From Blushes 16, a sequel to the story Parental Discipline from Blushes 14
Bill Jackson had done something he didn’t normally do. He had taken a drink in the afternoon. Quite a large one, too. He didn’t approve, but he’d done it. Herbert Porter, Head of the Comprehensive, was due at five o’clock… and he would be bringing Bill’s elder daughter, Rita, with him.
In view of what he had already been told — and what he anticipated — Bill Jackson needed a bit of immoral support. In the way of half a tumblerful of scotch.
How could Rita have behaved so? She seemed such a nice innocent girl. Friendly, yes, but not… not sexy. Bill Jackson’s mind reeled away from the thought of those secret meetings in the changing room when it seemed… so unbelievably… that intercourse had taken place. He couldn’t quite imagine his Rita doing anything like that. He still thought of her as a kid. It was indecent. Must have been the boys’ fault. Bill Jackson felt suddenly weepy. Ridiculous at his age. Must be the drink. But why didn’t his wife come home? She could have handled this kind of situation far better. As it was, it seemed he had to rely on Herbert Porter.
Mark you, he seemed to have done a very good job on Pam. The girl had been positively polite and respectful ever since that plimsoll-whacking he’d given her. There must be something in it. If you went soft on youngsters, they only took advantage. The wife would have agreed, he knew that. Perhaps she might come back one day. Though the bastard she’d gone off with not only had more money than he did but a villa in Spain into the bargain. Did she really care about Pam and Rita, he wondered?
Bill Jackson poured himself another Scotch, but a far smaller one. He was worried but, somehow, he felt that Herbert Porter was doing a far better job than he was capable of doing. He was an outsider, of course, so that made it easier. No family ties. He was an educationalist, too. Yes… I need a man like him at the moment.
His front door-bell rang. The moment was here and now. Down went the rest of the Scotch and down the hallway went Bill Jackson.
‘Good evening, Mr Jackson I have brought Rita home, as we agreed.’
Bill was half afraid to look at his daughter, but he did. She looked, he thought, exceedingly calm under the circumstances. Frosty almost. She was pale, though. ‘Won’t you come in,’ he said with absurd formality. It was as if he were asking strangers into his house. The Head ushered the girl forward and Bill Jackson noticed he was carrying a long canvas bag of the kind used to hold cricket bats or hockey sticks. Perhaps it’s Rita’s, he thought. How very gentlemanly!
Into the front room again. ‘Can I offer you anything, Mr Porter.’
‘No thank you, Mr Jackson. Not at the moment.’ Rita had slumped back on the sofa, showing a quite astonishing amount of long white thigh under a short skirt. Can this be my daughter, he asked himself almost desperately? Suddenly she seemed to have changed. After what the Head had said, of course, Bill Jackson had a momentarily obscene picture of those thighs open wide. He managed to shut it off.
‘I have informed you of the facts of this matter, Mr Jackson.’
‘Yes…’ Good God… it was like having to deal with Hercule Poirot. Bill felt he needed yet another drink but sat up straighter instead. ‘You’re sure of them, I suppose?’
‘Quite.’ A thin, almost sneering, smile. He glanced at the long-lounging girl. ‘Your daughter might give you confirmation…’
It was Bill who felt shame as he looked at his daughter; he didn’t truly want to look her in the eye. Why was it that he felt guilty? He saw her pale, high-cheek-boned features, delicate yet somehow strong. It was the eyes that worried him most. They were uncaring. Hardly bothering to look at him. ‘It’s alright, Dad,’ she said, ‘I was unlucky. I got found out.’
The implication was obvious. She was not the only one. Was it true? ‘Being undiscovered does not make the action any less reprehensible,’ intervened the Headmaster. ‘In any event…’ The voice positively boomed. ‘I resent this implied slur on my other sixth-formers!’
Bill noticed a faint twisting of his daughter’s lips. Where did the truth lie? Did it matter anyway? Had not his daughter openly admitted behaving in a flagrantly disgraceful fashion? Yes, she had… and he knew what his wife would have done under similar circumstances. He felt suddenly angry. Possibly he was slightly drunk.
‘Very well, Headmaster,’ he said, ‘I think I’d better leave this matter in your hands.’ He noticed that Herbert Porter’s expression did not change one iota but a kind of smug satisfaction almost physically oozed from the man.
‘I think that’s sensible, Mr Jackson,’ he nodded. ‘Would you… er… want to be present on this occasion?’
‘No… no… I don’t think that’s necessary.’ The idea of seeing his elder daughter being walloped by this man was suddenly abhorrent to him. Mind you, she deserved it. Oh, didn’t she just! It was simply that he didn’t want to watch it. Perhaps he was a bit of a coward.
‘Very well, Rita… I think perhaps we should go up.’ Herbert Porter rose from his chair, picking up the canvas case he had brought with him.
‘Dad… do you think this is right…?’ Hazel eyes were hard upon him. They looked so different to those child-like eyes of early teens.
‘Yes… I do,’ he answered, close to tears. ‘You… you have been a very naughty girl.’
With something like a snort, Rita stood up. ‘Come on then,’ she said, ‘let’s go up and get it over with.’ Long-limbed, she strode almost arrogantly towards the door.
‘You… you’ll not be too hard?’ Bill Jackson still seemed in two minds.
‘No harder than necessary,’ said the Headmaster. He inclined his head and followed the tall blonde through the door.
Rita’s bedroom was a little larger than Pam’s but it was equally, and practically furnished. Herbert Porter closed the door firmly. He turned and noticed the key. Might as well. He locked the door… then put down his canvas case.
‘I think I and your father have made up our minds about this matter. It has to be dealt with.’
‘You have made up your mind.’ There was a defiance in the jut of that young jaw. ‘Dad’s got no say. Never had.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Herbert Porter. ‘It might have been better if he’d had more say earlier.’ He unzipped his case. ‘I hope you understand, Rita, on account of your licentious behaviour, I am going to cane you.’
‘So you told me before. That’s what you want, is it?’
‘It’s what you deserve,’ replied Herbert. His features went into their sternest. ‘You have treated my school as a whore-house. I cannot imagine what the Authorities would say, if they knew!’
‘Can’t you?’ The pale, young face was not only insolent but confident as well. Intolerably aggravating. God, these little bitches!
‘Rita… I hope you understand how serious this is?’
‘Serious? Don’t know what you mean.’
‘Your father is very upset about… about… what has happened.’
‘Think so? The poor old sod hasn’t known his arse from his elbow since Mum left.’
‘Rita! That’s no way to speak of your father.’ Privately, Herbert Porter thought the girl showed a considerable amount of acumen.
‘Sorry… sir…’ She doesn’t look in the slightest bit sorry, thought Herbert. He unzipped the case he had brought. There, alongside games equipment lay the pale yellow cane. It was an object he would have loved to be able to hang permanently in his study. As a warning. A final deterrent. But that was forbidden by law. Ah well, there were always means of getting round the law. He took out the cane.
‘You will take off your skirt and your knickers, Rita,’ he said firmly, ‘and you will bend over the end of your bed. I intend to give you a dozen with this.’ The cane swished.
‘You’re a right bastard, aren’t you?’ The hazel eyes were now not only defiant but contemptuous as well. That made Herbert even more angry.
‘If you use any more of that kind of language,’ he managed to say evenly, ‘I’ll give you another half dozen.’
The tall blonde swallowed nervously. This was a pretty testing time. But she reckoned she might be able to handle it. After all, she had her own life to lead.
‘Let’s start with six,’ said the gangling girl. She had dropped her grey skirt to reveal a tight-clinging pair of multi-coloured panties. A mound bulged provocatively; there were wisps of dark pubes.
‘Are you trying to dictate to me?’
A smirk. ‘Maybe…’ Those briefs slid down and down those long, long thighs. Herbert Porter gulped. This was a woman rather than a girl. ‘We’ll start with six,’ repeated Rita.
‘Alright then…’ Herbert the Head felt suddenly out of control. ‘But, in the end, its twelve you’re going to get.’ How much easier it had been with Pam, he reflected.
‘Oh… are you?’ Good Lord, this girl… this woman… really had a lot going for her. No wonder the boys were after her. Herbert watched her bend at the end of the bed and bury her face into a coverlet. ‘Do what you want then,’ she said.
Herbert gazed upon a provocatively up-thrusting bum. White and swelling deeply divided. Mmm… yes… oh yes. It seemed, in a way, to be challenging him. ‘I cannot abide wickedness in young girls,’ he said.
‘Get on with it…’
My God, she really was a saucy little piece! Despite everything, still cheeking him and, in a way, defying his authority. ‘Twelve,’ he said.
‘Alright, six to start with.’ Herbert, pillar of society, master of a couple of hundred teenagers, saw a pair of soft white buttocks blench. He lashed his cane down, raising a bright, curving weal. The girl shuddered violently, half twisting over, but made scarcely a sound. Herbert Porter was impressed. At one of his earlier schools — for boys — he’d known many a lad leap up yelling after a cut like that.
‘Bastard…’ Herbert distinctly heard the word.
He lashed down harder. Again the girl twisted involuntarily, but she made scarcely any sound above a gasp. ‘I’ve warned you, Rita,’ he said, ‘any more bad language, and you’ll get extra.’
‘Bastard…’ she said.
The cane lashed twice in quick succession. Herbert Porter was really angry. He didn’t like being defied. Especially by sprauncy teenagers. He was glad to note how uncontrollably the girl writhed under his cuts… and to hear the thin whinnying whimpers those cuts produced. He began to get the idea he was winning.
Another cut. Then another.
‘Yeeeeooowww…oowww…yeeee!’ Oh yes, now he was making her realise what a caning was all about! Six flaming bands encircled two lush white globes. Saucy, provocative globes, Herbert thought. But globes now tamed.
‘That’s six,’ he said, almost gloatingly. He had to admit he was enjoying dealing with this sexy young upstart. ‘Six more to come.’
‘That’s what you think…’ Rita had got to her feet and now shimmied seductively towards the perspiring cane-holder. ‘There is another way out…’
‘Really?’ Herbert Porter found himself perspiring even more freely. ‘Really?’ His zip was being pulled down!
‘Yes, Mr Porter. There is another way. And it is a way you are going to take.’
‘Yes… you… Mr Porter.’ He felt himself seized… gripped. He felt himself swelling. Growing. And capitulating.
‘If you s-say so… yes… well… if that’s alright…’
‘It’s alright by me, Herbert… you creep…’
‘I say… oh my God… really…’
‘Say “thank you, Miss Jackson”…’
‘Ooohhh… aahhh… thank you… M-Miss… J-Jackson…’
‘You’ll never… ever… cane me again, will you Herbert?’
‘No… no… never… n-never…’
‘I hope she was suitably contrite, Mr Porter. Realised how naughty she had been?’
‘Ah yes, I think we can say that, Mr Jackson.’ Another of those thin, enigmatic smiles. ‘She’s sleeping now. Getting over it.’
‘You… you were pretty severe then? I mean…’
‘Severe enough. She’ll be a better girl in the future. Mmmm… yes… I’m pretty sure of that. Now that, if I may say so, she is more under my control. Yes?’
‘Oh yes, Mr Porter. As long as they both grow up to be good girls. That’s all I want. And, I can see, I shall need your help, Mr Porter.’
‘You’ll get it. Oh, have no fear, Mr Jackson… you’ll get it. I have the welfare of both your daughters at heart.’
‘I’m so pleased. I feel you have taken a weight off my shoulders.’
‘I may have to call again, you understand? If their behaviour is not as it should be.’
‘Oh yes, I understand… yes… yes…’ Mr Bill Jackson poured his guest another glass of sherry. He was truly grateful.
Yet, poor old sod, he hadn’t the faintest clue as to what was going on!Not, at least, till his daughter Rita — two years later — became the youngest wife of any headmaster they’d ever had at the Comprehensive. Pam, it must be said, was a most willing bridesmaid.