I attended a small private boarding school in the heart of the Surrey countryside. It is noted for its academic standards and also for its firm discipline. There are normally about 120 pupils with roughly equal numbers of boys and girls, and it has a staff of about 20 split between men and women. The principal when I was there was a Miss B-, and even if she had been a sweet old lady she would still have been known as The Battle-axe. As it was the nickname suited her well for she ruled the school with a rod - not of iron but of bamboo.

My name is Philip and I entered the school at the time when my father took up a job overseas and my mother went with him. I fell foul of The Battle-axe on my very first day at the school. As we were waiting to go into class after lunch another boy was nagging me and I told him to go away. I didn't exactly put it like that although I did say two words - the second one was 'off'. I wasn't aware of the Head's presence until a bony forefinger and thumb gripped my ear, and in this undignified way I was escorted to her study. There I was given three things. Firstly, a stem lecture about using Anglo Saxon words. Secondly, an order to drop my trousers and pants and to bend across the desk. And finally I was given twelve scorchers with the cane. It would have been six but the fifth one caught me a bit low and I yelled out 'You bitch!', which earned me the extra half dozen.

I was late getting to my class and when I told the master I'd been to see the Head, he suggested I might like to stand at the back of the class. Apparently this was normal practice if anyone found sitting down too uncomfortable. I spent that lesson and the next standing up. I soon found out that all the staff were not only permitted but encouraged to use the cane, and male and female teachers applied it to the bottoms of both boys and girls. During the next few years I suffered at the hands of every member of staff - most of them many times. There was no regular pattern to my canings. Sometimes I might not feel the cane for a month but I once got caned twice in an hour, and on another occasion I was caned every day for a week - each time by a different teacher for offences totally unconnected with each other.

I soon found out that a session with a woman teacher was usually more painful than one with a man. Although 'Sir' might hit harder, he almost invariably caned the seat of the trousers, and a pair of flannel trousers with a pair of thick woollen pants underneath took a lot of the sting out of a beating. On the other hand, 'Miss' just as invariably required the offender to drop his trousers and pants before bending over and applied the stick to his bared seat. This, I think, was supposed to compensate for the greater strength of the masters, but in my experience the mistresses hit just as hard if not harder, and I believe it was often their way of letting off tension.

I don't know if my behaviour improved or if I became more adept at not getting found out, but over the years the number of tannings I got decreased. I hadn't had an order to 'Bend over' since my 18th birthday in February when something happened that I am sure I will remember all my life as clearly as if it were yesterday. It was mid-September, and since the beginning of that term I had been head boy of the school. The duties were light and there were a number of privileges, not the least being that I had a cubicle of my own at the end of one of the dormitories. I was hoping to go to Oxford the following year and was swotting hard, finding that a room of my own gave me a better chance of study without interruption. At that moment though my books were the last thing I was thinking about. It was a warm sunny afternoon and I was lying concealed in the long grass behind the old cricket pavilion. I was not alone because one of the senior girls was lying next to me. I had been trying to get Brenda there all through the summer term but without success. Something must have happened to her during the holidays because now she was not only willing but eager.

She was a few months younger than me, a pretty girl with a very well-developed figure which I could appreciate as her tennis frock had become unzipped down its entire length, her bra was lying on the grass beside us and her brief panties were hooked around one ankle. My clothes were in disarray too. My shirt was on the grass next to her bra and my tennis shorts were bunched below my knees. While I was kissing her nipples in tum my hand was gently teasing between her legs and into her pussy which was already moist. Brenda's hands were not idle. She was firmly grasping my very hard erection and stroking the head of my penis. We were both very excited and I knew the moment was ripe. I edged across her pushing her legs wide apart, and knelt between them. She retained her hold on my rigid penis and guided me as I began to lower myself on to her. The heaven I was in was shattered when an icy voice demanded 'And what do you think you are doing?' For a moment we were frozen, with me hovering in mid-air above Brenda. It seemed an age before we recovered and turned to look up into the angry face of Miss Grey, the girls' sports mistress.

Still in a state of shock we started to get to our feet but Miss Grey waved us down and told us to get dressed before standing up. When we had covered our nudity Miss Grey told us to follow her into the old pavilion where she had been checking on sports equipment stored there. Miss Grey had started teaching at the school at the beginning of that autumn term and had come straight from training college. She was about 22 years of age and a real beauty with dark hair, a superb figure and very shapely legs. Even now with her brow as black as thunder she still looked lovely.

'You realise of course that I must report this to the Head,' Miss Grey snapped.

'Oh no, Miss,' said Brenda and I together, for we both knew it would mean expulsion. If that happened my chances of going to Oxford would be nil.

'I don't think I have any choice as this is a very serious matter,' said Miss Grey.

'Isn't there any way you could punish us yourself, Miss?' stammered Brenda. 'Yes please, Miss,' J begged.

Miss Grey pondered for a long moment. 'Well, if that is what you both want - but be warned that any punishment I decide on for you will be severe. Is that understood?'

'Yes, Miss,' we said in chorus.

'Let me see,' continued Miss Grey. 'It is now 3.30 and I shall be busy for an hour more. That will give you a chance to think about it and see if you want to change your minds. If you still wish to go through with it, then Brenda, you will report to my flat at five o'clock - and you, Philip, at six o'clock. Now Brenda, off you go across the cricket field and Philip you can go the long way around through the avenue.'

'Yes, Miss. Thank You, Miss.'

I should explain that Miss Grey lived over the old stables in the loft which had been converted into a very comfortable self-contained nat. I knew it well because the previous tenant had been the maths master and I had been going to him for extra tuition. On the chance that Miss Grey might not know the usual routine followed by the lady teachers I went back to my room and changed, putting on my thickest underpants under flannel trousers. There was a long time to, wait and I had plenty of time to think, but I knew I had to go through with it as the alternative was out of the question. The minutes dragged by and it was time to make my way. It wouldn't do to be late. I arrived at the old stables at ten minutes to six so I walked around the science block as I didn't want to be seen loitering outside the flat. I got back to the old stables just before the hour and climbed the stairs and rang the bell.

Miss Grey opened the door. 'Come in, Philip. As you've come I take it you still are of the same mind?'

'Yes Miss.'

The main room spread across the whole width of the flat, with one side furnished as a lounge with shelves of books, two easy chairs and a settee facing a brick fireplace. The other side was set out as a dining room with an oak sideboard, a matching dining table and four square-backed chairs. The only other fitting was a cupboard in one corner. Miss Grey led me into the dining room side.

'Well Philip, we may as well get started,' she said in a tight voice. She went over to the cupboard and unlocked it with a key which hung on a chain around her neck. The cupboard was an arsenal of straps, canes and paddles - all of them hanging on hooks - and she selected one of the many tawses. As she came back to me with the tawse dangling from her wrist she said, 'Now I want you to stretch your arms out in front of you with your palms upwards and your right hand on top of your left. I am going to give you eight very hard strokes with the tawse, and after each stroke I want you to change your hands over. Is that clear? Good. Ah, just a little bit lower. Yes that's fine. Are you ready?'

My mouth was dry and I'd lost my voice so I nodded in answer to each of her questions. Miss Grey measured her distance and raised the tawse high behind her head. Then it flashed down and landed on the length of my hand with a crack. For a split second there was no reaction and then the fire started in my hand and arrows of pain shot up my arm. I yelped but somehow managed to change hands. Miss Grey waited a while and then the tawse flashed down again and the fire and the pain attacked my left hand and arm. After a pause to let the effect spread, the third stroke came and then the fourth; boy how the pain had built up into agony and my eyes were filled with unshed tears. After the strap had lashed down for the sixth time I could no longer control my actions and I was torn between blowing on my palms and squeezing them under my arms. Miss Grey gave me time to brace myself before telling me to hold out my hands for the last two strokes. When the final one had been delivered I
was dancing up and down trying in every way I could to ease the flames and agony torturing my hands and arms.

Through my tears I saw Miss Grey go over to the cupboard and hang the tawse on its hook. She had said it would be a severe punishment and it had been, but even-so I had got off pretty lightly considering what the alternative would have been. My relief was short-lived for Miss Grey had taken out several canes and after swishing each of them experimentally had replaced all but one and was coming towards me again. The cane she was carrying was about a yard long and looked to me thicker than those normally used in the school, but from the way it bent when she arched it between her hands it was obviously very flexible.

One of the chairs had been pushed right up to the table and Miss Grey pointed to it with the cane. 'Right Philip, now we come to the main part of your punishment. I want you to bend over the back of the chair and grip the far edge of the table.' When I had complied she said, 'No, you are taller than Brenda; stand up for a moment.' I stood up and she pulled the chair eight or nine inches away from the table.

'Try again, Philip.' This time I had to stretch hard to reach and grip the far edge of the table. 'Yes, that is much better,' was Miss Grey's comment. I thought at least I wasn't going to get it on the bare but alas this thought was premature.

'Stand up, Philip. Drop your trousers and pants and get back into position.' When I was stretched across the table again, I was told to part my feet and place one each side of the back legs of the chair. When I had done this I found I had been very expertly placed in the best position to receive the cane. The chair-back kept my bottom high and the stretching and placing of my knees and feet made it jut outwards. In all the canings I'd had in the past nobody had ever bothered to position me so perfectly. It dawned on me that Miss Grey was very much in control of the situation and her actions so far had shown all the hallmarks of an expert. I didn't have time to dwell on this because Miss Grey was speaking again.

'I'm going to give you eight very hard cuts with the cane, Philip. Each one will hurt because they are intended to. However, throughout the punishment you will remain in your present position. Should you move in any way then the strokes already given will be cancelled and I shall start again from the beginning. This is an unofficial punishment and I am not bound by the normal regulations. Is that clearly understood?'

'Yes, Miss,' I mumbled.

'Good. then hold tight.'

I flinched as I felt the cane for a moment touch my stretched bare bottom. The next instant it was back again, landing with full force at the upper limit of my buttocks. If I hadn't been holding tight I should have leapt up but I managed to maintain my grip on the table although the pain made me gasp. There was a long pause before the second stroke came. Again it was delivered with the same force, making a very loud swish. and as far as I Gould tell it landed just below the first stroke. It was sheer agony.

Once more there was a long pause to allow for the full effect of both strokes to be felt. Then the third stroke fell and this was another full-blooded one. At a guess it landed about an inch below the second. It seemed that Miss Grey was caning to a pattern and placing each stroke just below the previous one. I should have known that Miss Grey was not so predictable. The fourth stroke was as hard as the first three but it landed low down -just across that soft crease of flesh where thighs and buttocks join. It was so unexpected and the pain so tremendous that there was just no way r could hold my position. In spite of my awkward stance I managed to leap to my feet. I was yelling and clasping my burning backside with my blistered hands.

Miss Grey gave me a couple of minutes to recover before saying, , Right Philip. get back in position and we'll start again. The next time you move not only will the punishment be restarted but I shall also ring across to the girls' common room and get two or three Seniors to come over and hold you down.' The thought of the humiliation if she carried out that last threat made me determined to hold on to the table. I went back into position sobbing loudly and Miss Grey made a few minor changes in my stance before she was satisfied. 'Hold on tightly. Here comes number one.'

I heard the swish as it came down and it landed just below the line of the third stroke. Each stroke until the tenth followed this pattern of landing just below the one before and each stroke was dealt with that same deadly severity. Between each stroke and the next was that same long pause which allowed the pain to build up in a cumulative effect. a constant crescendo of throbbing agony. It took all my concentration to remain stretched across the table and I was breathing in huge gasping sobs. The ten strokes had completely covered my buttocks and the last two strokes were delivered across the centre of my bottom. crossing weal's left by earlier strokes. I was head boy and, at 18, only four years or so younger than Miss Grey but when she finally stopped I lay across the table crying bitterly, incapable of moving. Through my tears I watched Miss Grey go over to the cupboard, replace the cane on its hook and close and lock the cupboard. My eyes followed her as she went to the sideboard and took a jar from the drawer. She came over and stood behind me and I suddenly felt her hand gently smoothing cold cream on my well-striped bottom.

After a few minutes she said, 'That's all, Philip. Get dressed and go along to the bathroom and wash your face.' As I eased myself of the table I became aware that I had a firm erection although r had no idea when it had started. I tried to get dressed without Miss Grey seeing it. I don't know that I succeeded but she made no Comment. By the time r had been to the bathroom and cleaned myself up and returned to the main room she had prepared a pot of coffee. 'Sit down and have some coffee and biscuits: she chuckled. 'Yes, it must be pretty sore, and it will be for some days to come. But its all over now, and the Head need never know:

'It won't happen again, Miss'

'Well, Brenda certainly won't be very keen on being with you in the long grass for quite a long time to come.' In my agony I had forgotten about Brenda. 'Did you. . . that is. . Brenda. . .  did you .?: . .

'Did I cane Brenda? Oh yes. she got exactly the same as you.' I winced. 'Don't worry about her. She found it very painful. but girls can take a surprising amount of punishment: you may
have thought that what was happening this afternoon was all your idea, but I would say it was just as much Brenda's so she got her caning too.'

As Miss Grey saw me to the door I said, 'Thank you, Miss.'

'That's OK, Philip. Any time you want some more of the same come and see me.' Her eyes twinkled as she said it.

'Yes Miss, I will.'

I don't know what made me thank her, even less do I know why I agreed to come and see her if wanted some more of the same. At that moment it was the very last thing I wanted. I limped back to my room thankful that I didn't have to share it with anyone else. Once again I dropped my trousers and pants and with the aid of mirrors inspected the damage. The whole of my backside was a mixture of dark red, black and blue with the weal's standing out like corrugations so that I was able to count them. Only then did I realise how accurately had Miss Grey applied her cane. Never before had I been caned so hard or so expertly.

For the next few days sitting was extremely painful. After previous canings I would have stood at the back in class but if word of the head boy having been caned reached The Battle-axe - as it surely would - she would certainly start asking questions that I didn't want to answer. So I had to sit as normally as I could although it was not until the Wednesday that I was able to sit without feeling as though I had a hornets' nest inside my trousers. I made daily inspections and applications of healing cream, and after a couple of weeks the bruises had almost vanished with just the odd mark still showing.

It was about this time that I remembered Miss Grey's invitation to go and see her if wanted some more of the same. I thought about it a lot in the next few days and somehow the idea began to appeal to me. I hadn't seen Miss Grey since I'd left her flat and I wondered how I could arrange an 'accidental' meeting. The problem was solved for me in the late afternoon of the Friday nearly three weeks after she had caned me. I turned a comer quickly and bumped right into her. She was carrying an armful of squash rackets which I learned later were going to be restrung. The rackets fell in all directions and I hastily apologised and bent down to pick them up. I asked if I could carry them for her and with her agreement fell into step alongside her. She asked how my bruises were and I said they had pretty well gone. It gave me the opening I wanted and I reminded her of her suggestion that if wanted some more of the same I should go and see her.

Her eyes widened slightly. 'So soon?

What have you been up to?' 'Nothing, Miss:

'I can hardly punish you if you've done nothing, can I?' Seeing my disappointment she went on, 'But of course it would deter you from doing something wrong, and prevention is better than cure.'

'Yes. Miss.'

'I have three naughty fifth-formers to deal with now, but come and see me in half an hour - say six o'clock. Be sure that my three girls have gone before you come to the door.'

'Yes Miss, I will.'

We had now arrived at the old stables and sure enough three apprehensive girls were waiting at the top of the steps. Miss Grey thanked me. She went up and unlocked the door and disappeared inside with the three girls behind her. Making sure nobody was watching I crossed the road and slipped into the bushes opposite the flat. From there r had a good view of the door and would see when the girls came out. It seemed like an age that I was waiting but just as the tower clock struck six the door opened and three very sorry looking girls emerged. They had obviously been dealt with for all were crying and were uncertain whether to blow on their hands, clasp them under their armpits or hold on to their bottoms which were clearly in pain.

I watched them until they had turned a corner and then I came out of the bushes. mounted the steps and rang the bell. Miss Grey ushered me into the dining room where I noticed there were three chairs pushed up to the table and behind each chair there was a low wooden footstool. I could imagine three young bottoms being displayed there. As if reading my thoughts Miss Grey said, 'We shan't need a foot stool for you Philip, so will you pick them up and put them in the storeroom. Then you can take the chair from each end and put it back against the wall.'

While I was doing this I was able to observe Miss Grey. The coat she had been wearing earlier had covered a short hockey skirt and a silk shirt tucked in tightly at the waist. It showed off her figure to perfection. She went over to the corner cupboard and came back with that same heavy tawse.

'You know the drill,' she said. 'Arms out in front with the right hand on top of the left. No, a bit lower than that. If they are too high the tawse doesn't have time to build up speed. Eight strokes.'

The tawsing followed the same pattern as the first time although the strokes didn't seem quite as hard. Even so they still hurt and there were tears in my eyes before the last stroke fell. I

watched Miss Grey replace the strap in the cupboard. Once again she took out several canes and swished each of them in the air. This time she chose one about the same length as before but not quite so thick and it looked even more supple and whippy. As she came back towards me she pulled the chair about eight inches away from the table.

'Right, Philip. We'll have you in position again. No, no - you know better than that. Drop your trousers and pants first.' She came over and tucked up my shirt and inspected my bottom. 'Yes, you've healed up very nicely. It is just right for another dose. I'm going to give you eight strokes again. They won't be as severe as last time but even so they will still hurt and the same rules apply about you moving. Here goes.'

I felt the cane rest lightly at the upper limit of my bottom as Miss Grey measured her distance, and I gripped hard on the edge of the table. Swish! Crack! Miss Grey was right. It wasn't so hard as before but even so it still hurt. When the second whack came it seemed that this caning was going to follow the pattern of the first, with each stroke just below the previous one. I thought that this time I'd be ready for that wicked fourth stroke. Unfortunately it was the third stroke this time which found the soft join of my buttocks and thighs. It came earlier than expected and I wasn't prepared for it. Once again I was up off the table clasping a very sore and very hot bum.

When I had calmed down I went back into position without waiting to be told. Miss Grey's cool voice said, 'Eight to come, Philip'. This time there was no threat of getting senior girls in to hold me down, but I knew that if I moved again the punishment would start for the third time. The next seven followed the pattern of the last time with each stroke moving down my backside like a creeping barrage. This time just one final stroke landed across the crown of my cheeks. The punishment had not been quite so severe but it was still more painful than any caning I had received from anyone else at the school. When it was over I collapsed across the table and lay there sobbing uncontrollably ...

Miss Grey returned the rod to the cupboard and locked it. She then took the jar of cream from the sideboard drawer. A wisp of hair had fallen over her forehead and her face was slightly flushed from her exertions. She seemed a bit out of breath and her breasts were rising and falling under her close-fitting silk shirt. She looked beautiful. As I was leaving, after her fingertips had gently massaged the cold cream into my inflamed weal's, she said, 'I think you need dealing with regularly. Philip - about once a fortnight should do it. So report to me here at6 o'clock two weeks from today.'

"Yes, Miss.'

*   *   *

And that was how I came to reporting to Miss Grey every other Friday evening. and how each time I came away with a very sore bottom. There was no fixed routine but the procedure was usually fairly similar although I never knew what the punishment would be. The number of strokes varied and sometimes the cane would be used on my hands and sometimes my backside was tawsed. The punishment Miss Grey chose to give me most often was a severe bare bottom caning, but whatever the punishment I always ended up crying. with my bottom bare and burning. There was usually a stroke across that soft crease of flesh and sometimes two of them. It could come at any time without warning and moving always meant the punishment was recommenced. I was so sensitive here that any stroke in this area could make me scream.

Miss Grey introduced enough variety into our sessions that there was never any possibility of being bored. On one occasion I remember well she seated herself on one of the dining chairs and after dropping my trousers and pants I had to drape myself across her knees. I'd always thought that a spanking was a mild punishment for a young child but Miss Grey convinced me otherwise. She donned a leather glove and, after tucking up my shirt, gave me such a sound spanking that I was in tears long before she had finished. She was strong and slapped me very hard. covering every square inch of my buttocks and thighs, for over half an hour. When I tried to cover my rear with my right hand she seized my wrist and pulled my hand up behind my back in an arm lock. She then carried on spanking with renewed vigour for what seemed a lifetime but was probably only for another ten minutes.

One evening as I was standing by the fire drinking my coffee I asked how she had become so adept at using the cane. She told me she had learned the hard way - on the receiving end. Her father had been the Headmaster of a school similar to this and she had been a pupil there. Her father was a real enthusiast about corporal punishment both in the school and at home. In a moment of unusual frankness she went on to tell me that between finishing training school and coming to this school she had been living at home. On the very morning of the day she was due to travel to our school she had dropped a cup on the

floor and said 'Oh damn it!' After she had picked up all the pieces of cup her father had taken her by the arm and led her to the library. He'd ordered her to lift her skirt, drop her panties and bend across the desk. He'd given her six sizzling strokes for being careless and breaking the cup, and six more for swearing. She had arrived with the cane marks still vivid and had had to make sure she didn't wear a short skirt or swimsuit until they'd gone.

Encouraged by her frankness and the intimate understanding between us - head boy and most junior teacher - I was bold enough to suggest that caning her would be exciting, and maybe we could change places one day. She smiled. 'Maybe, Philip, maybe. Perhaps when you've learned more about the subject.'

This painful, but nevertheless happy state of affairs continued until the following July. I had gained entry to university and went to Oxford for a few days to arrange lodgings etc. for when I went up in October. I went on the Monday and having seen Miss Grey on the previous Friday I took a well marked bottom with me. I got back to the school about midday on the Saturday - just in time for lunch. Over the meal I asked one of my friends if there had been any excitement while I was away. He said that he didn't know what it was all about but it was rumoured that Miss Grey had been sacked and Brenda had been expelled. The news stunned me.' It could only mean one thing. Our escapade of last September had been found out.

I knew one person who would know and who I might persuade to tell me. Miss Wheatcroft was the Head's secretary and an incorrigible gossip. What is more, she had a soft spot for

me. She always seemed to be working and as expected I found her in the office. I told her I'd come to let the Head know how I'd got on at Oxford and she said that Miss B- had already gone to see her sister as she did every Saturday. Actually I knew this as I'd seen her drive away as I got off the bus at the school gates. Casually I asked Miss Wheatcroft if anything had happened while I'd been away as I'd heard rumours of some excitement. She 'Ummed' and 'Ahhed' a bit but I knew my Miss Wheatcroft and gradually the story came out. The Head had heard some talk about things going on in Miss Grey's flat on Friday evenings and yesterday she and the Senior Mistress had taken the master keys and let themselves into the flat. The place was empty but they heard a murmur of voices coming from the bedroom. They had burst in and found Miss Grey and Brenda, both stark naked, in bed together. There were signs that Brenda had recently been very severely caned. Miss Grey had been dismissed and had left the school immediately. Brenda had been expelled and sent home on Saturday morning after having spent the night locked in the sick bay.

It was a relief but a shock as I didn't know Brenda was being caned on the Fridays when I wasn't. Worse still was the thought that if they had raided the flat last week or next Friday it would have been me they'd have found naked in bed with Miss Grey, and my bottom they'd have found cane marks on. Didn't I tell you that I was spending most of every other Friday evening in Miss Grey's bed? Oh yes, ever since my second visit to her. The canings she gave me were certainly exciting but not nearly as exciting as the lessons she gave me afterwards ....

THE END

'Mrs Watts wishes to see Mary James in her study,' Miss Peters, the form Mistress of 5C at Meadowgrove Girls Secondary School announced.

Mary, a tall slim attractive-looking girl who had been chatting to a school chum, stopped at the mention of her name.

'Pardon, Miss?' she said.

Miss Peters let out a deep sigh -  'Weren't you listening, girl?' she asked with that certain edge in her voice that only teachers can get.

'No, Miss,' replied Mary sheepishly.

'That! girl, appears to be your main trouble in life,' Miss Peters opined.

Mary bit her lip, and dropped her head.

'I said!,' continued Miss Peters, 'that Mrs Watts wishes the pleasure of your company in her study.'

Mary gulped. 'Er .. when?' she asked nervously.

'NOW!!' thundered Miss Peters. The class went deadly silent. Forced into action by her Form Mistress's shouting Mary quickly gathered up her things and set off for the Headmistress' study, on the first floor.

As she made her way down the flights of stairs she began to consider ... why Mrs Watts wanted to see her. She could not think of any reason. She had done all her homework recently, and she had not even been especially naughty. True she had cheated in a cross-Country race with several other girls, but Miss Perry, the Gym Mistress, had given all the girls, including Mary, a good dose of the slipper there and then. No, Mary could not understand why she had been summoned.

All girls summoned to the Headmistress had to enter via Miss Murray, the school Secretary's room. Upon reaching the office, Mary knocked, and entered.

'Yes?' Miss Murray paused from her frantic typing.

'Mary James,' Mary announced to the elderly woman with a pair of glasses sitting on the end of her nose. 'Mrs Watts wants to see me.'

'Wait over there, she is busy.' Miss Murray waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the window, and started typing again.

Mary wandered over to the window, and once again began to wonder why she was there. She could not prevent herself from looking at the yellow door that led to the feared inner sanctum. Glancing down into the playground below, Mary could see the rest of her class starting their netball lesson. The typewriter stopped and Miss Murray peered over the top of the carriage at
Mary. .

'Been a naughty girl, have we?' she asked, mockingly.

'Dunno,' replied Mary, now feeling very uneasy.

'Wouldn't be here if you hadn't!' Miss Murray announced with a toss of her grey bouffant hair, as she began to type again.

Mary now felt really awful. She actually wanted to be sick, go to the toilet, and die, all at the same time. She moved nervously from foot to foot. She began to fiddle with her uniform. Pulling her knee-length socks up, adjusting her skirt. She hoped that it was not too short. You really caught it from Mrs Watts if your skirt was too short. Mary decided that it would have to do. She started to brush the arms of her blazer, when a loud buzz made her jump.

Miss Murray stopped her typing and got up, giving Mary a funny sort of smile, and crossed to the yellow door. Once there she opened it and passed inside.

Mary was left alone in the empty room. She strained her ears to try to make out the distant conversation between the Secretary and the Headmistress, then after what seemed an age to Mary, the yellow door re-opened and Miss Murray re-emerged.

'You can go in now,' she told Mary. 'You can leave your bag here; you will not need it in there.'

Mary found a spare chair for her bag, and taking a deep breath she went through the yellow door.

*   *   *

Mrs Watts, middle-aged Headmistress of Meadowgrove Girls Secondary School, sat behind her large oak desk.

Mary' had never been in this room before. 'She looked around. The room was strangely dark, it was full of bookcases and filing cabinets. There were two large leather-bound armchairs, a small coffee table, and a tall stool. Mary recognised the stool from the description of her friends, as the stool that Mrs Watts made you bend across when you got the cane. To reinforce the idea, next to the stool stood a large flower vase, in which were a number of traditional crook-handled school canes, each one looking slender and awfully stingy. A terrible thought flashed through Mary's mind .

Mrs Watts looked up. 'Mary James?' she asked.

'Yes, Ma'am,' Mary responded, standing to attention.

Mrs Watts leant back in her chair and studied Mary for a few moments, holding her pen like a cigarette. Mary looked longingly at a chair, hoping for an invitation to sit -  The invitation did not come.

'November the 17th, do you remember it?' Mrs Watts asked', whilst appearing to inspect the back of her hand.

'Which year?' Mary let the comment out before she realised it.

Mrs Watts got up. She pointed a finger at Mary. 'Don't get funny with me, girl,' she said icily as she walked towards her. Then she added menacingly, 'You are already in enough trouble as it is.'

Mary went cold. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Mrs Watts took hold of Mary's right arm and semi-turned her around, then bending down slightly she delivered two crisp smacks to the tops of Mary's legs.

'OWWWW!' wailed Mary, as her legs began to sting, the red outline of the Headmistress's hand on her legs showing just where the fiery smacks had landed.

'Any other funny remarks to make?' Mrs Watts asked, still holding Mary by the arm.

'NNNNo-ohhh,' Mary stammered tearfully -  The slaps had been very painful.

'Just to make sure,' Mrs Watts said, and again delivered a hard slap to each of Mary's legs. Mary howled again. Mrs Watts returned to her seat.

Mary stood there, a single tear running down her right cheek, in a crouching position, frantically rubbing the backs of her legs. How could the Headmistress' hand possibly sting so much?

'Your skirt is too short, girl,' Mrs Watts informed her, 'That will be a detention, a Saturday morning detention.'

'Yes-yess Ma'am,' Mary sniffed, rubbing her eyes with her hands, her legs still throbbing with pain.

'Right,' Mrs Watts resumed. 'Now that we both understand each other, I will ask you again if you remember November the 17th?' '

'I don't Ma'am, honest I don't!' pleaded Mary.

Mrs Watts went to get to her feet again. Panic seized Mary. She did not want another smacking.

'W-w-was I off school?' Mary stuttered.

'There you are, I knew' you only needed your memory to be jogged for you to remember,' Mrs Watts told her patronisingly.

'I was sick,' Mary claimed.

That was actually a lie - Mary had played truant, with two other girls, and they had all forged absent notes from their parents. But surely Mrs Watts could not have found out. After all, that was nearly six months ago!

'What you mean' - Mrs Watts said -  'is that you were away from school, and the following day a note arrived, with you explaining that you bad been away sick.'

Mrs Watts let the words sink in. She could tell from the look on Mary's face that it was true. She continued relentlessly . .

'Miss Murray had had to fill in a survey for the local health authority on the amount and type of sickness in the school in the past year. In your note, you forgot to say what you were sick with, so Miss Murray had to phone your mother to ask. Would you like to guess what your mother said?'

'No,' Mary answered very quietly, knowing that the game was up.

'I shall tell you then,' Mrs Watts announced. 'She said that you had never had a day off sick throughout this school year, and also that she could not possibly have written a note on November 17th because she had her arm in plaster from falling down the stairs.'

Mary wrung her hands in despair. . Tears welled up in her eyes, tears of humiliation and shame. She had been found out, and what was worse was that her Mother knew too.

'Your mother however has sensibly agreed to let the school deal with this matter, as she considers that it was us that you deceived,' Mrs Watts told her.

That was one blessing for Mary. She could not have faced a dose of her mother's belt as well as the school punishment.

'Before I punish you, there were two other girls off school the same day as you, in your class. Linda Ward and Ann Mason. Were these two girls playing truant with you?'

Mary did not answer.

'Before you get any strange ideas of honour amongst truants, I should point out that I only have to pick up the phone and call Ward and Mason's parents and ask them. I would have thought that if all three of you were involved you would not want to be the only one to receive punishment, whilst your two friends went scott free.'

Mary again rung her hands. Her body had become so tense.

Mrs Watts rose to her feet and again traversed the room to Mary. Mary began to feel tears running down her' cheeks. She half turned to meet the Headmistress, knowing full well what was going to happen. Mrs Watts lifted Mary's skirt up a little and landed a hard smack right on the top of her thigh. Mary howled - God! that had hurt - Another slap followed, on the other side.

'Something to say, girl?' Mrs Watts demanded.

'Yes, Ma'am,' sobbed Mary . . .'Th-they were both w-with me.'

'There you are,' said Mrs Watts. 'You could have saved yourself all that trouble if you had told me that two minutes ago.'

Mrs Watts opened her door to Miss Murray's room and Mary heard her say, 'Get Mason and Ward from 5C up here as well, will you.'

The door closed and Mrs Watts returned to her chair. For a moment there was silence, except for Mary's sobbing.

'Truancy is a very serious offence,' Mrs Watts told her. 'You have betrayed the trust that everybody had in you. I must therefore cane you.'

Mary could not believe her ears. She had never been caned, before. She had seen those awful red marks on her friends' bottoms after Mrs Watts had caned them, and noted how they were totally unable to sit down afterwards.

'NO, Ma'am!' pleaded Mary. 'P-Please don't cane me. I promise that I will never ever play truant again, honest I won't.'

Mrs Watts waved her hand.

'You see Mary, I cannot trust you to keep your word. You have betrayed my trust by playing truant, so I have to make the punishment severe enough to ensure that you never betray my trust again.'

Mary sniffed back the tears. 'Oh please, Ma'am. Please!' She pleaded in vain.

'Now I want you to wait outside. I will deal with your friends first.' Mrs Watts told her.

As Mary turned to leave the room for a few minutes she saw Mrs Watts rise from her seat and cross to the flower vase, and select a long slender cane.

*    *    *

Miss Murray was still typing when Mary entered her room. Linda and Ann were already there.

'What's going on?' asked Ann. 'Old Watt's knows about our day off in November,' Mary told them.

'How can she?' sneered Linda. 'She phoned my Mum to check on my sick note and Mum said that she couldn't have written the note because her arm was broken.' Mary said very nervously.

The door to the study opened and Mrs Watts appeared with a cane in her hand. She pointed it at Ann and said, 'You first, Miss. .  IN!'

Ann turned vainly looking for help from her friends. Realising that none was coming she made her way into the study, wincing as she passed the Headmistress. The door clicked closed behind her.

Linda turned to Mary. 'How did Mrs Watts find out that Ann and I were with you?' she asked.

'I told her,' Mary confessed.

'You what!' exclaimed Linda. 'You bloody bitch!'

'I had to!' Mary protested. 'She said she "was going to phone your Mum and check if you were sick on November 17th.'

Linda sighed, 'Well perhaps you did the right thing, my Mum would murder me if she found out.'

The two girls were lost in their private thoughts for a few seconds, until they heard a sharp crack coming from the room next door, followed by a yell of pain. Ann was getting the cane.

Miss Murray stopped typing, and a smile crossed her face. There was another sharp crack and another cry of pain, a little louder this time.

Linda raised a second finger. She and Mary both succumbed to an inner turmoil and nervous weakness as they heard those riveting sounds.

'The Headmistress is in form today,' Miss Murray said smugly.

Mary turned to Linda. 'I've never had the cane before,' she said with tears in her eyes, 'You have. Does it hurt terribly?'

Before Linda could answer there was another crack. This time the cry was more like a scream. '

Linda raised a third finger. 'The pain is indescribable, ' she told Mary with an anguished look, 'Just remember to grip the stool and don't tense your bottom. . it hurts even more if you do!''

Another crack! rang out, followed by another agonising scream.

'It's hotting up in there,' observed Miss Murray, looking in her tray for another letter to type.

'Oh shut up!' said Linda pleadingly. She was beginning to crack.

Miss Murray smiled and said, 'Perhaps you would should sit down while you can, you certainly won't be doing much sitting after you have been in there!'

Mary buried her head in her hands.

How could this woman be so cruel. 'Bitch!' Hissed Linda.

Miss Murray just smiled and started to type another letter.

The whistle and meaty Shwackk! of the fifth stroke penetrated the headmistresses door, and the two frightened schoolgirls could now clearly hear Ann sobbing fitfully after and between each stroke.

Linda put her arm round Mary. 'Come on Mary, it's not that bad really.' She tried to comfort the girl. 'Don't let Watts see you've been crying before she's caned you, that's not the spirit. Come on, chin up. Those girls in those posh public schools go in for a caning with their heads held up high.'

Mary perked up a little. She was not going to be outdone by some little tart from a public school.

There was another Crack!, and its veil of pain, although it seemed to be less loud this time. Then all the two girls could hear above the tap-tap of the typewriter was a girl sobbing in the distance.

After what seemed an age to the two girls the door opened and Ann appeared, tears streaming down her pretty face, her cheeks swollen and red. Her hands were thrust down inside the back of her knickers, frantically trying to rub away the stinging pain.

Mrs Watts appeared and pointed the cane at Linda. She needed no second telling, and perhaps as an example to Mary she held her head up and walked straight into the Headmistress' study.

Ann was sobbing relentlessly. Mary tried to comfort her by hugging her, but that merely made Ann cry harder.

Miss Murray stopped her typing and got up, with a deep sigh of resignation. In the background Mary could hear Linda getting her dose. She seemed to be taking it better than Ann, but then Linda had been caned several times before, and was used to it.

Miss Murray took a box of paper hankies out and taking one began to wipe Ann's eyes. 'Alright, alright,' she kept saying as Ann's cries began to subside slightly.

Finally Ann stopped crying and Miss Murray brushed the hair from Ann's eyes and made her blow her nose. Ann even managed a smile.

Throughout all of this Linda's bare bottom caning had gone by largely unnoticed, though it had been just as severe and just as noisy. . . .   

The door finally opened and Linda emerged, walking slowly, her face bright red with two tears glistening on her cheeks. Her hands were firmly clamped to the back of her skirt, and she was breathing deeply.

'God!' was all Linda could exclaim. Miss Murray smiled again. 'Did it hurt?' She mocked.

'Did it hell!' Linda replied. 'Has she got a new cane in there that strips the flesh off?'

'Well actually, there were two new canes delivered at the beginning of term, and judging by the reaction of other girls they certainly seem to have a bit more bite than the old ones,' Miss Murray told her.

Mrs Watts appeared at the study door. Mary needed no telling.

'Good luck,' whispered Linda as the two girls passed.

Remembering Linda's advice Mary held her chin up as she walked past her Headmistress. Once in the room Mary noticed that the high stool was now in the centre of the room.

Mrs Watts addressed her, 'I want you to go over to that stool and take your knickers down. Take them right down to your knees.' .

Mary crossed to the stool and reached under her uniform skirt. A sharp tug pulled her tight regulation navy blue knickers clear of her bottom, and obeying her Headmistress's instructions she lowered them to just above her knees.

'Good,' said Mrs Watts. 'Now lift your skirt up and bend over the stool.'

Mary hoisted her skirt as high as she could and bent forward over the stool. She noticed how warm it was on her tummy,

'Take a firm grip of the bar with both hands,' Mrs Watts instructed her, rapping the wooden bar with the end of the cane.

Mary gripped the bar and noticed how it was square, but where she was gripping it was rounded, no doubt sculptured by the hands of the countless girls who had bent across the stool for a caning before Mary. Remembering Linda's advice she gripped both bars tightly and tried not to tense her naked buttocks, the latter proving difficult under the circumstances.

Blinking nervously Mary saw Mrs Watts's feet come alongside her, and then move slightly apart, then she saw the corner of the Headmistress's dress lift slightly, then fall, accompanied by a strange swishing sound, and . . 

WHACK!

Mary threw her head right back and cried out in pain, but before she had time to recover Mrs Watts whipped the cane in for the second stroke.

SHWHACK!

It fell just below the first, and again Mary let out and agonising cry of pain. She had never in her wildest dreams dreamt that the cane would hurt so much. She would never be able to take the other four strokes, she knew that for certain:

WHACK!

Mrs Watts delivered the third stroke with equal force, landing it with precision between the other two strokes. Mary gasped in air and screamed with pain, her hands darting behind her clutching her bottom, gently fingering the ugly weal's and then stretching her palms to protect her cheeks from further punishment.

'Hands out of the way, or I shall have to get Miss Murray in here to hold you,' Mrs Watts warned.

Mary was crying openly now, but shaking her head and with great reluctance she slowly withdrew her hands, wiping her face on the way.

Mrs Watts patiently waited until the snivelling girl was ready before lining up the next stroke.

SHWHACKKK! -  It fell with equal force, burning its way across the girls tender bottom. Mary screamed, her hands leaving the bar and waving in the air, desperate to rub her enflamed cheeks but then ruefully gripping the bar again.

Mary had never, ever!, believed that such pain could exist, every nerve seemed ready to explode. Tears were streaming down her pretty cheeks and dripping off onto the floor. She just wanted to pull her pants back up and run away and hide - looking back from her upside down hell she could see her knickers dangling loosely around her ankles - the headmistress moving back in position, the curved crook of the cane held firmly in her hand . . Oh God!  . 

The fifth stroke came whistling down - THWHACKKK! . . Mary's chilling scream gave light to the severity of the stroke and the deep cutting pain that swept throughout her entire body. . Dear Mother of God! -  she'd learned her lesson - she didn't need, . . surely couldn't take another one! 

Mrs Watts begged to differ -  Six strokes of the cane was indeed the bare minimum punishment for such deception, and Six strokes was precisely what she was going to get!

And so - As Mary settled back down, sobbing as though her heart would break. Mrs Watts tapped her twitching bottom with the cane, Mary shuffled her feet and took a firm grip of the bar and through the pain she gritted her teeth. . . 

THWHACKKK!  - The final stroke was delivered with the same ferocity of the previous one. Mary howled and cried and shook with the pain as her body seemed to catch fire. Mrs Watts returned the cane to its flower vase and left Mary over the stool for a few moments, crying bitterly.

'Alright,' said Mrs Watts finally. 'Stand up.'

Mary tried to stand, but found a stabbing pain in her back preventing her. With a great effort she forced herself to her feet, still sobbing. Uncontrolled tears welled in her eyes, dripping from her cheeks as she allowed her hands to carefully examine the corrugated ridges that the cane had formed on her bottom. Each time she touched a ridge a pain shot through her.

'Pull your knickers up!' Mrs Watts instructed her.

Through her mist of tears Mary struggled to tug her knickers up. She gave a groan as they rubbed across her sore bottom. Strangely she found that she did not hate the Headmistress for caning her. In fact she now respected her far more than she had before.

'I trust that this will be a lesson to you,' Mrs Watts addressed her sharply.

'I-I. . am s-sorry Ma'am - really I am' Mary answered, trying to catch her breath . 'I will n-never ever do it.  again.' she said with a rather pathetic little voice

'Well mind that you don't young lady, because you know exactly what to expect if you do?'

Mary was nodding through hiccups and snivelling - fingers fidgeting under her skirt 

'And don't forget that you have your Saturday morning detention to come this week, for wearing a skirt that is too short.' - Mary nodded sadly.

'Alright,' said Mrs Watts. 'off you go.'

Mary tried to walk, but found each step to be agony. She clamped her hands to the back of her skirt, to try to ease the pain which blazed and throbbed intolerably when she moved.

When she got outside the study, the world seemed to be a very different place. Ann had stopped crying, but Linda was still rubbing her bottom.

Mary gingerly started to rub her bottom, and found that it did help to ease the pain.

Miss Murray gave a smile. 'Well, well,' she said, 'Three girls with hot, stripy bottoms.'

'Leave it out,' said Linda. 'You've had your fun.'

Miss Murray gave a laugh and replied, 'When I was a naughty little schoolgirl.just like you, standing in the Secretary's office after a good caning, she was a real cow to us. She used to tease us, and even make us show her the stripes. I am very nice compared to her, I'll have you know.'

'Mmmm, well that depends on how you view it!' Linda said, then turning to Mary she said, 'There you are, I told you 'that you would survive.'

Mary gave a watery smile and said, 'I'll never be able to sit down again.'

The three girls turned slowly to leave, but as they reached the door Miss Murray called out

"Bye girls. see you all again . . . soon I hope.'

THE END

The recent statement of the European Court regarding corporal punishment in schools must assuredly have come as a great shock to educational establishments throughout the land.

One of the most hallowed of British traditions apparently declared unlawful ?l Fantastic! And presumably at' all our finest schools caning will now merely be a thing of the past? Quite unbelievable! Retired old gentlemen must have been having fits! And undoubtedly such an earth-shattering pronouncement must have caused heated debate and discussion up and down the country.

Yes, this is certainly true, but on one score at least those old gentlemen may relax. Because at one noted school, at any rate, debate on this topic was virtually non-existent.

I refer of course to St. Angela's school for Girls. Where the girls all knew without asking, without being told, that such a ruling would mean absolutely nothing to Mr Ingham and his staff. Life at St. Angela's would continue unchanged and as always knickers would continue to be taken down on the spot if necessary, at any' master's whim.

However to say that' a II girl s knew' is to give a false impression of what actually happened. For while all, deep down, undoubtedly did know there was nonetheless a few, a meagre handful, who fondly Imagined, or shall we say hoped, that things might change.

Sally Andrews and Judy Macintosh initially. 'Look, what it needs is a petition to the Head pointing out that spanking and caning are not unlawful: said Sally.

Her friend Judy very sensibly had serious doubts as to the wisdom of this but was finally persuaded to agree: 'Well, all right. I suppose he can only say No. But nothing too strong. Something like: We respectfully request that the Headmaster ... er ... consider the recent decree of the Court. And ... and could he please see fit to ... er ... to now abolish corporal punishment at St. Angela's.'

The petition did not get many signatories, the great majority of girls having learnt that at St. Angela's the best way to get by (and keep your bottom out of trouble trouble by definition meaning , having it bared over the chair in Room 2D) was to keep your head down, to remain as far as possible anonymous. Five names were all that could be mustered and this included those of the two instigators.

'Let's call it off: said Judy but Sally unfortunately was not prepared to let her brainchild sink without trace. She sealed the petition and the five names in an envelope and gave it to the secretary to hand to the Head.

Undoubtedly it was a bold, indeed reckless, move. Those who knew waited with baited breath. There was not long to wait. Morning Assembly one day later. ...

The routine business out of the way and then the Head cleared his throat and looked sharply out at the ranks of girls. He had, he said, received a note. . .  a petition it called itself. . . signed by five girls. Five silly girls, not to say impertinent ones. Referring to something which girls had presumably read about and seen on the television recently. Impertinent statements from a foreign body calling itself the European Court or something which purported to be able to tell sovereign countries how they should conduct their affairs. Well, other countries could do as they wished but we all knew no one told us in Britain how to run our lives. We would of course carryon exactly as before.

Now the girls in question. First of a II he was glad to see that the number involved was so few - just five girls. Five girls had been sufficiently disloyal as to take part in this unprecedented act. Well, so much for this co-called Court's decree, these five girls would now receive what it had the impertinence to think it could ban. Yes they would each be caned and they would be caned now, at this Assembly", . .  in front of the whole school.

These girls will now step forward: Sally Andrews. Cynthia Barker. .. Judy Macintosh, Barbara Renfrew ...Nancy Verity ....

A tense excitement grips the assembled girls as the five unfortunates step out from their places and with flushed faces climb the short flight of steps on to the stage to form an unhappy-looking line. Tense excitement because a public caning in front of the whole school is a rare event and, let's face it, if it's someone else and not you, well, it is undoubtedly exciting. A chair placed carefully by Mr Ingham near the front centre of the stage facing sideways. The first name called out. Sally Andrews.

She steps forward, a tall pretty girl with shoulder-length blonde hair, whose original idea this whole thing was of course. Mr Ingham bends her over the seat of the chair so that her bottom faces the assembled school and all will clearly see. In his practised way he flips her skirt up over her back. Then pulls the tight white knickers down past the tops of her nylons to just above her knees. Sally's full pale bottom, waiting. The cane in the Head's hand. Raised. . . .  'I shall give you six strokes, Miss.' . . . And lowered. Thwack! ....  A yelp of anguish from Sally. A bright pink stripe across the pale flesh. Sharp intakes of breath from those watching - for they all know what it feel like, the vicious sting on that tenderest part of your body.

Thwack! A second stripe now joining the first across Sally's desperately squirming buttocks.

Thwack! ... Thwack! ... Mr Ingham is really laying it into her. A steady unhurried cadence, the awful sound of cane on flesh punctuated each time by a wild yelp from Sally. Her bared buttocks squirming more and more frantically as the stripes multiply.

Six finally delivered. Sally now standing, openly crying, fumbling up her knickers, stumbling back down the steps. Cynthia Barker next: a pert brunette with a pony-tail, not as tall as Sally, she is already close to tears from having had to watch. The same routine. Over the chair. Skirt up. Knickers down. The cane raised. Thwack! .... A loud anguished howl. ...

Methodically the Head continues as the five girls in turn take their place over the seat of the chair. In turn skirts are raised and knickers lowered. In turn each receives six on the full flesh of the bare bottom. In turn she tearfully pulls her knickers back up over the angry stinging stripes; then hot faced, and with little dabs at the tears which will not stop coming, she returns to her place.

The excitement is finally over and it is time to get to class. Girls shuffle expectantly. But what is this? What is the Head saying?

Everyone has now seen these girls dealt with in the time-honoured way. But it could just possibly be that their action was only the tip of the iceberg and that although other girls did not sign this ridiculous petition they may nonetheless believe that this self-appointed foreign Court does indeed have some jurisdiction in these matters, and that they can have some say in what happens at St. Angela's.

Could this possibly be so? wonders the Head in icy tones as he looks around. He does not expect an answer and does not get one, only an uncomfortable shuffling of bottoms in chairs as girls uneasily wonder where this is leading.

They very quickly learn as Mr, Ingham continues: He has decided therefore to take an action which he hopes will remind everyone what the situation is. So that no girl may be in any possible doubt he is going to cane every girl in the school. Four strokes with knickers down.

Gasps of despair and disbelief, a buzz of outraged muttering. Within this general hubbub one voice - its owner momentarily forgetful of the golden rule at St. Angela's of keeping out of sight - is heard to say with unfortunate clarity: 'That's just not fair!'

'Stand up that girl, please!' Red-faced she rises: it is Alison Follet, Seven A.

'You, my girl, will be given a double dose - eight strokes. Now does anyone else think it's unfair?"

No answer - not surprisingly! . .  'Good. I shall begin now, directly following this Assembly. I shall deal with one class at a time. Let's see, we will start with Form Six A.

Those girls will proceed to the corridor outside Room 20 where they will take down their knickers and remain quietly in line until I arrive. The Form Leader will then send girls into me one at a time and finally come in herself. Other Forms will go to their normal classes until they are called.

The girls I have just caned will not, of course, be exempted from this caning of the whole school.

'That is all I have to say except this one last thing. I want every girl to remember this, when it comes to her turn to get over the chair in Room 20 and have her knickers slipped down. To remember that St. Angela's stands firm against any attempt at interference. That is all. School dismiss.'

The clatter of 130-odd girls getting to their feet and with it the hum of what sounds like 130 voices - shocked, indignant, and especially angry voices. There is no point directing the anger at Mr Ingham - you can do nothing about him. But you can perhaps do something about those five who inevitably are seen as responsible for this caning. Outside the Hall they are angrily jostled; hands reach out to sharply pull hair, to viciously pinch already stinging bottoms. Hissed threats: 'Wait till we get you back in the dorm tonight!' Sally and Nancy are
soon once more in tears.

Back on the stage the Head turns to his colleagues. 'Well, gentlemen, I hope this will nip any possible rebellion in the bud.'

Mr Harris, as always ready to agree with the Head, but on this occasion he undoubtedly speaks for everyone: 'Excellent, Headmaster. Most excellent! An inspired move, if I may say so. And an awfully good phrase too: St.Angela's Stands Firm!'

'Yes, one does have to keep one step ahead of them. And I think, gentlemen, that for the next couple of weeks at least, it will pay us all to be on our toes. Because this matter is bound to excite continuing comment both in the press and on the television. Therefore at any excuse whatsoever ask no questions, simply take the girl's knickers down and apply the cane.'

There are sounds of general approval. Not that what he has said is really anything new: for at St. Angela's it is normal practice to take down knickers at the slightest excuse. What he means of course, as they all. know, is to take them down without any excuse.

'A kind of blitz!' offers Mr Walker, polishing his glasses. Since his first somewhat unsure days this young master has become a much more confident caner, due mainly to having overcome that early hesitancy with the older girls. Deciding he had to face his problems head on he finally steeled himself in his second term to tackling a couple of the most grown-up looking girls, making them take their knickers down and then caning those bare mature-looking rears until they were abjectly begging for mercy. After that it was plain sailing.

'Yes,' says the Head, 'A blitz on behinds. Well, I must go: I believe Six A are awaiting my attention.'

In the corridor leading to Room 20, Six A are indeed unhappily waiting. Mr Archer, caretaker, is with them. He has chanced to find them here and on being told what, and whom, they are waiting for has given himself the task of checking that each girl has her knickers down in readiness, He has been moving slowly along the line, his hands reaching under skirts producing varied squirms and yelps.

He has now reached Linda Worsley, one of his favourites, a quietly attractive young lady who has already, in this her first year at St. Angela's, learnt that Mr Archer can be a useful ally in avoiding too frequent caning. An ally naturally has to be kept sweet. She squirms in turn as the hard hand reaches under her skirt and takes hold of the furry mound; but does not flinch away. Instead she co-operatively parts her closed legs, giving a suppressed squeal as the fingers reach in. She has learnt to accept what Mr Archer likes to do: indeed she quite likes it herself when she's in the mood. And when, as now, you're waiting to be caned, a caning which this time even Mr Archer can't get you out of, well, it does rather take your mind off it.

Eyes closed, Linda leans against him, biting her lip, hoping the girls on either side will not realise exactly what Mr Archer and his fingers are doing. Surreptitiously she starts rhythmically moving her hips, wondering if there'll be time to actually ....

THE END

Much, much more to follow soon. . . . stay tuned

"SIR!" During the whole of my years at St. Angela's I never managed to hear the way Mr Archer said 'SIR' without jumping an inch or two. It sounded like a cross between a grunting cough, and a bark, and no doubt stemmed from the days when he was in the Army...a crack Guards Regiment, as a colour sergeant so rumour had it.

After an early retirement he had joined St. Angela's as a caretaker some ten years ago, and as far as I anyone could tell was apparently one of the fixtures. Frankly he scared the living daylights out of the girls, or most of them, and I was no exception.

And..wait for it!..his steely gaze was concentrated at this moment on me! Those half-shut eyes under the beetling bushy eyebrows were flicking up and down the slightly trembling figure of a lithesome young schoolgirl in full St. Angela's uniform.

White blouse..slightly displaced school tie..pleated skirt..long black nylons with seams a bit skew-whiff.. not-too-flat strapped black shoes., all set off to perfection, if that's what takes your fancy, by the school blazer.

None of this was new to Mr Archer despite the assiduous way he was looking at me, for in truth it wasn't the clothes I was wearing that he was concentrating his eyes on.

Even though he'd seen me before, in the sense I'm thinking of, about two years ago, you could see his limited I.Q. trying hard to remember what was under the uniform..particularly under that pleated skirt.

In any other situation, and with someone else, I would certainly have revelled in such male interest, after all male company wasn't that frequent around St. A's. But this was different, oh yes very different, our ex N.C.O caretaker was working out exactly what sort of maiden's hips his slipper would be applied to in the gym.

Mr Payne hardly bothered to lookup from the punishment book as he wrote my name and what he had in store for me later. He snapped it shut and said quietly.

"Archer, take this young lady down to the gymnasium and deal with her."

"SIR" replied Mr Archer, he might just have been an automaton for all the response Mr Payne's request had upon his face.

He turned on his heels and almost gave a click as he strode past me towards the study door.

"Follow me Miss..if you please.."

The end of the sentence was a bit of window dressing..Archer used to call it 'bull'...I followed Mr Archer.

As we reached the door Mr Payne's voice came over almost as an afterthought.

"Mmm...MMM..mmm..one moment Archer...shorts and slipper.eh.eh?"

"SIR" Mr Archer hesitated... "Thank you Sir...bare to finish SIR?"

It was I presumed a purely rhetorical question, unless Mr Payne intended to visit the gym, what Archer did was entirely his own work, concern.

"Your discretion Archer..just make absolutely sure it stings man!"

Mr Payne seemed almost annoyed at the interruption to his peace.

"You can trust me Headmaster. Come along Miss don't dawdle..left  ..right..left".

The study door closed behind us and in a slight daze I found myself marching briskly along the corridor towards the gym, slightly ahead of Mr Archer, guided by his hand on my left elbow. For a few yards we proceed in silence.

He cleared his throat of thick phlegm as he always does before making some stupendous, potentially world shaking pronouncement. I decide it would be in my best long term interest to pay diligent attention to his words.

"In trouble again Miss?"

I nod.. "Yes Mr Archer I'm afraid I am."

Scrumping apples Mr Dobbs tells me Miss."

I nod resignedly.

"Didn't old Dobbin give you a chance to 'beg off...not like him to report a pretty girl without giving her a chance..?"

"I'm afraid I didn't take up his offer Mr Archer." I replied.

"Price too high eh...so he 'shopped' you...pity..still that's up to you Miss..too late now."

I nod..perhaps ten minutes in the gardeners shed would have been less painful, even if it had been more shaming.

We continue in dead silence into the deserted gym and Mr Archer steers me into the usual place, his hidey hole cum store room.

A ghost of a smile creases his face for a split second and I realise he is about to make one of his rare attempts at a joke..I'm all ears ready to respond...

"Hope the apples are going to be worth it Miss?"

I strain my face into a grin, and reply.

"My name's 'Eve', Mr Archer."

He looks decidedly puzzled at my quip.

"I thought you were Wendy Thomas Miss."

"Sorry Mr Archer..I am Wendy Thomas...it was a joke.."

"Cut along to the changing room and pick up your vest, shorts, gym shoes, and socks, if you please Miss, and look sharp young lady I've got things to do after I've seen to you."

I feel like a condemned criminal, but within thirty seconds I'm back in the store room with the required gear under his watchful eyes. He looks at me for a full minute, and you can almost see the cogs going round as he try's to memorise the last occasion he had me at his disposal. It proves to be too much for him, and....

"Strip!" he barks.."ALL OFF. . . EVERYTHING!"

My blazer comes off first and I hang it tidily on one of the hooks he has on one wall. I try to work out whether he'd prefer blouse or skirt next, and settle for the school tie whilst I'm thinking. From the approving sideways glance he gives me as I pretend to struggle with the knot in the tie I decide to try topless.

Tentatively I undo the little buttons on the cuffs of my blouse, and he seems to like the way I am proceeding, and as slowly as I dare I unbutton the crisp white blouse from top to bottom pushing out what chest development I have, no harm in trying to lighten my punishment if I can.

With both hands simultaneously, I pull the lower part of the blouse out from the nipped in waistband of my skirt, I am rather proud of my twenty-one inch waist! Lots of schoolgirls are rather podgy and cylindrical. Not me! Whilst 1 may not be a raving beauty at least I have a nice figure, nicely rounded, bit too 'sexy' for my own good here at St. A's-worse luck!

Blouse off..it follows my blazer onto the next hook...now what? Bra or skirt? I opt to go topless and as I loosen the clip on my bra and let my pretty pink tipped tit-bits enter his field of view I realise my choice was the correct one.

Mr Archer cleared his throat, and pronounced judgement.

"Growing up Miss Thomas I see... Hhhrrruuumphh!"

I hung my bra up and slid my skirt round my waist so as to bring the little back zip round to the side. I slide it down and undo the button at the top of the opening, my hips are just a little too full to allow my skirt to drop to my feet and I had to wriggle it down over the full pears of my buttocks. Mr Archer made no objections to my gyrations. At last that pool of pleats made a circle round my ankles and I stepped out of the protection of the material.

I had to turn round to hang the skirt up on the hook, and I sensed Mr Archer coming up behind me.

"Keep your arms up Miss." he ordered, and doing as I was told left me fairly vulnerable to what happened next.

Two large hard rough calloused palms slipped round my waist to encircle it, and his hands were so big that with his fingers in front on my soft belly and his spatulate shaped thumbs behind my waist on my back he could very nearly encompass my waist completely.

His hands didn't however stay long round my waist, the rough palms ascended up over the slight swell of my tummy above my navel and his large palms cupped my little girls breasts. I had to put up with his squeezing and fondling for quite a time, trying not to wriggle too much, but he made me put my feet back and my legs apart about a few inches, then it was:-

"Push your hips back Miss...right back now..try not to wriggle Miss., keep that bottom well back now... legs a bit wider eh..yes that's good.."

He stood closely behind me so that I could feel the hardness of his body against my hips, and I continued to wriggle as he took over the job of completing my stripping. He peeled my panties down to my knees to bare my bottom and then unclipped my suspenders. My suspender belt was undone in its turn and hung on another hook above my head. My naked bum cheeks came in for a minute or twos fondling before he stood away from me, and then I was told to take the rest of my clothes off.

When I was completely naked Mr Archer made me stand legs apart, hands on hips and slightly bent forwards whilst he inspects slowly and deliberately my nubile young schoolgirl figure.

I wriggle a bit as he follows up his eyes exploration with his hands again, but a sharp reminder to behave myself accompanied by a few stinging slaps across my buttocks soon brings me to my senses, and I co-operate fully as he assesses just how firm my bottom is for what he has in mind.

"Get your shorts, vest, socks and pumps on Miss." he commands.

I start to put my knickers back on playing for time.

"NO KNICKERS UNDER THOSE SHORTS!!." he bellows.

Hastily I slide my briefs off again and struggle into the tight hip-hugging thin scanty shorts. Mr Archer enjoys watching me encase my plump little behind into the shorts knowing my bum cheeks will be held all the firmer for his 'slipper'.

At last I am attired to his satisfaction and he leads me like a lamb to the slaughter over to the high gym-horse in the corner of the store room.

"Now Wendy Thomas..."

"Yes s-si-sir."

"Hands up on the 'horse'...good girl..that's right bend well forwards.. ..hips all the way back now..legs apart..wider..wider..much WIDER!...feet further back...COME ALONG GIRL!...arch your back..ARCH IT!., stick it well up..BUM WELL UP!.. ARCH!..BUM UP!,,HIGHER.. HIGHER!..BUM RIGHT UP!..that's good..now relax those cheeks. let them go really floppy..let..them.. FLOP..let me jiggle them..relax girl relax..try to make them wobble like jelly."

At last he seemed satisfied, and for the next minute or two the regular 'SPLATTS' of the smooth slipper across the thin taut drum-like tension of my skimpy shorts interspersed with my pitiful sobbing echoed round the caretaker's hidey-hole.

He slippered me quite mercilessly, hard and with deadly accuracy borne of long practice on innumerable girls bottoms over the years. He timed the strokes so that each one had its individual sting added to the overall red hot tingle in my bottom, he left no area unattended on the wiggling barely protected pert cheeks.

At last it was over, and I am left to stay there sobbing my heart out, not daring for one second to take my hands off the horse until he gives me the word, too distracted by my hot tingling buttocks to care much as he peels my shorts down well below my hips and runs lascivious hands over the wiggling jouncy scarlet cheeks.

He makes me bring my feet together and rise as high as I can up onto my toes, making me thrust my pink tingly bottom cheeks back onto his hard horny calloused palms.

As I slowly surface and hear Mr Archers heavy breathing and grunting coughs from behind my still nervously twitching hips, at last what he is saying slides into my consciousness.

Slowly I straighten up from my bent over position on the horse and pull up my shorts sufficiently high over my lower cheeks to hobble after him across to the pile of horse-hair vaulting and exercise mats piled in the far corner of the store room.

He sits himself purposefully down on a pile of mats and beckons me over his knees.

At his peremptory request I lay my thinly clad semi-naked figure across his all too solid left thigh and wait for his instructions.

Another "HHHRRUUUMMPHH" from Mr Archer heralds the next stage of my punishment.

"Push those shorts down..further, right down, more than that, all the way down to your knees.-..legs wide apart now..really.wide..stretch., wider,, bend your knees up a bit., don't let those thighs come together., ..come along now..don't lets have any fuss about your modesty..I've seen it all before don't forget..all of you girls are much the same you know..."

When I was spread-eagled across his thighs with my firm bare white thighs in exactly the position he wanted, and my chubby little buttocks stuck high enough up for him to smack hard, he ran his rough right palm over the reddened tingling cheeks.

My sore bum writhed involuntarily in his hand.

"Oooohhh...aaahhh...nnnngh...oh no..pi-please Mr Archer..oh Mr." I implored him to stop. "Please don't r-rub m-my b-bo-bottom..it's s-so-so-sore..don't smack me Mr Archer-I'll be ever so good, please don't..aaahhh..ooowww..smack my bare bottom..please not after I've had the slipper..it'll hurt--it'll st-sting..it'll sting horribly..! know it will Mr Archer..please Sir please let me off...OOOOOHHHHH!"

The sharp crack of his hard hand across my tender bottom cut my pleading short and I began to squirm and cry again.

He smacked my wiggly jumping tender buttocks quite without mercy whilst I blubbered like the young schoolgirl I was, and with red eyed whimpering tears running down my cheeks I was spanked into abject submission with the utter ruthless-ness he was renowned for in the school. When at last it was all over, and I lay exhausted across his knees 1 could sense my scarlet bottom cheeks jerking and quivering with the sore anguished sting he had inflicted on my innocently tender full pert schoolgirls buttocks.

Mr Archer let me lie there until my pitiful sobbing tears had died away to some semblance of respectability and then he made me stand half-naked in the corner of the room, shorts down round my ankles and my reddened sore behind on full parade whilst he entered my name and 'punishment' in the little note book he kept for future reference. Then a sharp slap across my still sore bum reawakened the flowing embers as he told me to..'get a cold shower Miss and then get your clothes back on.'...

Mr Archer watched me showering in the alcove off the changing room quite openly admiring the contrast of my scarlet buttocks against the white goose-pimples produced in the rest of my skin by the icy shower As I dried myself on the rough towel he handed me, he came and 'lent me a hand' towelling vigorously over my breasts, buttocks and upper thighs, feeling me squirm in his hands as the towel made my sore bottom tingle. Then he watched me dress, confining his attentions to merely assisting me to replace my knickers: and helping me to suspender my stockings. Half-way through my re-dressing he took a long look at me, and announced:-

"Mr Payne told me to tell you to report to 2D after prep Miss...8.30 sharp...don't be late Miss if you i know which side your bread's buttered."

Mr Archer's announcement of a visit to the Headmaster in room 2D had filled me with gloom, and with my buttocks still smarting like fury from the double spanking I had just received I struggled back into the remainder of my uniform and silently returned my shorts, vest, socks and gym shoes to the locker room.

I had to go to 'prep' now and I certainly wasn't looking forward to sitting down on one of those hard old oak desk seats for the next hour to do my 'prep', the wood was rough and worn and wouldn't do a lot of good to my sore buttocks, but 'prep' finished at eight, and I would have half an hour to try to repair the ravages of Mr Archer's administrations before I went to see our beloved Head.

Normally of course after 'prep' finished there was a short break for rather watery tepid cocoa and a hard biscuit until lights out for the older girls at about 9.30. But this evening was going to be a little different for me-8.30 in Room 2D with Mr Payne meant although he would have finished punishing me by 9.00 easily, I would almost certainly spend another hour entertaining him one way or another. I'd be back in the dormitory about 10pm, creeping in by the faint light coming through the windows trying desperately not to wake any of my room mates, knowing my face would be a shamed red and streaked with dried salty tears. Then I'd huddle under the cold sheets not daring to sob too loudly from the memory of my experiences at the Head's hands.

'Prep' was as awful as I thought it would be, wriggling continuously trying to find one little patch of bottom unmarked by Mr Archer's spanking, I just couldn't concentrate on the work I had been set to do, thinking about 2D...in fact I earned myself a future punishment from Mr Moore who was taking prep, and I had to tell him I wouldn't be able to 'go to his study' later. However he promised to see me the next evening during 'prep' instead. Even this didn't take my mind off going to see Mr Payne at half-eight. I'd had a few sessions with him over the years, and I knew my softly developing curves attracted him, and although he would often cane a girl for 'naughtiness', an evening visit meant almost always a hard palm applied to the firm soft curves of a teenaged bottom.

By the end of 'prep' I could at least sit with a modicum of comfort, and although that state wouldn't be long lasting I meant to make the most of it. I tried hard to forget Mr Payne whilst I 'dunked' the hard old biscuit in the unsweetened cocoa but it was no use. The biscuit stuck in my dry throat and I began to feel sick with fear, in my imagination I could already feel the heat flooding back into my buttocks, and I started to squirm on the bench seat in anticipation.

My friend Sally must have guessed what had happened to me, which wasn't so odd as if anything she was 'chastised' more often than I was.

"Have you been-spa--?" she left the words unsaid as I nodded.

She was all sympathetic..."Who ...?" she whispered.

"Mr 'sodding' Archer." I replied.

"Christ that's bad luck Wendy." Sally had been smacked by Archer only last week and knew what he was like.....

"Did he lay it on thick?"

I nodded gloomily...."I'll say 'he did..he spanked me twice, first with the slipper and then bare with his hand, I was allowed to keep my shorts on for the slipper, but you know what they're like Sal..all thin and skimpy..-and to cap it all Sal'.. I've got to see old Payney in 20 at half-eight." My voice sank to a mere whisper as I thought about it.

Sally's eyes went wide with fright and horror, and it took her a few moments to speak.

"You've got to see Mr Payne tonight after Archer has spanked you twice already..go on Wendy you're pulling my leg..even Mr Payne wouldn't... would he?.."

"He's got it in for me this term Sal'..I know he has...he told me at the end of last term after he'd given me six strokes of the cane just before we broke up for Easter that I had the makings of a good prefect if I were handled firmly, and he put all that in my report for Mummy's benefit amongst all that smarmy rot he writes so that your Mum and Dad won't worry that he keeps you here until you're eighteen at least.

Anyway Mummy fell for it all 'hook line and sinker' and he made a point of seeing her at the Sports Day and he complimented her on that silly flowery hat she was wearing, and she was so 'chuffed' she persuaded Daddy I'd be better off in 'Mr Payne's safe hands'. Safe hands indeed...if she only knew Sal!"

"Oh Wendy that's awful.." Sally looked suitably horrified.."Poor you...come on though Wendy..it's twenty past eight, and you haven't changed into your 'Jammies' yet., you haven't forgotten have you?"

As we both hurried up to the 'dorm' I realised I had completely forgotten that an evening smacking by the Head was always given in a very special pair of thin cotton pyjamas given to each girl when she joined the school..terribly skimpy and almost as transparent as cheese cloth purposely issued a size too small so that when you at last managed to struggle into them, both the top round your breasts and the bottom round your hips fitted like the proverbial pair of chamois gloves. Miscreants who had to see Mr Payne were expected to be in Room 2D in their 'jammies' by the time he arrived..any lateness was suitably 'rewarded' as you might guess.

Sally actually took an enormous risk in coming down to 2D to help me change into my pyjamas and take my discarded uniform back to the 'dorm', and I found out later she had been caught by Mr Payne in the corridor and was told to sleep in the special room he kept on one side for a really late night smacking in fact he dealt with her after he had finished with me. But that's a story on its own for later consumption.

Whilst Sally was on her way back 'to the dorm' with my uniform I was struggling to don the special pair of extra thin cotton pyjamas Matron issued to the girls in the Upper forms. They were always kept in one of your locker drawers in case you were smacked by the Head or even one of the other masters after prep. As usual I found the trousers fitted like a drum, skin-tight over firm young maidenly buttocks, and they were held up by little buttons at front at the waist, five or six buttons in all going well down into the taut crotch of the trousers and threatening to burst off if you had to bend. Little ribbons threaded through the pyjama legs just below the knee, and even the legs of the pyjama bottoms were pretty tight, at least round the upper thighs where most teenagers were fairly soft and chubby. The cotton was quite transparent, specially adapted so that Mr Payne could see the increasing reddening of the buttocks as he spanked the wriggling sobbing teenager across his knee. He would often slowly undo the little buttons at the front of the trousers using the opportunity to slide his bony fingers over the wriggling protuberant pudenda. Often the punishment would be concluded with the weeping girl across the chest of drawers or bent forwards over the chair with Mr Payne using a strap or even the cane.

I hadn't been 'spanked' after prep now for almost a year, but the memory of one of the Heads notorious spankings quickly flooded back into my mind, and I could feel my buttocks tingling in anticipation. I didn't have long to wait for the reality!

As my ears picked up the first faint steps in the corridor I began to tremble and hope my ears were deceiving me, but slowly the sounds grew louder as the Head approached down the long corridor, and it was almost with a sense of relief I heard the clip-clop, clip-clop down the four steps to the green door of 2D.

My eyes widened with fear as I watched the door handle turn..if only some fairy-godmother could whisk me away safe from the attentions of Mr Payne.
As he came in and locked the door he looked as usual..very strict and very, very stern, his cold fishy eyes taking in every feature of my trembling pyjama clad figure.

When at last he seemed satisfied with what he had to operate on, he cleared his throat noisily.

"Hummph, Mr Archer dealt with you eh?"

I nodded.

"Make it sting properly did he Miss?"

My throat felt dry as I managed to whisper.."Yes Sir"

"Made you cry eh?"

I nodded.

"Difficult to sit down at prep eh..eh?"

I hung my head..too ashamed to even whisper.

"Lost our voice have we. .bottom still sore I expect..come on girl... speak up now...did he make you cry or not...hurry up or I'll give you something to really cry for... a strap across your bum eh?..mmm..eh?"

I had to reply and pretty quickly if I wanted to avoid that strap.

"Please Sir..oh please Sir he smacked me ever so hard Sir..I had to cry it was ever so sore and it was only just before 'prep' Sir... it's still sore Sir..oh please no sir., please don't rub my bottom... its ever so sore sir..I'll be a good girl.. please don't smack me Sir., not over your lap Sir..oh not like that Sir..I'll tell my Daddy Sir., oh no..no..NO...you mustn't..ooohhh.. : aaah..not there..please...NOT UP THERE...OOOWWHHH-.AAAHHHMH!"

By now I was hard down across the I Head's lap, and his bony fingers were fondling and kneading my tender cheeks so that I was wriggling like an electric eel across the rough tweed of his trousers. He made me part my thighs and straddle his raised left thigh pulling me closely against his paunch so that immediately I could feel his ridge stiffening under my belly.

"Now Miss...last time I saw your dear mother I promised her that this school would turn her naughty tom-boyish daughter into the semblance of a young lady by the time she was eighteen and this evening my girl I am going to give you a sound lesson in manners!"

With these words ringing in my ears, i felt my buttocks rise up as he elevated his left thigh, and the taut thinly clad cheeks came up towards the hand of retribution.

Mr Payne didn't spank half as hard as Mr Archer but what he lacked in brute force he made up for in finesse, spanking with precise attention to every detail, wristy little flicks of the stiffly held hand landing with the sting of a hornet exactly on the spot he had chosen. He covered every little bit of my gyrating buttocks, the crests sides, tops, and bottom of the tightly held cheeks, imparting a soreness to the poorly protected cheeks that was almost unbearable.

Then he started on the backs of my thighs from the knees up to the soft underparts of the buttocks taking every opportunity as I kicked to deliver a stroke now and again to the insides of the thighs.

After this general warm-up, he began to concentrate a series of smacks on one area after another, about five or six delivered to exactly the same spot, such as the crest of one buttock, making each slap stingier and harder than the one before until I was begging for mercy through my pitiful sobbing.

He paid particular attention to the soft flesh at the bottom of my already sore bum cheeks, the soft 'chub' of the teenagers bottom, bending me right forwards so that my nose was almost touching the chequered tiles, and the backs of my squirmy thighs were parallel to the top of the chest of drawers where the canes and straps were kept. I tried not to break down completely and blubber like a fourth or fifth former, because I knew he liked to
reduce a girl to bitter tearful sobbing so that he could smack her 'for not being a brave girl'.

But it was no use I just had to give in eventually, and began to feel the wild squirming of my legs and the tingly gyrations of my buttocks work themselves up into my set facial mask, where my teeth were gritted and my fists clenched tight in my efforts to 'be brave'.

When at last the breaking point came my subjection was fast and total. Suddenly I felt my face contort and my sobs become gasps of deep breathy intake.

"AAAhhhOOOHHH..oh pl-please--Sir--oh-OH--SOR..no..no..nooOOO... SitrrR.. oh my bum..MY BUM..Please SIR MY BUM...NO..NO..NOOOOOOOO...'

"Be quiet at once you SILLY LITTLE STUPID GIRL...stop that STUPID CRYING-now just stop behaving like a BABY..now I'm going to have to smack you really HARD...REALLY VERY HARD INDEED."

For the next five minutes at least the Head spanked my bottom and
thighs in full measure despite my weeping and crying, until my bottom was on fire with scarlet hand marks..I hardly noticed when he stopped and vaguely felt my 'Jammie' trousers slide right down to my knees.

He left me across his lap to cry and wriggle my heart out, and he loved every second of it, keeping me pulled tight against his trousers, so that my tummy was squirming against the hard ridge, if my thighs gave any indication of slowing up in their scissoring across his knees a few slaps soon had me moving again. I began to feel ever so funny at the tops of my thighs, sort of shamed yet excited, all I knew was it felt lovely, it never occurred to me that it was anything to do with my smacking, but I just didn't want it to stop. At last I felt myself go rigid across his lap my taut thighs forcing my buttocks up and down as if they had a life of their own. As Mr Payne set me on my feet to adjust my clothing I did just wonder what had happened to that hard ridge in his trousers.

THE END

The bright afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the window in a sharply defined shaft in which dust specks could be seen dancing and swirling in a rather fascinating manner. Fascinating, that is, if you had to stand there, five girls in a row, and listen to the Headmaster's rather droning voice. The voice and the swirling specks together had an almost hypnotic effect.

All five of them, were new starters in this summer term at Westlands School for Girls and so on this first day, as was usual with new arrivals, they had to get Mr Kingston's introductory talk. Normally, at the beginning of the school year with the much larger number of new entrants, the talk was given in the Hall, but with a small number like this - five - the Head's oration could more conveniently be delivered in his study. Having it in the privacy of his room had another advantage - it could be combined with another introduction to school life, but the five girls weren't to know that. Not yet at least.

Mr Kingston did have rather a droning way of talking especially when, as with this Introductory Talk, it was something he had said innumerable times before. One girl, then another, shuttled her feet as they stood there letting his words roll over them,. empty sound in the heavy air, while the sun specks danced, .

lf you thought anything at all it was that he did not look too bad, not too frightening, although of course you probably knew- that this school had a reputation for strictness, a no-nonsense attitude, Perhaps what you had heard had just been an exaggeration. . . .

Mr Kingston's words rolled on. . . .

Having said it so often before he could do it quite automatically; the platitudes coming out almost of their own accord leaving him free to consider this new five. They had transferred schools for the usual reasons: one needing a boarding school because her parents suddenly had to go abroad; another not getting the right attention at her comprehensive; etc., etc. And of course the other reason: Hilary or Jane or whoever is just not making any progress and we do feel she needs a stricter regime. Wen that was something which. Westlands and Mr Kingston, in spite of his mild appearance, certainly could supply.

This particular five were all of them a nice-looking lot, ranging from reasonably good-looking to the blonde at the left end of the row, Monica Taylor, who was really rather stunning. All with nice youthfully nubile shapes too, in their new uniform white blouses and blue pleated skirts with the pink-and-blue Westlands tie, Yes, the second part of his introduction, to be given directly after his talk, was really going to be rather pleasant. Not that one would like to admit it was a pleasure, naturally, for really it was very much in the line of duty.

As he continued talking he could see that several of them were looking rather stupefied, It was a warm afternoon, unusually so for May, and of course he knew that a lot of what he had to say was a bit boring. It had to be said nonetheless. Actually it was now just about finished. Which meant they had come to the part where these five pretty girls would suddenly wake up - if he was not very much mistaken.

'Well that's about it for general school procedures and such matters. And now we come to the matter of discipline. Discipline is of course a very' necessary part of any establishment which contains largish numbers of individuals and I must tell you that we here at Westlands School pride ourselves that it is .. ahem .. you might say one of our strong points. Discipline here naturally very much includes Corporal Punishment.'

He paused, then. directed his gaze at that very pretty blonde at the left end of the line. .

'Monica, I think. Monica Taylor, isn't it?' .

She suddenly focussed deep blue eyes from the evident dream she had been in. 'Uh .. Uh, yes Sir?'

'Corporal punishment, Monica. . . Do you know what that means?'

'Uh .. some form of punishment, Sir, I suppose:

'That is correct, Monica, but hardly very enlightening. Corporal punishment, Monica, means physical punishment of the body- from corpus, the Latin. Physical chastisement of the subject's person. For instance physical chastisement of Monica Taylor's very attractive person.'

The pretty blonde blushed.

Mr Kingston addressed himself again to all five. Five girls who now all looked somewhat more alert. 'Corporal punishment may be new to some of you but it is, as I say; very much part and parcel of the regime at Westland$. We find it much more effective than such measures as gating's or lines and detentions. And I should tell you that all your parents have signed the form acknowledging this and agreeing to it.

'So you may take it from me that all of you will be getting personal first-hand experience of our CP regime.'

He laughed benignly. 'Unless any of you can be almost superhumanly good, that is. What do you say to that, Monica? Can you be superhumanly good?'

She shuffled her feet, looked at the Head, then down .at the carpet. 'I don't suppose so, Sir.'

'No, nor do I Monica. And nor do I think any of you others can either. Now then!'

His voice had suddenly lost its rather bantering tone. 'What I now propose as the second part of this little introduction to Westlands, having given you my talk which I'm sure some of you possibly found rather boring, is to give you all a little demonstration of CP in use here. So that you will all know exactly what to expect.'

To five rather startled-looking faces he smiled and said. 'You may find this part a bit painful but certainly not boring!'

He got up from his chair and walked over, through that beam of sunlight which several of them had earlier found so fascinating, to his glass-fronted cupboard. Opening it he took out a cane.

A two-foot long thin whippy rattan cane.

Mr Kingston moved round to stand in front of five now definitely startled looking girls. He bent the cane into a tight horseshoe, then swished it vigorously through the air causing those dust motes to swirl in all directions at once.

'The cane, girls. The principal instrument of punishment at Westlands. Together, of course, with the palm of a master's hand. Now then, what you might call Punishment Number One, and something which you will not be getting very frequently because masters prefer others:

Punishment Number One, the cane across the palm of the hand.'

He directed his gaze at the end girl again. 'Monica, I think. Step forward please where everyone can see you and hold out your right hand. Palm upwards at about waist height.'

The pretty blonde turned a bright red. 'But Sir! I . . I haven't done anything.'

'I didn't say you had, my dear. lam just giving a demonstration so that you and all the others will know what to expect. Don't worry, you haven't been singled out. All the others will be getting a demonstration as well Come on now, step forward. You will learn that at Westlands questioning a master is one of the surest ways to incur a punishment.'

She stepped reluctantly forward into the shaft of sunlight: the girl who had quite evidently caught the Head's attention. Short curling blonde hair framed a softly pretty face in which the full mouth was now trembling slightly. She was of medium height with a trim figure, with full firm breasts softly pushing out the front of her crisp white blouse.

'Hand out, please,' the Head repeated. Biting that full lower lip she forced herself to comply.

'Hold it steady!' The voice of the mild-looking Headmaster now had a steely edge to it. 'Good!'

He raised the cane and quite simply brought it slashing down transversely across the palm of her hand. She let out an anguished yelp. There were sharp in-drawings of breath from the other four girls. It must have stung like blue murder! Monica was now hugging her hand and there were obvious tears in her eyes.

'Now the left hand.' said the Head calmly.

'Pl .. please .. I c .. can't!' she stuttered. 'It h .. hurts ... I .. ' Suddenly she was actually crying, fat tears running down the pretty cheeks.

The Heads voice, steely again. 'The left hand, Monica. And I don't want to have to ask you again. One thing you all have to learn is that at Westlands a girl obeys a master immediately.'

Still crying, Monica forced herself to reach out her left hand.

'Properly out. And keep it still!' The cane rose. And again came slashing down. There was another gasping cry from the girl as she immediately bent almost double, hugging both hands to her.

Mr Kingston's voice, mild again: 'Good! So that is Punishment Number One, girls. As I say you probably won't be getting it very often but it's as well you should know about it. Show your hands to the others, Monica.'

Still sobbing. Monica held out her hands. The others looked, blinked or bit their lips, then turned away. There was a general shocked shuffling of feet Monica's hands had a bright red stripe across the centre of each palm.

'Right: back in line then, Monica.

Now who have we got next? Jill isn't it. Jill Palmer?'

The next girl did not have the obvious prettiness of Monica but was nonetheless a very pleasant-looking new Fifth Former with shoulder .... length brown hair and a nicely full figure. And now with a most unhappy expression on her face.

'Step forward, Jill. Now girls, what we now come to is something which is rather more frequently used. The cane across the backs of the bare thighs. The backs of the thighs are of
course one of the more sensitive areas of a girls body, so caning there is a most effective punishment We can call this Punishment Number Two, if you like.'

He took hold of Jill's arm and turned her towards his desk. The top was completely dear: a little forethought on Mr Kingston's part in view of what was to come in this second part of his Introduction. 'Just bend your upper body over the desk, Jill'

Jill looked rather sick but clearly there wasn't much choice. She got over the desk and Mr Kingston pulled her pleated skirt up round her waist. There, facing the other four, was a full round bottom in tight pale blue nylon knickers plus a pair of nicely rounded thighs.

'Bottom well up!' instructed the Head, taking firm hold of one cheek of the tightly-knickered bottom and pushing it further onto the desk.

'And legs together and nice and straight, please.' Bending slightly, he slid his hand down the thighs to her knees, then over her white school knee-socks, positioning her feet so that her legs were slightly away from the desk with knees straight.

Finally satisfied with this he straightened up. His hand went back to the blue nylon knickers, sensuously sliding over the taut surface. 'Good. As you see, girls, Jill still has her knickers on, and that is the normal procedure with a caning to the thighs. Right then!'

Briskly he reached for the cane which had been lying on the comer of his desk. He positioned himself then patted the cane lightly across the slightly trembling thighs. And then he drew it back, sending the dust motes swirling again, and brought it down with a sharp CRACK! across the centre of the softly rounded limbs.

'Ahh .. ooowwwi' A yelping cry, an immediate spasmic writhing of bottom and legs, and two hands coming automatically back in instantaneous response to clutch the afflicted area.

'Hands back!' The Head's voice a sharp bark as he pushed Jill's hands with the end of the cane. As she gripped the top of the desk again the others, horror-struck, saw the angry red stripe across the centre of their colleague's thighs.

'Keep the position!' added the Headmaster. 'I am going to give you two more so that we can all have a good idea of what is involved.'

And he did: two more slashing cuts across the backs of Jill's thighs, each producing a gasping yelp of agony. and each leaving its fiery red mark.

When she got up she was openly crying - to nobody's surprise. Dabbing at her eyes she went back on trembling legs to her place.

Mr Kingston put down the cane. 'So that's the cane to the thighs, girls. Jill will tell you that it's still stinging quite a bit. Is that correct Jill?'

Still wiping her eyes she stuttered, 'Ye . yes .. S .. Sir:

'Good. Now who have we next?' He looked inquiringly at the third girl in line.

'S .. S ... Susan Mitchell, Sir,' she said numbly. She was a medium blonde with shoulder-length hair and . a delicately-featured face. She was about average height and somewhat slimmer than the other two.

'Yes, of course. Step forward then, Susan. We now come to caning of the bottom. At Westlands a girl's skirt is always raised for a bottom caning but, depending on which the master decides is the more suitable, he may leave her knickers on or they may be lowered.'

He took hold of Susan's arm and turned her towards his desk. 'Bend over then Susan: You're going to get a little taste of the cane with your knickers on:

He lifted her skirt to reveal another pair of those pale blue nylon knickers: this time enclosing a rather slimmer bottom than the one previously on show. Again he firmly gripped one cheek and pushed her further up on the desk. Again he fiddled fussily with her .

Then as the others watched, Jill still with tear-filled eyes, the Head took up the cane. Tapping the buttock-tautened knickers he said, 'Three, Susan. Keep nice and still, though, or it could be more.'

He raised the cane and slashed it . transversely down across the crests of the bottom cheeks to land with a zipping sound on the thin taut nylon. Susan let out a howl, bottom and thighs violently jerking, one hand reaching back to clutch desperately at her bum.

Mr Kingston grabbed the hand and placed it firmly back on his desk. Then raised the cane again and zipped it in a second time to the still writhing rear. Another howl as the writhing's were redoubled ...

He put down the cane and looked at the others. 'What you have just witnessed is a formal "knickers up" caning. However, you will find that some masters prefer to cane a girl on the bare bottom'

He turned again to the still bent over Susan and hooking his fingers into the elasticated waistband of her knickers dragged them down to the tops of her thighs. Susan gasped  "Oh  s-sir ." cheeks flushed a similar shade to her bottom 

"Yes I Know . . it's somewhat embarrassing. .  isn't it young lady?" he said refereeing to the sight of Susan's bare bottom, now showing two red stripes where the cane had previously landed.

"Y-yes sir. . Oh please d-d. . . !" . .  The Head fondled and squeezed the warm bare cheeks. . 'Yes indeed!" . .  He took up the cane again. 'Now then young Susan you're going to get your third and final stroke in this manner. Keep still please. . . !'

The cane once more violently disturbed the dust specks as it rose and then descended as a flash to judder into the now bared flesh. There was a third agonised howl from the distressed recipient. And she also, not surprisingly, was in tears when she stood up.

'Good! .  Now then. . .  re-adjust your knickers and get back in line young lady'.

'Now girls, what we have not dealt with yet is a spanking.'

He put the cane down, then walked across the room to an upright chair which he brought back to place in front of his desk.

'Yes, a spanking': He completely ignored Susan's whimpering sounds. 'Spankings at Westlands are always given with a girl over a master's lap and on her bare bottom; i.e., with her skirt up and her knickers either lowered or completely off. This is because firstly, the spanking can be more effectively done on the bare bottom and, secondly, there is, with the bottom bare, the added element of embarrassment, even humiliation. Having a master's hand spanking her bare bottom is to many girls a prospect much more unwelcome than the actual pain involved:

He sat on the chair, then beckoned the fourth girl forward. She was Linda Harrison: short brown hair and hazel eyes, probably the prettiest after Monica Taylor and also with a nice full figure. She was now looking decidedly unhappy as she stood before the Head.

'Well, let's ask Linda.shall we?. . . How do you feel about having a master's hand smacking your bare bottom Linda!" Is it a rather unwelcome prospect?'

Squirming - and blushing - she muttered in the affirmative.

'Yes? Well, that is all to the good, Because we are talking about a punishment, aren't we? So: let's have you over my lap and we'll let you see what it feels like - this rather unwelcome prospect:

He pulled her over so that her hips were on his lap and her head down near the carpet. The skirt was dragged up to be bunched round her waist, and there was another pair of those light blue nylon knickers, enclosing a nice full bottom.

One of Mr Kingston's arms went round her waist to firmly hold her, while the fingers of his other hand hooked in the waistband of her knickers and snaked them down. He pulled them down to her knees, then slid his hand back up, to the now bare bottom. A preliminary brief fondling and then the hand started to come down hard: Splat! . Splat! .. Splat! .. on the firm jelly-like buttocks.

There were gasping grunts from Linda and also some grunts of exertion from the Head as his hand vigorously rose and fell. He kept it up for quite a few minutes while the soft full bottom got redder and redder. The captive rear was wriggling and there were gasping cries of' Ohh! and 'Ooohh!' and 'Please!' and other less recognisable sounds. But Mr Kingston just kept going - until he was ready to stop.

At last Linda was struggling to her feet, and grabbing up her knickers. Not crying, but looking very hot and bothered and - well, decidedly unhappy.

The Head stood up. 'So that just leaves one more of you. And as it turns out five is just the right number for me to conclude my demonstration. Let's see, Alison Green, I think. Yes?'

The last girl muttered Yes. Slightly taller than the others she was a pleasant-looking auburn- headed girl, soon to join the Lower Sixth. She looked apprehensively at the Head, then down at her feet.

'Forward please, then! What we now finally have is a proper bare bottom caning. As a little change, Alison, I think for this I'll have you bending over the seat of the chair. Although of course a girl can be bent over a table or desk for a bare bottom caning - or indeed simply made to bend and touch her toes:

She stood there hesitantly in front . of the chair, in the shaft of sunlight which was still streaming in through the window. The Head said, 'Right: take your knickers down, Alison. Slip them down to your knees, and then get yourself over the chair:

She gave the Head a rather sick look, then slid her hands up to fumble under her skirt. Then. face flushed, she lowered herself over the chair. The Head reached out and briskly pulled up the skirt. There was another full rounded bare bottom with the knickers bunched at mid- thigh. The knickers, though, were not the regulation plain pale blue but were light pink with a floral design. .

'What is this!' exclaimed Mr Kingston. 'Why are you not wearing regulation knickers, Alison?'

The voice from the lowered head said, 'I .. I thought it was all right ... Sir.'

'Well it is not all right! At Westlands everyone is required to wear the proper attire at all times and that certainly includes school knickers. Other clothing may only be worn when you have a Pass to go out of school; and then of course you must first come to me or Matron to confirm that what you are wearing is acceptable. You had better take them off. Right now! Come on: off with them!' For the first time, the Headmaster seemed genuinely angry.

She was not allowed to get up, though, and so her hands reached back and rather awkwardly she pulled the knickers further on down, then slid them off over her brown strap over shoes. Mr Kingston reached down and placed the offending garment on his desk. Then he took up the cane.

A preliminary patting of the bare upthrust bottom and then he proceeded to lash the cane four times into the fullest out-curve of the rounded cheeks, each stroke sharply jolting the soft creamy flesh. There was an agonized yelp each time it landed, a frenzied wriggling of bottom and legs - which without the restraining presence of knickers round her thighs tended to part rather revealingly. It was clear for all to see that Alison's auburn locks were the genuine article, being matched with even redder hair in a more private region.

When it was finished and she had struggled to her feet she was also, like the other three who had had the cane, openly in tears. Her bottom hurt like sheer hell.

Alison re-joined the others and once more they were all in line. The Head perched on the front edge of his desk and surveyed them with a benign expression. Five pretty girls in a row. Five girls who were no longer happily dreaming away but were very much wide-awake - and were now under no delusions regarding Westlands School for Girls. It was a strict no-nonsense school with, in spite of that mild appearance, a strict no-nonsense Headmaster.

He smiled. 'So now we know, girls, don't we? If we get into trouble we know the range of options. None of them I suppose exactly pleasant but then that is the object of punishment, is it not? Good! So you may go now ... '

They all turned, with relief to the door . . . 

Except, ah, Alison and Monica that is!'

Three quickly exited. The door closed. Two girls unhappily remaining.

'Just a word with you, Alison, about your knickers. Leave them here and come back and collect them after the end of lessons at 4.30. We will then have a private little chat about the need to follow school regulations. That's all: you may go now.'

The door dosed. Leaving now just the very pretty blonde with the Head. He looked at her with sharply appraising eyes.

'Yes, Monica. Such a pretty girl!

And with a lovely young figure too!'

He moved in close to her and, in a bit of a daze, she felt herself being turned around so that her back was towards him. And then his hands slid out and around, under her arms, and simply took hold of her quite full breasts in their crisp white blouse and the light bra underneath.

She gasped. The hands lightly squeezed. Mr Kingston's mild voice. 'Yes, quite a lovely girl:

Still holding her he continued, 'But that can be something of a problem, I'm afraid, Monica. You see I'm quite sure various members of my staff are bound to find you very attractive as well, and that is where your problem will arise. It is unfair, I know, but human nature being what it is, I'm afraid they will be rather after you. You will, I'm afraid, be getting much more than your fair share of punishment. And it certainly won't be the cane across the hand which I gave you earlier, No, it will be your bottom they will want to get at: it will be knickers down and spanking and caning of your bare bottom. Probably on any trumped-up excuse:

He gave her rounded breasts a final squeeze, then removed his hands. He moved round to face her. Monica looked queasy. His openly feeling her breasts like that, but mostly what he had said: it was like some kind of nightmare.

But he was talking again - still in that mild manner. 'Anyway, with that in mind I think it only fair to give you now a caning to your bottom. So that you will at least have some preparation for it. Otherwise you might find it quite simply unbearable.'

His hands were reaching for the waistband of her skirt. 'As we're alone I might as well take your skirt right off. And your knickers as well:

The zip of her skirt was down and then the skirt was sliding down to the floor. His hands were at her tight blue knickers, pulling them down; then as in a dream she was stepping out of them.

The Head's eyes greedy as the girl stood before him, nude below the waist except for the white knee- socks and brown strap-over shoes. Pale smoothly rounded curves with, at their centre, a smallish bush of brown curls. She saw the direction of his gaze and one hand slid over to self-consciously cover it.

Mr Kingston shook his head. 'Yes, my dear. I'm afraid with you being such an attractive young thing that really there will be no stopping them:

She looked even sicker and the pretty blue eyes were now rather watery-looking, The Head shook his head again.

'No, it's not at all a nice prospect. . . You'll simply get no let- up. However I could . . I just possibly could .. do what I've done once or twice before with a very pretty girl. Which is to put her off-limits to the rest of the staff. Of course I can only do it very rarely as otherwise it would destroy the whole basis of discipline at Westlands .. 

She said numbly, 'Please, Sir ... '

'Yes, then of course you would have only me dealing with you. And really I wouldn't need to cane you more than .. mmmm .. shall we say two or three times a week at the most. Whereas if I let all the staff loose on you. well .. :

He shook his head sadly as if words failed him.

'Well, what do you think, Monica?' She had started to cry - at the awful prospect which Mr Kingston had presented. The alternative, having him deal with her, couldn't be as bad.

'Yes Sir. I .. I ... '

'You'd like to do that?'

'Yes Sir.'

His hand slid round to stroke the bare bottom. 'Well I think in your case, Monica, it can be arranged. I will send round a note to the effect that at your parents' special request you are to be sent to me for any punishments. Yes, that's what we'll do:

The hand at her buttocks finished its fondling and gave the springy flesh a little slap. 'Good. Now then, Monica, with that sorted out let's have you over the seat of the chair, shall we. For that little caning.'

He fussily positioned her, getting her just right, and then gave her four nice crisp stingers on the under curve of her rump. Not desperately hard but enough to send the pretty bum. evidently unused to such assaults, into agonized writhing's. The writhing's were accompanied by appropriate sounds of distress from the bum's pretty owner.

She was still crying when, having put the cane down, he helped her to her feet. Because it really had stung, dreadfully, just as earlier it had when she'd got it on her hands. And it all seemed so unfair because she hadn't done anything. Trying to control her tears she struggled into knickers and skirt. At least she wasn't going to be getting it from the other masters. Only the Head.

She glanced at him. then looked away. He was looking at her rather like a cat with a nice bowl of cream. He smiled that benign smile. 'So now we know where we stand. Monica, don't we?'

She said. 'I . . I think so, Sir,' although she wasn't sure that she did. And she felt even less sure when his hand reached out to briefly fondle first one then the other of her rounded breasts.

'Yes,' said Mr Kingston, 'we're going to get on very well I'm sure. Just as long as you do as you're told. Monica. Now I think you'd better run along to your classes. But come and see me tonight when you've got your pyjamas on and are ready for bed. I expect I can find a nice cup of cocoa and we can have another cozy chat:

She went out and the Headmaster dosed the door. The sun was still sending its bright shaft of light diagonally across the room. What a lovely afternoon. A lovely stimulating afternoon that was also full of rich promise. He went to look out of the window, on his way casually picking up the pair of pink knickers from his desk. Outside the lawn was an impeccable sward of bright green turf, the blue cedar majestic in the background. Yes, life could be very rewarding.

He glanced down at the knickers in his hand, then turned to look at the clock. The owner of the knickers, Alison Green, should be back in half an hour. Yes, red-haired Alison, with that lovely creamy white skin so frequently found in redheads. Mr Kingston went over to his desk and took up his cane, thoughtfully flexing it.

THE END

Heres a a nice treat to conclude 2011. Two adorable schoolgirls and their spankable bottoms. Just click on each photo to be taken to the individual galleries.

Next up, Saturday 31st December get ready for another NEW schoolgirl spanking story called  "The Headmasters Introduction"

Come back Tomorrow for "The Headmasters Introduction"

It's Thursday bedtime at St.Angela's. Dormitory 2 is occupied by the girls of 7A. There are one or two troublesome ones, particularly Angela Boyle and Sandra Holmes, but on the whole they're a fairly quiet, demure bunch. Giggly and garrulous perhaps, but no more so than most sixth formers.

By twenty-past nine they're busy divesting themselves of their school uniforms and preparing for Lights Out at nine-thirty sharp. Slowcoaches are not tolerated at St. Angela's so the removal of garments takes precedence over girlish conversation for the moment.

The white-walled, low-ceilinged dormitory has twenty beds - which leaves one spare, since there are nineteen girls in 7A. Beside each bed, a small cupboard and plain wooden chair. Nineteen navy-blue-knickered bottoms spring into view as, almost simultaneously, nineteen gymslips are raised above heads, removed, and placed neatly over the chairs. Blouses are unbuttoned and taken off, vests raised, pants lowered. Nineteen bare bottoms of various shapes and sizes, some bearing the unmistakeable marks of punishment incurred during the day. Paragons of virtue they may be, but that does not mean that they don't qualify for bare-bottom spankings over their teacher's knee, or even occasional stiff doses of the cane. . . No girl escapes without getting a sore bottom at St. Angela's. There's plenty of willing male hands to see to that!

Suddenly an altercation develops between Angela and Sandra. It revolves around a packet of chewing gum that Sandra insists belongs to her, despite Angela's indignant protests to the contrary.

They're still arguing seven minutes later when Mr Evans strides briskly in to call 'Lights Out'.

The staff do dormitory duty on a weekly basis. Most find it irksome. They'd much rather be in the village pub down the road. But Mr Evans enjoys his work and takes it very seriously. The girls, to their cost, have been made painfully aware of the fact, and are always extra punctilious when he's prowling about on duty. Yet he always seems to be able to unearth some fault. . .some crime, some heinous sin that incurs for the luckless offender a soundly smacked bottom - at the very ' least. Indeed. 7A have been on tenterhooks all week. They dread Evans's nightly arrival, knowing full well that he is only waiting for the slightest infringement in order to pounce.

And pounce he does! 7A are all, by now, neatly tucked up in their beds. All except Angela and Sandra. Sandra still has her pants on, Angela her vest. The argument is still raging:

"It's mine!"

"No, Sandra, you beast - I tell you it's mine! I remember buying it from the tuck-shop on Tuesday!"

They're completely unaware of Evans's presence, as he marches swiftly down the central aisle between the two rows of beds, grabs the two miscreants by the ear, and pulls them over to a vacant chair. The two horror-struck girls are far too shaken and terrified by his unseen arrival to offer any excuses whatsoever. Evans is, anyway, notoriously deaf to pleas of mitigation and clemency.

"I'll teach the pair of you to flout Dorm Drill! Insolent baggage's! You'll be sleeping face downwards tonight, that's for sure!"

Wails of alarm greet this announcement. The rest of the class, safe and sound in their beds, thank their lucky stars it's not them, and surreptitiously ease themselves into good vantage positions. They all want to watch. Very few girls in the school actually enjoy being spanked, yet the subject holds a kind of morbid fascination for them and universally popular as a spectator sport.

"Ooh PLEASE don't spank me, sir!" Sandra pleads, fluttering her eyelashes and pouting prettily. "I've already had six of the best today from Mr Walker for getting my Maths homework all wrong. He really hurt me terribly, sir! Look, sir!"

And to prove her point Sandra slips her pants down at the back to reveal six neatly parallel red weal's decorating her pert little bottom. Delighted titters from her classmates greet this disclosure. Evans inspects Walker's handiwork critically:

"Hum...quite severe! Definite 'tram-lines'! Good to see young Walker standing for no nonsense!" he muses with satisfaction. He runs his large, heavy hand up and down the quaking contours of poor Sandra's bum. He pinches each cheek in turn and traces the horizontal weal-marks with his fingers.

"Does it still hurt, Sandra? Is it still painful?" She nods and bites her lip, fighting back the twinges of discomfort, the shame of such a public ordeal and the fear of what is to follow. Evans's questing hand discovers a particularly tender part, low down on Sandra's right cheek, and she winces and starts to cry as he pulls her knickers further down her thighs. Angela watches aghast, her hand raised to her mouth. She knows her turn is going to come - the having to actually wait for it is an additional torment - like at the dentists. If she had the chance, she'd feel more than tempted at this moment to change places with Sandra, and receive her medicine now. Looking at her wailing, protesting classmate already in the process of being upended over Evans's lap, Angela intuitively surmises that Sandra would raise no objection to the swop!

Besides, it was hardly fair! Sandra's modesty had, at least initially, been preserved by her knickers, whereas poor Angela is denied even that luxury. All she has on is her skimpy cotton vest and white knee-socks. The little vest finishes well above where her swelling bottom cheeks commence, and so the target area is, as it were, already well demarcated! She feels utterly indecent and her buttocks twitch nervously. Evans appears to be fully occupied with Sandra. He's taking his time positioning her correctly across his lap. He always seems to attach great importance to the preliminaries.

Angela meanwhile is beginning to rou? her choice of underwear. The flimsy blue non regulation pants tightly hug her bottom-crack and a lot of bare cheek protrudes either side. She feels very exposed and vulnerable now, even though she knows she won't be allowed to keep them on. Mr Evans always spanks on the bare!

Meanwhile, poor little Sandra's bottom is receiving Mr Evans's full attention. She howls, wails and shrieks as Evans spanks her slowly, almost impersonally. For him it's all part of the nightly dorm duty routine. Hardly a night goes by without him having to spank one of the girls in one of the dormitories. Some nights it reaches epidemic proportions, and the entire occupants of a dorm end up getting their bottoms roasted. In fact tonight is turning out to be fairly uneventful. Still, there's always the consolation that there are four more dormitories to inspect! And he returns to the matter in hand -or rather to the girlish bottom that's under his hand.

The fact that she's already been caned that day makes it all the more painful and humiliating for Sandra. Her legs scissor and her fists frantically pummel the floor in response to the rain of smacks descending upon her rapidly-reddening sit-upon. Though small and petite, it nevertheless pouts and protrudes jauntily and appealingly above slender, coltish, tanned legs. Evans's schoolmasterly hand is already sore and stinging from the persistent impact it is making with Sandra's naughty bottom. Vainly she attempts to squeeze her cheeks together, but that only seems to make matters worse. Her bottom resembles two lush tomatoes, ripening more every minute as the spanking hot's up in intensity. She wails, shrieks and sobs as smack after stinging smack descends Then Evans finishes her off with six of his notorious 'humdingers' that echo sonorously around the low-vaulted room. The seventeen occupants of the beds are by now sitting bolt upright, glued to the spectacle i taking place in the centre of the room. Angela sits nervously on the edge of her bed, biting her lip and stroking her bottom apprehensively as her own moment of reckoning approaches. When Evans finally lets the scarlet-bottomed Sandra off his lap she rushes, sobbing, to her I bed, kicks her pants off into the , corner, grabs her nightie and bundles into bed - uttering a painful "OUCH!" as her well-spanked, well-caned bottom makes contact with the hard, unyielding bed. Grimly she rolls over onto her tummy, wishing to blot out all the pain, shame and disgrace she's had to endure.

Now it's Angela's turn, and she's j weeping even before it starts,  because her classmate's ordeal is so ' freshly and graphically imprinted on her memory. Humbly she begs Mr Evans's forgiveness, but such feminine guile and manipulative deviousness cuts no ice with him. Not for nothing have the girls unanimously dubbed him 'Spanker of the School'!

He's spanked more girls than they've collectively, had hot dinners. No way is Angela going to wriggle out of it, although her penitent, pleading postures do seem to cause her well-endowed bottom to shimmy more sexily than ever.

Stony-faced, Evans harangues her mercilessly as she stands between his legs. Her nipples stiffen and pout provocatively as he slowly lowers her dainty little panties to mid-thigh. He knows he's going to enjoy this. There is something almost poignantly delightful about spanking a girl in her flimsy night attire - she looks so defenceless and vulnerable. Angela is all fresh and glowing pink from the bath. Evans can smell the fragrance of teenage-girl's talcum. She's very particular about cleanliness, and always religiously talc's her female, intimate parts.

So it's knickers down and a soundly-smacked bottom for Angela Boyle as she lowers herself timorously across his broad, tweedy lap. The strong, masculine aroma of his pipe hangs about his clothes. She's not as tall as Sandra, and her hands fail to reach the floor, though her legs do make contact and thus provide her with some sort of anchorage. She knows it's going to hurt. She's never been spanked before at St. Angela's - only caned, though never by Mr Evans. But then her stepfather spanks her regularly, sometimes for no apparent reason. She's often wondered why. And why he always insists on her taking her pants down. Sometimes it even happens in the living room, in front of all his friends. It's not much fun for a teenage girl to have her bare bottom spanked to boiling point amidst a roomful of leering, jostling middle-aged men. And her mother never sticks up for in the slightest. She only sniffs and utters some sanctimonious platitude like: "I'm sure your father knows what's best for you!"

And then, why do they always head for the bedroom after she's been spanked? Poor Angela feels she's getting a little old for these painful indignities! Indeed, the older she gets, the harder and more frequently she seems to get it. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way round? No - St. Angela's is paradise compared to home!

But now her plump, nubile bottom is about to be warmed by the 'Spanker of the School'! She knows she's for it. Her one desperate resolve is to clench her legs together as tightly as possible to prevent Evans seeing more than he ought! Her last-minute reflections are rudely interrupted as she suddenly realises that the spanking has begun! Schoolgirlish wails greet her mentor's posterial assault. The meaty SMACKS! that follow decisively prove that Angela is indeed the possessor of a well-fleshed pair of buttocks. They wobble engagingly, like blancmange. Her vocal utterances grow in urgency and intensity as her flimsy little blue panties continue in their anklewards descent, until in exasperation she kicks them off, resenting the hobbling effect they are having on her leg movements.! Thus liberated, she commences to fling her legs unashamedly in all directions - breaking her avowed resolution to keep them tightly together.

She grizzles and blubbers in total submission as her frantically writhing bottom begins to take on the same scarlet hue as Sandra's. Her pain and contrition impel her to urge Mr Evans for forgiveness. She'll do anything if only he'll stop. She even offers to take a bare-bottom caning the next day if only he'll relent in his present fury! But the implacable Evans just carries on spanking that deliciously plump bottom of hers, like an enthusiastic chef tenderising steaks for a gourmet's delight!

In a desperate attempt to escape her punishment, Angela tries to wriggle forward off his lap until her legs leave the ground and her hands make contact with the floor. Now her legs are kicking and scissoring more energetically than an Olympic swimmer's, and Evans is treated to frequent glimpses of all her innermost, inner-moist, secrets. Her pubic hair, fragrant and dusted with talc, the delicate folds of her clit, and below it, her pretty little vulva growing wetter and stickier by the minute. Further up, deep between her cleft, her other opening. And the poor, upended girl blushes deeply for shame in the knowledge that her frantic wriggling's have caused her to display even that, too. She'll never be able to look Mr Evans in the face again!

But Evans is an old hand, and has seen it all. Before they're spanked, girls are always full of the best intentions. Full of firm resolves not to display their all. Cheeks tightly clenched, they come across his knee all innocence and prudery. But by the time their twitching bottoms have acquired the requisite scarlet hue, all former resolutions of modesty and decorum have gone by the board, and there they are - brazenly and shamelessly exposing themselves to his stern, appraising eye. Angela is no exception to this rule. As she kicks her legs outwards and upwards, Evans judiciously centres his smacks so that they fall in the downy cleft that divides her cheeks. When Angela feels his fingers brush against her anus she cringes in utter degradation. Yet when his fingers skate across her vulva, she lubricates generously, and his finger tips retain traces of her stickiness.

Now that she's slumped forward and her bottom is dramatically arched he can concentrate on her more vulnerable areas - areas like the tops of her thighs. That always seems to produce the most spectacular results. In Angela's case it sends her into fresh floods of tears and pleas for mercy. She feels it's unfair - he seems to have been spanking her for hours. Much longer than he did Sandra. And it's all Sandra's fault, too. It wasn't her chewing gum!

Evans concludes the spanking with six real bottom scorchers, to ensure that Angela will not be sitting comfortably tomorrow. Or the next day! A spontaneous outburst of applause from the surrounding beds greets this finale. Evans mentally detaches himself from the wretched, snivelling girl draped across his knee, and looks up in shocked amazement, to see an excited audience aroused to fever pitch. Girlish panting's: heaving breasts; twitching, writing bodies..........!

"Damn it! The little devils are actually enjoying it!"

He pats Angela's crimson bottom lightly, not affectionately but impatiently - urging her up from his lap. She doesn't need much urging. She leaps to her feet and commences to busily rub her sore, afflicted bottom. Evans dries her eyes with his handkerchief and tells her to put her pants back on- Then he tells her to pop down to 2D and fetch the longest, swishiest cane she can find. While she's gone he addresses the owners of the seventeen bottoms, already shivering in justifiable dread:

"Right, girls. Eight strokes apiece! Bend over your beds, pillows under tummies!"

Jane Carter, the swot of 7A, does some rapid mental arithmetic, gasps, and whispers to her neighbour, Kerry Walters:

"Crikey! That's a hundred and thirty-six strokes! . . . He'll be here all night!"

THE END

The subject of Peggy Canforth's knickers, noted in 'On Report Twice', highlights an area of some little confusion at St. Angela's: for unquestionably a variety of knickers -blue, white, cotton, nylon - could be found. What was the official position? Were they all allowed, or was Mr. Fowler correct? Indeed, it was a matter which intrigued more than a few minds: and not just those local rustics who, in the nearby village on weekends when girls might have a pass out of school, would assemble on the Green, sitting on the memorial seat conveniently placed at the 'Stop' sign, and await these young ladies as they descended, skirts aloft, from their bicycles. For at a more exalted level even the Ministry, in Whitehall, must be interested to judge by the frequency with which school Inspectors needed to check: (Now lift your skirt. Miss, and let me have a look. Right up please.... that's it. Ah...yes...mmmm...!)

Well let it be said at the outset that Mr. Fowler was strictly within the letter of the law in maintaining that cotton knickers were the correct attire at St. Angela's. And thus he could if he wished quite properly confiscate the nylon knickers worn by Peggy: and also of course have an excuse to order the then knicker-less girl to be back at 20 later in the evening for punishment. AH very nice for Mr. Fowler! But the situation was not quite that simple; because in contrast many masters, and including the Head and also Matron, would raise no objection to the wearing of nylon knickers.

The original specifications for St. Angela attire did indeed call for cotton knickers, specifically navy-blue for winter and white Aertex for summer. But this clear-cut seasonal distinction had never really been enforced in practice: for one thing it was never clear, especially in the English climate, when winter and summer actually started and finished. So that while in general this plan was followed - and girls would normally be wearing blue ones in Winter Term and in, say, June it would be the thinner white Aertex - there were large periods when, if you went round lifting skirts, you would find both types.

But more important than this was the matter of nylon knickers, a subject which seemed especially to exercise Mr. Fowler. Nylon knickers had undoubted attractions for many girls, especially older ones, who tended to think that cotton pants, whether white or blue were distinctly schoolgirlish and old-fashioned. And they also knew that most masters (though not Mr. Fowler) would turn a blind eye to this minor transgression of the rules, content in this to follow the lead of the Headmaster who was only interested in taking knickers down and was just as happy to take down a nylon pair, thank-you very much. Furthermore Matron didn't mind as long as your name tag was in your pants. So that in fact quite a few girls, the older ones especially, frequently wore nylon knickers. But they were normally careful not to do so if there was any chance that Mr. Fowler would get to see them: and this was where Peggy had slipped up.

It wasn't the end of the world though. She would get a caning that evening; and after the caning, for a pretty girl like Peggy, Mr. Fowler's unctuous voice telling her that 'if girls break the rules etc. etc. .  while  his nasty hand fondled her bum and, as if he had no control over it, just happened to slip in between her legs. And then she would probably be made to go without knickers for the rest of the week; and she wouldn't get the knickers back of course (Mr. Fowler by now had quite a collection) so she would be short a pair. But it would be no trouble to get her Mum to send a replacement pair, and the chances were that Miss Peggy Canforth would continue wearing them. . .only perhaps a bit more circumspectly, in future.

The Head, though, was not bothered about nylon knickers: in fact he definitely liked the feel of taut nylon on a girl's bottom.... And there was also that sensuous slippery feel when he was slipping them down off a youthful behind.... Yes, in general he was tolerant of anything, blue or white, of regulation pattern (and indeed there had been one girl, now no longer at St. Angela's, who had a couple of pairs of white silk ones and he had found these quite acceptable, in fact particularly stimulating to take down) But beyond that one had to draw the line: otherwise one could rapidly get into a state of anarchy in the knicker department.

In particular one had to be alert at the beginning of Term when, straight from home and away from the discipline of St. Angela's, girls could be wearing almost anything under their skirts. Because once a girl had brought a pair of non-uniform knickers to school she was sure to continue wearing them, if only to impress her friends. Wisely, therefore, he made a point of informal knicker checks when girls arrived, wandering around lifting skirts (though not of course in view of any parents who might be present). This practice had definitely born fruit the previous year when he had discovered that Angela Whipley, while apparently quite properly dressed in school uniform, was in fact wearing French knickers of a particularly saucy pink shade.

These knickers, as it happened, had been given to Angela as a Christmas present by her boyfriend and in a rush at the last moment when getting ready for school she had been unable to find any regulation pants, and it was either the French knickers or nothing. And on a train journey -probably in a crowded standing-room-only situation - nothing, i.e. no I knickers, could possibly invite just a little too much interest.

Well, such garments really were beyond the pale and the Head was quite shocked, as he told Angela when he'd got her in the privacy of his study shortly after. Apart from their provocative shade, didn't she  | realise that such knickers with their ' deliberate looseness were an open invitation to any strange man, indeed any street hooligan, to... well, insert his hand....?

As he spoke the Head had pulled Angela face-down across his lap, rather in a spanking position, and then pushed her skirt up to again reveal the offending knickers. It wasn't a spanking that he had in mind though, but rather a demonstration of what he had just been saying. Angela squirmed sharply ('Ooooh Sir!') as the Head's hand went straight in between her legs and in her knickers.

She was, as it happened, well aware of their possibilities without my demonstration from the Head. Her boyfriend may indeed have bought the knickers for this very purpose: certainly he had taken advantage of their potential in this regard, with, it must be said, Angela's co-operation. Not only that but coming to school on the train that very morning the gentleman pushed up against her in the crowded corridor had been apparently all set to take similar advantage. He had got his hand up her skirt, as gentlemen in crowded corridors frequently will, and discovering the loose knickers had started sliding two fingers up inside, causing Angela's heart to beat excitedly. Would he actually....? But at the crucial moment, fortunately or unfortunately, they had arrived at her station. She then had quite a struggle getting out as he didn't seem to want to let her go - which was also exciting, but not as exciting as what she believed had been about to happen.

So yes, Angela certainly knew about French knickers: but it was evident that the Head was intent on making quite sure as his fingers.... 'Ooh Sir!' Well there was no station to come along and interrupt proceedings now and her heart started beating madly again as those fingers exhibited an undoubted mastery of female anatomy. They parted the womanly lips and the index digit knowingly found Angela's vagina entrance and pushed stiffly in...

'Oh! Ooooh!' To think that the Head.... 'Oooooh!'

Well, what did they say, 'If you've no choice just lie back (or in this case lie face down over your Head's lap) and enjoy it. . . . . Angela certainly had no choice and her eyes glazed as the finger started a rhythmic in and out motion, a motion to which her hips began an automatic response. It was just what her boyfriend had done but, well, one would have to say the Head's was a more expert, a more practiced, version. She was quite amazed that Mr. Payne would do this, certainly it was amazing that he could do it quite so.... 'Oooh!'., fantastically. And certainly he shouldn't be doing it, but.... Angela, flushed and hot, hips thrusting rhythmically, gave a squeal as she realised she was coming.

Having unequivocally made his point the Head removed his hand and helped the now-shaking Angela to her feet: 'You see what I mean, Miss?' he asked.

The flushed girl, adjusting her clothes could only mumble 'Y...yes Sir.' He confiscated the knickers of course, making her take them off there and then; but seeing she was still a bit shaky he didn't punish her immediately, telling her to return after supper for her caning. And it was not a severe one, more in the category of what he would term a 'touching up'.

The knickers went in the bottom drawer of the Head's desk and were duly forgotten - but not by Angela. They had after all been a present from her boyfriend, and at the end of Term she rather cheekily went to the Head requesting their return. "Please Sir. I....1'11 do anything Sir, if you'll let me have them back.' And as if to emphasise this point she moved in close to him as he stood by his window, so close that a pair of firm, obviously unbrassiered, breasts rubbed against his arm.

The Head looked sternly quizzical. Whatever could she mean? Was she actually suggesting.... could it be.... sexual intercourse? That was a most serious matter, morally quite indefensible: more to the point if one were to be found out one would be quite simply finished. High mindedly he dismissed the thought, the temptation, from his mind. He did run his hand over those breasts though, and really they were very good....the nipples especially, erect and prominent for such a young thing. As he told her, she was a very well-developed girl. 'Thank you Sir. It must be our gym classes. Sir. You could undo my blouse. Sir, if you wanted....to see better..' Mr. Payne had to refuse this as he had an appointment due; but he gave a word of fatherly advice: 'I shouldn't let that boyfriend play with them too much. It will only make both of you rather frustrated." 'Oh no Sir. I won't Sir. And in a somewhat relaxed mood (not only Angela's breasts but it was also the end of Term) he did return the knickers.

Outside his study Angela gave a quick look up and down the corridor, then slipped her school pants off and replaced them with the French knickers. Ready for her boyfriend: or for any interesting gentleman on the train home.

Naturally pink French knickers were not discovered on every first day of term, but this example does perhaps indicate the scope of what a Head had to deal with. For if he didn't keep on his toes there would be no standards whatsoever, with girls claiming that just anything could be worn.

-o-O-c-

Knickers were one thing, but another aspect which might also cause confusion to the casual visitor to the school was the matter of knee socks and nylons. Were there rules governing the wearing of these and if so, what were they? For at any instant both could be seen, and worn in both Upper and Lower Forms.

To understand this subject one has to go back to St. Angela's beginnings. The excellent uniform designed by Rev. Farrould was admired by all his fellow Governors: but there was then a sharp division of opinion. Mr. Grimsley was very keen on white knee socks. It was, he said, not only attractive but also most health-promoting for a girl to have the whole of her thighs bare under her skirt: and he started running his hand up and down the bare thighs of the girl modelling the outfit with knee socks.

But Col. Mayne, possibly as a result of watching too many St.Trinians films, was equally strongly in favour of nylons. Dark nylons with a white suspender belt were the thing, said Col. Mayne, enthusiastically slipping his own hand up the skirt of the girl wearing nylons. (It should perhaps be said that these hands were going up skirts only after the departure of the solitary female Governor, Mrs. Wilder, who left saying that she would be happy with either alternative.) The Rev. Farrould said that he also would be happy with either. He liked both, and indeed was looking enviously at the liberties which Col. Mayne and Mr. Grimsley were taking with the two girls; liberties which he. Rev. Farrould, would only dare take in private (and even then with a rather guilty look on his face).

Well it was a quandary, a stalemate, with neither Governor willing to shift his ground. And so a typical English compromise was agreed on, Both forms of dress could be regarded as official uniform and it would be left to the Head to specify one or other for any particular activity or function, if he so wished.

The Head in fact had no strong preference: he liked both knee socks and nylon? in the same way that he liked both cotton and nylon knickers. But feeling that he should add something to these weighty deliberations he suggested that for visits to church on Sunday mornings nylons would be most appropriate for Upper Forms and knee socks for Lower. This proposal met with general approval.

Of course when Mr. Grimsley was paying a visit to the school any girls invited to have tea or coffee with him in the Head's study would naturally be wearing knee socks; and likewise for Col. Mayne's visits the girls would be wearing nylons. And similarly if a girl was going to Col. Mayne's house for tea on Sunday afternoon; or if Mr. Grimsley was taking a couple of girls out in his car (for whatever it was he liked to do on such trips, the Head did not bother to speculate). All this was simply being diplomatic and keeping one's Governors happy. But otherwise girls could make their own choice.

-o-O-o-

So - knee socks and nylons, blue and white knickers, cotton and nylon ones (and of course none at all when a girl had had hers confiscated for some reason or other) - they could all be found. And to Col.Mayne, Chairman of Governors, this in its way epitomised all that was best in the English tradition. Not on the one hand, the strict regimentation one might expect to find in some continental countries nor, on the other, the anything-goes freedom of dress one was led to believe was tolerated in an American school. In fact it was a very English regime, he thought, and it just went to show that there were some things we could still do better than those foreigners. And one needed to remember it, what with all these people nowadays who could only see what is wrong with the country. Yes, we might have lost the Empire but we would soldier on.

Such positive thoughts were especially likely to come to Col. Mayne on those already mentioned Sunday afternoons in term time. It was then indeed that the pulse quickened, that he could look at life with renewed vigour, for always on Sundays, unless something extremely pressing came up, he had sent over to him a pretty pupil from the school. To have tea while Mrs. Mayne was conveniently out, with her Sunday School class for tiny tots.

Yes indeed, and to take a closer look at this why not observe that first Sunday following half-term. Events follow their routine course which is how it should be for an ex-Army man. Yes, the Col. is in his normal Sunday afternoon good spirits as he walks in the spacious grounds of Mayne Hall with the chosen visitor for the day, Christine Hunt of 7B. And as they approach the flight of stone steps leading up to the conservatory, where tea is routinely taken, he stands aside to allow the young lady to go first: a gesture owing much to ingrained politeness, but also conveniently enabling him to admire the pupil's enticing rear aspect. He gazes with pleasure: the shining blonde head, the St. Angela's blazer, the swinging skirt covering who-knows-what delights, while below, as an appetizer, the knees, the flexing calves, the slim ankles, all in the sheen of sheer nylons, the seams, he notes, most admirably straight.

And under that swinging skirt -the shapely round bottom, and drum tight knickers? Well, Col. Mayne like the Head is easy to please in the knickers department. They can be of any of the commonly found St. Angela types, the only sure thing is that very shortly, after Miss Hunt has had her tea and cakes, they will be coming down.

For Christine, like all Sunday afternoon visitors to Mayne Hall, has a sealed envelope addressed to the Col. in the pocket of her blazer. He will open it while they have tea but of course it will contain no surprises for he knows pretty well what the contents will be. In the Head's precise script it will say that Miss Hunt has either done something or other (been late for Assembly or a meal, run across forbidden grass, etc.) or not done something or other (her Prep, dressed neatly, etc.) and will then continue: 'Miss Hunt has not yet received punishment for this offence and if you feel so inclined you might like to administer a suitable correction.'

Needless to say the Col. always did. . . . happy to do his duty in this regard and always in the privacy of his conservatory after tea. Well, it was his favourite place, the heady humid atmosphere surrounding his exotic plants reminding him powerfully of those grand old days of the Empire, of India: and of course it is here that he keeps his canes and his strap. . . carefully concealed of course from the eyes of his wife who really could not be expected to understand these matters.

Yes, the conservatory is a marvellous place to deal with a girl after she's had her tea and then been appraised of the letter's contents; a little 'tut-tutting' a sad shake of the head, and then two hands up under her skirt to the waistband of her knickers. . .  drawing them down to her nylon tops. . .and then position her over the arm of his easy chair....skirt raised above those splendidly taut nylons....and then....ah.... the plump pale flesh....twin spheres, firm, resilient....and there....(Hmm, Miss Hunt was evidently quite a grown-up lady) . . . her curling brown bush and in it, peeping out, that special something which most girls so hated to show....

But to the matter in hand....the selection of a cane....or perhaps maybe the strap for this particular pupil? To give her bottom the attention that all young ladies bottoms should get, and which at St. Angela's they unquestionably did get. . . .

Yes, there was no doubt it was a fine school, embodying the very best British traditions, and it was a pleasure, indeed a privilege, to be associated with it.

THE END

*** Spanking Video action Special ***

A Truly Stunning young schoolgirl is stripped, spanked and caned

Click here for this FREE Video and Picture gallery - Not to be missed!