LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Assembly Caning
Every school-day at Langtree Hill School began with an assembly in the hall. Today was no different. The schoolgirls filed in, class by class, the more senior girls sitting on the long wooden benches that ran across the back of the hall and the younger girls on the benches at the front, nearest the stage.

The teachers, too, had their assigned places; most sat on chairs on the stage arranged around the large desk, behind which the headmistress sat. Normally, apart from a few books and papers with the headmistress's notes, there was nothing on the desk. Today, however, a straight length of kooboo rattan, thirty four inches long - the senior school cane - was lying there.

None of the schoolgirls, apart perhaps from one fifth form girl, noticed it there against the shiny brown surface of the desk top. In addition to the teachers on stage, two teachers each day, chosen by rota, stood in the aisles on either side of the hall, assisting in keeping order.

Assembly and morning prayers were treated seriously at Langtree Hill, and girls who were caught talking or even whispering in assembly were more often than not sent out of the hall immediately to stand in the vestibule, below the school clock. There, after an unpleasant wait of several minutes until all the other girls were back in their classrooms, they would find themselves having to lean forwards, their blue school skirts tautening across their rears, to receive one or two smart slaps from a plimsoll, delivered by a senior teacher or by Mrs Cornwall, the headmistress, herself.

Today, as the girls of 5A took their places, Maria Hunt seemed reluctant to sit down. She hovered in the aisle as the others sat down and then signed to Emma Richardson to budge up along the bench a bit, so she could sit at the end. Emma thought it odd, but quickly obliged. Maria had looked rather agitated throughout registration, she remembered, and hadn't said a word to anyone.

Now that all the girls were sitting down, the headmistress made her entrance. The girls, and all of the teachers, stood up once again as she made her way behind the large desk and sat down. Everyone, except the two teachers in the aisles, now sat down again, and the assembly commenced as always with Miss Bowler playing the piano and the singing of hymns.

Nothing unusual or out of the way took place until Mrs Cornwall rose to make the announcements. These were normally rather tedious and most of the listening girls were preparing to be bored. Some of the more perceptive, though, had spotted odd expressions on some of the members of staff on the stage and wondered if something was up. Maria Hunt, unfortunately for her, had all too good an idea of what was to come.

"I am sorry to have to tell you, girls," the headmistress began, "that one of you has let herself and all of you down.

1. How it Began
"Hey Hon," I called from the kitchen table where I was reading the morning paper as I finished my breakfast, "look who's just been named 'Teacher of the Year'."

My wife paused a moment from packing our son's lunch to peer over my shoulder at the paper. Spotting the story, she quickly zeroed in on the name.

"Casey Corrigan!"

"My high school tutor," I added.

"And big time school boy crush!" she teased.

"True," I admitted, "but that was before I met you, my love."

Together, we read the glowing description of the many accomplishments that had garnered Casey the award. It had been years since either one of us had seen her, but it seemed that Casey had made quite a career for herself as an educator. No surprise there, I thought to myself. She already had all the makings when she first tutored me fifteen years ago.

As my wife hustled our son out to the car to drop him off at his school on her way to her own job as a high school teacher, I poured another cup of coffee and sat down to reread the article. As I did so, my mind wandered back over the years...

---oOo---
I grew up in a college town, the second child of parents who were psychologists and tenured professors at the university. Not only were Mom and Dad senior professors, they were also published authors (multiple times); they were involved in numerous research projects, and very busy on the guest lecturer circuit. All of these activities really kept them on the go, often for weeks at a time. Consequently, I spent much of my pre-school years in the university day care program and my early grade school years in the after-school program.

Honesty compels me to admit that I was an indifferent student throughout grade school. By the time I entered my freshman year in high school, I had been officially labeled as an 'underachiever' which must have been a real disappointment to my brilliant parents.

My sister Mary Ann, four years older than me and a senior, was just the opposite. She excelled at everything all through school. When I was in eighth grade, my parents got the idea that they would pay Mary Ann to be my tutor. That was a total bust! The dynamic was all wrong. I just couldn't stand the idea of being subjected to my bossy sister's authority and, as often happens with people who learn things easily themselves, she had very little patience when I couldn't or wouldn't understand what she was trying to teach me. We gave the whole thing up after a couple of frustrating months.

Very early in my freshman year, my parents were talking about me with one of the Deans at a faculty affair. The Dean mentioned that he and his wife had employed a tutor to help prepare their own son for the rigorous entrance exam required for admission to the University Prep School.

Thin Pyjamas featuring Miss Keller
"I have received a very serious complaint about your behaviour from matron, Catesby," remarked Miss Keller. She was standing at the foot of the new boy's bed with an expression of mild amusement on her pale attractive face. There was complete and utter silence in the dormitory. All the boys knew Miss Keller and were therefore most careful to allow no hint of amusement to show in their own youthful faces.

Catesby had been caught red-handed by matron engaged in an energetic pillow fight on the staircase with three girls whose dormitory was directly above the boys' dormitory. A group of twelve-year-old girls from a boarding school in Surrey were on a short hockey tour and were staying at St Meredith's for a week. This was not the first case of youthful high spirits that had occurred since the girls had arrived. Miss Keller was of the opinion that the girls concerned needed a firm hand preferably applied with some force across their bottoms. However, the visiting hockey team were not really her responsibility although she would speak to the young schoolmistress who was meant to be in charge.

Catesby was looking at her with an expression reminiscent of an angel who had just finished saying his prayers. The child was not so much handsome as pretty she thought, indeed if he had grown his hair a little longer he could all too easily have been mistaken for a girl himself.

"Have you anything at all to say in your own defence, Catesby?" enquired Miss Keller. She sat on the very end of the boy's bed and the boy's expression tickled her sense of humour. Her bright blue eyes twinkled frostily, a smile quivered momentarily on her lips.

"It wasn't his fault, Miss Keller! It was a dormitory raid. Catesby wasn't to blame. It was really the girls that started it!" said Bennett-Brown.

"Bennett-Brown, you will remain silent or suffer the consequences. Catesby can speak for himself. Now did those girls attack you or were you attacking them?"

She had no doubt they were all equally responsible. Doubtless most of the other boys were involved as well but they had almost certainly scampered back to the dormitory by the time matron made her unwelcome appearance.

"It was my fault entirely, Miss Keller. The girls weren't in the least bit to blame," he said; his face looked rather pale as he spoke. In all likelihood the other boys had told him what to expect if he ended up on the wrong side of Miss Keller. The young schoolmistress was strangely touched by the boy's quixotic attempt to shoulder the entire blame. Trust matron to poke her sharp little nose into the affair. Usually, she would have been happily engaged in watching her favourite soap opera on a Monday evening. As she stood up, the mattress springs creaked.

An English Girl at a Texas High School
Joanne Brett and her family moved to the state of Texas two years ago. Her father had been offered a lucrative long term contract with an oil company, and the Brett's had since settled into an expansive, beautiful new home in Fort Worth. Joanne, an affable, vivacious, yet quaintly English teenager, had adapted well to life in Texas, and had successfully settled into high school, both academically and socially. Her imperturbable charm and fizzy personality that blended well with her Englishness ensured that she made lots of friends, with many students doing their best to befriend the sixteen-year-old English girl. If there was a beach party, student dance, or a drive out, you could bet Joanne would be invited along.

Joanne couldn't get enough of Texas culture and its rich history. In Fort Worth she often spent her time visiting the array of museums, especially the wonderful modern art museum. By contrast, she adored the yearly World Rodeo Finals and spending great times with her high school friends at Sundance Square and its pulsating plaza.

School life was very different from that of her English comprehensive school in Surrey. Firstly, there was no compulsory school uniform, which she felt gave her more freedom, allowed her to express herself, and made her feel like an adult. There was dress code, but in the main, students wore what they liked. Although intrinsically modest, Joanne was well aware of her attractiveness.

The pleated skirts, blazers and ties from her English school did nothing for her superb figure and physical charms, whereas tight pants, short skirts and skimpy tops did much to show off her teenage appeal. And there was little doubting that designer clothing and casual wear helped to enhance her desirability with the guys on campus, who found her angelic, clear features and mounds of thick chestnut hair, irresistible.

Academically, the American high school stretched her more and had a wider curriculum base, and the extra-curricular activities were varied and exciting. But of equal importance, although there were school rules, there was a feeling of freedom and camaraderie not experienced at her comprehensive in England.

So the two years she had so far spent at Dean Valley High, which would soon see her turn eighteen, had been the happiest of her school life. However, there was one issue that both she and her parents had questioned, that was vaguely mentioned in the student handbook. It was the issue of discipline. It briefly mentioned that a student could make a choice between suspension and something called 'swats.' The handbook did not explain this further and nothing referring to 'swats' was discussed when her parents were interviewed for Joanne's prospective enrolment.

Joanne was not exactly sure what 'swats' meant, until on her acceptance, she and her parents were asked to sign a consent form. Of course Joanne was horrified to learn that 'swats' meant reporting to an Assistant Principal (AP), or indeed the Principal, to be spanked with a wooden paddle.

Kate's Detention
Kate Russell rarely wore trousers or jeans. Despite the fact that Andy, her boyfriend, was always telling her what a lovely bottom she had, she could never believe it. She thought her bottom was too big and that this was revealed when she wore trousers. Nevertheless, as she dressed for school that Monday morning, Kate decided she would wear trousers for school.

That afternoon she'd had to stay in after school for the first of the seven detentions she had earned as part of her punishment for stealing books from the school library, and then abusing her position as a school prefect by trying to get her younger sister, Debbie, blamed for it. As well as the detentions, Kate had lost her position as a prefect, and her curvy bottom, badly bruised and covered in fading weals, still bore evidence of the caning she had suffered five days ago.

Kate was not looking forward to her detentions. As a prefect she had frequently made use of her authority to punish naughty junior schoolgirls with lines or detentions and had even reported girls - most recently her sister and Susan Allen - for the cane. She knew that the girls she had punished were very happy in her downfall, and delighted to tease and make trouble for her. Normally, she did her best to keep well out of their way, but she expected to meet a few of her former victims at the detention classes, and did not expect the reunion to be a pleasant one.

Although Kate had been a prefect and had not been in any trouble at school for a long time prior to the recent incident, she had not been quite so well-behaved when she'd been in the junior years. This would by no means be Kate's first detention. In fact her caning the Wednesday before had been the third time she had suffered such a punishment.

The first time had been when her twelve year old bottom had received three stinging strokes after she'd been caught mucking about on the gym apparatus in her second year. That caning had brought with it, as nearly all canings at Bishop Hardinge's school did, a detention, and apart from that occasion, Kate had been sent to the detention class at least a half dozen other times, although the most recent had been three years ago when she'd been in the fourth year.

So Kate knew well enough what to expect during a detention and the reason she had decided to wear trousers rather than her usual skirts were the 'detention punishments'. At Bishop Hardinge's, only the headmistress and her deputy were normally allowed to use the cane, and canings were almost always administered by Mr Fowler, the deputy headmaster. In lessons, teachers could give lines or detentions, set punishment tasks or send a particularly naughty girl to Mrs Woodman, the headmistress, who might well then refer the culprit to Mr Fowler for the cane, but could not use corporal punishment themselves.

1. How Molly Played a Part
Established in 1888 to educate the daughters of the upper and mercantile classes in the North of England, Cropton Hall Girls Boarding School was, in the early 1950's, suffering a reputation for poor academic standards. It had become increasingly dependent for its financial survival on enrolling girls of a troublesome disposition, including even some expelled from other schools.

The building itself had been purpose-built, a neo-gothic Victorian mansion on three floors, laid out in three wings. The extensive grounds provided ample playing fields and space for rambling nature walks in the surrounding woods. It had been these fine facilities, along with the no-nonsense Presbyterian values of its founders, that had seen the school flourish through the earlier decades of the twentieth century.

Catering for the 14 - 18 age-group, Cropton Hall had capacity for 180 girls, with three class groups in forms four and five as well as in the lower and upper Sixth. By the summer of 1953, however, the roll had fallen to just 95 girls and the governors were discussing, with great concern, the depleted finances and even the possibility of closure.

The Headmistress, a Mrs Weekes, had recently resigned at short notice, citing the impossibility of raising standards among what she described in her letter of resignation as "such poorly raised, poorly behaved girls". No doubt she had in mind the three recent incidents in the nearby village that had brought opprobrium on the school and led to two expulsions that could not in truth be afforded. That she herself had been perceived by many of the longer-established teaching staff as ineffectual and unable to impose an adequate disciplinary ethos led the Chair of Governors to summon the Deputy Head, Miss Edith Bainbridge, a buxom lady approaching 60, to an extraordinary meeting of the governing body on August 2nd.

"Edith, thank you so much for coming in during your holiday," began Sir Wilfred Althorp. He had been Chair for some years and, though quite elderly now, was well-liked and trusted by everyone associated with the school. His wife, Lady Althorp, an alumna of the school and fellow governor, sat to his left. "As you know," he continued, "Mrs Weekes resigned a week after the end of term leaving us in something of a pickle."

"Indeed, Sir Wilfred."

"We urgently need to appoint a new Headmistress and we felt that the right course of action would be to start by asking if you yourself would be willing to step into the breach, as it were. We are well aware..." He included with a gesture the other five governors round the oak table "...that matters have become dire within the school. I was so personally... deeply... embarrassed by the appalling behaviour in the village that I felt obliged to apologise to the Postmistress myself. It is paramount that we put a stop to this kind of thing, and that we rescue the reputation of Cropton Hall as a matter of urgency. Otherwise..." He shrugged.

The Tyrant of the Classroom featuring Miss Docherty
The bell for the beginning of the first class of the morning had just moments before rung. The children all stood up as Miss Docherty walked into the classroom. Chairs scraped against the floor, desk lids squeaked as they were hurriedly shut. It was the last day of the summer term, but the children knew the rules would not be relaxed. It would just be like any other day.

"Good morning, Miss Docherty," they chorused.

"Good morning, children," she replied. "You may sit down."

It was like this every morning. Her eyes travelled along the rows of children, looking for absentees or those improperly dressed. She was a stickler for punctuality and correct school uniform. If there was one thing she couldn't abide it was untidiness. Like most young teachers it amused her to be stern. When called upon she could very stern indeed. She called out the register, the girls she called by their first names, the boys by their surnames. "Adsum," each child replied, some in a confident manner, some so quietly she had to strain her ears to hear. Once she had finished filling the register in her neat handwriting, she placed it carefully on her desk. Tidiness was almost an obsession with her.

"I need a volunteer to help me on Saturday morning," she announced. All the little girls immediately had their hands up, some of them almost bursting with eagerness. In contrast, most of the boys showed no enthusiasm for spending a Saturday morning at school. Along the back row she noticed not a single boy had raised his hand. She stood up from her chair and slowly walked down the central aisle of the classroom, desks in perfect rows on either side of her. The only sound that could be heard was the scrape of her sensible shoes against the bare wooden floorboards. She folded her arms and stopped in front of a desk in the back row.

Steven looked up, blushing under her steady gaze. She rarely had any problems with discipline. Occasionally, a child might answer her back but it would never happen twice. Having said that, she much preferred mischievous boys. Those who tried her patience she would make an example of and punish in front of the other children by putting them across her lap and smacking their bottoms. It wasn't a particularly harsh punishment, but it certainly put the boy concerned firmly in his place. There was a strong rumour that for more serious misdemeanours she kept a cane, although no one had actually ever seen it. Every now and then she would threaten a boy with six of the best and enjoy observing his face as it turned pale at the thought of such a punishment.

Maybe she wasn't the prettiest of women or the most charming but she was attractive in some indefinable way.

Hot Pants
"Go on, Sue, wear them!" urged Beverley. "You told me that all the girls at your school were wearing hot pants!" It was the summer of 1970 and hot pants were the height of fashion. It was not quite true, as the sixteen year old Susan Bridger had told her cousin, that all the girls at her school were wearing them, but a good few were - despite the clear and repeated warnings of the headmaster and of Mrs Powell, the senior mistress. And Susan was very tempted to break the rules for once and wear her new hot pants. She had been trying for some time to attract the attention of David Babcock, a sixth former, and she knew that her new red hot pants would show off her curvaceous bottom to good effect. Many of her friends had worn the newly-fashionable clothes, and the boys had certainly been interested. Susan decided that she would wear the hot pants to school on Monday.

The day started at first like any other. Only one other girl in Susan's class, Diane Ferry, was wearing the banned garments - in her case white and even briefer than Sue's own revealing shorts - but she had noted that a few girls in other classes had them on. It was a bit of a coincidence, though, that Stephanie Whinnett, who had worn hot pants every day of that term so far should have decided to wear ordinary - and permitted - trousers on the same day that Sue first wore the outlawed shorts.

But just before Assembly, Mrs Conway, 5B's form teacher, came into the classroom and ordered all the girls to stand besides their desks. After they had done so Susan and Diane were told to go to Mrs Powell's office.

It was obvious that it was because they were wearing hot pants. Stephanie congratulated herself mentally on her prudence and turned to her neighbour. "I knew that something was going to happen after that speech Nobby made last week. I wouldn't be surprised if they got the cane! It's a pity for Sue, though, I think this is the first time she's ever worn them!"

As they walked along the corridor the two girls were also speculating as to the outcome. Unlike Sue, Diane was one of the naughtier girls in the class and had made personal acquaintance of Mrs Powell's cane on two previous occasions. She was sure she was going to get it again and told Sue that the important thing was to hold your hand up as high as you could get away with, so as to reduce the cane's swing. Sue was still hoping that it might not come to that. She said that if dozens of girls were wearing the hot pants Mrs Powell would not be able to cane all of them and might just give them a final warning or perhaps make them stand in disgrace in the vestibule.

A Satisfactory Tale featuring Miss MacBride
It was all rather mysterious. A few months ago Miss MacBride had applied for the post of English mistress at a shabby but genteel boys' preparatory school. There were three other applicants, all older than she was. She had gathered that the post involved not only teaching English but a great deal of pastoral care. In effect, if selected, she would be an assistant housemistress to Mr Parry who ran one of the four houses at the school. As far as experience went she had only two years teaching at a boys' preparatory school although for a year and a half she had been engaged as a tutor for two mischievous young boys. Neither of them had been very keen on hard work to begin with but after the judicious and regular application of a light school cane to their bare bottoms they found that they possessed a great deal of enthusiasm for hard work after all. Miss MacBride was an extremely competent young woman but she felt just a little nervous as she entered the headmaster's study.

The headmaster, Mr Deverell, a short plump man with ears that stuck out at a peculiar angle, conducted the interview and she quickly formed a strong impression that he was a snob of the very worst kind. He had made an off the cuff remark about how unfortunate it was that in order to make ends meet the school had to accept boys whose fathers were in 'trade'. As if it were a disease that one caught from mixing with one's social inferiors. It had made the small fine hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention and before she could stop herself, she found herself speaking as if she were admonishing a small boy for a lapse in his table manners.

"There is nothing at all wrong with being in trade, as you call it, headmaster. My father was a bus driver for thirty-five years before he retired."

She imagined that her eyes were flashing as if she were a spirited heroine in a romantic novel. She was so unbelievably angry that she could have happily reached over and boxed his rather oversized ears. Of course the headmaster had held up his hands with a pained expression on his face. He had apologised profusely but she had known then with utter certainty that she had no chance of getting the job. So it had proved, a brief letter expressing regret that she had not gained the appointment duly arrived. Then six weeks later an urgent telephone call from the headmaster himself. Apparently, he had been very impressed with her at the interview: would she be immediately available still to take up the post as the school had been let down very badly indeed.

She couldn't help speculate about just how the school had been let down but as she had no offers of employment there was only one possible answer she could give.

Chapter 1 - A New Broom
The car moved slowly up the drive to Collingwood's, a small but expensive private school in the south of England. Eventually it reached the front of the imposing stone building that housed the main part of the school and, after a brief pause, was parked in one of the spaces marked 'staff'. A minute or so passed and then the driver got out and looked at the building for a brief moment or two before walking to the steps that led up to the main door. The driver was a tallish, slim and elegantly dressed lady with dark hair cut just off the shoulder and with a pleasant open face that looked as if it would rather smile than frown. Reaching the door she pushed it open and entered the building. Then she paused and looked around as if not quite sure what to do next. Just then a door opened and another lady appeared.

"Pamela! It's good to see you! Punctual as always I see! Come through this way and let me take your coat."

Pamela Jameson followed the other lady through an office and into a large study.

"It's good to see you too Julia. I never expected that we would meet again so soon."

Julia Maclean was Headmistress of Collingwood's. Still in her late 30s she was relatively young, to hold the position which she had taken up some six months earlier. During that time she had discovered that there were a number of problems at her new school and after some serious negotiations with the Board of Governors she had persuaded them to allow her existing Deputy to take early retirement with a view to recruiting a new, more dynamic replacement. She hoped that Pamela Jameson, who had been her Assistant at her previous establishment, would be that person. When she telephoned Pamela to persuade her to apply she had said, "This is a very good school with a very similar outlook on education and discipline to Edmonstone's. The girls generally come from a very high quality background - we even have a number of minor Royals, both British and European. The problem is that the discipline has gone to hell. My predecessor let things slip very badly and the Governors are very concerned. They are getting a lot of complaints from parents and a number have even withdrawn their daughters. They want something done about it - and quickly before the roll starts falling further. My existing Deputy is simply not up to the job that is required and is leaving so I need somebody to come in and take charge of the discipline. The school is too big for all that to fall on the Head. I really ought to be the last resort on discipline matters."

The reference to discipline was significant as Pamela had been involved jointly with the Head in such matters in her previous post and that had included the administration of corporal punishment which was now unheard of in state schools.

Prefect's Punishment

by Mike London
Mrs Scott-Blythe burst angrily into the headmistress's office without knocking. Jean Taylor looked up in surprise and then compressed her lips at the sight of the chairman of the Board of Governors of Evershead Girls' Grammar School (Mrs Scott-Blythe refused to be known as a 'chairperson'). Since her election the elderly former pupil had become rather a thorn in her flesh.

"What is it now, Margaret?" she asked.

Still looking like thunder, Mrs. Scott-Blythe explained. She had been waiting at the bus stop for a 245 that morning and when the bus pulled up, rather late, a schoolgirl waiting behind her in the queue had pushed past her to be first aboard. Mrs Scott-Blythe noticed that the blue school uniform jacket which she was wearing bore the distinctive emblem of Evershead School.

Once aboard the bus, Mrs. Scott-Blythe had marched up to the girl and remonstrated with her.

"What difference does it make? You're on the bus, aren't you?" had been the response, but the school governor had continued to admonish the girl, demanding that she give her her name. "I'm going to report you to your headmistress!" she had said.

The girl had remained silent, however. Finally, having had quite enough of being stared at by half a bus load of passengers, she had got up intending to leave the bus at the next stop.

"What's your name, girl?" Mrs. Scott-Blythe had demanded, grabbing hold of her by her arm.

"Shut up, you stupid old cow and mind your own business!" had been the indignant answer.

The outraged Mrs. Scott-Blythe had refused to let go and was still holding onto the girl and demanding to be told her name when they reached the platform of the bus. Still trying to shake herself free, the girl had jumped off the bus and Mrs. Scott-Blythe had tumbled off after her. The girl had glanced round to check that her tormentor was not badly hurt, and had then made good her escape.

Mrs. Scott-Blythe was, in truth, only slightly grazed, but the injury to her self-esteem was worse. Breathing fury, she tidied herself up and, pausing only to have a cup of tea in a local tea shop to steady her nerves, made her way to Evershead School. Now she demanded that Mrs. Taylor expel the girl concerned immediately.

"Really, Margaret," said the headmistress, trying to calm the elder lady down, "I know you're upset, and the girl's behaviour was certainly inexcusable, but this isn't really a case for expulsion. And, in any case, I thought you said you didn't know the girl's name!"

"I know her face, though! I'll recognise her, you can depend on it! And if you won't expel her, at least you can cane that young madam's behind until she won't sit down for a week! And you can get her parents to pay for my dry-cleaning, too. The impudent minx! Pushing me off a bus!"

Called to the Front of the Class
It must have been fifteen years since Ryan Ferris had been anywhere near his old school. In fact, forty-three years had passed since he had finished sixth form. Life had been good. Having studied mechanical engineering at university, he had set up his own company some thirty years ago, worked hard, and had reaped the rewards. Not bad for the diminutive, unassuming shy kid they called 'Carrot Top' during his schooldays.

Today he was due to see a prospective client that had a site very near to Holly Grove School, the place where, despite his inhibited demeanour, such wonderful memories came flooding back. He stopped his silver Mercedes directly outside the school gates. The place had changed somewhat, and had recently been granted academy status. But still, the old memories flowed, and so did his tears at the passing of time.

Happy school memories they were, but his biggest regret was his chronic failure to be popular with the girls. Two particular girls came to mind. He shut his eyes and could picture them both at the school gates: one vivacious, charismatic and often rebellious, giggling and cavorting with the boys, the other reserved, engaging, quietly appealing and academically brilliant. However, they both shared one thing: they were two equally beautiful girls. He had loved both dearly, but agonizingly, neither had reciprocated. He pictured them again and sighed. Never had he forgotten Chelsea Sanderson or Jasmine Cooper.

Two unforgettable days played on Ryan's mind that involved both Chelsea Sanderson and Jasmine Cooper. One was just simply exceptional, the other nothing short of astonishing, and both were intrinsically linked. The first memory that sprung to mind was the last day of term when he was in the Lower Sixth. He shut his eyes and pictured the events. The year was 1970: long hair, platform shoes, flared trousers, mini skirts and crombies. It saw the break-up of the Beatles, the World Cup in Mexico, and at that time, Mungo Jerry were battling in the pop music charts for the No. 1 spot with Christie's Yellow River, before the latter-day birth of T. Rex.

It had been swelteringly hot and he had hated it. It tortured his pale, freckle-covered skin to the point of ridicule. Bright sun had the effect of illuminating him, and the calls of 'Carrot Top' had been quite widespread that week. His emotions had been fraught on the day because of Chelsea and Jasmine.

He recalled how the calamity of approximately one hundred sixth form pupils leaving the Stuart Close entrance of the Holly Grove School had momentarily abated his irritation towards the afternoon's intense heat. Boys chanted, yelled and wrestled, while others stole last minute kisses with the girls. Boys that were considered good-looking enough indulged in passionate, lingering kisses with any one of the array of pretty girls that were happy to reciprocate.

There were four factors which led to my doing what I did. None of them were directly connected but all were crucial.

The first was that I have always been interested in spanking and wanted to be spanked. Don't ask me where that strange interest came from, I have no idea. I was never spanked growing up, not even an odd smack or swat. No school that I attended either in the UK or the USA ever even mentioned corporal punishment, and I knew no other kids who got spanked. However, right from an early age I felt all tingly at the thought, and whenever it was mentioned anywhere or I read something in a book, I'd feel drawn to be spanked myself. I longed to have very strict parents who spanked and go to a very strict school that used the paddle. Very strange I agree but that is how it was.

The second thing was that I had an inheritance. I'd already had one from my parents who had died when I was eighteen but I had put that money in a fund for the future and hadn't really touched it much. This was a huge inheritance which left me gasping. My great uncle was a self-made man and had no other family to leave it to. He despised charities and hated governments so left it all to me. I am not sure how sensible it is to leave that much to a 23-year-old girl but he did. I mean I could have gone mad and done the whole drugs, sex, clothes, clubbing and travel bit. I didn't but I was bewildered as to what to do. I didn't care for my job much, but what to do exactly?

The third factor was an article about a school that used the paddle. Apparently it didn't believe much in detentions, impositions, internal or external suspensions and used the paddle a fair bit. Someone attempted to ban it on the school board but the motion was heavily defeated. I was fascinated and researched the school and area. It was a fairly rural area with a small population and the town itself wasn't just low on crime but had virtually zero crime. It was the sort of place where dog poop was an issue! Parents there believed in spanking and used it. Doubtless they would claim the use of it kept the crime rate down but probably socio-economic factors were also at work.

The fourth factor was more an event. Normally, I shopped where I worked and lived so everyone knew me, but one day I had to leave my area and shopped for some wine and food because I had a few friends coming round.

"Sorry," said the checkout woman, "you're not old enough to buy wine."

"Pardon me?"

"You gotta be at least 21. Leave it there."

"But I'm 23. I have ID."

Caroline's Birthday
by Mike London
Caroline, Jill and Vanessa picked unhappily at their food. None of the three sixth form girls was looking forward to the rest of the evening. They had been told to report to Mrs Buckeridge's study at 8.00pm and they all knew, only too well, what was going to happen in the headmistress's study.

It had all started when Caroline had had the bright idea of smuggling their three boyfriends into the school for a celebration of her birthday. The other two girls had agreed, although Vanessa had been rather hesitant. King George's School was a co-educational public school but there were strict rules against girls in the boys' dormitories and vice versa. Only two weeks before, two boys had been caned by the deputy headmaster for visiting a girls' dormitory without permission. The girls concerned had been given lines and detentions. But Caroline and Jill had persuaded Vanessa to agree. They had assured her that there was practically no chance that they'd be caught, because their dormitory was in an isolated part of the school's grounds, and that even if they were, the fun they'd have would be worth a few lines. Caroline's only regret was that Sarah, the fourth girl who shared their dormitory, would not be able to be with them as she was still in the school's sanatorium, recovering from flu.

The boys had accordingly come, bringing generous supplies of alcohol with them. None of them were pupils at the school; they all lived in the small town nearby. They had come determined to have a good time and, although they did not want to get their girlfriends into trouble, they did not so clearly appreciate the need to be quiet. A passing teacher had heard the noise and entered the dormitory. He had made them pour away all the remaining lager and had then escorted all six of them to Mrs Buckeridge's study.

The headmistress had taken the names and addresses of the boys and had then sent them away, as she had no authority over them. With the girls, however, it was otherwise and she had lectured them severely. She had enumerated the number of their offences: breaching school security, eating after lights out, drinking alcohol, disrupting the school's peace at night time and entertaining boys in their dormitory without permission. Mrs Buckeridge had concluded by saying that she rarely used the cane, but that it was there to be used as a last resort and that she felt she had no alternative in the present circumstances. She told them to report to her study at eight the next evening.

All three girls were shocked at the prospect of being caned. They knew that, in theory, girls could be caned at King George's. In a way they were quite proud of it; it set their school apart from other schools.

Chapter 1: A Painful Last Chance
Pamela Jameson gazed at Constance Cowley with exasperation visible all across her face. As a young Deputy Head at the small but exclusive Collingwood's' private school for girls in the South of England she had been appointed with a specific remit to improve a rapidly deteriorating discipline record. Now, just over a year into her post, she knew that she had succeeded. Indeed she had more than succeeded; the transformation had exceeded the hopes of her headteacher and the governors of the school. But then there was Constance.

Constance had been her first 'victim' right at the start of her appointment when Pamela had discovered bullying among some of the sixth formers. After that punishment there was no doubt that Constance was a much improved young lady and Pamela had grown to respect many of her good qualities. Every so often, however, the sixth former would go spectacularly off the rails, generally through stupidity rather than malice. During the year since Pamela joined the staff she had paddled Constance four times in all and she had suffered the usual detentions as well. Each time she promised faithfully that she knew that she was wrong and that she would improve. Yet here she was again.

The underlying problem was that she seemed incapable of controlling her temper. She blew up at the slightest hint of anybody crossing her. She had managed now to accept criticism from staff but if she thought one of the other girls was disparaging her in any way she was liable to explode. And that was what had happened here. She had been discovered fighting in a cloak room with a fifth former. Pamela was well aware of the risk of Constance's reputation leading to her being unfairly accused but having investigated this incident it was clear that the only blame lay with Constance. In fact the girl more or less admitted that herself.

What galled Pamela as much as anything was that it had occurred at almost exactly the same time as she had been reporting to the Governors on the state of discipline at the school. They had been there that day for one of their regular meetings and Julia Maclean, the Head Teacher, had invited Pamela to give a presentation on discipline. Some of the Governors were notoriously hard to please on this front, the Head describing them as 'fully paid up members of the hang 'em and flog 'em brigade', but Pamela left the meeting reasonably happy with her presentation and its affect on the more well balanced Governors at least. No sooner had she returned to her office when Mary Scott, the Assistant Head came to her with the news that Constance had exploded again.

She had waited until the Governors were well out of the way before she summoned the hapless girl and, having thought carefully about the whole thing she had floated an idea with the Head as a possible way forward.

Recruiting
Natalie watched from the stands. This England side were good, very good, probably the best for a generation. They were beating Germany easily, already they were three goals up, and if this penalty corner came off, they would be in an unassailable position. It was a pleasure to watch a national side doing well at last. However, it wasn't the team she had come to watch; but rather one man, the man now taking the strike. He was a compact, slightly built man, his fair hair cut short to his scalp, an athletic man, an attractive man. But Natalie was not concerned with his looks, it was his skill she was after. She needed a hockey coach, and needed one urgently.

Her school was through to the semi-final of the national championships and just when they needed to be preparing hardest, her hockey coach had, with utmost bad-timing, chosen that week to suffer a debilitating heart attack. She could hardly blame the woman, it wasn't her fault, but it did leave the school with rather a problem. Natalie had staked her reputation as headmistress on winning success, in every area, and even on the sports field her ambition was relentless. And so she was here, watching Mark Thorne, seeing if he had what she wanted. She could have gone for a woman, but all of the national women's teams were hopeless right now, and she only wanted the best. For Natalie McInnes and for Burnside College, only the best was ever good enough. That was why she had taken the trouble to find out who on the England team was available at short notice - and Mark Thorne was the name that kept coming up. Natalie cheered with the rest of the crowd as the corner was converted into another goal for the home side.

Mark showered leisurely after the match, suffused with the happy glow of victory and making the most of the feeling while it lasted. Hockey was the only thing that made life worthwhile at the moment. Since leaving the army eighteen months ago, things had been a struggle. He had hoped he would walk into a management job but somehow his face didn't ever seem to fit. The skills of an infantry officer were not what firms were looking for. Sure, he could lead a company of men in a night attack on a well defended enemy position, and bring off victory with minimal casualties. Sure, he could handle a variety of weapon systems. Sure, he could live rough for days on end and still motivate his troops. But these were not the abilities that commercial organisations were looking for. And besides that, he didn't have the slickness and false charm of some of the other candidates. Mark said what he meant, and he said it directly. That's the way it was done in the army; in the civilian world he felt like a fish out of water. Except on the hockey field, there he felt like a god.