Grangemoor Routines

A YSS story from Uniform Girls 13 following on from Two Drowned Rats.

‘Ah, Julie and April. Whatever kept you then? Where can you have been?’

The two girls were just back from their hike. Eight miles with the atrocious weather not letting up for one instant. They stood unhappily in front of Mr Bingley’s desk, red-faced and red-legged above their yellow wellies from the wind and the rain. They had taken off their oilskins and so there were bare bottom cheeks to be seen as well, in those special Institution shorts which had the two round holes cut in the seat so that a girl’s buttocks were nude and available. The girls’ bared bottoms were rather pinkish too.

‘Eh? What’s the meaning of this very late return?’

Julie blinked and shook her head. ‘Very sorry, Mr Bingley. That weather…’

But both she and April knew that Mr Bingley didn’t want to hear excuses about the weather. Or anything else. He knew well enough that they couldn’t have got back any earlier, not in those conditions, not if they went the full distance and reported at the Grey Mare, as they had to. But though Mr Bingley knew this he didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to bluster on, work himself up a bit. And then get out his cane. Or something. Mr Bingley was their Housemaster. Mr Bingley was not a nice man. But then none of the Housemasters at Grangemoor Institution were nice. Each in charge of a wing of 10 girls they made it their business to be as unpleasant and beastly as possible. They liked being unpleasant and beastly and anyway Grangemoor wanted them to be like that.

‘The weather is certainly no excuse for being as late as this.’

He peered at them from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. April was the one he fancied most. Not as tall as Julie, a nicely rounded brunette with usually, as now, a look of butter-melting innocence on her pert face. Yes, April first. Not that he didn’t fancy blonde Julie as well. But she would do nicely for afters.

‘No, I shall certainly have to deal firmly with this matter. Julie, you may go for the moment. Go back to your room and get changed. And report back here in one hour’s time.’

With a quick look at her companion Julie went out. There wasn’t much difference, having it now or later. April looked studiously at the floor. She knew Mr Bingley fancied her and also he was just about the most beastly Housemaster at Grangemoor. And that was saying something.

‘Come here, April.’

The primly unctuous voice. April shuffled forward in her wellies, round his desk to stand next to him. She had been here before of course, in Mr Bingley’s little office. So she knew what to expect.

‘So what were you doing, you wretched creatures? Eh? Meeting boys… or men? Or misbehaving at the Grey Mare?’

‘No sir,’ she whispered. Mr Bingley was patting the bare cheeks of her bottom. There was no point in arguing because it wouldn’t do any good. Mr Bingley was going to deal with her, he always did when he’d got you in his little room. There would be a choice of course. But the alternatives were equally awful.

‘What do you mean, No sir?’ But Mr Bingley did not wait for an answer to this question.

‘Slip your shorts down, April, will you.’

Yes. It was not the first time he had said that either. The cut-out areas in the seat of the shorts were there so that a girl could be instantly caned or strapped without the shorts’ removal. But like those men in the Grey Mare Mr Bingley preferred to have them down, this offering more scope. April’s hands fumbled with the popper, and the zip. There was naturally nothing underneath.

‘A little further. And then stand with your legs apart.’

The shorts at mid-thigh stretched as far as they would go by April’s parted legs. Yes, that was much better, that was how Mr Bingley liked to have a girl. His hand now lightly sliding over the fully bared bottom. April trembling with that awful feeling of vulnerability that a girl is bound to have in this position, a feeling of being… well, open. Wide open in fact for any sort of horrible, abrupt invasion. Mr Bingley’s hand.

‘Now let’s hear it, April. Improper dalliance with strange men on the way? Or at the Grey Mare?’

‘No sir,’ she yelped. Mr Bingley’s hand had slid down and April knew what sooner or later it was going to do. That inviting space formed by her parted thighs and lowered shorts.

‘Nnnngggggg…’

A hissed expulsion of breath. The hand had done it. Gone in. Mr Bingley’s voice, as if the hand and what it was now at had nothing to do with him.

‘You know what I think, April. I think you are becoming a very naughty girl and rather than being any better after two weeks here you are worse. So I have in mind laying the cane across your backside in a considerably harder manner than I have thus far done. And let you have, say, a full dozen of them. What do you say to that?’

‘Mmmggghhh…!’

A not very meaningful sound that was partly in response to Mr Bingley’s words and partly in respect to the hand. His knowing fingers. Stroking. Intruding. Entering.

‘I am afraid I cannot understand you, April.’

She was holding onto the desk now, otherwise her knees were going to buckle. She was feeling pretty exhausted anyway after being out there struggling in the wind and rain, and now what Mr Bingley was doing…

‘No… noooo…’

More identifiable this time. No to Mr Bingley’s dreadful suggestion regarding the cane and no to the hand. But April couldn’t stop the hand just as she couldn’t stop Mr Bingley giving her 12 unbearable cuts with the cane if he wanted to. Her hips were bucking, squirming and April couldn’t stop that either. The hand was deliberately setting out to get her all hot and aroused and it was succeeding. A girl couldn’t help responding, getting aroused, when… He would bring her up, to the very brink. And then…

‘Nggg…aaahhhh…’

Sounds of reluctant response. Urgent arousal. And April’s movements had correspondingly increased. She was beginning to lose control.

Was she ready yet? April’s round bottom beginning to go like a piston. Her breath coming in tortured gasps. Yes. Yes… Mr Bingley getting to his feet.

‘Get over the desk, Miss. I can just imagine how you have been behaving. Or rather misbehaving. Clearly a very hard caning indeed is the only remedy.’

The hand came away now. April, making sobbing, gasping sounds, got down. Her whole body was seething, pulsating. Mr Bingley’s fiendish hand had brought her to the very peak and she was teetering on the edge. Her whole person now ultra-sensitive to the slightest touch. But it was not the slightest touch that was coming.

THRAPP…!

It felt as if her brains had been socked through the ceiling. Out into orbit.

‘Aaaeee…’ she screamed.

The unctuous voice. ‘Keep it still, Miss. How do you expect me to hit it like that? Keep it still or it will be two dozen.’

‘Noooo…’

THRAPP!!

April’s round bottom doing some kind of frantic tribal dance as she struggled to hang on to her sanity. He couldn’t cane her this hard. He couldn’t… But…

THWAATTT!!

----//----

Weakly knocking at Mr Halford’s door. Mr Halford, Director of Grangemoor, liked to keep himself informed, to keep in touch. In particular he liked to see a girl when she had been freshly caned. So you could frequently be sent to him right after a caning. As April had been now. Sniffling sobs were still coming at frequent intervals and as for her bottom. She tried to shut her bottom and what had happened to it out of her mind.

In his office she handed over Mr Bingley’s note which detailed her offence, or rather what Mr Bingley had accused her of. ‘Loitering with strangers while on a Punishment Hike,’ Mr Halford read out. ‘And been given twelve with the cane, eh? Hmm… Let’s have a look then, shall we? Take down your shorts.’

You could of course see the stripes pretty well already, with the cheeks of April’s bottom protruding firmly out of the cut-outs of her shorts. Angry red-purpling stripes for Mr Bingley, as good as his word, had really laid it on. But like just about everyone else, in spite of the cut-outs, Mr Halford liked getting shorts down. Facing him April once more took them down.

Mr Halford had a good look at that, the neat brown bush, and then told her to turn. It was true you could see more, the whole picture as opposed to that revealed by the two round windows. A number of the strokes had been applied across the soft undercurve, and the tops of the thighs, which the two windows hadn’t shown.

‘Mmm. Must have stung I should imagine,’ Mr Halford observed sagely.

That had to be the understatement of the century. April made a sobbing sound. ‘But well deserved.’ Mr Halford’s hand was patting and squeezing. April winced, gasping. Her bottom still felt a lot like raw meat.

‘In fact,’ went on Mr Halford, ‘I rather think…’

April didn’t have to wait to hear what Mr Halford rather thought. She knew from experience, as most of the others did, that the Director liked to spank on top of a caning. A girl was naturally much more lively when her bum was in that state. Wriggling and writhing like a demented fish out of water. This seemed to appeal to Mr Halford.

April found herself being pulled down over Mr Halford’s lap.

----//----

‘Twelve!’ exclaimed Susan. ‘God, I’ve never had twelve. What about Julie?’

Julie it seemed had had twelve as well. And had also had to go to Mr Halford with a note directly afterwards.

‘God!’ breathed Susan again.

They were getting ready for bed, or rather getting ready for Pre-Bed Inspection. The 10 girls in Mr Bingley’s charge getting into the pale yellow pyjamas. Tight cotton tops and tight trousers. Grangemoor pyjama trousers were very similar to Grangemoor shorts; that is they had two nice convenient round holes cut in the seat of the garment. For the same reasons as with the shorts, i.e. so that a girl’s bottom could be quickly and conveniently dealt with.

It was almost 9 o’clock and they all scurried into position, each girl standing at the foot of her bed and facing it. This produced two lines of girls, back to back. Or bottom to bottom if you wish. At nine sharp Mr Bingley appeared. Each girl standing silent and still. And fearful. For it did not take much for Mr Bingley to slap your bottom and say matter-of-factly, ‘You can come with me, Miss.’

Mr Bingley commenced his inspection. Up one side between the two lines of girls and then down the other. That was Mr Bingley’s routine. Tracey… Susan… Joanne… He stopped at each girl with his hand fumbling about a bit. You stood patiently to attention and didn’t move a muscle while he did that. Rebecca… Sharon… Julie… He stopped a bit longer with Julie. Stroking her bum he asked if she had learnt her lesson. Julie whispered ‘Yes sir.’

But at the end, after he’d been round and inspected all of them, it was April. ‘April, come with me please.’

‘What’s he going to do?’ hissed Tracey as they all climbed into their beds. Tracey had only been at Grangemoor for two days. A couple of girls laughed. Nervous little laughs.

Because although it was acknowledged that at the moment Mr Bingley had a thing about April, tomorrow it could be you.