Story from Phoenix 14
The headmistress looked across at Commander Renton RN (ret.), and the understanding flashed between them. ‘This school was founded for the daughters of ladies and gentlemen, Commander,’ she explained. ‘They come here for the acme in correction. It is here that they learn the meaning of obedience to the very last letter. We spare no trouble at all to correct the disobedient streak you find in all children, and that is why, when I read of your dismissal from your last teaching post that I wrote to you.’
The Commander had certainly received a startling letter from the straight-backed woman sitting before him now.
Please pardon the liberty that I am exercising in writing to you, but I read with anger of your dismissal from Gordons Boys School. I read the report that you were inclined to thrash harshly and that because of complaints you were forced to tender an early resignation.
I am headmistress of a girls school and we run it on a very strict curriculum. We have a post vacant at the time of writing and I have discussed this matter with other members of my staff. We have agreed that a person of your qualifications would fit in here. We will endeavour to persuade you that this is a school of the type which you were obviously trying to implement at Gordons. Should you think the post appeals to you, I would be pleased to grant you an interview at your earliest convenience. Then I shall be pleased to explain our aims and intentions with our young ladies.
The Commander had read and re-read the heaven sent opportunity and had immediately telephoned; thus the reason for him sitting there, sipping tea which had been served by a bright schoolgirl of about sixteen. He had tried not to notice the swelling calf that swept down from a short gymslip, and he was inwardly pleased at the spotless white starch blouse that had covered the peeping buds of breasts. Diana Goodchild also liked what she saw. A tall man of forty-five, broad and sunburned, his blonde hair clipped close to his large but not ugly head. His steel-blue eyes were the perfect harshness that she required, and she liked his bearing. Royal Navy. He knew something of discipline and he had accepted her offer of full-time employment. He had covered his surprise with extreme camouflage, as the data that she had given him would make the hair bristle on any neck. The girl who delivered the tea curtsied to her Headmistress and then to him. Whilst she stood still, her rigid attitude of standing to attention pleased him. Yes… this school was one after his own heart.
‘You see Commander,’ she continued when the girl had left, ‘we encourage the utmost obedience from these daughters of the gentry. The mode of punishment is left entirely to the teacher and it cannot be too severe. We try to install a certain amount of humiliation into the girl who is to be flogged. I find the pulling down of her knickers whilst she is touching her toes helps to install the right amount of discomfort, and when this is done in front of the whole school, then all the better. Sometimes you will desire to flog a girl in privacy of your own room. I find the best time is when she is prepared for bed; a nightie pulled well above her waist and up to her neck usually has her in the proper frame of mind, especially the older girls.’ The retired Naval Commander felt himself stiffen; it was just what he was looking for. A pupil that could be thrashed, humiliated and would have to do as she was told… yes, decidedly, this was the place.
‘Do the parents complain?’ he ventured. ‘Indeed no. We explain this form of correction and discipline in our school curriculum and the parents accept or leave it, entirely up to them. I have a waiting list as long as your arm, so I do not get over-bothered. But you would be surprised at the number of parents that accept the position…. in fact we have a mother who insisted on being present whilst her blooming daughter received a public thrashing, and the woman came all the way from Northern Rhodesia to observe it.’ The Commander was shaken by the Headmistress’s self-assurance. She was a good-looking woman, with bristling breasts and a straight back, her legs were shapely and except for the tweed, she would have been a stunner. She felt him appraising her and crimsoned with heat under her dress. She had never wanted another man since her fiancé had died two years ago, but this man almost old enough to be her father had her squirming. This school had been started by her father, and she herself had been brought up in it; no favours had been shown to her as a pupil, and now that her father had died, she was left the business and became Headmistress. Twenty-five years old and the owner of this flourishing school. She explained all this to him. He had been surprised to see such a young woman in charge but that her life had got off to a disciplined start was evident in her manner and bearing. ‘I’ll introduce you to the staff,’ she said, rising from the desk. He opened the door for her and she sighed inwardly at the manliness of this strong handsome ex-sailor. The other teachers were from her father’s days and they looked just what they were, spinsters who had missed the boat at an early age and were now prepared to take it out on schoolgirls with rod and birch. He first met the girls at evening meals and as he walked in, a very undisguised gasp went through the dining room, but it was hushed as Diana Goodchild snapped her fingers at them.
All the girls rose from their seats like at a Military Parade; not a seat scraped, not another sound was heard. He ran his eyes over them expertly. By great Jehoshaphat, there was some talent here and no mistake… some of those arses were going to sting before the term was over. The tables were in a very large U and in the centre of the U about fourteen girls sat, separated from the others and the Commander guessed that they were older and probably prefects. At the head of the Senior table, a golden-haired beauty sat, her head held high and the way in which she stared ahead of her, Renton had her down as the head girl. Diana Goodchild explained to him that the centre table was indeed reserved for prefects and that their mode of conduct was more severely watched. Instead of it being a privilege it meant that they really had to watch themselves.
‘Marion is head girl; she has not had a thrashing now for twelve months… hasn’t deserved one in fact.’ Diana Goodchild sounded almost sorry, but the Commander let it pass.
‘All the girls are between fifteen and nineteen years of age. Marion is only seventeen and even though there are older girls, she is better suited to the job. The school uniform… white blouses, gym skirts and the knickers are coloured according to their status. For instance, a naughty nineteen-year-old girl would be reduced to wearing blue knickers. It is easy to ascertain a girl’s previous behaviour by the colour of her knickers.’ She showed him the rest of the school and then took him to a room at the very end of a corridor.
‘This is the punishment room and when and if you think you should use it Commander, in here,’ she opened the door ‘you will find a thorough selection of punishment rods, canes, small whips and strapped frames. It is absolutely soundproofed. If you see the red light on outside please do not enter as it means that a teacher is in here, with a pupil, and it is a golden rule amongst the staff that we don’t enter whilst the red light is on. If you have occasion to come here with a pupil, please switch this down like this… and you’ll be assured that you will never be disturbed. My fiancé and I used to court here,’ she said blushing furiously. The Commander smiled and his flashing white teeth caused her a tremor of wonder through her lower regions. She was a very beautiful woman, he decided, and if he won her to his side, then he could really go to town with some ideas of his own for the punishment of schoolgirls.
The first morning in a classroom he eyed his class with a practised eye. She had given him this room on purpose. The girls were indoctrinated, yet they could still be a nuisance to the disciplined regularity of the school. They were blue knicker girls, and that meant their behaviour needed watching. There were three girls of fifteen, several more of sixteen, most of them seventeen and one of them nineteen. He’d have to read their reports later. He told them the piece to study in their textbooks and in one hour he was going to listen to the translations. A girl coughed, and the Commander reading through his notes waited to hear a responding cough. In a boys school this action of a mild cough usually was the signal for the whole class to develop ‘whooping cough’, silly little snits, he thought. Heaven help them if they thought his good swarthy looks betrayed any softness. He was just itching to get a pair of knickers round one of their ankles… The answering cough came, just slight, but he recognised it for what it was; a signal for the whole room to start a paroxysm of coughing. He timed the next one, they were obviously counting, ah yes… fifteen counts and then a cough. He counted to fifteen himself and was as though deeply engrossed in his study. Suddenly he jerked his head up just as a smiling girl coughed. The smile vanished in a fit of horror-struck embarrassment. The whole class was looking at the girl as though expecting it to be her turn. They shot their eyes to the front and saw cold eyes of steel surveying them. As a team, twenty-two faces blushed. ‘Who coughed first?’ he asked quietly. Not a response. ‘Who’s idea was it?’ His eyes bored into the front row of seats and eyes turned from his. ‘I want to know who’s idea it was and who started the coughing.’ His voice rose just slightly, but it was like a thunderstorm to them. Oh Lord! Twenty-two bottoms squirmed uncomfortably. He looked big and strong.
‘Come here,’ he commanded one girl, a pretty fair-haired lass of about sixteen. She rose up as soon as his finger pointed to her and walked with grace to the front of the class. He took the two foot ruler from the top of his desk. ‘I want your back to the class,’ he told her. With obvious reluctance she obeyed him, and stood there like a statue. ‘Bend over and touch your toes,’ he ordered. The upsweep of her skirt pleased him as it uncovered her long swelling thighs. He took her knickers and pulled them down round her legs. Her rounded bottom was a picture of sheer poetry. He slowly lifted her gym skirt to the waist so that her flesh was completely uncovered. ‘Twenty-four strokes,’ he told her. The enormity of the number numbed the girls into a frigid silence. He raised his hand and the ruler was falling through the air, whistling as it gathered momentum… thwack… a large red mark appeared where the ruler had sunk deeply into the soft fleshy buttocks. ‘Little…’ thwack… ‘school girls…’ thwack… ‘must not…’ thwack… ‘cough…’ thwack… ‘as…’ thwack… ‘a…’ thwack… ‘collective…’ smack… ‘body…’ screech… ‘in class.’ Smack… screech… smack… ooooohh… noooo pleeeeeease… smack… screech… and so on until the girl touching her toes thought her rear was on fire. Twenty-four smacks in all and her buttocks were red and sore.
‘Stand up,’ he snapped. She groaned as her skin complained bitterly as she straightened up again. Her skirt hid the belaboured bottom and she was crying without reservation. By Jiminy but what a lovely arse, he thought, absolutely champion. Might just as well have another look at it. ‘Show the class your bottom,’ he ordered her. With reluctance she lifted the skirt to her waist and the remainder of the class glued their eyes to the flogged flesh before them. He looked down at her uncovered pubes and was delighted at the shame she showed as she realized his eyes were drinking in the secret that was revealed at the top of her legs.
But he made her stand there for ten minutes whilst he looked at her backside and then round at her front again. She had lovely legs and her hairy triangle fitted into the top of them with perfect symmetry. He looked round the classroom and pointed to the oldest girl there, who was about nineteen. She reddened as he ordered her next to the first victim. I wonder what her pubic hair is like, he thought. Now was the time to find out. His hand came down unexpectedly on the first girl’s arse and he told her to dress herself and re-join the group. Her crying was reduced to small sobs now, and as she sat down she mouthed an ooh.
‘What is your name?’ he asked the second girl.
‘Pamela Forsythe Danton, sir,’ she answered.
‘And were you involved in the eternal cough’s,’ he asked sternly.
‘I did not organise it sir.’
‘I do not know sir.’ The girl was standing to upright attention like a guardsman on parade, and this pleased the Commander.
‘Were you going to cough as well?’
‘Yes sir.’ She answered as her face crimsoned in profuse tomato fashion.
‘And who were you to follow?’ he asked. She remained silent. ‘Very well then… we must see mustn’t we?’ He selected a thin hellish cane and the girl swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Touch your toes,’ he told her.
She responded immediately in obedience.
‘Patricia!’ he called out. The smallest girl in the class jumped to her feet. ‘Yes sir.’ ‘Come out here and take Pamela’s knickers down.’ He knew that this would humiliate the older girl, and that was just what he was trying to accomplish. Pamela felt horrible at having a young girl pull the covering knickers from her bent buttocks.
‘Now lift the skirt above her bottom, let the class see her anatomy ready for punishment.’ He gloated. It really was a lush pair of buttocks. They were round and perfectly placed. The crevice between was inviting to the eye and the smoothness of the rich silk-textured skin was now tight and waiting for his punishment.
He looked around and selected the next eldest girl, and by far the strongest looking. ‘State your name,’ he said curtly.
‘Yvonne, sir… Yvonne Brantonwaithe.’ Lord, what names, he thought to himself.
‘Right, Yvonne you may have the pleasure of caning Pamela’s behind and I want to see a stripe for every stroke.’ Yvonne smiled maliciously, but wiped it from her face immediately. She did not like Pamela very much anyway, and this was too good an opportunity to miss. The girl raised the cane above her head and her other hand was straight down to her side. She looked at the Commander and he, sitting on the front desk, nodded his head.
The cane swished down and caught the arse in the tender spot exactly cutting the globes in half. Pamela wheezed out in complaint. Down it came again and this time the bottom wriggled noticeably. The other pupils looked on in animalistic glee. Up went Yvonne’s hand and down came the cane like an automated machine.
‘Aaaaaagh… no more sir pleeease… swish crack… Ooooooooohhhh noooo… swish crack… pleeeease sir… oh oh oh… screech… pleeease sir… screeeech…. oh my bottooooom… screeech!’
It was a mystery to the Commander how the girls managed to keep their bottoms bent with such inflicting pain, but the fact that they remained bent pleased him. After twenty-four skin-tearing and stinging strokes, the girl was allowed to straighten up… Yvonne was sent back to her seat, whilst Pamela remained with her back to the classroom, her whole body shaking furiously and her tits were heaving about like wild things under the starched crispness of her blouse.
‘Show the class the area of punishment,’ he insisted. The nineteen-year-old felt more than naked as she lifted her skirt and showed herself off from the waist down to her ankles. The Commander sitting now at his desk could see that she did indeed have luxuriant pubic hair. Silently the class appraised the charms of the older girl. ‘Next time I catch you out in a misdemeanour,’ he promised her, ‘you shall remove your clothes completely before the whole class and I shall stand you on the stool over there and personally flog your hide!’ ‘Yes sir,’ she sobbed. ‘Return to your place,’ he said with a wave of dismissal.
When the class had settled down again he addressed them. ‘I am fully conversant with all your stupidities and silly mannerisms, but let me tell you this, if any of you as much as blink against my instructions, I shall bring you to the front and remove every stitch myself, whoever you are, big or small and I promise you that you won’t sit down for a month. Now this applies to anything that happens in this class. I say you have half an hour to translate, then half an hour it is. Half an hour and if you do not know the answers then I’ll educate you through your rear ends. Understood?’ His eyes swept over them swiftly. He saw the respectful fear in their eyes and that pleased him. ‘In the ten minutes that we have left, let there be a silence that the dead would fear, and let us have some learning for which your parents pay for… and for goodness sake stop snivelling, Pamela.’ The girl stopped abruptly.
In the afternoon, he was to take the prefects and the Head Girl in Art and Nature study. They brought their own plants, flowers and various botanical items to paint onto the papers before then. He was quite a hand at painting himself and so after a preliminary start, he told them to begin. His eyes roved over them and he could not fault one as delightful young ladies. The Head Girl was a striking beauty, and her stiff attitude told him she had been well trained in the business of behaviour. She coveted her position as Head Girl, and to lose it would break her heart. She was no angel and David Renton knew this, but he would be hard put to catch her out. He walked round them on soft gum shoes, and had passed behind them before they were aware that he was there. Then as he came up behind the Head Girl he had the shock of his life. Before her she had a small handful of roses, but on the board before her she had drawn the figure of a nude man with a prick much too big for him. He reached up and took out his pencil. His heart thrilled… caught red-handed, those red knickers were going to drop for him after all. ‘Stay in after the class is dismissed,’ he wrote on the drawing, and the girl gasped with a loud outburst of breath. Her face reddened profusely and as she started to stand to offer a furtive explanation, he put his forefinger over his lips to silence her.
She squirmed about in absolute horror for the rest of the afternoon. So engrossed in her drawing had she been that she had forgotten where she was. Oh Heaven help me, she thought. No other girl was aware of the transaction between the Head Girl and the Commander.
The bell rang and it was the end of the day’s lessons. ‘Dismiss,’ he said curtly. Immediately two girls went round the class collecting their masterpieces, and then took them to him. After that, the class stood as one and fled out silently… that is except for Marion. When the classroom had emptied, she stood red faced and stiffly to attention.
‘Shut the door… and lock it, Marion,’ he said with quiet authority. He sat at his desk and watched her buttocks wriggle to the door, then she locked it, and returned to him. ‘Now what have you to say for yourself?’
‘Nothing sir… I’m very sorry,’ she offered.
‘Yes, I am sure you are, but what should I do now, Hmm?’ She licked her pretty dry lips and her face showed the fear she felt. ‘I should cane you and then report you to Miss Goodchild,’ he told her.
‘Please… please, sir, I don’t want to lose my position here. I’ll take anything in the way of punishment… anything… but please don’t jeopardise my prefectship. I’d have to wear blue knickers and sit with the other girls… I’d be laughed at and they tease horribly a girl who has forfeited her position.’ She was imploring him now with an earnest appeal.
‘I think you are probably an excellent Head Girl,’ he told her softly, ‘but that position must be held by the pupil most befitting to hold it. Now you are obviously a rather twisted girl who deserves to have her bottom caned… hard, and you deserve to be thoroughly shamed. I think I’ll suggest a public thrashing after the evening meal. Then we can show the other girls what we do not require in our head girls.’
She buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly at the idea of a public thrashing. Anything else she did not mind, but to be publicly whipped was the worst form of disgrace. There were so many girls there who would enjoy the spectacle of Marion tied across a table whilst each and every teacher whipped her across her naked buttocks. She could hear the jeers now.
‘Please, Commander Renton.’ She sobbed and begged. ‘Please… I’ll take my punishment from you, sir, any punishment. You can flog me until you skin me but do not take my rank away from me. Do not let them punish me… It’s a man’s place to thrash a girl, not other women,’ she reasoned. Everything was going along nicely, thank you he thought. ‘Very well,’ he said as though he had just made the decision. ‘I shall require you to attend the punishment room and I shall personally punish you and it will not go down in the records.’
‘Oh thank you, sir,’ she cried emphatically, ‘thank you… thank you very much, sir. When shall I report?’ Her composure was returning quickly with the relief of his pardon. ‘Tonight, at seven o’clock,’ he told her. ‘Yes sir,’ she answered. He knew the corridor would be empty at the time and he did not want to be seen entering the room with Marion.
He entered his daily Chastisement Report up in the book as fully as possible and then signed his name with a flourish and took it to the next tutor. She was a spinster with a massive fifty-inch bust and gushed at the Commander when he walked into the staffroom and handed it to her. The teachers had a rotation with the book, and each took it to the next person on the list. He did not know this but the Commander had made quite a hit with the other women, and they were delighted to have such a man on the staff. They knew what kind of a man he was and being strict disciplinarians themselves they not only admired him but secretly envied him. How marvellous some of them were already thinking to be a strong handsome man with the authority to take the cane to those plump girlish bottoms and teach them a well-deserved lesson. Little did they know what a good start he had made and they would have been amazed, though approving, if they had had the slightest inkling of how he intended to continue.As for the Commander, as he walked away he was feeling very pleased with himself. He knew he had found the right berth. It was like taking command of a new ship, thinking back to his days on active service. He had no doubt that he’d taken the right decision in accepting this job. These little minxes would have to watch their step, though of course he hoped they wouldn’t be too well-behaved. By now the whole school would know what a tartar he was and they would soon learn that he intended to continue in the way he had started. They would rue the day they heard of Commander Renton.