Prefect’s Club

A nice photo-story from Uniform Girls 8

‘Being a prefect is of course a signal honour,’ said the Headmaster. ‘It brings many privileges within the school and undoubted advantages when a girl leaves. But in accepting these advantages she is also expected to do what she can for the school. Little services etc.’

Christine Bilton, seated with 50-ish Mr Astley in his office, said of course she would be more than happy to do anything. Did a certain shrewd look come into the head’s eye at that ‘anything’? Christine was certainly a most attractive girl, a pretty blue-eyed blonde, taller than average and with a ripe, womanly figure. Physical attributes, face and figure, were undoubtedly taken into consideration when the Head chose a prefect; indeed it could be said that they were the prime considerations. Such attributes could be put to excellent use by the school. Those little services...

Christine was at present wearing her school uniform, as was to be expected on a school afternoon. Blue-and-white check frock, a pale blue blazer, to the cuffs of which she would now be entitled to add a prefect’s silver piping. The blue check frock stopped short at nyloned knees. Nylons of course, for all Sixth Form girls, they added a touch of elegance. Seamed sheer brown nylons tautly fastened with a suspender belt under the blue cotton skirt. Yes, Christine Bilton was a very attractive proposition, 17 now and just entered the Upper Sixth. Robert Astley had had his eye on her for some time but a girl had to be in the Upper Sixth to be a prefect. It was only then, he considered, that a girl had sufficient maturity to handle those extra duties required of that office. Those little services for one thing.

The Head got to his feet and Christine did likewise. He shook her hand in congratulation. ‘Fiona Edwards will give you details of, ah... this and that, Christine.’ Fiona was Head Girl. ‘We try to run things like a close little club and of course I must state that a lot of things to do with the, er, club are very confidential. The prefect body is, as you might say, a closed elite.’

Mr Astley’s hand let go of Christine’s and in his friendly manner slid round Christine’s waist. He chatted on a bit about Christine’s subjects, English and History. As he did so the hand slid down from Christine’s waist and onto her bottom. It was a full, firm bottom, contained in a pair of brief knickers under the thin cotton frock. As he talked Mr Astley jiggled one cheek and then the other, as if he had come across two ripe and juicy fruit and was testing their firmness and weight.

Christine, perhaps flushing slightly, nonetheless stood still and acted as if nothing was happening as her bottom was jiggled by the Head’s hand. Mr Astley was known to be partial to pretty girls and by the age of 17 pretty girls also knew that he was partial to bottoms. It was just Mr Astley’s way. And it was also a fact that pretty, shapely girls tended to be made prefect. There was not therefore a lot of point in showing dissent.

----//----

‘Congrats!’ said Fiona Edwards. ‘Welcome to the club. I assume old Astley gave you the lowdown?’

Christine said, Well, uh, he said you’d fill in the details. He mostly went on about it being an honour and all that.’

‘Take a seat,’ said Fiona, and Christine sat down in one of the armchairs.

They were in the Prefects’ Room where no one else was allowed to enter. Well, Mr Astley could, of course, but no one else not even other members of staff. There were deep armchairs and a sofa and a cosy fire crackling in the grate. Very snug. Two other prefects, Joanne Summerly and Liz Webster, were in there as well and they also said ‘Congratulations’ to Christine.

‘Well, it’s not only an honour,’ said Fiona. ‘You can make a bit of money as well. Quite legit. The Head allows us to keep 10 per cent, the rest has got to go to the School Fund.’

Christine looked somewhat bewildered.

‘The assignments,’ said Fiona. ‘Dates, if you want to call them that. Your little services for the school.’

Christine was still not a lot the wiser. ‘What are these… services? And... who do we do them for?’

Joanne, a pretty blonde who had been a prefect since last year, laughed. ‘The two 64,000 dollar questions!’

‘Yes well,’ said Fiona. ‘The services can be almost anything. I mean babysitting for instance or any other sort of help.’

That didn’t really seem to add up. Keeping 10 per cent of a babysitting fee was not something to get excited about. Christine looked wonderingly at the others.

Joanne gave a cackly laugh. ‘He pays a special price. For the extras.’

‘Extras...?’

‘OK,’ said Fiona. ‘Letting him smack your bum, that sort of thing. A lot of men will pay a very good price if a good-looking girl lets them take her knickers down and smack her bum.’

Christine’s face gradually reddened. It was not easy for your mind to take... all of a sudden. But gradually... Yes it made more sense. Unbelievable though it might be. You mean...’

‘Spanking mostly,’ said Fiona. ‘I mean you can offer whatever service you like, if you know what I mean. Joanne does, don’t you, Jo dear?’

Joanne made a face. ‘Don’t be a bloody pig, Fi.’

‘Anyway,’ continued the Head Girl, ‘everyone in the Prefect’s Club has got to agree to at least spanking. It’s not a lot to ask, is it? To take your knickers down for the good old school.’

Joanne and Liz giggled. Christine said ‘Christ!’ She couldn’t think of much else to say. So this was why old Astley had been so coy about little services’ to the school, while he jiggled away at her bottom. It was her bottom that Christine was supposed to put to use in the Prefects’ Club.

She licked her lips. ‘Uh... it’s a bit of a shock... I don’t know that I...’

‘There’s no backing out.’ Fiona’s voice was sharp. ‘You’ve been picked and that’s it. The Head will see that you won’t ever get a job when you leave if you won’t co-operate. You’ll never get a reference — or at least only a bloody awful one.’

Christine’s flush deepened. Getting a job and needing a reference were facts of life, things not to be argued about. ‘Oh, no... I wasn’t actually, uh, thinking of backing out. It’s just... well, I never realised.’

‘It’s kept extremely hush-hush,’ Fiona told her. ‘Naturally. I mean there are a lot of interfering people around. So you will have to keep strict silence, Christine Bilton. Nothing to that boyfriend, for instance.’

Colouring afresh, Christine said ‘Of course.’ It was still difficult to fully accept. And what had Fiona meant about Joanne and other services? Cripes! The mind boggled. Christine wasn’t a virgin, she and Simon had... just a couple of times. But...

‘Uh, how does it... I mean how do we...?’

Joanne smirked. ‘Fiona is the organiser. She’s got lists. And phone numbers. Haven’t you, Fi? I should think you’ll be in great demand, young Christine. I mean, a good-looking blonde with a nice big fat bum.’

‘Don’t be a pig,’ Christine said weakly.

‘No bickering please, girls.’ Fiona had got to her feet. She went to a cupboard which proved to contain a bottle of sherry and glasses. ‘We’ll drink to our new colleague.’ The sherry was poured. ‘May she be happy and content in her prefect’s duties.’ Joanne gave a hooting laugh. Christine choked a little on her drink. What would she tell her mother... or Simon. But the answer of course was nothing. She wasn’t allowed to. And in any case...

----//----

Number 10 Fairfield Avenue. It was at the other end of town from Christine’s house and she rode over on her bike. She was due to be there at 6.30 and she had told her mother she was going round to her friend Peggy’s. Christine had on her school raincoat, putting it on in her room and then walking out past her mother with her heart in her mouth. It was as if her mother had X-ray eyes whose gaze could penetrate the blue raincoat and see underneath. That awful maid’s outfit.

Fiona had said, ‘You can put it on when you get there but he might get ideas when you start taking your clothes off. Of course maybe you’d like him to get ideas, Christine! Numbly Christine had said she would put it on before, at home.

The maid’s outfit had come from that shop that dealt in such things. This man, Mr Slater, had specified what he wanted and it had been hired. Christine had gone to collect it but he was paying for it of course. It came with a set of really sexy underwear. The man in the shop had been almost licking his lips as he held up each item for Christine to see: black sexy half-bra, matching lacy black suspender belt, white French knickers...

‘Is it for a play... or perhaps a party?’ he asked. Christine, not wishing to think about it said it was a kind of party.

She had it all on now: the maid’s outfit with the sexy underwear, her own black high-heeled court shoes — all under her blue gabardine raincoat, as she cycled to Number 10 Fairfield Avenue. It was her first ‘little service’ Christine felt pretty awful — terrible in fact. Joanne, it seemed, had also been to Mr Slater to be a maid for an evening.

Joanne had rolled her eyes and pinched Christine’s arm when Christine got the assignment. ‘Mr Slater is quite something, Christine. Not one of these old fumbling fogies; not all that old and very masculine. Very aggressive!’

Christine had felt like running off and hiding somewhere, but that was not really on. So here she was on her bike and here very shortly was Fairfield Avenue. Number 10...

It was detached, set back from the road. A substantial house: the home of someone who could afford to pay for his little pleasures in life. Christine shivered but nonetheless wheeled her bike up the driveway. Parked it. Rang the doorbell...

‘Ah hello! Christine is it?’

Christine nodded, struck dumb, remembering what Joanne had said. Very aggressive. He did have a hard face, like some sort of villain on TV. She was in the hallway now and he was fumbling at her coat, at the buttons. Christine took it off and there she was in this brightly-lit hall in this humiliating maid’s uniform.

‘Oh yes,’ he said, eyes keenly going over her. ‘A little maid from school, eh? Quite a nice little package.’

Christine squealed as his hands reached out and grabbed her tits, squeezing them in strong fingers. As she twisted and squirmed he gave a harsh laugh and Christine squealed again, a high-pitched urgent yelp. One hand had gone down and had taken hold of her pussy through the thin skirt and apron. The squeal rose to even higher pitch as fingers clutched deep between her thighs. Hot-faced, Christine struggled frantically — while Mr Slater merely laughed.

‘I thought you big girls liked it being felt!’ He had finally let go.

Christine was quite shell-shocked; she had not expected anything quite like this.

‘Your first time, isn’t it?’

Red-faced, she nodded. He had a hard voice to go with his looks. Really scary. Christine was shaking all over. How could he just grab her like that!

‘So I’m the lucky fellow to get you first, eh? Well that is nice.’

He grabbed Christine’s arm, turning her round. This time an uncompromising hand shot up the back of the short skirt. Up beyond the nylon tops to the full bare thighs above and then on to those sexy white French knickers.

‘Aaaoooowww!!’

Mr Slater had delivered a viciously sharp pinch to the full flesh of one bottom cheek.

He took his hand away and slapped her bottom. ‘Right, young lady. Let’s get you to work, eh. You’re supposed to do your little duties while you’re here. Know how to make coffee, do you?’

In the kitchen Mr Slater showed her where things were. Christine was to make coffee and take it into him. He told her how he wanted it but it wasn’t easy to concentrate; and then her hands were shaking so much they would scarcely function. With what he had done already what was to come didn’t bear thinking about.

He was seated in an armchair when Christine went in on trembling legs. There was a little table next to him — clearly where her tray had to be put down. She approached warily, hoping to stay away from those awful hands. But she was being rather too hopeful.

‘No, Christine, round here: in front of me. Don’t you know that a maid always stands so that her bottom is convenient for her master’s hand?’

Christine forced herself to move round.

‘That’s it. Good. Now lean forward. Bend from the waist.’ His hand slid up behind. That’s better. A well-trained maid should know all this, of course.’ The hand groped Christine’s bottom... and then went in between her legs... Somehow she managed not to send tray and coffee flying.

Out in the kitchen again, when Mr Slater had finally let her go, there was a pile of washing-up in the sink to do. But anything was better than getting close to Mr Slater and those terrible hands. For once washing up seemed almost a pleasure to the devastated Christine. Mr Slater came into the kitchen just as she finished.

Grabbing her from behind, two hands at her bottom.

‘That’s good, my dear. And now it’s time for getting down to business. The maid’s daily spanking. Maids always have a daily spanking; did you know that?’ The hands were very busy. They were quite different hands from Mr Astley’s lightly jiggling ones: much more urgent.

‘Go back in the lounge, Christine, and wait there for me. I want you standing by my chair with your knickers down and I want this dress unbuttoned and pulled down so that your tits are out. Is that clear?’

----//----

‘Everything all right, Christine?’ inquired the Head. ‘Everything all right in the Prefects’ Club?’

Christine managed a ‘Yes sir’. It was the day after, mid-morning break. The day after that horrendous visit to Mr Slater. She had already seen Fiona this morning and Fiona has asked virtually the same question i.e. how had it gone with Mr Slater. Christine had not been able to bring herself to answer.

‘Sorry about that,’ Fiona had said. ‘He can be a bit awful, I know. Most of them aren’t that bad. Actually it was Joanne. She rang him and told him we had a new prefect and then he insisted on you. I couldn’t really refuse.’

I hear you did your first little, ah, duty,’ continued the Headmaster. Somehow Christine managed another ‘Yes sir.’

‘Maid’s duty, I hear. Mr Astley seemed to be very well informed.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve been able to take that outfit back yet?’ That clearly had to be correct. Christine was returning it after school.

‘I tell you what,’ said the Head, eyes glinting, Come and see me after school. I can give you a lift.’

Mr Astley did give Christine a lift after school but not to the shop. Instead he drove her to his own house. ‘We’ll have a nice cup of tea,’ he told her. His eyes were on the bag which contained the maid’s outfit. In his lounge he said, ‘No need to worry about rushing it back this afternoon. We can keep it for another night.’

And then he said the inevitable, what by now Christine knew very well he was going to say.

‘What I should like, Christine, is for you to put it on for me. Do you think you could do that?’

When it was your Headmaster and sometime in the not too distant future you were going to need a reference, well, a girl did not have a lot of choice.

‘You can put it on in here. No one else is going to come in.