Prefect’s Report

A St Angela’s story from Roué 9

The five girls crowded into the Headmaster’s study had arranged themselves into some semblance of a line, facing the big desk behind which the Headmaster himself lounged as he considered this Friday’s crop of prefectorial miscreants. Each girl averted her eyes as she came under direct scrutiny. Angela shuffled uncomfortably as her appearance was appraised, and Rosemary flushed prettily as she came in for special attention, having come straight from a gym lesson with insufficient time to change out of her shorts and sports vest.

All five of the girls were prefects, and all five knew why they were there. Each of them, in their different ways, were quite attractive. Naturally, because only the prettiest girls were made prefects at St Angela’s, and even then only those with particularly smackable bottoms. Not that all the other girls didn’t get their bums tanned too, of course they did, but punishing the school’s prefects was one of the Headmaster’s own special perks, and a constant source of delight to him. He looked over these representatives of his elite little group once more, then allowed himself to proceed with the morning’s business.

‘Charlotte, come here girl.’

‘Sir — ?’ Charlotte advanced obediently to the desk and looked nervously down at the book which lay open on the desk top.

‘Noise — excessive noise, that is — from your landing before lights out on Tuesday evening. Reported by Mr Roberts. What have you to say for yourself?’

‘Um — well sir, it was dormitory two sir. I — I reported the girls concerned to the teacher on duty — I couldn’t do much else sir.’

‘Nevertheless, it is your job to see that order is maintained on your landing, and this isn’t the first time there’s been a rumpus when you’ve been in charge. There really is no excuse Charlotte — I shall have to punish you. Get yourself ready my girl.’

A precisely written entry went into the book and Charlotte removed herself to a corner of the room. The Headmaster was still writing as Charlotte’s skirt slid down her stockinged legs and was folded and placed tidily on a convenient chair. The note of the girl’s imminent punishment was completed by the time her knickers had been slipped down to a point midway down her thighs. A glance from the Head hurried up the business of gathering her blouse at her waist, and then she was left to ponder her forthcoming ordeal, eighteen years old, and looking it, but feeling less dignified than a girl that age would like to feel.

Angela was next. She stepped up to the desk and was given no more opportunity than the first girl to talk her way out of trouble. Consigned to Charlotte’s corner, Angela unzipped her pleated skirt, folded it on top of the other disallowed skirt, and dubiously pushed her pants down to the tops of her thighs, bared bottom goose-pimpling momentarily as the air chilled the round, full cheeks.

The remaining three girls were dealt with similarly, with Rosemary making more of a fuss than she really needed to over getting her shorts down, though they were a little on the close-fitting side which may have been some excuse. The Headmaster eyed her speculatively as she peeled the navy blue gym shorts down off her hips, and smiled to himself as she childishly folded her hands in front of her and fluttered a coquettish glance in his direction. At seventeen she was really too young to have been made a prefect, but the Head had spotted her potential early on and had singled her out for evaluation to the prefecture, one reason being that prefects each had their own rooms, which could be convenient. (See New Prefect for details on how Rosemary was appointed prefect.)

The five girls having been readied for their lesson in how to be a prefect, this particular lesson not being their first by any means, there was time for the prospect to be relished properly, indeed savoured, by the Headmaster. Beckoning the girls out of the corner in which they had been allowed to huddle in their semi-nakedness, he chivvied them back into a line with an exploratory cupping of a buttock here and a playful spank there as five bare and unhappy-looking bottoms arranged themselves according to directions. It was then that he noticed the unmistakeable blush of a very recent spanking warming the cheeks of one of his girls. A hand stroked lightly across the warm curve of Kathleen’s cute bum left no doubt. The girl had been spanked, and not more than half an hour earlier.

‘Er — What lesson have you just left Kathy?’

‘Maths, sir.’ Said Kathleen uncertainly, as if fearing that in some way she was handing a hostage to fortune.

‘I see —.’ So it was that bugger Fowley — couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He’d have to have a word with him — make sure he knew that prefects were not fair game for any teacher who fancied taking his girls’ knickers down. It didn’t matter how many of the other girls the fellow might punish, but prefects’ bottoms were reserved for the Headmaster, why else did the fool suppose the really tempting ones were made up to prefects? Where would be the fun in catching out a pretty girl, with a first class reason to get her pants down, and then finding that some sod had already given her a whacking and left half a dozen cane marks across her bum?

Recovering from this petulance the Headmaster slapped Rosemary’s succulent rump for no particular reason except that it looked too bouncy to resist, which made the girl wriggle her denuded hips and clasp a hand to her tingling bottom.

‘Hands by your sides, Rosemary,’ said the Headmaster pompously, and then proceeded to patrol along the front of the nervously waiting girls. Anne’s tits thrust out before his eyes, the contours of her nipples making themselves conspicuous under her crisp blouse. A closer look, in passing, led him to the conclusion that the girl wasn’t wearing a bra. Returning along the line he stopped in front of her and insisted that her blouse wasn’t being held high enough. Anne edged it up self-consciously, but unsatisfied apparently the Headmaster demanded another inch, and then another, until to the girl’s embarrassment the full and weighty undercurve of her breasts pushed none too discreetly from beneath the raised folds of her blouse. The Headmaster smiled angelically at her.

‘Now keep it there.’ He said. Well, why not? He could get away with almost anything, so why shouldn’t he amuse himself a little?

Back at the other end of the line again Charlotte’s eyes met his for a moment then darted frantically away. Standing beside her he teased her impishly. ‘D’you know, Charlotte, I do believe this bottom of yours is getting fatter every time I see it.’ He patted the buttocks under discussion with a slow and deliberate rhythm. ‘If it goes on like this my girl, I shall have to consider whether to increase the maximum permissible number of cane strokes in order to do justice to it. What d’you think of that, eh?’

‘S-sir — I’m not sure it’s a g-good idea sir —’

‘Indeed?’ He walked round to his desk, another smile on his face. It was an academic question anyway, so far as prefects were concerned. They got as many strokes as he thought they deserved; the rules were for others to observe, not him. A final appraising glance led him to the next stage of this oft-performed ritual — the punishment proper.

‘Charlotte —’

The girl knew what that tone meant. She edged reluctantly up to the desk, knickers pulling across the front of her thighs as she took the half-dozen restricted little steps, her bottom beginning to flinch already in anticipation of the indignity which the next few minutes would bring. Her satin-smooth bottom curved appealingly over the front edge of the desk, her knees together without being told, legs straight, toes braced against the carpet. She lowered herself across the polished top while her eyes sought anxiously for the whereabouts of the strap.

Right on cue the strap was produced from the desk drawer, indeed right in front of her face, a proper regulation St Angela’s tawse, eighteen inches long and a quarter of an inch thick which would smack across a girl’s bum with all the sting of a cane but without the unwanted ability to mark the buttocks which a cane would have. Girls were caned in plenty at St Angela’s, and Charlotte herself had bawled across this very desk with as many as a dozen cane marks throbbing crimson across her bottom, but prefects were caned only rarely, and this was for a good reason. A prefect was created a prefect primarily so that she and her bottom could provide the Headmaster with a pleasant diversion from the daily business of running the school, and was liable to be punished far more frequently than any of the other girls. Caning would mar the spankableness of a girl’s bum, and since she might well find herself being punished four or five times a week it was only sensible that the usual method of punishment should not leave marks which would spoil the fun of the next punishment. The tawse was the obvious choice, and Charlotte had come to dread it as much as she had once dreaded a caning.

The tawse now alighted with a quiet ‘plop’ on the upraised rotundity of Charlotte’s bottom, making the girl start and gasp a little anticipatory sob, for there was no doubt that already the prefect was close to tears.

‘I needn’t tell you that I shall expect you to keep this fat little bottom of yours in precisely the right position Charlotte.’

‘N-no sir —’

‘Right.’ The tawse was raised and instantly swept down full across Charlotte’s bottom. It cracked viciously, and the girl’s buttocks jumped with the impact while her knees bent involuntarily and her hips swerved across the desk. With an effort she rearranged herself for the next stroke, which arrived only when she was properly positioned. Two strokes had her gasping, four had her sobbing, and six had her crying lustily just as she had done on scores of other occasions since her appointment to the prefecture. The last six strokes were the worse, for Charlotte, and the most enjoyable for the Headmaster, since there was nothing in the world more pleasurable to him than chastising a big eighteen year old girl stretched out bare-bottomed across his desk and having her wriggle and twitch her bottom to the rhythm of the strap, especially if she was humiliating herself as Charlotte was, by weeping childishly, indeed quite charmingly.

Charlotte wailed miserably throughout the latter half of her strapping but was ordered brusquely to her feet even before she had recovered wriggling from the last stroke.

‘Right, on your feet — next!’

Angela shuffled dubiously to the desk, bottom bared and long legs silky in dark nylon stockings, while Charlotte squirmed tearfully but knelt up on the long bench in front of the window without having to be told.

Angela tried very hard not to blubber as Charlotte had done, but the tenderness of a girl’s bottom simply isn’t equal to the hard, leathery sting of a proper tawse. The girl ‘Oooowed’ and ‘Ooooched’ and then began to sob fitfully. A dozen strokes took hardly more than half a minute, then Angela too was sent off to the long bench, knickers still down of course, and her fresh strap-marks glowing hotly on both shivery cheeks.

Rosemary, Kathy and Anne were all dealt with in the same, no-nonsense way, and not one of them got through her ordeal without tears spilling down her cheeks, and all were thoroughly chastened young ladies when the Headmaster was done with them. As the Headmaster put the tawse away in his desk drawer there were five sore and rosy bottoms arranged neatly along the bench, and there they would stay, because he was going up to the staffroom for morning tea. Or at least he was —.

Knock, knock! A confident tapping at the door held up his plans.

‘Come in!’ he called testily.

The door opened and there she was. The ‘new girl’. Well, not exactly a ‘girl’, since she was the school secretary’s new assistant, but she was hardly older than the bare-bottomed girls up on the bench. Perhaps nineteen, certainly not more. Very pretty too, and in her jeans, which were just a trifle too tight — well, if she’d been one of the pupils that bum of hers would have been on everyone’s ‘smacked bottom’ list! The girl stared open-mouthed at the array of strap-toasted bottoms which greeted her arrival, while the prefects blushed scarlet at the indignity of it all. She stammered out her message, something about one of the governors coming for a visit. While the Headmaster smiled sweetly at her consternation.

‘Very well, Miss Chalmers — um — is there anything else?’

‘N-no sir — I —’ The poor girl left in a fluster.

The Headmaster departed a moment later, leaving his girls to cool their bottoms in his absence and followed the tempting swing of Miss Chalmers’ hips down the corridor. It was a funny thing — he had a whole school of bottoms to chastise more or less as it suited him, and yet — well, that was one backside he’d really like to spank! How infuriating! He went up for his tea in pensive mood. He really would have to find a way.