by LSF Publications
It was a sight no fourteen-year-old boy wanted to see, and it was viewed from a position no boy, of any age, wanted to be in. Young David Eagle was staring at the inside of his trousers as they nestled in a crumpled heap around his ankles. Worst of all, he was viewing them through a gap between the front legs of a straight-back chair and the shapely calves of his form-mistress, Heather Anderson.
He was breathing heavily, partly as a result of trying hard not to cry, but mostly due to the fact he had just been on the receiving end of a blistering spanking.
"It never ceases to amaze me," Miss Anderson said, slightly panting herself, "why, no matter how many times boys like you have been over my knee, you continue to give me reasons to repeat the process."
As she continued to berate him, her right hand tapping his left buttock, David's mind began to wander. Although he couldn't completely ignore the burning in his nether regions, revenge is a powerful emotion and it was to this that his thoughts had turned.
The pantry raid had been intended as a solo effort and had taken weeks of planning, and should have gone off without a hitch. He had carried it out at the weekend when most of the luckier or local boys were at home and he had been careful to steal a few select items from the very rear of the pantry; the loss of which would probably go unnoticed or at least take much longer than it did to become apparent.
"Theft, in all its forms is a particularly heinous offence," she continued, snapping him back to the current situation. "In my opinion the theft of food is completely unacceptable and will not be tolerated," she promised, her hand gliding menacingly towards the waistband of his regulation white underpants.
"The meals at this school are perfectly adequate and calculated to ensure that every boy remains well fed and healthy," she explained, hooking her fingers into the elastic. "Therefore any extra eating can only be put down to greed and gluttony."
He felt her left arm wrap around his waist and raise his hips slightly. "And gluttony," she grunted, yanking his briefs clear of his midriff, "is one of the least attractive of the seven deadly sins."
Like the condemned man watching his gallows being built, David had no choice but to see his own underpants being dragged down his legs and deposited, unceremoniously, in the folds of his trousers.
"And... had it not been for the virginal conscience of a new boy, you may well have escaped justice," she added grimly, pulling him closer to her waist and swinging her hand well behind her head. "Justice, which I am about to deliver."
Again, as Einstein predicted, time appeared to warp and before the first bare bottom smack had landed, David had worked out who had snitched on him.
The only two boys left in the dorm' that night had been Spotty Simpkins and Simon Meagle and it couldn't have been Simpkins, because his conscience could never be described as virginal. Therefore it must have been Meagle!
The little sod will be made to pay for this, David swore inwardly, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth.
The first smack landed and David's eyes bulged in surprise. He knew that Miss Anderson could lay them on but... my God, this time she really meant it.
He could feel her twisting from the waist as she strove to gain maximum torque before unleashing the power stored in a downward swing, that had his bottom not been in the way, would have resulted in her arm almost completing a full circle.
There was no lecturing now, just a relentless, unforgiving and completely withering, bare rump slapping.
By the time she was satisfied that he had learned a valuable lesson the poor boy was crying loudly and bucking like a rodeo horse. Unfortunately for David however, Miss Anderson decided to finish with a flurry of spanks allied to a final threat.
Her right arm was piston like as she promised to strip him of his title as Head Boy, while punctuating each word with a slap that left fingertip bruises on his already crimson and quivering backside.
As he lay sobbing over her knee, both he and she knew that it would take an exceptionally stupid act on his behalf before he found himself in this position again.
Despite his wretched state and the roasting his backside had just received, David Eagle was already plotting his retribution. It was dark blue, shaped like a shield and bore the inscription 'HB' over a gold crown. More to the point though, it was Simon Meagle's pride and joy.
A huge grin of pleasure spread from ear to ear as he admired himself in his dressing table mirror. It had been hard to earn and would be extremely difficult to hold on to, but by hook or by crook he was determined to do so.
The 'HB' stood for Head Boy and was awarded monthly by the Headmistress, to the pupil who, after taking into consideration the views of her teaching staff, deserved it most. He had however, been awarded it mid-month due to the previous holder having... shall we say... disgraced himself.
It came with perks of course, not least of which was the private room fourteen year old Simon was standing in right now. It was the second of four, one for each of the form leaders, situated in a rather dingy corridor in the east wing of the school and well away from the communal dormitories. Each room was comparatively well furnished, had its own bathroom and allowed for a fair amount of privacy.
As for the duties, well they had been described to him, but to be quite honest he hadn't really been listening, and let's face it, the title was pretty well self-explanatory. Make sure his fellow pupils behave themselves and report those who don't... simple as that. There was something at the end about being a redeemer but as he didn't know what that meant he had, as usual, decided to ignore it.
Simon, who had been getting ready for bed, was stripped to his vest and pants and was in the process of retrieving his pyjamas from under his pillow, when a glint of light from the badge caught his eye.
Unable to resist it, he had pinned it on to his vest and had begun posing in front of the mirror. Not simply standing there, but walking to and fro, and spinning around quickly, as if someone had called him from behind.
"Are you speaking to me?" he would inquire haughtily of his reflection. "Because if you are then I would prefer it if you addressed me as head boy, thank you very much!"
A thin veil of embarrassment descended on his thoughts as fleeting images of his recent actions flickered in his brain. He had been so determined to win this promotion that he had quite shamelessly, and with great alacrity, behaved with deliberate and apparent dishonour.
His so-called school mates had behaved appallingly, he told himself in justification, and therefore could have no complaints about someone telling on them, especially the previous "HB" who should have known better but had simply biffed him soundly on the nose. An act which Simon had felt compelled to immediately report to the form mistress. All of the boys he had turned in had been soundly punished by hand, tawse and cane while his unblemished bottom had remained, as always, untouched.
Anyway, he had already written to his parents informing them of the good news and they would be most pleased with the immediate progress of their little angel. This in turn would mean extra pocket money and perhaps super scrumptious food hampers, which of course, were not to be shared with anyone.
His presence at Glenmoor Hall was the result of a complete failure by the staff at his previous school. Their attempts at trying to turn a spoilt, out of control brat into a young gentleman had failed completely and it came as no surprise to anyone, except Simon himself of course, when he was finally expelled. Not only that, but the Headmaster's contact list was impressive and as a result his parents had found it almost impossible to enrol him in an alternative educational establishment. This place, deep in the highlands of Scotland, had been their last chance and thankfully, at a cost of course, their little darling had been accepted.
He could only imagine their joy that, after only two months, he had risen to the heady heights of Head Boy and that their son wasn't the lost cause certain others had made him out to be.
This delightful, and just a touch self-indulgent, period of reverie was brought to a sudden halt by three firm, and rather no nonsense raps on his door. Before he had a chance to react, the door swung open and the headmistress, completely unbidden, violated his recently acquired sanctuary.
"Ah, quarter to ten," she announced, glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside table. "Just enough time for a little chat before the fun begins," she continued, smoothing the back of her skirt and seating herself on a straight backed chair.
"Fun?" he enquired, puzzled and yet at the same time intrigued. "I was just getting ready for bed miss," he explained, realising with a shock the state of undress he was in.
Jennifer Sherwood-Jones had been the headmistress at Glenmoor for ten years now and never tired of breaking in new boys. At six foot tall and deliciously curvy, the fifty-year-old brunette seemed to have a hypnotising effect on the youths in her charge. Being away from their mothers' made them particularly vulnerable to the charms of an older woman and perhaps it was this that empowered her so. Nevertheless, it was a potent weapon and one that she utilised frequently and mercilessly.
"Well, fun for some," she crooned, smiling broadly as Simon tugged gamely at the hem of his vest, vainly attempting to hide his underpants from her penetrating gaze. As he did, he unconsciously backed away from her, until the cold frame of the bed met the back of his knees and with a sigh of relief he plonked himself down on the firm mattress.
Jennifer slowly and deliberately crossed her legs, allowing her sheer black stockings to audibly rub against each other, and her skirt to ride up slightly to mid-thigh.
"Stand up dear," she commanded, extending her arm and flicking her fingers towards the ceiling. It was said quietly but with the absolute authority that brooked and consequently received no argument.
"Now," she continued, when Simon was back on his feet, "ask me if you may sit down."
Much to his surprise and a little to his chagrin Simon felt unable to disobey and even began to shiver slightly as he yielded to her instruction.
"May I sit down... please?" he entreated, adding the' please' without even thinking.
"Of course you may, Master Meagle," the headmistress crooned almost gloatingly, "and remember... manners maketh the man."
It was at this point, that the silence of the night was broken by the muffled sound of voices coming from the room next door. Although it couldn't be made out what was actually being said, there was no doubt that one of the voices belonged to an adult female, and the other a young male.
"Oh dear," Jennifer sighed, "Miss Hopkins is early tonight... young Master Cuthbert must have really annoyed her this week, the silly boy."
There then followed a series of thwacks each followed by a yelp of complaint and each getting louder by the second.
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