It was seen as unconventional, to say the least: girls were expected to live with their parents or guardians. So when, on her eighteenth birthday, she had announced that she was leaving home and moving in with her boyfriend, the school authorities were somewhat taken aback. The rulebook was scoured, but to no avail. One of the prefects would be henceforth living in sin.
They had designated him her ‘guardian’, for the purposes of the official record. And, with the age difference between them, perhaps that had a ring of truth.
—
It was guardians who were called when a girl was caned and suspended – to be informed of her punishment, and required to remove her from the premises. He was there as soon as he could be, to rescue her from the pain and shame of public display on the hard wooden bench in the corridor outside the headmaster’s study – her prefect badge by now returned, her humiliation unbearable.
She handed him a letter, which he folded into his jacket pocket, before enclosing her in his arms. “We’ll go home. And we’ll talk about it. And you’ll be OK.”
—
An explanation. Hesitant. Embarrassed. Sad.
Loving cuddles.
Loving sex, there on the couch: slow, passionate, their orgasms mutual.
Sleep. Deep sleep. In one another’s arms.
—
He read the letter later. Put it to one side. Ignored it. Until she came back into the room, in tears.
“I’ve just been talking to Samantha.” The other girl. “She’s just been sent to bed, in disgrace. She got punished, in front of her sisters.”
“And you?”
A pause. “I’m so sorry…”
“Do you need punishing? The letter from the school seems to rather require it.”
A longer pause. “Yes, sir. It would be unfair otherwise.”
“Then go to our room and get undressed.”
—
Not the first time he’d whipped his good girl for being bad. Not the first time he’d taken off his belt, told her to bend over. Only, this time, it was the buckle end. This time she was crying before he started. This time, the strokes rained down on top of already-agonising cane stripes.
Not the first time he’d held her after, feeling her tears on his skin. Told her how much she meant to him, before fucking her as hard as she needed to be taken. Fallen asleep with her in his arms, holding her as close as can be. Making her feel loved; cared for; protected.
The next day the girl, in full uniform, watched as the Headmaster read the letter from her “guardian.” She hadn’t been allowed to read it, of course — she had been sent to school with the letter in a special tamper proof red envelope the school used for such parent-Headmaster correspondences.
Although she had not read the letter she could guess the contents: it was a full description of her punishment, and the belting she had received over her stripes. On the bare, of course. From the smile on the Headmaster’s piggy face he approved heartily.
In fact, as the young woman left he began wondering if the young woman’s guardian might be available to help him out with disciplinary duties.
Quite embarrassing for the young woman, of course, knowing that her lover was an Assistant Headmaster with the ability to yank down her knickers and give her six-of-the-best whenever it suited him. But she had made her bed, as it were, and now she must lie in it, the Headmaster thought, hardly able to contain his glee.