New Head Girl

From Blushes 80

Stephen Wimbley, Headmaster of Fairgrove School, gazed out of his French window onto his sunlit lawn. it was a private area of the school, secluded by trees and shrubs and off limits to the general run of pupils, although one or two specially favoured ones were allowed limited access. On this sunny May morning it was deserted but Mr Wimbley nonetheless had someone in his vision. A pretty girl pupil, quite tall with a softly rounded figure and curling chestnut hair tumbling onto the shoulders of her navy cardigan. Her name was Susan Gilford. She was in the Lower Sixth and when school re-assembled in September she would be in the Upper Sixth. There was also a very good chance that she would then be Head Girl. Although that of course was not yet definite…

Susan wasn’t actually out there, the Head was picturing her in his mind. Picturing Susan out on his lawn, also remembering her in here in his sitting room two days ago. When the subject of Head Girl had been broached. Remembering with pleasure that lovely embarrassed blush suffusing her cheeks. Had she really not known she was very much in the running? And then the further blushes, when he had gone on to other matters. Matters very much connected with being Head Girl. Being Stephen Wimbley’s Head Girl at least. Mentioned obliquely at first but then coming round to a pretty clear statement, because it wasn’t something he could allow any doubt about.

Yes the lovely girl had undoubtedly blushed. Probably blushed all over? Because she wouldn’t have known. Not unless Amanda, his current Head Girl, had told Susan. And Amanda wouldn’t have told her, it was a very confidential matter. The fact that the Head Girl was required to submit to corporal punishment. To be more specific, if the Head was displeased about something which he considered her responsibility the Head Girl could expect to get her bottom spanked.

Her bare bottom.

Had he actually got as far as telling Susan it was on the bare?

Stephen Wimbley, still looking abstractedly out onto his splendid lawn shifted his weight and moved his hand to rub briefly at his penis. It had become almost fully erect, stretching the crotch of his grey trousers. It was the thought of Susan Gilford’s lovely bottom of course. As lovely as Amanda Milgrove’s?

Yes, he was quite sure it was. Maybe not quite as full, not quite as ripe — but then Amanda’s, if she wasn’t careful, could quite easily become somewhat over-ripe. Amanda should definitely watch the chocolates and whatever. She would of course be leaving at the end of summer term. Going up to university pretty certainly — where there would no doubt be hosts of young men, and lecturers and professors too, awfully keen to buy her chocolates and anything else. In the hope of getting into her knickers. Of fucking her in other words. Yes, Amanda would definitely have to be careful. And he was concerned, because although Amanda would be leaving school it would not, hopefully, be the end of a lovely relationship. Amanda would come back for not infrequent visits. When that lovely, splendidly ripe rear would once again be bared over his lap. Or his desk.

Tugging again at his tight crotch with both girls in his mind, Stephen Wimbley turned away from the French window. Susan was due to see him this afternoon. She had had the two days to think about it. This afternoon he would tell her she definitely was going to be Head Girl. As long as there weren’t any problems. He was sure there wouldn’t be. He had never yet had a girl refuse the offer. For one thing being Head Girl at Fairgrove School pretty much ensured a girl of a university place even if she wasn’t a genius. Susan wasn’t a genius —neither was Amanda. Both though were sensible girls. Sensible and lovely girls. Had he been specific to Susan? About a bared bottom. Stephen Wimbley was pretty sure he had. But if he hadn’t — that would simply make it more interesting. Even more enjoyable this afternoon.

There was a soft knock at his door. It was Amanda, he knew her discreet knock well enough by now. Telling her to come in he went to sit at his desk.

Yes, the lovely Amanda, Fairgrove’s current Head Girl. In regulation white blouse with the striped school tie and shortish pleated navy skirt. Her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. The white blouse tight over her big, firm boobs. The boobs also of course were bigger than Susan’s. Just a bit, not a great deal, because Susan had very good-sized ones too.

‘Hello sir.’ Amanda smiling pleasantly as she closed the door and then came over to the Head’s desk. ‘You wanted to see me.’

‘Yes. Nothing really. Just a word on how things are going. No problems?’

‘Ah no… No sir.’ Amanda had moved in quite close, as Mr Wimbley always liked, and his hand was already cupping behind her bare knee. ‘Well, that Keith Burlong is still being a pain. If you could give him a bit of a rocket sir…’

‘I will. I definitely will. Young Burlong.’ The hand was sliding up the back of Amanda’s thigh. ‘Have you got them off… Amanda dear?’

‘Yes sir,’ she breathed. Well of course there would be no excuse not to have her knickers off. Amanda had had the note from the Head after morning assembly, it wasn’t as if he had called her straight into his office. She had had plenty of time to take her knickers off. And after being Head Girl for two terms you had no excuse for not knowing the form. The fact that Mr Wimbley would always want them off when you went to see him in his sitting room.

‘Ah yes…’ His hand had reached there now. Up under the navy skirt to the soft undercurves of Amanda’s nude bottom. Burgeoning warm bare flesh. The hand softly stroked.

‘Tell me Mandy dear. What do you think about Susan. Susan Gilford. Would she make a good Head Girl?’

Amanda gave a little whimper. The hand was indicating that she should part her legs. So that it could slide in between of course. She didn’t want to. Didn’t want it. The hand would inevitably get her all hot. So that in spite of herself she would want it.

‘I uh… Yes sir. I think so sir.’ Did Susan know yet? What being Head Girl meant? Would she, Amanda, have said yes — if she had known? Probably. Because without it she knew she almost certainly wouldn’t get a university place.

‘Please…’ A gaspy breathless voice. The hand was there now. The fingers. Sliding along her slit. She was already getting wet.

‘Do you think, Amanda, that our Susan… ah… does it? Do you think she has started? With that James Cranfield I suppose. He seems to be her regular boyfriend, doesn’t he?’

Amanda emitted an Eeek! sound. The result of the fingers. Stutteringly she attempted to answer. Yes James Cranfield was Susan’s regular but as to whether they did it, she had no real idea. Amanda’s knees were getting rubbery now. Her hands on Mr Wimbley’s desk for support. His fiendish fingers were getting to her. Her hips shuddering… and then beginning to push down on the hand. She couldn’t help it. Working herself against his hand. She hated it like this. Standing up. But she couldn’t help it.

Mr Wimbley as he worked at her was quietly asking more questions about Susan…

----//----

Susan couldn’t concentrate. She hadn’t been able to ever since Tuesday afternoon when she had been called in to see the Head and they had had the talk. About being Head Girl. She had been able to think about nothing else ever since. Thinking about it — and about the other meeting she was to have with Mr Wimbley, which was drawing ever closer. The other meeting was now only hours away. Right after classes this afternoon. What was she going to say?

Of course she wanted to be Head Girl. And Mr Wimbley had hinted earlier that she might be in the running. Not as a result of her academic record which was no great shakes, but she did other things: sports and drama. Also she was popular and respected, which helped. So after that hint earlier Susan knew there was a chance. And then when he had called her in on Tuesday and had said it more definitely, well, it had really taken her breath away. She had been on cloud nine. For a few minutes. Until she realised what else the Head was going on to say.

She hadn’t realised at first. When he started talking about taking responsibility as Head Girl. About discipline and obedience. Did she have those qualities? She had said yes, she thought so. And then forcing herself to sound more assured: Yes sir, she did. And then Mr Wimbley had said she would have to demonstrate her discipline and obedience. And he had said how. Susan had thought at first it was perhaps his little joke. Maybe there was still a small chance it was a joke.

But somehow she didn’t think so. There had been that something in his voice, a certain intensity, which had said it wasn’t. Mr. Wimbley meant it. He intended to do it. It was the price of being Head Girl. Anyway very soon she would know for sure. In a very short time. Susan glanced again at her watch. Just one hour — and then she had to go and see him. A scary rendezvous in his sitting room. What was she going to say? But there was no real choice. When you had an offer like that a girl couldn’t refuse…

----//----

‘Would you like a drink, Susan dear?’ Mr Wimbley was motioning her to sit down. He laughed. ‘I mean it is something special isn’t it, when we decide on our new Head Girl. That is if we have decided.’

Susan said a nervous ‘No thank you sir,’ to the drink, then perched her bottom on the edge of the piano stool which happened to be nearest. Her stomach was full of fluttering butterflies.

Mr Wimbley was pulling a chair close. His normally florid face seemed redder than usual, or maybe it was just the contrast with his pale blue jacket and trousers. He leant towards her.

‘No drinks then, just serious business, eh Susan. Because it is serious, isn’t it? Being Head Girl of a school like Fairgrove. A big responsibility, but I’m sure you’re up to it. Am I right?’

A moment’s hesitation, and then she heard herself utter a breathy ‘Y… Yes sir.’

‘Good. That’s good.’ Stephen Wimbley’s hand came out, to take hold of a luminous bare knee. Susan gave an involuntary little squeak, but kept still. The hand squeezed softly. ‘Good girl Susan. I’m sure you’re going to be a marvellous Head Girl. And we’re going to have a lovely relationship. But first… we have to do a little testing. It’s nothing at all to get excited about, but it is my usual routine.’ A little laugh. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to break with my routine, would you my dear.’

And then Mr Wimbley told Susan he wanted her kneeling up on the stool. He wanted her to pull her skirt up round her waist. And then take her knickers down. He wanted her bottom bare. He was going to smack her bare bottom.

Susan shook her head. What he had said made her feel sick. She couldn’t possibly. Not, at 17, take her knickers down… to allow her bare bottom to be smacked. The butterflies were really tearing around in her stomach now. Mr Wimbley’s hand had slid up her thigh. Still on the bare flesh, pushing her skirt back. Susan didn’t try to stop the hand, she wasn’t all that conscious of it. Her mind was only on the other. Her bottom bare. Being spanked…

‘Come on Susan.’ Mr Wimbley was standing. He had let go of her thigh and now he was pulling her to her feet. She stumbled upright. Mr Wimbley pulled her close against him. His arms round her. His mouth close to her ear.

‘We are going to be sensible, aren’t we? I do so want you to be Head Girl. And of course then you’ll get a university place, no trouble at all. However you do in your exams. But… you’ve got to follow the rules. My little rules Susan. They’re just there to prove that you are the right girl…’

Mr Wimbley was turning her. Back towards the piano stool. His hands sliding over her body in the process. Over her firm tits. Her thighs and bottom. As he persuaded her up on the stool. Susan not really protesting. Because she couldn’t protest. She wanted to be Head Girl. And if this was what the Head required…

She was somehow on the stool again. Now kneeling, as required. Mr Wimbley was pulling up her skirt. Right up round her waist. To expose her bare thighs. And above them the flesh-tight, Daz-white cotton knickers. Her bottom tautly bulging.

Mr Wimbley’s thick voice, telling her to hold her skirt. Hold it tight, and high. As his hands cupped her knickered bottom-cheeks.

She was doing it. Allowing it. Zombie-like. Trying to close her mind. Holding her skirt high… as Mr Wimbley’s fingers crawled and fondled like enquiring spiders over her trembling flesh.

The fingers crawled and fondled, savouring her taut-fitting knickers… and then they were at her waist. Tugging the knickers down. She couldn’t prevent an involuntary, breathy ‘No… ooo…’ Desperately wanting to stop the hands. To blurt No, she couldn’t submit to it. She wouldn’t be Head Girl, another girl could have that honour. But the words didn’t come out and Susan kept submissively still. Still apart from her trembling. As the knickers were skinned down. Until they were fully clear of the ripeness of her bottom and pulled inside-out halfway down her thighs.

‘Aren’t you lovely!’ Mr Wimbley’s hands were back there, at her now nude bottom. ‘A lovely bare-bottomed Head Girl. Obedient and submitting, yes? And now I want you to turn on the stool, and show me your front. Keeping the skirt nice and high. And after that…’

After that the spanking started. After Susan had struggled awkwardly round on the stool to face Mr Wimbley, still clutching her skirt up round her waist, to submissively give him a bare front view. Her softly rounded abdomen with on its lower slope the crisp-curled bulge of her mons. Her pussy. She concentrated on looking straight ahead, past Mr Wimbley at the wall. Trying not to think what she was doing. Showing Mr Wimbley her pussy. Her dark brown pussy hair and the front of her slit.

Yes, after that the spanking started. Turning again and still kneeling up. To start with. Mr Wimbley’s hand smacking sharply in. Sharply stinging her quivering nates so that she couldn’t help an involuntary gasp as each one landed. One cheek and then the other. Maybe twenty hard smacks altogether.

‘Now a change of position.’ Mr Wimbley’s voice was tight, with his exertions, with excitement perhaps. ‘You’ve done very well so far. Is it stinging? Now I want you off the stool. Standing, leaning over the keyboard.’

Susan’s bottom was stinging. It really hurt. ‘No!’ she blurted. ‘Please… I’ve had enough now. I want to go now.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Mr Wimbley gritted. ‘We’ve hardly started. You’ve taken it alright so far but I’ve got to be sure. I need to make sure I’m getting a Head Girl who’s properly submissive to my wishes. I need to smack your bare bum quite a bit more for that. I’m going to have you over my lap in a minute. But first I’m going to give you some leaning over the keyboard. Come on. With that lovely bum sticking nicely out.’

----//----

It seemed to go on and on. First leaning over the keyboard and then as Mr Wimbley had said, over his lap as he sat on the stool. On and on, his hard hand cracking heavily, rhythmically down on her poor bottom. It felt red-hot. Red-raw. Finally Mr Wimbley did stop and pushed Susan to her feet. She felt like her legs were going to collapse. All trembly. Shaking. She was close to tears.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘You’ve done very well. Did you enjoy it?’

Susan made a blubbery sound. If she tried to speak she was sure she would burst into tears. She let go of her skirt and made to pull up her knickers.

Mr Wimbley stopped her. ‘Not yet. There’s just one more position I want to give you. Lying on your back on the stool. With your legs up in the air.’

‘No… ooo…!!’ she yelped. When it dawned on her what he meant. The position she would be in. On her back, with her legs up. Showing everything. ‘No! Not like that…’

Mr Wimbley said yes, she had to have it that way. It was his final test.

Susan desperately shook her head.

And now there were tears. The combination of this awful thing he was now telling her and the pretty awful business she had already been subjected to. Her hand wiped at the tears. She was ashamed to be crying — but in the circumstances she had every reason to.

Stephen Wimbley wasn’t going to be deterred by tears, though. He wanted his pound of flesh. The flesh of Susan’s already glowing red bottom. He was going to have his final go at it, tears or no tears. The upside-down one was anyway the choicest. He always left it to last, to savour it. No, a few girlish tears were certainly not going to prevent his enjoyment of it. A pretty girl’s tears anyway added a little spice.

So Susan had to get back on the stool. Her skirt up round her waist again but this time lying on her back.

Mr Wimbley took her legs in his left hand, pointing them up at the ceiling. His right hand adjusted her lowered knickers, making sure they would not impede his smacking hand — or impede the view. It was a marvellous view of course. Between Susan’s vertically-pointing thighs the whole of her pussy on display. As the poor girl was only too well aware. That knowledge showed clearly on her desperate face. No, most girls didn’t like showing it. Therefore making them do so was excellent training. Oh yes…

‘Are you ready then?’ Stephen Wimbley asked her. And then his right hand began belabouring the defenceless upturned nates.

----//----

Susan’s boyfriend James and also her mother both asked her afterwards. They knew about Susan’s appointment with the Head and also that she was in the running to be the next Head Girl. Had Mr Wimbley said anything? Her mother especially was very excited. Susan couldn’t tell an outright lie.

‘Maybe,’ she muttered. ‘I… might be. But I don’t want to talk about it, not right now.’

They both assumed this was because Mr Wimbley hadn’t said anything definite, not yet. So Susan didn’t want to count her chickens. But Mr Wimbley had. It was quite definite. she was to be the next Head Girl. Susan had to see him again tomorrow lunch time. She didn’t tell either of them this.

‘Another little chat Susan,’ he had said. ‘All part of the preparation for next year. I’d like you to have your knickers off. OK?’