From Roué 21
She hadn’t been keen to come. In fact to be honest she had definitely not wanted to come at all, she had seen quite enough Founder’s Days when she was a pupil at St Hilary’s School for Girls. And now that she was very much ex-St Hilary’s and very much grown-up (in other words she was all of 19) she could do without that kind of thing, thank you very much. Apart from anything else St Hilary’s had some decidedly nasty memories which she would rather not be reminded of. In particular there would presumably be Mr Gill, Deputy Head, very much in evidence, and Mr Gill of course was the central factor in those memories.
Her mother, though, was obviously very keen to go and Mrs Nicholson could be a very determined woman when she set her mind on something. She had kept on about how nice it would be to see the place again and how nice it would be for the four of them to go (she and Anna’s father, that is, together with Anna herself and her boyfriend, or rather, fiancé, Robert). Mother had even resorted to the ploy of going out and buying a new dress and then complaining, ‘Really Anna, if I had known you were serious about not going I would never have thought of buying it.’
Finally Robert had been appealed to, and of course a young man is particularly keen to say the right thing to the mother of the girl he is mad about. Yes, he would like to go, he said. Anna had made a face at him, but finally acknowledged defeat with three votes against her, for Mother had already got Father on her side. ‘All right! It looks like I am outvoted,’ she said with a wry smile.
But while sounding so sweet and reasonable Anna had nonetheless not been particularly pleased at Robert’s failure to support her, and had decided that he should suffer a little for this. Being engaged they were now, like so many other modern young people, anticipating marriage to the extent that they were doing ‘it’ regularly about twice a week and had been for some months. Anna enjoyed ‘it’ all right but she shrewdly guessed that doing without it would be a considerably greater hardship for Robert than for her. And so she had told him, later the same evening that the final ‘vote’ was taken, that he would not be doing ‘it’ again until after Founder’s Day.
That meant three weeks of abstinence. ‘Just a little punishment, darling, for siding against me. All right?’ She laughed and gave him a kiss, rubbing herself against him and putting her tongue in his mouth. Then as she felt his erection growing she pulled away and, smiling, said: ‘It’s not going in me for three weeks, Robert, so you’ll have all that time to regret the error of your ways.’
Robert of course after now four months of regular enjoyment of sex with Anna was not going to like this one little bit. Three weeks! He pleaded, but she was adamant. In desperation, during what seemed like an interminable period, he pressed her to tell her mother that they had changed their minds and they wouldn’t be going after all. But Anna just answered sweetly that No, they couldn’t possibly disappoint Mother now.
The three weeks finally passed, three weeks in which Anna hadn’t felt any keener on the coming event, but in fact on the day itself the prospect didn’t seem quite so unpleasant. For one thing the forecast was for a hot sunny day which of course could make all the difference to these functions. It meant for one thing that you could show off a super new summer dress, in particular show it off to those girls you knew who had been in the forms just below you and were still at school and would therefore have to wear St Hilary’s uniform. And you could also show off your handsome fiancé as well, albeit at the moment a rather frustrated one. Also there would be a number of your contemporaries to see again and compare notes with. Yes there were definite points on the positive side. To be set against those things which you’d be reminded of and which you’d very much rather forget.
They arrived directly after lunch, before it got too crowded, and Father was able to find a parking space without trouble. The weather men had been right for once and it was turning out to be a gorgeous day, really hot with the sky a cloudless blue. Founder’s Day was always the first Saturday in June but that, in England, did not guarantee a day like this — Anna could remember two years ago, when she was in the Lower Sixth, it had simply poured. But today the weather and Mr Gribbins, Head Gardener, had both done their very best and the place really did look a picture: the lawns immaculate as only English lawns can be; the red climbing rose over the library window in full bloom; the laburnum trees laden with yellow clusters; the garden border resplendent with geraniums, peonies, lupins. Yes, an archetypal English summer setting and in it the girls in freshly-pressed uniforms and polished shoes, the visitors in summery frocks and hats, and smart suits, all splendidly completing the scene.
Founder’s Day itself was pretty much the same year after year — apart, that is, from the vagaries of the weather. Form exhibitions and displays in the classroom, jolly games and sideshows on the lawns (Bowling, Hoopla, Lucky Dip), tea and snacks available in the Refectory, the Choir performing in the Music Room, the Annual Cricket Match proceeding through the afternoon against the old enemy, Fairview, and of course at 5 o’clock speeches in the Hall. Today a certain Col. Frobisher, D.S.O., M.C., was down to speak, who would doubtless advise girls to ‘keep a straight bat as you go through life.’
Colonels and suchlike always said something like that. In her earlier years this kind of advice had been a bit mystifying but now with ex-girl sophistication Anna could presume that what was meant was, ‘don’t open your legs for every man who asks you.’ And indeed away from the sheltering walls of school you did find that a surprisingly large number of men would try to persuade you to open them. Though for those last three weeks of course Anna’s hadn’t been opened for anyone.
Yes, Founder’s Day was always about the same. Last year, Anna’s last year at school, the weather hadn’t been too bad and she had scored 20 runs in the cricket match. Thinking about it, though, she bit her lip, because what she remembered was not the match or the rest of Founder’s Day but the Monday after. Mr Gill.
Yes, Mr Gill. Being taken to his room. His claim, completely unjustified but that didn’t make any difference, that he had seen her behaving in an unruly manner on the great day. ‘Well, we’ve got just the medicine for that kind of behaviour, haven’t we, Anna?’ The eyes gloating behind those rimless spectacles. ‘Get over the chair, please.’
As he went to lock the door you did as he told you because you had no choice. Lowered yourself over the seat of that upright chair with your hands on the floor the other side. Your skirt flipped up and your knickers pulled down. Mr Gill’s voice: ‘Mmm… Shall we say six, Miss?’ Not that he was asking you a question. You gritted your teeth for the first breath-stopping cut of the cane across your bared buttocks.
Of course if you ever told anyone that this could happen they would express astonished disbelief. Surely he couldn’t do this. It just wouldn’t be allowed at a school like St Hilary’s. No, it wasn’t strictly speaking allowed and obviously would not have gone down well with the governors or most parents. Which was why Mr Gill only did it to girls he had got something on, something he could threaten them with if they didn’t co-operate. Yes, girls he had got something on and whom he also fancied. So there probably weren’t very many and she had only known definitely of one other, Sarah Billington in the same year as her, who had been caught shoplifting but the matter had been hushed up. Dealt with by Mr Gill. Sarah of course was another very pretty girl.
And Anna herself, that foolish thing back on the school trip to France when she was 16. She had been threatened with expulsion, which would have devastated Mother and Father. But Mr Gill had said he could, of course, deal with the matter himself. Which he did. And which he’d continued doing, under the threat of disclosure of what had happened, at regular intervals throughout her last two years at school.
For two years, those regular requests to go to his room, please. The locked door, the excuse trotted out and then: ‘Well, Anna, I’m afraid after that business in France there’s only one punishment you understand, isn’t there?’ His sickly smarmy smile. ‘Let’s have you over the chair then…’ The cane taken from his cupboard. Skirt up. Knickers down. Some nauseating touching-up of your bare bottom, and then… Yes, she had very good reasons for not wanting to come back to this place.
But here she was. With an effort she drove those memories out of her mind. It was St Hilary’s, where all that had happened, but it was also now all in the past, finished. She was not a schoolgirl here now, subject to Mr Gill’s nasty whims. She was, she knew, a very attractive 19-year-old, with a super job in the City, in a new and rather super summer dress with a matching wide-brimmed hat sitting on her ash-blonde head to go with it. (And underneath the super dress were some very super new Janet Reger undies as well, which Robert had not yet seen!) Yes, she knew she was looking good (she had already noted admiring glances from at least three males, one of them indeed possibly old enough to be her grandfather); and Robert was looking rather dishy too in his best suit; and the school was looking super; and well, there had been some good times here as well.
She gave Robert’s arm a squeeze. Poor frustrated Robert! Well, it was his own fault. But tonight he needn’t be frustrated any longer because they were both staying with her parents and if he could promise to creep ever so quietly into her room…
She turned to smile at him: ‘Well, what do you think of the old place, darling?’
He grinned back: ‘It’s really beautiful. I just can’t imagine why you were so against coming back.’
‘Oh well, you know… Mustn’t live in the past.’
He lowered his voice: ‘Anyway what about tonight? My punishment’s over, isn’t it?’
She smiled and put a pink-lipsticked mouth close to his ear: ‘Perhaps. If you’re good.’
It could only have been 20 minutes after this that it happened. The four of them had moved on through the garden and were looking at the herbaceous border, Mother and Father admiring the lupins and Robert and Anna making a show of doing so but in fact more interested in each other, Robert standing close behind Anna and surreptitiously stroking his hand up and down the left of her bottom, an activity which both of them found rather stimulating. And suddenly there it was — a voice saying: ‘Oh, hello Mr and Mrs Nicholson. How nice to see you. And Anna, as well.’
The voice, the precise tones, sent a shiver down Anna’s spine. The voice from her school days, the voice which in her last two years here she had learned to dread. The voice of Mr Gill.
Mother and Father were cheerily greeting him and introducing Robert. Slowly she turned round, her face flushing. Yes there he was, the rimless spectacles, the flattened smarmy hair, his voice exuding the charm he could put on for parents. He had a pile of books in his arms and after going on about what a lovely day it was and really the gardens were looking better than he could ever remember, etc. etc., it was these books he referred to. He must have been carrying them specially, she thought afterwards.
He had to get the books back to his room without delay, he said, as Mr Carter (Head of the Junior School) needed them, but he also had to go over and see the Headmaster right away as well. Smiling that special parents smile again, he said he was being rushed off his feet but it was all in a good cause. Then, addressing Mother really, he said would it be an awful imposition to ask Anna to take them back. Mother of course said that Anna would love to, it was no trouble at all.
Anna certainly didn’t love to but there was no way she could reasonably refuse. Trying not to look directly at Mr Gill she took the books. ‘Are you coming, Robert?’
But Mr Gill was quickly, smoothly, ready for this: ‘Ah well. I really don’t think that would be a good idea. You see you’ll need to go through the Music Room because the other way is blocked off with the exhibits. And Mr Bishop has his choir in there now doing a final practice, and really I think he’d much rather not have a young man going through. Too distracting. You know what these young girls are like and they’re excited enough already.’
It was all so smoothly reasonable. ‘Yes, you go on, dear,’ said Mrs Nicholson, ‘and Robert will stay with us and then you can meet us out here afterwards.’
And, well, there was no reason why she shouldn’t except she hated to do anything to oblige Mr Gill. She took the books from him, again avoiding his eye.
Then: ‘All right. I won’t be long; then I’ll see you all out here.’ She walked off, pleased at least that she hadn’t actually spoken to him.
In fact there was no one in the Music Room which was a bit odd. He must have got the time wrong, though that was not like Mr Gill who was always ultra-precise She went on along the corridor and up the stairs and along again. A route she had got to know by heart: one which she had gone along each time with that awful feeling of dread, and each time had returned with the feeling so amply justified and with a bottom absolutely burning. Six with the cane — it was always six and always with her knickers down — even now the thought made her feel sick. Forget it, she sternly told herself, it’s over. You’re not a pupil at this place anymore and that hold over you is finished.
She gave a cursory, automatic, knock at his door and went in with the books. It was quite unchanged — just the same as when she’d last been summoned here, that last day of term, her last day at St Hilary’s, when he’d had his final go at her. Yes, all just the same. Her eyes automatically went to the chair. There, in its regular position, in front of his desk.
The chair which, less than 12 months ago, on that last day of term, she’d had to bend over. A warm sunny day, though not as hot as today, the excited voices outside below his window, shouting, laughing; but no laughter in this room. Only Mr Gill’s voice. Telling her to get over the chair. She couldn’t, now, even remember his excuse, only that she’d been summoned here right after assembly on that last morning. To have her knickers taken down and be given a final bottom-searing six.
She snapped out of the reverie. She didn’t want to think about it and she didn’t want to stay in here. She put the books on his desk and turned…
And there he was. In the doorway. Smiling: ‘Ah Anna… Yes.’ Closing the door behind him.
Flushing, she blurted: ‘Oh I — I’m just going.’
Mr Gill still smiling, a cat with the cream: ‘Oh, I think not just yet, Anna.’
She took a step towards the door. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ve got to go and join my family.’
‘Oh don’t worry about that. I told them I wanted you to do something else for me and you’d be about half an hour. And then you’d join them at the cricket match. When I’d finished with you.’
She looked incredulous. ‘Look, I’m leaving. You can’t keep me here. I’m not a pupil at this place any more, you know.’
‘Oh Anna, I am of course well aware of that. But before you get too excited I’ve got something to show you.’ He went to his desk. ‘Do you want to sit down?’
Anna shook her head angrily. This was all quite incredible… Then he placed before her, on his desk, a photograph. Mr Gill had been known as something of an amateur photographer. This print, she saw with a nasty shock, was of a blackboard in a classroom. On the blackboard was chalked: GOODBYE MR GILL, I THINK YOU STINK. The memory, which had been quite forgotten, came instantly back. Scrawling it just before she left on that last day.
She had been sure she wasn’t seen but… Mr Gill was looking evenly at her: ‘Certain reliable sources informed me that you were responsible, Anna.’
She could try to deny it but her reddening cheeks and, well, a rather guilty demeanour, would not support her. And, remembering back, denying something rarely did any good with Mr Gill anyway.
So she didn’t answer the charge. Instead, trying to keep her voice even: ‘Well, that… that’s all in the past. And I want to go now please.’
‘Oh do you, Miss. And what if I say I don’t want you to go yet? Not until I’ve exacted a little payment for this.’ He tapped the photo.
Flushing, Anna had a sudden vision of the cane, which she knew was kept in that cupboard behind his desk. ‘That’s ridiculous! You know I’m not a pupil any more. You… you can’t just do what you like with me now.’
‘Can’t I, though? Hmm, well, let’s see. First of all I’d like you to look at another photograph I have here.’
And he drew from the same drawer a second print, which he placed in front of her. Again in colour, 8 x 10, it was of a girl or young woman lying across the seat of a chair, her rear facing the camera. A full round-cheeked rear which was quite bare, for the knickers were halfway to her knees and her skirt was pulled back above her waist. Though the face could not be seen Anna realised instantly that the picture was of her. That was her bare bottom invitingly thrust towards the camera, and there high on the back of her left thigh was that small brown birthmark. The knickers, of pink nylon with lace edging, were a pair she still had, and then she saw that where they had been taken down (where Mr Gill had taken them down) the elastic waistband had been folded out exposing (deliberately?) her name tag. It clearly showed, upside down: ANNA NICHOLSON.
She closed her eyes, feeling beads of sweat of her forehead. It was just not possible. But of course it was, he must have quickly snapped it when he had her in here one of those times. She looked again, cringing. Her full bottom displayed… the tuft of brown hair openly showing at the top of her legs. And there below, the name tag, identifying it all… ANNA NICHOLSON… She looked away. There was just nothing she could say.
Mr Gill, tapping the print: ‘Do you like it? What I’m going to do, Anna, is give you a choice. It will be completely up to you. I can give you this print, and you can have the negative as well. Or alternatively I can let a few other people have copies. Your boyfriend, perhaps. I’m sure he’d be interested. Or your employer: I’m equally sure he’d love to have one. Show it around to all his acquaintances: ‘Anyone like to see a picture of my secretary?’ That would make him very popular, wouldn’t it?’
He continued inexorably on: ‘Or one of those magazines which specialise in this kind of thing. I should think they also would be very keen to have it. I mean it is rather a good picture, though I say it myself. Even if the lighting wasn’t perfect.’
He held the print up, scrutinising it. ‘Yes, the definition is certainly very good. That name tag in your knickers is really very sharp… and, well, the hair… between your legs, I mean. It’s not blurred at all…’
‘Please…’ said Anna desperately.
‘Please? Don’t you mean “Please sir”, Anna?’
‘That’s better!’ He had moved round the desk and, standing at her side, put his hand round her waist. ‘That sounds much better. We mustn’t forget our manners just because we’ve left school, must we?’
She just stood there, abject, feeling the hated hand round her waist, where only a few minutes ago Robert’s hand had been.
And hearing the hated voice continuing: ‘I know of course that you don’t want me to do all those things with your picture. Because a girl’s bottom is a very private thing, isn’t it, Anna? Just for her mother to see, and I suppose that handsome young boyfriend. And, of course, her schoolmaster who through the years has had the task of disciplining her.’
The hand had moved down and was toying with the cheeks of her bottom.
‘And she needed quite a lot of discipline, didn’t she? Well, naturally when a girl of 16 is found spending the night with a boy one has to keep a very close watch on her indeed.’
She tried to ignore the fingers kneading and pinching her buttocks. It was without question the one thing in her life she most regretted. Bitterly, bitterly regretted. Not that she and that French boy had done anything. Nothing at all. They hadn’t even slept in the same bed in his hotel room. It had just been a foolish dare. But then, when she’d crept quietly out in the morning, there he was. Mr Gill, one of the masters in charge of the trip, waiting for her. Someone — she never discovered who — had tipped him off.
Yes, being taken to Mr Gill’s room in the hotel. That awful talking-to, the threat of expulsion… And that evening having her first taste of what she had let herself in for. Having to go to his room again. This time in pyjamas and dressing gown. Dressing gown off… pyjama bottoms down… and bend over the arm of that chair. He didn’t have a cane with him of course but he did have a 12-inch wooden ruler…
The hand was still fondling and squeezing. And Mr Gill’s voice was still continuing, in its unctuous way: ‘As I recall, Anna, I had to give you a final dose on your very last day here. The very day you later found it necessary to perpetrate that silliness on my blackboard. Well, well! I must say I found that rather distressing; that after all my efforts at disciplining you, you thought at the very end of your school career you could do that and then sneak off.’
He sighed in a dramatic manner and then continued: ‘Well, it was fortunate indeed that I had taken my little snap-shot of you. I won’t say it’s fortunate that I saw you here today because of course I had been on the phone to your mother more than once in these last few weeks to ensure that you were coming. Yes, I told her to make sure you all came because we were going to have a specially good Founder’s Day this year; and indeed this glorious weather has ensured that we do. Naturally I told your mother not to pass on the fact that I had expressed an interest. I reminded her that girls can be a little obstinate if they think one of their masters, or ex-masters, wants them to do something. And she said she quite understood. Mmm… a very charming lady, your mother.’
Anna heard all this aghast. On top of everything else he had used her mother to ensure he got her in his clutches again. She felt like weeping.
‘So there we are, Miss. And you know the situation and the choice is yours. Are we going to be nice and co-operative? And allow our knickers to be taken down… Or would we rather that the pictures were sent out?’
What choice was there? The whole thing was like a bad dream, a nightmare. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, afraid if she did she would just start weeping.
‘Can we assume that no answer means consent? Yes, I think we can. Good, well, I suppose we had better get on with it. We mustn’t keep you too long from your family and boyfriend. Mmm… such a lovely dress, Anna, and so convenient, with a nice full skirt, for what we have to do. I mean, a tight skirt can be rather awkward.’
In spite of speaking of getting on with it though, he couldn’t resist baiting her a bit further.
‘Tell me, does your employer use the cane on you? But I suppose in these modern times it’s not the cane but something else, eh, Anna? B.E.D., isn’t that it? And to get a good job like yours a pretty girl would certainly have to go to bed with her boss, wouldn’t she. Though after your early start in that respect, I’m sure you don’t find it a problem…’
This final taunt at least forced a response, and she blurted: ‘I didn’t… I don’t… I don’t do that.’ (Well, she just didn’t. Mr Bingley, her boss, anyway was at least 60 and not interested in that. He likes to feel her tits up a bit in a friendly way, but that was all. And she also hadn’t been to bed with anyone else at Bingley and Harris, though a couple of the men there were always trying to persuade her. Mr Mather in accounts was especially persistent: he frequently took her out for a drink at lunchtime and never tired of pointing out that she and Robert were both young and inexperienced and she should let him, Mr Mather, a married man of 40, do it to her a few times so that she could gain some much-needed experience. She always managed to laugh it off, saying she would think about it. But she did feel a bit guilty, with all the drinks he had bought her and he had been very helpful in other ways, and she had thought of possibly letting him do it just once. Although of course Robert…)
‘No, Anna? You don’t? Well, a nice girl has to at least say she doesn’t, doesn’t she? Anyway if you will now get in position. I’m sure you remember how I like you.’
With a final squeeze at her bottom he left her and went round his desk… to that cupboard.
Wretchedly she took off her hat and put it on his desk, then went to the chair and lowered herself over it, as she had done throughout those last two years at school. Her new dress rustling softly against the chair, her super dress, silk crepe de chine, a pretty flowered pattern in cream and blue, its full pleated skirt, which hateful Mr Gill had already remarked on… to be unceremoniously pulled up… and then… she thought hotly of the new Janet Reger undies… Mr Gill handling, gloating… finally, when he’d got her bottom humiliatingly bare… and touched her up a bit… the excruciating, mortifying… caning. Six… It had always been six…
Mr Gill had returned with his cane. Mmm. Yes. He placed it on the desk next to her hat: a pretty hat, wide-brimmed cream linen with a blue ribbon round the crown. Yes, unquestionably this was all to be savoured, something he had waited a whole year for. He reached for the hem of her skirt and started pulling it carefully up, and the cream silk slip with it. Ah, yes. As he had suspected from his manual exploration a little earlier, she was not wearing tights but nylons, black seamed nylons — items of apparel with such wonderful memories of his youth and which now young women were starting to wear again.
Yes: splendid taut nylon tops held at the sides, and presumably the front as well, by wide, frilled, cream-coloured suspenders. Anna’s lovely full thighs and then… ah, indeed… as he had felt (but with the dress and the slip not as distinctly as one would like) her bottom was very scantily covered, her knickers, if that was the word for them, a merest slip of cream-coloured silk leaving the greater part of her bottom quite bare. He took them down, his fingers in the sides, on her hips, where there was barely an inch-width of material. And really they were such skimpy briefs, their silk crotch must barely be enough to cover her private parts.
He pulled them on down, to her nylon tops. And there it was after 12 months, Anna’s bare bottom, the full twin cheeks, the tuft of curling hair as in the photo… ready…
His hand reached out to fondle as he said (as he had routinely said in the past): ‘Just remember, Miss. Keep it still. Legs together. Knees straight. And buttocks relaxed.’ Yes she seemed about right. A final grope, then a slap on the firm flesh. He took up the cane.
He stood to her right, flexing it in his hands; then laid it testingly across the waiting buttocks, measuring his distance. Yes… The moment he had been waiting for. He raised the cane and brought it down in one smooth motion, onto the fullest part of her bottom. The sharp Crack! as cane met flesh. The agonised gasping cry from the girl. The buttocks squirming desperately. ‘Hold your position now! And keep your hands away. Don’t try to rub it!’
The cane raised and brought whipping down for the second stroke. The flesh juddering with its impact. The gasping, yelping cry. The bottom writhing, uncontrolled. Two red lines now, parallel…
The cane raised for the third time… Anna desperately grasping the legs of the chair, gritting her teeth, now unashamedly crying from the sheer stinging pain. The cane whistling down, searing her bottom. Please Christ Jesus…! Try and hold on, but there are three more and she doesn’t know if she can…
Outside, in the brilliant sunshine, the Founder’s Day activities went forward quite oblivious of what was taking place in the cloistered seclusion of Mr Gill’s locked room. On the playing field the match against Fairview School was in full swing: in fact Mr Gill’s third stroke across Anna’s trembling buttocks coincided with one of the Fairview openers being bowled out.
‘Are we winning?’ inquired Mrs Nicholson, as the gentle flow of the game was thus interrupted. To be honest she found cricket just a little boring, especially now that Anna was not in the team. She fanned herself with her hat. ‘It really is just too hot to be sitting here in this sun,’ she remarked to her husband. And then: ‘And wherever has Anna got too? Mr Gill said half an hour. What time is it now?’
She had in fact then been gone just over 30 minutes. A quarter of an hour later Robert, who had left his deck chair to look around, saw her coming in through the playing field entrance. He went to meet her, putting his arm round her waist. ‘Whatever did he want?’
It was not a question he was likely to get an honest answer to. Anna mumbled something noncommittal and Robert didn’t pursue it because he could clearly see that something was wrong. She seemed agitated, even possibly on the point of tears, and said she wanted to go home, right away. She had suddenly got a really awful headache, she said.
Her parents, and naturally Robert, were soon crowding round her in a concerned manner, but Anna insisted it wasn’t anything, just this splitting headache. So it was agreed that Mother and Father would stay on for the speeches and Robert would drive Anna home and later come back for them. ‘You know where the aspirins are, dear,’ said Mother. ‘But really we could all come back if you like.’
Back at home she took a couple of aspirins, and also had some Scotch and water, and told Robert she was feeling a little better. No, it wasn’t anything to do with Mr Gill, she said, it just suddenly came on, for no reason. And suddenly, also for no apparent reason, she burst into tears.
But the tears stopped and she said she was all right and, well, with the parents out of the house Robert’s mind was soon on other things. In particular on what, because of today, he had had to go without for three weeks. And he found he had no great trouble in getting Anna to agree; because the Scotch alone was not enough, she desperately needed something else to help obliterate the events of the afternoon.
They went up to her bedroom. Anna took off her dress and her knickers, and they got into her bed. And almost immediately they were doing it, feverishly; Robert’s ardour born of three weeks abstinence and Anna’s… of that desperate desire to forget.
She wanted to forget what had happened. And even more she wanted to forget that it wasn’t over yet. Because she hadn’t yet got the picture. Mr Gill had given her the six with the cane and really it had been excruciating, much harder than he had ever caned her at school. Then, crying, she had got up and pulled her knickers back up and he had asked her if she was now sorry for what she had done and she had managed to say, ‘Yes… I mean, Yes sir.’
But then he said that what he had just given her was for the offence itself. However he didn’t think it was enough to cover the fact that she had done it on the last day of term and had thereby planned to escape detection. So she would be getting another six. He wouldn’t give her them today, she had to go round to his house on the coming Wednesday evening.
This new bombshell had sent her reeling and produced a fresh flood of tears but there was nothing she could do about it. She tearfully pointed out that she wouldn’t be here on Wednesday, she didn’t live down here now, but he had said why couldn’t she come down and stay with her parents for the night as she had this weekend. And she had to agree to that. He said that after he’d caned her again she would be given the print and the negative. But how did she know that he would keep his word…All of this she desperately wanted to forget, if only for a short while. And lying there in her bed underneath Robert and with Robert’s engorged penis gliding rhythmically in and out along the sensitive walls of her vagina so that she found herself mounting gratefully, marvellously, towards her climax, she did forget. For a short while…