Getting the Right Results

From Blushes 41

Did you know, Jean, that the tawse is still in use in many Scottish schools? Both boys and girls schools?’

The young nose wrinkled and a faintly puzzled expression appeared. ‘Er… what exactly is a tawse, Miss Cameron?’

A look of exasperation crossed the face of the stern-featured woman. ‘You really mean to say you do not know what a tawse is? Having lived eighteen years north of the border…’

‘No… I don’t, Miss Cameron. I think I may have heard the word used in some connection,’ replied the fair-haired Jean.

Miss Cameron ejected a scoffing laugh. ‘Connection! That’s good. The connection, I may tell you Jean, is with the bare behind of schoolchildren who don’t behave themselves. Because the tawse is a length of leather, often split into two at its end.’

The girl blinked nervously. ‘Y-You mean it’s a strap… a punishing strap?’

‘That’s what I mean,’ said Miss Cameron bluntly. ‘What is more, Jean, I may say that your guardian approves of its use in schools. He was, of course, a headmaster himself, a few years ago.’

‘Yes… I know…’ The voice was weak; the girl looked even more nervous. Puzzled as well. ‘B-But what has that got to do with me, Miss Cameron?’

‘What it has to do with you, Miss, is that I have now been officially appointed as your tutor — by your guardian — and he is a man who approves of corporal punishment. He has, in fact, expressed the opinion, he would have no objection to my using it if I thought the circumstances warranted it.’

‘Wh-what! You mean… you… you w-would beat me? Use a tawse on me? Oh no… I can’t believe it!’

‘Not necessarily a tawse, Jean,’ answered Miss Cameron in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Not at this stage, anyway. That is quite a severe instrument. However, it does mean I am authorised to punish you in some fashion if your work or your behaviour does not come up to the standards I require.’

The girl went very quiet; she seemed to be blinking back tears. What she had just been told quite horrified her. This, she thought, would never have happened if Mummy and Daddy hadn’t been killed in that air crash. I’d still be living happily with them… and not consigned to this big gloomy house with a ‘tutor’. Her guardian, Geoffrey McHale, had seemed only too anxious to get her off his hands. And with some exceedingly worrying instructions, it seemed. Jean looked at her tutor almost appealingly but saw no response in that face. Miss Cameron was typically and severely garbed. Black skirt, white blouse which they both wore as a type of uniform.

‘I’m glad to hear it, Jean,’ came the uncompromising reply. ‘For your sake.’ Then Miss Cameron went to a cupboard and produced a number of books and sheets of paper. ‘Might as well get down to work right away, I think,’ she said.

Jean felt her palms damp and dried them on her tartan kilted-skirt. ‘N-nothing like this has… has ever happened to me before, Miss Cameron,’ she said.

A trace of a smile crossed the woman’s lips. ‘You mean by that, I suppose, you’ve never had the threat of punishment hanging over you?’

‘Y-Yes… that’s right…’

‘Schools are getting far too soft these days,’ stated Miss Cameron. ‘Now Jean, you will find I have set you a variety of work. That is because I am intending to find where your talents lie and where your weaknesses are. Do as best you can. I shall be back in a couple of hours.’ And with that, Miss Cameron swept majestically from the room.

Jean sighed despairingly and seated herself at the small table upon which books and papers had been set. Academic work had always bored her horribly. She was much more the outdoor type. Sporty. Also, she cared about people rather than knowledge as such. She intended to take up nursing, sensibly realising she hadn’t got the brains to become a doctor.

----//----

After half an hour or so, Jean realised that most of the work she had been set was beyond her. The Maths was too modem, the French translation she had been set far too difficult. She found herself doodling and her mind drifting. How nice to have been wandering through the woods, picking flowers, watching birds, trying to catch butterflies. But there she was in that dreary, book-lined study. Having to use her brain; a brain that felt as if it were made of cotton wool. She would simply have to explain to Miss Cameron that the work she had been set was beyond her. Her tutor would understand, she was sure.

----//----

‘Well, then Jean, how have we got on?’

Jean was startled out of her reverie. ‘Er… not very well, I’m afraid, Miss Cameron.’ She found the papers before her being snatched up and examined. ‘This work is, well, too advanced for me…’

‘Too advanced!’ There was scam in the voice. ‘You’re eighteen, aren’t you? This is the expected standard for your year.’ The papers were further examined. ‘This is quite ridiculous… you’ve hardly attempted anything, girl!’

‘I… tried… Miss Cameron… but I’m not very good at this sort of thing…’

‘It is obvious to me, Jean, you have had nobody behind you, pushing you on up the educational ladder. You’ve probably been drifting for years. Well… that’s going to stop. Right now!’

‘Oh please, Miss Cameron. I’m not bright. Not brainy. I like outdoor life.’

‘You, my girl, are simply a slacker. And I’m not having it. From now on you’re going to have an incentive to use what grey matter you possess. Your guardian told me you were lazy and I ought to do something about it. That I intend to do!’

Jean felt a chill dread creeping over her. Could this really be happening to her? And her anger against her beastly guardian intensified. He was basically responsible for all this… this mess.

‘Remove your skirt, Jean.’

‘What? Wh-why?’

‘You know perfectly well why. You are going to be punished for an utter lack of effort…’

‘Oh no… please… not so soon… I’ve hardly started… hardly had a chance!’

‘Better you get an incentive right at the start. Come along, off with that skirt. Don’t make me lose my temper, or it’s the tawse you’ll feel not the palm of my hand.’

The word tawse sent a shudder through the girl. The thought of being beaten by a leathern thong was quite, quite terrible. Bad enough to know she was to be spanked like some little child. But what else could she do but obey? She had no one to turn to, no means of escape from this dilemma. Had her guardian deliberately contrived it? Or was this Miss Cameron a natural sadist? How grim and determined she looked! How frightening. With trembling fingers, Jean unfastened her skirt, then let it fall. Underneath, she had a rather grown-up pair of knickers. White silk with lacy edging. She felt she was entitled to such female fripperies at her age. Miss Cameron regarded them with something like astonishment, however… then yanked them down.

‘You’ll be wearing school knickers from now on, my girl. Not this kind of nonsense!’ she barked.

Bare-bottomed, Jean flushed with a mixture of fury and humiliation. How dare this awful woman treat her like this? Oh Mummy… oh Daddy… if only you were here to help me! But there was no one. No one in the whole wide world.

‘Ohhh… I don’t d-deserve it… I don’t…’ she heard herself half sobbing.

‘That,’ said Miss Cameron acidly, ‘is a matter of opinion. Kneel on the chair. No… no… not that way. Kneel so that you face the table, then bend forward.’ Jean did so, finding her face surrounded by the work she had been set… and not done. ‘A good spanking will smarten your ideas up no end, in my opinion.’

Still Jean couldn’t believe it was actually happening. There she was, naked bottom thrusting, shivering with fear. And for what? Simply because she had not done a few stupid lessons which were beyond her capacity. Oh how unfair it was! How terrifying, too. She hadn’t ever actually been formally spanked before; merely receiving a few slaps from her mother when she was very young. That was something acceptable. This was definitely not!

‘Please let me off… this time… please…’ she was annoyed with herself for being so cowardly, but could not check her natural outburst.

Miss Cameron did not answer this plea. ‘Let me tell you something, Jean,’ she said, ‘if you do not accept your punishment in a reasonable fashion, I shall fetch the tawse. Then you’ll really know all about it!’

Jean began to sob. ‘It… it’s not… mfff… f-fair… not… fair…’ She found her left wrist seized and brought behind her back. That added to her feeling of helplessness. Miss Cameron was not only strong in mind, she had a grip like steel.

‘I’m going to smack your bottom soundly, girl,’ came that crisp, authoritative voice. ‘That should help to see some improvement in the very near future.’

SMACK!

The palm descended. Jean felt the stinging pain… but felt the shame of it even more acutely. How could she, at eighteen, be treated like this?

SMACK! And again… SMACK!!!

But she was being treated like it. Spanked like a kid. She cried out in fury more than anything as she twisted and turned. The slaps rained down.

Again… again… again… again!

Jean strove to break Miss Cameron’s steely grip. Kept throwing back her free right hand, but all to no avail. ‘Don’t forget what I told you about the tawse,’ came a dreadful warning. Sobbing, Jean replaced her hand on the table… and endured.

Endured the repeated slap… slappp… on her bare bottom. Now the pain was beginning to mount. Beginning to be felt more acutely than the original shame.

‘Ow… oh… please… stop… stop… that’s enough… oh… please!’

‘I decide when you’ve had enough,’ rasped Miss Cameron.

‘Ohhh… ohhhh … I can’t stand any more… stop… stop… !’ But the slapping went on… And on and on and on and on! Until Jean’s bottom was glowing hot and every fresh slap a torment. Never had she believed it possible that anyone’s hand could hurt so much. Leather, yes, but not a hand. Again, again it landed where she was already burningly tender. Oh she just couldn’t bear it! She couldn’t!

Jean began to shriek half-hysterically. She’d had enough… she had… she had… she had!

Then, suddenly, the palm stopped descending. Oh thank the Lord… oh… she couldn’t have stood any more. Jean sobbed heartrendingly, still with her face pressed to the table, still kneeling on the chair. The whole of her bottom was burning hot. Unbearably so. Oh how she hated this so-called tutor of hers! To be treated so! Oh how unjust it was!

‘That,’ Miss Cameron was saying, ‘is but a taste of what is in store for you if you don’t make a much greater effort, Jean.’ She was breathing rather fast. ‘Do you understand that?’

Still sobbing, Jean nodded her head.

‘Answer me, girl!’

‘Y-yes, yes… mmmff… I understand, M-Miss Cameron… mfff…’

‘Are you going to try putting your brain to work for once?’

‘Yes… urrrfff… yes Miss Cameron.’

‘Because, if you do not, I shall get my tawse out…’

‘Oh now… not that!’ The thought of leather cracking across her bare flesh was even more intolerable now than it had been before her spanking.

‘Don’t say you haven’t been warned!’

‘N-No… Miss Cameron… I understand… I’ll try… I really w-will!’

‘Good… good. Now, sit yourself down on the chair again.’

‘I… I don’t think I want to sit down again, Miss Cameron.’

‘Just do as you’re told girl.’ With a sob, Jean got off the chair. ‘No… don’t pull your knickers up. Sit on the chair with your bottom bare. A small matter of discipline, Jean… and no bad thing.’

Tearfully, Jean obeyed the order. How utterly undignified it was to be sitting there with her knickers around her knees at eighteen it was some sort of nightmare. ‘Ohhh… mfff… please, M-Miss Cameron… let me pull my knickers up…’

This was ignored, like many other pleas before. ‘Now listen to me, Jean,’ came that relentless voice. ‘I am going to leave you in here for another two hours. Just as you are. Bottom bare and burning. In that state you will make another attempt at the papers I set you…’

‘Ohhh… uff… Miss Cameron… I don’t think I’ll do… do… any better! I just can’t!’ It was a wail of despair.

‘We shall have to see,’ said Miss Cameron, almost casually. ‘But let me tell you something before you start. If you don’t do better, I shall get the tawse out.’

‘Nooo…! Not that!’

‘Well then, Jean…’ The smile was cruel. ‘You’ll have to make a much greater effort, won’t you — something you don’t like, I know… but something I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of. All you need is an incentive. And that you now have. To avoid further… and greater… pain.’

‘Oh… no… I can’t… I can’t d-do it…’

‘Think of the alternative,’ said Miss Cameron. ‘And then, Jean you’ll be surprised what you’ll find you can do! Oh yes, indeed you will. I’ve had lazy pupils like you before. And I’ve converted them into scholarship winners!’

‘B-But… but… I don’t want that…’

‘Neither here nor there, girl. Your guardian wants results… and so do I. What’s more, we are going to get them. You are to report to him in the library at 7.00 tonight.’ Once more the imperious tutor strode from the room… to leave a hapless — and knickerless —Jean sobbing her heart out as she sat at the table. For her, at that moment, life was at its lowest ebb ever. She wept and wept until, it seemed, she had no tears left.

Then, in a state of half-panic, she turned towards the papers and books on the table. She had to make an effort! Otherwise that terrifying woman would use some brutal leathern thong upon her. Barbaric! Through a mist of tears, Jean picked up the first modern maths paper. Well, she had had instruction on this sort of thing before. If only she could dredge up what she had been taught.

It was literally painful to make her brain concentrate. In fact, to actually use the knowledge her brain contained. But, now, Jean persevered.

The alternative was too unpleasant to contemplate. And even more painful…

And her guardian tonight… what would be his method?

Modem maths; with old-fashioned methods getting the right results!