Even prefects need discipline

By Jill Waterhouse

The girl’s school I attended in the 1970s and 1980s ran on a strict rule of discipline designed to encourage the girls to prosper. As a fee-paying school, parents expected good results and the school generally provided these. Every year, Oxford, Cambridge, Durham etc were accepting out students, and many went on to great things in later life.

As with many such schools, there was a prefect system. Prefects were always sixth-formers and there was one prefect per house, of which there were four. Prefect duties included checking for stragglers coming in late, making sure the corridors were empty at break and lunchtime, except when it was wet, and to report bad or unacceptable behaviour to the teaching staff or headmistress.

Mrs Bull, a very apt name, had been headmistress for ever, 15 years I believe, and had the school running like a Swiss watch. Woe betide anyone who upset the smooth running of the school. Her trusty slipper would make sure offenders did not forget the encounter quickly if they did so.

When I had completed my ‘O’ levels and was signing up to the sixth-form, Mrs Bull invited me to her office. That would usually mean for most pupils that they were about to go across her knee for a spanking or slippering, but not me. I had an exemplary record at school. No late marks, no unresolved absences, no detentions. I had never been spanked by a class teacher or prefect, and I had never been sent to the headmistress’s office. All in all, I was a goody-two-shoes in most people’s books. All I wanted to do was keep my head down, do as well as I could, go to Durham University to read history and do research. I had a passing interest in boys, but had never been on a proper date and wasn’t that bothered by that. Other girls were in relationships and their work had suffered.

I knocked on Mrs Bull’s door.

“Enter!” came back the curt response. “Ah Liz, do come in and take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea, dear?” she asked.

Wow! Tea with the head! ‘What is going on?’ I asked myself.

“Er, yes please, Mrs Bull, that would be splendid, thank you.”

She poured us both a cup, handed one to me and sat down behind her desk.

“As you are aware, the prefect of Coleridge House is leaving us to go up to Cambridge, now her ‘A’ levels are over. I have been looking through many girls’ records in the fifth form and you stand out like a shining beacon of excellence. No lates or detentions, never absent, I can find no record of any teacher having to discipline you and you are about the only girl whose panties I have only seen on the sports field and not across my somewhat ancient knees on at least one occasion,” she explained.

I was blushing at the praise, but also at the thought of how many bottoms she must have spanked over the years in this office.

“I would therefore,” she continued, bringing me snapping back to the here and now, “Like to offer you the role of prefect for Coleridge House in September. Would you like to think about it for a while?”

“Miss, no Miss, sorry I mean yes Miss. Sorry, I am a little taken aback by your very generous offer and I am most honoured, Mrs Bull. I would be proud to wear the badge for the next two years,” I said with a tear in my eye.

“That is settled then. Just one thing I should mention. You are aware that as prefect you are allowed to administer corporal punishment to all those below you in the school, don’t you? Are you alright with that, Liz? I only ask because with your record you have obviously been a stranger to school punishments and I just want to be sure you can handle yourself, as and when the need arises,” said Mrs Bull in a kind but very matter-of-fact way.

“I am sure I will be fine, Miss.”

I did not mention I had actually been spanked a few times by my mum, but not for several years and not for anything serious.

“It is not like I haven’t seen the principle in action in the 5 years I have been here. I have seen a number of over-the-knee and over-the-desk spankings and slipperings in my time. I am sure that after a few goes I will be as proficient at spanking as geometry or chemistry,” I said with a degree of false bravado.

In fact, the thought had not occurred to me and was now filling me with dread. Could I handle it? Would I be able to pull it off? And could I make the girl sorry and not do it again? Questions spun round in my head.

“Good. Thank you, Liz, that is sorted then,” Mrs Bull said in congratulation. She opened her desk drawer and took out a plimsole. “Don’t worry, Liz, it’s not for you,” she said with a smile in response to my surprised look upon seeing the implement. “Your prefect’s badge had been pushed to the back when I put the slipper back after I had to use it on a girl from 4C a short while ago. There! Here we are. Congratulations, you may wear it with pride from now onwards.”

She handed me the badge, shook my hand and that was that for the school year. August came, and so did the results of the ‘O’ levels. Like eight others in my year, I received an ‘A’ for every subject, and mum and Mrs Bull were very proud. At a parents’ evening, Mrs Bull took mum and I to one side for a quick word.

“Well done, Liz, top drawer performance. Mrs Hicks, you are no doubt aware Liz has been appointed prefect for Coleridge House. We are very proud of her here and we hope this will help her blossom as a rounded, well-educated young lady. She may need to spend a little longer in school as some duties are after-school, but nothing major; 15 minutes here and there.”

“I’m sure that will be fine,” my mother replied. “What exactly does a prefect do at this school?”

“Basically, she supports the staff, helps look after the younger girls, helps maintain order and discipline, that sort of thing.”

“Maintain order, you said. Does that mean Liz will be handing out punishments too?”

“As a prefect, she will be authorised to hand out one-hour detentions or up to 150 lines, and she can administer corporal punishment to younger girls in the school. She can spank with the hand only and she will need to send anything more serious to be dealt with by a teacher or myself. She has a small room at her disposal in Coleridge House which, as well as the sixth-form common room, she is welcome to use for private study as well as matters of indiscipline in the school. Are you alright with these arrangements, Mrs Hicks?” she concluded.

“Thank you, Mrs Bull. It is an honour for Liz and myself for her to be appointed and I am sure she will make you proud. And if she needs any tips with the discipline thing, she can always ask you or myself as we both have similar methods,” said mum.

Mrs Bull looked at me and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but said nothing. As mum and I turned to leave I said sharply under my breath, “What did you go and say that for mum? How embarrassing!”

“Liz, I don’t think there is a child in the whole town who hasn’t had their bottom warmed at one time or another. No one is perfect all of the time. You have been over my knee enough times, and keep this up and I’ll give you a revision lesson when we get home, young lady,” she scolded. “And just remember your perfect record could go up in smoke at any time; it just needs one silly mistake. If it does, it really doesn’t matter. You do seem to set so much stall by it and I am not really sure why.”

Two weeks later was the first day of term and I was the only new prefect. The other three were all in the upper-sixth now, but we all got on well and worked well together. We did our tasks and had to send the odd girl to the headmistress. Usually, we were invited to stay and watch the punishment. I was not keen at first, but after the first few times I actually kind of began to enjoy it in an odd sort of way. I had to report one girl called Kerry from the 6th form who I had caught bullying a vulnerable 3rd form girl for no reason other than to show off to her friends. Mrs Bull took a very dim view of bullying and was keen to lay down a marker early in the school year.

Next day at assembly, Mrs Bull stood to announce, just as we were about to file out, “Will Kerry Newsome kindly attend my office at morning break? Liz Hicks, if you wouldn’t mind joining me as well, please. Kerry has been caught bullying a much younger pupil and I will not stand for that, so she is going to very sorry come her maths lesson after break.”

When the bell for break rang, I gathered my things and shot off to Mrs Bull’s office. I was joined almost immediately by Kerry, who shot daggers at me with her eyes.

“It’s your own fault, Kerry. No one made you bully Millie like that. You’ll get what you deserve. I could have dealt with you, but I can only spank with my hand. I suspect you’ll be in for much more from Mrs Bull.”

The door opened, and a stern-looking Mrs Bull greeted us with a hard stare.

“Come in, the both of you,” she demanded.

For a moment, I thought I was in bother too, but that was just her demeanour.

“Kerry, Liz has explained to me what happened yesterday and I have spoken with Millie this morning as well. I have also spoken to her mother. I explained that if you were not in an examination year I would immediately suspend you. However, as you are, we agreed a more direct punishment would be appropriate. I have not used the cane on a girl for over seven years, but that record is about to be broken. You are to receive 6 strokes of the cane across your knickers. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she added.

I gulped at the decision. I was to witness something no one else in the school had ever seen.

“No Miss, I am very sorry, Miss,” Kerry said weakly.

“You will be girl, in a few moments. Why would a sixth-former behave in such an abhorrent way? Liz, would you kindly move that chair to the centre of the room? I am rather out of practice and need some swing room,” said Mrs Bull as she unlocked the cupboard where the school cane hung.

The cane she brought out was about 3 feet long and less than half an inch in thickness, with a crook handle. I had never seen anything so terrifying. Thank goodness it wasn’t coming anywhere near my backside. I could only imagine the horror going through Kerry’s mind right now.

“Now Kerry, I want you to bend over the back of this chair and place your hands flat on the seat of the chair and keep them there. If you stand up at any point, that stroke will not count. We will then continue until 6 strokes have been properly applied across your knickers. Now, over you get!” instructed Mrs Bull.

Kerry slowly lowered herself into position and put her hands flat as instructed. Mrs Bull stepped behind her and lifted the hem of her skirt. She tucked it into the waistband of the skirt to hold it in place, revealing a new-looking pair of bottle green regulation uniform knickers which would offer little by way of protection.

“Hold still, Kerry, and this will soon be over.”

With that final instruction, Mrs Bull placed the cane against Kerry’s buttocks and gently tapped a couple of times, which made Kerry jump. Mrs Bull then raised the cane and brought it whooshing down; crack! The first stroke landed dead centre. The cane was raised again and crashed down an inch above the last stroke, almost before the pain had registered from the first stroke. Kerry started to rise but thought better of it and moved her weight from foot to foot, trying to mitigate the searing pain she was feeling. The third and fourth strokes landed in quick succession, but Kerry bravely kept still and for the most part stayed quiet.

“Two more to go,” said Mrs Bull, followed a second later by stroke number five. “Last one now, Kerry, be brave.”

Swish, crack! The sixth stroke cut across sideways and it was all over.

“You may get up now, Kerry. I am sorry I had to put you through this ordeal, but I hope you will not make the same mistake again.”

Mrs Bull was trying to be as gentle now as she felt appropriate. Kerry did not move for around 15 seconds, then she carefully stood and put her hands to her bottom. She did not rub, but just held it. Whilst she had tears in her eyes, I could not believe how brave she had been.

Only a few days later, I got to punish my first pupil myself. I was on corridor patrol at lunch time and I heard voices around the corner. As I approached, I heard footsteps and I jumped around the corner to see the back of a blond head disappear round the following corner, while Samantha from the lower sixth was trying to gather her things that had clearly fallen on the floor.

She swore, and then covered her mouth as the expletive left her lips and she saw me approaching.

“Sorry Liz, that just slipped out.”

“Firstly, you and your disappearing friend should not be in the corridor during lunch break. Secondly, you know the school has a zero tolerance policy to swearing. I would take you to Mrs Bull, but I know she is tied up in a Governor’s meeting until 3.00 pm. So, as prefect, I will deal with this myself. Follow me!” I instructed.

My mind was going fifty to the dozen now. What was I doing? I had bitten off more than I could chew. I knew I had.

We marched in silence to my study, where I unlocked the door and motioned her inside.

“So, Samantha, do you have anything to say in mitigation?” I asked, playing for time as much as anything else.

“No Liz, sorry, but I do not. I will just have to accept whatever you deem suitable punishment for this. This isn’t my first time being punished by a prefect, but I will try to make it the last,” she said.

“I think under the circumstances a spanking would be in order, don’t you?”

With that, I pulled the chair out from under my desk and turned it around to face the door. I sat down, clearly not looking confident in what I was about to do.

“Come over here and bend across my knee, please Samantha.”

Samantha dutifully laid herself over my lap with the balls of her feet and her hands supporting her as her long brown hair hung over her head almost touching the floor. Putting my left hand on her back as I had seen the teachers do, I put my right on her bottom, lifted it to chin level and brought it down in the middle of her bottom. Little or no reaction. Not to worry, the second spank followed and a third and fourth blow. Still no reaction; clearly she is made of tough stuff.

“Excuse me, Liz, may I speak please?” said Samantha looking around at me through her hair.

“Yes, but please be brief. Lunch break is over soon,” I said.

“Well, I can’t believe I am saying this as I am over your knee and you are trying to spank me, but have you done this before? Samantha enquired.

“Actually, no, but I have seen it dozens of times,” I said with little confidence.

“Then, if I may say so, you are rubbish. I know this is like a turkey voting for Christmas, but if you are going to spank pupils, do it properly or you will be a laughing stock and your life won’t be worth living. You have the basics OK. You ordered me over your knee, but after that it goes wrong. Use your left hand to hold the girl firmly down in case they wriggle. Take aim with the right hand, sure, but bring it down a lot harder. I can hardly feel anything. I’m not asking to be hurt more, but you really need to nail this, so go on, have another go.”

Oh the embarrassment! Someone her age having to teach me the basics of spanking. I followed her lead, held her firm then sized her up, raised my hand and brought it down harder this time. I repeated this three more times and my hand was tingling before asking, “Is that any better?”

“A little, but it still needs to be harder. Go on, have another go.”

Smack, smack.

“That’s the ticket, that smarts now,” at which point the end of lunch bell rang.

“Alright Samantha, I think you have learned a lesson, off to your class before you are in trouble for that as well. And thank you for your, er, help,” I said slightly meekly.

“No problem, you still need to go harder though if you want the girls to have respect for your badge. If you are having difficulties, pull their skirt up and spank them on their panties.”

She turned and dashed before that penny dropped. She hadn’t mention that while I had her over my knee, now did she?

Over the next month or so I had occasion to spank three more girls, all from the sixth form, all on separate occasions, and I worked on perfecting my technique after Samantha’s pointers.

The last of the three was a girl called Annie. She was a tough cookie and was clearly going to downplay everything and then, when I had finished the spanking, laugh at me to her friends, which I found really vexing, so I was determined to leave a mark, literally. I marched her to my room, turned the chair round and told her to bend over my knee, which she did so slowly. I grabbed her and pulled her over more quickly, which surprised her.

“We do not have silly little girls like you roaming the corridors and hiding under the stairs at break time. We have rules and it is my role to help enforce them. If I find you inside again you will be straight to the headmistress for a taste of her slipper which, sadly, I am not authorised to use, but I can use my hand which is exactly what I intend to do.”

I had certainly made her consider what was about to happen.

I took hold of the hem of her skirt and pulled it up clear of her bottom, exposing her uniform school panties, and held the skirt in place with my left hand while I placed my right on the middle of her bottom.

“Hold still, this will probably hurt,” I said.

Smack, grunt, smack grunt, smack grunt!

I was certainly making an impact now. As the spanking continued, she started wriggling and bucking, which explains why the left hand was important and I could feel the heat building up and coming through her panties as I spanked on. Soon she started ouching with each slap and eventually sobbing. Cracked it!

“Now get up, straighten yourself up and get outside!” I told her in a firm, measured way. “And if I catch you again it will be straight to Mrs Bull. Do you understand me?”

“Yes Samantha, sorry,” was about all she could manage as I marched her to the main doors, making sure she left quickly whilst she was still crying and making it clear just who had administered her punishment. I got big thumbs up from two of the other prefects, which did wonders for my confidence. Not only in terms of spanking the girls, but in terms of my authority being respected. It remained necessary to occasionally spank other girls, but that was fairly uncommon in my lower sixth year.

That all changed in the upper sixth. I was now the senior prefect; the other three having left in the summer. They were then replaced with three girls who were now in their lower sixth year, to take under my wing as it were. I made sure when any of them were having to give their first spankings that I was on hand to tutor, which is what really should have happened on my first few outings. With my advice, the new prefects were soon independent. Serious cases were still sent to Mrs Bull for a more formal spanking or slippering.

My ‘A’ level studies were going well and I was expected to get straight A’s come the summer and life was sweet and I felt invincible. Then, without warning, things took a sudden twist that I could not have foreseen but, with hindsight, was probably the best thing that could have happened at that stage of my life.

Friday, 7th of December. President Roosevelt described the 7th of December as a date that would go down in infamy following the attack on Pearl Harbour in 1941. The events of this Friday pale into insignificance to that, but it was a day I have never forgotten.

The day actually started to go wrong the night before. I had eaten yogurt after dinner and had not realised it was a few days past its best. During the night, my tummy was upset and I spent much of the early hours in the bathroom. Mum strongly suggested I stay in bed the next day, but I did not want to break my unbroken attendance record.

Mum smiled and said: “You really shouldn’t go in within 48 hours of an upset tummy. It is one of the rules, you know. But I suspect you will do in any case, so don’t pass it on to anyone else!”

Morning came and mum had left for work early, around 6.00 am, as usual. I opened my eyes and it was getting light outside. I glanced at the alarm clock; 8.15!

“8.15? Damn,” I screamed. “I’m late.”

With all the comings and goings last night, I must have caught the clock and turned off the ringer which goes off at 7.30 every morning. When I finally arrived at school at 8.40, the doors were locked and I had to report to the office to be let in. Oh the humiliation! The perfect record; gone!

Worse was to come. I made the very end of registration and got several looks of amazement from staff and pupils alike. Then off to history.

I arrived at history and the teacher came around collecting the homework. I had done a good job and should get full marks. Then, with a start, I realised I had rushed out of the house and not repacked my bag after finishing the homework. Black mark number 2, and a detention for not handing in the homework. Worse was still to come.

Geography next; same story, an excellent piece of work left on my desk in my room. How can this be happening? Again, the teacher was taken aback as this had never happened before; detention, again.

Now, that doesn’t sound so bad, but put a third detention earned by not having my English essay to hand in, and that earns a bonus prize of a trip to the headmistress, which meant only one thing; she was going to have to spank me.

Oh my days, how can things turn so sour so quickly?

Final period came and I was in private study when Mrs Marshall came in and handed me a note.

Liz Hicks, will you kindly come and see me at your earliest convenience. Mrs Bull

Convenience? Are all death warrants written so freely?

‘Better get this over with as soon as possible,’ I thought, so I went straight to Mrs Bull’s office and knocked, hoping there would be no response.

“Enter!” was all that came back.

Quietly, I opened the old dark oak door and I entered to find Mrs Bull sat behind her desk in her seat, as I had seen her a hundred times before. But this time it was different; no smile to greet the star pupil, no extending her hand to indicate I should be seated. Instead, a sterner, less amiable expression greeted me.

“Liz, what on earth has happened here? You were 15 minutes late this morning, have managed to rack up not one but three detentions in the one day, and to be honest you look like you have been dragged through a hedge backwards. Have you anything to say in your defence?” she enquired.

“I had an upset stomach last night, Mrs Bull, and I must have knocked my alarm clock when I dashed to the loo. I feel quite tired now, I must admit. Come morning, I slept through and came dashing out like a rocket and forgot to repack my book bag. Although I admit I racked up a late and three detentions, all three basically come from the same incident. So, with respect, Mrs Bull, the outcome seems a little harsh considering what set all of this in motion.” I hoped that did not sound too arrogant.

“Ok Liz, let’s look at these in order of seriousness. First of all the late. Who amongst us hasn’t been late once in a while. Next, three homework deadlines missed and consequently three detentions awarded. All from the same cause; failing to prepare your bag the night before and leaving it until the morning. Now, the most serious!” Mrs Bull paused.

“Sorry, I don’t understand. What else is there?” I was worried now. Mum’s warning suddenly hit me like a bus.

“The reason for your lateness was hitting your alarm clock by accident dashing to the loo. I understand you had an upset stomach all night. School rules expressly forbid any pupil or staff member from coming into the building within 48 hours of a stomach upset. Your selfishness at not wanting your record spoiled has ruined them all and put everyone else in danger. So yes I take this as the most serious of your issues today, and I am afraid I will have to provide a suitable punishment. Had you been a serial offender, you would probably have received the cane for this list of offenses.”

She paused briefly for effect.

“However, given your record before today, I will let that potential punishment go for now,” she said. “Let me ask you, Liz, if you were in my position, what punishment would you deem suitable?”

Talk about being put on the spot. She might as well have asked if I wished to be shot or hanged! I thought for a moment or two, my mind racing, and I could see the expression on Mrs Bull’s face starting to harden.

“Well Miss, I thank you for your consideration of my actions and for not wishing to give me the cane, even though perhaps it might be deserved,” I waffled, making it sound like I was grateful, but was anything but. “Clearly some form of corporal punishment from you today, Miss, would be quite understandable. You have heard my reasons for what happened, but obviously there was no justification for the trail of events I put into place today. I believe to be put across your lap and given 12 strokes of the slipper would be appropriate in this instance, Miss,” I said confidently. Inside, however, I was all over the place.

Was she just going to spank me, and now I’ve suggested the slipper? Was I only getting 6, and now I’ll be getting the 12 I suggested? Or, is that far too little and now she will cane me? Oh heck!

“Well, Liz, I have decided you will, as it is the first time you have been punished, receive 8 strokes with the slipper. Now come over here and we will get started.”

She pulled out a chair and took her trusty plimsoll from its drawer, sat down and beckoned me over. I slowly moved across the floor and lowered myself into position, hands and feet on the ground. Soon I felt the cold air on my legs as Mrs Bull pulled up my skirt ready to slipper me on my white knickers.

“Hold still, Liz. This will hurt, but hopefully not too much.”

Whop. The first stroke hit home, soon followed by the second.

‘Wow! that smarts!’ was all I could muster in my head as the third and fourth impacts landed on alternate sides of my bottom. Mrs Bull paused briefly and then brought strokes five and six crashing down. Numbers seven and eight seemed far harder than all the rest. Whether they were or not I don’t know, it could have just been my poor bottom was getting very, very sore. With the eighth stroke I let out a shriek and started to cry. At least it was over now.

“Alright, Liz, you may stand up now,” she said kindly.

“Thank you, Mrs Bull. I deserved that spanking. I let myself and the school down, but most of all I let you down. I will pull my socks up and make sure this does not happen again.” I promised her.

“Liz, you don’t need to pull your socks up at all. You need to relax and enjoy life a little more. It will not affect your grades. Your perfect record has gone, thank goodness, and you should try to be a more regular teenager if you can. No girl has gone through the upper sixth here without at least one visit to my lap. That is not because I make sure that does happen, but because everyone makes mistakes eventually, even perfect prefects. Go home, talk to your mum, and get some rest. Stay home tomorrow as your quarantine dictates, and we will see you on Monday,” she said warmly.

Rubbing my burning bottom, I left and walked home with bright red eyes. Mum was just coming down the road as I approached from the other direction, and she could see something was amiss from 100 yards. I was in the hallway when she opened the door.

“I take it Mrs Bull took exception to you going in today, dear?” she asked kindly.

I explained the list of things that had gone wrong that day, the list of sanctions and the spanking Mrs Bull had exacted on my bottom which was by then quite unused to such treatment.

“At least you didn’t get the cane. Count yourself lucky. I had it twice from the headmistress when I was at school. The first across my knickers, the second with them around my knees. That was humiliating, I can tell you! I will put dinner on and come up in about 15 minutes. Get that uniform off, take your panties off and lay on the bed with a pillow under your tummy. I will come and put some cream on for you. It will help.”

My school work stayed to the same high standards, but I did slacken the reins on myself and enjoyed the rest of the sixth form even more whilst keeping my hand in spanking some of the naughtier bottoms lower down the school, which was a real bonus.

The End

© Jill Waterhouse 2021