Note: This is a genre exercise. Stories about little pleated skirts (the little black cocktail dress of spanko circles) and spankings tend to be sexy. The potential for The Sexy is, of course, one of the reasons why real corporal punishment in schools in inherently abusive. It should be outlawed, from Saudi Arabia to Alabama. The fantasy, in which adults play with power, is a different thing.
Last time I discussed this genre and its diction, I mentioned that the schoolgirl is the star, and the story is generally told from her point of view. The headmaster is merely a sex object, who does things that turn the schoolgirl on, but doesn’t have thoughts or an inner life. I’ve been challenged to write this from the headmaster’s POV. So, since I’m an obliging sort of dom, here it is.
Jennifer’s pleats and pleas
I first noticed Juniper Perch in the second week of school. There’d been some rowdiness going on outside my office window, but it was nothing unusual for the rush before the first class begins, and at first I ignored it.
But then I heard an unmistakeable voice. It was Ross Grainer, a lump of a boy who would have been a bully in the days when intelligence counted for less. Despite his size his voice was high-pitched, probably because the fool was swallowing steroids like candy. And he was shouting words that were about to earn him a touch of the paddle. “Genitals! Genitalia Pouch!”
I walked to the window and barked at him, in best Headmaster’s Voice, the kind that can reach and terrify any boy or girl within three playing fields. While he pantomimed innocence, and then slowly walked to my window, I wrote a quick note to his class teacher, Miss Lacroix.
I‘m going to have to cut here, though. This story is now published, and my publishers don’t me competing with myself for free. You can buy it, here.