The End is in Sight
“I’m getting some insights about myself here…”
I thought he might, that’s why I bought the uniform in secret and wore it as a surprise. I plan to experience his immediate, instinctive response. On my bottom, hopefully.
I stare shyly at the twisting toe of one patent leather shoe, then look up at him through my eyelashes to offer a bashful smile. “What insights are you having… sir?”
He shrugs apologetically. “Well, firstly, I’ve realised I’m not into innocent schoolgirls. Not at all. Not even the faux-innocence of grown women dressed as schoolgirls. That’s just not my kink, it seems. Sorry. I appreciate the effort you’ve made, and you look lovely, as always, but little plaid skirts don’t press my buttons.”
So much for my plan. “Oh.”
“A more important insight was my immediate reaction when I saw you, which was, ‘That skirt is far too short. She would have got a spanking for wearing that at my school.’”
There’s still hope! “Would she?”
“Yes. Definitely. And then I thought about what that meant for innocence. Because a girl wearing a skirt that short wouldn’t have been pretending innocence. She’d be a bad girl who wasn’t afraid to show it. Or perhaps she’d had an insight into her own nature, and she wanted to be punished.”
My plan might actually be working. “Perhaps she did.”
“So, of course, I thought about being a fly on the wall in my old headmaster’s study. He handled all the discipline, you know. He relished it. I was never punished, but I heard stories: boys and girls alike would bare their bottoms, bend over his desk, and be soundly spanked. There was nothing sexual in it, I’m sure; it was about embarrassing and shaming them. And I remembered my adolescent curiosity, how I always wanted to watch that happen to one of the girls. I thought at the time I just wanted to see a girl’s bottom, naked. But that memory gave me the most valuable insight: in spite of all the naked bottoms I’ve seen since, I still do want to see that happen. Specifically, I’d like to see you, bent over, getting your naked bottom spanked.”
Yes! My plan succeeded. He wants to spank me.
I turn around, bend over the dining table, and lift my skirt. “Should I pull down my own knickers, or will you do it, sir?”
“There’s no point taking them down now, darling. I’ll call Mr Forster and see if he’d like to come over for a brandy and a chat tomorrow evening. We’ve kept in touch, you know; I was one of his star pupils. He’s eighty-two, but he’s lost none of his fire. I’m sure he’s still up to the job.”
He doesn’t want to spank me. He wants to watch an old man I’ve never met spank me instead. And the wave of disappointment at that realisation… fails to materialize.
I’m getting some insights about myself here.
Linked to Wicked Wednesday
