Spankers Gallery — Fancy Dress

From Roué 39

It had gone on long enough. Something had to be done. It is one thing when a pupil disobeys school rules, but when that disobedience serves to cause the school’s Head embarrassment; undermines his authority, well, steps have to be taken.

It had all started as a dare. The pupil in question, Emma Blake of 5B, presented herself at school on that Monday morning dressed in tight pink T-shirt and blue jeans. Taking the girl to one side, the Head quietly informed her that unless she returned home and changed into proper uniform she could not attend lessons that day. So, off went Emma, to return some two hours later correctly attired.

A week later found Emma in morning assembly dressed in semi-transparent pale-blue blouse, red and white check skirt and stockings. Another word with the Head ensued, and Emma duly complied with the instruction to go home and change.

During the next month Emma — to the delight of her friends — had turned up for school in various outfits: see-through tops, leather skirts, trousers, hot-pants. On each occasion she was packed off home, missed a lesson or two, and returned properly dressed.

A couple of weeks had elapsed since the girl’s last flagrant flaunting of the rules, the Headmaster believing that the novelty had worn off with Emma and her chums. For her part, Emma reckoned that she’d gone about as far as she dare. Her friends, though, did not share this belief. They did everything in their power to convince Emma that she should give it another go; that the Head was being made to look a right fool.

Emma had certainly risen quite appreciably in her pals’ estimation of her. Her fancy-dress escapades also had the benefit of allowing her a few hours off school. But dare she incur the Head’s wrath any more? Had she gone far enough? Her classmates convinced her that she should do it one more time, and she made her mind up to make this last one something to remember.

Sitting on the stage in the school hall, David St John, Headmaster, strained his eyes as he tried to make out what the blonde Emma was wearing on this particular day. The giggling and general disorder at the rear of the hall told him that something was going on. ‘Stand up, that girl!’ his voice boomed out over the heads of over a hundred girls. ‘Yes, you — Emma Blake.’

To the laughter of her chums Emma rose from her chair. She was then ordered to go forward to the stage. She was clearly not in school uniform, but the old boy’s eyes could not make out precisely what she had on. As the smiling girl made her way down the hall it became painfully obvious.

Emma stood in front of the centre of the stage, a grin still on her face, while the Head looked her up and down. In place of the white blouse and tie Emma sported a turquoise blouse the top three buttons of which were undone. This state of disarray made quite clear the fact that the girl had no bra on; the tops of her young breasts heaving quite noticeably, the cleavage very much on show. Tapering out from Emma’s trim waist was the most miniscule of skirts possible. Fluorescent pink, it hung to a mere inch or two below the girl’s knickers which, bright scarlet, could be seen from the back. Setting off this were the proper white knee-socks which served only to make more obvious the outrageousness of the garments above. Emma’s shoes, instead of black patent leather, were gold, high-heeled efforts. All in all, the girl standing to attention before the entire school had the appearance of a young hussy rather than a demure teenaged schoolgirl.

Swallowing hard, the Head instructed Emma to go at once to his study where he would join her immediately after the morning service. Off Emma tripped, cheekily grinning and waving to her audience.

Twenty minutes later found Emma and a red-faced, irate Headmaster in the study. Again the man looked his errant pupil up and down; down and up. Had she undone another of her blouse buttons? He felt sure that more teenage breast was on show. Had she hitched her minute skirt up further still? It certainly seemed so.

It was quite obvious that the girl was putting on a show intended to put him off his stroke; to confuse him; to make him realise that he wasn’t dealing with a naughty young girl; that here, in his study, was a young woman.

He swallowed hard again, cleared his throat and, in the sternest tones possible, told Emma that he could no longer put up with this sort of thing; that she was making an idiot of him in front of the whole school; that she had to be punished.

‘You will take that… er… that skirt off… and those shoes,’ he told her. In a trice she stood before him in blouse, socks and knickers — if, indeed, they could be called so. The minute garment barely covered her womanhood, and wisps of hair were noticeable at its waistband.

He sat himself down on a low wooden table and pulled Emma across his knees. The tiny briefs were dragged down the length of the girl’s legs, resting at her ankles. Reaching over to his desk he extracted a black leather two-tailed tawse from one of the drawers. He pushed Emma’s head down, keeping his left hand there to prevent any movement from the girl. With his right hand he raised the strip of leather. He viewed the naked, quivering target. Emma’s contortions had caused her blouse to ride up her back to her shoulders. Her pert titties hung down, their nipples pointing to the floor. This, though, was lost on the Headmaster. There was only one part of Emma’s anatomy he was interested in, and, strap poised, that particular part of her was about to be attended to. He was, he mused, allowing himself a silent chuckle, about to redress the balance…