Search This Blog

Monday, 19 March 2018

Spanker’s Gallery - Preparations

From Roué 25
Spanker’s Gallery this month is devoted to preparations… making things ready — something dear to the heart of every dedicated chastiser.
How exactly is it to be done? Just how much undress, when, and by whom? The variations are of course unlimited and our artist has chosen to portray three for your delectation.
She knew the Latin homework he’d set had been difficult, but she’d been pretty sure at least some were answered correctly.
But there were ten horridly ominous crosses in the exercise book with the mistakes underlined and then the fateful words he always wrote:- See me after school.
So here she was, all wide-eyed and trembling whilst he held the book up to remind her, his right hand easing the flies of his trouser tops. He’d locked the study door before he’d partially stripped her down to her vest and knickers and then taken her into the little side room… his ‘special’ room with just the one straight-backed plain chair which he either sat on or you bent across depending on whether you were going to be spanked or caned.
In either case you had to slip your panties down to your ankles before you were punished, and he’d make you do this before putting you across his knees.
You weren’t a big girl for your age — just turned sixteen — but you knew your bum was well-developed and that’s what he liked really.
That little vest will have to come higher too… much higher… before the smacking begins… you’d forgotten how your breasts had developed since Easter… but he’d noticed all right… and he likes tits as well as bottoms!
Our miscreant miss has been sent by the Head to carry out the preparations for herself, and so she stands in front of the desk over which she will be bent for punishment in due course.
She has to stand back towards him whilst he enters name, form and above all her misconduct in the Punishment Book and then begins the five minute lecture on her faults and a minute’s pause in silence to let it all sink in. The dreaded words almost come as a relief.
‘Get that skirt right up and slip those knickers down!’
Sooner or later she knows she’ll have to do as she’s told but somehow when you’re pretty, blonde, sixteen and growing up you’re reluctant to strip off, even partially, in front of your Headmaster.
Mind you it won’t be the first time or the last by a long way. You’re still in the Upper Fifth… plenty of time for lots of spankings before you leave school.
You know he’s looking at you keenly, ogling that well-filled short blue pleated skirt, your games skirt really, the one he makes you change into before you visit the study.
His beady narrowed eyes will be following the hem as you pull it slowly higher over the pertly chubby cheeks, the firm buttocks that only really youthful teenagers seem to possess.
Quietly, insidiously and with no fuss you’re going to unveil the snug fit of your dark cotton knickers, the ones you tugged up tight in the corridor before you knocked on the door ‘cos you know that’s how he likes them, tight up into the dampening crotch. If you’re a ‘good girl’ you might not get too hard a smacking.
The long silence means your fingers have to hook into the elastic waistband and peel them down over the full swell of your hips, and against your will you have to wiggle a bit to produce that neat ‘ring’ of cotton material exactly five inches below the junction of pert cheek and soft thigh top.
A cough makes you bend forwards and reach hesitantly for the far edge of the hard cold desk… he puts the strap under your nose… and then you feel the damp hands on your bottom pushing your skirt right up and easing your legs apart… suddenly you feel the tears coming…
My English master… old Mr Grimsdyke’s different, quite different, aren’t they all?
As soon as you’re in the Punishment Room he sits himself down on the solitary plain wooden chair, and then it’s…
‘Stand here girl… that’s right, in front of me… hands on your head Miss… stand up straight now…’
In other words push your breasts out for him to have a good look at… and it’ll be more than a look later now you’ve developed since last Easter and your sixteenth birthday… then it’s…
‘Turn around Miss… face the wall… keep those hands well up…’
Your skirt’s up and your knickers are down to your knees before you’ve had time to wonder what’s happening, but you know what he’s doing as you feel his hot short breaths on your trembling bared bum. He’s going over it with his eyes taking in the creamy bits he’ll turn crimson in the next twenty minutes.
At least he never fondles your bottom, though he’ll smack it really hard later… but you hear the chair creak as he stands up, and you feel the rough tweed of his baggy old trousers against your naked cheeks… then his hands are cupping your breasts through your thin cotton school blouse… no bra allowed for Mr Grimsdyke… you start to wriggle and squirm and choke back your sobs as he starts to unbutton the flimsy covering…
Mr Ballance’s my Biology master, so that must account for it. He likes preparations to be ‘symbiotic’ as he calls it! Put shortly, that means you cooperate or else!
He makes you stand in front of him, and then… you’ll never believe it… I have to suppress my giggles… he kneels down on one knee in front of you… but it’s not marriage he has in mind! He makes you hold your skirt up to your waist in front like a tent and stand quite still whilst he pulls your knickers down to your ankles. Then you have to lift one leg out of your knickers and put your legs as wide apart as you can… really wide.
You have to hide your blushes, I can tell you, whilst he fiddles about with your knickers round your other ankle, and on no account must you let that skirt hem down. It seems hours before he takes your knicks off completely, and you can guess what it is has been interesting him all this time. It’s just like one of those Biology lessons…
Observations… Auscultation (that’s listening — to your sniffy little sobs) and then Palpitation… his special word for feeling all over your thighs, bottom and…
‘Stick it out Miss… try to relax… relax… ah yes… that’s better… much better… much much better… try not to wriggle dear… please try NOT to wiggle… ah yes… I don’t suppose it’ll matter… that’s good… good girl… GOOD GIRL… time to come over my knee eh… eh!

1 comment: