Subject: Such a Naughty Girl
From: (The real Pablo Stubbs)
Date: Wed, 5 Jun 1996 08:46:08 UTC

Such a Naughty Girl

I originally posted this story a few months ago, and I think it's due a repost. I'm reposting the story to which this is the sequel, 'Such a Good Girl', at the same time, so look out for it. To make things easier for everyone (I hope!), I haven't split the stories into quite so many parts. If anything goes wrong, or you'd like me to e-mail parts you didn't get, just let me know.

The story follows on from 'Such a Good Girl': it's the same English girls' boarding school setting; there's plenty more F/f and f/f OTK spanking, plus (perhaps!) a little M/f to add variety. There's also a lot of description of formal schoolgirl uniforms. I really don't know how many people this appeals to. I'd be very interested to hear from anyone who enjoys the way I've dealt with this in the story.

The story is just my deranged fantasy. Please do not believe I would want anything which happens in the story to happen in real life, or that I agree with any of the statements made.

If you've any comments or criticisms, or you'd just like to discuss anything in the story, drop me a line. You'll be amazed how quickly I reply.



Sally Heriot was in deep trouble, and it was just so unfair. Despite being the eighteen-year-old head prefect of St. Catherine's School for Girls, she'd been slippered by the Headmistress the previous day, and faced the prospect of a painful spell across her father's knee later that day, unless her sister Charlotte could manage to get a confession from the girl who was responsible for the whole mess: the real culprit.

Sally hadn't slept a wink, but she wasn't tired at all; a potent cocktail of excitement at seeing her father for the first time in a month, and a nervous fear of his paternal anger and the spanking to which she seemed to be doomed had kept her awake most of the night. During her first two terms as Head Girl, Sally had administered quite enough over-the-knee punishment spankings to younger pupils to understand how a firm hand was often both necessary and loving; still, the thought of her Daddy being sufficiently displeased with her behaviour to believe that smacking her bottom was the best course of action made her feel sick with shame and a sense of injustice. She was sure she'd feel different if she'd genuinely earned the slippering; if she really had been such a naughty girl. But she hadn't. She was a good, sensible girl, she told herself

She slipped out of bed, and pulled back the curtains, revealing a fine spring morning. From her bedroom at the front of the school, Sally could see the long gravel drive along which her father's car would approach. It was early, but her father always came early. She did want to see him - she loved him dearly - but she couldn't stop the butterflies in her stomach. He would go to see the Headmistress first, to find out about his daughters' academic progress and behaviour since his last visit; Sally knew how the two of them would joke and smile ruefully about Charlotte's behaviour - scarcely a week could pass between her sister's school wallopings - and then how shocked and dismayed her father would be at the news that his elder daughter had also received a spanking.

Sally sighed. The previous day, her school knickers - all ten pairs - had been stolen. She'd been slippered by the Headmistress for wearing non-regulation knickers. And she would be spanked by her father because she'd been slippered by the Headmistress.

Unless - and Sally hoped and hoped and hoped just as hard as she was able - unless Charlotte had squeezed a confession out of the knicker- thief. Not only would Sally prove her innocence and avoid her father's discipline, she would have the evidence to make sure the little minx received such a spanking - in front of the whole school, Sally thought, her blazing red bottom on display - that she wouldn't sit for a week. Everything depended on Charlotte. But there was so little time!

Although it was a Saturday, this still meant full, formal school uniform for St. Catherine's girls. Sally put on her uniform: snug maroon regulation knickers (returned the previous evening just as mysteriously as they had vanished); grey knee-socks, with a maroon band; a long-sleeved, stiff-collared white shirt, underneath her gymslip in the school tartan, which she belted with a grey sash; maroon blazer with grey trim; sensible brown lace-up shoes. Brushing her short blonde hair (with her own hairbrush, not the large wooden affair she used to administer more severe spankings), Sally could see that the uniform was incomplete. Although she'd buttoned her shirt-collar, in the required fashion, there was no school tie around her collar. Not that she needed the mirror. Sally hardly felt in uniform at all without her school tie. She wore her uniform with great pride: smart and formal, like a military uniform. As Head Girl, she was an ambassador for the whole school, and, more than anything else, the maroon and grey striped tie was *the* symbol of the school. She missed the ritual of putting on the tie, and she missed its presence under her chin.

Unless hers and Charlotte's scheme paid off - and soon! - she would have to continue missing it for the next week, whilst it sat in a drawer in Miss Grainger's study, along with the school ties of many other, similarly-spanked girls, and she paraded around the school with a bare collar, showing all the other girls that not even the Head Prefect was too big for a sound bottom-warming. Along with Charlotte's tie. And along with Jodie's, Sally remembered. The little minx hadn't got Sally slippered without avoiding a spanking herself, though a few smacks with a slipper were nothing compared to what Sally had in store for Jodie when things had been sorted out.

Sally's heart sank as she heard the faint rumble of a car engine. Sure enough, she saw her father's car in the distance. Sally found herself frantically estimating how long it would take for the car to reach the school, how long he would spend with the Headmistress, and how long all the other things would take that stood between her and her first - at eighteen years old - spanking across her father's knee. She wished Charlotte would hurry! She wished she'd never seen Jodie McAllister!

By the time of Jodie McAllister's arrival at St. Catherine's, at the beginning of the Summer Term, all of the girls at the school knew Sally Heriot to be a strict disciplinarian; over a third of them had experienced at first hand just how much Sally had learned about the corporal punishment of schoolgirls during that baptism of fire in Miss Grainger's study - including a pair of sixth-formers actually a few weeks *older* than Sally. She'd upended them and warmed their bare seats for smoking, with no regard for their maturity. After all, smoking was hardly a sign of maturity; nor was the way they both bawled during their hairbrushings.

In addition to the everyday smack-bottoms given to younger girls - usually with pyjamas down, in the dorm at bedtime - for relatively minor misdemeanours, there were a couple of group spankings - both severe and memorable - tales of which quickly gained mythical status amongst the more impressionable girls.

In the Autumn Term, scarcely two weeks after becoming Head Girl, Sally had been called on by Miss Robbins, the gym mistress, to spank the entire second-form hockey team (including the substitutes) after a fight involving both teams had broken out during a game against a visiting school, and two girls had been slightly injured. Miss Robbins, obviously fuming, discussed appropriate punishments with the mistress from the other school, then left for the hospital with the injured girls, telling Sally: "I want them slippered, right now. A dozen with pants up, and another dozen with pants down." So Sally and the visiting mistress shepherded the squabbling girls into the gymnasium, fetched a couple of wooden stools, lined the girls up, then spanked every one of them. While the other mistress slippered her own girls, Sally slippered the St. Catherine's girls. Still muddy and sweaty, and still wearing their hockey kits, each twelve- or thirteen-year-old was placed across the knee, her pleated gym-skirt was raised, and Sally's plimsoll set to work, first on the tight gym-knickers, then on the bare bum, with knickers at half-mast. Sally suspected that her right arm ached rather more than the girls' smacked bottoms on that occasion.

Later in the term, Sally was requested by the mathematics mistress, Miss Payne, to chastise three sixteen-year-old fifth-formers who she'd caught cheating in a mock examination. She would have punished the girls herself, she told Sally (her preferred method was to use a long-plastic ruler over knickers, with the girl draped over her desk) but she wanted the girls to be humiliated in front of their classmates with over-the-knee spankings on their bare bottoms, and she could neither manage to place physically-mature young ladies over her knee (Miss Payne was very small indeed, and rather frail), nor take down their knickers for punishment (this privilege being restricted to the Head, Deputy Head, and the Head Girl). So, Sally fetched her hairbrush and, hearing from Miss Payne the seriousness of the offence, administered three of the very hardest spankings of the year. Holding the large girls across her lap, she raised their kilts, lowered their school knickers, then paddled their bottoms cherry-red, while the other girls looked on in stunned silence, and the naughty spankees howled, thoroughly and sincerely repentant.

Sally had administered spankings for all sorts of misbehaviour, but the girls at St. Catherine's knew that if one thing was liable to earn them a sore bottom, it was failing to comply with the school uniform rules. Like a sergeant-major with sloppy new recruits, Sally's own uniform was always beyond reproach, and she expected no less from her girls. Persistent offenders would expect to find themselves staring at the carpet in Sally's room.

Having been invited to the Headmistress's study to meet the new girl and her mother, Sally's first impression of Jodie McAllister certainly hadn't been that complying with the St. Catherine's school uniform rules would be a problem for the girl. A mature fourteen- year-old, Jodie McAllister was wearing the uniform of her previous school, and it was very smart indeed - it looked like Jodie and her mother had resolved to make a fine first impression. Jodie sat primly, sweetly demure in a chocolate-brown gym-tunic and stockings. Her brown and sky-blue striped blazer was lying at her side, so the sky-blue collar and sleeves of her school shirt contrasted sharply with the brown of the tunic. She wore the shirt with no tie but with the collar neatly buttoned - like, Sally couldn't help thinking, a recently-spanked St. Catherine's girl.

A greater contract than the blue and brown was provided by Jodie's hair, which was long, pony-tailed, and an extraordinary white - blonder than blonde, icy.

Jodie looked positively angelic, and yet there was something about her which made Sally's right palm itch. This proved to be prescient, as Mrs McAllister explained:

"You see, Jodie's always been such a naughty girl. When she was little, I would smack her - lift her dress and just a couple of smacks on the bottom - but as she got older, my husband took over the job of disciplining her, along with her brother. When she was bad, I would get him to take her into his study and give her a proper punishment."

"You mean he would spank her," asked Miss Grainger.


"How did your father spank you, Jodie?" the Headmistress asked the girl, whose fair features blushed at once.

"With his hand, mostly," said Jodie, uncomfortably.

"Did he ever use anything else, like a hairbrush, or a slipper?"

"Sometimes a slipper."

"How did he position you for the spankings?"

"Always across his knee."

"And did he spank you over your clothes, or were they...adjusted?"

"Sometimes he spanked me over my knickers, but mostly he took them down, and I got it on the bare."

Mrs McAllister nodded at this, confirming her daughter's account.

"Fine," said the Headmistress. "Then young Jodie will be quite accustomed to the techniques we use here at St. Catherine's."

"She's missed her father's firm hand since we separated," explained Mrs McAllister, "and I'm hoping this school can take his place. She's been at Meadowbank Girls since the start of the year, and it's a good school, but they've no corporal punishment there, and I do think that a good old-fashioned spanking now and then is just what Jodie needs. She's much too big now for me to handle."

"Don't worry, Mrs McAllister," reassured the Headmistress. "There isn't a girl in the school who won't fit across my knee if the need arises."

Sally and the Headmistress exchanged glances, their eyes smiling, while Jodie looked daggers at both of them.

Three days later, Jodie McAllister had exchanged the chocolate-brown and sky-blue of Meadowbank Girls' School for the maroon and grey of St. Catherine's, had been installed in the same dormitory as Charlotte Heriot - third-formers both - and was already causing irritation to her new House Captain, Abigail Rice.

A curious feature of the year had been how much Sally and Abigail had become great friends. They'd always had enormous respect for each other, but it seemed that the severe spankings they'd both received that day at the start of the year had knocked any envy and resentment out of their systems. Sally had had no reservations about recommending Abigail to be one of the new House Captains, and now she had a good and trusted deputy.

So, when Abigail told Sally in passing that Jodie was making a nuisance of herself, with various minor naughtinesses - talking after lights-out, being late for classes - Sally was on the lookout. The following morning, Jodie, uniform askew after PE, was stopped in the corridor by the Head Girl.

"Miss McAllister, your uniform is a disgrace," scolded Sally.

"Just had PE," Jodie blurted.

"And?" asked Sally. "Pull up your socks!"

Jodie sullenly pulled up her grey knee-socks.

"Button your shirt-collar!"

Jodie buttoned her collar. This was not as easy as it might have been; the collar of the new white school shirt was awfully stiff, and rather tight.

"Straighten your tie!"

Jodie adjusted her school tie, tightening the tie-knot and straightening the tie under her collar.

"That's better. Don't let me have to correct your uniform again. Do you hear?"

"Yes, Miss," mumbled Jodie.

"Now, turn around and lift your kilt," Sally commanded.

Jodie did this, but slowly, lifting her maroon tartan kilt clear of her beknickered backside. Sally took aim and planted two firm hand-spanks on each of the third-former's buttocks, before sending Jodie on her way, grumpily rubbing her smacked seat.

Only two days later, the performance was repeated, only this time Jodie didn't have the excuse of having just changed into her uniform from her gym kit.

"Miss McAllister, tuck in your shirt-tails! Uniform regulations state that girls' school shirts must be tucked in at all times."

Jodie tucked her white shirt-tails into her kilt.

"Now, Miss McAllister, let down the hem of your kilt. Uniform regulations state that all kilts or gym-tunics must be knee-length."

Jodie released the folds of kilt that she'd tucked under the waist-band, hoisting the kilt to halfway up her white thighs. The kilt became knee-length once more.

Then, to the amusement of a cluster of sixth-formers, Sally bent the wriggling Jodie underneath her left arm, flipped up Jodie's kilt, and administered a quick but effective smack-bottom with her right palm on Jodie's pants, punctuating the spanking with a warning:

"Jodie McAllister, you will adhere to the uniform regulations of this school, or I will put you across my knee and give you the spanking of your lifetime. Are you listening?"

"Yes, Miss," said Jodie between squeals.

So, when, the following day, Sally came upon Abigail Rice, leading a tie-less Jodie by the ear in the direction of Sally's room, Sally was livid. As if she didn't have anything else to do other than discipline this naughty girl!

Abigail, herself exasperated, explained: "Sal, little Miss McAllister here refuses to wear her school tie."

"I *am* wearing it!" pleaded Jodie, her ear a vivid red from Abigail's pinching. "The regulations don't say anything about *where* I have to wear it!"

Jodie showed the prefects that she was indeed wearing her school tie; she was wearing it around her waist, as a sash.

"My collar is buttoned," Jodie tugged at the tips of her starchy shirt-collar in demonstration, "and I am wearing my tie. Just like the regulations say."

Jodie looked at Sally, her lips curling into a bad-seed smile.

Sally exploded. Abigail had never seen her so angry, almost out of control. Sally took hold of Jodie's ear (the other one) and marched the girl towards her room, calling back:

"Would you come too, Abbie - I might need some assistance."

The three girls - eighteen-year-old senior prefects Sally and Abigail, fourteen-year-old Jodie - burst into Sally's room. Abigail shut the door and sat on the bed, watching Sally lead Jodie painfully by the ear to the large mirror above Sally's bookshelf. Sally tugged off Jodie's school blazer - leaving the girl in white shirt, kilt and grey socks - and removed Jodie's school tie from around her waist.

Sally held up the tie, looking at Jodie in the mirror. Jodie looked at Sally, still defiant but now a little fearful. She had her white hair in short plaits, in the current fashion, and her blue eyes were wide.

"You should be *proud* to wear this, you little brat," said Sally, and she meant it. "Why on earth do you think girls who've been walloped have their ties taken away? It's to *shame* them. Well, if that's how you want it, I shall give you the spanking that'll qualify you not to wear your school tie."

Jodie seemed to be about to issue some retort, but wisely thought better of it, and cast her eyes downwards.

"First, though," continued Sally, "you will put this on. I'm going to give you this tie, and then I'm going to start smacking your bottom. I'm going to continue smacking your bottom until you've put the tie on properly. If I don't think the tie looks smart enough, you will take it off and we'll try again."

Sally took hold of the hem of Jodie's kilt, and lifted it up. She was greeted by the sight of Jodie's pert little buttocks, encased in tight school knickers. They were school knickers alright, but they weren't *St. Catherine's* school knickers.

"What are these?" Sally asked.

"Regulation knickers, Miss," said Jodie, sarcastically.

"By God, you really do need the bottom-warming that you'll get before you leave this room. I should send you to the Headmistress, but she's far too busy to spend *all* her time walloping bad little girls."

Sally tucked Jodie's kilt and shirt-tails into the waist-band, leaving the girl's small but perfectly-formed bottom clear for her chastising palm.

"When I give you the tie, I start smacking. When the tie is on, I *stop* smacking. Okay?"

Sally gave Jodie her maroon and grey striped school tie, and had landed one measured, firm palm-spank to each buttock before Jodie was jolted into action.

Jodie turned up her already-buttoned shirt-collar and looped the tie around her neck, flinching as Sally landed more spanks. Jodie's hips swivelled as she tried to avoid the smacks, like a naughty child being summarily disciplined at the supermarket, but she wasn't going anywhere, and she needed to concentrate on fixing her tie-knot.

Another half-dozen smarting spanks, and the knot was complete. Quickly, Jodie pushed the knot up to the shirt-collar, and turned the collar down. The spanking stopped at once.

"That's not bad," appraised Sally, "but I'm sure you can do better. Turn around."

Sally lifted Jodie's chin, unknotted the tie, and slipped it from the collar.

"Try again."

Jodie groaned, but not for long, because Sally's hand began slapping against her rosy rump again. As quickly as she could, Jodie put on the school tie.

Fourteen spanks later, Sally's opinion was: "Hmm. One last time I think." So, she removed Jodie's tie, and, for a third time, Jodie put on the tie, to the accompaniment of the stinging spanking of her own bottom, by now quite sore and warm.

"Tighten the knot a little," instructed Sally, and issued a couple of light, chiding smacks. Jodie tightened and straightened the tie-knot, so that it stood square and proud below the high white collar.

"And make sure that your collar is tidy," added Sally, prompting Jodie to run her fingers around the collar, pushing the tie into place and folding down the stiff starchy cotton collar.

Sally gently patted each of Jodie's buttocks.

"Now, your collar and tie are nice and smart; exactly as they should have been. While I fill in the corporal punishment log, I want you to stand in the corner - over there, by the wardrobe - facing the wall." Jodie shuffled towards the designated corner. "Oh, and you can take down those knickers, so that Abigail and I can have a look at how your bottom is colouring up." Jodie very slowly eased down her thick brown knickers. "That's right, just to your knees. Now hands on head, miss, and don't let me see you rubbing, or there'll be trouble."

Jodie, subdued but certainly not chastened - not yet - palms on head, naked between the small of her back and the tops of her knee-socks, displayed the results of a smack-bottom which would have been traumatic for a five-year-old, but which for a fourteen-year-old was just a preliminary.

Sally sat at her desk and wrote in the small red punishment log:

Name: Jodie McAllister
Punished by: Sally Heriot
Place of punishment: Head Girl's study
Reason for punishment: Persistent refusal to wear correct school uniform
Nature of punishment: Jodie spanked whilst putting on school tie. Repeated three times
Position used: Standing, in front of mirror
Adjustment of clothing: Kilt turned up. Jodie spanked on seat of school knickers
Implement used: Palm of hand
No. of strokes: About 50 mild spanks, in total
Comments: In view of persistent disobedience by this girl, and also discovery during punishment of non-regulation knickers, more formal punishment will be administered, severity to depend on Jodie's response

"Very well," said Sally, rising from her seat, moving her wooden spanking stool into the centre of the room. "Now we can get round to the *proper* punishment."

Sally pulled up Jodie's knickers, then led the naughty girl by the ear back to the stool, lifting herself onto the high seat, and standing the girl to her right.

"Your mother said you need a good old-fashioned spanking now and then," chided Sally, "and it seems she was right. I'm sure you think you're a big girl now, but even big girls sometimes need to be put over the knee and given a sore bottom."

Sally looked deep into Jodie's eyes and was surprised to see something like panic. Jodie was breathing quickly, her breasts pushing lightly against the cotton of her shirt-front. With her uniform now in place - the collar and tie snug around Jodie's neck - and her hair plaited, blue-eyed, wide-eyed Jodie looked awfully like a good little girl, genuinely fearful of impending punishment.

Sally put these thoughts aside. Jodie was a bad little girl and needed a spanking.

"Let's get it over with," said Sally, and manoeuvred the girl forward, upward, and across her lap, Jodie's body draping over her knees with a satisfying weight, plaits and tie dangling floorwards. Sally lifted her right knee slightly, moving Jodie's bottom into the best, most prominent position for a hand-spanking. The combined effect of Jodie's unceremonious position and her tight shirt-collar caused her face to redden almost at once. Jodie squirmed but - Sally thought - she must have been used to being placed in the nursery position, during her father's many over-the-knee spankings.

Sally took hold of the waist-band of Jodie's knickers. At this, an extraordinary keening erupted from the girl, taking both Sally and Abigail aback.

"Please, miss!" Jodie wailed, suddenly more like a four-year-old than a teenager. "Please don't take my knickers down! Please! I promise I'll be *really* good all the time, and that I'll never be naughty! I've learnt my lesson, miss, honestly I have. You don't have to spank me any more! Please, miss! Please!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby!" scolded Sally. "Of course I'm going to take your knickers down. A bare-bottom spanking is what you deserve, and a bare-bottom spanking is what you're going to get."

Sally began to ease down the brown school knickers, but Jodie's right hand whipped backwards, grabbing at the knickers and flailing, slapping at Sally's arms. What a performance!

"Take your hand away this instant!" said Sally. Did the girl have no shame, behaving so childishly?

But Jodie's hand held firmly onto her knickers, keeping her bottom-cheeks covered.

"Please, miss!" pleaded Jodie, rather pathetically.

"Abbie, would you please hold Jodie's hands," asked Sally.

"Of course."

Abigail moved to Sally's left, and prised Jodie's hand away, grasping both wrists very tightly, keeping them clear of the target area.

This brought an immediate response from Jodie, who writhed and kicked and *screamed*.

"You bitches! You fucking bitches are *not* going to spank me any more and you are *not* going to take my knickers down!"

Astonished by this outburst, Sally tore down Jodie's pants, and began furiously walloping her bare bottom with all available force. Incensed by this, Jodie managed to free one hand, threw it backwards, aiming for Sally's face, and scratched anything in range. While Sally protected her face, Jodie lifted her head and *spat*, leaving a trail of phlegm across Abigail's blazer and tie.

Both furious and nonplussed, Abigail looked at Sally and Sally looked at Abigail. Neither of them had seen anything remotely like this before - and from an apparently-angelic fourteen-year-old girl. St. Catherine's girls were *used* to corporal punishment at home, almost without exception. They might not like the spankings they got at school, but they knew they were deserved, and they accepted them with maturity and good grace. Usually.

"Don't you fucking dare, you bitches," continued Jodie.

"Maybe we should take Jodie to Miss Grainger," suggested Abigail, but Sally was steadfast.

"Oh no," she said. "We can deal with this little brat."

"Just you try it," warned Jodie.

"I'm sure you wouldn't have spoken to your father like that," said Sally, but this just brought derision from Jodie.

"Ha! That wimp? I could say anything I wanted to him. He wouldn't have done a thing."

"Now that's a lie. You admitted yourself that he used to spank you when you were naughty."

"He daredn't lay a finger on me," said Jodie. "*She* thinks he used to spank me because that's what she told him to do, and that's what he said he did."

Sally listened to this. "You're saying now that your father never spanked you?" she asked the bare-bottomed third-former.


"And your mother never did..." Sally reasoned, "...because she thought *he* did."

There was something badly wrong here. Sally's anger subsided. She lifted Jodie onto her feet, and the girl pulled up her pants.

"So what *did* your father do?" Sally asked Jodie, looking directly into her eyes, now seeing a little honesty for a change.

"Nothing. He had a small, half-inflated plastic football," said Jodie, remembering. "He would sit with it between his legs and spank it, just as if it was me, pretending to scold me. We used to laugh, but we had to be careful in case my mother heard. We had to play along. I would pretend to have a sore bottom, and sometimes I'd cry a bit if it was supposed to be a big spanking."

"How long did this go on for?" Sally asked, now quiet and solemn.

"From when I was seven, until they broke up last year."

Sally was shaken by this. For six crucial years of her childhood, Jodie had been denied exactly the sort of discipline she needed. In fact, she'd been denied any parental discipline *at all*, just like a young prince with a whipping boy. Sally could imagine the first time: seven-year-old Jodie, taken by her father into his study. She knows she's in for a bottom-warming, so she charms him with her big blue eyes, wheedles and cajoles, perhaps squeezes out a few tears. Her father, too weak to discipline his little girl, yet needing to placate his nagging wife, contrives a third way. Immediately all is lost. His daughter has complete control, and is well on the way to becoming a spoilt brat.

Just as if she'd been thrashed mercilessly every day, Sally thought, Jodie had been systematically abused for six years, by being denied the spankings she'd deserved and needed.

Poor kid, thought Sally, genuinely sympathetic. She couldn't help considering that she herself had turned out to be a good girl because she'd known *for sure* that if she'd earned a spanking, she would have got it. Jodie, on the other hand, had known that however badly she behaved, she would *never* be spanked; and this had resulted in the little monster she'd grown into.

To Abigail's surprise - and to Jodie's - Sally wrapped her arms around Jodie's shoulders and hugged the girl, just as tightly as she was able.

If there was a way back for Jodie, however, it had to start immediately, with a spanking the girl would remember for the rest of her life, to begin to make up for the parental chastisements that she'd needed so badly, but never received. Sally knew she was in a position to influence Jodie's future, and she didn't intend to shirk the responsibility in the same way Jodie's father had.

Sally guided the third-former to her bed, and the two girls sat down, while Abigail cleaned up her uniform. Sally took a deep breath, and thought about how she might approach the matter in hand. The year before - certainly before Sally's initiation into the corporal punishment philosophy across the Headmistress's lap, her own school knickers around her knees - the lecture she was about to give would have seemed bizarre and a little frightening. Now, though, she was quite certain that in many cases the cruellest thing to do to a growing teenage girl was to remain stubbornly blind to her continuing need for an occasional well-smacked bottom.

"Jodie," Sally began, trying to appear both stern and caring. "This spanking is *very* important. I know it's going to hurt, but you must realise that you need it, and that it's for your own good."

"Piss off," muttered Jodie under her breath, but Sally ignored the further abuse.

"You've shown by your behaviour that you're just a bad little girl - and perhaps that's your parents' fault - but it can change, and it's going to change, starting right now. I'd prefer it if you showed that you're grown up enough to know when you've earned a little-girl's punishment, and to accept it like a big girl, but either way you'll be getting a sound spanking before you leave this room."

Jodie set her jaw defiantly, to Sally's mild amusement.

"This is what's going to happen," Sally explained. "I'm going to put you back over my knee, take down your knickers, and give you a hand-spanking on your bare bottom. There'll be sixty hard smacks, and they'll hurt. Then you can spend a few quiet minutes thinking about how you can be better behaved in the future. Finally, it'll be back over my knee for a dose of the hairbrush. This will last as long as it takes for you to have learned your lesson."

"Piss off," Jodie repeated, louder than before.

"By this time, you *will* be crying, and I don't mean the sort of crocodile tears that would impress your father. Understand?"

Silence from Jodie.

"Now then," said Sally, "are you going to take the spanking like a big girl?"

"Piss!" said Jodie, spitting the word out at both Sally and Abigail. "Off!"

So Sally leapt into action. Jodie was an uncontrolled kid, but Sally was older, bigger, and stronger, and she had little difficulty pulling Jodie across her lap, holding the kicking, screaming girl around the waist. With Jodie's arms and legs flailing about, there was no way she'd be able to administer a proper, formal hand-spanking. This was not Sally's plan, however.

Keeping hold of the girl with her left arm, Sally used her right hand to loosen the knot of her own school tie, and pull the tie from her collar. She offered the tie to Abigail.

"Abbie," Sally asked, "would you please use this to tie Jodie's wrists together."

Abigail looked uncertain about this, and Jodie squealed in protest.

"I'm not sure we should..." began Abigail, but Sally was quick to reassure her.

"It's the only way, Abbie," she said. "If she won't lie still, then she'll have to be restrained. You can't hold her hands *and* her feet."

With some reluctance, Abigail agreed and, between the two of them, they managed to use Sally's maroon and grey striped tie to restrain Jodie's hands in front of her. The third-former sprayed invective around the room, and struggled against the knot, but was soon resigned to kicking her legs like a novice swimmer.

"Now could you deal with Jodie's feet, Abbie. Your own tie should do the trick."

Abigail wasn't at all sure about this. However, after having removed her school tie, and having received several kicks to the body from Jodie's feet, she was soon converted to Sally's way of thinking, and tied Jodie's ankles with some satisfaction, pausing to deliver - with Sally's tacit consent - a few stinging palm-smacks to the bare-backs of Jodie's thighs.

Once thus restrained - the prefects stopped short of gagging the girl, and she continued to spew out language utterly at odds with her sweet visage and schoolgirl uniform - it was easy for Sally to carry Jodie across to the spanking stool, and to lift the girl across her knee, in the traditional posture.

Sally gathered up Jodie's kilt, then lowered her knickers to mid-thigh, the thick, snug cotton pants releasing Jodie's little buttocks with a sigh, their pinkness remaining from the earlier, milder smack-bottom. And the hand-spanking began.

There was certainly no enjoyment for Sally in spanking this naughty little girl, but there was a clear sense of satisfaction from doing a job that really needed to be done, and doing it well. Her cupped right palm bounced blissfully from alternate buttocks, delivering crisp, sharp, painful spanks. As the hand-spanking progressed, Abigail and Sally noticed that Jodie's protestations became diminished, as the smarting, glowing sting in her bottom commanded her attention, and she fought to retain her composure.

At the delivery of the sixtieth hand-spank, Jodie's bottom had acquired a deep redness, the fingermarks cross-hatching into an even shade. Jodie breathed heavily, her face flushed, her fair hair untidy, her neck squeezing against the crisp shirt-collar.

Without saying a word, Sally lifted Jodie to her feet, dismounted from the stool, and then hoisted the girl back across the seat of the stool, bare bottom-cheeks uppermost, arms and legs tied, dangling, helpless.

"Five minutes," Sally announced. The three girls sat and lay in silence. Sally noted that there'd been no need to exhort Jodie not to rub her sore bottom; Jodie squirmed, wishing she was able to do exactly that.

At some low mutterings from the third-former, and at Sally's signal, Abigail rose to deliver a hearty wallop to each bare cheek, and instruct the girl to: "Shush!"

It was a long five minutes for Jodie, listening only to the metronome-throb of her smacked bottom, and she seemed almost glad when Sally lifted her back over the knee and asked Abigail to pass the hairbrush.

With long, slow backswings, Sally applied the heavy wooden hairbrush, keeping an even tempo. There would be no respite now until Jodie had been severely chastised. Jodie's already-red buttocks flattened and rebounded as wood met tender flesh, and the girl gasped with clear discomfort.

Soon, Jodie was bargaining for mercy.

"Please! That's enough! I'll be a good girl! I've learnt my lesson!"

Sally continued the paddling. After a further twenty blistering spanks, it was clear that Jodie could think only of the pain in her bottom. Her body jolted with each stroke, arms and legs kicking upwards; she screamed out pathetic pleas:

"Oh, it hurts! No more, please! Ouch! Owwww!"

But there was still some way to go, Sally could see. "I don't see any tears yet, young lady," she admonished, right arm beating out a constant tattoo.

Jodie's bottom was by now a glowering, angry, dark red, which contrasted sharply with her white thighs and shirt-tails.

Another dozen-or-so, and Jodie's pleas subsided. The brush-spanks were now followed by low grunts. A few more really hard spanks on the crowns of Jodie's buttocks, and Sally realised that the grunts were now guttural sobs. Taking this as her cue, she stepped up the tempo, stepping on the gas as would a car driver when the engine fires.

And the engine of Jodie's sobbing burst into life. While she bucked involuntarily under each fresh blow from Sally's hairbrush, Jodie's eyes streamed, her nose ran, and she cried like a little girl lost.

Sally measured out a dozen good spanks, then laid down the brush.

"Are you sorry for your misbehaviour?" Sally asked, and it was a short while before Jodie could reply, in a subdued and sniffing voice, to the affirmative.

"And you understand that if you're naughty in the future, you'll get the same again?"


"Fine. Just a final dozen with my hand, then, to make sure you remember."

This brought redoubled wailing from Jodie. Sally laid her palm on Jodie's right buttock, cupping the soft, quivering and extremely hot cheek, then delivered a brief, brisk hand-spanking.

She set the tearful, contrite girl on her feet, and gave her a big hug.

"After all that fuss at the beginning, you took that rather well. All over now! Clean slate."

Sally untied Jodie's wrists and ankles, and handed the girl a tissue. Suddenly released, Jodie used one hand to clean up her face, and the other to very carefully attend to her stinging bum. Sally lifted Jodie's chin, and removed the third tie: the one around Jodie's collar. This she stowed away in the box she kept for the purpose.

"Knickers up, Jodie!" chided Sally. "And don't let me see you wearing non-regulation knickers again. Knickers are part of your school uniform too."

Jodie hauled her chocolate-brown knickers up underneath her maroon tartan kilt, and over her now-maroon-tartan bottom-cheeks, the elastic waist-band and legs snapping into place. She put on her blazer.

"Off you go then," said Sally. "Shoo!"

Jodie looked at the prefects with sore, red eyes, then made her exit.

"That," said Abigail, as the two sixth-formers turned up their shirt-collars and began to put back on their ties, "was quite a spanking!"

When Abigail asked if it was the hardest spanking Sally had administered, Sally was set to thinking.

Name: Jodie McAllister
Punished by: Sally Heriot
Place of punishment: Head Girl's study
Reason for punishment: Persistent refusal to wear correct school uniform. Wearing non-regulation knickers. Verbal and physical abuse of senior prefects.
Nature of punishment: Severe, formal spanking
Position used: Over-the-knee
Adjustment of clothing: Kilt turned up, and knickers lowered. Spanking administered on bare bottom.
Implement used: Palm of hand; back of hairbrush.
No. of strokes: 60 hard hand-smacks, followed by about 60 hard hairbrush spanks. Final 12 hand-smacks.
Comments: Spanking was continued until Jodie was crying freely.

Once she had completed the punishment log, Sally was disturbed to discover that simple arithmetic told her the answer to Abigail's question was 'yes'. Considering the 50 spanks Jodie had been given on the knicker-seat, prior to the 132 on the bare, over the knee, Jodie had been dealt with most severely. Realising with a start that it had taken rather more to bring this third-former to tears than had been necessary during her own trip across the Headmistress's lap, Sally was suddenly besieged by pangs of guilt. Had she been to harsh? After all, the girl was only fourteen. And yet, she thought, it *had* taken that much to make Jodie cry, and that was necessary, wasn't it? Had she been justified in tying Jodie's wrists and ankles? Well, what choice did she have, if the girl wouldn't lie still?

Head spinning, and decidedly uneasy about her omission from the punishment log of Jodie's school-tie restraint (though no less uneasy about what *did* appear in the log) Sally donned her blazer, and left for double Latin, knowing that she would not be able to concentrate.

That Friday, Sally woke in a hot flush, after the same, disturbing dream for the third night running. She'd tied Jodie McAllister over a vaulting-horse in the gymnasium, with her own school tie, for some trifling offence, then proceeded to thrash the girl's bare bottom with the sort of old school cane she'd only ever seen on television, or in old comics. Jodie's striped bottom grew and grew, like an overfilled balloon, until it burst deafeningly, jolting Sally awake.

Rubbing her eyes, Sally silently resolved to approach Jodie with some sort of apology for the genuinely severe walloping she'd received - the girl had been positively angelic since her long trip across Sally's knee. Sally was sure she could make the girl understand why she had needed a really hard spanking, but also why Sally had maybe gone a little too far.

Also, Sally was quite smart enough to know that she'd be in big trouble herself - enough for the hairbrush on the bare bottom from the Headmistress - if Jodie decided to report the circumstances of the spanking to a teacher.

Despite her conviction that Jodie's spanking had been necessary and beneficial - Jodie's improved behaviour surely attested to this - there was a permanent knot of guilt in her stomach, and the dreams continued.

Seeing that she had woken late, and must rush to get to morning assembly, Sally jumped out of bed, threw off her flannelette pyjamas, and opened her wardrobe...

To discover, with a gasp, that the shelf which normally held her maroon regulation school knickers was empty. Empty! She'd just got ten pairs back from the laundry!

Sally's mind raced, but it didn't need to race very far to get to the inevitable conclusion. How stupidly naive she'd been!

Obviously, Jodie McAllister had taken them, sometime during the night (doubtless while Sally was dreaming guiltily of caning her chubby little backside). Sally's guilt turned to a mixture of rage, respect for the girl's resourcefulness, and fear.

The logic was inescapable.

She had no regulation knickers to wear.

It was Friday morning, and there'd almost certainly be a uniform inspection after morning assembly - one was overdue.

She, the Head Girl, would be spanked, and the whole school would know it. They wouldn't see her over the knee, but they'd all know it had happened.

Sally thought of the week she'd spend unable to wear her school tie. She felt sick, and at the same time she needed the toilet.

Here was Jodie's revenge, served ice-cold.

Ignoring for the moment the problem of the knickers, Sally put on the rest of her uniform, making use of what time she did have to neatly arrange her shirt-collar and knot the tie she'd not be wearing for a week. She tucked the tie into the front of her tunic, between her breasts, then edged it back a little, so that the tie stood proud of the crisp shirt-front.

As for knickers, St. Catherine's was a boarding school, so the girls had little need for any clothes other than their school uniform - Sally only had a couple of pairs of white cotton panties, and no choice whatsoever.

She slipped a pair of the white panties under her tunic skirt and over her fat bottom, where they felt comfortable but...wrong. The thick, bottom-hugging maroon uniform knickers were what she was used to, and she missed their presence in the same way that she might miss the unyielding starchiness of the collars of the boys' white school shirts she wore.

Stomach lurching, Sally dashed to the assembly hall, and was one of the last to arrive before the grand entrance of the teachers.

Sally saw Abigail Rice trying to catch her eye. Abigail flipped up her kilt, and Sally caught a brief glimpse of skimpy pink panties. Abigail took hold of her tie-knot and mimed the act of removing her tie. Sally nodded, and both girls managed weak smiles.

The assembly was nothing special: a couple of hymns, some announcements and a short talk by the Headmistress over the sea of plaits, pony-tails, bare knees and maroon uniforms.

At the final announcement...

"Very well! I think we'll just have a quick look at your uniforms, shall we?"

...there were groans of boredom from most girls. Sally and Abigail, despite their expectations, swallowed hard, and blushed visibly.

Miss Grainger, the Headmistress, and Mrs Lapping, the Deputy Head, made their way down from the stage, as the schoolgirls stood, a few hurriedly pulling up their grey knee-socks, or tightening their tie-knots, before placing their hands on their heads, as they were required to do.

Sally watched as the Headmistress traversed the left half of the front row of girls - these were first-formers, the youngest girls in the school - and the Deputy Head took the other half. Not that the uniforms worn by these little girls were in any way different to those worn by the mature, young-womanly upper-sixth-formers who stood - Abigail and Sally among them - at the back of the hall, hands on heads. Their kilts covered the same maroon regulation knickers; their legs were equally bare between skirt-hem and knee-socks; their chests were equally bare beneath the thin cotton of their white shirts.

Moving in different directions, the Head and Deputy Head inspected the first-formers' uniforms. Sally was sure it was a sign she was growing older, but to her these eleven-year-olds looked so *little*. It seemed as if their formal uniforms were wearing *them*.

Whether naturally obedient, or simply frightened by the idea of a punishment spanking, the first-formers had made sure their uniforms were immaculate.

The teachers reached the ends of the row, and passed behind. At this, each first-former reached down, took hold of the hem of her maroon and grey plaid kilt, lifted the material around to her front, gathering it at her waist.

An unbroken row of maroon-beknickered buttocks was revealed, the pants tight across little bottoms, delineating carefully each cheek. There were obviously no bottom-warmings merited here. At the Head's signal, the kilts were lowered once more, and scrutiny passed to the second-formers.

Sally's heart pounded. At least for Abigail a spanking was no great novelty - Sally knew from conversations that Abigail still had her bare bottom smacked by her mother when she was particularly naughty. Her own experience of such things began and ended with the hand- and hairbrush-walloping she'd endured to get the Head-Girlship - and in the school, only the Head, Abigail and she herself knew about this. At that moment, she would gladly have accepted a spanking of similar severity to avoid being caught without school knickers on - such a juvenile, schoolgirl misdemeanour - and having the whole school know about it.

It seemed that the second-formers had escaped punishment - all buttocks were present, correct, and maroon - until Miss Grainger stopped behind a pair of adjacent girls, her trained eye having noticed something odd.

As if the girls were small infants being taken to the toilet, the Headmistress whisked down both pairs of knickers. In each case, what was exposed was not a pair of twelve-year-old buttocks, however, but a face-flannel, cunningly sandwiched between the outer pants and another pair worn underneath. Miss Grainger took the flannels, and the outer knickers, tucked the girls' kilts into the waistbands at the rear, then propelled the girls towards the front of the hall with a stinging hand-smack to each cheek. The girls stood shamefully, hands on heads, bottoms on parade.

At least, Sally thought, she and Abigail wouldn't be the only ones going over the knee.

As the third-formers' kilts were lifted, Sally was depressingly unsurprised to see that one of the two pairs of non-regulation knickers revealed belonged to her sister Charlotte - Charlie had a talent for naughtiness undiminished by regular bottom-smackings, both at school and at home.

The identity of the other girl came as a huge surprise to Sally - it was Jodie McAllister! - but only for a moment. Sally's eyes met Abigail's, and they both saw Jodie's plan: she intended to *see* the pair of them spanked, and the only way was to earn a spanking herself. Sally couldn't but feel respect for this single-mindedness, and also the bravery of Jodie's taking another spanking so soon after the blistering Sally had given her.

Charlotte and Jodie, kilts tucked up, took a couple of hearty spanks each, then joined the second-formers at the front.

Inspection of the older girls' uniforms was always more stringent, though normally resulted in fewer sore bottoms. As the girls grew, they seemed to take a mature attitude towards their school uniforms: if they had to wear a uniform, they might as well do it smartly - after all, the whole point of a uniform was to be smart. (Also, quite a few of the older girls positively *enjoyed* wearing their school uniforms: the freedom from the vagaries of fashion was liberating; having worn uniforms for many years, they were quite at home in a smart collar and tie.) So the senior girls, almost without exception, followed the uniform regulations to the letter. Whether because of this, or because she just expected more from them, Miss Grainger was less tolerant of small deviations from the uniform regulations in older girls. With Sally as her Head Girl - who could *always* be trusted to set a shining example, with the smartest uniform of all - Miss Grainger rarely had to resort to spankings, however.

On this occasion, inspection of the uniforms of the fourth- formers, fifth-formers and lower-sixth, resulted in only a few admonitory hand-smacks for unbuttoned shirt-collars and clumsily- knotted ties - certainly nothing which merited sterner measures. This having been achieved, the Head and Deputy Head moved to the upper-sixth - usually only a formality. Collars and ties having passed muster, they moved behind the girls.

"Skirts up, ladies!" instructed the Headmistress.

Sally swallowed hard, and closed her eyes, as she heard the swishing of kilts and tunic-skirts - since her purchase of a gymslip in the St. Catherine's tartan, several other sixth-formers had acquired the traditional garments - being lifted. Sally eased her skirt up over her bottom, knowing that her white cotton panties - quite acceptable for school uniform at a great many other schools, but not St. Catherine's - were revealed.

She waited.

A pair of loud cracks of palm on pink panties told her that Abigail was found out, and she heard the girl skitter to the front of the hall. There were a few gasps from the younger girls - a House Captain! Spanked for wearing pink panties!

Then Miss Grainger was behind her. The Head issued a sigh of clear disappointment, and pulled Sally's skirt from her grasp, tucking the fabric into the waist-sash around Sally's gymslip.

There was a *long* pause, then...

Wallop! Wallop!

Miss Grainger's hand left a smarting imprint on each of Sally's buttocks.

"Get to the front, this instant!"

Utterly humiliated, Sally ran to the front of the hall, trying to ignore the almost-audible sound of jaws dropping. There didn't seem to be any enjoyment of Sally's predicament amongst the girls, just sheer disbelief. For the Head Girl to be caught without regulation knickers was just unheard-of, and one or two first-formers could be excused for wishing to stay just to see what it *looked like* for an eighteen-year-old senior prefect to get spanked over the Headmistress's lap.

The six errant girls stood quietly, hands on heads, as the rest of the school filed out of the hall, tongues wound up for a good chinwag about what they'd just seen.

Soon all was quiet. There was some moving of chairs, and the girls were told to turn around.

Sitting in straight-backed wooden chairs were the Head and Deputy Head, Miss Grainger to the left.

"Very well," said Miss Grainger. "Are there any excuses you'd like us to hear before we warm your backsides?"

"Please, miss," blurted one of the second-formers. "Our maths prep was just too hard! We spent hours looking at it, but we just *knew* Miss Payne would give us the ruler, and her eyesight isn't so good, so..."

"I suspected it was something like that," said the Headmistress, indicating the extra knickers and flannels the girls had worn as protection. "That's no excuse, though. Corporal punishment is for your own good, and it's important that you learn to accept spankings when they are seen by teachers to be necessary."

"Yes, miss. Sorry, miss," muttered the girl, hanging her head, knowing that she was in for a pair of spankings in the course of a single morning.

"Anyone else?"

"No, miss," said the other second-former.

"No, miss," said Charlotte Heriot.

"No, miss," said Jodie McAllister.

Sally considered for a moment trying to make some accusation concerning the theft of her knickers, but in all honesty she knew it would seem feeble and immature. Moreover, she was pretty sure that Jodie was smart enough to make sure that Sally would never be able to prove anything.

Also - and Sally didn't have to do a great deal of soul-searching to come to this conclusion - there was a certain sense of justice here. She was aware now that Jodie's spanking earlier that week - whilst necessary - *had* been excessive, and that Jodie could have caused both her and Abigail a great deal of trouble by reporting the spanking and the way she'd been restrained. As it was, Sally wasn't sure she'd avoid censure when Miss Grainger saw her punishment log.

It was, she felt, in the end, deserved.

"No, miss," said Sally.

"No, miss," said Abigail Rice.

"Blazers off, then!"

The girls removed their blazers, revealing crisp white shirts and - except for Jodie, school ties.

"You two first," said the Headmistress, indicating the two twelve-year-olds. They shuffled forward and were unceremoniously deposited across the teachers' laps, kilts already tucked up, out of the line of fire.

The Deputy Head, Mrs Lapping - a large, jovial woman in her mid-fifties, with a soft, capacious lap, ideal for the nursery position - was a left-handed spanker, so the positioning of the girls meant that they faced each other. In fact, if they'd reached out their hands, they could have touched.

"While we deal with this pair," said Miss Grainger to the others, "you'd better go and fetch some proper uniform knickers. You're not getting spanked over those...those things."

Jodie and Charlotte then both reached into their blazer pockets, and fished out a pair of regulation knickers. Jodie barely suppressed a giggle as Sally and Abigail shuffled their feet.

"Well?" Miss Grainger asked.

"Um..." Sally began, lamely, " haven't got any clean pants, miss. They're all in the laundry."

"Well, really! This childish behaviour is *not* what I've come to expect from you, Sally Heriot."

"No, miss."

"You realise this means a more severe spanking?"

"Yes, miss."

"You too, Abigail?" Miss Grainger asked.

"Yes, miss."

The Headmistress's vexation was almost as obvious as Jodie's glee. Jodie was *sure* that they'd get spanked on their bare bottoms now - just what she wanted to see.

The second-formers, suspended still across the teachers' knees. waited patiently for their hand-spankings to begin.

"You two," said Miss Grainger, pointing to Jodie and Charlotte, "You can expect an extra dozen for that little bit of cheek." She meant how they'd had regulation knickers secreted in their blazers. Jodie and Charlotte nodded solemnly. "Whilst you two sixth-formers - senior prefects, no less - you can be thankful you're not getting the back of my hairbrush on your bare behinds. You've this pair to thank for that."

Jodie squeaked in surprise.

"Here," said the Headmistress, "put these on." She handed Sally and Abigail the pants she'd taken from the second-formers.

Jodie looked betrayed, and started formulating sentences starting 'But...' Abigail beat her to it.

"But, miss," she said, "we can't wear these! They're too small!"

"You'll put them on or you'll get it on the bare!" warned the Headmistress.

"Yes, miss," Abigail accepted.

"Just two dozen for these young ladies, I think," the Headmistress said to Mrs Lapping. "We mustn't forget they've a rulering to come later today."

And the spankings began. Nothing severe. Just solid hand-smacks on the girls' knicker-seats. The double-spankings resounded around the hall like a very meagre round of applause.

The others dealt with their offending non-regulation pants. Charlotte swapped her lemon-yellow panties (with teddy-bear pattern) for school knickers. Jodie pointed her bottom towards Sally and Abigail, and pulled down the same chocolate-brown knickers that had earned her a spanking from Sally.

Both Sally and Abigail gasped at what they saw. A full two days after being paddled with the hairbrush, Jodie's bottom was a mass of bruising; a riot of sickly green and purple blotches. The message was clear: Jodie was showing the two of them why she'd got them spanked; also, she was showing them that this matter was between the three of them. Showing Miss Grainger those bruises would spell big trouble for Sally and Abigail, but she hadn't done that.

Jodie pulled up her maroon knickers.

Suitably chastened, Sally and Abigail squeezed into the second-formers' knickers. Abigail, though tall, was quite slim, and the pants, though snug, were not too uncomfortable. Sally, though small and boyish, did have rather a fat bottom, and hers were a decidedly tight fit, squashing and flattening her buttocks, which tried to escape in all directions.

The second-formers, flushed and tearful, sore and contrite, were placed back on their feet, and after a little bum-rubbing, they let down their kilts and wiped their eyes.

Charlotte and Jodie were next, and they draped themselves over the knee with nonchalence.

The three-dozen hand-smacks each of received were firm and crisp, but by no means a sound walloping. Nevertheless, on top of the bruising, Jodie must have found them very painful, Sally thought, and she was impressed by Jodie's stoicism. As she was lifted to her feet, Jodie gave her bottom a quick rub, let down her kilt, then walked stiffly, though with dignity, back to the others.

Charlotte, Sally noted, showed no sign of having been spanked at all, besides a slight flushing to her pale face.

And then Miss Grainger was calling Sally and Abigail over for their spankings, and both of the prefects found themselves held firmly across a teacher's knee. Sally, over the Headmistress's lap for the second time, was face-to-face with Abigail, whose long body draped over the lap of the Deputy Head. Abigail's tie dangled towards the floor, rubbing against her chin; Sally's, tucked away inside her tunic, did not.

Faced with only her second spanking, Sally couldn't help making comparisons with the first. The most striking difference was that for the previous spanking she'd been suspended in mid-air across the Headmistress's knee, just like a naughty little girl; here, she could easily touch the floor with her hands and feet. If anything, this was *more* shaming: she was being punished like a *big* girl, and the humiliation of a big girl in the nursery position awaiting a childish bottom-smacking was enhanced.

Miss Grainger, left arm clamping Sally in place, considered the bottom on display across her knees.

"Something a little sterner than the hand is required here, I think," she said. "Do any of you girls have a pair of plimsolls handy?"

Jodie responded at once, pulling a pair of the rubber-soled gym-slippers out of her bag. She'd planned for this, and also had available a broad-backed wooden hairbrush and a plastic school ruler. It would be nice to imagine that some of the wear on the soles of her own plimsolls was due to their being used to spank Sally and Abigail's bottoms.

"Thank you, Jodie," said Miss Grainger, as each of the teachers took a plimsoll, and measured it up against a knicker-seat.

The prefects scowled at Jodie. Abigail knew from maternal spankings that a slipper could impart a fierce sting, even through school knickers. Sally could see quite clearly now that her chastisement of the girl had taught her nothing at all. It had revealed Jodie to be resourceful, persistent and brave, but fundamentally without discipline. Sally realised that her mistake had been trying to undo years of bad parenting with a single session over her knee. It was *this* that had resulted in her bruising and - yes - physically abusing Jodie, and this was the misdemeanour for which she genuinely deserved the slippering she was about to get.

Jodie had many spankings to look forward to. They would be sound, but they'd also be controlled. Lack of control was the naughtiness for which Sally needed to be punished.

There was a crystalline simplicity here, which Sally's mind couldn't but accept: she *had* been a naughty girl, and she *did* deserve to be spanked.

Plimsolls met tightly knickered bottoms, with heavy whump!s, and sharp stings. Sally grimaced, and saw Abigail grimace at the same time. It was like watching herself get a slippering in a mirror.

The plimsolls rose and fell, bouncing off alternate buttocks.

And before Sally could even begin to feel chastised, it was over. Two-dozen spanks.

Sally was so taken aback that Miss Grainger had to tell her twice to get up and adjust her uniform. She felt an odd compulsion to shout at the Headmistress: "What are you playing at? That was a spanking for a five-year-old, not an eighteen-year-old, like me! You should have made me cry! It's what I deserved!"

But Sally could see the problem: she'd been spanked for entirely the wrong thing. Her offence was improper use of her Head Girl's corporal punishment responsibility; not the trifling affair of non-regulation knickers. But what could she do about that?

Miss Grainger ordered the girls to remove their school ties, and there was a general unfastening of tie-knots and pulling of ties from shirt-collars. The girls would be tie-less for the next week as evidence of their having received formal disciplinary spankings.

Blazers were donned, and Miss Grainger shoo-ed the girls away to their lessons, making sure to remember to inform their teachers for the day that the girls' knickers were to be checked at the start of each lesson.

Two of the girls departed in a state of significant dissatisfaction.

Jodie had hoped - had sincerely believed - that Sally and Abigail would be spanked on their bare bottoms. That this hadn't happened, and that the slipperings had been feeble, was a big disappointment. There *was* another plan to get them spanked severely, and on the bare - and to *see* it happen - but it wasn't one she considered lightly, since it meant taking another sound walloping herself. Was it worth it?

Sally just felt a powerful sense of anti-climax, and of *injustice*. She'd deserved a very sound spanking - had anticipated it - but she hadn't got it. Didn't that make her just like Jodie?

But, despite her dissatisfactions, it did seem to Sally that the matter was finished with. Jodie had been spanked - albeit excessively, and that would be corrected next time. She and Abigail had been spanked - albeit feebly - and this might as well have been for their part in Jodie's punishment.

The confusion of the week had caused Sally to forget something rather important, however.

That afternoon, after lessons were over, she had a few questions for Charlotte, whom she sat down in her study.

"How could you do something so stupid?" Sally asked her sister. "So pointlessly naughty. I ought to turn you over my knee here and now."

Sally knew this was an idle threat, and Charlotte did too. Despite her sister's persistent mischievousness, the Headmistress did not expect Sally to have to spank Charlotte. Sally had, however, sent Charlotte to Miss Grainger's study on many occasions, knowing the girl would reemerge with a suitably sore bottom. Charlotte, to her credit, seemed to accept sound bottom-smackings as simply an occupational hazard for a teenaged schoolgirl. There was no sulking, no resentment; she just rubbed away the chastising smart, then got on with the next bit of naughtiness.

Sally couldn't help loving her bright, pretty, indomitable sister.

"The thrill of not getting caught, I suppose," said Charlotte, shrugging her shoulders.

"But you *did* get caught!" Sally said, thoroughly exasperated.

"This time I did."

"You must have realised there'd be a knicker-inspection this morning?"

Charlotte looked at her shoes, chewing her lower lip. Lifting her face, she met Sally's gaze through a long dark fringe.

"Sometimes," said Charlotte, choosing the words carefully - this wasn't something she'd tried to rationalise before, and she was quite aware of how difficult it was - "Sometimes it's the thrill of *getting* caught."

Sally frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you'd never understand; you're always such a good girl," Charlotte said.

"Not always," reflected Sally. "Anyway, try to tell me."

"There's no thrill in being naughty," Charlotte began, "unless there's a chance of being caught, and punished. It won't feel like there's a chance of being punished unless it sometimes happens." Charlotte paused. "Sometimes I need a spanking to show me exactly how far I can can go."

Sally tried to follow this. "And you'll deliberately get yourself into trouble, to get a spanking?"

"Sometimes. Like today. Just now I need a spanking."

"Needed, surely," corrected Sally. "You got a slippering this morning."

"Oh, that was just a tickle," said Charlotte dismissively. "I'm talking about a proper spanking. From Daddy, when he comes tomorrow."

Sally's heart leapt at this. How could she have forgotten that their wonderful father was coming to visit his daughters the following day? She longed to see him. There was always so much to talk about.

She was bothered by what Charlotte had said, however, and tried to put this into words.

"But you don't..." she stumbled. " don't like being spanked, do you?"

Charlotte snorted. "No! Of course not! It hurts like hell when Daddy spanks me, and it's so humiliating to be put over his knee like a little kid, and have my pants taken down. It's just that..."

"What," asked Sally, genuinely intrigued.

"Well," Charlotte continued, "when it's all over, and I've been soundly punished, Daddy hugs me so tightly, and tells me that everything's forgiven, and I feel clean, as if all the naughtiness in the world has been spanked out of me." Charlotte giggled, breaking the tension. "Sal, I'm really not sure the feeling would be so good if I hadn't been put over his knee, or if my pants hadn't been taken down, or if I hadn't been punished really soundly. The hurt is part of it, and the humiliation's part of it too."

Sally couldn't help recalling her odd sense of dissatisfaction after her slippering that morning.

"But then," added Charlotte, as an afterthought, "you'll find out all about that tomorrow."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. We'll both be spending some time bare-bottomed across Daddy's knee tomorrow, after this morning."

Sally's mouth dried. She nervously ran a finger inside her stiff, buttoned-up shirt-collar.

" wasn't my fault! He'll see that I didn't do it on purpose!"

"You know how it is, Sal," said Charlotte. "If we get spanked at school, we get another spanking from Daddy. Or, at least, I do. I guess this'll be your first time. No excuses, Sal. We both got caught."

Sally tried to think clearly, but her mind was gripped by a five-year-old's blind panic at the thought of going over her father's knee for a smacked-bottom. Surely if she explained the circumstances of the slippering, he'd realise that she hadn't really been such a naughty girl. Surely she could convince him that she didn't deserve a paternal spanking.

But Sally knew that she would not be able to convince him. She'd been spanked by the Headmistress, and that was enough. He'd explain patiently, but sternly, that she'd let both herself and her parents down, and his displeasure would reduce Sally to a sobbing wreck even before he'd placed her across his knee, carefully raised her gym-tunic skirt, taken down her knickers, and begun to administer his eighteen-year-old daughter's first fatherly bare-bottom spanking.

Sally was pale and shivery, and Charlotte couldn't help but notice her sister's discomfort.

"Come on, Sal," she consoled, "it's not so bad. Sure, it's pretty painful for ten minutes, and you'll have a sore bum for a day or two, but in the end it's just a spanking."

"I'm afraid, Charlie," Sally said, very quietly, very simply. "I have to find some way of proving to Miss Grainger that Jodie took my uniform knickers."

It was the only way. Even if Sally could somehow keep her father away from the Headmistress, he'd see her tie-less collar, and he'd know she'd had a spanking; she'd never get away with wearing a different tie - some little sneak was bound to notice, and get her into even more trouble.


"I gave her a very hard spanking with the hairbrush on the bare on Tuesday. Too hard."

"Ah. She's been awfully quiet since then, and I did notice she wasn't wearing her tie."

"Only it turned out," Sally continued, "that it was her very first spanking, and she didn't like it one little bit. She put up a lot of resistance, and..."

"And?" Charlotte was intrigued.

"Well..." Sally continued, meekly. "Abigail and I had to restrain her, so she'd lie still."

"What did you do?" Charlotte was agog.

"We...we tied her wrists and ankles with our school ties."

Charlotte gasped. "So that's why Abigail got the slipper too. Blimey! I can see why Jodie might have wanted revenge."

"She needed it, Charlie," said Sally. "It got out of hand, but she's a bad kid, and she really did have it coming."

"I won't argue with that. She's been a real pain ever since she moved into the dorm."

"Will you help me prove she took my knickers?" Sally asked.

"Sure," Charlotte replied immediately. "How?"

Sally had an idea. She rummaged around in her desk drawer, and shortly pulled out a small dictaphone her father had given her to help with her studies.

"Maybe you can get a taped confession," Sally suggested.

"Hardly!" Charlotte scoffed. "It's not as if it's a big secret that we're sisters."

Sally sighed. Charlotte, however, had the inklings of a neat plan.

"Perhaps," explained Charlotte, thinking aloud, "she'd be only too eager to tell me she did it if she thought I hated you."

"But why would she think that?"

"She might if she saw you giving me a spanking for some trivial little thing."

"Oh, don't be daft, Charlie," said Sally. "I'm not about to give you a spanking!"

"But it doesn't have to be real," Charlotte insisted. "It just needs to convince her."

Sally thought carefully about this. If she could get a confession from Jodie, she'd be able to persuade the Headmistress that the knicker-inspection slippering had been unjustified. If she could do that, she might be able to get her school tie back neatly underneath her shirt-collar before her father arrived. She might - might - be able to avoid her Daddy's strict discipline yet. She'd have to be careful, mind. If Miss Grainger wanted to chastise Jodie for the theft, her bruising hairbrushing would certainly come to light, and Sally would be in even greater trouble. Not for the last time, Sally wished she'd never seen Jodie McAllister.

Sally looked solemnly at her sister.

"Would you really do that, just to get me out of a spanking from Daddy?"

"Of course I would, Sal," Charlotte said. "You're my sister."

The schoolgirl sisters hugged.

Four hours later, the game was afoot. Sally and Charlotte were alone in Charlotte's dormitory, the other girls - Jodie excepted - having left for choir practice ten minutes earlier. Jodie herself was expected back from her piano lesson at any moment.

Sally sat on Charlotte's bed, prepared, but nervous as hell.

Charlotte, having changed out of her school uniform and into pale blue cotton pyjamas, was standing by the heavy wooden door, looking out for Jodie's return.

She looked at her sister. "Roll up your right sleeve," she suggested.

"Why?" asked Sally.

"It'll look as if you really mean business," Charlotte explained. "Daddy sometimes does it before he spanks me, and it makes me almost wet my pants."

Sally was entirely under her little sister's control here. She unbuttoned her right shirt-cuff, and carefully rolled up the sleeve as far as the elbow.

"Whatever you say," Sally insisted, "I'm not going to spank you hard."

"You must," Charlotte countered. "It's got to look real. You won't hurt me, I promise. And don't be put off when I cry; they won't be real tears."

Sally breathed deeply. What was she doing! She'd got Abigail spanked, and now she was going to spank her brilliant little sister.

"She's coming!" Charlotte cried. She sprinted across the room, pulled down her own pyjama trousers, and practically dived across Sally's lap, presenting her naked buttocks and thighs.

"Come on! Lots of light spanks to redden me up, like I told you!" Charlotte cried.

Sally began to pat Charlotte's buttocks gently.

"Harder, come on!"

Charlotte lent her own hands to the task, paddling her own buttocks, to bring forth the rosy hue of a harder spanking.

"Now, when she comes in, you've got to scold me really sternly, and then give me a dozen hard smacks. Then make me stand in the corner."

Sally steeled herself. She found it easy enough to be a strict disciplinarian with genuinely bad girls, but with her sister it was awfully hard.

The door creaked. Sally took a deep breath and launched into the task at hand, hoping her sister would forgive her.

She grasped Charlotte around the waist, raised her right arm, and delivered a sweet hand-spank to her sister's right buttock. At once, Charlotte broke down in floods of penitent tears. Their very suddenness - though impressively realistic - startled Sally, and she paused before spanking Charlotte's left buttock equally hard.

"No more, please! I'm sorry!" wailed Charlotte with appropriate melodrama.

Sally, realising she was underplaying her part, began scolding, as she continued the hand-smacks.

"How dare you laugh at me, you little bitch! I saw you laughing when I was getting the slipper."

Spank! Spank!

"I wasn't! Honestly!"

Sally was aware of Jodie's presence. The girl was watching this strange tableau with great interest, mouth wide open.

"Don't lie to me!"

Sally finished off the last of Charlotte's dozen spanks, and her sister's bottom was red enough to be mistaken for a genuinely well-smacked behind. She lifted the tear-rubbing and bum-rubbing Charlotte to her feet.

"Now get in the corner, facing the wall. Come on! Leave your pyjamas down, so your little friends can see your red bottom."

Charlotte shuffled glumly into the corner, placing her hands on her head without prompting.

"Now you'll stay there for a full twenty minutes," said Sally, "and if I hear that you moved before then, or if I ever see you laughing at me again, I'll take the back of my hairbrush to you, and I'll paddle your bottom so shiny I'll be able to see my face in it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, miss," sniffed Charlotte.


Sally made great show of rolling down and buttoning her shirt- cuff, then strode masterfully out of the dormitory, leaving Charlotte and Jodie to whatever discussions might ensue.

By the time she reached her own room, Sally was sobbing uncontrollably. These plots and counter-plots, they had to end! No-one else was going to suffer for her own misdemeanours.

It was the following morning, and Sally paced up and down her room in an adrenaline buzz of fear and excitement. She'd watched her father's car disappear around the side of the school. He must surely be on his way to the Headmistress's study by now. Sally fiddled nervously with her collar and the shoulder-straps of her tunic.

The door burst open and Charlotte, school uniform hastily-donned and fetchingly askew, entered triumphantly.

"I've got it!" Charlotte announced, holding the dictaphone aloft.

"He's here! He's here already!" screamed Sally, grabbing the tape recorder. Perhaps there was still time after all!

Sally fumbled for the PLAY button, and started the tape.

"I spent all night trying to get her to talk about it," gabbled Charlotte as Sally held the tape to her ear, listening to the voices, "but it didn't seem as if she was going to admit anything. Then suddenly, this morning, she came straight out with it. It was almost as if she was waiting for something..."

Sally heard Jodie's crowing voice: "...of course, it was me who took your sister's knickers. Serves her right, the stuck-up cow..."

Sally stopped the tape, hugged her sister very hard indeed, threw on her blazer, slipped the tape recorder into a blazer pocket, and ran. She tore down the stairs and along the corridors, blazer flapping, unconstrained breasts bouncing under her shirt, bare, athletic thighs pumping powerfully. She could get there in time! She could get there in time!

Sally dashed around the final corner, and...she had got there in time! Her heart leapt. Her father was nowhere to be seen outside the Headmistress's study, and he certainly would have had to wait. She took a peek back down the corridor.

There he was! Sally's father - tall, greying, distinguished - was approaching rapidly. Sally ran to the Headmistress's study door, knocked twice, and pushed. She pushed again.

No! It was locked! Please, no!

Sally knocked again, harder this time.

The door opened, and Miss Grainger's head appeared.

"What is it, Sally?" the Headmistress asked.

"Please, miss, I have to see you."

"I have two girls with the at the moment, Sally. If you could wait, I'll be free soon."

Sally could hear her father's footsteps on the parquet floor!

"Please, miss, I have to see you right now!" Sally blurted, her eyes misting with tears.

"No, Sally," Miss Grainger insisted, "There's nothing so urgent it can't wait."

With that, the Headmistress closed her study door, with a final thud, and Sally heard the key turning in the lock.

At this, the accumulation of emotions that had been building up in Sally's head ever since Jodie McAllister's bottom blistering became simply too much, and the anger, the fear, the frustration - and also her own need for discipline - exploded. Sally's limbs felt so weak. She collapsed into a chair, holding her face in her hands, sobbing deep, wet sobs that caused tears to spill across her face and hands, dripping noisily onto the carpet. She felt a warmth and a dampness underneath her tunic skirt, and Sally - eighteen-year-old Head Girl of St. Catherine's - knew to her shame that she'd wet her knickers.

Through the confusion of her distress, Sally could see one thing clearly: she needed her Daddy. She needed the certainty and security of his unconditional love and his loving discipline. She longed to feel his strong arms around her. Just for a while, she needed to be Daddy's little girl, rather than Daddy's big Head Girl; to be protected, to be fathered; and if Daddy's little girl was naughty, to be spanked.

Sally caught a whiff of a familiar after-shave, and a large figure sat down gently beside her.

"What's up, angel?" asked a friendly, concerned voice. Sally felt a hand tousling her short boyish hair.

Still blinded by tears, Sally threw her arms around the man she knew to be her Daddy, surrendering herself to him, burying her face deep into his chest.

While muffled sounds of hairbrush spanking emerged from the Headmistress's study, Sally's father held her tightly, rocking her gently, like the small, frightened child she seemed to have become.

Gradually, Sally's tears subsided. Her father handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped her face and blew her nose.

"Does this have anything to do with the reason why you're not wearing your school tie?" Mr Heriot asked, a note of sternness creeping into his voice now that he knew his elder daughter was in control of herself.

Sally hung her head. "Yes, Dad."

"Look at me, please, young lady, when I'm talking to you," said Mr Heriot, sending Sally's stomach into cartwheels, and raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

With some effort, Sally looked her father in his grey-blue eyes; they seemed to pierce right through to her soul.

"Yes, Dad. I'm sorry."

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

There wasn't anything in the world that Sally wanted more. It would be such a relief to unburden herself of the plans and plots and machinations, to confess her guilt exactly where she believed it existed, to leave herself entirely in her father's hands. He would know what to do, and he would do it. If she deserved a scolding, she would be scolded; if she deserved a trip across his knee for a bare-bottom spanking, then her knickers would be lowered without a second thought, and her bare bottom would be spanked to just the right shade of red - no more and no less. It was so simple.

Feeling a great weight disappear, Sally told her father the whole story, from Jodie McAllister's arrival and over-zealous paddling, to Jodie's revenge at the knicker-inspection, and Sally's and Charlotte's plot to obtain a confession from the minx. She left nothing out, and winced at her father's clear anger at her descriptions of Jodie's restraint with hers and Abigail's school ties, and her own - albeit consensual - spanking of Charlotte.

By the time she'd finished the tale, Sally's head was clear, but there remained a knot of nervous tension in her stomach. She took a deep breath.

"Are you..." she stumbled, "are you going to give me a spanking?"

Her father paused for what seemed an awfully long time.

"Do you think I should?" he asked, plainly.

Sally looked at her feet. She needed her father's firm hand, but the idea made her sick with fear. "I don't know," she said.

"Let's be clear about this, Sally," her father said. "You're a very big girl now, and for an eighteen-year-old, a proper spanking has to be a serious affair - rather more than just a few token smacks over your skirt or underwear."

Sally nodded. "I know, Dad."

"So, if we agree that a spanking is the appropriate punishment, it will be severe, and on the bare, and there will be plenty of tears before it's over."

Sally's eyes began to mist over again. Couldn't she stop crying!

"Yes, Dad. I understand," she whispered.

"So, young lady. Do you think I should spank you?"

Sally thought about something her father had said; about them agreeing.

"What if I say no?" Sally asked, tentatively.

"Well," Mr Heriot considered, "I would certainly listen very carefully to anything you had to say. In the end, though, you're my daughter, and your discipline remains my responsibility. You know your mother and I are firm believers in the use of corporal punishment where it is merited, which is why we chose this school for you and Charlotte, and why we've always explained that while you were still at school, serious misbehaviour would result in a sound spanking."

"Yes, Dad."

"You also know," he continued, "that I'd know at once if you weren't telling me the truth."

Sally nodded. He would, too.

"I think," Sally began, "I think I do deserve a spanking." She looked up at her father. Their eyes met, locked together. "I think I need a spanking."

Mr Heriot could see that Sally had more to say, but that it was difficult for her.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"I knew almost as soon as I'd finished spanking Jodie that I'd really hurt her. Something about the colour of her bottom was just wrong. I went too far, because I took it upon myself to correct six years of bad parenting. That was presumptuous. I misused my privileges, and I ought to be spanked for that.

"I shouldn't have tied Jodie. I thought it was okay, because I was in a rage, and I wasn't thinking straight. I ought to be spanked for that.

"Getting Abigail into trouble was all my doing. She got slippered by the Headmistress, and I'm sure she'll get another walloping from her mother. I ought to be spanked for that also.

"Spanking Charlotte was unforgivable, even though it was her idea. I ought to be very soundly spanked for that."

There was silence for a few seconds, as Mr Heriot considered his daughter's confession. He was trying to deal with this very carefully, since spanking Sally for the very first time at eighteen years old was not something he was prepared to do lightly. Perhaps if she'd been spanked regularly throughout her childhood, he'd be less concerned. A proper punishment spanking - especially for an older girl - was charged with all sorts of emotional dangers and baggage, and he was going to make sure that there was agreement between them about the need for the spanking, and about its nature. He wasn't about to put their close relationship at risk.

"Do you think a spanking is the right punishment, though?" he asked.

"Yes," Sally replied, at once. She thought a little more. "I was shaking like a leaf yesterday when I knew I was going to be slippered, but once I'd seen the bruising on Jodie's bottom, I knew I deserved it. When the Headmistress put me over her knee, I was completely calm, because it was right. I deserved punishment, and I was going to get it."


"But she didn't punish me properly, because she didn't know about all things I needed punishment for. I needed to have my bottom smacked long and hard, until I cried, but it didn't happen. I still need it."

Mr Heriot was filled with pride. Even when Sally had misbehaved, she was so good. He took her hand.

"You know, Sally," he explained. "I sometimes think that the people who want to do away with corporal punishment forget just what a strong sense of justice - of right and wrong - children have. If a punishment is merited, they'll have no complaints, and if it's a quick trip across a parent's lap for a good spanking, so much the better, because it'll be over in a few minutes."

"It does scare me, though, Dad," Sally admitted. "I've been across Miss Grainger's lap, and she's spanked me with my knickers down. That felt pretty humiliating. I know it'll be worse from you."

Sally opened her father's large right palm. It felt warm and soft, and she found it difficult to imagine that same palm beating her bare buttocks.

"It will be humiliating, angel," said Mr Heriot, "but think what that means? To humiliate is just to make humble. We can all do with being made humble every so often."

"I suppose," Sally agreed.

"There's another way of thinking about it, though," Mr Heriot continued. "If I'm going to administer a hand-spanking, putting you over my knee is just the most comfortable position for both of us. If I'm going to judge the severity of the spanking correctly, I need to see what I'm doing. I can't do that unless I can see your bare bottom. Of course, a spanking on the bare bottom hurts more, but then a spanking is supposed to hurt."

Father and daughter smiled gently. Sally soon returned to deeper thoughts, though.

"There's something else I need to tell you," she said.

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"It's something that's been eating away at me, since Jodie told me about her father. She's turned out a really bad kid because her father never spanked her." Sally paused. "You've never spanked me either."

Mr Heriot sighed. He placed an arm around Sally, drawing her to his side.

"By the sounds of it, she's deserved lots of spankings," she said. "You never have."

"But how can I be sure that you really would have spanked me if I'd deserved it?" Sally asked.

"You have my word, Sal. If you need evidence, think about Charlotte. She deserves spankings, and she certainly gets them."

Sally knew this was true, but still it wasn't enough.

"Dad, I need you to spank me for all the bad things I did that you never found out about. I need to know that you really meant it. I'll be leaving school in a couple of months, and then it'll be too late."

"Don't you worry, angel," reassured Mr Heriot, kissing Sally's forehead. "You'll have proof that I really meant it - that I still do really mean it - this morning. I'm not going to let you down."

He squeezed her shoulders. "You really must tell your Headmistress everything you've told me."

"I know, Dad," Sally agreed. She knew such a confession would result in a sound bottom-smacking from Miss Grainger, but now that she'd started down the road to absolution, there was no turning back until she reached the end, no matter what chastisements lay in store.

Her father wandered over to the Headmistress's study door. Through the locked door, the slapping and squealing and sobbing of the climax to a long schoolgirl spanking could be heard. He winced.

"I sometimes think I should stuff a rolled-up newspaper down my pants when I'm about to see your Headmistress," he quipped.

"Wouldn't do much good," Sally observed. "She almost always spanks on the bare."

Mr Heriot grimaced in mock horror, and the two of them giggled.

They were silenced by the opening of the door. Miss Grainger, eyes sparkling, breathing heavy from exercising her right arm and holding big schoolgirls across her lap as they wriggled, saw the pair of them.

"If you could just wait a little longer," Miss Grainger said to Sally, "I'd like a quick word with your father first."

Mr Heriot held up a hand. "Um...If you don't mind, Miss Grainger," he said, "I think there's something very important my daughter would like to say to you first." He looked at Sally, who blushed nervously.

"Yes. Quite right," agreed the Headmistress. "Sally was here first." She sat down beside Sally. "What is it, Sally?"

Looking sheepishly between Miss Grainger and her father, and stumbling several times over the words - she was still in considerable awe of the Headmistress, and this was not alleviated by the fact that she was confessing to naughtinesses that merited formal over-the-knee discipline - Sally retold the events of the week. She was a little dumbfounded when Miss Grainger's reaction seemed a sort of relieved pleasure, her face lightening, mouth curling gently at the corners.

"I'm really sorry, miss, and I know I should be spanked severely," Sally said, in conclusion.

"Thank you very much for telling me all this, Sally," Miss Grainger said in all honesty, placing a hand on Sally's arm. "There's something I'd like to show you, if you'd just step into my study. You too, Mr Heriot."

Equally confused, Sally and her father were ushered into the study.

Sally, leading the way, gasped. In the centre of the study sat the Headmistress's high wooden spanking stool; on its seat lay Miss Grainger's favourite wooden hairbrush, still warm from application to rosy bottom-cheeks. This wasn't the cause of Sally's gasp, however. This was:

In opposite corners of the study, stood Jodie McAllister and Abigail Rice. Both had their kilts and shirt-tails tucked-up, and their school knickers at half-mast. Both bare bottoms were positively incandescent. Abigail stood meekly, sobbing quietly, with her hands firmly atop her head. Jodie, characteristically, was taking the opportunity of the Headmistress's absence to rub energetically at her scarlet posterior.

As she heard Sally enter, Jodie quickly moved her hands back up, but it was too late. Miss Grainger stormed past Sally and her father, grabbed Jodie by an ear, and marched her back towards the stool.

"What did I tell you about rubbing?" Miss Grainger scolded.

"I'm sorry! Please! I'm really sorry!"

The pleas were useless, of course. Miss Grainger soon lifted Jodie across her knee and began to administer full-strength palm-spanks to the girl's already-tender bottom. Jodie's legs kicked and scissored, her knickers stretching between her bare knees. She cried without restraint.

Sally and her father looked at each other with some discomfort; neither really believed this was something they ought to be witnessing.

Presently, Miss Grainger ended the spanking, though she continued to hold Jodie firmly in place across her lap, so that further bum-rubbing was impossible.

"The first thing to say," she said to Sally, "is that you may very well not have bruised Jodie quite as much as you imagined on Tuesday."

"Headmistress?" Jodie questioned.

"This naughty little girl came to me this morning wishing to confess to having stolen your uniform knickers yesterday. She said that she was sorry for having done it, but that she'd done it in retaliation for an extremely severe spanking you and Abigail had given her earlier in the week. She said she had the bruises still. However..." Miss Grainger reached over to her desk, and picked up a used tissue, "...when I inspected Jodie's bottom, what I discovered was that the bruises were the sort that can be wiped off with a little effort." She opened the tissue, to reveal a collection of green, blue and purple stains. "A rather cunning combination of cosmetics. I've never seen this trick before, myself, although I have heard of it being used by girls wishing to avoid further corporal punishment."

Sally's jaw dropped. She didn't know quite what to think. She was certainly deeply relieved that it seemed Jodie's bruises were at least partially fake. This was obviously Jodie's final attempt to exact revenge. But if she hadn't really bruised Jodie, what was Jodie's revenge for? Just for having been spanked? For having had her knickers taken down? Did that mean Sally's confession was unnecessary? Sally knew the answer to this one, without any doubt.

"Excuse me, Headmistress," Sally said. "If I didn't bruise Jodie when I spanked her, then I'm relieved, of course, but it doesn't change anything. I spanked Jodie in anger, and if I didn't bruise her it was just good fortune."

Mr Heriot and Miss Grainger exchanged a knowing glance. Sally had satisfied both of them with this reply.

"Jodie went on to describe how you and Abigail had tied her hands and feet before you spanked her. After questioning Abigail, I was extremely disappointed to find out that this accusation was true."

Sally looked across to Abigail. She didn't blame the girl for having confessed; in fact, she was thoroughly ashamed for having got Abigail spanked - and this time most severely - for the second time that week.

"I know we shouldn't have done it, Headmistress," Sally replied, "and we do deserve punishment, but Jodie was given every opportunity to accept her spanking properly, and I really don't think the restraint has harmed her in any way."

"Perhaps not, Sally," Miss Grainger reasoned, "but you must be aware of the potential repercussions if this sort of thing was the subject of a complaint from a parent."

Sally looked at her shoes. "Yes, Headmistress."

"Of course, I had to call Jodie's mother immediately, and this was not an easy call to make."

"No, Headmistress." Sally's heart sank. If she'd got the whole school into trouble, she'd simply never forgive herself.

"Fortunately, after telling her what Abigail told me about Jodie's behaviour during the punishment, and about Jodie's father, Mrs McAllister's anger was directed elsewhere. In fact, Mrs McAllister asked me to recommend a good hairbrush for spanking naughty teenage girls, and she'll be visiting the school next weekend to begin young Jodie's new regime of parental discipline."

Jodie, still draped bare-bottomed over-the-knee, sobbed pathetically. Her plan had backfired spectacularly. Sally watched her genuine tears with some compassion - perhaps Jodie was well on the way to becoming a good girl, now.

"However," the Headmistress continued, "Mrs McAllister did express her feeling that you and Abigail should be severely punished. I promised her that each of you would receive a formal, bare-bottomed spanking before the morning was over."

"Yes, Headmistress," Sally agreed quietly, a lump of emotion lodged in her throat.

Her father interrupted.

"Excuse me, Miss Grainger," he said, "Sally and I have discussed her behaviour at some length, and we've agreed that she deserves a sound spanking from me. I'm keen to administer this at once, as I won't be visiting again for another month. Couldn't Sally's spanking from me meet your promise to Jodie's mother?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Mr Heriot," the Headmistress regretted. "This is a school matter."

Sally's father accepted this. Sally couldn't be expected to take two sound bottom-smackings in one morning, however, even if she did deserve them both.

Miss Grainger considered the problem.

"Sally," she said, "would you mind waiting outside for a moment while your father and I discuss how to proceed."

"Yes, miss."

Sally left the study, and was quickly followed by Jodie and Abigail, their uniforms now back in place. Jodie, still weeping from the throbbing in her backside, dashed off to somewhere private where she could feel genuinely sorry for herself. Abigail made to sit down beside Sally, then thought better of it. She slipped her hands underneath her kilt, and gently eased her uniform knickers down, cupping her extremely sore buttocks with cool palms.

"Christ!" she exclaimed. "She really meant it this time."

"I'm so sorry, Abbie," Sally apologised. "It's all my fault."

"Oh, don't be daft," Abigail said. "The little brat had it coming. You didn't force me to do anything. I'd do it again. Besides, it looks like you're going to get it hardest of all."

Sally nodded. Abigail pulled her knickers up again, and took a handkerchief out of her blazer pocket to wipe her tear-stained face.

Abigail hugged Sally. "Good luck, Sal," she said. "I hope your father doesn't spank you too hard."

"I hope he spanks me very hard indeed," Sally replied, and Abigail left, in search of a soothing, cold flannel.

Presently, Sally was called back into the Headmistress's study, and all was revealed.

"Sally," began the Headmistress. "Since your father is here for today only, your trip across his knee must take priority. He assures me that your spanking will be severe, and on your bare bottom, so it would seem to satisfy Mrs McAllister's request."

"Yes, Headmistress," Sally agreed, making eye-contact with her father.

"There is still the matter of a formal, school spanking, however. To allow sufficient time for your bottom to recover, this will be administered next Friday, when you come to collect your school tie before assembly. You will be allowed to collect your tie then, as if the spanking had been administered yesterday - as perhaps it should have been."

"Yes, Headmistress. Thank you, Headmistress."

"Be sure, Sally," Miss Grainger chided. "I am very disappointed with your conduct, and I might very well have taken away your Head Girl's badge if you hadn't shown such remorse, and acceptance of your punishment. As it is, you should count yourself lucky that a well-smacked bottom is the worst you can expect."

Sally hung her head. "Yes, Headmistress."

The Headmistress looked at Mr Heriot. She nodded.

"Come on, young lady," said Sally's father. "Let's go for a walk."

Sally excused herself, and dashed up to her room, on the way to collecting Charlotte. She took off her damp knickers, washed herself at the small hand-basin, then pulled a clean pair of maroon pants over her clean, soft bottom; after the cold dampness, they felt as comfortably snug as ever. She made sure that her grey knee-socks were pulled right up, and that her shirt-collar was tidy. Then she washed her hands and face, her cheeks blushing pink with healthy youth. Finally, she brushed her short blonde hair, allowing the fringe to fall over her bright blue eyes.

Sally looked deep into her own eyes in the mirror above the basin. She could feel every strong beat of her heart; her skin tingled. She was very, very nervous. Not afraid - not any more. But she was nervous as hell. This was a day she would remember for the rest of her life: the first (and, she was somehow sure, the last) time she received an old-fashioned over-the-knee bare-bottom spanking from her father. It was an important event, and it had to be right, so that the memories she kept were the right memories. But what if she pleaded for mercy? What if she struggled as her father took down her knickers? She couldn't bear these thoughts, and she shivered. She would be brave. She would accept the punishment she deserved.

After Charlotte Heriot's leading role in obtaining Jodie McAllister's taped confession, Sally's sister was naturally impatient for news of Sally's meeting with the Headmistress, and rose to greet her when she arrived in Charlotte's dormitory. Sally merely shook her head resignedly, but this was enough for Charlotte to know that they were both heading for lapland. Charlotte was oddly pleased that the sisters would be sharing this experience for the first time.

They headed back downstairs.

It was a lovely late spring day: they sky was a cloudless blue; hazy sunshine warmed the lush fields around the school; a lazy breeze caressed the leafy trees, which whispered soothingly. It was the sort of day when it's quite impossible to imagine it'll ever be cold again.

Mr Heriot, accompanied by his two smartly-uniformed daughters - prim and proper in their buttoned-up white shirts - headed away from the school buildings, along the circular path which traced the perimeter of the school grounds, at a gentle stroll. There was no hurry; they would arrive at their destination quite soon enough.

They walked in silence, as the high-pitched squealing from a first-formers' hockey match and the drone of a distant lawn-mower buzzed away in the background. There didn't seem to be anything to say; not until the schoolgirls had suitably warmed bottoms, and they were forgiven.

Away over the fields, Sally saw the looming presence of the William Norton Boys' School - totally and utterly out of bounds to the St. Catherine's girls, as was their own school to the boys, on pain of a trousers-down caning from the Headmaster. In the bright sunlight, she caught flashes of the boys' purple and green striped blazers and ties, and whiter-than-white shirts.

Ahead of them lay the seclusion of Kate's Wood - after the school in whose grounds it lay. The wood was quite out of bounds to the girls, however, unless accompanied by a parent or teacher. Sally had spanked three second-formers with their pyjamas down, and sent them to bed, for straying into the wood with some illicit purpose - doubtless just idle curiosity - she had never obtained from the walloped girls.

Underneath the canopy of trees, all sound was amplified. Sally's breathing was short and urgent. She hadn't been where they were going before, but she knew it wasn't far. Charlotte knew the route like the back of her hand. Sally's mouth felt dry, and her legs were shakier with every step. She couldn't help feeling the thick material of her gymslip skirt as it brushed against her bottom. She was going to be sore for quite some time.

Mr Heriot took a turn away from the main path, and the girls followed as the trail wound through denser woodland.

Before they knew it, they emerged into a small, semi-circular clearing right at the edge of the wood. The ground fell away sharply ahead of them, affording the clearing a splendid view of the patchwork of surrounding countryside.

In the centre of the clearing sat an enormous tree-stump, out of which had been carved a wide, high seat. The stump was smooth and shiny from the accumulated wear of countless bottoms, their owners having stopped for a moment to admire the panorama.

They had arrived.

Sally tried to breathe more deeply, to calm herself down and stop herself trembling.

"Sit down, girls," Mr Heriot instructed. Sally and Charlotte lifted themselves onto the stump, which was wide enough to accommodate them both. Their legs dangled above the ground, but the foot of the stump was wide and knobbly, and both girls found comfortable footholds.

Their father stood before them sternly.

"Sally, Charlotte," he scolded, "I am extremely cross with the pair of you. I ought to look forward to coming to see you at school, but it isn't easy when I find you've behaved so badly, and the first thing I have to do is put you over my knee for a spanking. But rest assured: while you're still in school uniform, you will be spanked if I think that's what you deserve. Are you listening?"

The girls nodded.

"Yes, Daddy," said Charlotte.

"Yes, Dad," said Sally.

Mr Heriot's face softened. He looked at each of his daughters.

"I am very angry with you now, but once your spanking is over, and your knickers are pulled back up, everything will be forgiven, and we'll be best friends again. Okay?"

"Yes, Daddy," Charlotte agreed.

"Yes, Dad," Sally agreed.

"Charlotte first, then, I think," Mr Heriot said. The girls moved away from the stump and their father took his seat, like a kindly but stern king on a high throne. He rested his feet on the foot of the stump, so that his lap was horizontal.

Charlotte took off her school blazer, watching with obvious trepidation as her father carefully rolled up the right sleeve of his grey jumper. As Charlotte approached the stump, Sally suddenly realised that she'd never actually seen her father administer a spanking; she'd heard Charlotte getting her bottom smacked often enough, but this was always in the privacy of Charlotte's bedroom.

Charlotte and her father had danced this particular tango many times. She moved to his right-hand-side, leaning as far as she could over his lap. Mr Heriot lifted his younger daughter with strong but gentle arms, and placed her squarely over his knees. Sally could see how comfortably Charlotte fit over her Daddy's lap. She was a long way over, so that her head and shoulders were low down, and her bottom was uppermost. Charlotte's unconstrained, full breasts pushed against the buttons of her shirt, and her stiff collar rode up against the underside of her jaw.

Mr Heriot took hold of the hem of Charlotte's kilt and folded the pleated skirt up, gathering the material tidily at Charlotte's waist. He turned up Charlotte's long shirt-tails, before attending to the lowering of her knickers. Charlotte lifted her hips a little to allow her uniform knickers to be slipped over her rounded buttocks and down to just above her knees.

Mr Heriot wasted no time. He wrapped his left arm around Charlotte's waist, securing her very tightly, and began to spank. At first the spanks were really no more than firm pats on Charlotte's bottom-cheeks, but the crisp sound of palm on flesh resounded noisily in the clearing. Sally was transfixed, imagining herself in the same humiliating, bare-bottomed nursery position. Her father allowed his wrist and elbow to remain loose. In this way, his slightly-cupped palm whipped onto Charlotte's bottom like a strap. Sally watched as Charlotte's buttocks were covered by slow, mild hand-spanks, their surface blushing. Gradually, the tempo increased, and her father drew his hand back further, spanking Charlotte more forcefully. Sally's sister remained still, although Sally could see her face distort with the smarting sting of each smack, and Charlotte's legs bent at the knee into a 'v' shape.

The whole of Charlotte's bottom was now rosy, from her waist to the tops of her legs. Their father distributed the spanks evenly. By now, they were becoming hard. Charlotte gasped as the accumulation of bottom-smacks began to burn - her buttocks bounced like partially- filled balloons as the palm applied itself with no mercy. The rhythmic slapping was relentless. Charlotte wriggled with discomfort, her bottom reddening rapidly, but she kept her arms in front of her - even in humiliating pain, she knew better than to try to rub or resist.

Mr Heriot was now spanking with formidable force, his arm swinging up and down, his right palm tracing a wide circle as it delivered mighty wallops to Charlotte's bottom. Charlotte's legs kicked with each fresh smack, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Tears were not so far away.

There were now two spanks per second - one for each cherry-red buttock - and they produced satisfyingly deep slapping sounds, along with Charlotte's counterpoint gasping.

Finally, the speed and ferocity of the spanking meant Charlotte was unable to catch her breath between smacks, and her humiliation and discomfort overflowed into tears, which ran unimpeded down her face. She sobbed in a curious mixture of pain and relief.

Mr Heriot noted his daughter's crying, and slowed right down again. He administered a dozen extremely hard spanks right in the centre of each buttock - each of which brought redoubled sobbing from Charlotte - and then stopped.

Sally found herself gasping for breath in empathy with her sister.

Mr Heriot pulled up Charlotte's knickers - he had to lift her hips himself, since the girl lay limply, heavily over his lap - and eased them back over her soundly-smacked bottom. Charlotte was lifted to her feet, dishevelled, humiliated, soundly punished. Mr Heriot drew her to him. He placed his arms around her and gave her a big hug, then kissed her on the forehead.

"It's over now, Charlie," he said, in a kindly tone. "Friends now?"

Charlotte rubbed her bottom ruefully through her kilt, her face a mess of hair and tears. Between sobs, she said: "Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry you had to spank me."

"That's a good girl."

Charlotte turned to look at Sally. Sally's mouth felt dry, and her knees as if they were about to collapse. It was her turn.

"Sally Heriot, come here please!" her father commanded, and Sally went to him in a dazed state.

"Take off your blazer, Sally," Mr Heriot chided.

Sally stepped to one side and took off her maroon and grey blazer. As she laid it on the floor, something hard and heavy bumped against her leg. She wondered what it was, and reached inside the blazer pocket.

The tape!

It was the tape recorder! She'd forgotten all about that!

Sally's mind raced. She had a quite extraordinary idea. She carefully pulled the tape recorder to the pocket opening, so that it would manage to pick up ambient sounds. She felt for the right button.

She pressed RECORD.

The tape began to turn.

Sally returned to her father's side. Finally, after eighteen years, she was going over his lap for a bare-bottomed spanking.

She wanted to be certain of one thing, though.

"You must make me cry," she said to her father.

He reached out and brushed back her blonde fringe with his right hand, still scaldingly hot from warming Charlotte's bottom.

"Angel," he said, "you're already crying."

Sally realised that she was, and this produced an outpouring of emotion that was part giggle, part desperate sob.

"Come on, sweetheart," her father said. "It's got to be done. Let's get it over with."

Sally shuffled forward uncertainly, and released herself with profound relief into her father's strong arms. He lifted her across his knee like a little girl. His lap felt just so comfortable and soft. Sally lay quietly, submitting completely to her father's discipline. She was pushed further over, so that her head seemed way below her hips, and her bottom seemed miles away, somewhere behind and above. She was perfectly balanced, though.

Sally felt the box-pleated skirt of her gymslip being raised, and the cool breeze brushed across her bare thighs. The material ruffled as it was gathered at her waist, and her white shirt-tails were turned up out of the way.

Then Sally felt fingers inside the strong elastic of the waist- band of her knickers. The elastic stretched as it was manoeuvred over her chubby bottom - it seemed to take forever to reach the tops of her legs, but soon it was free, and the knickers were stationed at mid-thigh.

Sally had never, never felt so exposed. She knew her bottom was bare, and about to be soundly spanked. To have her upper-body so demurely attired in crisp white school shirt and traditional gym-tunic, and her lower-body so denuded, just seemed entirely wrong. Her father's arm encircled her waist, and this division was reinforced: to one side of his arm, Sally was a buttoned-up, formally-uniformed schoolgirl; to the other side she was just a naughty little girl about to have her bare seat paddled.

Sally felt the first of the firm pats on her bare bottom, and it seemed as if her bottom was the only part of her body which really existed - the rest of her was temporarily just an appendage to her fat backside.

The smacks weren't yet painful, but Sally knew they soon would be. She settled in for a long spanking.

Sally's bottom quickly warmed up under the increasingly-rapid and punishing palm-spanks. It began to feel hot and sore all across its surface. Her tight shirt-collar began to be uncomfortably constricting as she fought for shallow breaths.

Her father's palm continued paddling, moving quickly between the buttocks, but allowing full-value from each spank. Each blow left a distinct palm-print on Sally's behind, but they came so quickly that they began to blur together into a single burning sensation.

Sally panted, eyes closed against the tears she knew were inevitable - the tears she wanted, as proof that she'd been properly punished.

She rocked backwards and forwards as the spanks became unquestionably hard, her legs bending up and down, ankles kept together. They were coming so fast now that she could scarcely keep up; any hope of counting was lost; any chance of seeing the end of it useless.

Still the spanks rained down on her sore cheeks, by now cherry-red and seemingly swollen massively.

Sally released all resistance, and allowed herself to be submerged in the pain of her bottom and the humiliation of her position. Becoming a little girl once more, entirely in her father's charge, Sally responded in the only way possible. She wept.

Sally cried freely, thinking nothing for dignity, maturity. She was a little girl, she was bare-bottomed over her father's knee, and it hurt! She wanted it to stop, but the spanks just kept coming.

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" Sally cried.

"I know, angel," he replied, "but we're not quite there yet."

Sally's tears turned into sobs which wracked her whole body, jolting with every heavy wallop. She seemed suddenly to forget where she was and what was happening to her. All that she knew was pain and humiliation.

And then it stopped.

In the brief hiatus before the final blistering dozen, Sally looked up, her eyes full of tears, her collar-tips pointing outwards from her shirt-front as her neck craned back.

There! There was something there, in the trees!

Sally wiped her eyes. She saw movement, and there were purple and green stripes, with flashes of brilliant white. It hit her like a hammer-blow.

A schoolboy! There was a boy from the boys' school in the trees, watching!

Her father's hand smacked powerfully on her bottom, and Sally's eyes closed involuntarily, as she sobbed without control. Slowly, with careful aim, Sally's father administered the last few spanks.

What followed seemed to Sally like silence, but she knew it was filled with her sobbing and gasping breaths. Before she'd realised it, her knickers were back over her bottom, the thick material stinging furiously against her tender skin.

Sally was lifted to her feet. Her father stood, and enclosed her tightly in his arms. She buried her face in his warm chest and sobbed her little heart out.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said. "I'm sorry you had to spank me."

"I'm sorry, too, sweetheart," he replied, and a catch in his voice caused Sally to look up. A single line of tears was running from each of her father's eyes. "You won't make me have to do that again, will you?" he asked Sally.

"No, Dad," Sally answered, plainly, her father's distress causing her to cry all the harder.

"Shhh, shhh," Mr Heriot consoled. "It's all over now." He kissed Sally's forehead, and wiped away her tears. "Best friends?"

"Best friends," Sally agreed. She glanced over into the wood, but the boy was gone.

What remains is just epilogue.

After the girls had cleaned themselves up, and soothed their throbbing bottoms a little, their father took them out to lunch, at a small tea-room in the village, and they ate heartily. There was much relaxed laughter. If Sally noticed envious glances from the sweet, polite, sixteen-year-old daughter of the proprietress, who served them most capably, she was very perceptive. The girl was used to seeing St. Catherine's girls, and she dearly wished she could be one of them. All those schoolgirl stories she'd read as a child left her with the unshakable belief that theirs was a wonderful life. She loved their bright, formal uniforms: so smart; so grown-up. She knew that they got spanked - and she wasn't slow to notice that these two girls were without their school ties, nor their shy smiles when their father asked if they might each have a soft cushion to sit on - but this was all part of being a schoolgirl, wasn't it? Besides, she was quite used to the feel of her mother's wooden spoon across her bare bum, as she lay across a mound of pillows on her bed.

When it was time for her father to leave, he kissed and hugged Sally and Charlotte fondly.

"Good luck next week," he said to Sally, and she scowled.

That evening, Sally was awfully keen to get to bed. She locked her door, changed into a soft, clean pair of pyjamas, and crept under the bedclothes, taking with her the tape recorder and a pair of earphones. She lay on her side, and as she listened hypnotically to the sound of her own spanking, she slipped a hand inside her pyjama trousers and gently caressed her red, sore, throbbing buttocks. They were generating a deep, penetrating warmth, now, that Sally was almost sorry would have to disappear.

She wondered who the boy was. She was sure she had seen a boy in the trees. Who was he? How much had he seen of her spanking?

When it was time for her to go to sleep, Sally locked the tape away very safely.

What Sally found most difficult for the rest of the week wasn't the approach of her spanking from the Headmistress; it was the fact that, every morning, as she put on her school uniform, she was unable to perform the ritual of tying her tie: looping the striped school tie around her collar, forming a neat knot, and pushing the knot up to her throat. Without her tie, her chin felt nothing but a hole underneath her buttoned shirt-collar.

She was almost pleased when Friday arrived, and she found herself knocking on the door of the Headmistress's study.

When Miss Grainger announced that Sally would be receiving the same punishment that Sally had given Jodie, Sally shivered: this would be a sound spanking indeed. She had no fears, though, and she allowed herself to be placed across the Headmistress's lap with a clear head.

Sally's skirt was lifted, and she took 50 mild smacks on the seat of her knickers. These generated some warmth, but little genuine discomfort. Sally's uniform knickers were then taken down to her knees, and Miss Grainger administered 60 hard hand-smacks on Sally's bare bottom. Sally was breathing heavily after this: her bottom was heating up considerably. Finally, Miss Grainger reached for her hairbrush, and paddled Sally's bottom bright-red. By the sixtieth hairbrush-spank, Sally was squirming energetically on the Headmistress's lap, and crying openly.

Miss Grainger sent Sally into the corner, knickers still around her knees, for ten minutes, then allowed Sally to adjust her uniform and dry her tears. She reached into a desk drawer, and recovered Sally's school tie.

"All of this might have been avoided if you'd come straight to me with Jodie's behaviour," the Headmistress told Sally.

Sally nodded.

"I know, Headmistress. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Sally practically ran back up to her room, she was so keen to make her school uniform complete once more. She spent a few minutes alleviating the sting in her bottom with a cold flannel, then attended to her uniform. That morning, she'd put on knickers, socks and shirt from the previous day, because she wanted to dress completely afresh once her tie was back in her possession.

Sally stripped naked, scrubbed her face thoroughly, then began to dress. She took clean knickers and socks from her wardrobe, and pulled these on. Then she took a freshly-ironed white shirt, slipped her arms into the light sleeves, and buttoned the starchy cuffs. She fastened the button immediately below the collar, and worked her way down. Her breasts were not large, though the shirt bulged attractively. Lastly, she lifted her chin and buttoned the shirt- collar snugly around her neck.

Sally lifted her maroon tunic over her head, and allowed it to fall down to her shoulders, the skirt-hem settling about her knees. She belted the tunic with her grey sash, and the curve of her breasts and hips was revealed.

She sat on the bed, polished her sensible brown Oxfords with a cloth, and slipped these over her feet, lacing them up carefully.

Finally, and with a thumping heart, Sally moved to the mirror above her wash-basin, taking her school tie. She turned up her shirt-collar, beginning with the collar-tips and moving around to the back. The collar lay coolly against her jaw. This done, she looped the tie around her collar, adjusting the length of both ends so that, when knotted, the tie would be smart. With a careful but practiced ease, Sally formed a tie-knot, making sure not to twist the tie, and pushed the knot to her throat. She turned down the collar, and ran her finger in the tight space between it and her neck, making sure it was tidy. She pulled the front of her tunic forward, and slipped the tie between and over her breasts, where it lay happily. Letting the tunic fall back, Sally could see that everything was as it should be. She smiled, allowing her chin to fall so that she could feel the solid lump of the tie-knot.

Sally reached for her blazer, and put this on over her tunic.

Her uniform was complete. The soreness in her bottom would stop her sitting comfortably for a day or two, but Sally really couldn't care less.

Sally sighed deeply. It was over.