Headmaster’s Introduction

Story from Janus 23 by the incomparable R.T. Mason

The bright afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the window in a sharply defined shaft in which dust specks could be seen dancing and swirling in a rather fascinating manner. Fascinating, that is, if you had to stand there, five girls in a row, and listen to the Headmaster’s rather droning voice. The voice and the swirling specks together had an almost hypnotic effect.

All five of them, 16- and 17-year-olds, were newly starting in this summer term at Westlands School for Girls and so on this first day, as was usual with new arrivals, they had to get Mr Kingston’s introductory talk. Normally, at the beginning of the school year with the much larger number of new entrants, the talk was given in the Hall, but with a small number like this — five — the Head’s oration could more conveniently be delivered in his study. Having it in the privacy of his room had another advantage — it could be combined with another introduction to school life, but the five girls weren’t to know that. Not yet at least.

Mr Kingston did have rather a droning way of talking especially when, as with this Introductory Talk, it was something he had said innumerable times before. One girl, then another, shuffled her feet as they stood there letting his words roll over them, empty sound in the heavy air, while the sun specks danced.

If you thought anything at all it was that he did not look too bad, not too frightening, although of course you probably knew that this school had a reputation for strictness, a no-nonsense attitude. Perhaps what you had heard had just been an exaggeration…

Mr Kingston’s words rolled on. Having said it so often before he could do it quite automatically, the platitudes coming out almost of their own accord leaving him free to consider this new five. They had transferred schools for the usual reasons: one needing a boarding school because her parents suddenly had to go abroad; another not getting the right attention at her comprehensive; etc, etc. And of course the other reason: Hilary or Jane or whoever is just not making any progress and we do feel she needs a stricter regime. Well, that was something which Westlands and Mr Kingston, in spite of his mild appearance, certainly could supply.

This particular five were all of them a nice-looking lot, ranging from reasonably good-looking to the blonde at the left end of the row, Monica Taylor, who was really rather stunning. All with nice youthfully nubile shapes too, in their new uniform white blouses and blue pleated skirts with the pink-and-blue Westlands tie. Yes, the second part of his introduction, to be given directly after his talk, was really going to be rather pleasant. Not that one would like to admit it was a pleasure, naturally, for really it was very much in the line of duty.

As he continued talking he could see that several of them were looking rather stupefied. It was a warm afternoon, unusually so for May, and of course he knew that a lot of what he had to say was a bit boring. It had to be said nonetheless. Actually it was now just about finished. Which meant they had come to the part where these five pretty girls would suddenly wake up — if he was not very much mistaken.

‘Well that’s about it for general school procedures and such matters. And now we come to the matter of discipline. Discipline is of course a very necessary part of any establishment which contains largish numbers of individuals and I must tell you that we here at Westlands School pride ourselves that it is… ahem… you might say one of our strong points. Discipline here naturally very much includes Corporal Punishment.’

He paused, then directed his gaze at that very pretty blonde at the left end of the line.

‘Monica, I think. Monica Taylor, isn’t it?’

She suddenly focussed deep blue eyes from the evident dream she had been in. ‘Uh… Uh, yes Sir?’

‘Corporal punishment, Monica. Do you know what that means?’

‘Uh… some form of punishment, Sir, I suppose.’

‘That is correct, Monica, but hardly very enlightening. Corporal punishment, Monica, means physical punishment of the body — from corpus, the Latin. Physical chastisement of the subject’s person. For instance, physical chastisement of Monica Taylor’s very attractive person.’

The pretty blonde blushed.

Mr Kingston addressed himself again to all five. Five girls who now all looked somewhat more alert. ‘Corporal punishment may be new to some of you but it is, as I say, very much part and parcel of the regime at Westlands. We find it much more effective than such measures as gatings and lines and detentions. And I should tell you that all your parents have signed the form acknowledging this and agreeing to it.

‘So you may take it from me that all of you will be getting personal first-hand experience of our CP regime.’

He laughed benignly. ‘Unless any of you can be almost superhumanly good, that is. What do you say to that, Monica? Can you be superhumanly good?’

She shuffled her feet, looked at the Head, then down at the carpet. ‘I don’t suppose so, Sir.’

‘No, nor do I, Monica. And nor do I think any of you others can either. Now then!’

His voice had suddenly lost its rather bantering tone. ‘What I now propose as the second part of this little introduction to Westlands, having given you my talk which I’m sure some of you possibly found rather boring, is to give you all a little demonstration of CP in use here. So that you will all know exactly what to expect.’

To five rather startled-looking faces he smiled and said, ‘You may find this part a bit painful but certainly not boring!’

He got up from his chair and walked over, through that beam of sunlight which several of them had earlier found so fascinating, to his glass-fronted cupboard. Opening it he took out a cane.

A two-foot long thin whippy rattan cane.

Mr Kingston moved round to stand in front of five now definitely startled-looking girls. He bent the cane into a tight horseshoe, then swished it vigorously through the air causing those dust motes to swirl in all directions at once.

‘The cane, girls. The principal instrument of punishment at Westlands. Together, of course, with the palm of a master’s hand. Now then, what you might call Punishment Number One, and something which you will not be getting very frequently because masters prefer others: Punishment Number One, the cane across the palm of the hand.’

He directed his gaze at the end girl again. ‘Monica, I think. Step forward please where everyone can see you and hold out your right hand. Palm upwards at about waist height.’

The pretty blonde turned a bright red. ‘But Sir! I… I haven’t done anything.’

‘I didn’t say you had, my dear. I am just giving a demonstration so that you and all the others will know what to expect. Don’t worry, you haven’t been singled out. All the others will be getting a demonstration as well. Come on now, step forward. You will learn that at Westlands questioning a master is one of the surest ways to incur a punishment.’

She stepped reluctantly forward into the shaft of sunlight: the girl who had quite evidently caught the Head’s attention. Short curling blonde hair framed a softly pretty face in which the full mouth was now trembling slightly. She was of medium height with a trim figure, with full firm breasts softly pushing out the front of her crisp white blouse.

‘Hand out, please,’ the Head repeated. Biting that full lower lip she forced herself to comply.

‘Hold it steady!’ The voice of the mild-looking Headmaster now had a steely edge to it. ‘Good!’

He raised the cane and quite simply brought it slashing down transversely across the palm of her hand. She let out an anguished yelp. There were sharp in-drawings of breath from the other four girls. It must have stung like blue murder! Monica was now hugging her hand and there were obvious tears in her eyes.

‘Now the left hand,’ said the Head calmly.

‘Pl… please… I c… can’t!’ she stuttered. ‘It h… hurts… I…’ Suddenly she was actually crying, fat tears running down the pretty cheeks.

The Head’s voice, steely again. ‘The left hand, Monica. And I don’t want to have to ask you again. One thing you all have to learn is that at Westlands a girl obeys a master immediately.’

Still crying, Monica forced herself to reach out her left hand.

‘Properly out. And keep it still!’

The cane rose. And again came slashing down. There was another gasping cry from the girl as she immediately bent almost double, hugging both hands to her chest.

Mr Kingston’s voice, mild again: ‘Good! So that is Punishment Number One, girls. As I say you probably won’t be getting it very often but it’s as well you should know about it. Show your hands to the others, Monica.’

Still sobbing. Monica held out her hands. The others looked, blinked or bit their lips, then turned away. There was a general shocked shuffling of feet. Monica’s hands had a bright red stripe across the centre of each palm.

‘Right: back in line then, Monica. Now who have we got next? Jill, isn’t it. Jill Palmer?’

The next girl did not have the obvious prettiness of Monica but was nonetheless a very pleasant-looking new Fifth Former with shoulder-length brown hair and a nicely full figure. And now with a most unhappy expression on her face.

‘Step forward, Jill. Now girls, what we now come to is something which is rather more frequently used. The cane across the backs of the bare thighs. The backs of the thighs are of course one of the more sensitive areas of a girl’s body, so caning there is a most effective punishment. We can call this Punishment Number Two, if you like.’

He took hold of Jill’s arm and turned her towards his desk. The top was completely clear: a little forethought on Mr Kingston’s part in view of what was to come in this second part of his Introduction. ‘Just bend your upper body over the desk, Jill.’

Jill looked rather sick but clearly there wasn’t much choice. She got over the desk and Mr Kingston pulled her pleated skirt up round her waist. There, facing the other four, was a full round bottom in tight pale blue nylon knickers plus a pair of nicely rounded thighs.

‘Bottom well up!’ instructed the Head, taking firm hold of one cheek of the tightly-knickered bottom and pushing it further onto the desk.

‘And legs together and nice and straight, please.’ Bending slightly, he slid his hand down the thighs to her knees, then over her white school knee-socks, positioning her feet so that her legs were slightly away from the desk with knees straight.

Finally satisfied with this he straightened up. His hand went back to the blue nylon knickers, sensuously sliding over the taut surface. ‘Good. As you see, girls, Jill still has her knickers on, and that is the normal procedure with a caning to the thighs. Right then!’

Briskly he reached for the cane which had been lying on the corner of his desk. He positioned himself, then patted the cane lightly across the slightly trembling thighs. And then he drew it back, sending the dust motes swirling again, and brought it down with a sharp CRACK! across the centre of the softly rounded limbs.

‘Ahh… ooowww!’ A yelping cry, an immediate spasmic writhing of bottom and legs, and two hands coming automatically back in instantaneous response to clutch the afflicted area.

‘Hands back!’ The Head’s voice a sharp bark as he pushed Jill’s hands with the end of the cane. As she gripped the top of the desk again the others, horror-struck, saw the angry red stripe across the centre of their colleague’s thighs.

‘Keep the position!’ added the Headmaster. ‘I am going to give you two more so that we can all have a good idea of what is involved.’

And he did: two more slashing cuts across the backs of Jill’s thighs, each producing a gasping yelp of agony and each leaving its fiery red mark. When she got up she was openly crying — to nobody’s surprise. Dabbing at her eyes she went back on trembling legs to her place.

Mr Kingston put down the cane. ‘So that’s the cane to the thighs, girls. Jill will tell you that it’s still stinging quite a bit. Is that correct, Jill?’

Still wiping her eyes she stuttered, ‘Y… yes… S… Sir.’

‘Good. Now who have we next?’ He looked inquiringly at the third girl in line.

‘S… S… Susan Mitchell, Sir,’ she said numbly. She was a medium blonde with shoulder-length hair and a delicately-featured face. She was about average height and somewhat slimmer than the other two.

‘Yes, of course. Step forward then, Susan. We now come to caning of the bottom. At Westlands a girl’s skirt is always raised for a bottom caning but, depending on which the master decides is the more suitable, he may leave her knickers on or they may be lowered.’

He took hold of Susan’s arm and turned her towards his desk. ‘Bend over then Susan: like Jill, You’re going to get a little taste of the cane with your knickers on.’

He lifted her skirt to reveal another pair of those pale blue nylon knickers: this time enclosing a rather slimmer bottom than the one previously on show. Again he firmly gripped one cheek and pushed her further up on the desk. Again he fiddled fussily with her legs.

Then as the others watched, Jill still with tear-filled eyes, the Head took up the cane. Tapping the buttock-tautened knickers he said, ‘Three, Susan. Keep nice and still though, or it could be more.’

He raised the cane and slashed it transversely down across the crests of the bottom cheeks to land with a zipping sound on the thin taut nylon. Susan let out a howl, bottom and thighs violently jerking, one hand reaching back to clutch desperately at her bum.

Mr Kingston grabbed the hand and placed it firmly back on his desk. Then raised the cane again and zipped it in a second time to the still-writhing rear. Another howl as the writhings were redoubled…

He put down the cane and looked at the others. ‘What you have just witnessed is the proper normal procedure. However, you will also find that some masters will use a little modification when caning a girl with her knickers on.’

He turned again to the still bent-over Susan and reached both hands onto her bottom. ‘They pull the knickers up: thus.’

And he grasped the hems of the pale blue knickers and pulled them firmly up off the cheeks of her bottom and into the dividing crevice. The lower part of Susan’s bottom was now bare, showing two red stripes where the cane had landed.

The Head fondled the half-bared cheeks. ‘As you can see, with Susan’s knickers like this she can be given what is to all intents and purposes a bare-bottom caning. However this will still go in the Punishment Book as Caning With Knickers Retained.’

He took up the cane again. ‘I will give Susan her third in this manner. Keep still please, Susan!’

The cane once more violently disturbed the dust specks as it rose and then descended as a flash to judder into the now bared flesh. There was a third agonised howl from the distressed recipient. And she also, not surprisingly, was in tears when she stood up.

‘Good! Back in line then, Susan. And you can re-adjust your knickers. Now, girls, what we have not dealt with yet is a spanking.’

He put the cane down, then walked across the room to an upright chair which he brought back to place in front of his desk.

‘Yes, a spanking.’ He completely ignored Susan’s whimpering sounds. ‘Spankings at Westlands are always given with a girl over a master’s lap and on her bare bottom;  i.e., with her skirt up and her knickers either lowered or completely off. This is because firstly, the spanking can be more effectively done on the bare bottom and, secondly, there is, with the bottom bare, the added element of embarrassment, even humiliation. Having a master’s hand spanking her bare bottom is to many girls a prospect much more unwelcome than the actual pain involved.’

He sat on the chair, then beckoned the fourth girl forward. She was Linda Harrison: short brown hair and hazel eyes, probably the prettiest after Monica Taylor and also with a nice full figure. She was now looking decidedly unhappy as she stood before the Head.

‘Well, let’s ask Linda, shall we? How do you feel about having a master’s hand smacking your bare bottom, Linda? Is it a rather unwelcome prospect?’

Squirming — and blushing — she muttered in the affirmative.

‘Yes? Well, that is all to the good. Because we are talking about a punishment, aren’t we? So: let’s have you over my lap and we’ll let you see what it feels like — this rather unwelcome prospect.’

He pulled her over so that her hips were on his lap and her head down near the carpet. The skirt was dragged up to be bunched round her waist, and there was another pair of those light blue nylon knickers, enclosing a nice full bottom.

One of Mr Kingston’s arms went round her waist to firmly hold her, while the fingers of his other hand hooked in the waistband of her knickers and snaked them down. He pulled them down to her knees, then slid his hand back up, to the now bare bottom. A preliminary brief fondling and then the hand started to come down hard: Splat!.. Splat!.. Splat!.. on the firm jelly-like buttocks.

There were gasping grunts from Linda and also some grunts of exertion from the Head as his hand vigorously rose and fell. He kept it up for quite a few minutes while the soft full bottom got redder and redder. The captive rear was wriggling and there were gasping cries of ‘Ohh!’ and ‘Ooohh!’ and ‘Please!’ and other less recognisable sounds. But Mr Kingston just kept going — until he was ready to stop.

At last Linda was struggling to her feet, and grabbing up her knickers. Not crying, but looking very hot and bothered and — well, decidedly unhappy.

The Head stood up. ‘So that just leaves one more of you. And as it turns out five is just the right number for me to conclude my demonstration. Let’s see, Alison Green, I think. Yes?’

The last girl muttered Yes. Slightly taller than the others she was a pleasant-looking auburn-headed girl; 17 and going into the Lower Sixth. She looked apprehensively at the Head, then down at her feet.

‘Forward please, then! What we now finally have is a proper bare bottom caning. As a little change, Alison, I think for this I’ll have you bending over the seat of the chair. Although of course a girl can be bent over a table or desk for a bare bottom caning — or indeed simply made to bend and touch her toes.’

She stood there hesitantly in front of the chair, in the shaft of sunlight which was still streaming in through the window. The Head said, ‘Right: take your knickers down, Alison. Slip them down to your knees, and then get yourself over the chair.’

She gave the Head a rather sick look, then slid her hands up to fumble under her skirt. Then, face flushed, she lowered herself over the chair. The Head reached out and briskly pulled up the skirt. There was another full rounded bare bottom with the knickers bunched at mid-thigh. The knickers, though, were not the regulation plain pale blue but were light pink with a floral design.

‘What is this!’ exclaimed Mr Kingston. ‘Why are you not wearing regulation knickers, Alison?’

The voice from the lowered head said, ‘I… I thought it was all right… Sir.’

‘Well it is not all right! At Westlands everyone is required to wear the proper attire at all times and that certainly includes school knickers. Other clothing may only be worn when you have a Pass to go out of school; and then of course you must first come to me or Matron to confirm that what you are wearing is acceptable. You had better take them off. Right now! Come on: off with them!’ For the first time, he seemed genuinely angry.

She was not allowed to get up, though, and so her hands reached back and rather awkwardly she pulled the knickers further on down, then slid them off over her brown strap-over shoes. Mr Kingston reached down and placed the offending garment on his desk. Then he took up the cane.

A preliminary patting of the bare up-thrust bottom and then he proceeded to lash the cane four times into the fullest out-curve of the rounded cheeks, each stroke sharply jolting the soft creamy flesh. There was an agonized yelp each time it landed, a frenzied wriggling of bottom and legs — which without the restraining presence of knickers round her thighs tended to part rather revealingly. It was clear for all to see that Alison’s auburn locks were the genuine article, being matched with even redder hair in a more private region.

When it was finished and she had struggled to her feet she was also, like the other three who had had the cane, openly in tears. Her bottom hurt like sheer hell.

Alison re-joined the others and once more they were all in line. The Head perched on the front edge of his desk and surveyed them with a benign expression. Five pretty girls in a row. Five girls who were no longer happily dreaming away but were very much wide-awake — and were now under no allusions regarding Westlands School for Girls. It was a strict no-nonsense school with, in spite of that mild appearance, a strict no-nonsense Headmaster.

He smiled. ‘So now we know, girls, don’t we? If we get into trouble we know the range of options. None of them I suppose exactly pleasant but then that is the object of punishment, is it not? Good! So you may go now…’

They all turned, with relief, to door.

‘Except, ah, Alison and Monica.’

Three quickly exited. The door closed. Two girls unhappily remaining.

‘Just a word with you, Alison, about your knickers. Leave them here and come back and collect them after the end of lessons at 4.30. We will then have a private little chat about the need to follow school regulations. That’s all: you may go now.’

The door closed. Leaving now just the very pretty blonde with the Head. He looked at her with sharply appraising eyes.

‘Yes, Monica. Such a pretty girl! And with a lovely young figure too!’

He moved in close to her and, in a bit of a daze, she felt herself being turned around so that her back was towards him. And then his hands slid out and around, under her arms, and simply took hold of her quite full breasts in their crisp white blouse and the light bra underneath.

She gasped. The hands lightly squeezed. Mr Kingston’s mild voice. ‘Yes, quite a lovely girl.’

Still holding her he continued, ‘But that can be something of a problem, I’m afraid, Monica. You see I’m quite sure various members of my staff are bound to find you very attractive as well, and that is where your problem will arise. It is unfair, I know, but human nature being what it is, I’m afraid they will be rather after you. You will, I’m afraid, be getting much more than your fair share of punishment. And it certainly won’t be the cane across the hand which I gave you earlier. No, it will be your bottom they will want to get at: it will be knickers down and spanking and caning of your bare bottom. Probably on any trumped-up excuse.’

He gave her rounded breasts a final squeeze, then removed his hands. He moved round to face her. Monica looked queasy. His openly feeling her breasts like that, but mostly what he had said: it was like some kind of nightmare.

But he was talking again — still in that mild manner. ‘Anyway, with that in mind I think it only fair to give you now a caning to your bottom. So that you will at least have some preparation for it. Otherwise you might find it quite simply unbearable.’

His hands were reaching for the waistband of her skirt. ‘As we’re alone I might as well take your skirt right off. And your knickers as well.’

The zip of her skirt was down and then the skirt was sliding down to the floor. His hands were at her tight blue knickers, pulling them down; then as in a dream she was stepping out of them.

The Head’s eyes greedy as the girl stood before him, nude below the waist except for the white knee-socks and brown strap-over shoes. Pale smoothly rounded curves with, at their centre, a smallish bush of brown curls. She saw the direction of his gaze and one hand slid over to self-consciously cover it.

Mr Kingston shook his head. ‘Yes, my dear. I’m afraid with you being such an attractive young thing that really there will be no stopping them.’

She looked even sicker and the pretty blue eyes were now rather watery-looking. The Head shook his head again.

‘No, it’s not at all a nice prospect. You’ll simply get no let-up. However I could… I just possibly could… do what I’ve done once or twice before with a very pretty girl. Which is to put her off-limits to the rest of the staff. Of course I can only do it very rarely as otherwise it would destroy the whole basis of discipline at Westlands…’

She said numbly, ‘Please, Sir…’

‘Yes, then of course you would have only me dealing with you. And really I wouldn’t need to cane you more than… mmmm… shall we say two or three times a week at the most. Whereas if I let all the staff loose on you, well…’

He shook his head sadly as if words failed him.

‘Well, what do you think, Monica?’

She had started to cry — at the awful prospect which Mr Kingston had presented. The alternative, having him deal with her, couldn’t be as bad.

‘Yes Sir. I… I…’

‘You’d like to do that?’

‘Yes Sir.’

His hand slid round to stroke the bare bottom. ‘Well I think in your case, Monica, it can be arranged. I will send round a note to the effect that at your parents’ special request you are to be sent to me for any punishments. Yes, that’s what we’ll do.’

The hand at her buttocks finished its fondling and gave the springy flesh a little slap. ‘Good. Now then Monica, with that sorted out let’s have you over the seat of the chair, shall we. For that little caning.’

He fussily positioned her, getting her just right, and then gave her four nice crisp stingers on the undercurve of her rump. Not desperately hard but enough to send the pretty bum, evidently unused to such assaults, into agonized writhings. The writhings were accompanied by appropriate sounds of distress from the pretty bum’s owner.

She was still crying when, having put the cane down, he helped her to her feet. Because it really had stung, dreadfully, just as earlier it had when she’d got it on her hands. And it all seemed so unfair because she hadn’t done anything. Trying to control her tears she struggled into knickers and skirt. At least she wasn’t going to be getting it from the other masters. Only the Head.

She glanced at him, then looked away. He was looking at her rather like a cat with a nice bowl of cream. He smiled that benign smile. ‘So now we know where we stand, Monica, don’t we?’

She said, ‘I… I think so, Sir,’ although she wasn’t sure that she did. And she felt even less sure when his hand reached out to briefly fondle first one then the other of her rounded breasts.

‘Yes,’ said Mr Kingston, ‘we’re going to get on very well, I’m sure. Just as long as you do as you’re told, Monica. Now I think you’d better run along to your classes. But come and see me tonight when you’ve got your pyjamas on and are ready for bed. I expect I can find a nice cup of cocoa and we can have another cosy chat.’

She went out and the Headmaster closed the door. The sun was still sending its bright shaft of light diagonally across the room. What a lovely afternoon. A lovely stimulating afternoon that was also full of rich promise. He went to look out of the window, on his way casually picking up the pair of pink knickers from his desk. Outside the lawn was an impeccable sward of bright green turf, the blue cedar majestic in the background. Yes, life could be very rewarding.

He glanced down at the knickers in his hand, then turned to look at the clock. The owner of the knickers, Alison Green, should be back in half an hour. Yes, red-haired Alison, with that lovely creamy white skin so frequently found in redheads. Mr Kingston went over to his desk and took up his cane, thoughtfully flexing it.