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Friday, 9 February 2018

Headmaster’s Fancy

From Blushes 18
Divide and rule was the Headmaster’s motto. In pursuance of this, Mr Thornton liked to have a number of contacts around the school who for information rendered were treated more lightly in regard to their own misdeeds. It was a system which he had found to work very well. One of his favourite means of acquiring information was through sixth form tutorials in Current Affairs. These tutorials were conducted in small groups but he liked to have a private session with each girl once a week to discuss her essay. During these private sessions he could learn a lot about what might be going on in the school. Such as, for instance, Jane Hadley’s quite unacceptable underwear.
Sandra Clayton told him after being prompted. ‘Anything at all interesting at the moment, Sandra?’ Sandra herself had been caught by the groundsman climbing in over the wall after hours at the beginning of the term. The Head had treated the affair relatively leniently — that is he had taken Sandra’s knickers down and spanked her bottom. Whereas he could have used the cane on her and, as he pointed out, the cane on a 17-year-old girl’s bare bottom can be quite, quite devastating: he could even have expelled her.
So a spanking, albeit a bare bottom one, was lenient and therefore Sandra could be said to owe the Head. And he could always decide, a Headmaster being the ultimate authority and a law unto himself at a girls boarding school, to use the cane after all. So Sandra was ready to report what she knew and anyway Jane Hadley wasn’t a particular friend.
Mr Thornton’s eyes widened as Sandra, after a moment’s hesitation, offered her information. He got to his feet and put a hand on Sandra’s arm. Could she describe these garments? Sandra, who had been sitting next to him on his sofa as you did when you were in his room discussing your essay, stood up. Yes she could. The Head led her over to the window as she described what Jane Hadley had excitedly shown to a number of girls in her room. Brief bra and bikini pants in pale blue satin. Plus, to go with it, a sexy white suspender-belt.
Such garments were of course strictly forbidden at Oakleigh School for Girls. Girls’ minds could not be kept on their work if they were allowed to parade around in sexy undergarments; also if they were allowed such wear it would be an added incentive to go into the nearby town looking for boys.
‘Did she disclose anything of the provenance of these items,’ queried Mr Thornton, standing with Sandra at his window which looked out onto the lawn. Sandra said an excited ‘Yes sir’. Apparently they were a gift from an older man, a neighbour of Jane’s at home. There was naturally the quite intoxicating thought of what Jane might have done to receive such a gift. Jane had laughed and rolled her eyes when asked. Jane Hadley was a pretty and well developed 17-year-old — as indeed was Sandra Clayton herself.
Mr Thornton slid his arm round Sandra’s waist. It was a nice slim waist, the juncture of crisp white blouse above and grey pleated skirt below. ‘Thank you, Sandra. That is very interesting information. What would be highly satisfactory of course would be to catch that young lady in the act, so to speak. I mean wearing those outrageous articles. I imagine she does put them on at times — to impress colleagues?’
As he queried this, the Head’s hand had slipped down from the slim waist onto a decidedly fuller bottom. Shapely but undoubtedly full. Sandra stood still, though there was an audible in-drawing of breath. Through regulation grey linen skirt and regulation, or at least perfectly acceptable, white nylon knickers, the hand cupped the firm rotundity of Sandra’s near-side bottom cheek. ‘Uh, well…’ she said. ‘Yes.’
Yes Jane had, in the privacy of her room with just her room-mate Liz Ramport and a few invited others present, put the illicit undies on. And yes, Sandra agreed, as her left bottom-cheek was jiggled, Jane very likely would put them on again. And so… Mr Thornton’s large hand squeezed soft, female flesh through the thin layers of linen and nylon. The very flesh that he had so keenly spanked, giving no quarter. What he wanted naturally was for Sandra to rat on Jane so that he could catch her in flagrante delecto.
Sandra pursed her lips. Having told the Head in the first place she didn’t have a lot of choice. He could easily threaten to cane what he was now playing with. Ratting wasn’t nice but Jane was not Sandra’s best friend; Jane in fact annoyed her at times. And also…
‘OK sir,’ she said. And then after a pause, ‘Er I wonder if I could have a pass next week, sir?’
Passes were not readily given, Mr Thornton assuming, usually correctly, that girls wanted them to go and meet boys, so you had to pick your time carefully for a request. When he was in a receptive mood but on the other hand not so that it might seem you were attempting some sort of blackmail as regards helping him to catch Jane Hadley.
‘I’ll do what I can about Jane, sir. Really. But also I would like a pass, sir.’
‘For what reason, Miss?’ The Headmaster immediately answered his own question. ‘A boy I suppose. The hormones running amok, are they? Our cloistered little world getting too much for them?’
Sandra produced a strangled ‘No sir,’ although what he had said was largely correct. It was strangled because the Head’s hand had simultaneously gone down and come up again, lifting the back of her skirt with it. His hand sliding up the backs of her thighs, up to the tautly-knickered bottom.
‘No, Sandra?’
Oooohhh!’ she squirmed as fingers reached in between her thighs. ‘Well, not really, sir. I mean he’s a friend, sir. It’s nothing like that, sir. Aaooh!
Through warm, somewhat moist, knickers Mr Thornton’s fingers probed where it counted. ‘Just remember, Sandra, it takes only one of those little wriggly things up inside you to fertilise an egg. Just one. And that boy whoever he is, if he is at all normal, will produce some millions under your no doubt highly-stimulating influence.’
He took his hand away and sharply pinched her bottom. Sandra yelped, then said. ‘I know, sir, but I’m not going to do that, sir. Really I’m not.’
That was true. Sandra didn’t plan to do it with Derek, the boy she had met in town. She knew a girl could easily get pregnant, Mr Walmesley, the Biology master, had drummed that into them on a number of occasions and Sandra had taken due notice. The thought of getting pregnant was too, too horrible but there were plenty of things you could do with a boy that were pretty mind-zonking and at the same time wouldn’t get you pregnant.
One particularly mind-zonking thing for instance, that some girls had had doubts about had been cleared up when Yvette Saunders, who was half-French and therefore rather bold, had asked Mr Walmesley. He had confirmed that you couldn’t get pregnant from having a boy’s thing in your mouth.
Mr Thornton said, ‘Hmm, well, just be warned, my girl.’
But getting his hand on Sandra’s bottom and also having it between her legs had clearly got him going a bit. He said she could have a pass but at the same time he didn’t really approve of girls going off into town with boys and therefore he thought a little smacking was in order. This response did not come as a complete surprise to Sandra; the Head did like impromptu smacking sessions if he could find half an excuse and if he had been doing something that got him in the mood.
Sandra didn’t enjoy having her bare bum smacked but if she wanted the pass she knew the drill. Ruefully she went over to his door to lock it, then came back to stand in front of the Head who had gone to sit on his settee again. ‘Uh, do you want…?’
Mr Thornton said, ‘Of course.’ Sandra had not been in any real doubt that he would want her knickers down, but it was worth a try. She reached up under her skirt. It’s in a good cause, she told herself. The alternative would have been to sneak out without a pass and risk getting caught. Getting caught the second time would undoubtedly get her the cane and that was too awful to contemplate. Juliet Pilkington had got the cane last week and had been persuaded, reluctantly, to show her bottom in her room afterwards. It had really been horrible, double lines, red turning to purple, and sort of ridged. No wonder Juliet was still making sobbing noises.
As Mr Thornton, with Sandra’s succulent bare bottom raised over his lap, commenced to crack his hand down, Sandra wondered about Jane. Thinking about her at least took her mind a little bit off the pain. Would he give Jane the cane if he caught her? Sandra squirmed her hips as a particularly sharp one landed. Dirty old Thorny was evidently enjoying this, his thing big and stiff underneath her.
Jane was duly caught, in all the glory of her illicit underwear, three days later. She had been persuaded, against her better judgement, to give another showing in her room after supper. It was risky because of course anyone could suddenly come along: one of the masters, Matron, even the Head. To a certain extent Jane was regretting having brought the splendid items to school following her weekend pass a week ago. She had intended just to show them to a couple of close friends but of course people now kept wanting her to put them on and it was a temptation.
Sandra, keeping her ear to the ground, got to hear of things and even managed to get an invite. So that when Jane actually stripped off and put the other underwear on Sandra was able to surreptitiously make a signal with her hand out of the window — to Mr Thornton who was waiting and watching below. In one minute flat there was a pre-emptory knock at the door. Panic amongst the six girls present (Sandra’s panic was simulated but she did feel intense excitement). The Head’s voice thundered, ‘Open this door immediately!’ and there was nothing for it but obey. Jane was frantically trying to get her blouse on as he pushed his way in.
Stop that!’ he bellowed. ‘And stand up straight, girl!
Shock-faced, Jane straightened up, a spicy sight in the scandalous underwear plus her unbuttoned blouse. Her hands came across to close the blouse and cover the brief triangle down below. ‘Stand straight! Hands at your sides, wretched girl!’
The others stood immobile, wide-eyed with shock and excitement. What a drama! Poor Jane — but even for her friends there was a quiver of excitement to see her caught like this, and to contemplate what her fate would now be.
‘Utterly disgraceful,’ stated the Head, his eyes glinting with relish. ‘Utterly disgraceful. Get your skirt on, girl, and button up that blouse and then come with me.’
Shaking like a leaf, Jane complied. The awful initial shock had partially worn off and she now felt like bursting into tears. She had known it wasn’t a good idea to put the things on again — but what dreadful luck for the Head to come in at that very moment…
Jane was shortly standing quivering in his sitting room. ‘Take off your blouse and skirt,’ he told her. ‘You know what you’re going to get of course.’
That could only mean one thing: the cane. She felt quite sick. Like Sandra, Jane had also seen Juliet’s bottom when Mr Thornton had finished with her. It had made her sick to look at it, those dreadful weals. ‘Please sir…’ she whimpered.
‘Get those things off!’ he barked. ‘And then you’ll take your punishment. Rules at this school aren’t made to be simply blatantly disregarded, young woman.’
Under his searching gaze Jane slid her skirt down and then took off her blouse. It was like a nightmare. She had a super figure, tall and very shapely and naturally it was stunningly set off in the sensational undies. Mr Thornton’s eyes were like creatures crawling over her.
‘Utterly disgraceful,’ he said primly. ‘I have never seen anything like it. Where did you obtain such an outfit?’
Jane could have made something up, said she had bought it through one of those ads in the Sunday papers in view of the fact that the Head had already had the true version via Sandra perhaps it was as well she didn’t; in any case in sheer fright she told the truth: Mr Girling her neighbour at home had bought it for her. This of course was bound to raise the same question it had with her friends: what had Jane done to inspire such a gift?
Jane tried to insist she had done nothing, which was not quite true. She had in fact let Mr Girling take some photos of her in the sexy underwear and she had also, before he got those items, let him take photos of her in her normal, less exotic, underwear. Eventually, after point blank refusing to take her repeated ‘Nothing sir’ for an answer, Mr Thornton bludgeoned out the truth.
‘Posing for dirty pictures eh,’ exclaimed the Head grimly.
That was one way of putting it. Jane was by now in tears. ‘Well, Miss, that will certainly call for a little extra.’
He went through into his study leaving Jane standing there. He was gone some little time. Waiting for a punishment, especially waiting for a caning, always made it much worse, the suspense could be as bad as the actual event. Well, perhaps not quite as bad. But when he did finally appear again things had got quite desperate and in more ways than one.
‘Sir… please…’ Jane’s face was bright red. ‘Can I…’ she finally blurted it out. ‘I need… to pee, sir.’
‘Is it desperate?’ he inquired owlishly. He didn’t want her wetting herself in the middle of proceedings but equally he didn’t want any more time-wasting.
‘Very desperate, sir.’ Jane was squeezing her thighs together. ‘Very well, then. But make it snappy.’
She came out of the Head’s bathroom relieved in one way but in that way only. In his study he pointed to a straight-backed chair. ‘Get bent over that. Hands on the seat.’ Mr Thornton had his cane in his hand.
Jane felt a sudden need to go back in the bathroom, this time to throw up. She had never had the cane and the vision of Juliet’s bottom… The cane snaked out across her leg. ‘Get over, Miss.’
She stumbled forward. Oh Christ. She had just been on the loo but she needed to pee again and be sick. She bent down, over the chair-back. Her ripe bottom in the almost non-existent satin knickers, which left virtually the whole of her bottom cheeks bare, Oh Christ. ‘Aaaooohh!’
A strangled cry as without delay Mr Thornton cracked his cane in. A mind-boggling pain in her so-tender, sensitive rear. A quite impossible pain. One hand leapt off the seat to go behind. She immediately yelled out again as he whipped the cane in again across her clutching hand.
‘Stay in position, Miss. You are not a baby.’
The second across her rear was if anything worse than the first. It was impossible, unbelievable. Her hands came off the seat again. This time after another quick cut across an offending arm Mr Thornton made her put both hands through the chairback to grip them round her inner thighs.
‘Hold on and do not move, he barked.
Somehow Jane clung on as the cane whistled in once more… and then again. By now the pain was so bad she scarcely knew what was happening. Vaguely she was aware that at some stage he skimmed the pants down off her bottom, and also at some stage made her bend even further down, to grip the leg rungs. But those details were indistinct, at some remove it seemed from reality. Reality was only the red-hot throbbing pain, not now just in her stricken rear but everywhere, all over. Jangling every nerve in her body.
They made her show it afterwards of course. Girls crowding excitedly into her room telling her she had to, everyone had to after a caning from the Head. She tried to avoid it, all she wanted to do was hide in a corner and die but they made her show. Bright-eyed faces commiserating, eyes bright with excitement, it was always tremendously exciting when it was someone else. Monica said the purpling ridged weals were even worse than Juliet’s.
Mr Thornton naturally confiscated the offending underwear: said they were fit only to be burnt. But he didn’t burn them, as Sandra subsequently found out. Two weeks later, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, he produced them in his sitting room. Smiling he said, ‘try them on.’
Sandra, who had come to the Head to ask for another pass, looked at Jane’s undies and then at the Head. She bit her lip. He wasn’t going to make her put them on and then get out his cane, was he? Because she was perhaps asking for too many passes?
‘Come on,’ he urged. He was still smiling. But then Mr. Thornton had probably been smiling while he was producing those awful weals on Jane’s and Juliet’s bottoms…

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