Headmaster Smyth in Winter

"You're all from Saint Anne's, ain't cha ladies?" Trudy heard him say. Her head was spinning with alcohol and dissipating lust. A heavy feeling of dread was welling up inside her chest. This was awful, simply wretched! They would throw her out! Where could she go? What would become of her? Her thoughts raced when she considered the dire consequences of her foolishness.

This was so far outside her experiences that her instincts demanded she run, and run she did. The bobbie was content to catch two of the three girls and doubtless already knew the three lads. She heard him shout and blow his whistle but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop! Did he get a good look at her? Would he remember her face? Would Fiona and Sonya turn her in?

Her heart pounded and her throat burned as she ran back to the school. Why had she gone with those girls? She knew Fiona and Sonya had a reputation for trouble. What force had impelled her toward those forbidden sins? Sneaking out after curfew was a serious offense. Drinking alcohol! Smoking cigarettes! Touching a man's penis! Surely the policeman had seen that! The full weight of what she had done suddenly crashed down upon her. If she got out of this mess she vowed never again to transgress the rules. Never!

By some miracle she had snuck back into the residence hall and into bed without anyone seeing. She lay awake for hours and then fell into a restless sleep.

In the morning she awoke with a start and relived shameful memories while she prepared for the day. There was a palpable buzz in the dining room at breakfast and Trudy listened for details but dared not ask nor show any interest in the hushed gossip.

By the end of the day she knew. Fiona and Sonya had been caught but not expelled. But they had both received the cane. The cane! The very thought struck terror with her! Had the other two girls betrayed her? Did the headmaster know? Was she next? Perhaps even this very evening? The waiting was excruciating and Trudy had wondered if she should confess and beg for forgiveness, just to get it over with.

But nothing had happened. As the days passed, Trudy grew more confident she had escaped. After a week, Trudy met secretly with Fiona and Sonya to learn the truth. Both seemed contrite and abashed, and to Trudy's great relief they had kept her identity secret. But she felt guilty about their punishment, the rightful punishment which she herself had escaped.

Fiona and Sonya had each taken six strokes of the cane administered by Miss Nash. To preserve their modesty they had worn special tight fitting cotton bloomers provided by Miss Nash, but the thin cotton had provided scant protection from the ferocious rattan. Trudy's two confederates spared her no horrid details regarding their ordeal, including Headmaster Smyth's vow to find the third student. Now, just a few weeks later, he knew it was her, Trudy!

Headmaster Smyth cleared his throat to bring Trudy back into the moment. Her teacup rattled against the saucer, the tea bitter in her mouth.

"More tea, Miss Bradshaw?" he asked.

His smile seemed friendly but didn't extend to his eyes. She was a mouse with nowhere to run being regarded by a cat. These were the niceties, the pleasant formalities before the fatal strike. She hoped it would be swift and painless.

No! It certainly would not be swift, nor painless. The very thought again filled her with dread and remorse until she wondered if she might faint dead away. But no! She would remain strong! She would not run again! She would bear this as an adult, the same as Fiona and Sonya. She was a grown woman now and this was her chance to prove it if she could just find her courage.

"You were the third young woman, were you not, Miss Bradshaw?"

"Sir?"

"Come now, Miss Bradshaw, let's not be coy. You know full well what I mean. You and Fiona and Sonya were just last month in town past curfew, drinking brandy, smoking, and snogging the local lads," he said, regarding her with a gimlet eye that pierced her wildly beating heart.

"One lad in particular seemed to be enjoying your manipulations," he said, causing Trudy's face to redden even more.

She sat silently with her face turned away, unable to meet his gaze. Her teacup began rattling again and Smyth reached down to gently take it from her trembling hands.

"Your guilt is evident, Miss Bradshaw," he said flatly. "It's all over your face and in your demeanor."

He let her sit for a moment, stewing in her guilt and shame. Then, she looked at him with pleading eyes and answered, "I'm sorry, Headmaster. It was I. I was with Fiona and Sonya."

"Thank-you, Miss Bradshaw, and I accept your apology. Nevertheless, restitution must be made. It hurts the reputation of this school, and that of all the other students, when a student brings disgrace upon herself. Further, I am ultimately responsible of your safety and I cannot tolerate you running all over town after dark."

He reached behind his desk and placed the five books before her, spreading them so she could read all the titles. A gasp of fear escaped her, and her hand covered her mouth. Her face burned fierce with shame.

"And these books, Miss Bradshaw, what have you to say about them? Contraband, all of them."

At this Miss Bradshaw's tears began to flow. Smyth reached into a desk drawer for a clean handkerchief and handed it to her. He allowed her additional minutes of crying before resuming.

This was a tricky situation that demanded delicacy. Already a solution was forming in his mind, something he had never before allowed himself to think. This kernel of thought burst forth until the full-blown idea seized his imagination, engendering in him the same wild feelings he knew must have gripped Miss Bradshaw when she read her forbidden books.

That conniving Miss Nash. Evelyn! She had engineered this! Oh, so subtle! Her playful banter had kept him at a low level of arousal all that day; indeed, all these past several months. Somehow she had known or had sensed his weakness, the one thing he guarded himself against. She had sprung those forbidden books on him at the last minute, knowing he would have an hour or more to read them before his appointment with Miss Bradshaw.

A few weeks ago he had assigned her the task of caning Fiona and Sonya. He had thought the job more properly done by a woman, although as headmaster he had authority to cane miscreant female students. He had seen the twinkle in Miss Nash's eyes and heard the lilt in her voice when she professed her innocence and inexperience in such matters.

That afternoon he had showed her how to properly apply a rattan cane. He had stood behind her with an occasional hand on her hip to correct her stance, a hand on her arm to correct her swing, while she swung again and again at the target pillow. This had continued until he had been satisfied her aim was true.

He had taken care to conceal his erection but she must have seen evidence of it. Or had she just known? Somehow she had discerned his proclivity for the cane, a proclivity he had heretofore kept secret.

He had instructed Miss Nash to offer tight cotton bloomers to Fiona and Sonya as an alternative to taking the cane on the bare, an option he immediately dismissed for Miss Bradshaw. No, he had something else in mind for Miss Bradshaw, something she would find to have been taken straight from her forbidden books.

"I'm so sorry, sir. Please don't ask me about the books, I feel so ashamed," she sobbed.

"Actually, Miss Bradshaw, I don't mind the D.H. Lawrence book. I've read it myself and it's true literature. But the others? Smut. Surely your reading tastes are more refined?"

Her face burned and she felt the urge to explain everything to him, to confess everything to wash away her shame.

"I can offer no explanation, Headmaster, other than my own failings. I found the books to be...titillating, exciting. They made me feel things I've never felt before. I knew it was wrong, but...I...I took pleasure in reading them. Can you understand, Headmaster? I am so embarrassed and I am so, so sorry."

Her sobs continued at a quieter level while Smyth considered her admission. Yes, he did understand what she was saying. He would never admit it but on this matter she and he were of like minds. The subject matter was arousing, and he adjusted himself from behind his desk so as to conceal his arousal. Offering her a job was an easy decision. Could he follow through with the rest of it?

She stopped crying and looked at him, blinking away tears and wiping her face with his handkerchief.

"Have you composed yourself, Miss Bradshaw? Are you quite ready to proceed?" he asked.

She nodded her head 'yes'. She was trembling and he was surprised how much it excited him. This was all quite delicious! He realized he was in danger of impropriety and fought to maintain decorum.

Patiently, he explained her delinquent school accounts and her present qualifications to graduate. He offered her a job with the opportunity to work off her debts and he offered her a place to live. She could help with his literary research and thereby further her own education. He would provide her with recommendations if she sought other employment.

The war had limited their options, he said. They must learn to be happy with what was available.

She listened and a great sense of relief washed over her. She felt the lightness of a heavy yoke, lifted. Headmaster Smyth had offered a way out of her dilemma! She was not going to be expelled!

But!

The matter of the curfew violation, the smoking, the brandy, and the forbidden men remained to be addressed. And, too, the matter of the contraband books. All these things demanded recompense, he said. As of now, she was still his student and still his charge.

It was a scene directly from "My Year in Captivity", the shoddiest yet most exciting book. Unknown to Miss Bradshaw, he had read the slim paperback in it's entirety during the time before her appointment. Miss Bradshaw would surely recognize the scene: the isolated office, the stern headmaster, the penitential young woman. Would she play along? Did that scene in the paperback arouse in her the fire of lust it had aroused in him? Dare he risk it?

Smyth walked to the outer office and closed the door, locked it, and turned off the hallway and outer office lights. He closed and locked the inner door to his office, leaving them alone in the empty building. The tightly closed curtains seemed a barrier to the outside world, a world separate from the tight confines of the inner office. Outside the snow fell in a hush.

Smyth added more coal into the stove. He turned on the desk lamp with the black conical shade and turned off the room lights, leaving a pool of yellow light around his desk while the rest of his office receded into darkness.

He peered across his desk into Miss Bradshaw's widely dilated eyes. Was it fear? Arousal?

Her hands were grasped together in front of her chest and she trembled like a frightened bird. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, the same his, he thought. The sight of her gave him courage to push further into forbidden territory.

"You know what I require, don't you?" he asked. He struggled to keep himself in control.

"Yes," she said in a small voice.

"And that is...?" he prompted.

She couldn't speak at first. Then, in a tiny voice she squeaked, "The cane. I must take the cane."

"That is correct. A dozen strokes."

Her mind froze. A dozen strokes!

"No! I couldn't! It's too much! It's not fair!" she cried. Panic welled up in her chest and she fought the urge to run. No! She would never run! She would stay, however dire it looked.

"It's quite fair, Miss Bradshaw," he said quietly.

He detailed her multiple infractions and their statutory consequences. He heard the whining in her voice gradually merge into a wail as she fully realized her fate. More tears fell and his arousal grew even more.

"If we total all your cane strokes it comes to 32," he said, and she gasped. "But I'm willing to reduce the total to twelve. You agree, then? A dozen strokes of the cane?"

He was gripped by a sense of sexual excitement he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long while.

She was boxed in and knew it. Her chest was heavy with dread and she heard a ringing in her head. Her vision grow dim and narrow and she fought to slow her breathing. She knew she deserved this but hated the very thought of it. But at the same time she had never felt more alive with excitement!

"Yes," she said. She paused and then under her breath whispered, "You bastard," It came out involuntarily and louder than she intended. She clamped her hands over her mouth, aghast.

He smiled at her. She had spirit and she fought back, all good qualities in a woman. There was Irish in this girl!

"Do you recognize your predicament, Miss Bradshaw? It's straight from one of your pulpy, smutty, books. And do you remember how the heroine saved herself? She took her medicine, did she not?"

"Yes, sir. She did, sir."

Trudy's eyes darted between the locked office door and Smyth. She glanced at the wall clock and saw it was only 5 pm. Five o'clock on a black, snowy, Friday afternoon with everyone gone home for Christmas. She was in the headmaster's locked office but she might as well have been in a dungeon like a woman in one of her books.

Smyth paused and cleared his throat. He examined Miss Bradshaw closely before he spoke. He could see a deep blush on her neck extending up from her collar and across her cheeks. Her breathing was shallow until she was nearly panting. She involuntarily pulled her collar from her neck and he saw a wild look in her eyes. He felt the same, he realized.

Finally, he spoke.

"Have you ever undressed for a man, Miss Bradshaw? Have you ever allowed a man to watch while you took off your clothes?"

Now he had crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed and they both knew it. That question was a quote from one of her books, in fact her favorite book! She gave him a hard stare before she answered but she knew this story! She knew how it went and she knew her part. Could she play her part? Yes, she could!

"No! Never!"

She felt her growing sexual arousal, a gathering wetness and tingling between her tightly closed legs that could not be ignored. She had been whipsawed between dread and elation and back again by Headmaster Smyth. He had done this to her and quite deliberately so! He had used her dark secret to ignite her lust! An absolute bastard!

She felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. Her whole body burned with the knowledge of what she was about to do. Worse, and what made her shame burn even more intensely, she wanted to do it!

She stood up from the chair and cocked her head inquisitively at Headmaster Smyth. Now, with her decision made it was easy to proceed. The dread abated and was replaced by a solemn sense of resolve, and even a nascent curiosity. Could she do this? Could she undress for a man? Could she take the cane?

Yes, she could and she would. She was an adult. Fiona and Sonya had taken the cane and had not divulged her name. She owed them her stoicism.

"Over there, in that cabinet drawer," Headmaster Smyth said, pointing. "Pick one and bring it to me."

She could hear a slight quaver in his voice. He was feeling this, too! She felt a strange kinship with the man who was about to make her undress and about to apply the cane to her bare bottom. They were joined in a shared purpose, a secret collaboration about which no one must ever know.

She opened the cabinet and picked a cane. She chose one not too thick nor too thin. She brought it to him and he tested it, swishing it to and fro. It sliced sliced through the air with a menacing swish! that brought a catch to her throat. She swallowed hard.

He cleared a spot on the desk top and tapped the cane to indicate where she should position herself. She took a step toward the desk but he stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. He leaned in close and spoke in a low voice.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Miss Bradshaw? In the book? Remember?" His breath felt hot on her neck and she smelled a trace of pipe tobacco. It was overwhelmingly masculine.

She turned to face him, standing in the light, and Smyth took a step back into the darkness in order to more fully appreciate her from head to toe. He watched her closely and gripped the cane to hide his own trembling hands.

Her face was impassive and she focused on a spot over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. She could do this! She unfastened her cuffs and loosened her long sleeves. A preternatural calm enveloped her and she resolved to move ahead with speed, moving to the top buttons of her blouse and rapidly loosening them along with the buttons of her vest. Remarkably, her hands were steady as they did their work and she shrugged off the blouse and vest to the floor, then slipped the camisole over her head.

"Pick those up, Miss Bradshaw, and hang them with your coat," he said, pointing with the cane to the coat rack across the office. She walked into the dimness and hung up her clothes, then she unfastened her skirt, pulled it down, and stepped out of it, adding it to the others. She reached around to unclasp her bra but he called her to stop.

"No, not there. Back here, in the light." His own breathing was fast and shallow, the same as hers, and neither made any effort to hide it. They were actors following a salacious script that was moving toward a torrid denouement.

She walked back to the desk with regal poise and perfect posture. It put him in mind of Miss Nash and he wondered briefly if she, too, might be persuaded to make this same walk. Miss Bradshaw's message was clear: She might surrender her body but never her mind. She would submit to his base demands but retain her sense of self. The thought pleased Smyth. Miss Bradshaw had much in common with Miss Nash.

"Please continue, Miss Bradshaw," he said when she again stood before his desk.

There was an intense look in his eyes and a strain in his voice that thrilled her. He wanted her! She had felt that want, that need from a man only once before and on that recent night in town. But that had been a mere lad, an unformed youth. Here was a mature man of substance who had sexually aroused her to a fever pitch, and she had aroused him. He wanted her and she would give him what he wanted.

She turned to look him directly in the eyes, her face showing determination. He looked back in amazement; she was no shrinking violet.

With deliberate movement while all the while holding his gaze, she reached behind herself, unclasped her bra, and let it fall. He had expected her to cover her breasts with her arms but she did not. Instead, she stood with her back straight with her arms at her sides. Her breasts were bare to his gaze and their sudden exposure to air wrinkled her aureolas and hardened her nipples.

She watched his face intently and was pleased to see a look of unmitigated lust, his eyes obviously drawn to her bare breasts. Impulsively, she raised her hands to cup and lift them, squeezing them slightly, which elicited a sigh from him.

She turned to stand at right angles to him and dropped her hands, allowing him to appreciate the bounce of her newly freed breasts. Then, with a swift motion, she bent at the waist, legs and arms straight, and slipped her panties down her legs and off her feet. She stood again, this time with her fingers intertwined behind her head.

She briefly turned her back to him, favoring him with a brief look at her bare backside from head to toe, and then turned around again to face him again, straight on, hands still behind her head, feet shoulder width. She was naked, exposed, and she felt exhilarated!