Delta George

I am never good with categories, or for that matter specific tags, it all just seems to wander off in different directions. Everything contained within these pages are works of complete fiction. The characters in this story are themselves entirely fictional. They do not exist, never have, and never will and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, whether by name or by description, is purely coincidental and unintentional.

~~oOo~~

Delta George

Angus Weston was trying too stem the tidal flow of questions, he was losing interest with the incessant questioning from the bright young students surrounding him as, in his peripheral sight, he caught sight of a vision, a vision of beauty, tall, and lithe with a fit, athletic physique, and chiselled, well defined abdominal muscles, and gracefully proportion limbs.

Her blonde hair was long and loose, with the perfect amount of wayward curls framing her face. Her eyes are bright, her full lips moist, her skin tanned and soaked with sweat from running on such a warm summer's day.

Her outfit was inappropriate, even in an all female college. It was a brief grey sports top that plunged deep to emphasise her impressive chest and slim waist; it moulded to flow over her every curve like a second skin, and a short, grey pleated skirt showing off her long, shapely legs.

She stood in the warm sunlight filtering through the large Georgian window in the oak-lined hallway.

Angus Weston knew about this vision, he had been warned by a number of governors about the Delta affect.

Angus was not a man to be intimidated, bullied or cowed, which is why, in the dying days of the failing college, the governors parachuted him into the master role; his task was to restore discipline and improve the exam results.

Angus had done his research, asked all the right discreet questions, he knew that, for Delta there were few letters from home, and no telephone calls, and there, between the lines and silences was always the suggestion of impermanence. She didn't have much in her life; she had no father, an absentee mother, and a chip on her shoulder as wide as Gloucestershire.

They said that she didn't do waiting, didn't do quiet calm, even when still, she fidgeted, bounced on the balls of her feet. She often would promise, 'I'll stay --' even as she prepared to go somewhere else. Now she was twenty feet away, over the heads of the younger girls crowding around in their uniforms and ill-fitting boaters.

He caught her eye, holding it fleetingly: he was happy to see her demure look in return, holding a little frisson of vicarious fear. Her look said, 'No problem here?' but there was no impatience in the question; nobody else was even aware of the glance.

Angus held a hand up, the gaggle of young students falling silent. "Miss George, please make your way immediately to the Masters study." Angus spoke directly, his voice carrying. He saw her incline her head, not in acceptance, or deference, but simple acknowledgement of the inevitable.

There was a collective ooh, from the gaggle as Delta George turned on her heels and headed for the study.

Once in the study, Angus took the imposing desk chair in front of the large window, and Delta stood, rocking slightly.

"I do not believe in wasting words, Miss George. Until a new, permanent Master is appointed, I have been given a specific task: turn this college around.

I have spent the last six weeks observing, questioning, and investigating so that I was able to formulate a suitable plan to present to the governors.

That plan, Miss George, was accepted by them unanimously last night, and its implementation begins today, or more specifically with you, Miss George, the college's esteemed head girl."

Angus paused, opening a drawer in his desk and extracting a buff folder, which he placed precisely front and centre on the desk.

Delta George had listened impassively to the new temporary master's ramblings, but now, for some reason, the contents of the ordinary-looking buff folder made her nervous.

"I am Miss George, a great believer that young people are innately good, but few will occasionally a second chance and firm guidance. In that folder is a detailed account and witness statements pertaining to your illicit activities, namely the supply of alcohol and cigarettes to minors. At 18, you may be over the legal age to purchase such items, but supplying such items to the other younger girls in school is illegal and breaches college regulations.

Regrettably, as head girl, you should be setting an example, and therefore, it is necessary for you to be made an example of." Angus paused again, expecting a reaction.

Delta had always been pragmatic and recognised when remaining quiet was in her interest.

"Nothing to say for yourself, Miss George?"

"No, sir, you have made up your mind."

"Yes, there are two options available to you.

The first is to involve the police, which will mean a criminal record and also result in you being dismissed from college with none of the qualifications you have been working towards.

The second is to accept corporal punishment within the terms set out under the college regulations." Angus watched her carefully.

"Corporal punishment, sir?' Delta queried.

"It means being bent over the desk and having your backside whipped; the regulations allow for a rattan cane, but I prefer a heavy leather strap called a tawse."

"Isn't that barbaric and cruel, sir?"

"No, and I have no intention of discussing semantics with you, however as this will be your first time, you can think of it as education through discipline. It will be extremely unpleasant, embarrassing, and painful, but it is over and done quickly, and justice will be seen to be done."

"Do I remain as head girl?"

"You may, although understand that as head girl, you will be subject to more rigorous scrutiny, and you may be called on to witness and be present for younger girls' discipline."

Delta thought hard about how difficult it would be; the man before her was old; he couldn't be that strong, and, in her experience, men were very inclined to treat her like a fragile princess the moment they saw slightly more of her perfect body. "I'll take the discipline, sir," Delta whispered.

"Excellent, saves me a great deal of paperwork. I am required to offer you a witness and chaperone; if you wish one, I will telephone Matron to attend.'

"No sir, I would rather keep this private."

"As you say, now before we start, are there any other crimes or misdemeanours for which our regulations require punishment?"

"Nothing, sir."

"I see. You do understand that if more offences are discovered, even in the future, you will be subject to discipline."

Delta swallowed hard. "There's nothing else, sir."

"Very well. You will bend over my desk, your hands holding the far edge, your feet together, your skirt raised, and the tawse applied over your regulation knickers.'

For the first time, Delta looked worried. She wore distinctly non-regulation knickers, but she bent over the desk as instructed and was keen to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Angus was pleased; she seemed to have accepted her fate, thereby avoiding any scandal for the college. He had chosen his time very well; her sports uniform was perfect for showing off her fantastic body. Large, high breasts with no hint of sag, a flat stomach, long, shapely legs, and the most delectable bottom he had seen in a long time. He lifted the hem of her short pleated skirt, noting the non-regulation underwear. He smiled to himself; she had already presented adequate reason for her subsequent thrashing, and he would always find regular reasons over the course of this late summer term to strap this magnificent bottom.

Her hips were well proportioned, and her bottom was as pert as a peach, each half protruding out strongly. Her skin was smooth, with a slight tan, and tautly stretched as she lay across the desk.

Angus ran the yard of heavy, supple leather through his hand as he studied the lace-covered cheeks before him.

"If you attempt to move, jump up, or otherwise protect yourself, then I shall have to start all over again; if you then attempt such a thing a second time, I will tie you down in front of the entire college at assembly and triple your punishment. Is that understood?' He announced authoritatively.

With a huge sigh of resignation, Delta whispered, "Yes, sir." She gripped the far edge of the desk as if her life depended on it.

For the first time in her young life, Delta George heard a distinctive swish of the leather through the air; it was a wicked, spiteful sound. The snap as it wrapped across her barely covered buttocks was loud and frightening.

She let out a cry of alarm just at the sound, and then her voice went up the scale in a shriek as the pain penetrated. It was awful. Much worse than she'd imagined. It felt like a red-hot pokers shearing into her flesh.

She jerked and writhed, then shuddered as she realised she didn't even know how many of such tortuous lashes she had to endure. The leather descended again, the welt an inch below the first, almost exactly in the centre of her bottom. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached.

Every stroke landed with a resultant wail building in volume to full strength; the leather whipped in hard and accurately, and her entire bottom was an agonising, swollen mass.

The tears were running down her cheeks, pooling on the desk in front of her.

On the twelfth stroke, it seemed to take forever to come, as if he was relishing his task; when it did land, it was devastatingly low, almost across her thighs, and the whistling cut seemed to break the sound barrier. It drove in so hard she howled in agony; it felt like she had been sliced to ribbons.

~~oOo~~

It was a curse, and she hated herself for having always looked so innocent and angelic, with her silky blonde hair that inspired a great deal of envy and her blue eyes that seemed perpetually bright and inquisitive provoked nothing but snide comments. People would be forgiven for thinking she must be the most treasured child, but this was wrong and dangerously complacent.

What she wanted had never mattered; her mother would push, cajole, and demand. Her mother was desperate for her to excel, and she would resort to increasingly insane measures to win beauty contests. It started with beautiful baby competitions, followed by cute toddlers and angelic princess competitions. It didn't matter what the competition was; her mother was relentless.

As a result, her childhood was miserable, a constant round of travelling, makeup, and prodding and poking by greasy strangers who smelled.

It might have helped if she hadn't been bright, but her problems were compounded by being highly intelligent. Her mother didn't see the point of brains in a girl; a girl's job was to marry well and then retire.

It took until she was thirteen for the power balance to shift. She suffered through puberty to emerge with long, shapely legs and impressive breasts, which she immediately learnt to capitalise on amongst the male population with devastating effects. Her upbringing had taught her to be manipulative, and using her blonde hair and blue eyes, she could quickly shift blame and avoid consequences and, therefore, was the author of most of the mischief at school and, later, in the college she attended.

Her looks and brains always ensured nothing stuck, nothing that is until she ran into her nemesis, Angus Weston, a deceptively quiet but articulate man who anyone on the first meeting would think of as an affable grandpa but in reality was anything but.

Angus Weston was totally unimpressed with her looks or machinations and saw right through her.

~~oOo~~

Today, she had decided that a visit with Mr Weston was needed.

The now-retired Mr Weston.

Mr Weston was tall, even in his mid-seventies, with iron-grey hair that was always neatly trimmed.

He lived on the edge of a small village, at the top of a quiet valley, and was the furthest away from another human as it was possible to get. As she arrived, he was in the garden, almost as if she had been expected. It was a glorious sunny May day; the quiet country lane leading to Valley View Cottage was lined with large, red and pink rhododendrons spilling out from the woods.

She drove her new Jaguar E-Type FHC in British Racing Green with the fawn leather interior. There was a waiting list for the new model, but waiting lists didn't apply to her; she knew a man who owned the dealership, and men were just too easy to manipulate and control.

The bright morning was still tinged with a late spring frost, and Mr Weston's face shone with health. His brown, humorous eyes assessed the flashy car as it travelled sedately up the lane.

She stepped out of the car and worked hard to perfect the image of health and beauty. She had a natural all-over tan and an athletic physique. Her blonde hair was styled to frame her radiant face, her bright blue eyes were confident and sparkled with fun, and her glossy red lips were full and pouty.

She knew, this far out of the metropolis, she was looked on as anti-Christ, simply for the way she looked. There was also this new movement, feminists she had heard them called. Women's liberation was about her right to choose the path she wanted, not the narrow view of the raving bigots.

As a child she had been pushed into showing off and performing. Now she strived for individuality, and a uniqueness that would set her apart, and make the right connections.

Her outfit would draw gasps wherever she was, but Mr Weston was nonplussed.

She wore her new designer, form-fitting, tight, grey pinstripe jacket that plunged to draw attention to her impressive chest with a matching tight, grey pinstripe miniskirt that highlighted her slim waist and shapely legs.

Her outfit was deliberately chosen to show off a great deal of her healthy, glowing skin and taut, well-defined muscles.

"Delta George... Nice car, another present?" Mr Weston enquired with a grin.

The blonde laughed, "No, Sir, but I was given a huge discount and jumped the queue."

As always, they were at ease with each other immediately. Mr Weston did not need to ask why she had come, and Delta never felt the need to vocalise her need.

Both of them knew the reason; it would happen easily enough in due course.

Delta lingered a while with Mr Weston in the garden, savouring the warm May sun as Mr Weston pottered. They both heard the Massey Ferguson rumble down the lane, and Mr Weston raised a hand in acknowledgement to the driver. He received a wave back.

"That was fortunate; Lizzy Jackson is usually very garrulous and inquisitive. It's surprising she didn't stop for her usual lengthy gossip; maybe you scared her off." Mr Weston said.

Delta smiled, "Who, me? I couldn't scare anyone."

Angus Weston turned, making his way up the path. "You are lucky; today, we have two types of cake."

They went into the mellow stone cottage, and it wasn't long before they were settled in the drawing room with the reassuring scent of coffee and Dundee cake. Delta sat contentedly in the second armchair by the fireplace; its coal banked, ready to light. The rest of the room was elegant and exceptionally clean and lined with books on every shelf and crevice.

"So, have you given any more thought to what we discussed last time? I have talked to my niece Rowena, and she is keen. Her experience is not that different from yours, and I rather think you will like her." Angus said.

"Are you sure about the diagnosis? You are looking remarkably healthy." She responded.

"Yes Delta, you are seeing me on a good day; the doctors are quite definite, and even if it wasn't, I am getting on a bit. Next birthday, if I get there, I will be 77, and I think losing some of my vigour, and you really deserve a vigorous arm."

They giggled together at that particular reference, like co-conspirators against the changing world. Then Delta grinned, a secret, schoolgirl grin; the implication was not lost on Angus.

"I will ring my niece," Angus said, rising from his chair.

Delta had not thought she was that transparent, but then she relaxed, happy to accept the thought that had only that moment hardened into a decision.

Angus sat back down, and the odd-matched pair talked of small, everyday things; it was safe and necessary and pleasantly passed the time. Whenever they talked, it calmed her, he always could, he carried a stillness and a rhythm with his interest in her, and that was a comfort and a reassurance for her. She had often wondered if this was how a father would have been for her, and how different her life would have been.

~~oOo~~

When Rowena Blackstock received her Uncle's call, she was excited and determined to make a good impression from the start. She checked herself carefully before leaving the house; she was tall and slender, her long red hair styled carefully in a French braid that hung loosely over her shoulder. People said she was beautiful; her best feature was her bright green eyes. She thought her red lips were too full and tended to look pouty. She wore her very tight black leather jacket, which she would casually undo once she arrived to draw attention to her impressive chest and slim waist. She also wore her black canvas trousers and riding boots.

The journey would take twenty-five minutes on her prized Triumph T120 Bonneville 650 motorcycle.

She managed to do the journey in twenty- two minutes, a record and as she pulled up she couldn't help but admire the gleaming green jaguar outside her uncles cottage.

She took off her helmet, then carefully slid the zip of her jacket down to expose her milky white cleavage, knowing full well her Uncle's rather particular tastes.

As she opened the cottage door she called out "Uncle Ang, its only me." in an annoyingly sing-song way.

Angus smiled. Rowena always brought a lightness with her, but she didn't often shorten his name like that. The simple short version took him back to his childhood when he had been a small boy trailing behind his sister, a time before the great war, a time of innocence and endless halcyon summers which seemed now to have been so very long ago. He had seen too much, the worst that people can do to each other; the two wars took everything and are still taking even now.

Now, he knew his end; it wasn't what he would choose, but at least he could enjoy the time left.

Rowena entered the drawing room and standing next to her Uncle was a truly beautiful women, with long blonde hair, anxious blue eyes and a very well fitting tight pinstripe jacket and miniskirt. The amount of skin on display was mouth-watering.

Rowena held out her hand, "Hullo, I am Rowena Blackstock, Uncle Angus's greatest niece." her smile was warm and inviting.

"Hullo Rowena Blackstock, I am Delta George, and your Uncle is my nemesis," Delta said, shaking Rowena's hand with a huge smile. She turned to Angus, "You didn't tell me your niece was so young and gorgeous?"

"No Delta, and in fairness, I didn't tell Rowena much about you either. Rowena is only two years older than you and my late sisters granddaughter, I have sort of claimed her as my own as we share similar interests." Angus replied, before he left the room to refresh the coffee.

"Delta, that's such an unusual name. Rowena asked when they were alone.

"Yes, rather, and it's courtesy of my dad, the only thing he ever gave me. He was an American and, according to my mum, overpaid, overfed, oversexed and over here, he buggered off around the time my nappy needed changing for the first time. She had a real downer on Americans, but to be fair, I have found most English men to be a bit of a waste."

"Oh please, tell me about it; I have never found one I would kiss twice. Well, except Uncle, but he wouldn't let me." Rowena said with a laugh.