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When Sarah decides to secretly punish two of the girls herself, Mr. Ambrose finds out and Ridgecrest's newest teacher soon finds out that even educators aren't above the headmaster's correction.
Sarah soon becomes the object of Mr. Ambrose's regular disciplinary attentions. Public discipline and canings feature prominently in this book sure to be a favorite with fans of traditional schoolgirl discipline. Charles Allen is a master of the classic school discipline genre, and CF Publications is pleased to offer his work in digital format for the first time.
Sarah Parkhurst had first seen the brick buildings as a little girl walking with her father. They sat on a hill at the outskirts of the town, surrounded by sloping lawns and stately trees. Her father had told her it was Ridgecrest, a school for proper young ladies who had the good fortune to be the daughters of rich families. He also told he couldn’t really say more, for the school was very exclusive and he�and by inference she�were not permitted to venture past its spiked iron fence to view its hallowed halls.
In later years, Sarah would always guess that this fatherly explanation was the seed of her anger. Why that seed grew and blossomed over the years, perhaps even Sarah didn’t understand. But whenever she would pass by the school or see its girls parading about town with their superior airs and fashionable clothes, her anger would fester and grow. And at night she would fret about the rich young ladies who thought so highly of themselves. Yet she knew they were no better than she, and in time she knew she would find a way to prove it.
Today Sarah was taking the first step to revenge. She was on her way for her interview. Ridgecrest was hiring a new instructor in mathematics, and Sarah�with teaching certificate newly in hand�had applied. In fact it was the only school where she had applied.
She had something to prove to herself and to the school’s young ladies. To that end she had studied with extraordinary zeal in college. And it was because she had graduated with many honors that she had been accorded the additional honor of an interview. It was now up to her, she knew, to make a suitable impression on Mr. Ambrose, the head of school. Her fate rested in his hands and his hands alone.
The town had grown since she was a little girl, of course, but the school had changed in appearance not at all. She slowly climbed the long paved driveway beneath the arching branches of the same oaks and silver birch and elm she had seen as a child.
As she approached, she could see the ivy clinging to the walls, the window glass wavy with age. Inside the main building there was more evidence of the venerable nature of Ridgecrest: heavy oak furniture, brass lamps, and portraits of men and women dressed in finery long ago relegated to the musty attics of one’s great aunts and uncles.
She stopped to study her reflection in a tarnished mirror secured in a gilded frame. She smiled at what she saw. She was very pretty, and she had gone to great lengths to make sure that her dress complemented her beauty with an aura of quiet competency. Who knew? If Mr. Ambrose was an old gentleman, he might be most influenced by her ability. But if he were young, then he might be taken more with her charms. In any event, she was confident that failure was not an option. Precisely on time she presented herself to Mr. Ambrose’ secretary.
“I’m Sarah Parkhurst, here to see Mr. Ambrose,” she announced with a boldness she didn’t necessarily feel.
“Oh, yes, Miss Parkhurst.” The woman coolly appraised Sarah. She saw an eye-catching young blonde woman of medium height, slim-waisted with a pert bosom. “I’ll see if he’s ready for you.” She got up and disappeared through the closed door behind her desk. Her name tag said Miss Lance. Sarah judged her no more thirty or thirty-one. She, too, was pretty.
After a few moments, Miss Lance reappeared and held the door for Sarah. “Mr. Ambrose will see you.”
“Be a good girl,” Sarah reminded herself. “You’ve worked hard for this opportunity and won’t get a second chance.”
“Miss Parkhurst. How good you were able to come. I’m Roger Ambrose.” The head of school stood up and came around his massive desk, hand extended. “Please, have a seat.”
The room was large and expensively appointed. All four walls were paneled in walnut. In addition to the desk there were several matching chairs and a sofa with seats and backs upholstered in red leather. A globe occupied a stand along one wall, flanked by glass-fronted bookcases, and a large cupboard hung between the two heavily curtained windows on the wall behind the desk.
Sarah took the indicated chair. Mr. Ambrose, as luck would have it, was not old. He was forty give or take, and he appeared very fit and trim. He wore a coat and tie. All in all he was a good looking man quite at ease with himself. Sarah was immediately taken with his wavy black hair and neatly trimmed mustache.
At first he told Sarah about Ridgecrest. The school was a finishing school, in effect a school for young women eighteen and nineteen years of age. There were one hundred fifty students, all of whom boarded at the school. They represented many of the best families of two continents. The curriculum was not stressing academically he confided, but Ridgecrest prided itself on maintaining the most rigorous standards of discipline. Its young ladies deported themselves well or faced the consequences of corporal punishment.
“Tell me, Miss Parkhurst,” he smiled, “do you find corporal punishment acceptable? Some don’t, you know.” He leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers.
Sarah felt a pleasant uneasiness at the question. She wouldn’t be interested in teaching at Ridgecrest if it were otherwise, yet she didn’t wish to appear eager. “Mr. Ambrose,” she said at length, “if that is the policy of Ridgecrest I would be willing to uphold it.” And then she added, “I’ve always felt that corporal punishment fairly administered could be an appropriate measure for young ladies of any station.”
“Does that mean that you wouldn’t have difficulty referring young ladies to me for correction with the cane?”
Sarah found his brown eyes penetrating. “No, Sir. Not if the girl is deserving. I could only assume that she would benefit from the experience.”
“Oh, our young ladies are a deserving lot, if nothing else, Miss Parkhurst,” joked Mr. Ambrose. “Few manage to avoid being whipped during their stay.”
“Nor would I shirk from applying the cane myself,” Sarah added with hope.
Mr. Ambrose almost leered. “Oh, I’m afraid that’s not allowed, Miss Parkhurst The faculty is limited to strapping naughty hands, nothing more. By tradition, tending to naughty bottoms is my business and my business alone.”
“A pity,” said Sarah. The leer was quite enough to tell her she would be hired. What she didn’t say was that she was quite prepared to make bottoms her business, as well. In good time, of course.
A week later she received a letter offering to make her Ridgecrest’s newest and youngest instructor. She accepted without a second thought.
In the fall, two weeks before the arrival of Ridgecrest’s students, Sarah reported for her indoctrination. She had much to learn about the school, its history and traditions. She also had staff and faculty to meet. As it happened there was one other new woman on the faculty, Miss Alexis Tuttle. Miss Tuttle was rather plain of face, but she was quite attractive in a womanly way. She was older than Sarah, but as newcomers they quickly took to each other. Sarah could also sense the possibility of a commonness of purpose in their coming to Ridgecrest, although nothing was said overtly.
Classes started in September, and for the first few weeks Sarah thought the girls rather too well behaved for her taste. They came to class punctually, did their lessons, and behaved like cultured young ladies should. Then came a day when Alexis excitedly came to her office after classes.
“It happened,” she gushed as soon as she had closed the door behind her. “In fourth period I sent Deborah to Mr. Ambrose for being tardy. It was her third day in a row.”
Sarah acted outwardly calm at the news, but she began to tingle in anticipation of hearing the details.
“Well, of course I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I wrote a brief note and sent her off. She put up a brave front, but her hand trembled when she took the paper.”
“What did your note say?” Sarah’s fingers brushed one of her breasts as she leaned forward. The sensation was like an electric shock.
“Just the facts. I didn’t embellish anything. Once she left I resumed the lesson, but I could sense tension in the other girls.”
“How long was she gone?” asked Sarah.
Not more than a few minutes. Miss Lance escorted her back. Her face was ashen, and her eyes were red from crying. Everyone watched her walk to her desk. And of course she sat very gingerly. There were a few snickers and whispers, but when I ordered quiet it was instantaneous. No one else was anxious to go, I assure you.”
Sarah found she had been holding her breath. “Did you say anything to her?”
“I asked what she’d had. ‘Six with the cane, Miss,’ she said with obvious embarrassment. And I said, ‘Will you be tardy again?’ She was blushing by this time. ‘No, Miss, not ever.’”
“It’ll do her good to sit on those stripes for a few days, the little truant,” concluded Sarah with a rush of envy.
“Amen,” seconded Alexis.
It wasn’t many days after that meeting that Sarah had her first opportunity to send a girl off to the head. And then another, and another. The return to class of each girl�always with ample visible evidence of the cane’s effectiveness written on her face�held satisfaction and was soon shared with Alexis. However, Sarah’s desire to deliver punishment to the girl, rather than the girl to punishment, frustrated her.
Soon her prayers were answered in a most unusual manner.
Sarah’s office was scarcely more than a cubbyhole furnished with a wooden desk, two straight-backed chairs, bookcase, and filing cabinet. Afternoons after classes she could be found there preparing her lessons or helping with her students’ academic difficulties.
This day, two months into the term, she was preparing to leave for the day when there was a knock on her door. At her invitation two of her students entered. Both were suspiciously nervous.
“Fiona. Samantha. It’s getting late. What can I do for you?”
Sarah leaned forward and placed her arms on the desk. She already knew the two cute blondes well. They were in their last year at Ridgecrest and they were inseparable friends with a penchant for being in trouble. Both girls looked at the floor and fidgeted with their hands. Neither seemed inclined to begin and the silence quickly became embarrassing.
“Come on girls, out with it. Are you in trouble again? Well, Fiona?”
Fiona shuffled her feet, and then cleared her throat. “Well, Miss,” she began, and then fell silent again.
“How serious is it?” said Sarah. “Samantha? One of you say something. I’m leaving if you can’t find your voices.”
Fiona cleared her throat again. “We’ve done something stupid, Miss. If Mr. Ambrose finds out we’re in for it bad.”
“And what does this have to do with me?” asked Sarah. “Aren’t you as much as telling me you both deserve a good caning?”
“Yes, but we’d rather have it from you, Miss Parkhurst,” blurted Samantha.
Sarah stood and looked out the window. She could feel her excitement blossoming. Trying to remain calm she said, “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to cane you. School rules, you know. And if I could, why chose me? For all you know, I might be twice as hard on you as Mr. Ambrose.”
Fiona lifted her eyes momentarily, but said nothing.
“And if I did, won’t Mr. Ambrose find out just the same?” Sarah said, turning back to her visitors.
“No Miss, because you won’t tell him,” mumbled Fiona.
“Because I won’t tell him?”
Fiona looked up again and nodded. “You’re the only one who can give us up, Miss Parkhurst. Oh, please just do as we ask!” The words gushed out this time. “If he finds out who did it, he’ll be so mad he’ll give us a dozen each�on the bare.”
Sarah tried to calm herself. This just might work, she thought. Two deserving young ladies begging for a caning.
“Let’s start at the beginning. Just what did you two do that’s so terrible? And why haven’t I heard about it?”
Sarah looked from Fiona to Samantha. Finally, Samantha spoke. “Do you remember seeing us coming out of Miss Lance’ office yesterday afternoon?”
“Of course,” said Sarah.
“You were the only one who saw us.”
“Miss Lance wasn’t there.”
“Neither was Mr. Ambrose,” added Fiona. “No one was there but us.”
“And you did something wicked while you were there.” Sarah made a statement.
The two girls looked at each other. That neither could say what they had done was a good indication to Sarah of how awful their mischief had been.
“Out with it. Out with it, or I’ll take you both down to Mr. Ambrose this minute.”
“We�we broke his canes,” said Fiona so softly that Sarah almost missed the confession.
“And cut up his strap,” added Samantha equally softly. “He probably won’t find out until the next girl is sent in to him.”
Sarah smiled inwardly. Damn the school rules she thought. These two were hers and hers alone.
“You can imagine how mad he’ll be when finds out,” continued Fiona. “He’d probably punish us in front of the whole school.”
“With your panties down,” said Sarah with the intention of frightening the girls further. “I can see why you’re here. Tell me, what do you think is a fair punishment? After all, I don’t have a cane and my classroom strap is hardly up to such a serious correction.”
The girls looked at each other. It was apparent that they had already discussed this aspect of their proposal.
“We’ll get you a switch,” said Fiona. “It will be just as good as a cane. Some of the girls who have had both say a switch is worse �because of the sap.”
Sarah knew now that it was going to happen. At last she was going to have a chance to get in her licks. And two more deserving young ladies were not to be found at Ridgecrest. But all the questions had not yet been answered. Time and place still loomed large.
“Very well. I’ll go out on a limb for you. A dozen each. You know Mr. Ambrose will turn the school upside down looking for you when he discovers what’s been done. Are you sure I’m the only one who saw you?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” both answered.
“Then there are two additional issues to resolve. Exactly where and when are we going to make this happen? ”
“Write us a pass. We’ll come to your apartment after dinner,” said Fiona.
Sarah gave them the address and made out the pass. Her hand shook so badly that she was sure the girls could sense her excitement.
“Seven, then. Twelve each at seven, to be sure,” Sarah said. Then she added under her breath after they had gone, “Spoiled little bitches.”
If Sarah’s office was tiny, her apartment was scarcely much larger-especially given the evening’s task. There was a small kitchen area, a tiny bedroom, and the living room in which she was standing.
She looked around at the furniture. There was a couch, a matching armchair, and a small writing desk. A TV faced the couch from the opposite wall, and except for a floor lamp there was precious little else.
The girls were due shortly and she was as nervous as a cat. On one hand she was finally going to have her chance to soundly whip the bottoms of two deserving girls. On the other, if her unauthorized punishment of Fiona and Samantha were exposed, firing might be the least Mr. Ambrose would do to her.
She picked up her glass of wine and took several large sips. The alcohol enhanced the sensuality of the moment while dulling the perception of the danger.
She had decided how she would arrange things. The girls would move the couch to the center of the room. One would lie over each overstuffed arm, head and arms on the couch and feet on the floor. She might even have them hold hands. With this arrangement she could easily alternate between backsides. While the pain in one girl’s bottom was slowly waning, the naughty minx could focus on her friend’s impending painful stroke.
“Rather fiendish,” she said aloud, a self-satisfied smile on her face.
She replenished her glass and had half drained it again when she heard a timid knock. She smiled and finished the remainder of the wine.
The door opened just enough for the two girls to slide into the room. Hesitantly, Fiona handed Sarah a long slim package wrapped in several layers of butcher paper.
“Take off your coats and put them on the chair. This won’t take long,” Sarah said. “Are you sure you’ve made the right decision?”
Both girls nodded as they stripped off their fashionable wool coats. Underneath they wore nearly identical sweaters and short, pleated skirts. Both girls were much cuter in street clothes than in their uniforms.
Sarah tore away the paper and freed two long supple withes. Both were quite satisfactory for making painful impressions on tender bottoms.
“I hope they’re OK,” ventured Fiona self-consciously.
“You can tell me after I’m through. Now pull the sofa out, and we’ll get this over with.” Sarah gestured to a spot in the middle of the room.
The girls struggled a bit, but soon the sofa occupied the intended position.
“Very well. Now skirts up and one of you over each end like this.” Sarah lowered herself momentarily over one arm of the sofa, making sure her hips were thrust up prominently. “It’s more comfort than you deserve. Come, come. Don’t make me angry.”
Fiona and Samantha both nodded and walked to opposite ends of the sofa. Both girls gripped the hems of their skirts, and then hesitated.
“Skirts up!” Sarah grabbed a handful of Samantha’s skirt and pushed her over the makeshift whipping bench. “Well, Fiona, am I going to have to do the same for you?”
Fiona shook her head and reluctantly bent over the other end.
“I’m going to alternate strokes. There will be no getting out of position or crying out. I do have neighbors. Remember, this is your choice.”
“What is it Samantha?”
“May I have something to bite on, please?”
“Fiona? You as well?”
“No, Miss Parkhurst.”
Sarah disappeared into her bedroom and returned with a small folded handkerchief for Samantha. “Hold hands if that gives you any comfort.”
The two grasped each other’s hands and held on for dear life.
Sarah stepped back. The two young women before her were frightened out of their wits. And with good reason, for both knew pretty much what was coming. It was very unlikely, given their penchant for trouble that either was a stranger to a good whipping.
Lazily, she moved to where the switches lay and selected one. She slashed it through the air a few times, and then did the same with the other. Happy in her selection she went to Samantha’s side and laid the switch on the girl’s panty-covered bottom.
Tap. Tap. Swick. Sarah backhanded the switch smartly across Samantha’s rump. The poor girl’s reaction was predictable. Her body stiffened and she shook her head while mewling into the hanky between her jaws.
Sarah moved to the other end of the sofa, aware of the fearful look Fiona’s eyes. Again she tapped her target once, twice. Swick. Fiona reacted like her friend, her body stiffening as she fought to hold in her cry.
“I truly wonder what Mr. Ambrose would have in mind for you if he knew,” said Sarah as she moved back to Samantha’s side. Swick.
Samantha pointed her toes and whimpered.
Sarah moved back again. Swick. And again, Swick. Lazily to and fro.
“You girls made the right choice.” Sarah smiled. She was enjoying herself. The feeling of power was exhilarating, even intoxicating. Every lonely hour she had spent getting to this moment was worth it.
“What could be better than flaying two pert and very naughty backsides?” Sarah asked herself. And then the answer came to her. Two pert, very naughty, and BARE backsides.
Four, five, six.
“Half. But then I’m sure you know.”
Sarah felt cocky. She left the girls writhing over their respective sofa arms and refilled her wine glass. She sipped the wine, all the while taking in the misery she had created.
Samantha was sobbing quietly and kicking the floor with one shoe. Fiona rolled her hips from side to side and repeatedly clenched and relaxed her bottom.
Sarah reached out and felt Samantha’s welts through her panties. The ridges were hard and obviously sore as Samantha’s sobbing grew louder under Sarah’s prodding. Sarah removed her hand. Then throwing caution to the wind she hooked her fingers in the waistband of Samantha’s briefs and yanked them over her hips. Samantha squealed, but didn’t make an additional protest at the indignity.
Even as Fiona raised her head to see what was happening, Sarah moved the length of the sofa and yanked Fiona’s panties southward as well. Much to Sarah’s delight, both bottoms bore six angry crisscrossed weal’s turning from red to black.
“Please, Miss,” pleaded Fiona. “We can’t stand six more. We’ll not be able to sit in class tomorrow.”
“We had a bargain, Fiona. Besides, two healthy girls should take twelve without a fuss.”
Swick. Swick. Swick.
Sarah delivered three sonorous cuts to the underside of Fiona’s trim bottom. The girl buried her head in the seat cushion and wildly scissored her lovely legs. She came up gasping for air, a look of utter dismay frozen on her face.
“Nooooo,” begged Samantha through her makeshift gag as she watched Sarah step toward her. “Nooooo!”
“Of course I can!” said Sarah calmly. And to emphasis her point she repeated the triad of cuts across Samantha’s shocked bottom. “This is not designed to be a picnic, young lady. And for protesting, you may have the next three as well.”
Swick. Swick. Swick.
Sarah’s hand and the switch it held were a blur as she delivered the hardest cuts she could manage. Samantha’s eyes flew open and she twisted her hips wildly from side to side. At the same time her legs flew up and down and she mewled into the hanky.
With the same purposefulness she completed Fiona’s punishment, “You may get up now. And you may rub.”
At once both girls scrambled to their feet and began to dance, rubbing and kneading their welted bottoms for all they were worth. Lewdly, they pumped their hips as if the thrusting would shake out the terrible sting
Sarah sat on the sofa and watched in delight. Finally, the gyrations subsided and Samantha and Fiona stood still clutching their backsides.
“Samantha, come here and bend over my knee,” ordered Sarah.
“Oh no, Miss. You’re surely not going to spank us as well?” pleaded Samantha.
“Of course not. I merely wish to examine your stripes before I send you off.”
“Please, Miss. It’ so humiliating, Can’t we just go?” Samantha was still sniveling.
“After I’ve inspected. Now do you want more of the switch?”
“No, Miss.” Samantha reluctantly sidled over and bent uncomfortably across Sarah’s lap. Sarah traced the lines decorating Samantha’s bottom. “I did quite a job, didn’t I? I trust we’ll not have needed to repeat this soon.”
“No, Miss. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“And you, Fiona? Come here.”
The inspection process and catechism were repeated.
“Well, you may be off,” said Sarah as she helped the two into their coats and saw them to the door. “This will be our little secret, eh?”
Samantha and Fiona, their tear-stained faces wiped clean, nodded. Sarah watched them walk gingerly down the hall and out into the night. How superior did they feel at the moment she wondered. Money and station were wonderful assets, but a good whipping went a long way toward evening the score.
Back inside she picked up the frayed switch and gave her own bottom a halfhearted cut. She smiled at the sting, then reached under her skirt and pulled down her panties.
“What a wonderful invention,” she said. “Such a simple tool, yet it brings both pain�.and pleasure.” She placed the switch between her legs and lay on her back. “Pain and pleasure,” she whispered as she started to work the shaft to her advantage in a most unladylike manner.