A continuation of an earlier story by PG where a former pupil returns to her headmaster for motivation

By PW (With the permission of PG)

James Simmons found himself taking a deep breath as he considered the term about to end. The exam results for the Archdean pupils were of course the be-all and end-all in his profession, and these would not come through until August, but he was as satisfied as he could be that the school was working efficiently. Staff numbers were steady and, apart from some of the younger and more ambitious teachers moving on in order to gain promotion, he knew he had a highly competent and stable group capable of inspiring many of the children in their charge.

He was uneasy though about one thing, and it had become quite a major matter for him. Helen Brown, his former head girl, had confirmed she was coming to see him on Saturday and, while he had previously agreed to provide her with the motivational caning she had asked for, he felt he was going into dangerous territory for himself, professionally. He knew that Helen was a girl with high standards of integrity, but this action was taking place on school premises and using school equipment, the cane, and it only needed one person to see and recognise Helen or even an unexpected intrusion to occur, perhaps from another teacher back on the premises to collect forgotten homework books perhaps, or a briefcase, anything really. He decided that, enjoyable though caning Helen Brown was, the risk to his professional reputation and his career was too great. Sadly, therefore, he concluded that he would tell her, after the formal discipline session, that she should in future seek some other way of satisfying her need to feel the sharp whip of the cane on her bottom.

Once he had come to this conclusion he felt brighter and lighter. He was still looking forward to meeting Helen again, and would make it clear that, while meeting for discipline would have to end, staying in touch socially would be quite acceptable to him; he hoped Helen would see things in this light. He picked up his fountain pen and wrote some scribbled, vague notes about what he might say on a piece of paper, notes that to anyone else would have been meaningless jottings but to him were the basis of a little speech. Underlining the words ‘this cannot continue after Saturday’ he carefully folded them into his diary for Saturday after drying them with his desk blotter. He decided to destroy them once Helen had left.

On the Friday, the second last Friday of term, he checked over the canes, used the day before to initiate the new Head Girl, Clare Saunders, who he noted seemed reluctant to rise from the stool after her introduction to discipline had ended. And then Stephanie French, who was part of yesterday’s ritual, had turned out to be a not-quite-perfect Head Girl, as he had to take the cane to her twice for forgetting homework, yet throughout the term had otherwise turned in some outstanding essays and he was very confident of her getting the grades Oxford had asked for. She was clearly another girl who had a ‘thing’ about receiving the cane from time to time; every year a small number, a handful. He was getting better at spotting it now. He was in a contented mood as he drove home.

The Saturday was a beautiful summer day, a clear bright blue sky and an early promise of heat as the overnight dew burned off. School games had ended a couple of weeks earlier and James Simmons had the whole building to himself. Helen was due at ten o’clock and he knew she would probably be early. Somewhat to his annoyance, he noticed a small hatchback pull into the grounds and circle around the car park. He dismissed it as another of the locals just using the grounds for turning around in and switched his gaze to the cloudless blue sky.

‘If only every day could be this warm and bright,’ he thought, then turned to look over some figures while waiting for the arrival of Helen. He did not have to study long as the familiar tap came on his office door just a few minutes later, and on the command of ‘enter’ Helen nervously slipped into the room and took the seat that was offered, glancing at the canes which were already out.

She smiled in a watery way. James Simmons remained behind his desk and returned the smile, asking her how she was and how the end of term had been.

“Busy, Headmaster,” she said, quietly. “There were several parties and various social functions that I enjoyed attending, and somehow it all inspired me. They made me realise I really want to be a part of University life and I know I want to do better next year so I can remain there.”

James Simmons could do little other than nod agreement, although sensed the possibility, unstated, that Helen might already be indicating that some help might be needed by saying she wanted to do better next year. Helen certainly seemed slightly more nervous than usual, quieter, more softly spoken, but he non–committally just said: “Well, it is something worth striving for, certainly,” and, pausing for a moment went on: “I am glad to hear you are fitting in and that you feel it is worth working hard to do well there. It will bring all sorts of rewards to you as your life goes on.”

It was Helen’s turn to nod in agreement this time, then after a few moments’ silence her nerves seemed to get the better of her and she picked up her bag and quite shyly indicated the door before asking if she could use the Secretary’s office to get changed in. James gave her the key and, while she was absent from his office, placed the caning stool in the centre of the room before settling back in his chair to wait.

Helen appeared in a new skirt, certainly not school regulation as it was very short, but otherwise she was perfectly dressed. James Simmons stood up and indicated the stool, while he went to collect the dragon cane. She stood before him while he simply said: “Twelve strokes, Helen, as agreed. Please get yourself ready then bend right over the stool.”

In seconds his former head girl had complied, slipping her panties down and lifting the short skirt up, leaving her bare bottom on display as it had been just short weeks before. She laid her lithe frame right over the stool and lowered her head, awaiting the start of her thrashing. It was with a pang of real regret that James measured the first stroke; he knew this was the last time the delectable bottom of Helen Brown would be offered to him for punishment from the most senior and painful cane available; one that Helen herself had been instrumental in bringing into the school, he remembered. Then he gave her a final light tap before swishing the flexible rod down firmly against the middle of her bottom.

Despite what must have been a powerful blast of stinging pain, Helen steadfastly remained still, only a sharp inhalation indicating that the stroke had hit home fiercely. The second cut produced slightly less reaction, just another audible sucking in of breath and a twitch of her bottom, and it was only after the fifth stroke that Helen tensed her bottom up tightly and took several heavily drawn breaths, indicating the stinging impact and smarting burn was building up fiercely in her bottom.

The sixth and seventh strokes brought a similar reaction, but the eighth stroke brought an audible cry as the stoic girl found the biting intensity of the dragon cane was taking her right to the very edge of her ability to cope, and the tensing of her bottom became more animated as the heat built further. James Simmons ignored these signs of distress and calmly applied the remaining strokes, reddening the perfect bottom before him with a set of sharp red stripes that nearly, but not quite, overlapped and were clearly causing intense discomfort to the recipient. He was aware Helen was reacting more strongly than she had done on her previous canings but was more aware he needed to bring the session to a close and went and laid the cane down with a deliberate clatter before asking her to rise and dress.

Helen had caught him out several times before and now did so again, as she lay in position, her vividly marked and reddened bottom on show and her breathing quite intense and slow, and obviously controlled.

“I would like to remain here for a moment, please Headmaster,” she said, a request James Simmons could hardly deny, but Helen’s behaviour was slightly unusual and it was now making him feel a bit uneasy.

He replaced the canes in the cupboard and locked it, returning to his desk as Helen levered herself up from the stool and placed her hands on what must have been a hot and sore bottom. She shuffled over and stood before him, her panties still down and her pubic triangle on view, as it had been on other occasions when she had been caned. He hands were by her sides now and there was a hint of a tear or two in her eyes, but also a small smile on her lips. She let out a deep breath, nodded towards James Simmons and thanked him for seeing her. He invited her to dress and Helen duly pulled her panties up and smoothed over her skirt, before looking directly at him and saying, quietly: “Headmaster, I wonder if I could just discuss something with you?”

James Simmons had wanted to let things relax a little before launching into his own prepared, but gentle, speech in which he was going to tell Helen this would be the last time they could meet and carry out a disciplinary session. Helen had outflanked him yet again by getting in first, but instead of the expected speech of thanks and a promise that the caning she had just endured would serve to make here redouble her efforts to achieve high marks at University, she launched into a proposal that left him completely wrong footed.

“Headmaster, I am aware that by asking to come here like this I am taking advantage of the situation that previously existed between us.” Her voice was quite little and he saw she was struggling to meet his eyes. However, she tossed her hair and, taking a deep breath, she looked at him and continued. “I need to explain, I mean, well, after I came to see you in May my Mother was in the house when I thought she wasn’t and she saw the cane marks. It was just so, so terribly embarrassing. I, I just didn’t know what to say.”

James Simmons’ heart crashed to the floor. His thoughts about this situation were suddenly shown to be glaringly prescient. Helen had set him up at her mother’s request and his career was about to be ruined in a blaze of appalling publicity. The car he saw earlier must have been hers. Maybe she even had photographs of him caning his former head girl to satisfy kinky urges and they could soon be all over the newspapers. He looked at Helen, who looked at the floor. He was dreading what was coming next.

“I didn’t know what to say, so I just told my Mum the truth; that I had fallen behind in my studies. And that when I had been at school and had fallen behind, I had been called to order. I admit I fibbed slightly, Sir, but I was just so embarrassed.” Her voice tailed off.

In the circumstances, though, James Simmons felt it was best to let Helen finish the story she had started on, although he was dreading where it was going.

“She was very angry, with me, and with you, but I kept telling her this had been my idea.” She paused and bit her lip, hard. “She said she wanted to speak to you, and she came here today. She gave me a lift.”

James Simmons had almost had enough.

“You mean you went ahead with this arrangement today, knowing your Mother knew all about it and, I presume, had expressly forbidden it?”

At this Helen looked up. “No sir, you misunderstand. She did not expressly forbid it. I told her that I had asked to see you again if my marks were low. You see, sir, at the time I called with my marks, my Mother knew of this arrangement. She agreed.”

Helen’s statements were running riot in the Headmaster’s brain. Her mother knew. She was outside, presumably in the car park, and wanted to see him. He had just handed out a severe caning to her daughter, whose unusually quiet and slightly awkward behaviour could now be explained. He could accept her mother being understandably angry, furious probably, yet she had allowed Helen to return for a further administration of the cane. Indeed had actually driven her daughter here. As the thoughts began to repeat, he realised he needed to try to take control of the situation.

“Why not bring your Mother in?” He suggested. “And I will see what she has to say. You have told her the complete truth, Helen?”

Helen rose and looked at him. “Yes Headmaster. Well, slightly exaggerated about receiving the cane before sir, I told her it was for slacking slightly. Um, could I get changed first Sir? I’d rather not go outside like this.”

“Yes, of course,” said James Simmons, wondering what in the name of God he could say to Mrs Brown.

As Helen departed, he decided he needed to look her up in the files. As an ex-pupil these would be in the Secretary’s office, and so he waited until Helen left and quickly slipped inside. He knew they were a well–to–do family, but by the time he located the document the audible slam of a car door meant he had precious little time to extract any facts. After getting back to his own office, he only got as far as finding out Helen’s mother was called Penny before another knock on the door caused a rapid increase in his heart rate and a quick hiding of the file in his top desk drawer.

He called out in the most authoritative voice he could muster: “Come in.”

Mrs Brown entered first, followed by a quite sheepish looking Helen. He offered Mrs Brown the seat in front of him, realising too late he should have got another over. Helen, however, brought the stool that had just been used for her caning and very gingerly sat on that. Mrs Brown spoke first and did not beat about the bush.

“I understand that you have come to a private arrangement with my daughter to give her the cane if she feels she has fallen behind with her studies, Mr Simmons. Is this correct?” Her sharp blue eyes were levelled at his own. She seemed calm but was a woman of some gravitas. Her face was expressionless and a silence developed.

“Yes, Mrs Brown, that is completely correct,” he replied.

There was no visible response, but she spoke again. “You not only cane her, you actually give my daughter a severe thrashing, in fact,” she went on. “The marks from the caning you gave her in May lasted over a week. I imagine the marks from the caning you have given her this morning will last well into the holidays too. Mr Simmons, do you gain any sexual satisfaction from caning my daughter?”

Helen gasped at this. “Mum!” She said, quietly.

She was ignored.

James Simmons replied though with a very firm: “No. This was a proposal made to me, almost as a business proposition. I agreed to it as Helen was a well liked Head Girl here. I knew her to be a lateral thinker. I admit I was taken aback at the original request but I agreed to it, and can see now I should not have done. Having agreed to the first one, I was somewhat boxed in when your daughter asked to see me again, but once I had agreed I was duty bound to carry on; the result being what happened here earlier this morning. However, I want you to know that I had intended to tell your daughter,” he indicated in her direction with a nod: “That there would be no further visits after today.”

He then pulled out the notes from his diary and handed them to Mrs Brown. She held them but did not scan the words written there. Matching his gaze she started to speak again.

“Mr Simmons, I asked you directly about sexual overtones and you have denied any motives of that kind. I also want to know if it was my daughter, and only my daughter, who initiated this?”

Glancing at Helen, who was looking up at him now, he told Mrs Brown the truth; that Helen had contacted him out of the blue, and the caning was her suggestion.

“While I was very angry when I found out, I saw Helen had several items of school uniform in her bag. Whose idea was it that she dress in such a way? Yours or hers?”

Again James Simmons answered completely truthfully. “This idea also came from your daughter, Mrs Brown,” to which Helen turned reproachfully to her mother and looked at her.

However, Mrs Brown ignored this and went on. “It was actually only finding the uniform that indicated to me my daughter might have been complicit in this arrangement, Mr Simmons, otherwise I would have called the Police. So thank you for confirming it. Helen has implored me not to take things further, and there have been frank discussions between us. As you will surmise from Helen attending today, she persuaded me that things were actually above board, and so I am not prepared to stand in her way with these unusual arrangements, although I have concerns about the how the Education Authority might view them should they ever find out.”

James Simmons’ heart sank, but rose quickly again as Mrs Brown continued.

“Helen has assured me this works for her; however we reached a compromise, shall we say, and Helen can now tell you about it.”

His heart sank again, but only to a mid–level this time, and he braced himself for what was coming. That maybe the family wanted someone from the Education Department to be present perhaps? Any mention of what had gone on would lead to him being sacked on the spot. There were a few more seconds of silence before Helen spoke.

Her voice was soft but audible. “Mum thought that we could not meet here, as the risk of scandal was too great, Headmaster,” she said.

Before she could speak again, though, Mrs Brown took over. “If Helen wishes to go on receiving corporal punishment, it can happen at our house, which is some way distant from here. My husband is in the Army but presently attached to the Diplomatic Service and works away a great deal of the time, meaning there would often only be myself in the house, unless Helen takes a weekend off from University,” and then she gathered herself for what seemed to James Simmons to be some sort of coup de grace.

His mind was now all over the place. If they should not meet here, why on earth had Mrs Brown just brought her daughter to the school? Nothing was making sense.

“Mr Simmons, I am not naive, and indeed when I was at boarding school I was myself caned three times by my housemistress. I did not find receiving the cane very agreeable, but it did make me take steps with my work and my behaviour to ensure I stayed on the right side of the rules. Or try to,” she added, now in a more relaxed voice and with softer body language. “I am aware that the threat of corporal punishment is itself a motivator and as today is effectively the last Saturday of term and Helen already had an agreement to meet you, we decided that going ahead was the best option. Had I come in earlier with Helen it would have altered the dynamic between you, but when we talked a few weeks ago,” indicting to Helen with her hand. “After my anger had subsided, and Helen had convinced me that this was a purely motivational agreement, which you yourself have agreed is the case when I asked you earlier, then I see no reason why it should not continue. But not here.”

James Simmons was looking for a way to try to regain some control of the discussion. He did not like being the object of Mrs Brown’s narrative.

“I fully understand and, as you have in your hand my notes, I was in any case going to tell your daughter that after today our arrangement would end.”

Again, Mrs Brown managed to disarm him by smiling broadly.

“Mr Simmons, you are maybe taking one line here and perhaps jumping the gun, if I may say so. We,” indicating to Helen who nodded and seemed to have perked up considerably. “Would be interested in you visiting us for disciplinary purposes, or I really mean motivational purposes; those that Helen was seeking out here.”

It took a second to sink in. If he had heard correctly, the slim and well proportioned Mrs Penny Brown was propositioning him to go to their house and administer the cane to both her and Helen. He had to try to retake the initiative.

“Mrs Brown, what has happened here today was a private arrangement that I was planning to end because, as you have rightly said, we are on school premises. However, I did previously consider much of what you have said long before today happened. I do not get sexual gratification out of discipline; I want to make that very clear. This request was for motivational purposes only. As you yourself said earlier, the threat of discipline is in itself something that can provide motivation. As long as your request is made in the light of this fact then I see no reason not to agree to your invitation. As you might possibly already know, I am a bachelor and so do have freedom to act in this way without causing suspicion in my own life. I imagine that you have your own reasons and I will not ask after them. I take it Mr Brown is at home at this time?”

Penny Brown nodded in the affirmative.

Satisfied with this statement, he raised his eyes to meet those of Mrs Brown, whose gaze was still strong. She looked at Helen, then withdrew from her handbag a diary.

“In that case,” indicting Helen with her hand. “We would like it if you could come shortly before University term starts, say Saturday 25th September? If you could give me your telephone number, here’s ours at home, thank you, I will confirm the week before.” She then took another fairly obvious, deep breath. “I am aware my daughter is presently sitting on what must be a sore and burning bottom, but the truth is, once she told me, I was wondering if I too could do with some motivation. By the time you come to see us, my husband will be back in the USA and I will be largely on my own, you see, and keeping going is something I sometimes fall short on. I know what the cane feels like and, while I will not volunteer to take the kind of punishment Helen considers she needs, well, not yet anyway, I want to have something that gives me a little more oomph in my daily life.”

Her voice tailed off and she directed a fine smile towards Mr Simmons. Helen, sitting just slightly behind her mother, raised her eyebrows and nodded to agree. James Simmons was cornered, but, while he knew he was, it was easy to agree to this proposal.

“Right,” said Mrs Brown in a solid way. Looking at Helen she said: “I expect you would like to get home now and take a cold shower,” to which Helen nodded and stood up, giving her hot bottom a rub as she did so.

“Just one question before you go?” Asked James Simmons, realising the atmosphere was lighter now. “Helen, you are normally perfectly dressed, I was just wondering where that new skirt came from.”

Her Mother smiled back and said: “I ran it up for her, specially.”

At that, Mother and Daughter said their goodbyes again and moved towards the door, Helen flashing her former Headmaster a special, bright and very knowing smile, along with a theatrical pat on her bottom.

As she did so, Mrs Brown turned to him, smiling herself, and said simply: “Until September, then.”

The End

© PW 2017