Over The Desk Spanking Stories

A girl wants to make a friend, but has a strange way of showing it.

By Jane Fairweather

“Poor Anne has had to go home. I am afraid her nerves are not as good as they might be, which is always a risk when a sensitive girl tries for the highest level of exams.” Miss Frazer observed rather wryly to Priscilla Smith-Jones, her deputy head girl and the only other present member of the Scholarship Sixth, which specifically targeted places at the Cambridge women’s colleges.

“I am jolly sorry to hear that, Miss.” Priscilla stated demurely.

In fact, she was well aware of Anne’s panic attacks of the last week, which in Priscilla’s opinion had been cowardice, pure and simple. The stupid cow had kept sitting in her room crying and saying she could not possibly pass the Cambridge scholarship exams. And now it had finally led to her leaving the school.
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A girl acts rashly to defend family honour

by Jane Fairweather

Elizabeth Johnson’s flaming red hair, which she wore down to her shoulders, was very visible in the nearly deserted school library. Her gym-slip was in marked contrast to the pleated skirts of the two genuine Sixth Formers who were sat at a table at the opposite end of the Library and was a sign that she had failed her School Certificate and was a member of that ambiguous class, Six Remove. The normally high spirited girl was in a restless, anxious mood as she sat in the Library. Half of her was trying to construe the passage of Caesar that she was supposed to have ready for Miss Coleridge’s lesson in two periods time. It was lucky that she had a free morning, for there was quite a lot of Latin and she had not bothered to look at it before. There had been mutterings from Miss Coleridge about what would happen if she failed to prepare her set book again. This at least gave her something to do. However her other half was extremely anxious about the set-to she had just had in the Common Room with Priscilla Smith- Jones, the Head Girl. Was Prissy SJ going to carry out that very angry threat to report her to the head?
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Poor choices gets different generations into difficulty, but with similar results

By Jane Fairweather

Miss Thomson ran her hand rather sensuously over her very elegant nylon underskirt, which was itself covering the lower half of a rather lovely scarlet petticoat. The petticoat hid a very ordinary white vest, an extremely elegant black bra and fawn coloured directoire knickers, not to mention a small corset that doubled as a suspender belt and kept the worst of her stomach from view.

She had long ago decided that it was good in the evening to remove the stern grey skirt suit that served as her headmistress’s uniform in the day, and put on something altogether more informal. It served to teach the girls that one day they would be free to change into more elegant clothes in the evening when they had finished their day as a teacher or civil servant or secretary, and she liked her girls to know what dressing well looked like.
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A letter from school spells trouble for a girl

By Jane Fairweather

“Your father wants to see you in his study, Miss, at once.” Said old Betsy James who had been the general dogsbody of the Kavanagh household at Monkhold House for as long as anyone could remember.

There was a sneer to the old woman’s face from under her old fashioned muslin cap as if to say she had never had a high opinion of her employer’s only daughter and what was coming was only justice and rather overdue. A far from comforting return home from school after the Autumn term, Elfreda Kavanagh thought to herself, remembering the spanking she had got after her first term in the Fourth Form. But Betsy was gloating rather too early in the day, she decided. After all, she was a young lady now and a Sixth Former; probably her father was just eager for a chat. And anyway, quite probably he had not got to hear of the silly piece of trouble that she had been in.
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Two girls have to be punished, and a discussion ensues

By Jane Fairweather

Miss Stephens demurely poured out tea from her best china teapot for this interesting young man from Cambridge, who had come seeking information for his PhD about a former member of her staff in the days when she had been a headmistress and a person of importance.

Pete Williams picked up his cup of tea in its best china cup and said to Miss Stephens in her pleasant little flat in Torquay: “I think I told you in my letter that I want anything you can fill in about Alice Blakely, especially her time in the War. She was a teacher in your school wasn’t she?”
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Extenuating circumstances mean a special punishment.

By Jane Fairweather

“Oh, not again!” Miss Carson snapped. “Why does Clarice Edmonds need all these advanced music lessons? It is not as if there are that many job openings for female cellists in the year of our lord, Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-Five.”

“Headmistress,” Jo Bell replied. “It is obvious to me every time I hear her play that Clarice has very real talent, and her father seems very willing to put her through the Royal College of Music when we have finished with her here. I think we should be doing everything we can to support her.”

“On the contrary, it is a total waste of money!” Miss Carson snarled. “Clarice Edmonds is a pretty young flibbertigibbet, who will rapidly end up flat on her back with some penniless husband, producing rather too many babies. I have seen it all before. And is Thursday evening through to Sunday evening really necessary? It seems a very long time for a few music lessons. I thought these lamentable visits to her teacher usually went from Friday evening till Saturday evening and she stayed with her Aunt in town on Friday so as to be fresh for the lesson on Saturday.”
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Not getting up in time causes a problem

By Jane Fairweather

“Violet, what are you doing? You’ve barely time to catch the bus, let alone have breakfast! Just take a piece of toast with you.”

“You should have got me up, Mother, and not waited for me to come down.”

Violet Evans did not like to admit she had in fact been finishing her essay on the Outbreak of the English Civil War for the formidable Miss Taylor and had only just achieved it.

“Really, Violet, you ought to be capable of getting yourself up now you are a Grammar School Sixth Former, and Upper Sixth at that. Now get off with you. Or you will be late and having to explain yourself to Miss Chapple! And if you get the cane for it you will be spanked; your father and I have always said that if you misbehave at school you will be punished at home for it.”
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Two girls and a school secretary learn honesty is the best policy.

By Jane Fairweather

A game of Pirates was in full swing in the Lower Sixth PE lesson and, judging by the exuberant noises, most of the girls were thoroughly enjoying it, prancing round wildly up and down beams and ropes and wall bars and across benches, some trying to catch and some trying to get away. All the girls were in the prescribed white tops, but somehow most of them had ignored the rules about what to wear on their bottoms, and the mixture of rather inelegant blue shorts, stylish gym knickers, which was what they were supposed to be wearing, and what were undoubtedly school knickers, was not very aesthetic. Alison Holt in particular was wearing a rather faded rust red pair of old school knickers that were extremely tight on her and showed far too much. Alison always aggravated her PE mistress; she was so full of herself and she had a plump bottom that always seemed to beg for someone to send a springy length of bamboo swishing into it.
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A girl is required to move to a new school

By Jane Fairweather

The door to the Headmistress’s study opened.

“Mr Smyth and Jennifer.” The School Secretary announced, ushering in a man in a grey suit who looked rather old to be a father, and a tall girl with red hair and a green dress. As she got up from the three neatly arranged armchairs at the side of the room to greet her visitors, Miss Burton caught a glimpse of the girl’s bottom through her dress. Long and narrow buttocks, she noted with approval, but had the girl got a slip on? If she hadn’t, it suggested a certain lack of attention to the normally accepted, but then again maybe the light was going through the thin dress on this very bright August day.
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