Tracy's Halloween With The Headmaster
Katie Smith is the author of the highly popular Tracey Stories. She created the character and originally wrote and posted to a Yahoo group which is sadly gone. However, some of her stories do crop up at the Strip Search 4 Yahoo group but all of her writings can be found here:
http://mle123.co.uk/tracey/
Many other authors inspired by Katie Smith's work took up the mantle to pen their own works in tribute to this character. One writer was Joe Doe who turns in a very appropriate tale just in time for the month of October.
Author’s Note: Inspired by Lori’s tales of spanked teachers, and TipTopper’s wonderful “Cat’s Curiosity,” and Goodgulf’s tales of semi-voluntary punishments, I quickly composed this tale for Halloween. Thank you, Ordalie, for all your feedback and great ideas!
TRACY’S HALLOWEEN WITH THE HEADMASTER
BY Joe Doe
When she looked at herself in the mirror, Tracy Smith was astonished.
Although 29 Tracy’s youthful appearance still caused her to be carded at bars. To compensate, Tracy usually dressed to appear older, with her hair in a bun, dark, conservative suits with padded shoulders, and glasses that were more of a prop than a necessity.
Appearances were of vital importance to Tracy. Desperately ambitious, Tracy always dressed for success and politicked relentlessly to advance her career. Her endless badgering had finally convinced the school’s Board of Governors to create the post of Deputy Headmistress, a decision that caused considerable consternation among the dozens of more experienced teachers that she had leapfrogged past.
No matter! Tracy was now next in line, and as soon as she pushed Headmaster Chambers into retirement the school would be hers.
Not that Tracy’s professional career was perfect. She knew the other teacher’s resented her youth and ambition. She was an excellent teacher, and well respected by her students, but hardly popular. She knew she was regarded as a prig and a know-it-all. Tracy thought the characterization quite unjust, as it was hardly her fault that she was smarter than everyone else.
In Tracy’s scheme the post of Deputy Headmistress would catapult her to the top, but Headmaster Chambers would have none of it, and continued to treat Tracy like the greenest of rookies. Tracy despised the way that he patronized her, and always managed to work in a “young lady” or a “my dear” into one of his windy corrections of her performance. Nonetheless, each time he scolded her it gave her a deliciously naughty tingle, for as Headmaster Mr. Chambers held in his hands the greatest power in the school, the power of the rod.
Perhaps because she had never experienced it, Tracy was fascinated by corporal punishment. Tracy had argued that the board should make her Deputy Headmistress so that she could cane the girls, but although she got the title Headmaster Chambers persisted in keeping his corporal punishment duties entirely to himself. This was no small annoyance for Tracy, for she was desperate to see the cane in the Headmaster’s cupboard, and had a deep and prurient interest in all matters related to corporal punishment.
On numerous occasions Tracy had suggested that since she had never been caned herself, she should at least be allowed to watch a caning or two, so she understood what the students she sent to Headmaster Chambers would have to endure. Mr. Chamber’s response had left Tracy too flustered to even form a reply. “My dear,” he said with a tight smile. “The reason you never experienced the cane was because you were never my student. If you were, you would have soon found yourself in my study, with your skirt raised and your knickers round your knees.”
Tracy had been horrified by the perversity of the remark and the leering look on Mr. Chamber’s face when he referred to Tracy’s “knickers round her knees.” Nonetheless she found Mr. Chambers threat tremendously exciting, and that night she nearly wore out the batteries on her vibrator.
A few days later, Tracy was once again in the Headmaster’s office, this time for appearing before a parents group and flatly stating that “a change in leadership, starting at the Headmaster’s Office, is needed to effect any meaningful change.” When Headmaster Chambers once again chided his Deputy for trying to force him out, her answer was ready.
“What are you going to do? Spank me?” she teased, in her sauciest tone.
Tracy had though her smart answer would leave him speechless, since his remark about her “knickers round her knees” had done as much to her. But the Headmaster, entirely unfazed, blithely replied, “I doubt a single spanking would be sufficient to correct your cheekiness. It would take a full semester, in class, in uniform, and in this office, with your bare bottom wiggling underneath my cane.”
Tracy felt herself go flush, but once again was unable to speak. Frustrated that the Headmaster had once again gotten the better of her, Tracy ended the meeting.
That night, Tracy was haunted by the image of herself in class, in a real school uniform. If only! Alas, at 29, those days were behind her, but she could still fantasize…and pleasure herself as she did so.
Tracy knew she had a cute bottom, and had often been told it was her best feature. When they were at faculty events Tracy frequently caught the Headmaster staring at her bottom whenever she bent over or reached for something. Tracy knew precisely what was on his mind.
A month later Tracy had discretely purchased a school uniform for herself from the school’s supplier, not daring to go thru the school itself. She could have gone to a costume shop, of course, but that would never do. Tracy wanted authenticity, from the red sweater, gray skirt, and tie, right down to her white uniform knickers.
The costume arrived on Saturday, which was perfect timing. Monday morning was Halloween. Yes, Halloween, the day when the faculty were allowed to show what good sports they were by dressing up as clowns, space aliens, or (most frequently) their favorite teacher from the Harry Potter books.
Tracy, stuffy, arrogant, and repressed, had never dressed up in the past, having regarded the whole business of Halloween as unproductive silliness. But now Tracy saw Halloween as her chance to cut lose and make her deepest fantasies come alive. Halloween would allow Tracy to walk the halls as a schoolgirl.
Tracy had read numerous articles from the educational establish suggesting that teachers must seem accessible to their pupils in order to relate to them. Tracy had regarded such demagogy as utter nonsense of course, since she considered herself as high above her students as the sky itself. Nonetheless, citing the numerous journal articles would give her something erudite to say if anyone inquired about why she had decided to dress as one of her students.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, Tracy was astonished. In her bid for authenticity, Tracy had sent the company her actual measurements, and they responded by sending her a humiliating underwear vest which, together with the white collared shirt and red uniform sweater made her two A-cups disappear. As per Headmaster’s Chamber’s sexist pig regulations the gray uniform skirt came up to mid thigh, which left Tracy’s legs embarrassingly exposed.
As she stared in amazement at her own reflection, Tracy realized that it wasn’t simply the lack of makeup and her school uniform that made her appear younger. The schoolgirl in the mirror seemed shy, awkward, and diffident, the mirror opposite of the brash and ambitious teacher who commanded the respect of others thru the sheer force of her will.
Tracy felt seasick as she imagined Mr. Chambers ogling her in her school uniform. He knew that Mr. Chambers enjoyed treating her as if she were a recalcitrant pupil, and would be delighted to see her reduced to the status of a mere student. For if she were his student, Tracy would soon find herself in his office with her knickers round her knees!
Was such a thing possible? Recovering, Tracy dismissed the thought as utter rubbish. No matter what she was wearing, she was still the Deputy Headmistress, educated, politically astute, and very much in control.
In a way, the uniform was a feminist statement, Tracy reasoned. Tracy would dress precisely as Mr. Chambers most wanted to see her and still come out on top. Yes, that would show the old goat. Let the senile old lecher eat his heart out, look but not touch, and fantasize about what he would never have.
Tracy’s Halloween holiday as a schoolgirl would be a fantasy come true, but also proof to the Board of Governors that she had a sense of humor and was very much ready to assume Mr. Chambers job. Yes, she looked like a teenager again, but that was the point, wasn’t it? She had to relate, didn’t she? Before she left for school Halloween morning, Tracy pushed the look to the edge by arranging her hair into two carefully braided pigtails.
Unfortunately, Tracy’s first class was a disaster. What Tracy failed to realize is that the change in her appearance, and the change in her own manner, made it quite impossible for her to teach. When she sat on the desk several of the boys let out loud and piercing wolf whistles. When she turned to write on the chalkboard she was showered in spit wads and paper airplanes. When she told the class to open their books, they simply laughed.
Tracy tried to maintain order. First she sent the 4 whistlers to the Headmaster’s office, followed by 3 of the more boisterous hecklers, and finished up by sending Penelope Pearce, one the snottiest of her students, down to the Headmaster for cheekily asking Tracy if she was “wearing regulation knickers.”
Tracy was surprised when at twenty minutes before the hour the expelled students, still all smiles, returned to her class, accompanied by Mr. Richards, and old fogy of a math teacher that Tracy had never liked. “The Headmaster informed me that I am to take over the remainder of your class,” he said, in a voice that brooked no contradiction. “He also requested that I give you this.”
Tracy’s eyes turned into saucers as Mr. Richards handed her a hall pass!
The pass itself was unremarkable: It had the date and a TO/FROM time range, a checkbox indicating where Tracy was to report (the Headmaster’s office), and the Headmaster’s signature. Tracy was startled, however, to see her name written on the STUDENT NAME line, and the color of the pass, which was yellow.
The hallway passes Tracy had given the students she had sent to the Headmaster’s office were white. Yellow passes were issued only by the Headmaster, and they were usually only used when a student was in serious trouble.
As Tracy reluctantly accepted the much-feared yellow pass the other students barraged her with a sarcastic serenade of “oohs!”
“A yellow pass! Looks like someone’s in a jam!”
“He doesn’t use yellow passes for anything less than the strap!”
Tracy ignored the students and spoke only to Mr. Richards. “I don’t understand. Why would I need a hall pass?”
“Mr. Chambers felt that, dressed as you are, it might be easier for you to move freely through the halls with a signed pass. Now run along, Tracy, spit-spat, before your time expires.”
Tracy looked at the time on the pass. She wanted to argue that the pass wasn’t necessary. She wanted to ask if she might go to her car and retrieve her clothes. She wanted to ask why the pass was yellow.
Tracy looked nervously up at the clock on the wall. Tick-tock!
Tracy ignored the tittering of her fellow classmates as she scurried out of the room and made haste to the Headmaster’s office.
Miss Spice, the dried-up old prune of a spinster who served as the Headmaster’s secretary, greeted Tracy with the hostile, beady-eyed glare she gave every student who came to the office. However Tracy could tell from the tight smile on her face that she was pleased to see the arrogant teacher in a school uniform, where she might be dealt with in the proper way.
Headmaster Chambers was busy, or so Tracy was told. Because of her uniform and incriminating pass, Tracy was not allowed to wait on the comfortable leather couch, but was instead relegated to the hard wooden bench outside the Headmaster’s office.
The bench, bolted and chained to the wall, was more suited to Alcatraz than a school. It was hard and uncomfortable, and because of it’s special status as the place where naughty students awaited the Headmaster’s punishments, had been humorously nicknamed, “Death Row.”
Tracy squirmed on the hard bench as she waited to speak with the Headmaster. It was no easy penance, for when the bell rang the hallway was flooded with students, all of whom saw Tracy in uniform and on the bench, with the incriminating yellow pass in her hand! Tracy stared straight ahead, trying desperately to ignore their impudent chatter.
“Is that Miss Smith? Why is she dressed like that?”
“Did you hear, dummy? It’s Halloween!”
“Is that a yellow pass she’s holding?”
“Sure is! One of the senile old geezers around her probably thought she was a student, and sent her down here for a hiding!”
“Do you think she’ll really get it? I mean…a REAL swishing?”
“You bet she will. Old Chambers won’t miss an opportunity like this!”
“A yellow pass! Ouch! She’s going to get it good.”
“Is that Miss Smith?”
“Sure is. Cute legs!”
“Cute everything. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when Chambers drops lifts her skirts!”
Tracy blushed crimson as their laughter burned in her ears.
“Is that Miss Chambers? What’s she doing dressed like that, waiting on death row?”
“I don’t know, but I hope she gets it good. She certainly was eager enough to dish it out.”
Tracy felt ashamed as she remembered all of the times she had taunted students waiting on the bench with a sly comment, or simply a satisfied smile. It had seemed just to her, part of their punishment, but now that she was on receiving end it seemed very cruel indeed!
Tracy was relieved when the halls emptied and Miss Spice beckoned her to come into the Headmaster’s inner office. The timing seemed strangely coincidental, and Tracy found herself wondering if Mr. Chambers had deliberately pilloried her on Death Row in front of the other students just to embarrass her.
Tracy had been in the Headmaster’s office countless times before, but now, dressed in a school uniform and with the dreaded yellow pass in her hand, the wooden walls, antique chairs, and hard wooden floor seemed strangely foreboding.
Tracy headed for the couch but the Headmaster, not bothering to look up from his paperwork, cut her off. “You will stand in front of my desk, Smith, until I’m ready for you.”
Tracy recognized the voice as the voice he used when addressing naughty students. Well, she was not a naughty student, and had every intention of explaining that when the opportunity rose. In truth, her wait in the hallway and the comments from the other students had rattled her, and she was grateful for a moment to gather her thoughts.
Mr. Chambers at last finished his paperwork. Rising, he walked around the desk to inspect Tracy’s new uniform. He did nearly a full circle around her, pausing to admire her legs and shapely bottom. Tracy, punishment pass in hand, squirmed helplessly under his appraising gaze.
“Straighten your socks!” he barked. Tracy felt him ogling her bottom as she bent to obey his command.
“Your tie should be tighter. A girl’s uniform should always be worn with pride.”
Tracy adjusted the tie in the manner the Headmaster preferred, even though it did significantly decrease the oxygen to her brain.
The Headmaster took Tracy’s pass and read it carefully. Sitting down at his desk, he leaned back in his chair for several moments, obviously relishing his position of power. At last, he spoke.
“This is a marvelously intriguing situation, is it not?” he asked, smiling.
“How so?” Tracy asked.
“Do you recall telling Mrs. Jackson at the Christmas party that you wished you could go back in time and be a school girl again, so that you could find out what a genuine school girl punishment was like?”
Tracy stared at him, mouth agape. Mr. Chamber’s face hardened. “Well, you’re not here to catch flies, girl. Did you or did you not say that?”
“I may have,” Tracy allowed. “I was drinking and…”
“Did you tell Mr. Darby on the Board of Governor’s that I was too old and too senile for my job?”
“Well, I don’t recall using precisely those words.”
“Did you tell Mrs. Tool that I was a dirty old man that like to cane girl’s bottoms, and the Board should fire me, and replace me with you?”
“Well, I’m friendly with a lot of the Governors. You can’t possibly ask me to remember every conversation…”
“If you had to choose a single word to describe your behavior, what would that word be?”
Tracy dissembled. “I don’t know if there’s ONE word that…”
“Could you please read what you wrote on the back of Penelope’s Pearce’s hall pass?” he said, handing Tracy the tiny form.
Tracy, still quite nonplussed as to where all this was going, read the note aloud. “Penelope was grossly disrespectful today and repeatedly attempted to undermine my authority. I suggest six-of-the-best with Yellow Rod on her bare bottom, with 2 or 3 extra on the backs of her thighs where her fellow classmates might see them, might serve as an excellent deterrent to further insubordination!”
“Hmmm…” the Headmaster said, taking the note from Tracy’s slightly tremulous hand. “Grossly disrespectful…repeatedly undermining my authority. Do you think that your concerted campaign to steal my job, and your repeated and tiresome accusations that I’m fat, stupid, and incompetent, might properly be described as insubordination?”
“Yes, perhaps,” Tracy admitted, “But I don’t see what that has to do with…”
Tracy stopped short as Mr. Chambers went to his cabinet, opened it, and removed an instrument that, to this moment, Tracy had heard about but never seen. The Headmaster’s cane was a bit over two foot long, thin, and murderously flexible. It’s anthropomorphous nickname, “Yellow Rod” derived from its cheerful yellow color and the tendency of both the student’s and staff to refer to the cane as a person rather than a thing.
“I think Yellow Rod will have a thing or two to say about that.”
“She’ll lose some of her ginger after she’s had a talk with Yellow Rod.”
“You’re in luck, Mister, because Yellow Rod is also giving music lessons today. Take this pass to the Headmaster’s office, and Yellow Rod will help you hit the high notes.”
Until this moment Tracy had always found the references to Yellow Rod’s personality to be an amusing eccentricity, and thought of him as something of a school mascot. But as she watched the Headmaster flex the wicked cane into a half circle, it truly seemed to her to be a living, breathing entity.
“This is the instrument you suggested would cure insubordination, is it not?” the Headmaster asked.
“Yes, it is, but you have no legal right…”
Tracy’s objection was cut short as the Headmaster sliced Yellow Rod thru the air, creating a horrible whoosh sound that literally caused poor Tracy to reach back and cup her bottom cheeks in panic.
“I have every legal right, young lady. Have you forgotten that you signed the consent form?”
Tracy flashed back to that day several months earlier when she had been in the outer office talking to the Headmaster’s nasty old spinster secretary, Miss Spice, about her favorite subject: corporal punishment. Tracy, who had been called to the office to discuss her petition before the Board to lower the mandatory retirement age for Headmasters to 55, had been waiting to see Mister Chambers when she noticed a CORPORAL PUNISHMENT AUTHORIZATION FORM sitting on Miss Spice’s desk.
“Is this the actual form?” Tracy said, eyeing widening as she spied the document. “It doesn’t seem very long.”
“Oh, it’s not,” Miss Spice said. “And it’s very easy to fill out. Here, let me show you.”
Miss Spice, who ordinarily was not very playful at all, whistled cheerfully as demonstrated how rapidly she could complete the form. Tracy’s heart had skipped a beat as she had watched the old crone write TRACY SMITH in on the student line and then cheerfully check off box after box:
Hand – Check!
Tawse – Check!
Cane – Check!
Over Skirt – Check!
On Knickers – Check!
On Bare – Check!
Miss Spice turned the form around and handed Tracy the pen. “Go ahead, sign it! Then it will be official.”
Tracy did not sign it. She stared at the tiny form in stunned disbelief. Could this insignificant slip of paper actually make her fantasies come true, and give Headmaster Chambers the authority to cane her?
“Go ahead, sign it,” Miss Spice said, literally pressing the pen into Tracy’s hand. “That will make it official. I’ll give you the pink copy on the bottom. It will be great fun, and a wonderful souvenir of your time at our school!”
Nothing about Miss Spice was “fun” but the form itself was mesmerizing. Tracy knew she had to have it, and take it home for further study. There would be no harm in it; Tracy would take the form with her, and it would be hers, and hers alone.
Tracy, her hand trembling, singed and dated the form authorizing her punishment.
As luck would have it Mr. Chambers had exited his office at precisely the instant Tracy finished signing the form. As she turned to look up at him, Miss Spice yanked the form out from underneath Tracy’s hand and rolled her chair over to place it in the outbox on the far side of her credenza. “I’ll mail you your copy after I get the Headmaster’s signature, and put it in the file,” Miss Spice explained.
“Am I interrupting something?” Mr. Chambers asked.
Tracy said nothing. She didn’t want to leave the form with Miss Spice, but she REALLY didn’t want to tell the Headmaster what she had just done. He already treated her like a schoolgirl, and the last thing she needed was the Board seeing her signed CORPORAL PUNISHMENT AUTHORIZATION form.
Tracy followed the Headmaster into his office, where with badly feigned sincerity she explained that the mandatory retirement policy she was proposing was not aimed specifically at him, but at Headmasters generically. Unfortunately, by the time the lengthy meeting was over Miss Spice had gone to lunch, and (as near as Tracy could tell from her search of her desk) the form had mysteriously gone with her.
Tracy tried to talk to Miss Spice, but there was a long holiday weekend and as luck would have it Miss Spice took the next two days off. The next time Tracy saw the form was when she received the pink copy in the mail. It was the form she had signed in the office that day, as Tracy recognized her signature immediately. But the form was different in one crucial, horrifying respect: Mr. Chambers had signed and dated the bottom of the form.
Tracy had been aghast, as she expected Mr. Chambers to bring the incriminating document to the board as written proof that Tracy was a silly schoolgirl unworthy of the exalted title of Headmistress. But to her surprise the incident was never mentioned again. Tracy tried to tell herself that the Headmaster had signed the form without even bothering to read it, but she knew in her heart that corporal punishment was his passion and he’d never casually pass over a form with a girl’s name on it.
Why then, hadn’t he mentioned it? Tracy was baffled.
Tracy certainly had no motive for bringing it to anyone’s attention, as she was quite happy to pretend that the whole dreadful affair had never occurred. All that was left of the matter were a few forms in a file, and the pink copy, which Tracy read and re-read repeatedly as she pleasured herself late into the night.
And so it was until this moment, when Tracy, standing before the Headmaster’s desk in her new school uniform, was reminded of the form legally authorizing the Headmaster to cane her.
“But I’m not a student!” pleaded, in voice that made her sound far more like a whiny teenager than she intended.
“Aren’t you? How does one become a student? It is not a matter of paperwork. One becomes a student by assuming the role of a student, by donning our uniform, and attending classes, and by obeying our rules. Did you meet anyone in the hallway today?”
“Yes, I did,” Tracy said, fidgeting slightly at the memory.
“Who?”
“The Hall Monitor, Jeffrey Stoolie,” she said.
“I see. Did Mister Stoolie ask you for your pass?”
Tracy flushed slightly at the memory. Jeffery Stoolie, 18, was the perfect choice for a student monitor in that he was a sneaky little apple polisher who delighted at the misfortune of others. Tracy had him in one of his classes, and had given him a “C,” more for his attitude as his academics.
When he saw Jeffrey saw Tracy in her uniform he didn’t recognize her at first. When he did recognize, her, his face registered absolute confusion. But when he spotted the yellow pass in Tracy’s trembling hand, Jeffrey burst into a broad, unbecoming smile. “What’s this then, Miss Smith?” he asked.
“Uh, it’s my Halloween costume,” Tracy said lamely. “I’m on my way to see the Headmaster.”
“With a yellow pass?” Jeffrey asked.
“Yes,” Tracy said.
“Well, hand it over, then, Missy. I am hall monitor, you know,”
Tracy handed the grinning student her pass. Jeffrey, relishing his authority, examined the pass closely as Tracy shuffled her feet in front of his tiny desk. “Hmmm… a yellow pass,” Jeffrey said thoughtfully. “Did you do something wrong?”
“Uh…no,” Tracy stammered. “I mean, I don’t think so. They must have been out of white passes.”
“I don’t think Miss Spice ever runs out,” Jeffrey counters. “Yellow passes usually mean the strap, or sometimes the cane,” he added gleefully. “I’d hurry along if I were you. Yellow Rod doesn’t like it when students keep him waiting.”
Jeffrey handed Tracy her pass back, and she scurried down the hall, trying to ignore the feeling of Jeffrey’s eyes burning into the back of her short uniform skirt.
“I see, the Headmaster said, shocking Tracy back into the moment. “Did Mister Stoolie ask you to present your hall pass?”
“Yes,” Tracy said.
“And you gave it to him?”
Tracy nodded.
“And after examining your pass, he sent you on your way, the same as he would any other student?” the Headmaster said.
“Yes, I suppose,” Tracy said, unsure as to the point.
“Would you agree that at that moment, at least, for purposes of that exchange, you assumed the role of a student?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Would you agree that once you become a student, you are a student, and that a student can’t declare they are not a student simply to avoid punishment?”
“Yes, of course,” Tracy said. “But let’s be reasonable…”
“Quite. You teach mathematics, philosophy, and logic, do you not, Miss Smith? Very well, let us confine ourselves to a summation of the relevant facts, which I will summarize now. At the conclusion of my summary, I wish you to give me a simple “yes” or “no” answer, without commentary, stating whether or not I have stated the facts correctly, so we can logically determine whether I should cane you. Do you agree?”
Tracy, ever confident in her abilities, acceded to his terms.
“You have come to school dressed in a school uniform, and have admitted to me that you have voluntarily assumed the role of a student. In assuming this new role you have clearly rendered yourself unable to fulfill your teaching duties. You have signed a corporal punishment form authorizing me to punish you as if you were a student, legally binding you to accept whatever punishment I deem proper. The form has been approved, and it is now on file.”
“You agree that once one becomes a student, one cannot claim not to be a student simply to avoid punishment. You have confessed to your insubordination, and have given me a written statement suggesting that the best way to deal with said offense is six-of-the-best with golden rod, with a few extra clearly visible across the back of your thighs so that others can benefit from your example. Have I stated the facts correctly?”
Tracy was aghast. She considered herself the Headmaster’s intellectual superior, and had readily agreed to his terms because of her confidence that the facts were on her side. But the Headmaster, long schooled in such exchanges, had skillfully created a rhetorical trap from which there was no escape.
Tracy could not disagree with his facts, as they were entirely correct. But if she said “yes” she would be agreeing to an old-fashioned schoolgirl caning!
The silence was deafening, and the Headmaster, relishing his triumph, beamed at her like the Cheshire Cat. She was astonished by his cleverness, but her awe of his total mastery over her did nothing to resolve her dilemma.
After examining the conundrum from every conceivable angle, Tracy at last spoke. “Yes, sir” Tracy said quietly, conceding defeat, and feeling very much like the schoolgirl she now was.
“Very well. Tracy, please hold out your hands, palms up.”
Tracy was acutely aware of the fact Yellow Rod was in the Headmaster’s right hand, ready to strike. She very much did not want to place her tender palms in such a vulnerable position. But what choice did she have?
Tracy, clenching her teeth, obeyed.
To her surprise, the Headmaster did not strike her. Instead, he placed the rod in her hands, balancing it so the cane was resting against the center of her palms.
Tracy remained motionless as the Headmaster picked up his leather binder and prepared to leave. “Since you rendered yourself unfit to attend your classes today, at least as a teacher, I will need to work out an appropriate substitute. I will also work out your class schedule for the remainder of the day. I wish you to spend my absence contemplating your transgressions, your place in our school, Yellow Rod, and the authority he now has over you. Yellow Rod will deal with your insubordination when I return.”
The door slammed shut, leaving Tracy, with her heart racing and her outstretched arms trembling, staring at the
instrument of her correction.
Part Two
Tracy had no idea how long she had been waiting, but it seemed to her to be a very long time indeed.
There was a large grandfather clock in the corner of the study but unfortunately the clock face was obscured by a bookcase that kept it just out of Tracy’s sightline.
Tracy could have simply walked over to see the clock, of course, but she didn’t dare move. The Headmaster had left her standing in front of his desk, arms straight in front of her, with the cane resting on her open palms.
Tracy’s arms were sore, her legs were wobbly, and her mind raced at the thought of what was in store. Worse, she also felt a deliciously naughty tingle between her legs that she was desperate to scratch! But Tracy didn’t dare move.
Tracy could see her reflection in the office window. The fearful schoolgirl in the striped tie, red sweater, and short gray skirt bore no resemblance to Tracy Smith, Deputy Headmistress. On her previous visits to the Headmaster’s office Tracy wore smart, tailored business suits that made her feel in charge and in control. The reflection in the window was that of a nervous teenager biting her lip as she awaited her date with fate.
One of the gardeners strolled past as he was mowing the lawn, and he had spotted Tracy standing in the window. Tracy’s heart had skipped a beat when he saw her, for she felt sure that he would remember her, for she had complained to him a few weeks before about the condition of the flowerbed outside the window to her office. But the smile on the gardener’s face was not one of surprise or recognition. He paused, and looked Tracy up and down, letting his eyes lingers on her legs, and her outstretched hands holding the cane. Then he gave her a playful wink and went about his business.
Tracy was horrified. “He didn’t even recognize me! He thinks I’m a student! He thinks I’m simply another naughty teenager waiting for the cane!”
The thought chilled Tracy to the bone. Was her transformation really that complete? Tracy was not a teenager, of course, but did that even matter now?
When she had donned the school’s official uniform for Halloween she had never dreamed that her harmless lark might strip her of her adult status and trap her in the persona of a naughty schoolgirl. But trapped she was, with no way out.
Tracy could make a run for it, of course, but even if she got past Miss Spice and the hall monitors where would she go? Her car keys were in her purse, which were locked in her combination locker in the teacher’s lounge. If she made it to her locker she would scarcely have time to retrieve what she needed, not with Miss Spice and the hall monitors in hot pursuit.
She could simply bolt for the door, of course, but dressed as she was she knew she wouldn’t get far. The people in the surrounding village had no patience for truants, and without any money or identification she would most likely find herself over someone’s knee even before she was returned to the Headmaster for a proper caning.
Even if she could escape, would she really want to? Tracy had fantasized about school punishments for years, but always the consummate “good girl” her dreams had been unrealized. Now she was dressed in an authentic school uniform, and was waiting for a genuine caning from the Headmaster himself! No, this was too perfect a chance to let it slip away.
Not that it mattered; even if she wanted to escape she couldn’t. And yet somehow the fact that she was trapped it made it all the more exciting! Tracy squeezed her thighs together as she devoured the moment: the ache in her arms, the feel of the rod in her hands, and the tingling between her legs.
Tracy wondered what the Headmaster was doing right now. He had left her holding the cane to arrange a substitute to take over her classes for today. However he had also said that he needed to work out Tracy’s schedule for the rest of the day. If she wasn’t teaching, why would Tracy need a class schedule?
Tracy didn’t understand, but she knew she didn’t need to. Tracy was under Mr. Chamber’s control, and she would have to accept whatever fate he had in store for her. And at this moment, fate was shaped like a long slender school cane nicknamed “Yellow Rod” by the generations of students who had felt it’s cruel kiss.
Tracy stared at the stick, mesmerized by its slender lines, smooth round shape, and the power it seemed to have over her. As the cane quivered in her trembling hands, it seemed to Tracy to be almost a living thing, and as her trance deepened she could almost feel it speaking to her, like the serpent speaking to Eve in the garden of Eden.
“You’ve wanted to meet me for a long time, haven’t you Tracy? Well you’re about to get an unforgettable “How do you do?” I’m going to enjoy getting to know you, and finding all the curves and sensitive spots on that tight little fanny of yours. I’m going to enjoy making you cry, and kick, and squeal like the naughty little piggy you are.”
“This little piggy went to market, this little piggy went home, and this little piggy had her knickers taken down for a nice striping from Yellow Rod!”
“That’s right, Tracy, you’re going to be whipped on your fanny, just like the naughty little girl you are. Those boys in the hallway were right; Mr. Chambers isn’t going to miss his chance to watch your bottom cheeks squirm and wiggle as I teach them how to dance. And after that, it will be the corner for you, bare bottom, with goodness-knows-who watching! You can forget about modesty now, Tracy. Modesty is for good girls, not for insubordinate little chits like you.”
“Oh, what’s wrong, Tracy? Are you going to cry? Stop sniveling, before I give you something to cry about! How dare you call our beloved Headmaster stupid and lazy? I’m going to make you regret the day you ever came to this school!”
“Did you see the other students in the hallway smiling at you, Tracy, when they saw you sitting on Death Row with the yellow pass in your hand? Did you enjoy them smirking at you? Well, get used to it, young lady, because you’ll be getting a lot more teasing after I lay on your stripes! Yes, I’ll do a good job on you, and make your legs and bottom into a beautiful watercolor, filled with lovely streaks of scarlet red, navy blue, and pulsing purple!”
“You wanted it, Tracy, now you’re going to get it,” the devilish serpent taunted, reveling in his Eve’s torment. “Right on the bare, with that old lecher of a Headmaster ogling your bare bottom. Keep your legs together Tracy, unless you want to put on a show!”
How long this taunting went on Tracy could not say, but by the time the Headmaster returned she was a nervous wreck. Her hands were visibly shaking, both from the tremendous strain of holding her arms in front of her and the sheer terror that the cane in her hands had inspired. Trickles of sweat rolled down her face, she was struggling to breathe, her legs wobbled like jelly, and the passion between her legs burned like a fire!
The Headmaster smiled as he surveyed Tracy’s agitated, anxious state, pausing once again to take a slow walk around her and relish the sight of his arrogant Deputy Headmistress dressed up as a schoolgirl, with her legs bare, her tie tightly knotted, and her white socks pulled up over her calves.
He smiled as he noted the beads of sweat on Tracy’s lovely forehead. Yes, asking the gardener to mow outside the office had been a masterstroke. Tracy’s self-confidence and bravado had been destroyed; now he was going to strip her of her dignity as well.
The Headmaster could have made the necessary arrangements before summoning Tracy to his office, for he had connived his scheme to place her under his thumb the moment he had heard that his foolish Deputy had decided to wear a school uniform for Halloween and had proceeded to lose control of her class. But Headmaster Chambers wanted to see Tracy in her uniform as soon as possible, and he was too anxious to pull the lever and send Tracy tumbling to her doom to brook any delay.
Plus, he didn’t want to take the chance that the clever teacher might actually regain control of her class and thus save herself from the fate he had planned for her. No, no, escape would never do!
The Headmaster’s eagerness to see Tracy humbled meant that Tracy had spent nearly a full hour standing in front of his desk staring at the cane. But this pleased him too, for he knew the wait was agonizing, and he wanted her to sweat it out.
But even the best of things must come to an end, and after making a proper survey of her uniform the Headmaster at last took the cane out of Tracy’s trembling hands.
“An amusing little toy, is it not?” he asked rhetorically, causing Tracy to flinch as he SWOOSHED it thru the air. “Capital that we finally have a chance to fulfill your longstanding wish to see it in practice.”
“You may put your arms down now, Tracy. Take the mission chair to the left of the fireplace and place it in the center of the room.”
Tracy was glad that she was finally able to drop her hands, but her relief was tempered by her knowledge that in moving the chair into place she was in effect constructing her own gallows.
The chair was old, darkly varnished, and heavy, and Tracy’s tired arms strained as she lugged it across the room. The chair was strong and sturdy, as it had to be, for it had served as the platform of execution for countless bullies, cheats, and miscreants. And today it would be used to “correct” an insubordinate little chit named Tracy Smith.
Her task complete, Tracy turned back to Headmaster to await his next command. “There are a jar of safety-pins on the credenza,” he said, pointing. “Please select four, and bring them to me.”
Tracy was confused as to the purpose of the pins, but dutifully complied. Her question was unceremoniously answered as Mr. Chambers casually hoisted the front corner of her uniform skirt high above her white knickers, and carefully pinned it to the front of her blouse!
Tracy was shocked by this outrage, and it took her a moment to remember that she was no longer the Deputy Headmistress but rather a naughty girl summoned to the Headmaster’s office for discipline. In this context, the Headmaster’s disgraceful assault on her dignity was simply a matter of following the proper procedure.
Almost. In most cases the Headmaster only used two pins to hold up the girl’s skirt in back. However he and several other members of the Board of Governor’s had once had an intense debate over whether or not Miss Smith was a natural blonde. It was a dispute he hoped to settle presently.
The Headmaster ordered Tracy to turn, and like an expert tailor quickly pinned her skirt up in back as well. This left Tracy’s tight white regulation issue underpants entirely exposed to the Headmaster’s leering gaze, and from the tight smile on his face it was clear that he liked what he saw.
For her part, Tracy was concentrating fully on keeping her legs pressed tightly together, lest the Headmaster discover how much she was enjoying her new role as a naughty schoolgirl, and the sort of thoughts that had occupied her mind during the hour she had awaited her return.
Such hopes were dashed, when he ordered Tracy to turn again so he could make a careful survey of the front of her knickers. They were new, clean, and white, and tight enough to show Tracy’s sex bulging against the fabric. But as she moved into the light what immediately caught his eye was the enormous wet spot in the gusset of her knickers!
The Headmaster’s eyes widened as he spied the telltale stain in the crotch of Tracy’s underpants. Tracy’s current predicament had been a dream come true for him, and now he knew it was Tracy’s dream as well.
The Headmaster realized instantly that Tracy had gotten herself hot and bothered staring at the cane, but reckoned that feigning confusion would give him the perfect pretext to conduct an exam of the suspect area. Given the size of the shameful stain, it would be best to get a good feel for the situation...
“What’s this?” the Headmaster asked, repeatedly poking Tracy’s wet spot as if he was inspecting a suspiciously soggy bit of poultry at the butcher’s counter. “Tracy Smith, did you wet yourself? Don’t tell me I’m going to have to get you nappies to wear under your uniform!”
Tracy, too horrified to speak, remained motionless as the Headmaster’s piggy fingers insinuated themselves between her legs for a more detailed examination. “Yes, you’re wet all right. In fact, you’re soaked. What’s this? It seems like the faster and harder I rub, the wetter you get. Look at that! My fingers are positively glistening with it!”
“My, what is this?” he wondered, rubbing his fingers together as Tracy blushed crimson. “It’s quite sticky. Did you sit in a tub of syrup?”
The Headmaster held his fingers to his nose, savoring the aroma of Tracy’s arousal. “Wait a moment,” he said, as if the plainly obvious had only now become visible, “Is this... are you... Tracy Smith, are you AROUSED?”
Tracy, who by this point could take no more, responded to his accusation by squeezing her thighs together. The Headmaster watched in awe as Tracy burst into tears and began shuddering through a staggering orgasm at precisely the same instant!
As Tracy quaked thru her release the Headmaster layered his faux outrage on with a trowel, scolding her harshly even as he ogled her twitching, jerking sex. “Why, you little trollop!” he thundered. “I ought to cane you in front of the whole school for this, on the bare, with all the boys watching! I left you here to contemplate your impudence, and you spent the time fingering your juicy twat! Like playing stinky finger, do you? Well, Yellow Rod and I know how to handle randy strumpets who can’t keep their hands out of their knickers. We’ll have the skin off your backside for this!”
Far from curbing her, the shameful tongue-lashing only made her orgasm more intense, and it wasn’t until he tired of calling her “disgusting” and a “juicy tart” that the waves of pleasure finally ceased.
Tracy’s fun might have been concluding, but the Headmaster’s was just beginning. Tracy was still gasping from her orgasm when she felt the Headmaster insert his thick fingers into the front waistband of her knickers. “Well, we’ll have these completely off, then. We can’t cane you in soggy wet knickers.”
Why caning her bare was preferable was left unexplained, although clearly it was preferable to him. Tracy felt a new wave of humiliation wash over her as she felt her underpants slide over her thighs and down to her knees.
The Headmaster was pleased to note that Tracy was indeed a natural blonde. He knelt down in front of the bashful, blushing schoolgirl, ostensibly to finish removing her knickers, but in point of fact to get a close up view of Tracy’s golden honey pot.
Tracy pubic hair was trimmed down to a brief landing strip, but it was so soft and fair that Mr. Chambers could see the lips of her sex peeking out at him. Mr. Chambers was close enough to smell her, and Tracy shuddered as she felt his breath on her sex. “Yes, this is the problem area,” he said, reaching out to give her a quick rub where she needed it most. “I’ll need to keep a close eye on this, to make sure you keep out of mischief.”
The sensation of his finger rubbing her pleasure button once again sent Tracy’s head spinning, so much so that she scarcely realized it when he dragged her knickers down her legs and over her feet. The Headmaster pocketed his trophy as a souvenir of his triumph over the impudent upstart who once dared to think she could do his job.
Tracy was in a daze, but she was quickly reminded of how complete his victory was when she saw him point at the ominous, darkly stained chair.
“Bend over the back of the chair, then reach down and grab the front legs. We need those naughty fanny cheeks of yours raised high and split wide, so that Yellow Rod can give your bottom the attention it deserves!”
Tracy complied, although doing so placed her in a painful, awkward, and altogether humiliating position. The chair was large, and Tracy was short, so reaching the chair legs required her to stretch her arms at full length. Even then, she had to stand on tiptoes, and the top of the chair was digging directly into her pelvis.
With her knickers off and her skirt pinned up, Tracy’s poor bottom was shamefully exposed and utterly defenseless. But she still wasn’t exposed enough for Mr. Chambers, use his foot to spread Tracy’s legs until the sides of her feet touched the opposite legs of the chair!
Mr. Chamber’s smiled as Tracy’s bottom cheeks parted and her sex and tight little bottom hole peeked into view. Tracy bit her lip, painfully aware that both her glistening wet sex and bottom hole were now on graphic display
Mr. Chambers didn’t rush the moment. He slowly tapped Yellow Rod against Tracy’s flinching bottom, pretending to take aim and measure out the strokes as he relished the sight of her exposed sex quivering in lust and anticipation and the sounds of her humiliated, tearful sniffling.
How often had Mr. Chambers pictured Tracy in precisely this position? How often had he dreamed of this moment as he had suffered through her snide, dismissive comments at the faculty meetings? How many times had he soothed nerves frazzled by Tracy’s latest abhorrent, dastardly treachery by imagining Tracy’s perky bottom dancing under his cane?
Now the moment of truth had come. Tracy Smith had earned a harsh punishment, and she was going to get it. She had this lesson coming for a long time, and Mr. Chambers was determined to see that she learned it, and learned it well.
WHOOSH!
The first stroke shot through the air like a cannonball, and landed dead center in the middle of Tracy’s lovely, quivering bottom. Tracy’s eyes bulged as she tried to form words, or even scream, but no sound came forth. Exhausted from the preliminaries, Tracy’s brain was simply too overloaded to vocalize a response to a pain unlike any she had ever felt.
Headmaster Chambers scarcely noticed, since he was too busy watching the lovely red weal form in the direct center of Tracy’s previously pale bottom. It started off pink, then swelled into a deep angry red... nearly as angry as Mr. Chambers felt when he thought of his Deputy Headmistresses blatant insubordination!
WHOOSH!
On the second stroke, Tracy was able to vocalize, and let out a plaintive, screeching wail that reminded Mr. Chambers of a cat with it’s tale caught in the door. It was an appropriate metaphor, for Tracy had been a pain in the Headmaster’s backside for months, and now he was going to be a pain in hers!
Tracy stared to rise, but the Headmaster’s voice stopped her cold. “Remain in position, Smith! Jose and Jemal from the Varsity football team are in the outer office, waiting to see me on other business. I’m sure they’ll be happy to come in here and hold you down, which I will ask them to do if you break position again. So if you don’t want two 19-year-olds ogling your bare bottom, and all the treasures between, you’ll maintain your position!”
Tracy, horrified at the thought, dug her nails into the chair and held on for everything she was worth.
WHOOSH!
The Headmaster chuckled as Tracy let out another ghastly wail. “That WAS a good one, wasn’t it?” he chortled. “You’re going to have a hard time sitting on one of those tiny wooden classroom chairs with that stroke throbbing on your bottom!”
Tracy’s mind was awash with pain and confusion. “But why would I be sitting on…”
“Why will you be sitting at a student’s desk?” the Headmaster said, thoughtfully finishing her sentence. Because, my dear Tracy, for the rest of Halloween you’re going to live the part you’ve chosen. You’re going to BE a student!”
“But…” she gasped.
Mr. Chambers cut her off. “Don’t argue, it’s already done. A substitute is teaching your class now. You’re now a student and you’re going to be taking classes from teachers you passed over, snubbed, and backstabbed in your ambition to reach the top.”
“But you can’t turn me over to THEM. They’ll… YYYYYYY!”
But the next stroke confirmed that he could, and indeed he had, and there was nothing Tracy could do about it. With Yellow Rod dicing and slicing her bottom like a light saber, Tracy was in no position to debate.
“You’re a student now, Tracy, and that’s how I’m going to treat you. As per the wonderful suggestion in your note, I’m going to give you three extra strokes now across the back of your thighs, that won’t count toward your six. In your short uniform skirt, they will be clearly visible to all the other students, indeed, to anyone who cares to look.”
WHOOSH!
“My, that is a nasty mark! I imagine there’ll be quite a bit of snickering and teasing when everyone in the hallway sees your stripes. Still, I suppose that’s part of your punishment, too.”
WHOOSH!
“I’m going to make this last one a few inches above your knees,” he said, taunting her as he gently tapped the cane across the target. “It will make it impossible for you to shift your weight to your legs, of course, but it will be an excellent reminder to you, and to everyone who sees you, of the importance of respecting your betters!”
WHOOSH!
“Now that we have those three extras out of the way, we’re ready for the final stroke, number six. I’m going to make this a diagonal stroke that cuts across the others. I want you to think about it the next time you suggest one of your superiors is fat, senile, or unfit for his job.”
WHOOSH!
Tracy let out a scream that quite nearly shattered the window.
“You may rise Tracy, and face me. Hands on top of your head, please.”
Tracy, feeling quite stunned, winced as she slowly eased herself up. The Headmaster kept his eyes fixed between Tracy’s legs as she sniveled, sniffled, and sobbed before him.
“You did quite well, Tracy,” he patronized. “I’m particularly impressed that you held your position. I suppose the thought of Jemal and Jose seeing your bare arse wiggling through your spanking was quite an incentive. Then again you always were a bit shy about your body, weren’t you?”
Tracy answered by blushing and staring at her shoes.
“Well, as much as I’d like to see you do an hour of corner time, your gym class starts in a few minutes. I’ll give you a head start, since from the look of those welts on your bottom it will be quite difficult for you to walk.”
“Gym class?” Tracy asked. “But I can’t…”
“Ah, but you must! Oh, you’ll look cute as a button in your little gym shorts, especially with those colorful stripes across the back of your legs. Of course I imagine it will be a tad difficult for you to run and jump and do calisthenics with those painful welts, but you’re just going to have to suck it up. Because if you don’t, you’ll be sent back here for laziness, and another session with Yellow Rod.”
Tracy jumped as the Headmaster SWISHED Yellow Rod thru the air to emphasize his point. Another session with the cane on top of her current welts would be agony! Tracy vowed at that moment that no matter how excruciating it might be she would run like the furry, and do her sit-ups, hip thrusts, and jumping jacks with gusto!
“The class will be taught by Miss Van Dyke, who, I believe, once asked you out on a date, when you were a teacher. Well when you hit the showers she’ll have a chance to see everything you refused to show her.”
“The…the showers?” Tracy stammered. The Headmaster smiled as he watched the shy teacher’s face turn ashen. Tracy was quite bashful, but she was also athletic and petite. There would certainly be no problem in stripping her down birthday bare and pushing her into the shower with 50 or 60 other giggling girls, as her pert little bottom would blend in nicely with all the 18 and 19-year-old cheerleaders and prom queens. Except, of course, Tracy’s bottom would be far more colorful.
Mr. Chambers knew that the other girls would tease Tracy about her tiny ta-ta’s and freshly striped bottom. Tracy, painfully shy, wouldn’t like it one bit, but given her former status as Deputy Headmistress a bit of bullying would be natural. In fact, with Mr. Chambers help, it might even be encouraged...
“You will explain to Miss Van Dyke the shameful story of what happened to your soggy knickers, and ask her to get you another pair out of the inventory. You will tell her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Do you understand?”
Tracy too horrified to speak, merely nodded.
“I expect you to behave yourself today, young lady. If you become embroiled in disputes with your teachers or with other students, Yellow Rod will have another discussion with your bottom. Furthermore, such conduct might force me to talk to the Board of Governors about making your enrollment a permanent arrangement.”
Tracy gasped. He couldn’t! He wouldn’t!
Could he?
“Run along Tracy, and don’t dawdle. Miss Spice will give you your schedule, and a hall pass that will get you to your gym class, where Miss Van Dyke eagerly awaits your arrival.”
“Yes, sir,” Tracy said, staring at her shoes as she fell into her new role. “Thank you for taking the time to discipline me, sir.”
“Certainly, Tracy,” the Headmaster said, his voice oozing sincerity. “It was my pleasure.”
Tracy unpinned her skirt and shuffled slowly into the outer office, feeling the pain of her welts with each step. She ignored the sly smiles and vulgar whispers from Jevon and Jose, and snatched her pass and schedule from the smiling Miss Spice before gingerly exiting into the hallway.
Tracy walked down the hallway, wincing with each step. She was mortified, shamed, and humiliated. But she had never been so aroused in her life!
Tracy knew the rest of the day would be agony. Teachers and students, anxious for revenge, would bully her mercilessly. It would be a day filled with tough decisions, for if her behavior was anything less than exemplary, the Headmaster might well use her “misconduct” as an excuse to make her condition permanent.
Tracy looked at her pass. She had 15 minutes before class, which would be just enough time if she hurried. The tingling between her legs was driving her crazy, and she desperately needed relief. But if she were caught...
Tracy scurried into the girl’s room, determined to enjoy yet another treat on the best Halloween she had ever had.
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