From Blushes 26
Mr Wilton glanced up at the clock. Sixteen minutes to nine. In fact 15 and a half minutes. Only 30 seconds to go. If she wasn’t… Twenty seconds now. Mr Wilton looking at the door. If she didn’t make it…
At just 12 seconds before the zero hour of 8.45 there was an urgent knock. His face registered a moment’s disappointment. It would have been nice to have the excuse, a legitimate reason in fact, to have another go at her. Deborah Milford once more on the carpet. Figuratively speaking that was; more precisely over the top of his desk. Skirt up and knickers down and that slightly plump bare bottom trembling in fearful anticipation of the mind-bending cut of his cane. With an effort Sidney Wilton thrust those seductive images from his mind. It was being extremely negative to wish a girl had missed her appointment, he should be pleased she had made it in time. Yes. But still…
The door bursting open to admit a very pretty girl. Blonde and quite tall and well built, nicely filling out a tweed skirt in browns and yellows plus a pale brown cardigan. St Hilary’s College catered for girls who had missed a subject or two at A Level first time round. They were thus all 18 and there was no uniform. Well, except perhaps for one item. Girls joining were issued with six pairs of pink, somewhat transparent, nylon knickers. Mr Wilton’s idea: some sort of uniformity was a good thing. If you were caught wearing any other knickers you were in big trouble. So you could say that the pink knickers constituted St Hilary’s uniform. Those blushing pink knickers that Deborah Milford would now have on under her sensible calf-length tweed skirt. Mr Wilton’s Passion Pants as they were sometimes irreverently known. But it wasn’t a joke, or not a very funny one. Because those pink knickers could be taken down by Mr Wilton, Principal of St Hilary’s.
Because that was another of Mr Wilton’s little things. The girls were grown up and 18 but discipline was necessary; perhaps even more than when they were at school because these girls had all failed in some way or other. So in short you could be caned. Your skirt, tweed or whatever, pulled up and your special pink knickers taken down and Mr Wilton’s whippy cane then zipped in across your bare bottom. Extremely painful as well as, naturally, a dreadfully humiliating and embarrassing experience. An experience to be avoided if at all possible, Mr Wilton though, unfortunately, was rather keen on handing out canings, especially to the rears of the more attractive members of St Hilary’s and did so whenever he had anything approaching a legitimate excuse. This situation inserted therefore a certain degree of tension into the lives of such as Deborah Milford.
She now having closed the door behind her brought her hand up to a lightly perspiring brow. The pretty, full-lipped face was flushed with having run all the way from the bus stop. The bloody bus had been held up in traffic and Deborah had desperately feared…
‘Just made it, sir.’ A half smile, hopeful of striking a friendly note. Mr Wilton could be in a bad mood in the mornings. He could say something like: I don’t want to see you in here all hot and panting like a horse. Why don’t we take your knickers down again? But that wouldn’t really be fair and generally speaking Mr Wilton was fair. He glanced up at the clock.
‘Yes, Deborah, but only just. We’re cutting things very fine, aren’t we? Mmmm? Come here.’
Round the side of his desk he meant to where he was sitting. He seemed at least in a reasonable mood. Deborah came circumspectly round. ‘Mmmm. How are we feeling? All right, is it?’
Her bottom. From yesterday afternoon. When she had been bent over this desk with her skirt up and pink knickers down and Mr Wilton’s shocking cane…
‘Not sore now?’
‘No sir. Not really sir.’
Mr Youngley had sent her to Mr Wilton because he said her English essay was poor. That wasn’t the first time he had done that. Deborah had a shrewd idea she could probably have avoided this fate by doing what Jackie Cutler had done. Which was to say to Mr Youngley please could she have some extra tuition. Jackie Cutler had extra tuition round at Mr Youngley’s house in the evenings now and as a result didn’t get sent to Mr Wilton to be caned; but Deborah wasn’t quite desperate enough to take this option, dreadful though a caning from Mr Wilton always was. She fancied that ‘extra tuition’ from watery-eyed Mr Youngley, with his sickening habit of licking his lips when he looked at you, would be even worse. So it had been a caning. She could still feel it. Mind-zapping.
‘Mmm. Let’s have a look. Lift your skirt.’
The day after a caning Mr Wilton always made you come round to his office first thing, at 8.45. To ask if everything was all right. And even if you said Yes, as normally a girl would, he usually wanted to check. ‘Lift your skirt.’
Deborah’s hands gripping the pleated skirt near the hem as she stood at Mr Wilton’s side. Lifting. Mr Wilton’s eyes as if held by a magnet as the skirt came up to reveal dimpled knees, then round smooth thighs. Finally those brief tight pink knickers. Right up the skirt came, to Deborah’s waist. She had done this before and knew what was expected. On the right front of the nylon knickers, near the lower hem where it slanted up from her groin, were round shiny blue things. Spangles, sewn on. Five in a tight little group.
Mr Wilton’s hand reached out. Two fingers sliding up inside the knickers behind the spangles, his thumb rubbing over them. ‘Mmm… Five now, Deborah.’
Deborah answered a tight-lipped ‘Yes, sir.’
Five blue spangles. Each time after a girl was caned Mr Wilton noted it in his Record Book. And then handed the gasping, sometimes weeping, sufferer six blue spangles. One spangle for each of her six pairs of pink knickers, to be sewn onto the right-hand lower front that evening. One spangle for each session under the cane. Deborah’s six pairs of pink knickers were each now decorated with five spangles, since yesterday evening when up in her room she had sewn the fifth ones on.
Five spangles in one and a bit terms. Three of them were due to creepy Mr Youngley who would so dearly love to get her round to his place in the evenings for ‘extra tuition’. One other, the first, early in the first term, was when she had forgotten and put on a different pair of knickers and Mr Wilton in one of the impromptu knicker-checks he liked to make had discovered it. A happy day for Sidney Wilton who had been eyeing the shapely new girl and rather aching for a first go at her bottom. Deborah’s other spangle, her third in chronological order, had been Mr Heath the gardener who had caught her cutting through a part of the garden forbidden to girls and according to him ‘damaging plants’.
Mr Heath had been prepared, keen in fact, to deal with the matter himself; to take Deborah to his little hut and take her knickers down himself and spank her bottom. That would have been quite against regulations on Mr Heath’s part because no one except Mr Wilton was allowed to take girls’ knickers down and spank or cane their bottoms. But Mr Heath did do it if he got the chance and a girl would agree. The trouble was that once Mr Heath had you in his place with your knickers down he was rumoured to be very difficult to handle. Difficult to prevent from proceeding to other things. Rather like Mr Youngley and his extra tuition. So Deborah had refused and got her third caning from Mr Wilton.
Five canings in one and a third terms. That was quite a lot but by no means unusual for the more attractive members of St Hilary’s. Two girls in the present crop had already got six. Mr Wilton was very keen on his cane and it would be true to say that by now, the third week of the Spring Term, all the girls that he fancied in any degree had their knickers decorated with at least two blue spangles. Correction: every girl except one. Elaine Puckwell. Somehow Elaine Puckwell had managed to avoid…
Mr Wilton was half thinking of Elaine Puckwell now as he absent-mindedly fingered the spangles on Deborah Milford’s knickers. Elaine with the raven tresses and deep blue eyes and sweetly innocent expression. Elaine whose knickers were still innocent of even a single spangle. Elaine whose work was too good for even Mr Youngley to pronounce inadequate. Elaine who hadn’t fallen foul of Mr Heath and also had never yet come to classes in the wrong knickers. Or at least not that Sidney Wilton had discovered and he had made her lift her skirt for a check on quite a number of occasions.
Mmmm. Mr Wilton’s fingers without really meaning to slid over inside Deborah’s knickers to the central area. Silky soft curls. Deborah shivered. Deborah’s were dark blonde. Elaine’s would of course be raven black but Sidney Wilton had not yet seen Elaine’s. It was getting to be just a little bit… frustrating.
He removed his hand, his fingers, and told Deborah to take her knickers down. It was silly really to dwell on it. Not when he had Deborah and Kirsty and Suzanne and all the others. All of them in one way or another falling foul of the regulations at not infrequent intervals. Sweet Elaine was bound to slip up sooner or later and then…
Deborah holding her skirt up with one hand was pulling down her knickers with the other. Right down to fully expose that blonde bush of hair. Deborah had been here before. Mr Wilton liked to look at the front first although the stated reason for a girl coming to him the morning after a caning was to look at her bottom: to check that the caning had left no serious enduring after-effects. He stared at the fleece which his absent-minded fingers had just trailed over, then looked up at Deborah’s somewhat flushed face.
‘Still keeping away from the boys, I hope, Deborah?’
A smart ‘Yes, sir.’ Consorting with boys was of course another area where a girl could lay herself open to the attentions of Mr Wilton’s cane. Strictly speaking what a girl did outside classes might be regarded as her own business but Mr Wilton chose not to look at things in this light. Dallying with boys distracted a girl from her studies and it could also have an adverse effect on other girls. So if he discovered anything of this sort Mr Wilton jumped on it. And quickly had her over his desk with her knickers down. Suzanne Kingley for one had problems in this direction: four of her six spangles were related to boys.
Sidney Wilton thought again about Elaine. Boys would have been an excellent avenue to Elaine’s bottom – except that by all accounts and from his own observations she was simply not interested. It was frustrating. With some people in his position, he knew, there would be no problem. He would simply make something up and go ahead and do it. But Sidney Wilton had his standards, he always liked to have a legitimate reason or excuse. If things went on like this for much longer, though, those standards might for the first time come under considerable strain.
‘Turn round, Miss.’
A ripely firm bare bottom above the lowered pink knickers and the marks left by yesterday’s caning could still be discerned, dark red against the pale flesh. Nothing to cause a problem, though, Sidney Wilton was very experienced with the cane and knew just how far he could go. His hand now testing, pinching lightly, stroking. Deborah trembling, biting her lip.
‘Yes, good. Pull them up then.’
Sometimes it took quite a bit longer. Sometimes Mr Wilton made you get over his desk again or got you over his lap, and then checking up was a lot more intensive. But today his mind was more on Elaine Puckwell than usual. There was no doubt about it, it was getting to him. His thoughts ran on to the last period before lunch. Gym.
It was Sidney Wilton’s habit to look in on a gym class to check how the girls were doing. Healthy minds in healthy bodies and it was always rewarding to study those healthy bodies as they were put through their paces. When he arranged the timetable he made sure that gym classes were always immediately preceding either lunch or a break period. That meant there was time if necessary at the end of the class if he wanted to keep one or two special ones behind. For a little chat and also, say, a handstand or something.
Gym wear at St Hilary’s comprised those same special pink knickers plus a normal lightweight bra, and the girls simply changed into a fresh set afterwards after showering. One advantage of this was that it provided an explanation at home for the spangles: they could be said to be related to gymnastic achievement. Because although caning was quite legal, Mr Wilton did not see why his activities in that direction should be advertised too freely. And nor for that matter did the girls who were being required to bend themselves over his desk. It was much, much easier to mumble to your mother something about gym points.
Mr Wilton went in the gym for the last 10 minutes of the class. He was a very busy man of course, otherwise it would be extremely pleasant to go in and watch the whole 45 minutes of the girls bending and stretching and jumping and vaulting and generally exhibiting those succulent forms. But 45 minutes anyway would have been pure self-indulgence; 10 minutes at the end of class wasn’t being indulgent at all. Ten minutes was being almost ascetic — when there was Deborah Milford and Suzanne Kingley… and Elaine Puckwell.
Sidney Wilton watched entranced as the girls engaged in netball practice and then finished up with some vaulting over the horse. Twelve lovely forms in just white bras and pink knickers plus white ankle socks and sneakers. Twelve pairs of tight, well-filled pink knickers with their varying numbers of clustered blue spangles. Two girls with none: Julie Simmonds whom he wasn’t too bothered about, but the other one… sweet and delicious Elaine. His eyes followed her comely form. Sweet torture. Perhaps, he thought, he would have been better advised not to come and watch anymore until he’d been able to have a good go at her. One good go and surely he wouldn’t feel nearly so bad. But when was that going to be?
There turned out to be a nice little bonus from Mr Burt, gym instructor. In response to ‘Everything OK?’ Mr Burt said, ‘Mmm… Linda Jenkins. Could do with having her ideas bucked up a bit. Little bit lazy.’
Sidney Wilton’s eyes brightened. He quite fancied Linda Jenkins, and maybe Mr Burt knew this. Keep the boss happy was always a sound motto. Mr Burt might have offered him Elaine Puckwell. He had a pretty good idea how Sidney Wilton felt about her, but James Burt couldn’t do that. She was such a sweet, delightful girl that the thought of Mr Wilton taking her knickers down and caning her was quite sickening. Now Linda… well, he rather liked the thought of her getting it.
Yes Sidney Wilton’s eyes brightened all right and when the class finished he went over to Linda and said he’d like to see her in his office at the end of classes that afternoon. Linda, a pretty brunette, could guess what it would be. There was one thing above all others that you went to Mr Wilton’s office for at the end of the day. She had two spangles on her knickers. The chances were very high that tomorrow there would be three.
Mr Wilton wasn’t waiting for a response, though; he wasn’t waiting to enjoy her discomfiture. As the girls moved quickly towards the door he was calling Elaine over. The others, Linda included, went smartly out. There was a general consensus that it was not a good idea to hang about in the Principal’s presence.
Elaine, though, was not too concerned and favoured him with her customary sweet smile. She had done nothing wrong and therefore felt she had nothing to worry about. She knew of course that Mr Wilton caned but also there was always a reason. He didn’t have a reason to cane her. Various parts of Sidney Wilton quivered in response to Elaine’s smile. She was a very lovely girl, especially in just bra and pink knickers. He felt quite weak.
He managed to produce some general chat, small talk. As a preamble to what he really wanted: a handstand. Elaine had a pretty good idea that Mr Wilton was going to want a handstand because he usually did when he made a girl stay behind. A forced laugh and then, ‘Well let’s see if you’re fit: let’s see a handstand.’ It wasn’t really to see if you were fit of course it was so he could gaze at your upside-down legs and also… other parts of you. Those tight, partially transparent pink knickers could be very revealing when you were upside down in a handstand. Especially a legs-apart handstand. But Mr Wilton was Mr Wilton, Principal of St Hilary’s. Elaine wasn’t about to show dissent, it didn’t actually hurt you to do it. Not like Mr Wilton’s cane would undoubtedly hurt.
The expected, forced-jocular request shortly came. Elaine produced another sweet smile and did it. Up against the wall bars, agilely bending and then shooting up her legs. Legs together, toes pointing. Mr Wilton gazing… at the legs and thighs but in particular at that taut bulge of the knickers where the thighs began. Oh yes. He could see. Quite clearly. It was almost too much. But he nonetheless wanted more. His voice hoarsely excited: ‘Now with legs apart…’
Obediently Elaine’s legs parted, into a wide V. The whole of it now. Sidney Wilton looked… and looked… It was then, now, that he knew it. He was going to have to move. His commitment to fair play would if necessary have to go by the board. The need was too great! He could not delay any longer.
He enjoyed Linda at 5 o’clock. Unhappy Linda desperately protesting that she hadn’t been slacking in gym. Protesting but knowing that once you were in there, in Mr Wilton’s office, there was virtually no chance of it not happening.
For the moment Elaine was forgotten. ‘I hope you are not calling into question Mr Burt’s word, Linda? Mmm? So just prepare yourself. Take your skirt off and slip your knickers down. And then get over the desk.’
Yes, for the moment Elaine could be forgotten with the immediacy of Linda and her own fascinating bottom. Twice he had caned it already: two spangles on her knickers, both a result of Mr Younger who rather liked the look of Linda too. Close to tears at life’s unfairness — she knew she hadn’t been slacking, it was just Mr Burt trying to curry favour with Mr Wilton — Linda bowed to the inevitable. Plaid skirt off and folded on a chair. Then her knickers. And then…
Mind-bending pain. You might have had it before but it always came afresh as a sheer white-hot shock. Mr Wilton smiling grimly to himself. Oh yes, for the present there was certainly no thought of Elaine…
But afterwards. When the weeping girl had left with her clutch of new spangles, when the hot excitement had dissipated. Afterwards the vision very quickly returned. The shoulder-length tumbling black hair, those startling blue eyes. And yes, that inverted V of her opened thighs. No, he couldn’t wait any longer.
‘I’m sorry, Elaine, but Mr Burt did say. Not really working in netball practice. Not giving 100 per cent.’
Elaine standing in front of his desk and shaking her head in disbelief. It couldn’t be true. She always… And Mr Burt was always praising her… No!…
Sidney Wilton, slightly red-faced, shook his own head, forcing a benign expression though it wasn’t easy with the knowledge that you were behaving so perfidiously. James Burt had taken some persuading, at first point-blank refusing to agree that Elaine had been slacking. But Sidney Wilton had insisted, he had seen it with his own eyes and, well, he was the boss. And so finally…
‘I’m sorry, Elaine. You have generally been an excellent student. But we all need a little reminder now and then. It’s really nothing to be ashamed of; but I must follow my normal practice. So please remove your skirt. And take your knickers down…’
Poor Elaine sick, absolutely sick. And Sidney Wilton feeling almost sick too, but with excitement. He had behaved very badly but he didn’t really care. He was going to get it. Cane her. Right now. Because Elaine with a dreadfully reproachful look was complying. Hands at her skirt. Slipping it down. Oh dear, the excitement was almost too much. He hoped he was not going to have an accident. A sticky mess in his trousers. But frankly Sidney Wilton didn’t care if he did.