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Wednesday, 10 May 2017

Mr Ardley’s Conditions

From New Blushes Uniform Girls 2.04
Mr Ardley came round to see Sharon’s parents one evening at the end of her last year in the Lower Sixth. He had arranged the visit by phone and Sharon had a pretty good idea what it was about and would have very much preferred to be out. But Mr Ardley had specifically instructed that she be present.
Howard Ardley was Deputy Head at Mountfield School. Philip and Anne Smithfield had met him once or twice at school functions: a big, heavily built man in his forties with thick dark hair and glasses. He could be charming to parents — but apparently could put the frighteners on Mountfield pupils when necessary. A number of girls were really scared of him. They hadn’t necessarily been on the receiving end of anything but they would have heard whispers.
Were those whispers true? Sharon was afraid she was about to find out. She hadn’t had a very good year at school. She knew she should have given her work more time and effort, but it was the usual thing, she had got too involved with a boy, Mark Lanford. She had been seeing him, and when she wasn’t actually with him would be thinking about him. Getting all moony. Getting wet between her legs.
Anyway it hadn’t been decided whether she could come back next year. Sharon was 17 now and could leave. But she wouldn’t be able to get a job as she didn’t have any qualifications. Or certainly not any sort of half decent job.
Nothing except maybe assistant in some grotty shop where the manager might consider taking her on but only because she was a good-looking girl with a shapely figure and he might have ideas of getting his hands on her body. Some nice gropes — and then maybe more than that. Getting into her pussy in other words. Well Sharon didn’t fancy that and nor of course did her parents. She was now very much regretting those wasted days and weeks throughout the last school year. And very much wanting to stay on another year, to make it up. To make good.
But it depended on Mr Ardley. He had to agree. And that was what his visit was about. To discuss it — and hopefully he would say yes.
Well, the visit was pretty awful. Very awful to be accurate. But at the end of it Mr Ardley was prepared to let Sharon come back next year. On his terms of course....
He had started off taking a very hard line. Pulling no punches, in fact as far as Sharon was concerned going right over the top. She had certainly been right in not wishing to be present. As it was she had to sit there and listen in silence to the awful things he said about her. Because her father had sternly told her beforehand not to argue or show any dissent; if she did it would only make things worse.
So she could only sit and squirm. Red-faced of course. The four of them in the Smithfields’ lounge. Mr Ardley not raising his voice or getting excited but saying some really awful things about Sharon and her work — or lack of it. Poor Anne Smithfield was red-faced too, both for her daughter and with the feeling that she herself was at least part responsible for Sharon’s waywardness.
Anyway Mr Ardley was at first saying there was no point in Sharon coming back. No point at all. But then, at the elder Smithfields’ impassioned pleading together with their assurance that given a second chance Sharon would work her backside off (her mother saying Sharon was now well aware herself of the situation and also they would ensure she did), he did finally relent a little.
He just might consider it — but only if he had a completely free hand with Sharon. Philip and Anne Smithfield eagerly chorused, ‘Yes! Of course!’ Not concerned what this ‘free hand’ might involve. Sharon herself, who had heard some of those whispers, wanted to interject: What does that mean? But of course she wasn’t having a say in all this. She was in disgrace, to be seen and not heard.
In any event she was not to be left in complete ignorance. Mr Ardley it seemed was prepared to spell it out.
‘I shall want your permission to give her the strap. On her bottom. Or use the birch if I see fit.’
Did that bring a further hot flush to Anne Smithfield’s cheeks? Had she been expecting this? Sharon to be strapped! And the birch! But she managed to retain her composure. Exchanging a glance with her husband, and then quietly agreeing.
Sharon wanted to blurt out, ‘No, mum! Noooo!’
And then Mr Ardley said, ‘And the manner of these chastisements, how I carry them out, that will be completely up to me. Is that agreed?’
Again Sharon’s parents said Yes. Mr Ardley said he would want a signed declaration of their agreement. That was agreed too. And then finally:
‘Well alright. In that case I can agree to her returning. But there is one final thing. So that she fully understands, I should like to give her a spanking now. I’ve been wanting to do it all of this last term, and maybe if I had it would have halted her deterioration. It’s too late for that, but as a taste of what she can expect next year I think it would be most salutary.’
This time Sharon couldn’t contain herself. ‘No... mum! Please…!’
But Sharon’s mum, after another glance at her husband, said, ‘Yes Mr Ardley. Alright.’
And so he was allowed to do it. Right there in the lounge. In front of her parents! Mr Ardley said, ‘Come here then, Miss.’ And Sharon after a sharp word from her father had to get up and stumble round the coffee table to the Deputy Head, complaining, ‘This is diabolical....’ etc. And then got down over his lap.
Mr Ardley yanked up her short skirt, right up round her waist. To reveal Sharon’s ripely mature bottom in a pair of brief pink nylon knickers. Taking his time he grabbed the waistband and pulled them up tight. Painfully tight! Sharon yelped as the crotch of the knickers bit into her pussy. But Mr Ardley wasn’t taking any notice of that of course. Still not in any hurry he held the knickers in that painful position with his left hand, manoeuvred her until he had her bottom in just the right position... and then brought his other hand cracking down.
And continuing in a steady, unrelenting cadence.
On the squirming cheeks of Sharon’s bottom. On the bare backs of her writhing thighs. She gave a shuddering yelp each time his hand landed. Yes it was dreadful. Sharon’s mother could scarcely bear to look. Her father was having difficulty maintaining his composure too. Because unfortunately the spectacle had almost immediately given him an erection.
Mr Ardley, seemingly impassive, relentlessly continued...
That was right at the end of the summer term. Yes, Sharon was to be allowed back in the autumn. But after that awful evening she now knew, or could guess, that all those whispers about what Mr Ardley could do were true. Was she going to be able to take it? Sharon wasn’t at all sure. Maybe it would be better just to leave and take whatever awful job she could get. But when she voiced this to her mother, Sharon was sharply told not to be silly. Of course she was going back and she should be thankful to Mr Ardley. And probably if she worked hard he wouldn’t need to give her the strap. Or that other thing.
‘Ha! That’s what you think!’ Sharon riposted bitterly. ‘Whatever I do I know he’s going to do it. He’s just licking his lips at the thought of using that strap on me…!’ She burst into tears.
Anne told her to be quiet. She was just talking nonsense. ‘And another thing. You’ve got to see a lot less of Mark, young lady. A lot less. Your father and I are seriously thinking of saying you must stop the relationship altogether.’
A week before the beginning of the new autumn term there was a phone call for Sharon from Mr Ardley. He said he wanted to see her the next day, at 2pm in his classroom at school. She could wear something informal: a T-shirt and skirt. He said the main school gate would not be locked even though it was not yet term time.
So this no doubt was it! The moment of truth! Or possibly more accurately the first of an unknown number of moments of truth. Sharon quailed at the thought. That awful evening was now more than a month ago and Mr Ardley had receded somewhat from her memory. She had been continuing to see Mark for one thing, and very frequently, in spite of her mother’s warning. Anne Smithfield had been rather busy to tell the truth and not able to monitor too closely what her daughter was up to.
And so Sharon and Mark had continued uninterrupted, greedily doing it. At her house or his, whenever the coast was clear. On the sofa or a bed. Not actually fucking, they hadn’t started that yet. But the next best thing. Mark finger-fucking Sharon. His fingers in her eager cunt. With his thumb vigorously working at the red-hot, swollen clitoris. Within a few minutes Sharon would be out into orbit.
And while Mark was thus engaged, her own hand would have yanked out Mark’s cock. His stiff, urgent meat in her hand. Pumping it. Bringing him close to orgasm but not quite, so that they could keep going. Then finally of course his stuff spurting out.
Yes very frequently, whenever possible — with no thought in Sharon’s pretty blonde head of Mr Ardley. But now it all came flooding back with a vengeance. That awful spanking. And worse than that of course what he had said. The strap. The birch. Plus those awful whispers.
It was all rolling about in her head as she walked across the deserted school yard. With term not yet started the place seemed eerie. The staff car park was empty — except for one car. She knew whose that was. Its owner was there. His room opposite on the first floor. In there waiting for her. She felt the desperate urge to turn and run. But that wasn’t an option. Instead she had to force herself forward. In the main door and up the wide stairs smelling of new polish. Along the corridor. Then... making herself knock on his door...
‘Come in!’
She didn’t recognise the room at first. The desks were all piled at one end so that most of the floor was bare. Mr Ardley’s desk was in its place, though, and the blackboard, at the front. There was also a wooden trestle in front of the blackboard. Presumably the cleaners had been in pushing things around. But there weren’t any cleaners around now to give her some sort of feeling of protection.
No, no protection. There was just Mr Ardley. Sitting at his desk with his record book open in front of him. And on one side of his desk was the strap. A thing to make you feel sick. A wide piece of heavy leather split into two for most of its length.
Mr Ardley was getting up. ‘Close the door. And come here. Let’s have a look at you.’
He had come round to lean against the front of his desk. With a sick, scared feeling in her stomach Sharon went to stand in front of him. Her eyes registered that two names were on the blackboard. Wanda Higgins and Janice Maybury. Both girls were a year older than her. And there were times chalked against the names. 11.00 and 11.30. Had they been in here this morning? For… what...?
‘So how have you spent the summer, Sharon? Working at your studies? Or with that boy who was the cause of most of your problems last year. Mmmmm...? Come here…‘
He had reached out for her skirt. Grabbing it he tugged her in closer. She gave a little yelp. Mr Ardley’s hand had her skirt pulled away from her thighs. And now his other hand slid in underneath. It gripped her bare thigh... and then moved up. Her body jerked as the hand reached her pussy. But his other hand had her skirt gripped tight, preventing her from stepping back.
‘Keep still,’ he commanded. And his hand cupped the bulge of her pussy through her brief knickers.
This Miss,’ he said, as she began trembling. ‘This is the problem. Too much action here. I think some of you girls at 17 and 18, you have your brains between your legs. Yes?’
No...! No Sir...’
She stumbled, almost falling over as he took his hand away and let go of her skirt. She could still feel his hand there. With his fingers pushed right in between her legs along the length of her slit. Her pulses were pounding. In her head the whispers were racing. Not just the cane but the other. ‘He grabs you. Everything. He makes you take your knickers off. And then gets you up on his desk. On your back....’ 
Mr Ardley said, ‘Well it’s got to stop. That boy. I don’t want you seeing him. I’ll have a word with your mother. And I don’t want you playing with yourself either. That’s not good.’
He reached out to pull her close again. ‘So if you get desperate, get a hot itch down there, you can come to me. Understood? I can give you a bit of relief. With my hand of course. OK?’
She was hotly shaking her head. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. ‘I don’t... I mean I don’t... need anything.’
He gave a sardonic laugh. ‘I know different Miss. But anyway mostly when you get too hot, or anything else, I shall be using my strap. On your bare bottom. I’m going to do it in a few minutes. But first of all...’
Mr Ardley went behind his desk and opened a drawer. He lifted something out. White. She saw it was a pair of shorts.
‘I want you to put these on. I want you in just the shorts, everything else off. Then you’re going to do some exercising. And when we’ve got you nicely warmed up... I’m going to strap you. We’ll take the shorts down and give you it on your bare bottom. OK Sharon?’
The words rung in her ears. Take everything off. It wasn’t some kind of joke? No. She could see that on his face. And those whispers too, they told you he wasn’t joking. She wanted to refuse. Say it wasn’t on. Or maybe plead with him. But she knew she had to do just what he wanted. Her parents had agreed to that. And he wasn’t going to listen to any pleading... She took the shorts. A questioning look...
‘Yes. Here. You get undressed here. You can go over by the desks if you like. But there’s no need to be shy, is there?’
Numbly she went over to where the desks and chairs were piled up. As far away from him as possible. She turned her back.
‘Including your knickers,’ he called. ‘No knickers under the shorts. In any case I think you’ll find they’re nice and tight. Too tight to wear knickers underneath.’
The shorts were tiny, she could see that. They were stretch material and looked like a couple of sizes too small. That was confirmed when she came to pull them on. It was a desperate struggle to get them on. But finally...
She had them on under her skirt. In place of her knickers. The shorts were so tight they were painful. Now her skirt and T-shirt had to come off. And her bra...
‘Oh yes! Lovely! Aren’t you a lovely girl! Stand up straight. Stick them out. Those nice big things.’ His hands reached for her tits. Tweaking the big pink nipples...
‘Lovely! Stand still! No need to be shy. Because in a minute we’re going to have the shorts off too. They are a bit tight, aren’t they? Yes, the shorts off. For my strap.’
His hands left her tits. Her nipples were sticking out now. ‘Makes you nervous, does it? The thought of the strap, on your bare bottom. Yes, it certainly does sting.’ A hand came in again. This time to the crotch of the shorts. ‘Of course I could give you a little rub-up first. A tension-releasing rub. Would that be nice?’
As if to demonstrate, the hand was rubbing at her pussy through the skin-tight material. She had the feeling she was going to faint, or something. Her legs felt all rubbery. She stumbled away shaking her head...
Mr Ardley’s voice became harder, more business-like. ‘Well OK then. Let’s have some action. Start running. On the spot. And put some effort into it. Legs really high…’
The running went on and on. Sharon wasn’t particularly fit, she wasn’t too keen on sports. So the pain in her legs — her thighs — and her lungs was soon killing her. The hard running, mixed in with stretching and bending exercises. Yes it was killing her. She was desperately gasping for breath. Her head was spinning out of control. She was close to collapsing, in a heap on the floor...
He finally said stop. She was in a state of collapse. Mr Ardley moved in close. His hands taking hold of her tits. They were hot now. Slippery with perspiration.
He laughed. ‘Sweaty girl! And now something else to sweat about, eh? A good hard strapping! Take the shorts off. And then I want you lying on the bench. On your back. Can you manage that? I’m sure you can.’
He let go of her and turned away. ‘Come on, look sharp.’
He was going over to the blackboard. ‘And before I forget, I want to see you again tomorrow. In the evening. Eight o’clock.’
He was writing it on the board. And in his record book. While she weakly struggled to get the tight shorts off. She was still gasping for breath. She felt dreadful — but now was coming something worse. That awful strap! On her bare bottom. She was going to have to lie on that narrow trestle. Upside-down. To present her bottom for that dreadful strap. She made a desperate mewing sound...
Her mother asked, ‘Well was it alright? Are you on better terms with Mr Ardley now?’
Sharon didn’t answer. She couldn’t, she was afraid she would simply start blubbing. In fact tears were already springing from her eyes that were red from earlier crying. She pushed past her mother, up to her room.
Her bottom was still red hot from the strapping. Lying nude on that trestle. On her back and hanging onto the wooden legs. With her legs right up in the air. While he whipped the heavy leather onto her defenceless bottom.
It had been... devastating. Worse than anything she had imagined. She had almost fallen off when the first one sliced in. And also a couple of times later. Her poor bottom!
And she had to go again tomorrow! For more of the same. Weeping at the thought Sharon slipped her knickers off and got into bed. It was only the middle of the afternoon but she simply needed the cosiness of her bed. With her knickers off. Her hand down between her legs. Because although she didn’t do it a lot she really needed to do it now. Her fingers stroking in her warm, wet pussy.
She gave a little groan. Yes, this was what she needed. Was desperate for in fact. Mr Ardley had said she wasn’t to do it but he couldn’t stop her. He had also said she mustn’t see Mark. But at the moment she didn’t want to see him. She just wanted to be alone. In bed like this. With her finger working at her clit...
Eight o’clock the next evening. Mr Ardley was waiting for her of course. Perched on the trestle, idly playing with his strap.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘How are we feeling? Not too sore? Come here....’
As before he pulled her in close by her skirt. Slid his hand up underneath. To take hold of her pussy through her knickers. ‘I hope you haven’t seen that boy...?’
She shook her head. Forcing herself to stand still.
‘No? Good. But I bet you were doing something yourself. Eh? Your fingers... in here...’
Flushing she shook her head.
Mr Ardley said, ‘I don’t believe you. Anyway this evening we have another session. More of the strap. And then I think your first taste of the birch. So you know what it’s all about. After that, well, it’ll be up to you to a certain extent. If you co-operate, do what I want... things don’t have to be too bad. Understand Sharon?’
Did she understand? From what she’d heard in the whispers. And what she could guess. Sharon bit her lip. She couldn’t take much more of that dreadful strap. And as for the birch... it could be even worse...
‘Yes Sharon? Do you know what we’re talking about?’
She didn’t reply. But she slid her legs open a little. Allowing access for his fingers. The fingers took immediate advantage. Pushing in. Rubbing along the ultra-sensitive lips. She made herself keep still...
Mr Ardley said. ‘Yes. Perhaps. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. We’ll see. But first of all we do need to have something. Some more of the strap. A taste of the birch. So take your skirt off. And your knickers. OK?’

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