by Philip Kemp
Arriving at the Principal’s study, she knocked briskly, pushed the door open – and stopped in surprise. In place of the balding bespectacled figure of Dr McMullen, another man altogether was seated behind the desk: a much younger well-built individual who fixed her with a piercing dark-eyed stare.
‘Did I tell you to come in?’ he enquired sternly.
‘No – that is – I – n-no, sir,’ responded Denise in confusion. ‘I – I was looking for the Head.’
‘I am the Head, for the time being. Dr McMullen was called away earlier. He may not be back for some time. So, in the meantime, I’ve been asked to stand in for him. My name is Michael Philips; you may call me Mr Philips, or sir. And you are –?’
‘Denise Black, sir,’ answered the girl in a respectful voice that she scarcely recognised as her own. There was something disconcerting about this man, with his rugged good looks and confident air, that robbed her of her usual cheekiness. His direct gaze inspired in her a thrill that might have been excitement, or apprehension – or both.
‘Well, Denise, I didn’t tell you to enter. So now you can go out again, and wait outside until I call you in.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she murmured meekly, and obeyed.
Outside in the anteroom she sat down on an upholstered bench. Its cold leather made her very conscious of her bare thighs. For some reason that she couldn’t fathom, Denise found herself regretting that her skirt was quite so short. She recalled those cool dark eyes, calmly appraising her. Michael Philips, she suspected, would be anything but a pushover.
In the study, Mike Philips swivelled round and pulled open a filing cabinet. He extracted a file and flicked through it. His lips pursed as he read the contents. Checking back to the first page, he found a number and picked up the phone.
‘Mrs Black? This is Mike Philips, Acting Principal at Denise’s college. Yes, that’s right: Dr McMullen has been called away. Can you spare me a moment? Thank you.’
Outside, kicking her heels, Denise was regaining her usual cockiness. OK, so this guy was younger and, by the look of him, a lot more clued in than poor dopey old Mullibum. But he was still a man, wasn’t he? Standing up, she regarded herself complacently in the mirror, admiring the long coltish legs and fetchingly nubile figure. She undid another button on her blouse, then half-turned, noting how the skirt jutted temptingly out over the curves of her cute little bottom. That’ll get him, she thought – then jumped as she heard his voice through the study door.
‘Denise, you may come in now!’
He was standing behind his desk, a file in his hand. ‘Close the door, Denise. Sit down. Well, young lady, you’re quite the troublemaker, aren’t you?’ He brandished the file at her.
‘Oh, well, sir, Miss Peters –’
‘Yes, I’ve read what Miss Peters notes in your file. I’ve also read what your other teachers have to say. It seems pretty consistent. You’re not stupid, Denise – far from it. But you’re lazy, impertinent, disobedient, a constant disruptive influence throughout the college. What’s more, there are quite a few other girls silly enough to admire you for all this, so you’ve got your little group of followers and imitators. In fact, the whole thing’s getting seriously out of hand. You’re sixteen, at a sixth-form college – you should be outgrowing this kind of juvenile idiocy. But it seems you’re getting worse. This is the fifth time in two weeks you’ve been sent to see the Head. Well?’
Too bad he’s standing up, Denise thought. He won’t get anything like such a good view. Still, what the hell. ‘Oh, sir, it’s not fair,’ she breathed, dropping her voice half an octave and gazing boldly into his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, she crossed her legs. ‘The teachers pick on me. I think they’re just jealous.’ Holding his gaze, she pouted appealingly.
At this point, Dr McMullen would have got all flustered and tongue-tied. But Mike Philips simply smiled. It was a smile that said, I know that trick you’re pulling, little girl, and it’s not going to work; not this time. To her annoyance, Denise found her gaze wavering, then falling, before his cool ironic glance. What’s the matter with me? she thought – what kind of wimp am I turning into? But there was something scary about this man, with his calm, level tones. Excitingly scary, even – but scary.
‘Jealous, you think? Somehow, Denise, I doubt it. I think they were just doing their best to instil some sense of discipline into you. And discipline, young lady, is what you sorely need. Tell me, what did Dr McMullen do on the many occasions you were sent to see him?’
‘He – he talked to me, sir. Sometimes he gave me detention.’
‘I see. Well, young lady, Dr McMullen’s methods may have been admirable in their way – but mine are rather different. While I’m in charge here, there are going to be some radical changes in the way miscreants are dealt with. And you, Denise, will now have the honour of being the first pupil to experience them. Stand up, please.’
Moving round the desk, Mike Philips came and sat down on the upright chair Denise had just vacated. Puzzled, she stood before him. What the hell was he getting at? Suddenly an image flashed into her mind: herself, some years younger, standing in front of her seated father just before he – oh no! A spasm of alarm tingled across her rear end. No, surely he couldn’t be meaning to –?
Mike Philips read the girl’s expression, the flash of fear in her blue eyes. ‘That’s right, Denise,’ he said quietly. ‘As from today, I’m reintroducing corporal punishment in this college for cases of serious misbehaviour. You, young lady, are going to be put across my knee and spanked. Hard.’
Denise gasped in disbelief. ‘You can’t do that!’ she exclaimed.
‘Oh, can’t I? Well, my girl, you’re about to learn otherwise.’
Denise tried to back away, but the desk impeded her path. ‘I’ll tell my mother!’ she blurted desperately.
Mike Philips smiled. ‘I’ve just spoken to your mother,’ he informed her. ‘She tells me you’ve been utterly out of control since your father left, and that she can’t handle you any longer. She added that, before they split up, your father had a very effective way of dealing with you when you were naughty. Remember what that was?’
‘No!’ cried Denise wildly.
‘Really? I think you do, Denise.’ His voice slowed, becoming almost hypnotic. ‘I think you remember very well – that when you’d been naughty he used to turn you over his knee, take down your knickers, and spank you. Didn’t he, Denise? Spank you long and hard on your bare bottom; spank you until your bottom was bright red and burning hot; spank you until you were a very sore and sorry little girl indeed. Isn’t that right?’
A hot blush of embarrassment flooded Denise’s face at the shameful memory. Standing there in her schoolgirl uniform she felt as though she was ten years old again, a naughty little girl about to receive her just deserts from a stern but loving father. She hung her head, unable to meet the man’s steady amused gaze. ‘Yes,’ she mumbled.
‘Good. And I’m glad to see that you retain enough sense of shame to blush for your misdeeds. Though, believe me, young lady, that’s nothing to the way you’ll be blushing very shortly on a rather different portion of your anatomy. OK, Denise, it’s time for your punishment. Come here, please.’
Reaching out and taking her by the wrist, he drew the petite blonde inexorably towards him. Denise wanted to scream, to struggle, to run, but she seemed strangely unable to resist. The next thing she knew, she found herself lying face-down across Mike’s broad lap with her pert little bottom uppermost, its arched curves perfectly presented for spanking. She gasped with horror. ‘Oh no, sir, please don’t spank me!’ she wailed. ‘Please! I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!’
‘A bit late for sorry, my girl,’ Mike observed, rolling up his right shirt-sleeve. ‘But you’ll soon have plenty to be sorry about, I can assure you. In fact, Denise, I think you’ll soon be sorrier than you’ve ever been in your life before. This, young lady, is going to be a spanking to remember.’
With a pleasing sense of anticipatio
n, he grasped the hem of the girl’s blue pleated skirt and lifted it back above her waist. There were revealed to his gaze rounded twin mounds clad in tight white cotton panties, fitting snugly as a second skin over the contours of the pretty teenager’s girlish hindquarters. Mike regarded them appreciatively. ‘Very becoming,’ he commented, ‘but I think we’ll have these down. A good hard bare-bottom spanking is what you deserve, young lady, and that’s just what you’re going to get.’
‘Oh no!’ yelped Denise, dismayed. She flung back a protective hand, but Mike captured it easily and held it in the small of her back. Then he hooked his finger into the waistband of her panties and peeled them slowly down over the girl’s ripe young rearward curves, down to dangle around her thighs, well clear of the now very bare and unprotected target area.
And, as target areas went, this one was a peach. Denise’s bottom was small but shapely – soft, sweet and just begging to be spanked. Deliberately prolonging the joy of anticipation, Mike stroked the chubby young hemispheres, relishing the way the tender flesh quivered beneath his fingers as if trembling at the prospect of the punishment it would soon be suffering.
‘You have a very pretty bottom, Denise,’ he told her. ‘But it’s a bottom that’s in dire need of a good spanking – and I reckon it hasn’t been spanked nearly enough just recently. So I intend to make up for some of that sad neglect. Unluckily for you, my girl, there’s nothing requiring my urgent attention for the next half-hour; so I can devote most of that time to giving this cheeky young rear end the roasting it so sorely needs.’
Prone and pinioned across his lap, Denise waited in an agony of apprehension. Mike Philips was a powerfully built man, and a determined one: if he said she was in for a long hard spanking, she felt sure he meant it. Bared and defenceless, her soft young bottom felt horribly vulnerable to what, she knew, was going to be a very painful punishment indeed.
Almost worse, though, was the humiliation of it. She, a sophisticated sixteen-year-old, virtually an adult, one of the prettiest girls in the college, being taken across a man’s knee, having her panties pulled down to be spanked on her bare bottom like a naughty child! It was indecent – it was shameful! If her friends ever found out, she would just die!
Yet in some strange way it felt right, almost comforting – as if this was where she truly belonged. Memories flooded back of the spankings she had received from her beloved father. They had hurt, all right – he had never gone easy on her – but along with the pain had come a sense of being warmly held and protected, as though the spanking was just another aspect of his all-enveloping love for his adored wayward daughter. Since he left, no one had spanked her until today; and now, as she lay helpless across this stranger’s lap, dreading the first stinging smack on her trembling bottom-flesh, it was as though she had come home.
Mike’s voice broke her reverie. ‘OK, Denise: this is what you’ve been asking for, and now you’re going to get it.’
Taking a firm grip on the girl’s slim waist, he brought his hand down hard on her rounded deliciously bare little bottom.
‘Aaah!’ Denise gave a sharp intake of breath as Mike’s hand stung her defenceless rear. She’d forgotten just how much a spanking could sting – and now she was getting a sharp reminder. ‘Owww!’ she yelped. ‘Oh, sir, please, that really hurts!’
Mike paused to enjoy the effects of his handiwork. Like many young blondes, Denise had pale delicate skin that marked readily; and after only half a dozen spanks a warm pink blush already suffused her pretty bottom-cheeks, making them look even prettier – and promising a yet richer hue in due course.
‘Of course it hurts, silly girl,’ he retorted callously. ‘It’s a spanking; it’s meant to hurt. But, believe me, it’s going to hurt an awful lot more before I’m through with this saucy young bottom.’
So saying, he resumed her punishment, spanking her hard and steadily, right and left, covering every inch of the quivering bouncing globes, and paying special attention to his favourite spank spot, the soft sensitive undercurve where bottom meets thigh. Each spank, laid on with vigour, rang round the room like a pistol shot, making the plump young flesh bounce and jiggle; at each one Denise yelped and gasped, her long legs kicking wildly and her blonde mane tossing. Frantically she wailed and begged for mercy as the stinging heat built up in her spanked rear end.
But all her heartfelt pleas were in vain. Mike had no intention of stopping just yet. This insolent pert-bottomed little minx was a sweet delight to spank, and furthermore richly deserved it; and, since his pleasure and her well-earned punishment so happily coincided, he intended to take full advantage of it and spank her to his heart’s content. So for ten minutes or more his hand rose and fell, deepening the roseate blush on her ripe young bottom, turning it from white to pink, from pink to red, and from red to a rich fiery scarlet that contrasted exquisitely with the whiteness of her back and thighs.
Desperately Denise writhed on Mike’s lap, vainly trying to evade the remorseless chastisement. But he had her securely pinioned, and there was no escape for the wailing sixteen-year-old. Spank after stinging hand-spank rained down on her girlish rump, until it felt swollen to twice its normal size, and still her punisher showed no sign of relenting. And when at last he paused, it was only to reach over to the desk and pick up a broad wooden ruler that lay there.
‘Right, my girl,’ he remarked, ‘that should have warmed you up nicely. That was for persistent misbehaviour in class and being a disruptive influence – and I very much hope, for your sake, that you’ve learnt your lesson.
‘But we’ve another little matter to settle, Denise: your impudent attempt to vamp me just now. Do you think I didn’t know what you were up to with all that pouting and fluttering your eyelashes, and flashing your knickers at me? And where’s it got you, young lady? Across my knee, that’s where – with those same knickers taken down to have your saucy little bare bottom soundly spanked.
‘So now, Denise, just to remind you not to try those jailbait tactics on your teachers again, a little supplementary punishment: sixty good hard swats with this.’
Peering over her shoulder, Denise caught a glimpse of the ruler in his hand and let out a wail of dismay. ‘Oh no, sir! Please don’t! I’ll be good, honestly I will! Oh, no more, sir, please! My poor bottom’s so sore – it’ll hurt awfully!’
‘I’m sure it will,’ responded Mike callously, swishing the ruler through the air. It felt nicely weighted, ideal for applying to a naughty girl’s already well-spanked bare bottom. ‘That’s exactly why I’m going to use it. I promised you a spanking to remember, Denise, and I think this is going to impress itself quite lastingly upon your – memory.’
‘Ooooh!’ wailed Denise as she saw the broad wooden ruler poised high in the air – and then come flashing down.
Denise squealed as a band of fire seared across her tender young curves. Mike’s hand-spanking had hurt like hell, but she now realised it was nothing compared to this. Only one stroke, and already she felt as if she’d never sit down again. ‘Oh please, please, no more!’ she begged.
But Mike Philips was merciless. Again and again the cruel wood cracked down across the squirming twin globes, paddling the fiery cheeks a rich deep crimson. Five dozen hard stinging spanks, and Denise squealed and sobbed at each one, begging to be let off.
What a surprise Denise’s friends and classmates would have, Mike reflected, if they could see her now. Where now was the cocky young madam who’d sashayed into his office with her provocative pout and her can’t-touch-me air, flaunting her long legs and her pert little rump? Cool conceited young Denise, terror of her teachers, envy of her fellow pupils, lay wriggling over his lap with her blonde hair tossing and her legs kicking wildly, tearfully begging for mercy just like any naughty teenage miss receiving her long-deserved comeuppance, with her skirt up round her waist, her panties down round her thighs and, framed between them, her soft round bottom bouncing, blushing and quivering beneath the finest spanking of her young life. It wa
s a delicious spectacle, and his only regret was that it would soon be over.
So he took his time, pausing after each crisp smack of the ruler to let the sting sink in and admire the vivid blush mantling the girl’s squirming bottom-cheeks, which now glowed like two ripe tomatoes. And when at last the final spank (shrewdly aimed across his favourite undercurve) had elicited a last shrill squeal from the now very penitent teenager, he helped her up off his lap, handed her a pack of tissues and tactfully turned his back to let her compose herself.
‘Ooooh! Owwww! Oh my poor bum!’ Denise whimpered to herself, gingerly rubbing her anguished rear. She peered over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of her blazing cheeks. ‘God, I shan’t be able to sit down for a week!’ But she felt no resentment towards the man who had punished her so severely. On the contrary, she felt every last stinging spank had been fully deserved. He had treated her justly, and she respected him for it. ‘Mr Philips?’ she said softly.
Mike turned.
Denise’s face was still flushed and wet with tears, but she smiled tremulously at him. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I know I deserved that, and I’m sorry I was such a brat. Please, would you give me a hug? That’s what my dad always did after . . . after he’d spanked me.’
‘Sure,’ said Mike. He took the slim teenager in his arms and hugged her warmly. ‘You’re a brave girl, Denise,’ he told her, ‘and you took your punishment very well. You can skip the rest of this morning’s classes – I doubt you’d be able to sit at your desk anyway.’ He held her at arm’s length and regarded her seriously. ‘I think maybe you’ve learnt your lesson, young lady. But remember this: if I hear of you causing any more trouble, I won’t have you sent here to my study. I’ll come to your classroom, put you over my knee right then and there and spank you just like I did today, on your bare bottom – in front of the whole class!’ He grinned at her horrified expression. ‘You know I mean it, don’t you?’
