A DD Works Wonders

Ah, whatever happened to Double Diamond beer? Anyway, a nice story from Blushes 18 with an Alan Bell feel to it.

She had been up there before of course, up in Mr Moulton’s attic. Just about all the better-looking ones had ascended those stairs by the time they got halfway through the Sixth Form. Visits to the attic started when you were in the Sixth because that was when the regulations, the edicts of the governors or whatever it was, stated that you could be smacked. Properly smacked on the bottom, that was, as opposed to the odd slap across the leg or something. The good-looking ones and those with nice well-developed seats would be hustled up those stairs with Mr Moulton following close behind as soon as they got in the Sixth Form.

Mr Moulton of course would say it was merely to get a proper sense of discipline going as soon as possible — but then he wasn’t going to admit that he just liked to get a girl up there and take her knickers down and have a good go at her bottom, was he? Daphne being both pretty and well-built had been up in her very first week in the Sixth.

Bottoms just got the heavy hand treatment at first, but later there was naturally something else, in accordance with your more senior status. That something else was his nasty leather strap. Or, for second offences, he could start with the strap and then finish up with the cane. Those two together, one on top of the other, a Double Decker or DD, the girls called it, was pretty dreadful. It could leave you in such a state that you didn’t know what was happening — that at least was what girls who had had it said.

And you could well believe it if you looked at the state of their bottoms afterwards. Very unpleasant. Naturally in this situation girls would desperately try to avoid a DD. Pleading with him.

There were differing opinions, though, as to whether Mr Moulton was amenable to pleading. There were rumours that he was but no one seemed to be able to say categorically. Or at least wouldn’t. This was of more than theoretical interest to Daphne Saunders because on the face of it she could be liable for a DD now. She stood shivering in the familiar surroundings. Not that it was cold up there, merely a shivery sort of place. Just because it was Mr Moulton’s attic.

It was only her third week in the Lower Sixth but it was already her second visit to the attic in those three weeks. ‘I think he fancies you,’ Susan had said. Monica who was clearly a bit jealous of Daphne because she was prettier said spitefully, ‘Likes her fat bum, you mean.’

Daphne had given her a punch on the arm, getting in quite a solid blow and that had made her feel a bit better. But it was going to take more than that to get her out of the black mood that the note delivered by one of the juniors had brought on.

Inside the envelope it had said, ‘Appointment to see me in Baker House 5pm today. Be punctual.’

Everyone knew what that meant. Baker House was the small building over by the pavilion and Baker House contained the attic. You went in there, where Mr Moulton held his tutorials, but you didn’t go in either of the classrooms. No, upstairs to the second floor and then on up the narrow flight of stairs to the attic. With its single overhead light and various bits and pieces. Including the chair of course. Mr Moulton had always dealt with older girls in the attic of Baker House, at least as far as anyone knew. Susan said perhaps it was something from his childhood. Something psychological.

Susan was interested in stuff like that. Susan as yet hadn’t been in the attic to be strapped, though she had had her bottom smacked last year in the Fifth — virtually everyone had had that. Susan wasn’t one of the girls Mr Moulton was keenest on. Not as good-looking as Daphne or Angela for instance. And not with such a sturdy, full-bottomed figure as Daphne.

The sturdy full-bottomed figure was now trembling in a decidedly nervous manner as Daphne looked dry-mouthed around. Her full bottom in particular was getting very nervous indeed. That strap three weeks ago had been absolute hell, but this time… There was clearly the distinct possibility of the cane as well to follow it. A Double Decker.

She hadn’t really done anything much — but then if Mr Moulton had his eye on you it didn’t take much. That first time he had said her essay wasn’t good enough. ‘I have seen worse, Daphne, but on the other hand I am quite sure you are capable of a good deal better. So shall we make sure that message is received loud and clear?’

She was standing at the side of desk and he had patted her bottom. Not that Daphne had been in any doubt as to how he intended to drive his message home. She had said desperately, ‘Please sir, I will do better next time. Please sir.’

But that abject pleading was not going to cut any ice with Mr Moulton whose main interest was not in Daphne’s essay but in getting at her bare bottom.

His hand had clasped firmly round the resilient flesh. ‘That’s as maybe, my girl. But I shall want to see you after lessons.’

Daphne had to kneel on the chair and take her knickers down. This chair now standing mutely in front of her. Kneel on it and bend over the back so that her bare bottom was thrust ripely out. And then that stiff, two-tongued leather strap which he had let her have a good look at before beginning to sting it mind-zappingly down across her bare bum.

Susan said Mr Moulton was a sadist. Angela said. ‘No he just likes getting at girls’ bare bottoms.’ What was the difference? Daphne shivered again. Any time now there would be that heavy tread as Mr Moulton’s bulky frame came up. Feeling herself sweating she went over to where his book and pen were. He wanted you all ready when he came up, with your name and the time and date written neatly in his book.

With heart thumping she looked at the names — and what he had subsequently written against them. It was true, he didn’t always give a DD after a girl had had the strap once. Some girls seemed to have got DD’s after the first time with the strap but others just went on getting only the strap. One girl she knew, Gillian Burnley, now in the Upper Sixth, had got a DD on her second visit but after that it had just been the strap again. There were also mysterious asterisks against some names. Curiously the asterisks seemed to be where there wasn’t a DD.

Did it mean girls could in some way beg him not to use the cane…?

These thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of heavy feet on the stairs. Oh Christ! In a panic she put the book down and stood, arms at her sides and shaking all over, next to the dreaded chair.

His head appeared round the door frame. If you didn’t know what he was like you might think it an amiable, friendly face.

‘Not ready, Miss?’

Oh Christ! In her panic she had forgotten. Daphne’s hands grabbed her skirt and lifted it. High up above her waist to expose what was underneath. Just brief white knickers — apart from Daphne herself that was. Full, swelling flesh, stretching the knickers drum taut. ‘Sorry sir,’ she whispered. Mr Moulton liked you to be ready which meant standing with your dress already up.

‘Turn,’ he commanded. She turned to present her back, her bottom, to the advancing figure. The floorboards creaking, then a gasp as he was all at once there, close behind her. His hand at her bottom.

‘You know why you’re here, Daphne?’

Yes. Or rather she could guess. Mr Digbody, the gardener, had caught her cutting across the hockey pitch after tea which was something you weren’t supposed to do although plenty of girls did. Fearful of getting reported Daphne had gone with him into his potting shed and not objected to his wandering hands.

As his hands, his fingers, went where Mr Digbody’s hands and fingers liked to go Daphne pleaded with him not to report her. He had strung her along and in her desperation she had let him take her knickers down. Finally when he had finished he had given her the impression that he wasn’t going to report it. But when that young kid came with Mr Moulton’s note Daphne had known, with a thud of her heart, that bloody old Digbody had.

Mr Moulton, pinching her bottom, confirmed it. ‘Out of bounds on the hockey field, I understand. And a second punishable offence in your first three weeks of term, Daphne. Well, well, well.’

She blinked. The room seemed to be swaying about. First that awful strap… and then… The hand slapped sharply. ‘Get up then… and slip down your knickers.’

She got on the chair, kneeling, leaning forward against the back. She felt simply dreadful. It’ll soon be over, she tried to tell herself, it won’t take long. By this time tomorrow there won’t be any pain left. So all she had to do was be brave for a short while. Her hands seemed to have lost all co-ordination. Finally she got her thumbs in… and dragged them down. Her bottom bare… Mr Moulton’s hand sliding over it briefly… And then…

Gripping the chairback she gritted her teeth as the leather whistled in. A sharp explosion of pain, forcing the gasping breath from her mouth. Hang on, she told herself through the knife-sharp pain as it throbbed and pulsated in her poor bottom. Hang on as that strap hit in again… and again…

Through it all, riding on those desperate waves of pain like in an angry sea, her bottom clenching and jerking, part of her mind, remaining clear and focussed in the midst of it all, said, ‘You’ll know shortly.’ About Double Deckers. The reason. Why some of them got it. And some didn’t…

Daphne walked as in a dream. Haltingly down the stairs and then out along the gravel path. She shook her head. For the moment it was like a dream but no doubt the reality of it would soon hit her. The overwhelming reality. She knew now. About DD’s. Daphne gnawed at a full lower lip. Yes she knew now. And really when he said it and showed her the cane…

Back in Baker House, in the attic, in Mr Moulton’s record book the latest entry: Daphne Saunders, Lower Sixth. After the date Mr Moulton’s sloping hand: Out of bounds [hockey field]. 8 with the strap. And then one of those mysterious asterisks. Mr Moulton, pottering about, tidying up a few things, had a contented, satisfied look on his face. A fat old cat who had got at the cream.