I copy and pasted this directly from the original, which was posted to the Usenet group soc.sexuality.spanking on March 21, 2004. Because the Google groups archive isn’t the easiest to read, I reached out to Haron and asked permission to host it here. Copyright is held entirely by her.
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A STRAW HAT WITH RIBBONS
by Haron
Nobody knew at which point it became Bede Comp’s version of an Olympic sport, only everybody tried to steal hats off those posh girls from St. Mary’s. They were nice – the hats, not the girls. Straw boaters with green ribbons on. And if you got one, they got the cane – the girls, not the hats.
They didn’t use the cane in Bede Comp any more, what with human rights and things. But they did in Mary’s. Somehow, the posh lot had less in the way of human rights than normal people, and for once the inequality seemed somehow *fair*.
Everybody talked about taking the hats. Not many people actually did, but everybody prattled.
Amy came by that hat only by chance, and only because that girl from Mary’s wasn’t anywhere she should have been. Amy worked nights in the “Green Man”. The St. Mary’s girl – Miranda Cartwright, said the inky label inside the hat, Amy could read the writing just fine, they taught them to write pretty letters in that school – anyway, the girl was downing pints there. Nobody in the pub cared that she was from the no-booze school; she was of a drinking age, and that was that. Still, the school cared. She was a bad, bad girl, thought Amy. Bad girls had to be taught lessons, or that was what Amy’s dad always said; sometime you just had to admit that he had a point.
Anyhow, Amy just waited for the right moment, and snatched the boater off the bar. The straw was all crackly, and prickly, and nice to the touch. The green ribbon seemed black in murky pub light. The girl from Mary’s never noticed a thing.
Amy carried the boater home and stuffed it in her school bag right away. The whole Bede Comp would know tomorrow, and boy would they have a good old laugh. The St. Mary’s girl would be getting the cane by nine in the morning.
She had these tiny freckles all over her nose, thought Amy, the type that made a rich girl cute and a poor girl common. Maybe she had some on her bum as well. Maybe the cane would cut right across them, draw a purple line across the white-and-pink. Did they cane them knickers-down at St. Mary’s, wondered Amy.
The posh girls wore thick bottle-green knickers with a pocket at the front, and underneath they wore normal pants called knicker-liners. When the girls from Bede Comp went to use St. Mary’s pool on a community programme, somebody suggested that stealing the green knicks would be even more of a laugh than going for the hats, but that would have been a bit pervy, and more than a bit on the ewww side of gross.
Still, Amy supposed that the knickers had to go down for the cane. Otherwise it just wouldn’t hurt.
Or would it?
She got out of bed. Hiding the hat under her nighty, itchy against bare skin, she tip-toed to the bathroom and locked herself in. She put the hat on and tied the green ribbons snugly under her chin. She looked in the mirror, trying to make a posh-girl-in-trouble face.
“Oh, no, please don’t cane me,” she said very quietly, and then responded in a deeper, growlier voice:
“Bend right over, lass.”
That’s what Dad always said, only he used a normal belt. The Head of St. Mary’s wouldn’t talk like that. He’d say, um, he’d say…
Amy couldn’t imagine.
She took the hat off. Her hair looked pretty in the mirror as it came all untidy when the hat wasn’t holding it in one place.
She sat on the edge of the bath tub and studied her catch – this was when she discovered the girl’s name, and her form: Upper Sixths Arts. She was probably aiming for Cambridge or such like, young Miranda was. Amy wanted to go to university too. Her marks were decent enough. Only she didn’t dare apply anywhere old and famous.
She slipped back to her room, but took the boater to bed with her, just to have a better look.
Had Miranda ever had the cane before, Amy thought. When would she find that the hat was missing? When would she know it would be the cane for her? What would she say to the teacher who noticed her hatless state?
Maybe Miranda was lying in bed right now, crying into her pillow in the quiet dorm. Because her boater had gone. Her eyes would be all puffed. She would be scared.
Amy felt a little sick to the stomach, but she went to sleep anyway.
xXx
The stupid thing was, Amy never told anybody at school about the hat, even though it sat in her bag all morning, all squashed up against her books. From time to time she fingered the prickly straw and the smooth ribbon, just to feel it was still there. That it hadn’t magicked itself back to its by now surely desperate owner.
Amy sat in her lesson with her eyes closed, and tried to imagine. Now Miranda was begging not to get caned – they all begged, surely. Now the Head was saying – no, sorry, girl, you’re getting it. Now she was reaching under the skirt of her gymslip and tugging down the thick knickers together with the white knicker-liners. Now the cane was coming swishing down.
Amy’s palms felt moist, and her breath caught. She wondered if Miranda would come to the “Green Man” again, and if she did, whether she would know Amy for the thief and the author of her troubles.
xXx
The next day was the swimming pool day; Bede Comp girls got their passes and a long naff lecture about behaviour from Mrs. Creek, and set off for St. Mary’s. Amy was so antsy that she thought she might drown. Miranda Cartwright had been pestering her in her dreams all night, looking all pathetic and in pain, all pale, even the cute little freckles. The straw hat sat in Amy’s bag, and seemed to glow from inside there, and to scream for its owner.
The Mary’s girls were just changing from their swimming lesson when the Bede Comp lot arrived. Amy spotted Miranda at once, towelling herself off in the corner. Boy did that girl have long hair. It came down right to her bum.
A very pale, round bum with lots of horrid-looking bright red lines across it. There were so many of them that Amy couldn’t even begin to count. They almost came all together into a swollen, sore band.
She felt as though the green ribbons of the stolen boater were tightening around her throat, and there was only one way to stop feeling so rubbish. Amy unzipped her bag.
“Miranda!” she called across the changing-room. She didn’t call that loudly, but there wasn’t a lot conversation going on, seeing how St. Mary’s was so big on order and silence. Everybody heard, and everybody stared, probably wondering since when Bede Comp girls had started initiating conversations with posh people.
The other girl turned, towel in hand. Even without a uniform on, or any clothes on at all, actually, she looked a St. Mary’s girl. Somehow, one could tell.
Amy held out the straw hat in front of her like a round shield, blushing like a mad thing.
“Yours,” she said. “You, um. You forgot it in the pub the other night.”
As if not bothered by being totally naked, Miranda approached Amy and the boater. Her eyes became all cold.
“I *forgot* it,” she said, drawing words out. “I forgot it, did I? Might it be, perhaps, that it *disappeared* before I had a chance to remember to take it?”
Amy felt hot all over, blushing so hard that her ears rang. Miranda looked miffed alright, but not in a screaming way; she was blushing too, and her eyes were really quite teary. That caning must have hurt.
“I’m sorry,” said Amy, feeling it.
Around her the Bede Comp girls were giggling. They thought that Amy was having a laugh, that she’d snatch the hat right back when Miranda tried to take it. They sounded dead pleased that Amy had come by the hat in the first place. They had to have seen the stripes on Miranda’s bum, and they were thinking it fun.
“A pub?” said a tall St. Mary’s girl to Amy’s right. “Surely you haven’t been drinking, Cartwright?”
“Mind your own business,” Amy snapped before Miranda could answer. The tall girl had a prefect’s badge, but she had no authority over Bede Comp girls, and Amy felt justified in telling her to bugger right off.
“Right,” said Miranda suddenly, and seized the wrist of the very hand with which Amy was holding out the hat. “We need a chat. Now.”
Like a good little lamb, Amy followed the other girl into one of the shower cubicles. Miranda bolted the door shut. People would be trying to listen, of course, but at least they wouldn’t stare. Amy tried not to stare at Miranda either, but she’d never seen anybody quite so lovely. It now seemed a crime to have been such an arse towards her.
“Look, I’m sorry, really,” said Amy with as much conviction as she could muster.
“Why do you girls always steal those stupid hats?” hissed Miranda. “You *know* what happens to us when you do. Thanks to you, I’ve had, I’ve had a – um, I had my entire allowance confiscated, so that the school could buy me another boater. Among other things.”
“Did you get caned?” Amy blurted out.
“What do you think?”
“Did it hurt?”
“What do you *think*?” Miranda scowled. Even her freckles looked darker.
“Look. I’m sorry. Would turn back time if I could,” said Amy, trying to sound sincere. It should have been easy, seeing how she actually was sincere, but it wasn’t that easy at all. “Is there anything I can do?”
“You bet,” said Miranda. “You owe me, girl, and you are *so* putting it right.”
She frowned hard for a moment, then added:
“Wish there was a way to hold back on the part about the pub, though. I don’t feel any need to put that part right.”
“You were there, weren’t you?”
“Right. And why exactly are you compelled to be so scrupulously honest about it? What’s your name, anyway?”
xXx
“Amy Stephenson.”
The Headmaster of St. Mary’s was at least seven feet tall. Amy tried to check out whether he was wearing platforms, but couldn’t see because of his naff Mr. Chips robes. He walked there and back in front of her and Miranda, and the end of the robes dragged behind him like a tail.
“Do you mean to tell me, Stephenson, that you have quite deliberately stolen the boater, being aware of the consequences for my pupil?”
Amy squirmed. Next to her Miranda squirmed too, even though the Head didn’t seem to be all that upset with her. Miranda was dressed all tidily now, like a little girl from and old postcard. Even her hair was away in a single long braid. Bede Comp girls never had to do anything about their hair.
“Um,” Amy said. “I didn’t really want her to get into trouble. I just thought it would be funny.”
The Headmaster arched an eyebrow. Just the one. Amy had never before seen anybody who could wiggle their eyebrows separately. The Head not only did that, but he had turned it into a scolding trick.
“Do you find it humorous that Miranda Cartwright got punished? Do you find caning humorous?”
“No,” said Amy. He was just twisting her words around. Typical.
“No, what?” he sternly enquired.
“What?”
“No, sir?”
“Oh. No, sir. I don’t think a caning is funny at all. That’s why I came here.”
“Well. I am certainly glad you have come forward. What it means is that young Miss Cartwright can have her allowance restored to her. I should like to say that I’m sorry she got caned guiltlessly, but the matter of her being in the pub would have been enough of a caning offence in itself. In fact, Cartwright, I feel that you have got off lightly, so there is no need to scowl.”
“Yessir, sorrysir,” muttered Miranda, who was lots less talkative now.
“As for you…” he peered at Amy over the top of his massive specs.
She bit her lip in anticipation.
“I don’t feel this is a matter for the police, despite it being a theft. I’m inclined to hand it over directly to your parents. Would you like to give me their telephone number, or shall I need to contact them through your school?”
Amy’s heart thudded in disappointment. She had come to his office expecting… she didn’t quite know what, but it just wasn’t fair that he was going to brush her off like that. St. Mary’s people. They didn’t even think Bede Comp’s girls worthy of an upper-class punishment.
“Not fair,” she said, scowling. She hadn’t realised she said it out loud, but she saw the Headmaster frown.
“Isn’t it? How is it unfair? Do you not think you deserve to be punished for a petty theft? Perhaps I was wrong, and you are a much harder case than I had initially thought.”
“Oh, no!” blurted out Amy. “It’s not that! I, well, I just don’t think that all I get is you tell my parents, when Miranda got…” her resolve was dwindling. “You know,” she finished lamely.
The Headmaster smirked. “I can’t very well cane you, young lady. It is very honourable of you to suggest it, but you are not my pupil, and I am not inclined to commit an assault.”
Amy wilted. The Head just didn’t understand fairness.
“If it would make you feel better to know this, I fully intend to advise your father to punish you,” said the Head sympathetically. “Perhaps, it will alleviate your guilt.”
“Don’t worry,” Amy sighed. “He’ll give me a thrashing whether you advise him or not.”
The Head held out his palm. She glumly fished out the card with Dad’s work number from her blazer pocket and passed it over. Things were going all wrong.
He rang Dad, and Amy listened to an account of her crimes, feeling like a pickpocket about to be handed over to a huge bloke with an axe sharpened for her right wrist. She must have been barmy to come forward with that hat. Now Miranda was giving her sympathetic glances from beneath her cute blonde fringe.
“Wait on the bench outside my office, Stephenson,” said the Headmaster. “Your father will come and collect you.”
That was that, then. So much for being all noble. Amy muttered a goodbye and started towards the door.
“Cartwright, I didn’t say you could go. There’s still the matter of your lying to me as to where you were that night, and I don’t intend to let it slide.”
Miranda’s little horrified gasp grated Amy’s soul like sandpaper.
xXx
There was a wooden bench with a tall back outside the Headmaster’s office. There was a carved sign on it that said: “To the beloved school from her grateful daughters. Long may you prosper. 1925.” It was older than Amy’s nana. Small wonder they were so choosy here, not even wanting to cane outsiders, never mind teach them.
St. Mary’s girls passed by, eyeing a girl in a Bede Comp blazer waiting at their Headmaster’s door. Nobody asked anything, though.
Suddenly she heard a high-pitched scream from inside the office; her insides jumped up and down. Even through the thick door it sounded horrid enough to make Amy’s hands shake. He couldn’t be caning her again, the old bastard. Not again!
Yet there it was: another scream, this one followed by tearful babbling and barely distinguishable pleas. This time Amy had even made out a crack of the cane that came before it. Furious, she paced there and back in front of the door. Not fair. Not fair. Kicking the guilty girl out of the office like a naughty puppy, and then caning the not-so-guilty one the second time, even though…
How totally unfair.
There was nothing else for a while, and Amy thought this was it for Miranda, and that the other girl would emerge any minute, probably clutching at her bum, probably crying, probably hating Amy even more now than she had half an hour before. But Miranda didn’t show up, and after a minute she screamed again, this time shouting: “Please-sir-I’m-sorry!” loudly enough that a small girl in St. Mary’s gymslip who happened by, looked scared to death.
Amy pressed her ear to the door, itching to hear what was going on. No sooner had she done it, though, she felt bony fingers grip her ear and give it a mighty pull.
“Eighteen years old, and getting into trouble like you’re five! I’d thought you grown up, Amy-girl.”
“Dad,” she whined, looking up into her father’s miffed face. “I didn’t mean any trouble.”
“Oh, aye,” said Dad. “You nicked that lass’s hat just to show off your good feelings.” He was even bigger on irony than the old Headmaster, even if he couldn’t wiggle his eyebrows.
Amy was glad she had longish hair. At least it covered her face, so although the entire St. Mary’s school saw her dad drag her by the ear towards the bus stop, they wouldn’t be able to recognise her afterwards.
xXx
“I’ve a thing for you, Ames,” said the pub owner Lori when Amy showed up at work a few days later, almost able to sit down again.
It was an old plastic bag from an Edinburgh uniform shop. And inside it there was a straw hat with green ribbons, with a piece of lined paper pinned to it. “If you like it that much, you might as well have it. I have a new one now.” No signature. And the label inside, where the name had been, was now covered with a great splodge of ink.
It felt sweet to own a proper boater, thought Amy. Even if she’d never ever go to a school that required one.
She wondered if she’d be a laugh of a whole shop if she went in one day to buy a gymslip.
THE END
Copyright by Haron, 2004. This story is mine, and don’t you dare take it without permission, or I’ll come to haunt you. It’s not public domain, it’s mine, OK?