A Spanking in Time (Bexhill School)

by Tom Simple

  The headmaster took a pace back.

  “Very well, you can all get up and arrange your clothes. I trust that’s cured you of any enthusiasm for smoking. Please come over to the desk and sign the Punishment Book.”

  Miss Holloway released Alice and the three girls stood up, clutching their backsides. As they turned to pull up their knickers, she could see the effects on each of their bottoms: rows of red, purple, and mauve stripes, outlined with dark blue ridges. Alice’s backside was even redder than the others, due to the spanking with Stinger; she was sobbing her heart out. Jane was and sniffing and red-eyed, while Margaret remained the most stoic of the three. Miss Holloway was breathing hard. She hoped that the state of her own panties wasn’t showing through pencil skirt she was wearing.

  The girls signed beside the entries in the Punishment Book, which recorded the date, their names, the offence committed, and the punishment awarded (and, in Alice’s case, the extra strokes she’d been given). Then they filed out of the study, muttering the traditional thanks to the headmaster as they left. Mr. Masterson turned to the secretary.

  “Thank you for your help. It was Alice’s first chastisement and the poor girl wasn’t taking it well. I couldn’t have managed without your help. I suppose you think I was dreadfully strict?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “But I feel that smoking needs to be dealt with severely. If they get into the habit at an early stage, they’ll suffer more than just a sore backside in later life.”

  Miss Holloway was in such a state of arousal that she was afraid her knees might be visibly trembling.

  “I think you had no other choice, Headmaster.” Her voice sounded strangely hoarse. Mr. Masterson put it down to the emotional experience she’d just been through. He returned the cane to its cupboard, picked up Stinger and replaced it in the drawer.

  “Well, thank you Miss Holloway. Make yourself a cup of tea, and you might bring me one, too. I think we deserve it!”

  She went back to her office, put the kettle on, and then groped in her bag for her spare pair of panties. She hurried to the staff toilet, her mind in still in turmoil at the events she’d witnessed in the last few minutes.

  ***

  Later that evening, after supper, Mrs. Winchester sent for Margaret. The girl’s stomach knotted: was her mother going to beat her as well? She entered the study nervously.

  “Now, Margaret dear, Mr. Masterson tells me that he had to cane you this afternoon. You were caught smoking by Miss Fraser?”

  “Yes, Mum. I’m sorry.”

  “How long have you been smoking?”

  “It was the first time, honestly. I just wanted to try a cigarette, but I didn’t like it.”

  “It was a very stupid thing to do and I’m glad you were caught. There are some things that your father and I don’t want you even to try: smoking is one of them. If you’re caught again, we’ll be extremely angry with you.”

  “I won’t smoke ever again. It tasted horrible and it made me cough. I think that’s why Miss Fraser found us.”

  “Well, you deserved your punishment. I hope it taught you a lesson.”

  “It certainly did: I don’t think I’ll able to sit down for days. I’m really sorry, Mum.”

  “Just don’t let it happen again. All right, off you go to bed. No doubt your dormitory mates will want to see the state of your bottom!”

  As she opened the door, her mother called after her.

  “The Headmaster said you took your punishment bravely. He caned you harder than the others so that there could be no question of you getting off lightly because you’re my daughter. I’m glad you didn’t make a lot of fuss, like Alice did. Well done.”

  Margaret smiled back at her mother. “Thanks, Mum. Goodnight.”

  ***

  At the weekend Miss Holloway was still savouring the stimulation from having participated in the punishment of the three smokers on Wednesday afternoon. On Saturday evening, she and Dick were going to the cinema, the early performance, and then Miss Holloway had invited him back to her flat for supper. She went to great trouble: she tidied the flat, carefully chose some romantic big-band records, decorated the kitchen table with a vase of flowers (she didn’t have a dining room), and prepared the ‘party food’ she was best at: prawn cocktail, beef stroganoff, and ice-cream with a rich fudge sauce. She asked the local off-licence for advice about drinks and came away with a bottle of dry sherry and a red Bordeaux wine for which she paid more than she could really afford. She spent the rest of the afternoon washing her hair.

  She dressed in a blue polka-dot skirt with a white blouse, and when she met Dick outside the cinema, he thought she looked stunning. He took her arm and paid for the most expensive seats. Miss Holloway declined his offer of popcorn. The film was a romance: ‘An Affair to Remember’, with Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant. Dick put his arm round Miss Holloway and pulled her head on to his shoulder. The people sitting behind them ostentatiously moved to seats with a better view of the screen.

  It was a fine evening, so afterwards they walked back to her flat hand-in-hand, humming the film’s theme song: ‘Our love affair’. The date was off to a romantic start.

  When they reached Miss Holloway’s flat there were a few moments when they flapped about and told each other how cold it been outside. Basically, both of them wanted to embrace the other, but shyness prevailed and after a while the moment passed. Miss Holloway put one of her big-band discs of the gramophone, while Dick wandered around the sitting room making admiring comments on the decor, the pictures on the wall, and the ornaments on the mantelpiece. He picked up a ship in a bottle.

  “This is clever. Where does it come from?” He was hoping for a reply along the lines of ‘It was made by my great-grandfather, the one who skippered schooners, whilst he was ship-wrecked on a Polynesian island’. What Miss Holloway actually said was:

  “I got it for five shillings in a jumble sale.”

  “Oh. And these African prints. Have you lived in Africa?”

  “No. My neighbour threw them out in the rubbish. I rescued them.”

  “Ah...” And so on. The conversation was a little stilted.

  “Would you like a glass of sherry?” Miss Holloway asked, suddenly afraid that he might want a beer. “I’m afraid I haven’t got any beer”, she added unnecessarily.

  “Sherry would be lovely, thanks.”

  She didn’t have any sherry flutes, so she poured a stiff measure into two wine glasses.

  “Well, cheers then.” She gave a glass to Dick and tapped it with her own.

  The sherry, a beverage to which they were both unused, soon started to break the ice. Miss Holloway put the stroganoff into the oven to heat up, went back into the sitting room and sat on the sofa. She hoped Dick would sit next to her, but he chose the armchair.

  “Seen anything of Annie recently?” Dick asked. Miss Holloway glanced at him anxiously to see whether he was registering any untoward interest in her friend.

  “Not for a couple of weeks. Since just before my car broke down, actually. It was so sweet of you to fix it.”

  “Oh, my pleasure. At least I got something out of my National Service. Has it been running OK since then?”

  “It gets me to school and back, which is about all it has to do. Sometimes I take it up to Surrey to see my parents, but I don’t want to stress it too much. Tell me about the army – what was it like?”

  “Boring, most of the time, but at least I learned a bit about mechanics and got to see some of Germany. We spent a few months near Hannover but I was glad when my time was up.”

  “I wish I’d had the chance to go abroad. I hardly seem to left the education system at all – straight from school to a secretarial course and then from there to Bexhill. What was Germany like and why didn’t you go into engineering afterwards?” Miss Holloway wasn’t really sure what Dick did for a living and hoped this would give him an opening.

  “Germany was OK. They were starting to work their way out of the all the destruction a
t the end of the war. But I didn’t want to go on fiddling about with engines and things. I didn’t like getting my hands all greasy! Anyway, a cousin of mine was just starting an import business and asked me to look around for suitable stuff in Germany – you know, everything from power tools to beer. I rather enjoyed that, so when I finished in the army, I joined him and we’ve managed to build the business up quite well. Nothing dramatic, but it’s interesting and provides a reasonable income.”

  Just then the oven bell rang.

  “Supper’s ready – I’ll dish up if you would pour the wine. The bottle’s on the sideboard there.”

  “Wine – how posh! You’ve really been extravagant. What are we eating?”

  She took the prawn cocktails out of the ‘fridge and put them on the table.

  “Oh Marlene! How did you know? My favourite starter!”

  They sat down and once again clinked glasses.

  By the time Miss Holloway served up the stroganoff and some steaming vegetables, they were on to their second glass of wine and the conversation was flowing freely.

  “So what’s it like at the school? Do you like working there?”

  “Yes, very much. They’re nice people and there’s lots of variety. Have you ever seen the place?”

  “I’ve driven past a couple of times – seen the girls running around on the playing fields. Did you go there yourself?”

  “Oh no – my parents couldn’t have afforded it. I went to the local grammar. Were you at boarding school?”

  “No – it was a day school, but a private one. I wasn’t sorry to leave. I hated getting caned.”

  Miss Holloway choked on her mouthful of stew.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” She took a gulp of wine.

  “I don’t suppose they smack your girls, but they were real sadists with us. I couldn’t wait to get out of the place.”

  “Well, actually they do use corporal punishment at Bexhill – quite often.”

  “Do they really? Goodness, I thought girls were spared all that.”

  Miss Holloway hadn’t expected this turn in the conversation, but now she was keen to keep it going.

  “No – they’re quite Victorian at Bexhill. If the girls step out of line, they get thrashed. Most of them seem to accept the idea and some even prefer it to detention or whatever.”

  “But surely they don’t use the cane, do they?”

  “Oh yes. The headmaster and the deputy head have canes. Of course, they use other things too, like a hairbrush or a strap, depending on how severe the offence is, and I heard they’re going to allow ordinary teachers to use a paddle in the classroom if they need to. Matron sometimes spanks them as well, so all in all I suppose most of the girls end up getting smacked at one time or another during their time at Bexhill.

  “I’m really amazed! At my school we’d have done anything to get out of a hiding – detention would have been much better.”

  “Well, at Bexhill even the Head Girl has a cane. It’s a sort of ‘badge of office’.”

  “That’s extraordinary. My school would never have allowed the pupils to beat each other.”

  “She’s only allowed to give six strokes. Actually, even the dormitory captains can use a slipper. It’s not really formally approved, but the headmaster turns a blind eye to it because it keeps the juniors in line without him having to get involved.”

  “But surely it must lead to bullying and all sorts of abuse?”

  “It doesn’t seem to. I suppose they choose the Head Girl and the dormitory captains quite carefully and anyway the staff are usually aware of what’s going on. It’s been a tradition for ages.”

  “Probably comes from those posh boys’ public schools, like Eton. But I’m glad we didn’t have the system at my place.”

  Miss Holloway divided the remainder of the stroganoff between their two plates and refilled their glasses. Whether it was the way the conversation had developed, or the wine, or simply the buzz she had felt since Wednesday’s events: whatever it was, she was starting to feel very aroused.

  “So what sort of things were you caned for?” she asked, raising an eyebrow coquettishly.

  “Oh, the usual stuff: poor marks in class, ragging about, being cheeky. The ordinary teachers could give us the strap, and they often did so. But they didn’t need much of an excuse to put us on report to see the headmaster and then we were doomed. I’m sure that old creep enjoyed whacking us.”

  “What happened when you had to see the headmaster?” The wine had emboldened her.

  “Well, if you really want to know, I’ll tell you, although even now it makes me quake to think about it.” He mopped up the last of the food on his plate with the remains of a bread roll and pushed his chair back.

  “We used to have a daily Assemby. The headmaster would always preside over it. At the start, he’d read out a list of any boys who were on report. That meant you had to line up outside his study after Assembly. If your name was on that list you couldn’t concentrate on anything afterwards – you were terrified, because you knew what was coming.”

  “Gosh, you poor things.”

  “Yes, but the worst bit was waiting outside the study and listening to maybe three or four people in front of you being called in and getting the cane. You could easily hear the whacks and the cries, and you knew your turn was coming. Once, when I was the last of five or six waiting to be called in, I had to rush to the toilet. Golly, even now I can still feel that dread as we waited out there!”

  “Go on – what happened when you were finally called in?” She could feel the damp beginning to form between her legs.

  “He’d be sitting behind his desk. You had to stand in front of him and he’d read out the report or tell you why you were there. He’d go on for a bit and then ask whether you had anything to say. Of course, you knew you were done for already and it wasn’t worth arguing. He’d get up and walk over to the rack on the wall where he kept his canes. The junior ones – the thinner ones – were on the lowest rungs, then the seniors, and right at the top he kept a Dragon. Do you know what a Dragon is?”

  “Yes – Mr. Masterson asked me to bring one in the other day. It looked really vicious.”

  “They are, they’re denser than ordinary canes and they hurt like anything. You always hoped he’d take down a junior or a senior instead. Then he’d swipe it around a bit. It would make that awful swishing sound. I’m sure he did it deliberately, to scare us even more. That’s why I think he was a sadist, although I didn’t know what that was at the time.”

  Miss Holloway cleared away the plates and got the ice-cream out of the ‘fridge.

  “Please go on. I’m intrigued.” That was a bit of a give-away. “I’m just going to warm up the sauce.”

  “How delicious! Where was I? Oh yes, ‘swish’, ‘swish’. Then he’d tell you to go over to the sofa. There’d be a hand towel across one of the arms. He’d tell you to take off your trousers and your underpants and place them on the other arm of the sofa. Then you had to kneel on the sofa, lie across the arm with the towel underneath you, and put your hands on the floor. It was really undignified, with your bottom stuck up in the air like that. Maybe the old goat was queer, too. Anyway, he’d tell you how many you were going to get. It was always at least six, but for really serious offences like smoking or drinking alcohol, it would be twelve. And then he’d start beating you – hard, but very slowly, one stroke every twenty or thirty seconds. He’d walk around the room in between. It was absolutely agonising, but you daren’t get up. If you did, he’d give you extras. Gosh, even talking about it now makes me shudder!”

  It made Miss Holloway shudder, too, but for different reasons. She poured the hot sauce over the ice cream and placed the dish in front of him. She put a slightly smaller one down for herself.

  “Poor old Dick! Did you often get caned?”

  “Lord, yes! Two or three times a term. That’s why I was so glad to leave school. But I can’t
believe they treat your girls the same way?”

  “No, I don’t think Mr. Masterson or Mrs. Winchester is sadistic; they don’t enjoy beating the girls. They just believe that corporal punishment works. The girls have to wait in my office before they go in to see the headmaster. I feel really sorry for them – some of them are terribly nervous. He even had to call me in last week to hold down one who was struggling too much.”

  “Good heavens – that must have been awful for you!”

  For a brief moment she wondered whether to tell Dick that she’d found it turned her on. She decided against.

  “She’d been caught smoking with two others. It was the first time the wretched girl had been caned and the headmaster was trying to give her twelve strokes, but she kept on jumping up. One of the other girls was the Deputy Head’s daughter – she got it really hard, I suppose to show that there was no favouritism. I’ve often heard the sound of punishments being dished out, but I’d never actually seen it happening before.”

  “Were you ever spanked at school or at home?”

  “No, worst luck.” It just slipped out.

  “What do you mean ‘worst luck’? Would you have liked to be spanked?”

  Miss Holloway was now completely flustered and started to blush. Should she admit it? She thought Dick might find it too ‘kinky’ – he seemed a bit straight-laced.

  “Oh, I don’t know really,” she babbled, realising how odd she must be appearing. “Would you like some more desert?”

  “It was lovely, but no more for me thanks. That was a wonderful meal; you went to so much trouble.”

  “It was nothing, I’m glad you liked it. Shall we go back to the sitting room?” Rather to Miss Holloway’s relief, it seemed that the previous conversation was over. Her hormones, however, were still bubbling away like the coffee would be if she didn’t take it off the heat very quickly. She lifted the pan, its delicious aroma wafting through the flat.