Wednesday, 25 February 2015

Welcome To The Hotel Gomorrah (part2)

Heather stood in the living room of her cottage though cottage was actually a misnomer. The building was the old gatehouse, going back to the time when the hotel was a manor house. When the manor was then converted to a hospital, the gatehouse and the drive from the gatehouse both became redundant. The small track was nowhere near capable of handling the extra traffic, so a larger driveway was made linking the hospital to the main road to its north.
The gatehouse then became an ad-hoc storage area for gardening equipment and decorating paraphernalia, it was basically a glorified workman's shed.

Once Heather saw the rundown building she fell in love with it. She viewed it as an Easter Egg, a surprise acquisition, as it came with the purchase of the hospital even though it was not listed in the original documentation.
She could not believe the estate agent who told her. “Yes Miss Moore, the gatehouse is covered in the price of the main premises, as are the extensive gardens.”

The gatehouse had not been a deal-maker, but it had certainly sweetened the pot. She decided then and there that the gatehouse was to be her home and to be partitioned off from the hotel. When the day came to sell the hotel, she would reopen the original drive, and retain the gatehouse as her residence.
For now though, the only access to her oddly shaped home was via the grounds of the hotel, which gave her the seclusion that she so enjoyed.

So, now, standing in her semi-circular living room, she looked out of the hotel facing window, waiting for Michaela's arrival.
Her plan was to give Michaela a choice, she would take Heather's discipline, and the previous night's shenanigans would be forgotten, the slate would be wiped clean.
Or, Michaela's other option was to be dismissed, as of today, for gross misconduct.

Should Michaela choose to take the latter option, it would throw Heather's timetable for today into disarray. That, however, seemed to be the least likely outcome, Heather was pretty confident that Michaela would take the discipline. With that in mind, she looked down on her small dining table and smiled to herself.
Lying there on the table was a vicious looking, but, in fact, innocuous riding crop. Next to that lay the innocuous looking, but very hard wooden paddle.

“More choices for miss Nicols to make,” She said aloud to herself, then added, “and here she is now!”

Heather could see her forlorn looking victim walking towards her house. Today she was not dressed in a business suit, today she was wearing jeans, and a sweatshirt. A bit of a disappointment for Heather, as she had hoped to lift Michaela's skirt in the manner that Ralph had last night.

Heather now studied Michaela in a way she never had before. She was slim, not very tall, only coming up to Heather's shoulders though, at five foot ten inches tall, Heather did tend to loom over most females. Michaela's chestnut brown hair was today pulled back in a ponytail, accenting her sharp facial features.

Heather did not wait for the knock on her door; she opened the door just before Michaela reached it and ushered her into her living room. Before Michaela had a chance to take in the oddness of the room's architecture, Heather started talking to, or rather admonishing, her twenty-five-year-old manager.

“Well, Miss Nicols, we seem to be in a bit of a pickle here aren't we? I'm not at all sure as how to fairly address this situation. We could just ignore it altogether, or perhaps even make a commercial play upon it. Our receptionists could wear badges, saying 'Welcome To The Hotel Gomorrah', we could get online reviews recommending our 'hot running barmaids'. Do you think any of these ideas or viable miss Nicols?”

Michaela stood in the centre of the room; her eyes cast down at the floor.

“I asked you are any of these ideas viable miss Nicols.”

“No Heather, they are not.” She finally replied, her voice little more than a whisper.

“So in my position what would you do?...Oh, and, by the way, don't call me Heather, call me Miss!”

“I don't know...probably fire me Miss.”

“Well, I can't lie; that was my original intention.” Heather lied. “Then I decided I was being a little foolish in getting rid of someone who until now had proven to be a valuable employee. So, I decided to give you an option, or rather a couple of choices.”

For the first time since Michaela entered the house, her eyes now met with Heather's. Heather could see the hope in Michaela's pale blue eyes.

“Yes, if you take my discipline now, that will be the end of the matter!”

“Your discipline Heather...I mean Miss...I don't understand what you mean?” Michaela said in apparent confusion.

“Last night you seemed to very keen for Mr Morson to spank you?” Heather said, her voice giving no hint of any emotion.

“Well...we were only larking about...” Michaela mumbled her eyes again focussed upon the floor.

“I know, my plan is to show you what a real spanking feels like, not a larking about one. Then you will have another option, after your spanking you will have either a paddling or a whipping.”

“What! You can't possibly be serious?”

“Oh, I'm serious miss Nicols, the choices are yours. Go now, and find another job. Stay and get spanked, followed by a paddling or a whipping.”

“I don't even know what a paddling is....” Michaela said her voice now starting to break.

Heather picked up the paddle from the dining table and handed it to Michaela, then Heather picked up the crop, flexing it in an almost cliched manner.

“Well, those are your choices...”

“But, I don't want to be spanked...paddled or whipped,” Michaela whined.

“Yes, well I don't want to have to spank you. Just as I don't want to fire you, but you have painted me into a corner. As I said, the choice is yours.”

“Will it hurt Miss?”

“Of course, it will hurt silly girl, but then the slate will be clear,” Heather said, now not even trying to hide her amusement at her employee's predicament.

“OK...I'll take the spanking...and this,” Michaela said holding up the paddle.

“Wise decision,” Heather said, placing the crop back onto the table. She then started to pull one of the dining chairs into the centre of the room, she then sat down upon it, “shall we begin then?”

“What...what happens now Miss?” Michaela asked in abject confusion.

“Put the paddle on the table, and then stand here,” Heather said pointing at the floor to her right-hand side.

In silence, the now defeated Michaela complied with her boss's instructions.

“Mr Morson seemed to take delight in spanking you over your knickers, I, on the other hand, believe that a spanking is only a spanking when it is delivered to a bare bottom!” Heather said as her hands went to the waistband of Michaela's jeans.

“Please Miss...” Michaela whined half-heartedly.

Heather could feel Michaela's whole body stiffen up as she unbuttoned her jeans. Slowly, as slowly as she could, Heather pulled the jeans clear of Michaela's hips, revealing a pair of plain full cut black knickers.

“Now, as I said earlier, these have to come down as well.”

As if Michaela needed any reminder, that her punishments were going to be on her bare bottom. As the knickers slowly started their descent to join the previously lowered jeans, Heather gasped in surprise.

“Oh my, miss Nicols, are you an old fashioned girl or just plain lazy? I have never seen a fanny this hairy, except in films from the nineteen seventies!”

“I just like to be natural...” Michaela replied, choking back a sob.

“Ah well, each to their own I suppose, I believe that some men prefer the hirsute look. Over you pop now, and we can begin.” Heather said, her overly cheerful tone masking the gravity of the situation for Michaela.

Once Michaela was in position across her lap, Heather quickly checked her watch; it was nine-fifteen. Her timetable for the morning was running to schedule.
Though Heather would never consider herself to be bi-sexual, she did appreciate the female form, and moreover she gained a certain sexual frisson from being in a position of dominance. She slowly ran her hand across Michaela's waiting bottom, feeling the firm, but also giving flesh of her well-rounded orbs. Michaela had a small behind though both cheeks were well rounded and in no way could her rear be called boyish. No, she was one hundred percent feminine, only in a smaller compared to Heather frame.

“Yes, I think I am going to enjoy this next half hour.” Heather thought to herself as she brought down the first stinging slaps onto that yielding flesh.

Michaela surprised herself at how well she was taking the spanking. Sure it felt uncomfortable, but nowhere near as bad as she had expected. In fact, in a weird way, it was a kind of a pleasant sensation, as the heat slowly built up. The lead up to the spanking had been much worse the actaulité of the punishment. The way Heather had browbeaten her, and then the way she had been stripped, were both far worse than what she was feeling now. Of course, now she realised that the humiliation was all part of the punishment. It was as if Heather was dishing out a meal, one course at a time.

“Now miss Nicols, I know you may not believe this, but I'm actually doing you a favour by spanking you,” Heather said still keeping her voice ever so bright. “By warming you up like this, the paddle will not feel anywhere near as bad as it would upon cold flesh. Should we ever find ourselves in a similar situation again, I will not be so kind, and it will be on cold flesh.”

As she spoke those words, Heather slowed down the spanking; her hand was now coming down much harder as if to emphasise certain words. Each slap was causing Michaela to grunt out in pain, the enjoyable warmth was now being replaced by something altogether less comfortable.

“I think that will do for now,” Heather said, helping Michaela back to her feet.“ after all this is only the beginning.”

Once upon her feet, Michaela started to rub furiously at her stinging nates, this rubbing causing her hips to involuntary push forward towards Heather's face.

“Really miss Nicols, I don't need to have a closer inspection of your ample bush!”

Those words causing Michaela's face to flush nearly as red as her bottom.

“I'm sorry Miss I didn't mean to...” Michaela said her voice trailing off as she could not think of how to end the sentence.

“Shush, never mind all that,” Heather interjected. “I want you to now take off your jeans and knickers.”

“Er...they are off Miss?”

“No, they are down, not off. I want them off entirely.”

“Why Miss?”

This question had an adverse effect upon Heather's until now jovial mood. Before Michaela could register what was happening, Heather had grabbed her left arm, pulled her closer towards herself, and was now slapping the fronts of Michaela's thighs.

“When..I...say...I...want...something...done...I," Heather said through gritted teeth emphasising each word with a harsh slap.

“Yes Miss, I'm sorry Miss,” Michaela replied, quickly squatting down to untie the laces of her training shoes.

Heather stood over her, smiling at just how well things were going, then an idea crossed her mind as she watched Michaela struggle with her laces. She checked her watch, yes, she still had plenty of time.

“You know miss Nicols,” Heather started lying, “when I was at university, I played for the netball team. Our coach was a strange old bird; she was an ex-forces physical instructor. She had a quite a lot of out-dated ideas when it came to her training methods. Outdated, but still quite effective, if she felt that any of us were not listening, or following her instructions. She would just ask the girl in question to take off one of her plimsolls, and then give her a couple of whacks on her arse with it, just to reinforce her message of obedience.
This was long after corporal punishments in schools had been banned, and, of course, corporal punishment was never a university thing anyway. You know, I don't even think she looked upon it as being a punishment, I believe she just saw it as a good way to remind people of who was in charge.”

Michaela looked up and already knew what was coming next.

“Pass me one of your shoes please miss Nicols.”

Knowing there was no point in arguing, Michaela complied with her boss's command.

“If you would like to stand up, then bend over, grabbing the backs of your knees with your hands.”

Now, totally naked from the waist down, Michaela followed her instruction.

“No, not quite like that,” Heather said, “legs shoulders width apart....yes that's better...head lower please, and push your bottom up...yes that's perfect. Have you any idea of the view I have now? I'm sure you have...the charms that Mr Morson seemed so keen to handle are now quite openly on view. It's a shame that he isn't here eh?”

Michaela looked down to the floor, watching as her first tear splashed upon the carpet.

“These modern trainers are so light, you will probably hardly even feel the two whacks, plimsolls were surprisingly stingy.” As she said that, Heather brought the shoe down quickly, one whack on each cheek. Both impacts, causing, a pleasing to Heather's ears, grunt from Michaela.

“As I suspected,” Heather said, throwing the shoe to one side, “very ineffective. No, don't get up yet miss Nicols! I have to satisfy my curiosity about something.”

Michaela then felt Heather's hand upon her bottom again, only this time the hand was lower between her parted bottom cheeks. Next, to Michaela's shock and disgust, she felt one of Heather's fingers probing the lips of her sex, causing her to jump upright, and shout.

“You fucking pervert...I'm not a lezzer!”

“Shush!” Heather said calmly, but in a manner that would brook no argument “You silly girl, I was just checking if the spanking had got you wet, and look it has!”

Michaela sighed in despair as she saw Heather's glistening middle finger. The despair turned to disgust, as Heather smiled sweetly and sucked her finger clean.

“Don't worry miss Nicols, it's not unusual for a lady to get a little wet when being spanked, I think it has something to do with blood flow. Also, don't worry, I have no designs to seduce you, my tastes lay very much in other directions.”

Heather then picked up the small wooden paddle from the table.

“In the USA, these are often known as The Board Of Education, I think that is such a good name don't you?”

Michaela stood in silence, wide-eyed like a rabbit caught in car headlamps staring at the paddle in Heather's hand.

“Now it may surprise you just how hard this little toy can hit, in fact of the two, the crop would have been a better choice,” Heather said, now back to her previous sing-song tone of cheeriness. “So, with that in mind, you are going to get off with a mere six of the best, in the hope of educating you against flirting with my customers. However, they will be six of the best, three on each of your cute little rosy cheeks. Then after a little corner time for you to reflect upon this morning, you can be on your way, and the slate will be wiped clean OK?”

Michaela had come this far, to back out now at the final hurdle would be sheer stupidity.

“Yes Miss.” Came Michaela's reluctant reply.

“Now there's a good girl, you know it makes sense. Back over as before please, you know the drill. I have to warn you though, these will hurt, hurt quite a lot. However, keep in position, if you jump up, the pop won't count, that's what the call them in the States. Pops!” Heather said in a light, conversational tone.

The first pop hit Michaela's right cheek, the initial impact hurt, but not to the extent that Heather said it would. “This isn't going to be too bad”, Michaela thought to herself, then though she felt that pain turn to heat, and then the heat emanated outwards from the initial contact area.

“It's a shame you can't see this miss Nicols, the little holes in the board are supposed to make it aerodynamic, which I really doubt very much. It does though make such a lovely pattern, even upon your already, very rosy tail!”

The next pop was on her left cheek; again the sensation was the same, pain followed by the unbearable heat. Unbearable heat that she knew she would have to bear.

And, bear it she did.

By the time she received the sixth and final pop, Michaela was openly sobbing; all attempts at composure had fled, as she concentrated on holding her position.

“Very good miss Nicols, you took that really well,” Heather said, congratulating her employee. “Now if you would like to go to the back of the room. Nose to the wall and hands upon the top of your head, you can reflect upon the events of the last two days for half an hour. Oh, and, by the way, no rubbing that pretty little arse!”

Still tearful, but now totally submitted, Michaela obeyed without question. She stood for what to her seemed to her like a burning age. But, was in fact only fifteen minutes; when she then heard, to her terror, a knock at the front door of the cottage.
She twisted around at her hips, though still not moving from her allocated spot, her hands still on top of her head, her eyes full of fear as she stared at Heather.

Heather looked at her watch and said “That will be Mr Morson.”

Saturday, 21 February 2015

Welcome To The Hotel Gomorrah (part 1)

Heather Moore was very much a perfectionist; she also liked to leave very little to chance, both in her private and business life. So, when she decided on a career change, it was well thought through. Thought through with almost military precision.
She had decided at the age of thirty-nine, that she wanted to leave the corporate rat race, to pursue a fresh challenge. It had taken her a full year to decide finally that she would like to be an hotelier. However, she did not look upon being an hotelier as a longterm situation, merely as a step to early retirement.
Her plan was to purchase a run-down establishment, refurbish it to a high standard, build up a good reputation, and then wait for one of the large chains to buy her out.

Of course having such a plan is one thing, putting it into action is a quite another thing entirely. But, Heather was a serious person, not just a daydreamer, and moreover she was patient. In no way was she going to rush into buying the first place that she could find, she was way too astute for that.

Eventually, after nine months of searching and researching she found her premises. It was a now disused Victorian cottage hospital, which had been converted from an old Georgian manor house on the edge of Bronte country. The council were eager to get this perceived white elephant off their hands; so planning permission for a hotel breezed through, red tape just seemed to melt before Heather's eyes.
The conversion only took another two months, to get the manor back to its former glory, as the building itself had been soundly built. Also, the fact that Heather made a point of being “on site”, had the desired effect of spurring on her workers. Heather was no stranger to cracking the whip, both metaphorically and literally.  

She had decided to go for luxury, rather than the amount of rooms, aiming herself very much at the American and Asian tourist market. No expense had been spared in the renovations, and the decour of the accommodation, as she was going all out for the higher end market. As a mark of her sole ownership, and with a slight nod to her ego and the Bronte's, she named the hotel The Moor Heather.

Recruiting the right staff though was problematic. Her choosiness, and her habit of trying to micro-manage all aspects of the hotel, made for a higher than she would have liked initial staff turnover in the first few months of the hotel being open.

This aspect of Heather's nature had always been a moot point even in her social life. She saw herself very much as an organiser, even to the point of trying to control her friends lives, to suit her aims. At times, it seemed that she viewed other people as mere stepping stones to be used by her in the navigation of the river of life. The allotted time for a friendship to last, was governed by her perceived view of the usefulness that each individual could be to her.
In her work in the financial world, this attitude and her charming veneer had paid her dividends. But in her private life it proved to be more than a little detrimental, leaving her now more or less socially marooned on the edge of the Yorkshire Pennines.

By six, months, however, Heather was indeed happy with both the team that she had managed to assemble, and her life, in general. Also, with heavy internet advertising and group discounts, the hotel was for the most part fully booked. Her restaurant and bar had garnered an excellent reputation with the locals, which led to a bonus extra revenue.
In fact, all in all, the whole venture was exceeding her wildest expectations.

The success though was a double sided sword. Having a well-trusted staff now in place, meant that Heather looked upon herself as a bit of a fifth wheel in the general running of her hotel. She was, in fact, bored, so she started out on looking for problems that were not there. The adage of “if it is not broke, don't fix it”, did not apply to her current mindset.
Most nights, she could be found in the public bar area of the hotel nursing a large glass of red wine, and searching for anything to nit-pick over.

This particular evening though, she found much more than she ever dared have hoped to find, even in her wildest dreams.

One of her group bookings, were from Atlanta Georgia; five people in total, two couples and one single male. The single man had caught Heather's attention; he had more than a passing resemblance to Billy Bob Thornton's Lorne Malvo from the tv series Fargo. Of course his accent was not that of the mid-west, it was pure Southern straight from Primary Colors. It was that combination of looks; accent, and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that drew Heather towards him. Her plan was straightforward enough; go down to the bar, strike up a casual conversation, and then enchant him.

This rather simple plan, at least by Heather's standards, became askew as soon as she walked into the bar area.
Sure enough, Ralph Morson, her intended target was there, he was standing at the bar, the ideal place for her to make a quick introduction.
The fly in the ointment though, was Michaela Nicols, her bar and restaurant manager. As she approached the bar, she overheard a little of the conversation that Michaela and Ralph were engaged in.

“So, you are considering a vacation in the States? I hope you are not going to be a typical Brit, and just go to Orlando.” Heather heard Ralph saying to Michaela. “You know the States is an enormous country, not just the Floridian coast. You could do a whole lot worse than visiting Atlanta; I'm sure you would really enjoy our warm Southern Hospitality...”

“Well, it's all very up in the air,” Michaela replied, and then added to Heather's growing annoyance. “ I must say though, I love the way that you roll your 'r's, you make the idea of visiting very enticing.”

“Thank you, ma'am, but I must say you have a fine roll to your arse yourself, and I don't mean your accent!”

Michaela blushed visibly at this overt flirting, her eyes though were clearly encouraging further salacious chat. That coquettish look that she was giving Ralph was the last straw for Heather; “this is going to be nipped in the bud”, she thought to herself as the junior barmaid handed her drink across the bar to her.

“Has it been very busy tonight Julie?” Heather asked the barmaid.

“Er...well you know, not too busy miss...the weather, and it being a Wednesday, it's mainly just the hotel guests tonight.” Julie replied, clearly not happy at being engaged in a conversation with her boss, knowing full well that Heather could turn any words around to suit her specific purposes.

“Mmmh...I was just thinking, Michaela has been very busy lately, and if you and Paul could manage the bar on your own tonight, I would let her have an early finish, to recharge her batteries.”

Now Julie was in an unfortunate position. If she said that would be no problem, it could be read that they were overstaffed. If she said they could not cope, it could be read that Paul and herself were not competent of working unsupervised, all depending on Heather's mood.

“I'm sure we will be able to cope tonight, after all, it is unusually quiet,” Julie said, then in a patronising flash of brilliance added. “and if we did get stuck at all you're here, who better to have on hand!”

Heather, smiled and nodded, recognising in Julie an echo of her own personality, “this girl could be one to watch”, she thought to herself. Already, in her mind's eye she was thinking of the Moor Heather Hotel with a possible new bar manager.

Picking up her drink, Heather moved along the bar towards Michaela and Ralph, catching Michaela's attention.

“Hi Heather, I was just telling Mr Morson that I'm thinking of a trip to the USA later in the year.”

“Yes, well with all the work you have done here, you are well deserving of a nice holiday. In fact, I was just talking to Julie about you getting off home early tonight.” Heather stated and was then quite amused by the quizzical look on Michaela's face. “So if you want to tie up your work in the office, have yourself an early night, and as you are off work tomorrow, I'll see you bright eyed on Friday morning.”

Michaela knew by the tone of Heather's voice that this was not a suggestion, but a direct order.

“OK, thanks, Heather. Mr Morson, I bid you goodnight and hope to chat before you go home on Sunday.”

“You can bet on it, I hope to see a lot more of you before I go back Stateside.” The innuendo of that statement was lost on neither Michaela or Heather.

Heather had hoped that with Michaela's departure, she would simply become the new focus of his attention. However, that was not to be, as he just simply picked his Scotch up from the bar and headed back to where his fellow countryman were sitting.
Heather now sat at the bar alone, alone and fuming.

She took out her phone, fiddled about with it, in a pretence of being engrossed in whatever was on its screen. All the while though she was checking out Ralph's table in the mirror behind the bar. Her sixth sense was telling her that something was afoot, something that she fully intended to use for own entertainment.
Sure enough, after less than two minutes, Ralph rose from the table, saying something to his friends, and then left the bar area.
Heather waited, after all, he could have just been going to the restroom, so she waited, she waited five minutes. She waited exactly five minutes, as she watched the clock display on her phone. She then drained her glass of red wine by way of Spanish Courage and marched out to the reception foyer.

There was no-one behind the desk, as that was normal for this time of night when there were no guests either due in or due to check out.
The office behind the desk though, was not as it should be, as the door was closed. Heather nodded, confident that her sixth sense had been proved to be correct.
She stood by the door; her ear cocked to the wood. Then she heard it, the sound she so loved to hear, the sound she so loved to create.

“Should I barge in, or sneak in?” She whispered to herself aloud.

She chose the path of stealth, carefully she opened the door and quietly slipped into the office. What met her eyes came as no real shock, but Ralph's reaction did.
He was resting, with his bottom leant upon Michaela's desk; Michaela stood in front of him, her back towards Heather. Michaela's pinstriped skirt was hiked up high, well clear of both, her suspenders and her pale blue knickers, his hand slapping down on her cotton covered behind. The spanks were not particularly hard, but Heather could tell by the sound of their report that they would indeed sting.
Instead of jumping up as Heather entered the room, Ralph gazed at her evenly, the eye contact telling Heather that she had stumbled upon a kindred spirit, a wink from him confirming her thoughts.

“You really are a naughty girl aren't you?” Ralph whispered into Michaela's ear, “Sneaking in here to play while your colleagues do all your work. What would your boss think of this I wonder?”

Ralph smiled at Heather; he was now clearly playing to the gallery.

“And, what do naughty little girls deserve?”

No answer was forthcoming from Michaela, so Ralph gave her five hard slaps, two on each bottom cheek and one to the upper thigh of her left leg.

“When I ask a question of a young lady, it is only common courtesy and good manners for the girl to reply!”

“I deserve a spanking sir....” Michaela gasped.

“Yes you do indeed, young lady, you do indeed.”

It seemed to Heather that Ralph had choreographed this whole situation, even down to the way they were both dressed. Michaela as always was wearing a business suit. Tonight, however, Ralph too was also dressed in a suit, instead of his usual casual look.

Heather thought it looked like a boss giving his secretary a spanking for shoddy work. No, it didn't, Heather mentally corrected herself, the clothing was of too high a quality for such a scenario. This was more like some executive power play, a CEO and his lover maybe. Or maybe even a CEO and her lover, whatever the scene was supposed to be it had Heather's mind racing and her juices flowing.

“You know, I have a feeling that come this weekend you will have more than your share of spankings, it's just a feeling I have!” Ralph said, then motioned with his head for Heather to close the door.

Heather slammed the still partially open door, causing Michaela to  quickly turn around.

“I'm sorry MR Morson, you seemed to have taken a wrong door. I really should get the signage to the restrooms made clearer.” Heather said, her face calmness personified. “You need to be back out into the reception area, and then instead of going to the bar, it's the third door on the left-hand side.”

“Thank you ma'am, the Scotch seems to have gone to my head and ruined my sense of direction,” Ralph said as he left the room.

“Michaela, I want to see you at my cottage tomorrow morning at nine-o-clock sharp, and then we can discuss, both tonight's antics and your future working for me!” Heather then also left the office, Michaela did not see the broad self-satisfied smile on Heather's face as she exited.

Michaela was now alone in the office, her eyes tearing up, the tears not caused from the stinging in her bottom. But from the fear of losing her job, and the embarrassment of having being caught in such a compromising position.    

Monday, 9 February 2015

Happy Valentines Day

(An old re-post to help celebrate this Saturday)

Lori was in the bathroom brushing her teeth, looking forward to the romantic Monday that Tom had arranged for them. She could hear Tom downstairs as he switched on the radio in the kitchen, she gave herself a little smile in the mirror, before rinsing her teeth. Then she heard his voice shouting up to her.

"Lori! Are you trying to wind me up?"

She pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself and opened the bathroom door, standing looking down the stairs she sees that Tom is holding up two envelopes.

"Did you send this extra one to wind me up?" Tom asks her, with a doubting look on his face.

"I don't know what you mean," Lori replied as she made her way down the stairs.

"Well, I sent this card," Tom said, breaking the mystery of Valentine's Day slightly, "but I didn't send this one. So who did?"

"Nah, I'm not falling for this; you sent them both so that you could start the day of with an early morning bum tanning. I know you too well, Tom!" Lori replied laughing at her lover.

Tom's face darkened at Lori's laughter, and it dawned on him that the card was genuine and not just her winding him up. As he looked at her he noticed that she could not hold eye contact with him, this was turning out to be not funny at all.

"So do you know who it is from then?" Tom demanded.

Lori looked down at her bare feet, as she fidgeted from foot to foot, biting at her lower lip she shook her head, then finally said, "No not really."

"What do you mean not really? Either you know or you don't know."

Lori sniffed and looked on the verge of tears. "Well, I'm not sure; it could be from one of the guys at work I suppose, maybe."

"Oh yeah! Which one?" Tom shouted.

"Well, I don't know do I?" Lori said still shifting from foot to foot. "I could be any of them, you know fooling around, a bit of banter."

"A bit of banter?"

"Well everyone does it at work don't they?" Lori said looking very guilty.

"I don't, you are telling me you spend all day at work flirting with anything in trousers, is that what you are saying?"

"Well kind of, but you make it sound all dirty and it isn't." Lori said pleadingly.

Tom took hold of Lori's hand and marched her over to the sofa, sitting down Tom said. "Get that dressing gown off and get over my knee, and this isn't going to be a fun spanking!"

"Please, Tom this was supposed to be a special day!" Lori whined.

"Don't worry it's going to be special all right, now get a move on!"
Lori stared at Tom, her lovely heart-shaped face in her best sulky look, her blue-green eyes looking pleadingly, almost begging for tacit forgiveness. Her silent look of regret didn't work as Tom repeated his instruction. Slowly Lori loosened the cloth belt on her fleecy gown, still looking at Tom to see if there was any break in his resolve. There wasn't. As she slipped out of her gown and let it fall to the floor, she stood there in her Sloggi mint green (Tom's favourite.) two piece set. Tom pointed at the little shorts and said.

"By the way don't think they are staying on because they aren't."

"Tom please, they are so thin....." Lori pleaded her fingers hovering above the waistband of her boy shorts.

"Well, if they are so thin, it won't make any difference, so get them off."

Lori made a little theatrical stamp of her feet and snorted at Tom, but then obediently, slowly slipped them down her legs. Her shaven crotch was now coming into view as she reluctantly lowered her pants. Then Lori eased herself over Tom's lap, she had a little secret smile to herself, as she felt his excited state through the thinness of his PJ's, prodding at her tummy.
Her smile didn't last long, Tom's hand came down hard on her naked buttocks, the impact almost taking her breath away. Lori knew now that this was not going to be a fun spanking. Tom was annoyed, to say the least, they had both taken time off work for a special romantic Valentine's, and yet here he was spanking his girlfriend for being an outright self-confessed flirt.

"No more tight blouses at work for you girl. No more flashing your headlights to all a sundry. Eh?"

Apart from little squeaks and screams, Lori Stayed silent to Tom's question. His spanking had taken her by surprise, by shock actually. She had never expected to him react with such gusto. His hand rained down on her proffered buttocks, fast and hard. Before she had time to react to one hand fall, another would come down on her quickly reddening bottom. Instead of the typical spanking warmth, she was feeling an intense heat building up in her.

"God I hope he doesn't see my credit card statement." She thought to herself.

"I asked a question girl!" Tom said through gritted teeth, as he laid on an especially hard flurry.

"I won't... I'll wear loose jumpers... I'll... please Tom stop!" Lori pleaded as her view of the carpet beneath became a misty blur.

She couldn't help herself; her legs started to flail around, taking on a life of their own. All this did was open up to Tom new areas for chastisement, she now found her inner thighs and the tops of her legs coming into Tom's spanking range. All she could do was grit her teeth again, and to pray for him to stop.

Stop he did.

Tom helped his tearful girlfriend back to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes, she looked at him and gave him weak sorrowful smile.

"Well, that will do for a start," Tom said. "now go in the kitchen, and fetch me the green plastic pallet knife."

"Wha... what for, what do you need that for?" Stuttered Lori.

"Six across your arse, that's what for, your spanking was just a warm up!"

"I can't go in there; I've only got my bra on! People can see into the kitchen, what would they think?"

"They'll think, there's a girl that's had a hard spanking, and she's lucky that she hasn't had her dirty little flirty mouth soaped as well."

Mouth soaped? That idea had never even crossed her mind, so she quickly dashed off to the kitchen before Tom thought more on it. Lori grabbed the pallet knife, all the time thinking "he must never see the credit card statement".

When she came back into the living room, Tom was standing by the end of the sofa; his erection painfully obvious under his PJ bottoms. She handed him the instrument of her immediate correction, her lower lip trembling in anticipation.

"Right over the arm of the sofa, bottom right up. Six of the best coming up."

The first one shocked her. It didn't so much hurt on impact; it slowly burned into her behind. Such an innocuous kitchen implement how could it cause such pain?

By the fourth stroke, she could taste the salt of her tears in her mouth. When the sixth stroke fell, she thought to herself, "he must never ever see the credit card statement!"

In the blur of tears and pain, she heard the plastic pseudo paddle hit the floor; she felt his hands on her naked hips. She felt herself being lifted slightly; she felt the head of his cock probing at the lips of her sex. She heard a little voice in her head say.

"Where can I leave that statement where he can find it? The one with the ' invoice on it?"

Sometimes you know, a fun spanking just can't cut it!

Happy Valentine's Day, from Lori and Tomas!

Wednesday, 7 January 2015

The Reality Checker (part 2)

I left Marsha's home, with three things that I didn't have when a arrived there.I had a cheque in my pocket to cover my wife's bad investments; the Reality Checker was on the passenger seat.
The other thing, I left with, was the resolve in my heart to bring Susie back down to Earth.

The new-found resolve was also backed up by what is known as the English Disease; a latent fascination with spanking and corporal punishment. That almost inborn tendency was dredged from the back of my mind and brought to the fore by Marsha's descriptions of Susie's disciplinary program.
As I drove along her words were still ringing in my ears.

“I can tell you now Ronnie, she will beg and plead to get out of a hair brushing, you have to be strong though, and ignore all of her empty words.
For once you decide upon this action there is no going back, cause if you do give in to her promises, she will see it as weakness. Then she will just play you like a cheap fiddle for the rest of your married life.
You have to bare her butt, and get her over your knees, and keep whacking her till either her ass is blistered, or she has a pool of tears on the carpet in front of her. Anything less is just a waste of elbow grease!
She will wail and pretend to cry, don't fall for it, keep going till you get the real tears falling, OK?”

Marsha's words seemed harsh, but I know she had said them from her heart and with love; not knowing the effect that those very words were having on me.

Once I got home, I planned out my strategy. I decided the kitchen would be the best place for her spanking to take place. That room faced back onto our high fenced garden, so was clear from prying eyes and inquisitive ears. Also, as it was in Marsha's kitchen where we had been talking earlier, it seemed somewhat apt, that our kitchen would be used for her chastisement.
I placed both the cheque and the Checker, in front of me on our little breakfast table. I then made myself a cup of tea and waited for my wife arriving home.

Susie came about five minutes later, she was all smiles, oblivious of what was about to come to her.

“You had a good day honey?” She asked as she prepared herself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, I had a drive out to was...very informative.”

“Opelika? Really? What you go all the way out there for?”

“I just thought I'd pop over to see your mom,” I told her, trying to keep my voice as flat and even as I could.

“Mmmh...So, how was mom?” Susie said, now her voice had lost its chirpiness.

“She was good; I wanted to tell her about a call I had earlier; which was actually a call for you.”

“A call?” Now her voice sounded worried.

“Yeah, from the Mall, about a shop that we haven't even discussed.”

“Well, Ronnie I meant to talk to you....” Her voice then halted as she saw the Reality Checker lying on the table.

“You meant to talk to me about what Susie?” I asked, motioning with my hand for her to continue.

Instead of saying anything she just stood there dumbstruck, shaking her head in evident disbelief at what she could see on the table.

“OK, never mind the talking, I'll tell you what is going to happen,” I informed her, her eyes still locked upon the clothes brush. ”Whatever stuff you got on sale or return; you are going to return. All the other things, you are going to post on the internet tonight. Then whatever we get for it we will give back to your mom to cover, at least part of, the money that she gave me today. You are then going to ring the Mall to cancel your barrow stall; you are also going to tell them that you are not interested in a shop either.”

Susie nodded and sighed loudly, as she sighed forcing the air upwards it made her blonde fringe ripple in a little wave. That sigh and the look in her watery blue eyes almost broke my resolve. Then I heard Marsha's words again in my mind.

“she will just play you like a cheap fiddle for the rest of your married life.”

“All of that though,” I added, my resolve now restored, “you will be doing sitting on a nice soft cushion, because you will be doing it with a very sore arse, if you pardon my English. Now get over here!” I said motioning to the area of floor in front of the table.

I don't think I saw Susie move so slowly, or so despondently. Eventually, she arrived at the required spot, and my hands went to the waistband of her black jeans.

“Please Ronnie...” She muttered, her voice trailing off as I undid her belt.

“Your mom said the only way, to get through to you, is on your bare butt, and I fully trust Marsha's judgement on this.” I told her as I lowered her jeans, and then her pulled down her black knickers. I could feel myself tumesce at the sight of her freshly waxed pussy lips.

She quickly threw herself across my lap, apparently ashamed of being denuded in such a manner. Which struck me as odd, bearing in mind the status of our relationship, and our familiarity with each others bodies. But, of course, this was not our usual husband/wife situation, this was an altogether different dynamic.

“Please Ronnie, I swear nothing like this will ever happen again...ouch!” The first fall of the Checker cut short her well-predicted pleading.

After that initial shout of surprise, Susie remained almost silent for the first minute or so. The skin on the magnificent orbs of her buttocks was turning pink, but she seemed almost inured to the pain. All, I could do, was to 'up the ante' and to smack her harder, which filled me with both guilt and desire in equal measure.
It worked though, as the pinkness turned to red; her hips moved trying to escape the brush, her bottom cheeks tensed attempting to lessen the brush's effect, and she became vocal.
In fact, she became very vocal!

“You can't spank me like this; you're my husband, not my parent!...You bastard this hurts!...I swear I'm going to leave you!”

Then her previous indignation turned to regret.

“I'm sorry Ronnie!...Please stop; I've learned my lesson!...Please, I can't take anymore!”

Then another change came over her, she was gently sobbing, but her movements did not so much stop, as it seemed more that they changed.
She stopped her wriggling, and it felt as if she was now lifting her hips and arching her back to meet the Checker. Almost as if she was welcoming its contact, her bottom was now coming up to greet its touch. Then her hips would fall forcing her pubis hard against the outside of my left thigh.

“She is as turned on as me?” I thought to myself, somewhat shocked at the idea.

I had to check. I laid the Checker down on the small of her back, leaving it balanced on the little hollow above her buttocks; my hand then caressed her now blazing hot buns. My fingers then trailed down the cleft of her bottom, reaching the petals of her sex. I probed, lightly at first, into her damp folds.
She was wetter than I had ever known her to be, a quick glance at the tiled floor below her, and I could see the pool of tears that Marsha had told me to wait for. Seeing that pool of contrition, I knew that the spanking had worked. However, my fingers told me that the spanking had worked at a whole other level.

I helped her back to her feet, kissed her, then wiped the tears from her eyes.

“You know I only did that because I love you?” I whispered into her ear.

She nodded, then took my hand.

“Let's go to bed,” She said, with a dreamy almost content look upon her face. “I think I will have to be on top though.” She added; we headed to our bedroom, both of us giggling like naughty teens.

                                              THE END

Saturday, 27 December 2014

The Reality Checker (part 1)

I stared at the phone in disbelief, not anger just disbelief. We were being sucked into a financial maelstrom, and there would appear to be very little that I could do about it.
It seemed to me, every time I thought I could see some light at the end of the tunnel, it would turn out to be a train driven by my wife Susie. I knew I had no choice but to call Marsha, my mother in law; she may have some advice upon how to curb Susie's enthusiasm for madcap money making projects.

“Hi hon, how are doing?” Marsha asked as she heard my voice.

 “Been better,” I replied, then gave Marsha a brief outline of my current predicament.

“Tell you what hon, I think it would be best if you came over to see me. We can talk face to face over coffee, and see if we can sort something out. Have you anything on now?"

“No, I could be over to you in the hour,” I told her. “you know, if it's not putting you out at all?”

“Don't be a silly boy Ronnie, just get yourself over here!” She said, by way of a light-hearted admonishment.

The journey from Auburn to Opelika seemed quicker than usual, the traffic was very light, the food joints and filling stations appeared to whiz past me, as I was lost in my thoughts.
I was trying to work out how to explain our current financial quandary to Marsha, without looking like I was just blaming her daughter for everything?

The thing is though, all of our problems did stem from Susie's madcap moneymaking schemes. It wasn't that she was spending money on luxuries or clothes for herself. It was just that she could not accept the fact that she did not really have a head for business. She followed the “speculate to accumulate” theory to extreme, she believed wholeheartedly that if you threw enough money at something, it would eventually succeed.

When I arrived at Marsha's house, I was in no way surprised to find her in the kitchen. Despite her comparative youth in being a mother in law, she was not yet forty and young looking for her age. She was still very much a traditional southern lady, and to her the hub of the home was the kitchen. As always, when I visited Marsha's the radio was on and tuned to a Country station.
So, as she made the coffee, I listened to a man praying for rain in California, so that he could get drunk on wine in Chicago while listening to music from Tennessee. In an odd way, I was jealous of him, wishing that wine and music could solve my predicament.

“OK, Ronnie, spill the beans.” Marsha said as she placed the strong smelling black coffee in front of me. “Tell me what my daughter has been up to now!”

I was surprised by the matter of fact tone of her voice; it was almost as if she had been waiting for this situation to arise.

The tone of her voice, somehow made it easier for me to talk to her. It was almost as if she had broken a levy, and now the water, in the form of my words, flowed fast and free.
I explained how Susie had used our savings to purchase perfumes to sell to her friends and colleagues, in the forlorn hope of doubling our money. These perfumes were second-line scents, the sort that were supposed to smell like designer bottles, but at about half the price of the originals.
I pointed out to her that the profit margins, by the time she had covered her overheads of holding a “perfume party”, she would only, at best come away with a little pin money.
This information did nothing to deter her enthusiasm In fact it spurred her on to spend even more of our savings upon Stell and Dot jewelry, which she planned to sell from a barrow stall in the mall. No matter how hard I tried, to tell her about how the overheads would just eat all of her profits, the more stubborn and sure she became upon the idea.
Then this morning was the last straw, I received a phone call from the mall, saying that they could after all upgrade her stall to a shop outlet, of course for a much higher ground rent.

I didn't know what reaction I expected from Marsha, but the one I got stunned me, as she merely smiled.

“Ronnie, I feel a little to blame for all of this. I should have warned you, when you and Susie first got engaged. You see, the very things that most likely made Susie attractive to you, are the same things that are causing your current problems. You know, her happy go lucky everything is good attitude?” Marsha said, then with a dreamlike look on her face she continued. “You never knew her father; he died before you and your kin came over from England. You know though that he was a musician and a songwriter?”

I nodded, not at all sure as to where this conversation was going.

“He was quite successful, not Nashville guitar shaped swimming pools successful, but he did well enough. He instilled a feeling in Susie that everyone had something inside them that if they worked at it, they would be a great success and everything would be rosy. Of course, this is great if you work at your talents, the way he did, sadly Susie did not get that part of the message.
After her father had died, she became a Pollyanna, with her very own version of the Glad Game, it was like if she just thought something nice, it would happen. All you have to do is look around this house, and you'll find a multitude of discarded musical instruments. No doubt you thought they all belonged to her father?”

I nodded again, this time now seeing the thread she was forming.  

“All my husband had was two guitars, the rest they are all Susie's. After about a year of letting her flit about from one thing to another. I decided it was time to put my foot down. It was time to give her a reality check. You know what I mean by that don't you?”

I shook my head.

“I re-introduced spanking into the house” Marsha  informed me in the most matter of fact manner.

I quickly worked out the years; Susie's father died when she was about sixteen, just weeks before I started at her high school, so a year later....

“You mean you started spanking her again when she was seventeen, when I was going out with her?”

“No, you got your math wrong there Ronnie, she was eighteen.” Marsha corrected me. “Hey, don't look so shocked, it ain't that out of the ordinary down here. It's just that it ain't something that comes up in conversation.
I got myself a big wooden backed clothes brush which I named the Reality Checker, as a hand spanking even on her bare butt, didn't cut it at that age.”

I must have looked even more shocked as she then said.

“Hey boy, drop them raised eyebrows. I'm not some kinda sexual sadist; I was just trying to keep my daughters head in the here and now. Believe me, a well-blistered ass quickly brings a daydreamer down from the clouds.”

I shook my head, still not taking in all of this information.

“You know Ronnie, I can't make my mind up whether you are disgusted with me, or you just plain don't believe what I'm telling you?”

“I just find it all...a bit crazy and strange, a young adult being spanked.” I replied, just stopping myself from saying intriguing.

“OK, I'll give you a good, but somewhat extreme example of her Pollyanna ways. Do you recall two months before you got hitched, I took Susie on a Carribean cruise for her birthday treat?”

I nodded as if I could have forgotten my fiance going away for two weeks just prior to our wedding.

“Well, that cruise ship was pretty snazzy, it had a full spa onboard, so we did the whole nine yards. We had all the beauty treatments and massages; Susie was particularly taken with the hot stones. Then before I knew it, she was ringing the local college to see about massage lessons. I let it ride as I thought it's just another little flash in the pan. Then I caught on the sundeck her calling Tiger Town, to see if they had any available units that she could convert into a salon. Any of this sound familiar to you?”

I sighed and replied, “Yeah, a bit too familiar.”

“Well, I grabbed her cell out of her hand, 'you're in for a reality check young lady' I told her as I marched her back down to our cabin. Once we got there, I realised I had a problem, as I didn't expect to need the Reality Checker on vacation, I had left it here at home. Then my eyes fell upon her denim cutoffs, or I should say upon her belt.

'Take of that belt and give it to me, then drop your shorts and panties and get over the bed' I told her.

'Please Ma, not here...these walls are so thin people will hear!'

You know, the doe-eyed look on her face nearly melted my resolve, but I knew she needed that infernal blind optimism curbed. Moreso with her approaching wedding and her stepping into real adulthood.

'Just give me that belt and get your bare butt over that bed. Now!'

She was almost in tears as she handed me the belt and shrugged down her shorts and under panties. I knew that I had to make this one a spanking to remember. I took me a few tries to get my aim in and to get the correct swing. Soon enough though, I had her squirming, and her bare bottom was colouring up nicely with purple weals. By the time I finished and threw the belt onto the cabin floor, Susie was sobbing and apologising.
The following day, I made her wear her bikini on the sundeck, so that everyone would see that she was a naughty nineteen-year-old girl who had been well punished!

To be honest, I thought that that harsh punishment, and then the rather cruel way I made her display the evidence of the punishment would have been enough to set her up for marriage. Clearly I was wrong, and I apologise for that Ronnie. It would seem it is now the time for you to become the head of the household in your home.”

Marsha then rose from her seat; she went over to a set of drawers, and returned handing me the Reality Checker.

Tuesday, 23 December 2014


I would like to take this oppotunity, on behalf of both Lori and myself, to wish all of our readers; a very merry Christmas, and a happy New Year.

We both hope, that 2015 brings you all that you want in the New Year!

Tomas Elu.

Sunday, 30 November 2014

New Arrivals For An Old School

(This is a edited re-post of quite a long story, with all parts in one complete run. Set in 1966, a time when both, education and womens equal rights, were very much in a state of flux.)

Paul decided that it was now indeed time to get up, time to get up and start the day he had been looking forward to for weeks now. Today was the day that, for the first time in Deerfoot Boy's School's long history, girls were going to be admitted. Well, not girls as such, but young women. The school had been struggling financially of late. Public schools just didn't seem to be in fashion these days. With all the talk of new state schools introducing the revolutionary, comprehensive system, much championed by Anthony Crosland the current head of the governments department of education. The fuddy-duddy and almost archaic traditions of old-fashioned boarding schools were now looked down upon in many circles. Even Paul's position as head boy, over the years the honour of this post had been diluted as had the power of the prefects.
All things were changing even in the privacy of the Public Schools. So in these times of ever shifting sands something radical was called for to increase Deerfoot's ever dwindling income. The radical idea came from Sir Brian Starkey, a Deerfoot old boy and well known local businessman; he was a man with a finger in many pies and also a member of Deerfoot's board of governors. Sir Brian had noticed an anomaly in the staff at his petrochemical's unit in Teeside, though the majority of his employees were female; all his supervisory staff and management were male.
Sir Brian always thought of himself as a proactive rather than a reactive thinker. He could that, with ever new rules on sexual discrimination being mooted in the House Of Commons, it would soon come to a point where such an anomaly would be frowned upon. Perhaps even, in due time legislated against.

So he came up with an idea; he got in contact with other like-minded businessmen from around the area; the idea was to fast track a few token females into management positions.
He and each other of his like-minded friends would pick out three or four young ladies from their workforce. Young women, that in their opinion would prove to make good members of their respective management teams. These young ladies would then be promoted at an accelerated rate, so as to give the companies at least the look of being forward thinking and non-discriminatory. Sir Brian, never one to miss an opportunity, also saw this as being a way to boost his old school's coffers. He pointed out to his colleagues in this new venture that all the proposed candidates, would benefit greatly from the camaraderie and discipline that a public school education could provide.
Of course, with girls whose ages would be from eighteen to twenty-four, such an education would prove to be impossible to produce. A workable alternative could be a six-week taste of such a life. Six weeks of intensive lessons, not English or Maths, as all the likely candidates would have had reasonable education and be adept in these core subjects.

No, what Sir Brian envisaged was more teaching of the arts and the classics, perhaps even improving on language skills that could prove valuable in the ever more international market.
Sports and teamwork would feature high on the agenda, as would be discipline. As you could not expect someone who is lacking in self-discipline in their life to inspire it in others.
All his colleagues had agreed with Sir Brian that this could prove to be an excellent springboard to start the girls off on their path to management.
So during the Easter holidays of nineteen sixty-six, the first group of eight young women would be attending Deerfoot Boy's School for their six-week training and appraisal program.

So what does all this have to do with Paul our eighteen-year-old head boy?

Paul had been asked by the headmaster if he could help the girls settle in; it was put forward that a pupil's perspective could perhaps be a good thing in aiding the girls to find their feet. Of course, it would mean that he would be giving up his own Easter holidays, but Paul looked upon that as being a sacrifice worth making. He hoped, probably foolishly, after reading the conditions of the girls stay that he could use some of his Head Boy privileges. Use his prefect powers in the disciplining of the girls should they find themselves falling foul of the schools many rules. Or maybe even use his position to strike up a little romance. Deep down he felt these would be most unlikely scenarios, but possible ones. Even just as a long shot it had to be worth the gamble of giving up his holidays.
Paul spent the hour after breakfast wandering aimlessly around the school; the girls weren't due till ten, and he was to be their one-man welcoming committee. He had eight little information packs, containing the school rules and "special considerations" relating only to the young ladies. One of the moot points was what the girls would wear when attending the school, the Headmaster was adamant that there should be some dress code. One or two of the employers had ideas about a St. Trinians style of dress. Although these ideas were never put forward, they did harbour them, so they welcomed the Head's input upon attire without any argument.
It was decided upon, plain black flat shoes, black knee length skirt and white blouse, another thing that the headmaster had insisted upon was no makeup.

"I have seen some of the young girls these days, out and about around town all panda eyes and fake lashes," He told the meeting. "I will not have the school looking like a Kabuki theatre."

Those around the table nodded in agreement, even the ones who didn't have a clue what Kabuki was. They all knew that the uniform would not be popular with the girls. But, they would have to learn that sacrifices would need to be made by them as they climbed the management ladder. The other thing the Head had insisted upon was that the girls were made aware that any rule breaking would result in disciplinary sanctions. Again all around the table nodded, one or two wondering, fantasising even what shape these sanctions would take but again no one asked. Of course, all the girls who were asked if they would like to join this pre-management training agreed to all stipulations reference school rules and dress codes.
Also, like their employers, they never enquired as to what shape these disciplinary sanctions would take.

Finally, the mini-bus arrived at the main entrance; Paul hung back as the girls got out of the bus and sorted out their bags. After all, he didn't want to look too keen upon making their acquaintance. He didn't wish to look like the excited little puppy that he felt like, no he wanted to seem aloof, to seem cool.
As he looked, it would seem that all apart from one had either chosen to forgo the dress code or meant to get changed upon arrival. As they wrestled their bags from the back of the bus, he was treated to view of denim encased bottoms as each girl leant in to retrieve her luggage.
He could not fail to notice that each of the "chosen" employees were all very shapely and pretty, was that another of the criteria used by their respective employers?

As the bus pulled away, Paul made his introduction. "Good morning ladies," He said as he approached the new arrivals. "I'm Thomas the head boy and your guide for this morning."

"Morning, Tommy!" A bright-eyed willowy brunette said a large smile on her pale heart-shaped face.

"Sorry, it's Thomas, not Tommy." Paul said correcting the girl. "It is a school tradition that surnames rather than Christian names are used." Paul noticed that a couple of the girls exchanged odd looks with each other at this statement. "Don't worry, all will be explained in the information packs." He added.

"Isn't that confusing if you have more than one person with the same name?" The brunette asked.

"Well, no more than people sharing the same first name." He said thinking to himself this one is not backward in coming forward. "I would wager that we may have more than one Joan or Mary here today?"

At that moment, it sank in with the girls that they didn't even know each others names, of course, Paul had the advantage of having read their names in advance.

"Er, I'm a Joan." The mouthy brunette said almost giggling.

Two others nodded and said they were also called Joan.

"So," Paul said with a beaming smile, "no confusion there then is there?"

Having had won his argument. He then gave out the folders, one to each of girls, then said. "If you would like to follow me I'll take you along to your dormitory. You can settle in, and get changed into your... er.. school wear I suppose we should call it. Then I'll show you around the buildings and the grounds in say an hour's time?"

"Surely we don't have to wear our schoolie things this week, the school isn't even open?" The mouthy brunette asked.

"Perhaps the school as such isn't open, but we have people visiting at all times, even when the main body of the school is closed. It does not reflect well on the establishment if we have a group of denim clad young ladies flouncing around the place."Paul answered tersely. "So yes, you are required to wear your schoolie things as you so quaintly put it."

As Paul led the way, the brunette poked out her tongue at his back.

Upon arrival in the dormitory, the girls were less than impressed when they saw to be rather Spartan surroundings. Paul, on the other hand, saw the room as being almost luxurious compared to the male dorms, beautiful curtains and a couple of very comfortable looking sofas and a small area for tea/coffee making. For night time entertainment, there had been a radiogram and even a little TV had been provided.

Having left the girls to adjust to their new home, Paul quickly set about memorising their names. The mouthy little brunette was called Joan Watts, a name he knew he would probably get sick of saying over the next two weeks. After exactly one hour, Paul knocked on the dormitory door and waited to be called in, to his surprise there was no answer, so he knocked again.

"OK, no need to get your knickers in a twist!" He heard Watts call out, and then she opened the door. "Just who we need to see!" She said as she saw Paul standing in the doorway. "Come on in we are all decent, granted some more than others." She said almost hauling Paul through the doorway.

Dressed the same and washed clean of all their makeup the girls looked so different to Paul, somehow that little bit less intimidating, more controllable, then of course Watts spoke.

"Hey, what's with all these rules, no leaving the school premises on a weeknight, no alcohol allowed on school grounds, they are bad enough. But, no smoking! Now you have got to be joking, what are we supposed to do about ciggies? You can't expect us to just stop."

Paul tried hard to stifle his laughter. "Well, you young ladies, will just have to do what the boys here do."

"Oh, yeah and whats that?" The fuming Watts asked.

"Try not to get caught." Paul said, now not even trying to hide his smirk."

"I suppose if we do get caught, we get a smacked bum?" Watts asked annoyed by Paul's obvious amusement at the situation.

"More than likely, I would say. If its a prefect or matron who catches you, it will be a smacked bum. If its a teacher, and it is reported to the head then it will be a caned bum."

"Prefects smack people?"

"It is at their discretion in certain cases yes," Paul said revelling in this feisty exchange, "mostly pupils prefer it that way than things being taken higher up the food chain."

"Humpph!" Watts grunted in frustration.

"If you would like to follow me ladies." Paul said as he led his charges off around the school.

The rest of the day was uneventful, they were shown around all the grounds, had lunch, then shown around the remainder of the school buildings. They were taken back to their dorm where Paul announced that they would have to stay "in uniform" till after dinner at eight; then the rest of the evening was their own free time.

"Time to do what though?" Watts asked, but received no reply.

After dinner, the girls retired to the dorm and put the radio on, each one wishing that they had thought to bring some records with them. Watts as always was restless; the smokers in the group had realised that the bathroom at the end of the dorm was an ideal little hideout. If anyone should happen to come to the dorm, namely Paul Thomas. They would have to knock for the sake of decency, so giving the girls plenty time to flush away the ciggie ends and return to the main dorm.

Somehow though that didn't quite fit in with Watts' reckless nature, if she was going to rule break she wanted the excitement, the thrill of maybe being caught.

"Anyone fancy going for a moonlit stroll, some auntie Mary and a tab or two?" She asked her assembled fellow inmates as that was how she now saw herself, an inmate.

"Auntie Mary?" One of the girls asked.

"Tia Maria!" Watts said holding up a silver hip flask triumphantly.

They all shook their heads; all accept to Watts' surprise Powell, who nodded to her.

"I don't drink, but I would like a little walk around." She said almost sheepishly.

Watts made a motion with her head towards the door, and Powell followed her. They made an odd couple as they descended the stairs, Watts back in her figure hugging jeans, Powell still wearing the ad-hoc uniform that she had arrived in, the two of them were polar opposites. Watts, brash and mouthy, Powell quite and almost mousy.

At school, though they had gone to different schools, Watts was always a bit of a bad girl, any trouble and she would somehow be involved in it.

Powell, on the other hand, had been the class swot, it was only family commitments that had prevented her from going on to university. Her family needed the extra wage, so Powell had gone straight to work at one of the local factories when she left school. Instead of staying on to the sixth form as all her teachers had told her she should have done. The one thing both girls had in common, well two, was that they recognised the opportunity that this course could bring them career wise, and they both liked to smoke.

Paul Thomas was sat in the prefect's lounge alone, seated on the window ledge cup of coffee in hand, idly wondering what tomorrow might bring. Paul noticed a ray of light across the quadrangle, as the door to the girls stairwell opened, he smiled as he watched the two guilty looking young ladies creep out.

"Bingo, young mister Thomas!" He said to himself as he slipped on his loafers and went to his room next to the prefect's lounge to retrieve his torch. " A hunting we will go!"

The two girls made for the tennis courts; Watts had noticed there was a small hut by the side of the courts an ideal smoking and drinking den she had thought that afternoon.
She would have preferred different company to the goody two shoes Powell, still though all the more Tia Maria for herself. Even if that meant listening to more of her wittering on about what a great opportunity this could be for all of them. Watts was more interested in how she could nab the dishy head boy for a bit of non-curricular fun. Having just split up with her boyfriend, she was missing male attention.

"You know what I fancy at the moment Powell?" She asked her smoking partner, (the girls had quickly fallen into the habit of the surname only rule) after taking a deep draught from her hip flask.

"A warm coat maybe, it's freezing tonight." Powell replied her teeth chattering.

"God no! I could really fancy some cock that would soon warm us up eh?"

"Er....well I wouldn't know." Powell replied, feeling her face warm in the cold wind as the blood rushed to her cheeks.

"What? Virgo Intacto are you? Please, tell me you are having me on." Watts said as she handed Powell a cigarette.

Before Powell had a chance to reply, they were both bathed in bright torchlight.

"Good evening ladies," Paul Thomas said. "I thought I would go lamping tonight, and look I've caught two delectable bunnies up to no good."

Powell quickly threw her just lit cigarette on the ground in a vain attempt to try and hide her guilt. Watts just put hers to her mouth and drew deeply on it.

"Ah, it's a fair cop guv!" She said, lifting the flask to her lips to have one final swig of the warming coffee liqueur.

"You know what this means don't you ladies?" Paul asked stalling for time, not knowing what he was actually going to about the two of them.

"Are you going to spank our naughty bottoms, sir?" Watts asked, slowly drawing out and emphasising the last three words.

Paul could hardly believe what he had heard, or more to the point the way it had been said, it was a blatant invitation from Watts, though Powell looked mortified upon hearing her words.

"Come with me then girls, spanking for smoking, and a couple of tickles with the cane for the drinking," Paul said as he led the two girls to the prefect's room.

"I wasn't drinking!" Powell protested.

"It's true, Thomas, she wasn't drinking, just smoking. She is a one vice only girl." Watts said sarcastically.

When they reached the lounge, Powell looked to be on the verge of tears already.

"I think we will have Watts over my knee first, then Powell you can take your punishment and go. I can then see if Watts still finds life so amusing with a four cane weals across her arse."

Both girls nodded though Powell lacked Watts' enthusiasm for the coming procedure.

Paul pulled a chair clear of the table in the centre of the room and sat down, then beckoned Watts across to him.

To both Paul's, and Powell's amazement, as Watts approached she started undoing her jeans and pulled them down to her knees.

Then pointing at her pale blue knickers, and winking at Paul, she said. "Do these have to come down as well, Sir?"

At a loss for what to say, Paul replied. "Well, what do you think girl?"

Watts then slowly lowered her knickers revealing to Paul her thickly haired fanny; Paul could feel his fingers start to tremble as she drew closer to him. As she slowly draped herself across his lap, he could feel his manhood begin to swell. Paul looked down at the creamy white mounds below him 'soon add a little colour', he thought to himself as he brought his hand down firmly on her soft pillowy flesh.

After a few exploratory smacks, he increased the tempo, no particular alternating pattern, just random slaps on each cheek for it was the colour that most interested him. Also, spanking in this manner left that element of surprise to the spankee. As the pace increased, Watts became ever more theatrical with her screeching and squirming.
These theatrical antics had an effect on both Paul and Powell.
If Powell had been distraught earlier, at just the idea of being spanked. Seeing now that it was going to be bare bottomed and that it would be her turn soon, brought her even closer to tears. By the time that Watts had started kicking and writhing around, the first tears were indeed tracking down Powell's sheet white face.

Watts' antics were having an altogether different effect upon Paul. The closeness of her naked groin to his clothed and now aching groin. Her erratic movements against his straining cock, Paul knew he would have to curtail her punishment or risk cumming in his pants. So after what was only a cursory spanking, barely worthy of being called a punishment, he halted and helped her back to her feet. After all he thought, 'she still has the cane coming her way'.

"Over there, please Watts," Paul said pointing to the floor next to Powell, "right then, Powell isn't it? Your turn now."

Powell felt like she was going to be physically sick as she slowly lifted her knee length skirt high up her waist. Paul looked on in expectation, 'would she or wouldn't she', he thought to himself. Then Powell now sobbing at her humiliation, put her fingertips into the waistband of her full cut white knickers and started to pull them down to her knees. Paul was mesmerised as her light brown bush came into view; then she almost threw herself across the younger males lap, in a desperate attempt to get this shameful ordeal over.

As before, Paul started out slowly but firmly, gathering pace as he went along. He happened to glance across at Watts, who now had a beaming smile on her face, their eyes locked together over the noise of Powell's sobbing. Then Watts slowly ran her tongue invitingly around her lips and winked again at Paul. This blatant come on from Watts brought Powell's punishment to an early close, Paul wanted some quality time alone with Watts; also Powell had been punished at just the thought of the spanking. The shame that she went through would always far outweigh the pain. So Paul abruptly stopped the raining down of his hand and helped the overwrought girl back to her shaking feet.

"Right pull your knickers up and get back to your dorm," Paul told her, and she didn't need to be told twice. She scrambled her knickers backup and practically ran out of the room.

"Oh dear," Watts said in pantomime shock. "I'm here alone with a strange boy with my knickers around my knees, whatever will happen next I wonder?"

Paul felt used; he had an odd feeling that Watts had orchestrated all the previous events for her amusement, and Powell's humiliation. He was a pawn on a chess board to Watts' queen; this was a feeling he didn't like and one he meant to redress.

"You will bend over that desk for four strokes of the cane," Paul said firmly, as he got a cane from a wardrobe style cupboard, "that's what will happen next."

Watts shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him. "Okie-dokie, Sir!" She said as she put her elbows on the table in the centre of the room, pushing out her bottom and swaying it provocatively at the now enraged Paul.

Paul slashed the cane across Watts' still pink bottom cheeks.

She jumped up like a scalded cat as she felt the impact on her naked bottom. "You bastard that hurt!" She shouted as she spun around to glare at him. "I like the odd bit of slap and tickle.... but that really hurt!"

Watts stamped her foot in temper causing the clothing around her knees to slip further down her legs. She bent back over sniffing back a tear. The second stroke was just as painful, but she was better prepared, now clasping at the far side of the table with her fingers rather than merely resting on her elbows. But that awareness didn't mean it hurt any less.

"Surely you can think of something else to do.. with me like this," Watts said through gritted teeth, "do I have to spell it out for you that I fancy you?"

Those words stopped Paul in his tracks just as he was about to deliver the third stinger.

"I know you were turned on as you had me over your lap, you were practically stabbing me in the belly with your cock. Powell probably thought you had a banana in your pocket." Watts said giggling through her tears.

Finally, the penny dropped with Paul; he placed the cane on the table next to Watts face, and he started to undo his trousers. Watts sighed in relief and moved back a little, again resting her upper body on her elbows.
Though she didn't know for sure - but she had suspected it - Powell was not the only virgin in the room. Paul's only experience with girls had been a bit clumsy fumbling at the odd party, and now it showed.
He tried without success to line himself up with Watts' open and expectant labia; Watts reached back with her right hand to guide him into place. Somewhat to Paul's surprise, his cock glided in till his pubic bone was tight against her fresh cane marked bottom. Watts left her hand touching the shaft of his penis with her finger tips whilst her thumb worked at her hard little rosebud. To the surprise of neither of them, Paul came after only a handful of pumping strokes. But Watts didn't mind, the spanking and watching Powell's punishment had primed her well, and she had cum just seconds before Paul. Also, Watts thought that a strapping eighteen-year-old would soon get his breath back for a repeat performance, as with everything else that evening; she was correct.


On Tuesday of the first week, with last night's events still fresh in Powell's mind, she awoke early and went to make some hot chocolate. Looking out of the window next to the small cooker, she saw a car park up below. She was intrigued to seeing it was driven by a female, a woman driver being very much an oddity in those days. The woman got out of the car and went to the boot and pulled out a small overnight bag. Then from seemingly nowhere, Thomas - her tormentor from the previous evening - appeared and made to carry this woman's bag for her.
Powell could feel her face flushing at the sight of the younger male, remembering all too well how it was only some nine hours ago that she was bare bottomed across his lap. Across his lap and receiving the first real spanking of her life; her fingers shook at the memory as she poured out the hot water into her cup, one eye still on the chatting couple.

Who was she?

His mother perhaps, but she looked too young for that. A teacher, though they seemed too friendly and she too glamorous for that to be the case in such a fuddy-duddy place like this. She watched as they both entered the building directly below.
Powell's curiosity was soon satisfied as they had breakfast the woman breezed into the dining hall. Dressed in a long woollen mustard coloured trench coat, looking the double of Audrey Hepburn in the film Charade.

"Good morning ladies," The mysterious dark-haired woman said. "I'm Julia Carpenter, the wife of the Head Of History, and also the school matron. I'm known universally here just as Matron, so to save confusion just address me as such, well at least to my face anyway."

She said this with a beaming confidence that immediately put all the girls at their ease, at last a friendly and more to the point, a female face.
Putting people at ease was something the thirty-two-year-old matron was very good at. Her central role in the school was being a mother figure to the younger boys. Young boys away from home for the first time, she was the smiling face that they could turn to. To the older boys, she was their big sister always there with a kind word and an arm around their shoulder should they need it.

To some she was an object of adolescent crushes, their heads turned with her stunning looks and ready smile. She knew, of course, how she was perceived by the boys, and carried out all the respective roles to a "T". At times, she saw herself as Greer Garson in the film Goodbye Mr Chips a stabilising influence on the boys stay at Deerfoot.
Though first and foremost, she was always a school employee, lacking in any real medical knowledge apart from basic first aid and common sense. She was still an important part of the school hierarchy, and all that that entailed. When it came to the good name of the school, and the discipline that was sometimes required for that good name to continue, she was no less strict than any other of the masters. Of course, her sympathetic demeanour and the rueful smile acted as the proverbial "spoonful of sugar", but the medicine was still just as bitter when the situation warranted it.
To the new girls she had decided the big sister role would be the best avenue to take.

"I will be taking you for a few lessons in decorum over the coming weeks. But, I'm sure you are all more interested in the fact that I'm going into town at lunchtime and will be making up a shopping list if there is anything that any of you need." Matron said, her eyes twinkling as she took in all eight faces staring up at her from the long dining table.

There then followed a barrage of requests from the girls, causing Matron to put her index finger to her lips to shush the girls down.

"One at a time, please dears, one at a time!"

The girls calmed down from their initial excitement; then Watts broke the silence.

"What about a bottle of gin Matron?"

"Oh dear, mothers ruin, I don't think so. Anyway it will spoil your wonderful complexion." Matron answered, her face still beaming she continued, "Though the greengrocer does have some wonderful stone bottles of ginger beer, I could get a couple of those for you!"

That caused all the girls including Watts to laugh at the reference to Blyton's Famous Five and the old Greyfriar's Tales. It was not lost on either Matron or the girls that Deerfoot at times felt like it was in a time warp of days gone by.

"Er... em Matron," It was Watts again, struggling at seeing this woman as a matron, "what about ciggies?"

"Good point, Watts, isn't it... I've tried to memorise you all from your entry folders, but some of the photos are rather grainy?"

Watt's nodded amazed that she had gone to such trouble.

"Good, nothing worse than getting someone's name wrong is there? Yes, I will get ciggies for those who smoke, and on the same subject, I expect you all realise that no male member of staff or pupil for that matter is allowed in your dormitory uninvited. So you have quite a safe little haven for illicit smoking. I, on the other hand, can call in at any time and don't expect to catch any rule breaking taking place!"

This statement knocked the smiles off a few faces.

"Though I can safely say that I will not be in the dormitory before eight-thirty in the morning; at lunch times or after eight o'clock on a night time. Read into that information anything that you choose." Matron then gave the girls a large wink. "So I'll leave you to finish your breakfasts and will see you all later to collect your lists and your money."

Matron was good to her word; she collected the notes and did the shopping. She even loaned the girls a couple of records to play during the night time; she had indeed become the girl's big sister. By the Friday morning, all the girls had gotten used to the routine of boarding school life. Even though they were still the only pupils in the rambling school, as the boys weren't due back for another ten days. The girls had all taken to this new lifestyle to different degrees; Watts and Powell were the most content in their new environment, for very different reasons.
For Powell, it was the rigid routines of the place that she liked. Having a structured day already planned out for her from breakfast time to bedtime, so unlike her chaotic home life.
This was, in fact, the type of education that she had always longed. Even though she knew it was only going to be a taster, and nothing more but she meant to make the very most of every minute there.
Watts' contentment, on the other hand, was more carnal. She was continuing to see Thomas, little illicit meetings by the cricket pavilion each night, of course; he was raw and inexperienced. Their unions were not long symphonies, though he was of that age where many encores could be quickly achieved. She enjoyed moulding the eighteen-year-old into a caring lover, and the fact it broke so many of the rules appealed and excited her all the more.

On the morning of the Friday, as all the other girls went down to breakfast, Powell remained in the dorm to have her favourite winter breakfast, hot chocolate and biscuits. Powell was one of those annoying people with a very high metabolism; she could eat or drink any high calorific food, and it never showed on her. So after having one cup of chocolate and half a packet of biscuits she saw that she still had time for another drink and a cigarette before classes started at nine fifteen. Sitting on her bed, the radio playing in the background, she brushed her hair with one hand, cigarette in the other daydreaming in her contentment, when she heard a voice booming behind her.

"Powell what on earth do you think you are doing?"

She jumped up almost kicking over her cup of chocolate as she heard Matron's voice. Ashen faced she tried to hide the cigarette by cupping her hand around behind her back. It was a futile gesture.
Matron shook her head sadly as she watched the twenty-two-year-old woman in front of her squirm with guilt. She shook her head again, knowing that she had no choice in what she had to do now.

"I thought I had made it clear to you all that there were certain times that I wouldn't come in here. I thought if anyone needed to smoke outside of those times they would at least have the decency to go to the bathroom. Not, to just allow me to catch them blatantly red handed breaking clearly set rules."

Exasperated by the position that Powell had now put her in, Matron sat down on the bed to the right of Powell's. As she sat down Powell could not help but notice Matron's pale blue skirt ride up her thighs, she could clearly see clearly the line of pale flesh above her stocking tops. The effect that this sight had upon Powell was both confusing and exciting in equal measures.
Powell felt both saddened and shamed by the fact that she had so upset Matron with her rule breaking. Unlike the other night with Thomas, this morning she felt the need to receive punishment.The need to be punished soundly by this beautiful woman in front of her. She longed to lay across those thin thighs; her skirt lifted and her bottom bared, for a just and salutary punishment.

"I'm sorry, Powell but you know what this means don't you?" Matron asked; Powell nodded in silence. "Right then let's get this over with as sharp as we can." Matron patted her lap by way of an invitation to Powell.

Powell's mouth felt as dry as a sandstorm as she lifted up the hem of her black skirt. Her fingers then went to the waistband of her full cut white knickers; she had tugged them down no lower than the midpoint of her thighs when Matron shouted out.

"Good grief girl what on earth are you doing?"

"I... I thought you were going to er... spank me, Miss." Powell stuttered out; her skirt still pulled up, the triangle of her soft dark brown pubic hair on show.

"Yes I am, but why in heaven do you think I'm going to spank you bare bottomed?"

"Because that's what happened on Monday night... when Thomas caught Watts and me smoking by the tennis court." The befuddled Powell replied.

Matron was thunderstruck, the very sort of thing that she, and some of the other members of staff had feared could happen, seemingly had already happened, the scandal could ruin the school.

"Are you telling me that Thomas lifted your skirt, then pulled down your knickers to spank you?"

"Well yes, Matron... well no not really he... well...." Powell struggled for the right words.

Matron could see the confusion on the young woman's face; she knew that she needed to know exactly what had gone on with Powell, Watts and Thomas. So she resorted to the tried and tested method of jogging memories. If it worked with eighteen-year-old sixth form boys, why not a twenty-two-year-old young woman.

"Put your clothing right, and then get over my lap." She ordered Powell, who was more than happy to obey.

Matron then moved Powell slightly on her lap, her hand feeling her soft buttocks as she jockeyed her into place. Powell gasped as Matron then brought her right hand down firmly across her upturned right buttock. Matron couldn't help but notice the different sensation that her hand felt as it landed. It was the difference between that of a football, to that of feeling an overfilled hot water bottle. She was so used to administering punishment to tight, and taut male bottoms that the feel of a female - not to mention an adult fully formed woman - seemed alien to her.

"I want to know exactly, what was said and what happened. The only person allowed to punish on the bare is the headmaster Dr.Bonham, and then he only does that in extreme circumstances."

Matron followed this up with a harsh flurry of slaps that to Powell seemed to cover all her bottom, and the tops of her thighs in a matter of only a few seconds. Powell realised now that she was in for a pain filled few minutes.
Despite having the clothing to protect her, somehow this slight woman only a few years her senior was already hurting her more than Thomas had on her first night at the school.

Matron's strategy had worked; she had indeed jogged Powell's memory, and now knew the whole story. It would seem that Thomas had got caught up in a little game being played out by Watts, and Powell was just an unfortunate bystander who unwittingly dragged in. Matron was furious. Furious at Watts, who she now looked upon as a Femme Fatale. Furious at Thomas, for being so keen to play an adult version of "Schools".

Also, she furious at Powell for being so naive as to let herself get dragged into their sex play. Unfortunately for Powell, she was the only one of them in the room that Matron could let out her anger upon.
Matron went at Powell's bottom in a way that she had never spanked anyone before, driven on by anger she ignored all of Powell's squirming and squealing. At one point Powell brought back her right hand in a bid to protect her poor bottom, Matron merely grabbed it with her left and brought it up tight against the back of Powell's shoulder. Having secured the arm, she continued her relentless barrage with her right hand. Even as Powell started to cry she continued to spank her, she continued till Powell's squirming stopped, and she lay across her lap still and sobbing.

Matron then helped the tearful girl to her feet and said. "You will say not one word about what happened on Monday night, to anyone. Do you understand?"

"Yes... yes... Miss I understand." Powell said between sobs, and she understood all too clearly.

She understood now that she had been duped by both Watts and Thomas.

Deep down in the cellar, John Palmer the school caretaker, stood with his ear tight against a glass tumbler in the boiler room, the tumbler he held against a dry air vent. Over the years, he had heard many an interesting conversation via the school's old heating system. Never had he heard anything like this though, never anything so exciting, as he stood there his eyes tightly closed trying to visualise the scenes being acted out two floors above him.
He could feel the throbbing in his trousers as he listened, but most of all he knew that knowledge was power, but how to use this knowledge was now his problem.


Matron had calmed down by lunchtime; she realised that the current situation could not go unaddressed. She had to do something about Thomas and his apparent abuse of his position as head boy. Then again, she did not want to get the lad into trouble for merely making the best of an odd situation. The only thing she could do was to see Dr. Bonham the headmaster and see if she could alter the present rules that the girls had found themselves living under. So biting the bullet she made her way down to Dr. Bonham's office, hoping that he was in today and not still taking advantage of the Easter break. She was in luck, no sooner had she knocked on the door then she heard the doctor's voice boom.

"Please enter!" Dr. Bonham's face lit up as he saw the school's glamorous matron enter his office. "Hello Matron, please take a seat, always a pleasure to see you."

Matron took to the seat in front of Dr.Bonham's desk, as always she felt uneasy in the office. Not because of Dr. Bonham, but the actual room itself put her ill at ease. It was to say at best oppressive and gloomy, at the worst you describe it as depressing. Often she had wondered why he didn't do something about the dark wood panelling, to remove it and make the place seem more airy and friendly. Then one day the penny dropped with her, he liked the office to be forbidding. As the only time, people came into it - other than members of staff - was when they, if it was a pupil, or their child if it was a parent, was in serious trouble.
Prospective new parents Dr.Bonham always made a point of seeing in either the staffroom, or in the secretary's office. This office was the inner sanctum of doom in the pupil's eyes. To be sent to see the Doctor meant you were really for it, and so the Doctor let the room itself reinforce that fact.

"So Matron I take it this has something to do with your young ladies?"

Matron hated the way that term; 'her young ladies' was being bandied about by the staff, for Matron from the outset was not keen, and had let it be known, about the girls coming into the school. She had rightly foresaw the problems that they could cause.

As he waited for Matron to reply, Dr. Bonham pulled a Capstan Full Strength from the ever present packet on his desk. He casually tapped the end of the cigarette on his desk to compact the tobacco before lighting it. The irony of the upcoming conversation was not lost on Matron.

"Well, Doctor," Matron said, the use of first names never crossing either mind, even in the privacy of the office."we have a little bit of an issue, well two actually."

The Doctor nodded for her to continue, exhaling a large plume of white smoke.

"A few of the girls smoke, and I was thinking of making their dorm a kind of smoking haven for them, obviously nowhere else in the school." Matron could see the silent headmaster could not see any logic in allowing this proposed rule breaking, so she continued."This morning I had the unfortunate need to spank one of the girls for smoking in the dorm. It was rather upsetting for me to have to administer a punishment like that, to a woman in her twenties!"

"Mmmh, I can see your point Matron, and the other matter you wished to discuss?" Dr. Bonham said, nodding slowly.

"It is, in my opinion at least, wrong that the school prefects, young boys of only seventeen or eighteen themselves, should be in a position where they can administer corporal punishment to young women in some cases up to five years their senior." Not mentioning what had already taken place with Thomas, she continued. "I find it both morally incorrect, and distasteful. So my other proposal is that one of the girls is appointed as a prefect, and she alone would be responsible for the punishment of the more minor indiscretions."

"You have someone in mind I take it?"

"Indeed I have, the very girl that I had cause to punish this morning. She seems to understand best the ethics of the school." Matron said flashing the head her winning smile.

"Well, implement away, I agree to both of your proposals." The headmaster said, beaming back at her; then the smile slipped slightly as he said. "Was there anything else you need to discuss with me?"

"No, sir, that is all I think. I'll go and tell the girls now."

As Matron stood up, she could not fail to notice the look of disappointment on the headmaster's face. Matron saw the girls as they were waiting for the minibus to take them all home for the weekend. The news of the smoking in the dorm was greeted well by all the girls, including the two non-smokers. The news that Powell was going to be made a "de facto" prefect, was greeted with a more mixed reaction. Powell herself seemed over the moon, a couple of the girls congratulated her, but two or three seemed to find the idea a little bemusing that Powell would hold sway over them.

The following Monday as the bus collected the girls to return them to Deerfoot, Powell was already in her seat when they picked up the last pair of girls. Watts and Collins were that last pair, as they climbed on board Powell noticed that Collins was caked in makeup. Though Powell had expected some sort of test and challenge to her authority, she had not expected it to be coming from this corner. In her mind, she had suspected that Watts would be the one to make an initial statement. She could, however, understand Collins' reasoning. Collins was a tall willowy blond, with a painfully pale natural complexion. Dressed in their uniforms without the benefit of makeup, the nineteen-year-old Collins looked several years younger; she looked every inch a gangly fourth former. However, as far as Powell could see it that wasn't a problem, rules were rules, and she meant to enforce them. It was all just a case of choosing the moment of maximum impact.

Maximum impact in every sense!

Powell never made any comment about Collins' makeup, not even during the morning's language assessment. Mr Ward, the tutor for the morning had evidently noticed the amount of blusher, lipstick and mascara being worn by Collins, but made no mention of it, to either Collins or Powell. After lunch, the girls were spending the rest of the afternoon with Matron, who was taking them for basic etiquette and conversational skills in a business environment. As they filed into the small classroom, Matron raised her eyebrows to Powell; Powell merely smiled serenely. This smile told Matron that her young protege had everything in hand, so she never broached the subject with Collins deciding to wait and see how the cards would fall.

After dinner, the girls in the dorm filled their free time in playing records borrowed from Matron, and chatted amongst themselves. Powell kept out of the chit-chat, sitting alone at a table in the centre of the room doing a crossword. Her mind though was not concentrated on the puzzle in front of her; she was only waiting for her optimum moment to arrive.

Eventually, Collins decided it was time for her bed; Powell watched from the corner of her eye as Collins stripped off her uniform. She watched as soon enough Collins was totally naked, then waited as she pulled her nightie over her head and sat down on her bed.

Before Collins had a chance to pull back her bedclothes, Powell made her move. Standing up from the table, she dragged her chair noisily across the wooden floor towards the bathroom, causing all the girls to look around at her. Opening the door, she placed the seat inside the smaller room, then turned to face her now puzzled audience.

"Collins! In here now." Powell announced loudly.

"Wha... what for?" Collins asked; the situation was slowly dawning on her.

"Make up! Either get in here, or I will ask Matron to send you home tomorrow." Powell then said with her voice dropping into a low, slow enunciation."The choice is entirely yours."

Collins looked at the other girls for support, but all of them apart from Watts avoided even giving her eye contact. Watts only gave her a rueful smile and a little shrug of the shoulders, as if to say "what can you do". Slowly Collins rose from her bed, and made the walk of the condemned, by the time she reached the bathroom Powell was already sitting on the chair waiting for her.

"Please close the door behind you." She ordered Collins, who was more than happy to oblige.

"Joan... please... I won't wear it again." Collins pleaded pitifully.

"Are you obsessed with rule breaking today Collins? Surnames only remember." Powell chided the scared young girl in front of her.

"I'm sorry... really sorry."

"I think you know what to do next?" Powell said, patting her lap.

On the verge of tears, Collins lowered herself over Powell's lap and placed her hands on the floor in front of her, her eyes locked on the grain of the floorboards. In the dorm, the girls held their breath in silent anticipation of what was to follow. Powell's first thought, this morning, was to spank Collins in front of the others, as a warning to them all. Then she thought this would be better. They would hear the spanking, and it's effect, their minds filling in the rest imagining what was happening, the mental images so much worse than the reality.

Powell ran her hand over Collins' backside, feeling the thinness of the nylon, " she may as well be naked" she thought to herself. Allowing herself a little smile at how her plan had come together. Then her hand came down for the first time. Collins was caught unaware and shouted out more in protest than pain. Powell was surprised at the soft fleshy feel under her palm; she had expected the thin girl's bottom to be much firmer to the touch. She was also surprised at the sting in her own palm, still though she knew that Collins' bottom would be feeling it even more.
Powell then began the chastisement in earnest, allowing Collins no respite between blows, she quickly made to cover her bottom and upper thighs in as many hard slaps as possible in the minimum amount of time. The noise of her descending hand, and Collins' protests echoed around the tiled room. Powell knew that these sounds would be heard clearly in the dorm that was the central part of her plan. She meant to stamp her authority in no uncertain terms; it was just unlucky for Collins that she was to be a vehicle for Powell's agenda. It was harsh for such a minor infringement of the rules being treat with such a zealous manner; but for Powell's plan to work she needed the girls full obedience. Just as she needed to be viewed by the teaching staff as dutiful prefect. The plan was working to the full, in the dorm the girls sat wordlessly, listening to every falling blow.

Listening to Collins, firstly her shouts of indignity at such treatment, followed by a flow of obscenities and insults. All of this, only to give way to entreaties of mercy, followed by clearly heard sobbing. Once the tears started flowing Powell slowed down, but did not stop her spanking of Collins.

"So will you be wearing any makeup tomorrow then?" Powell demanded of her weeping charge between the still harsh fall of her hand upon Collins' upturned bottom.

"No... no... miss... I'll be a good girl... please... please... I promise." Collins called out in desperation.

"Next time I have you in here it will be the slipper going across you arse," Powell said giving her bottom a final extra hard slap. " understand?"

"Yes... I... won't be in here again I'll be good... no rule breaks... please.... promise!"

Before helping her back to her feet, Powell was tempted to lift back Collins' nightie, just to check out her handiwork. But she resisted that temptation, so she pulled the disorientated sobbing girl up, holding her arm to steady her.

"Right then, I'll keep you to your word mind, now go back in there and get to bed!" Powell ordered Collins, who meekly nodded.

The girls sitting in the dorm sat there open mouthed, as the red-faced and tear streaked Collins came back into the room, followed by Powell carrying the chair.

"Lights out now girls I think?" Powell said, and no one complained.


After the spanking of Collins, Powell felt sure that she would be alienated from the other girls, but to her surprise she couldn't have been more wrong. If anything she seemed to be better liked by her peers, she was certainly more respected by them. Apart from a couple of sniping comments from Watts, all the girls were very pleasant with her, to her face at least.
All of this was a new situation for Powell, for when she was at school she was never one of the "popular" girls. She always found herself labelled as a swot and had very few friends with whom she felt truly comfortable.
Powell's new found popularity increased multi-fold the following week when school proper started. The boys returning to the school made no significant difference to the girls. The boy's classes were of an altogether different nature to those of the girls. The only time there was any communication between the sexes was at meal times as there was only one dining room. Then interaction was still at a bare minimum, as the boys had been told beforehand that any ideas of romance should be struck from their minds.

Not that many of the boys seriously thought that these older girls, well young women really, would have any truck with them. One or two of the sixth formers fancied their chances. But those hopes were soon dashed, when the reality of the lack of social contact available became apparent, coupled with firm warnings about being "overly friendly" with their female guests. However, there were two exceptions to this sexual gulf, Powell and Watts. Powell, because of her role as an acting prefect had full access to the Prefects Common Room. Watts, because even though school term had resumed her dalliance with Thomas the head boy continued.
So with Powell spending so much time in the company of the other prefects, the dynamic of the group changed somewhat. Whereas before, Watts, had been very much the self-styled group leader; Powell was now the official leader of the eight young women. Also with her socialising with the rich young prefects, it meant she had access to the extensive record library in the common room.
With Powell bringing such musical treats to the dorm as, the Beatles Revolver, Bob Dylan's Bringing It All Back Home and The Rolling Stones Out Of Our Heads, her popularity soared.
With Watts sneaking off constantly to be with her "young love", her popularity waned, through a certain level of jealousy now being felt by the other six bored girls. Not that they particularly fancied the arrogant young man, just that Watts was having fun that was unavailable to them.
All of this suited Powell's secret agenda, it was just a case for her to bide her time to wreak her revenge for that first night at the school. At first the other prefects were rather wary of Powell, being all too aware that a wrong word could get them into trouble for being "overly friendly".
Unlike Thomas, they had decided that they weren't going to skate on thin ice this close to their exams coming around. By the Wednesday though, a couple had accepted Powell into their midst, still wary of what they talked about they did open up to her a little.

These fledgling friendships gave Powell a lot of the information that she was looking for, firstly she gently quizzed the boys about the school's odd discipline regime. Then she probed to find out how prefects seem to hold so much sway over the other pupils.
It would appear that Dr. Bonham, the headmaster, held the belief that wherever possible, the students themselves should be responsible by way of peer pressure for the smooth running of the school. In cases of repetitive infractions, the schoolmasters would become involved, and only in cases of extreme circumstances should the head himself be involved.
Powell was curious where Matron came into this scheme of things; it would appear that the prefects preferred not to include Matron at the moment. Matron and her husband, the head of history, were having some family trouble that was keeping him away from the school. So the prefects had decided to take her out of the equation as to not trouble her and heap further pressure on to her. Powell wondered if that was what was behind Matron's idea to make her a prefect?

By way of reinforcing the head's reluctance to be involved directly in the school discipline. He had made a ruling that the prefect who reported a pupil to him would themselves have to be present for the miscreant's punishment. This snippet of information made Powell's heart leap.

"Surely this would encourage those of a sadistic nature to report pupils more often?" She asked, feeling the redness rush to her cheeks.

"Suppose it could do." Replied Dufort, looking rather nonplussed under his long feminine blond fringe. "The masters are always careful to weed out any rotten apples before appointing the prefects for the year, so it's never been a problem."

"Have you ever... you know, taken someone to the head's office?" Powell asked, getting dry mouthed at the prospect.

"God no!" Dufort replied shocked at even the thought of it. "I've been in his office once that was more than enough for me."

Powell could tell by his tone of voice that that conversation was now over as far as he was concerned, so she pursued it no further. She went on to have a little small talk about his upcoming exams. Also, she overheard some interesting chat reference Thomas and Watts; the boys must have thought that they were smart, by speaking in a cricket based code.
References to "bowl a maiden over" and "playing a sticky wicket" were not lost on her, so Powell quickly said goodbye to her fellow prefects and made off to the school library.

The library, situated on the third floor of the main building; provided an excellent view across the playing field. More to the point though, you could see the small cricket pavilion from there. The cricket field and the pavilion were out of bounds to the pupils at this time of year.

The perfect spot for a lover's tryst perhaps?

Picking up a random book about the Romans in Britain, she took up a seat by the window and watched. She did not have to wait for long. First she saw Thomas, coming out to the left of the pavilion and making his way around the fields perimeter. Minutes later Watts appeared and walked straight across the field heading back towards the girl's dorm.

"Got you!" Powell whispered under her breath. "Got you both!"

Next day, Powell skipped lunch and went straight to the library. Straight to her favoured seat, book in hand, casually flicking through unread pages as she watched across the field.
First it was Thomas who came into view, strolling along the outside of the field, not a care in the world. Then she saw Watts purposefully striding up the field.
Powell watched, making sure that they were both behind the pavilion, she put the book back into its rack. With her heart now
hammering away in her chest, she made to go and join the school's very own star crossed lovers.
By the time Powell reached the front of the pavilion she was quite breathless, she had walked there as fast as she could without actually breaking out into a run. She wanted to catch them " at it" , and had no idea how long "it" took, so she had made her way there as quick as she could.
Holding her breath, she tip-toed around the back of the pavilion, the site that greeted her left her almost dumbstruck, almost.

"Watts! I don't think that was what Dr. Bonham had in mind when he appointed Thomas as head boy!" Powell shouted out to the kneeling Watts, trying hard not to laugh at her little pun.

Her voice caused a flurry of embarrassed activity. Thomas quickly thrusting his manhood back into his trousers, so Powell didn't even manage so much as a fleeting glance at the appendage that Watts seemed to find so appetising.
Watts leapt to feet, almost falling over as she struggled to pull up her knickers from their resting place around her knees.

"What do you want you bloody pervy peeping bitch?!" Watts spat at Powell.

Powell ignored Watts' outburst and said to Thomas. "I think you would agree that this is indeed an extreme rule break? So much so that I believe a trip to see Dr. Bonham is the only option open to me."

Thomas looked at the sickly grin on Powell's face; he knew there would be no persuading her so made no effort. "Fair do to her," he thought to himself, revenge is best served cold, and Powell's eyes looked as cold as arctic ice.

"Well caught ma'am." He replied, resigned to his fate. "That's the best I can say bearing in mind where we are."

"What are you bleating on about, well caught?" Screamed Watts.

"We are on the cricket ground, and we have both just been bowled out," Thomas explained. "so pull your knickers up, shut up, and get ready for the long walk!"

The three of them headed back to the school in complete silence, Powell was impressed by the sporting way that Thomas had taken their capture. If it hadn't been for Watts' outbursts, she would have been inclined to let the two of them off, but being called a pervy bitch had merely strengthened her resolve.
Once they reached the secretary's office at the head of the passage leading to Dr. Bonham's office; Powell had reached a rather agitated state, wondering whether or not just to turn back.
Then she saw him, the dark haired bearded Dr. Bonham looming above her.

"Hello ladies, hello Thomas, are you perhaps seeking me out for some reason?"

"Er... yes, Sir... I need to speak to you, regarding a rather delicate situation." Powell finally answered.

"Indeed." The head sighed. "Please follow me... Powell isn't it?"

"Er yes, Sir that's right."

"Thomas, I've been half expecting some trouble from your quarter, please wait outside my office door. Facing the wall of course, Miss Watts, could you be so kind as to join him, facing the opposite wall."

All three of them were wondering how Dr. Bonham already had a full grasp of the situation.

As Thomas and Watts trudged along to the office, Dr. Bonham's voice boomed out to them."Make sharp you two, and complete silence!"

Turning to Powell, the head made ladies' first gesture into the doorway of the secretary's office. Powell entered the room, unsure now at the can of worms she had just opened.

"Judith, I'm going to be busy this afternoon." The head said to his young secretary. "Am I right in thinking that I have no appointments for the rest of the day?"

"As always, Sir, you are correct." The sycophantic girl replied.

"Good." The head said beaming back at her answer. "Have the rest of the day off, this is going to be a long drawn out and delicate situation. So you tootle off home, or to the shops, and I will see you bright eyed tomorrow morning."

She didn't have to be told twice, in lightning speed her coat was on, and she was off, before the head could withdraw his generous offer.

"OK, Miss Powell, please confirm for me what I suspect you are here for," The Head said, sitting down on his secretary's desk.

Halfway through Powell's account of today's happenings, Dr. Bonham suddenly sprang to his feet, causing Powell to reel backwards in shock.
Opening the office door, again the head's voice boomed out.

"You boy!"

"Me, Sir?" Asked the terrified young boy who was wandering past the office window.

"Yes, Sir, you, Sir!" Dr. Bonham again boomed out, in a now jovial fashion. "Go and find Matron and tell her I need to see her pronto. Then tell Mr Palmer the caretaker that the heating pipe problems are getting worse."

The boy ran off on his errand, as fast as his little feet could take him.

"Yes a most disagreeable situation we have found ourselves in here, Miss Powell." The head said to Powell, shaking his head. "Young mister Thomas is no real problem; a harsh caning will see him on his way. Miss Watts though, well that is a more delicate matter altogether."

Now thoroughly dry mouthed, Powell could only manage a nod.

"Perhaps she will agree to a similar punishment to that of Thomas?" The head asked, his eyes burning into Powell's, almost as if he was reading her thoughts.

"I... I... would think so, Sir. It would be better than having to be thrown off the course." Powell struggled out.

"Yes. Perhaps. We shall see soon enough shan't we?" The head asked; his gaze still locked on hers.

Then Matron arrived in an obvious fluster, eyes glaring at Powell.

"Ah! Matron, now we can begin, please follow me ladies." Dr. Bonham said not so much an invitation but an order.

Once in the room, the Head motioned for Matron and Powell to stand to the rear of the office to the right-hand side of his desk. He was very meticulous about the very spot that they took up. Thomas and Watts were then ordered to stand by the door to the left of his desk, again he was very particular about exactly where they stood.

"This behavior is outrageous that goes without saying," Dr. Bonham stated, then he continued. "the only thing is what to do about it. Thomas you know you have a severe thrashing coming your way."

"Yes, Sir, I know, Sir!" Thomas said, the bravado in voice cracking toward the end of the sentence.

"Miss Watts though, you prove to be more of a problem. My initial reaction is to send you home, and let you explain to your employers why you have been thrown off the program and basically wasted their money." The head said solemnly.

Watts seemed on the verge of tears at this announcement.

"However though, I have a mind to give you the chance to stay here." The head continued. "If you are willing to take the same, or should I say slighter lesser punishment to that that Thomas is going to receive."

Watts saw the slender lifeline and grabbed at it. "Sir I am willing to take whatever punishment you have a mind for me."

After a long pause, Dr.Bonham nodded. "As I said this is going to be severe. Mr Thomas, please prepare yourself."

Now red-faced, Thomas took off his blazer and hung it on one the coat hook on the back of the office door. To Powell's surprise and delight, he then slipped off his loafers and started to unbutton his trousers, they too were then hung on the back of the door.
Now standing only in his socks shirt and blue underpants, he turned to the Head.

"You know what a severe chastisement requires." The head said softly.
Thomas then slipped his fingers into the waistband of his underpants. Then they were also hung on the door.

"So that's a cock!" Powell thought to herself, " why all the fuss?" Though she was not totally naive as to sexual mechanics, this was the first male genitalia she had actually seen in the flesh. She understood that the member got hard for sex, but still though, something so small, how would it all click together as it were?

"Eight strokes, over the desk, please Mr. Thomas." The head's voice quickly waking Powell from her daydreaming.

Thomas bent across the desk, his taught and surprisingly small buttocks pointing towards the back of the office. Powell didn't even see where the head produced the cane from, so engrossed was she in Thomas's anatomy. So the sudden strike of the cane across his bottom, made Powell jump almost as much as it did Thomas. The next stroke followed in a matter of seconds; Powell was disappointed that there was no counting out of the strokes from Thomas. She so wanted to hear both his and Watts' voice breaking up as the punishment continued. The Head waited longer before delivering the third stroke, thus giving Powell the chance to watch as the red lines emerged from the muscular behind in front of her.

"Not be so quick in trying to get your hands inside a young ladies knickers now will you?" The head asked his sudden vulgarity shocking Powell.

"No, Sir I wo... aargh!" Thomas cried out, as the whippy cane was delivered yet again to his naked bottom.

This time, the Head produced another two strokes in quick succession, the discomfort for Thomas audible to all in the room.

"Three more." Powell thought to herself swallowing hard, so wishing that she had some water sip on her, mouth and throat were now as dry as Sahara sand.

"Three more, Thomas, brace yourself!" Said the head echoing Powell's thoughts. Then it was over; three rapidly delivered slashing strokes, each eliciting a howl from Thomas.

"Right, up you get," commanded the head, " get back to where you were by Miss Watts."

Stiffly Thomas rose from over the desk and returned to his starting point, tears streaking down his face. As he stood by Watts, he tried in vain to rub the pain out of his bottom with his hands. Powell looked over at him, and it seemed to her that his penis was now somewhat longer, and more chunky than she remembered it from only two minutes earlier.
Again it was the heads voice that broke her daydreaming.

"Thomas stop that rubbing and get your hands on top of your head; you should know better. Miss Watts, I believe it is now your turn. If you could be so kind as to remove your clothing from the waist down please."

"What?" Cried out the stunned Watts.

"Miss Watts, I'm sure that you heard me clearly enough. Both when I said you would receive the same punishment as Thomas, and when I requested that you were to prepare yourself for your caning." The head said softly, though with a certain amount of underlying menace.

Powell noticed a lone tear run down Watts' face, as she struggled first with the button, and then with the zipper on the side of her skirt. She watched with keen interest as the garment fell to the floor, leaving Watts standing there in stockings and white knickers with a pink rose motif. Watts then did a strange little dance, her arms flapping at her sides like a baby duck on a frozen lake.

"What on earth is the problem now girl!" Asked Dr. Bonham, agitation vigorously in his voice.

"Sir... should I take off my stockings and suspenders... or... do you want..." Watts managed to burble out.

"Just get your knickers off and get over that desk. Now!" The head shouted at the tearful and confused girl.

Powell managed to hold back her smile as she saw the bane of her life bend over the desk; her pale white bottom stuck out waiting for the hissing kiss of the cane. That kiss came too soon, and too harsh for Watts' liking. She leapt back to her feet, rubbing vigorously at her stinging bottom. The strokes that she had received from Thomas, in no way prepared her for the vicious swipe that she had just felt.

"That was the first stroke." Said Dr. Bonham. "I will count that one, but mark my words girl, jump up like that again and the stroke shall not count."

Powell looked on in amusement as Watts nodded madly, her eyes wide with fear as she rushed back into position. Then something else caught Powell's eye; Thomas's cock seemed to have almost tripled from its original shriveled size; also it was now pointing direct to the ceiling.

"So that is how it works!" Powell thought to herself; the mystery now solved for her.

To save further histrionics from Watts, the head delivered the remaining three strokes in rapid fire one slash after the other. No sooner did her cry from one stroke subside, than her voice screeched out again.

"Right, that is it." The Head said, as the sobbing Watts lifted her upper body from the desk. "I expect no more shenanigans from either of you or you will both receive double, and your parents Thomas will be informed, as will your employers Miss Watts. You both understand?"

The half naked sorry, looking lovers both nodded.

"Get dressed, compose yourselves and return to your lessons." Dr. Bonham said, causing the two of them to burst into a surge of activity, both desperate to regain their modesty.

"Matron, I would like you and Miss Powell to stay here, I have a matter I need to discuss with you both."


In the oven like stationary cupboard at the back of the secretary's office, the sweating caretaker stood on a small set of steps, looking through the little ventilation grille into Dr. Bonham's office. Standing there in the dark, he watched as Thomas and Watts scrambled back into their clothes. All in all, it had been quite entertaining so far, Dr. Bonham had kept his word. He had told the caretaker, when the seeds of information that he had given him were coming to fruition that he would be allowed to watch the "reaping".

So as Thomas and Watts left the head's office, the caretaker stayed put, as far as he was concerned this was only half time. The first half he had found most entertaining. He had not been that interested in seeing Thomas caned. But, the look of embarrassment on the boy's face, standing there hands on his head, his erect dick bobbing up and down in front of him had been priceless. Perhaps from now on the head boy won't be such the arrogant prick that he had been of late?

The caning of his young lover though, what a different story altogether, seeing the cane lash across her naked buttocks had been most invigorating. Shame that from his position perched so high up he could only see her buttocks. There was no doubt in his mind that from Powell's and Matron's viewpoint, they would see much more than just her naked posterior as she bent over the desk.
Still though, he could hardly have asked for the head to let him actually into the room. So now he stood, bated breath, waiting for the twist, that he was sure was to come.

"Well ladies," Dr. Bonham said to Matron and Powell as the two punished lovers left the office. "I now find myself in an awkward predicament. I know for a fact Matron that you knew that there was something brewing between Thomas and Watts!"

Matron flashed Powell an accusing glare.

"No Matron, it wasn't your young friend here that informed me, you should know by now that there is very little that happens in this establishment that I'm not aware of?"

"Yes, Dr. Bonham." Matron replied; it was true that the head always seemed one step ahead of everything that went on in the school, as if he was some all knowing omnipresent being.

"So I am disappointed twofold." The Head said. "Firstly that you, as a member of staff, thought it wise to keep me in the dark over matters concerning Thomas and Watts Also, to a lesser extent Powell here, which brings me nicely to my disappointment in Powell. The role of a prefect should be looked upon as an honour, and not just the means to exact revenge upon fellow students!"

Powell stared at the floor in guilt, as the head admonished her.

"So what am I to do about it?" The head asked, leaving the question hanging in the air. No reply was forthcoming from either party, so the head continued. "My first reaction, was to dismiss you, Matron, but that would put both your husband's position and your housing in a precarious situation, through no fault of his own. So I've had to rethink slightly. Miss Powell, apart from this one bit of foolishness, you seem to be adapting to life in the school as if academia was in your blood. So you also pose a bit of a problem for me. Do either of you have any suggestion as to how I can navigate my way through this, without having to send you both packing?"

Silence enveloped the room; Palmer waited holding his breath, anxiously hoping for one of them to speak forth.

"Sir... er..." It was Powell who broke the deadlock. "could you not... er... deal with us yourself? You know... like you did with Watts?"

Matron shook her head slowly, but realised that this was what the head had been angling for all along and that Powell had taken his bait hook, line, and sinker.

"That would indeed be an option," Dr. Bonham replied in forced mock relief at Powell's idea. "Only Matron does not seem to agree?"

"Dr. Bonham, you know that I, as much as any other member of staff holds the school's reputation close to my heart." Matron stated, then continued. "So if the news got out that the school was... indulging in the corporal punishment of adults, the scandal would be the end of this noble establishment."

"A very good point well made, Matron, but no one would be aware of my "indulgence" as you put it, apart from us three. The secretary has gone home, and no one else will come to this part of the building during lesson times, so our privacy is ensured."

Matron sighed and nodded admitting her defeat.

"So, we are agreed then, you both take a summary caning now, and that is the end of the matter?" Dr. Bonham asked; his eyes firmly focussed on Matron.

"Yes." Matron spoke for both of them.

"Well, now comes the problem of the tariff." The head said desperately trying to hide his enthusiasm. "Matron you shall be first, as I feel that you have let me down the most. After all, a quick word to me the other day when you were last in here and the whole matter could have nipped in the bud there and then."

Matron nodded, remembering the look of expectation, then disappointment that Dr. Bonham had showed when she was last in his office. She should have known then that he had somehow gleaned information from somewhere about Thomas's antic's.

"So for you it will be the same as Thomas, eight strokes. As I said it would be the same as Thomas, on the bare, so please prepare yourself."

Matron swallowed hard at the head's sentence, though she had expected that he would want to denude the two of them. She had noticed the way that he always looked at her, mentally undressing her, and now here she was undressing herself for him. As her hands went to the zipper on the side of her pale blue knee-length skirt, Dr. Bonham addressed Powell.

"Miss Powell, like your colleague you will receive a slightly lesser punishment. Unlike your colleague though, you are not a silly girl who has found herself in this office through an act of stupidity. You actually engineered the situation to suit your own ends, so you will receive the traditional six of the best!"

Powell nodded; her whole body was now shaking a mixture of excitement and fear. She glanced to her side to see Matron now standing in just her ivory blouse, white french knickers and black stockings.

"Matron, I don't believe you are quite finished in your preparations, are you?" Dr. Bonham chided the dark haired beauty standing before him.

Wordlessly, Matron pulled down and then removed entirely the offending extra garment. Having done this, she then stood head held high, not allowing him to see the humiliation that she was now feeling.
This pose of defiance, did, however, let him, Powell and the now overly excited caretaker, to see her thick jet black triangle of pubic hair.
Dr. Bonham nodded in approval, a slight smile on the corner of his mouth as he motioned with his eyes to the desk.
Powell almost gasped aloud as Matron draped her upper body over the cold wooden desktop. Her coltish legs and firm, high naked bottom directly in front of her, then the little-peeking folds of her sex just visible.
Then the crack of the first cane stroke, again caught Powell of guard, causing her rather than Matron to shout out in shock.

"One thank you, Sir." Matron said no more emotion in her voice than if she was ordering a scoop of ice cream.

"There is no need for you to count them out, Matron." Dr. Bonham informed his current victim.

"It was a tradition at my old school." She said flatly.

"Well count..." The second stroke raked across her still unmarked rear. " away my dear."

Powell looked on as the first line started to appear. Then the second line from a much harder delivered stroke raced into bloom, this time though Matron's voice had a slight quiver to it.
Powell was again locked into her own dream world, as she watched stroke after stroke land across Matron's naked bottom. She had noticed that, by stroke, seven Matron was sobbing. She had not realised though that somehow carried along by what she was witnessing; she had at some point, loosened her own skirt and let it fall to pool around her ankles. So now she too was standing in her stockings and knickers, awaiting her turn.
As the last stroke whistled through the air, Powell noticed something. The front of the head's trousers had now become rather tight; she could make out the shape of his erect cock.

This discovery shocked her, a man of his age still, thinking about sex!

Then she wondered who it was that was having this effect upon on him, which one of the three of them would he have liked to unzip his trousers behind. Then hook himself under their naked hips, impaling his engorged member deep inside them? Matron, Watts, or even herself?
Perhaps it had been Thomas that had fired up his current ardour, after all you do hear of such things?

"Aaagh... EIGHT thank you, Sir!" Matron screamed out as the whistling last stroke found it's target.

"Matron, if you could stand by Powell please." Dr. Bonham said in a gentle whisper. "Miss Powell if you could... ah... I see you have already started to prepare yourself, must be eager my girl eh?"

"Yes, Sir." Powell replied, then immediately realised how stupid that must have sounded. "I mean... er... to get it all over with."

"Yes well, come along then, knickers off, and over you go!" Dr. Bonham said a hint of joviality in his voice again.

"You're loving this you old goat." Powell thought to herself as her fingers went to the elasticated waistband of her dark blue aertex knickers. Quickly she pulled them down and off, then raced to the desk.

"Yes quite an eager beaver!" Dr. Bonham said in a sing-song voice. "So let's not keep the lady waiting."

Each stroke was delivered one after the other, just as Watts' final three were not the almost leisurely pace he had taken with Matron.
Powell herself was unaware at what point the tears started to flow, but flow they did, as she lay on the table she heard the head's voice cut through the sound of her sobbing.

"Right, Miss Powell you may get dressed, and compose yourself before returning to your classes."

She struggled back to her feet, then stood facing the head, rubbing at her striped bottom, now not caring that he could see her thin covering of pubic hair.

"Thank you, Sir." She struggled out.

After about four minutes or so, both Matron and Powell were decent again and composed enough to leave the head's office. As they left, he thought to himself. "I wonder what fun and games the summer arrivals will bring?"

In the hot little stationary cupboard, the snooping caretaker thought to himself "I don't think my heart will take much more of this!"

                                                           THE END