Discipline and Dilemmas (2)
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Wednesday, 9 October
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The headmaster couldn't sleep. He rolled over in bed and looked at the clock again. Still only ten past five in the morning. He'd been away from the school for way too long for his liking. He'd originally planned to be back on Monday but his mother had been taken ill just as the conference ended on Friday so he'd ended up spending what turned out to be a very long weekend with her. He always worried about the school when he was away and although he felt Wicklow was fairly trustworthy it was the first time he'd left him in charge. Whenever he closed his eyes, he kept seeing visions of unruly schoolgirls running riot, letting off fire extinguishers in the corridors, and smoking in the toilets, the school falling into disrepair, the teachers losing control and threatening to go on strike. Eventually he gave up trying to get back to sleep and decided to get up and go in early instead.
A couple of miles away on the other side of the village, Jenny couldn't sleep either. She rolled over and pressed the button that illuminated her bedside clock. She was relieved to find it was still only five thirty, so she had a couple of hours before she had to get up. She'd spent the previous evening typing up her notes, working late into the night and half-watching TV before slipping into bed at around midnight.
Outside, the wind changed direction, and the cold October rain rattled against the window. She shivered and tugged the duvet up to her nose. With her boyfriend still away in Germany, the bed seemed huge. Jenny stretched out happily beneath the duvet, enjoying the warmth and sense of space. She closed her eyes quickly sinking into that lovely state halfway between sleep and consciousness, her mind going over the events and images of the last few days.
Mr Lean had seemed very pleased when she'd agreed to go to the pub with him. Was it just a friendly drink with a group of teachers on Friday or did Mr Lean see it as more of a date? Would that be a bad thing? What would Derek think about her going out with one of the teachers?
Her mind also kept returning to the girl, Holly. Jenny tried to imagine how it would feel if it was her standing there in Wicklow's study, the threat of a caning hanging over her. Being forced to stand still, hands on head, whilst Wicklow lifted her skirt with the tip of his cane. Pleading with him to stop as he exposed her bare thighs. She felt a warm flicker of arousal deep in her belly as she imagined watching him become hard, his thin lips set in a cruel grin as he used the tip of the cane to stroke her through her panties.
"How disgusting," she muttered as her hand drifted between her legs.
Was it just Wicklow and Hunter or were there other teachers molesting their students? And perhaps most worryingly, what would happen to her if they ever found out she was really an undercover journalist?
Imagine how angry Wicklow would be if he found out! She found herself fantasizing about what might happen. Perhaps Wicklow and the headmaster would find out and want to take matters into their own hands. She pictured herself sitting in front of the headmaster's desk, nervously chewing a fingernail, waiting anxiously as he finished reading the report in front of him. She couldn't recall what the headmaster looked like, so she conjured up the image of a faceless, authoritarian figure; tall and dark and in his fifties, neither good-looking nor ugly, and smartly dressed in a smart, dark grey suit.
"Do you know what this is?" he'd snap.
Jenny would shake her head dumbly.
Instead of handing it to her, the headmaster would spin the paper around with his fingertips and beckon her to come closer, curling his finger. He'd keep his fingers on the paper so that she'd be forced to stand and lean forward over the desk, supporting her weight on her palms as she craned her head to read the small type.
She'd see it was her CV. Not the fake one, the real CV with her real name and listing her current occupation as a journalist for the Echo.
"What's this?" she'd say innocently.
"Perhaps you need to look more closely," he'd growl as he'd grab her wrists and pull them towards him, forcing her weight onto her elbows.
"What are you doing? Please, you're hurting me!" she'd whine as she'd try but fail to pull her hands loose.
"Don't play the innocent with me girl, we know all about your lies. Your real name is Jenny Coombes, isn't it?" he'd insist angrily, his face burning red.
"Please let me go, this is all a mistake," she'd reply, still struggling to free her wrists.
He wouldn't let her go though; he'd pull her wrists even further towards him so that his stern, craggy face was inches from hers. She'd realise what a vulnerable position she was in now, stretched over the desk, her smart office skirt riding up over her the back of her legs.
"Now then girl, tell us the truth before things get a lot worse for you," he'd say threateningly.
"Okay, it's true," she'd whimper. "I'm sorry. I'll get my things and leave, okay?"
"You're a journalist aren't you? From the worst kind of gutter press. Looking to dig up some dirt about the school?"
"Fine, you got me. You win. Listen, I'll just collect my things and leave, alright?"
"Well I'm afraid it's not as simple as that," he'd continue, smiling wickedly. "Young ladies who break the rules must be punished, mustn't they Mr Wicklow?"
"That's right, headmaster, and she has been especially deceitful," said in a sinister voice that was suddenly right behind Jenny.
"Well," the headmaster would say. "Let's not keep the poor girl waiting then."
"No, please, wait!" Jenny would mew as she felt Wicklow eagerly grasp the hem of her charcoal grey skirt. He'd ease it slowly up over her legs enjoying her discomfort.
She wouldn't normally wear stockings but that's how she pictured herself in her mind's eye, the sheer black stockings and suspenders framing her pale, naked thighs, her black heels making her legs look especially long and slim. Her scandalously small briefs clinging to her wriggling buttocks.
"Very nice," Wicklow would murmur as he ran a warm hand over her smooth, naked skin and the silky material of her panties. He'd slide a finger beneath a suspender, testing the elastic tension before letting it snap back against her skin, making her jump.
Of course, she'd struggle, but with the head's vice-like grip on her wrists she'd be unable to prevent Wicklow removing her already damp panties. Hearing him grunt with hot anticipation as he slid the skimpy, black material over her smooth thighs, exposing the delightful curves of her flawless buttocks. The silence in the room broken only by her sobs as she struggled to free herself and the faint hiss of static as he eased her knickers over her stockinged legs. She'd whimper as she felt a strong hand on her ankles, patiently lifting each foot as he carefully slipped them over her heels then tossed them onto the desk beside her.
"What a gorgeously spankable arse," he'd growl as he stood back up and roughly pinched the tender flesh of her derriere.
"Ow! Stop!" she'd protest as his rough hand connected smartly with her smooth, plump buttocks, stinging her naked skin.
Jenny unbuttoned her pyjamas and ran her hands over her semi-naked body as she mentally pictured the scene. What a desperate, vulnerable position to be in! Stretched out over the head's desk, her panties an untidy scrap of black on his otherwise neat desk next to her CV. Unable to stop Wicklow's brutish hands exploring the smooth, milky skin of her bare bottom. Of course, she'd struggle and beg for them to release her but what could she do against two grown men? And if Wicklow decided to slide his hand between her legs and start caressing her naked thighs, there was very little she could do to stop him. To stop her body responding to his touch. She gently started to stroke herself through her pyjama bottoms imagining it was his hand.
"Please don't, no!" she'd say as she felt Wicklow's strong hands spreading her buttocks, exposing her shamefully moist, pink folds.
Despite her predicament, she'd find herself becoming aroused as Wicklow's finger teased and stimulated her inner thighs, as she squirmed helplessly.
"She's quite wet you know," he'd inform the head as he toyed with the tight little hole at the centre of her heat and she'd feel her throat and cheeks burn red with embarrassment as he explored the evidence of her arousal.
"Please stop," she'd protest, but he wouldn't of course. A man like him would be enjoying her discomfort. The more she protested, the more it would turn him on. He'd dip a finger into her molten pussy and paint her juices along her hot slit. Stroke her back and forth till it was slick with her juices and her hips gyrated uncontrollably.
Jenny lifted her hips as she eased her pyjama bottoms over her hips then kicked them off her legs. Free of her pyjamas, she was able to spread her legs wide apart and she groaned as she slid her hand between them, running a fingertip lightly along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, teasing herself until her body shivered with delicious anticipation.
In her mind's eye, she pictured herself still bent over the desk, still wriggling and protesting as Wicklow's insistent fingers delved deeper into the inflamed, juicy folds between her widely spread legs.
"What's the matter, young lady?" the headmaster would say mockingly, tugging her wrists further till her hamstrings burned and her chin brushed the desk's polished surface. "I thought you were looking for some scandalous behaviour from our teachers. Perhaps we should really give you something to write about, eh? What do you say Mr Wicklow? She has been exceptionally dishonest."
"Yes, positively wicked. I think you'll agree that exceptional dishonesty requires an exceptional punishment."
"Just so, Mr Wicklow. Why don't you show her what we've got in mind?"
