Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 2

The previous episode is here.

 

“Ah, Jennifer,” I said, once she was in my office and I’d closed the door. Jennifer was a pretty girl. Dark hair, cut into a mop around her face. Pretty smile, I knew from memory, though she wasn’t smiling now. She was trying to look calm, but her left hand was clenched, her nails worrying at her palm.  

She’d done up the second to top button of her blouse, to make a less immodest display of her cleavage, but she hadn’t been able to do anything about her skirt. It was cut high at her thighs, several smooth, feminine inches above the knee. She stood about five foot nothing, which underscored the voluptuous promise of her bottom, and the slender womanliness of her thighs. 

All I had to do, if I wanted to inspect that “genital pouch” that had provided Jennifer Perch with her school nickname, would be to tell her to put her hands on her head. The skirt would rise two inches, and that would be all it took.

But those were my thoughts, which I couldn’t do much about. In practice I’d have to tell her she couldn’t wear her school uniform skirt that short. That would make a lot of the boys less happy, but it had to be done if Jennifer was going to succeed at school at all.

I’d been tempted, when I’d paddled Jennifer’s two classmates yesterday, to make them take off their skirts as well as lower their panties. They’d kept slipping down, and I wanted to make sure my reputation as a ruthless disciplinarian was well established. But with Jennifer that would be unnecessary. Once she was over my knee, that skirt would give little more protection than a pleated belt. 

I looked at her. She couldn’t meet my gaze. She looked past me, at the row of certificates behind my desk. “Sit down.” I indicated the straight-backed wooden chair.

Terrifying headmaster, with tawse. And is he really a Pogues fan, or does he just like rum, sodomy and the lash?

Terrifying headmaster, with tawse. And is he really a Pogues fan, or does he just like rum, sodomy and the lash?

That chair, as I suspected Jennifer knew the moment she saw it, was going to play a major, dreaded, part in her life for the next few months.

She was a little short to be able to bend over it and rest her head on the seat when I paddled or caned her. But she could bend over facing the front of the chair, holding the seat for support.

She could lie over the seat, fingers and toes to the floor, flopping like a mermaid out of water when the tawse landed on her bottom.

In the meantime she sat on it, hands together and not still, staring at her knees.

She knew why she was here. She’d skipped classes, and she was to be punished. She blushed suddenly, and her knees drifted further apart.

The movement sent my imagination racing again. I could, once she was used to discipline, have her wearing only her shirt, sitting backwards on that chair, bottom extending past the seat, projected and unprotected into the air, with her thighs open and straddling that hard back.   

I asked the question I always ask. It gives the student a chance to confess, and if they do, as a matter of honour I will halve their punishment. “Do you know why I called you in to see me?”

However, confession hardly ever happens. Jennifer was no exception. She couldn’t look at me. I guessed she was still a bad liar, and I intended to preserve that state. She shook her head. A lie, but at least she couldn’t speak it. 

“When I started at this school, I familiarized myself with the files of some of the more noteworthy students.” I stood looking out the window now. “Your file stood out: straight As, awards. You’re an accomplished young lady.”

She made a sound, a bit like a grunt. Her high achievement seemed to embarrass her. I would fix that. She was about to have other things to be embarrassed about, and discipline would get her focussed again. It might help her to feel special. She needed that. 

I didn’t look at her. She was looking about my office, I was sure. “So I was surprised, Jennifer, when I checked the attendance records of your classes and found that you’d been skipping some of them. That seemed out of character.”

Now I looked at her, using all of my height, such as it is. I saw the beginning of a smile. That had to be extinguished, fast. “You’re only harming yourself with that behavior. So now we’re going to correct it.”

She was silent. She remembered the two girls from yesterday. The paddle on bare skin, and the dramatic results. Was that about to be her?

“That’s very much for your own good, when you’re behaving like a silly, naughty child, and you’ve finally been caught, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I guess.” Her voice was dry. But she was still trying to be nonchalant. 

“The correct answer is ‘Yes, sir.’ Try it.”

She wasn’t looking at me. “Yes, sir.

She couldn’t have packed more insolence into those two words if she’d had drama lessons. But she would mean it, by the end of our session today. “You know your behaviour has to be punished, Jennifer. Skipping classes is foolish and childish so your punishment will be too. I’m going to give you a spanking.”

Now she looked at me. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes wide. 

“I mean now, Miss Perch. Stand up.”

I pushed the comfortable office chair out of the way, and brought out the companion to the one Jennifer was sitting on., wooden, with a high straight back. She hadn’t moved yet. I gave her another order, so she had a sense of orders backing up, of losing control. “Take off your blazer.”

Still nothing, except furious blushing. I spoke sharply. “Or would you rather have the paddle? Over my desk like your two friends yesterday?”

She didn’t want that. She stood up suddenly, and took off the blazer. Folded it and draped it over the back of her chair.

“Wise choice. Now come here.”

She did. She stood in front of me. Her knees were shaking. “Please don’t spank me, sir. I’ll do extra work. I’ll … write an essay. Or clean all the blackboards. I’ll be good, I promise! I – I’ve never been spanked. Never. Please, sir.”

There was a sound from the photocopier room. Maddie was listening. She wouldn’t have expected Jennifer to beg. Jennifer looked over briefly, then switched her attention back to me. She was near tears. “Sir? Please don’t. Please don’t spank me.”

I smiled at her and shook my head. I patted my right thigh. “Over my knee.”

 

The next episode is here.

 

badge-ww

 

9 thoughts on “Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 2

  1. Oh my… oh my… oh my. I want to read on! Can’t wait for the next installment! So hot… as hot as I guess Jennifer’s bottom will be after the spanking!

    Rebel xox

    PS: great use of the prompt 🙂

    • Hi Marie,
      Thanks for noticing and approving my incorporation of the prompt. I do my best.
      I’m glad you’re enjoying the story. And so long as there’s Wicked Wednesday, there’ll be another episode. Every Wednesday, till it’s done.
      So they are, in a sense, just for you!
      I hope you enjoy them, and thanks and appreciation to you, for making Wicked Wednesday a Thing!

    • Well, I do like the Pogues. But yes, I like the lash, and sodomy, more. Maybe then the Pogues, and then rum. Nah, rum’s not my favourite, but I’d probably miss it more than the Pogues. I listen to the Dropkick Murphies more, at the moment.
      As for Jennifer’s pouch, it exists, in a sense, but you’re stuck with images of me for this series.
      It’s male POV in a schoolgirl spanking story, so that seems right. Anyway, Jennifer’s shadowy inspiration says she won’t have her twat on the internet. So there’ll be no pictures of Jennifer’s lady parts. Bother, I say, but what can I do?
      I’m a giver, not a receiver, like Santa Claus, and that applies to the lash as well as other things. But even without extrinsic encouragements there’ll be another episode every Wicked Wednesday!
      Glad you’re enjoying, and cheers!

    • Thank you! They belong in fiction or in jail, of course, those sexy headteachers. But they’re very fine in story.

      And I’m finding it interesting, writing from the headmaster POV. As I’ve said, in schoolgirl spanking stories, the wicked Headmaster isn’t usually given any sort of internal life. You get everything from the schoolgirl heroine’s POV, and he just does things. Terrible things, that she always loves.

      So giving him an interior monologue means I have to work out his motives. Because it’s non-consensual, he’s basically a bastard. I don’t like the idea of having him be a genuinely decent man who’s being cruel to be kind, because I don’t believe that non-consensual power works that way. But he has to be humanised and lightened a bit, or else it stops being sexy.

      I have a glimmer of a possible solution, and it may show up in later episodes. But it WILL stay sexy.

  2. Pingback: Prompt #230: Slutfest - Wicked Wednesday & more

    • Yes, it’s a mainline bdsm, dom/sub scenario. Dodgy sexual politics, except as fantasy; but white-hot sex.
      Not that I expect Mr Beecham’s blood-flooded cock will get near Jennifer’s lip, any lips, for several episodes.

      Though I don’t know. I’m writing this partly to direction, so the plot points aren’t entirely in my control. We’ll see.

      But I hope you enjoy yourself while they work their way to the openly carnal, and celebrate with them. Every Wednesday.

  3. Pingback: Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 1 | Jerusalem Mortimer: Between the Lines

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