After the Match

Story from Uniform Girls 2

‘Your girls were rather over-matched, wouldn’t you say, Henry? Eh?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Henry, who didn’t much care about tennis tournaments and inter-school rivalry. He took the visiting school’s headmaster into the pavilion, where they were offered strawberries and cream by a shy, wide-eyed girl who seemed somewhat overawed to be in the presence of two headmasters; Sally, who found being in the presence of just one headmaster, Henry, sufficiently intimidating in the normal way. Henry thanked her and pictured her chubby young bottom in its navy blue knickers as she walked away self-consciously, skirt swinging neatly from her hips.

‘Have to have your revenge when you come to us, later in the term.’

‘I dare say we shall,’ said Henry, still engrossed in his recollection of the strawberry-bringer’s plump and bouncy buttocks as she’d squirmed across his lap a few mornings ago, first thing after assembly, her body fresh and pink from her before-breakfast shower, perfumed faintly with soap, her bottom decidedly pinker yet when he’d finally let her scamper back to her class at the end of the first lesson. A girl whose blazer sported a twist of red and white piping across the breast pocket passed Henry’s elbow.

‘Follet,’ said Henry, just loud enough for the girl to hear her name.

‘Sir?’ She swung round, breasts bobbing discreetly, but not so discreetly that the visiting headmaster’s eyes didn’t flit across the out-swell of her tits before glancing up at her face. The prefect’s cheeks began to tingle with the beginnings of a blush, the heightening of her colour not unattractive and noticed at once by Henry, who rather liked girls who blushed.

‘Tell Wimpole, Allet and Brooks that I should like to see them, please,’ said Henry quietly.

‘Um —’ The girl’s tongue peeped between her lips, something she always did when she was embarrassed, or didn’t know what to do next.

‘I should think you’d find them in the changing rooms. Tell them they’re to wait for me there.’

‘Yes sir —’ she turned to go.

‘They needn’t change out of their tennis kits; I shan’t be long.’

‘No sir — er, that is, yes sir —’ Her hair swung across her pink cheek, as she turned away again and hurried from the pavilion.

‘Nice girl,’ said Henry’s visitor. ‘Er — I mean, she seems — ah — well-mannered.’ Henry knew what he meant though.

‘Have some more strawberries,’ offered Henry...

----//----

‘Sir!’ A voice from behind and running footsteps obliged Henry to stop in his tracks and turn to see who it was and what was wanted.

‘Sir — I’m sorry sir, but — um — Hilary Follet sent me to remind you, sir.’ The girl panted a little from her running.

‘Remind me, Price? Remind me of what, pray?’

‘Er — it’s Howard, actually, sir. Um —’

‘Howard sent you? I thought you said Fowler sent you.’ Henry peered at the girl as though suspecting her of trying deliberately to confuse him.

‘No, sir — Follet sent me.’ Howard blinked her blue eyes, trying not to get mixed up and to remember that one had to keep conversations with the headmaster as straightforward as possible if his absent-mindedness wasn’t to get the better of one.

‘Follet? I see —’ Henry’s mind changed on to a fresh tack. ‘Have the visitors left yet, by the way?’

‘Yes sir,’ said Howard, self-consciously tucking her tie into the top of her skirt as she pretended not to notice that her headmaster was conducting this conversation with her with his eyes at about nipple level.

‘Bad show,’ said Henry, ‘failing to win any of our matches against them.’

‘Yes sir,’ agreed Howard, before she took a deep breath and tried again to get him back to the point but succeeding only in distracting him further by the consequent uplift of her breasts and tightening of her blouse.

‘Which reminds me,’ said Henry, thinking of Howard’s breasts and, by association, of nakedness and bottoms, ‘I don’t recall you reporting to me yesterday afternoon as you were told to.’

‘Sir?’ protested Howard. ‘I’m sure I wasn’t told to report, sir.’ She blinked some more, respectfully indignant.

‘I remember it perfectly well,’ insisted Henry, who did indeed remember telling Price to come and see him, ‘I think you’d better come along with me right now, my girl — we’ll see if we can’t improve your memory, eh?’

----//----

Howard’s flinching, trembling buttocks shivered under a last resounding slap from Henry’s practised palm; the girl squirmed across his lap and gasped a faint protest, now rather pointlessly, that it wasn’t her, sir, who was supposed to have come to get her bottom spanked.

‘Get up, Price,’ said Henry archly, pinching a fat thumb-and-finger-full of Howard’s punished buttocks, which made her squeal and scramble to her feet and rub poutingly at the place.

‘Now then, what was it you wanted when you accosted me so rudely in the corridor? Eh? Speak up, girl.’

Howard’s skirt fell down into place from her waist and she pressed her knees together childishly to distract herself from the hot sting in her bum. Ruefully she delivered the message from Follet: that Wimpole, Allet and Brooks were still waiting in the changing rooms for the headmaster to speak to them as he’d said he meant to.

‘Thank you, Price,’ said Henry patronisingly, ‘Now you may go.’

Howard brushed tears from her cheeks and tugged her tie straight, and she looked for a moment as if she were about to speak. Then she bit her lip and smoothed her skirt down.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said and left the study, a hand wandering up the back of her legs, under her skirt as soon as the door was closed behind her, touching gingerly at bare, spanked skin. Bare, because the absent-minded Henry still had the girl’s knickers in his jacket pocket, where he’d put them for safe-keeping whilst he spanked young Howard. Howard, who hadn’t quite dared to ask for her knickers back in the light of what had happened the last time she had initiated a conversation with the headmaster, went off sniffily and knickerless and Henry opened the door of his study, paused for a moment as though not quite sure of where he was supposed to be going, then headed off along the corridor — in the wrong direction.

Henry passed the door of the Senior Girls’ changing room without remembering that that was where Wimpole, Allet and Brooks were still waiting.

Inside, the sound of his approaching footsteps had stirred butterflies and occasioned the anticipatory tweaking-together of young buttocks, the girls knowing well enough what the forthcoming ‘interview’ was likely to mean for their bottoms — but Henry’s memory had failed him as usual, and he went prowling off round the school with the feel of Howard’s spanking still tingling his hand and with the idea lodged in his brain that there was going to be another bottom that needed spanking, if only he could think where!

Henry’s feeling solidified into firm expectation upon rounding the corner of the corridor which issued onto the main entrance hall; there, standing outside the door of the little room which served as a punishment room for those other members of staff empowered corporally to chastise disobedient pupils was Shaw. A blonde-haired girl of shy demeanour still dressed as she had been during the tennis tournament, in pale green tee-shirt and dark green shorts, the kit that all the ball-girls had worn. Standing facing the punishment room door, young Shaw’s shorts-cuddled bottom, plump and high-lifted and saucy in the extreme, reminded Henry at once that she was the girl whose bum had most taken his fancy whilst the matches were in progress, and whose self-consciously inept retrieval of a ball that had landed in the dignitaries’ box, with stepped on feet the least of her clumsiness, had presented him with the ideal excuse to tell her to ‘report to the punishment room’ after the match.

Rewarded, then, by his faith in his feeling that there was a bottom to be punished, and led by good fortune to stumble upon the girl whose bottom it was without having to go to the trouble of remembering where she might be found, Henry got into his stride at once and ordered the girl through the little door and out of her green shorts. A cane hung handily from a hook behind the door; Shaw’s cheeky buttocks lifted themselves obediently across the top of the punishment horse, up towards the cane (she’d been caned often enough in the past not to need to be told to lift her bum up), and Henry delivered the first, hard stroke.

Panting and gasping, bleating and kicking and wriggling her bottom with every swish of the cane, Shaw got her six strokes, grouped neatly across the under-bits of her buttocks where she’d have to sit on them and continue to feel their smart for twenty-four hours or more.

So entirely satisfactory was this exercise, and provided with the authority, as he was, arbitrarily to amend the rules governing the chastisement of pupils, Henry let the girl up, lectured her until her weeping had subsided into a woeful snuffling, then made her get back across the horse for a second dose, on top of that first one.

Now Shaw was noticeably less eager to elevate her trembly bottom for the cane to tease and then crack down across; only by dint of much persuasion and no little threatening of dire consequences could she be coaxed into sticking her bum up to be caned.

Shakily, and with wide eyes peeping back across her shoulder, the girl’s bum lifted itself by fits and starts and presented its already-wealed chubbiness to Henry and his cane. Henry took his time, teased the impudent buttocks with several playful pats then began all over again.

Shaw’s tearful efforts to wangle her caned bottom back into her tight shorts when Henry had eventually finished with her provided him with almost as much entertainment as had the actual business of chastising her. Pink-cheeked and pout-lipped she stood rubbing her bum whilst Henry lectured her briefly once more, and then she was allowed to go, her saucy bottom waggling dolefully behind her as Henry followed her out of the punishment room, cane still absent-mindedly in his hand.

Thus it was that, with his cane still quivering in his hand as he strode along, Henry chanced to re-pass the Senior Girls’ changing rooms. The sound of girls’ voices coming faintly from within aroused his curiosity, and he turned aside to investigate, knowing that whoever they were who were in there, they certainly shouldn’t be there at this time of day. Indeed not; bottoms were going to be caned, that was for sure!