It was, in the end, simply inevitable. If you were late thrice you could expect to make that most awful trip; compliant across the knees of a man old enough to be your father! And there to be walloped. As if your seniority counted for nothing, knickers mid-thigh, and your bottom flushing a deeper shade of red with each descent of his unforgiving palm. It was inevitable too that the tears would come. Deep, sorry, and ever more desperate: the sobs of a girl at last truly subdued.
Archive for the Knickers Category
How could he, she wonders again, how could he be doing this to her?
She had thought the brutality of her last punishment from him – six cold cuts across her palms, delivered by the rattan cane that hangs behind his desk – was as bad as it could get. She had dreaded a repeat performance today.
But never could she have guessed that it would be this.
A girl, in the first flourishing throes of womanhood, bent over his knee like some silly oversized infant across the paternal lap to receive what he had referred to, just ten minutes before, as a “very sound smacked bottom”.
And as if even that wasn’t dreadful enough, here he was fussing with her skirt, pulling and folding in an age-old ritual experienced by many thousands of her kind before, to prepare her tightly knickered bottom for punishment.
How could he, she wonders again, as the first sobs come, oh how could he?
Five time – five times he’d had to warn her about the quality of her English essays. He liked her; she was one the best students in the year, a girl blessed with that rare mix of ability and creativity. But something had happened. In the last term something had happened that had distracted her from what had once seemed a surefire path to Oxbridge. Late submission of homework; lazy essays that read as if they had been rushed off in a morning; and worse still, those unmerited, hushed asides that disrupted his classes and bought silly stifled giggles from her friends on the back row.
But Mr Hayworth had his own special methods of dealing with such girls, and this afternoon it would be the turn of this particular girl – and her particular bottom.