Room 2D

Another Basil story from the archives. Inspired by the R.T. Mason classic  A Very Painful Lesson . Lisa Hemson had stormed out of the piano lesson. It wasn’t the first time Tebley had tried it on. He wasn’t a real teacher but the school used him for music tuition, so you had to go round to his house. There were rumours that some sixth form girls let him ‘do things’ to get better marks. He was always brushing against you, which you could put up with but then he had lifted her skirt up and cupped his hand on Lisa’s knickered bottom. She’d gone straight back to school and happened to run into Mrs Bairstow who was really nice, promising that everything would be alright… Mr Kendall, the headmaster of St Stephen’s looked at the book on his desk for the umpteenth time that morning. Specifically it was the ‘Incident Book’ detailing serious matters occurring in the school. Except that he made it his business to ensure that nothing that mig

From the archives — an original story by Basil It all started on Saturday morning. Her best friend, Alison came round, as usual. When Emma opened the door Alison was wearing a new pair of sunglasses. ‘Ta Daaa! Summer’s here and all cool babes will be at the pool!’ she chimed in her usual way. They went upstairs to change into the new bikinis, which they had recently bought for the summer, in readiness. When Emma looked in the mirror she realised that her new bikini was so tiny that dark wisps of pubic hair were poking out. ‘Oh my god!’ I can’t go like this.’ She exclaimed. ‘Oh, come on! You can’t chicken out. And Ke-vin Ty-ler will be there! I saw him this morning. I have the solution. Trim, Emma, trim!’ Alison announced and they both laughed. Emma was a bit embarrassed so she went into the bathroom and Alison stayed in the bedroom. After a few moments Alison was calling again: ‘Why don’t we go all the way. Smooth as silk.’ ‘What do you mean?’ Emma questioned. ‘Shave! It’s the

‘We’re not finished yet young lady…’ The spanking was awful. Then he caned her and she cried like a little girl. But this is the part she hates the most. ‘Let’s have a little check shall we? I know what you young sluts get up to. I’m sure you’ve let the boys have a good feel of this already, haven’t you.’ ‘No! I haven’t! I really haven’t.’ ‘Well you say that. But it feels to me like you’ve already had a finger or two up here. I’ve barely touched you and you’re dripping wet already. You dirty little thing. Come on, open those legs. Let’s see if you’re still intact shall we.’

An original story from Basil with a nice illustration. More absent-minded fun in an imagined sequel to After the Match ‘Nice try, Henry, but your girls are still a little below our standard, don’t you think?’ said St Saviour’s headmaster, Charles Greenwood, smugly. ‘Indeed’ said Henry Bellish, Head of St Joseph’s, rather resignedly. Results were not normally the main interest to Henry in attending girls’ inter-school sports, but this time there had been a bit more riding on the match. Henry was taken into the pavilion to partake in the after match refreshments. To Charles’ consternation there was not a soul around. He cleared his throat loudly. A door opened and a dark-haired girl appeared, a look of surprise, then apprehension appeared on her face at seeing the two headmasters. She turned round, disappearing for a few seconds before returning with a tray of pastries and almost ran to them to try and make up for the fact that she had not been waiting with them on offer as they

My latest young houseguest is a terrible wriggler. During each of the daily caning sessions she has earned, she cries and pleads and wriggles and, seemingly unable to muster even the slightest degree of self control, tries to avoid discipline by placing her hands in front of the delightfully plump target area. I have recently tried to help her maintain a little dignity — and to keep her sensitive hands from receiving too many hard blows — by tucking her wrists inside the tight waistband of her lowered knickers. They are of course several sizes too small, so I find they hold her hands quite firmly in place. It’s all for her own good of course, and I find the ritual of preparing her just so helps me to focus. Even if it does start her crying even sooner.

Inside the manager’s office of the BSB High Street Bank, young Mary Piper found herself in a terrible position. Although, of course that’s a matter of perspective. To her it was terrible, truly, truly, awful, not to mention shameful and humiliating. She was kneeling on a hard stool in front of the manager, Mr Brown, and the assistant manager Mr Dock. She was naked from the waist down, if you didn’t count her long white school socks and her shoes. Which she didn’t. But to Mr Dock and Mr Brown it was a quite delightful display, and certainly not the first time they had enjoyed such a show, although not with Mary involved. The scheme had been Mr Dock’s brilliant idea. He reached out to the local schools and suggested they bring their older pupils to the bank for a morning visit. They could learn about the industry and also be informed as to the value of taking a disciplined approach to managing their own financial affairs later in life. The bank benefited by offering the youngsters the

Two lovely drawings from Darcy today. Come along now. Take them right off. You know you deserve it. Sometimes he deliberately makes her wait while he reads the school report. Sometimes accidents happen. Which means sometimes he has two good reasons to punish her.

A treat for Leap Day. No less than five original illustrations of this excellent story from Darcy. To many of his closer acquaintances Charles Beaumont appeared to be blessed with extraordinary good luck He had succeeded in business and had retired early. He had a nice house surrounded by well-tended gardens that offered a relaxing oasis of calm and, crucially, privacy. Single for most of his life, he had recently married and now had a wife, June, and her teenage daughter Billie. Both of whom, as those close acquaintances knew, were regularly subjected to old-school discipline. Was it luck that such ripe fruit had fallen into his lap, a lap they both squirmed and squealed over, or was it something else? Well, if you were to ask Charles he would tell you that there’s no such thing as luck. Disciplined and focused he had chosen a career he knew he could succeed in and would bring him the financial security and comfort he deserved.