A St Angela’s story from Roué 12
It was of course always possible for just one more girl to be accepted at St Angela’s even when all the places were officially filled — if she had a Governor’s special recommendation that is. And she could even be a girl who was not in the normal category of intake — again if she had that recommendation. Which is how Pauline Duncombe came to join St Angela’s at half term.
Mr Grimsley had just by chance happened to see her for the first time in the car park of the local shopping centre — a pretty blonde teenager, shapely in the uniform of the local comprehensive school. She was with her mother who was carrying some shopping bags and she herself was pushing a laden shopping cart to a no-longer-young Ford Escort which by the purest coincidence was parked next to Mr Grimsley’s own vehicle, a resplendent Rover. They had almost reached their vehicle when disaster struck in the shape of some unseen obstacle which, coming into contact with a wheel of the cart, sent it suddenly toppling over and throwing purchases in all directions. And the youthful shopper, unable to stop herself, rapidly followed suit to finish up in a heap on top of the upended cart, her skirt up round her waist and displaying a most attractive bottom rather skimpily clad in tight pink nylon knickers.
Mr Grimsley was unnaturally not decidedly impressed by this sight, the more so in that the spread-thighed position the girl had finished up in was particularly revealing. But unfortunately the mother, once she’d recovered from the shock, sprang into action, pulling her daughter’s skirt down and then hauling her to her feet. Berating the girl for clumsiness she at the same time made anxious inquiries as to the possibility of broken limbs, and Mr Grimsley, at his most solicitous, was quick to assist and in fact to this end was able to get a friendly hand quite high up on a most attractive youthful thigh. Emboldened, he was about to reach further, to those brief pink knickers, when the lady unfortunately pronounced her daughter whole, and attention had to be turned to the scattered groceries.
Mr Grimsley, continuing to assist, found himself getting a rundown of the Duncombe family problems. Which at present centred around Pauline who it seemed was due to leave school having just turned sixteen, but with only minimal qualifications and no hope of finding a job. In Mrs Duncombe’s view it was all the fault of the government: ‘Really, I think it’s quite scandalous what they’re doing to this country. I mean there’s just no jobs for the young people. My Jim says....’
Mrs Duncombe, a not-unattractive woman in her mid-30’s, did have this tendency to run on a bit when she had a bee in her bonnet. Mr Grimsley was not listening to all of it, his eye on the shapely Pauline every time she bent to retrieve a carton, but he did get the general gist alright. And without much effort the brilliant thought came to him that here was a first class candidate for St Angela’s. True it would mean bypassing the normal entry procedure but wasn’t that a Governor’s prerogative if he felt it justified? And was the school not set up to serve the community? Indeed it was, and this charming girl would obviously benefit immeasurably from a couple of years in St Angela’s. Get a few O Levels which he gathered were somewhat lacking at present and thus greatly improve her chance of a job when she did leave. And also of course get some most beneficial disciplinary training, a subject sadly de-emphasised at the typical modern comprehensive. Yes indeed! He pictured again that ripe bottom, those tight pink knickers, which had been so generously displayed only moments before. Just the sort of girl to benefit from St Angela’s.
Mr Grimsley was a man of action when he wanted to be, definitely not one to miss a trick, as the saying goes. With the result that a quarter of an hour later he was sitting in the living room of the Duncombes’ council house while his hostess bustled about preparing tea, at the same time making frantic efforts to tidy up. ‘Oh dear, this place is such a mess! If I had known someone was coming.... Pauline, can you please move those.... And fetch some biscuits for Mr... Mr Grimsby was it, sir?’
But Mrs Duncombe need not have worried, for Mr Grimsley alias Grimsby was not at all concerned about the somewhat untidy scene. Truth to tell he gave it no more than a cursory glance as his mind instead focussed on St Angela’s.... the Punishment Room.... and this sweet girl obediently bending over the back of that chair.... her knickers (St. Angela’s regulation type of course, not the pink ones) lowered....
Containing his excitement he broached his proposal — indeed his most generous offer, for as was later relayed to Pauline’s father there would be no fees involved whatsoever and furthermore Pauline’s uniform would be provided by Mr Grimsley himself. This latter magnificent claim was somewhat short of the truth — the uniform in fact would be provided by the local ratepayers (unknown to them of course). But even if Mr Grimsley was not actually putting his hand in his own pocket, as he might give the impression, undoubtedly his heart was in the right place.
The elder Duncombes were quite overwhelmed by the prospect: ‘It’s just what our Pauline needs. A real answer to a prayer,’ said Mrs Duncombe, and husband Jim, could not disagree. Pauline going to boarding school for two years and at no cost! He shook his head in disbelief. Pauline herself was not quite so enthusiastic. It meant another two years at school when she had been all set to leave and be regarded, so she thought, as an adult — notwithstanding the absence of a job. But she was not a rebel and could grudgingly see the benefits which were rapturously explained to her.
It seemed that a place would be found almost immediately and she was to go round next week to Mr Grimsley’s rather ostentatious house over in the expensive area of town to be measured for the uniform. Next Monday right after school. To Mrs Duncombe it all seemed unbelievable. ‘An answer to a prayer,’ she said — for perhaps the thirtieth time.
Cycling home with no knickers on is undoubtedly an ordeal for a somewhat shy 16-year-old but that was what Pauline found herself having to do at 4.30 on that sunny Monday afternoon after an hour at Mr Grimsley’s house. Well she could hardly consider pushing her bike all the way home, for it was at least two miles from Mr Grimsley’s to her house. She was not the most confident of cyclists and really needed to keep both hands on the handlebars: so that only in desperation could she risk dropping her hand to a skirt which inevitably kept continually riding up. Over and above this there was the ever-present fear that a sudden gust of wind would, well, simply, instantly, reveal all. It was really an awful ordeal and as she approached her home she only hoped that she had managed to keep within the bounds of decency. She had got some whistles from those men on the building site, but then they always whistled when she cycled by so hopefully that didn’t mean they’d actually seen anything.
Yes she thought she’d managed alright but then at her gate it just had to happen. Her mother was there talking to old Mr Billings next door, and as Pauline dismounted right in front of them the saddle caught the hem of her skirt and held it up as she got down. Cripes!
Cripes indeed! For there revealed for all to see was a full clear view of everything — and everything meant just that, including that well-developed brown bush which a nicely-brought-up 16-year-old definitely does not display in the middle of the street. Mrs Duncombe, horrified, could not believe her eyes but commendably she was very quick to react, as likewise she had been earlier in not dissimilar circumstances in the car park. And at once she darted forward to interpose herself between Mr Billings and her daughter before frantically grabbing the skirt down. He must have seen but, well, he was getting on a bit in years and his eyesight was said to be none too good. So one could only hope for the best, thought Mrs Duncombe as red-faced she unceremoniously thrust her daughter into the house.
(Arthur Billings, left outside and a little bewildered by all the sudden action, was not in fact quite so impaired in his vision as Pauline’s mother believed; as could have been gathered by anyone listening to him later regaling his cronies in the Pensioners Club: ‘These modern girls — I really don’t know what they’re coming to. Half of ‘em don’t even wear any knickers you know. That young Pauline Duncombe next door to me for one: not a blinking thing on under her skirt as I’ve seen with my own eyes.’)
Back inside the Duncombe house a shocked and scandalised Mrs Duncombe was giving her daughter, as she would say, a piece of her mind:
‘Don’t tell me, my girl, you actually went to Mr Grimsley’s without your knickers?’
‘No Mum. I had them on but he made me take them off. He’s keeping them so he can make sure of the size for the school ones.’
Cynthia Duncombe blinked and gulped at this decidedly unexpected statement from her daughter. Well, it was not something a mother could easily accept at face value. For could he really need to take her knickers for that reason? The other possibility of course was that Mr Grimsley was a Dirty Old Man.... but she didn’t want to think that of their new benefactor. So she decided she didn’t want to hear any more about it.
‘Well I suppose it’s alright Pauline. But go and put some on now right away. And you’d better not say anything about it to your father. He might not understand.’
The visit to Mr Grimsley’s house hadn’t really been that bad, Pauline thought as she looked for a pair of knickers. Not as bad as you might possibly think from the fact that she’d come away without any on. He had only made her take them off just before she left and she had them on for the measurements. She was made to lift her skirt though — up round her waist — while he put the measure round her hips and then round her waist just below the raised skirt. He had fumbled around a bit in the process, of course.
He didn’t make her take her blouse off for the bust measurement either, though he did feel her tits first, and quite deliberately, not even trying to pretend it was accidental like men sometimes did (old Mr Billings next door for one). But Mr Grimsley quite openly squeezed them and then told her she was a big girl for her age. He was really quite friendly though, telling her all about St Angela’s and what a good school it was. Yes it hadn’t been too bad really.
Except right at the end, of course the bit she would rather forget, when she had taken her knickers off and was ready to go. At his front door when she was just waiting for him to open it. Instead of that he had suddenly asked her what sports she liked and at the same time his hand had gone up under her skirt... to her bare bottom. His hand simply taking hold of her bum.
He shouldn’t have done that, she knew: no-one had ever done that before, but there was nothing she could do about it. Well, she couldn’t tell him to stop — not Mr Grimsley, with all he was doing to get her into St Angela’s. So she just had to stand there and let him do it, looking more and more embarrassed but trying her best to say something about tennis, her favourite sport, as if nothing was happening, while all the time his hand was there — squeezing her bare bum. Finally he took his hand away, and opened the door for her.
Yes that last part at Mr Grimsley’s had not been nice. But still, he would not be at the school: he was a governor not a master so she would not normally be seeing him. She pulled on a pair of knickers and went downstairs to see what Mum had got for tea.
Mr and Mrs Duncombe were really surprised at how quickly the arrangements for Pauline’s transfer were made. ‘It just shows,’ said her Dad ‘what you can do if you can pull a few strings.’
The uniform and all the sports equipment etc. came through just two weeks after her visit to Mr Grimsley and she really looked smart when she tried on the uniform. ‘Quite the young lady,’ said Mum. She would have a week off after leaving County Comprehensive and then Mr Grimsley would drive her to St Angela’s. It would coincide with their reassembly after the half term. ‘Him going to all that trouble,’ said Dad admiringly ‘he’s what you call a real old-fashioned gentleman.’ (It is unlikely that Mr Duncombe would have been quite so enthusiastic had he known that the ‘old-fashioned gentleman’ had already had his hand on Pauline’s bare bottom. But then, of course, he didn’t know.)
Pauline herself still had mixed feelings about it all. She had never been away from home before except to stay with her auntie; but then, like her mother said, it was really quite an adventure and she was sure to make some good friends there. She wasn’t too happy about being driven over by Mr Grimsley though, remembering her visit to his house. She wished her mother or someone could come as well but they weren’t, so that meant she was likely to be getting her tits felt again — at least.
The big day, the day to be taken to St Angela’s, dawned bright and sunny. ‘What a lovely day for a drive’ said Mum. ‘I wish I was going. You really are a lucky girl.’ And she looked admiringly at the big plush Rover.
She waved until the car disappeared round the corner at the end of their street. She told herself once more what a fortunate girl her daughter was. Pauline, waving back, was not so sure. ‘Well off we go,’ said Mr Grimsley and his hand, in a friendly way, pushed back her skirt and squeezed a softly rounded thigh.
It proved to be — well, an eventful journey. A most pleasant and satisfying one for Mr Grimsley without doubt; but for Pauline any pleasure in the sunny day, the pleasant drive through tranquil English countryside, was very much only part of the picture. For when the Rover finally drove smoothly in through the school gates the young passenger now had:
(a) once more no knickers on, and
(b) a reddened and decidedly sore bum. Yes, the young lady had been initiated en route.
It was perhaps not surprising that Mr Grimsley, with Pauline all to himself for the day, would take advantage of this to introduce the new pupil to that essential part of life at St Angela’s. For, like bending the rules to get her into the school in the first place, this also was surely a Governor’s prerogative. In fact it was something which he had planned and looked forward to with keen pleasure, regrettable as this might seem to some. But as she was ‘his’ pupil he had determined that he and not the Headmaster would have the privilege of this introduction. And to ensure this, knowing the Head was quite capable of caning such an attractive new girl on her very first day, he knew he had to do it before she was handed over into the Headmaster’s care.
It had all gone very much to plan, during their break for lunch. And Pauline had unwittingly helped by providing the excuse he had been looking for when she accidentally knocked over a thermos of tea on the picnic rug. Red-faced she had blurted out her apologies, but at the time Mr Grimsley had not seemed too bothered....
Mr Grimsley was an experienced man and did not rush things. They finished the picnic and then he suggested that Pauline lie down for a short rest: ‘most beneficial for a growing girl’. Though she did not consider herself in that category she did as she was asked, stretching out on her back with legs primly together and skirt down as far as it would go. But almost immediately Mr Grimsley’s hand was up under the hem of the skirt gripping her thigh just above a knee as he started talking about St Angela’s. And as he talked the hand started moving up.
Pauline was not at all happy about this development for it was obvious what his hand was going to come to if she remained lying on her back. The only answer was to turn over on her front — which she did. This of course left her bottom unguarded but there was nothing much she could do about that, and at least she had knickers on.
Concerned primarily with what his hand was doing (and it didn’t take long to reach those taut school knickers), Pauline was not really paying attention to what Mr Grimsley was saying. Suddenly she realised she was being asked a question: ‘What... Pardon?’
‘I said were you spanked or caned at County Comprehensive. You really must pay more attention, my dear.’
‘Oh, sorry sir. No, no.... nothing like that.’
‘Well, as I’ve already explained to you, if you were taking the trouble to listen, these measures are normal procedure at good schools such as St Angela’s. But I’m sure it’s something you will very soon get used to.’
He gave Pauline’s bottom a reassuring squeeze. She winced but his hand was now of secondary importance as the implication of what he was saying dawned all too clearly on her. It meant that at St Angela’s....
‘Anyway, what I intend now is to give you a brief introduction to this. That matter of the spilt tea: it was rather clumsy of you and I’m sure you’ll agree that a lesson to remind you to be more careful would be most appropriate. So when you’ve finished your rest, and before we set off again, I propose to give you a little lesson,’ his hand squeezed, ‘on your bare bottom.’
Pauline couldn’t believe she had heard correctly. But: ‘Yes, it’s definitely what this part of your anatomy needs, especially if you’ve managed to reach the age of 16 without ever having it attended to. So if you’re ready I think we could proceed.’
Pauline got slowly to her feet, a look of disbelief on her face. Surely he wasn’t actually going to....? But evidently he was for Mr Grimsley had gone to her case, and after a quick look came up with one of her new school plimsolls. ‘I think this will serve our purpose.’
She was taken by the arm and led along the lane deeper into the woods. ‘Now if we can just find a suitable spot....’ They walked about 100 yards and then Mr Grimsley stopped; in a sunny clearing where there was a large fallen tree. ‘Yes this would do nicely,’ he said, patting the horizontal trunk which had its upper surface about two feet or so from the ground. ‘Just the thing.’
Looking bewildered Pauline was wondering what the significance of the tree was when Mr Grimsley, with a ‘Now then, young lady’, put the plimsoll on the trunk to give him two free hands and ran both of them up under her skirt to the waistband of her knickers. And then with one smooth practised motion slid the knickers down to mid-thigh. ‘Now get over the tree trunk please. Bend over it.’ She could hardly believe this was happening. But the tree trunk was real enough. And so were her lowered knickers and Mr Grimsley now standing with the plimsoll back in his hand. ‘Come on please, get over.’
Biting her lip she obeyed, stretching herself over the trunk with her hands on the ground the other side as he instructed. She waited, trembling, hair falling down over her lowered face, as Mr Grimsley lifted the pleated skirt, up to her waist, to reveal the unhappily upthrust bottom. Fearfully, legs tight together, Pauline sensed the plimsoll being raised over her bare bum.... and then....
Thwack!.... the awful reality as it slapped down squarely across both buttocks leaving a bright pink imprint. Her whole body jerked in instant automatic response, air involuntarily expelling through her lips in a sibilant ‘Oooff!’
It stung like hell, a sting that was still increasing when a second Thwack! landed to leave another stinging imprint just below the first: ‘Ooooff! Ooooohh! Oh Please!’ And then a third....
As is virtually inevitable when a girl is getting it for the first time Pauline was soon in tears, floods of them, as she wriggled and squirmed an increasingly burning bottom. And the tranquillity of that fortunately isolated woodland glade was likewise increasingly rent by anguished tearful cries of ‘Please’, ‘Oh please sir’, ‘No more sir’, ‘Ooh I can’t take any more’ and others in like vein. But Mr Grimsley continued inexorably, now holding the squirming girl in position with an arm round her waist as he meticulously ensured that no part of her bottom escaped the attention of the plimsoll. He gave her 20 in all before he was satisfied that the lesson was complete.
Yes the lesson complete and a job well done. He put the plimsoll down while the girl remained slumped over the trunk, skirt still up round her waist and one hand now gingerly feeling her exposed bottom. The pretty schoolgirl bottom now done to a turn as it were and fairly glowing, a uniform bright blushing pink. The young pupil quieter now but continued sobs and sniffs adding evidence of the effectiveness of his work. It was indeed an admirable example of the exercise of a Governor’s prerogative. And really he could certainly congratulate himself, he thought, as he mopped a perspiring brow.
The journey to school could now be resumed. But first Mr Grimsley, from his considerable experience in such matters, thoughtfully advised Pauline that her smarting bottom would be more comfortable if she were to leave her knickers off. And in fact having said this he personally slipped them off while she was still standing shakily by the fallen tree. The knickers disappeared into his pocket. (And they were not subsequently returned so that he now had two pairs of Pauline’s pants. An unsympathetic observer might well decide from this that Mr Grimsley had a thing about such undergarments.)
Well, by the time they reached the school Pauline had somewhat recovered from her ordeal. Those tears which she had so abundantly shed had now gone, and while she was not exactly smiling the face was dried, the blonde hair neatly back in place once more. She was not smiling because for one thing she was still very sore with now the knowledge that this was the kind of thing to be expected at St Angela’s. And then there was the matter of her knickers — she was not the sort of girl to be happy without them on, sore bottom or not.
And indeed it was fortunate that the Head, welcoming Pauline and looking her over with a keenly appreciative eye, was not aware of the absence of knickers. For to Mr Payne girls had them off for only one thing — the cane. And she could easily have found herself, brand new girl or not, being unceremoniously bent over his desk for a second, definitely more painful, dose of what she had so recently received.
And that would not have been nice — it really would have been too much for Pauline for one day. But anyone who knew the Head and who saw that appreciative look he had given her would know that she was not going to have long to wait for it.
How will Pauline get on at St Angela’s? Read further at Pauline’s First Week.