"Oh headmaster, it's Bill Wymey head of Sixth form here", splttered the voice into the receiver, "You'll never
guess what's happened?
"Get a grip man, what is it?", said the headmaster
"The coach party of students that went out to watch the match against St Swithuns, they've all come back drunk.
Including Melanie Timpkeys, the teacher supposed to be in charge", he continued breathlessly.
"MY God, stammered the Head, "on top of the last A Level results as well. We'll be the laughing stock of the
Private Schools Association. Get Mrs Timpkeys and bring her to me, now".
"Straightaway Headmaster, although what sense you'll get out of her I don't know. She can't drive home that's for
sure". And with that the phone went "click".
Eric Wilkins had been head-master at St Benedicts for 30 years now. In fact was due to retire peacefully to the
country, with the ringing endorsement of the Board of Govenors. But now, thanks to Miss Smarty-Pants Timpkeys, it
could all be ruined.
He paced the room, hands clasped behind his back, black gown billowing behind him. What was he to do with her? A
slight smile crossed his stern features. He knew what he'd like to do with the young strumpet. She may have been
32, the head of PE, but she acted like one of the girls she was supposed to supervise. With her short skirts,
leather boots, and low-cut tops. As he watched her many a time through his window. She'd be wearing the very short
yellow pleated skirt and blue T shirt which was mandatory school uniform for PE. What she needed, he felt, was a
good old-fashioned spanking. That would take some of the wind out of her sails. And if her husband wouldn't.....
Well if it was in his power, he'd certainly oblige.
His wistful dream was sharply interrupted by a knock at the door.
After a sharp "come-in", in walked Bill Wymey followed by Melanie Timpkeys, teetering on her high-heeled suede
boots and the senior prefect, Mary Rogers.
Obviously, both had too much to drink and were giggling to themselves. Addressing Mrs Timpkeys first, "You will sit
down while I deal with Rogers first".
"But I need to get home I'm going out", she replied, looking at her watch, "This will (hee hee) have to wait"
"Sit down", he thundered, "Or so help me, I'll..." and left the sentence unfinished.
"Mmmph", she stroppily said dropping her bag on his desk scattering his cup of coffee over his papers and
petulantly ignoring the mess. And the scarlet-red buttoned through lycra dress rose even higher up her thighs as
she crossed her legs. Could she be wearing stockings? It certainly looked like that to both men as a tantalising
glimpse of suspender strap came into view. Giggling again as she noticed the deputy head virtually drooling over
her. He'd tried his luck with her at the last staff Christmas party, a swift slap around the face had put pay to
his plans. And a smarting resentment had built up since then.
Ignoring the spilt coffee, the head then dealt with Mary Rogers, he said, "Rogers, consider yourself stripped of
your priviledges. From now on, you will not wear your own clothes to school. You will revert back to the pinnafore
dress more suitable to a 1st grade girl"
"But sir, I'm 18 that would be so embarassing," she whined, stamped her foot and started for the door. Her mind was
racing. He'd addressed her as "Rogers". Normally, only boys were called by their surnames. Ever since she had been
at the school, girls were always called by their Christian names.
"Come back here. Your behaviour was embarassing and that calls for further discipline", he said.
"What do you mean?", Mary nervously exclaimed.
"You will get 2 strokes of the cane", he bellowed.
"Oh but sir", she exclaimed, "You can't do that, I'm the senior prefect".
"Ex-senior prefect", came the reply, "Do I have to list your offences? Being drunk, smoking, do I have to go on?
You've witnessed enough younger girls"
"Mr Wymey, could you do the honours please", he continued.
One final plea, "PLease no".
"oh for goodness sake. Get on with it, so we can all go hone", interrupted Mrs Timpkeys, "I'm much too busy for all
this nonsense". While reaching for her personal organiser.
"Get on with it Eric", she acidly continued.
Ignoring the fact that she'd called him by his first name rather than headmaster, he nodded to the deputy-head who
swiftly positioned Mary Roger with her hands on the table. Grasping the crook handled cane, he brought it down
over her tight jeans.
"Ow", she howled. Immediately rubbing her rear and hopping from one leg to the next. Back down over the desk she
Swish, whack, "Oh it hurts it hurts", sobbed Mary. Frantically rubbing her rear. Tears starting to roll down her
"Oh for goodness sake, don't make such a fuss", said Mrs Timpkey, shaking her head fro side to side.
"Sit down Rogers, while I deal with Mrs Timpkeys", ordered the Head.
"Well don't think you're doing that to me", came the reply, "I may be (hiccough) drunk but I'm not that drunk (cue
more giggles). And crossed her legs again, another tantalising glimpse of thigh. How much more could a man take?
"And as for youuu, "he stammered. For a moment he was tongue-tied. Melanie Timpkeys wasn't nicknamed "Melons" for
nothing. And her 36DD bust today was struggling to stay inside her white lacy bra. Feeling rather warm, she'd
undone the top three buttons of her red figure hugging dress so her already outsize breasts were almost spilling
out of the bra. Her blonde hair brushed back behind her ears and dark shades perched on top of her head.
Noticing him seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from her endless cleavage, she murmured, "Cat got YOUR tongue,
sir" before continuing sarcasticly, "But there again, I never get any complaints about MY tongue..." and the glint
in her eye said it all. And yes, there was Bill Wymey mopping his brow at the thought.
"Why you young hussy, you're not too old to", he started to say before quick as a flash she countered with, "MMM,
is that a cucumber down your trousers or are you just pleased to see me. Mind you being married to Mrs Wilkins, you
must be desperate". And with that she disolved into a fit of laughter. Even Mary Rogers managed a half grin.
Realising that he would get no sense out of her in that state he ordered the secretary to ring her husband to pick
her up, commenting, "wE'll continue this in the morning when you've sobered up. After being told that he was away
on business, he thundered, "Ring her mother up, she'll have to take her home."
Thirty minutes later, a very annoyed middle-aged lady, conservatively dressed in her late 50's introduced herself
as Melanie Timpkey's mother. Very much of the old-fashioned secretary style, she damanded to know why the school
had called her. That her Company don't take kindly to unsceduled absences, etc.
After the Head explained, she went red then purple before venting her anger on her daughter, "You stupid, stupid
girl. How could you do this?"
To which Melanie answered in a load of verbal abuse. That she should mind her own ***ing business.
At which the headmaster regaining his composure, "How dare you speak to your mother like that, if you were my
daughter, as big as you are, I'd put you across my knee"
"I bet you'd like that", she laughed, "Go on admit it, you'd love to put me across your knee. I bet you've dreamed
"Don't be ridiculas", he stammered but Bill Wymey nodded as if to say, "wouldn't we all".
"Well you're not my parent, thank goodness so you can **k off too", came the snotty reply and she jumped up cursing
and made for the door. She's just laid a hand on the door, her perfectly shaped size 10 figure sihouetted against
the white of the door when a shout went up.
"No, but I am", her mother said, "And I agree with the headmaster, this is long overdue".
And with that, she grabbed Melanie's right ear.
"Ow", yelled Melanie, "Let gO this minute. I'm not a child"
Ignoring that last request, and with a determined look on her face, her mother frogmarched her almost bent-over
double to a conveniently placed hard-back chair, sat down and tumbled her befuddled daughter face down over her
lap. Sobering up rapidly and realising what was about to happen, she cried, "What do you think you're doing?".
"This is something I should have done a long time ago. When you had boys stay overnight when you were 15. When you
left home at 16. Got into drugs. And then married that rat-bag of a husband"
"Stop this at once", yelled Melanie she struggled to free herself fruitlessly trying to push herself up from her
mother's lap. But with her legs in the snug fitting boots off the ground, she couldn't get any purchase. She was
also aware that pervy old Wymey had too good a view of her legs for her comfort. In fact he was literally licking
his lips as SMACK SMACK SMACK, Melanie's mother started smacking her daughter's well presented rear.
"You bloody cow, stop this", yelled Melanie, "I'll fu***g kill you for this".
But she was ignored
As each spank landed on her ass, it quivered through her by now tautly stretched dress.
"For God's sake, will somebody stop her", cried Melanie.
Realising that no-one was moving to her aid, she frantically tried to shield her ass as to her horror, she felt her
short red lycra dress being hoiked unceremoniously higher.
"No, please don't pull my dress up", she pleaded.
She realised that her white suspender belt, sheer tan coloured stocking with lacy tops were on full show to
everyone in the room. Flushing with embarassment, she cried, "I'm not a child, I'm a married woman. You can't do
"Seems like she can", laughed Mary who secretly was getting quite a thrill watching the PE teacher being so
humiliated like this.
By now even the head's mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish and no-one could take their eyes off the
delectable Mrs Melanie Timpkeys ass writhing and twisting in ivory-coloured silk panties.
"If you don't f**ing stop, I'll scream the house down", she howled.
"You need to learn some manners young lady", came the reply, "In fact I think we'll have these down too"
And in a trice, Melanie's last vestige of respectability, her sexy undies were pulled down to her knees.
SMACK SMACK SMACK "Ow" SPANK "No more please" SPLAT "Yowch". Each spank landed with a resounding splat and her well
rounded mature ass wobbled.
All signs of the sexual innuendo of a few minutes ago had gone. No longer was she the sexy 32 year old married
woman but now a crying little girl. As she cried and sobbed.
"Oh please no more"
Kicking her legs, pounding her fists on the ground. Everything on display. By now her sun-glasses were bouncing
over the floor, her ass the same colour as her dress, her sexy French panties twisted and knotted
around her boots. To compound her misery, several of the juniors were peering through the Head's windows. One even
took a picture on their moble. Soon the picture would be all over Faebook.
When it all stopped and she was allowed to stand still crying. Lipstick and mascara smudged, frantically trying to
cover her bush and rubbing her tortured rear.
Sniffing and snivelling and now aware that all eyes were on her she promised, "I'll be a good girl mummy, I
"We'll see, came the stern reply, "Now pull your panties up go to the toilet and make yourself decent. And if I get
any more of that language, I'll wash your mouth out with soap in the staff room if necessary"
Stumbling towards the door, frantically pulling up her lacy underwear, she beat a hasty retreat never to be seen
again at the school. The ribald comments would have been too much.
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