Saturday, 14 January 2012

The Tutor

Story from Roue 05.

The Tutor

The girl's buttocks huddle inside her navy knickers, the pants plumped out ripely across her bum-cheeks, stress lines in the blue fabric pulling up and out from where the knickers tuck between the tops of her thighs at the back, the elastic of the legs running round below the undersides of her cheeks for a little on either side of her bottom and then curving up and across her buttocks to her hips, leaving the soft lateral folds under each bum-cheek to deliniate the plumpness where it meets the smooth skin of her upper thighs.

The knickers are a little faded, the knap worn more or less smooth by much washing, and on each cheek, at the high point which might be called the crown, there is an area which is slightly more faded still than the remainder of the originally dark material, the lightness in tone at these two places serving to highlight them and seemingly add fullness to the rotundity of each firm cheek. Or, to the eye given to fond imaginings, these highlighted summits might appear to be the result of a slight thinning of the cloth, the thinness spreading tantalisingly across those twin high points and covering such an area as might well be the favorite aiming point of a cane or a strap, so that it might be imagined that the supposed thinness itself was due to the frequent application of some such punishment to those very places.

This idea might be given weight by another feature of the girl's bottom, because on each cheek, where her knickers part company with the undercrease of her buttocks and sweep up across the curves of her bum leaving a little of her cheeks bare on either side, a fresh-looking roseate hue glows warmly along the margins of her knickers. This blush spreads even to the very tops of her thighs where they border her bum-cheeks, and its cause has clearly been the application of a sharply smacking palm.

To a knowledgable eye, and not-withstanding the little-girl impression made by the slightly too-tight knickers, this is a girl of at least sixteen, indeed probably seventeen, whose hips have softened in their outline and whose bottom has filled out a little beyond the capacity of the faded navy blue knickers to adequately cover it, at least with any modesty. And it is just such a knowledgable eye which loiters with a certain proprietary interest upon this young lady's knickered bottom.

This interested eye, pale blue-grey, runs to and fro, up and down, lingering especially upon the newly-spanked cheeks where they nudge out of the confines of the knickers. Then, as if half-satisfied, the man with the blue-grey eyes turns his glance down to the exercise-book upon his desk, following the neat lines of handwriting and noting irregularities by underscoring in red. The man clears his throat as if to speak. The girl standing nervously facing the wall starts at the sound, and her bum-cheeks squeeze closer together, emphasising the line running up between her cheeks as she nips her bottom in.

'English grammar,' says the tutor, and the girl stiffens her legs and seems at once all attention, though she dares not turn her face away from the wall. She seems to be strung-out and nervy, as if the two simple words herald some fearful happening. They do. She is hopeless at English grammar.

'Infinitives.' says the tutor. 'What exactly is an infinitive Sarah?'

'Um — mm — I think they're verbs sir.'

'And I think you're half right Sarah, which probably means you've been half listening. However; in this homework of yours — tell me, do you have anything specific against infinitives?'


'Is there lurking within you such a loathing of infinitives that you feel compelled to ill-treat them?'

'Er — I — I'm not sure wh-what you mean sir.'

The tutor resists a smile and teases the girl a little more. The fat succulence of her snugly-knickered bottom tantalises him in his turn. But all in good time.

'Let me put it another way Sarah. Can you think of anything which you should not do to infinitives, and I have in mind our last English grammar lesson?'

The girl winces mentally. She too has in mind her last English grammar lesson.

'Sir — I — I think they shouldn't be — um — split?'

'Bravo! So will you kindly explain why, in this homework, you have split two perfectly inoffensive infinitives?'


'For example: 'When I've been naughty in class I sometimes have to be punished. I have to usually take my knickers down for this.' And, 'When I've had my bottom smacked, I have to always stand in the corner.' Now then Sarah, how do you explain these lapses?'

Sarah fidgets awkwardly, quite at a loss. She is terribly conscious of her bottom's vulnerability, and is well aware that it is about to suffer retribution. Even if she knew what her tutor was talking about she doubts that it would save her. Her bum-cheeks tweak involuntarily at the prospect of further punishment, but even more dreadful is the utterly humiliating nature of the homework she is expected to do. It seems to her that it is all part and parcel of her uncle's promise to her that she '— would learn that big ideas don't make big girls, and she would be taught that she wasn't nearly so grown up as she liked to suppose.' She feels her face flush with embarrassment, hearing the humiliating things she is expected to write about read out in her tutor's mocking voice. And even worse, she doesn't know where she has gone wrong. She knows only that infinitives oughtn't to be split; what a split infinitive looks like she hasn't a clue.

The tutor lets her think about it. He watches her fidget again, and savours the resilient quiver of her plump cheeks as she moves.

'So you have no explanation?'

'N-no sir. I — I'm sorry —'

'Very well then.' His voice carries the promise of a fate sealed. He adds insult to the threat of injury. 'Subjects and objects,' he says.

Sarah cringes inwardly and clings pathetically to her raised skirt.

'In the sentence; 'I have not done my homework very well, and will have to take my knickers down for being a naughty girl,' what is the subject?'

'Er — I think it's kn-knickers sir.'

'And what is the object?'

'Um — 'me' sir? I mean 'I'?'

'No. The object is to teach a silly little girl a lesson, and also to encourage a more dilligent attitude towards homework.'

The girl realises that she has been 'taken down' another peg by the little joke. Her bottom trembles as she shifts her weight nervously again and her bare thighs press defensively together. She feels the snugness of her pants cuddling close around her already tender bottom. She doesn't need to be told what's next on the agenda for 'taking down'.

'Do you agree, Sarah?'

'I — I — I don't know sir.'

The man gets up from his chair and clears some books from his desk.

'Come here.'

Sarah knows better than to argue. Still clutching her skirt at her waist she turns from the wall, her eyes avoiding her tutor's and cast demurely down to the floor. She follows his gesturing hand obediently and stands with the front of her thighs just touching the chill wood of the edge of the desk-top.

Standing behind her, unhurried and quietly confident of his authority, her tutor runs his hands around her waist, freeing the lower edge of her blouse which she has childishly tucked into the top of her knickers, slipping the snug-fitting pants down off her hips and over the plumpness of her cheeks, which bounce free of the under-size pants, hot-looking and delicately hued with an uneven crimson tint. The back of his hand brushing across her warm bum-cheeks makes her shiver very slightly, a tremor which does not go unnoticed.

'Bend over.' He says it calmly, matter-of-factly.

Nervously Sarah bends forward at the waist then sinks her tummy down onto the hard desk-top.

Her panicky eyes follow him as he goes to the hook beside the tall cupboard and takes down a slim crook-handled cane. He walks round behind her as she lies unhappily over the desk.

'Legs out straight now. This isn't your first time Sarah.'

Dutifully she straightens her legs, her bottom plumping up as she does so, and an experienced eye casting a glance over the girl's obediently offered bottom would be able to confirm that this is indeed not the first time that a cane will have caressed those round and pinkened nates. On each bared cheek, in a position corresponding approximately to that which the more faded areas of her knickers previously occupied, a faint and indistinct tracery of palest mauve blemishes the otherwise crimson skin, the discolourations arranged in short, roughly parallel lines, closely spaced athwart the tight cleft of her bottom.

This ephemeral evidence shadows the pink, spank-smarting glow of Sarah's bum and invites the touch of enquiring fingers, prompts the tutor's memory to recall the day before when the same cane which he now brushes coolly against her bare thigh bit stingingly across these same quivering cheeks. The inquisitive fingers trace over the fading weals and find only a suggestion of unevenness, and the shadows of Sarah's yesterday-caning are indeed hardly more than shadows.

His hand strokes intimately across the warm, toasted cheeks and Sarah's legs sag a little as she presses her soft thighs together and nips in her buttocks.

He pats the firm, smooth flesh almost fondly and then touches the cane once across the backs of her thighs. It quivers as it hovers for a second and then it flicks waspishly across the very tops of the girl's legs.

'Ooh!' She sags even more and her knees bump against the front of the desk.

'Legs straight now Sarah! I won't tell you again!'

Sarah shoves her legs out straight and her bottom fattens again. Her lowered knickers slip down a little further and the smarting cane-marks colour rapidly at the top of each thigh an inch or so below the under-crease of her buttocks.

'Now stay like that!'

The cane swinging nonchalently from his fingers, he walks round the desk to pick up the exercise book with the red ink corrections in it.

Her bottom lip clamped between her teeth as she winces still from the sting, Sarah sneaks a hand back and kneads tentatively at the top of one thigh, her indrawn breath hissing past her teeth as she screws her pretty eyes half-closed. Her tutor turns back towards her and she snatches her hand away out of sight.

The book in his hand, the man counts mistakes. The half-naked girl keeps her legs stretched straight out behind her, her bare bottom meekly positioned across the uncomfortable edge of the desk.

'Twelve mistakes Sarah. Twelve, in one piece of work. What have you to say for yourself?'

Sarah can't think of a thing. She tries, but there's no excuse. She's just useless at English Grammar, just as she's useless at almost everything academic.

'S-sir — I — did my best sir. I tried, honestly, but —'

The cane swooshes quietly as he swings it to and fro beside his leg. Sarah tails off, mesmerised by the oscillating cane.

The cane stops swooshing and stretches itself lightly across both reddened bum-cheeks, nuzzling up under the plump outward swell. An experienced eye would note that the cane has presented itself to that fleshy lower area of the girl's buttocks which are unblemished by the faint traces of her earlier caning. It would see that between the lateral creases at the tops of her legs and the downward extent of the almost faded weals there is just sufficient room for perhaps a dozen tightly grouped cane strokes. The cane titilates the smooth, blushing cheeks with little condescending taps. The girl twitches and squeezes her nates together in nervous anticipation.

Her tutor enjoys the moment, letting her wait, seeing the involuntary flinching of her bottom and savouring the silky-satin touch of the cane against her still-smarting skin. His voice is as calm and unhurried as ever.

'Now then Sarah, we have a little rhyme for occasions such as this, haven't we?'

Sarah nods with quiet desperation. It is a piece of doggrel she knows by heart, its stupid verses having been caned into her at least twice a week ever since she was first sent to her 'crammer' after failing dismally in her G.C.E. exams. She feels the cool touch of the cane trembling against her tender bottom and wishes fervently that she'd been more attentive at school. The cane flicks stingingly up under her defencelessly elevated bottom and she gasps through moistly parted lips.

'Haven't we, Sarah?'

'Oooh — y-yes sir. I — I'm sorry —' Her eyelids begin to prick and she feels the very first tear squeeze out between her eyelashes. The smart in her bottom, and above all the utter humiliation of having to let him take down her knickers and treat her like a naughty girl is too much for her to bear without crying. She struggles against the dragging weight of her misery and forces the first idiotic words out.

'B-bottoms up is the —'

The sprightly cane swooshes stingily across the fatly rounded underside of her bottom, reaching around both cheeks with its admonitory finger.

'Ooooh-ooogh!' Sarah shoves out convulsively with her legs and the desk scrapes a fraction of an inch forward. Her bottom snatches its blushing cheeks together and her hips wriggle tentatively from one side to the other.

'Bottoms up is the what, Sarah?'

'Nnngh — the — the golden rule!'

'That's right.'


'Ooow! Oh — n-no — !'

'Go on Sarah.'

'Oooo — f-f-for girls who will not l-learn —'


'Oough! Owwooo — !'

'Will not learn — ?'

'A-a-at school! Ooh, s-sir, please —'

'That's right Sarah. And — ?'

'S-sir — And kn-knickers down — nmmgh — is what's re-required —'


'Oooooow-oooh-hooo — !'

The girl squirms helplessly against the desk, her thighs drifting apart unheeded and then slapping back together again as she tries in vain to wriggle the sting out of her smarting bottom, She weeps wretchedly, her tears splashing onto the polished desk-top. Her bottom is reddening furiously under the plumpest, out-swelling curves.

The cane is placed quite deliberately across the two quivering bum-cheeks and Sarah flinches even as it touches her burning skin.

'Go on please —'

The telephone on the desk rings startlingly.


'Go on please Sarah!'

Sarah worms her hips frantically and gasps out the next few words, the telephone's ringing drowning her panting voice.

'Ooh-oooo — of — of naughty girls who h-haven't tried — !'

Tucking the cane casually under his arm the tutor picks up the telephone and puts it to his ear. Sarah's crying sounds suddenly louder in the silence of the phone bell's cessation. To a casual observer it would seem inconceivable that the girl's sobs would not be heard by the caller.

'Good evening,' says the tutor.

Sarah's naked bottom still trembles as she lies weeping across the desk. Breaking the rules she reaches back with both hands and rubs gingerly at the tender, reddened places low down on each buttock, her knees sagging lower and lower as she attempts to alleviate the burning sensation.

'I see. Very well, I'll tell her you'll be picking her up.'

The tutor covers an ear with his hand and listens with difficulty.

'Yes, yes, that's Sarah — pardon?'

Hearing her name Sarah tries to stifle her sobs enough to hear what's being said, but her gasps continue in irregular spasms nevertheless.

'Yes, very naughty I'm afraid — eh? No — no, the cane — fine, about thirty minutes then — 'bye.'

The phone clatters back onto its cradle.

Sarah snatches her hands away from her bum and pushes her legs straight in a panic. She isn't allowed to rub her bottom, and the punishment might be an extra couple of strokes across her legs. She clamps her hands together under her chin and prays that she hasn't been observed.

'Your uncle —' says the tutor, 'to say that he'll be collecting you from here, so you needn't meet him as arranged.'

Sarah gurgles an unintelligible reply. She stretches her legs out as straight as she can, her firm and already well-punished bottom pushing up pertly, the cane marks a blaze of stripey crimson across the lower curves of her bum.

The cane descends unannounced around the tops of her thighs, and then again as she pulls her knees up and they bang against the desk. She can't help herself. She clutches desperately at her legs with both hands and squeals wretchedly. 'Naughty little Sarah — we mustn't rub our bottom, must we eh?' mocks the tutor. 'Now then —'

The cane taps insistently on her bright pink buttocks.

'Legs straight Sarah!'

It takes another sharp little flick across the lower part of her thighs before Sarah will do as she's told.

'Now carry on —'

Sarah heaves in a deep breath, trying to steady her voice.

'An-and bottoms b-bare —'


'Oooow-oooh — no, please!'


'Ooooogh! Mmnnngh!'

'And bottoms bare —' coaxes the tutor.

'Oooo — b-bottoms bare are just the th-thing —'


Sarah dissolves into a fit of sobbing, her whipped bottom writhing frantically. He waits, knowing that she is near the end of her tether. Several minutes pass before she can force herself to push her bottom back up into position. She weeps dismally, the sting in her poor bum vying with the utter humiliation of being caned at all. The dreadful, belittling words of the stupid poem by far the worst, making her seem a complete fool even in her own eyes.

The cane touching against her sore buttocks makes her shiver, even though it merely rests there for a moment. It taps impatiently, exciting the sting in her buttocks again.

'Now where were we — ? Ah yes — bottoms bare are just the thing —'

Unprompted, Sarah gabbles out the rest of the line.

'For swishy canes to smack and sting —'


'Oooo-ooow! S-sir — please sir — p-please — !'

'So naughty girls —'

'Unngh — so n-naughty girls like —'



Sarah's knickers finally complete their descent to her kicking ankles. Her thighs slide apart and she rears up then thumps back heavily onto the desk. Her secret little places lie revealed and abandoned to view as she blubbers, and then, desperate to complete the stupid lines, she blabbers on.

'So naughty g-girls — oooh-ooo — like m-me must try, or g-get —'


'Oooooo-ooh — plee-please!'

'Or get what, eh? Or get what?'

'Unn — nngh — g-get the c-cane that m-makes them —'



The last stroke cracks hard across her tossing bum-cheeks. She gasps and pants and her bottom bounces in anguish, the vivid cane-marks brilliant crimson and quite covering the lower half of her bum. He leaves her to it, her weeping going on unabated for three or four minutes. The cane goes back on the hook and he calmly seats himself at his desk again.

Sarah gets her sobs under control at last. Exhausted with her crying she lies slumped across the desk, her tear-streaked face hardly more than a foot or so from where her tutor thumbs idly through another exercise-book, sparing her barely a glance.

He ignores her for several minutes, then his matter-of-fact voice mocks her patronisingly.

'So — you'll make a better job of your homework next time Sarah. Won't you my dear?'

'Mmmngh — y-y —'

'Yes, of course you will. Now then kindly stop watering my desk and go back to your corner.'

Sarah levers herself up from the chill desk, catching at her skirt as it slips down and pulling it back up to her waist as she knows she's supposed to, her glossy pubic hair nestling sweetly at the bottom of her faintly rounded tummy. A tear still rolls down her pink cheeks as she looks wretchedly at her tutor, seeing his eyes on her but too miserable to care. She turns away and shuffles to the corner, her faded navy knickers dragging around her ankles.

An experienced eye, watching Sarah as she stands in her corner, staring through misted eyes at the blank wall, would see that without having to be told she has retained her hold on her hitched-up skirt, though the under-slip cascades in lacy folds down over her hip on one side, spilling its creamy frivolity across the upper part of one buttock, the contrast with the cool linen making her bottom seem all the more aglow with inner heat.

An experienced eye would also note that the fresh cane-marks are grouped precisely up under the plumpest part of the girl's bottom, the spacing so arranged that hardly any of the lateral lines overlaps any other. The experienced eye would know that, caned as she has been, and in those particular places, sitting is going to be one luxury which the girl will not be indulging in for the rest of the evening at least.

The tutor raises his eyes from the books upon his desk every now and then, less to check that Sarah is still properly installed in her corner than to gloat over the extremely rewarding view of a grown-up girl with her faded navy knickers at her ankles who has been well punished, and with all the humiliation attendant upon such a childish chastisement. Therein, more than anything, lies the satisfaction. Soon, indeed a few minutes earlier than anticipated, footsteps sound on the stairs outside the door.

Sarah's uncle taps tentatively on the door panels. In her corner the girl shivers dejectedly, and risks a glance over her shoulder. Her tutor gets up to open the door and takes the short detour necessary to slap her several times across the backs of her bare thighs.

'Face the corner — and do as you're told!' he says brusquely. Sarah wriggles helplessly as the smacking hand stings her legs. She clings on to her raised skirt with both hands and gasps involuntarily at the smart of the three casual spanks.

She hears the door open, and her uncle's quiet voice. She trembles at the indignity of having to let herself be seen as she is — a naughty little girl, knickerless and with the evidence of her so-recent punishment shamelessly on display.

Her uncle's eyes wander lasciviously over the hot glow of her bum and note particularly the stripey crimson of her lower cheeks.

'Been a bad girl again, Sarah?' he mocks.

Sarah stammers her reply.

'Y-yes uncle George.'

'I see. Well then, its early to bed for you tonight my girl!'

The two men discuss the tutor's fee for the week. A cheque is signed. Sarah can think only of her poor, punished bottom, and the punishment still to come. Early to bed is a euphemism which holds no mystery for her. She tries to remember where she last saw the hairbrush — she's bound to be sent for it just before bed-time at nine o'clock. She tries to think what on earth she could have done with the nasty, stingy thing after Uncle George had finished with it last night. If she can't find it, she'll probably get the strap instead — and on the bare!

'Pull your knickers up, Sarah,' says her tutor off-handedly.

Obediently Sarah stoops and retrieves her worn school knickers, the kind she is made to wear all the time, and she drags them gingerly up and over her bottom.

'Oh, and the weekend's homework is trigonometry. Book three, page ten.'

'Y-yes, sir.' She lets her short skirt fall down to cover her tender bottom and turns to face her uncle and her tutor, her pretty face clouded by a look of hopelessness. If there's one subject she's worse at than English Grammar it's trigonometry.

'And we'll see you here again on Monday at two o'clock sharp.'

Sarah nods despairingly, and knows that she'll be a very lucky girl indeed if by half-past two her knicks haven't already parted company with her bottom.

Her uncle ushers her to the door, one hand patting intimately up under one pert and well-punished buttock. Almost in a panic she strives to remember what she could have done with that hairbrush —.

1 comment:

  1. Very nice - school uniforms never fail to ... anyway, as I said, very nice!

    Thank you yet again, Dmitry.