by Vicki Blue
“Mr. Longbridge!” she cried. Her voice was tense and tight with tears. “I don’t think I can do this….”
“You can. And you will. Bend back over, Miss Tetter, unless you’d prefer I restrain you.”
“Mr. Longbridge..” she began.
“Miss Tettter,” he said. “Do you want that first stroke to count? Or would you like to start over. Because if you do not assume the position by the time I count to three, I will double the punishment starting from one. One…”
“Please, sir…” She was genuinely afraid now. What had she gotten herself into?”
“Two…”
“Headmaster, if you would just listen!”
“Last chance!” he warned, and she felt herself turn and put her hands back on the desk. She knew now that this was a serious matter she’d gotten herself into, and that Nigel Longbridge was a man of his word.
Charlotte closed her eyes, steeling herself for the next blow and begging that he would be gentle. When writing about caning, she’d sometimes had her characters subjected to ten, fifteen or twenty blows. Now she realized how ridiculous she had been. The average woman would barely need more than three to feel truly contrite for her transgressions. And as the second fell she mentally cut that number by one. She cried out, tears running down her face as she fought to hold her position.
“Please, Mr. Longbridge!” she cried. “I’ll never lie to you again!”
“I suspect you won’t,” he said. “Keep your position.” His tone was completely dispassionate. He was unmoved by her tears. Charlotte had never been more intimidated by anyone. Even though he wasn’t being particularly cruel, and wasn’t forcing her, his authority over her was unmistakable.
The third blow criss-crossed the first two, and Charlotte wailed into her arms. She was leaning into them now, sobbing onto the polished surface of the desk. The headmaster gave her no time to recover before striking her again, this time low on her bottom right above her thighs. The blow was an uppercut, catching both of her cheeks right on the “sit spot.” Her hand started to go back to rub away the pain but she caught herself and when she did he felt his hand rub her back as his voice praised her for being a good girl. To Charlotte’s horror, she felt a tug of desire that corresponded with his touch and tone of approval. Her nipples, pressed against the desk, hardened to deliciously painful points. She bit her lip to keep from moaning in shame.
There would be three more. The headmaster pressed down on Charlotte’s lower back and ordered her to spread her legs. She moaned an objection and he sternly commanded her to do as she was told, despite her mortification, for she knew that when she did he would see the tell-tale moisture on her panties that had appeared despite the pain and humiliation. It was just like her story, only it was real. And she did not think she could survive the embarrassment.
Another blow. This one fell on the crest of her buttocks. She concentrated on just getting through the last two. Charlotte braced her leg, keenly aware of the headmaster’s broad hand on her lower back. The fifth blow was harder than the others. Her thigh muscles screamed as she fought to keep her legs from buckling while bracing for the sixth. It came, not as hard as the others, but it didn’t have to be. It hurt terrible, delivered on her already searing bum.
“You can stand up,” he said. “It’s over.”
Charlotte rose shakily to standing, and as she did, she felt him turn her towards him. She collapsed into Nigel Longbridge’s arms, letting him support her. His jacket smelled so good. She could feel his broad, warm, chest beneath it. He hugged her tight and Charlotte let him. Even though he had just punished her, she felt that no one could comfort her at that moment save the headmaster.
“There, there.” He dropped a paternalistic kiss on the top of her head, and Charlotte felt ashamed of her sexual reaction to the spanking. It obviously did not affect him that way, she told herself. He was her boss and saw her as a subordinate. She felt a handkerchief pressed to her face and took it, conscious of the throbbing in her bottom as she dried her eyes.
“I trust you will be more mindful in the future regarding honesty?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes sir,” Charlotte said balefully.
“Good lass.” He took a step back from her, his hand still on her shoulders.
“I will have to be very careful with you,” he said.
“Sir?” The comment perplexed her, all the more so because he did not elaborate.
“You should to, Miss Tetter,” he said.
She nodded and turned, picking up her bag as she left the office. It felt peculiar, stepping out into the hallway as if she were leaving the headmaster’s office after a routine meeting. Her heels clicked on the tile floors as she headed for the exit. The school was eerie at night, especially with it getting dark so early.
Charlotte turned back to the car as she stepped outside and could see that Mr. Longbridge had followed behind her and was now watching from the doorway to make sure she got to her car safely. The feeling of gratitude and security that afforded her almost compensated for the pain she felt sitting down. Her bottom throbbed throughout the drive home, and the first thing she did upon entering was to go to her bedroom, turn to the full-length mirror in her bedroom and examine her naked rear. There were six, distinct lines, and she marveled at how badly they could hurt even now. But Charlotte was also aware that her pussy was throbbing and wet as she recalled the headmaster’s authoritarian tone, his touch, and his nearness. She began to cry anew with the shame of her conflicted feelings.
For so long she’d written about spanking to help herself come to terms with her feelings. But now that she had actually been on the receiving end of discipline for the first time, she was more conflicted than ever. The headmaster had been very stoic in his treatment of her. He’d been stern and uncompromising and had punished her almost beyond tears. Then he’d sent her away. Charlotte had a clean slate now. She should keep her job and she knew she should be happy about that and yet…
She’s found Mr. Longbridge attractive before and now…how could she face him? He knew her every fantasy. He’d told her he understood. He’d opened her eyes to the reality of discipline in a way that made her want to avoid it even as she savored the sensation of his authority. How could she walk past him every day in the halls of Falmont Academy as if none of this had ever happened?
Charlotte drew a warm bath. The water stung then soothed her sore bottom. She rested in the tub for many long moments, feeling the tension slowly ebb away. Charlotte told herself that she could not change what happened, and despite any embarrassment she could not leave the job she’d been determined to keep.
After her bath she made herself a cup of hot tea and went to her writing desk. The story she’d been working on was still on the computer. Settling gingerly into the chair, Charlotte looked at the words on the screen in front of her. Charlotte hit the “select all” button and watched a black surrounds the words. But as her finger hovered over the “delete” key, she realized she could not do it. Writing had helped her before. Perhaps it could help her now. Charlotte told herself that she needed to get a handle on her renewed fascination and attraction to Nigel Longbridge. Perhaps if she wrote about Miss Hill’s experience, she could better come to terms with her own.
He dismissed me from his office. I wiped my tears away as I walked stiffly down the hallway, my caned bum throbbing with each step. I knew I should not have misled Mr. Edge; I’d thought I’d been noble in my cause. But I realized now that the headmaster saw things quite literally, and brooked no disobedience, no matter what the reason.
But I could not stop my thoughts from turning back to him. My classes were beginning, and I was grateful for having a diversion to occupy my mind. Throughout the day I caught glimpses of Mr. Edge, but he ignored me. I replayed the punishment in my mind, unable to put it past me.
I was pleasantly surprised to see Lydia return to class. She gave me a shy smile as she took her place at one of the tables. The other girls - the troublemake
rs - sneered and glared, but those glares turned to worried looks as one of the matrons arrived to tell them that the headmaster wanted to see them. Had Mr. Edge taken my concerns seriously? I was worried that he saw me as something less than the other teachers, given that he had administered the same punishment to me that he reserved for the schoolgirls. But as the morning continued and word arrived that the three miscreants who had so plagued Lydia would not be returning to class, I knew the headmaster had indeed taken my brief testimony into account and had confronted them. Had he punished them as he’d punished me? I could not know, but I did feel a bit of empathy for their plight as I pondered that this might be the case. The sting of the cane was still fresh on my bottom; I conducted all of my instruction standing up.
By day’s end my legs were tired and I was looking forward to seeking my apartment in the teacher’s dorm. But as I was about to exit my classroom I saw Mr. Edge standing in the doorway.
“I wanted to thank you for alerting me to what has been going on in your classroom,” he said. “Bullying will not be tolerated here, and now Miss Troy, Miss Gray and Miss Brookshire will likely spend their evening lying on their tummies pondering that fact.”
So he had caned them. I tried to keep my expression impassive nodded.
“In the future, however,” he said. “You will refrain from taking matters into your own hands. You should have come to me, Miss Edge.”
“How can I when I am so frightened of you?” I asked quietly.
“There is no need to be frightened of me,” he replied.
“You truly say that, after what happened today? Respectfully, sir, you are not seeing things from my perspective.”
He chuckled. “I grew up in a boarding school. I know what it is like to fear authority. But I also know authority is only frightening when you seek to defy it. Had you come to me early on, both you and those three girls would have been spared my correction.”
I nodded. “Yes sir.”
Mr. Edge walked over to me. “Don’t be disappointed in yourself, Miss Hill. You are a good teacher. And I find you very attractive.”
He drew me into his arms then and I…
“NO!” Charlotte began to backspace furiously, erasing the last three paragraphs from the page. With a groan of frustration she stood and walked away from the computer. This wasn’t helping at all. If anything, it was making things worse because her mind was offering up completely unrealistic solutions. She did not live in turn-of-the-century England. It was 2011 and the Falmont headmaster was not going to profess love to her.
Charlotte suddenly felt lonelier than she’d ever felt in her life. Apart from anonymous postings on chat boards, she’d never told anyone about her submissive tendencies or fascination with spanking. Even her family did not know, and it wasn’t something she felt she could share with her mother. None of her friends from college knew; they’d have been mortified, she was sure. The only person who knew was Nigel Longbridge, and he was the last person she could phone to talk to.
And now here she sat, just a few days before Thanksgiving, confused, lonely and terribly sad. She began to cry, yanking a handful of tissues from the end table as she settled onto the couch. Tomorrow was the big day for the kids. There would be a big Thanksgiving feast around lunchtime, followed by the long-awaited play and then an early release. And then?
The phone rang, jarring her thoughts. It was Charlotte’s mother, and she could tell right away that something was wrong.
“Hi sweetie!”
“Hi, Mom. What are you doing?”
She heard a sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m at the hospital.”
“The hospital? Is everything OK?”
“It’s your Aunt Kit. She was in a car accident this afternoon.”
Charlotte gasped. Aunt Kit was her mother’s twin sister. She lived in New Jersey. “Is she going to be OK?”
“She’s going to be fine. Her foot’s broken and she’s in surgery now. She was lucky. I’ve seen the car and….” Her mother’s voice trailed off.
“I guess you’ll be with her for Thanksgiving instead of coming here…”
“Oh, sweetie…you know I’d be there if I could. But with Ray still deployed I can’t leave Kit. She doesn’t have anyone to help her. You understand, right?”
“And Grady?” Charlotte held out hope that perhaps her brother would still come.
“He’s with me, sweetheart. He wanted to go to your place. I know it was important. But you know with my eyes how hard it is for me to drive at night and he’s such a help.”
“Sure, OK. I understand.” But she sniffled as she said it, and her mother began to cry.
“I wanted to be there. I really did. We promised your father before he died that we’d always celebrate together.” She paused. “I’ll buy you a plane ticket if you want to fly out to Kit’s.”
“Mom, you know it’s too late to get a flight now.”
“Maybe the train?”
“That would cost a fortune, and don’t ask me to drive because my car won’t make it.”
“Sweetie…” Her mother’s voice trailed off.
“Look, it’s not your fault. Just let me know how Kit is doing. I’ll be fine here.”
“I’m sure you have friends from school to celebrate with, right?”
“Oh, tons of them,” she lied. “I won’t be alone.”
“That’s good to hear. Well, I’d better go. I think the doctor’s coming now. Talk later?”
“Yeah, call me.”
“Will do, hon. Bye.”
Charlotte put the phone down on the table. She picked up a construction paper turkey with a leaf tail that she’d used as the model for the one the kids had made in class. It had made her happy just to look at it before. But now it was a reminder that Thanksgiving was coming and, for the first time, she’d be completely alone.
Chapter Five
The atmosphere of the school was buzzing with excitement the next morning. It was a crisp, fall day and the trees in the schoolyard blazed bright red and orange against the slate grey sky. A breeze dislodged several dozen as Charlotte walked up the stone walkway to the front doors of Falmont Academy. The leaves swirled around her. This was her favorite time of year and she’d started that day determined not to let her circumstances bring her down. No, her family couldn’t come visit. The very thought of running into Mr. Longbridge in the hallways filled her with a sense of trepidation and embarrassment. But she had a job and - she hoped - things would get better if she just focused on that.
She stopped off at the break room to find the teachers in a heated discussion.
“Well I, for one, think it’s unacceptable.” Sue Ellen Forrester was standing by the coffee maker, her face flushed and pinched with anger. When she saw Charlotte, the older teacher approached her. “I’m glad you’re here. Have you seen the memo?”
“I just got here, Sue Ellen,” she said. “I haven’t had time to see anything.”
“It’s in your box, but you can read mine. It says the same thing.” She shoved the paper in Charlotte’s hands.
Dear Faculty and Staff,
Several days ago, an excerpt from a fictional work in progress found its way into a teacher’s private mailbox here at Falmont Academy. After an exhaustive investigation, I have determined that while some may have been offended, there was nothing within the piece of writing to implicate any faculty member here at the school. Therefore, I am deeming this matter closed.
I expect the staff to remain discreet, professional and to abstain from gossip or innuendo both on and off grounds. Those who truly prize the Falmont traditions must surely know that speculation can damage reputations, and any behavior to that end will be dealt with through disciplinary actions.
Thank you for your understanding.
Sincerely,
Nigel Longbridge, Headmaster
“Can you believe that?” Sue Ellen Forrester asked.
The other teachers were looking at Charlotte now. Some seemed c
urious as to her answer. Others - mostly the younger teachers - just looked bored with the whole matter.
“I’m not going to believe anything one way or the other,” Charlotte said, handing Sue Ellen the memo and turning back to her own mailbox to retrieve papers. “It seems pretty cut and dried to me. Mr. Longbridge has closed the matter and it sounds like he’s telling us to forget about it.”
“Forget about it?” Sue Ellen gasped. “We’re just supposed to forget that we have a sick, depraved….pervert walking around in the school? Around children?”
Charlotte rounded on her. “That’s quite enough, Sue Ellen,” she said coldly. “Regardless of who this person is, they’re obviously writing under a pseudonym, which means it’s separate from other aspects of their lives.”
“I don’t care!” the older woman screeched. “In fact, I think we need to sign a petition demanding that Mr. Longbridge get to the bottom of this or we’ll take it to the board.”
“For what reason?” Charlotte asked. “Just because you don’t think people should write or read certain things?”
The other teachers who had been watching began to murmur in agreement.
“She’s right, Sue Ellen,” said Claire Dodgy, who served as the school’s librarian. “Just let it go.” The other teachers were nodding.
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” pointed out Melissa Tillman. “But I like all my colleagues and after thinking about this I wouldn’t like a single one of you any less just because she was writing racy stories on the side.”
“Well I would!” said Sue Ellen Forrester. “So who’s going to help me to get this petition going?”
But the other teachers had turned her way and were filing out of the break room, leaving just Sue Ellen and Charlotte.
