Desk-Top Treatment 1

From Uniform Girls 15

‘‘And who might you be, young lady?’ he asked.

‘Blayne, Sir. Monica Blayne.’ She knew who he was of course. Mr Hollis, the new headmaster. Since that morning. Which was why he didn’t know who Monica was, or presumably anyone else. She smiled: a tallish, darkly pretty girl of 17.

‘Monica Blayne. Ah yes. Captain of Tennis I believe.’

Monica flushed slightly. He knew that much then. He’d been doing his homework. ‘Yes sir,’ she said. Mr Hollis wasn’t bad looking for someone that age. And certainly younger looking than Mr Pringle, his predecessor. Amanda Smithers when they’d first seen him in Assembly this morning had said, ‘Oooohh look…!’ Meaning, ‘Ooh look, isn’t he nice.’ Not that Monica fancied men that age.

‘Yes,’ said Mr Hollis. ‘Hence the tennis kit. Been practising?’

‘Yes sir.’ Monica swung the racquet loosely to and fro. Mr Hollis seemed all right. Easy-going. Which had been one good thing you could say for Mr Pringle.

‘Ah. Wednesday afternoon, though, Monica. Isn’t that supposed to be private study?’

Monica’s big brown eyes widened. He was easy-going, wasn’t he? ‘Yes sir. But, well sir, Mr Pringle didn’t mind if we did something else. On the quiet. Not really, sir.’

Mr Hollis came a step closer. They were round behind the gym and there was no one else about. Some girls would be doing private study but others, well, they could be doing various things. Nothing really criminal of course but probably not working. St Marcia’s had been a relaxed place under Mr Pringle who had not wanted much more than a quiet life.

‘I happen to think that rules are made to be taken notice of, Monica. Not blithely ignored. As you are the one I’ve caught, so to speak, I think you and I had better have a little talk. Especially as, being Captain of Tennis, you are one of our leaders. More than a little talk in fact. After school shall we say? 4.30 sharp. In your form room. And then you’ll be able to inform other rule breakers of the good news, won’t you?’

Monica blinked. ‘Wha… what sir?’

Mr Hollis gave her an owlish look. ‘You’ll see. Just be there, young lady.’ He glanced down at her white shorts. ‘Oh, by the way, have you got anything on under those? Knickers I mean.’

Flushing pink. A gulped ‘Yes sir.’

‘Well have them off. I just want you in the shorts. Nothing under. OK?’

Mr Hollis turned and stalked off. Leaving the school Captain of Tennis not quite sure she had heard him correctly.

----//----

Afterwards she couldn’t believe he had said it. Not really. And why would he say it? But nonetheless something made Monica in the changing room slip off her shorts and then remove her knickers and put the shorts back on. It was silly of course, she must have been imagining things. Because… It couldn’t be some sort of examination, could it? No, that was stupid. Examinations were only done by the school doctor and they weren’t done in your form room. So… Monica bundled her knickers up in her sports bag and then went to the library to work on her English essay. No more tennis this afternoon. And she had better warn the others.

But what was Mr Hollis going to do? Apart presumably from giving her a good wigging.

In no time at all the hands of the clock were approaching 4.30. Monica could feel shivers going up and down her spine. ‘Coming then?’ asked her friend Julie. Monica shook her head. ‘No. I’ve… ah… got to see this new chap. About the tennis schedules.’ ‘Lucky you,’ said Julie and went off.

Oh Cripes. Going along to her form room and with that extra funny feeling of having no knickers on under her shorts. She went in and closed the door. Sat down. Stood up again. She had a vague feeling of needing to go to the loo. But then suddenly there he was. Mr Hollis.

Closing the door behind him. ‘Hello. Here we are then and you’re not late. Good. So: My very first offender. And a new man has to be firm, hasn’t he? Otherwise the word gets round that he’s a soft touch. Eh?’

Startled by this greeting, Monica nevertheless pursued her plan; she smiled her very sweetest smile, in the hope that she might soften him up. But no.

Mr Hollis had come over to where Monica was unhappily standing, next to her desk. ‘Got them off have you? Your knickers?’

So he had said it. Oh God! Monica mumbling something. Maybe Mr Hollis didn’t hear, or maybe he was going to do it anyway. His hand came round behind her and took hold of Monica’s bottom through the thin shorts. Cupping a cheek, jiggling it in the loose shorts. She automatically shot forward, away from the hand, but Mr Hollis barked, ‘Stand still!’ She did — and Mr Hollis took hold of her bottom again. This time she stood still, though shaking.

‘That’s better, young lady. You will stand still until I tell you to move.’ The hand was jiggling one cheek and then the other.. ‘You have a very nice bottom, Monica. Tell me, did Mr Pringle ever see fit to spank it, or cane it, or do anything else to it.’

‘No sir.’ She was feeling sick. And her knees felt as if they were made of jelly.

‘No sir. Well Miss Blayne, my Captain of Tennis, Mr Hollis is going to spank you and he is also going to cane you. You are going to slip these shorts down and then he is going to spank your bare bottom and after that cane it. I am doing this because of this afternoon but also in general because various aspects of this school have got very slack. And the way to correct slackness is to start with the senior girls. Senior girls of course, perhaps even more than junior girls, greatly dislike having their bare bottoms spanked or caned. Or am I wrong in that?’

This last was no doubt a rhetorical question. Monica’s answer was a pleading ‘Please…’ For the thought was unbelievably awful — and surely he couldn’t really mean it. ‘Please… NO!…’ she gasped again.

Mr Hollis did mean it. ‘Get them down, young lady. Come on.’

Monica shook her head, more in disbelief than defiance. It had been bad enough having his hand doing that, jiggling the unknickered cheeks of her bottom. But this…

‘Take them down,’ he growled. ‘Take them down.’

She did feel sick now. Really horribly sick. But Mr Hollis was clearly not Mr Pringle. That hard, cold edge to his voice. Steely. You clearly could not wheedle round Mr Hollis, with his mind-zapping, sickening ideas of discipline.

Somehow sliding her shorts down. Her bottom bare, and her pussy bare as well. Hot-faced, Monica closed her arms in front of her — although that only left her pertly rounded bottom the more exposed. She gasped as Mr Hollis’s hand took hold of it again. This time on the bare.

‘Quite a nice one, young lady. In fact a very nice one. So your Mr Pringle never felt the need to deal with it?’ His hand was jiggling again.

Shivering, numbly shaking her head. The idea of Mr Pringle wanting to do this was — well, unbelievable. Up to a few minutes ago the idea of anyone wanting to do it was unbelievable.

Mr Hollis chuckled. ‘Clearly he didn’t know what he was missing, did he? Giving a pretty girl’s bare bottom a good tanning is one of the great pleasures in life. And naturally all in an excellent cause. For her own good, as they say.’ His hand pinched.

‘Come on then, let’s get started. Get over the desk.’

Trying to shut it out of her mind. Trying desperately to think of something, anything. Anything except the picture of herself, 17 years old, lying face down across her desk. With her shorts down round her knees. No knickers on. Her firmly curving bare bottom spread out before Mr Hollis’s eyes. The vision was so unbelievably dreadful… But of course it couldn’t be shut out.

Mr Hollis’s hand was fiddling about. Patting and squeezing. Telling her to arch it up a bit. And then… the spanking. Horrible smacks. Hard, jolting, stinging smacks. Knocking the breath out of her. Making her gasp and grunt. Squeal and yelp. Making her poor tender bottom squirm and clench and writhe. There was no escape and Mr Hollis just kept going. He had his hand in the small of her back, holding her down. Halfway through to control her more he grabbed one hand and twisted it behind Monica’s back. While not for one second letting up.

Monica was in tears at the end of it. Hot tears springing out and rolling down her cheeks. Mr Hollis was standing her on her feet, but she didn’t seem to know where her feet were.

‘How was that, young lady. Eh?’ His face was pink, his voice breathy. ‘That’s what big girls like, isn’t it? A good, sound tanning. Eh, Miss?’

Monica made a gurgling sound and arched forward. Mr Hollis’s hand had taken hold of her bare pussy. Cupping the neat dark bush. ‘Isn’t that what big girls like?’

He let go of her there and took hold of both her arms. ‘And now we come to the painful bit, Monica. The bit that big girls really enjoy. The cane. And I want you up on the desk. Lying on your back. Holding your legs up nice and high.’

It took a little while for the full enormity of what he was saying to sink in. By that time Mr Hollis was urging her up on the desk. ‘Come on, Monica. Let’s get started.’

No! He couldn’t do it. Not like that. Not in that position. No. No!!

Yes. Yes Mr Hollis could. He was a very determined and persuasive man.

‘If you don’t do as I ask right away, Monica, you will certainly regret it. You won’t be Captain of Tennis, you won’t be anything. You won’t get any sort of reference when you leave. I might even have you dismissed right away, for gross insubordination. Now get up on that desk.’

Getting up. Like he wanted. On her back with her hands clasping behind her knees, holding them high. it was just about the most blatantly revealing position you could imagine. Everything on full display. Monica felt like she might faint or something. But any slight chance that she might actually faint went flying out of the window. As Mr Hollis’s cane sliced in across her upturned bottom. Oh My God. Outraged modesty was forgotten. With that killing, devastating pain.

Poor Monica will be back for another dose shortly…