by DJ Black
Meg looked at her reflection in the glass doors leading to the front of the building and crinkled her nose in disgust. With most of the other girls in home clothes, she felt such an idiot in her full school uniform. Then with a roll of her eyes she scowled as she assessed the dark-haired dump reflected back at her. She hated her heavy brows; with her short hair they made her look boyish, especially as she had no bust to speak of. She looked more like a 10-year-old boy than an 18-year-old upper-class woman. With a shrug she paused and before pushing through the doors she executed a half turn in the vain hope that at least her bum was just as boyish, but no such luck. She still filled out her skirt behind way too much for her liking. She shrugged again in dejection, but a noise on the stairs behind her made her straighten up.
"Coming through," said a joyous girlish voice.
Meg offered up a tight smile to the girl as she went dashing past. Not for the first time she cursed her damned parents for taking up the first four weeks of her summer holiday with a business trip to China.
"Oh well," Meg said wearily and followed her compatriot through the door, adding bitterly, "Summer school here will be such fun without the rowdy element."
The gravel apron before the school was alive with girls and cases, and parents in cars all trying to herd offspring away from last minute goodbyes.
"Well here I am," Meg muttered through a clamped jaw. "As if anyone gives a fig."
She was already late and school rules were clear; all girls would gather by 10 that morning and depart in good order. All students staying for summer activities were to report in smart attire to see their fellows off. So much for the good order part of that, she thought with no little resentment. After all, it was only her that had to obey the stupid bloody rules today.
For the next 40 minutes she stood immobile while the chaos of girls raged around her like a storm. Then like all storms, it was over. The last car took one turn around the school fountain and headed up the drive leaving Meg alone.
"Summer school for one," she said dryly to the empty air and wondered if they would even bother with classes for just one person.
For a long moment, and then two, she wondered what to do. She had assumed that today would be a half holiday for her at least. But 'assumed' was a dangerous word at St Willard's. The refractory was closed for the summer, but she did know there would be lunch at one in the prefect's lounge, but that was all. She didn't even know if summer school classes were held on a Saturday as usual. It being Thursday, maybe she was free until Monday. She checked her watch. It was 11.15. She had time to stroll down to the main entrance and ask if they had an itinerary for her. Maybe there would be something on the board.
She hadn't gone three feet when a sharp voice called down from one of the upper windows. "You girl, are you supposed to be Margaret Tanner?"
Meg didn't recognise the voice or the imperious face of the woman glaring down at her.
"I am not supposed to be anyone," Meg yelled back in irritation. "I am Meg Tanner, who are you?"
"'Please may I inquire who you are, Miss...?'" the voice corrected sharply, and then without waiting for an acknowledgement said, "I am your summer tutor, Ms Hardman, and you are supposed to have reported to my class at 11 o'clock sharp this morning."
"Oh," Meg said, now deflated. "I didn't know. I..."
"You were supposed to have found out; I suggest you come up right now," Ms Hardman barked. With that the woman was gone.
"What a bitch," Meg snarled. "She didn't even tell me what room she was in."
Meg had barely spoken when the face reappeared and the same woman called down, "I heard that. So I suggest you find out where you are supposed to be and get here in very short order, young lady."
Meg felt the heat rise in her face and realised that gawping at the window was not going to help. So as fast as the 'no running' rule allowed, she headed for the front office to find out.
Ms Hardman was well named. As Meg entered, the summer tutor regarded her with all the warmth of an iceberg.
"As I said, you were supposed to be here at 11," she accused. "It is now 35 minutes past that hour. I will add that to your gross insolence as I consider what to do with you."
"But Miss, I didn't know. I was told to report for leave-taking at 10 o'clock," Meg explained.
"Firstly, you should have reported to the office at the usual school start time of 8.30 for your summer itinerary. Secondly, the rest of the school should have departed by 11 in order that you-" Ms Hardman announced as if addressing a public meeting.
Before interrupting, Meg looked around to confirm that they were alone and insolently rolled her eyes. "They are hardly going to leave to my schedule; and even if they did, how was I supposed to get here by 11 if I am only setting off at 11? I can't teleport."
There was a strong element of disbelief on Hardman's face, and she looked genuinely puzzled. "Is that how you usually address a teacher at this school?"
Meg sighed. "No Miss, I-"
"Be silent. What gives you to understand that this is a conversation? I will talk, you will listen," Hardman barked.
Meg opened her mouth to answer back and thought better of it.
"I am just a cover here, a newcomer, but I am given to understand that at this school girls are thrashed when they need it," Hardman stated in a tone that invited an answer.
"There is the cane," Meg said dully and swallowed. "Usually the housemistress..."
"Housemistress, is that all?" Hardman snapped.
"No Miss. There is the slipper sometimes, and the prefects... they have a short thin stick they can use."
"So young ladies are caned and spanked when they need it?" Hardman said with a nod.
"And when they don't need it," Meg muttered under her breath.
The summer tutor launched into a death's head smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I can think of one that needs it," she said, adding, "My hearing is exceptional."
"Yes Miss, I kind of gathered that from earlier," Meg said sullenly.
Meg wondered if this Ms Hardman was empowered to use corporal punishment, but then she knew that it was a moot point at St Willard's. Several of the teachers used the slipper or cane when they felt like it, and most of the prefects only paid scant regard for the limits to their own powers.
"We only have an hour left until lunch time," Meg suggested with a shrug. The implication being that maybe they should give up.
Hardman cocked her head and slowly looked Meg up and down. "I know you don't want to be here, but far from just an hour, we have half the summer in each other's company. That's 31 mornings and 27 afternoons, including this one. That is unless I decide you need a Saturday afternoon detention. Should we run out of time on a Saturday, there is always the evenings... I get paid by the hour, you see." She grinned maliciously.
Meg swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
Hardman continued. "I will send word that you won't require sandwiches today; I think given the delay we will work right through until seven tonight."
In that moment and with utter certainty Meg knew that Hardman was some kind of sadistic nutcase. Something told her that the next eight hours were not only going to be hell, but they were going to be typical of the next five weeks.
"W-what are we... um, going to learn, Miss?" Meg said tentatively.
"Whatever we decide. No one will be checking, there is no test. If you want to, you can just watch the paint dry, but I did have one or two ideas." Ms Hardman suddenly looked human.
"Yes Miss?" Meg said hopefully.
"We will begin with some discipline I think, and continue in that vein until we think you are ready for something more intellectual," the tutor said crisply.
"Look, I'm sorry Miss, you're right I don't want to be here, but that isn't your fault. We got off on the wrong foot..." Meg began placating.
"We did," Hardman agreed in a pondering tone and made her hands into a prayer.
Meg started to say more but then shrank back and hoped she looked suitably contrite.
"We will begin with a spanking or two, I think, and then move onto something else instructive. We can save the cane until later on this afternoon," Ms Hardman informed her charge.
"A sp-spanking," Meg flushed, she had already decided it was even money she was in for six of the best, but this was embarrassing. "I go up to the upper sixth next term, I'm 18," she blurted. "A spanking is for sprogs."
"Two spankings I think, the first with my hand and the good old slipper, and then we will test your 'I'm too old for a spanking' resolve with my trusty enlightener." The death's head smile was back.
Meg had watched with continued protests and growing horror as first a tennis shoe was placed on the desk, which was followed by a stout long-handled brush and then a standard cane.
"I was only... I mean..." she blustered.
"Miss Tanner, please remove your skirt," Ms Hardman said pleasantly.
"You can't do this, term is over. I, oh dear," Meg wailed.
"You were late, you were insolent and now you are being argumentative," the summer tutor continued. "Do you really want to add disobedience to your growing list of crimes, or perhaps you are holding out for full bloodied mutiny?"
Mutiny was an obscure practically moribund sin at St Willard's, but legend had it that back in the 1960's some girls had staged a revolt and had been caned in front of the whole school. Meg had no idea if the stories of the Great Marijuana Mutiny were exaggerated, but she knew neither of her parents would be amused if she managed to get expelled while they were in China over the summer.
"My skirt you say. Well, at St Willard's we usually just..." Meg tugged at her hem as she mumbled.
"Your skirt, off, and neatly folded on a chair please," Ms Hardman said sharply.
Meg looked at her feet and glowered. At least there were no witnesses, she thought as she reluctantly obeyed. She wanted to remove her tie too, the smart formality above her waist really emphasised the embarrassment of her now bare legs. However, she knew better now than to do anything to provoke this strange and apparently very strict woman.
It was embarrassing too that she automatically remembered the posture as she went over Ms Hardman's lap. Head down, legs straight and bottom most definitely directed upwards. Her mother had spanked her once when she was 14, but she hadn't been spanked in the dorm at school since she had been 12. She blushed furiously; at that moment her anger was directed at her apparently ready submission, rather than at the tutor.
"Let's get these out of the way shall we," Ms Hardman said as, without warning, she hooked a thumb in Meg's waistband and drew her knickers down to her knees.
"No you can't," Meg gasped. "This is-"
"This is a spanking," Hardman cut in. "I spank on the bare bottom."
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