A school caretaker has some strange duties. Inspired by a still and a synopsis from a spanking film.
By Old Tom
He had lost his job; a serious matter in 1930 with unemployment so very high. So he had fought in the Great War; so what, millions of others had too. He didn’t really have a trade although he’d worked for a small building company since the war ended. It was a little bit of this and a little bit of that, all of it good but no time served apprenticeship. His company had gone broke in the depression and now he had put his boots on and tramped uselessly from one job queue to another.
Then a mate who had a job gave him the head’s up; the headmistress of the posh girls’ boarding school was looking for a caretaker, preferably young, and she was going to put a notice on the ‘wanted’ board at the Town Hall tomorrow morning early. He was there with the dawn; an early bird with his boots polished, his beard and finger nails trimmed his best suit on, and his best shoulders back, belly in, parade ground back.
Without being pushy he managed to engage her in conversation before she finished putting the notice up. She interviewed him on the spot, read his references, and told him to report to her at the school in an hour. He practically flew to the school. He hadn’t liked the old bat. She was a tarter, he could see, and his mate had said: “She’s a right bitch, tough as bloody nails. I hear the girls get their backsides well and truly walloped if they step out of line. But the school is full and the parents lap it up I hear. Also she is fair to the ordinary staff, pay’s not great but they get fed and its good, accommodation’s good, and she don’t sack you easy as long as you do your job.”
He didn’t care; a job is a job.
The headmistress was businesslike and quickly he agreed to the pay and conditions. She showed him his small cottage on the edge of the grounds; it was better than where he was at present. She showed him around and outlined his duties and then took him down to the semi basement area housing the boilers, coke store and his work room. Finally she led him down a corridor to a set of rooms one looking extraordinarily like a waiting room.
“Now then, Smith, you will have another set of duties to which I attach the greatest importance.”
He looked serious to show he was paying great attention.
“I do not think it seemly that I, or any of my teachers, should chastise the girls. We are here to educate the mind not chastise the body.”
He wasn’t sure where this was going but he continued to look serious and nodded, as if he understood and, of course, agreed.
“Nevertheless, the girls do need to be corrected from time to time and this is where they will come to wait for you. You will be present here from four in the afternoon until five each day except Sunday. They will present you with a note detailing their punishment and you will administer it in here.” She opened a door into another room. “Here is where you will carry out their chastisements. Your predecessor was growing old and began to reduce the severity of the punishments ordered. I expect you to punish each girl properly. If they have been sent to you then you may be certain that they deserve what has been ordered.”
He looked around the room; the walls were simple brick neatly whitewashed, the floor old quarry tiles. There was a plain deal cupboard painted in institutional green, a lectern with a large leather bound book, a table, an extremely robust but plain wooden chair and a stool. The headmistress opened the cupboard to reveal a number of straps of different thicknesses and a couple of wicked looking quirts. Or at least he assumed them to be. There was a loop of leather to go around the wrist, plain leather handle maybe twenty centimetres or eight inches in length, while the whip part was braiding of leather of some ninety centimetres or three feet in length. They weren’t thin, perhaps as much as twelve millimetres or half an inch. Had he been a rider he might have thought it too long for a quirt but he could see it would be painful to receive a beating from it.
“The younger girls, the eleven and twelve years old, of course receive simple spankings with your hand. As you have worked with your hands I am sure they will stand spanking a few young girls.”
He hesitated before raising the matter that came immediately into his mind. He found a form of words, delicate, oblique, indirect, and said: “When I was a young boy my father made me take my trousers and underpants down before he spanked me.”
“Of course. Our girls too are trained to adjust their own clothing, but if one of the younger ones demurs then you are authorised to do that for them. You should have no trouble from the older girls.”
His mind reeled; put simply she was telling him to wallop the bare backsides of the girls. He wasn’t too sure he wanted to do that but then a job is a job and he had nothing against kids getting their backsides walloped. He’d had many a walloping from his father and teachers.
“Now the older girls get the strap. I know many schools use the cane but a cane can cut delicate young skin so you will use the straps provided. The lighter strap is for minor offences and the heavier strap for more serious ones. If you have any fussing or impertinence from a girl you may replace my instructions for the lighter strap by using the heavier.”
“What about these, headmistress?” He fingered the quirts.
“Those are for use on the younger teachers.”
He was unable to disguise his surprise; shock; amazement. Surely teachers didn’t get their backsides walloped? She saw his expression and carried on.
“Our older girls are all seventeen or eighteen but our younger teachers are sometimes only a year or two older than that. Our youngest at present is just nineteen. I see no reason why they should not receive the same sort of correction as they might expect at home.
“Again, it is not seemly for me to chastise them. If they need it they will report to you after the girls have all been punished. No young teacher is appointed before being made aware of the penalty attached to poor behaviour or poor teaching. However, to work here carries immense prestige. We are,” and for the first time she showed pride and feeling. “A premier school in this country if not the premier school for girls.”
She led him through an archway into a small room. It too was plain brick simply whitewashed and furnished with a long solidly built… Now what was it? It looked a bit like a table but seemed rather low down for that and was also very narrow for a table. Clearly old, it seemed to be of polished oak. It had straps attached at various points and was altogether some two metres (over two yards) long.
“The whip you will use on the teachers is a severe instrument and I do not order its use lightly. Nonetheless you will apply it vigorously. It is hard to hold a position when being punished with one of these so……” Here, a strong memory of her as a young woman receiving a whipping with one just like the ones here in the cupboard came to mind. Her father had never spared her and expected her to hold position simply bent over the end of her bed. She believed she was showing mercy to her young teachers by using this old whipping bench. “…..I have provided this old bench. The teachers do not have to be restrained if they do not wish it. The bench is supportive enough for the more stoical ones.”
Later that night he had moved his few possessions into the cottage and mulled over his new duties, his mind constantly drifting to the duties involving the girls and teachers. It was hard to believe. No, very difficult. No, nearly impossible to believe, but a job is a job and if she wanted him to beat a teenage girl, spank a younger one and whip a teacher he’d do it and as she wanted… “vigorously”.
The very next day he had his first waiting room full. He was embarrassed as no less than six of the younger girls came in one after the other to be spanked. His hand grew hot and sore and his ears rang with the sobs and cries of the girls. Then came two girls in mid teens; each received in their turn a dozen with the light strap.
He was a little frightened of hitting them hard but mindful of her strictures he overcame his reluctance and the room echoed with the howls of the girls. Finally in came an eighteen year old. She looked horribly embarrassed at having to bare her bottom and bend over the table for her strapping; he too looked embarrassed as he supervised her. She tried to be stoical but soon she was wailing and crying like the younger girls.
Within a short time the word went around that the new caretaker spanked and strapped hard. The girls became more careful and the numbers being sent went down. The headmistress was pleased and everywhere he went in the school the girls were careful to give him little curtsies and be extra polite.
He developed a professional detachment. The bare bottoms of teenagers were not anything other than something to beat with a strap. He began to feel like a doctor with his waiting room, detached and aloof from any improper desires. He was relieved that no young teachers appeared as he rather admired several. It was true they were out of his league. All were well educated and proper ladies, but he could admire and fantasise couldn’t he?
After six months he was settled in completely and enjoying his status far more than he had ever had before. His cottage was private enough for the discreet entertainment of some young ladies; not from the school of course. To his surprise the ladies all seemed fascinated by the punishments he handed out. He was obliged to tell them detailed stories which they clearly found exciting.
“Serves them little stuck ups right,” was one comment.
He didn’t agree, he found the girls pleasant and respectful, but if it helped his bed springs to squeak loudly he had no objection to telling them.
One day he had just finished clearing his waiting room of the very few girls sent for punishment and was busy writing up the punishment book which sat on the lectern. It all had to be in his best handwriting which fortunately had been his only strong feature at school. He had even used his first wages at the school to buy a nice fountain pen for the purpose. He took pride in the neatness of his book and was taking his time in writing up a simple ‘….twelve with the lightweight strap…’ when a young teacher entered the room. Her soft entry startled him.
“I’m sorry Mr Smith; did I startle you?”
“Yes Miss. I’m usually alone down here at this time, but no matter.”
Now, of all the young teachers at the school, she had the greatest effect on him. He knew in every bone, in every tiny part of his brain, even in his fantasies, that she was beyond his reach. She was from a very good family, although they had fallen on harder times. Her father had been a General until he guaranteed someone’s loans; a man, so called friend of the General’s, who had fled to South America leaving her family impoverished. Her education had been first class. She was beyond him but he knew he was in love with her, would do anything for her. She alone of all the teachers addressed him as Mr Smith rather than just Smith.
He looked at her, wondering quite what she was doing down here. She had this wonderful calm face that appeared quite serious, but she looked at everyone, not with disdain or contempt, but warmth. Her soft smile captivated the girls (they all loved her). Her rich hair was swept back into a little plait at the back revealing a neck that made him want to kiss it. She moved with quiet grace radiating, not self importance, but gentle concern for all.
“What can I do for you Miss?”
“I have a note from the headmistress.”
He frowned. Normally the headmistress either spoke to him directly or sent one of the eleven year olds with a note; they loved the responsibility.
He took it, frowning. He read it through twice and then a third time before its meaning broke through to him. “But this says I am to punish you!”
“Yes, that is correct. You are to whip me, Mr Smith.”
He had not punished a teacher and hadn’t believed the day would come, but now he didn’t want to punish her; she was his favourite. “But eighteen strokes! That’s the maximum. What on earth did you do?”
He couldn’t help it. It just came out. But it was not his business to ask such questions and he immediately stammered out an apology.
“Please Mr Smith, don’t apologise. Your question is a natural one. I will tell you, though I am ashamed.”
She began to blush, slowly but with a deeper hue developing and spreading. He was entranced, captivated, lost in her beauty. The blush made her even more attractive in his eyes and spoke of her modest character. He knew he was falling deeper in love with her.
“I was invited to take a walk with a young man and when he embraced me I didn’t push him away; and when he kissed me, I didn’t stop him or protest. This was in the street for all to see and inevitably the matter was reported to the headmistress.”
Well he knew that this was most unwise for a young lady in this prudish town but the young man should have known that too. He burned with righteous anger. “He had no business doing that to you. Who is this fellow? I’ll knock his block off for you.”
She reached out and touched his hand with a gentle smile that made his heart ache. “That’s kind, Mr. Smith, but I know what young men are like; I should not have allowed it. The fault is mine and I must be punished. The headmistress has always been perfectly clear about how we must behave and what happens if we don’t.”
“Very well Miss, but if I’d had the honour of walking with you I would never have taken such liberties.” He knew it to be true. She was not like the ladies who came back to his cottage, she was the sort of girl you married and knew you’d been dead lucky.
She smiled again and set his heart racing with: “Well before that can ever be put to the test I must submit to my punishment.”
He pulled his mind back to his job and suggested it best they go through to the room with the bench. She looked so calm and collected he was stunned. He felt that if he was a young woman he’d not have been so sanguine when faced with the punishment she was to get.
“The headmistress has provided this bench for young teachers who are to be punished; she regards it as more merciful than trying to hold position. You don’t have to have the straps to restrain it’s up to you, but Miss please have them. I’ve not given one of these before but I can tell it’s really going to hurt…..you.”
The “you” was an afterthought, a sigh. He had no wish to hurt her. He wondered wildly if they could pretend she’d been beaten. Instinctively though he knew her to be too honest and frank for that; besides he had realised that the headmistress was able to listen in because there were ventilation shafts running up from the basement up to the roof. She only had to open one inspection hatch to hear everything. He was dead certain this was one session she would listen to.
She stood hesitating at his suggestion as if wrestling with her conscience. Finally she said: “Yes please, Mr Smith, I will have the restraints. I really don’t think I am brave enough without them.”
Now it was his turn to blush as he looked at what she was wearing and assessed how easy it would be to adjust her clothing so that he could use a quirt (if that’s what they were) in the proper manner. She had on a dress which came down well below her knees, and styled as the headmistress dictated, not as a young woman would normally wear. It was heavy, worthy in every way, but not easy to keep aside while she was punished.
His blush deepened. “I’m very sorry, Miss. I reckon you’ll have to remove that dress. It’s just going to be too hard to ….” He faltered, not knowing how to say it decently. “Well, you know.”
She blushed again to colour match his own face. “Yes, Mr Smith, I understand and you are quite right of course. I think it will be much easier if I remove it and my petticoat too. May I be left alone for a few minutes to get ready?”
He started and went a deeper red. “Oh yeah, right. Sorry, Miss. I, well, I didn’t think.When you are ready perhaps you’d get up on the bench and here is a roll cushion to put under your……”
He stopped. What is the right and proper word to use to a young lady? In the end he patted his hips and she nodded to show she understood.
He turned and hurried to the cupboard, his hands shaking as he took down one of the quirts. In order to give her time, he went back to the punishment book and finished the entry. Concentrating on keeping it neat calmed him. He began to write up this current punishment, wishing desperately he could think of some way to get her out of it but failing. A small quiet voice broke in: “Mr Smith, I am ready.”
He went back in hiding the quirt behind his leg. She could see he was nervous and reluctant to punish her, guessed that was because he loved her albeit at a distance. She was scared inside, but her father had drummed into her all her life: “The officer class shows no fear.” This was her first real test and she wanted to pass it; saw she must support the young caretaker, saw she had a duty to help him do his.
He saw a calm young woman stretched out on the bench. To his intense embarrassment she was in her underwear; a short flimsy sleeveless top of some kind in a delicate silk with contrasting piping. There was a pair of very flimsy panties, also in silk, to match the piping. She had on one of the modern suspender belts, which he thought very arousing, holding up silk stockings. She clearly knew how to dress well, even in her underwear, for it was far more delicate and attractive than any of his ladies. He felt desperately uncomfortable seeing a young gentlewoman like this; she must be squirming with embarrassment.
She’d put the roll under her hips in just the right place to lift her bottom and was waiting calmly or so it appeared to him. “Mr Smith, I know you will do your duty and punish me as the headmistress wants. Please understand I will hold no grudges or resentments against you; my presence here is entirely my responsibility.”
He thanked her and began to put the leather straps around her hands and attached them to the rope that reached down underneath the bench. He pulled to stretch her arms out. “That’s not too uncomfortable is it Miss?”
“No Mr Smith, it feels fine.”
He took the big wide leather strap intended for her middle and fastened it across her waist, tightening it as much as he could without hurting her. “Does that hold you fast down, Miss, without being too uncomfortable?”
She tried lifting herself but the strap held her in place. “Thank you, Mr Smith, it’s just right.”
He then took another wide strap and fastened it across the back of her knees, tightening it as before. “I think I’ll leave your feet, Miss, if that’s alright; you can’t really move much now. I’m sorry Miss, really sorry, but I’ve got to touch your clothing now.”
Her voice was strained as she acknowledged this and he gently took hold of her panties and eased them down over the smooth shapeliness of her bottom to just below. To his shame he found himself aroused by this. His erection became a hideous embarrassment to him and he fought hard to regain the detachment he felt when punishing the girls. Controlling his voice he announced: “I’m sorry, Miss, we’re ready now. I’ll have to begin the punishment.”
“I know, Mr Smith. Please forgive me if in my weakness I cry out too much; you must do your duty as the headmistress would wish.”
She was scared inside and hoped he couldn’t see it. She had no idea how much it would hurt but guessed it would be bad. She was tied down and her bottom exposed in a way that had never happened to her before. Every single bit of it felt cold.
If she could put the clock back she would never have been so foolish but she had been foolish and now she must pay her mess bill, as her father would have put it. If she was to be beaten by anyone, she would rather Mr Smith did it. He was sensitive, kind, gentle, and treated her with respect.
She guessed some men would not be like that but bullying, leering and even pawing at her. She believed him that he would not have taken such liberties if he had walked out with her.
The blow across the centre of her bottom took her by surprise. She screamed with the sheer shock of it. Then the pain hit her. It was a fiery burning across the centre of her bottom that simply got worse with every second. She whimpered at the thought of what was to come.
Having told her that he had to begin the punishment, the caretaker felt strange. He loved the young teacher stretched out in front of him, had no wish to hurt her but…. But she looked so attractive, the delicate underwear, her soft skin, the long beautiful legs, her hair shining with colour and health in the dim lighting, her bottom so smooth, so shapely; the feet encased in silk, so small and delicate; and the fact that she was so helpless, so powerless, so in his power. It was intoxicating, arousing, wonderful, heady, and utterly wrong. He knew that it was wrong but his body was responding against his will. He fought himself and regained mastery of himself bringing the quirt down in a powerful stroke across the middle of her bottom.
As the bottom registered its shock waves and a welt immediately appeared, she screamed. It shook him. He hesitated, dithered for a moment, but then brought down the next stroke making her bottom bounce with its force. She whimpered into the bench and her lower legs jerked up in neat togetherness.
“Two,” he muttered to himself.
He tried hard to spread the blows, not cross over earlier welts, make it as easy as he could for her, but eighteen strokes? It was hard to spread them. He could hear and see her trying to be brave. Her bound hands grasped the rope that held them stretched in an ever tighter grip; her unbound feet kicked up and crossed only to uncross in an a effort to control the pain. She groaned, gasped, whimpered, made plaintive sounds, but stifled them quickly.
Again and again he brought the quirt down hard on the ever bouncing bottom, counting softly as he went: “Twelve, thirteen…”
Her cries grew louder no matter how hard she tried. They sounded more desperate, more as someone reaching the limits of their endurance. At the sixteenth she screamed again.
“Just two more, Miss. Nearly there.”
He brought the quirt down again, hard as duty called for.
She cried out: “One.”
He brought it down again and watched as her bottom bounced again under the force of the lash. She screamed out: “Two,” and put her head down and began to cry.
He threw the quirt down in disgust and rushed to undo her bounds, his hands trembling. Her whole bottom was a mass of welts. In some places where they had overlapped they had merged to make large, angry red blotches. The welts had taken the pattern of the quirt’s weaving. He wanted to cry at how the smooth beauty had been transformed.
When he released her hands, she put them back to gently touch her welts but made no attempt to get up. He kept a stock of clean large white handkerchiefs in the cupboard for the girls to use after their punishments. The school’s laundress saw to them for him. He rushed now and got several and came back.
She felt his tenderness as he helped her back up, stayed to help her dress, both of them oblivious to any propriety. He whispered words of comfort, reassured that she had not been cowardly, supported her until she was fit to return to her room.
She turned before leaving, her face white and blotchy with tears. She kissed him on one cheek. “Thank you, Mr Smith.”
He didn’t want the moment to end; the intimacy of it could surely never be reclaimed, perhaps not even if he had to punish her again.
“Mr Smith, before I go you need to know something.”
He frowned. “What’s that Miss?”
“It’s not breeding or education that makes a man attractive. It’s his character. I would be honoured if you asked me to walk out with you.”