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The following interactive story is fiction; just a fantasy.  It contains M/b spankings and canings.

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  The author has given explicit permission for his story to be posted on my site.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

The author would very much like to hear what you think of this.

A Schoolboy's Dilemma


Klaus Ole Kristiansen

You are the protagonist of this story.

Just CLICK to select your answers at every point.  Have fun.

First, click to select a button color combo, please

Default     White     Black     Normal    Reversed

and then:© YLeeCoyote

On your way to the headmaster's office, you worry about what he may want.  He couldn't know that it was you who broke that window, could he?  Or maybe Mr. Mathews, who owns the farm next to the school, did see you after all when you and your friends picked those pears?  You'll know soon enough and that's what worries you the most.

The secretary lets you wait.  You hear a loud Ouch! through the door.  The wait seems very long, and is over all too soon.  The door opens.  Another pupil of this boarding school comes out, his face streaked with tears.  You think it kindest to pretend not to notice him.  The secretary tells you to go in.

"What have you been up to?" the headmaster asks.


"Come on now.  I know what you have been doing.  Honesty is the best policy, you know.  What have you been doing?"

The plimsoll he uses for spanking is lying on his desk.  It draws your eyes like a magnet.

"I was all alone," you say.

"Don't you lie to me!"  The head commands you to bend over and touch your toes.

You know from painful experience that this means the cane, and indeed he takes his cane down off the wall.  The cane is so much worse than the slipper, and you were happy to have avoided it.  This has proved not to be the case.  The cane bites into your sore butt.  It hurts.  It hurts just as much as you knew it would, maybe even a bit more.  After his usual six of the best, he stops.

"And now let's have the truth.  Who was with you?"

The head says: "Why didn't you say so right away?  OK, we are finished.  Off you go."

As you walk down the corridor rubbing your much caned behind, you think of the punishment your friends will take.  Will they get that cane too?  Very likely.  How will they take it?

"Davies and Miller," you say.

"Anybody else?"

"No; just Baxter, Davies, Miller, and me."

The head lets you up.  He gets into one of his usual sermons about honesty.  Eventually he lets you go.

"Miller and Brown, sir," you reply.

With no warning, the cane descends on your much molested posterior.  Again and again it cuts into you.  Your world becomes very simple, consisting only of pain.  All your other worries disappear without a trace.

The barrage stops as abruptly as it started.  "Brown was right here at the time!" the furious head informs you.  "Blaming
the innocent is a crime I will not tolerate!  Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes sir," you say truthfully.

"Good.  Now tell me who else was with you."

There is no number 6!
Click to start

"Squealer!"  Baxter accuses.  He bowls you over, and pins your arms behind your back.  Davies holds you feet, and Francis pulls down your pants.  He pulls down your underpants too.

You make a last desperate try:  "I couldn't help it!  Look what he did to me!"

"As if he didn't do the same to us!  And that's all your fault."

Miller slaps the mattress experimentally with his belt.  "I'd say the cane is three time as bad as a belt.  Let's each give him three times what we got.  That's 18 from me."  He takes position and raises the belt.

Your butt hurts badly as you go back to your room, wondering if Baxter's and Miller's will soon hurt as bad.

"Brown was with us," you say.

"A very unfortunate choice of a lie.  Brown was here at the time."

Glad as you are to hear that Brown had occasion to visit the head's office, you wish he could have chosen some other time.

"Attempting to get an innocent punished is a very serious offence, not to mention a mean trick."  Without warning, he hits you.  Again and again the cane connects with your burning bum.  At long last the rain of blows stops.  "Never try that again," he admonishes.

"Miller was with me," you admit.

"Miller and who else?"

"Just Miller," you gamble.

"Is there no end to your lies?"

He hits you again.  You wonder if there is any skin left on your butt.  It feels like it has been flayed.  Fortunately he is much more in control of himself now, and sticks to his usual "six of the best".

"One last time: who was with you?  Miller and who?"

"I was telling the truth," you say indignantly.  "It was just the two of us."

"Mr. Mathews saw more than two.  You are lying.  You should now the penalty for lying by now."

Indeed you find that your guess as to the nature of the penalty is correct.  The severity is not really surprising either, even if you find it a bit more than merited by the offence.

"Now will you tell the truth?  You and Baxter and who?  You were seen.  No use in lying."

Click on your partner(s) in crime:

"Miller was with me," you say.

"Anybody else?"

"No sir, just me and Miller."

The head sighs.  "You must really love that cane.  Just as I thought we could dispense with it this time, you force me to use it."
He takes the named item down off the wall.  "There is only one penalty for lying.  Touch your toes," he orders.

You are afraid of the cane.  The first cut confirms that you have every reason to be afraid.  The horrid thing hurts in a much more unpleasant way than the slipper.  And it hurts so much more.  And you know that the pain will linger for hours.

"I did pick some fruits in the orchard," you confess.

"In Mr. Mathews' orchard?"

"Yes sir."

"That's theft.  That is a very serious offence."

He pauses to let you answer.  You can't think of anything to say.

"We may as well get it over with.  Bend over the desk," he commands, picking up the plimsoll.

The shoe hits you with a smack that must be audible through the door.

"I was alone," you insist.

"Six of the best was not enough, I see.  Let's try eight."

Six more times the cane adds to the insufferable pain in your butt.  He pauses.  Will he stop at six from old habit?  Almost to much to hope for.  Almost.

"Mr. Mathews saw Baxter as well as you," he informs you.

"Miller," you say.

"And?" the head prompts.

"Just Miller."

"Mr. Mathews saw Baxter," the head informs you.  "You should know the penalty for lying by now."

Once again the cane descends on your tender flesh.  This is becoming a habit, but you are not becoming used to it.  It just hurts more and more.

When he has completed the series he asks: "Who else was with you?"

"Yes, sir.  Davies was with us."

"Anybody else?"

"No sir."

"OK, you may leave," he says abruptly.

Twice more the cane adds to the fire in your backside.

"You and Baxter and who else?  You'd better tell the truth this time," the head advises.

For some reason, you think of Francis.  Not that he has ever done you anything, but the head seems so determined to get another name.

"and Davies," you say.

"You and Baxter and Davies?"

"Yes sir."

"And nobody else?"

"That's right sir."


What are you going to say to Davies?  If only your butt didn't hurt so.  You sit uncomfortably for days.  What are you going to say to Davies?

"I was alone," you state in a firm voice.

"It is no use lying to me.  I know that you were not alone.  Six of the best for that lie."

As if you hadn't suffered enough, he begins hitting you again.  At least you know when he will stop this time.  It still is not easy to take.

"Once more, who were with you?  Do yourself a favour and be honest this time."

You have been naughty and not followed the instructions.

Click to start

"Really sir, I was all alone.  Honestly!"

"I happen to know," he informs you, "that Baxter was with you.  That lie is going to cost you another ten of the best."

That man is awfully fond of the cane.  You, on the other hand, don't find it attractive.  Nevertheless, you are now encountering it again.  You don't find this encounter any more pleasant that your previous ones.

When your punishment is completed, you are still not allowed to rise.

"You and Baxter," the head asks, "and who else?"

"Mr. Mathews saw Baxter," the head informs you.  "You have lied, and must be punished."  Unfortunately the man has no imagination when it comes to punishment.  Has he never heard of writing lines or detention or any of the other punishment commonly used in the school system?  If he has, he might as well not have.  Caning, caning, caning.  While you are not exactly bored, there are other things you would rather be doing.  A great many others, in fact.

Everything comes to an end, the cane several times, but eventually also your caning.  The head asks: "You and Miller and Baxter.  Anybody else?"

Your bum is afire.  Dare you risk another lie?

"It was me who broke that window in the music room," you say.

"That's better," the headmaster says.  "Why didn't you say so at once?  You would have been spared all this caning."

"It was an accident," you insist, trying to change the subject.

"No doubt.  But you should have reported the accident at once," he claims.

He lifts the cane.  He swings it.  It hurts just as much as ever.  Six more stripes he adds to your already striped backside.  Six burning cuts.  You are feeling very sorry for yourself.

Still the permission to stand does not come.  "Anything else you would like to confess while we are at it?"

"Brown was with me," you say."

"That's a lie!  A malicious lie!"

The head orders you to touch your toes.  He gets his cane, and swishes it menacingly through the air.  As if the slipper wasn't bad enough!

The head states the obvious: "Those two gentlemen will hear of this."  You are dismissed.  Well, at least you managed to keep Davies out of it.  Of course if either of the others implicates him, the head will come back to you.

"Well, sir, it was me who broke that window in the music room.  It was an accident.  Honestly!"

The headmaster lectures you on how wrong it was of you to wait more than a week to report that accident.  To emphasize his point, he bends you over his desk and spanks you with the plimsoll.  Your rump is very hot when at last he lets you up.  You notice with some trepidation that he does not put the plimsoll down.

"Well, that is taken care of, then.  But that was not what I wanted to talk to you about.  You have something else on your conscience, haven't you?"

"No sir," you say, "nothing."

The headmaster opens a drawer and places the slipper in it.  He closes it slowly.  Then he takes down the cane hanging on the wall. "What a shame.  You seemed so reasonable.  I had hoped we might not need the cane.  But I will not by lied to!  Now touch your toes."

You bend over.  He tickles your bum with the cane.  You don't really feel it through your pants, but you still worry.  Your bottom is so sore.  What will it be like?

You get your answer all too soon.  Very bad indeed.  The plimsoll is nothing to the cane.  The first blow burns more than all the slipper swats combined.  The second is as bad.  Six of the best is the headmaster's usual routine, and he sticks to it.  He stops, but does not allow you to rise.

"No more lies now: what else have you done?"

"It was just me and Miller.  Really it was," you insist.

"I detest liars.  You will get six more for that!"

"But I am telling the truth."

"Mr. Mathews saw Baxter as well as you.  Ten of the best."

He wastes no time in carrying out this sentence.  You have great trouble keeping the position.  It hurts so!

"You and Baxter and Miller and who else?"

What to do?  He wants a name.  You could name Francis.  Not that he has actually done anything to you, but you don't particularly like him, and the head wants a name.

"Baxter," you say.

"And? the head prompts.

"And Davies."


"Just the four of us."

"Now why didn't you just say so from the beginning?  It would have been much easier for you that way."

You are dismissed, and walk away rubbing your striped rump.

"But sir," you say to the floor, "I haven't done anything.  Honestly!"

The cut surprises you, and you almost jump up.

"You'll never learn, will you?  This would hurt so much less if you would only stick to the truth."

He hits you again.  Your butt is hurting horribly, and the cuts keep coming.  Slowly and methodically he canes you.  You expect him to stop at six.  "Six of the best" is the usual dose.  But he goes on, giving you eight.  Fourteen cuts, and he haven't even told you what are supposed to have done yet!

"I would advise you to come clean," he says calmly.  What have you done?"

"Brown was with me," you say.

"What a petty thing to do," the head remarks.  Get back in position."

He takes his position on your left, cane raised.

"Just the two of us," you say.

"Do you have to lie every time you open your mouth?  You will find that a very painful habit!  I happen to know that there were more than two of you. You don't seem to find ten cuts a deterrent.  Let's see how you like twelve."

To your utter lack of surprise, you find that you don't like it at all.

"Now try telling the truth for once.  Who else?"

"Miller," you say.

"Only Miller?"

"Only Miller, sir."

"You haven't got enough of this cure for liars, I see.  Touch your toes again."

The headmaster closes his fly.  You stay kneeling, and lower your head. Tears of shame are streaming from your closed eyes, running down your cheeks.  How can you ever face the world again?

"Ahh, that was just what I needed," the head informs you.  "You are quite good at it."  He takes you by the chin and turns up your head.  You open your eyes, and he holds your gaze with his own.  "Come on," he says, "it was not nearly as bad as the cane, was it?"  He increases the pressure, forcing you to rise.  He kisses you, a light peck on your lips.

He turns away and fumbles with something in a cabinet.  When he turns towards you, he is holding two small glasses.  "Here," he says, handing you one that is only half full, "this will take away the taste.  Cheers!"

He drains his own full glass.  The port is both sweet and burning in your mouth.  The head sets his glass on the desk.  "That's it.  Off you go now."

He pats your bottom, reminding you of how bad it hurts.  The hand lingers for just a moment.

He was wrong, you realize as you walk down the corridor.  The port did not take away the taste.  You doubt that you will ever get rid of it.

"It was just me and Brown," you say.

"The truth, I said!  I am very disappointed with you.  Why do you keep lying?  It will only hurt more that way."

He raises the cane.  The stripes it left recently suddenly seems to hurt more, as you wait for more to be added.

"No one else.  Me and Miller and Baxter."

The head thinks about it for a while.

"Well, I have to trust you this time.  Dismissed.  No, wait.  Stay in the front office.  We can't have you communicating with Miller and Baxter until I have talked with them."

"Yes sir.  Brown."

"Brown was not with you.  I know where he was at the time.  Right where you are standing now, in fact.  I can't let such a lie go unpunished, even though the penalty doesn't seem to have much effect on you."

You find that it has plenty of effect.  Impossible as it may sound, it increases the burning in your bum.

"You and Miller and Baxter," the head says when he has completed your latest punishment.  "Anybody else?  I advise you to stick to the truth."

For some reason Francis comes to mind.  Not that he is an enemy of yours, though you don't particularly like him.  It is just a possibility that occurs to you.

"I was all alone," you say.

"Don't you lie to me!"  The head is really angry now.  He  commands you to bend over and touch your toes again.  Again he canes you.  Is that man never going to stop?  As if the stripes you already have weren't bad enough.

"And now let's have the truth.  Who were with you?"

"I picked a few pears," you say, wincing as you realise that this will bring that horrid cane down on your smarting posterior again.

"You stole the produce of Mr. Mathews' orchard, did you?"

"Yes sir."

"That is a very serious crime.  Six of the best for you."

You grit your teeth while the headmaster administers this penalty.  You thought that your butt couldn't possibly hurt more, but you were sadly mistaken.

"Stand up," the headmaster says.

"Miller was with me," you tell.

"And who else?"

"Nobody, sir."

"That is a lie," he says and raises the cane.

"And Francis," you say.

"Anybody else?"

"No sir."

"Well, that's it then.  Dismissed."

You walk away from the office, plagued by the horrible pain in your butt, and by the thought of having to face Francis.

"I haven't done anything sir!  Honestly," you insist.

"You are a liar.  Mr. Mathews saw you stealing his fruit," the headmaster tells you.

Without further comment, he resumes the caning.  You hope desperately that he will stop at six.  You hope in vain.  Ten cuts he gives you.  Your butt has never hurt like this before, and you worry if it will ever stop.  Six of the best hurts for three or four days, you know from painful experience.  How long will this many hurt?

"That was for lying," your headmaster informs you.  "Now you get six of the best for stealing.  Stealing is a very serious matter."

You are ready to cry.  Not six more cuts!  You have already taken far too much.  But you have no choice but to stay in position and take what you have coming.

At long last the headmaster allows you to stand.

"Mr. Mathews is mistaken," you say.  "We were only two."

"It seems that I can not make you tell the truth.  When we are finished here, I will see if Baxter proves more communicative.  But first you must be punished for your obstinacy.  I don't usually cane on the bare bottom, but since a regular caning doesn't seem to have any effect, I shall have to this time.  Take down your trousers."

You stand and obey.

"I said bare bottom!"

You pull down your last layer of protection.

"Take position."

You do.  The head whistles.  "Such stripes.  That must hurt badly."

"It does, sir."

"And still you insist on lying.  Amazing.  Do your friends appreciate your misplaced loyalty?

"I don't know sir."

He tickles your bum with the cane.  The first cut hits.  Is it really worse than it was on the trousers, or is it just that was then and this is now?  He has stated no count, and you are not counting.  Eventually he stops.

"Rise and get your clothes in order," he commands.  When you are presentable, he opens the door and orders the secretary to get Baxter.  You are to wait in the next office, so you can't get any kind of message to Baxter.

"Well," you say, "I have also picked one or two of the neighbour's pears."

"You have been steeling from one of the neighbours of our school, is that it?"

"If you put it that way, sir."

"And how would you put it?"

"You are right of course, sir," is the safest answer, you think.

"I am glad you see it that way.  Now if you will bend over the desk again."

That is a command, of course, and you obey.  The plimsoll hits your poor sore bottom with a burning smack.

"No one else.  Just me and Miller."

"That is not true.  You were seen, you and Baxter.  You should know the penalty for lying by now, I think."

How can he keep on doing that?  You hope his arm falls off.  Unfortunately this doesn't happen just yet.

Some very painful moments later, the head takes a step back and asks: "You, Miller, and Baxter.  Anybody else?"

The blow doesn't fall right away.  "Of all the mean spirited…" the head splutters.  "Trying to get an innocent schoolmate in trouble.  To get a friend unjustly punished.  Subverting the process of justice!  Brown was here in this office at the time."

The head does not seem to be an adherent of the "never spank in anger"  school of thought.  He still splutters as he lets the blows rain down on your poor sore bottom.    This hurts much worse than any caning you have had before.  He doesn't seem to counting.  You worry that he will never stop.

Eventually the caning ends, though the pain stays.  The head catches his breath and demands: "No more lies now.  Who were with you?"

"I don't know what you are thinking of, sir.  Could you be a little more specific?"

"Don't you lie to me!  What rules have you broken lately?"

"None sir."

He picks up the plimsoll, and puts it back in its drawer.  Your hopes are brutally quashed when he takes down the cane that is lying on two coat hooks on the wall.  "Lying is a very serious offence.  Touch your toes!"

He stands beside you, and raises the cane.  He waits.  He draws out the time.  He always does.  He knows that the waiting is the worst part.  Suddenly the cane connects.  Waiting doesn't seem bad at all!  He hits you again.  Why?  One cut is bad enough.  But he insists on going on.  You know better than to object.  After six cuts he stops.

"Well?" he asks.  You know better than to straighten up.  "What have you been doing?" he repeats.

You made an invalid selection.  You probably should be birched.

"Miller and Baxter," you say.  After the briefest hesitation, you add: "and Davies."  You are dismissed.  As you walk back to your room, you think of what you will say to your friends.

The headmaster informs you in great detail about his contempt for thieves, while relentlessly treating your bottom to the slipper.  Each blow burns more than the last, and your poor bottom is glowing hot when he finally stops and allows you to stand up.  He puts the plimsoll in a drawer.

You are not to be let off this easy, though.  "Who was with you stealing that fruit?" he asks.

What to do?  Actually you were four: Your very best friend Davies, your roommate and friend Baxter, Miller who you don't care much about one way or the other, and yourself.  Could this be a way to get back at your other roommate Brown, who is always making things difficult for you?

The cane adds line after line of fire to your burning butt.  When he is satisfied, the head stops.

"Who was with you?  Miller and who else?  The truth this time."

* * * * * * * * * *

That's it.  You are through.  Tough?  Easy?  That was all up to you.