New Master at St Angela’s
A St Angela’s story from Roué 11
Philip Walker, Junior Maths Master, was a new appointment
that term, fresh from his Oxford college where he had spent several years since
graduation studying some particularly abstruse mathematical problems. A
scholar, no doubt, but more experienced masters shook their heads
pessimistically; fresh-faced, with an expression behind his frequently-polished
glasses of being awfully keen to learn, he did unfortunately give the
impression in the classroom of being somewhat at a loss, of not having quite
what it took to deal with groups of girls who would be only too eager to seize
on any signs of weakness. Signs notably lacking of course in any other master
at St Angela’s, most of whom seemed single-mindedly dedicated to getting their
pupils’ knickers down at every opportunity.
And this was the key point, for as half-term approached PW
had not taken any girl’s knickers down, nor had he even required one to bend
over, knickers retained, for the cane or strap. It was a most inauspicious
start, noted with foreboding by his new colleagues: ‘I have to agree that it’s
unusual; most unusual in fact.’ (Mr Jones), although Mr Payne, Headmaster,
willing to make allowances for a new and inexperienced man was at first
inclined to ascribe it to settling in, adjusting. The girls naturally also
noticed this unusual behaviour: ‘I think he’s really nice and I don’t think we
should try and take advantage just because he’s nice.’ (Pamela Andrews, who
since the beginning of term had had her knickers taken down by every one of the
masters — except PW.)
The young man himself — well, it was all new to him, that
was the problem, his first teaching job and certainly a lot of it rather
unexpected. It was in just his second week at St Angela’s that he got his first
inkling of what tended to be normal routine at the school, and it came as an
undoubted shock. He was due to see the Head, and thinking he could hear voices
coming from inside the Head’s study he had bent to have a quick look through
the keyhole so as to confirm it would be alright for him to enter. He gulped!
Glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then went down for a second longer
look. Amazing! Bent over the Head’s desk and facing directly towards the door
(and PW) were two girls’ bottoms, completely nude, skirts up round waists and
knickers down at mid-thigh, staring him in the face as it were. Two splendid
young female rears with each, at the juncture of full cheeks and rounded
thighs, clearly revealing female parts which the new master, unfamiliar with
the finer details of feminine anatomy, could only goggle.
And as he gazed, awestruck, the Head, standing close at
one side, reached out a hand to… (PW really couldn’t believe his eyes)… to take
hold of… that part… of the girl nearest to him… stroking… his fingers, well… At
that moment there was the sound of footsteps round the corner and PW quickly
straightened up and in some confusion hurried away. He was sweating and his
spectacles were quite misted up, for… well really… he had had rather a
sheltered upbringing and this… was just too much.
But he barely had time to absorb what he’d seen before
other examples of the St Angela’s regime were only too evident. The Punishment
Room (2D), he saw, was an extremely active place, masters disappearing in there
with girls all the time, the door locked although strictly speaking this was
not allowed. And if you stood close to the door there was no doubt of what was
happening: ‘Legs straight please.’… ‘Bend over further please.’… ‘Kindly keep
that bottom still Miss.’… all interspersed with anguished howls of girls
receiving, yet again, St Angela’s correctional treatment. And it wasn’t only
Room 2D; for he also caught glimpses of girls with knickers down in classrooms
being spanked or caned. He saw Mr Gray at his desk with Rosalind Bottomley
after a class, apparently discussing work but with his hand up her skirt; Mr
Evans magisterially fondling bottoms as he walked along a corridor; Mr Pink…
well he could go on and on. And what was presumably going on behind closed
doors (those without a handy keyhole) he dared not think.
Young PW, then, quickly got a pretty good idea of the way
the school was run and he could see only too clearly what was expected of him.
The trouble, though, was that he was a bit shy, never having had a lot to do
with girls. He knew he should be doing his bit with the cane or strap but it
wasn’t easy. Well, telling a pretty 18- or 19-year-old to take her knickers
down and bend over a desk or chair was a bit daunting if you weren’t used to
it. So he certainly couldn’t see himself starting with one of the older girls;
and as for the younger ones, the Forms he saw most of, 6A and 6B — 16-year-olds
mostly — well they all seemed such nice girls that it was difficult to imagine
caning them either.
Yes they were all nice girls and none more so than Pauline
Dawson in 6B, a sweet young thing who always sang out ‘Good morning, sir’ and ‘Good
afternoon, sir’, and had even when they happened to be going in the same
direction inquired if she might carry his books, sir. A charming pretty girl
whose big brown eyes were almost too much for young PW: she was, he thought,
the epitome of wholesome English girlhood and really he could not imagine why
she was here in the first place. But then St Angela’s wasn’t really an Approved
School of course and indeed quite a few of the girls were here through no
shortcomings of their own — family problems for instance. Young Pauline was
probably in that category.
Yes, as he continued to be preoccupied with the problem of
caning, this young Miss was more and more becoming quite his favourite. Not
that one should have favourites of course but he just couldn’t help it, she was
such a nice friendly pretty girl. And he became even more taken with her after
that time she came to class with a grazed knee, having just fallen down en
route. He made her sit on the desk while he examined the injury and this
position, though unplanned, was a most happy choice as it afforded him a
breathtaking view of shapely rounded thighs normally concealed by her pleated
skirt. And not only thighs but tight white nylon knickers with, as she opened
her legs for a moment, the fleeting glimpse of taut nylon clearly outlining the
cleft, the actual indentation, of a girl’s most private place.
No, there was no doubt that he was quite taken with her
and so that day when he saw her waiting outside the Head’s study, well, his
heart seemed to stop. For by now he knew they only went to the Head for one
reason, and this was confirmed as a not very happy-looking Pauline said: ‘Late
for Assembly, worse luck! I bet I’m in for it.’
He had walked on, his mind inevitably going back to those
other two girls he’d seen in the Head’s study, their bottoms bared, and the
Head… He thought of young Pauline in there now… and gritted his teeth… that
sweet young thing. The Head… surely he wouldn’t…? He stopped, hesitating,
nervously polishing his glasses… and then walked quickly, apprehensively, back.
Outside the study, looking round guiltily, then his ear to the door, though
half afraid of what he might hear. Yes… his face reddened and he felt himself
sweating: he seemed to have arrived at just the moment when…
A girl’s voice, recognisably Pauline’s, pleading: ‘No sir.
Please sir I promise I won’t again sir.’ Then the Head: ‘It won’t do I’m
afraid. Take your knickers down and get in position…’ A period of awful
meaningful silence and then, sending a shiver through poor PW, the
unmistakeable thwack of a cane on bare flesh. ‘Ooooohhhh!
Oooohh! Oh please Sir!’ Hands clenched, PW moved away as the Head’s voice: ‘Keep
still please; you have five more…’
He could have looked of course — the keyhole — but he
couldn’t, wouldn’t… not Pauline. He could anyway imagine it all too clearly —
Pauline bent over that desk, her bottom up and bare, revealing her most
intimate parts; the Head standing primly over, wielding his cane… He
walked quickly away, trying not to think about it, feeling quite sick.
Still he realised, as he stopped and reflected on it, he
was going to have to get used to this sort of thing; for it was very definitely
part of the routine here at St Angela’s and it was no use getting upset. He
thought again of Pauline, of those big brown eyes — and also of those thighs,
her knickers, which he’d seen. She was now having to show a lot more to the
Head of course and shamefully he felt a distinct stirring at the front of his
trousers… maybe he should have had a quick look through that keyhole after all.
He thought again of those other two girls, and then of Pauline…
He abruptly dropped this line of thought, though, suddenly
realising that standing there musing by the front door, with girls coming in
and out, he had developed a rather obvious erection. He moved circumspectly
away, holding his books in front of him.
The fact was though, he told himself later in a quiet
corner of the Staff Room as his mind once more reverted to his overriding
problem, the fact was that he should be taking knickers down himself like all
the other staff. But how was he ever to get started, that was the question; for
once he’d managed it the first time he was sure it would be reasonably simple —
like riding a bicycle. He searched his mind again for the hundredth time. There
was just no way he could tackle one of the older girls, at least not to start
with. So therefore if ever he was to get started at all it had to be one of the
younger ones; there was no other answer. Right! He felt for once he was
thinking more positively, perhaps inspired by the events of half an hour ago.
Yes, it must therefore be someone in either 6A or B. His mind racing now…
Someone quiet, submissive, a nice girl in fact…
Of course! Pauline! If he could face those big innocent
eyes which seemed able to look right into him. But yes. He had the answer, a
sudden inspiration. He didn’t need to actually cane or spank her, not this
first time. No, the crucial first step was to get a girl’s knickers down and
now Pauline had just had that awful caning from the Head (well it sounded
awful) he could simply take them down to check that she was alright; to see
that no harm had been done to that shapely bottom. It would undoubtedly get him
started. And at the same time he would be able to look at Pauline’s… Well, he
knew he needed to know about such things.
Yes he had definitely come up with a solution, no doubt
about it. He reached for his glasses… polishing… He’d get her right after
school this afternoon. Be waiting outside her class (he’d have to check which
one) right on the dot of 4 o’clock and take her over to his rooms. She would be
the first girl he’d taken there. Just give her something to drink — a Coke —
and some biscuits perhaps, and then… slip them down. Marvellous! And with two
days to go to half-term, just in time. He’d be able to start with a clean sheet
right after the mid-term break. He would definitely use the cane from the
beginning then.
And possibly… yes, very possibly he’d also start on
Pauline with the cane. Well it seemed an obvious continuation of the first
step. And it didn’t mean he wasn’t very fond of her, just because he was using
her to get himself broken in like this. He replaced his glasses. Really he was
going to have a hard time waiting for 4 o’clock.
It wasn’t quite as easy as he had imagined, due
undoubtedly to his inexperience. In the first place he would have done better
to get her over a chair or his desk. As it was he’d opted to take her across
his lap and he hadn’t anticipated how… well, stimulating this would be. The fact
was that almost immediately he developed an erection which embarrassingly just
would not subside. And then he might also have done better to get her to take
her own knickers down. He chose to do it himself, and with inexperience, and in
his tumescent state, it was a rather fumbling performance. But he did manage it
and indeed, somewhat carried away, he took them completely off which was not
strictly necessary.
Yes, red-faced and perspiring, he had actually done it; he
had a girl’s knickers off. Pauline, though obviously reluctant and unhappy, had
nonetheless not argued, had done as she was told. And now, pushing her skirt
well up round her waist, he had his first bared bottom; he could feel at last
that he was a true member of the St Angela’s staff and not just some callow
interloper. The Head had certainly done his stuff on her this morning though;
the full pale rounded cheeks still clearly bearing his signature — six red
stripes, precise and parallel, across their full undercurve. He must have
really stung her…
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