From Blushes 17, continued from The Games Mistress.
‘What did you say that young man’s name was, Miss Crawshaw? Keith, was it?’
‘Kevin sir,’ said Christine, standing with feet together in the square and hands on head. She was in a white top and navy blue knickers, no skirt. Also no bra, you didn’t come to Room 4C wearing a bra the same as you didn’t turn out for hockey or gym wearing one. Christine had learnt that lesson. The hands on head position thrust the unharnessed 39D breasts very impressively out. The girls of course had commented on them. ‘Gosh, Miss Crawshaw, I bet your boyfriend loves them.’ That was very much what the Head said now.
‘Kevin, yes. I imagine young Kevin is in his Seventh Heaven when he can get at those things. That would be any young man’s dream. It’s a desire to return to infancy, of course, Miss Crawshaw, that great interest they have in big breasts. The thought of nuzzling in and getting at all that milk. Tell me, does he like to suck them?’
Christine made a groaning embarrassed sound. Really Mr Dowling could be just… Then she squealed as he sharply smacked her bottom. ‘Yes or no, Miss?’
‘Oh please… Uh… Yes sir… s… sometimes.’
Mr Dowling delivered a second sharp smack. ‘Well, there you are then. He thinks he’s back with mummy — though I can’t imagine mummy had a pair half as big as those. Did I tell you, Miss Crawshaw, they are quite the biggest I have ever seen.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Christine. Mr Dowling’s interest in her boobs was quite as great as Kevin’s, or indeed as anyone else’s could possibly be. Yesterday he had invited her to tea in his private sitting room. To have a chat about how she was getting on. Sitting on the sofa with her Mr Dowling had, while continuing to talk about something or other, unfastened Christine’s suit jacket and then slowly and deliberately unbuttoned all the buttons of her blouse. She had not worn a bra knowing now his thing about bras, but she had not imagined he would undo her blouse. And then… do what he did…
The Headmaster delivered some more smacks to Christine’s bottom and the backs of her thighs. ‘Keep your feet clearly inside the square, Miss Crawshaw. I am testing your control, your sense of discipline.’
That seemed to be a major preoccupation with Mr Dowling — that and her boobs. It was the third time he’d had her in 4C for a disciplinary session: three times in less than a week. Did he do this to the other staff? Christine wondered. Probably not; most of them were older women so he wouldn’t be interested in it then. But Christine was barely 20 and also had those fabulous knockers not to mention a very spankable bum. No, she was very likely the only one — scurrying along the corridor and praying no one would see her, or if they did, not suspect what was happening to the new games mistress in Room 4C.
‘Oooouch!’ Christine almost overbalanced as Mr Dowling, seated comfortably next to her, delivered an extra hard slap to her thigh.
‘Off to see him at the weekend, I expect, Miss Crawshaw? Off to see that Kevin?’
‘Uh, yes sir. I hope so, sir.’
‘Yes, well, I daresay he’s feeling quite deprived. Desperate to get his hands on those things, eh? And desperate for something else too, eh Miss Crawshaw?’
‘I…I don’t know, sir.’ Christine’s arms were aching and so were her legs with having to keep her feet inside this bloody square. Mr Dowling could be a really fiendish beast when he felt like it.
Another stinging slap. ‘Don’t know, Miss? I am referring as you well know to sexual intercourse which you admitted that you and young Kevin indulged in. Though I fear, Miss Crawshaw, that if the school governors knew of it they might find it morally unacceptable. It could have a very bad effect on the girls, Miss Crawshaw, if it became known. What do you say to that?’
Christine said, breathing heavily, ‘I don’t know sir.’ The Headmaster shouldn’t be able to talk to her like this, but… what did you do to stop him?
The hand was again on the back of her thigh. Not spanking now but stroking. ‘What would you say, Miss Crawshaw, if I were to say you must cease to engage in sexual intercourse with your boyfriend? I think I would be entitled to do that for I am responsible for the moral conduct of my staff. Eh, Miss Crawshaw?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Christine said once more. She was sweating. The fingers of the stroking hand were now in between her thighs.
‘There seems to be a lot you don’t know, my dear young woman. I rather imagine you would very soon be feeling quite desperate. I am told that once the womanly juices have been stimulated in that way there is a great craving for it. It becomes an addiction. Has this sexual intercourse become an addiction, Miss Crawshaw?’
‘No… sir… Ooohh!’
The fingers which had worked their way right in between Christine’s thighs suddenly came out and delivered a hard smack. The shock was sufficient to send her teetering, then overbalancing. It was either put one foot outside the square or fall over.
‘A failure of self-control, Miss Crawshaw,’ Mr Dowling barked sharply. ‘We’d better have those knickers down.’
You couldn’t argue with Mr Dowling: for one thing he might simply get that cane out again. Christine scrabbled her knickers down; at least it eased the ache in her arms. But then it was hands back on head and the same game as before, the Headmaster now with the ripe bare bottom as his target.
‘The next time the feet come out, Miss,’ said the Head, delivering smacks in a brisk and rhythmic manner, ‘I shall have to get my little strap. I shall apply it to the inner thighs. That region, Miss Crawshaw,’ smack! ‘is always,’ smack! ‘a very sensitive,’ smack! ‘area in a girl or young woman.’ smack! ‘I imagine it is especially sensitive,’ smack! ‘in one who has started to engage,’ smack! smack! ‘in sexual intercourse and has therefore,’ smack! ‘sensitised the nerve endings in that region.’
The sharp smacks continued, each one adding to the cumulative effect. They were decidedly painful and Christine couldn’t help twisting and writhing her bottom and thighs. With the inevitable result that eventually she lost her balance and had to move a foot.
‘I did warn you, miss.’ Mr Dowling delivered a final slap and got up. From somewhere he produced a short, wide leather strap. He held it under Christine’s nose. ‘This is my little thigh stinger, Miss Crawshaw. Now let’s have you in position. Those crosses on the floor…’
The crosses were on either side of the big square, perhaps two feet apart. Christine had to stand with one foot on each. Mr Dowling had it all worked out, he had obviously done this before. She wasn’t to pull her knickers properly back up but one hand had to hold them up between her legs so that Mr Dowling had a clear target.
The fiendish strap stung like some kind of hornet!
‘Don’t you dare move, Miss. Or I shall fetch the cane and give you something that you won’t want to sit down on for a week.
Christine squirmed and writhed, one hand on her head and the other holding onto the beastly schoolgirl knickers. Who could believe you could be subjected to something so diabolical as this?
To be concluded in The Mistress…