Rosie

From Phoenix 3

It was Mr Lloyd’s habit, whenever he had to leave the upper part of the school to go down to that part of it which had been built on the lower level, beyond the tennis courts, to make a point of going the long way round and pass by the assembly hall, which doubled as a gym during the day. It had windows facing on to the corridor, and anyone passing by could quite easily glance into the hall and see what was going on.

On this particular day, though he’d had no actual reason to do so, he’d decided to take a walk down to the other school building. Past the hall.

Mr Forbes was taking a gym lesson. A class were being put through their paces, and since the activity which the girls were engaged upon when Mr Lloyd chanced to pass by involved lying on their backs and bending their legs up and over to touch the floor with their toes behind their heads, first to one side and then to the other, it seemed a good enough excuse for him first to stop and look through a window, and then casually to walk in and mention a matter concerning timetables to Mr Forbes, while the girls continued to reach their legs back over their heads, first to one side and then the other, stretching their tight gym shorts to the point where their nubile bottoms seemed about to burst their little shorts at the seams.

The discussion with Mr Forbes concluded, the gym teacher bounced away on his thick-soled plimsoles, peeped on his whistle, and swiftly organised four lines of girls, each line facing a vaulting horse.

Now that the bottoms had turned right way up, several of them became easily recognisable when seen in conjunction with the bright-eyed, fresh-complexioned faces which went with them. It was at this point that Mr Lloyd realised that the array of smackability which had been disporting itself on the floor had become, right way up, Form 4B.

The lines stuttered and hesitated into motion, with girls suddenly vaulting here, there and everywhere with rather more enthusiasm than finesse. And there, predictably making a mess of her very first vault, was that delightful little Debbie Howard.

Having half-collapsed as she sprang up into her vault, and winded herself, she lay panting in a rather charming heap, spread-eagled across the end of the horse.

Mr Forbes, all efficiency in the presence of the Headmaster, was at once on hand to help. It was while he was helping the girl down, and as she slid off the horse with her neat white shorts snugged tightly up under her bottom, that Mr Lloyd noticed that, just below where the legs of her shorts didn’t quite manage to contain the plumpness of her bottom. There was that tell-tale roseate glow which faded quickly into the tops of her thighs which gave it away at once. The very freshness of the finish up under her bum-cheeks told of a pretty sound spanking, and not so long ago either.

She was led solicitously to a bench and told to rest until she had recovered herself, and out of rather more than idle curiosity the Headmaster wandered over to her while the other girls got on with their vaulting, and asked how she was and whether she thought she had hurt herself very much.

‘No sir, thank you very much, I — I don’t think it’s too bad.’

She was so delightfully pretty, in a soft, almost childish way, that just being too near her was a temptation in itself. Mr Lloyd said something encouraging and earned himself a charming smile, and then he left the hall and continued on his way to the lower school.

Timing it fairly exactly on the way back, he bumped into the girls as they left the gym and ran boisterously along to the changing rooms.

He saw Debbie as she came along the corridor and he beckoned to her. She stopped and smiled in a mystified way and he asked her how she was now.

‘Fine, thank you sir.’

He chatted briefly as the last of the class passed them by, followed by the bouncing Mr Forbes, then without mentioning how he knew, he said, ‘I understand you’ve — er — had your bottom smacked again today Debbie.’

She blushed almost instantly and looked self-consciously down at the floor.

‘Yes sir — I-I have.’

‘I see — and what did you get smacked for this time?’

‘Sir — for breaking a window in the store room sir — I didn’t mean to do it sir — it — it just kind of happened.’

He smiled as she looked up. ‘Things have a way of ‘happening’ to you don’t they?’

‘Yes sir.’ She half-responded to his smile then her sweet lips framed themselves into a childish pout. She looked down at her feet again and in a small voice she went on, ‘I — I seem to get smacked an awful lot sir — compared to most of the other girls I know sir.’ She looked up again, her eyes wide and trusting. ‘I mean, most girls get lines and detentions and things sir — but — but I’m always getting my bum smack— b-bottom — sorry sir —’ She paused, searching his face for some sign of sympathy. ‘Well, I am sir,’ she finished lamely.

‘I see,’ he said. Unable to help himself he slipped his hand around the cheekiness of her bottom and patted it comfortingly. ‘Well now, I don’t suppose it’ll do you any harm. You’ll just have to try and keep out of trouble, that’s all.’

He could feel the warmth of her spanked buttocks as the palm of his hand lingered up under the curve of her bottom. Reluctantly he took his hand away, and smiled again to reassure her.

‘Well —’ he said after a moment, ‘— you’d better run along now. Don’t want to be late for your next lesson.’

‘No sir.’ She gave him her shy little smile and turned and scampered off to the changing rooms, her smack-pinkened cheeks peeping cutely where the little gym-shorts didn’t quite cover her bottom’s punished glow.

The Headmaster watched her go, then wandered off in a rather preoccupied way to his study, where he lit his pipe, put his feet up on the desk, and considered the matter of Miss Debbie Howard.

There was no doubt about it, she had something about her which simply begged to be put across the knee and spanked. She was pretty, of course, but there was more than that — she had such an innocence — yes, that was it, innocence pleading to be punished, and yet simultaneously she gave the impression of knowing just why it was that she was always first choice in the spanking stakes. The combination of the two was irresistible. And was not often resisted, therefore.

Debbie’s day, meanwhile, was following a familiar pattern. Having been told to report to Mr Jones’s room during break, and having pretended bravely to herself that her prep hadn’t been all that bad, she was now having to admit to herself that the inevitable was about to happen.

Standing obediently beside Mr Jones’s desk as he went through each mistake with her, she was blushing again as his hand slipped nonchalantly up under her skirt, slapping lightly at her chubby cheeks as he emphasised each point of error, and she knew beyond doubt that she was going to be spanked again.

As the playful smacks wobbled the plumpness of her still-tender cheeks the warmth of her earlier spanking heated up again so that, although she couldn’t have said it hurt, she still flinched skittishly away an inch or so with every spank, squeezing her buttocks together and wiggling her hips very slightly so that her nervousness and the feel of her cheeky bottom against his hand excited a lump in Mr Jones’s trousers which Debbie had seen before. Eager for the feel of her bare skin against his palm, the teacher fumbled the leg elastic of her knickers up and over the fullness of each cheek and continued to inch her skirt up little by little until the backs of her legs were bare and the snug fit of her knickers was marginally on view. With her skirt no longer encumbering his hands, Mr Jones could slap her more smartly, her half-hearted attempts to avoid the smacking hand edging the front of her thighs against the desk so that she could then only wriggle from side to side, which she began to do with a little more urgency as the smart in her bottom increased.

‘You’re fidgety today my girl,’ chided Mr Jones huskily. ‘Want me to put you across my knee do you? Want me to give you something to wriggle for?’

‘N-no sir — please sir — I-I can’t help it sir —’

No matter, she was going over his lap anyway. With his other hand at the front between her thighs to coax her into position, the moist softness of her swelling pubis against the back of his thumb, and the becoming plumpness of her half-bared bottom cupped in his spanking hand, Debbie capitulated and lowered herself down onto his knees, squeezing her thighs together to preserve some defence against his probing left hand but unable to avoid the nuzzling of his fingers at the very apex of her legs. She squirmed on his hand as the legs of her knickers were tucked up higher to bare more of her bottom, and then the hot sting of his smacking hand dragged her attention away from the indignity she was being made to suffer as the spanks made her bounce lewdly around on his lap and the fat bulge in his trousers stiffened into rigidity under her tummy. She bleated, pathetically afraid that she might do something to be ashamed of.

‘Oooh, sir — please don’t sir — please?’

‘Nonsense —’ smack, smack, smack!!! ’— naughty girl like you —’ slap, smack!! ’— nice, smacked bottom —’ slap, slap, slap!!!

‘Oooh — oooooo — ooow — ooooooh!’

‘Now, now, don’t be a silly girl —’ smack, smack!!! ’— won’t do you any harm —’ smack, slap, smack!!!

‘Oh, Lord — ooow — oooo — ooch —! — I-I’m c-c-com — ooogh! — oooooooooh.’

‘There’s a good girl —’ slap! ’Good girl,’ smack! ’Good little girl,’ smack, smack!

Even then, when she’d given in, when she’d humiliated herself and let him make her do it, still she had to stand melting with embarrassment in front of him while he snuggled her knickers properly into place around the tender under-curves of her bottom. Had to say. ‘I — I’m sorry sir,’ as if it had all been her fault, while her face burned with her blushing and he gave her her prep book and patted her knickers up under her skirt and said he hoped she’d learnt her lesson.

‘Yes sir — I’ll try to do b-better next time sir.’

‘Yes of course Debbie, of course, run along now, and wash your face.’

‘Yes sir.’

She ran to her next lesson, the school bell ringing in her ears.

Music seemed to be going reasonably well until near the end of the lesson. Debbie could hardly believe it when, along with Sandy who sat next to her, she was accused of talking and ordered out to the front of the class.

‘But sir, we weren’t talking sir!’

So what? The big teacher’s desk at the front of the class was uncomfortable under her ribs as both she and Sandy were made to bend over it together.

‘Skirts up please!’

Giggles greeted the reluctant exposure of Debbie’s already well-punished bottom, the hot radiance around the lower line of her green school knickers spreading pinkly across the smoothness of her cheeks where they were bared by her bending.

Mr Willis seemed to have noticed too. His warm hand stroked almost tenderly across her twice-spanked bottom before the cool touch of a ruler against her sore skin threatened to have her wriggling her bottom again for the third time that morning. And it was no idle threat.

The two girls were spanked together, the ruler smacking sharply across each pair of green-knickered buttocks alternately. Sandy managed to take her punishment with a certain dignity, but Debbie was ‘Oooching’ and ‘Ooowing’ after the first couple of strokes, the sting in her over-heated bum livening up the almost automatic wriggles which her hips made against the uncomfortable desk. She was near to tears when at last the ruler stopped cracking across their bottoms and they were sent back to their places.

Sitting uncomfortably at their desks the two girls resorted to a trick which most of the girls in the school had learned quickly enough. By pulling the legs of their pants across into the middle, and by slipping their skirts out from underneath them, they were able to ease the smart in their bums by sitting directly on their chairs, the cool wood taking some of the heat away, and with it some of the sting.

Art was a debacle. Debbie didn’t disappoint when it came to supplying old Simpkins with an excuse to put her across his knee.

Told to stay behind after the lesson, Debbie was then sent into the store-room to await the inevitable. Mr Simpkins came in when the other girls had been sent to lunch, and he locked the door behind him.

‘Get ‘em down girlie.’

‘But sir — we’re not s’posed to have our pants taken down sir, not after we’re sixteen sir. Please don’t make —’

‘What d’you want — the flat of my hand or the flat of my two-foot ruler.’

‘Oh, s-sir — I don’t want the ruler sir.’

Simpkins shrugged expressively.

Debbie knew him well enough to know that she was trapped. Her reluctant hands fumbled up under her skirt and inched down the only protection she had. With her skirt up she was lowered over his lap and her quivering bottom was even redder than it had been before, if that was possible. And she didn’t disappoint either when it came to making the occasion an interesting one. Her maidenly blushes as she pulled her knickers down and the nervous, intensely satisfying squirming of her defenceless bottom as the spanks landed solidly on her bare cheeks were indeed well worth the effort expended. Made to stand humiliatingly in a corner of the storeroom, skirt up and pants down, she made one of the prettiest pictures old Simpkins had ever seen in his Art Department.

Some of the staff had a nickname for her. They called her ‘Rosie’, and anyone who had seen Debbie’s bum at the end of a day’s lessons would be in no doubt why. And it was a fact that Debbie rarely got through a day without having to drag her skirt up for someone or other, and to present her young bottom for punishment. Hers was, without question, the most frequently spanked bottom in the school. In view of the fact that she had been seen in her knickers, and sometimes without them, by every single one of the teachers, male and female, and had regularly been spanked in front of her classmates, occasionally in front of one or more of the school inspectors, and even in front of a visiting clergyman, it was quite amazing, and indeed was part of her charm, that the girl had retained such an endearing shyness, blushing furiously at the merest suggestion of bottoms, knickers, or ‘getting skirts up’. ‘Rosie’ was irresistible.

While Debbie was standing knickerless in the Art storeroom, Mr Lloyd was still in his study, wondering if they dared go through with it. At least, wondering if, by the end of the day, he would be prepared to go through with it, for his was the last lesson of the day with Debbie’s form. The idea had seemed hilarious at the time, but now — well, it seemed hardly worth risking his reputation on. Still, it was half done now. He swung his feet down off his desk, and then wandered out of the door to go up to the staff common room and find out what the score was so far. Whatever it was, it was pretty sure that Debbie would be on the losing team.

For Debbie, it was turning into an awfully long day. Her bottom was so tender that her knickers seemed to have shrunk two sizes, so fat and hot was her backside. And the probability was that it wasn’t over yet, because after lunch was Geography with Miss Moore, and Debbie knew she hadn’t handed her prep in for marking last lesson. It was a very subdued young lady who followed her classmates into the Geography room when the bell sounded for the end of the lunch break.

Miss Moore’s well-known slipper was prominently displayed on her desk as the girls trooped in. The very sight of it made Debbie feel panicky — she knew she’d be feeling it before long.

Miss Moore started her lesson as she intended to continue it. Two girls who scuttled into the classroom a minute late were collared and sent to the ‘sin bin’, a prominently delineated semi-circle which Miss Moore had had painted on the classroom floor by a helpful caretaker and a ‘collecting ring’ for Miss Moore’s delinquent pupils. No one ever left the sin bin without something stinging being applied to their persons by an eager lady teacher.

Having set the class their tasks, the ‘delinquents’ were dealt with — a dozen crisp spanks on the backs of their bare legs which made them hop, before being sent to their desks. The end of the lesson drew nearer, and Debbie could feel the slipper already. Her eyes seemed unable to drag themselves away from its smugness as it squatted threateningly on the desk in full view of the class. And then it was time for the reckoning.

Miss Moore always set a ‘pass mark’ for the work she gave the girls to do inside and outside the classroom. If you passed, you were safe, if not you were doomed. Unpresented prep counted as a no-pass. Debbie was definitely for it.

The names were called out one by one. ‘Sally Brown — pass. Pauline Knight — fail. Carol Davies — pass.’

Miss Moore, being a woman, did not consider that the school’s rule about girls over sixteen not having to take their pants down should apply to her. After all, not being a man she could not possibly derive any sexual pleasure from the sight of a girl’s denuded bottom, that was the theory anyway. Whatever the rights and wrongs of it, Miss Moore had her own methods.

The unfortunate girls whose names were followed by the dreaded word ‘fail’, were sufficiently familiar with these methods not to need instruction as to what to do next. One by one, as their names were called, they trooped out to the front of the class, pulled up their skirts, dragged down their knickers and bent submissively over the desks in the front row. Today’s crop of ‘failures’ totalled ten, amongst which number was of course Debbie. There being too few desks in the front row to accommodate all the penitents, four of them stood in the aisles between the desks and, in traditional manner, touched their toes.

Of these ten young bottoms thus displayed, Debbie’s, though inevitably the most punished, was not the only one to evidence the healthy-looking finish of a recent spanking. Sandy, who had shared the teacher’s desk with Debbie in the music room, was one of the ten and a rather plump girl named Jill also had more than a hint of spank-reddening about her rounded cheeks.

Ten strokes each with the slipper. The sharp noise of its application rang in the lofty classroom, and pained squeals accompanied the slipper’s rhythmic smacking. Debbie was quivering across her desk while the slipper was two girls away, and as it was presented with its cool sole against her heated cheeks ready for the first stroke, Debbie’s nervousness had her flinching her buttocks even before the first stinger found its mark.

Ten real stingers. She was crying after the third one, wriggling her punished bottom this way and that and getting a sharp rebuke from Miss Moore. Clinging on to the desk poor Debbie managed to take the rest, though she couldn’t keep still even for a second. The slipper moved on, another girl squealed and wormed her hips against a desk, and Debbie dragged up her pants and scurried back to her place. The bell seemed like salvation. French next.

Mr Wilde was always nice to her, thought Debbie. He didn’t often spank anyone, though he could sometimes give you some funny looks. Sitting on her tender bum which felt like a pin-cushion, she reckoned she was safe, for which she was very grateful. She had never had a day like it. Five spankings, two without her knickers, and all between half-past nine and three o’clock! She definitely didn’t need any more.

And yet, incredibly, it happened. And for nothing. It was just, ‘See me after the lesson, Debbie’. And then after the lesson it was. ‘Get across my knee dear — don’t wriggle like that — stop crying now, anyone would think I was hurting you!’ It was unbelievable! And painful too! The afternoon break was almost gone when she emerged from the classroom clutching tearfully at her bottom and still trying to work out why she’d got spanked again.

When Mr Lloyd saw Debbie come into the classroom for his English lesson he could see from her red-rimmed eyes that everything was still going to plan. A stupid plan, as he now realised, and something he should have put a stop to before it started. A prank really. Undergraduate humour from people who should have known better, thinking it amusing to see if Debbie’s previous recorded best of five spankings in one day could be improved upon. A childish conspiracy, and not something he intended should go any further.

Debbie seated herself very gingerly indeed, and Mr Lloyd noticed that she was sitting lop-sided, within a few minutes she was inclined the other way, taking the weight off the other cheek as he’d seen hundreds of well-spanked girls do in the past. At the end of the lesson, as the girls filed out at the end of school, Mr Lloyd called Debbie over to him. Her pretty face fell. Not another tanning. She came most reluctantly, standing at arm’s length from the Headmaster and near to tears.

He spoke gently to her. ‘I’ve heard you’ve had a bad day Debbie. Is that so?’

She stumbled over her words, nodding more emphatically than she could speak.

‘Bottom sore, eh?’

She burst into tears, crying unashamedly and rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. He offered her his handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully.

‘I c-can’t understand it sir, I’m not that bad am I?’ Her tear-filled eyes questioned his pathetically. He felt sorry for her, and certainly wouldn’t have considered spanking the wretched girl for any reason — yet he was curious. He told himself he ought to be ashamed of himself — but he coaxed her into pulling her skirt up anyway.

‘Oh, no sir! Please sir —’

‘I’m not going to spank you Debbie, don’t worry.’

She took her knickers down dubiously and turned round to show him. With her green school knickers clinging protectively to the tops of her thighs she obediently held her skirt up, trembling visibly as her well-spanked bottom was viewed with a certain amount of awe by Mr Lloyd. It was very, very red, indeed scarlet, and blotched all over with hot-spots which were burning to the cool touch of his fingers. Yet, apart from its colouring it didn’t seem to be so bad, once the sheer intensity of the glow had been accepted. No, it wasn’t so bad at all — he’d seen a lot worse after six strokes of the cane.

‘Well, it’s a bit red.’ he said. ‘Still, soon be gone, eh?’ thoughtlessly he gave her a playful slap on the crown of one buttock and poor Debbie yelped and skittered away out of range. He let her pull her pants up, gave her a smile and said. ‘All over now then Debbie. You’ll soon forget about it, won’t you.’

He was rewarded with one of her little smiles, which probably meant she was feeling better. He sent her on her way, brighter already.

School being over, and tomorrow being another day, Debbie did indeed brighten considerably. After tea she was almost herself again. Her bum was still tender but provided she didn’t sit down for too long she found that she could forget about it. Sitting in the senior girl’s common room just before bedtime, she had no way of knowing that at that very moment Matron was striding purposefully along the corridor looking very put out indeed. She slammed open the common room door violently.

‘Debbie Howard! Come with me!’

Shattered by this sudden summons Debbie scampered after the tall figure striding quickly down the corridor. She caught up with her only as she reached the door of Matron’s room.

The lecture was brief but sharp. What stupidity, to have left the wash basin tap running in her room! What a mess it had made of the linen room underneath. ‘Did she realise the trouble she had caused?’

The record was about to be broken. Brandishing a long, heavy ruler, Matron ordered the unfortunate girl over her lap. Debbie’s knickers settled themselves comfortably around her young thighs again in the position they had spent much of the day in, while her pert, red-blotched bum trembled under the threat of its sixth spanking of the day. Matron had heard all about Debbie’s day, but over a hundred sheets soaking wet were not to be shrugged off lightly. The ruler began to crack painfully across the girl’s well punished cheeks. Debbie’s squeals sounded dismally yet again and Matron saw to it that the tanning she gave Debbie was the best one she’d had all day.