The bathroom was cold. The water in the big white bath looked even colder. Jennie shivered. And it wasn’t only the cold which made her shiver, with goose-pimples all over her bare flesh. Because she was fully aware that Mr Parsons had something exceedingly unpleasant in mind. He was the Junior Maths Master at Daneshill but also doubled as Games Master. Games included swimming, which Jennie loathed. She didn’t simply dislike water, it frightened her.
How long would it be before he returned? She shivered again. Before he’d left her alone in the bathroom, he’d told her to strip. Then he’d relented. ‘You can keep your knickers on,’ he said with a half-grin. They were her dark blue school knickers. Well, it had been a concession but it didn’t do much to keep Jennie warm.
What did he actually intend to do? Jennie looked at the cold water fearfully again. What he had said was that he intended to cure her once and for all of her absurd phobia. ‘You can’t go through life not being able to swim, Jennie,’ he had said.
‘I… can… I can!’
‘Don’t argue. Think of all the fun you’d be missing.’
‘I don’t care!’
‘One day, you’ll thank me.’
So there she stood in that cold bathroom, wearing only her knickers, her breasts feeling as chilled as those on a marble statue. Jennie tested the temperature of the water with her hand. It felt freezing. Then she jumped back, hearing a footstep in the passageway outside. Mr Parsons was back. Young, bearded, resolute-looking. He gazed rather over-long at her breasts, she thought. He’d really got no right to do that. But what could she do about it? Nothing. Daneshill, she often thought, was more like a prison than an ordinary school. Strict discipline was all part of the tradition and, so it seemed, most parents fully approved. Her own included.
What did it matter if he looked at her breasts anyway? He might be tempted… and so go easier on her. Before now, in one of the changing rooms, he had her knickers down and spanked her bare bottom. That had been for what he called ‘absolute stupidity’; and arising again from her fear of water. It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t help that.
‘Well, Jennie,’ he said, ‘this isn’t going to be exactly pleasant for you. But I’m determined to cure you.’
‘I… I don’t want to be cured!’ she wailed.
‘Fear of water can only be cured by demonstrating you have nothing to fear from it. That’s what I’m going to do. Get in the bath.’
‘No… I won’t…’
At once he slapped her bottom. ‘Don’t be insolent! Do as I say, girl!’ She could see he was quite determined. He slapped her bottom again. ‘Go on, get in.’
It was hopeless. She had to do it. She shuddered. Better get it over with, otherwise she had the feeling he would keep her there all night if necessary. Gingerly she put one foot over the end of the bath and into the water. Quickly she withdrew. That water seemed to feel colder than ever.
The next moment, Mr Parsons had got her around the waist and was lifting her up. She felt his wiry strength and shrieked.
‘Sttooo…oooppp… no…ooo!’ But it was too late. She was up, then sloshed down into the cold water. Then she was gasping and gasping and gasping as it quite robbed her of breath. Oh, she couldn’t bear it! It was freezing! She tried to struggle up and out of the bath, but he kept her held down.
‘There…’ she heard him saying, ‘that’s not so bad, is it?’ There was a kind of laugh in his voice, as if he were dealing with a young child and not a young woman. Rage surged up in her.
‘You… you b-beast! Oooh… you’re a horrible beast!’ she shrieked.
‘Watch your tongue, girl! Remember whom you’re addressing!’ Answering back and cheeking teachers was a serious offence at Daneshill. Now shivering uncontrollably, Jennie fell silent but for her gasping-sobs. Oh how long was he going to keep her there?
‘P-please… sir… let me out…’ It was a snivelling kind of whine. And he actually laughed.
‘The demonstration has only just begun, Jennie,’ he said. ‘I am now going to show you that water… and especially putting your head under it… does you no harm at all.’
‘Noooo!’ She had always had a terror of ducking. Perhaps that was because an elder sister had done it to her when she was very young.
The protest was ignored and Jennie felt her neck siezed and her face forced down into the water. It filled her eyes, her nose, her mouth. She panicked, threshing wildly. He let her up again. Water jetted from her mouth as she yelled.
‘There…’ he said almost jovially. ‘Nothing to it!’
‘Let me go… let me out… you… you coward!’ Jennie didn’t care any more about cheeking a teacher. She was desperate to be released. Coward!’ she cried again.
If she could have seen it, she wouldn’t have liked the look on Mr Parsons’ face. It was not an epithet he thought he deserved, especially from a 17-year-old schoolgirl. He got his own back by pushing her face under the water and, this time, holding it there longer.
In due time, Jennie came up, blowing like a sea-lion. She was choking with rage… fighting to get out the words she could no longer control. A steam of most unlady-like vituperation finally came from her, interspersed with some of the choicest swear-words. Mr Parsons was momentarily taken aback. How could a Daneshill girl say such things? It couldn’t be allowed. She would have to be dealt with. After a third ducking.
Once more, Jennie’s face and head went under the water and, while it was there, she realised that fury had overtaken her fear. She didn’t mind the water so much, she just minded what he was doing. It was so utterly humiliating! Just like a farmer dipping a sheep. Intolerable! Once more, when she surfaced, spraying out water, she let fly with an obscene verbal barrage.
Yes… her fear had definitely gone. So, it could be said, that the Sports Master’s methods had proved successful, could it not?
Jennie found herself released. She struggled up, half slipping, hair streaming with water, her body glistening with it, her knickers soaked. Her teeth were chattering. She uttered another expletive as she got out of the bath and got a stinging slap on her bottom for her pains. The cold and the wet seemed to make it hurt more.
‘You see,’ he said, ‘I told you there’s nothing to be scared of. We’ll have you doing a length of the pool in no time.’ Jennie looked at him with something like hatred. This bully was being proved right. The water had certainly not harmed her; just frozen her. Her paramount reaction was anger.
‘You… y-you won’t…’ she almost spat out. And got her bottom smacked again.
‘I’ve had enough of your backchat, Miss,’ snapped Mr Parsons. ‘I’ve never heard the like of it from a pupil before. And, as for your foul language… it was like that of a fishwife, not a schoolgirl!’
Jennie’s teeth were still chattering. She realised now that, in her fury and frustration she had overstepped her mark. But was that really her fault? Mind you, he was looking grim. Most likely he would report her to the Head. Then she knew what would happen. It had happened once before.
‘I think, Jennie,’ he said, ‘I shall save the Head the trouble of giving you the caning you have earned yourself. I shall give it to you myself… here and now!’
Jennie’s teeth chattered even more loudly. ‘O-oh… oh please… sir… please give me… a chance… I was so scared… I d-didn’t know what I was saying…’ The thought of a cane on her wet, bare flesh was unbearable!
‘You were just in a rage, my girl… lost control of your tongue. As you know, that’s unforgiveable at Daneshill. It is a school designed to bring up decent young ladies, not skinheads. Come on… let’s have those knickers down!’
‘P-please… oh… please… just this once! I’ll s-swim in the pool… I will… I will!’ Jennie was getting desperate.
‘I said, take those knickers down!’ A hand slapped on to the soggy blue knickers; Jennie yelped loudly. Once… twice… three times.
‘Owww… oowww… owww!’
Jennie decided she had no option. As fast as she could she thrust down the knickers.
‘Take them right off… come along!’ Mr Parsons bent and picked up a cane from under the bath. He had placed it there earlier for such an emergency. Mr Parsons had once been a boy scout and still remembered their motto. He looked at the girl’s glistening body. Yes… the willow was definitely going to hurt on that taut, cold flesh. Serve her right; she’d be far more likely to keep a civil tongue in her head in future. Over you go… over the side of the bath!’
‘Pleeee…eeeease…’ She was shivering uncontrolably. Very understandable. The cold flesh tautened even more. ‘N-not… hard… ooohh… not hard… I couldn’t bear it!’
Mr Parsons nodded understandably. He wouldn’t be too hard on her. Just hard enough to keep the memory alive for many a day! ‘Hold the other side of the bath, girl!’ That glistening bottom curved even more invitingly. Eminently caneable!
‘S-sir!’ It was rather a squeak. ‘I… I’d do anything… anything… if you didn’t c-cane me!’
The implication of that plea was obvious, thought Mr Parsons. Another bit of cheek. As if he could be dissuaded from his duty by such girlish provocation! Still, he had to admit, he was sorely tempted. No… no… he must cast such thoughts aside. He was a master, she a pupil; there could be no such relationship. Certainly not as a kind of bribe. That was unthinkable.
Except, maybe, when the girl got into the sixth. When she was eighteen. When she was on the point of leaving. Ah… then… maybe! Fiercely, Mr Parsons put aside all such thoughts. He must concentrate on the matter in hand.
‘Jennie,’ he said sternly, ‘I do not exactly know what you are trying to say. I simply hope it is not what, for a moment or two, I thought it was.’
‘I… I m-meant… sir…’
‘If I were you, Jennie, I would say no more.’ There were sobs of defeat. How humiliating, at her age, to offer a man something so precious — and have it refused! It was almost as unbearable as bending naked over a bath, shivering with cold, waiting to be caned.
When none of it was any of her fault!
‘Ooooh… I wish I were d-dead…’ Mr Parsons smiled. It was a remark he had heard before, under similar circumstances.
‘I expect you do, Jennie,’ he answered indulgently. ‘Meanwhile, you will get your bottom up higher.’ Jennie made the effort, but none too successfully. Her flesh was cringing at the thought of that cane.
Then it came. Whistling. Biting. A white-hot streak of agony. It filled Jennie’s mind; her whole being. She gasped, just as she had done when plunged into that icy water. Breathlessly. Higher… ever higher. Then she screamed. She turned, arms raised pleadingly. ‘Noooo…ooo… aaahhh… no… that’s too much!’
Mr Parsons surveyed the bright red, encircling weal with satisfaction. No doubt at all that had hurt a good deal. ‘Better to get six from me, isn’t it, Jennie, than a dozen from the Head? That is what I would recommend… and I have never known him turn down my recommendations.’
The girl groaned despairingly. Would twelve on a dry, warm bottom be worse than six on a wet, cold bottom? It was such a difficult decision to make. What she did know was that the cane was there, poised and ready. Ready to give her immediate pain. That made the decision all the more difficult. Twelve? Ah no…
Jennie opted for immediate torment. ‘Y-you… sir…’
‘Good girl,’ Mr Parsons smiled with satisfaction. He had thought, disagreeable as it might be, this nubile youngster would see it his way. ‘Let’s have that bottom well up again then.’
Oh how reluctant it was to rise. Turning this way and that. Anticipating. The flesh incessantly flinching. Yes… he must remember this. A cold, wet bottom was a far more vulnerable bottom.
In his mind’s eye, he envisaged a scene where a girl might be made to wear what used to be known in Victorian days as ‘whipping drawers.’ Those drawers would first be well saturated with water. Yes… a nice idea that. Still, he must concentrate on the matter in hand. He brought the cane down sharply again on Jennie’s upthrust behind.
With a gasping shriek, the girl lost her grip on the far edge of the bath and almost fell back into the water. She was on her knees; sobbing. Suffering no end. Yet there were still four more to go. Was she going to be able to take them?
‘I… oooh… I p-promise… anything… I’ll do anything… oooh… please… just stop…’
There it was again… that outrageously provocative suggestion. Mr Parsons gave the girl her third stroke even harder than the previous two, holding her over by the shoulder as he did so. Jennie writhed frantically along the slippery bath-edge, squealing out in pain.
‘Ahhh… no more… no more… no…ooo!’
Mr Parsons gave her the fourth, just as hard as the third. The language this girl had used was quite unforgiveable. Then there was the matter of these suggestive pleas. It really was just too much! Daneshill was a disciplined school, not a potential whorehouse! Still, it could not be denied that that was a most enticing, young naked body.
There was just the faintest ebbing of resolution…
‘Only two more to go, Jennie,’ he said almost kindly. ‘Be a brave girl. Let’s have that bottom up nicely again. Mmmm… yes… yes… but still a little higher.’
He struck swiftly, whilst the curve was as high as it was ever likely to get. But he did not strike quite so hard. Was his heart being softened? Was not the temptation possibly not becoming too great? She was seventeen, after all… and looked older. She was of a legal age. A girl with a mind of her own.
And a body of her own.
Mr Parsons sawed the cane across that cringing bottom flesh. ‘I’m thinking of giving you a really good hard one, Jennie,’ he said. The nates clenched violently.
‘No…ooo… I beg you!’ She was looking up at him imploringly. ‘Anything…’ she said.
Anything… for just one more stroke. That was interesting. Most duty done, but not fully done. Mr Parsons set aside the cane.
The floor of the bathroom was cold, wet and stony hard. In an odd way, that had its own sexy attractiveness. Mr Parsons had always rather enjoyed unusual milieux for this kind of little adventure. The front seat of a Mini, the back of a lorry, in a barn. Now it was a bathroom. In any event, Jennie was no longer cold but very warm, even if still slightly damp. A most athletic girl, the Sports Master decided.
‘You don’t have to continue swimming,’ he said, some time later.
‘No? But now I think I will, all the same. Sir.’ she said. Then kissed him very lavishly.