Headmaster’s Report

A St Angela’s story from Roué 9

He’d passed them in the hallway as he’d left morning assembly, a subdued gathering of senior-school girls standing awkwardly around in a growing throng which milled about slowly in the entrance hall of the old part of the school. A hush had fallen over the group as he’d passed, eyes had followed him easily as he’d strolled in a leisurely way to his study.

Now he lounged comfortably in his big leather armchair and idly checked down the lists one by one. Monday’s list first, the excitement churning round in the pit of his stomach as it always did the first Monday after half term.

Forty — fifty — sixty — sixty-three. Sixty-three girls who had failed to attain the fifty per cent pass mark in one or more subjects in the half term exams. Sixty-three penitents. Sixty-three teenage bottoms queuing up for their canings. He did a bit of mental arithmetic. Six strokes each — say two minutes each girl allowing for tantrums, tears, and the natural reluctance of a girl getting the cane to keep her bottom in the right place without wriggling about — rather more than two hours. He’d be finished just in time for lunch.

He browsed through the list for Tuesday. Forty-three — those who had failed in two or more subjects. Forty-three bottoms for Tuesday morning. He knew from experience that most of the little darlings would still have Monday’s cane marks plain across their bums.

He skipped through to Friday, and found that for Friday there would still be seventeen. Friday’s little group would have learnt their lesson by the time he’d dealt with them for the fifth time in a week. They’d do their utmost not to fail five subjects in the next exams, that was for sure!

He glanced at his watch. One minute to ten. He picked up his list, straightened his tie and opened his study door.

The hushed babble in the hall died away to nothing. Girls shuffled and nudged each other as they got into some sort of line, which stretched from outside his study, round the hallway, and down the steps to the door of ‘the Punishment Room’. One or two girls risked a look over their shoulders, but most didn’t dare. The majority of them were wearing shorts, white, blue, even a couple in green, despite their tightness. Green shorts were for the lower school sports teams — the girls who had grown too big for their lower school shorts and yet wore them anyway for some reason probably didn’t realise how tempting it made their plump young bottoms look as the Headmaster walked slowly along the line, savouring the delightful sensation of knowing that each and every one of those thinly covered bottoms would, at some time within the next two hours, be twitching and wriggling as the cane smacked stingingly across it in the punishment room.

He walked along the line, finding here and there a girl dressed in a skirt and blouse. The excuses were all much the same.

‘D-didn’t know, sir.’

‘Didn’t have time, sir.’

‘No-one t-told me, sir’

‘Couldn’t find my shorts, sir.’

The consequences of these feeble replies were exactly the same.

‘Report to me after afternoon school.’

The responses were more or less rueful.

‘Yes sir. S-sorry sir.’

They would be.

Having conducted his ‘inspection’, he strode slowly to the middle of the hall. He read out the first name on the list, and the second.

‘Mary Andrews.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Come here. And — June Arbuthnot?’

‘Sir?’

‘Come here.’

To Mary he gave the list of names.

‘You are responsible for seeing that these girls line up in an orderly way, and in alphabetical order. Do you understand?’

‘Yes sir. Alphabetical order sir.’

‘And you — Arbuthnot. You will write each girl’s name in the punishment book as she is dealt with. You will also write her form number, and how many strokes she receives. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Now then — those of you not wearing shorts will kindly remove your skirts and leave them neatly folded on that table. He indicated a table in the hallway. ‘Now,’ He added pointedly.

Four or five girls unzipped and unbuttoned and slipped their school skirts down and stepped out of them. There was a little flurry of movement as they each scurried across the hall to place their skirts on the table, bottoms bouncing as they hurried back to their places.

‘And now —’ he lingered over saying it, ‘— shorts — and knickers — down, girls.’

Sixty pairs of shorts whispered and rustled down bare thighs, plump, girlish bottoms blossomed into view, curls of pubic hair peeped daintily from beneath smooth tummies, blushes flourished on embarrassed cheeks.

Three girls were wearing knickers under their shorts.

‘We didn’t know, sir. Sorry, sir.’

‘You’ll remember next time though, won’t you. Report to me after afternoon school.’

The Headmaster turned on his heel and click-clacked down the steps to the Punishment Room. A low whisper of anticipation ran round the line of bare-bottomed girls.

He left the door open, for the sake of the effect it would have on the waiting girls to hear the cane smacking crisply across the naked bottoms of their friends. He took a slim and whippy cane from the cupboard and swished it several times through the air. Pen in hand as she stood nervously beside the tall chest in the little room, June Arbuthnot winced as she watched the cane making its sibilant arcs.

‘First girl please,’ he said to Mary, just outside the door.

Mary called the girl’s name, her voice quavering.

‘Jeanette Astor.’

A slim, pretty girl of about seventeen appeared in the doorway, her face ashen and her hands fiddling with her thigh-high shorts.

‘Bend over, across the cabinet.’

The frightened girl went dubiously to the tall, waist-high chest and bent herself reluctantly across its varnished top. Her round bum-cheeks smoothed into a curve, the pinkness of her vulva peeping shyly from between the tops of her thighs.

June whispered, ‘What form?’ as she wrote the name which Mary had called out into the big book.

‘S- six B.’

The Headmaster laid the cane lightly across the crown of the bending girl’s naked and pink-cheeked bottom. The two nervous buttocks flinched at the first touch of the cane and the girl drew in her breath nervously. The slim, shiny cane swung back, hovered, then swooshed down across the two firm cheeks.

Swhack!!

‘Aaaaaa — aahh!’

Thwack!!

‘Ooooooooo — ooooo — !’

Whack!!!

‘Ooooow — ooww — ooo!’

The bare, defenceless buttocks twitched frantically as the stinging cane bit sharply across the plump curves of the girl’s bum. Her feet scrabbled on the floor and she clutched desperately at her bottom with both hands, gasping stutteringly.

‘Keep your hands on the cabinet girl!’

‘Ooogh — ooo — sir — !’

Swiittt!!

‘OOOO — oooo — n-no sir — oooow — !’

The girl’s legs bent and she banged one knee painfully against the cupboard door.

Thwack!!!

‘Oooogh — n-no more sir — please — !’

Whack!!!

‘Ahh — aahh — aaaa — oooooow — !’

‘Next!’

The punished girl’s bottom was reddening rapidly with thin horizontal weals closely grouped across the crown of her buttocks as she scampered weeping to the door. Her shorts slithered halfway to her knees before she could catch them and drag them part-way up her thighs. Her strangled sobs echoed in the lofty hall and every girl’s eyes were on the hot and painful-looking crimson of Jeanette’s quivering bum as she tried to pull her little white shorts up over her scorched bum-cheeks. Those still waiting for their own taste of the cane gulped and swallowed and several brushed their hands across their bottoms in agonised anticipation of their forthcoming ordeal. Several of the girls in the long queue burst into frightened tears, their panicky sobs a dismal accompaniment to the caned sixth-former’s blubbering. Her hands shaking, June wrote 6 strokes in the Punishment Book, and the next girl answered her name as Mary called it out. She entered the little room with extreme trepidation and was ordered across the cabinet. Her green school knickers clung closely around her thighs as she presented her softly contoured bottom to the cane.

Thwack!!

Whack!!

Swhatt!!

Before the third stroke had landed the weal from the first one had spread its rosy finger hotly around the two shuddering cheeks.

Crack!!!

‘Ooooo — sir — !’

Whack!!!

‘Ooooow!’

Thwack!!!!

‘Oooooghoooww — !’

‘Next!’

The girl’s blazing bottom disappeared bouncily through the open doorway as the next wretched girl was ordered inside. June swallowed audibly and wrote scratchily in the book.

For the whole of the next hour a procession of bare, pale, saucy, trembling, cheeky, plump, pert and inevitably squirming bottoms were caned into a roast of crimson weals as the girls yelped, sobbed, cried out lustily or simply lay bent across the tall cabinet and wept gasping, piteous tears. The names went into the book monotonously and young June found herself trembling all over and touching at her own as yet unmarked bum in dread anticipation of her inexorably approaching caning. When the bell sounded at eleven fifteen there were thirty-two names in the book.

Mr Payne retired to the staff-room for refreshment while the girls yet to be punished waited with their bottoms still bared and tried to ignore the jibes of their school friends who came along the corridor and wandered through the hall out of sheer vicarious fascination. Those members of staff who also found occasion to pass close by the waiting queue were of course above censure though more than a few loitered too long and Mr Evans even found a reason to chivvy a few of the girls back into line and to plant a number of sharp spanks on conveniently bared bottoms for talking, though no-one had said they shouldn’t talk.

The bell sounded for the end of break time. M Payne arrived a few minutes later. The next girl was called for her swishing. The cane smacked solidly, the naked bum-cheeks tweaked with the sting and once again the squeals of a sixteen year-old girl echoed dismally around the high-ceilinged hallway.

At last there were only three girls left.

Yvonne Willis wriggled her little bum jerkily as she finally got what she’d been waiting over two hours for, and was dismissed to tug up her tight blue shorts and dry her eyes on her way to her classroom. And then it was Mary’s turn. Trembling with dread she called her own name when the Headmaster said, ‘Next’ for the second to last time, and then shamefacedly admitted that now there was only herself and June Arbuthnot left.

‘That makes you next then, doesn’t it?’

‘I — I s’pose so sir.’

‘Bend over then.’

Mary’s round little bottom bent very reluctantly over the cabinet, a few wisps of curly hair peeping from between her thighs, and the cool length of the cane stretched itself across the swell of her bum. A swish, a Thwack!, and suddenly Mary’s pink bum-cheeks were twitching convulsively and a pair of cane-weals, one on either cheek, erupted in a bright crimson line each side of her dividing crease.

‘Oh — oooh — !’

The Headmaster caned her soundly. She wept copiously and squirmed while her bare bottom became a smarting blaze of cane-marks.

‘Off you go then.’

‘Ooh — th-thank you sir.’

And then it was June’s plump young bum which was thrashed with the wickedly stinging cane while the wretched girl bawled and struggled and her bum shivered with the impact of each stroke. At last it was done.

June clutched at her sore bottom and sniffed ruefully while the Headmaster put his cane away in the cupboard.

‘And don’t forget to put your own name in the book.’

He stood behind her as she wrote, the hot tenderness of her caned buttocks warm in the cupping palm of his hand. She edged away from the contact so he smacked her sharply.

‘Right — now run along girl.’

She scurried away, dragging up her shorts as she went, her cane-striped bottom wobbling saucily.

Another six on Tuesday, six on Wednesday — by Friday she’d have had another twenty-four strokes. Her little bum wouldn’t taunt him so cockily then. He put the well-used cane away and went off to dinner.

For further fall-out from the half-term exams see Evening Prep.