Early Morning Call

First of two parts, from Uniform Girls 20

Last night had been a restless one for Melinda, tossing and turning for hours in the sure knowledge that come 06.30 the following morning she would be receiving the comeuppance that had been promised by Mr Hyams the previous evening.

She remembered with a shudder the smile on his face as he informed her that she would be punished. What form that punishment would take, Melinda could only guess, but one thing was for sure: she wasn’t going to enjoy it!

Pulling on long white knee socks and buttoning her strap-over shoes, she slipped quietly up to the end of the little four-bed dormitory and looked for the hook marked Punishment Smock. There it was, the creased black T-shirt which, she was relieved to discover, fell below her bottom. She pondered on how many other girls, before her, had nervously pulled on the self-same smock in readiness for a beating. She had seen Debbie in it only yesterday.

Quickly, Melinda pushed a brush through her blonde hair, and slid two grips into place to hold it back off her face. Finally, a pair of plain white cotton knickers slid up her legs, and she was ready.

06.20. She mustn’t be late. Quietly, she opened the door and trod softly down the corridor and up the steep stairs to the empty rooms above. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering in earnest now, the dryness of her mouth uncomfortable.

The stair creaked behind her, and she turned suddenly. No-one. Her watch was back by her bed, and she cursed her silliness in leaving it behind. Reaching the landing, she sat on the stool outside the rooms and waited. And waited. And waited. It seemed like hours. It gave her overwrought imagination another chance to speculate on the punishment she might receive.

‘Stand up, girl!’ The loud voice took her by surprise, and she jumped to her feet.

‘Turn round and kneel on the stool, and lift that shirt right up. Quickly now!’

She caught sight of the long length of leather hanging from his hand, and shuddered again. The leather brushed against her thighs as he crossed and fitted his thumbs into the waistband of her underwear. The protecting fabric slid suddenly off her bottom and down to mid-thigh. Her bareness felt all the worse in the cold chill of the early morning, the bare bulb making her flesh paler than it actually was.

‘Stand up!’ he snapped.

She could not prevent herself half-turning to steal another look at the wicked strap still dangling, eager to wrap itself around her soft nether regions.

‘Face front!’

She could feel, even if she could not see, his eyes scanning her buttocks and thighs. She wondered what conclusions he was drawing.

‘Turn round!’

She faced the man who would shortly be thrashing her. It was not Mr Hyams. Her face registered surprise.

‘Mr Hyams has asked me to stand in for him this morning, as he is unwell. Melinda, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she confirmed.

‘Punishment for insolence, yes?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Had the strap before?’

‘I’ve never had anything before, sir.’

‘Ah. I see. Lift your shirt up. Right up, that’s it.’

He nodded as her firm breasts hove into view, the girl’s reluctance obvious as she stood there awkwardly, not sure of where to look. Her eyes were drawn again to the strap.

‘I would say then, Melinda, that this beating is long overdue. Wouldn’t you?’

‘I suppose so, sir, but…’

‘Bend over and touch your toes,’ he snapped.

Melinda had no choice but to obey, and her eyes swivelled round as he walked behind her. He stood there for some minutes contemplating her posture. He smiled: a thin smile with no humour. A smile of grim satisfaction of the job to be done. Mr Hyams’ illness was fortuitous indeed. But Mr Hyams had also been very specific about the strap. No more than six of the best, he had said.

So why use the strap at all? This girl would have to do as she was told, and a more intimate form of contact would both increase the pleasure of the task and prolong the period of her discomfort. A spanking. That was it. Bare bum, over his knee.

‘You’re lucky, Melinda. I’m in a good mood this morning. You’re going to get the spanking of your life, but I’ll let you off the strap this morning.’

‘Oh, thank you sir.’ She meant it, the silly girl. But she hadn’t had the spanking yet!

‘Stand up.’ The T-shirt slid down to cover her bare posterior. He sat down on the stool, and patted his lap. She took the two steps necessary to reach him, and lowered herself gingerly over his lap. The T-shirt ascended with a vigorous tug, baring her once more, knickers still flying at half-mast.

He laid his hand gently onto her right cheek and felt its warmth and softness. She felt the hard patches of skin on his fingers as he gently stroked her rump. He slapped softly, and the flesh quivered satisfyingly. Gripping her waist firmly with his left hand, he raised the other and brought the palm down fast and hard to smack vigorously across the girl’s left buttock. She jerked, but was silent. Another smack, to the right buttock this time.

Melinda’s spanking started as it was meant to continue. Hard, and slow. Each smack stinging in its impact, her flesh quickly changing hue from pale cream to blushing pink to deep crimson, the affected area spreading by the minute. She felt sure that the sound of her punishment could be heard by others in the building, despite their remoteness and the early hour.

He had got into his rhythm now, the tattoo of blows building in intensity and speed, until her hands left the floor and flew behind to protect her from the onslaught. He simply grabbed her wrists and forced the protesting arms up her back, the spanking continuing unabated. Suddenly, it stopped.

‘Lift off my knee a moment.’ She pushed herself up on hands and toes, and felt the T-shirt slide inexorably, revealingly, up her back until her breasts tumbled free. Once again, she felt his hand slide round to grip her waist, and the blistering, burning punishment began again as if it had never stopped.

It was at least twenty minutes before Melinda finally walked down the stairs again, and slipped into her bed, the Punishment Smock returned to its hook by the door, her sullenly glowing bottom evident round the lower edge of her knickers. Lying in bed, she cried silently. The sun was just rising.

To be continued in Bathroom Sink Drama