From the Top Shelf - Inequity

I love school stories, and this one might shock some of my younger readers. It was written at a time when corporal punishment was common in schools. Although the practice has now been discontinued, and would be considered illegal in my own country, it was once the standard method of enforcing discipline. This short story, written by GeorgieC, was probably based on his own school experiences, combined with some wishful thinking.

Inequity

'The door opened, and the third form boy almost ran out, clutching the seat of his trousers, and progressed rapidly down the corridor. Another boy from the third form went in and closed the door behind him. We shuffled forward one place.

Another boy in front of her, then Angela, then me. All was silent for a minute, then the loud and constant whapping sound started. I looked at her face - she was now strangely pale, but still the most beautiful girl in the school. Her dark eyes were matched only by the raven-black hair, setting a contrast with the drained colour of her face. The beginnings of a tear formed in the corner of her eye.

Silence fell again, and the young lad left attempting to maintain some dignity. The boy at the front of the queue, a fourth former, went into the study, and closed the door. She moved forward, and as she did so I noticed now clearly the tears starting to run down her face.

"Don't worry, it'll soon be over" I said, trying to keep up both of our spirits. The noise of slipper meeting rear came through the door.

She glared at me. "It's not so bad for you, boys. Boys aren't bothered about having to take your trousers down for the slipper from the Headmaster. You're used to it. But what do you think it's like for us girls? Especially us in the Sixth Form? Having to lift your skirt up and get it on your knicks like they do from the Headmaster at the Grammar School would be bad enough, but our Head tells you to take your pants down - how do you think that feels? And the way he makes sure you pull them all the way down to your knees and makes you bend right over and touch your toes. Heaven knows what he can see! It's not right for a seventeen year old to have to show her bum like that to a man! And it doesn't half sting! This is the third time I've had it this term. And I haven't done anything!!" And the tears kept flowing.

I looked at her, open-mouthed. Unable to speak I said nothing. But I thought it. I thought it quite clearly. "What is she talking about?" I'd been sent for the slipper loads and loads of times all the way through the school from first year through to Sixth Form. Sometimes, like now, on my own, sometimes a whole group of us lads. And every single time over the years it was the same. In the office, lean over, whack-whack-whack with the slipper over your trousers, and out. I wanted to ask more, ask her to clarify, ask her…the door opened and out the boy came.

She turned and opened the door, walked through and shut the door behind her.

I had to know. I had to. I glanced up and down the corridor. Good, no-one around - the previous victim was trudging miserably towards the corner back to his class. Hurry up, lad, hurry up! He finally disappeared round the corner and I crouched down carefully and put my eye to the keyhole. And what I saw changed my life forever.

All I could see was the centre of the room, but there,facing away from the door was Angela. Not exactly "facing" away, but bending away, her fingers straining towards her toes, a cascade of black hair falling forward. Her blue uniform skirt resting neatly folded onto her back. I could only see down as far as her knees, but that was all that was needed, for there, just above them, were her crisp white cotton pants. And directly facing me, facing the door, between the skirt and pants, were the two roundest, chubbiest, cutest bottom cheeks I had ever, or even have ever since, seen. As bare as bare could be.

Suddenly, from out of my view to the left of me, the slipper came whizzing down, and landed with a Splat, making her buttocks jiggle a little dance of their own. A muffled yelp could be heard.

Again the slipper whizzed down, and another yelp. Her bottom, completely exposed to me, started developing a pinkish tinge.

Whap! Again the slipper landed with full force, causing the right cheek to shake. The reddish imprint could clearly be seen, and a slightly louder yelp escaped from the distance, from under the cascade of black hair.

I felt an uncomfortable stirring at the front of my trousers as I watched. Not only were the two rounded bottom cheeks on display, but as the slipper landed Angela's legs parted slightly, and I could see rather more of Angela than she would have thought I should.

A fourth whack of the slipper, this time plum in the middle of her left buttock. The imprints were now clear to see, and at this point, after four strokes we boys would be hoping that our ordeal was at an end. Obviously the Headmaster had a different idea for the young lady, bent over and exposed, in front of him.

He said something, and I saw her adjust her position. Clearly not sufficiently, because from out of view his hands appeared, gently guiding, gently touching the bare bottom to get it into a better position.

Whap! A fifth stroke landed, this time to the right. Her bum was beginning to glow and the yelps were becoming louder. There was a pause, then an almighty whack. I could almost feel the wind from the downward stroke, even through the door. The blow landed with a resounding noise, Angela let out what can only be described as a cry of anguish, but she steadfastly held her position. Presumably she knew the consequences of moving.

Again a pause as she waited, but no more strokes came, only the Headmaster coming into view, briefly blocking out the scene before me as he himself bent down and closely inspected the results of the beating. Closely inspecting the bare bottom and the treasures that were also on show.

I didn't hear what was said then, but she stood up, her skirt partly falling over the target area, only for it to be momentarily uncovered again as she delicately pulled the pants back up. Discretion being the better part of valour I stood up, trying to act nonchalantly - a difficult task when you had just seen what I had seen and trying desperately to control a growing bulge where there shouldn't be one. I prayed that I would not have to drop my trousers.

The door opened, and out she came, tear stained, distraught, but still beautiful. She didn't look at me as she disappeared down the corridor.

And so I went in - and as always, a brief order to touch my toes, six rapid whacks of the slipper over my fully covered rear, and I was down the corridor within minutes.

I never mentioned this to anyone, but started taking notice of who was being sent to the Headmaster. Certainly the preponderance of visitors to his office were boys. But there was always at least one girl, usually a senior girl, usually a better looking girl. And always they came out looking more distraught than the boys. A little more disheveled, if you know what I mean.

And, I'll admit, that on a couple of occasions I managed to follow such a victim to the school library, and with a bit of judicious planning as they were looking for books, I had a little peek up their skirts. And each time there was a large amount of redness peeping out from beneath the glowing whiteness of the underwear. A redness that seemed excessive if the punishment had been applied over the good quality thickness of the school skirt and the afore-mentioned panties.

He's retired now. But I would love to have talked to him. Just to let him know, that I knew what he was up to. That I had it worked out. That I knew he was inequitable in his treatment of boys and girls - and I knew why. To let him know, that there are an awful lot more of us out here. He would have a great deal to contribute to our discussions.'

Kindred spirits indeed!