A Ghost in the Attic

From Blushes 48

‘Has anyone told you yet?’ Samantha said. ‘About the attic room? If you commit any misdemeanours here you get sent to the attic room. For one or two nights. Jackie will tell you. She’s been sent there. Mr Clayfield is very keen on blondes, isn’t he, Jackie?’

Jackie coloured slightly. She was a blonde, with short, neat, butter-brown hair; not as spectacularly blonde as the new girl’s curling, shoulder-length platinum locks. ‘You’ve been as well, I seem to remember. It’s not only blondes.’ Samantha was darker, though equally attractive, with petite, gamine looks.

‘What’s this attic room?’ Diane asked. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

The other two exchanged glances. Samantha said, ‘Nothing’s really wrong with it. Not the room as such. It’s… well you could say it’s haunted. A nocturnal ghost is liable to visit you there. In fact it’s guaranteed.’

Jackie smiled. ‘Yes. A very substantial ghost. He must weigh about 14 stone I should think.’

It was Diane’s turn to produce a little flush now. Mr Clayfield, the Senior Tutor, was a bulky, substantial man. You could guess he might well weigh something like that. They were referring to Mr Clayfield.

Sam said, ‘I wonder if that ghost’s pinched her bottom yet? That very substantial attic room ghost. Do you think so, Jackie?’

Jackie smirked. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. Not at all. She’s been here since 4 o’clock. Five hours. And certainly part of that time in close proximity to the attic room ghost. Oh yes, I should think so. Tell us, Diane? Has he?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Diane said, flushing redder.

----//----

She had arrived on the 3.50 train, to be picked up at the station in an ageing Daimler by Mr Donly, who drove her the two miles to Fairlea Training College. Mr Donly, smallish and in his fifties, was the college chauffeur-cum-handyman. ‘A real blondie, eh?’ he had said as soon as he had Diane in the car next to him, getting a good look at the abundant pale blonde tresses. But he had also, she thought, had a good look at her boobs and knees. Diane had on a smart, fitting grey suit that showed off her shapely figure and, seated next to Mr Donly, her attractive knees as well.

But of course it wasn’t Mr Donly that Samantha and Jackie were referring to when later they had their little joke about ghosts. Not that Stan Donly, if he had something on a girl, knew a little secret she wanted kept quiet, wouldn’t for the promise of keeping quiet get his hands on various parts of her. Her boobs; her bottom. And if he had something extra big on her, big enough in his sharp eyes to warrant it, he could demand further privileges beyond her standing still whilst his hands wandered. So that a girl could have an anxious wait of days or weeks until she had proof that everything was… well, OK.

But Diane was not to know anything about this, not on her first day here at Fairlea. No one was going to mention that. If you got in that unfortunate predicament you were going to keep very quiet about it. No, Mr Donly had behaved perfectly properly en route to Fairlea, and afterwards as well. Nice and friendly. His eyes might from time to time have lingered on those nyloned knees, on the skirt-clad thighs, on also the thrusting boobs in the fitting jacket. And afterwards he did let Diane get her suitcase out of the boot herself so that she had to bend and unwittingly present a mouth-watering bottom. But Stan Donly had not for instance attempted anything with his hands. He wouldn’t. Not at this stage. That would be for later. Hopefully. As he went about his duties keeping his eyes and ears alert for any half chance. Whereas Mr Clayfield…

Mr Clayfield had greeted Diane in the entrance hall. An altogether more substantial form than Mr Donly, Arthur Clayfield would weigh something like 14 stone as Jackie was later to suggest. Big and bulky, also balding, a little older than Mr Donly it would seem, in a somewhat rumpled tweed jacket and tie. Big and bluff and friendly seeming too, as Mr Donly had been. But Mr Clayfield had put his hand on Diane’s bottom. As the other two were later to guess, which was why Diane had flushed bright red.

It had been when he showed her to her room. Not the attic room — there had been no thought or mention of attic rooms at this point — but an ordinary little room, pleasantly but basically furnished on the first floor. A room very similar to Jackie’s and Samantha’s rooms as Diane was later to see. But in that room Mr Clayfield put his hand on Diane’s bottom. As they stood at the window and he was pointing out features of the grounds. Diane had been following with interest but then abruptly lost the thread of what he was saying — as she became aware of the hand on her bottom. It had started lightly round her waist, which hadn’t really caught her attention, but then… had slid down. Onto the ripe cheeks of Diane’s bottom swelling voluptuously in her smart, tightish grey skirt. Inevitably she had lost all thought of the grounds; there was only Mr Clayfield’s hand. Which, Mr Clayfield being Senior Tutor here at Fairlea, could not really be argued with. Nor could she have squirmed sharply away, as Diane would if it had happened in any other circumstances. No, all you could do was stand there. Feeling yourself trembling.

Mr Clayfield had gone unconcernedly on about the grounds, pointing out this and that — while his hand was simply feeling up her bum. Afterwards Diane had briefly wondered if she could have dreamt it — but you couldn’t dream that in broad daylight. Or if it hadn’t really been like that, Mr Clayfield’s hand had only accidentally brushed against her. But Diane knew that wasn’t it either; Mr Clayfield had done it and quite deliberately. Now, later in the evening in Jackie’s room, after Diane had tried her best to forget it there were Jackie and Samantha making sure she didn’t.

‘He did. Didn’t he?’ crowed Jackie. ‘He did pinch your bottom. Where: in your room?’

‘Wh… what about this attic?’ asked Diane, not wishing to discuss in further detail what Mr Clayfield had done. And anyway what were they trying to say? About Mr Clayfield and this attic…?

‘Fo you, Diane,’ Samantha said, ‘with all that fabulous hair that he’s probably going bonkers about… not to mention that you’ve got a dishy figure as well… well, I can see you being sent to the attic room for no reason at all.’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Jackie. ‘For nothing-at-all.’

‘Look… you’re joking… what does he… do?’

‘Ravishes you,’ Samantha said helpfully.

Diane looked sick. Jackie said, ‘Well maybe. But actually Mr Clayfield’s primary concern is your bottom. Couldn’t you guess that from when he had his hand on it, in your room or wherever it was. What you sit on is what he wants. And what he wants to do is smack it. With your knickers down naturally. When he’s had enough of that, it’s a dose of the cane. For afters.’

‘He… can’t…’ Diane breathed. ‘He… can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’ asked Jackie. ‘Do you want to be kicked out of here? With no diploma or anything? No? Well then, you’d better be a good girl, hadn’t you? Not try to fight Mr Clayfield. Mr Clayfield knows best. And if he thinks Diane Ringlow needs a little taste of discipline, she’d better accept it quietly, hadn’t she? And nice Mr Clayfield is going to do it nice and privately in that attic room where there’ll be no one else to see or know.’

‘Except that everyone here will know,’ Samantha put in. ‘Because they’ll know he’s not going to be able to resist a dishy blonde with such a nice big bum.’

‘Has Diane got a big bum?’ Jackie asked innocently. ‘I don’t know that I’d say that — but I’m sure it’s just the size for Mr Clayfield. And just think, Diane — he could do it in front of all the rest of us, couldn’t he? Pour encourager les autres as he might say. So you’re really lucky it will be in the attic.’

‘And there’s a nice bed and everything in there,’ bright-eyed Samantha added. ‘I mean if Mr Clayfield should… er… you know…’

‘Shut up!’ red-faced Diane said fiercely. ‘You’re just trying to… scare me.’

----//----

Mr Clayfield certainly didn’t hang about. Also he didn’t really offer a reason either. Simply, ‘So you know what our disciplinary measures here are, Diane.’ That was what he said in the afternoon of her second full day at Fairlea. ‘I’d therefore like you to move into the… er… attic room this evening. Right after supper. I shall… er… come and see you there. All right, young lady?’

It was true what the others said: that there wasn’t a lot you could do about it. Not if you wanted to get your diploma. Not a lot except ‘Yes sir.’ Trembling of course as you stood before Mr Clayfield in his study because the others had been lavish in their detail of what would take place when the ‘attic ghost’ came in to see you.

Diane was in the Fairlea outfit now, her smart travelling suit put away in the cupboard in her room. Now it was the white sleeveless blouse and short navy skirt that the others wore. Brown flat-heeled shoes with ankle socks at the moment but for the evening you put on high heels. Diane would have the high heels on when Mr Clayfield came in for his disciplinary session. And… her navy skirt off? That was what the others had told her. ‘Take your skirt off ready for it. That’ll show him you’re going to take it without any argument. He might be a bit easier on you then.’

Mr Clayfield sitting at his desk was eyeing her. Eyeing that mass of pale blonde hair that according to Jackie and Sam had got Diane this early visit to the attic room. But it wasn’t only the hair of course and it wasn’t only the hair that Mr Clayfield was now eyeing. His eyes were on the tightish white blouse which, because you didn’t wear a bra at Fairlea, clearly showed the nipples of Diane’s high, firm boobs. And his eyes were on the short skirt. Picturing no doubt the tight blue knickers, part of the Fairlea outfit, that underneath were fitting snugly over Diane’s hips and backside. Knickers that he would be sliding down…

Diane didn’t have her skirt off when Mr Clayfield came in at about 9.30 because she hadn’t quite been able to make herself do it. Mr Clayfield right away with the door closed behind him told her to take them off and right away. Diane was thinking that she should have had it off ready… if what they said was true and it made it easier. She was fumbling at her skirt, not wishing to give the impression of reluctance to remove it. A spanking. On her bare bottom. Don’t think about it…

‘That’s it. And let’s have you up on the bed.’

Diane had the skirt off. This was pretty dreadful. Standing in just the sleeveless top which, without a bra, showed her tits, and the dark navy, almost black knickers. With these Diane had her white high heels and white ankle socks — and nothing else. And shortly of course… Mr Clayfield was going to be taking the knickers down. He was eyeing her now all right. Diane moved to get on the bed. Get it over with perhaps… but Mr .Clayfield had stepped forward. Taking hold of her arm before she could actually do so.

‘All right? We’ve got to have discipline. And a girl’s got to learn to take it…’

‘Y… Yes,’ Diane stuttered. She was feeling pretty sick — without her skirt now and her head full of what the others had told her. Mr Clayfield moved closer, facing her.

‘You do… understand, Diane…’ She gave a little gasp. One of his hands… was suddenly at the crotch of her knickers. Through the single thin layer… his hand was on her pussy. Another whimper came out… but she didn’t try to remove the hand. They hadn’t… said anything… about this.

Mr Clayfield’s low, intimate voice. ‘Discipline, Diane. That’s what we must have. I’m shortly going to smack your bare bottom. And then I shall cane it. In the interests of discipline, Diane. And you have to show you can take it. Without making a lot of noise, or struggling or anything. All right?’

‘Y… Y… Yes… sir.’ The hand was still there. Fingers between Diane’s legs. Stroking her. Stroking the bulge of her pussy. Making her feel a bit like a rocket about to go off. Mr Clayfield’s hand a touch-paper that was going to send her out into orbit. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to stop what he was doing either. In no hurry to get on with things.

‘A spanking. And then the cane, Diane. You will get both. You fully understand that?’

‘Yes… Yes Mr Clayfield.’ She would almost welcome it. If it meant an end to… what he was doing. But the hand was still there. His fingers… doing things to her pussy… that had her blood thudding in her ears. Diane’s legs were going to collapse.

‘The cane on your bare bottom, Miss. Kneeling on the bed. All right?’

‘Yes… yes…’

‘Hmmm.’ No, Mr Clayfield didn’t seem to want to stop. Or maybe it was that he wanted to get her in this state first. All hot and quivering. Shaking like a jelly. Her head in a flat spin. And then…

‘All right.’ The hand at last let go of her. His other hand turned Diane round. The first hand slapped her sharply on the seat of the knickers. ‘All right. Get the knickers down. And get up on the bed…’

And very shortly that was where Diane was. Kneeling on the bed with her head and arms down on the white cover. The nearly black knickers down to her knees. The ripe bare bulb of her bottom thrust up and out. And Mr Clayfield sitting close at the side, to bring one arm round her waist… and the other into contact with the palely quivering moons. A little fondling… and then…

Diane made a spluttering sound into the bed cover.