A headmistress and a former pupil meet up, with repercussions. By a new writer to us.

By Lorna Monroe

Life was going swimmingly for Tracey Black in the lovely summer of 1971. A pretty vivacious girl with long auburn hair and a figure which frequently attracted admiring glances, she was home from university, where she was studying English Literature, being pampered by her adoring parents, and had even acquired a wonderful new boyfriend.

Tracey had been a model student at school, always handing her essays in on time, a keen hockey player (considered a major plus at West Park), and Head Girl in her last year. She was a special favourite of the Headmistress, Miss Kendal. In fact, the charming if slightly formidable ‘Miss K’, as she was known to all her girls, was the reason this former pupil found herself in the delightful Victoriana tea room this Saturday afternoon. The Headmistress had invited her to stay in touch when she left school, and the two met regularly when Tracey came home.

The young girl had arrived early; her punctuality had always impressed Miss Kendal and she wanted to maintain that favourable opinion. Actually, the older woman had encouraged Tracey to call her by her first name, Judith, but eventually had accepted that such was the esteem in which she was held by her former pupil that this would be too big a step.

As she waited, sipping a cup of English Breakfast tea from her elegant blue and gold cup, Tracey thought of the wonderful evening the night before. Her parents had been a little perturbed by the mauve hot pants she was wearing to go out, but she had assured them they were all the rage at the moment and that many of her friends were wearing them.  The dress-code was soon forgotten when Robert arrived in his new Triumph Stag. With his refined manners and easy charm, he had certainly won them over. He had taken her to a newly opened discotheque where, in a dark corner, he had kissed her and discretely caressed her bottom in a way that had made her gasp with pleasure. Maybe soon, she thought to herself.

At that point, her day dream was interrupted by a breezily pleasant voice.

“Good morning, my dear, how are you today? You do look wonderful.”

Tracey stood up and her friend clasped her hand in her own, kissing her cheek.

“Very well, thank you, Miss Kendal. You look great.”

The Headmistress was indeed a very attractive lady. In her mid-forties, with a youthful face, her trim figure was enhanced by her elegant navy skirt-suit. As ever, her collar length blonde hair was immaculately styled.

The ladies settled down at their table and quickly resolved to have the afternoon tea, which Judith ordered from the deferential waitress.

As they nibbled on a delicately cut selection of ham and prawn sandwiches, the friends talked of common-place things; the weather, holiday plans and school, until Miss Kendal’s voice dropped and assumed a more serious tone.

“Tracey, I have known you since you were a little girl. Ostensibly, you seem very cheerful, but I can’t help but think that something is troubling you. Of course, I have no wish to pry, but if I can help in any way please feel free to confide in me.”

A sadness spread over the girl’s lovely face. Her deep green eyes glanced downward. Over the next few minutes, the truth flooded out. Painfully at first, but soon with a great sense of release, Tracey unburdened herself. She explained that she was finding the transformation from the structured learning environment of school to that of the more relaxed atmosphere of University where academic results dependended on individual application and self-discipline, very difficult. As a result, she found that she was falling behind with her studies and that she was really beginning to struggle.

The kindly headmistress gave her young friend’s hand a gentle squeeze, refilled her cup and encouraged her to a French fancy.

“Dearest, I think you have identified the nature of the problem. It is the lack of discipline in your academic life.”

The girl readily agreed that was indeed what was missing.

“How would you feel if I was to offer you the kind of support you need?”

“But how could you do that, Miss? asked Tracey, unconscious of the fact that she had slipped back into addressing Judith as she would have done when she was acting in loco parentis in school.

“I never did punish you at school, did I, Tracey?

“You did give a Detention once; I was 15, I think.”

“Yes, you were always such a good student. Was that, in a sense, because you knew there were more serious sanctions at my disposal?”

“Do you mean, er, the cane, Miss?” Tracey asked tentatively.

“Well, the cane was used occasionally, as a last resort, but for less serious offences I was much more inclined to give a girl a spanking.”

Tracey’s heart skipped a beat and her face flushed; the latter reaction noted by Miss Kendal, who decided it was now time to take control of the situation.

“Tracey, I want to help you to arrest a decline in your application and performance which could have the most serious consequences for your future. My suggestion is that you allow me to mentor you in order that we can work together to get you back up to scratch.”

Stunned and feeling like she was in some kind of surreal dream, Tracey found herself nodding in silent agreement.

“Ok, so first of all, I will need you to post me your last three essays. Once I have read them, I will ring you and we can discuss where we go from there. My only condition is that you cooperate with me and respect my decisions as to how we can remedy this situation, before it becomes too late. Now, have you any questions before we say our goodbyes?”

“Just, well, would you be punishing me like a girl at school, Miss?”

“Do you mean, would I be employing corporal punishment?”

“Emmm, yes Miss, I suppose so.”

“I would hope you will be mature enough to render that unnecessary, Tracey, but I will take nothing off the table.” She smiled gently. “Rest assured that your fate will be entirely in your own hands. Now, I really must be on my way.” They exchanged kisses. “I shall look forward to receiving your work in the coming days.”

Those days passed very quickly. To Tracey’s delight, Robert was very anxious to spend time with her and so there was a trip to the beach, dinner and a late night at a fashionable club. She did get around to posting the essays on the Tuesday, so she felt that she had actually responded quite quickly, under the circumstances.

The phone call she received the next evening left her in no doubt that Miss Kendal did not share her view as to what constituted a prompt response. Tracey accepted, shamefully, that her conduct was unacceptable. Then her friend came to the heart of the matter.

“Having read your essays, the problems are obvious,” she said kindly, but firmly. “They are very poorly researched and carelessly written. In addition, the presentation is very poor, well below the standard I remember from your work at school.”

Tracey began to sob quietly in a way that deeply touched the headmistress.

“Come, my dear, there is no need to despair. It is clear to me that you are having trouble dealing with the distractions of university life; by no means unusual in first-year students.”

The girl brightened somewhat.

“All you need is the guidance and correction that we provided at school.”

“Yes, Miss Kendal,” said Tracey, blowing her nose.

“Do you still have your school uniform?”

“Yes, Miss, I do.”

She was surprised by the question. Actually, she had worn it to great hilarity at a fancy-dress party recently.

“Then, when you come to see me on Saturday, I want you to bring it with you. We will recreate the atmosphere which you experienced at school. It will help to concentrate the mind. Now, remember, 10 am sharp.”

With that, she said her goodbyes and was gone in a genial flourish.

Saturday morning came with a hint of pale sunshine after a light shower. Judith Kendal opened the door to her well-appointed home with a cheerful smile, attired for work in a formal, but feminine, business suit.

“Do come in, darling. I presume your uniform is in your bag?  The loo is upstairs, second door on your right, off you go and change, please.”

When she emerged, Tracey felt very self-conscious in the uniform she had worn to school less than a year ago. She had always hated the green blazer, matching skirt, and green and white tie. Even more so, the black lace-up shoes that were regulation, even for senior girls. However, Miss Kendal definitely approved.

“Excellent, Tracey, very conducive to an academic ambience.”

Without further ado, she ushered Tracey out of the lounge and into her spacious study. Oak panelling and groaning book shelves lent the room an air of gravity which Miss Kendal did nothing to dispel.

To the girl’s surprise she did not sit behind the imposing desk, but in the high-backed chair in the middle of the room.

“Right, young lady, you will lie over my lap and I will give you a spanking on your bare bottom which will focus your mind while you rewrite your first essay. After I have marked your work, I will decide how many strokes of the cane you will receive for the laziness and lack of attention which led to your present predicament.”

Tracey’s face flushed, dreading the spanking as she was, she felt ashamed of the fact that she was, quite justly, being scolded for her poor conduct by the lady she so admired.

“I should have told you not to bother with the shoes, dear. Slip them off, please. I will attend to your clothing.”

Shaking nervously, Tracey complied; a cascade of luxuriant red hair poured over the carpet as she lay over the headmistress’s firm thighs.

Without a word, Judith Kendal whisked up the penitent’s skirt and pinned it to her blouse, peeling down her thick tights.

“What on earth is this, Tracey Black? Frilly white knickers are certainly not official uniform clothing at West Park!”

“No, Miss, I didn’t have a school pair.”

“You could have asked me to provide them.” Said the rather irritated Miss K. “I am afraid this will mean an extra stroke of the cane later. Tracey groaned inwardly.

Easing the offending garment down to the knees, Miss Kendal appraised the theatre of operation. The girl’s bottom was pert rather than plump, with just a hint of a quiver as she adjusted her position. Pale as the skin of any redhead could be, it was embellished on the crown with a sprinkling of freckles.

Tracey hardly stirred when she felt the firm hand massaging her exposed rear. She remembered her friends saying the Headmistress always did this as it ensured they were not punished on a cold bottom, which would have hurt infinitely more.

“Please be assured,” said Miss Kendal cheerfully, “that I will not be punishing you on the backs of your legs, Tracey. You are a big girl now and we can’t have you revealing smacked legs when you wear those rather daring mini-skirts.”

The exposed girl gave thanks for that, at least; she would have died if Robert had noticed she had been spanked at her age!

“Now brace yourself, no clenching your bottom cheeks.”

The opening slap resounded around the room. Dead centre of the right sphere. A nano-second passed before the pain registered.

“Oh,” whispered the recipient, as if in slight surprise.

A second and a third followed in rapid succession, same cheek. Tracey’s head flew back but she contained the yelp in her throat.

The expert spanker turned her attention to the still pale left nate now. Three hard stingers, which really tested the previously unpunished victim. This time, her squeal could not be contained.

Now a pause. The intense heat soaked in to the scorched buttocks which were surging back and forth in an attempt to find some relief. Then, a change of rhythm. Right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, delivered in a measured drumbeat which made her feel and fully absorb each scalding slap.

The teenager was yelping with every new torment now, little feet pumping frantically as if trying to escape on an invisible bicycle.

“You can see now why I required you to remove your shoes.”

“Yes, Miss,” Tracey howled. “Oh God, it’s agony.”

“Yes, yes I know.” Her voice was not unkind. “But you will thank me one day.”

Tracey had little time to consider this thought as the final six rained down at a break-neck pace. She screamed, wriggled and twisted in her desperation, but then dissolved in a series of tearful sobs.

“All over now, darling,” Miss Kendal’s voice was soothing. “Rest awhile and rise when you feel able.”

When she did so, her chastiser went off to the kitchen and made some tea. As they drank the refreshing brew, she explained that Tracey would sit at her desk and rewrite her first essay. While she was doing that, her Tutor would pop out to see a neighbour for a couple of hours and would mark her work when she returned.

In her absence, the student worked assiduously, making good use of Miss Kendal’s library as she had been advised. Perched on a soft cushion, the heat in her punished rear served as a painful reminder to concentrate on the task in hand. You never know, she thought, if I do well she might forget about the threatened caning.

The time passed quickly and Tracey had finished just a few minutes before the Headmistress returned.

“All done? Excellent.” She sat down behind her desk and began to read, seemingly oblivious to the pensive student awaiting her judgement. When she had concluded, her warm smile gave Tracey further hope of leniency.

“A huge improvement, dear. See what you can achieve when you give it your best effort? I can mark this up from 42 to 64%. Hopefully, I may not have to cane you next time.”

Tracey’s heart sank, but she was just able to manage a whispered: “Thank you, Miss.”

“Right, let’s get this unpleasantness over with. I want you to move the chair into the middle of the room and then bend over the back.”

Time stood still as the penitent redhead leant in submission. Miss Kendal lifted her school skirt with a flourish, once more pinning it in place. With no underwear to take down this time, she noted with approval that the pretty bottom was still glowing red as a summer apple.

Tracey watched as Miss Kendal went to a cupboard and extracted a hook-handled cane. Slim and about 30 inches long, it did not look as fearsome as she had expected. Nonetheless, she gulped when the Head gave it a practice swish.

As before, she massaged Tracey’s bottom.

“Six strokes plus one extra for the non-regulation knickers. You will stay in place and there will be no rubbing your bottom until the punishment is complete. I would advise you to grip the arms of the chair very tightly.”

Miss Kendal laid the cold cane on the centre of the teenager’s bottom, drew it back and then rested it again. Tracey relaxed slightly, then it came, a streak of pure fire across the centre of her buttocks.

A howl of agony and shock from Tracey. The pain was beyond anything she imagined. Her strict mentor watched the thin tramline pinken, then turn crimson, before aligning the second stroke around half an inch lower. Air hissed out of Tracey’s lungs, a quieter reaction this time but no less intense.

White knuckles clung desperately to the chair now. High up on the crest of the bottom, not quite so severe but eliciting a plaintive whimper from the suffering girl. No time to settle, the fourth caught her on the heavy undercurve of her cheeks. She squealed heavenward, feet beating a tattoo on the floor.

Another was soon coming; centre, left cheek.

Tracey glanced over her shoulder, wide eyes filled with tears.

“Please, Miss.”

Miss Kendal stroked her cheek tenderly.

“Soon be over, I promise.”

A meaty whack, quiet sobs this time. The Headmistress moved to the opposite side. Left-handed on the right, it doesn’t hurt quite so much, but draws a long, low moan from the receiver.

She paused for more than a minute. “Last one, darling. You are being so brave.”

It was the worst by far. Wishing to avoid caning too low, she was forced to lay it diagonally across the previous stripes. Despite holding back a little, the study resounded with a girlish shriek from Tracey, shapely calves pressed together as if trying to squeeze the pain away.

Discarding the cane, Miss Kendal took her young friend in her arms.

“It’s all over now Sweetheart, let it all out.”

Amidst the tears, the chastened girl thanked her tutor and promised that she would work hard when she went back to University. She wanted to make everyone proud of her.

And so she did, gaining a First at University before going on to complete a PhD. Miss Kendal never did have to cane her again, though the occasional spanking did prove necessary. As it continued to be when she eventually married her beloved Robert.

The End

© Lorna Monroe 2019

Lorna Monroe welcomes emails from readers. Contact her at lornam904@gmail.com