From Uniform Girls 15
‘Something has to be done. The reputation of the School…’
‘There’s no need to go on, Mr Farley. As Head of Graingers, I hold our reputation most sacrosanct.’ Indeed I do, he said to himself. Lose your reputation and you lose a lot of fat fees.
‘Sorry, Head… I was only trying to point out…’
But the Head had lost interest in Farley and turned towards the third member of the Committee which sat around that table. ‘What do you think, Johnson?’
The man addressed was more mature than the others. Grey-haired, watery-eyed, with a weak chin. ‘We must be firm,’ he said, without any great show of resolution.
‘What do you mean by that?’ The Head leaned forward, arms on the table, hands clasping together.
Johnson cleared his throat. ‘It is my view, we should deal with this matter ourselves. In private. Strictly secret.’ He paused. ‘I, and my colleagues, dealt with a similar incident — many years ago now.’
‘Ah… did you. And it worked?’ Farley appeared most interested.
‘I think one can say it worked,’ nodded Johnson in pontifical fashion.
‘Can you expand on that, Johnson?’ enquired the Head. He was a square-faced man, balding too early in his forties.
Again Johnson cleared his throat. ‘This is a delicate matter. Strict confidence.’
‘Of course…’ The other two around the table spoke together, then looked at each other a shade guiltily. Farley lowered his eyes first. He knew which side his bread was buttered. As Deputy Head he was ten years younger than Hoskins. Prospects there.
‘Well then,’ said Johnson, ‘we had the girl in, presented with the facts. Gave her an option: He paused again, even longer. The other two leant forward. ‘Then she was caned.’
‘Ahh…’ Farley leant back, looking sagely satisfied.
‘Indeed!’ said the Head. He looked a little worried. ‘You had no authority, of course?’
‘None…’ Johnson looked complacent.
‘But the girl accepted. Made no complaint?’
A flicker of a smile crossed Johnson’s pale lips. ‘I think one can say she complained at the time.’ Farley grinned. ‘But not afterwards. Everything was settled in camera as they say in court.’
‘It makes sense,’ said Farley.
‘I shall make the final decision,’ said the Head, giving his Deputy a sharp glance.
‘Of course, Head.’ Farley sat back and laid his hands over his belly. That was fine. If there were any trouble, he wouldn’t be in it.
‘It would be best,’ said Johnson, ‘if the girl consented — in writing.’
‘I shall make all the arrangements,’ said the Head. His pallid features had taken on a somewhat rosy hue, his hands moved about in an agitated fashion. Farley noted it but Johnson seemed to have gone into a state of meditation.
‘Er… when, Head?’ enquired Farley.
‘Within the hour,’ came the sharp reply. ‘Once a decision has been made, it should be acted upon.’
‘Ah yes, of course…’
‘I concur,’ said Johnson, watery eyes suddenly glinting.
‘So we will meet here at precisely…’ he looked at his watch. ‘…three o’clock. Matron will have the girl standing by.’
‘Excellent,’ said Farley, softly. The Head gave him a warning look. It seemed to say, whether it be true or not, that this was purely a matter concerning the School’s reputation. Nothing personal. However, there was a definite air of conspiracy as the three men, all soberly dressed, one gowned, rose from the table and left the room. Obsequiously, Farley motioned the Head to lead the way.
Remarkably, one might have thought, it was the Head Girl who was in trouble. She was a tall, straight-backed girl with attractive features and shortish blonde hair. Eighteen years old. Almost nineteen. In every sense a woman, even though she might still be classified as a schoolgirl. That was what Farley found so exciting about the whole situation. This wasn’t a kid they were dealing with, this was an adult. A very controlled young person, he had always considered. You could sense the ice in her. Such qualities had made her Head of the School. It made this present lapse all the more surprising. Exciting, in fact, thought Farley, and then subdued the thought. It was the school which counted, not individuals, he told himself primly. If they had to suffer for the school, so be it.
Yet Farley knew he was bubbling inside.
Johnson was more phlegmatic. It did not mean quite as much to him as once it might have done. On the other hand, he had to admit an interest. An 18-year-old being soundly caned was something out of the ordinary. A simple matter of discipline, of course. In his earlier days it would have been less remarkable. He, personally, had caned quite a few female bottoms in his time. Johnson was sure they were all the better for it.
The Head was fluttering inwardly and outwardly. He knew it had to be done.
A surging excitement within him told him he wanted it to be done. For the school… for the school… he kept telling himself, knowing all the time the falsity of that. He wanted it done, because he wanted to do it. His pulses pounded at the very thought of it.
That ivory-tower of a girl. So immaculate. Yet now guilty.
He picked up the house-phone and asked for Matron.
The girl’s features looked surprisingly unemotional but there was a tension in her bearing.
‘Thank you, Matron, you may go,’ said the Head.
‘You don’t want me to stay, sir?’
‘Quite unnecessary, Matron.’ The Head was aware of a flicker of frustration over the woman’s heavy, middle-aged face.
‘If you say so, sir.’ Prim. ‘Maybe I shall have to attend to her later.’
‘Maybe you will, Matron,’ nodded the Head, fingers drumming on the table. He watched the woman turn and go. Interfering old bag. Then he turned his attention to the young woman who had just entered the room, finding his heart begin to beat a shade faster. She really was quite something. Her calmness and self-assurance impressed him. He looked at Johnson on his left and Farley on his right before speaking.
‘You know why you’re here, of course, Hilary,’ he said. He was annoyed that his voice was not as controlled as he would have liked.
‘I know only what I have been told, Headmaster…’ She tossed her head, her hair was fair and shining. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
The Head sat, looking serious, fingers still drumming. ‘What we are mainly concerned with,’ he stated, ‘is the reputation of this school. Not yours.’
The girl’s cheeks pinkened; a soft, pouting lower lip was bitten. The effort required to keep control of emotions was evident. ‘My reputation is important to me,’ said the girl, still seeming remarkably composed.
The Head leant back in his chair. ‘The facts are simple, Hilary. You, upon returning from a visit to Holland, were found with a remarkably large supply of a ‘certain substance’ in your luggage. Matron found it there. You were doubtless not aware that Matron has orders to search the luggage of pupils who have been abroad.’
The tall girl lowered her eyes momentarily. ‘The package was planted there,’ she said simply.
The Head snorted and looked from one colleague to another. ‘Not altogether believable,’ said Farley.
‘It happens to be true…’
‘We have made some investigations,’ said the Head, trying not to look too intently at the girl’s long legs beneath a short skirt; ‘In order to preserve the school’s reputation. Elaine, the friend you went with, has been interrogated. She had revealed that you were in conversation with a young man in some night spot or other — one of dubious reputation, I understand — and that ultimately you accepted a parcel from him.’
‘He told me it was a birthday present for his mother,’ said the girl. She was beginning to look a little despairing. How often plain truth could be distorted!
Johnson snorted; Farley smiled faintly. Did she imagine they would believe such a story?
‘If we take the facts to the police, Hilary,’ said the Head, ‘as indeed we ought, your life may be ruined.’ He saw the girl’s cheeks getting pinker. Was it an admission of guilt? ‘That does not concern me so much,’ he continued. ‘It is the reputation of the school I am concerned with. Parents would imagine this place to be a den of drug-taking! I wouldn’t blame them. Pupils would be taken away. That is why I — and my colleagues — thought this a most serious matter — which is not to come to public notice.
The girl gulped, ‘I’ve done nothing…’ she said, her voice breaking.
Johnson snorted again. ‘We’ve gone on long enough with this,’ he said sourly. ‘Tell her what we propose, Head.’
The Head looked faintly put out by this peremptory suggestion, but nonetheless, fixed his Head Girl with as stern a look as he could contrive. ‘We have decided to keep matters under wraps, provided you are prepared to accept our punishment.’ The Head paused. ‘No one else will ever know. The evidence will be destroyed.’
‘I am not guilty,’ said the girl, chin held bravely high. ‘Yet you, as judge and jury, have pronounced me guilty. Probably, despite everything, it would be the same in a court of law.’ She paused and, for a few moments, seemed to lose her composure. ‘I shall therefore accept your punishment,’ she said softly.
The three male figures around the table — though they did not sigh — visibly relaxed. Justice — of a rough kind — was about to be done.
‘We have decided,’ stated the Head, ‘such is the seriousness of this offence, that there is no alternative but for you to be caned. And caned severely, Hilary.’
An intake of breath; a little shudder; yet still a look of proud defiance in her face. The look of a virgin martyr, thought Farley. Well, there had been plenty before now.
‘C-cane… me? But… but I’m eighteen!’
‘That seems irrelevant,’ said Johnson unsympathetically. His watery eyes were glistening.
‘Quite so,’ nodded the Head. ‘The point is, Hilary, do you accept our proposal or not?’
Hilary’s shoulders sagged in defeat. There was a tiny sob. It was so unfair! ‘It… it’s so… so… unjust… oh, how could this happen to me?’
‘Just answer my question, Hilary,’ said the Head abruptly. ‘Neither the Law, nor I, look kindly on this kind of thing?’ He actually flinched at the sudden fire which flamed in the girl’s eyes and, for the first time, he began to wonder whether they had really got to the truth of the matter. Still, too late to turn back now. And which of the three of them wanted to anyway?
The girl’s small chin tilted defiantly. ‘It’s barbaric,’ she said, flushing deeply.
‘It’s no more than justice,’ said Johnson. ‘Pity the cane isn’t used more often in schools. As it once was.’
‘Answer!’ demanded the Head. His cheeks were becoming florid now that the moment critique was arriving.
Two pale, slim hands covered Hilary’s face. ‘There doesn’t seem anything… e-else… I can do…’ came her resigned yet resentful response.
So, it was settled. The Head seemed nervous. Johnson rose and so did Farley. ‘You will place yourself over that,’ said the Head, indicating a small table in front of the window.
‘This is against human rights,’ said Hilary in a voice suddenly clear.
‘What you have done is a serious matter,’ responded Farley, not hiding the relish in his voice. Things were going splendidly. The Head seemed at last to have summoned up sufficient nerve. He saw tears trickling down the girl’s cheeks… and knew she had accepted the inevitable. Stonily she moved across the room and stood with the front of her thighs against the table’s edge. Her thighs were bare. Even senior girls were permitted to wear no more than white, calf-length socks.
‘W-what… are you g-going to do?’ Oh how plaintive!
‘I… or, rather, we… are going to give you eighteen strokes of the cane. You will lift your skirt, Hilary and you will take down your knickers.’
‘Ohh…… ohhhh… this is awful…’
‘So is the alternative,’ said Johnson. he watched expectantly, as the skirt was pulled up; firm thighs, swelling into pert buttocks. Buttocks snugly clad in a pair of navy blue knickers which hid much yet excited the imagination. Farley suppressed a whistle of appreciation; he did not think the Head would have approved.
‘It… it’s m-monstrous…’
It’s beautiful, thought the Head, his eyes on Hilary’s knickers as they were tugged reluctantly down. He took out the hook-handled cane he had placed in his drawer. Though he had secretly hoped it might be put to use, he had never quite believed it.
‘As Senior Master, will you lead off, Johnson?’
‘Very well, Head.’ The aging teacher took the cane offered him and flexed it appreciatively. Certainly it was like old times. Quite some girl this. ‘Grip the edge of the table hard, girl,’ he advised. ‘This is going to hurt.’
‘I… hate you… I hate all of you!’ It was the cry of a genuine martyr. ‘You’re not fit…’
The statement was cut short as Johnson lashed the cane down across Hilary’s naked bottom. It was replaced by a gasping whinny of pain; and blonde hair tossing back. Bravely, the girl held on to the table’s edge.
Without haste, Johnson continued to lay on the strokes, spacing them about an inch apart. They were not excessively hard but they raised quite bright pink weals. Desperately the girl clung to the table, gasping and crying out. It’s her pride which gives her the strength, thought Farley. Super. What a lovely bottom it was… and how deliciously it squirmed!
‘Mr Farley…’ He took the cane. Felt it whippy in his hand. His turn. ‘Give her a little while to recover, Mr Farley.’
‘Very well, Head.’ Farley, trembling with anticipation, gazed upon the soft-quivering bottom before him. The Head Girl…
A nod from the Head… Farley lashed down the first stroke. Instantly the girl lost her grip and clasped at her flinching bottom. Was it because he was younger and stronger? No matter; he could not have asked for a better result. He waited patiently while the girl calmed herself and lifted up her skirt again. In due time, he raised the cane and brought it down good and hard; and why not? Didn’t the girl deserve it?
From then on, the caning became a more complicated affair. Hilary, most understandably, became more and more reluctant to present her bottom for attention. Especially when the Head started on her. He seemed even more vindictive than those who had gone before. Indeed, he had to call in the assistance of his colleagues to ensure Hilary was positioned correctly — and unable to interfere with her punishment. Her thoroughly deserved punishment, as the Head thought of it.
Ultimately, amidst a deal of squealing and a welter of tears, the eighteenth stroke was administered. Icy, calm Hilary had certainly lost every last vestige of her composure. No more pride. Pain had robbed her of that. She had become a tearful quiver; pleading for them to stop.
It had certainly been a very sound caning. One which the Head considered to be thoroughly deserved. ‘Send for Matron,’ he ordered in a steely voice. Wielding a cane seemed to have given him a new dimension of authority.
They sat with a decanter of port around the table, each with features flushed, not saying much. Before them was a small, square package.
‘What shall we do with this?’ asked the Head.
‘Best to burn it,’ said Farley.
Johnson said nothing, but opened the package carefully. Inside was a plastic sack of white powder. He opened that, too, then put in a finger and licked. For a little while he was silent.
‘No need to do anything with it,’ he said. ‘It’s flour…’
‘Are you sure?’ The Head looked incredulous. Still, as Chemistry master, Johnson ought to know. The whole thing was crazy. That evening they’d thrashed his Head Girl for nothing!
‘Of course, I’m sure,’ replied Johnson, seeming quite unperturbed. ‘Bad luck on her, eh? Still, there you are.’ He poured himself some more port.After a moment or two so did Farley and the Headmaster. There, indeed, you were.