Room 2D

Photo-story from Janus 52 with Claire Lake Frustrated schoolmaster with traditional views on discipline invites naughty schoolgirl to report to his study for firm correction. Uniform provided. ALA. The advertisement Keith Dobson placed in the contact magazine was the culmination of many emotions, largely suppressed, over many years. A senior teacher of maths and science at a modern comprehensive for girls, he was not alone among his colleagues in the frustration he felt about current educational policy on corporal punishment. With the cane banned by ‘enlightened’ purehearts, Keith had watched with dismay how general discipline in his school had crumbled. The once-mandatory smart uniforms had become sloppy or ignored, standards had slumped, teachers were jeered at, rules flouted, lessons disrupted by trouble-makers — and there were no means at all of controlling them except by cajolery. How often had his hand itched to reach for ...

An article by Julie Holmes from Februs 8. For some time now the glossy monthly women’s magazines (you know the ones I mean) have been waging war against an enemy they claim is greater than Attila the Hun, Adolf Hitler and the VAT-man rolled into one. Panic has spread through the ranks of Womankind and fashion victims throughout the land are taking evasive action against the foe, known colloquially as VPL, or ‘Visible Panty line’. Misguided fashion journalists are convincing their readers that a phenomenon that has brought pleasure to generations from World War One onwards is now to be regarded as a bad thing, totally undesirable and, in fact, pretty naff. They actually produce pages of photographs demonstrating undergarments that will be invisible under clothing. Now, it could be that these people are incredibly naive, or that they have some ulterior motive for their actions that I cannot begin to fathom, or maybe they simply ...

From Blushes Supplement 22 Annie’s headlong dash across the quadrangle was caused not by lateness, but by the sudden thunderstorm, which had transformed the rather close and humid morning into a close and wet morning. Her visit to the block on the far side of the property had been longer than she had expected, and she had to return there or face the normal penalty. Grabbing the yellow anorak off the peg just inside the service entrance to the main block, she rushed off on her mission, and managed to get back in plenty of time to complete her tasks. It was still raining as she walked over to the main block again, and she hardly heard the shout with the hood up: ‘Oi, you there lass!’ Turning, she could make out the caretaker trotting towards her. ‘What y’doing with my waterproof, then?’ he demanded. ‘Oh I’m sorry Mr Johnson. I didn’t know it was yours. I thought it belonged to someone else. Sorry.’ ‘Not good enough, l...