Amy Price looked into the mirror. Her own deep brown eyes stared back at her, set in a pale face which contrasted with her dyed-black hair. She looked into the mirror a little longer, considering what to do with her hair. She settled on pigtails, a look she had previously detested, but it did seem to turn a few heads last time she wore it that way. Besides, she was sure she'd overheard Steve say that she looked cute in pigtails to one of his friends, and she liked the idea of catching Steve's eye. But as she looked back at her own face she realised that, cute as it was, she needed something more to stand out from the crowd. She selected a shorter skirt than usual, a pleated one which ended mid-way down her thigh.
Exciting, but not slutty
she liked to think. Then she looked back into the mirror. Dare she wear make-up? Make-up had been the start of her ordeal last week, and she paused while she wondered whether to risk it again. She thought about the cane's stinging blows, the burning pain, the feelings of invasion and objectification that she'd suffered for simple make-up last time. And then she thought of her hobble to the school bathroom, desperate to wash her face but still whimpering in pain with each step. Then she thought of Steve, his easy smile and innocent good looks. And then she defiantly said into the mirror "fuck you, Headmaster" and liberally applied red lipstick and black mascara. But once she'd done it, she couldn't help the memory of the cane stubbornly re-emerging as well as the slight twinge in her stomach which had started to accompany that memory; it was a bizarre twinge, like a mixture of fear and more arousal than she would like to admit. Amy shook her head, confused.
"Amy, time for school!" came a call from downstairs. She shook her head once more, and walked out to the car. It really was time she learned to drive for herself, after all, she was eighteen and didn't like the way her mother still drove her to school like she was a child. She grudgingly sat down, slouched in her seat. "Oh Amy, please sit up straight" said her mother. There was something about her tone, Amy thought. Something that implied she was a nuisance, an annoyance. Her mother seemed to have been using that tone a lot recently.
"Mum, stop treating me like I'm a little kid. Slouching isn't gonna kill me."
"Please Amy, it looks terrible you know." She used that same, slightly annoyed, tone. As if Amy's slouch was a speck of dust on her otherwise-immaculate image.
Mum, leave it..."
"And is that lipstick? Amy, you shouldn't wear that to school. And look at your skirt! It's far too high!"
Amy had had enough. This constant criticism had been going on for far too long, and she let out a blunt "fuck off, would you?"
Her mother's expression of cold disapproval turned to outrage. "You'll walk to school if you're going to use that kind of language."
"Fine."
The walk was undoubtedly going to cost her time, make her late for school. Normally she would have cared, but not today, relieved as she was to experience the catharsis of blunt defiance. She took a deep breath of the cool autumn air and smiled as it cooled her. Then she began walking to school, a satisfied smile on her face.
By the time she approached school, she was feeling more nervous -- she was half an hour late, later than she had ever been before. She was also increasingly conscious of her short skirt and her make-up, nervous of drawing attention to herself while wearing them in case the Headmaster saw. She tentatively pushed open the heavy iron gates, and walked towards her classroom, but as she turned the corner, she saw the headmaster walking in the opposite direction.
My, my, Miss Price, running a little late, are we?" he said, patronisingly.
"Uhm... yes sir, the car broke down," lied Amy.
"Are you sure, Amy? It looks to me as if you spent a lot of time putting make-up on this morning. You know that make-up is against the rules."
"Well... yes sir, but, I, ah..."
"My office. Now, Amy."
"No... please sir..."
"Yes, Amy, it seems as if you have not yet learned your lesson."
Amy turned as if to run away, but the headmaster grabbed her shoulder.
"Don't try to run, Amy," he said, "you will only make it worse for yourself. Now, go to my office."
Timidly, Amy walked into his office, and stood in the same place she had last time, opposite his desk. "Do you think that you can come to school dressed like this? Like a whore? Look at that skirt, and that make-up. Do you think that this is appropriate?"
"No sir, but..."
"But nothing, Amy. Bend over the desk."
"N... no, sir, I won't do it," she stammered, surprised even at herself.
Suddenly, the headmaster grabbed the back of her neck and forced her to bend over the desk. "I said bend over, Amy" he hissed. He strapped her down onto the desk, and she found herself unable to move her legs or torso. This time he also strapped down her arms. She felt totally helpless once more, and gulped nervously. He stood in front of her, and she looked up at him with her eyes while keeping her head bowed, attempting to look as innocent as possible in the hope that he would go a little easier on her, but as she looked at him she saw that his eyes seemed cold and merciless. And then she saw that cruel smile once more. "Miss Price, to begin with you will receive five strokes with... hmm, the paddle, I think."
"Y... yes sir" she said, her eyes wide open in fear. She felt the paddle being placed on her arse, and then he pulled his arm back, preparing to strike. She breathed in deeply, as her heart seemed to thud against her ribcage. She still had to sit down gingerly from the last caning, and she gulped as she prepared for more pain.
There was a loud "SMACK" as the paddle connected, and Amy let out a yelp as she felt the pain spread across her. It seemed to run down the marks where the cane had been like a river of fire. Then the second one blow hit her, and her legs reflexively tried to kick back, but she was powerless against the straps that bound her. The third next three blows rained down on her as she struggled helplessly against the restraints. The excruciating pain was unbearable for her, and tears began to flow freely. Once the paddling had stopped, she lay limply on the table, sobbing. Through her mask of tears, she saw that the headmaster had pushed a button on his intercom.
"Mr Keats, to my office, please."
Amy's tears dried, but she felt a new wave of fear wash over her. Mr. Keats was the PE teacher, a tall, powerfully built man in his twenties with blonde hair and a stubbled face. Amy had always thought of him as ruggedly good-looking, but since he was a teacher she had never made these thoughts known. Still, she couldn't stand the thought of him seeing her like this, and she knew she couldn't take a caning delivered by those massive arms, with muscles that seemed to strain against the skin as if wishing to be free.
Mr Keats arrived quickly, and strode confidently into the headmaster's office as if it was his own. When he saw Amy restrained he grinned like a hungry animal with evil, lustful eyes.
"Keats, Amy here thinks this is appropriate attire for school."
"Do you know what the boys think of you if you do this, Amy? They look at you like a piece of meat, like an object for their gratification. Do you know how that feels, Amy?"
Amy shook her head, attempting to make her face as girlishly innocent as possible, still fervently hoping that this would make them lessen her punishment.
"Well you're going to learn, Amy." He removed her restraints and said "stand up." She stood up shakily, a little surprised, but relieved. "Now, you are going to do exactly as I say, or you will be spanked, do you understand?"
"Yes sir."
"Firstly, to understand how the boys see you when you dress this way, you are going to strip for us."
"B... but sir..."
