Ground rules

When the last bell rang, Kristi made her way to the Headmaster’s office, worked her way through two layers of guardians, and found herself in the office of the man himself. He looked up as she walked toward his desk with her pink slip offered.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the Headmaster said, rising to his feet. He towered over the petite schoolgirl.

“No, Sir. I’m new this year. I was at St. Odile before.” Kristi handed her pink slip carelessly to the Headmaster. Punishment was just part of school life, as far as Kristi was concerned: it had never really bothered her when the nuns had taken care of it, and it wasn’t going to start bothering her now, just because some man was in charge. Misbehavior was rewarding enough that the occasional sting on the bottom didn’t really matter.

As the Headmaster scanned the punishment order, Kristi slipped off her uniform blouse and her bra. She unbuttoned her kilt and pulled it off, and was bending over to step out of her panties when he looked up and spoke to her.

“It’s not necessary to disrobe completely, Miss,” he said gently.

“Oh!” Kristi straightened up quickly, her breasts bouncing invitingly. “At St. Odile, they made us —”

“All you need to do here is lift up your kilt and bend all the way over my desk. Then I will take your panties down. But for today, this will do.”

Kristi shrugged. She wasn’t self-conscious in the least; fully aware both that she was pretty and that her body had a valuable effect on others, she anticipated leniency from an entranced and distracted Headmaster. “Well, next time, then,” she said saucily, as if deterrence were not part of the aim of discipline. She bent, bare, exposed, and alluring, over the Headmaster’s desk.

“You use a strap?” she asked, seeing one lying on the blotter. “Mother Frances used a cane.” Her voice was almost scornful — a girl who could take the cane without a wince would certainly have no trouble in this soft-handed school.

The Headmaster pictured the Mother Superior, elderly and barely able to grip her rosary, tapping gently away at bare bottoms with a slender cane. He raised an eyebrow as he contemplated the nude schoolgirl stretched out before him. “A strap, yes,” he replied.

He went to the cupboard and selected a twin-tail double tawse, eighteen inches of heavy leather suppled by frequent use. He stood behind Kristi, eyes on her upturned buns and the tender pussy peeking out below them. His arm drew back.

Three strokes later, Kristi had lost her sassy impertenence, her insouciance, her composure, and her confidence. Six strokes later she had lost any semblence of self control. Her tearful cries sounded in the outer offices, where the staff gave each other satisfied nods.

“Welcome to my school,” the Headmaster said, and brought the strap down again.

— Frenulum