A St Angela’s story from Roué 15, continuing on from Governor’s Prerogative.
It was Saturday morning, the end of Pauline Duncombe’s first week at St Angela’s, and with some free time before lunch she was sitting on the garden seat near the tennis court. She was supposed to be reading her History textbook but found she was more interested in the impromptu game of tennis which three girls were playing in front of her. They had invited her to join them and she would have liked to, except that.... unfortunately she had no knickers on.
It is easy to laugh. Not again! those readers already familiar with Pauline Duncombe will think. Surely not Pauline again without her knickers! But needless to say it was no laughing matter for Pauline. And indeed the whole of her first week at St Angela’s could fairly be described as no laughing matter. Ever since that first lesson from Mr Fowley, on Tuesday, only her second full day at school.
Yes, Mr Fowley who as we know had a thing about nylon knickers (see On Report Twice and Knickers and Nylons at St Angela’s). And it may be recalled that Pauline’s outfit, bought for her by the generous Mr Grimsley, had unfortunately included nylon knickers and not the cotton ones which were the official St Angela’s wear. This had in fact been an honest error on his part — he was not deliberately trying to create problems for his new protegee. But he had forgotten that cotton was the correct type and possibly also was confused by the fact that one could in any case certainly come across nylon knickers in wear at the school.
So Pauline had arrived with five pairs of white nylon knickers but no cotton ones and had started wearing them in blissful ignorance. With any kind of luck she would have learnt of her mistake from another girl, but unfortunately she did not get that luck.
It had been her very first lesson from Mr Fowley, on Tuesday, and he had asked her to stay behind at the end of the lesson intending simply to have a friendly word with the new pupil and certainly not suspecting anything about her knickers. Well, it was almost always the older girls who attempted to get away with it and Pauline, brand-new to the school and particularly innocent-looking, did not fit that bill. Not the type at all. But as he liked to do when he had a girl standing at his desk, and really it was quite an automatic response, he had, while they talked, slipped his hand up her skirt. To her bottom. And there quite unmistakeably was taut nylon where there should have been cotton.
Mr Fowley had reacted like some minor volcano going up, his anger especially aroused by the thought of this young and apparently innocent girl now openly flouting the rules. Poor Pauline’s tearful protestations of innocence fell on very stony ground. ‘Be at my room at beginning of Prep this evening, young lady, and see that you’re not one second late!’ And when he’d got her there he made no allowance whatever for the newness and inexperience of the young transgressor. Girls had to be taught a lesson if they were unable to follow rules. ‘Knickers down and get over the seat of that chair, if you please.’ Wide-eyed, fearful, Pauline fumbled her knickers down and got over the chair. ‘Further over! Head down and bottom up. That’s better.’ Her skirt pushed up round her waist ‘Now, legs straight and keep the bottom still, Miss.....’ And Pauline’s firm ripe rearquarters were given their first taste of the cane — six real stingers on the bare bum which left her sobbing wretchedly.
The nylon knickers were confiscated as was Mr Fowley’s custom. ‘And you will go without knickers for a full week, my girl, that is 7 days from today, to complete your punishment. And just in case you cannot be trusted you will report to me here each morning before classes commence. So that I may check that you in fact have none on and are not cheating. Is that clear?’
Well it was all a terrible shock, both the caning and the confiscation of her knickers, on just her second day at school, and that night she just cried herself to sleep. And in the morning waking up to remember that it wasn’t over, that she had to report back to Mr Fowley first thing. She washed and nervously dressed, remembering to leave her pants off. ‘What, no knicks!’ quipped a dorm-mate, noticing, and on being told the situation, ‘Oh, a visit to the Foul Fondler!’ Which didn’t make Pauline feel any better.
Yes, as any girl at St Angela’s could tell you, Mr Fowley, sitting at his desk and beckoning Pauline to come and stand close at his side, would check on the absence of knickers in a very predictable manner, by sliding his hand up her skirt. And proceeding to fondle her bare bum while he unctuously spoke at some length of the need to abide by rules. Finally saying: ‘Yes, that’s how we become good citizens, Pauline,’ he took his hand out of her skirt and stood up. Her ordeal was over, she thought thankfully. But then as she turned towards the door Mr Fowley’s hand suddenly, like a darting snake, came back up her skirt, this time at the front, running up the front of her bare thighs and just for a moment took hold of her between her legs, his hand on her bare private part, cupping it, for just an instant, and then darting out again. And Mr Fowley, ignoring her involuntary gasp and looking as if nothing had happened, simply saying ‘Off to your classes then. Mustn’t be late, must we?’
Well, it had been such a shock and he had done it so quickly that she found herself wondering afterwards if it had actually happened, or if she had imagined it. But the next morning there was no doubt as it had all happened exactly as before. The fondling hand at her bottom for some minutes and then as she was about to leave, and Mr Fowley saying ‘I wonder if it will rain today’, his hand darting back up her skirt to briefly but firmly grasp her hair-covered mound. And the next day just the same. It was really awful but what could she do? She told a girl she had got to know a bit, Wendy Thomas, who was sympathetic but said ‘That’s just the kind of thing you get here, worse luck. But if you go to Matron she’ll just send you to the Head for telling tales. And you don’t want to go to him if you can avoid it!’ Pauline agreed that she didn’t, although not having been to the Head yet she didn’t really know what he was like. He couldn’t be worse than awful Mr Fowley, she thought.
So what else? She would desperately like to write home asking to be taken away from this place, but her Mum would only say it was homesickness and she would settle down. And anyway you had to take your letters to your form-master, unsealed, so that he could check what you had written. So there was just nothing she could do about that awful thing Mr Fowley did.
And what Mr Fowley did was not the end of it. For apart from his daily assault on her person, which at least at 9 o’clock each day was over with, there was the more general humiliation of having to go without knickers all the time — all part of her punishment of course. And during the week several other masters had become aware of her predicament and had been making her stay behind after class, ostensibly to discuss some point of work but in fact to slip a hand up her skirt and fondle her bare bottom, like Mr Fowley. That was unpleasant enough, although at least they had not tried to feel anything else yet, but it also meant that she would be in trouble from the master of the next class for being late.
Yes it was all an awful start to her new school, she thought dismally as she watched the other girls darting about on the tennis court. And none of it her own fault. And Mr Fowley and the other masters with their nasty hands up her skirt had not been all — there had also been Miss Davies, the Gym Mistress....
It had started in Pauline’s first gym lesson — a lesson she had looked forward to, not least because for once she would be wearing the same as everyone else, just the gym top and tight shorts under which no-one was allowed to wear knickers. And the lesson had been quite enjoyable except that from the beginning Miss Davies did seem to take a special interest in her. Perhaps it was just that she was a new girl, she’d thought. But then when the class had finished changing after the lesson she called Pauline back into her little office and to Pauline’s surprise said would she like to come round to her room for tea after lessons that afternoon. Taken a bit aback Pauline stammered that she would and Miss Davies said ‘Oh Good!’ and had put her arm round Pauline’s waist, squeezing.
Well it was nice to find someone being friendly — friendly, that is, without them wanting to put their hand up your skirt on your bare bum. Well, that was what she thought before she went to Miss Davies’....
She had given Pauline quite a nice tea in her rather cosy room, at the same time asking all about her, her home etc., and it was all very nice and friendly except, well, she had looked at her in rather a strange way, kind of staring with those bright eyes. She was quite attractive, Miss Davies: older of course but not that old — Pauline thought maybe late 20’s. And she had a very good figure; shapely and firm, like gym mistresses did have with all that exercise.
But then when Miss Davies was showing her the pictures she had on the walls.... they were both standing looking at them, and she put her arm round Pauline’s waist And squeezing her she asked if she had a boyfriend. Pauline said No, and well, she hadn’t, and Miss Davies said, laughing ‘I don’t blame you. They’re only after one thing anyway.’
Pauline had rather foolishly said ‘What?’ — if she had thought for a moment she would have realised what the gym mistress was referring to. But Miss Davies pulled her round so that they were half-facing and said ‘This of course, silly!’ And her other hand, not the one she had round Pauline’s waist, went down to Pauline’s you-know-what.... between her legs.... taking hold of it and squeezing....
The hand was outside her skirt, not on the bare like Mr Fowley, but nonetheless Pauline had jumped like a scalded cat, it was so unexpected. The gym teacher hadn’t kept her hand there, just the squeeze and then took her hand away: but she kept her arm round Pauline’s waist and laughed a kind of forced laugh as she said ‘Now don’t be shy — it’s just between us girls.’
And then, as it must have dawned on her from what she’d felt ‘Hey! Haven’t you got any knicks on?’ And Pauline had blurted out the whole Mr Fowley episode, and feeling sorry for herself had sniffed a bit, though not actually crying. Well, at this Miss Davies was all sympathy, pulled Pauline round to face her again and then pulling her close, putting both arms round her, stroking and fondling as she made sympathetic noises.
She said ‘Those awful men, they’re always trying to pull something like that,’ and before Pauline knew what was happening Miss Davies was kissing her on the mouth. She could feel the whole length of the gym teacher’s strong body pushed hard against her — the firm breasts, and especially her pelvis which she started rubbing up against Pauline while holding the girl firmly against her with a hand cupping her bottom, squeezing. And the hand, really just as those awful masters did, then went down to the hem of her skirt and up again inside to now hold Pauline’s nude bottom. Miss Davies was groaning and saying things like ‘Oh, you’re such a sweet kid,’ and then her mouth was back on Pauline’s, this time pushing open the girl’s lips. And Pauline felt Miss Davies’ hot probing tongue invading her mouth....
But all this had been abruptly interrupted by a providential knocking at the door, arresting the gym mistress’ ardour in full flight. She jerked her head away from Pauline with a rather desperate look ‘Oh God! Of course, its Thursday....!’ Shouting ‘Just a minute.’ she started frantically straightening herself up, then doing the same to Pauline. ‘It’s... it’s an appointment which I completely forgot about. Look Pauline, you’ll have to come round again, of course. I.... I’ll let you know when I’m free...’
She went to the door where Tina Chidwick was found to be waiting — 6B and like Pauline a new girl, although naturally she’d arrived at the beginning of term rather than half-way through. And, well, she was rather similar to Pauline — blonde, with a fresh innocent-seeming appearance. Miss Davies had greeted her with a rather guilty look and Pauline was sent on her way.
She was not sorry to go though, her head in a complete whirl from what had happened. She was pretty much innocent in matters of sex but she knew enough to realise that the gym teacher obviously ‘fancied’ her — although what that might fully involve was something she didn’t want to think about. What had happened already was enough to make her knees tremble. But on the other hand, with her other problems at St Angela’s the fact that Miss Davies obviously liked her.... well, in a way that was nice. And what she had done wasn’t really unpleasant.... In fact Miss Davies kissing her.... like that... hadn’t been unpleasant at all. It was the first time Pauline had been kissed in that way — french-kissed — and it had been a shock, sending tingles all through her. But definitely not unpleasant. Miss Davies’ tongue.... oooh...!
But for the gym mistress the path of true love (or desire at least) was not to run particularly smoothly. She had managed a fleeting meeting with Pauline yesterday, suggesting that today (Saturday) they could go for a drive in her car after lunch. But by then Pauline had been given another appointment so that fortunately she could not say Yes. Miss Davies’ face, when she was told, had registered obvious disappointment. Still, perhaps she could take Tina Chidwick instead.
Yes Pauline had another appointment this afternoon alright, and as she sat there by the tennis court it was difficult to keep her mind from continually returning to its dread possibilities. For on her visit to Mr Fowley yesterday he had said right at the end and after his now customary grope at her private region: ‘Oh Pauline, I suppose you’re free tomorrow afternoon?’ There were no classes Saturday afternoon and girls were normally free unless something extra had been arranged. ‘Good! Well, in that case I’d like you to come round here after lunch. I want to have a talk with you...’ With an awful sinking feeling Pauline had said ‘Yes, sir.’
Yes, that was what was in store for her on this nice sunny day which otherwise after lunch she would have had to herself — or of course could have taken up Miss Davies’ offer to go for a drive. Another visit to Mr Fowley! And now she saw that the other girls were finishing their game: ‘Time for din-dins, Amanda!’ ‘Ugh! Pigswill you mean!’ And looking at her watch she saw that it was indeed almost lunch time. She would have to go although she was sure she could not manage to eat anything. Not the way she was feeling....
Pauline did manage to drink her soup but that was about all. And then at 2 o’clock sharp was outside Mr Fowley’s door, knees trembling. She had no idea what she had been summoned for but she was sure it was going to be unpleasant. Hesitantly she knocked....
‘Ah Pauline. Yes.... come in, please.’ She went in and the door was closed behind her. The sound, outside, of the key being turned in the lock....
Outside — outside Mr Fowley’s room with its locked door and, one would see if one walked by his window, its drawn curtains, for he was a master who liked his privacy — the afternoon progressed as a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon at St Angela’s might be expected to progress. Being Saturday the afternoon is ‘free’ — unless you have been unfortunate enough, like Pauline, to have its freedom curtailed for some reason or other by a member of staff — but other than that girls free to do what they wished. Some writing home or reading in a sunny or shady spot in the grounds. The tennis courts again in full use. A number of girls sunbathing, some in swimsuits, bikinis, others in uniform blouse and skirt but with these garments unbuttoned, pushed back, to expose youthful limbs to the hot sun. Some others, those with a Pass, have cycled into the nearby town to do some shopping or, over a Coke in the cafe, to complain, as schoolgirls will, of the iniquities of school life. And perhaps inevitably, it being St Angela’s, there is, about 3 o’clock, a caning in progress: in the Head’s study Julia James bent over his desk with knickers lowered to mid-thigh, her bare bottom thrust reluctantly out to receive Mr Payne’s stinging cane. She has had four with a scheduled four more to come but the way her nicely rounded bottom is now wriggling and squirming, to Mr Payne’s annoyance (‘Julia, will you keep that bottom still!’), this number could well be increased or at least be followed by a further spanking over his lap.
Yes, all this varied activity, some enjoyable and some obviously less so; and in addition one other which normally must not be mentioned in polite conversation, although we all know that inevitably it takes place in a community, such as St Angela’s, which contained a large number of girls and especially during a period of ‘free’ time. Inevitably on this afternoon there are girls doing it and others having it done to them. It? Yes ‘it’ — ‘the stimulation of the genital organs to achieve sexual pleasure’ as the dictionary has it, or in other words masturbation.
There is for instance Susan Rhodes in a quiet corner of the dorm, lying on her bed and thinking pleasurably of her boyfriend Kevin, her hand down the front of her knickers fondling herself.... There is Charlotte Lawson in a deserted changing-room half-lying on a bench with her knickers off, a rapt tense expression on her face as she uses that illicit instrument of pleasure, a vibrator. (It is quite definitely an illicit item at St Angela’s, possession of which, if found out, will bring immediate and particularly severe punishment. So you do your very best to ensure you will not be found out and Charlotte has placed a chair behind the closed changing-room door so that she will get sufficient warning if she is suddenly disturbed.)
Of course not all of these acts are solitary. For instance there are Paula Fletcher and Anita Gray who have wandered off into the woods just south of the school grounds. They are known to be close friends but fortunately no-one — certainly no member of staff — knows just how friendly.... They are standing up against a tree-trunk, embracing and each with her hand up the other’s skirt. Paula: ‘Let’s take our knicks off.....’ Anita: ‘Are you sure it’s alright? I mean if we get caught with them off....’ Paula: ‘No-one’s going to come out here.’ And she starts slipping Anita’s knickers down. Yes this would certainly rate along with use of a vibrator in the ranking of heinous crimes at St Angela’s.
And those familiar with St Angela’s will by now not be surprised to learn that there are also examples of this type of activity taking place involving members of staff. For instance there is Mr Gray who just earlier has happened to come across Brenda Holmes sunbathing — in her uniform but with her skirt pulled up to reveal her knickers as she lies on her back in the sun. Brenda is inevitably getting aroused by what the master is doing although at the same time she does not like the fact that he is doing it: and there is also the possibility that someone could come along and see. Talking quietly, Mr Gray is suggesting that they find a secluded corner where he could take Brenda’s knickers off. Brenda does not want to, but she knows he could quite easily make up some excuse to take her knickers down for another reason — a caning. Of the two alternatives, well.... After a while they get to their feet and walk off.
Miss Davies, of course, is already in a secluded spot, out in the country, having driven down a quiet lane and then walked with Tina Chidwick across a field to where they will have their picnic. The picnic things are not yet unpacked and are placed, together with two pairs of discarded knickers, to the side of the blanket on which Miss Davies and Tina Chidwick are now lying side by side in close embrace. The gym mistress has her tongue deep in Tina’s mouth and her hand between the girl’s parted legs. Tina is moaning and shaking convulsively and is obviously moving rapidly towards an orgasm.
Yes, on this warm and sunny afternoon there was quite evidently a lot of it going on. So that what was happening in Mr Fowley’s room behind those drawn curtains was not particularly unusual; although to poor Pauline, sexually innocent, it was the culmination of an unbelievable week. For Mr Fowley was doing ‘it’ to Pauline although, devious master that he was, this was under the guise, the pretence, of ‘Sex Instruction’.
It had been a truly traumatic hour, ever since her hesitant knock at his door and his prompt ‘Ah Pauline. Yes.... come in, please.’ He had locked the door and then immediately gone to draw the curtains and turned on all the lights. And then....
‘Yes. Well Pauline, I suppose you’d rather be outside on a day like this but I did think I should see you. Because all the other new girls had Sex Instruction at the beginning of term and, of course, you missed it. And at 16 it is important that you do not remain ignorant in these matters I don’t suppose you had anything of this sort at your other school?’
Pauline shocked and stunned at what Mr Fowley had said. Sex Instruction! ‘N...No, sir.’
‘Hmmm. Many schools are very remiss in this regard. ‘And then he did what he did every morning — his hand went up the front of her skirt and took hold of that hair-covered bulge at the top of her legs. ‘No-one has told you anything about this?’
Pauline squirming, flushing: ‘N...no, sir.’ This time it wasn’t the quick in-and-out grab — his hand was staying there....
‘Keep still, girl, there’s no need to be shy with me.’ The hand took its time, squeezing, feeling, before finally letting go.
‘Yes, well then it is indeed high time you had some guidance. You seem to be a well-developed girl and certainly now quite capable of having a baby. And you will find that all kinds of unprincipled men, and boys too, are going to be after this now.’ His hand back up to give ‘this’ another squeeze.
And then another bombshell: ‘So, Miss, if you’ll just take your clothes off....’
She just stood with a horrified look on her face as he repeated: ‘Yes, your clothes please. Come along! Take them all off....’
Miserably, with no option, she had done as instructed — her blazer, her shoes and socks; then, turning away trying to hide herself, her blouse, her skirt, her slip, finally her bra. Mr Fowley had a short towelling dressing-gown for her which she frantically got into. It only came to the tops of her thighs but she desperately wrapped it round and tied the belt, only to have Mr Fowley immediately undo the belt and open the dressing-gown to expose that well-developed bush and those equally well-developed pink-nippled breasts. His hands grabbing, groping, at both these regions as he said musingly: ‘Mmm, you’re certainly getting to be a well-developed young lady. All the more reason, of course....’
That had been the start, and then still in the opened dressing-gown having to sit with him on his settee and watch a short film on sexual intercourse. A short explicit film in which a young wife had intercourse with her husband, shy lying over the side of the bed with her legs spread and her feet on the floor — this position presumably adopted so that the action, and the actual penetration of the husband’s large erect penis, could clearly be seen. To poor Pauline it seemed just enormous — how could it ever go in that young woman? And yet... it did, and quite evidently she enjoyed it.
‘There!’ said Mr Fowley when it was finished and he had turned the lights back on, ‘I’m sure that was most instructive. And when you leave school and get married you will now know exactly how it’s done.’
And it was then, after the film, that Pauline had ‘it’ done to her. Mr Fowley said that as a supplement to the film he was now going to do something which would give her some idea of what sexual intercourse was like and it was nothing to be nervous about; and then he made her lie across the settee with her thighs up over the arm.
Pauline’s hand had automatically shot down to cover herself but that naturally was not what Mr Fowley wanted. He firmly removed her hand (‘Now then, we mustn’t be shy!’) and replaced it with his own. ‘Now I’m just going to stimulate you a little....’
And that is what he did, in very much the same way that, about this time, Miss Davies was doing to Tina Chidwick and Mr Gray was doing to Brenda Holmes.