A Trespasser in Higgins’ Odd Little World
From Uniform Girls 5
Another
new-comer to Higgins’ cane; an innocent who thinks that girls never get their
knickers taken down by Headmasters, or Wardens, and that a spanking over three
pairs of pants is nothing to worry about. Just how wrong can a girl be.
It
had been a good idea to take the quiet route, thought Hermione Flynn as the
expensive car sped through the Berkshire countryside. Apart from the purr of
the BMW’s engine, the only sound was the evening chirruping of the starlings
and thrushes. Occasionally Mrs Flynn would throw out some comment about the
flora and fauna gliding past, but there was no reply from the back seat.
Nor
could there be. Geraldine had lost her voice. She had shouted herself hoarse at
the hockey international — it had been so exciting, especially when England had
rallied at the end and just taken the lead in the final seconds. Geraldine had
waved her union jack for all she was worth, yelling in a vain attempt to be
heard over the mass of squealing schoolgirls that were packed into Wembley
Stadium. What a birthday treat it had been! Sport was Geraldine’s great love —
her only love, almost. She didn’t find much attraction in the local boys yet.
She had a certain romantic inclination towards a couple of pop stars, but that
was as much for the sake of being one of the crowd with her schoolmates, as it
was anything to do with the awakening of her body. Still, she was only
seventeen. Seventeen today.
Yes,
it was sport that thrilled her, and hockey was Geraldine’s game. She was a
familiar sight on the school fields all over the county, blonde hair flashing
in the sun, navy skirt flapping in the wind as she dashed hither and thither.
upholding the honour of the school. Though tall and handsome, she was anything
but willowy, and her athletic endeavours did much to contain a tendency to
plumpness, especially around the buttocks and thighs. One might call her leggy,
or sturdy, but she was without doubt softly feminine. She had a naturally peachy
complexion, a shimmering soft down over her limbs, and a charming weakness to
blushing in cold weather or in response to a compliment.
Compliments
were common enough, because however disinterested Geraldine was in the sensual,
her gambolling frolics on the sports field provoked plenty of interest in her
enchanting physique. There were always a few male spectators talent-spotting at
school matches. Geraldine’s appeal was more to the experienced connoisseur than
to the randy young lad — randy young lads were more attracted by glamour than
subtle beauty: after anything with heavy make-up and big tits. Miss Flynn
presented a scrubbed face to the world, and the soft swell of her shapely
breasts was far from challenging. She was like a cherub in a Renaissance
painting, with a page-boy haircut, big still blue eyes, those rosy cheeks and a
full pink mouth that usually pouted open just enough to show her front teeth.
The experienced connoisseur, mature as he was in his tastes, would give his more immediate attention to her bum. Full it was and round, making the most of her broad hips in its globular expanse. The games skirt would flip up as she ferreted for the hockey ball with her busy stick and the onlookers would puff appreciatively at their pipes as they scrutinised the pumping bum-cheeks under and beyond the grey pants.
But
she wasn’t to be talked out of her gym-knickers. The compliments after the
match merely brought the colour to her face, kind offers were politely refused.
Geraldine Flynn was the kind of girl to save herself for Mr Right and Mr Right
would have to take her to the altar before those firm golden thighs would
spread. (Mr Wrong would be well advised to try the effect of half a bottle of
vodka slipped into a succession of fruit-juices, followed by some not-too-gentle
persuasion and a deaf ear to protest, before admitting defeat to her tedious
good intentions.)
Geraldine’s
thighs were pressed tightly together in the back of the BMW, though she was in
no moral danger. No, the danger was that she might wet her knickers. The sharp
sensation in her groin was getting worse. She leant forward to attract her
mother’s attention — luckily her mother guessed what her voiceless desire might
be. ‘Do you want me to stop, love? Hang on…’
Mrs
Flynn switched off the engine as her daughter disappeared into the bushes at
the side of the road. Now there really was peace — they must be miles from
anywhere and they hadn’t passed another car for almost thirty minutes. Just the
tinkling of birdsong in the summer evening.
Geraldine
came into a brief clearing. She looked back towards the road, where patches of
daylight still showed through the trees. Ahead of her was a wire fence, just
two loosely-strung strands of wire along wooden posts. Beyond it were some
thick shrubs. It would be more secluded in there, she thought, modesty as
always her preoccupation. She was about to lift the top wire and duck under
when she remembered her new dress. That had been a birthday present too, an
exquisite (and very expensive) Laura Ashley frock. It would be a tragedy if it
caught on one of those brambles. Geraldine slipped it off and hung it carefully
on a fence-post, then climbed through the fence wearing just her bra and pants.
The
bushes were indeed secluded, which is why Mick, the gardener’s lad, had hidden
himself among them with his collection of Swedish magazines. Well, it was quite
a strain working at the Calphurnia Foundation Home for Delinquent Schoolgirls.
What with morning drill — all those teenage girls in shorts and tee-shirts
bending and stretching, marching and running on the spot — to say nothing of
all those interesting sounds that came from the warden’s study as he weeded the
beds outside, sounds of whimpering, sobbing, squealing and the thwack of wood
and leather against female flesh — well, it quite aggravated the imagination of
a growing boy.
Yes,
it was quite the most sensible thing to find a hidden corner, spread out the
magazines and indulge in manual stimulation of the genitals. Accordingly, Mick’s
jeans and briefs were rolled down as he knelt in the bushes and his impressive
erection was bobbing to the rhythm of his tweaking fingers.
He
was holding back on the sticky brink for the umpteenth time when he heard a
crack of breaking twig. In panic he crouched down, tugging at his dishevelled
garments. Then, through a gap in the bushes he caught sight of Geraldine. Not
that he knew it was Geraldine. Christ, he thought, one of the girls is
wandering about in her underwear!
He
stopped his hurried attempts to replace his jeans, returning instead to his
former occupation. Only this time it was Geraldine who provided the inspiration
to his wanking. What a little star! Gerry had chosen a set of bra and pants to
match the delicate prettiness of her new dress. However important modesty is to
the pampered daughters of the upper middle-class, the need to be feminine is
even greater. After all, she hardly expected that anyone would see these pale
pink translucent follies, revealing as they did the coral dishes of her nipples
and a remarkably black bush luxuriant enough to spill over the top of the lacy
knickers. She found a suitable spot and slipped the pants down before
squatting. Mick failed to suppress a grunt of appreciation as her wobbly white
bottom was denuded. He continued to pump away as Miss Flynn relieved herself a
few feet from his eyes.
----//----
Mr
Robert Higgins, warden of the C.F.H.D.S. was strolling in the grounds with a
fat cigar between his teeth. He had chosen the furthest corner of the field,
down by the shrubs, where he would be unlikely to be spotted — it wouldn’t do
for the girls to be set a poor example, as smoking was forbidden among the
pupils.
Suddenly
Higgins stopped. Something white was moving in the bushes. He took two swift
steps nearer. It was a naked bottom! ‘Hoi!’ called Mr Higgins striding into the
bushes. The sight that greeted him was rather remarkable. The startled
Geraldine had fallen over backwards into the puddle of her own making. She was
desperately trying to pull her pants up, as was Mick, who had staggered out
from the bush, wrongly guessing the direction of Mr Higgins’ swooping advance.
Reeling back from the terrifying spectacle of Higgins under a full head of
steam the boy stumbled back into the bushes. scooping up his magazines and
clutching them to his chest. He made off for the gardener’s hut with as much
haste as half-masted jeans would allow.
Mr
Higgins, however, was oblivious to his flight, bearing down instead on the
shocked and scared blonde with eyes wide as saucers. She tried to make
crab-like movements away from the advancing warden by scrabbling on elbows and
feet — indeed, she might well have made some progress, had she not been
attempting to pull up her knickers at the same time.
Considering
that his judgement was utterly erroneous, it is quite remarkable how swiftly Mr
Higgins grasped the situation. One of his girls had clearly sneaked into the
bushes for a screw. He had caught the pair of them literally with their pants
down. He didn’t know who the boy was — he’d escaped before Higgins had been
able to take his eyes off the girl’s unusually black fleece and stop marvelling
at the contrast between it and the blonde curly hair. Besides, it wasn’t his
job to stop lusty youths from doing what came naturally. His job was to punish
teenage girls, and this young lady merited the full force of his authority!
Geraldine
was terrified — more terrified than she had ever been in her seventeen years
and eighteen hours. Her attention to nature’s call had been interrupted by
Higgins’ shout, but the sight of his maniacal face lurching towards her was
enough to trigger the involuntary discharge of the remaining contents of her
bladder. Robert Higgins fell upon his prey. ‘Just what do you think you are
doing?’ he bellowed, grabbing Geraldine by the shoulders. His voice was every
bit as gross as his appearance. Gerry just gawped, her big blue eyes even
wider. Lower down she gave a final weak spurt into the green grass.
‘I
said what do you think you are doing, young lady!’ Higgins hauled her up
roughly by the shoulders, shaking her so that her soft young breasts quivered
in her bra. Geraldine opened and closed her mouth like a tropical fish, her
nostrils dilated, but of course, with voice gone, no sound came from her. This
drove the warden to still greater fury. ‘Answer me, you little bitch,’ he
thundered, forgetting the precise mode of address between master and pupil — I’m
sure we can forgive him in the heat of the moment. The delectable teenager
repeated her animated mime with the same lack of effect.
‘Right!
We’ll see what you have to say when my cane has given your backside a good
talking to!’ He grasped her ear between thumb and forefinger and half pulled,
half willed her up. Maintaining the grip he propelled Miss Flynn towards the
far side of the thicket. There was a sudden renting sound as her expensive
knickers, wreathed around her thighs, ripped apart as she scrambled forward.
The delicate garment fell to the ground in damp tatters. The two figures burst
into the sunshine, which caused Gerry’s big bare bum to flash brilliant white,
wobbling and oscillating cheek by cheek as her legs struggled to keep up with
the purposeful stride of the large warden.
----//----
It
had been rewarding, the pageant of astonished expressions as Robert Higgins had
led Geraldine Flynn by her ear towards the establishment buildings. An
extremely attractive blonde teenager, distraught, naked bar a ridiculously
frivolous brassiere, turned the heads of everyone. It turned the heads of the
girls, who were shocked by the sight of one of their number being treated with
such cavalier disrespect. It turned the heads of the masters, who appreciated a
bit of teenage crumpet at least as much as the next man. It turned the head of
anyone curious about a honey blonde with coal-black fur below.
Once
inside the stone building, Geraldine was bundled forwards with even more
uncaring haste. Twice she stumbled on the waxy floor of the corridor and twice
she was hauled to her feet with uncouth vigour. When they reached the door
marked simply R Higgins she was left to fall awkwardly on the hard tiles
while the embodiment of that name fumbled for his key.
Inside,
the study was surprisingly large — soundless, it smelt of polish and cigar
smoke. On the left wall was a high square window. The pole required to open it
resided in the further corner. The window admitted the only natural light, and
was far too high to allow anyone to see into the room — beneath it was a
managerial desk with a leather-padded swivel chair behind. On the desk were
various papers and envelopes, and a tiered series of wire trays occupied one
corner. There was a grey metal filing cabinet to the left of the desk and above
that was a wall calendar — these furnishings summed up the administrative
duties with which R Higgins was entrusted.
The
other side of Higgins’ duties was represented by the portion of his study to
Geraldine’s right. There was a raised wooden dais nearly as wide as the room,
on which stood nothing except a heavy wooden table. Attached to the wall behind
at shoulder height was an oak cabinet, with the doors swung open. It was the
kind of shallow cabinet in which one might find keys hung. However, the left
side held an impressive array of horizontally-racked canes, while opposite hung
some of the most ferocious and well-worn tawses you could hope or fear to see.
The
doors of this cabinet were only closed when official visitors were touring the
home. Otherwise they gaped open to proclaim the abundance of weaponry
available, scaring the living daylights out of sensitive teenaged girls like
Geraldine Flynn.
Robert
Higgins had authority to punish where punishment was due. Moreover, it was
assumed that punishment was well and truly due to all the inmates of the
Calphurnia Home. Girls stayed there for an average of three to four weeks — it
was the ultimate example of the ‘short, sharp shock’ theory for young female
offenders. Therefore the staff could hardly be expected to remember the names
or faces of many of the girls in at any time — hence Robert Higgins assumption
that Geraldine was a young scamp sent to him for correction. He thought that
she had deliberately flouted his authority in order to satisfy her carnal
desires.
When
they had arrived in this forbidding room the girl had simply stood and trembled
while the warden locked the door behind them and turned on the harsh light. For
a few seconds he had slipped out through a door behind the desk — it led to a
comfortable lounge, though our heroine didn’t know that of course. All too soon
he re-emerged and stalked slowly and menacingly towards her.
‘Now
will you tell me your name?’ he erupted, pushing her palpitating pink form
against the wall of the office. No miracle was forthcoming and Gerry’s lack of
voice continued. She mouthed, and rolled her eyes, and cried tears of
frustration, but the hoarse rasp that came out was not eloquent. Higgins was no
lip-reader, either.
‘Alright
then,’ barked the empurpled and sweating man that had her pinned against the
paintwork. ‘Alright then, let’s see what you think of this!’
----//----
You
may well be wondering what had happened to Mrs Flynn. After five minutes she
had begun to worry, but even so, had been overcome by drowsiness in the warm
summer evening. After about ten minutes she awoke with a jolt. Where was
Geraldine? She peered towards the bushes but could see nothing. Nervously she
got out of the car and went to investigate. There was no sign of her daughter,
just shrubs, a wire fence and more shrubs with the green of a field showing
through gaps. (The Laura Ashley dress, it must be explained, had been wafted by
a rogue gust of wind to adjoining farm-land, where even now a nonchalant cow
was indolently depositing steamy wet turds on the prettily flowered fabric.) ‘Gerry!’
called Mrs Flynn, ‘Geraldine!’ There was complete silence. For a few minutes
Hermione called and searched, returning to the car at intervals to see if her
offspring had returned. Eventually, with rising panic, she started the car and
sped off in search of a police station.
----//----
Geraldine’s
pink and pampered bottom mooned mellowly in front of Mr Higgins. She was lying
over that heavy table, stretching to hang on to the tops of the far legs while
her ankles were tucked round the nearer legs just above the floor. The warden
hung his jacket over the back of a chair and rolled his sleeve up. All the time
his eyes were on that naked rump. It really was a peach, round and soft
demurely cleft, where crisp and curly black hair peeped out. Bums like that
were meant to be flogged, not cossetted, and Geraldine was about to receive the
first flogging of her sheltered little life. There was no place in Britain
where she could be thrashed with such callous abandon, and no finer, more
gentle flower of femininity could end up in such a place.
End-up
indeed! Higgins swung his cane in a sizzling arc to explode against the virgin
buttocks. Gerry jerked like a fish on a line. She flung her blonde locks hither
and thither as she mewed soundlessly through clenched teeth — her waist dipped
and her thighs splayed, showing the lot. Across her bottom a diagonal stripe
began to glow, sending repeated waves of intense pain to her befuddled brain.
She didn’t have time to stop squirming before the next mighty blow struck home,
crack across the lower curves of her chubby behind, driving the flesh up
in a broad ripple.
Geraldine
let go her foot and hand-holds, clenched her fists and scrabbled in an
undignified frenzy on the table-top. Big, full tears rolled down her scarlet
face and plopped onto the table as the cane swung in again.
Splatt! Christ, this was the stuff to give them thought Higgins
as he felt the satisfying jolt along his arm of trusty wood against tender
girl-flesh. Every time he hit her her legs flew apart, like a girl doing the
breast-stroke on his table, a plump little handful trying to hide among the
silky black fluff.
Splatt! Right up in the under-crease, really vicious, and that’s
sitting-down ruled out for a few days. Splatt! Another one in the same
place just to make sure, and there’ll be more to come there when those two have
had time to mature. Back to the cheek-crowns where the first blows have already
blossomed into ridged weals, puffily pink and splendidly excruciating. Why the
hell aren’t you squealing you little bitch? I can see that you’re feeling this
from the way that you kick and toss and wriggle, so why won’t you sing to me?
Oh,
if Geraldine had a voice! How she would have howled! Instead she could only sob
in silence as her reddening bum boiled up in torment. This was the most awful
day of her life, the most terrible thing that had ever happened to her, the
worst pain she had ever felt. For the first time ever a man other than a doctor
had seen her bare. And now she knew that she was showing those private parts
between her legs — and even worse — in the crack of her bottom. But she couldn’t
help it because it hurt so! Every time the cane hit her there was a sharp shock
of pain, followed by a throbbing build-up of agony, like a vice gripping her
poor flesh and tightening on it. She couldn’t help but kick and squirm, even
though it didn’t do anything at all to lessen the pain.
Gerry’s
bottom was a jolly sight indeed, no longer a pale, shy moon, but merrily
striped like a huge humbug. Whatever anger there had been in Higgins had
evaporated in the sheer joy of inflicting pain on a seventeen-year-old girl. He
loved it — the big, bare bottoms, the threshing bodies, the massing weals. The
only thing he missed was the squealing, the crying, the pleading for mercy
which it was such a pleasure to refuse.
What
was wrong with this girl? He gave her another couple of meaty swipes across the
blazing under-curve then laid his cane gently down on the table and walked
round to its other side. He looked down at Geraldine’s face. Her chin rested in
a pool of tears, with more big drops pouring down her bright cheeks. What had
been an immaculate halo of blonde hair was now a tousled mess, streaked and
wetly plastered over her forehead.
There
must be something amiss with her voice, the warden correctly concluded as he
took up his former position and reached for the cane again. There was no doubt
that she was suffering but not able to express it. The best thing to do was to
give her more of the same.
His
cane was already aloft when the phone rang. ‘Shit!’ he thought but didn’t say. ‘Right,
you, don’t you dare move a muscle till I get back,’ he hissed at her. He
watched for her bum to relax and then slashed the cane across the unsuspecting
flesh before flinging it on to the table beside her writhing body. He marched
across to the door behind his desk, opened it and walked into the lounge. He
closed the heavy door and went to pick up the phone. ‘Yep?’ he said impatiently
into it.
----//----
Geraldine
just lay there. She twitched in the silent room as the pool of tears around her
head widened. What had begun as her best-ever birthday had become a descent
into the first of hell — bottom first. She daren’t move. She could just make
out the sound of Higgins’ voice over the hum of the air-conditioning, but not
what he was saying. She wondered if it would sooth her burning stripes at all
if she rubbed her bum, but wasn’t going to risk being caught by that terrifying
man. She just lay there and twitched.
In
the other room Higgins was shaking with laughter. The cause of this was rather
a mystery to Inspector Corcoran on the other end of the telephone line. When he
had answered the phone the warden’s tone had been one of extreme irritation,
though it had softened considerably when he had recognised the voice of his old
pal the Inspector. But there had been nothing in the tale which Corcoran had
told to cause such explosions of hilarity, surely — the story of a distraught
woman having driven to the police station after trying every phone booth on the
way and finding each vandalised. She had jabbered hysterically about her
missing daughter whom (it had seemed when the WPC had calmed the woman into a
coherent state) had wandered off in the vicinity of the Calphurnia Home. A
seventeen-year-old blonde called Geraldine.
‘Is
the woman there with you?’ Higgins managed to blurt through his giggles. ‘No. I’m
in the office on my own — Mrs Flynn is having a cup of tea with the WPC.’
‘Just
wait till you hear this…’
So
Higgins gave his side of the story, filling in along the way some details not
included in the police description of the girl — ‘Delectable bum… thick black
hair all over her fanny.’ Inspector Corcoran had a well-developed sense of
humour and before long he was chuckling too. He was a great friend of both
Warden Higgins and the C.F.H.D.S. and a loyal and active supporter of their
policies. The fact that a totally innocent seventeen-year-old girl was at that
moment suffering the torments of Hades was in no way a damper on his mirth —
quite the reverse in fact. After all, he made a point of visiting the home at
least once a week specifically to see teenage girls get flogged, so he had a
pretty good idea just what a delightful spectacle Geraldine must be providing.
‘Look’,
said Higgins, a note of seriousness in his voice at last; ‘There won’t be any
trouble over this, will there?’
‘Well…
we’ve got away with everything in the past. The way I see it, the girl was
trespassing… Oh, come on,’ said the inspector with sudden warmth, ‘of course we’ll
get away with it! What you’re doing to those kids down there has the support of
the highest in the land. As far as the people that matter are concerned, the
more girls’ bums you beat, the better. If some posh-voiced cow starts
complaining because her daughter wandered where she shouldn’t…’
‘That’s
just what I thought,’ interrupted Higgins. ‘Well, perhaps you’d better bring
her over.’ When you get here, just come straight into the office, I’ll unlock
the door. I want to give that Flynn woman the shock of her life!
----//----
Gerry
had been a good girl. They usually were good girls if you whipped them hard
enough. She was exactly as he had left her, except that the weals on her bottom
had swollen and bloomed magnificently — a lovely show of colour. He walked over
to the trembling figure. stood behind her and clapped his hand against the
right cheek. She could still wince, then, voice or no voice. Poor kid, he
thought as he ran his hand appreciatively over the hot corrugations — if it was
a twinge of sympathy it merely served to help him savour the seventeen-year-old’s
pathetic, painful plight more fully.
He
jiggled the heavy flesh, feeling her tense-up in trepidation. She didn’t dare
glance back at him, but he heard her heavy, fearful breathing. Now he brought
the left hand into play with a slap that echoed from the office walls. A bum-cheek
in each hand being wobbled merrily. The frightened youngster wondered just what
was going to happen next. She would have been even more frightened if she could
have seen what Higgins saw when he looked down, the fat ridge of his trousered
erection nuzzling contentedly into the cleft, millimetres away from actual
contact with her flesh. He heard her hold her breath, too petrified to look
back at him. The warden began to squeeze her buttocks, compressing the injured
flesh in his greedy palms. Despite the horrible pain Geraldine gamely tried to
clench the cheeks together, but she was well-spread and that most private of
places lay exposed among the black curls.
Then
Higgins snapped out of his reverie. He’d have to stop all that, because her
mother would be there in a few minutes. He gave a final, cruel fistful-pinch
then released the cheeks and gave the front of his trousers a tweak.
‘Right,
girl!’ he barked, delivering a rapid salvo of heavy spanks as he spoke: ‘Stand
up and face me!’
Oh,
she was such a pretty girl, the puckered brow, red cheeks awash with tears and
quivering lips enhancing her looks considerably. Her expression encompassed
pain, fear and utter demoralization, a very attractive combination. She cast
her eyes down in shame, saw the menacing bulge, and looked up again in startled
shock. Higgins reached out a hand and grasped the flimsy strip of material
between her bra-cups, finished in a delicate pink bow. He dragged the cups up
over her breasts, which squeezed out and bounded free, pink nipples the size of
florins making their debut before manhood. He left the bra dangling there, its
protective function defeated.
‘You’re
going to climb up onto that table and kneel on it facing the wall. Then you’re
going to rest your head on the table top. Do you understand?’ Higgins’ voice
was even and icy. The snivelling blonde nodded. ‘Go on then.’
Naked
girls climbing onto tables are a fetching sight from the rear. Higgins stood
and enjoyed; Gerry was all bottom — wealed, bruised, swollen bottom.
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