From Blushes Supplement 13
Sandra drew back the curtains and looked out. A bright, shiny morning, the early sun slanting across the dewy lawn. It looked perfect, peaceful — peaceful because there were no girls. But then there wouldn’t be any in the school grounds at 8 o’clock on a Saturday morning. No girls at school except herself. Gated for the weekend.
‘General ill-discipline.’ That was what the Head had said and then written in the note to Sandra’s mother. ‘I think a weekend gating would be most salutary in teaching Sandra the merits of disciplined behaviour.’
She hadn’t really done anything much, a number of small things but nothing that you could call serious. But Mandy had said a couple of weeks ago, ‘Watch out. I think he’s got his eye on you. If you’re not careful he’ll have you back here for the weekend.’
It happened now and then, a weekend gating. The Head had a flat at the school and Matron lived in as well. So did Mr Ducker, the school caretaker, for that matter. So there was no problem and there were those two rooms above the library where girls could be put for the weekend. Fifth and Sixth Formers. It was only Fifth and Sixth Formers who could get a weekend gating.
‘Well of course!’ Mandy said. And rolled her eyes and gave a little laugh.
‘What happens?’ Sandra had asked her friend. ‘I mean is it thousands of lines? And clearing up and stuff, I suppose?’ Mandy had laughed again and said, ‘Oh yes, of course.’ Saying it in a way that made you think she knew something else. Mandy probably didn’t know anything but was just trying to pretend she did. Mandy had never had a weekend gating. Nor of course had Sandra until now.
There were rumours but there was no point in paying attention to rumours. It was rumoured that Peggy Collier had got a look at last year’s History exam paper by letting Mr Ormorod do you-know-what to her. And that Mr Melchett, Maths… And of course rumours about Mr Ducker and what he would do to you in his little room. There was no point in taking notice of such rumours. The rumour about weekend gatings was that you got your bottom smacked.
Sandra looking out of the window of the little room above the library shivered slightly. She knew it was stupid to take notice of silly rumours but you couldn’t help… One rumour of course was that he took your knickers down and smacked your bare bottom. Not once but kept on doing it, throughout Saturday and then Sunday as well. So that by the time the weekend was over you just about couldn’t sit down.
Clearly that was so unbelievable that it was really stupid to consider it. Sandra didn’t consider it. Nonetheless it kept coming back into her mind. She turned away from the window. She had better go and see if Matron had any breakfast, not that she felt hungry.
Matron smiled, ‘Ah yes, our delinquent!’ Matron was all right, about Sandra’s mother’s age and pleasant enough. But it was the Head you had to worry about and Matron would always toe the Head’s line so you wouldn’t get anything out of her, although she probably knew what a weekend gating entailed. Sandra had some cornflakes. Matron said the Head had had to go out but would be back in an hour. Until then, when she’d finished breakfast, Sandra was to help Mr Ducker put the chairs away in the Hall.
Oh Cripes! thought Sandra. She would very much rather not help Mr Ducker especially if, as was presumably the case, it would be just the two of them. Those things girls said about Mr Ducker in his room might be just rumours but there was no doubt Mr Ducker was a bit… well, he had creepy-crawly hands for a start.
One creepy-crawly hand was immediately grabbing Sandra when she went reluctantly in search of him in the Hall. Only grabbing her arm but when she sort of shook it off Mr Ducker gave one of his cackles and simply reached behind her to grope at her bottom.
‘Stop that!’ she squealed, hot-faced. She hated that sort of thing but Mr Ducker unfortunately did do it if he had half a chance. You could try reporting him but it didn’t really get you anywhere. ‘Old Ducker can get away with murder,’ Mandy said. ‘He’s probably got the lowdown on the Head so he’s quite safe.’
Quite what the ‘lowdown’ was Mandy didn’t elaborate. Mr Ducker, cackling, said, ‘Now don’t you come the young lady with me, Miss. That’s nothing at all to what you’ll be getting from the Headmaster very shortly.’
What did that mean? Sandra could still feel that horrible hand which had managed to get a good grip at her lightly-clad rear before she squirmed away. Was he just trying to scare her. ‘Wha…what d’you mean?’
‘Don’t tell me you don’t know,’ grinned Mr Ducker, this time reaching out with two hands for Sandra’s trim boobs. ‘Get off,’ she yelped again. ‘No, I don’t know.’
He grabbed both her hands and put his face close to hers. ‘Let’s just say then that that pretty little bum won’t want you sitting on it for a bit afterwards.’
With that for her to think about he suddenly pulled Sandra close, twisting her arms behind her. Her slim body in the thin check dress hard up against Mr Ducker’s bulky, rather strong smelling, fiftyish shape. Sandra felt faint. One of the hands behind her took hold of her bottom again. Groping, jiggling one firm cheek. ‘This little item, young Miss.’
She eventually managed to struggle free, squealing, ‘I’ll report you, Mr Ducker.’ The caretaker only gave a mocking laugh. Shaking all over Sandra got on with moving the chairs. What Ducker had said of course was right in line with all those rumours. It couldn’t be true. She glanced at the clock. The hands seemed to be moving round at an alarming rate. Matron had said an hour…
‘Ah yes, Sandra, sorry I had to go out, though you may not be sorry, eh?’
He was smiling slightly, but not with his eyes, which were unblinkingly on her as she came forward into his room. Sandra was shaking, knees wobbly. That Ducker had made things worse of course, keeping on at her like that. She had said she was going to report him but now she was here in Mr Morgan’s room… well, Sandra could only think of one thing. It couldn’t be true, she told herself yet again.
‘You know what you get on a weekend gating, Sandra?’
Numb, she shook her head. It was coming now… but it couldn’t be true.
‘No, well, girls don’t know, not until they get it. A weekend gating is intended as a short, sharp shock. Something that a girl will remember so that whenever in future she is slacking or contemplating some improper act she will stop and think. And she will think: no, I definitely don’t want that again. You understand, Sandra?’
‘I like to keep the nature of a weekend gating under wraps, as it were. Hush-hush. That way I think it is more of a deterrent. So girls who get it are requested not to discuss it afterwards.’ He smiled. ‘I say requested but the fact is that if a girl did choose to discuss it I would make things very unpleasant for her. In fact I would probably see she was expelled in disgrace and also her silly story would in any case not be believed because I do have Matron on the premises to deny silly stories. Do you understand all that, Sandra?’
Sandra, twisting her hands in her dress, nodded. Yes she more or less understood. Whatever it was you couldn’t tell. That was why no one said anything. Only those rumours. The Headmaster was getting to his feet.
‘So here it is: the essence of a weekend gating, Sandra, is that a girl gets her bottom smacked. Not just once but as often as I see fit over the two days perhaps seven or eight smackings, with her knickers down. On her bare bottom in other words. That is what a weekend gating is, Sandra.’
His room seemed to be sort of rocking about. Swaying, like that ship when she’d gone across the channel. No, the rumour couldn’t be true; he couldn’t really have said that.
‘Yes that is what is going to happen and we agree, do we not, that you will not disclose anything of it? So, we can make a start. Into the next room now, if you please, young lady. I will be with you shortly.’ Mr Morgan’s hand slapped at Sandra’s bottom.
The next room, off of his sitting room, was quite bare. There was a sort of bathroom stool and a full-length mirror but not a lot else. Was this perhaps where he always did it? That thing that was rumoured but even now Sandra couldn’t really believe could happen. But if it happened he might well decide to do it in a bare room like this because you didn’t need any furniture. Only a stool to sit on when you…
Sandra’s tense musings were interrupted by Mr Morgan coming in. ‘Right, young lady. Take the dress off please.’
Her heart thudded. She felt like she wanted to be sick. He had said it, there was not much doubt about that. But perhaps… if she pretended she was imagining, dreaming… No, that didn’t seem to want to work. Her fingers fumbling at the buttons on her cotton dress were all too real. As was Mr Morgan’s impatient voice: ‘Get on, girl, we haven’t all day.’
Underneath white vest and knickers as Sandra’s shaking hands opened the dress. She was slipping it off. ‘Now the socks and shoes.’ The Head going to sit down in the little stool. Her shoes and socks were off, she was in just her vest and knickers now. She couldn’t believe it but…
Mr Morgan taking her arm, pulling her down over his lap. ‘I take a girl down to her underwear Sandra, because I think that’s something more for her to remember, don’t you? And of course no one is going to know except the two of us.’
His hands pulling her right over, then arranging her just right. Her heart was going like a train and she was sort of gasping for breath. ‘Keep still,’ Mr Morgan said, Sandra’s writhing bottom now nicely positioned. Then with one hand gripping her still wriggling person the other began tugging down her knickers. She heard herself yell out ‘No!’ but they were coming down all the same.
His hand was suddenly there, smoothing over the silky cheeks, fingertips sliding briefly into the warm cleft. Then the hand came away. Up and heavily down. Mr Morgan gave a little grunt. Sandra a shrill squeal, as the hand jolted in to flatten a springy buttock with the force of its impact.
She squealed and gasped and writhed like a fish but the hand continued, metronome-like, a steady cadence of heavy, stinging smacks. She writhed and squirmed but Mr Morgan had a vice-like grip on her so there was no way her desperate bottom could avoid it. After not too long the tears came, and the squeals and gasps became mixed with the state of Sandra’s glowing rear.
‘How does that feel, Miss?’
Sandra, knickers still down but on her feet now, was incapable of speech and indeed was having difficulty in standing. The Head’s bright eyes took in the red, tear-stained face — and of course the silky slim hips with that neat brown bush at the centre.
‘Go and see Mr Ducker now,’ he told her. ‘And come and see me again at lunchtime. Let’s say 12 o’clock.’
She was still too shocked to know properly what was happening, but Mr Ducker was saying something about going into his room for a nice cup of tea. His hands were on various parts of her but Sandra was in too much of a state to argue. That rumour that she now knew was completely true.
She drank her tea and got a little more in control of herself. What was Mr Ducker saying?
‘Come and sit on my lap, then you’ll feel better.’
She shook her head but Mr Ducker was ready for that. If she was nice and friendly he could tell the Headmaster he had a lot of work for Sandra to do this afternoon. Keep her busy. Otherwise the Head would have her in there all afternoon. And all tomorrow.
There was no way of knowing if this was true or not. ‘Stop it,’ she said weakly. Mr Ducker’s hand was going up under her skirt.
He wasn’t stopping it. His wheedling voice: ‘Come on, you’ll feel better without your knickers on. After that whacking he’s given you, and you don’t want to be back with him all afternoon…’
Sandra didn’t know what to do… but Sidney Ducker knew exactly what he wanted. Sandra’s knickers, in spite of her distracted struggles, came down. And off… Mr Ducker going back to his large armchair. Taking Sandra with him. Sitting down…She struggled weakly. It couldn’t be happening of course, not really. It must be an awful dream. In the dream she continued to struggle as best she could. But in that dream, notwithstanding those struggles. Mr Ducker commenced to do exactly what the rumours said he did.