The Bicycle (3)

The Headmaster stared unhappily at bared behind of the girl standing in the corner. The new girl, the unexpectedly early visitor; well, he’d known the peephole was there, in fact he’d been the one who’d seen to the rumors of its presence. So in some sense he’d only himself to blame for the discovery of the girl in flagrante delicto, and for the consequences of that discovery.

But the Head was used to being in control of the school and everything in it, including particularly the psychological warfare that he waged on the schoolgirls. To purposefully administer discipline in his office knowing the culprit waiting her turn in the other room was likely listening and watching, that was what the Head appreciated. And now, to have that control taken away by the presumably well-meaning but still unexpected and unappreciated intrusion of his own secretary and one of the teachers into the outer sanctum of his office where the girl — Brittany, that was what she was called — waited to be punished? The Head found no pleasure in it.

Nor in the almost instantaneous results of that intrusion. He’d had to put an abrupt end to the ride of the girl he’d been dealing with, and just at the point where her exertions were becoming most mortifying and poignant. And then after disconnecting her from the horse and, after the dismount and a bit of tidying, seeing her out of the office, he’d had to hurry to get the equipment readied for the next girl, and at the same time get Brittany into the corner where, he hoped, her inability to see what she heard would combine with her vivid imagination to push her terror to some sort of pinnacle.

That, at least, was all well and good; not part of his original plan, but still within the broad theme of how he maintained his iron grip on the school and the schoolgirls within it. But rushing broke his concentration and — if he had to be completely honest about it — also spoiled his fun. And the thought that the actions of his secretary and the teacher would force him to arrange for the handyman to plaster over the hole in the wall … that was a dismal thought indeed, so much so that the Head almost wanted to cancel the proceedings altogether and spend the rest of the afternoon by the river for a good sulk.

But he took pride in his little rituals, and was optimist enough to find a silver lining in the blackest of clouds. So there could be no doubt that the discipline session would go on; and as the Head contemplated Brittany’s behind and the thing he’d found cause to insert into the middle of it, he found that the sight had unexpectedly stiffened his resolve. It was amazing what a freshly carved piece of ginger could do, along with a little of that newly invented wonder material, Vaseline.

And soon enough the Head had turned back to the girl astride the horse, bent forward waiting for her ride, or rather for the little ceremony that always took place before the ride began.

It took only a few turns of one of the adjustment wheels to the side of the mechanical beast to cause the girl’s position to change, to cause her buttocks to spread and present themselves widely separated, upthrust and ready for the correction that preceded the prolonged purgative ride. The Head checked that he’d gotten the fresh length of hose ready, and that the thick nozzle on its end was correctly secured and well lubricated.

The reservoir was filling nicely, and the heavy soap content in the water was plain to see. The head picked up the reformatory strap that he always used to prepare the buttocks for the subsequent caning and reflexively swished it through the air in a practice swing.

If he’d been listening he might have heard Brittany draw a deep breath behind him, although the noises she’d continued to make as a result of the fig’s action in her rectum would likely have drowned out her intake of breath.

The Head raised the strap again, this time reorienting himself so that the descent of the heavy length of leather would end on the girl’s buttocks rather than empty air.

A moment’s pause, and the then the downward arcing of the strap towards its target began …

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