Gallery — The More or Less Naked Civil Servants Daughter

From Roué 13

This month Gallery is back in school. And where better to find tight knickers slithering down bare thighs and twitchy young bottoms at the mercy of whatever providence may bring.

New drawings, perhaps accompanied by an account of the background to the scene depicted by the artist, will be gratefully received and published if suitable. The criterion is not technical excellence, nor even expertise. Much more important is the involvement of the artist in his subject matter. Readers may have noticed in other issues that the most pleasing pieces of work have been those where a freshness, or a well-thought-out idea, have been evident in the artist’s work. Some, of course, have been both well-executed and erotic at the same time, yet it would not be too high-flown to say that even in those illustrations where draughtsmanship has not been of the best, there is that sparkle and down-to-earth straightforwardness that in other spheres has been called ‘Primitive’ and has been thought of as on a par with twentieth-century art in general, and worthy of exhibition in galleries all over the world.

Perhaps Grandma Moses wouldn’t have approved, and maybe the Royal Academy wouldn’t have hung them on their hallowed walls (though who knows these days) but we think drawings on a spanking theme can be art, and with our readers’ acquiescence we will continue to publish those which have something bright and original to offer.

Yes, he had to admit it. There had been a time when even he would have said that the most accurate description of him would have been ‘dirty old man’. Ah, but since those days he had matured considerably, perhaps even mellowed — though he doubted whether that young lady wrestling with the problems on the blackboard would have thought of him as ‘mellowed’.

The piece of chalk which the little sweetheart was clutching in her fingers squeaked nerve-tinglingly across the board. He shuddered at the sound.

‘If you don’t stop squeaking my chalk across that board, my little angel, you’ll be squeaking yourself — across my knee!’

‘Sorry sir, but — well, it just does it sir.’

‘Nonsense. It’s the way you scrape it.’

‘No it’s not sir! It’s the chalk sir —’

‘Don’t argue, you imp.’

The girl made a ‘heavens above’ face and turned back to the blackboard. He considered the delicious way that her little skirt flounced out from her waist across her hips. The way her thighs touched lightly together as she stood on tip-toe to erase a miscalculation with the tip of a chalky finger.

‘Come here and find yourself a couple of paper clips on my desk.’

‘Sir?’ She turned from the board and made a ‘what-the-hell-have-I-done’ face.

‘A couple of paper clips. You can pin your skirt up — perhaps if you spend the rest of this evening with your knickers on view it’ll remind you of what happens if I have to take ‘em down.’

‘But I haven’t done anything sir —’

‘Dumb insolence. ‘Eyes up to heaven —’ all that stuff. You’re a cheeky little minx — come here and find some paperclips.’

‘Eyes up to what, sir?’

‘Just do as you’re told — or do you want to be on duty this evening.’

The girl pulled another face.

Clearly she didn’t fancy the idea. Petulantly she came across to his desk and sorted through the odds-and-ends tray for the clips. When she had found them she eyed him peevishly over the desk.

‘Well come on then —!’

‘Oh, sir —’

‘Come on girl — do as you’re told!’

She pouted her pretty lips, but reached behind her for the hem of her skirt and passed it up behind her back until she could reach it over her shoulder with her other hand. The skirt curved up from the front of her thighs. The side of her knickers came into view, snugged around the firm smoothness of her leg. She fumbled for a moment or two, then changed hands and passed the other side of her skirt up her back. The skirt being on the short side anyway, it was unavoidable that the silky-skinned conjunction of her thighs and the seductive pout of her pubis tucked demurely inside her pants should peep out below the hem. She watched him watching and tried to tug the skirt down a little in front. The pinned-up skirt came unfastened and the paper clip pinged onto the floor.

‘Oh —’

‘You’re hopeless. Come here — I’ll do it.’

Hesitant for a moment, she came round the desk and stood unhelpfully in front of him.

‘Well turn round then —’ He smacked her impatiently on a bare thigh.

‘Ooowl’

He smacked her again. She spun round, anxious now not to provoke him further. Obviously he was in one of his moods.

He fiddled with the paper clip, then took the hem of the skirt and pulled it up, the back of his hand brushing soft yielding warmth and the knap of her thick school knickers. Her round little bum teased him with its youthful plumpness, bold and pert and almost insolent. She stood sulkily as he failed to clip the skirt to the back of her blouse, easing her weight onto one leg, then onto the other, in a demonstration of mock impatience. The pull of her snug fitting knickers tugged a pucker of navy blue up between her saucy cheeks and the line of the leg elastic curved up round each buttock to emphasise the youthful roundness of her bottom. If ever a schoolgirl’s bum asked to be smacked, hers did. He gave up with the paper clips and settled for tucking the skirt up into the waistband.

‘Now go on —’ He slapped one bouncy buttock cheerfully, ‘— back to work.’

‘Oow —!’ She looked ruefully at him as she rubbed at her bottom, then she stalked back to the blackboard with a reddening splotch up under one partly-bared cheek and her bum jiggling as she walked.

As she got on with the problem on the board a little more earnestly, he lounged back in his chair and teased himself by picturing the wriggles that young backside would execute if he got round to spanking the little cherub this evening. This pleasant flight of fancy properly savoured, he then began to consider when it would be safe to have her ‘on duty’ again. Tonight it was Sandra’s ‘duty night’. Perhaps next weekend. The other two permanent members of staff were going up to London for some concert or other. All he would have to do would be to get rid of Matron. Perhaps she could be persuaded to go and visit her sister again. This week it was her mother’s turn. Yes, she might be prevailed upon.

His ‘duty night’ idea had been a superb one. The ‘Duty Girl’ was on call, whenever the rest of the staff were safely off the premises, from after supper, at seven, until lights out at ten thirty. She would come to his house, which was detached from the school buildings, and change into her duty ‘uniform’. Not that there was much of it. It was then her task to fetch and carry, make tea, toast crumpets — all that sort of Tom Brown’s schooldays stuff — and in the meantime she had to remember to play ‘the game’, whatever it happened to be that night, or she got her bum smacked. Last ‘duty night’ it had been fun. Stupid, but fun. The girl had to add an extra ‘sir’ every time she spoke to him. Like ‘Your crumpets are toasted, sir, sir.’ Giggling was an extra spanking, saved up for the end of the girls’ duty. He liked to get them giggling — they didn’t seem to be able to help it. The Damoclean Sword of that extra, always prolonged, spanking, seemed to provoke a fit of the giggles rather than the opposite.

The chalk squealed gratingly across the board. ‘Sorry sir —’ she said, over her shoulder. Her knickers looked charmingly close fitting around her bum. Really very nice.

Tonight he’d decided that the Duty Girl would not call him sir — she would address him as ‘Mickey Mouse’. That ought to guarantee a nice bum-squirming conclusion to the evening.

‘You squeaked again,’ he announced resentfully.

‘Sorry —’ She stopped working and turned towards him. The sweet plumpness where her knickers dipped between her bare legs absorbed his attention.

‘Hmm — well, you can just take your knickers down for that!’

‘Oh, sir — I couldn’t help it sir’

‘I can’t help it that I want you to take your knickers down, so just get them down.’

‘But sir — it’s not fair sir —’

‘And you’re Duty Girl next Saturday — for being argumentative.’

‘Oh sir —!’

‘Want to do your ‘duty night’ with or without your knickers on?’

‘Oooh —’ She looked confused — ‘— Knick — knickers on, please sir.’

‘Right — well stop arguing, and get your pants down!’

She tucked her fingers into her knickers and slipped them hesitantly down. She looked up, eyes on his. The tops of her thighs now nestled on either side of a small blonde ruff of pubic hair, knickers halfway down her thighs. She looked away and turned dubiously to the blackboard. Her saucy little bottom with its pink splodge on one cheek began to look even more smackable now that it was quite bare.

‘Dirty old bugger,’ he said to himself. Yes, that’s what they’d said when they sacked him. But what else would you expect from Civil Servants. They could hardly be expected to approve of a man in his position spanking his secretary, could they. Security risk and all that.

But that’s where they’d made their mistake. They hadn’t known it at the time, but he had been in the department to check on them. He was Security. And one way and another he’d got the dirt on plenty of them.

‘If you don’t get that one right, you’re going to get your pretty little bum smacked my girl.’

She looked at him sulkily.

‘Oh yes you are.’

She turned away and reconsidered her working-out, bare bottom cheekily asking for it. And likely to get it.

Which was how he’d managed to swing this job. One of his ‘investigations’ had turned up something really juicy on the bloke who was responsible for this school, an establishment which, though small, catered very nicely for the educational needs of the daughters of Civil Servants posted overseas. It was amusing how, once one’s scruples had finally been abandoned, it had been easy to get the right ones posted abroad — using his ‘influence’ as a man who knew all the guilty secrets. The ‘right ones’ were those who — and he’d researched it very carefully — who had school-age daughters, and something to hide. It didn’t take much ‘persuading’ to get them to send their girls to ‘his’ school — and hardly any more to obtain, in writing, ‘parental permission’. Permission to take the young ladies’ knickers down for a spot of ‘old-fashioned discipline’.

‘You’ve got it wrong.’

‘Ooh —’

‘Yes, I’m afraid you have. I think you’d better take your knickers right off, my sweet, and I’ll come and smack your naughty bottom for you.

‘Oooh — please sir — can’t I do it again?’

‘Knickers off, my pet.’

She slipped them down and over her feet. Her bottom trembled as she stood up — it would do more than tremble in a minute!

Not all the girls were candidates, of course. About half a dozen this year. But enough.

He had her stand beside him while he went through the problems one by one.

‘This is wrong!’

‘Oh —’ Smack, smackitty, smack. ’Ooow — oooh — aaah —!’

Her cheeky little bum danced itself crimson. She was crying her ‘Please-don’t-smack-me-any-more’ tears when Sandra came into the classroom.

‘Yes?’

‘Um — it’s seven o’clock, sir — I’m Duty Girl tonight.

‘Oh yes — so you are.’

The daughter of the Assistant Under Secretary to the Governor of Balongaland stood self-consciously inside the door in a pair of white satin shorts which simply couldn’t have been any tighter — no, not a fraction. A shiny split-peach nestled at the base of her belly, the legs of the shorts cut away high at the sides — and higher at the back, as he well knew. Bare-bummed was this daughter of the Assistant Under Secretary or more or less. She’d be a pleasure, an absolute delight. Meanwhile there was the daughter of the Assistant Adviser to the Shah of Whereveritis to be dealt with. Her bottom squirmed as he planted another hefty spank on a lewdly bouncing cheek. Oh yes — revenge — even if a sort of second-hand revenge — was very sweet indeed.