by LSF Publications
by Pat Jones
Headmaster Charles Martin strode into his office with a sense of purpose. So many naughty bottoms to thrash and so little time! Charles Martin had nearly 800 girls under his charge, each with a bottom simply itching to be spanked - itching for it, mind you - judging from the cheek of them. As far as Charles Martin was concerned they were all naughty, every bloody one of them, even the ones that smiled sweetly and studied hard and pretended to be good. As far as the Headmaster was concerned even the 'good' ones needed a 'good' thrashing, and sooner or later all of them found themselves bent over his desk with tears in their eyes and knickers around their ankles, begging for a mercy he never felt.
Every day was busy and was filled with naked girlish bottoms to thrash, but today would be the worst. Yes, it was always the worst. He'd have to make an early start of it today.
"Just where do you think you're going, young man?"
The Headmaster turned to see his scowling secretary, Mrs. Mumford, glaring daggers at him. At first he thought her reprimand was a joke, a prank of the sort that made today the busiest day of the year for him. It wasn't until he caught sight of himself in the mirror that he realized something had gone dreadfully, horribly awry.
He was no longer fat; that was the good news. Now he was slender, almost waifish. He was no longer wearing his tweedy three piece suit with the traditional Headmaster's cloak, but was instead dressed like a schoolboy, wearing a blazer embossed with the school's logo, short pants, long gray socks, and a beanie cap which also had the school's logo.
Most startling of all he was no longer the 58-year-old Headmaster. He was now an 18-year-old schoolboy, mouth agape, slowly moving his hand up and down to verify that the reflection in the mirror belonged to him.
"What are you gaping at, boy?" Mrs. Mumford snapped. "Give me your pass and sit down on the bench. The Headmistress will see you when she has the time."
"Pass?" Charles Martin repeated, his mind awash in confusion.
"Are you a parrot? Yes, your pink punishment pass, child. The one sticking out of your pocket."
Charles Martin reached into his pocket and to his surprise extracted a pink punishment pass. He knew them well, for fretful girls handed in their passes all day long. But this was his pass, with his name on top! How could it be? Before he could read the damning details the incriminating pass was summarily snatched out of his hands by the impatient Ms. Mumford.
"SIT," she said sternly, barking at the stunned schoolboy standing before her like he was an errant puppy.
Unsure of what to do, the Headmaster complied. The long punishment bench outside of his office was tall, and in his new boyish incarnation Charles Martin's feet didn't quite reach the ground. He wouldn't have his final growth spurt for another year, a fact that had caused him no degree of anxiety when he was this age. That is, the age he was again.
His mind buzzing, Charles Martin started to nervously swing his feet back-and-forth, at least until an angry glance from Mrs. Mumford halted that little diversion in its tracks.
This had to be a dream! He tried to wake up. He closed his eyes and pinched his hand hard enough to elicit an "Oww." However, when he opened his eyes the only thing he saw was Mrs. Mumford looking at him like he was quite daft.
What had happened? What was happening?
His confusion only thickened when 18-year-old Penelope Brown & Janine Thomas both entered, wearing Prefect badges. The startling sight of two of the school's naughtiest girls in this particular dream was puzzling enough, as when he usually dreamed of them they were over-his-knee, over-his-desk, or touching-their-toes. But what really shocked him were the badges.
Prefects? Outrageous!
Brown was a world-class mischief-maker, and some days spent more time in the corner than she did in class. Thomas was a good student, and quite the writer. She was the classic 'good girl' - good on the surface, anyway. It was Charles Martin who had discovered her unfortunate penchant for lurid spanking tales that the Headmaster quite enjoyed when he wasn't striping her naked bottom for it.
Brown was carrying a folded white bed sheet under her arms, and smiled sweetly at Mrs. Mumford's warm greeting.
"Janine! Penelope! What a pleasure to see you! You both look so nice today! Of course you always look so neat, the pair of you. The Headmistress is waiting for you. She said you should both go right in."
HeadMISTRESS? Charles Martin thought. The school had always had a Headmaster, not a mistress. As if a mere woman could keep these naughty minxes in line!
What in blazes was happening?
The two girls turned and headed straight for the door, turning to smile broadly at the stunned schoolboy sitting on the bench. Penelope giggled as she looked at Charles Martin waiting pensively on the punishment bench. It was clear that despite the radical change in his appearance she knew who he was and liked what she saw. Charles Martin felt a tiny chill run down his spine as he squirmed under her cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin.
"Hello, Charlie," she said, as Janine knocked on the door. "Wicked boy!" she added, wagging her finger in his face before bursting into giggles.
Penelope only stopped giggling when the voice on the other side of the door beckoned them in. It was a female voice, all right, strong and strangely familiar. Who was it?
The two girls disappeared into the office, but not before flashing the trembling boy on the bench their most evil smiles. The door closed, and they were gone.
Charles Martin was left with nothing but his swirling thoughts as he tried to figure out how to awaken himself from this terrible, horrible nightmare.
He sat on the bench for five... ten... fifteen minutes? He couldn't tell the exact time because the clock was over his head and he didn't dare get off the bench to look up at it, not with old Mumford giving him the stink-eye every time he twitched.
On the other side of the door he heard more giggling, and voices, and the sort of excited feminine chatter that always made him want to reach for his spanking strap and cane. He fumed as he recalled the two girls grinning... no, smirking at him under the protection of Ms. Mumford and their ridiculously absurd prefect badges.
Damn, Janine and Penelope! The impudence of them both, appearing in his dreams this way. They both needed a damn good thrashing, and Charles Martin resolved to deal with them presently as soon as he awoke. He'd wipe the silly grins off their ridiculous mugs and replace them with contrite, penitent tears.
Charles Martin smiled as he imagined the sound of the cane swishing through the air on its way to thwacking Penelope Brown's nicely rounded bottom. The whistling of the cane and the crack of the strap were his favorite sounds in the world.
The pleasing image of Penelope Brown swimming in her own tears as she begged for a forgiveness that would never come was interrupted by the sound of Mrs. Mumford's buzzer.
"Yes, Miss Rutherford. I'll send him in, Ma'am. No, he's been well behaved. A bit fidgety, perhaps. Yes... swung his legs back and forth, biting his lip and squirming a bit. He didn't take his cap off when the girls came by either, Miss. Yes, I know they're Prefects, Miss. Yes, I'm quite sure you'll deal with him. I'll send him in."
With the gravitas of a Prison Warden signaling to the Lord Executioner to pull the gallows lever, Mrs. Mumford gave the boy on the bench the nod to proceed. With jelly legs he rose, wobbling and struggling to make it to the door.
His single knock elicited more giggles from Penelope and Janine on the other side of the door.
"COME IN!" the female voice said. The voice was familiar, girlish, upper crust, and far too pleased with itself. Then there was that name...
No, no, no. It couldn't be! Not even in his worst nightmare, it couldn't be!
It was. As Charles Martin started to open the door, Penelope Brown, eager to begin the festivities, grabbed the handle from the other side and flung the door open.
Janine Thomas was standing to the right behind the desk, perfect little do-gooder that she was, eager to serve. And sitting behind the desk, her laced fingers forming a little steeple, the smirk on her face oozing satisfaction, was Amanda Rutherford.
Rutherford! No! It couldn't be!
But it was. Amanda Rutherford, or 'The Giraffe' as Martin dubbed her, was sitting behind the desk in his chair. Only now it was her chair, and she was not wearing a school uniform, but an expensive wool suit straight from Savile Row.
"Come in, Martin," she purred. "The girls and I are ready to deal with you now."
Penelope and Janine giggled, and with all the eagerness of a fly walking toward a gigantic spider, Charlie slowly walked into the study and stood in front of what had once been his desk.
"I understand you had an accident last night, Martin," Amanda Rutherford said. Her voice was stern, but it was obvious she was having a difficult time suppressing her glee.
"An accident, Miss?" Charles Martin asked, dumbfounded.
"Don't parrot me, BOY," Amanda thundered. "Yes, an ACCIDENT. And don't play stupid, either. What you did was disgusting enough without compounding your offense with fake stupidity!"
Janine Thomas picked the neatly folded bed sheet off the desk and, with a snap of her wrist, unrolled it toward Charles Martin's freshly polished school shoes. On the center of the unfolded sheet was a large brown stain.
"It was an accident, Miss," Charles Martin stammered. "It... sometimes happens while I sleep."
That was true enough, for Charles Martin's teenage years were plagued by regular emissions due to his hormones. It was no longer a problem now, as he relived the pressure by more conventional means, but the young man standing in front of Amanda's desk was 18, a time when such shameful splatters were common.
"I don't believe him, Miss," Penelope said. "I think he's a little wanker."
"I think so too, Miss," Janine added. "He's always ogling the girls in their uniforms."
That too was true, for Charles Martin did love a girl in a natty school uniform. "So is that true, Martin? Did you wank off into your bed clothes, deliberately creating a mess for the girls in the laundry?"
"No, Miss. It just... happened. It was an accident."
"An accident? Really?"
Charles Martin felt very small as Amanda Rutherford rose to her full height and walked around the desk.
"Tell me, Charles, do you find me attractive?" Amanda asked, looking down on him.
"Yes, Miss. Very much so, Miss."
Penelope and Janine tittered as Charles Martin studied his shoes.
"I see. And do you also find Penelope and Janine attractive?"
"Yes, Miss. I suppose so."
"You suppose so? Well, what is it, boy? Are they attractive or not?"
"Yes, Miss. Very attractive, Miss."
"Do you wank over them, or not?"
"No, Miss."
"Should we add lying to your list of offenses, Mr. Martin?"
"No, Miss. I wank over them, Miss."
"And do you wank over me?"
"Yes, Miss. I wank over you the most of all."
The girls giggled as Amanda allowed herself a small smile of pride. "Excellent. You get a point for honesty, at least. The first step in curing you of your disgusting and depraved self-abuse is to own up to it. Now which one of us were you dreaming of when you splashed your bed sheets?"
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