fiction: The New Principal 4: Escape

I hightailed it to my second period class — French — and got my bum down onto my seat as fast as I could, which was pretty fast indeed. My desk was at the front of the class, closest to the door. You would have been forgiven for thinking I was playing a solitaire version of musical chairs to a tune only I could hear.

Once the general commotion died down and class began, I quickly noticed that getting comfortable on the hard seat with my bum still throbbing hotly was pretty much impossible. The uniform skirt was too short to really sit on — I would have to tuck it carefully under me to make it stay, and then I’d have a bundle of fabric right under where it hurt the most. No thanks. Staying still was bad, and shifting was worse, but I shifted anyway, with a desperate certainty that there must be some position that would ease my discomfort.

But I was wrong.

The throb of my bottom and thighs was surprising only for its novelty. Of course a spanking would hurt, that was its raison d’être. But the answering throb between my legs was something else entirely. Keeping up with notetaking wasn’t enough to keep my mind fully occupied; it kept slipping away to snapshots of the hour before (l’heure précédente). The smooth, cool wood (le bois) of the chair (de la chaise) under my bottom (au-dessous de ma derrière). Looking past my knees (mes genoux) to the terrazzo floor. Mr. Martin’s accent and the timbre of his voice (sa voix). The terrazzo floor now only inches (quelques pouces) away from my face (de mon visage). The uncomfortable constricting pressure as my body weight squashed my stomach (mon estomac? diaphragme?) and lower ribs into his lap (er, genoux again?).

I wrenched my focus to the lesson, scribbling more notes. The last thing I needed was to get caught not paying attention at the moment when she asked me a question, especially since she would expect me to know the answer.

I shifted on the damned unyielding seat, and the resultant ache drew me back again. The sting of that first smack. The pain (la douleur) as the smacks stacked up and he built up that throbbing heat (la chaleur)…

Suddenly the teacher was wrapping up the lesson, early, and generously giving us lots of time to work on homework. I sprang from my seat.

“Mlle Lamotte, I’m not feeling well. May I go to the restroom?”

“Oh, Alexandra, you’re looking a bit flushed. Do you have a fever? Do you want to go to the nurse’s office?”

Merde. “No, I think I just need to wash my face and get some air and maybe a drink of water. The restroom is fine.” Mostly I was craving solitude. How could it all have happened only been 40 minutes ago? It already felt like it had been days.

She gave me the permission I sought and I strode away briskly. When I turned in the hallway to quietly latch the door using both hands, we made eye contact briefly through the crack.

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fiction: The New Principal 1

This is my first fiction piece on the blog, and I might be jumping into the deep end by starting with a very specific genre: the schoolgirl spanking story.

It all started with a skirt. I’d been thinking that I could use a little pleated skirt, then remembered I had one in the pile of clothes to get rid of that, with alteration, might work. After I hacked off 7 inches, I found it surprisingly schoolgirlish. A back-to-school themed play party motivated me to cobble together the remainder of a school “uniform”, which sparked my imagination…

Ten minutes into first period, the intercom crackled to life with the high school secretary’s familiar voice saying words no one had ever heard before: “Alexandra King, please report to the principal’s office.”

My stomach lurched. Shit. Shit. I’d started skipping a class here and there. That must be it. But this was only the second week of school, and I’d been strategic so no one teacher would notice a pattern. And since they all liked me, I figured they’d give me the benefit of the doubt for a while at least. Assuming that getting a handshake at the end-of-the-year award ceremony didn’t count as “meeting”, I was about to meet the principal for the first time. Shit.

I felt the weight of everyone’s gaze as I stood and gathered my books. I usually sat more or less front and center, but in Calculus my friends all wanted to sit in the back corner. I slouched towards the door at the front of the room, trying vainly to disappear. Even the teacher’s eyebrows were headed for his hairline. Out in the empty hallway, I relaxed a bit.

This year, my last in high school, was going to be really different from the previous years. The new principal, Mr. Martin, liked to call himself “Headmaster”. Or rather, “Headmahstah.” I guessed on the basis of the accent that he was from somewhere in England.

New uniform. Dorktastic.

The uniforms that we now wore were his doing. I live in jeans and T-shirts. I hate skirts. And bloody blouses. Blazer, tie and knee socks. Ugh. And now all the guys are always looking at all the girls’ legs. How exactly is this supposed to make for an “environment conducive to learning”?

At the office, the secretary showed me to a chair and then bustled off to the photocopier room, which immediately started to hum. After a few moments, the Headmahstah’s door opened and he called me in. Despite the suit and tie, he looked too young to be a principal — mid to late 20s maybe. Sarah, who sat next to me in English, had a boyfriend who was 25. (She was nearly 18, while at 16 and three quarters I was about the youngest in the class.) But then Mr. Martin acted way older than 25, so I guess it balanced out. I could just see over his shoulder that the walls behind him were cluttered with class photos (from his previous schools, I assumed) and the metal filing cabinets were topped with an assortment of travel curios and a few houseplants.

“Sit down.” There was one sturdy straight-backed wooden chair facing his desk. I sat and studied my knees.

“Do you know why I called you in to see me?”

I was pretty sure I knew, but I didn’t want to say anything. Like my brother told me, if you get pulled over and the cop asks if you know why he stopped you: don’t confess anything, don’t make it easy. I shook my head.

“When I started at this school over the summer, I familiarized myself with the files of some of the more noteworthy students.” He crossed from the desk to the window and surveyed the grounds while I surreptitiously studied the room. “Your file stood out: straight As, awards, the whole lot.”

The dates on his degrees put him at 33 or 34. Huh.

“Imagine my surprise when I checked the attendance records of your various classes and found that you had been skipping. That seemed out of character.”

He turned toward me, his eyebrows raised imperiously during the pause, as though he were peering over reading glasses. Half-moon glasses, I thought, and then I had to stifle a smile when an image of Dumbledore in robes and long grey beard popped to mind unbidden. “You’re only harming yourself with that behavior. So now we’re going to correct it. It’s for your own good, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I guess,” I said.

Giving me a penetrating look, he said, “The correct answer is ‘Yes, sir.’ Try it.”

I took a breath, raised my head and looked into the middle distance, not towards him but vaguely over his desk. “Yes, sir.” Fine. I’ve said the words, but you can’t make me mean them.

“You know your behavior must be punished. Skipping classes is foolish and childish so your punishment will be too. I’m going to give you a spanking.”

My eyes flew up to meet his. I gaped. Shit.

“Now, Miss King. Stand up.” I couldn’t remember ever having been addressed that way before. The title and last name should have sounded grown up, but in this context it felt like a rebuke.

He wheeled his black leather office chair to the side and replaced it with another chair from the corner, which was straight-backed and wooden, like mine. He sat. “Take off your blazer and come around, now.”

The photocopier in the next room was still humming. What was the secretary copying? The phone book?

“Over my knee.”

[Continued in Part 2.]

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Edit: Marie Rebelle chose this post as one of her Top 3 for the week.