Headmaster Smyth in Winter

Smyth watched from his desk as she closed and locked the outer office door, turned off her office lights, and shut his inner office door, throwing the bolt. She filled the stove with coal. He watched her pull closed the heavy floor length office curtains, leaving the book-lined room in semi-darkness. He saw it was an impressive ritual.

"She said you did this, shutting her in your office. You frightened her, you know. She felt guilty, trapped, and totally helpless. She was totally at your mercy and she knew it. I don't think you fully understand the symbolism of your office and the power you wield over these young women, Headmaster, and yet you've never abused your position. Until Miss Bradshaw."

"Miss Bradshaw is different. I think you know that," he replied. He felt the room getting warmer and loosened his collar.

"Yes, she is," she replied. Miss Nash walked closer and sat down in the chair opposite his desk.

"She reads dirty books. She masturbates frequently and thinks I don't notice. She engaged in an anonymous sexual encounter in an alley that might have ended badly had not Constable Wellington intervened. He told me all about it, you know. Those were not nice men in that alley and those women are lucky he came along. He has dealt with them, by the way."

"I'm glad to hear that. And what of Fiona and Sonya? Did they learn from the experience?"

"Indeed they did, I saw to that myself. I spent an hour that afternoon administering their six cane strokes. Cane strokes interspersed with some very good and very hard advice. And born of experience, may I add."

Headmaster raised an eyebrow at this. Experience?

"You admitted you read dirty books, Miss Nash. How is that?" he asked, trying to regain the upper hand.

"The same as you. I know your mind, Headmaster, it wasn't very hard to figure out. But you suppress it. This must be a very difficult environment for you, a school for young ladies. Very hard, if you don't mind a pun."

She leaned across the desk to look him hard in the eyes. He didn't flinch.

"Headmaster, it's time you got off the fookin' dime!"

At this he cracked a thin smile. Deliberately, she had given him an opening.

"That's quite enough, Miss Nash. You want to know what I did to Miss Bradshaw, do you? Stand up."

He came around to her side of the desk and openly regarded her from head to toe. She stood quietly, her gaze avoiding his. They had rarely touched skin to skin, so she was startled when he reached to cup her chin and turn her head to look at him.

"You're a beauty, Miss Nash, and don't you know it. Teasing me day after day, so prim and proper, butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. But I know different now, don't I? You have a foul mouth and a very dirty mind."

He let go of her chin and looked closely at her face for any sign of fear. He thought he noticed a slight tremor in her hand. Was it fear or excitement? He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss. Yes, a slight tremor. He dropped her hand, walked to the cabinet, and opened the drawer with the canes.

"My choice tonight, Miss Nash. We'll use the same one I used on Miss Bradshaw," he said, swishing the supple rattan through the air.

He turned in time to see her eyes darting to and fro, following the cane, her one hand gripping the other. Was he finally getting to her? Or was he pushing too hard? This was a test of wills; no blushing school girl, she.

"Did Miss Bradshaw tell you what I asked her?" he said in a low voice.

Miss Nash nodded. "You asked her if she had ever taken off her clothes for a man. She said she hadn't. She nearly fainted, you know, poor girl."

"She wanted to strip, I could see that. It might have been her first time, but she's an eager one. She had no difficulty stripping right off, I'll tell you that. And neither will you."

Evelyn Nash's face betrayed a stricken look; a slight widening of the eyelids, a dilation of the pupils, a faint flaring of the nostrils, a catch of breath. She quickly recovered but Smyth had seen it.

"Right here in the light," he said, pointing with the tip of the cane to the pool of warm light in front of his desk.

"Take off your clothes, Miss Nash. All of them."

Each looked at the other without moving. With her visible emotions in check and her face impassive, she was the very model of a modern woman: self-contained, self-reliant, and totally in control of herself. Would she do it? Smyth could count the beating of his heart and his head felt full of blood. His prick swelled with the blood of his growing erection.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't care if a woman saw his arousal; all the better if she did. To drive the point home he brought the cane parallel to the floor and grasped the tip of it with his free hand, flexing the cane once, twice, and three times as if testing it's suitability for the coming task. He watched her gaze shift from his face to the flexing cane. She couldn't possibly miss the thick bulge in his pants, cast in bold relief by the desk lamp.

She paused only a matter of seconds but to Smyth it seemed an age. Then, she raised her arms and began unfastening her cuffs in exactly the same manner as Miss Bradshaw. He watched, spellbound, as she unfastened her collar and began unbuttoning her starched white blouse, her fingers searching in turn for each button among the ruffles. She moved deliberately and unhurriedly, as if undressing for a man was the most natural thing in the world.

As she undressed, she fixed her gaze across the room and Smyth took it for a mild rebuke. She was guarding herself and holding back, thought Smyth, the same as Miss Bradshaw. He watched her pull up her blouse from her waistband and then stop. There was something in her countenance that was different. A look of acceptance, or perhaps resignation? Her face had softened and when she turned her eyes to look at him, he recognized the playfulness he had seen on their best days together.

Unbidden, she turned and walked to the coat rack across the room. Without a word, she hung up her blouse and removed her wool skirt and slips, adding them to the rack in exactly the same manner as had Miss Bradshaw. Then, with her back to him, she removed her flats and her knee high wool stockings. He held his breath as she removed her brassiere and skived her panties down her legs and off. She stood up and paused, back to him, and from across the room Smyth enjoyed a long moment taking in her naked splendor.

He saw her full womanly bottom and slightly wide hips, so perfect for the carriage and delivery of children. Her back was straight and he could see the twin columns of her back muscles leading up to her equally wide shoulders, giving her chest an attractive V shape over her trim waist. Her naked state created in him a level of desire he had never known, and she looked the most desirable woman in the world. He wanted to rush her and take her in his arms. Instead, he stood transfixed in anticipation of what she must do next.

She turned around to face him and allowed him time to look. Her posture was perfect yet relaxed. She walked back to the desk with practiced grace; her arms, legs, hips, and breasts swaying in gentle counterpoint to each other, fluid and smooth.

Her breasts were of of modest size and conical, tapering to aureolas tipped with large nipples that splayed slightly outward. He imagined her carrying twin infants, one in each arm, each child attached to a swollen breast. Her belly looked soft but flat. Below, hidden behind brown curls was her sex. It drew his eyes and he was still staring when she stood again in the pool of light.

He looked up to see her watching him.

"My word, Miss Nash, you are an intoxicating sight!"

Then, recovered, he added, "I'm sure you know what comes next, Miss Nash. Surely Miss Bradshaw told you."

Without a word she turned, bent at the waist, and placed her hands and forearms on the desk, her gaze straight ahead. Smyth paused to take in the picture. Her wide, pale bottom, he thought. Magnificent! She held her well muscled legs straight, the skin smooth and unblemished. In the side lighting he discerned the fine downy hairs of her thighs that became thicker as they neared her apex. Between her closed thighs, revealed in the light from the desk, he could see the cleft of her sex.

Miss Nash kept her back flat and Smyth wondered if Miss Bradshaw had told her about that detail. His impulse was to touch her, to run his hands up her thighs and across her bottom, caressing and squeezing as he went, up and across her back and down the other leg, over and over, again and again. His reverie was broken when she spoke.

"Headmaster Smyth, I should like to receive the eight cane strokes due Miss Bradshaw."

"Eight? Very well, but that's quite a lot. After we start, I think you'll wish you'd negotiated for less."

"I wish to clear Miss Bradshaw's account," she replied, apparently unperturbed by the prospect of taking eight strokes of a rattan cane.

That was a remarkable request. Did she enjoy this sort of thing, he wondered?

Smyth placed the tip of the cane between her legs, just above her ankles, and pressed to indicate she should spread her legs.

"Shoulder width, Miss Nash."

She had barely adjusted to her new position when she heard the sharp swish, swack! and a split second later felt the burning pain of the first cane stroke. It caught her by surprise as did the second stroke which fell close behind, making her rise to her tip-toes and gasp. No sooner had her heels touched the floor then the third stroke landed and made her cry out and beat her hands against the desktop.

"Position, Miss Nash. Eyes straight ahead."

Again, the fourth stroke came sooner than expected and with even greater force than the previous three. She cried out and put her forehead on the blotter, her fists clenching and unclenching and her shoulders heaved with her breath.

Smyth laid the cane down and came to stand close against her left side. As he had done to comfort Miss Bradshaw, he applied lotion and rubbed lightly, spreading the cooling lotion over the four red lines crossing her bottom. As with Miss Bradshaw, his fingers explored high between her thighs and found her labia slick and wet.

He massaged and spread her nether lips, working first one and then two fingers between them, exploring her secret place, her copious honey lubricating his probing fingers. Her gasps turned to soft moans and she pushed back into his hand as he worked, spreading her legs and thrusting out her bottom to better receive him.

Her breaths were coming fast and quick when he suddenly stopped and took a step back. Her moans trailed off into plaintive sounds of disappointment.

"Eyes forward, Miss Nash, and position, please," he said, and she heard a rustling behind her.

Smyth removed his clothes and approached her again, this time with his erect penis jutting out and up from his body. His right hand stroked the thick shaft and his left hand grasped her hip. He dipped his hips and thrust forward, then lifted up his hips, the tapered tip of his penis coming to rest against her swollen vulvar lips. He thrust fore and aft, back and forth, feeling the petals of her sex part as he searched for her entrance. Then he found her hole and thrust upward, the turgid head of his penis penetrating her.

"Uhhhooohhh," they said together, each pushing into the other. They short-stroked together, each working against the other to sink his penis further into her until it was firmly seated home.

"Oh, Edward! More! Don't stop now! Please!" she cried, rolling her pelvis to encourage him.

He held her hips and began to thrust, and she thrust back. His pelvis bounced off her soft bottom over and over and she reveled in the exquisite pleasure from her sex adding together with the fiery pain from her bottom. He looked down, mesmerized by the slapping of skin on skin and the undulating waves spreading from their shared point of impact.

The powerful sensations in his head built to an overwhelming roar and his hard thrusts became uneven and ragged.

"I'm going to spend, I can't stop!" he gasped, holding her hips and pulling her back against his iron rod while driving into her as hard as he could.

"Do it, Edward! Don't stop, give me that baby! Dear God YES!" she cried when she felt a surge of warmth spread inside her. At last! At long last!

Edward Smyth bellowed and an intense jolt of pleasure rocketed up his penis and into his beloved, for that was who she was, Evelyn Nash, his beloved above all women. That sudden realization opened a flood of visions of his pregnant Evelyn, swollen with child, an infant, a house full of children, a wife beside him. He had never been so happy!

*****

June, 1916, London

"I must say, Edward, I was thrilled to get the news!" gushed Lady Lancaster in the sitting room of her elegant London apartment. The early summer sunlight streamed through high clerestory windows overlooking Hyde Park. The pastel colors of new new growth blossomed all over the city. It was a welcome respite from the war and the awful carnage in the trenches.

"And you, my dear, you are positively glowing. I knew something was up when I visited. In my day, your Edward taught English literature and he was the favorite of all the girls. I am so pleased he's finally been landed. You couldn't have done better, my dear, and I wish for you both all the happiness the world has to offer. And I see you are off to a good start," Lady Lancaster said, smiling at the gravid belly of Evelyn Nash, now Mrs. Edward Smyth.

"Yes, both Edward and I want children. The doctors say I'm carrying twins! Can you imagine?" laughed Mrs. Smyth.

"You are most fortunate, my dear. And you, Miss Bradshaw, I'm sure you'll be of great assistance to Evelyn and the twins. It's a very cozy arrangement you have, and most practical, too, sharing living space and working together at the school. That shows the importance of friends with shared interests, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, Ma'am," replied Trudy Bradshaw. "Headmaster has opened my eyes to the power of poetry and he's expanded my tastes in literature, too. We three have found many common interests."

She and Lady Lancaster shared nods and knowing smiles.

Headmaster Smyth added, "Thank-you so much, Lady Lancaster, both for your continuing generosity to the school and for reminding me to slow down and smell the roses." His smile was broad and he nodded to his wife and her nanny. "As you can see, I've gathered two wonderful rosebuds to further the mission of the school."

"Indeed, Edward. And please visit again when the children are old enough to travel. And you come, too, dear," she said, looking at Miss Bradshaw. "I'll arrange care for the babies and you won't be left out. I host exciting dinner parties with opportunities to meet many interesting people. I think you'll enjoy meeting my friends."

*****

What did Lady Lancaster know and what did she only suspect? What was her relationship with Smyth while she was a student at Saint Anne's? Did Evelyn and Trudy enjoy a 'special relationship'? Did they include Edward? Did they ever attend dinner parties in London with Lady Lancaster's friends? And what became of Trudy Bradshaw?

Alas, we'll never know. This recently discovered journal entry written by my late Grandma Edwina, one of twin daughters of Edward and Evelyn Smyth, is all that survives of the story. I hope you enjoyed this snippet of family history, fanciful though it may be.

The End.