by Norland Hughes
Emily pushed herself up from Jane's bed and stretched. She'd been watching her friend for half an hour now, taking calls from the 'Sixth formers in need of a good spanking' hotline. Jane teased a lock of her long blonde hair and rolled her big blue eyes whenever an ecstatic groan came from the other end of the line, which had Emily, a pretty, dusky-haired nineteen-year-old, frequently suppressing giggles. Taller and more slender than her bouncier and more daring fellow student, Emily, with her soft brown eyes and flawless complexion, had a kind of demure innocence about her. But after the fifth call, the giggling stopped.
"Just popping to the loo," Jane said when the latest punter, another bloke wanting Jane to squirm and moan a bit more over his make-believe lap as he spanked her naughty bare bottom with his great hairy hand, moaned in ecstasy and the line went dead.
No sooner had Jane clattered down the corridor of the 'Halls of Residence' (in reality, a cheap conversion of an office block just off the high street) when a pop-up window on Jane's laptop offered another incoming gig. Whatever possessed her to put on the headset? Unfathomable, but in that mad moment when Emily clicked on 'Accept', she set off down a path that would have the most profound effect on her young life.
"Hello? Who is that?" a clipped, well-spoken female voice asked.
Emily's chest thumped. A female! She hadn't expected that. Now what? Jane had said she would be back in a minute, but it was nearer five now.
"Hello? Are you going to speak at all?" the voice asked, sounding impatient and cross now. Emily's thoughts raced. Oh, flip! What if the caller filed a complaint or something? That'd be the end of Jane's naughty little side-hustle, and she'd be to blame. She snatched up Jane's (or rather Chantelle, the wickedly wilful sixth-former's) tatty prompt card and blurted out the first line.
"Hi. My name's Chantelle and I've been a very naughty girl today," she said, trying to add something like the husk Jane used when answering. The caller didn't respond. Emily could hear the faint thud of her heartbeat through the headset, and she had the strangest feeling that the person on the other end could hear it, too.
"No, you are not!" The irate caller said. "But you are a very naughty girl indeed! Now, what is your real name, young lady, and don't you dare try to lie to me."
The voice, so cross, so commanding, so redolent of... It sucked the truth from her. "I-It's Emily."
A silence ensued, seconds on the little 'call duration' box ticked up. Emily's heartbeat pounded louder still. At last, the lady spoke. "Well, Emily, if indeed that is your real name. My name is Miss Sharples - Headmistress, to you, and I don't like being lied to by a young lady who should know better."
Emily's throat tightened. "I'm sorry, err, Headmistress. I was only trying to help my friend."
"I don't want your excuses, girl! What I want is for you to-"
Her ears popped when the headset was yanked from them. Jane give Emily a withering look and instantly switched into husky voice mode. "Hi. It's Chantelle here. Do you want to know about the naughty things I've been getting up to?" Jane glanced at the calling number, rolled her eyes, and mouthed 'Miss Sharples' to her ruffled friend.
For some minutes, very expensive minutes for the caller, Emily listened to Jane's sixth-form alter ego smooth the ruffled feathers of Miss Sharples, who at first demanded the wicked girl who answered be put back on the line. Jane deflected her by telling her she'd run off crying, then reeled off a half-dozen sins with reference to her prompt card; smoking, drinking, cheating at exams, wearing sexy undies instead of the navy-blue knickers she was supposed to, sneaking out of bounds to meet boys from the school down the road, and playing with herself in the shower while having naughty thoughts about the gym mistress.
Each new revelation was met by a gasp from the headmistress in the guise of Miss Sharples, and the last by a curt, but awfully posh, "Playing with oneself in the shower? Outrageous!"
Then the role-play baton switched hands. The incensed headmistress at the other end of the line demanded Chantelle report to her study in the morning and outlined the disciplinary measures awaiting her.
"First, I shall have you write out 100 lines, then, if they are not perfectly correct in every respect, I shall put you across my knee and spank you. After that, I shall..."
"Oh! Oo-er. Oh, Miss, please! Not the big bouncy slipper!"
Emily listened to Jane's increasingly exaggerated whimpers and pleas as Miss Sharples detailed what she had in store for the naughtiest girl in the sixth form. But as she did so, Emily had no need to suppress any giggles. Something in Miss Sharples' prim and posh voice resonated deep within her, and the mention of a big bouncy slipper, hit close to home in more ways than one.
The lady, whoever she was, wasn't really play acting, Emily sensed, and when Miss Sharples wound up by instructing Chantelle to bring Emily along to her study, too, something long-dormant within her stirred.
"Call me, girl," Miss Sharples said. "You have my number. I know you do."
"Oh, yes, Headmistress. I'm really sorry for all I've done," Jane said, adding an unconvincing quaver to her voice as she attempted to spin things out. "And, and there's lots more I could tell you about what I've been doing up in the dorm. Me and..."
Emily heard Miss Sharples' sigh. Then she adopted the same abrupt tone as when she first heard her voice. "Don't treat me as if I was stupid, girl. I know what you're trying to do - greedy little thing that you are. You really are in need of some serious correction, young lady. Call me if you know what is good for you, and have that silly girl who tried to pass herself off as you call me too."
The line went dead. Six pounds and fifty-seven pence, Jane's share of the call cost, ticked into her account. She pumped her fist.
"Yes! Not bad for twenty minutes listening to some snooty old bag who thinks she's a headmistress go on about spanking naughty girls, eh?"
When Emily didn't respond, Jane turned to her and noticed how pensive she looked. "You okay?" she asked, rubbing Emily's slender shoulder. "You shouldn't have picked up that call, you know. Some of them can get quite funny."
Emily shrugged and gave Jane a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about answering for you. I didn't want you to miss out."
"No harm done," Jane said as she unplugged her headset. "She's a regular is Miss Sharples. Always insists I call her back, but of course, I never do. It's strictly against the rules to call a punter, and besides, they're supposed to call you - that's how it works!"
That drew a smile from Emily, but Jane could see her impoverished and somewhat reserved friend who she'd demonstrated her 'easy money' scheme to, would not be taking it any further.
"Not for you this lark, then?"
Emily's eyes widened for a moment before she shook her head, rather more vigorously than she intended. Jane laughed at her bashful friend and closed her laptop. "Right! That'll do for tonight. Come on, let's get down the union for an hour - my treat."
Thursday night at the students union was typically riotous. Jane pulled - as she usually did. Emily didn't, again as per usual. Not that Emily was prudish, more... thoughtful, and especially so that evening. Two things occupied her mind: her ever-increasing student debt, which despite her best efforts to keep it in check, just seemed to balloon. The other was her short, but electrifying introduction to Jane's side hustle.
Drinks came and went, as did the odd guy out for what he could get. But not that mobile number... that remained stuck in Emily's mind. So memorable a sequence. It had to be one of those special ones you could buy, if you were rich enough. It wasn't just that, though. The quality of Miss Sharples' voice had stuck in her mind even more. So much presence, so much authority. Just like her old headmistress.
Next day, after the only lecture of the morning, Emily pulled out her worse-for-wear phone. It needed a new screen, but she couldn't afford to take out a paid plan, so she'd have to put up with the crack and stick with pay-as-you-go. Speaking of which, bar a pound and some small change, it had paid-up-and-gone. Her cracked reflection in the finger-smudged screen mirrored her fragmented thoughts. The events of the night before hadn't left her - wouldn't leave her. Unlike Jane, who was clearly acting in the stereotypical way anyone who'd never experienced a real spanking would, Emily knew better. She had. Just the once, but it was so memorable.
The three of them, Alice, Amanda, and her, stood before a thunder-faced headmistress in her study. Thought they could get away with smoking at lunchtime, did they? Better choose a different spot than the bus shelter at the end of the school access road next time. Only there wouldn't be a next time, would there? Lowered heads bobbed in unison under the gaze of fierce eyes glaring at them through tortoiseshell frames.
Mandy started sniffing. Emily did, too. She'd only tried a single puff and was coughing and spluttering to the hoots of laughter of her mates when a bus pulled up and Miss Jennings got off. The laughing stopped then. Excuses were pointless, the outcome inevitable. Their heads popped up in unison when the headmistress's bottom drawer raked open and she tossed a large black plimsoll on to her desk. They stared at it as one. Emily's sniffs became tears, little, near-silent sobs. The headmistress got up and collected a wooden chair from a rank of three by the wall. She plonked it in front of her desk and sat. Her finger crooked, then pointed to her lap.
"Emily, you first."
Emily brought her glazed eyes back into focus and stopped rubbing her thumb over the comforting tactile feel of the crack. The number she'd tapped in half an hour ago was still there, waiting for her to press either call or cancel. Her thumb hovered over the green icon, just as it had at least a dozen times. She took a deep breath. This time, she pressed. Three rings and no reply. Nerves welled and resolve faded. Her thumb hovered over 'cancel'. The call connected. The same cultured voice answered, this time without the sharp edge.
"Hello? Who is this?"
Emily let the breath she was holding escape and the words gushed out. "H-hello, Miss Sharples. It's Emily... we spoke briefly last night."
Seconds of silence ticked by, this time draining Emily's dwindling call credit rather than enriching her friend's bank balance. To emphasise the contrast, a message popped up, helpfully announcing she only had fifty pence left. Emily was about to ask if Miss Sharples was still there when she responded.
"Emily, I never expected to hear from you again. Why are you calling?"
Why was she calling? And how could she even begin to explain in the two minutes or so of airtime she had left? "I don't know. I just wanted to say sorry for, err... I can't explain, really. I've got no credit left. I'll have to go now."
"Don't go anywhere," Miss Sharples said. "I will call you straight back."
Hardly had the 'call ended' message vanished, when up flashed the return call. Emily accepted without hesitation. Instinct already told her you didn't keep Miss Sharples waiting.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.