Story from Blushes Supplement 06.
Doing the course
'He b...b...beat me!', Jane howled. Sitting in one of the four twin-bedded dorms, she rocked back and forth with her hands over her face – 'All right, now, all right', Linda soothed, plumping her own firm young bottom down on the same bed and circling the other girl's shoulders with a comforting arm. 'He didn't really, Jane, and we don't use that word here. It was a tawse, wasn't it – a thick strap with a split end to it?'
'It doesn't matter wh...what it was', sobbed Jane, disregarding her companion's arm and falling sideways so that her tear-streaked cheek rested on the pillow, her body twisted awkwardly. It was bad enough that she had been made to bring her Sixth Form uniform to wear here and – worse – to have discovered when she had first opened her suitcase on arrival that all her dinky, pastel-coloured panties had been removed before she left and replaced with blue serge ones that she never seen before. They were new and she could only just wriggle her bottom into them.
'Try and lie still, on your side – it helps', Linda soothed. She rose and lifted Jane's sullenly-sprawled legs full on to the bed, deftly slipping down beside her. – 'He d...did it!' Jane sobbed, huddling her hot face into Linda's shoulder and causing that young lady to raise her eyebrows. Very delicately she reached down behind Jane's back and fingered the hem of her short pleaded skirt.
'No he didn't, sillikins. It was only a first lesson in obedience. Haven't you ever been spanked?', Linda asked, prompting a shacking of Jane's head followed by a hesitant, sniffing, 'Not much'.
'But you have a bit. I know the tawse feels worse the first time, though it depends who spanked you and how hard he did it', said Linda, putting a little question mark at the end of her words which produced nothing but an incomprehensible murmur against her ear.
At that moment it was her duty to soothe the new entrant. None of the girls who were sent to the Summer School were booked in for longer than a week, and all of those whose little dorm she shared assumed and accepted that Linda had arrived just a few days before. It always worked, even though she had been there since the Edwardian house had opened its doors and initiated its curriculum a year before. Nineteen now and as nubile as any of the 'pupils', Linda's role as monitor and persuader suited her perfectly.
Right now she had to decide what sort of confidential report she would be able to write about Jane in the morning. Some girl squealed, were petulant, cried themselves to sleep. It all depended on the first touch of her tapered fingertips to their totally or relatively untutored bottoms. No girl emerged from her first foray into the study downstairs with her knickers still on. The rule was that they had to return for them immediately after breakfast, their others having been taken away in advance.
'L...L...Linda, what... what are you doing?', Jane cringed as a palm floated light as a puffball over her stinging bum. – 'Just soothing you; it feels better when it's held afterwards, honest. Mine was – by the girl who was in here then', fibbed Linda smoothly, curling her fingers under the lightly-throbbing orb in such a position where she could extend the index one where it would surely be most needed.
'No, Linda, stop it', Jane mumbled, feeling her earlobes burn as the surface of a finger soothed up and down where her inrolling cheeks formed a secretive chasm. – 'It's all right. Tell me about it. I s'spect he was the same as with me. He wasn't too horrible to you, though, was he?'
'I told you... told you what he... No, Linda, please – I want to lie still'.
'I know, I know,' Linda's soft voice came, her lips brushing Jane's warm ear in a way that made the passing caress seem accidental. It would be like playing a very delicate minuet on a violin, Linda had been told when she had escaped discipline herself by promising to act out the very role she was now enacting. They never seemed to realize, Linda thought as she allowed a petulantly-murmuring Jane to roll on her back, that they thereby became more vulnerable... to her at least.
The trick was to whisper, as if confidentially, against their pouting mouths, essaying little would-be assuaging kisses inbetween – kisses that flicked and pecked at first rather than held. And to go on whispering and stroke their further cheeks while her own exposed stocking top rubbed against the nearest leg of the newcomer.
It had never failed to work yet, even when they did turn away afterwards a little shamefully and bring out more forced sobs into their pillows. Never had it failed to produce – for a minute or two at least – the long, luscious girl-to-girl kisses that Linda had found more and more she wanted rather than anything else...
* * *
'There was no great problem, then', Brian said the next morning just before breakfast while Linda stood at his desk, by his side. – 'No, none. You can see', Linda replied rather quickly. Her skirt was even shorter than those of the Summer School pupils. Every forward step displayed her black-ringing nylons and the milk-white, outward swelling flesh above. Every time she took a report in, his hand would ease up the backs of her own curiously male-mutinous thighs, stroking them absentmindedly, or with a studied air of absentmindedness.
Sometimes his insinuating hand would roam upwards to her bulbing bottom and Linda would draw air in sharply through her nostrils while his palm cupped the lower bulge of her bum, never moving but simply taking possession of that which she had never otherwise yielded to him.
Looking down, her own eyes scanned the brief report she had written, just as his own were doing, coded as her sentences were. – 'Cried a bit, but then was relaxed. Stroking not rejected until two or three minutes, but then grew pettish, said she wanted to sleep. Evidently spanked a bit before arrival. Wouldn't say how much'.
At the penultimate sentence, she watched him shake his head and pick up his pen. – 'We don't use the word 'spank' – not in reports; I've told you that; they need to be shown sometimes to their – er – guardians, Linda', he said, running the ballpoint back and forth across the word until it was illegible. – 'Write 'dealt with' – it's more generalised. Best to add it in your own writing', he suggested.
Linda knew what would happen next as she took the pen from him and bent awkwardly forward. A curling forefinger sought upwards between her warm, silky thighs, just as her own did with the girls. – 'No! You promised!', she said sharply, but knew she had to write the word first. It was always a breathless little race to get desired alterations down before his fingertip actually reached under to the puckered crotch of her knickers.
The result this time as, as often, a photo-finish that brought her jerking up to step away, her eyes accusing. – 'You did promise, you did!' So often had she said it, and so often he smiled with that awful cynical smile and shook his head.
'You had best send Jane in then, immediately after breakfast, hadn't you?', he asked as her footsteps took her back towards the door. Her hand on the door as she made to exit unreplying, his next words halted her. 'Agreements are made to be broken, Linda', he said mildly, causing her to shake her head defiantly. – 'Not this one', she answered, though wishing she could put more certainty into her tone. It was the last week of term, anyway. She would be going back to live with her boyfriend until next summer, and he knew that, was possibly even a mite jealous of that, though such a word never crossed the air between them.
* * *
Told in a whisper that she was to go and collect her knickers at 9.30 in the study, Jane clutched at her breakfast napkin for a moment and wondered why two of the other girls at the table seemed so sparky even though they had done five days there. They must have been through it awfully. The girl next to her, who looked a bit younger than herself, seemed utterly to have lost her voice. She had arrived on the morning of the day before, whereas Jane hadn't reached there in her father's car until late afternoon.
Did all the girls have their knickers off now, Jane wondered. – 'Oh, it's awful', she murmured half to herself, but the other new entrant heard her and said 'Yes' and then blushed when one of the others looked up and giggled. By nine-thirty, when the spacious hallway seemed twice as long as it had before, butterflies tremored in Jane's tummy as her slightly-quivering legs took her to the Principal's study.
The 'Yes?' that greeted her knock was a casual one and she entered to find him seated on a black leather couch that lay alongside the wall opposite the bow window, his jacket neatly folded over the back of his chair.
'Here, Jane', Brian uttered more abruptly. 'And close the door', he added as a pair of black-sheened, twinkling legs hesitated. The blue serge knickers that she had worn the evening before lay folded over once on the nearest corner of his desk.
'Sir?', Jane asked warily. His hand was extended to her as if in friendship – quite unlike the reception she had had from him some fourteen hours before. Drawing in her breath in a way that made her rounded tits lift appealingly under her tight, white blouse, she stepped forward and felt herself drawn down to sit beside him.
'You see, it's going to be all right – fine – Jane, when you have learned', Brian said as if he were in the middle of a discourse rather than beginning one. 'You were told the schedule, weren't you, eh?' – 'Well – er – yes. There's gym and there's make-up lessons, and there's bits of French conversation, fashion talks, tennis, and... well, sir, I forget the rest'.
'You do?' His smile was quizzical. To her great surprise he took one of her hands off her lap and held it lightly, running his thumb over its smooth back as if ruminating on his next remark. 'You forgot two things, Jane. Don't you remember what they were?', this bringing a flush into her checks and a nervous little movement of her longish legs whose thighs yielded the greater part of their gently-swelling sleekness to his interested gaze. – 'There was something about riding, wasn't there?', he prompted, making Jane's mouth part prettily.
'Well, yes, sir, but... but one of the girls said you didn't have any horses or ponies here and I thought... Well, I thought it w...was a mistake', Jane stammered. 'Or, I mean...', she put in apologetically, but he was already shaking his head benignly. – 'The second, which you also forgot, Jane, was that which I had cause to make you experience last night. Discipline and dutifulness. They are our two most important D's. Unzip your skirt, Jane, please, while we talk'.
'S...sir?' – 'Again, Jane? I seem to remember that you said that last night. You have a free hand, Jane – use it'. The slight trembling of her fingers, accompanied by the faint hissing of her zip, seemed to go unremarked by the Principal whose gaze had settled rather on the promising melons between which her striped tie dangled. Indeed, as Jane awkwardly worked her zip down, he relinquished his hold on her left hand and flipped her tie up, brushing his knuckles against the nearest of her breasts whose firm elasticity came very satisfactorily to his touch.
'And this, Jane. Such procedures as you will learn herein are part of dutifulness. Let us see how little or how much you will deserve in the area of discipline, shall we?', he asked, rising and noting with approval how tightly-clipped her suspenders were. The top of her grey pleated skirt had sagged. The wrinkled hem of her blouse just escaped its surrounding waistband.
Her lips still parted, Jane licked briefly at the corner of her lips as she drew hesitant fingers to the knot of her tie, but at that he smiled and shook his head, saying, 'No, Jane. Did I forget to tell you? You lie back, legs up. Then you undo your tie and unfasten the buttons of your blouse. Quickly if you will, please. There IS discipline, you know'.
'Y...yes, sir', she stammered. There was no cushion, nowhere to rest her head, and in obediently raising her legs and simultaneously falling back, she lay prone and utterly defenceless. He was gazing down at her as if he were a doctor, she thought. If she could only pretend he was one... Gulping, Jane undid and slipped off her tie and then unbuttoned herself to the waist until her cleavage showed.
'Draw the sides right back, Jane', he said steadily and thought, My god, what beautiful nipples you have. Exposed, the conical brown points extended themselves proudly upwards on their supporting hillocks that quivered gently while Jane bit her lip and blushed. – 'As you rise now, Jane, your skirt will fall. You step out of it neatly and walk slowly – I said SLOWLY – to my desk and lean forward on your forearms, your body well back from the desk itself. You understand, Jane?'
It is your riding posture, or one of them, Brian longed to add. He often wanted to say that to new girls, but never had. On their next-to-last or last day, perhaps, when their bottoms were urgently wriggling a silent, heat-blasting surrender, then it was different. Their responsiveness frequently surprised him, as did the sudden, uninhibited torrents of babbled words that sometimes came from their lips. Whether it was the urging of the cane or the persuasively shafting motion of that which by then was lodged within them, he was never quite sure.
Jane understood. After the previous evening she understood, just as she had begun to when she was spanked, though she hadn't done anything VERY much to deserve being unskirted then. Now that she had no knickers on, he could see all of her as she rose, wanting to stumble, wanting to cry, wanting to protest that her bottom was not for burning nor her pussy for tickling, though it did 'release' her – resentfully it did.
She had her stockings on still, and her black suspenders, and they made her feel almost more exposed than if she were totally naked. Her legs would look better – she thought ridiculously and self-accusingly – if she were wearing high heels and not silly flat shoes that had also been put in her suitcase, unknown to her until she had re-opened it. She had given up flat heels years ago... well, two, anyway. Flat shoes made the tops of her legs look plump, so she told herself, her tits jiggling as the desk seemed to come closer to her rather than, in her halting progress, she to it.
At least the Principal was behind her now. She wasn't sure whether that was better or worse. It had been awful being spanked and she howled the otherwise empty house down, but as Linda had told her last night it didn't matter – in one way – if you howled here because there weren't any nosey neighbours.
'It matters in another way, though, Jane. You are expected to learn to be quiet', Linda had also said.
As Jane leaned forward tentatively and twinned her forearms on the desk, so she heard a cupboard opening, but dared not look round. What she also then heard was the Principal's voice as he approached her, saying, 'There are two things wrong with your posture, Jane. Your legs. Apart more, please, and your bottom OUT more, OUT. Miss?'
'WOW-OH!', Jane jerked, not by any means in pain but because in that selfsame moment the slim malacca of a cane had slipped up between her calves, urging her uncertain feet apart and then continuing to glide until its ascent brought the tip briefly brushing beneath her pouting nest whose curls were of such delightful abundance that Brian could still see their enticing peeping when he stepped back.
'Only a sixer, Jane. You have had a sixer before? No?', he uttered at a small, mournful shaking of her head. The cane flexed in both his hands as he spoke, and even though her eyes could not have caught the movement, her inrolling cheeks tightened visibly. The cane moved forward, petting Jane's out-thrust peach and making her hips jiggle petulantly. A little, quick snapping of it then caught her across her cleft and she squealed.
'Quietly, Jane, quietly. Let's see if we can, eh? Just this first time?', Brian's voice came to her. There was a swishing then, and Jane closed her eyes. It was almost as if she could count the thousandth of a second that it took before the cane swirled bitingly across her pert derriere, bringing from her throat a half-strangled 'YEEE-EEEEK!' and the accolade – although she did not recognise it as such – of a lack of remonstrance from Brian.
HOO-WITTT! the cane sang, and this time Jane's unguarded cry was shriller. Her hips jerked in protectively, bringing her soft tummy to squeeze against the forward edge of the desk where for a long moment she continued to press it while Brian waited patiently. Ten seconds... twenty even, he would sometimes allow – especially with 'learners'. The first long tongues of fire would lick into her crevices now. Let her feel them – let her feel.
'OH-WOH!' her plaintive sobs floated on the air. – 'Out now, Jane – bottom out again, please', came the impassive reply. Admirably enough, her slim shapely legs – superbly formed for her age – had stayed relatively stiff. Her ankles had twisted but had not sought to close, as they often enough did. Very promising, Brian decided. It was quite wonderful what different surroundings and an authoritative stranger could do for a girl.
There were two streaks now, once half an inch below the first. Brian prided himself on his positioning of cane strokes just as he vaguely hoped that departing pupils would thereafter pride themselves on the dutifulness of their own future postures.
'This, Jane, is your first riding posture – I want you to remember that', Brian next himself saying. Dammit, he had said it to a new girl at last! 'You understand?', he asked sharply, accompanying his words (so unexpectedly for Jane) with such a hissing SWOO-ISSHH! of the cane that her bleating, eager, 'YEH-ESS, sir, yes!' rent the air immediately.
Brian – who had expected a howling 'No!' – stayed himself then and drank in the sight of her quivering, tightly-clenched bottom cheeks where tendrils of pink were spreading out over the flawless half-peaches.
'You do, yes, I believe you do, Jane. Get up and come over to me now', he uttered, partly to his own surprise. Taking several steps back, he took up his original posture on the couch with his knees spread. Flush-faced, hips jerking tremulously, Jane pressed up and turned about, bringing her arms up with ludicrous coyness across her bulbing tits, albeit that her bush showed clearly to him as she totteringly advanced.
'Jane, I believe you needed to be spanked, did you not?', he asked. Uncertainly, breathing quickly, she spread her hot bottom cheeks down into his lap, drawn there by his insistent hand. Her head drooped. Her nipples seemed to be tingling with fire and her bottom burned. – 'I asked you a question, Jane. Put your arms behind your back please', she heard and gulpingly obeyed, feeling her chin lifted and her eyes brought unwillingly into his.
'I s'pose', she mumbled, wondering how he knew she had been. 'B...but I didn't want', she made to continue, and then her voice came to an abrupt halt. His hand was cupping her nearest tit, weighing it, fondling. The ball of his thumb moved like a metronome across one eager tip, producing an even more thornlike prominence before it passed to the next. A sicky sensation seized, like it did when she was being spanked, and afterwards, too. Her tongue moistened her dry lips briefly and withdrew.
'This is your moment of meditation, Jane, before you assume your riding position again. I have a sense of awareness that you understand what it is for, but your bottom must be dealt with, nevertheless. My role in your disciplinary sessions here, which in your case will take place once or twice a day, is to encourage your dutifulness. You understand?'
'GOOO!', Jane choked. His hand had slipped much lower down as he spoke, and if, if, if he didn't st...stop she was going to do something awfully naughty over his finger even before he caned her again...