Stacey’s Gym Skirt (A Sequel to Yes Miss)

The judicial officer returns to school by Katie Hammond The sound which started so faintly grew louder and louder, invading my other-worldly dream. I then awoke enough to realise it was the alarm clock and desperately stuck out my arm to turn it off. I couldn’t understand why I had left it on; I didn’t have to get up on a Sunday. Then I had that awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, it’s Monday. Yes, it really was Monday we had met up with friends for a meal on Sunday night and, yes, I probably did have one or two glasses of red wine too many and the evening passed far too quickly. I turned over and looked at my boyfriend; he was still fast asleep, lucky that he didn’t have to be up. Well in fact he did, although David was only a couple of months younger than me he was in the year below me at school and although he had just had his eighteenth birthday he still had to finish his final year at school. I had finished my A level exams in June of 2018 and had managed to obtain a job with the newly formed JPS but still had to complete a physical exercise module at school. This was due to have happened in September but, due to a teacher’s strike, it had been re-scheduled for 5th November 2018. My attendance today was really academic (no pun intended) because nothing rested on it as I had passed my A levels and secured a decent job, the latter being something almost unheard of for a school leaver in 2018 Britain, but out of respect for my school and the teachers I would attend. I guess I am fairly mature for my age and did have a bit of reputation at school for being a goodie-goodie. David on the other hand was still legally compelled to attend school, but often choose not too especially on Monday’s, his absence from school was never followed up so he missed a lot of education. I often wondered what he was going to make of his life if he didn’t start pulling his socks up soon. I got out of bed, put my dressing gown on and made myself tea and toast whilst trying to forget about my slight hangover. I was by now running late and even thought about skipping my shower. Yikes!! No, I had to have one. The hot water running down my body did its job; I felt awake, clean and refreshed. I walked back to the bedroom. Unsurprisingly David was still asleep. I opened the wardrobe and selected my underwear. I took a long sleeved white blouse and a pair of black tights, followed by my green school skirt and green school blazer with the ‘Wyners’ school badge embroidered on it. My gym uniform was already sorted out and in a bag which I gathered with me. I picked up my keys from the bedside table and left David to his sleep which no doubt would last several hours more. I left the flat and immediately the fresh cool air struck me, we had enjoyed an Indian summer in 2018 but it was now definitely autumn. I thought about going back for my coat for a moment but time was pressing so I carried on and got into my car. It started first time as always. I loved my 12 year old Honda Civic. It still looked so unique and futuristic after all these years. I drove out of Draycott and got onto the A1 which ran north-south about three miles east of the town. I headed south towards Portsville which was about ten miles south. Portsville was situated on the south coast of England and was now the main base for the Royal Navy. The city itself was poor and suffered from bad housing, crime, drugs and poverty and was now one of, if not the, roughest places in England. Draycott, only ten miles north, was the polar opposite, a small enclosed affluent market town. I often thought that the ten miles of countryside that separated Portsville from Draycott was like an actual border that separated the first from the third world. This countryside also contained farms, wealthy small villages and hamlets that looked something out of the ‘Midsomer Murders’ crime drama series (A popular UK TV crime series). I was driving to Portsville to pick up a file from work that I needed for a home visit tomorrow. I had met Mrs Jane Martin back in August when I had administered corporal punishment following her adjudication on release from prison. During her adjudication with me at the Justice & Punishment Service building in Portsville, otherwise known as the JPS, she again managed somehow to lose her knickers which then resulted in her being put ‘on report’ again. Following this her husband had gone away on business and she had asked to be placed into my custody. I had been very busy so had not managed to see Mrs Martin since August but I had placed her on a nightly curfew from 7pm to 6am. I had also given custody of Mrs Martin to her daughter to ensure that the curfew was complied with. Despite putting her on report and giving her a curfew I did like her a lot. I had actually got turned on when I was spanking her and even jealous of my male colleague when she seemed to be enjoying being spanked by him. Since then nothing my boyfriend David and I had done even came close to making me feel the same way as I did with Jane. I had tried to pass it off as a passing phase but just couldn’t and now I was even beginning to question my sexuality. I pulled up in the JPS car park, got out and realised I had been a bit stupid. I was going to turn up at my work place as an officer of the JPS in my school uniform. I got out of the car and put my straw hat on. Walking to the main entrance I noticed that the car park was fairly full for this time in the morning. This could be embarrassing. I walked in and saw Sharon on the main desk. She waved and smiled but was talking to a ‘customer’ so couldn’t say anything. Just before the stairs on the right hand side was Mick’s the caretaker’s office. The door was open but I passed it without looking in. Before I reached the stairs Mick came out of his office. “Stace,” he said. I turned around and looked at him. Smiling, he said: “Hit me, baby, one more time.” I laughed, Mick was always so funny. “I’m not Britney Spears,” I replied. “Well you’re looking like her now,” he said. “You mean like twenty years ago,” I responded. “You’re making me feel old now,” Mick said. “You are,” I jokingly replied. I started walking up the stairs. “See you tomorrow Stace.” “No, Wednesday, I’ve got a home visit tomorrow,” I said. “You take care now, babe,” said Mick. “Yep I will, see you later,” I said over my shoulder. I reached the first floor. A number of offenders or ‘clients’ as they were often called were waiting in the main waiting area ready to be called in by a JPS officer for their punishment. I walked to my office at the side of the main waiting area. About a dozen or so guys who were sitting in the waiting area stared at me, perhaps understandably seeing as what I was wearing. I opened my door and picked the file up from my desk. How on earth did I forget that Friday night, I thought. I closed the door and heard the next door along the corridor open. “Hi Stacey.” It was Lisa Williams, my boss. I said hello and we had a general chit chat and a laugh about my school uniform and she made a complimentary comment about how I looked, not for the first time either. It turned out that she was on a course from Wednesday, so we agreed to go for a drink and something to eat next weekend to catch up. I went down the stairs and passed Mick’s office. Sharon was still on main reception but busy so I just walked past. I walked outside. It was now sunny but still cold. A group of Royal Navy recruits had gathered in the car park before their eight mile run. They looked up and started leering at me. Just before I started feeling uncomfortable their leader, a young Sub Lieutenant who recognised me, shouted a command of: “Attention, eyes left,” although their eyes had already been ‘left’ for some time. “Good morning Ma’am,” he said. My JPS was rank was equivalent to Lieutenant so as his superior I both replied and instructed: “Good morning, at ease please.” He then stood them at ease and I had the chance to eyeball one of the cocky lads who was leering at me, only now he wasn’t the smiling know-it-all he was thirty seconds ago. I looked at his surname which was sown into his combat shirt. It said: ‘DICKS.’ Yes, just about says it all, I thought with a smile. I got back into my car and started the drive back to Draycott. The traffic had built up and it took longer than expected to get out of Portsville. Despite driving fast back up the A1 I was now running late. I’m sure today it would not matter but I just wanted to be on time anyway. The government, back in 2016, had decided that instead of going to university and starting courses that were never going to help them get a useful job, all pupils were required to stay on at school until aged18/19 (known as year 7) in order to pass A-levels. This of course also helped to get the unemployment figures and benefits payments down. Mock A-levels were being held at Twyners this week and the school had decided to make it a seventh form week only, for mock tests and pupils who had actually left school but still had one or more modules to complete. It would also be a week for trainee teacher training. As the youngest person at school this week would have passed their eighteenth birthday, it would be a school week exclusively for adults. Along with Twyners, other year 7 students from other towns around the county including Portsville would also be attending my school this week. It would no doubt be a bit of a culture shock for some to attend a school where discipline and academic achievement was still expected. Today might be interesting if nothing else, I thought. I parked the car and quickly got out, carrying my gym clothes in a large orange ‘for life’ Sainsbury’s carrier bag. I walked to the changing rooms and looked at my watch; it was coming up to ten past nine, no problem. I opened the door and immediately smiled. My old school friends were there chatting and laughing, and I joined them. It was great to see some of them again for real instead of just a picture on Facebook. Claire Egan asked me if I had brought my gym gear as we were actually going to have a gym lesson. I was surprised and said that I thought today would just be a box-ticking exercise and that we would be home by lunchtime. She said she thought the same but, no, she had been told the exercise would be real. I got the gym gear out of the bag. Yellow jumper, yellow collared t-shirt, white ankle socks, trainers, green gym skirt and green gym knickers. The last two items of gym kit had been a contentious issue for the school, parents and the girls who wore them for at least the past two decades or so. As items of kit, I didn’t really have any problems with them. The gym skirt, also referred to as a running, sports or netball skirt, was not an issue for me; well above knee height but not so high as to be inappropriately revealing. They were sensible for physical activity but perhaps old-fashioned, still not a big deal for me. The gym knickers, again referred to by various other names running, sports, race or athletics knickers or briefs, went over your normal knickers and were designed to protect your modesty should the skirt flip up during sports activity, so again I had no real problem with these either. The problem for some started when high jumping and hurdles were then added to the curriculum, I believe in the early 1980s. The need for unrestrictive movement resulted in the gym skirt being abandoned for these two activities only. However this was the thin edge of the wedge and soon pupils were playing rounders, netball and the like without skirts and in front of boys. It soon became a personal and seemingly arbitrary decision by the teacher whether for each PE lesson skirts were to be worn or not. I always remember Miss King fussing and telling girls their uniform skirts should not be any higher than an inch above the knee, yet at every PE lesson we had with her the first thing she told us to do was to take our games skirts off!! This of course caused issues with some students and parents and only after decades of arguments and sometimes bad feeling the school finally gave in and let the girls wear gender-neutral shorts from 2013. This was not retrospective and pupils issued with the old kit would have to continue wearing it until they left, so unfortunately or fortunately I was in the last year that was issued with the old kit. I say fortunately as it was at all not universally unpopular, many saying wearing gym knickers was feminine and made them feel sexy. One example of this I will never forget is Heather Wilson returning from the sports track, slowly jogging past rows and rows of boys in her skimpy gym knickers knowing every single one of them was eyeing up her bum. I could see how that could turn her on and of course the lads for that matter too. She could have worn her skirt if she wanted to. I was wearing mine but she chose not to. For me, I wasn’t that bothered either way. I was more interested in taking part in the sport but I would be mortified now if I had to run around in pants. Miss King always used to cite Jessica Ennis, the world champion athlete, as a role model and say, referring to her gym knickers: “Well she wears them.” My response was always: “That’s her choice, but you don’t give us one.” She never had an answer for that. She left a while back, now. I wonder what happened to her. I heard the changing room staff door open and came out of my brief day dream. A young girl probably the same age as me appeared and did what I thought was a silence head count. She then said to Heather Wilson, who was nearest her: “So who was late?” Heather replied: “Erm, not sure.” The young girl, who I now assumed was one of the trainee teachers, glared back at Heather and said: “I’m not sure, Miss!” Corrected, Heather quickly added: “Yes, Miss.” We were all a little shocked and looked at each other in collective silence. The girl again said, addressing us all: “So who was late?” I couldn’t believe that I was actually now quite nervous of this teenage girl. I raised my arm and said: “I was, Miss.” The girl looked blankly at me and said: “And why was that?” I replied: “I’m sorry, I was caught in traffic.” She came slightly closer to me and said: “What’s your name?” “Stacey Richardson, Miss.” As soon as I told her my name, there was definitely a reaction from her. It even seemed to unsettle her a bit. I had never met her before so it made me feel slightly uneasy. I turned to Claire Egan and whispered: “Who is she?” Claire shrugged her shoulders. The young teacher then said: “Ok girls, get your gym kit on. Be ready in three minutes and sit together in your groups.” She then looked at me. “You’re in group B, Richardson.” I nodded and she went back into the staff room. Along with the other girls, I got my gym kit together and changed. Given the fact I had not done this since fifth form, it was all slightly surreal especially having to deal with a strict teacher who I didn’t think was any older than me and being called by my surname which, after I had reflected for a few minutes, made me feel slightly annoyed. Who the hell does she think she is, I thought. Gym kit on, we sat in our groups. Claire was in group A. Another trainee teacher came out of the staff room and said: “OK group A, outside with me.” The group got up and followed this girl, again a young girl but probably older than the control freak I had spoken to earlier. The first teacher came out of the staff room and said: “Group B follow me.” We followed her out and stood in the playground area. I looked at the other members of group B; Heather Wilson, Lisa Smith, Lucy Cantello, Rebecca Grimeshaw and Abbie Davis among others, but there were a lot of non-Twyners girls among them. “OK girls, to the first lesson please. Stacey, I haven’t got time to explain everything again. Just go to classroom 4E for the first lesson, ok?” She seemed to have mellowed a bit so I looked at her and replied: “Yes Miss,” almost gratefully. I jogged across the playground and opened the door that was in the middle of a corridor that jutted out from the main school building. As soon as I opened the door the noise hit me. It must have been at least 9.45 am and normally at Twyners classes would have begun and silence would reign. Turning my head left, I could hear excited chanting of: “off, off, off, off, off, off, off, off,” from the science classrooms at the bottom of the corridor. I guessed it was a classroom prank of some sort by an idiot boy, the sort of thing my immature boyfriend would do, I thought. Just as I was going to go into 4E, three girls came round the corner at the bottom of the corridor. I stood still and looked. It was Claire Egan and two other girls either side of her having what looked like an argument. Claire stopped walking and was now in animated conversation with one of them in particular. The chanting got louder and more raucous. “Off, off, off, off, off, off, off, off, off.” I saw the boys faces pressed against the large window onto the corridor and now realised that the chants related to Claire and the two girls, not anything inside the classroom. Claire’s facial and arm movements indicated that she was desperately trying to win an argument. All of a sudden this stopped and, looking totally exasperated, her hands reached down to her waist. At that moment, the chanting turned to whoops and cheers of excitement in gleeful anticipation of the spectacle that was about to happen. She undid the button and zip of her gym skirt, which then fell to the floor. ‘Oh my god,’ I thought. Stunned, and as  the cheering reached crescendo, I could see mobile devices coming out of pockets, no doubt some of them streaming this humiliation to their ‘You tube’ accounts, available live to anyone in the world with phone or pc. I should really have gone into the classroom, but couldn’t. I was so stunned. Claire was still in deep conversation with the two girls as they walked her up the corridor towards me with Claire in the middle, her arms being held  by each girl, basically being manhandled like you see on films in court and situations like that. As they approached, I looked at Claire. She was tall, probably six foot or very nearly, slim with shoulder length blonde hair and good looking. She wasn’t one of my best mates but I had known her a while now and had always got along with her. As she passed, I looked at her but she didn’t return my gaze, perhaps understandable given the circumstances. Not long after passing me they stopped and I heard one of the girls telling Claire that they were now waiting for another student to join them. Almost as soon as she said that, a lad came through the doors at the end of the corridor to my right where Claire was standing. I could see the surprise on his face when he saw Claire in her gym knickers, almost a captive of these two girls. After the initial shock, he seemed to engage easy conversation with Claire and the other two, as I guessed they were discussing the lesson to come. I looked at them again and the contrast between what they were expected to wear was utterly ridiculous. He was dressed in a green rugby-type shirt and black shorts which ended just about his knee. Poor Claire, who had her back to me, was in her bright yellow jumper and her green gym knickers which were so skimpy they did expose some of her blue ‘normal’ knickers underneath. They were basically bikini bottoms. It was incongruous that she should be wearing these in a school corridor. She seemed to have calmed down a bit now and even laughed a couple of times after the boy spoke. I really should go into the classroom now, I thought, but I couldn’t stop looking at Claire’s bum, and I had to admit that I found her and the whole situation a bit sexy. One of the girls holding Claire’s arm finally noticed me and barked: “Get into your classroom now,” which I did, not even questioning her credentials for issuing this order. I opened the door and felt better. Mrs Bellinger was there, a sweet lady who had been teaching at Wyners for decades and was surely over retirement age now. “Hi, Stacey, come along now please,” she said in her normal kindly manner. She explained that the St John Ambulance were doing a first aid course for some of the seventh year and I would be the ‘patient’ that needed first aid. There would only be around 15 students on the course and it would last around one and a half hours. Ok, at least it’s better than what Claire has just been through, I thought to myself. The students arrived and I scanned the faces as they came in. A few I recognised as Twyners pupils, the rest were not. The last boy walked through, and a little bit of dread crept inside me. It was my cousin, Oliver, who went to school in the neighbouring town of Haddington. “Hey, Stace, what on earth are you doing here?” He said. “Same as you probably, Ollie, just getting this last load of school nonsense out the way.” He laughed, and before we could both say anything more a girl prodded him and led him away giggling, his latest girlfriend no doubt. Despite Ollie living so close, my family were not that close on my Dad’s side so I didn’t really know him that well. The St John instructors arrived, a man of around 45 assisted by a girl of 25 or so. Mrs Bellinger told us all to sit down and we did, looking around probably nearer 20 than 15, I thought. I sat down and realised that I hadn’t had to sit down on the floor in my gym kit for years. Crossed legged, I raised my knees up and then joined my arms under my knees keeping my skirt pressed up against my legs. The St John Ambulance man started to talk about the course and said the first half would be theory and the second practical with a short break in between, which sounded fair enough. I began to feel a bit uncomfortable as the guy started to talk about fainting, recovery positions, etc as I was wearing a skirt and some of the lads were looking at me and my hands holding my skirt up. The door opened and the trainee teacher from the changing rooms walked and acknowledged Mrs Bellinger with a smile. Shortly afterwards the St John Ambulance man said: “Ok, guys and girls, it’s ten thirty. I’ve got about another fifteen minutes of theory to get through but let’s take a break now.” There was tea, coffee and biscuits provided in the corner and we all went over and had our refreshments. Whilst I was drinking my cup of the tea the St John man came up to me and jokingly said: “Hi, so you are ok playing our victim today?” “Sure, no problem,” I replied although I didn’t think I had much choice. He then said, slightly embarrassed: “Oh, ok, good, erm, to be honest I wasn’t expecting you to be wearing a skirt as some of the positions we will have to put you in might be a bit, erm, you know.” Before I had chance to reply, the young strict teacher, who unbeknown to me was standing behind me, said: “She can take her skirt off.” The St John man looked bemused. Shocked, I turned round and almost pleaded: “Miss?” She said quietly: “Stacey, you’re wearing gym knickers so you can take your skirt off.” ‘Oh god, why me? Why did I come in today?’ I thought. This was turning into a nightmare. “But I’m only here to complete a module,” was all I could think to say. “Yes, that’s right, and you are, so do as you’re told, Stacey.” I felt like just walking out, getting in my car and driving off, but the module would not be finished and my school status would remain Seventh Year which would affect my benefit entitlements should I ever need to claim in the future. I reached for my skirt button and undid it and pulled the zip down and dropped the skirt down and placed it on a unused chair. By now the students had returned the short distance back to where they were previously sitting on the class room floor. I now walked back past them and sat down with them on the floor. Sitting down, I again pulled my legs up to my chest and assumed the same position, which was a sort of signal to the class that it was no big deal not having my skirt on. Of course this was far from the truth and I felt extremely embarrassed. The boy opposite, who had spent the whole lesson so far looking at me desperately trying to get even the slightest glimpse up my skirt, was now rewarded with a view which I felt wouldn’t look out of place in a lad’s mag. The theory finished and now I would have to be the reluctant star of the show. Everyone formed a circle around me and the practical began. The simulation was, I had collapsed and the pupils had to assess that I was breathing and then put me in the recovery position. The first to have a go was a girl who I didn’t recognise. She checked that I was breathing, which thankfully I was! Before she did anything else, the St John Ambulance man said: “Ok, now someone should have called the emergency services. You ring them,” he said, pointing to a lad. “Hello, ambulance please.” He pulled his hand up to his head to simulate the call. The ambulance man then said: “Ok, when he’s calling the ambulance he should call them and describe when and how he found her, what she’s wearing and any other information that may help the crew.” The lad continued: “Oh, erm, I found her about two minutes ago collapsed.” The ambulance man said: “Ok, good, describe the situation. Industrial accident, office accident, street mugging. Any clues. Look at what she’s wearing.” There was a slight snigger from someone. “Anyone?” Encouraged the instructor. One of the lads said: “Well I reckon she’s had too much to drink.” Puzzled, the instructor said: “Why?” The lad replied: “Go down Portsville town centre most nights and you see drunk girls lying on the pavement in their pants.” Instantly everyone laughed, including the girl who was kneeing down beside me. I would have, too, if it wasn’t me. We then continued and I was put in the recovery position by the girl, again an embarrassing position to be in, given what I was wearing. I think she could sense this and when she had finished she sweetly asked me if I was all right. “Yeah, I’m fine thanks,” I replied with a smile. Thankfully, due to long interruptions and talking, only two more pupils put me in the recovery position before I then had to demonstrate the fainting recovery position which was even worse. Basically, your legs had to be raised above head height to allow the blood to run back down to your head, and again due to what I was wearing it was very undignified having your legs held up by your ankles lying on the floor in a pair of knickers. During the last demonstration there was a power failure for about two minutes. The lights went out and the lad kept a tight hold of my ankles while the class chatted and laughed. The lights burst back into life and as I looked up at the smiling face of this lad, one of his friends shouted: “I can’t believe you, Jack. The lights were out for ages and you still haven’t got her knickers off.” Cue laughter from all the lads and, surprisingly for me, some of the girls. It couldn’t have got much worse, I thought, as the ambulance man announced the end of the lesson. I stood up and dusted down my yellow jumper and brushed my legs down. Mrs Bellinger thanked the St John Ambulance trainers and walked to the door before turning around and saying to the class: “Ok, hurry up to your next lessons, please.” The classroom slowly emptied and I walked back to the chair to get my skirt. I immediately saw that it wasn’t on the chair where I had left it. I pulled the chair away, assuming it had slipped off and was on the floor. It wasn’t there. Although I was sure I was looking at the right chair, I pulled both chairs either side out and again it wasn’t there. I didn’t know where my next lesson was and panic started to set in. I pulled the next chair out and then the next chair. Oh god, I can’t believe this! I really was close to tears by now. I heard someone say: “Hi,” and I turned around and tried to compose myself. It was the first girl that had put me in the recovery position. “Can I help?” She said. “Well, I can’t find my skirt. I’m sure I left it there,” I replied, pointing to that chair. “Yes, you did. I saw you put it there myself,” she said. Then reality dawned on me and I said: “Well, someone must have taken it then.” The girl replied: “Yes, for sure. It can’t have just run away like that.” Before I had a chance to reply, she asked: “Do you drive a silver Honda?” “Yes I do,” I said. She smiled again and said: “Oh, I thought it was you. I live in Falcon Mews with my mum and brother.” I smiled and said: “Sorry, I don’t recognise you.” She replied: “Don’t worry, we’ve just moved there from Portsville a couple of weeks ago. I take it this is your school?” I said: “Yes it is, although I really finished in June. I’m just here to complete a module.” She nodded, looked at my legs and said: “I can’t believe they make you wear that in public.” I replied: “Yep, although they don’t anymore. I think I was in the last year that wore this stuff.” She said directly: “How do you feel about it?” “Well, when I first came here it was an all girls school and because everyone up until that point had to wear it I just got on with it although I had more of an issue with it recently.” She said: “I can imagine, although I think it’s a bit sexy really. I wouldn’t mind wearing that uniform for a bit of fun sometime.” I was a little taken aback by her honesty and laughed to disguise my slight embarrassment. “You can probably get something like it on ebay,” I advised her. She smiled again and said: “I guess so. I’m Sophie by the way, I live at 34.” She held out her hand I took it and said: “I’m Stacey, number 88.” After the handshake she said: “I’ve got to get going, Stacey, otherwise I’m going to be late. Sorry I can’t help you with the skirt.” “No problem. See you around, then.” She smiled and said: “Yes,” then left and closed the door. I was now alone in the classroom. I searched the whole room for the skirt. It wasn’t there. What a final day this was turning out to be; late, pulled up by a teenager teacher, having to take my skirt off, lying on the floor without a skirt in front of my cousin among others and now having lost it. Skirtless! ‘Don’t panic, let’s have a plan, Stacey,’ I thought to myself. Back to the changing rooms it was, get changed and leave. So what if I didn’t complete the module. I just wanted to be out of here, and fast. I opened the door of the windowless classroom 4E which was mostly used for drama classes and walked towards the door on the corridor which in turn leads out into the playground. Thankfully there were not too many people around. However, as I opened the door into the playground area, I noticed about half a dozen lads and girls who, having noticed me, stopped chatting and started looking at me with utter incredulity. I broke into a slight jog trying to shorten the ordeal slightly. During the two minute jog across the playground to the changing rooms, I passed a few more students. I kept looking straight ahead and avoided eye contact with anyone and tried my best to put a neutral facial expression like I was saying: ‘No problem, I do this every day.’ I continued to jog up the steps that lead up to the gym corridor and opened the door, turned to my left and ran the few feet to the changing room door. Just as I pushed the door open, someone pulled the door from the other side. It was a girl who I had never seen before. “Out you go,” she said sharply. “I’m only here to pick up my stuff,” I said. She replied: “No, you’re not. The gym and changing rooms have just closed.” I pleaded. “But please, I need my things.” “Didn’t you just hear what I said?” She said, then added: “And what’s your name?” “Stacey Richardson,” I replied. She looked directly at me and said: “So do you always have a problem understanding what a teacher tells you then?” “No Miss,” I replied meekly. She seemed to enjoy my slight submissiveness and in a bit of a softer manner said: “The changing rooms are open again at three-thirty.” ‘What the hell can I do until then?’ I thought. The girl was still standing there and I knew exactly what she wanted. I almost stood to attention as I delivered it, a very clear and purposeful: “Yes Miss.” Satisfied that I had sucked up to her enough, she turned and walked away, not once mentioning my attire, I reflected. I stood there and had a thought. Why not run back? No, too impractical. My flat was about three miles away. I would have to run all that way through a market town in gym knickers in November get to the flat, then wait outside for David to get back which would be god knows when. Besides, I would probably get arrested before I got home. I almost laughed at the thought. ‘Come on, keep smiling, Stacey,’ I reminded myself. I decided to go back to 4E and make a plan. I jogged back down the steps and across the playground. As I was jogging back, I noticed Kirsty Ridge coming out of the door I was heading for. Like me, she was not wearing a skirt, and, like Claire, she had members of staff standing either side of her obviously exercising some form of authority over her. I didn’t really like her much, to be honest. She was stuck up and always wore a bandage around her leg so she didn’t have to take part in strenuous sports activity. Those new teachers obviously haven’t fallen for it, Kirsty, I thought with a smile. I jogged past them without making eye contact, opened the corridor door and headed for 4E. Thankfully, it was unlocked and empty. I stood there and thought about what to do. I had already decided I couldn’t run back like this and although I didn’t know what the time was I had hours to wait until half past three. The only thing I could do was just to tell a teacher what had happened. I opened the door again and stood in the corridor. There were a few students around and, feeling uncomfortable, I opened the door onto the playground, increasingly desperate to find a teacher. I called out: “Miss, Miss, Miss,” as I ran to a teacher I had spotted. She stopped and turned around. I explained my situation and she got out her mobile and spoke to a ‘Rebecca’ who it sounded like was in charge. “Oh dear, they’ve been looking for you.” She then added: “Go back to 4E.” Before I had chance to reply, she instructed: “And put your skirt on.” I replied: “I’ve lost it, Miss.” “And she’s lost her skirt,” the teacher said, slightly ominously, into her phone. She then pointed to the corridor door at the other end of the playground and simply said: “Run.” Without a word I ran back, ignoring the now many students in the playground, and opened the door. There was now a lot of people in the corridor. I was now much less worried about people looking at me; the fear of being in trouble with the school had now overtaken the embarrassment. “Richardson!” Someone called out. I turned towards that strict teacher who I had met in the changing rooms. “I’m putting you on report for losing your skirt,” she said. I protested: “But I left it on the chair in 4E and when I went to pick it up it was gone. Someone must have stolen it.” She then asked: “But you were in the room all the time.” “Yes, but the lights went off,” I replied. “Ok, but they came on again?” I nodded. She added: “And you didn’t see anyone walking out of the classroom with your skirt?” I replied: “No, I didn’t.” She half smiled and said: “So you lost your skirt then, didn’t you?” I replied with a reluctant: “Yes Miss.” I couldn’t win and couldn’t believe I was being put on report for the very first time on my last day. Two young teachers walked up the corridor from the direction where Claire Egan had come from. The strict teacher then said to them: “Take her to punishment,” and walked back down the corridor. I became aware again of the amount of people in the corridor and my embarrassment returned. One of the girls reached into her pocket and produced a black blindfold which she the put on me. Holding my arms, they led me down the corridor gently guiding me down the first set of steps. I could sense and hear people around me and a girl’s voice shouting in front of me. “That’s Madison Jenkins,” said one teacher to another. ‘Oh god, no,’ I thought. Madison Jenkins was in one of the tough Portsville girl gangs and I once had to deal with her in the JPS. I stopped and pleaded: “Please don’t let her see me like this.” “Keep walking, Richardson,” came the instant reply. I tried to walk backwards saying: “I can’t do this.” They both held my arms tightly as they forced my arms behind my back and I heard a metallic jingle as the cold metal of the handcuffs met my wrists. We continued walking and I knew we were coming to the end of the corridor next to the science labs where the noise and shouting increased. There were so many people around that I was walking very slowly. The teachers beside me kept saying: “Make way.” I prayed that nobody I knew was watching this. As with Claire, the seventh graders in the science labs made a lot of noise as I passed. I heard things like: “Jack, Jack, there’s a girl with no skirt on here.” “Where? Where?” Was the excited reply. On seeing me, he shouted an expletive and then said: “Ollie! Over here, over here!” As far as I could see the teachers made no effort to stop this verbal humiliation. As we turned the corridor to head up the stairs, a girl walked past and shouted: “Slapper,” as if this was somehow my choice to look like this. Even in the middle of this nightmare it still upset me. We stopped and one of the girl teachers said: “We’re at the bottom of the science stairs now and we are going up them.” I said: “Ok,” just about managing to contain my anger. “Just take it easy, one at a time,” she said as she put her hand on my back. I climbed the first step, then the next. There seemed to be a bit of a commotion or a fight behind me at the bottom of the stairs. I heard a girl saying: “Calm down, calm down.” Another female voice said: “Do her!” Despite being in the ‘care’ of these teachers, I started fearing for my personal safety. When I lost my footing trying to climb too quickly, one of the teachers barked in my ear: “Stop mucking around, Richardson, you idiot.” I was furious. I wasn’t climbing a flight of stairs blindfolded by choice. I nearly kicked out in anger but had the sense to realise It would only make things worse, if it could get much worse, that is. All the while I could hear the screams, laughs and aggression at the bottom of the stairs. Suddenly, a girls voice screamed: “Pull her pants down! Pull her pants down! Pull her pants down!” My faith in sisterhood had disappeared today and I had a dreadful feeling that her demand would be met. Another girl, who I assumed had been stopped at the bottom of the stairs, was asking if she could beat me up. Nearing the top of the stairs, I heard another girl respond angrily: “Lay a finger on her and I’ll rip you head off!” Following this, there was more shouting and then what I assumed was a scuffle broke out. I heard a guy’s voice shout urgently: “Don’t let anyone up the stairs. Keep standing there.” We got to the top of the stairs, passed through a fire door and turned left towards the sixth form common room. There was much less noise now and I was very relieved the mob were unable to follow me up the stairs. We walked on for a few feet and one of the teachers said: “Right guys, guard this door with your life. No-one other than staff are to be allowed access until we come out. Clear?” I think about four or five guys and a couple of girls acknowledged the order. I could hear the door open and I was pushed in the back, which I took as a command to start walking. We entered what I was sure was the sixth form common room and I was asked to take a seat and then lie down on what I thought must be the common room sofa. I heard a noise to my right and for a second assumed it was the mob outside the door. Thankfully I heard a sole woman’s voice and the door opened. I could hear her approach me she stopped and said: “Ok, Stacey, you are now going to be punished for being late. You do admit that you were late, don’t you?” It was the strict teacher who I had seen in the changing rooms and who had put me on report. I replied: “Yes Miss.” I then felt a pair of hands on my hips. Her middle finger then slid into my knickers and, even though I was wearing a blindfold, I closed my eyes and gulped as I felt her pulling my knickers down all the way down my legs and over my trainers. For a split second I was grateful she had only pulled my gym knickers off until I realised that the fabric of the sofa felt the same on my legs as it did on my now bare bum. I swivelled my legs around as she told me to sit up. She undid the handcuffs and then removed the blindfold. I opened my eyes. Yes, I was in the once familiar sixth form common room. To my left was the strict teacher I had spoken to and I assumed had just de-briefed me and to my right were around five girls who I assumed and hoped were the trainee teachers. I stood up as instructed and turned to face the strict young teacher as she took a step towards me. “Your punishment is ten bare bottom spanks,” she said. I asked: “Why ten?” “One for each minute you were late,” she replied. A voice behind me said: “And you will get more at a later date for missing your second lesson and losing your skirt.” I turned around and faced the other teacher. “At a later date?” I queried. The teacher continued: “Yes, you will have to come back regarding your other offences and you will remain on report until your final punishment is completed.” I was starting to feel angry again and said to her: “This is mad, Miss.” As soon as I said this, I realised how easily I had become almost subconsciously submissive, addressing these teenagers as ‘Miss’ and accepting their authority. This anger, combined with my frustration about not able to do anything about it, was actually starting to turn me on in a way. As I continued to verbally fight my corner, I was of course more than aware that I was not wearing any clothes below my waist line. However this was just adding to the somewhat pleasurable sensation I was feeling, I had nothing to be ashamed of and, without trying to sound conceited, I was one of the top girls at my school. I am 5 feet 11 inches, which made me one of the tallest. Slim with brown eyes and dark brown, almost black, hair which came courtesy of my Italian maternal grandparents, my boyfriend always told me I looked like the glamour model Rosie Jones when she was my age. As I turned between the strict teacher and the others, I noticed how their eyes became focused on one spot. Then, as I turned around, I knew that all eyes were on my bottom. I was in all honesty really starting to enjoy this. I couldn’t work out why I had such a hang up about taking my gym skirt off but had no problem being half or more than half naked in front of other women. The strict teacher had walked towards the pool table and said: “Come here, Stacey.” I replied: “Yes Miss,” and for the first time I really meant it submissively, as in: ‘Yes Miss, anything you want, Miss.’ I continued to walk slowly but purposefully towards her. She told me to sit on the end of the table. I put my hands on the pool table cushions and lifted my bum up and over onto the green cloth of the table. By now the other teachers had also walked over. The strict teacher continued: “Lie down, Stacey.” I did. She then said: “Ok, now lift your legs into the air.” I had guessed this was coming. I adjusted myself and put my legs and feet together before raising my legs like a synchronised swimmer. As soon as they were as high as I could get them, I said: “Yes Miss,” as one of the other teachers held my legs by the ankles. With my buttocks and genitalia fully exposed as I now waited to be spanked I hoped it was not apparent the affect this was having on me. The strict teacher got into position and I closed my eyes. In a split second after hearing the whoosh of her arm, I felt a heavy thud against both buttocks and a second after that the pain of the connection. I let out an ‘arrghh’ gulped and started blinking in automatic response. I closed my eyes again before the next assault on my posterior. WHACK. This was harder still and I had to tense and shift my buttocks slightly in order to dull the pain. This was noticed and one of the girls said: “Keep still.” I replied almost automatically: “Yes Miss.” I took a deep breath before the next WHACK came. When it did, it was harder than the first two and I clenched my buttocks hard desperately trying not to move. WHACK; again this was hard and I clenched my buttocks, sucked in air through gritted teeth and let out a “no” in a vain plea. The next swot landed on my right buttock only and was less painful. By now I realised I was being paddled. The next spank was on my left buttock and again not quite as painful as the first ones. I gulped and moaned very slightly to give an impression that it was hurting more than it was but in truth the pain was becoming so close to pleasure. I heard her move her arm backwards before the paddle crashed down again on my exposed derriere, this time with a noise like the snapping of a cane. The pain was intense and I screamed out: “Aaarggghhhhhhhhhhh,” and I put my hands on my head. I couldn’t stand much more of this and pleaded: “Please Miss, I can’t take any more of this, I really can’t!” The strict teacher who was doing the spanking spoke to me. “Ok Stacey, I will use my hands if you can’t handle it.” Relieved, I replied: “No, I can’t, honest, Miss.” She walked back and I got ready for the next smack. WHACK; I felt a softer blow as her hand hit both buttocks. Just as they did, the bell rang. It had been a really long day but I realised it was only lunchtime. “Ok, last two, Stacey,” said the strict teacher, who was now slightly more mellow. I replied: “Yes Miss,” obediently. WHACK; her hand hit my already sore bum hard and I let out another small moan: “Arrgh,” mostly as a demonstration to the teacher that I was being punished. One of the girls said: “Make this a hard one, Rebecca.” Ah! So, as I suspected, she was Rebecca who seemed to be in charge. W-H-A-C-K; her hand swung down really hard and I let out another “Arrgghhhh,” and clenched my bum in pain. Thank god that was it, I thought. “Ok Stacey, that’s it,” said Rebecca. “Go over there,” she said, pointing at the sofa, “and lay on your tummy.” I slowly got up and walked over to the sofa and did what I was told. Another girl came over and without saying anything to me started rubbing cream on my bum. The cool moist substance eased the burning feeling and I loved the thought that a girl was doing this to me. It was erotic and soporific and I closed my eyes in pleasure at the end of the ordeal. With my eyes closed, I could hear the girls discussing the paddle that had been used on me. Apparently it was purchased from Agent Provocateur. I was slightly embarrassed that I was chastised by an item purchased from a lingerie outlet. I was almost drifting off when the girl said: “Ok, you can get up now and put your knickers on.” I stood up and looked for my knickers. Oh god, no, they weren’t there. I looked at Rebecca who was sitting on a chair behind a coffee table and said: “Miss, I can’t believe it. I left my knickers there.” She smiled and pulled them out of her jacket pocket. “Don’t worry, Stacey, I kept them for safe keeping. We don’t want you losing them, do we? You can get into all sorts of trouble for losing knickers, so I’ve heard.” I was immediately puzzled by her cryptic words but didn’t want to respond, so I reached for my knickers and took them off Rebecca with just a ‘thank you. I put them on and was asked to sit down. Just as I sat down there was a knock at the door. One of the girls walked over to the door and opened it slightly. A lad gave her two carrier bags and the door was closed again. She opened the bags on the table and out came eight or so KFC box meals and they were given out. The girl who had been rubbing cream into my bum took a box and walked over and gave it to me. “Thank you,” I said with a smile. I ate the chicken and fries which were not too bad. I don’t normally eat fast food but this was ok once in a while. After finishing eating, Rebecca looked at me and said: “Right Stacey, your next lesson is rounders. Join your class on the playing fields now, and then you’ve got running, so you don’t need your skirt for those.” I stood up and said: “Yes Miss,” and left the common room. The security guards had now gone. I walked down the stairs the way I had come up blindfolded. there were not many people around but the ones that were still stared. After what had just happened it really didn’t worry me at all. I got to the playing fields and joined the class for rounders. I guess there were around twenty of us by now and around half were not wearing skirts, including Claire Egan. We must have played for over an hour but it went quickly and I actually enjoyed it. After a ten minute rest we were told that our run would be cross country or, more accurately, cross street running. We could get access to Warren road from the playing field so we were told to get ready. Several of the girls asked the teacher if they could get their skirts from the changing rooms but he said there wasn’t enough time, which was probably true. So, girls that already had skirts on could leave them on or take them off if they wished. Surprisingly, about half a dozen girls took up the offer and left them at the side of the field. Unsurprisingly, a certain Heather Wilson was one of this number. Someone had already opened the gate and we filed out, jogging along one by one. After doing so many adult things like living with my boyfriend, driving a car and getting a job, etc, today had seemed quite surreal. Running along like this through the rather nice streets of Draycott seemed to top it off. Like the rounders, I quite enjoyed it and, given that running knickers had long been consigned to history, I thought that this was probably the last time the residents of Draycott would ever get the chance to see this spectacle and the last chance for us to look at the totally bemused faces of the mainly elderly folk who saw us. On the final stretch back to the school field gate in Warren road, Heather Wilson energetically passed me and, just like years ago, was skirt-less and loving it, even though there were no lads in sight. I laughed, but had to admit she did have a nice bum. As I looked at it in front of me, I wondered what she was doing now and who she was with. We got back to the playing field and the gate was closed as an end to our run and a chapter of Wyners history, I guessed. We walked back to the changing rooms. This was it; the end, and despite what had happened today I felt really sad that I would never be at school with my friends ever again. Of course it has to happen one day, I thought. Rebecca said: “Ok, you can all go now except for the Netball team who need to go to the assembly hall now.” I walked out of the changing rooms and back to the assembly hall. I realised this was for a team photo as we had won our School County League. Half way there, I turned around to see if the rest were coming. Yes, they were. Claire, Lisa, Heather, Lucy and the others. It then dawned on me they were all wearing their gym skirts or now, using the correct terminology for this exercise, netball skirts. As I reached the assembly hall a man said: “Come on, girls, quick, we are running late.” The rest now broke into a jog. I turned to him and said, rather needlessly: “I’m not wearing a skirt, Sir.” He either didn’t hear or ignored me and instead got us into two lines. Luckily, being so tall, I was in the second row but unluckily, also being the tallest, I was on the end and no one was in front of me. I smiled and our team photo was taken for posterity with me in gym knickers for eternity. The man then said: “So who was the top scorer?” That was me, both for my team and in the county league, and so I had to come down to the front. “Team captain, stand that side of her, vice-captain the other.” Claire and Heather stood next to me with the team behind us. As the guy was adjusting the camera tripod, Claire and Heather put their hand just above my knee held each shoulder and lifted me up so I was sort of like in an airborne sitting position. A couple of the girls laughed. My legs came apart a little and as I tried to close them. I felt Claire’s and Heather’s hands preventing it. Those cows! Just then, the camera man took the pictures and I knew he was waiting for this to happen. I laughed and my face broke into a big smile and I tilted my head subconsciously. As I laughed, he took more before Claire and Heather returned my feet to the ground. Well, at least these were only school photos. I wouldn’t particularly want my Mum or Dad to see them. I walked over to the camera man to reassure myself. “These are for the school, aren’t they?” I said. He said: “Yes, we’re giving these to the school as well.” I replied: “As well as?” “Oh, I’m from the ‘South Today’ website. They’re going up on the website in about half an hour,” he said. “Not the one of me being picked up?” I asked. “Yes, that one as well,” he replied. “I wasn’t wearing a skirt,” I said again. He looked at me and said: “Yep, I can see that. Why didn’t you wear one then?” “I lost it this morning,” I replied. “Well, that’s your own fault then, isn’t it?” Came his unsympathetic and rather unexpected response. “Thanks,” I replied. He looked at me and said: “Be honest, it wasn’t that bad was it?” I knew what he was hinting at. “I guess not,” I said honestly. He said: “As well as ‘South Today’, I do my own freelance work in the glamour industry, nothing seedy, good money. Call me if you want.” He offered me his business card. I was shocked, but in truth also flattered really, so I thanked him and took the card and walked back to the changing room with the others. The staff had gone and we quickly changed back into our school uniforms although I didn’t bother putting my tights on. I had a quick chat with Claire and Heather and we swapped numbers. They were not my closest friends at school but I liked them a lot all the same. It had seemed like such a long time ago since I arrived today and after what had happened I now just wanted to go. I said my goodbyes and got into my car and drove away. On the drive home, my thoughts turned to Jane and the home visit tomorrow. It was absolutely bizarre that what I had done to Jane back in August someone had now done to me and for nearly the very same reason. I had a strange feeling about that Rebecca girl, for some reason. I liked Jane and was really looking forward to seeing her again, and I hoped she was looking forward to seeing me as I did sense a connection between us. Otherwise I assumed she would not have wanted to be released into my custody. If I was honest with myself, for the most part I enjoyed being undressed and spanked and I was sure Jane had felt the same way when we were spanking her. I was going to stick to my original plan to visit Jane at home and then take her to the JPS Centre for Corporal Punishment after having placed her on report. As I thought about that, I remembered that I had been placed ‘on report’ today it seemed very strange there were so many similarities between my day at school and Jane’s appearance at the JPS a few months ago. Anyway, nothing more had been said so I was sure I didn’t have to go back. I got home and pulled up into our allocated parking bay. As I got out of the car I heard my name being called. Sophie, that girl from the first aid lesson, came over to me. “Hi Stacey, are you ok?” She said. “I’m fine, thanks,” I replied. She looked at me and said: “Well as long as you’re sure, I saw you being taken up to that common room. What on earth happened there?” I lied. “Ah, nothing really, bit of a talking to, that was it.” She wasn’t taken in by that and said: “Erm, ok, although I think there was a lot more to it than that, but as long as you’re ok. Just let me know if you want to chat.” I nodded and thanked her. She seemed very genuine and I hoped we could get to know each other better. I opened the flat door and went straight to my PC and turned it on. I googled ‘South Today’ and, against my hopes, the pictures were there for all to see. What a nightmare! I heard a knock at the door and thought that was probably Sophie again. As I walked to the door, I saw it was the local paper ‘South Today’ on the doormat. I picked it up, and turned to the back page. Thankfully nothing there. Then I turned to the last inside page and there I was being carried, my arms around Claire’s and Heather’s shoulders, my legs being held up and apart by the girls. The picture was also enlarged so that it ran over both the pages with the heading: “Volleyball Star’s Double Spread.” ‘Charming!’ I thought as I put it down on the coffee table. I had a quick look on ‘You Tube’ to see if there was anything else from today on that site, especially that incident with Claire and me being taken up to the common room. Thankfully, I couldn’t find anything. I had a text from David asking me: ‘What the hell are you doing in the paper like that?’ I told him where to go. I hated him treating him like he owned me, conveniently forgetting that I was the one who paid all the bills and put food on the table. I didn’t think we were going to last much longer. David was going to be home late from wherever he was, so I prepared a meal for one and got ready for tomorrow. After eating and washing up, I was going to watch TV but was interrupted by a call. I picked up. “Hello?” “Hi Stacey.” It was the familiar voice of my Mum. I smiled. “Hi Mum.” Her voice changed a bit and said: “Stacey, I am so disappointed.” Alarmed, I said: “Why Mum?” She replied: “Those pictures in the evening paper.” I said: “Sorry Mum, it’s a long story. I lost my skirt,” with an equal amount of embarrassment and anger. “You don’t have to tell me. I know, and you’ve been put on report,” mum said. I was shocked she knew about that and asked: “How do you know?” She replied: “Oh, Miss Martin told me.” I was puzzled. How does Jane Martin know about this? She’s a ‘Mrs’ anyway. “Do you mean Mrs Martin?” Mum said: “No, Stacey, Miss Martin, Rebecca Martin.” The penny dropped. Rebecca must be Jane’s daughter. I knew she had a daughter called Amy but didn’t know about Rebecca. Her case notes said three children, but gave no other details. I had given joint custody of Jane to Amy. I soon ended the conversation with my mother. I sat down and let it sink in. I was by now fuming. I picked the phone up. “Hello, JPS Portsville,” said the female voice at the other end. “Hi there, this is Lieutenant Stacey Richardson, JPS,” I said. She instantly replied: “Good Evening, Ma’am.” “Are there medics in tomorrow?” I asked after a short delay. “Yes, Ma’am, there are seven in all day tomorrow.” With a smile, I instructed: “Ok, I need a female to do a full prison medical tomorrow.” The woman seemed surprised and said: “Are you doing a recall to prison?” She didn’t have any right to question me but despite my anger I let it go. “Oh no, I just want a full prison medical tomorrow.” I sensed this woman was enjoying this also. She asked me: “Ok,  name and number please.” I replied: “Martin C8976541.” The woman repeated back to me and herself as she typed the information into her PC. After the keyboard tapping stopped she said: “That’s a Mrs Jane Caroline Martin, aged 41.” “That’s correct,” I confirmed. The woman said cheerfully: “Well that’s a full prison medical booked for her tomorrow,” before adding: “does she know about it?” I replied: “No, but she soon will do.” The woman laughed and said: “Yes, I’m sure she will. I take it she’s got her own sports kit?” Getting a little excited by now, I said: “I think she has and if she hasn’t she will do it nude.” The woman laughed again and said: “Looks like you’re going to give her more fun tomorrow than her husband has given her for years.” “You’re probably right,” I agreed. I put the phone down. One of the Martin girls got the better of me today, tomorrow it will be their turn. To be continued. © Katie Hammond 2014 Posted on Friday, June 20th, 2014 at 12:34 pm in Judicial Punishments, School & College Stories   |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed. Tags: Katie Hammond