Naughty Ladies

Late august goes by in a haze of hot, sunny summer days, that seem to follow one after another without end. The heat and the sun makes everyone at our school lazy. The girls, the teachers, the staff, even myself. All of us would prefer to linger in the warm afternoon breeze on the lawns, instead of going to classrooms and offices. Alas, the semester has started, and we have no choice but tending to our business. Especially I, being the headmaster, must set a good example. So after lunch I go immediately back to work in my office, ignoring the girls sprawling over the lawn in the half-our break before classes resume.

I spend most of the afternoon carefully conceiving and penning a letter to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington. I want to arrange a special tour of their museums and facilities in DC for our final-year high school class in the autumn. Not just a regular visit to the museums, but also meetings with some of the active researchers. It takes some care, as there is still considerable reluctance and prejudice against women in the scientific communities. I throw away several drafts before finally accepting a text. With a certain degree of satisfaction, I artistically draw my signature, and put the ink pen back into its holder. Miss Lydia Leonhardt, Headmaster, Linsdale Ladies Boarding School. Our reputation for excellent educational standards will hopefully help us.

Back in the day, the school was mostly known as a sanctuary for unruly upper-class girls. My predecessor struggled to strengthen the academic level, and I have continued her work to make us one of most well-merited schools of its kind in the whole country. It will help a lot. The recent remarkable works of Marie Curie in the physical and chemical sciences also seems to be pushing some barriers, and I made sure to mention it in my letter. I will wait until tomorrow to send it, in case I could think of further, stronger arguments. But in reality, I believe it is already as good as I can make it.

For a few moments I sit back in my chair to relax, looking out the window over the sunny lawn separating the old building with my office from the more recent and much larger complex with dorms and classrooms that was erected after the civil war, when the school expanded greatly. It is already four o'clock, and the afternoon classes are finishing. I see the girls emerging into the soft, warm sunlight under the elms. Laura and Charlotte come onto the lawn, walking slowly, hesitantly, in my direction. Oh yes, that is true, I am expecting them. Miss Saunders already informed me about their latest little prank during lunch in the dining hall. I smile wryly as I follow their walk across the lawn. It is a good thing that the fine distinguished people at the Smithsonian cannot see what is going to happen now.

When the girls get away from the main building and the elms I see them briefly squeezing each others' hands. Then they let go again, as they approach the old building and my office. They disappear out of sight, and I lean back once again, watching the sunlight shining through the window. The angle is just right. And the afternoon is hot. Perfect conditions. I faintly hear the sound of the door as they enter the building, then their steps walking down the corridor towards my office. They knock on my door, and I say 'come in!' in a clear, but terse voice.

Charlotte pushes the door open, Laura shuts it close behind them, and they enter the room with a kind of jittery nervousness radiating from them. They stand still to face me in front of my big wooden desk. I take the word.

"Laura and Charlotte! I heard from Miss Saunders at lunch that you would have something to tell me about."

The girls hesitate for a few moments. Charlotte is looking into the floor, her long red curls falling down on both sides of her face. She reminds me a bit about Adele, from my own late boarding school years. Her body had the same kind of soft richness to it, especially as it matured. By contrast Laura is taller, slimmer, with smooth dark hair pulled back from her forehead into a ponytail. But also she is a fully developed woman now, even the decent shirt-and-skirt school uniform cannot hide it.

Charlotte takes the lead. "Miss Saunders told us to come over here because.. because of something we did, this morning."

"Oh yes?" I say inquisitively, deliberately not revealing whether, and how much, I already know about it. I want to hear it from their own mouths, and I want to hear the truth, the full truth. And they both know it.

"It was not really a big deal, Miss Leonhardt. It was just that, Laura and I were really curious about that new shower installation in the staffs quarters, you know, how it worked with the tubing, and that gas heater thing. So we sneaked in there early to look around a bit, and then we realized Miss Wilks was in the shower, with the curtain drawn. And we saw that her clothes and towel were lying on the bench along the wall. And then.. I don't know exactly why, Miss Leonhardt, but we thought to take her clothes and hide it a little bit. Just as a little joke, to let her know that someone had been in there while she was showering."

"So you hid Miss Wilks' clothes?"

"We didn't really hide it, we just stood up on the bench and put it on the top of the gas heater tank. We really thought she would find it easily, so we left immediately afterwards. But.. well, it turned out that she couldn't find it. And she came out of the shower room, without any clothes on, dripping wet and agitated, and shouting that someone stole her clothes."

I cannot help imagining the look of Miss Wilks' young, lush curves, dripping wet from the shower. Her cheeks would be red, her hair wet and disordered, her eyes wide with perplexity and anger. For a few seconds I am silent, all consumed by this picture. Then I shrug it off, keeping my stern, inquisitive face.

"How do you know?"

"Know what, Miss Leonhardt?"

"That she was naked. What she was saying."

"We.. we were hiding under the staircase to the second floor, just next to the shower room."

"Why were you hiding if you thought she would find her clothes immediately?"

Charlotte hesitates, looks down into the floor.

"Well, maybe we were not completely sure if she would find it. So.. we thought that we could.. stay around, if she needed our help." She has the air of someone trying to make up a convincing explanation on the spot.

"So did you tell her where her clothes were, then?"

"Erm, no Miss Leonhardt. She seemed so.. angry, and agitated that we got scared, and didn't dare to come forward. But then she went down the stairs, complaining to Miss Jenkins, and we quickly ran back into the shower room to put her clothes back where they came from."

"And then what?"

"Well, Miss Jenkins told Miss Wilks that no one had left the building in the last few minutes, and they went upstairs together, and back into the shower room. And then the clothes were back where Miss Wilks had put them in the first place. And she got very embarrassed and confused, and Miss Jenkins was laughing, but I think she was also a bit annoyed."

I struggle to keep my straight face. It is actually a pretty good prank. At the same time I decide with myself that I am going to have to put my foot down here, or at least scare them a bit. After all, I have to take care of my employees.

"And then you came forward, and told them the whole story?"

"Erm.. well, we would have.. or.. wanted to.. but the thing is, Miss Saunders had seen us running out of the shower room, from up on the balcony. So she came down and brought us out."

"Out from where?"

"From.. from under the stairs, Miss Leonhardt."

"Where you were hiding again?"

"Really, Miss Leonhardt, we would have come forward, we just.. needed a bit more time, maybe.."

Laura has been quiet, alternately staring into the floor, or at my feet. Now she joins in the conversation.

"Please Miss Leonhardt, it was just a little prank. No one got hurt, and nothing got damaged. And it was all over in a couple of minutes."

I slam my hand into the table, and they both look up abruptly, with anxious, frozen faces.

"First of all, staff quarters are off-limits for students, you should know that! You were not supposed to be there in the first place. Second, you have no right to spy on the staff OR your fellow students when they are tending to personal hygiene! But that is all what it is. What I really cannot accept is that the two of you are behaving like twelve-year olds, even though you are actually turning nineteen, and entering your final year! Next June we should send you away as grown-up ladies with a high-school diploma and all. What am I supposed to do with that? How can you expect me to vouch for you leaving this school as mature adults, when you just go on and on pulling these kind of silly childish pranks?"

"We.. we are sorry, Miss Leonhardt.." Charlotte murmurs.

"Sorry is just not enough! We will need to make some adjustments around you, to account for your immature behavior. For one thing, I certainly cannot risk the reputation of the school by sending you off to Washington!"

I see Charlotte's jaw drop, and Laura's face stifle. The yearly autumn trips are coveted by all the girls, and especially the final-year trip to the capital is famous. Clearly, the two little evildoers had not expected that their participation might come into danger. I sense that I may have an effective threat to keep them in line for a while, even if I do not effectuate it right away.

"Please, Miss Leonhardt, don't put us off that trip! We have been looking forward to it so much!" Laura implores.

"Well, you should maybe have thought about that before pulling your little prank. I have to do something effective to adjust your behavior, is that really so difficult for you to understand?"

Charlotte takes the word again.

"We do understand that we deserve a punishment, Miss Leonhardt. But please, don't put us off the trip. There must be some other way for us to make up for it."

"Aha! And what might you suggest that you think would be effective?"

Charlotte hesitates a couple of seconds. "Maybe.. you could give us a taste of the rod."

"Like, seven, perhaps." Laura continues.

"In the bare." Charlotte takes over again. I don't answer, and keep my face expressionless.

Laura carries it on. "And we could also spend a night in the basement if you think so. You know, to reflect on our punishment, and our behavior."

I retain my stern face, but inside I am smiling ruefully. Those two naughty little liars! And yet I am going to play along with their scheme. But not right away.

"Well, it is not exactly the first time that you taste the rod, is it?"

"No, Miss Leonhardt. It isn't!" Charlotte is looking into the floor again.

"And you also have a rather intimate knowledge of our little basement sanctuary for reflection." My wording is deliberate, but they both keep their straight faces.

"Yes, Miss Leonhardt!"

"Yet you still repeatedly display this kind of bad behavior. Why should I believe that another round of the same treatment would make it any better?"

"Please, Miss Leonhardt, your punishments really help. We are.. learning a lot from them. If you will just give us what we deserve here and now, we promise that we will behave exactly as you expect afterwards!"

I stare at them in silence for a few moments, still keeping my face neutral, inscrutable.

"Well then, I am really too soft with you, but you will get away with a taste of the rod and a night of imprisonment this time again. But mark my words: If there is any more trouble with you before the autumn trip, then you can forget about it!"

Charlotte's face lights up. "Thank you so much, Miss Leonhardt! I promise we will be nice and well-behaved from now on."

"For your own sake, I hope this is true. Now go fetch the rod!"

They both go out of the office, and I hear their steps disappearing towards the dining hall. The rod is hanging on the wall there, for everyone to behold and appreciate during the meals. It is not a simple rod straight from the woods, but a carefully crafted instrument for delicate chastisement. Two and a half feet long, thin, flexible, finely polished wood, slightly tapering away from the solid comfortable handle, to compensate the increasing velocity with distance in a swinging movement. When wielded with care, it delivers an impressive, but not overly brutal, sting in thin uniform stripes. After all, the pain itself was never the point. It is just a vehicle for humiliation, regret, and redemption.

Having to carry it from the dining hall to my office, feeling its tactile presence in your own hands, anticipating its impact, is a part of the humiliation too. We are not using it very often any more. I have learned that if we treat the girls respectfully, we also get their respect back. The rod is just there in the background, a necessary but mostly unused backstop. Still, given our increasing number of students, and the fact that awarding and executing corporal punishments is solely my privilege and responsibility, I do get my exercise with it. Not least due to Laura and Charlotte, in the last few months.

They return to my office, Charlotte carrying the rod, Laura slowly and quietly closing the door behind them. Charlotte hands it over to me. The handle rests snugly, firmly, in my hand. I motion toward them with my free hand.

"Get yourself ready!"

Without further instruction necessary, they begin to open their skirts, take them off, putting them neatly folded onto the edge of the desk. They take off their panties as well, put them on top of the skirts. Then they stand facing me again, still in their stockings, with bare buttocks and thighs, their hands decently folded over their bushy deltas. Charlotte's mouth is open, her breathing audible. Paula is biting her lip again. I demonstratively flex the rod in front of them.

"So, who wants to go first?"

They are silent for a few seconds, then Charlotte takes a step forward.

"I can go first, Miss Leonhardt."

"Very well. Come over here, then."

She take a few further steps, then stands still before me, awaiting further instructions.

My chair is pushed under the desk, its back sticking up some inches above it. I motion towards it.

"Lean over the desk!"

She turns her back towards me, leaning over the back of the chair, grabbing the opposite edge of the desk with her hands. Due to her short stature, she has to tiptoe a little bit to bend over the chair. Her broad rounded buttocks strut toward me. Pristine, innocent whiteness, about to be decorated by stinging, bright-red stripes of guilt. She comes to rest in the position, and a deafening silence falls over the office. I let her wait for a few seconds before I speak again.

"Very good. There should be plenty of room for seven. Do you want to call them, or count them?"

She hesitates for a moment. "I think.. I will prefer to call them, if it is all right, Miss Leonhardt!"

I rub the rod gently against her bottom, to further build her anticipation. The memory of Adele again pops into my mind. Her buttocks would have looked like that. If I had only dared. I shrug it off, force myself back into the present.

"As you wish, young lady. I am ready when you are."

Again she hesitates. The hard thing about calling the strokes is getting yourself to do it.

"Then let me have the first one, Miss Leonhardt!"

I immediately lift off the rod, and swing it towards her. I always let the first stroke fall freely, without a particular aim, then adjust the subsequent ones around it. The swooshing sound and the sharp crack of the impact momentarily fill out the room. I notice the slight twitch going through her body, the little gasp as the sting takes her breath away. The pink stripe begins to form right in the middle of the white half-globes, crossing over the chasm. I silently compliment myself with a nice hit.

"So, Charlotte, did you feel that?"

"Yes Miss Leonhardt, I certainly feel it!"

"Will it be adequate to adjust you behavior?" I can already see the answer to that question growing brighter red by the second.

"Yes, Miss Leonhardt! It is exactly what I need! Please let me have the second."

I swing the rod once more, aiming slightly above the first stripe. The second appears beatifully parallel to the first, shifted upwards about half an inch. I don't know if it is a thing to be proud of, but I am good at this. Charlotte's breath is heavy now. Laura's lips are trembling slightly, she is still doing that lip-bite. But she continues to stare intently on Charlotte, not taking her eyes off for a second.

"Please, Miss Leonhardt, number three!"

I put the third one below the first, and a bit harder. Charlotte lets out a whispering "Oourhh!", and her left foot creeps up to rub against her right calf.

"Be careful, Charlotte. Keep your position, or you will earn yourself a bonus!"

"Yes Miss Leonhardt. I am sorry. Please give me number four."

I put the fourth stripe high, make it a bit softer, but she still twitches and lets out an audible gasp. It takes her some time to get ready for the fifth one. I wait patiently, the rod raised over my shoulder.

"Five!" she finally utters. I swing it low, beginning to move down where she will feel it when sitting. Not a lot, just a little reminder about her transgressions, that will last for a couple of days. She lets out an abrupt little whimper, and struggles to keep still, her breathing very heavy now.

"Number six!" she whispers, barely audible. I swing it lower still, she lets out a short, muted scream, and her whole body jitters. Laura is still watching her incessantly, trembling slightly, her cheeks red. Charlotte pulls herself together to say "Seven!" loud and clear.

I put the final stroke very low, and give it a good swing. She screams out loud now, and her back arches. I take a step back, watching my work with satisfaction, the thin parallel strips in various hues of red over her curvy white flesh.

"Eight!" she mutters, unexpectedly.

"I believe we agreed on seven?"

"But I moved. I deserved myself a bonus. Please let me have it, Miss Leonhardt."

"Very well, as you wish!" Her eagerness takes me aback, I was actually afraid that I had made the last one a bit too hard. I step back in my position, and puts the final stroke across the top of her thighs. She gasps and moans. I step back from her once again.

"Very well, Charlotte. Get up, and go stand in the corner. Hands behind your neck. No rubbing, I am keeping an eye on you!"

She gets onto her feet, her breathing quick, heavy, her face red like a tomato. After finding her balance, she obediently raise her arms and put her hands on the back of her head. I have a brief flashback to the one time where I visited the headmasters office in my own schooldays. Miss Brown's thin leather strap. The humiliation of pulling down, the horror of bending over. Then, strangely, a black hole in my mind, until I got up again, with wet eyes, and my buttocks burning as if they were on fire, my body engulfed in a kind of trembling rush that I had never experienced before. I force myself back into the present, look Laura into the eyes, and beckon her to come forward.

Without further instructions she turns away from me to bend over the table in the same position that Charlotte just assumed. Being taller than Charlotte, she has to bend further down to rest her elbows on the table, her back curving downwards, her tight round buttocks strutting invitingly backwards and upwards over the edge of the chair. She is looking directly towards Charlotte's striped tail over in the corner. I give her a few seconds to appreciate the sight of her own destiny awaiting. There is a very fine tremble going through her whole body now.