Story from Schoolgirl Spanking Vol.1 Issue 1. by J. R. Hartley
The two boys — ‘young men’, as they were constantly being told they were — both looked resentfully across at the direct cause of their strife. Each was reacting differently in a physical way, but there was no mistaking the anger and desire for revenge emanating from them.
Andrew Davies, the taller of the two, brown-haired, dark-eyed and unmistakably athletic, glowered openly, his thin lips and strong jaw set to exact retribution. He had taken his punishment stoically, refusing to cry out even through the six stinging swipes he had taken from the cane were about the harshest he had ever received. He had simply braced himself, grasped the wall-bars as instructed and chanted silently to himself, ‘I’ll make them pay; I’ll make them pay.’
And that was his intention.
William Fowles on the other hand, whilst just as anxious for revenge, was visibly more affected by his recent ordeal. His blond hair was matted with sweat and his eyes had a humanising sheen of threatened tears that was emphasised by the slight tremble of his full poetic mouth. He had not been so brave and his howl of pain and attempt to place his right hand between his buttock and the vicious rod had earned him two extra stingers on his palms.
The girls had watched in slack-jawed amazement at a scene they thought belonged strictly in the realm of television classic serials about Victorian education. Neither of them had ever seen a real cane, let alone witnessed its application. They were stunned by the meek acceptance of their fate by the youths and the ritualistic way they had gone to don sports shorts and vests to receive their punishment. They knew of nobody in their circle of friends who would have agreed to undergo such treatment, especially as the master who had meted out the flogging was only of slight stature and either William or Andrew could easily have flattened him with one blow!
Don Buxton stood in silent contemplation of the four miscreants adding to the unease of the girls and the humiliation of the boys. He didn’t regard himself as overly severe in his dealings with young people, but he did believe firmly in the use of corporal punishment, when the occasion merited it. And this was most certainly one of those occasions!
He had happened upon the four in that clichéd haunt of naughty schoolchildren, the back of the bicycle sheds, performing some rather adult acts. Of course, it was the girls who instigated it, and not for the first time it seemed. Apparently, Saturday jobs in chain stores were not as lucrative as the relief of sexual frustrations experienced by healthy young males in residential educational establishments. There was a word for girls of their type and he had used it, loudly and liberally, as he frogmarched them and their erstwhile clients into the gym.
His first inclination had been to telephone the local comprehensive to inform the Head of her girls’ extra-curricular activities, but one look at the ludicrous excuse of a uniform and the fact that they had been plying their trade at his school for some considerable time made him think twice. He would show them what discipline was in a proper school.
So they had stood in the gym in embarrassed defiance, hearing themselves described in terms even their roughest friends would not have used in mixed company, listening to the boys being reminded of the school’s expectations of them and then watching their punishment being administered. It was made clear that it was not just their actions that were wrong, it was their class. Had the females in the dalliance been from the Girls’ Academy on the other side of the county, it seemed the matter would not have been so grave. Indeed, if the instigators had been other boys in the school it would apparently have been less heinous. The crime was to have been caught in the act with girls of lowly origin.
The gym master watched them watching each other, seeing the realisation of the true nature of their felony.
‘And now, men,’ he said, finally breaking the silence, ‘you have had time to contemplate your mistake, you have taken your punishment and it remains only to deal with the instigators of this afternoon’s debacle before we can put the episode behind us and move on.’ He paused and as if at an unseen signal, the boys stepped aside so their master could wheel vaulting horses across the room.
‘Of course,’ he continued conversationally, ‘you are curious about the female of the species, that’s only natural. And, as the only women you usually encounter during term time are Matron and the cleaners, it is just as natural that when a couple of sluts from the local comprehensive throw themselves at you, you will take advantage of their offers. Any red-blooded male would behave in exactly the same way.’
The boys were almost preening themselves in the glory of their vindication, their eyes flashing scorn at the would-be jezebels.
‘So, as they’re so keen to augment our sex education programme, we’ll let them do exactly that. As well as seeing that they are appropriately punished for their wanton behaviour.’ He addressed the girls directly for the first time: ‘Strip.’
The two stared at him, blinking in almost-comic unison, then turned to gaze in silent amazement at each other. Shelley Morris and Kim Noble were not what the gutter press would describe as ‘stunnas’, but they were both attractive enough in an off-hand, artless kind of way. Shelley was a few inches taller than her friend and had a clear-skinned, well-proportioned comeliness. Her dark-blonde hair sported highlights that had obviously been acquired in someone’s bathroom not too recently and with black mascara being the only cosmetic she wore, she had the look of a rather startled panda about her. She had hazel eyes and a pouting mouth with sharp, even little teeth that flashed whenever she smiled or spoke. Her token uniform of black skirt and white blouse was clean enough, although a little rumpled from her earlier activities. The skirt was stretched tightly across her flat stomach and rounded bottom and long, lightly tanned legs tapered into the ubiquitous uniform of youth, namely baggy socks and outsize training boots with the laces deliberately undone.
Her friend was almost too thin, with a salon perm of dark corkscrew curls framing her elfin face. Everything about her seemed small and frail, until she spoke with her loud, abrasive local twang. Despite the warm weather, she sported a heavy black cardigan, longer at the front where she had made it sag with her habit of thrusting her hands deep in her pockets. She, too, wore the dirty white footwear favoured by that generation and, like her friend, she toted her schoolbooks around in a pastel leather sports bag.
Shelley and Kim, femmes fatales, were very worried. Kim spoke for the first time since they had been caught out. ‘Get lost,’ she spat, ‘you can’t tell us to take our clothes off in front of them.’
‘Young woman, I can do a lot more than that,’ the master replied ominously. ‘The time for modesty has passed. You were willing enough to expose yourselves and indulge in all kinds of intimacies before. At least you’re indoors and in relative comfort. I say again,’ and he let his glance take in Shelley as well, ‘strip.’
Kim removed her cardigan, then made a great show of folding it and placing it on her bag. Then both girls stood silently motionless once more, trying to decide whether they should obey the instruction or not. The boys were watching them keenly and the teacher rocked slowly on his plimsoll-shod feet, tapping the cane gently against his calf.
Shelley undid the buttons on the cuffs of her shirt, then kept her eyes firmly on the floor as she unfastened those down the front. Kim started to do the same as her friend threw her blouse defiantly on the ground.
With a similar time-delay they removed their skirts and chucked them aside and then paused once more as they tried to decide which undergarment to remove first. Kim’s small, barely perceptible breasts were sheathed in a cotton cropped-top decorated with tiny pink hearts. She wore matching panties and the ensemble gave her a misleading air of wholesome innocence. She slipped her thumbs in the hem of the top, then changed her mind and began to remove her briefs. Again she paused, hoping for some kind of instruction.
Shelley shared her predicament, but was determined not to give Don Buxton the satisfaction of exacerbating their embarrassment. She reached behind her and deftly unclasped the single hook of her wispy white bra. She was well-rounded without being heavy, and the bra was obviously for modesty or show rather than support. She flicked the garment off and swung it in a wide circle over her head before letting it fly into the far corner of the cavernous room.
Being slightly in awe of her friends more generous proportions, Kim opted to reveal her lower parts before her insignificant bumps. She yanked down her knickers then hopped about clumsily as she manoeuvred the small garment over the clumpy shoes. Shelley did a similar lurching dance as she removed her own panties while Kim finally bared the large pink aureoles surrounding the pinprick nipples that were all that constituted her breasts.
Neither of them thought to remove their footwear, as though the large leather appendages were welded to them. Don Buxton decided he rather liked the effect and did not force them to take them off. They lent a pathetic air to the otherwise debauched minxes and almost evinced a hint of sympathy from him.
‘Right then,’ he said to the enraptured boys, ‘let’s see what it’s all about shall we?’ He turned to Shelley. ‘Come on, Blondie, pop yourself up here so we can get a good view.’
He had her straddle the horse at the square end, her back resting against one of the handles and her feet drawn up and resting on the very edge of the contraption. Roughly he pulled her bent knees apart so that the suede surface stroked her roughly as she adjusted her position. Her hands gripped the sides to stop her slipping.
‘And you,’ he told Kim, ‘can rest your pretty little form along here.’ He had her stand where the horse sloped down, grasping the handle closest to her and resting her naked belly along the incline. She felt her ankles being grasped and spread wide apart and then rough, stubby hands tugged at her hips so that her bottom jutted out away from the horse and just her upper torso, chest and chin touching the worn nap.
‘Come along then, lads, feast your eyes,’ he bawled jovially. Andrew and William advanced warily but the gym master continued to encourage them with words and gestures as though he were auditioning for a holiday job as a fairground barker. In a no-nonsense business-like way he led them around the horse, stopping by each girl in turn and drawing attention to their skin, their hair, their buttocks and genitals. Just as he had earlier spoken crudely of their morals, so now he verbally attacked their bodies. Roughly he manhandled them, exposing their intimate budding feminine folds, pinching and slapping at the flesh of their buttocks and insolently tweaking their soft breasts.
At first the boys were embarrassed, but the locker-room language and total antipathy he showed the girls lulled them into showing at least an academic interest. At his urging they too probed at the moist recesses now fully open to them instead of encumbered by clothing. Don Buxton watched them getting more involved in their pleasures and judged when the time was right to move on.
‘So now you know what you were groping after outside, why don’t you show the young ‘ladies’ what you think of teasing little slags who try to exploit their betters?’
He passed his cane to Andrew and said sarcastically, ‘Choose your partner.’
Kim’s behind was already proffered, but it was Shelley who had got him into this situation so he grabbed her ankles and tipped her over so that she was lying over the width of the horse. He gave her feet another shove so that she hung head low, feet barely skimming the floor. He drew back the cane and brought it down loudly and heavily across the full expanse of her bottom-cheeks.
Nothing she had ever seen, heard or felt could have prepared her for that moment of impact. Unable to get off her perch, she arched her back and swung her arms and legs in wide arcs, screeching on a long intake of breath. Andrew looked at his teacher, reluctant to stop but worried about the girl’s capacity to take the kind of punishment that was routine at his establishment. Kim made a move to go to her friend, but Don Buxton placed a restraining hand on her back. Smiling reassuringly at his star pupil he told him to continue. ‘If the girlies want to play our games, they must be willing to pay our forfeits,’ he said matter-of-factly.
Andrew needed no further bidding. A long parabolic curve brought the weighty rod down hard and flat across the small of Shelley’s back. The impact knocked the breath from her and a deep mulberry bruise line began to emerge immediately.
His next swipe came in low from a long way back. It caught the tender flesh enfolded between bottom-cheek and thigh. Her whole body juddered and she emitted a series of high-pitched yelps like a scalded puppy.
The fourth and fifth cuts came in rapid succession, crossing diagonally, reducing Shelley to helpless, choking sobs. Her skin was coated with a fine film of perspiration, rendering it even more vulnerable to the cruel sixth bite. It came close to the first, a pale mauve weal that would soon reproduce the maroon tramlines that its predecessor now sported. Shelley had lost count of the number of strokes being delivered but Andrew had automatically stopped after the sixth and in truth was full of admiration for the way she had received them. Admittedly she had bawled but, after all, she was a girl and it was obviously the first time she had received a flogging.
He passed the cane to William who took careful aim before scoring Kim’s rump with a scalding streak that drew a crimson stripe the moment it touched her lean flesh.
‘No!’ she screeched. ‘No! No, I can’t. I really, really can’t take it.’ She leapt up and rubbed at her barely-fleshed behind. ‘I can’t,’ she reiterated and burst into a torrent of tears.
William was dumbfounded and searched the faces of the other three for guidance. In an instant the gym master had loosened and removed one of his own plimsolls and passed it to the puzzled boy.
‘She may not be able to take the cane, but she’s not getting away with her whorish tricks. Use this.’
He grabbed Kim’s slender wrists and held them in place on the horse’s handle while William took aim. Kim continued to bawl, which he found somewhat off-putting, so he quickly delivered six stinging swipes with the rubber-soled shoe, putting an end to the girl’s ordeal and his own unease. The noise reverberated around the high-ceilinged hall and produced a strange almost mystical harmony with Kim’s sobs.When it was over, the males left them alone to dress and leave in their own time. They could hear the deep baritone banter coming from the changing room and knew it was about them and somehow, that was even worse than the physical pain they had endured.