The room is a small office or study and most of the space is taken up by a desk with an old-fashioned typewriter, another desk, filing cabinets, a couple of chairs. A man is seated on one chair and in the small space that is left a girl in school uniform stands before him. She is standing in a submissive posture, her head of sleek shoulder-length brown hair bent, her hands held behind her back. The man has a cane lightly held in his hand. He says something and the girl after a moment’s hesitation removes her skirt and puts it on the other chair. And then reluctantly slides her navy knickers halfway down her thighs…
The girl’s name is Gillian Thompson.
It is seven o’clock on a Thursday evening in April and 18-year-old Gillian Thompson and her boyfriend Andrew Cantlin are in her sitting room, sitting on the sofa in front of the television set which is showing a sitcom. But as Gillian’s parents are out at friends this evening, perhaps naturally the pair aren’t watching the telly. The sound is turned off and Andrew’s hand is up under Gillian’s short school skirt stroking her warm bare thigh. He has been trying to persuade her to take her knickers off but she won’t.
Gillian is today not in the mood for any of that. In any case she is only allowed to entertain Andrew in her parents’ absence on the understanding that she won’t get up to anything. This has not always been an obstacle to Andrew’s hot desires, Gillian can sometimes be persuaded to allow intimacies which certainly her mother would not approve of, but today Gillian is not cooperative. She seems distracted, as if her mind is mainly on something else.
Once again she pushes his hand away. ‘Come on, let’s watch the telly.’
Andrew is getting annoyed. He gives a spiteful little laugh. ‘Tell me about Mr Hinkley then.’
This at least shakes Gillian out of her languor. Her voice becomes sharp. ‘What are you talking about?’
Andrew suspects he has made a false move but continues anyway. ‘Well, you know. You know what they say about Mr Hinkley. What he wants from girls.’
Gillian cheeks redden. ‘You’ve got a disgusting mind, Andrew Cantlin,’ she hisses. ‘And so have those other people.’
Yes it was a false move. After all, making Gillian angry won’t do anything to get her to take her knickers off.
‘No… Well…’ he says lamely.
The trouble was he couldn’t help saying it. Knowing that Gillian has had a meeting with Mr Hinkley today, after school. After an earlier meeting after school on Tuesday. Well…
‘I don’t really believe any of that talk,’ he assures her.
‘Well I hope not.’ She stares at the set. Andrew’s hand comes somewhat tentatively onto her thigh again. She considers angrily brushing it off but doesn’t.
‘Some people have got really disgusting minds,’ she observes evenly.
‘Yes,’ Andrew agrees eagerly. ‘They’ve got nothing else to think about I suppose.’ They seem to be on the same wavelength again. He moves closer and slides his arm round Gillian. His emboldened hand pushes higher up the warm soft flesh under her skirt. Gillian doesn’t resist.
The thing is of course that what those people say is true. Mr Hinkley does want things from girls. He wants to do things to them. Gillian knows it is true — and from first-hand experience. That is why she has been so pensive this evening — a result of her meeting with Mr Hinkley. She doesn’t want to think about it but can’t get it out of her mind.
Mr Hinkley is senior English master at school and also careers master. He called Gillian in to see him after lunch on Monday this week. Mr Hinkley is sixtyish, balding, ordinary looking you might say, but with a keen, intense stare that can seem to go right through you. Or at least, if you are a girl, right through your school uniform, undressing you. It was this gaze that Gillian got when she entered his room, carefully closing the door behind her, to stand nervously in front of his desk. Mr Hinkley’s hard stare. Oh yes it is true alright. Mr Hinkley is interested in girls.
So Gillian got the good hard stare, and then he started talking about what she hoped to do after school.
That is a problem of course. Gillian is not the most brilliant of pupils, her grades at the end of the year are not going to be anything remarkable even taking the most optimistic of views. Gillian knows this, her parents know it. And of course Mr Hinkley knows it. Mr Hinkley, though, can possibly do something about it. He can sometimes place a girl in a job which her school record might not justify. Typist or secretarial, something like that, nothing too demanding of course. But a respectable job nonetheless. Mr Hinkley can do this using his own personal contacts, his own influence. So if he does it, it is as a favour. Girls who are not expecting anything much in their exam are frequently keen to get such a favour from Mr Hinkley.
And naturally we are talking about girls here. Well we are talking about a special favour. And Mr Hinkley does like girls, doesn’t he? Nothing wrong in that. Not just in liking them certainly. But some people — some boys at school and some girls too who are not themselves needing to be recipients of Mr Hinkley’s favours — yes some people go on to say other things too. That Mr Hinkley does not just like them. He wants things from them. And wants to do things too.
Gillian has heard these stories. These whispers. At this moment, standing here in front of Mr Hinkley’s desk after lunch on Monday, she has no idea if the stories are true. But now she realises that Mr Hinkley is making the proposition. That he can possibly help in her job prospects. It will mean some extra tuition of course. After school. Round at his house.
She flushes. Gillian is a pretty girl who flushes quite easily. Especially when she is standing in his room facing those keen eyes which can seem to search in under her school uniform. To her bra and knickers. And beyond those intimate garments, to her trembly bare flesh underneath. Her tits. Her bottom. Her pussy…
She knows she is blushing but she can’t help it. She forces herself to concentrate. And answer. Well naturally she does want Mr Hinkley’s help. Her parents would definitely want her to say: yes, thank-you very much, sir. They have been expressing some concern about what she will do after school so they would be extremely pleased at this development.
So that is what Gillian does say. ‘Thank-you very much, sir.’ There is no point thinking about those things that people say. Well it is just going to be silly talk, isn’t it?
Mr Hinkley smiles. ‘That’s good then. Lovely. I always like to try to help a girl if I can. Especially a very pretty girl, eh Gillian?’
She shuffles her feet. And then Mr Hinkley asks her to come round the other side of his desk, next to him. Her feet seem for a moment sort of rooted to the spot. She stumbles forward. Behind his desk Mr Hinkley takes her arm, pulling her in close.
‘Of course they will be strictly confidential, our tutorial sessions. As they are a special favour. You understand that?’
Gillian says, ‘Yes Mr Hinkley.’
As she speaks his hand leaves her arm and comes round behind her. Encircling her bottom. Gillian holds her breath. Has she been expecting this, something of this sort? She finally takes a breath. As Mr Hinkley’s hand through her pleated school skirt cups her right bottom-cheek. The hand squeezes, as Mr Hinkley begins to talk about the areas in which she most requires tutoring.
Gillian tries to listen but her mind is on that hand cupping and squeezing her bottom. And on those whispered stories she has heard. Then his hand lets go. But it has not finished. On no. As Mr Hinkley drones on the hand slips down, to the hem of her skirt, and comes up. Beneath her skirt now. Up the back of one bare thigh. Right up. To her tight white knickers. The hand takes hold of her bottom now in just the skin-tight nylon knickers.
Gillian’s breath is coming in a jerky fashion. But she doesn’t do anything. Makes no move to resist what Mr Hinkley is doing. Acts in fact, apart from her jerky breathing, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Because she guesses that this is part of the deal. To get the special tutoring which with any luck will get you one of those quite good jobs. You have to let Mr Hinkley put his hand up your skirt and play with your bottom. It is after all what is whispered by those people. Their giggly whispers, that you didn’t want to believe. This — and other things.
Oh yes there are other things too. Other whispers.
But that is it. Today at least. Just Mr Hinkley’s hand up her skirt, at her bottom. He does it while he is telling her about what tutoring he thinks she needs. Keeps his hand up her skirt. And then when he has finished takes his hand away. Mr Hinkley seems satisfied.
‘Good,’ he says. ‘I think we shall be able to accomplish something. I believe you are a sensible girl who can take advantage of tutoring. We could have our first session tomorrow after school. Might as well start right away, eh?’
Yes the interview is over. That is it. Except for one little thing more. Mr Hinkley walks her over to the door. And then it is as if he can’t resist one final feel. ‘Good girl,’ he says. And just before he opens the door for her he does it again. His hand quickly up the back of her skirt to the seat of her knickers. A quick final grope at the tautly-knickered curves.
Gillian told her mother right away after school on Monday that she was to get the special tutoring from Mr Hinkley. Her parents were very pleased. They had been concerned at Gillian’s prospects and were aware that Mr Hinkley as careers master could seemingly sometimes pull strings to place girls in jobs. Were they also aware of those whispers about Mr Hinkley? Nothing of that sort was hinted at to Gillian, and she herself certainly was not going to allude to it. She didn’t want to think about it.
She didn’t tell Andrew about the tutoring until Tuesday. She would normally have walked home with him after school but now she was to go round to Mr Hinkley’s for her first tutorial session, so she was obliged to say something. So she told him at lunchtime when they went for a walk behind the tennis courts. She was to have some tutoring with Mr Hinkley. She looked Andrew straight in the eye as she told him, as if daring him to make some sarcastic comment. He didn’t, even if he was thinking something. For one thing Andrew knew Gillian was capable of threatening to go out with someone else, James Landford for instance who was always trying to get something on with her. And James wasn’t the only one because Gillian was certainly one of the best-looking girls in school.
So Andrew made no comment, although he might be thinking plenty. Well he was thinking plenty, and feeling a bit sick inside. But he just said, ‘Oh really?’
Gillian added, ‘He can probably get me a job when I leave school, that’s what it’s for. If I do alright in the tutoring.’
Yes that was the usual deal which Andrew had heard. Not very enthusiastically he said, ‘That’ll be good then.’
Gillian squeezed his hand. ‘Isn’t that what you want, me to get a good job?’
Andrew said, ‘Yes. Of course.’
Gillian knew what he was thinking. Well he had just better not say it. And she herself would certainly maintain there was nothing, it was just all nasty talk. Maybe there wasn’t anything really. She thought back to her interview with Mr Hinkley. His hand up her skirt. It had been pretty awful. Creepy. But she had stood still and let him do it. And maybe that would be all. Just a bit of his hand up her skirt. Nothing else. She could take that, couldn’t she?
That was what Gillian tried to tell herself. But inevitably she spent a pretty awful afternoon, waiting for her first session with Mr Hinkley. Hoping five o’clock, the appointed time, would never come but at the same time wanting it to come. To get it over with. To know the worst. Well, if she was going to know the worst on her first visit.
Gillian found his place without any trouble. 25 Frobisher Drive, it was within walking distance of school in the other direction from where she and Andrew lived. A nice looking house, mock-Tudor with some big trees in the front garden. She opened the gate, telling herself not to be scared . Well there’s nothing to be scared of, is there? A hand up your skirt fondling your bum…
Mr Hinkley is ready for her, opening the door immediately to her nervous knock. Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to see her there. His eyes take her in. It is a warmish day and she has worn no coat today, just her school cardigan over blouse and short skirt. The eyes take in her tits swelling under the green cardigan. Mr Hinkley smiles.
‘Ah good. Come in. On time then.’
Yes Gillian is on time. He ushers her in. The door is closed behind her. ‘Now how about a nice cup of tea first of all?’
Gillian doesn’t particularly want any tea but she doesn’t really have time to think. Because Mr Hinkley has moved in close and his hand is immediately right there, behind her at her bottom. She stumbles away as his hand pulls her skirt up.
Mr Hinkley frowns. ‘Not being silly, are we, Gillian?’
She shakes her head, trying to keep calm. ‘No sir. It’s just…’
‘We must be disciplined. That is one of the first things we must attend to. But we’ll have that cup of tea first of all.’
So he ushers her through to the sitting room. Mr Hinkley’s hand is at Gillian’s bottom again but this time she manages to accept it without any jerking away.
He tells her to take the cardigan off, then sit on the sofa. He seems to have the tea ready, he brings it through right away, and sits next to her on the sofa. Gillian takes a mouthful of the tea. She feels sort of naked here alone with Mr Hinkley and now without her cardigan. Just her thin blouse and her skirt. And her bra and knickers. She tries not to think about her knickers.
Mr Hinkley is talking about discipline. His hand comes onto her knee. He squeezes it. ‘We are going to have to work on the discipline. OK?’
Gillian glances at him then looks away. ‘Yes.’ He laughs. He slides his hand up under her skirt, then takes it away. ‘Right. We must get on. Drink up.’
Gillian forces herself to drink the tea. Mr Hinkley stands and she gets up too. He takes hold of her arm, turning her so that her back is towards him. Then his two hands come round and cup her tits. Gillian gives a little squeal. The hands squeeze her tits…
‘Nice,’ Mr Hinkley says. ‘You’re quite a big girl now.’
He lets go. One hand comes down behind, to her bottom. He directs her forward. They are to go through to his study.
It is a smallish room with a window looking out onto the back garden. Two desk-type tables are arranged side by side and on one is an old-fashioned typewriter. There are also filing cabinets and two chairs. These things do not leave much space. Mr Hinkley goes to sit on the chair in front of the vacant table. And then Gillian sees something else. Next to that table, leaning against the wall is a cane.
Her eyes take in the cane. Through her head now are going those stories. The ones she was hoping against hope were just that — stories.
Mr Hinkley says, ‘Now we are going to start the discipline instruction. So I should like you to take off your skirt. And take your knickers down.’ As he speaks he reaches for the cane.
Gillian’s knees feel weak as she stands in front of him in the confined space. Her eyes are mesmerised by the cane. And she thinks of her bare bottom. Her bottom bared for Mr Hinkley’s cane.
‘S…S…Sir…’ she stutters.
‘What is it?’ Mr Hinkley asks.
‘N…Not the cane, sir.’
‘What?’ he asks mildly. ‘But we must have some disciplinary training. I thought we were agreed on that.’ He gives the cane a little swish through the air.
Gillian shakes her head. Her face is red now. She can already feel that cane. On her hare bottom!
‘Please no, Mr Hinkley. Not the cane sir.’
He gives the cane another little swish. ‘Look, do what I’ve asked. Take your skirt off, and your knickers down. Then we’ll talk about it, eh?’
Gillian chews her lip. She has a rather desperate look, as if she’d like to run somewhere. But there is nowhere to run, and anyway she has to do what Mr Hinkley wants. If she wants him to get her a job. So after some moments her hands go to the waistband of her skirt. Shaky fingers undo the fastener. And then slide the skirt down. Her tight white knickers. Her bare thighs. She steps out of the skirt. Mr Hinkley indicates that she is to put the skirt on the other chair. And then he wants her knickers down. She makes herself do it. Still standing facing him, sliding the knickers down. Halfway down her thighs. Her pussy is bare. Mr Hinkley’s eyes are fixed on her pussy bush, and that half view of her slit.
She feels a desperate urge to bring a hand across and cover her pussy, but makes herself stand straight with her hands at her sides. Mr Hinkley is getting up from his chair. Putting the cane down. So maybe she is being let off? For the moment. But what else?
Gillian trembles as Mr Hinkley comes close. He takes hold of her arms, turning her. Then indicates she is to move to stand in front of the typewriter. She stumbles forward. His hands let go of her arms. And take hold of her bare bottom. His hands cupping the bare cheeks of her bum.
‘Next time, Gillian, I should like you in proper schoolgirl knickers. Navy ones. The white ones you are wearing are alright, but I prefer regulation navy ones. For a disciplinary session. I expect you can find a pair. Alright?’
The hands are squeezing and mounding the soft flesh of her bare buttocks.