The footsteps were, of course, those of Mr Evans as Julie knew. He closed the door behind him, then after a moment’s hesitation, quietly locked it.
‘Mmm... Miss Williamson. Yes, let’s see, I remember; jostling in the corridor, wasn’t it?’
In fact it had been two other girls who had been pushing each other around, but just as always, Julie had been singled out by Mr Evans as the most attractive one present simply as an excuse to get her knickers down. But one didn’t argue at St Angela’s. Arguing with a master was unheard of, however unfair the incident, and she answered submissively:
‘Yes, sir. I — I’m sorry sir.’ Submission was everything at St Angela’s.
‘And you will be sorry, Miss, I’m afraid. Yes —’
Evans’ eyes, greedy behind his spectacles, took in the pretty blonde teenager, noting the firm breasts under the regulation blouse. It was a chance he had been waiting for. He had not caned pert Miss Julie Williamson for, well it must be almost a month. Much too long for such a caneable young lady. He pictured her bared bottom upthrust over the chair. Yes indeed!
‘You know we pride ourselves on our discipline here at St Angela’s, Miss.’
‘Yes sir.’ Julie mumbled, eyes downcast.
‘And what happens to a young lady when she shows ill-discipline?’
‘She has to be corrected, sir.’
‘Mmm, well come on then.’
He sat down heavily on the chair and beckoned her to come closer. Julie knew the routine. First the preliminaries: stand submissively still at Mr Evans’ side and get a lecture on correct behaviour while his hand went up your skirt. Under the blue pleated gymslip, his bony hand groping the backs of her knees and then up the smooth rounded thighs, stroking and feeling, up to the tightly knickered bum, firm full cheeks in the taut white nylon, he fondled: what St Angela’s expected of a girl, what the world outside expected of a St Angela’s girl, the unchanging virtues in a changing world — self-discipline, submission to authority, standards had to be maintained. Evans had delivered this homily so many times that it came out automatically, allowing him to concentrate on the more interesting business of Julie’s bottom.
He just loved girls’ bottoms, the firm pliant flesh of a developing teenager tautly swelling the brief knickers; and as his eager hand explored a definite bulge appeared in the front of his trousers. Cringing, Julie forced herself to remain still. She hated what the hand up her skirt was doing and almost wished he’d get on with the caning and get it over with... except that she dreaded the awful sting of the cane.
Mr Evans finally removed his hand and finished his lecture:
‘So I’m afraid a little correction is called for. For your own good my girl, of course, and in later years I’m sure you’ll thank me for it.’
He got up and Julie could now see the way his trouser front was distended. The dirty beast: he always got like that at a caning session. She began to tremble as the moment approached, for now was the time to be told to get over the chair. But unlike her previous visits to Room 2D with Mr Evans, that did not immediately happen. Instead he moved round close behind her then slipped his hands round under her arms... and cupped both her breasts. Julie flushed, startled... he didn’t normally really feel them. Perhaps a quick squeeze but not like this...
‘Keep still please; just a little check-up.’
Julie’s tits, firm and shapely under her crisp blouse and a light nylon bra, were squeezed and fondled.
‘Mmm... how old are you now?’
‘S... sixteen, sir.’
‘Mmm, getting quite a big girl...’
All the more need for firm correction, of course.
Julie bit her lip; the slimy beast... still it was not as bad as getting your bum whacked. But the moment for that was now approaching. A final squeeze...
‘Right Miss, we must not delay your correction any further. Get over the chair please, and I’ll slip your knickers down.’
Trembling, Julie did as she was bidden, bending over the chair and reaching over to place her hands on the floor on the other side. The familiar position: head down and bottom up. She felt her skirt being slipped up and meekly raised herself slightly to allow it to be pushed up fully, up around her waist. She flushed. It was almost the worst part, the code at St Angela’s was: submit. Eyes gleaming, Evans surveyed the lissom thighs and tightly knickered bum and his hands reached out... to insert his fingers in the waistband of her knickers and carefully draw them down, over the hips, the firm full cheeks, down until they were bunched halfway down her thighs.
His eyes feasted. Splendid, absolutely splendid! Superb cheeks, just crying out for the attention of his cane. His hand fondled briefly:
‘Bottom up a bit, Miss. Mmm, that’s better, bottom well up. We want to do the job properly, don’t we now?’
He could now see the blondish bush at the juncture of her thighs... part of her slit... My, these big girls, and so in need of firm correction. Evans’ trembling hand reached for the cane and, testing the position, laid it along the full undercurve of the cheeks, across the line of that tuft of hair, the prime site for correction in the developing teenager.
‘Relax the buttocks now...’ So that the cheeks could fully absorb the bite of the cane...
‘And do try to keep your bottom perfectly still so that the cane can find its mark.’ Evans liked to do a neat job, the stripes tightly bunched on the prime rather than spread all over the exposed flesh as could happen if the subject was desperately squirming her bottom. Of course a sixteen-year-old should be sufficiently trained to hold still for the cane...
Julie closed her eyes, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening, that she wasn’t there. It was hateful, the whole thing was absolutely hateful. Her mother was always going on about how lucky she was to go to St Angela’s and what a marvellous school it was but she had no idea what went on — had no idea even of the existence of Room 2D and the frequent visits the prettier girls had to make there. But Julie was sufficiently cowed by the St Angela’s system that she would never tell; would never argue, never rebel, never do anything but comply when told to get her bottom up a bit higher for the cane... ‘A St Angela’s girl prides herself on humility.’
Julie felt the cane placed across her bottom... Mr Evans was adjusting his aim... She wasn’t there, it wasn’t happening but...
Thwack! She grunted involuntarily between clenched teeth.
Ooof! It was always worse than you expected!
Distantly his voice: ‘I said relax the buttocks, Miss!’
Thwack!... Ooof!... Thwack!...
The whippy cane splatted down forming a precise band three inches wide of angry red stripes on the full meat of Julie’s bottom. She gasped at each stroke, each one taking her breath away as the sting cut into her and the pain travelled up through her young body.
Evans got into his measured rhythm, not too fast and allowing the pain from each stroke to fully develop before the next was applied.
Thwack!... Thwack!... into the meaty undercurve of her bum. Julie desperately tried to hold it still, to keep control as she was supposed to, but involuntarily her bottom started jerking at each stroke, and as the pain became more intense she started sobbing.
Evans watched carefully as the young girl’s attempts to maintain her hold on the situation were gradually overcome. The cane was having its effect as it always did. He continued to lay it solidly and rhythmically onto the meat of her rump for a full fourteen strokes, the maximum a sixteen-year-old was allowed to receive. Then, breathing somewhat heavily, he lowered his arm and placed the cane on the chest. Evans looked down at the sobbing girl with some satisfaction.
‘There, Miss Williamson. I’m sure that will have done you a power of good. Do you agree?’
Through her sobs Julie managed to stutter: ‘Ye... y... yes, sir.’ She remained in position over the chair, until she was told she could get up.
‘Yes I think you were in need of it, Miss, and I’m sure we’ll see more seemly behaviour from you in future. You may stand now.’
Julie stood up, wiping her eyes and straightening her hair. Her skirt fell back into place but her knickers were still down around her thighs. She didn’t attempt to pull them up until told to... or until Mr Evans, if he was in the mood, did it for her.
He sat down on the chair, taking his time, signed the book, and then beckoned Julie forward. He was in the mood...
‘Raise your skirt Miss and I will replace your knickers.’
Julie quietly came close, facing Mr Evans, and lifted her skirt up round her waist. Her eyes focussed on the wall behind his eager face. The final part of the routine as Evans extracted all the pleasure he could from the young girl. His eyes greedy on the blondish bush... her sex...
‘Stand up straight, Miss.’ Meaning in fact lean back so that it was thrust out at him — a split peach.
Stare into the wall and pretend it wasn’t happening. Her sore bum stung like hell, but it would soon be over — until next time. His hands fumbling at her knickers, groping, making a meal of it of course. Adjustments, he had to get them just right... Finally his hand cupping her there — to see he hadn’t got the knickers too tight.
‘You may drop your skirt now Miss, and return to your class.’
‘Thank you sir.’ Julie walked to the door, demurely in spite of her stinging bottom; head high, position correct — St Angela’s training. ‘St Angela’s girls have a reputation to uphold.’ Another full year of St Angela’s training for Julie and she would be leaving school...
Of course St Angela’s girls never had any trouble getting jobs, as Julie’s mother was always telling her, and it seemed to be true. So perhaps St Angela’s reputation really did mean something...
It was certainly true that the school had unparalleled success in placing its girls in good jobs, especially in the City — law, banking, old-established firms — but the reason for this was not quite that imagined by Julie, and certainly not by her mother and other mothers. St Angela’s products, attractive, finely groomed, well-mannered, industrious though they were, were in demand by many employers ‘in the know’ because of their one other, unstated, attribute — St Angela’s girls had been trained with the cane. And a seventeen-year-old who was in the habit of submitting her bottom to her schoolmasters was unlikely to refuse the same thing to her new employer.
And so... nothing really changed on leaving school. One week it was Room 2D and the next the cosy office of the managing director. The hard wooden chair was now a leather armchair. Otherwise... well, quite a shock undoubtedly, but St Angela’s girls do not question the voice of authority:
‘Get over the arm of that chair, Miss Williamson!’
St Angela’s girls submit. Legs now in dark nylons... high heels... a dark elegant skirt. Some make-up now — eye-shadow and pink lipstick — an attempt at sophistication, but as she complies the eyes are round, frightened, and the full mouth trembling... There is a thin cane on the desk...
‘You’ll soon learn our ways, my dear!’
Could this really be happening? Head down... elegant skirt up... a blue lace suspender-belt and... (Oh my!) French knickers, tight but full-legged, in lilac silk, a special daring purchase. No he couldn’t possibly... not like at school... could he?... on the bare. But unfortunately nothing had changed. Oh no!... Fingers at her knickers, slipping them down to her nylon tops. Julie’s bottom revealed in all its glory — pale rounded flesh against the dark leather — the full cheeks with more than a glimpse of her womanly parts between...
She felt like crying with embarrassment, humiliation.
‘Excellent, Miss Williamson, excellent! A real credit to St Angela’s. I can see you’re going to do very well with us. Now keep the bottom quite still...’
The further adventures of Julie Williamson will be detailed in Episode at St Angela’s, Bankable Spankable Assets! Part 1 , Bankable Spankable Assets! Part 2, Ninth on the Agenda and Customer Relations at Boutts.