Episode at St Angela’s
Story from Roué 8, following the further adventures of Julie Williamson (Room 2D Continued)
Although now 17 1/2 and in her last year at St Angela’s,
Julie Williamson had still no real idea of what she wanted to do when she left
school. She would certainly be ready to leave — well, still getting your bare
bottom caned at 17 was not a pleasant experience; even when the master was not
as vicious with it as Mr Evans (History) who was only content when he’d reduced
you to a state of sobbing, squirming wretchedness. Of course when she was
younger there were romantic ideas of such things as airline stewardess — but
now, with leaving imminent, well, no real idea at all. So when she went to the
Head at the beginning of her last term to discuss careers — it must be said
that her mind was a bit of a blank.
She was also nervous, for the last time she was in his
study (the last day of term before the Easter holidays) it had been to receive
six with his cane on her bare bottom. (Although not nearly as bad as Mr Evans,
the Head had really striped her and going home for Easter the next day she’d
been afraid the marks would still show for her mother to see. Mrs Williamson,
of course, like other mothers of St Angela’s girls, was quite unaware of the
punishment meted out to her daughter’s shapely bottom in the cause of school
discipline: but Julie carefully made sure that Mother did not see her without
knickers.) So Julie had been a bit apprehensive going in to see the Head but,
it turned out, without reason. For he had learned of this position with Boutts
Bank, the well-known city bankers, which he thought Julie well-suited for: in
fact it was Personal Assistant to Mr Martin, the Head Office Manager, so really
most impressive-sounding, and working in London too! It sounded really
tremendous — if she could get it. But the Head seemed confident that she could…..
The Head was in fact sure she’d have no trouble: pretty
girls from St Angela’s very rarely did. And Julie was of course a pretty girl,
the big blue eyes and full soft mouth giving somewhat the impression of
immaturity and innocence, but at 17 these were definitely offset by her figure
which was that of a young woman: full-grown, firm and shapely. And,
absentmindedly running his hand over her firm bottom as she stood at his desk,
he mused that not only would she get the job but she would give every
satisfaction to her employer. And to a responsible Head that was just as
important, and anything less would be a definite blot on his copy-book.
Complaints were extremely rare, of course, with St Angela’s
girls, although there had been that unfortunate case of Penelope Rogers two
years ago. Placed with Carruthers Simpkins and Carruthers, a first-rate old
established law firm — well, apparently the very first week there she’d refused
to take down her knickers for a spanking. Worse still it had been the senior
partner, old James Carruthers — in his sixties and a bit doddery whose chief
pleasures now came from his stamp collection and the bottoms of pretty girls.
The old boy had been looking forward to Miss Rogers with keen anticipation, but
then the little minx had simply refused to take down her knickers and get over
his desk. She’d been sacked of course — dismissed at the end of the week — with
some awkward explaining to do to her parents back home. Probably serving in
Woolworths now, the Head thought with some satisfaction. But dear me —
altogether a matter best forgotten….
But no, there would be no such problem with young Julie
Williamson, who was such a good, docile girl. Normally cheerful too in spite of
the fact that she did get what was certainly more than her fair share of
caning: for he knew that quite a number of the staff were very keen on her in
that regard. ‘Mmmm.’ His hand still on her bottom, the Head’s mind went back to
his own last time with her: that last day of term before Easter. It had been
the first time for some weeks that he’d found an excuse to cane her (she’d been
late for assembly) and while he wouldn’t normally cane a girl when she was
going home the next day (as the marks might show) he hadn’t been able to
resist; and had told himself she was a reliable girl who would be discreet.
He had brought her here to his study, of course — he did
so prefer it to the Punishment Room: so much more pleasant and intimate. And
she had obediently lowered herself over his chair — the hands on floor
position, undoubtedly much the best posture for getting a girl’s bottom really
up and ready for it. Yes, a most appetising girl. He had taken her knickers
down and, using his thin whippy cane, had really teed off on the pale, rounded
cheeks, striping them with six angry red lines and bringing hot tears to those
pretty eyes. Sniffling, she had tried to turn away as she pulled her knickers
back up, but really a 17 year-old should not be shy with her Headmaster and he
had made her face him; and in fact had held her skirt up round her waist as she
struggled with her knicks. She was certainly a well-developed girl now, with
quite a thick bush down there — a couple of shades darker than the medium
blonde curls which framed her face — and he had looked with keen interest… But
he was not a hard man and when she’d finally got them back up he had given her
his handkerchief to dry her eyes.
The Head broke off his reverie… Yes, he was quite sure
Julie would give full satisfaction to any employer: ‘Don’t you worry, my dear.
I am quite sure Mr Martin of Boutts will lose no time in deciding that you’re
just what he wants. Run along now, and I’ll get on the phone about an interview
straight away.’
‘Yes sir. And thank you very much sir!’
----//----
An interview was arranged without delay, to take place at
the school the next week. The intervening days were naturally awful, with Julie
on tenterhooks: for the more she thought about the job the more exciting it
seemed, and by the same token the more difficult to get. She was distracted in
class and was probably fortunate to get taken to the Punishment Room only once
— for day-dreaming in French Class. But fat Mr Pomeroy was not too bad anyway
as he preferred taking you across his lap and using his hand rather than the
cane. The nail-biting days somehow passed…
The Head obviously realised Julie’s nervous state and the
day before the interview he advised her to get an early night: he told her to
get into her pyjamas and he would bring a mug of hot cocoa round to her room,
which was certainly thoughtful of him. She also had a phone call from home
after supper, both Mother and Dad wishing her well, and Mother even putting
Julie’s pet retriever on the phone to bark encouragement! The Head arrived, mug
in hand, at 9 to find Julie in her pyjamas having just taken a bath and washed
her hair. She looked a picture of schoolgirl health, flushed and fresh from the
bath, her hair still damp, and her shapely figure clearly revealed in the thin
pink pyjamas: in particular he noticed that her nipples were erect, sharply
defined under the cotton top. Julie saw the Head’s keen glance and,
embarrassed, said she’d get her dressing gown but he said not to bother. She
really was delightful and he stayed — well, it must have been for half an hour
— while she drank the cocoa and talked about home and her family and her dog
Bobsy, and did her best to relax.
Yes, a very pleasant girl, mused the Head as he walked
back across the quad under a starry sky. Obviously tense of course with the
coming interview and, he thought, being wise to the ways of young girls,
probably now in bed with her pyjama bottoms down relieving her tension with her
hand between her legs…..
----//----
Whether or not the Head’s surmise was correct Julie was
certainly a bundle of nerves the next morning, quite unable to face any
breakfast and hardly able to concentrate on dressing. But finally she did and
got herself, all smart and spruce, outside the Head’s study just before the 10
o’clock deadline — then, horrors, she felt an overwhelming need to pee. There
was nothing for it but to rush to the loo, desperately yank down her knicks and
sit on the seat…. only to find she didn’t want to after all! She tore back —
but it was now 2 minutes after the hour. Cripes! She knocked nervously…
‘Come in!’
Julie entered and there were the Head and a rather
severe-looking man in his mid-fifties (presumably Mr Martin), both seated at
the Head’s desk. The Head glanced at the clock:
‘Well close the door my girl, and come over here!’
Julie stood nervously before them, her young body firm and
shapely under her school uniform; and her nervousness was not improved as she
recognised the chair Mr Martin was seated on as that which she’d had to bend
over when the Head had taken her knickers down before Easter… But the Head was
continuing:
‘Now Mr Martin is just going to ask you a few questions,
Julie; nothing too difficult I am sure, so don’t look so unhappy!’
The Head’s little quip drew a rather forced smile from
Julie but did nothing to relax her. She remained tense and nervous-looking,
standing just in front of the desk with firm young breasts pointed at the two
men, and did her best with Mr Martin’s questions. Well, it was not too bad to
start with but when he got to office procedure, filing, etc. she was at a
complete loss. She found herself sweating. It was made worse by Mr Martin’s way
of staring intently at her as she struggled for an answer. He must think her a
complete idiot…. Really she’d been quite foolish even to think of this position….
But in fact Julie’s impressions were wrong, for Martin
definitely liked what he saw: the pretty teenager, of above average height and
slim-waisted but otherwise firmly filling out the uniform white blouse and short
navy blue skirt; while below were long shapely legs in dark nylons and sensible
strap-over shoes. Yes, a most attractive package. She was obviously a bit
apprehensive, fiddling with her skirt and a couple of times nervously pushing
back a blonde curl from her face, in doing so her raised arm thrusting into
prominence firm high breasts under the crisp blouse. Yes indeed, definitely a
promising candidate for his vacant position of Personal Assistant. A little
nervousness was not a serious fault in an attractive girl — it frequently spoke
of a submissive nature: and her ignorance in certain areas was likewise of no
real consequence, in fact rather than listening too carefully to Julie’s answer
Mr Martin was thinking that he’d like to see more of her, under that school
uniform: to unfasten those blouse buttons one by one and check the twin bulges
which she was innocently pointing at him; mmm…, he thought of firm thighs above
the nylon tops…; and most of all, of course, he would like to slip down
whatever knickers were under that skirt and check her bottom…
For the truth was that, like many clients for St Angela’s
girls, Mr Martin was especially keen on the young female bottom: that region of
a young lady provided especially for her training and correction, as it were,
the seat of discipline. He was indeed a devotee of correction in young ladies;
and with a Personal Assistant he liked to get a young girl fresh from one of
the more reputable schools where she would have had a taste of the cane and
build on this early training himself. Yes, he thought this candidate most
promising, although of course he’d want to see her alone before finally
deciding. First, though, a word in private with the Head…
Julie was dismissed, to return when called. Flushed as she
was by her ordeal, she nonetheless managed decorous ‘Thank you, sirs’ to the
Head and Mr Martin and followed this by a demure exit. Martin’s gaze followed
the rhythmic movement of the teenager’s skirt…. and he wondered about her
knickers. White, probably, matching her bra. But some of these old schools
favoured navy blue or green… Hmmm…
The Head’s voice interrupted his train of thought:
‘I am quite sure, Mr Martin, Miss Williamson will give you
every satisfaction. She was a little nervous just now but…’
‘Yes, yes. Headmaster, she seems a most attractive and
pleasant girl. I assume she has been… mmm… well-disciplined. I mean I assume
you do practice a little… ah… corporal punishment at St Angela’s?’
‘Indeed we do, sir. We do not advertise such matters to
the hoi-polloi of course; but yes we do — as do all the better schools.’
‘Ah, quite, quite, Headmaster; and this would be on the
girl’s… mm… posterior?’
‘On the bottom, yes: we find that most effective.’
‘Excellent, Headmaster. I thoroughly agree… One final
point… would that be on the girl’s… bare…?’
‘We do find it satisfactory; not always, for it is a
matter of judgement, but certainly at times, for the recipient’s appropriate
undergarment to be removed so that she can fully appreciate the correction.
Yes, certainly we cane on the bare, as you say.’
‘Good, good, Headmaster. It’s just that I wish to make
sure what Miss Williamson’s background in this area has been.’ (To make sure
she was used to having them taken down in fact!)
The Head understood entirely. Mr Martin obviously intended
to continue the methods employed by the school and give the young lady’s bare
bottom a regular warming. Most admirable! ‘I quite understand, sir. Rest
assured that Miss Williamson has had the full St Angela’s training, as have all
our girls. She has been most receptive and I am sure if you wish to continue
such training she will continue to respond.’
‘Ah, excellent. That is what I wished to determine. As you
can appreciate, when training young staff in their duties — well, a little
correction is often necessary. For girls can sometimes get a little out of line
once they’ve left school.’
‘You will find Miss Williamson will accept such matters
without argument.’
‘And she is also… discreet?’ (The Bank, of course, had its
reputation to consider. It would never do if word got out, for such matters
could so easily be taken out of context. Young female staff having their
knickers taken down for the cane! Well the gutter press would have a field day.
And there could be wider ramifications as well. For the Bank had its extra
special clients who were allowed to borrow a female assistant for, say, an
afternoon. Girls frequently returned from these assignments without their
knickers or with a reddened bottom or both… Such arrangements made for friendly
relations with valued clients but if an indiscreet girl were involved, well, it
didn’t bear thinking about.)
‘Obedient and discreet, Mr Martin. Have no fears, I can
assure you that you will be very happy with this young lady.’
‘Excellent, Headmaster, excellent! Well, if I could just
have a few final words with Miss Williamson. This need not detain you for I am
sure you are a very busy man. But if you had a vacant classroom nearby…?’
‘Mr Martin, say no more! You may use this very study: as
it happens I do have business in another part of the school. I will ring for
her now and you can take as long as you like. I will instruct my secretary to
see that you are not interrupted…’
The two men started to exchange cordial farewells as the
Head rang the bell for Julie to return…
----//----
Meanwhile Julie had been required to wait with Figgins the
school caretaker-cum-handyman, in his room further down the corridor. This was
not something that many girls at St Angela’s would have relished, for George
Figgins — fiftyish and shifty-looking — was an old lag with a decided taste for
female anatomy (and in particular a certain part of the female anatomy) which
he grabbed whenever the opportunity was presented. He was in fact the sort of
person unfortunately all too often found in such employment in girls’ schools.
When the Head rang the bell Julie had been in Figgins’ room for 15 minutes….
Julie had felt definitely sick when told to wait with
Figgins. She still remembered hotly what he had done to her a year ago when she
was 16. She had gone for a walk in the school wood one June Saturday afternoon,
when the place was deserted — except for Figgins who had crept up on her in a
secluded corner, and then grabbed her. He had pushed her to the ground and then
holding her down with one hand had used the other to pull down her knickers. In
spite of her frantic struggles he had taken hold of her between her legs and
after fumbling around, his finger had found her entrance and slid in. She had
squealed and yelped but he had continued to hold her down while sliding his
thick finger in and out… He had finally let her go saying: ‘Arr, that’s what
you young girls like!’, and left her, hot and distressed, fumbling her knickers
back up.
She hadn’t liked it at all of course but there was nothing
she could do about it. If you tried to complain about Figgins he would just
deny it and instead report you on some trumped-up charge, and you’d get a
caning for your trouble. So she’d just put it down to experience. She knew that
Figgins was in the habit of doing that kind of thing and in fact some girls, if
he could get them off a caning as he sometimes could, would let him… As for
Julie she found him most unsavoury and kept out of his way if she possibly
could.
The one saving grace now, having to wait in his room, was
that someone might come in for him at any time and this inhibited him from
really going to work on Julie. And apart from two quick gropes up her skirt she
kept him at bay until the bell rang, when she lost no time in darting out (‘Blimey,
you’re keen to get back in there!’).
She walked quickly down the corridor, paused to straighten
her hair — and her skirt (Figgins!) — and knocked discreetly. The Head
appeared:
‘Ah, Julie, there you are… Well you will be pleased to
hear that you have favourably impressed Mr Martin. He now wishes to have a
little word with you in private.’
Julie, fresh from struggling with Figgins and not quite
able to credit what the Head was saying, had difficulty in collecting her
thoughts: ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’ She re-entered the study, closing the
door silently behind her on its well-oiled hinges.
‘Ah my dear Miss Williamson. Yes, well let me say right
away that I have been most favourably impressed with you, and I believe you can
make a success of a career with Boutts. So, in short, I can offer you the post…’
Julie flushed: it was true then!
‘Oh sir. Thank you sir. I… well I’ll certainly do my very
best.’
‘I’m sure you will, my dear.’ Mr Martin moved in close and
slipped his arm round a slim waist. ‘I’m sure we will get on just fine.’ His
hand squeezed gently… the pliant flesh… ‘Mmmm… Yes… As my assistant I shall of
course be able to instruct you personally.’ The hand slipped down onto Julie’s
flank… the rounded hip… She trembled slightly. ‘So I’m sure you’ll have no
problems. Mmm…’ The hand discovered the strap of her suspender-belt through the
skirt. She stood still, slightly tense, as the fingers followed the strap down
to the suspender clasp. ‘Mmm…’ It was obviously interesting and in fact Mr
Martin inquired… She told him that St Angela’s required dark nylons and
suspender-belts for Sixth Formers. Hmmm… He digested this information while his
fingers wandered onto the nylon top… Julie stood still, submissive. She knew he
was just being friendly and reassuring: quite different from that dreadful
Figgins, or indeed masters like Mr Evans!
Mr Martin was telling her about the Bank and what she
would be doing, and it all sounded quite exciting. His hand was still behind
her, playing with her nylon tops through the skirt and then, as they discussed
travel and commuting, the hand came up and cupped her bottom. As it happened
Julie had an aunt with whom she could stay in Wimbledon so there would be no
problem. ‘Most excellent!’ said Mr Martin, giving her bottom a firm squeeze.
Then he told her about the Stack Room at the Bank. Part of
her duties would be in there sorting documents and as it was rather dusty the
Bank supplied girls with special overall-dresses, worn in place of a girl’s
normal dress: ‘Light-blue nylon — actually they’re rather smart,’ said Mr
Martin. Anyway if he took her measurements now they could have this ready for
when she started. It seemed a good idea, and as it happened he had a tape
measure with him….
Well he did feel her breasts while taking her bust
measurement, but not in a nasty way. He asked if she always wore a bra… some of
the girls at the Bank didn’t — only of course if they had the figure for it:
and he then took hold of Julie’s and squeezed them a bit, and told her they
were certainly firm enough.
She was a bit embarrassed when she had to lift her skirt
up round her waist for the hip measurement, but tried not to show it. For Julie’s
white nylon knickers were brief and unfortunately rather tight (well, she hadn’t
expected that Mr Martin would see them), and when he had to kneel down in front
of her to take the measurement, with his face really quite close to her… down
there… well, she felt quite hot… And then she had to turn round and of course
it was the same, the brief knickers only partially covering her full bottom
with the tight nylon rucked into the cleft between the cheeks. Obviously he had
to take the measurements but at the same time she was certainly glad when he
finished.
Julie was allowed to drop her skirt. Mr Martin then told
her that the Stack Room was rather warm, ‘Some would say kept unnecessarily
hot,’ and some girls wore nothing under their overall when working there. To emphasise
the point Mr Martin stressed: ‘I mean no knickers.’ Julie blushed. He put a
friendly arm round her waist: ‘Anyway, we’ll be able to discuss such matters
after you’ve started.’ She wondered briefly what that meant….
Then — out of the blue — he remarked that they’d never had
a St Angela’s girl at Boutts before! ‘Tell me, what do they use here: the cane,
or the strap, or both?’ It was not a question she had been expecting. ‘Both, sir.’
‘Hmm… on the bare bottom?’ She flushed: ‘Sometimes, sir.’ ‘You have been caned,
I assume?’ Julie’s gaze dropped to the floor: ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Julie fidgeted, embarrassed. ‘It’s alright: I know such
matters do not normally go beyond school walls but I think I am in a somewhat
privileged position…
‘Y…yes well, y…you normally get it in the Punishment Room…
but sometimes the Head… does it in here. Sometimes other masters take you to
their rooms for it as well but they’re not supposed to… W-well… you have to
bend over a… a chair… sometimes over the back of it… with your hands on the
seat… and sometimes lie over the seat w…with your hands on the floor… Oh, and
sometimes of course the master makes you get over his lap… Well… then the
master… he… pulls up your skirt and if it’s… you know… knickers down… well it
usually is… he… he takes them down and…’
‘Yes, I see.’ Mr Martin’s hand was now gripping one cheek
of Julie’s bottom. Have you recently…?’
‘Pardon?… Oh… Yes, sir. Last week, Mr Pomeroy… that was a
spanking… and also, the Head… the end of last term… the cane… in here, sir.’
‘Hmmm… Did Mr Pomeroy take your knickers down?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And the Head…?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Mmm…’ Mr Martin’s hand was still busy behind Julie. The
knickers were certainly brief and on either side the fullest part of the cheeks
were not contained… It was indeed a most caneable bum…
‘Still, I’m sure It’s all for your own good, even though
you’re quite a big girl now. I expect you realise that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Because at Boutts we do like to have a girl who’s
properly disciplined!’
Mr Martin reluctantly took his hand from Julie’s bottom
and looked at his watch: ‘Good Lord! I really must rush: due back in town this
afternoon! Really, it’s too bad. I should have liked to take you out to lunch.’
It would certainly have been a chance to get to know her better… lunch (and one
or two drinks) did wonders in relaxing an inexperienced girl… afterwards a
drive in the country… and he thought of the tight brief knickers under her
skirt… But duty unfortunately called.
‘Anyway, young lady, I can see we’re going to get along
very well. You’re obviously a very sensible young person — not at all like the
typical modern teenager. Yes, quite a credit to your school!’
‘Thank you very much, sir.’
‘You will be hearing formally from the Bank of course…’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Julie gave him her best sweet smile as
his hand went round behind her for a final feel….
She had just left the study, her head in a whirl, when the
Head appeared in the corridor. He immediately ushered her back in…
‘Well, young Miss, I do believe you have been successful.
My congratulations!’
‘Thank you, sir. I… well I can’t really believe it!’
‘Well, it is true I can assure you. And I do think it
calls for a little celebration.’ The Head went to his cupboard from which he
extracted a bottle of Croft ‘El Fino’ and two sherry glasses: ‘Yes, my dear, a
little toast to you and your future!’
Still somewhat bewildered by it all Julie took the glass,
raising it to full soft lips. It was unbelievable: after all that worry and
tension, here she was with a super job in London, drinking sherry with the
Head. She shook her head and laughed: ‘I just can’t believe it!’ Super, super!
All her friends would be just green!… She’d have to phone Mother right away of
course! Ooohh, she felt like… well, walking on air!
The Head looked over his glass at the pretty girl, her
eyes shining. She looked most enticing… and he thought of that shapely bottom
under her short skirt. Mmm… he was certainly in the mood for it… not a caning
of course, but perhaps a good spanking over his lap. And then he remembered —
of course, she had been two minutes late for her interview — a most adequate
reason for slipping her knickers down. Well, he couldn’t allow any relaxing of
standards, just because of all this euphoria. No that would never do!
He took the two glasses; and Julie looked enquiringly,
thinking this might be the cue to leave, but… ‘Not quite yet, young lady… a
little matter outstanding…’ Being late for an important interview could not
simply be ignored… no, it would be a few minutes yet, well perhaps more, before
she could leave…
‘Yes, over my lap please… that’s it, head well down… mmmm…
and I think… we’ll have the knickers right off… then we can do the job
properly, can’t we…’ Because with knickers completely off, rather than merely
lowered, the subject’s legs were free to part… and usually did…
Julie no longer felt like walking on air as her knickers
were removed and she got into position over the Head’s lap. She consciously
kept her legs together in an endeavour, like any modest 17-year-old, not to
show anything; although in her upended position this attempt could not be entirely
successful and it was inevitably to be partially seen, peeping from the
juncture of her thighs… But the Head liked more than a peep and as his spanking
continued he was rewarded, for she became oblivious to everything except the
sharp stinging smacks and modesty was forgotten: and without the restraining
presence of lowered knickers the thighs relaxed, and parted… fully revealing to
the Head what he liked to see. She was of course a very well-developed girl…
(The Head anyway was strongly of the opinion that
excessive modesty in his girls was to be discouraged (at least where he was
concerned), it being a pernicious hangover from Victorian times. Indeed in
pursuing this philosophy did he not, when taking girls (small select groups) to
his country place at weekends, insist on a complete ban on knickers throughout
the duration of the visit. And on arrival there he would personally remove each
girl’s garment, to be retained in his charge, until the return to school on the
Sunday evening. Indeed a man of firm beliefs.)
The spanking continued on the now freely-displaying Julie
until the Head was satisfied that he had done justice to her splendid rear and
rendered it and her upper thighs a uniformly rosy hue. Only then was she
allowed to rise and, red-faced as well as red-bottomed, replace her knickers.
Reflecting unhappily that even today there was no getting away from the St
Angela’s routine, Julie said her ‘Thank you’ to the Head and exited.
Her mind a turmoil from the day’s events, she walked
unseeing along the corridor…. and straight into Mr Evans coming the other way.
She came back to earth extremely rapidly! Oh No!
Mr Evans made an equally quick recovery: ‘Miss Williamson!…’
he pushed her up against the wall: ‘Stand still, girl!’ and his hands made a quick
reconnaissance of her breasts… ‘Mmmm…’ He had not had an excuse for getting his
hands on Julie for quite some time: ‘And what do you think you are doing?’
‘I… I’m very sorry, sir.’
‘And you will be, my girl, wandering along in a dream and knocking
into members of staff… I think a visit to the Punishment Room is called for.
Yes. A touch of the cane on your bare bottom is what you need, young lady. Come
along: I intend to have your knickers down right away.’
Julie felt sick but she had no option but to go meekly, Mr
Evans a step behind (‘Smartly now, girl.’), his hand almost immediately up her
skirt at her tightly knickered bottom, still smarting of course from the Head’s
attentions. Down the stairs… along the corridor… the familiar route… and all
too soon the sight which every girl at St Angela’s dreaded: the door of the
Punishment Room with (how convenient for Mr Evans!) the sign now reading ‘Vacant’.
He ushered Julie in, then closed and locked the door with a gleam of
anticipation in his eyes: ‘Now, Miss, we’ll see about such unseemly behaviour….’
He took a medium weight whippy cane and bent it testingly.
Mr Evans was in no mood for delay: ‘Come on, Miss, over the chair and we’ll get
your knickers down. Your bottom is obviously badly in need of a reminder of
what we regard as proper St Angela’s behaviour…’ He flipped up Julie’s skirt as
she got over the seat of the chair and reached his fingers into the waistband
of her knickers: ‘Well, I think I can give it what it needs….’
So Julie’s day — tension, triumph, an unexpected spanking
from the Head — was finishing in a way that perhaps typified St Angela’s: head
down and knickers down over the chair in the Punishment Room. Her bottom, pink
from the Head’s work on it, was about to receive what all St Angela’s girls
feared most: a caning from Mr Evans. She started weeping in anticipation,
fearfully wondering how many she would get……..
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