Jennifer

Story, one of several featuring St Mildred’s, from a magazine that begins with K that shall remain nameless.

There’s a hush attends the rooms of Academe, a sort of cathedral calm such as one finds in old churches and places of national reverence. One talks of dreaming spires and one thinks of a lofty, contemplative dignity far above and distant from the hurly-burly of the everyday world.

St Mildred’s is far from being a dreaming spire seat of learning but it has that same dignified ethos. Even when its corridors and cloisters ring with the light footsteps and silvery tones of its schoolgirl alumni there is a transcending aura of sober dignity and pervasive timelessness about its weathered granite walls.

And nowhere is this sobriety more apparent than in the studies of the staff. Enter your room, close the door, and the silence settles around you like a cloak. Solid granite walls surround you, thick carpet muffles your footfalls, the door itself, of solid oak, shuts out all sound from the corridor beyond. Light from the velvet-contained casement window strikes dully on dark polished oaken wall panels that are patinaed with age and on heavy, solid furniture that was old a century before.

Peace and privacy, that’s what your study promises you when you close your door at the end of the day. Your own private sound-proofed chamber where you can relax content that the world is shut out and you can follow your inclinations secure in the knowledge that no one is about to disturb you and that nothing you may be about to do will disturb anyone.

‘Hear the silence,’ I said into the silence of the study behind my back.

Leaning forward with my hands braced on the deep recess of the window ledge I looked down into the quadrangle where the westering sun striking through from one corner turned the grass to burnished gold and cast long shadows of the girls walking in pairs and groups in the evening calm.

Silence answered me and I let my eye travel up the shadowed massif of the school wing opposite to the bright yellowing sky. Concorde was arrowing eastward up there, a glittering wedge of peerless technology angling towards Heathrow, too high for the sound of its jets to penetrate the thick glass of my window. I watched it pass out of sight behind the clock tower then reached up and jerked the red velvet curtains closer together. Not completely closed — I wanted some light to penetrate inside my den.

I turned round and looked at Jenny Pitt. She dropped her eyes to the carpet then looked up timidly under her eyebrows.

‘The silence, girl,’ I said, ‘Listen to it for a moment. Let it penetrate your mind and bones. Realise how quiet and cut-off we are up here.’

The girl’s eyes dropped again, then as I moved out of the direct light from the window she watched my feet cross the carpet. I looked at the yellow strip of sky reflected in the glass side panels of my bureau.

‘Just you and me, girl, just you and me,’ I said, ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, and all that, eh?’

No sound from the girl but looking at her where she stood sideways onto me now I saw that behind her back her fingers were twisting frantically together.

‘Nervous, Pitt, are you?’ I asked, ‘I don’t blame you. You’re as alone with me up here as if we were on a desert island, and you’re just about as far from help. You know the rules of the school — discipline is at the discretion of the Master of your House and no complaints are entertained from the pupil involved afterwards. You understand that, Pitt, don’t you? I said, don’t you, girl!’

‘Y…yes, Mr. Springer, sir,’ she said, starting nervously as I bellowed the last words. She looked very close to tears.

‘Good. That’s very good, Pitt,’ I said, ‘You’d be advised to keep that in mind. No matter what happens to you up here it would be pointless of you complaining to the Head. A master’s word is always taken against that of a pupil. Especially one who has offended against the rules of the school.’

I went close to her, placed my finger under her chin and turned her head up and sideways.

‘Look at me, Pitt, when I’m talking to you,’ I said, ‘Ah, that’s better.’

She had the most marvellous eyes. Big and emerald green, beautiful and guileless. Misty with unshed tears that made them even more appealing. I told her.

‘You’ve got beautiful eyes, Pitt,’ I said, ‘and the skin under your chin is soft and flawless as a rose petal. When you grow up you’re going to be a very desirable and sought after young lady.’

I passed my hand along her jaw line and down to caress the warmth of her fragile neck under the thick curtain of her silky white-gold hair. She flinched and I felt a tremor run through her, but she didn’t say a word.

‘But that part’s for the future,’ I said. ‘Right now you’re a schoolgirl. Very attractive, very appealing, but still undoubtedly a schoolgirl. And schoolgirls have to be disciplined if they break the rules. You did break the rules, Pitt, did you not?’

‘Y…yes sir,’ she said, so low that I almost didn’t hear it. Such a sweet, melodious little voice, so full of misery and apprehension!

‘Good,’ I said, ‘and I’m the master who has the task of punishing that wrong-doing.’

At last, I said to myself. Then, what the hell, why not? I started to work my hand down along her slender back.

‘I was beginning to think I would never have cause to punish you, Pitt,’ I said, ‘You have always been such a good little girl polite and industrious, attentive to your work in class, keeping clear of trouble and achieving excellent grades. A regular paragon of virtue, little Miss Jenny Pitt has been over all these years.’

‘I… I’ve always tried to do my best, sir,’ she said plaintively.

‘Of course you have,’ I said, ‘and the best of it is, you haven’t been priggish about it. You’re one of the most popular girls in the school and I’ve never heard anyone utter a bad word about you. You’re a very special young girl, Jenny Pitt, very special. I’ve had my eye on you ever since you first came here as a twelve-year-old.’

My hand had reached to top of her bum and was starting to encroach for the first time on those sweet young swellings that had figured in my dreams for so long.

‘You… you have sir?’ Jenny said, ‘Why, sir?’

‘Look in the mirror any time and you’ll see why, Pitt,’ I said, ‘you’re gorgeous, girl — absolutely bloody gorgeous!’

‘Sir!’ she cried as my hand swooped and took possession of one cheek. ‘Sir, please don’t do that!’

She pulled away from me and as my hand pursued her she actually struck my wrist!

‘Pitt!’ I said, ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing? Stand still girl and don’t move until I give you permission!’

Her underlip came out and she stared at me with her eyes big and frightened.

‘Sir, please sir,’ she said, ‘Don’t touch me there. It… it’s not right sir and I don’t like it!’

‘Who gives a damn whether you like it or not?’ I asked, ‘Are you trying to tell me what sort of punishment you are or are not prepared to accept?’

A flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. ‘N…no sir,’ she said, ‘but that… you weren’t p…punishing me then!’

‘No? Then please tell me exactly what you think I was doing, Miss.’ I said.

Her face flamed scarlet and she scuffed her toe in the carpet.

‘Speak up!’ I said, and let the silence drag on as she hung her head.

‘Right, girl. I’ve got no patience with this.’ I said at last, ‘You’re a stubborn, wilful girl, unprepared to accept her punishment, and you leave me no alternative.’

I turned away, walked over to my desk and picked up the phone.

‘I am going to ring the Headmaster,’ I said, ‘and tell him you are uncontrollable. Furthermore, I shall recommend your instant dismissal from this school. I assure you he will accept my word and within the hour your parents will have been informed that you are being sent down in disgrace.’

The blush fled from her face and she turned pale.

‘Sir… sir!’ she cried, ‘You wouldn’t! Oh please, why? I haven’t done anything! I only…!’

‘You only struck your housemaster when he was attempting to discover if you had a book or something similar stuck inside your skirt to deaden the effect of your impending punishment,’ I said, ‘Aggravated assault is, I assure you, an offence warranting dismissal!’

‘Sir! Please no, I didn’t! I mean, I didn’t mean to!’ she cried, stepping towards me with her hands outstretched in pleading. ‘I’m sorry sir, I didn’t know! Please don’t tell him! Please!’

‘What, and have you giving me further trouble about something else you chose to object to in five minutes time?’ I said, beginning to dial. ‘No, my girl, you’ve shown yourself to be an objectionable little minx for all your sweet looks. I’ll have you packing your bags before the sun sets and away from St Mildred’s School for Young Ladies in time to catch the last train. What a homecoming that will be, Miss Too Good to be True!’

‘Sir!’ she cried, wringing her hands, ‘Please no, I’m sorry! Please don’t do it sir! I’ll do anything, sir, anything, only don’t expel me! My parents… my parents would kill me!’

I pushed down the button on the phone and stared coldly at her.

‘Get me a cigarette out of the box,’ I said, nodding at the desk.

She looked at me then at the box in puzzlement, caught on the wrong foot by my unexpected request Then she started towards the desk.

‘From that side,’ I said as she started to head round towards my side.

She altered course and putting the phone down I walked round beside her. She was so small that she was at full stretch as she reached for the box, her thighs against the edge of the desk and her torso along the top. I looked down at her young bum, rounded and beautifully outlined under her short blue school skirt.

‘No more nonsense Pitt?’ I said.

‘No sir, honestly sir,’ she said, looking back at me with her hand inside the box.

‘You’re sure?’ I asked, placing my hand on the top of her buttock. I felt it tremble.

‘Y…yes, sir,’ she said.

‘Good,’ I said, bringing my hand smoothly over one rounded check and digging my fingers into its tension.

She turned her face to the table top and I saw the deep flush suffuse it again before the golden hair hid it. I moved round directly behind her and brought my other hand into play. Her hand was motionless within the box.

‘Take a cigarette out and light it for me,’ I said, ‘Come on girl, you’re here because you were caught smoking in the toilet, so don’t pretend you don’t like it.’

She fumbled a cigarette to her mouth then reached for my desk lighter. I was standing close against her and I drew a deep breath as her stretching moved her curves maddeningly. My thumbs traced the inward swoop of the knicker elastic which I could feel through the skirt. She was so warm and soft!

‘Keep it going till I’m ready for it, Pitt,’ I said. ‘I want to make absolutely sure you have nothing concealed here, and it could take me some time. Alright?’

A pause, then… victory!

‘Alright, sir,’ she said in a small voice.

I stepped back and ran my hand down the back of her leg. It hadn’t far to go before it reached the hem of her skirt. Then I brought it back up. She in her turn sucked in her breath.

‘That’s a good girl,’ I said softly.

The cigarette was three quarters smoked when I reached to take it from her. I took one drag from the tip that was wet with her saliva then stubbed it out.

‘All right, you can straighten up now,’ I said and she dragged herself upright.

Her face was flushed, but not just from embarrassment. She flicked back her dishevelled hair, not meeting my eyes. I turned her round and walked her back to her original place in the centre of the room, my hand resting possessively on her bum.

‘You don’t want to smack my hand away now, do you — Jenny?’ I asked as we stopped.

Her head dropped lower.

‘No, sir,’ she whispered.

‘Do you want to complain to anyone?’ How snugly my finger fitted into her crease!

A very definite shake of the head. ‘No sir!’

‘Good. Now just stand there for a moment.’

I left her and went to my chair. Sitting down I unhooked the cane from the arm, draped it across my lap, crossed my legs and sat back comfortably. This was a moment to savour, to draw out enjoyably, and to milk of its full, rich pleasure. A moment I’d long anticipated and longed for.

She stood directly in the line of the bright light from the window, illuminated as though by a spotlight against the dark background of the study. She was only some five foot three in height, beautifully slender and coltish, and her breasts were little apples under her white school shirt. A truly golden girl, the sort who in a year or two would bring a hush to any room into which she walked.

Even now as a girl-woman there was an air of delicious femininity about everything she did, a natural delicacy in her movements and an aura of latent sexuality in her being which was all the more potent for being unaware.

‘Jenny,’ I said a little breathlessly, ‘I want you to obey my instructions faithfully and to the letter. Bring your hands up and undo the zip at the side of the skirt.’

Her head shot up and her mouth and eyes opened wide. A pink flush mantled her cheek.

‘B…but sir!’ she protested.

‘No arguments, please,’ I said, ‘We’ve gone beyond that stage. You know perfectly well that girls are occasionally caned on the bare bottom if their offence warrants it, so please do as you’re told.

‘Sir, I’ve never… no-one’s ever… no man’s ever seen me…’she floundered.

‘I intended to give you twelve with the cane,’ I said, ‘It’s now thirteen.’

‘Thirteen!’ she said aghast at the blatant injustice of it. Six was after all the usual maximum.

‘Fourteen,’ I said inexorably.

She gulped and lowered her head again, her eyes miserable and scared. Modesty took very much a back seat as she contemplated the awful thought of fourteen full blooded swipes of the cane on her tender backside.

The zip whispered down and she took a grip of her skirt waistband.

‘Lower it slowly,’ I said cruelly, ‘I want to enjoy the sight.’

She glanced at me sideways but obviously thought it not in her best interests to express what her eyes revealed — that I wasn’t supposed to enjoy looking at her.

Hunched over, she began to lower the skirt. Her knickers came into view, wrinkled from the manhandling I’d given her bum through the skirt, then her upper thighs. She had lovely young legs, superbly shapely, long and smooth-skinned. At the thought that in a moment or two I would be handling their satiny warmth I had to adjust myself in the chair. Jenny must have noticed the movement for her face flamed scarlet again.

‘Wait,’ I said as she made to step out of the skirt, ‘Turn round with your back to me then do that.’

The thought of incurring a fifteenth stroke made her shuffle round and present the view I wanted. I could practically read her mind — she had decided I was a dirty old man. Which amused me — after all I was only fifteen years her senior!

Meanwhile her obvious reluctance made my enjoyment all the greater. When her bottom was pushed out to its fullest extent I ordered her to pause and hold the pose while my eye drank in the sight of the teenage curves tautening the navy blue school knickers.

‘Alright,’ I said after a moment, ‘Carry on. Fold the skirt up neatly and place it on that armchair… Now walk over to me. No, don’t hold your hands in front of you; keep them at your side.’

She tried to walk sedately but her anatomy was against her. She had a natural swing to her hips which she couldn’t control and what it did to that vee of dark cotton at the base of her belly forced me to uncross my legs to give myself room.

‘Sit down, Jenny,’ I said, invitingly, indicating my lap.

She looked askance at my obvious erection, debated inwardly, then tightened her lips, turned round and perched herself gingerly on my knees, as far away from that bulge as she could manage.

‘Take off your shoes,’ I said.

‘But…!’

‘Fifteen!’ I said.

She lifted her foot high to get at the laces, and I enjoyed the way her bum-flesh squashed and the hard pelvic bone pressed into my leg, making the softness between all the more apparent. One shoe dropped with a thump, then she attended to the other one.

‘Good,’ I said, ‘Now stand up, turn round and drape yourself across my lap.’

Silence. She stood up, turned round and stood there looking bitter.

‘I’m waiting,’ I said.

‘Sir,’ she said, ‘May I ask a question without getting another stroke added on for just opening my mouth? Why do you want me over your lap? You can’t cane me like that!’

‘I’m not going to cane you like that,’ I said, ‘I’m going to remove your knickers and prepare you for caning. Now you’ve had your answer — get down please.’

A battle of wills while she met my stern eye. But there was no real contest — she knew she’d lost the game in our earlier confrontation.

Aaah! Her slight weight settling over my lap, her trying to avoid touching me with her interesting bits, to no avail. Once she was approximately in position I laid ungentle hands on her and hauled her willy-nilly to where I wanted her. Which was with her elbows on the floor, her face almost touching the carpet, her back bent like a bow and her legs across mine.

Aside from a few refined little squeaks as she adjusted herself she made no protest. I noticed that her hands were clenched into little fists but her white-gold hair was bunched untidily around her head and I couldn’t see her face. Besides I was concentrating on the erotic sight of her bum only inches from my nose, its cheeks clenched and rigid in expression of her outrage.

Lasciviously I ran my hand up her leg from the white-socked heel to the elastic of her knickers. It was as smooth and silky as I had anticipated. Both were held tight together and I found it impossible to force my fingers between them. To hell with this I thought, and poked my finger into the vulnerable little space right at the top. I felt it butt against the clenched bottom-cheeks then slide down into the little cave to touch her pursed love lips. Warm, bloody warm in there! She jumped, and I heard a muffled ‘Oh sir! No! Please!’

‘Sixteen,’ I said automatically. Hell, I’d no intention of laying that many on her, but the threat had been successful up till now.

She didn’t part her legs, but then I hadn’t ordered her to yet. I ran my other hand down her back, enjoying the slenderness and the feel of the young female muscles, and encountering the strap of her bra worked at it until the hooks released. No sound from her, though there was no way I could pretend that this action had anything to do with punishment. Perhaps her lack of objection had something to do with the way my finger was still scratching and poking. Certainly I could feel some of the tension beginning to go out of her thigh muscles.

Bringing my hand back up to the broadness of her schoolgirl hips I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her knickers and drew them down the curves of her bum. The sight of her naked crease brought my penis knocking like a trip hammer against her flank. She quivered noticeably and her legs tightened spasmodically then relaxed more than ever. I brought the knickers to the base of her bum and held them there — the front of them was trapped between my leg and her belly.

‘Lift up, Jenny,’ I directed.

There was no response, which suited me fine. Removing my finger from its slightly damp mist I hooked it over the knickers and drove it into the tight crease. Ah, that was definitely a sweet little anus I touched!

Jenny squealed and jerked and my other hand dived in under her belly and with surprising ease pushed the knickers to the tops of her thighs. Oh Lord, her little mons felt so chubby and damp and fitted my palm to perfection! There was quite a little bush of silky hair nesting there too!

‘Open your legs, Jenny,’ I said.

There was a space of about three breaths then slowly she obeyed. I drew the knickers further down. Seeing the white cotton of the inner gusset cling to her intimate flesh I pushed my hand in and eased it free, very gently, very carefully, very, very appreciatively. Then I held her and examined her. Untouched till now by human hand of the male variety, Jenny Pitt lay there quiescent, letting me. All the tension had gone out of her muscles and they felt lax and co-operative. Her juices began to dampen her flesh and my hand.

It was quite a surprise to her when I began to spank her. Actually I couldn’t stop myself, seeing her like that. There she lay uncomplaining, her bottom poised in the most intimate, inviting fashion. I was looking down at it. Seeing the crease wide and relaxed, all the lovely, dampening treasures exposed. The rolled-up navy blue knickers straddled the coltish thighs, stretched by the parted legs. It was a sight no true spanker could resist.

I hit her lightly on the flank, watching the cheek wobble under the impact. She moved in surprise but not in protest, for there was no sting in the blow. Nor was there any in the ones that followed, love pats really that pittered about her bottom, wobbling the cheeks and causing just a vestige of pink to creep into their alabaster whiteness.

‘Is that all right, Jenny?’ I asked. ‘It’s not hurting you, is it?’

She raised her cheek from the carpet.

‘No, it’s not hurting sir,’ she said, ‘It’s all right, in fact it’s quite pleasant!’

‘Good,’ I said, bringing my other hand up from her belly and beginning to rub the cheeks I’d warmed.

I let my thumbs roam in along her crotch, not actually entering the baby pink slit but teasing along the side of the lips, then up the crease, just brushing the anus. A few moves like that and a rolling of the springy young bum-flesh, then I brought my hand down in three measured, quite heavy slaps, each one directed at the faint line where bum met thigh. Each time my palm sank in to only just touch her moist, pouting lips. She made a little noise in her throat as she felt them and after the third had landed she waited expectantly for the next.

Instead, I reached down and said, ‘All right, that’s enough. Up you get now.’

Again she was surprised. As she started to lever herself up I let my hand trail down her side, under the shirt, and in to grasp a soft little palm-size breast. Reaping my reward for my forethought in undoing her bra, for I had no difficulty in pushing it aside and grabbing the naked flesh. Jenny didn’t even pause, but continued to push herself up. I helped by lifting, feeling the lovely little breast squash delightfully, the hard bud of her nipple resisting against my palm.

When she started to push backwards across my lap my other hand went into her crotch, delighting in other flesh squashing. I took her weight on my two hands and lifted her gently onto her feet. She stood for a moment resting her hand on my shoulder, looking bemused and shy at the same time. My arm was bent round her flank and the tips of two fingers poked through, nestling in the beautiful golden fur that clothed her mons. Her upper lips looked slack and wet and very red. Altogether she was an adorable sight.

‘Jenny, walk over to the desk and bend over it,’ I said, ‘I’m going to cane you now.’

Her eyes opened wide.

‘What?’ she said, ‘But I thought…’

‘Thought what?’ I said, ‘That you could buy your way out of trouble? Jenny, it’s a hard old world, though no doubt it will be easier for you than for most. Go and do as I say, girl.’

‘But I didn’t…’ she said, ‘I wasn’t… I’m not like that! But I thought that you…’

I smiled at her.

‘You’re adorable, girl,’ I said, ‘Trust me. You won’t regret it!’

‘All right, sir,’ she said, ‘anything you say.’

She was a poem of temptation walking over to the desk, her rumpled shirt high up her waist, her naked moons kissing shyly, her normally neat white knee socks concertinaed down her slim calves. She bent over, her arms spread wide on the desk top, and the position brought her bum into prominence. I remained in my chair for an enjoyable moment or two longer, gazing at her love pouch. The light was beginning to fade but I could still make out the pattern her fine golden hairs made criss-crossing her lips, and the gleam of moisture that dampened her flesh.

I stood up, adjusted myself more comfortably, went over and pulled the curtains fully closed. Then, with the light switched on and her arse fully illuminated I made a closer inspection of her delights. When she began to move restlessly and pushed her bottom in and out I picked up the cane.

‘This is going to hurt, Jenny,’ I said, laying its cool length against her warm buttocks.

There is a fine judgement to be made in deciding the severity of any caning one embarks on. One prime consideration is the experience or otherwise of the recipient and her capacity to absorb punishment. Jenny, I knew, had never incurred even the mildest form of correction during her five years at St Mildred’s and from her earlier reactions I could make an educated guess that mine was the first hand ever to administer a spanking — if that love play could be called such! So she was a virgin in more than the obvious way!

My first was a warning shot, not much more than a flick of the wrist, to let her feel the sting and know that the bamboo could hurt. She flinched and her head lifted. My second came in after a brief pause and took her high on the buttocks, slightly harder. My third took her in the centre and brought a gasp and lunge. I paused to let the sting bite in and allow Jenny to straighten up and rub the place gingerly. An apprehensive green eye reproached me mutely.

She settled down again.

‘They get harder, Jenny,’ I said, stepping back to give myself room to swing.

Whack! That was a meaty one, just above the third. Jenny cried out and her thighs thumped against the desk. She began to cry, arms rigid as they braced her, head bent. I watched big drops of salty misery strike the desk top and splatter.

Whaack! The cane sank into the soft flesh where my three hard slaps had landed with such force that the bamboo must have stung her intimate flesh. Jenny screeched and jerked, her tummy arching forward and her head back. As her bum recoiled from its lunge it met the cane flashing in again, fast and hard on exactly the same spot.

‘Compose yourself my dear,’ I said, ‘You must compose yourself. You have another twelve still to go!’

Jenny flung her arms around my neck, her big, green, weeping eyes pleading desperately.

‘Oh sir, I couldn’t take it,’ she cried, ‘Please don’t make me. I’d die. I really would!’

Desperation and fear of the cane’s bite had made the lovely young schoolgirl lose all her previous self-possession. When she’d spun away from the desk after the sixth stroke and run to cower in the corner and I’d followed her she’d allowed me to take her in my arms and murmur words of comfort and reassurance. She’d clung trembling and weeping to me, her lovely head buried in my chest, and let my hands roam gently all over her corrugated bum.

Now I began to loosen her tie.

‘Sir, I’ve never been punished before in my life,’ she said, ‘I’m not used to it. No one’s ever hit me before, even in play. Certainly not hard like… like that.’

I removed her tie and started on her shirt buttons. She glanced down as the last one came undone, then looked up at me uncertainly.

‘Go on,’ I said.

‘Please don’t cane me any more sir,’ she said.

‘And if I don’t?’ I asked, taking her little breasts in my hands.

‘I’ll be ever so good, sir,’ she said, gazing steadily into my eyes as I crushed her tits.

‘Very well,’ I said, ‘I shan’t cane you. Instead I’ll take the twelve you owe in another way. Remember how I spanked you when you were over my lap? That wasn’t too bad, was it?’

‘No sir,’ she said, ‘that was… that was rather nice, really. I… I quite liked it, sir.’

‘Right. We’ll do that then,’ I said, ‘only on the couch this time. And it won’t be just twelve this time. I’ll keep on till we’re both… satisfied. Will that be all right?’

‘Oh sir!’ she said, and a big smile broke through her tears. ‘That will be lovely!’