“Oh, hello Emma,” Mrs Thompson, the school secretary, said as the sixth form girl hovered at her counter. “How can I help?”
“Sorry to interrupt, Mrs Thompson, but my mother says she’s going to be visiting the school this afternoon. She wants to see Mr Baxter.”
“That would be about your rather naughty transgression smoking cannabis behind the tennis pavilion, would it?”
Emma blushed. She hoped the matter might have been kept private between her, the headmaster and Sarah Broomfield, the young History and Games teacher who had caught her yesterday lunchtime.
“I’m afraid so,” Emma muttered quietly with a toss of her chestnut brown hair. “She’s going to ask that I don’t be expelled for it.”
“That should be fine, Emma. Mr Baxter doesn’t have a lot on this afternoon. Any idea when your mother will be here?”
“Around three-fifteen, I think.”
“I’ll let the headmaster know, Emma,” Mrs Thompson smiled reassuringly.
When Emma left to resume her lessons, Mrs Thompson knocked on the headmaster’s study door.
“Come!”
“Only me, John. Just to let you know, Emma Robertson’s mother will be wanting a word with you this afternoon, probably around three-fifteen.”
“Oh. So, Emma has told her mother about being caught in possession of an illicit drug, has she? Good. I’ve been fretting over whether I should phone Mrs Robertson myself.”
“Emma seems to think she’s in danger of being expelled, and that her mother will be asking you to consider some alternative.”
“Really? Actually, I hadn’t even considered that. Still, it would be good to have her mother’s views on what we should do. I’ll see what she has to say when she gets here.”
At ten past three, Mrs Thompson looked up from her computer when she heard the main entrance door open and close. A woman with chestnut brown hair, similar to Emma Robertson’s, entered and came up to the counter.
“Good afternoon,” the woman began. “I was wondering if it would be possible to speak to the headmaster, please.”
“May I ask your name?”
“Mrs Katherine Robertson. Emma Robertson is my daughter.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs Robertson. Emma did mention you might be coming in to see the headmaster. Please take a seat. I’ll see if he is free.”
As Emma’s mother sat on one of four chairs opposite the counter, Mrs Thompson went to the headmaster’s door, knocked and opened the door part way.
“Mrs Robertson is here the see you, headmaster.”
“Fine. Send her in, please. Does she want Emma here too?”
“She didn’t say, headmaster.”
“Okay, Emma will be close to finishing an English class, I believe. I’ll let you know if we need Emma’s presence, Mrs Thompson.”
The school secretary closed the door and returned to the entrance lobby.
“Would you come this way, Mrs Robertson? The headmaster is free.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs Robertson. I’m pleased to meet you,” John Baxter greeted Emma’s mother. “Please take a seat.” He gestured towards one of the two comfortable armchairs in front of her desk.
“I expect you know why I’m here,” Katherine Robertson said as she sat down.
“Just so we’re on the same page, perhaps you’d better clarify, Mrs Robertson.”
“Emma says she was caught smoking a joint in the school grounds, Mr Baxter. That’s why I’m here.”
“Right. I had been thinking about telephoning you. I would appreciate your views on how we should deal with Emma’s rather naughty misdemeanour yesterday.”
“You see, Emma has done so well at this school. She’s just turned eighteen and it would be such a shame if she wasn’t able to complete her school career here because she had been expelled.”
“Let me say straight away, Mrs Robertson, the thought of expelling Emma has never entered my head.
“Oh! Well, that’s a huge relief to me, and I’m sure it will be to Emma.”
“That said, I do think there should be some consequence for Emma’s quite serious breach of the school rules. I just don’t know what. Perhaps you can help me with that?”
“I certainly agree Emma should not go unpunished, Mr Baxter. “While I was thinking you might expel her, I was going to ask you to cane her instead.”
“Cane her? I’m not sure we even have a cane,” John Baxter replied. “Is that really what you would want for Emma?”
“I certainly think a caning would be better than her losing her place here, Mr Baxter. Some schools are using the cane now, so they must be available.”
“I’m sure they are. But do you think Emma would want us to go down that route?”
“I have spoken about it with Emma. She’d certainly prefer a thrashing to being expelled, or even worse if she was prosecuted.”
John Baxter nodded thoughtfully. “In that it was a very small amount of cannabis, I feel sure we at the school can deal with it, but I have certainly been running through my mind what sanctions we could impose that wouldn’t adversely affect Emma’s schooling. Detention didn’t seem enough. Suspension would affect her studies. Then, there’s things like picking up litter around the school grounds, or making her run round the athletics track a number of times.”
“Yes, those last two would work, I suppose. Surely, though, you’re not opposed to corporal punishment, are you?”
“No. I appreciate it’s regaining popularity, at least as a last resort or for the more serious offences.”
“Not too many things more serious than smoking an illegal substance, Mr Baxter.”
“True. I suppose we could acquire a cane, although it might take a few days to arrive.”
“That’s a pity. I’d prefer Emma was dealt with promptly, for her sake as much as anything.”
“Yes, I agree that would be best.”
“Years ago, they used a rubber-soled gym shoe to smack bottoms. I had it, and it certainly stung my behind, I can tell you. Getting the slipper, we used to call it. I’m sure you must have something like that on the school premises.”
John Baxter grinned. “Yes, I got it a couple of times myself.”
“It didn’t do either of us any lasting harm, did it? I’d suggest a dozen whacks. It would certainly sting Emma’s backside, and hopefully draw a line under this whole matter.”
John Baxter looked up at her wall-mounted clock.
“Lessons finish in just under five minutes. Let me send Mrs Thompson to find Emma and bring her here.”
“I’d like to hear from Emma before committing to any particular course of action, Mrs Robertson. I’m also not sure whether it would be appropriate for me as a male to administer corporal punishment. Tell you what, let’s get Miss Broomfield to come along as well. She’s Emma’s Games teacher. Perhaps she’ll be able to help us.”
Mrs Thompson was soon despatched to find Emma and Sarah Broomfield. Katherine Robertson and John Baxter continued talking, mainly about quite trivial matters, until they heard a knock on the door.
“Come! Ah, Emma. Please take a seat,” John Baxter indicated the armchair next to Emma’s mother, when Emma and Miss Broomfield were ushered into the study. “Sarah, could you draw up another chair. We’d like you in on this discussion.”
“Certainly, headmaster.” The young blond-haired Games mistress pulled a spare chair from against one of the walls and drew it near the headmaster’s desk. Her black, tight-fitting track-suit seemed slightly out of place amongst the formal setting of the headmaster’s study.
Emma, clearly very nervous, sat down next to her mother and placed her sports bag and a slightly smaller bag down on the carpeted floor beside her. Her school uniform of mid-blue sleeveless pullover, grey trousers, white shirt and school tie seemed much more fitting to the richly furnished headmaster’s study. Sixth formers had the same uniform as the rest of the school. Just the narrower stripes of their school tie were different. All forms were allowed to wear either a grey skirt or grey trousers, and had the option of also wearing a mid-blue sleeved or sleeveless pullover.
“You can relax at least a little bit, Emma,” Katherine Robertson informed her daughter. “You’re not going to be expelled.”
Emma sat forward in her chair, clearly relieved, but still anxious about what was going to happen to her.
“Yes, I’m not sure where that idea came from, Emma,” John Baxter added. “That was never a consideration.”
“I suppose I just assumed it, sir,” Emma said.
“The headmaster and I have briefly discussed the possibility you could be caned,” Emma’s mother told her daughter directly. “However, the school doesn’t seem to have a cane on the premises.”
Emma nodded slowly, the blank expression on her face not giving away whether she was pleased or not.
“Apparently, one could be acquired,” her mother continued. “But it would take several days to arrive. I suggested you’d prefer to take whatever punishment is decided upon sooner rather than have to wait. You realise, of course, there will have to be some punishment, don’t you?”
Yes, of course I do. And yes, I’d prefer not to have to wait, at least not for several days.”
“Emma, we’ve considered several options, and we want to avoid interrupting your school studies in any way,” the headmaster said hesitantly.
Emma looked at her headmaster, still concerned at what he might be about to suggest.
“You see, some form of corporal punishment does have advantages in this situation,” John Baxter continued.
“To avoid taking you away from your studies like suspension or some other sanctions might do,” Emma’s mother added.
Emma frowned. “But, if the school doesn’t have a cane, and we don’t want to wait for one to be obtained, how can I receive corporal punishment?”
“There are other implements we could possibly use,” Mr Baxter said, looking Emma straight in the eye. “Your mother has suggested using a slipper.”
Emma frowned, not comprehending what that meant.
“That would be a rubber-soled gym shoe, Emma,” the headmaster clarified.
“So, that would be like a spanking? Is that what you mean, sir?”
“It would get this whole matter resolved quickly, darling,” her mother explained quietly.
The eighteen-year-old nodded slowly as she thought over the proposal. “Yes, and I’d certainly like to get this over and done with as soon as possible. A good smacked bottom, eh?”
“Something like that, Emma,” John Baxter was still finding it hard to read the teenager’s mind.
“What would be the alternatives?” Emma asked.
“In truth, I’m not sure we really have any,” John Baxter answered. “Unless, of course, we consider suspension or tedious punishments like picking up litter in the grounds, or maybe extra games work like running laps round the playing fields after school.”
“That would be just so embarrassing, sir. Everyone would know I was being punished.”
“That’s true, Emma.”
“Maybe it’s what you deserve, Emma. Maybe that kind of humiliation could be a good alternative to corporal punishment, darling. It’s up to you,” her mother added.
“I think I’d prefer the smacked bottom, mum.” Emma turned to her headmaster. “If I choose the smacked bottom, sir, where will it be done, and when?”
“I’d suggest there’s little point in delaying it. Being that the school has now closed for the day, there will be few people around. I’d suggest, since we’re all here, now would be a good time.”
Emma nodded thoughtfully. “Will it be here? In this room?”
“We could do it here, Emma.”
“And you’ll be doing it, will you, sir?”
“I don’t actually have a gym shoe, Emma. And it might be better if a female member of staff did it. I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could ask Miss Broomfield if she would oblige? I’m sure she will have some sort of gym shoe that would be suitable.” The headmaster looked at the young teacher.
“Um, yes. I do have a pair of plimsoles in my locker, headmaster,” Sarah Broomfield responded. “I suppose I could do it,” she added less positively.
“Excellent!” the headmaster seized the moment. “Look, why not take Emma with you, Miss Broomfield? Fetch one of your plimsoles, find somewhere discreet and deal with the matter, please. I believe twelve whacks was mentioned?”
“Yes, I suggested it, Mr Baxter,” Katherine Robertson confirmed.
“That seems about right to me too. Are we all agreed? Good. Off you go, Miss Broomfield,” John Baxter said quickly, before anyone had time to object.
Emma looked nervously at the young teacher.
“Emma?” Sarah Broomfield stood up and waited for the teenager to follow suit.
“May I go with them, Mr Baxter?” Emma’s mother asked.
“Yes, of course.”
Sarah Broomfield led Emma and her mother out of the study and started along the corridor towards the corner of the school that contained the gymnasium and the girls changing rooms.
“I’ll need to stop off at the staff room to get my plimsoles,” Sarah said, feeling awkward about mentioning it in Emma’s presence.
Neither Emma nor her mother answered.
“Won’t be a moment,” Sarah told them when they reached the door to the staff room.
The young gym mistress briefly greeted the five members of staff still lingering in the staff room, and opened her locker. Her plimsoles were on the top shelf. She reached up and selected the right hand shoe of the pair. Receiving several chuckles from her colleagues as she headed for the door with just the one dark blue plimsole in hand, Sarah ignored them and rejoined Emma and Mrs Robertson in the corridor.
“You must have quite small feet, Miss Broomfield,” Mrs Robertson commented when she saw the plimsole.
“I’m sure it will do, mum!” Emma retorted.
“Come along, ladies,” Sarah encouraged, fearing an argument was about to break out between mother and daughter. “I have a small office just off the gymnasium,” she explained to Mrs Robertson as they walked along the corridor.
“Here we are,” the young gym mistress said as they reached the gymnasium. She unlocked the door and allowed mother and daughter to go in first.
The gymnasium was a mix of old school and new, the left wall being lined with horizontal bars and the rest of the floor area taken up with spaced out equipment. There were three gym horses of various sizes, parallel beams, weights, plus several more modern running machines and the like at the back.
Along the right hand wall, there was a smaller door, which Sarah also unlocked. Looking inside, Mrs Robertson could see a room that was mainly used for storing old gym equipment, tennis rackets and the like. To the left was a small desk and a chair behind. To the right, stood a row of five rather battered metal cabinets.
“I’m afraid this is all a new experience for me,” Sarah Broomfield said apologetically. “How do you want to do this, Emma?”
Emma shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a new experience for me too.”
“Perhaps you could just bend over and touch your toes?” Sarah suggested. “Something like that anyway.”
“Couldn’t you bend her over one of those old gym horses outside in the gymnasium?” Mrs Robertson suggested. “It will give her a bit of support.”
“What if someone is walking along the corridor, mum?” Emma replied. “They’ll be able to see in through the windows and know what’s going on. It would be so embarrassing.”
“I doubt anyone will be walking along outside at this time of day, Emma,” Miss Broomfield countered. “I’m sure we won’t be overlooked.”
“And Miss Broomfield will have more room to swing the slipper,” Mrs Robertson observed.
Emma blushed.
“It is a bit cramped in here, Emma,” Sarah agreed. “It might be better to do it out in the gym.”
“Come on, Emma,” Mrs Robertson said, taking her daughter’s arm and leading the way out into the gymnasium.
Emma reluctantly went with her mother, followed by Sarah Broomfield who continued to clutch the solitary plimsole.
Okay, Emma, we’ll use this gym horse,” Sarah said, pointing to one that was quite low set.
Emma rubbed both hands down the seat of her pale grey trousers as she followed the young teacher to the low-set gym horse. It was covered in brown padded leather and could be adjusted for height using feet that could be pegged at various levels.
“Could you hold this for me, mum?” Emma asked, taking her mobile phone from a back pocket in her grey trousers.
“Nothing else in your back pockets, Emma?” Sarah Broomfield asked. “No bits of paper or anything like that?” She grinned.
“I hadn’t thought of that!” Emma replied with a cheeky smile. “A paper napkin or two in my back pockets would have been a good idea!”
“Actually, Emma,” her mother interrupted. “Those back pockets mean you’ve got a double layer of material covering your bottom. Maybe it would be better if you slipped your trousers down.”
“Mrs Robertson, I really don’t think that’s necessary!” Sarah Broomfield exclaimed.
Emma paused, looking from her mother towards the young gym teacher and back again.
“What shall I do?” Emma queried. “Should I take my trousers down?”
Sarah Broomfield looked towards Mrs Robertson.
“Yes please, darling,” Emma’s mother confirmed. “It will make your punishment more effective too.”
“It’ll hurt my bottom more, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
Emma looked at Sarah Broomfield, who did return the teenager’s glance, but simply shrugged her shoulders. Mrs Robertson stood with arms folded, appearing resolute. Emma felt she had no choice.
It took Emma just a few moments to unfasten the button and slide down the zip to open the flies of her trousers. As she pushed the grey cotton material down her legs to just below her knees, it went through her mind the thin trousers wouldn’t anyway have made much difference to the spanking. Whilst fully aware it would be uncomfortable, she hadn’t actually given much thought to just how painful this spanking with the plimsole might be. Now, she just wanted to get it over with, and arguing with her mother over details like whether her trousers were up or down would just delay the inevitable.
“Okay now?” Emma asked, looking straight at her mother.
Mrs Robertson cast her eyes over her daughter, taking in her daughter’s brief lemon-yellow panties below her white shirt and mid-blue sleeveless pullover. She smiled softly.
“You’ll do.”
“Can we just do this, please?” Emma said loudly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable standing there with her trousers around her knees while her mother and her teacher looked at her.
“Of course,” Sarah Broomfield replied immediately, sensing Emma’s humiliation. She tapped the plimsole on the palm of her own hand several times as if confirming she was quite ready to proceed.
“So, shall I bend over now?” Emma asked, her eyes already beginning to water.
Sarah waved her hand towards the gym horse, inviting the eighteen-year-old to get into position whenever she was ready.
“Yes, bend over the horse, and pull your shirt and pullover well up so they don’t get in the way,” Emma’s mother added.
With an unnecessarily loud sigh, Emma pulled her shirt and pullover well up, revealing the lower edges of her white bra and emphasising the contrast between her lemon-yellow panties and her bare thighs and upper body. Despite being quite low-set, Emma had to take a small jump up to get herself onto the top of the gym horse. Then she wriggled about until her arms hung down on the far side, and her legs dangled in mid-air on the side nearest her mother and the young teacher.
“Is this okay?” Emma asked, once she felt reasonably secure over the gym horse.
Her mother stepped forward and rather needlessly pushed Emma’s shirt and pullover further up her back, before giving her daughter a gentle smack on the seat of her panties and standing to one side.
“Are you ready, Emma?” Miss Broomfield asked. “I’m afraid it’s twelve whacks.”
“Yes! I know!” Emma almost screamed, just wishing the teacher would get on with it.
Sarah Broomfield looked at the target Emma presented, and decided she would deliver the first stroke plumb in the centre of Emma’s small but neatly shaped bottom. She pulled the plimsole well back and whipped it almost horizontally until the sole crashed against the centre of the girl’s buttocks.
Emma grunted, and her body jerked. Sarah Broomfield just managed to stop herself apologising for hurting the girl.
It took the young teacher perhaps fifteen or twenty seconds to decide to apply the next swing of the slipper to Emma’s left buttock. When the plimsole finally collided with Emma’s bottom, she grunted again. It seemed obvious to then apply the third swing to the girl’s right buttock, which caused yet another grunt.
“Are you okay, Emma?” Sarah Broomfield asked, concerned that the lower areas of Emma’s bottom not covered by the brief panties were rapidly reddening.
“I’m fine. Just get on and give me my spanking. Please!”
“Okay.” The teacher was surprised by Emma’s impatience, and responded with a particularly firm whack to the centre of Emma’s bottom.
Two more strokes followed rapidly, one slightly to the left, and one slightly to the right. Emma jerked and grunted, but lay across the gym horse, her head looking down at the wooden floor, apparently content for the smacks to continue.
Sarah Broomfield obliged with two more strokes aimed at parts of the girl’s small bottom that hadn’t been touched before by the sole of the plimsole.
“That’s eight whacks, Emma. Do you want a break?” Sarah asked.
“No, please, just get on with it,” Emma replied.
Only her mother could see the tears trickling down her face.
In response, Sarah Broomfield let fly with a volley of two swings of the plimsole, with barely three seconds between. Emma’s jerking became more visible and her grunts more audible. With just two more strokes to go, the teacher decided to complete the spanking quickly.
“Aahh!!” Emma gasped as the first of the two hit home.
“Keep still, darling,” Mrs Robertson encouraged.
Then the twelfth and final stroke hit Emma’s bottom hard.
“Yeeow!! That hurt!” Emma cried out.
“All done,” Sarah Broomfield announced as she stepped back and stared at Emma’s quite red sore bottom. The brief panties had ridden up, revealing more of the girl’s bare backside.
“Come on, Emma. Let’s get you home,” Mrs Robertson encouraged as she rubbed her hand over her daughter’s bottom.
“Mum!” Emma protested. “That’s feeling quite sore you know!”
“A good spanking, Miss Broomfield. Well done!” Mrs Robertson confirmed to the young teacher who was looking slightly worried. She kept her hand on Emma’s back, pinning her over the gym horse.
“I was afraid I might have overdone it, Mrs Robertson.”
“No, Emma got just what she deserved.”
“Mum! Will you let me up now?” Emma said with a raised voice.
“Of course, darling. Let me help you.”
Finally, Emma was able to slide back off the gym horse and rub her bottom through the thin material of her brief lemon-yellow panties. She tugged at the panties so they covered more of her bottom.
“I left my bags in the headmaster’s study,” Emma said to no one in particular, as she used a handkerchief to wipe away her tears.
“We probably should go back and confirm to the headmaster you’ve had your punishment,” Sarah Broomfield replied.
Mrs Robertson pulled Emma’s trousers up and helped Emma fasten the waistband back in place.
“These trousers seem a bit tight now,” Emma observed.
“I expect your bum’s a bit swollen,” her mother suggested.
With Emma’s trousers fastened and her shirt and pullover back in place, the trio began the walk back to the headmaster’s study. On the way, Sarah Broomfield returned her plimsole to the staff room.
“All done?” John Baxter asked as Sarah tapped on his door and pushed it open.
“Yes, all done, headmaster,” Sarah confirmed as Emma and her mother followed her into the study.
“Emma left her bags here,” Mrs Robertson explained.
“Ah, yes. All safe here,” John Baxter said, a little awkwardly. “Everything okay?” he asked as Emma picked up her bags.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for letting me be dealt with this way.”
The End
© Kenny Walters 2023