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The Headmaster and the Girl

Posted by: SoloTouchArchive Author: odysseus2500 Posted on: 26 Nov 2004 1 comments
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A story of flagellation and young girls' bottoms in the time after the Great War. (For St_Charles_Chic: are you game?)THE HEADMASTER AND THE GIRLChapter OneTonight, for the first time, sitting at my desk with the door locked behind me, I feel that I may safely write down the story of the obsession that has dominated my life since puberty.I am a man of 26 years, born in Dublin of Protestant stock and educated at Trinity College to be a minister of the Church of England. Today I achieved my life's ambition: I was sworn in as Headmaster of a school for girls in Sussex, England.Why is this moment of such importance to me? Not for financial or scholarly reasons: not because I am that rather contemptible figure, the "born teacher": not for the social status conferred by my position in this rather uninteresting country town: but because of my overpowering fascination by the bottoms of young girls.Since I plan to leave this memoir to be found by a later generation, I will explain how I came to this highly respectable institution, St. Anne's in the Field Institution for Young Women, and how I plan to satisfy what I acknowledge as an obscene and overpowering lust at the very center of my being.As a boy, I attended school in Sligo, Ireland, a pleasant city on the western shore some hours north of Galway. It is an agreeable place; unlike most Irish cities in the West, which are mostly of painted stucco. Sligo was built as a customs port, and the buildings are largely of cut stonework in the English style.We were reasonably free to walk about the city, and not spied upon or restricted as boys at English schools are. Also, in an agreeable custom that is Irish but not English, it was possible to convince one of the older boys, whose liberty was even less restricted after dinner, to slip over to an establishment by the harbor and make arrangements for one of the young women to make herself available for a few hours in a shed in the garden; my first experience of sexual fulfillment (outside of the involuntary ejaculations of the night) was with one of these young ladies as she lay on an improvised bed of burlap sacking. I was perhaps the fifth or sixth recipient of her favors that night, or perhaps I should say, she was the recipient of five or six of ours, since what I learned to call her "cunny" was delightfully awash with the spendings of my predecessors, including the spunk of my closest school friend, Julian.I later learned that this initiation was far from being customary in the English schools, where I believe that Greek love was actually encouraged as a means of bonding the masculine society of the upper classes.But this was not the experience that shaped my desires. That came when I joined Julian for the Long Vacation at his family's country home in Wicklow, a handsome mansion of forty or so rooms, with stables and gardens maintained by the Catholic peasantry, who lived in small houses in the town.A pretty colleen named Kitty, a downstairs maid, had been found in the orchard by the head gardener, in a highly compromising position with a boy from the town. Julian told me that she had been given a choice between being deprived of her position, or being punished by the gardener."Her family needs the money, like all the peasants, and she's taking the beating," Julian said. "O'Gorman lets me watch from the hayloft: it should be ripping good fun. Shall we?"Of course I said yes, and shortly found myself lying on the hay with Julian, looking down through a large opening at a sawhorse on the first floor of the barn.A few minutes later, O'Gorman led pretty Kitty, a girl of about fifteen years with a mass of cinnamon red hair, into the shadowed barn. "All right," he said to the young girl, "skirts up and drawers down!""I can't," she said distressfully, "it's not proper!""Be damned to proper," O'Gorman growled. "This is the third time I've caught ye wid' Shaun Kelley, and this time you're goin' to get it on the bare bum, the way ye'll remember it and there'll be no next time."Sobbing, the girl slowly pulled up her many skirts around her waist and I saw her naked buttocks, richly curved with a deep shadow between them. "No drawers!" whispered Julian. "Can't afford 'em.""Bend over," growled O'Gorman, "and take yer punishment."Reluctantly, pretty Kitty bent over the sawhorse, which I now realized had been placed to give the young master a clear view of the plump target."A'right, here's one!" said O'Gorman, and the willow switch in his hand cracked across Kitty's bare cheeks.She gasped, but did not scream. "Two!" The switch lashed Kitty's buttocks again. A red welt from the first blow began to show, and I realized that her bottom would be blazing after a few more."Three, four, five, six!" This time Kitty could not control a scream, but O'Gorman's big hand reached over the sawhorse and muffled her mouth. "Here's an extra one f'r crying out." He released her head and stood back. She was still sobbing, but not so loudly that anyone outside the barn would be likely to hear. "What's he waiting for?" I whispered to Julian."You'll see."Suddenly O'Gorman slashed at her bottom, right, left, right. I heard her draw breath convulsively and O'Gorman hissed, "Not a sound, or there's more where that came from!"Kitty shuddered all over, gasping for breath, the blazing cheeks of her bottom quivering. Her hand came up off the barn floor, and I assumed she was biting her fist to keep from crying out."No more wid' the boys in the orchard?"She nodded her head, her red hair brushing the sawdust on the wood floor.O'Gorman slapped her right arse cheek as though she were a horse, and walked out of the barn.Julian waited for O'Gorman's footsteps to die away, and then crawled to the edge of the ladder. The young girl was still doubled over the sawhorse."Pst, Kitty. Come up here."I saw Kitty's reddened bottom disappear as her skirts came down, and she limped towards the ladder.Julian turned his head to me. "It gets her going. Now we'll have some fun."I woke slowly from my trance. During Kitty's flagellation, my male member had erected as never before in my memory, seeming about a foot long and as thick through as a German sausage, trembling with spunk; and when O'Gorman had slashed his goodbye across her bottom, I exploded endlessly, blissfully, into my trousers. If Julian meant what I thought, I had no more spunk left for it than a dried stick.Kitty's reddened face with the tears still moist on it appeared at the top of the ladder, and as she climbed onto the hayloft, her skirts once again exposed her reddened buttocks."I s'pose I know what you'll be wantin'," she said to Julian with half a grimace and half a grin."Come on, Kitty, I know damn well what you want after a whipping," Julian said calmly."Well, let's have the first half first and the second half after," the girl said."'Done," Julian said, fishing in the pocket of his knickers; he came out with two silver coins and handed them to Kitty."'Tis high," the girl said. "I s'pose 'tis for the both of yez.""You s'pose correctly, my angel," he said. "So rest your poor burning behind on the hay, and we'll try to take the sting out of it.""He don't look like he's up to much," she said, looking at me. "He look like he's come a'ready.""Well, then I'll just go first, and let him get his breath back," Julian said, taking Kitty by the wrist and twistng her onto her back in the hay."Aisy," she cried, "a broken wrist does nawthin' for me.""But we know what does do something for you, angel, and that's a few good cuts with O'Gorman's willow switch. Now open up there," and Julian pulled her knees apart."Oh, well, if ye must, ye must," said the girl, and pulled her skirts up. I gazed on the thatch of red hair between her thighs as Julian unbuttoned his knickers, pulled them down over his white arse, and rolled on top of her.His buttocks arched up and down and Kitty gasped. "My God, you're wet," he said, and settled down to a vigorous pumping between her spread knees.I had no experience with women, save the one in the garden shed, but it seemed Julian was right: Kitty was ready, right enough. After about a minute of being plundered by Julian's member, her breath came faster and she wrapped her white legs around him and squeezed convulsively, again and again.He collapsed on her belly, saying "Oh, God, oh, God, Kitty, you're enough to drain a man dry.""If that's all ye've got, let the other one at me, f'r I'm not near finished yet," she gasped, pushing him off her supine body. I saw his moist, shrunken member dangling from his unbuttoned fly as he rolled away and left Kitty for me.I quickly unbuttoned my trousers and stumbled towards her open legs on my knees. "Come on," she said, "are ye doin' it to me or are ye not?"I had been mistaken about my restorative powers. My member was limp no longer, and stiffened further as the tip entered Kitty's warm hole. Again, the juice left by another man excited me more, and I hitched up on my knees to penetrate further.Kitty was evidently an old hand at the business, squirming to give me all the access I wanted. My first spunking must have made my member less sensitive, for I plumbed her young womb for glorious minutes as time after time she convulsed under and around me. At last I pressed in with all my strength and held it there, which she seemed to recognize as my final thrust and wrapped her legs around me to bring me in deeper as I ejaculated as blissfully as before, eight or nine times, then collapsed on her like Julian."Well, that's something a bit more like it," she breathed into my ear.When my heartbeat and respiration had slowed, I came out of her and rolled off into the hay.Kitty climbed to her feet. "You can come back anytime," she said to me, conspicuously leaving Julian out."I'll do you again if you like, miss," he said cheerfully."Thanks, I'm done now," she retorted, felt her way onto the ladder and climbed down to the barn floor. * * * I felt marvelous after the session with Kitty, and determined (like most young men, I'm sure) to plunder every pair of legs wrapped in a skirt that I met.But of course it was not that easy. The doxies in Sligo were too pricey for a young man on an allowance. The ones in Dublin were cheaper, but none when it came to being caned, and my hand, greased with a scoop of lard from the buttery, had to ease me through Trinity, as it did most of my classmates. Only in my nocturnal spendings did I reach my bliss, and always my dreams were of Kitty's reddened arse. Onan's sin, so warned against by my spiritual counselors, gave me a pale satisfaction compared with Kitty's reddened arse and liquid womb; and my only real pleasure in self-abuse came when I could recreate her curving bottom in my mind's eye as O'Gorman lashed it.Finally I graduated; and having achieved a double first, I was given a few pounds by my parents to travel in Europe to broaden my mind before a place was found for me in the Anglican Church; and Julian, now my college classmate, traveled with me.The traditional "grand tour" was accomplished in some splendour, since Julian's family had not only provided liberally for their only son, but had given him a Straker Squire for his transportation. The smart little two-seater said "money" to all the hotel-keepers in Europe, and we traveled very well.Discreet inquiries in Paris brought us to a "maison" where the girls would accept a whipping, but to my fixated imagination it was, maddeningly, not enough. I realized that I needed to watch a pretty young woman being lashed against her will, sobbing in real pain, to trigger the explosive satisfaction I remembered so clearly and craved so fiercely to have again. Where could I recreate the conditions of my bliss? Was there a place where whipping the bottoms of young girls was not only possible, but fully acceptable and even required?Clearly, in an English school for girls, as a headmaster.Returning from the grand tour, I determined to find such a position, and since one's primary goal is the one which is most likely to be achieved, I did. My parents were modestly high in social circles in Ireland, and a young deacon of the Church was always welcome at dinners given by parents, or I should say, mothers, of marriageable daughters. I politicked and proselytized like a missionary at dining tables all over Dublin and London, and finally, with the help of a fierce dowager, one Lady Eynsford, who loudly decried the movement to eliminate corporal punishment in the schools, and my double-first at Trinity, got me my wish: a post at St. Anne's in the Field, horribly underpaid like all jobs in education, but remunerative enough for my needs as long as it offered the one commodity essential to my spiritual well-being: a regular supply of young, unwilling female bottoms at my disposal for whipping. (to be continued in Part Two)