Michael and Miranda

An argument between a boy and girl escalates

By Jane Fairweather

“Heh! Stop tickling me, you ass!” Miranda Sheen protested vigorously to her friend, Michael Anson, as they fooled about in the grass at the edge of the playing fields on a hot June day in 1964. They were not exactly boyfriend and girlfriend, but they had been firm friends since Primary School and she felt that this tickling game went that bit too far, because it seemed to be pushing their relationship in a more physical direction than she wanted. Maybe one day they would make passionate love, but something told her that she never was going to feel that way about Michael. This was a brother and sister style of relationship and very good as long as it stayed that way. And anyway, to tickle her when she only had on her summer dress, a thin cotton vest and her bra and pants and no slip seemed grossly unfair; apart from anything else he was getting to feel more of her than she liked.

“I told you to stop tickling me!” She said angrily, feeling intense frustration that she was not strong enough to make him stop.

He took no notice.

“You’re making me angry.” She said ominously, but still he took no notice.

“Stop it!” She ordered.

Still no response. There is a difference between being angry and losing your temper, and now Miranda lost her temper. She reached out and scratched his right cheek with her nails which she always kept perversely long in defiance of school rules.

“God, what are you playing at, you cow!”

Then she unaccountably said, “You are just a coward, you haven’t even got the guts to take my knickers down and spank me properly for scratching you.”

Why did she say it? She often asked herself that in later years. She was fairly sure that she only meant it as mockery and never thought he would do it, but even so it was an odd thing to have said. Did something in her want him to spank her? And yet she was genuinely indignant when she felt her dress being pulled up and his fingers in the waist band of her cotton panties, pulling them down. He was genuinely angry now as well as her and he made a very thorough job of spanking her, and it hurt a lot on her bare bottom. She began to cry and then most ignominiously to plead.

“Do you promise never to scratch my face again?”

She had opened her mouth to utter the inevitable ignominious surrender, when out of the blue there came the voice of Mr Giles, who was on playground duty and had come further out of his way than people on playground duty normally did.

“In Heaven’s name, Anson, what do you think you are doing? Stop this instant!”

Michael stopped and stood up without saying anything. Miranda deftly and quickly pulled her panties up, wondering if she could at least cover for Michael to the extent of claiming that he had been spanking her on the seat of her dress. After all, it had been more or less her fault that her panties had descended.

However, her views were not taken into account. Mr Giles, in a voice of thunder, was telling Michael to go instantly to the Headmaster. Michael looked very upset, but complied. Miranda noticed he was literally hanging his head in shame.

“Are you alright, Miranda?” Mr Giles was demanding. “I cannot imagine what got into Anson, he is normally such a gentle boy.”

“I will be fine in a minute, Sir.” She said. “I am just a bit sore. But really, Sir, I would rather you had not sent him to the Head; it really was just a bit of horseplay.”

“Miranda, don’t try and cover for him; it was an appalling piece of behaviour. Do you need to go to the Sick Room?”

“No, Sir! Of course not, Sir!”

“Very well, unless the Head wants to see you, you can regard the incident as closed.”

Mr Giles gave her a concluding glare and stomped off, obviously as furious with Miranda’s attempt to protect Michael as he was with Michael for spanking her.

*          *          *

She had gone to the Sixth Form Common Room and was trying very hard to have a giggly girly chat with Ally Strong, her best girlfriend, without mentioning that her bottom was hot and sore and felt extremely uncomfortable to sit on. She was quite determined not to admit to the embarrassment of having been soundly spanked at the age of nearly nineteen, especially as she had more or less asked for it, but it was difficult not to wriggle as they sat gossiping on two of the hard wooden chairs that were dotted round the edge of the room.

“Are you alright? You keep wriggling. Hope you have not got this bad tummy that’s going round. If so, perhaps I’d better keep away from you.” Ally suddenly commented rather dubiously.

“No, it’s just that time. It’s worse than normal for some reason. I don’t normally get it that badly. Nothing to worry about, Ally dear. Anyway, can I glance at your essay for Dobbins, if you’ve finished it, not that I will copy it of course.”

As Ally fished for the essay in her school bag, Miranda found an uncomfortable vision coming into her mind of Michael clutching the sides of a chair minus his blazer while a large cane waited to descend on the seat of tightly stretched grey flannels, which she had a vague idea was how the boys underwent the ultimate punishment, though she did not really know. She was genuinely distressed at the idea of Michael being thrashed for teaching her a lesson she felt she had been in need of for scratching his face, but there was nothing she could do. It then crossed her mind that there was something about Michael’s bottom that rather fascinated her. Was she beginning to fall in love after all? And after saying she would never fall in love with Michael? Why had she more or less ordered him to spank her; it was most odd.

Then the Head Girl, Alex Smith, was striding up to where Miranda and Ally were sitting, looking very self important.

“Miranda, I gather your boyfriend is in a bit of trouble and the Head wants a chat with you about it. Goodness knows why.”

“Michael isn’t my boyfriend, just a very good friend.” Miranda stated firmly, very conscious that everyone had stopped talking and was listening.

“Anyway the Head wants a word. Nothing more than that, I think.”

“I’d better go, though I don’t suppose there is much I can do.” Said Miranda, standing up from the wooden chair with some relief.

She walked down the Sixth Form corridor and down the stairs to the little corridor that had doors to the Headmaster’s office, Miss Gerard’s (the Deputy Head’s) office and the School Secretary’s office. Michael was standing outside Mr Neil’s, the Headmaster’s office, looking bemused.

“What’s going on?” Miranda asked.

“I don’t really know. He was in full flow about my conduct being unchivalrous, ungentlemanly and violent and had actually got the cane out. Then he stopped for some reason and told me to wait outside his office. Alex Smith was waiting to see him and he told her to go and find you and for her to come back tomorrow morning.”

“Well, we will soon find out.” Said Miranda, feeling an odd trepidation.

She surely could not be in trouble herself, could she? Alex had just said it was a chat. Maybe Mr Neil was looking for a way to let Michael off. Very uneasily, she knocked on the door.

“Come!” Said a voice, which she knew to be the Headmaster’s.

She reflected she had never been to see Mr Neil on a disciplinary matter. Miss Gerard had lectured her on the two occasions she had been in mild trouble lower down the school.

She glanced round the room. The Head was sat behind his desk. She realized he had taken his jacket off. So it was not a myth that he always caned boys in his waistcoat; she had always thought that must be a myth. And certainly the cane wasn’t a myth, for there it was, all three foot six of it, leaning against the end of the desk. Not that she had ever doubted that the cane existed, for she had seen its after effects on at least a third of the boys in her class, but unlike the slipper which she had seen used on a fair proportion of the boys and a few girls, including Ally for throwing a paper aeroplane once too often in Mr Miles’ Maths, she remembered with a grin, she had never actually seen a cane till today.

She found herself standing in front of the desk, exchanging glances with Mr Neil, who seemed slow to begin the interview. Was she in trouble, or wasn’t she? She shuffled her feet uncomfortably.

Mr Neil opened his mouth very deliberately and began.

“Miranda Sheen, this really is a very odd incident. I have watched Michael Anson all the way up the school and I have never known him behave remotely like this, indeed he is normally remarkably well behaved. At first I thought the fairest thing was to put this idiotic episode down to midsummer madness, give him a short, sharp lesson and forget the whole thing.

“But then, just as I was about to cane him, something struck me. He has some very bad scratches on his right cheek, which, when I first saw them, I thought must have been inflicted by you in self-defence and if anything made me even angrier with him.

“Then it occurred to me that if you are across someone’s knee being spanked it must be extremely hard to scratch the face of the person who is spanking you. I think you scratched him before he spanked you. Am I right?”

“Golly! I suppose so, Sir.”

“Miss Sheen I would appreciate you not talking in School Girl slang, and I would appreciate a straight answer, Yes or No, did you provoke him to spank you by scratching him.”

“He had been tickling me rather hard, Sir.”

“So you scratched him because he had been tickling you.”

“Yes Sir, I suppose so, Sir.” Miranda stuttered.

“Show me your nails.”

Miranda very reluctantly extended her right hand.

“You do know finger nails are supposed to be kept short?”

“I suppose so, Sir.” Miranda muttered.

“And unpainted?”

“It does not show very much, Sir.” Miranda said wincing; she had a horrible feeling she knew what was coming next.

“So we come down to the fact that although Anson provoked you by what sounds some very silly horseplay, you responded by a quite vicious assault; and he almost justifiably spanked you. And we will add to that the fact that the assault was made all the worse because you failed to obey school rules about the length of your nails. All in all it does not show you in a very pretty light, does it Miss Sheen?”

“No, Sir, it does not. I am sorry, Sir.”

She wondered if it would help at all if she mentioned that she had dared Michael to spank her; but somehow she suspected it would only make things worse.

“I was going to give your boyfriend a very sound six of the best, but as it is I am going to share the strokes between the pair of you. You, Miss Sheen, are going to have three of the best on your pretty little behind for assaulting your fellow pupil and not following school rules about your finger nails. And, moreover, you will cut and clean your nails tonight and show them to Miss Gerard in the morning. And moreover, Miss Sheen, if you did not already have a pretty sore bottom you would be having four or five strokes. Bend over and put your hands on your knees, facing my desk.”

There did not seem much else to do, so very shakily she bent and put her hands on her knees.

“Shouldn’t Miss Gerard be doing this?” She rather nervously enquired as she heard him moving round the back of her with his cane, thinking Miss Gerard probably would not cane her so hard.

“Normally yes, but I doubt if Miss Gerard is capable of administering a punishment of the severity you undoubtedly require. I can never remember such low behaviour from a Sixth Form girl in all my years as a headmaster.”

The cane swished and seemed to go straight through her dress and panties and deep into her small plump bottom.

“Yeow! Ah! Ah! Ah” She cried out with the tears rolling down her cheeks.

The second stroke was even harder and crossed the first and she really screamed and thrust her hands up across her bottom.

When she had stopped screaming, she begged, “Please, no more Sir, Please. You have punished me enough.”

“Put your hands back on your knees, or face severe consequences.” Was all the reply she got.

That probably meant expulsion, didn’t it? And her father would never forgive her, so with extreme reluctance she put her hands back on her knees and took a deep breath.

“Good girl!”

The cane swished again extremely hard catching the top of her thighs below her panties and she shrieked and jumped up clutching her wounds.

Mr Neil let her dance on the spot till she had calmed down a little, then said he hoped she had learnt her lesson and would she be kind enough to send Anson in on her way out.

She staggered out of the door.

“You poor thing! You got swished!” Michael exclaimed in something like shock himself. Then he added, “Why ever did you get swished? Girls don’t usually.”

“It was fair enough, it was for scratching you and starting it.” She stated as calmly as she could through her tears, “But I am afraid he is not letting you off. You’ve got to go in for three like me.”

“That is better than the six I thought I was getting.” Michael replied almost cheerily. “Will you wait for me, or aren’t we friends anymore?”

“Of course we are friends!” She said. “It was just a silly row and it is over now. I will wait.”

She stood outside the door weeping and ruefully rubbing her bottom. She winced as she heard the cane swish three times, but felt a certain relief that there were no yells; at least she could not hear any.

Michael emerged looking shaken and in tears. Without saying a word she gave him a hug, took his hand and led him in the general direction of the Common Room. It was now after Dinner Time and the place was deserted. Neither of them felt like sitting. They put their arms round one another and huddled in the middle of the room.

“Was it your first time with the cane?” She found herself asking for want of anything else to say, though she was fairly sure that Michael had never been punished before, let alone caned.

“Yes, and I never knew anything could hurt so much.” Said Michael who was still tearful.

“I thought the same. Mr Neil can really cane. He wouldn’t send me to Miss Gerard because he said she would not punish me hard enough, which is almost a compliment I suppose.” Miranda observed dryly. “It must mean I was bad enough to be punished like a boy!”

“Nonsense! You are a very pretty girl!” Michael observed with just a touch of chivalry.

“I will walk home with you after school if you want.” Said Miranda almost shyly, despite the fact that they nearly always did walk home together.

“If I get to see your marks!” said Michael with sudden archness.

“Well you have already seen my bottom once today, so I don’t suppose twice will make much difference; but I want to see yours as well.”

“If you insist!” Said Michael, again sounding rather arch.

“Are we going out together, or are we just friends?” Miranda asked rather seriously, realizing as she said it that the question had been troubling her a lot.

“What! You are asking me out?” Michael ejaculated. “That is for the boy to ask, you know, and the girl to accept or decline.”

“Well ask me then.”

“Miranda Sheen, will you go out with me and be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, of course I will go out with you and be your girlfriend, but I want some real kisses, mind you.”

“And the odd spanking, no doubt,” Michael replied frivolously.

“But not too often, only when I really deserve it.” Miranda said very seriously, suddenly kissing him with real passion.

“What are we going to tell the parents about this day’s events?” Michael asked more frivolously than he meant it as they reluctantly disengaged themselves.

“Well they will quite happily accept we are at long last going out officially. My Dad has been teasing me about it for months. But we’d better say as little as possible about getting the cane. In fact, we’d better not mention what happened at all. Mine are out tonight, they’re off to ‘James Bond’ at the flics and then having a meal. Why don’t you come round with me and we will both have a bath and try and get rid of the worst effects; that should help.”

“Do I get to see you in the bath?”

“If you like, but it’s petting, my boy, at least till we are engaged. I am not getting pregnant like my sister.”

“Do you feel well enough to go to class?” Michael seemed to feel the need to change the topic, perhaps mention of engagements and babies was a little bit much for him.

“In half an hour, maybe, I don’t want people to see how upset I have been.”

“Well let’s go for a stroll round the school grounds. I don’t suppose anyone will mind in the circumstances and they will go mad if we leave school early. I don’t think I am going to be up to going back to class just yet and I have only one period this afternoon, which is about now.” Michael observed rather diffidently.

“Come on then! Its nearly afternoon break and they will be back here soon.”

The two lovers rather diffidently sidled out into the corridor, walking very awkwardly.

The End

© Jane Fairweather 2018

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