to
start all over again. One!”

THWACK!

“Ooooowww!” cried Carrie. Mr Ravisham’s whiplashes might lack some of their former
force, but her bottom had been thoroughly tenderized by his earlier actions, so that had a
butterfly alighted upon one fiery cheek, she would probably have squealed in discomfort.
Old Snappy landing on her rear like a nest of stinging hornets all striking at once was
something else again!

“Two!”

THWACK!

“Oh please, Mr Ravisham, I can’t cum – I mean, I can’t take any more!”

“Three!”

THWACK!

Mr Gropely’s camera flashed with each stroke of the cane, capturing the plight of Carrie’s
suffering posterior, for posterity.

“Ooooww-oowww-owww!

“Four!”

THWACK!

“Mr Ravisham, please, my bottom’s too sore, do whatever you like, punish me, beat me as
hard as you please, I know I deserve it, but not there!”

“Five!”

THWACK – an extra hard one for insolence. But then Mr Ravisham paused. Was the girl not
right? Her bottom did indeed glow a burnished red. He could practically feel himself getting
a suntan off it. To continue in this manner might be… cruel. And Reggie Ravisham was not a
cruel man.

“There there, my dear,” he reassured the sobbing girl. He gently unbound her wrists, then,
with some regret, her ankles (it was a shame to lose the view as the lass modestly closed her
sticky thighs). He helped Carrie from her prone position, encouraging her to sit, which
caused her to yelp with renewed pain, and then pressing her shoulders until she lay down
on her back upon the desk, relaxing.

And then he bound her wrists and ankles, trapping her in this new position: flat on her back,
with her legs nicely spread. Fine!

At the keyhole, Rachel described the marvellous sight that met her eye, even more
spectacular than the previous view of teacher’s tush: her gleaming love-slot, nestling in its
thatch of now rather sticky hair.

At the window, Mr Gropely found that a mirror positioned on the far wall reflected a nice
angle looking right between Carrie’s unwillingly parted thighs. His zoom lens once more
came in handy.

THWACK! Pleased with this new arrangement, Mr R delivered a stinging swipe to Carrie’s
left breast, making it bounce enticingly. The nipple swelled and reddened, victim of a direct
hit.

THWACK! A lover of symmetry, Mr R dealt an equally fierce blow to the right nipple, sending
ripples wobbling through the soft flesh.

“Oh nooooo!” cried Carrie.

“And now, you see, I can at last apply Old Snapper to the true seat of the problem,”
remarked Ravisham, stroking the tip of the vicious weapon through Carrie’s bush. “By
punishing your lustful appetites at their source, I can finally whip the sluttiness out of you.
One!”

THWACK! As the cane descended with renewed vigour upon Carrie’s most private, yet most
often public parts, she reflected that this had essentially been her own suggestion. And
oddly, she found herself remembering, through the searing wave of indefinable pleasure-
pain, the time when, hiking through a field, she had been roughly tackled to the ground by a
horny-handed farm labourer (oh those hands had been rough! But not as rough as today!)
and landed face down in a fresh cow-pat. Not since that day had Carrie wished so fervently
that she’d kept her mouth shut.

Speaking of her mouth – to dampen the poor girl’s cries of ecstatic agony, Mr Ravisham
rather wittily picked an apple from the fruit-bowl on his desk and stuffed it into her mouth,
effectively silencing her.

“An apple for the teacher,” he quipped, and then returned his attentions to the tethered
nude’s breasts and pussy, which had not yet been punished nearly enough, by his lights, not
nearly enough.

“Two!”

THWACK!

“Mmmmmfff—mmmmmffff!”

“Left titty!”

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

“Ung-mnng-mmeep!”

“Right titty!”

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

“Nnng-ungh-eeek!”

“Labia majora, labia minora, and clitoris!”

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

[gentle sobbing]

“Hmmm, how many thwacks was that?” said Mr. Ravisham, scratching his bald pate while looking down at Carrie’s purple, deeply welted bosoms, lower lips, and swollen, throbbing love-button.

How many times did Mr Ravisham lose count and start over before reaching a figure of twelve strokes on Carrie’s luscious young body? I would tell you, dear reader, but I lost count myself.

Suffice it to say that by nine O’clock, a full twelve hours after her ordeal began, Carrie was
having cold cream rubbed into her sore places by Mr Ravisham’s stern but attractive wife.
The experience was soothing, although Mrs R, like her husband, was a woman of unruly
passions, and it was midnight before Mrs R judged that Carrie had been, ah, rubbed enough. By
then Carrie was ready to fall into a deep sleep, in which her dream-life replayed the torrid
events of the day, only with more perverse and shameful detail.

In his dark room, Mr Gropely gazed proudly one what were sure to be award-winning
artistic prints. The images were so clear, capturing Carrie’s flushed cheeks (upper and
lower), her helpless victimhood, her full-blown whorish pleasure. Best of all, the girl was
very recognisable. It was amusing to imagine the reactions of her friends and family when
they saw these stunning shots…

And alone in her dormitory bunk, still stroking her devilish hot little box, naughty Rachel
reflected that Miss had only so far satisfied one class of Ravisham High. There were over a
hundred boys in her year, and it didn’t seem right that any should miss out. Rachel was sure
she could deliver Miss to the rest, on a platter, and be well paid for her services. The day of
the school camping trip might serve to allow the boys 24 uninterrupted hours with their
dream girl. And even if Rachel couldn’t turn a profit on the deal, it would certainly be fun.

Fun.

THE END
-------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed this early work. Notes and favourite moments and criticisms are always welcome, I really like to know what people most enjoyed of Carrie's sufferings.

[Lucius]

Wild and cruel cartoonish fun -- it's a good thing that Carrie's indestructible! Definitely not for those who don't like CorPun works.

I was writing for a Carrie fan website so no use of the "r" word (rape) and no swearing except the mildest terms. It was interesting to work within those strictures and I have very occasionally done that again. Let me know if you like it this way.

It doesn't detract anything from the story.

@skuttrusk Could you please change the length tag? The word count here is c. 5500, that makes it 'Medium'.

[skuttrusk]

Changed the length.

There's something fun about using playfully demure language to describe something so appalling. On the other hand, one loses the ability to degrade and brutalize the victim with words. But it's lovely to be able to trivialise everything and make the abuse seem like a mere anecdote.