After the Return Match

An original story from Basil with a nice illustration.

More absent-minded fun in an imagined sequel to After the Match

‘Nice try, Henry, but your girls are still a little below our standard, don’t you think?’ said St Saviour’s headmaster, Charles Greenwood, smugly.

‘Indeed’ said Henry Bellish, Head of St Joseph’s, rather resignedly. Results were not normally the main interest to Henry in attending girls’ inter-school sports, but this time there had been a bit more riding on the match.

Henry was taken into the pavilion to partake in the after match refreshments. To Charles’ consternation there was not a soul around. He cleared his throat loudly. A door opened and a dark-haired girl appeared, a look of surprise, then apprehension appeared on her face at seeing the two headmasters. She turned round, disappearing for a few seconds before returning with a tray of pastries and almost ran to them to try and make up for the fact that she had not been waiting with them on offer as they had walked through the door. She held the tray up, a pink flush filling her cheeks.

Charles fixed the girl with a questioning look. ‘Amber, come and see me at morning break tomorrow. I think I have something that will improve your time-keeping, keep you on your toes, so to speak.’ He chuckled and Henry smiled. Amber opened her mouth as if to speak but then decided against it. Meanwhile Henry’s eyes were drawn to the girl’s chest area. The tightness of her summer blouse made it very obvious that the girl was not wearing a bra, whilst at the same time providing perfectly adequate containment that rendered the wearing of a bra for support entirely superfluous anyway.  Perhaps it was that tightness that had caused the objects of Henry’s gaze to become remarkably stiff-nippled, or perhaps it was being under the intimidating scrutiny of two headmasters at the same time. The selection on the tray just happened to contain two large Belgian buns each topped with a customary cherry, presenting Henry with an opportunity he just could not resist as he reached for one: ‘Aaah! Just the ticket — lovely big ones, my dear!’ whereat Amber’s cheeks, unsurprisingly, went bright red. Charles smiled wickedly at Henry’s little joke and selected a large chocolate eclair from the tray, and finally the girl was able to escape to contemplate a morning visit to the Headmaster’s study.

The pavilion had now filled up with some of the other staff and a few governors interested in school sporting matters. The two headmasters were polishing off the last of their pastries and sipping tea and the conversation turned to the little wager that had been made on the match. Charles, being the victor, was grinning broadly. Henry was a little put out at his counterpart’s gloating attitude, but it wasn’t as if he had to pay anything himself. No, it would be his girls that would be paying the price! That was the deal: the loser had to put up his girls for an hour’s post match ‘training’ under the tutelage of the winning headmaster. Of course, this ‘training’ would likely be very similar to what the girls would have received anyway from Henry himself after losing a match, and, indeed there was nothing to stop Henry from taking his girls back to the changing rooms once they got back to St Joseph’s. Nevertheless, it would have been quite a treat to take his cane to the bare bottoms of the St Saviour’s Senior Girls’ Tennis Team.

There had, of course, been plenty for Henry to enjoy in any case. Who wouldn’t enjoy seeing healthy, athletic senior girls dashing around the court, assuming you were male of course. This afternoon, it wasn’t so much the players but one of the ball girls that had caught his eye, a tallish, blonde girl. Henry wondered why she had been chosen as she seemed particularly clumsy, often needing several attempts to gather up the ball. Consequently, whenever she was called into action, she usually spent several seconds bending over, as she tried to capture the ball, with her knickered bum on full show. And quite a splendid example it was too, in Henry’s opinion, all firm schoolgirl pertness, with just the right amount of chubbiness around the lower bits that invited a good whipping for being so cheekily provocative. Henry also had the chance to study this asset in a resting state whenever she was stationed on his side of the court awaiting the end of a rally. With one knee on the ground and hands resting on the grass ready to set off, her little games skirt offered limited cover. As the match went on, the skimpy, pale blue knickers made their way deeper into the cleft of her buttocks. Despite some rather endearing tugs at the gusset, the girl was fighting a losing battle and eventually gave up, leaving Henry thoroughly stimulated by the unintended display of bare buttocks.

Needless to say, it had been a very pleasurable afternoon for Charles. He knew his girls would win, so he could enjoy the match, knowing of the treat to come afterwards. St Saviour’s Senior Girls were just a cut above their opponents. Only one of the opposition managed to win a set, nearly her match. Nicola Brooks, at first, appeared to be the weakest player from St Joseph’s, frequently making beginner’s errors and couldn’t hit a backhand at any price. However, she could unleash a rocket on her forehand — more often than not, a clear winner — and had no nerves whatsoever, overturning a 5-0 deficit to win the set. But that wasn’t the reason that Charles had been fixated by her for the whole afternoon. She had the most marvellous pair of breasts, in his view, that is. He had his own particular description for ones of that size: ‘proper big girl tits’. He was rather partial to those girls whose development in the chest area was somewhat more advanced than the rest of them. Something about their out of proportion appearance attracted him. Plus of course, such girls tended to blush furiously in front of any master. Whenever Charles was talking to them he always made a point of looking directly at the girl’s tits. Now, watching Nicola Brooks’ pair in motion around the court added a whole new dimension to his interest. It was marvellous to see her wind up for a shot, before shoulders and arms swivelled round to crash the ball, and then a moment later those marvellous tits would follow, and as she finished the stroke, her tits would continue on for a moment before returning back, bob around a couple of times, jutting out proudly in front of her, as she awaited the return of the ball.

Presently, the two teams came into the pavilion, St Saviour’s rather animated by their victory, St Joseph’s somewhat gloomy, and the two headmasters wandered over to mingle. Charles Greenwood, of course, made a beeline for Nicola, now able to admire, close up, her big tits, relishing the prospect of baring them for a full inspection in the very near future.  Henry was amongst the victorious team, outwardly congratulating and complementing their play, while at the same time his eyes were roving up and down their figures, clad as they were in scant tennis kit. He noted a curving hip here, a poking nipple there, three pairs of exquisitely long smooth legs, and occasionally, if he managed to manoeuvre himself into the right position, that distinctive outspreading of a skirt that indicated a good-sized and therefore caneable bottom. His favourite, was the dark haired Lucy, who seemed a little shy and blushed nicely as he questioned her. He imagined giving her a lot more to blush about — a naked caning for starters. Inevitably, things were stirring under his tweed trousers and causing him to stand rather awkwardly until the niceties were over and Charles took him off to his study, eager himself to do more than imagining.

Charles showed Henry in. ‘Make yourself at home, old boy. Drinks over there, newspapers on the coffee table.’ Turning round, Charles took his heaviest cane from its hook behind his desk.

‘Well, I think it’s time to enjoy my winnings, eh?’ he swished the cane through the air, grinning.

Charles left Henry and set off toward the visitors changing rooms, cane swinging nonchalantly. Henry made a sour face, poured himself a large brandy and settled himself into a large leather armchair. How he wished it was him making his way to the changing rooms.

Out by the tennis courts, the three girls of the victorious St Saviour’s Senior Tennis Team are relaxing after the exertions of the match and the constraints of the after match gathering. Georgina and Lucy sit on a wooden bench, while Victoria is cross-legged on the grass.

‘Nothing like embarrassing St Joseph’s tarts,’ Georgina said and the other two laughed.

‘And it should have been a whitewash,’ Lucy added, ‘you should have had that last set, Vic.’

Victoria replied: ‘I know, but the umpire got half the calls wrong. Is he blind?’

‘Too busy looking at Miss Nicola Big-Tits!’ Georgina answered.

‘And she knew it,’ Lucy added. ‘Slut!’

‘What about Greenwood in the pavilion? His tongue was literally hanging out!’

‘And their Head is so creepy, isn’t he?’ Lucy remarked.

‘God, yes! The way he gets really close up to you…’ Victoria agreed ‘… and does that funny breathing… Uuuuhr… Luuuucyyyy,’ Victoria mimicked in a deep voice.

‘Shut up!’ Lucy said and all three laughed.

‘You’re not kidding!’ Georgina added. ‘I swear he had a hard-on when he was talking to us.’

‘Eww! Georgina!’ the other two exclaimed together.

‘Well, what else did he have in there? A banana?’ Georgina carried on and all three fell about.

Back in the St Saviour’s headmaster’s study, the subject of the girls derision is blissfully unaware. A light breeze from the open window briefly ruffles the newspaper, now resting on Henry’s lap, having been unable to keep him awake in the face of a generous double brandy. His regular snoring is the only disturbance.

By contrast, the visitors’ changing room was far from tranquil. Charles had the trio bending over in a row, knickers around their ankles, skirts flipped up revealing three delightful bare bottoms for his delectation. Nice firm examples, as one would expect, knowing that the girls would be undertaking plenty of fitness training under the tutelage of Henry. Not small, by any means, because he was certain that, in Henry’s assessment of whether a girl was a suitable addition to his team, her vital statistics would have been equally, if not more important than her playing ability. No, there was plenty of meat that would benefit from the application of his cane. Indeed Millie’s bottom exhibited three pleasing red weals, already. The little minx deserved more than just three, he thought, and whipped his cane down for the fourth time, at full speed across the centre of Millie’s bum causing a loud squeal, ‘Owww… Owww!’ The other two grimaced at this, knowing they would be feeling it next.

Back at the Headmaster’s study, a light knock on the door causes Henry’s snoring to pause briefly before continuing.

Then another knock, louder.

‘Eh!… what?…’ He exclaims having now been woken. After a few moments he regains his composure.

‘Yes, come,’ he says.

The door opens slowly and a girl looks in apprehensively. She seems familiar to Henry, although he can’t put a name to her, which is odd, since he thought he knew all his senior girls, especially the pretty ones and she is certainly pretty. She is dressed in her games kit, short skirt showing off beautiful long legs. She holds a small piece of paper in one hand.

‘Come in, girl,’ he instructs now fully in headmaster mode.

She looks surprised to see him ‘Oh!… I came to see the Headmaster.’

‘Well, I am the Headmaster!’ states Henry.

‘But… it was Mr Gr…’ she tries but is cut off.

‘Stop dilly-dallying and come here, girl!’ he points to the carpet in front of the large desk. She thought about handing over the note in her hand by way of explanation, but decided against it, seeing that St Joseph’s headmaster was acting rather oddly.

‘Name?’ he enquires, having given up trying to place her.

‘Thompson, sir. Sarah Thompson, sir.’

Still didn’t ring a bell. He couldn’t, for the life of him, recall when and why he had put her ‘on report’, but now that she had reported, Henry didn’t need to trouble himself with such minor details. Besides which, Henry’s punishments were not generally related to a girl’s actual misconduct, real or alleged. No, there were other, more important factors: big bottoms got his heaviest cane, older girls would have to strip naked, cry babies would get extras, the prettiest girls got double the normal strokes… well, unless some sort of ‘alternative’ was agreed upon.

‘Thompson… hmm… yes…’ he pondered as he turned to select a suitable cane, except that where he expected to see his canes hanging from their hooks to the right of his desk was a painting of some hills and valleys, probably Scotland. He then saw a row of canes hanging to the left of his desk. ‘Well, I’ll be…?’ he muttered under his breath, ‘I must be going ruddy mad.’ He chose a light cane so he wouldn’t need to hold back, but long with plenty of whippiness to it so it would sting like hell, but that was the point wasn’t it? Perfect for this little tease! When he turned back, Sarah was looking at the cane with trepidation.

‘But, I haven’t done anything…’ she protested.

‘Don’t be insolent, girl!’ Henry admonished. ‘We’ll make it ten strokes, shall we?’

The girl gasped in fright ‘But, Mr Gr…’

‘Twelve!’ retorts Henry, matter of factly ‘Any more?’

This time Sarah had realised that her pleading was doing her no good at all and shook her head.

‘Over the desk, then, and be quick about it!’ Henry feasted his eyes on the tight schoolgirl bottom presented, but then raised his eyebrows. ‘What are these?’ He was referring to a pair of skimpy, pale blue knickers, certainly not St Joseph’s regulation. Then it suddenly dawned on him: the blonde ball girl. Of course, that must be why I put her on report. Making an absolute hash of retrieving the tennis ball, and right in front of the guests and dignitaries.

‘Sir?’ the girl queried.

‘Non regulation knickers!’ Henry explained. ‘Fifteen!’

‘But, they are, sir,’ she replied rather foolishly, given the previous results of talking back.

‘Twenty!’ Henry countered.

Sarah could only make a pitiful ‘Oooh…’ sound at the injustice.

Regulation or not, the knickers were dashed saucy, but now was the time to get them down and let the dog see the rabbit so to speak. Henry slipped practised fingers into the waistband and peeled them off her hips and down her thighs until gravity took over and the brief garment pooled around her ankles. All was revealed, at last. Henry never tired of the bare female bottom, even at Sarah’s youthful age it was perfectly suited to take a cane. A few moments to enjoy the view and get the circulation going: the full bulb awaiting his attentions, the dark cleft that, if he caned her hard enough to get her wiggling about, might be persuaded to open up just a little more. Yes, now things were twitching down below under his tweeds and he was definitely ready. He liked the first one to catch them off guard, no tap-tapping, he silently raised the cane. Sarah had no time to react to the whirr of the cane before a red hot pain cut across the centre of her bum. ‘Aaah… Oww… Ngh…’

Before she could recover, the second stroke was delivered eliciting an anguished squeal. Henry’s usual method was to give the first six or so fast and hard, get the girl into a desperate state, bleating out incoherent protests between gasping breaths. Like as not, when he did pause she would already be sobbing quietly, which would do her no good, rather the opposite in stoking Henry’s excitement. He gave Sarah seven real stingers as her first dose.

Sarah, knew from experience to keep her bum as still as she could during a caning, lest there were penalty strokes for ‘wiggling around too much’, but Mr Bellish’s unexpected volley of strokes had removed any self control she might have had. Her hand instinctively went back to rub her burning cheeks and was rewarded with the cane being rapped painfully across her knuckles. ‘Oww… ooh…’ The hand shot back to where it should have been.

‘Hands away, girl!’ Henry rebuked and gave her another stroke. Now he could take his time, delight in the way the angry red weals contrasted with the remainder of her milk white bum.

‘Perhaps you’ll try a little harder next time, eh, Thompson?’ Henry questioned.

A mumbled something came from the girl and moments later the cane whipped down, demonstrating the consequences of not trying harder.

‘Nnghhh… oh… oh!’ Sarah’s incoherent wails continued as Henry delivered a further batch of strokes, this time in measured fashion, waiting after each for some semblance of control from the girl before advancing towards the allotted quota. This time she tried her very best not to react but she couldn’t keep entirely still resulting in a gentle gyration of her hips that gave Henry that hoped for view. His trouser front, tightly stretched, evidenced that the enticing display had provoked a full and firm response. Now was the time to give her the final strokes, low down on those soft undercurves so she really felt it. Sarah squealed desperately before subsiding into a renewed bout of sobbing. Henry, perspiring a little from his exertions, surveyed the girl and her naked cane-marked buttocks and long legs. His thoughts were along the lines of: I’ll have this one back before too long and see how much she wants to avoid the cane!

At the other side of the school buildings Joanne and Millie sit on the wooden bench outside the changing room door bearing the label VISITORS. It is firmly closed, leading one to conclude that Nicola and Mr Greenwood are still inside the room. As if to confirm that fact, the sound of a sharp crack comes from within, followed by a girlish squeal. The two seated girls half look to each other, flinching, feeling a little sympathy for Nicola’s plight, but mostly relieved that it is her bottom, not theirs, still being tormented by a St Saviour school cane. They have each had more than enough. Further strokes are being administered inside, and both seated girls can’t help silently counting them out… two… three… four… Then Mr Greenwood’s stern voice, although only an occasional word can be made out.

‘… KEEP IT STILL!…’

… five… six… seven… eight…

The sounds from Nicola between the cane strokes have become plaintive sobs.

… nine… ten…

‘… good girl…’

… eleven… twelve… thirteen… fourteen… fifteen… sixteen…

A series of wailing sounds from Nicola respond to that batch. Joanne and Millie clench their own bum-cheeks involuntarily. It is quiet then, for a minute or so, such that distant sounds of girls laughing reach them from somewhere at the end of the corridor.

Then from within a different sound altogether. Indistinct, deeper masculine sounds that continue for an uncomfortably long time. Joanne and Millie dare not look at each other, cheeks flushing pink, their lips forming a silent ‘Ooo…’ Several minutes pass.

Suddenly the door opens and Mr Greenwood emerges, red-faced and breathing heavily, his previously immaculate attire is slightly untidy. Initially he seems not to notice the other two girls, as if he had forgotten that he had told them to wait outside. His face has an uncharacteristically blank look, with the hint of a smile. After a few moments he does notice them. ‘Oh!… mmm…’ he starts, as if to say something, but then walks off smartly up the corridor. As he rounds the corner he comes face to face with Sarah looking rather hot and bothered, who stops, removes her hand from where she had been surreptitiously rubbing her bum, and looks up open-mouthed.

‘Yes, what is it?’ Charles queries.

‘Um… the groundsman asked me to give you this, sir,’ Sarah said, holding out the rather crumpled paper.

Charles snatched it from her. ‘What have you been doing with this, girl?’ he asked, opening up the note, on which was scrawled a short message:

Dear Headmaster,

I wonder if you would be so kind as to lend me a girl to tidy up the tennis hut tomorrow morning?

Gibbins

The headmaster looked faintly annoyed. Gibbins was always quick to remind him of their little agreement, in lieu of overtime pay. Well, since Sarah’s ball girl display deserved some sort of retribution and he already had a girl for tomorrow’s morning break… he looked at her and smiled.

‘See Mr Gibbins, tomorrow morning at 8,’ then turned and set off back to his study.