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Tuesday, 4 April 2017

The French Girl

A St Angela’s story from Roué 15
June Arbuthnot sat at the desk and stared at the question paper in front of her. ‘Translate the following passages into French,’ it said. But as far as June was concerned it might just as well have said ‘Jump to the moon three times.’ At the last examinations at St Angela’s (see Headmaster’s Report), June had failed all five papers, with the result that she had paid five visits in a week to Room 2D, for a total of thirty strokes with one of Mr Payne’s whippiest canes. And now it looked as though it was going to be the same thing all over again, for French was the last paper, and June was sure that she had failed the other four. June’s plump bottom squirmed against the hard chair at the thought of it. The Friday six last time had been so excruciating she hadn’t known where to put herself. She looked round the room despairingly for inspiration. All the other girls in 6A seemed to be finding the paper quite easy, by the way they were scribbling away. To June’s left sat Gillian Aymes, her long blonde hair tumbling over the desk as she worked, and to her right there was Monique Delmare. MONIQUE DELMARE! But her father was French! And her parents talked French at home. She must be getting her translation done perfectly. What if I were to lean a little this way, thought June. Yes it was all right. Mr Jones who was supposed to be invigilating the exam had his nose stuck in a book — probably a dirty book, thought June, with a silent chuckle. And Monique wasn’t covering her work at all. It must be providence.
And so, as the French girl pushed her short dark hair back behind her ear, and with a slight frown of concentration on her pretty face, bent over the desk, June’s eyes followed Monique’s pen, and June’s answer book slowly filled.
----//----
The results of the exams were due to be announced two weeks later, after the Monday morning assembly. June was feeling very nervous all through that assembly, as indeed were all the other girls, but she was sure that at least it would only be twenty-four swishes this time, and not thirty.
At the end of the assembly Mr Payne addressed the school on the topic of the recent examinations.
‘Miss Chalmers is at the moment putting up the notices giving the details of your performance on the notice board outside this hall,’ he began. There were many nervous glances towards the door.
‘Overall, however, the results were better than previously, which is pleasing.’ The hypocrite, he wasn’t really pleased at all. Better results meant less bottoms to whack: only two for the Friday session this time. Mr Payne had already decided that his staff needed a stiff lecture on undue leniency in marking. ‘Those girls,’ he continued, ‘who have failed any paper should, of course, report to room 2D in the appropriate attire, immediately after this assembly. However before I dismiss you there is one most serious matter which must be dealt with.’ More nervous glances amongst the girls. ‘Miss Davies informs me that there is a very clear case of cheating in the French exam.’
June’s heart nearly leapt out of her mouth! Oh no! She glanced across at Monique, who was sitting near her. But the French girl was looking cool and collected as usual, obviously suspecting nothing.
‘Two of the French answer papers were identical,’ went on the Headmaster. ‘It is neither possible nor practical for us to determine who copied from whom, or whether there was simply collaboration between the two girls. I have decided therefore that both girls should be punished in the same way.’
In fact Mr Payne knew very well who had copied. The style of Monique’s native French was unmistakeable, and way above the standard of anything pert little June Arbuthnot would be capable of. But he was not going to pass up the opportunity of caning two bottoms rather than one. And besides, he had had his eye on the pretty French girl for some time. Unfortunately in her first nine months at St Angela’s she had never done anything for which the staff had felt able to punish her. That was an unprecedented time for any St Angela’s girl’s bottom to remain virgin and unblemished, particularly one as attractively rounded as Monique’s. The truth was that she was an intelligent, hard-working, obedient girl, and the only reason that she had been sent to St Angela’s was because her father strongly disapproved of her liaison with an older man, and so had sent her out of the jurisdiction to keep her away from his influence. Anyway, it was high time she had her comeuppance, thought Mr Payne, as he continued his address to the school.
‘The punishment will be as follows. For the cheating each girl will receive eight strokes of the cane, here and now, before the whole school. They will also, of course, be deemed to have failed the French exam, and will therefore report to room 2D with the other girls after assembly.’
‘Oh golly!’ thought June, ‘Fourteen in one day! Poor me! And poor Monique!’
‘The two girls in question,’ concluded the Headmaster, ‘are in form 6A — June Arbuthnot and Monique Delmare. Would they please step forward?’
As an audible sigh of relief went up from the rest of the girls, Monique’s jaw dropped, and she turned pale. Rising in her seat she started to protest, ‘But Monsieur...’ Then, seeing the look on the Headmaster’s face, she thought better of it, recovered her composure, and contented herself with a stony stare at June, who blushed and dropped her eyes in shame. Then both girls, to the accompaniment of many sympathetic pats and looks from their form-mates, manoeuvred themselves to the gangway, and knees knocking, began the long walk to the front of the hall. As June followed Monique up the steps onto the stage, her eyes level with the swing of the French girl’s hips under her pleated skirt, she resolved what she must do. She couldn’t let Monique suffer for nothing. As they walked across the stage, past the rest of the staff, two of whom were eagerly pulling a desk forward to the front of the stage, June took a deep breath, and addressed the frowning Headmaster.
‘Please sir, Monique didn’t...’
‘Silence, girl!’ barked Mr Payne. ‘I don’t want to hear any excuses.’
‘But sir...’
‘Right, one extra stroke for impertinence!’
June was about to try once more, but Monique touched her arm, and with a grateful look murmured, ‘It’s all right, I can take it.’ June relapsed into silence.
Meanwhile Mr Payne had taken the three-foot supple cane offered to him by Mr Evans, and was swishing it menacingly.
‘Now then,’ said Mr Payne, ‘alphabetical order, I think. Bend over the desk please, June.’
Stretched over the desk, her bottom turned up to the rest of the school, June felt the Headmaster raise her blue pleated skirt, and then take a step back.
‘He’s leaving my knickers, thank goodness,’ she thought. ‘I think I would have died to get it bare before that lot.’ She could see behind her under the desk the trousered legs of the Headmaster, settling themselves into a firm, balanced stance, and beyond them a sea of wide-eyed, expectant faces.
Whack! The first stroke interrupted her thoughts.
‘Ooh! Knickers aren’t much protection after all,’ she thought.
Whack!
Whack!
‘He’s really laying it on today!’
Whack!
Whack!
‘Ooch! Two low ones, the tip caught me on the bare. How I’d love to rub, but a squirm and a wriggle will have to do.’
Whack!
Whack!
‘Oof! Only two more to go now!’
Whack!
Whack!
‘Ooow! Ouch! The beast! — a diagonal one — made me feel the other eight all over again.’
Puffing and blowing June obeyed the Headmaster’s command to rise. She stood at the side of the stage, gently rubbing her bottom, all embarrassment at being in front of the school dispelled by the inescapable sting.
‘Not too bad,’ she thought — and then she remembered that she still had six more to come later that day — and those would certainly be on the bare!
But now Monique, even more pale having had an unwanted close-up preview of her own fate, was biting her lower lip, and getting herself into the unfamiliar position across the desk. The Headmaster lifted her skirt — and a gasp went up from the whole school. Instead of the regulation blue cotton knickers, Monique’s pretty backside was clad in exquisite French knickers, black and trimmed with lace.
‘What’s this?’ said Mr Payne, sternly. ‘Why are you not wearing regulation underwear, Monique?’
A low murmuring came from the far side of the desk, and Mr Payne bent his head to listen.
‘I see,’ he said, straightening up. ‘You were on a home visit for the weekend, and you only had time to change out of your dress into your skirt and blouse when you returned this morning. Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t cane you over those knickers. For one thing it is totally contrary to regulations, and for another, a beating of the severity which you are about to receive might well split the material. Remove them please, Monique.’
In fact Mr Payne had made the remark primarily for effect. He did not intend to cane Monique unduly severely. Even his sense of justice would not allow him to punish Monique more severely than June, whom he knew to be the real culprit.
Monique was now slipping the silky film of the knickers down her long, shapely legs, and stepping out of them. Picking them up she placed the knickers into the Headmaster’s proffered hand and, at his signal, bent herself into position again. Once more the skirt was raised, but this time to reveal Monique’s firm, round bottom, bare before the whole school. She had obviously been indulging in a spot of nude sunbathing over the weekend, and the healthy tan of her thighs and trim buttocks above the dark grey of her stockings looked very attractive. Her bum was certainly very inviting, framed by the black suspender straps, and turned up, apparently asking for punishment.
The Headmaster tapped once, twice, three times, to get his distance, and June saw Monique tense in anticipation. And then, as she relaxed, the cane swung back and down. A loud smack echoed around the hall: the sound, all too familiar to most of those present, of fast-moving rattan meeting firm female flesh.
June watched in fascination as a red line appeared across the centre of Monique’s clenching cheeks.
Smack! Another joined it, a little lower.
Smack! Monique began to squirm, her soft thighs rubbing together.
Smack! Half-way through — still four more stingers to come.
Smack! Mr Payne had now reached the particularly tender spot at the joint of thigh and buttock, and he took careful aim to make sure that the next two strokes nipped in directly on target.
Smack! Monique gasped and kicked back revealing the dark curls round her sex.
Smack! On tiptoe now, legs taut, she began to sob.
Smack! The last one, like June’s, crossed the other seven, and with a squeal Monique slumped across the desk.
‘Stand up,’ said Mr Payne. He stood between the two girls, making them face the school. ‘Let this be a lesson to anyone else who is tempted to cheat,’ he said. ‘You may go.’
As the rest of the school began to file out, some hurrying off to change ready for their visit to 2D, the picture of Monique’s red-striped and squirming bottom all too vivid in their minds, the French girl herself turned to the Headmaster, her eyes still moist.
‘And my knickers, Monsieur?’ she said tentatively.
‘You may collect them from my study after tea tomorrow,’ came the reply. Half-an-hour across the desk, with periodic visits from his favourite tawse, should complete Monique’s initiation to St Angela’s disciplinary system nicely, Mr Payne thought to himself. He left the hall humming, and turned his thoughts to the rest of the day’s business — most of which, of course, was to take place in Room 2D!

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