by Frank Martinet
Elaine stepped nervously into the office of the headmistress. As far as she knew she wasn't in trouble, but the place felt like hallowed ground.
Sara Symington sat behind her mahogany desk and studied the young woman. "Come on, all the way inside. Don't be shy, dear. Come all the way up. Let me look at you."
The girl obeyed, standing at attention before the big desk. All around her she saw elegant hardwood furniture, expensive antiques, trophies, leather-bound first editions, and a flattering portrait of the headmistress as a beautiful young woman riding a magnificent black stallion. Sara was still attractive now, with a square jaw, bright eyes and finely coifed hair, but she couldn't disguise her age, which was approaching sixty.
Elaine became more nervous at the woman's intense gaze and dropped her eyes, shuffling her feet.
"What's the matter?" asked Sara. "Please look at me when I talk to you, young lady."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I just don't know why you called me in to see you."
The Head smiled. "Are you worried I'm going to punish you? Take one of those lean canes over there and thrash your bum a sound six-of-the-best?"
Elaine giggled at the absurd notion. "Sorry, ma'am."
"Now stand up straight and let me see you. You are, I hope you know, an extraordinary young woman."
The girl puffed out her chest and stood rigid. "Thank you, ma'am."
Sara stood and came around her desk, her eyes locked on the slim figure before her. The girl was as precious as a china doll. Her golden-brown hair was drawn back into a single tail that draped over her shoulder and down one side of her chest. The tightness of the hairdo left her face open and this was a flattering look, for Elaine was gorgeous.
Her skin was pale, milk-white with hints of rose, and as smooth as glass. Her nose was small, without being dainty, while her delicate lips were the perfect shade of peach. Most striking of all was were her eyes, which were large, ice blue, and stood out boldly against the broad forehead and alabaster cheeks.
It was difficult to see much about the shape of Elaine's body in her uniform. The men's style blue blazer with scarlet trim was buttoned and covered any hint of breasts. The striped blue and white tie was snug to the collar of her crisp white shirt. Below, Elaine wore trim riding slacks of royal navy, but the tail of the jacket prevented any view of the presumably pert buttocks hidden underneath. On her feet were knee-high black leather riding boots.
This was one of the two acceptable uniforms at Coventry Academy. The other was a navy skirt with black pumps and white stockings. Elaine, like many of the student riders, preferred the pants.
Slowly Sara made her away around the girl, studying her from every angle.
"This is terrible," she said finally.
"What is it?" asked a worried Elaine.
"I cannot find a single flaw in your uniform. It is absolutely perfect."
"Oh! Thank you, ma'am!"
"I am sure you tidied yourself up before coming here, but still: I have kept my eye on you around campus and I have never once seen you slovenly or even disheveled. You are a testament to Coventry."
"Thank you, ma'am," gushed Elaine, her cheeks developing a faint blush.
"You're a very pretty girl. I cannot find a flaw on your skin. Such beautiful eyes. It is wonderful. You are everything a Coventry girl should aspire to become."
"You are too kind."
"Do you mind taking off your jacket?"
"Not at all," said Elaine, quickly undoing the front buttons and shrugging out of the blazer. She folded it carefully and laid it on a nearby chair. Then she returned to her standing position before the large desk.
Sara grinned, for now she had a less obstructed view of the young woman's figure. Her shirt was neatly tucked into the waistband of the slacks, which were bound with a narrow black leather belt. Below that the girl's hips flared out. She was still young, only eighteen, but developing nicely with a curved figure that would arouse males and females alike. Her bottom was every bit as nice as the headmistress had dreamed, the shapely cheeks round and plump, jutting out with an aggressiveness that bordered on impudence. Because of the snug nature of the riding pants, every curve of the butt was evident. Only the secrets in the crevice between were hidden. Sara was eager to explore that area, for it looked to be deep and inviting.
"Remarkable," said the headmistress, her voice filled with awe. "Such an elegant figure, a real fashionable young woman. Truly the epitome of everything Coventry represents."
Elaine blushed, not sure what to say. It was getting embarrassing thanking the woman all the time.
"However," continued the Head, "there is always room for improvement, is there not?"
"Yes, ma'am. Of course."
"And how do we improve?"
"We have to, uh, work at it?"
Sara frowned and made sure the girl saw her disappointment. "That goes without saying, Miss Hardwicke. The question is, how?"
Elaine took the rebuke harshly, tears watering her eyes. She felt pressure on her chest making it difficult to breathe. She forced herself to be calm and think clearly. She took her time and didn't answer impulsively with the first thought in her head, as before.
"To improve oneself," she began slowly, "one must first identify the flaws and areas of weakness. Then one has to go about correcting those with better behavior. Finally, one has to be vigilant about monitoring to ensure those behaviors aren't repeated or one doesn't fall into bad habits again."
"Much better, Elaine," said the headmistress with a beaming smile that made the teenage girl feel like a queen. "There is one element you have omitted, however."
"What is that, Miss Symington?"
"Consequences. You have neglected to mention the consequences of your flaws. I wonder if there's a significant psychological reason you left that out, Miss Hardwicke? Are you opposed to punishment?"
"Oh no, ma'am. Punishment is appropriate and an excellent motivator for improvement."
Sara smiled and Elaine felt much better.
"I'm glad to hear that," said the Head. "So many modern girls think they're too good for punishment, that it's old-fashioned and outmoded. They are not Coventry girls. Not like you."
"No, ma'am."
"Have you considered becoming a prefect, Elaine?"
"Oh, yes! It is my dream!"
"I thought as much. It is a position of authority. Not just anyone can be a prefect. One has to be a Coventry Girl through and through, loyal to the school, its ethics, to the office of the headmistress, and to me, personally. Is that you, Elaine?"
"Of course, ma'am! I am loyal to the school and to you. Everything you said."
"A prefect is the best of Coventry. A prefect represents the school at all times, not just during school hours, and in all aspects of life, appearance, and manner."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Remove your uniform."
Elaine gasped. The headmistress was behind her when the order was given, so the girl half-turned, looking for confirmation that she'd heard correctly.
"Eyes front! A prefect obeys her superior immediately. There is no questioning her orders!"
"Yes, ma'am!" cried the girl, frantically undoing her tie. Once it was loose enough, she pulled it over her head and set it on her blazer. Then she carefully took off of her boots, navy pants, and white shirt. She paused, afraid to look back at the Head again.
"Are your underthings part of your uniform, Potential Prefect?"
Elaine considered this, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"So what are you waiting for, Miss Hardwicke?"
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," muttered the girl, quickly reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra. She deposited it on her other clothes and then slipped her thin nylon knickers down and stepped out of them. Fully nude, she returned her attention to the desk, a faint blush reddening her cheeks.
Behind her, Sara Symington smiled at what she saw. Elaine was slim and petite, but perfectly formed. She was athletic, with slender limbs that were toned and strong. Her graceful haunches were shapely and finely muscled. Her lean back tapered to a narrow waist, while in front her cute breasts were gentle fist-sized bulges that needed no support. The nipples were tiny bright red Christmas tree lights, vivid against the girl's milky skin. At her crotch there was a modest furry patch of a paler brown than on Elaine's head.
But Sara's greatest interest was in the girl's backside where the twin buttock balls were everything she'd hoped for and more. The plump curves were amazing, pert and thrusting, the cleft between so deep and dark the Head was positive she could slip a pencil in there and the cheeks would hold it easily. Perhaps even a rattan cane could be held there, clenched in place with the penalty of a sixer when inevitably dropped.
"Miss Hardwicke, I see you do not take personal grooming as seriously as your outward appearance," Sara said coldly.
"Ma'am?"
The headmistress flung a hand toward the girl's pubic region. "You have a wild forest. I expected a cultivated garden."
"Oh!" Elaine blushed furiously.
"Separate your legs and lean forward a bit. Further, wider. Come on, Miss Hardwicke!" Sara encouraged the student with a playful slap on the bum. Elaine gave a tiny squeal and obeyed with alacrity, sliding her legs so wide she was nearly doing the splits.
"Just as I suspected. There is stray growth everywhere. Are you a hypocrite, Miss Hardwicke?"
"Uh... no, Ma'am."
"You seem like one to me. Outwardly you are beautiful and well-groomed and maintained, but under your knickers you're a disgusting slob."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll fix it, ma'am!"
"Of course you will. We've completed step one of self-improvement: we've identified the problem. Do you know the next step?"
"Fix the problem," Elaine said instantly. "I'll wax and shave tonight, I promise!"
"That's step three. Once again you have omitted the consequences. Are you trying to avoid punishment?"
"Oh! Er, no, ma'am. I... just forgot, that's all. Of course I should be punished. Are you going to put me down for detention?"
"Detention is for ordinary girls. You are a Potential Prefect, one of Coventry's best, are you not?"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"And how are true Coventry Girls corrected?"
Elaine hesitated. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face. She glanced toward the back wall where several thin canes were on display. "The... cane... ma'am?"
"That is correct, Elaine. Physical punishment is gauche to the modern girl, but the Coventry Girl relishes such purifying pain because it makes her a better woman. Do you not agree?"
"I... I suppose, ma'am!"
"Fetch me a cane, Elaine."
The girl gulped and trotted over to the rack. The specific rod had not been indicated, so initially she reached for the smallest and lightest. Then she paused. She could almost hear Miss Symington's criticism of her selection. She changed her mind and went for one of the longer medium rods and hoped that would please the woman.
The slim wand felt strange in her hands. It was so light it was almost insubstantial, a mere twig. Yet she could feel the hardness of the wood, the energy in the stick as it trembled as she carried it, and she could imagine it whistling into the soft, unprotected flesh of her bum. How much would it hurt? She had no inkling, yet she'd heard and read stories that caning was pure anguish. She quickly passed the awful rod over to the headmistress as though fearful it might burn her fingers.
"Thank you, Elaine," said Miss Symington with a warm smile. She flexed the rod and gave it a sharp swing through the air. It hissed angrily and the schoolgirl went a shade more pale.
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