Having won the lacrosse game against their arch-rival high school, the girls were in high spirits on the bus back to the hotel. One of the chaperones had already checked in, so there was no wait as keys were distributed. The girls headed up to drop off their bags, then gathered again in the lobby. A private room at the hotel restaurant accommodated players, coaches, and volunteer adult chaperones — teachers and parents — and with the door closed they could chatter and laugh and squeal without inhibition as they celebrated the victory and inhaled their supper.
Then back up to their rooms, three girls sharing each, with a strict order that lights-out was 10:00 and not a minute later.
The adults accompanying the team waited until then, checked that the rooms were quiet and there was nobody running around the halls, and then gathered at the hotel bar for some hard-won R&R.
At 10:30, Coach Myers excused himself to head upstairs for a “look and listen.” In only a few minutes he returned, looking troubled and stern, and asked two of the women to join him. As they rode up in the elevator, he outlined his suspicions.
His colleagues soon shared them. Not only was a chorus of voices audible through one hotel-room door, but all agreed that the scent of marijuana was unmistakable.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said, handing over the master key-card. “I don’t want any talk about an adult man in a student bedroom.”
Mrs. Frasier, another teacher, took the card and held it up to the RFID scanner. The LED glowed green and the lock clicked. She opened the door and the women entered. An instant later, Emma, attacking winger, squirted through the doorway at a run, clad in tee-shirt and panties and clutching the key to her assigned room. She ran straight into the restraining arm of Coach Myers, who promptly pushed her back into the room and pulled the door closed behind her, standing sentinel lest any other girl attempt an escape.
The next morning, six dejected, chastened, anxious tartlets sat in the waiting area for Room Six, which was the dominion of Mr. Ross, the school disciplinarian. One of them, Danielle, had been sent there more than once; for five, it would be a new experience. Whether familiarity or ignorance caused greater dread is open to debate.
Mr. Ross opened the inner door and motioned the tartlets inside.
“Catherine. Amelia. Faith. Danielle, I’m sorry to see you again. Brittney. Emma. Stand at the table, three to a side.” He indicated a conference table from which the chairs had been removed. When they had found places, he simply said “Kilts and panties.”
Six kilts were unwrapped. Six girls hesitated. Six pairs of panties were pushed over hips, down thighs, over feet.
“Bend over the table and hold hands with the girl opposite,” Ross ordered, as he circled the table collecting kilts and panties from the floor. He dropped the pile of clothing on a desk chair.
Catherine and Faith held hands across the table. Next to them, in the middle spot, Danielle and Emma did the same. At the opposite end, Brittney and Amelia held on to each other as a lifeline.
Mr. Ross addressed the exposed, humiliated, abashed, and fearful assembly of co-miscreants.
“Violation of your curfew would have been enough to bring you here. But this matter is made far more serious by the possession and use of an illegal drug. That is a criminal offense, a police matter, and those charges could put your plans, your career, your life, in terrible trouble. As of now, no police report has been made. The administration is meeting this morning to determine whether or not to do that.”
Catherine, terrified, fought back the urge to be sick, and stared wide-eyed at Faith, who also looked despairing and distressed. They made one of three matching pairs.
“In addition, some of you were found in a state of undress suggestive of sexual activity. That in itself is not a school matter, but as you are all under age, that too might be of interest to the authorities.”
“But we weren’t —” cried Brittney.
“It makes no difference here this morning,” Ross interrupted. “You’re being punished for an after-hours party and for drug use. Feet apart, now.”
The tartlets obeyed instantly, placing their feet far apart, spreading their legs and exposing their secret spots. Mr. Ross walked slowly around the table, inspecting the girls for compliance. And, though he was strictly committed to his job, he did enjoy a connoisseur’s pleasure at the sight of six bare, smooth, open teenage quims, six puckered assholes, and twelve firm, curvy, defenseless buns. A less principled man would have been imagining which girl to fuck first.
From a cabinet he chose a punishment strap, twelve inches of double-folded leather with a stout handle.
Faith was the girl nearest to him. Without further preamble, Mr. Ross raised the strap and brought it down with authority to strike the center of her ass, crossing both cheeks. At the crack of the strap every girl jumped, but only Faith released a cry of pain.
He stayed with her, plying the strap repeatedly, working rapidly, covering the sobbing girl’s buns, sit-spots, and thighs with broad red stripes.
Leaving Faith without a word, Ross moved to his right. The next blow fell on Emma’s bare butt, and in moments Faith’s endless sobbing was joined by Emma’s yelps of agony. When Emma’s rear was sufficiently scarlet, Ross moved right again, and began Amelia’s punishment. Two girls crying, one screaming.
Across the table, Brittney, Danielle, and Catherine felt the agonized grip of her partner’s hands, and waited in dread for their turns.
Those turns came to each of them, as Mr. Ross completed his orbit of the conference table. In time, six voices contributed sobs, cries, and moans to the general din.
Standing behind Catherine, the sixth girl, Mr. Ross addressed the group again. “Now, I have one question. Who brought the weed?” The teammates remained silent.
He kept watch on the three faces opposite: Faith, Emma, and Amelia. He saw no movement of eyes, which meant that the dope had come from one of them. He crossed to stand behind the three, and said “I will only ask this once more: who brought the weed?”
He watched faces again. Brittney looked straight ahead, but Danielle and Catherine each glanced quickly to her left. Amelia, then.
Ross’s second circuit of the table, strap flying without mercy, renewed the sobs, the crimson striping, and the agony of six very repentant girls.
“Catherine, Danielle, Brittney, Faith, and Emma, you may return to class. Stop back after dismissal to collect your panties and kilts.” Five simultaneous gasps erupted as the girls realized that their scorched bottoms would be an object lesson for their classmates for the rest of the day. But, eager to escape the scene of their torture, they fled.
“Amelia.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You and I need some more time together this morning.”
“I understand,” she replied, eyes downcast.
Mr. Ross went back to the cabinet to select another, fiercer instrument. But first, as a bit of self-indulgence, he decided an episode of bare-hand over-the-knee spanking would be appropriate and traditional. “Come here, Amelia,” he ordered.
— Frenulum
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