She eyed him as he lifted the cane – the senior cane; the only one for a sixth former. He whipped it through the air, once, twice, thrice; each cut deliberate, prolonging the inevitable agony. As he did so his eyes dropped to the bare curves of the waiting bottom. It angered the sixth former still more. To be hit was dreadful enough; but to have his lecherous eyes drinking her nudity was still worse. But it was, as ever, his prerogative.
It was not like he had not given them the chance to mend their ways; just a month before he’d had them in his office again, to warn them that if their behaviour didn’t change then ‘more severe measures’ would inevitably follow.
But their behaviour had not changed, of course: their back-row disruptions and irritating childish giggling reported to him by no fewer than three members of his staff.
Unfortunately for the girls in question, Mr Varley was neither a man who renaged on a promise, or one who tolerated ongoing disruption; his loyalty was, first and foremost, to his staff.
Thus it was that they found themselves in his office, before bedtime on this cool October evening, pyjama tops already folded away and trouser bottoms resting uselessly around their feet. Blushing with the sheer shame of it all, they took the tongue-lashing from their Headmaster, before the much crueller, and much more effective, lashing that followed.
