Monday, 25 August 2014

Dear Diary,

I've been called to the new headmaster's office on Wednesday. :( I don't even know what I'm supposed to have done this time! This is so not fair...

Dear Diary,

The headmaster resigned... oopsie! Hope that was nothing to do with me! *Giggle*

This is from Daddy's pictures in his room. I wonder why he has so many...


Tuesday, 12 August 2014

Messing about in the showers at school after netball!


more about the stupid cigarette thing

Dear Diary,

I nearly forgot to tell you the rest of the story about the cigarette thing! I’ve been thinking about it loads recently and there’s no one else I can tell, but I have to say it all somewhere. Ugh, I’m so ashamed and embarrassed and confused! Here’s the rest of what happened…

“You know this is just the beginning, don’t you Anna?”

His elbow was leaning heavily into my back, pinning me down across his lap. Beneath my skirt, the palm of his other hand pushed roughly against my underwear and his fingers started to close slowly, gripping my flesh hard. I let out a low whimper as the grip began to tighten painfully and the noise seemed to break some sort of dangerous spell. His whole body relaxed purposefully as he let go with what sounded almost like a cross between a groan and a sigh, as if consciously forcing a tension out of his entire body.

I suddenly felt very small and vulnerable, held there close against his crotch. Every part of his lap felt angular and uncomfortable against my front.

He was breathing deliberately now, and his fingertips gently traced the edges of my white knickers, hooking underneath the top edge and then sliding back out as if considering what he wanted to do. The invasiveness of fingers slithering beneath my skirt made me suddenly aware of how warm I was feeling. My skin felt flushed and uncomfortably hot and I shifted in his lap, as if to move out of his reach.

The retreat seemed to snap him out of a trance and he shoved me back into place. His sudden roughness brought out a flurry of whimpers from my lips and I started to wriggle in panic. He took the thin material of my knickers in his fist and yanked them down hard, grazing my thighs painfully. I cried out from both pain and shame and I heard a short intake of breath above me.

My skirt had fallen back to cover my naked bottom and I felt the tension in him building again. There was a icy smile to his voice as his fingertips began lightly tracing the skin beneath the hem of my short skirt.

“You are such a pretty thing, little Anna. You could go a long way, if you could just learn to control your impulses.”

He punctuated each word with a gentle brush of his fingers across the gap of my thighs just below the hem of my skirt. I was burningly aware of how close his touch was to my crotch and each brush held a tone of threat. I felt hot now, all over, and kind of… achey. I didn’t know what was going on, but it felt wrong, and dangerous.

He began to breathe more easily again and his voice turned conversational. I felt him shift his weight beneath me and relax back against the chair as his hand came to settle on my bottom, only the material of my skirt between my skin and his.

“I won’t need to tell your parents, Anna, if you’re a good girl for me.”

He patted my bottom.

“Will you do as you’re told while I punish you?”

Helplessly, I nodded. I could be good; it would be better to be punished by Mr Wilson than by my father.

“Good girl.” He murmured.

His hand came down heavily over my skirt several times and I bit back a cry, though tears pricked at my eyes. As he lifted his hand each time, my skirt came up with it and I could feel myself exposed after each smack. It continued until I realised I was starting to yelp and squirm.

When he stopped, he squeezed at my buttocks through my skirt. I accidentally let out a quiet moan and flushed red, hoping he didn’t hear. The pressure felt good…

Then he took the hem of my skirt between his fingertips and raised it slowly over the curve of my backside, exposing my naked skin completely. My knickers were tight around my thighs but I pushed my legs together tighter in a futile attempt to protect my modesty.  His arm pressed against my waist again, drawing me close against the bend of his lap and I felt his warm hand touch against my skin.

Then there was bright, sharp pain, again and again. His hand fell relentlessly across my bottom and before I knew it I was sobbing freely, tears tracking down my face as a struggled to escape the pain.

“Anna,” He said reproachfully, “You said you would be a good girl, didn’t you?”

I almost didn’t hear him over my sobs, but I quietened, trying to puzzle out what he meant.

“I want you to be very, very still, and very, very quiet, while I punish you.”

His hand came down on my bottom again and I shuddered but fought the urge to try and squirm away. I bit down hard on my lip to stop myself crying out and after a minute I began to taste blood.

It was so much crueller, accepting the pain totally still and quiet, but I was determined to do whatever he said in order that he would not tell my father what I had done. The cries were swelling within me and I pushed them down, though I felt I might burst with the effort. Tears streamed silently down my cheeks until finally I couldn’t contain the wild energy any longer and let out a loud sob.

He pushed me from his lap and I staggered to my feet, dazed and teary. I scrabbled at my underwear and yanked down my skirt modestly.

He stood and walked around the back of the looming desk, opening a dark wooden cabinet. I stared at the floor, not wanting to lift my bleary-eyed face as he returned. Held at his hip was an ornate wooden cane. I began to cry again.

His hand lifted to stroke my tie again with the back of his finger, tenderly. He was standing very close again, his chest nearly nudging against my breasts. His head dipped and he spoke in a low voice into my ear.

“When you receive the cane in my office,” his finger moved from the loose knot of my tie to rub the unbuttoned collar at my throat, “you will do so in the proper attire, or no attire at all.”

With that he started to loosen my tie as if to remove it and I gasped in horror, my hands shooting up to grip my tie in place. I took a step back from him and my eyes met his. They were dark and cruel and I felt him laughing triumphantly behind them at my discomfort. I knew it was all wrong and this was something he shouldn’t be doing.

“Now, now, Anna,” He said my name like a father soothing a child afraid of the dark. “Let’s not ruin all this now. Are you going to make me tell your father what you did today?”

I must have paled as I stared at him because he grinned.

“I thought not.”

He took another step toward me and began to loosen my tie again. This time my hands dropped meekly to my sides. There was nothing I could do, I had no power, no options. I couldn’t have gone through all this punishment only to be sent home to more, worse, from my father. This was the best thing I could think of.

He slid my tie out from under my collar and it fell to the ground. I stood dumbly as he began to unbutton my shirt. I was breathing harder now, my chest rising and falling. I was a whirl of emotions: angry at my predicament, afraid of what was to come, so very ashamed of my situation and… it’s hard to describe. I’ve never felt so helpless, so under another’s control. As his fingers carefully worked at the last of the buttons on my shirt, and he traced a finger from the crook of my neck, down over my bare skin to the belt of my skirt, I felt a hot flush returning.

I was burningly hot all over my skin, and when I shifted I felt a strange ache between my legs.

He was calm as his hand slipped inside my shirt, sliding over the lace of my bra. My face burned with shame and I looked away to the ground as his fingers pinched through the material and my nipple hardened to the strange touch.

His hands slid around under my shirt and pushed it off over my shoulders, letting it fall down my arms to my wrists, and then to the floor around my feet.

“Take off your skirt.”

He didn’t step back as my fingers moved in numb obedience to the zip of my skirt. I let it fall down my legs and pool at my ankles. He took my wrists and guided me forward to step out of my clothes and I stood before him, trembling, in just my underwear, socks and shoes.

See why I have to tell someone about this, Diary? I’m so embarrassed! There’s more too but I’ll have to write more later. I really can’t believe this all happened. I’ll finish the story soon… 


start writing here, headmaster:

This is the Headmaster writing. I am doing the homework set by Anna. The reason why the Headmaster is doing homework set by a schoolgirl rather than the schoolgirl doing homework set by the Headmaster will become clear as I recount the events of today.

My attention had been brought to some photos of Anna appearing on the internet. In most of them Anna insisted in displaying her knickers. Another two were more serious still. In one she wore nothing but stockings. While it was fortunate that Anna had had her back to the camera, viewers were given a full view of her backside honed to perfection on the hockey field. In another photo, she is completely naked lying in shallow water with nothing but the waves to protect her modesty. Why my secretary thought it necessary to bring the photos to my attention was because in one of the photos Anna had chosen to wear school uniform. Not her own school uniform, I hasten to add, but that of a girl about four years younger. The skirt scarcely covered her backside and the buttons were bursting off the shirt. Anna had brought disgrace on the school. She had to be punished.

I called Anna into my office and confronted her. At first, she refused to take the issue seriously, murmuring that it wasn’t her fault. I told Anna to remove her shoes and socks. She asked why.

“Just do it,” I told her.

When Anna obeyed sulkily, I answered her question by pulling her down over my lap. For someone so slim Anna was heavier than I expected. I felt her weight press into my lap in a very pleasing manner. Her backside was round and ample. When I pulled up Anna’s skirt, stretched her knickers to expose the flesh and gave her a short, sharp spanking, her buttocks quivered in a very satisfactory manner under my hand. It was with regret that I told her to get up and stand in the corner.

As I reflected at some length on how I should interrogate Anna about her sexual experience, I noticed how her cheeks had reddened. I hoped that I was making the same mark on her attitude as my rigorous approach had made on her posterior. 

When she came back to stand in front of me, Anna made it clear that she was now prepared to take the issue of bringing disgrace on the school seriously. She apologised for the photos. That however was not going to be the end of the matter. Anna was a quiet and reserved girl. I would never have expected so innocent a girl to let anyone take such explicit photos of her. Now that I was aware of the photos, I had to probe deeper. My pastoral role involved knowing everything about the children in my care. I am not prurient by nature. However, I needed to know about the first time that Anna had touched herself, the first time she had been touched by someone else, what she had done and what she had not done. Only by knowing every little detail about her sexual activity could I protect Anna. It would not be a pleasant task. I feared what I might hear.

I know some of my colleagues consider me pedantic. I do however have a thing about uniform. In my view, if it isn’t worn properly, it shouldn’t be worn at all. Anna had the knot of her tie hanging a full three inches below her neck. Underneath her tie, she had unbuttoned her shirt, presumably hoping that no one would notice. Presumably, she had not expected to be called into my study. I pulled Anna up for these small but important infringements of the rules and instructed her to remove both items. I was glad to see that she was wearing a bra, a dainty number unlike the sports bras favoured by the P.E. teachers and very different from the over-the –shoulder-boulder-holder that the physics department had constructed for Miss Busty as part of their A-level coursework. I reflected that I had failed to address the question of which bra styles should be allowed as part of the school uniform and which should not. I had clearly spent too much time on minor issues such as marking homework and entering pupils for exams. I have to say that, though Anna’s choice of underwear was a bit too frilly for my taste, her nipples did not show through. I would not have wanted any of the boys to get excited by Anna’s budding charms.

That issue could wait. It was time to move on.

“When did you first masturbate?” I started my interrogation.

“About six months ago,” Anna answered.

I tried to hide my surprise. If Anna was lying, I wanted to catch her out.

“What did you do?”

Anna vaguely indicated where she had touched herself.

“I think you had better remove your bra,” I told Anna.

“Please, Sir!” Anna pleaded.

“Take it off. I need to be quite clear what you did and did not do.”

This time Anna did as she was told. She cradled her breasts in her arms.

“Hands by your side,” I told her and then added for good measure. “Head up!”

Anna let her arms drop to her sides. Her head though remained bowed. I saw that her breasts were nicely shaped with nipples that were proportionately sized. A blue vein ran down the inside of her right breast. I resisted the temptation to trace its path with a finger and to cup her breasts in my hands.

“And your nipples? Did you touch your nipples?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then show me what you did!”

Anna touched her nipples and they hardened.

“Are your nipples erect?” I remarked outraged.

I thought Anna was going to cry.

“But, Sir, I’m doing what you told me to do,” she apologised imploringly.

I told Anna to go back across my knee. She complied meekly. Her breasts now pressed against the sofa cushion and pleasingly bulged at the sides. I spanked her rapidly again and then told her to stand up. I decided to move on with my interrogation.

“How did you know how to masturbate?” I asked.

“Abigail told me,” Anna stated. “In the shower.”

“How did Abigail tell you?”

“She touched me where it felt nice. To show me.”

“And did it feel ‘nice’?”


I considered what I had heard. Anna’s claim about being led astray was credible. It would not be the first time that Abigail with her insatiable sexual appetite had corrupted another girl.

“You let Abigail touch your private parts?” I tried to sound incredulous, but probably failed. “Did you not know that you are not to let other people touch your private parts?”

“Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir!”

Anna might have been corrupted but she should have known better. There was nothing I could do. Anna deserved another bout of spanking. So once more I ordered her over my knee. She obeyed without protest this time.

As I spanked Anna, I questioned her further.  I pitied her for having had to learn about her body from that vile little lesbian. When I finally let Anna get back to her feet, I let her rub her backside. She did so vigorously.

I knew that there was one topic of interrogation that I had not yet touched upon, in part, because I feared that I would hear the worst. Letting herself be touched in the shower by another girl was a phase that Anna might pass through. Boys, however, were another matter.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I asked Anna.

“Yes,” she replied timidly.

“Is he your first?”


“Have you ever let him touch you?”


“Under your clothes?” I asked specifically.


“You had better remove your panties to show me where,” I told Anna.

Anna did as she was told. Bent down with her hands in front of her crotch, she tried as best she could to preserve what modesty was left her.

“Stand up straight,” I commanded. “Hands by your sides.”

When Anna complied, I saw that her pussy was entirely free of hair. The skin surrounding it unblemished, as if she didn’t have to shave. Her slit was narrow and straight, perfectly formed with no inner labia visible.

“Show me where your boyfriend has touched you!” I instructed Anna.

Anna indicated her crotch.

“Have you had sexual intercourse?” I asked.

“Yes, twice.”

“What was it like?”

“It hurt.”

“Both times?”


“So, if it hurt the first time, why did you let him do it to you again?”

“Because that’s what girls do, isn’t it?” Anna sounded uncertain, as if she herself knew that what she was saying was ridiculous.

I told Anna to lie across my lap again. She did as told, seemingly happy to hide her ashamed face in the sofa. I didn’t immediately start spanking her. Instead I softly caressed her backside. I pressed her buttocks gently, preparing her for her coming punishment. I thought of how that rough boy had rammed himself into Anna, indifferent to her pain. How instead she had needed a mature man to touch her expertly to prepare her for womanhood. Anna writhed and wriggled under my caress. I sensed that she too knew. My hands might have inches away from where Anna needed my touch. However, they stayed on her backside.

Without warning, the caressing stopped and I started to spank Anna hard. She yelped and pleaded for me to stop, promising to behave and change her ways.

“You do understand that you have to be punished for breaking the rules? Prepare yourself!”

I let Anna stand up.

“Haven’t I had the punishment already?” Anna argued.

“No, that was just to get you to tell me the truth. You could have saved yourself a lot of bother, had you been honest from the start.”

I told Anna to put her hands on the desk. She did as she was told.

“The punishment for masturbation is ten strokes of the paddle,” I announced.

I picked up the instrument and rubbed it against Anna’s bottom to accustom her to the touch and to steady my aim. I gave her ten strokes alternating between right and left buttocks. After each stroke, Anna counted and thanked me.

At the end, I rubbed Anna’s bottom. I told her that I was doing her a favour, that I regretted having to punish her but that I had to do it, and that I was going to ask her a favour in return.

“The punishment for having sex with a girl is 10 strokes of the flogger,” I announced.

I gave Anna ten strokes with the flogger, the flogger flaying both buttocks. Again after each stroke, Anna counted and thanked me. After the tenth, I again rubbed Anna’s bottom. She was close to the end of her ordeal. That final step however would be the most painful.

“The punishment for having sex with a boy is 6 strokes of the cane.”

I picked up the cane and flexed it. I took a couple of air shots. The swish each time was satisfying. I heard Anna breathe in deeply. She arched herself on her toes. I told her to be still, that she would want to make it as easy as possible for me to take aim. I brought the cane down on Anna’s backside. Her bottom jumped at the contact and she cried out. She took a moment to recover before thanking me.  Each stroke of the cane produced the same reaction. By the fifth stroke she cried out in pain. I assured her that the next stroke would be the last. At the end, I rubbed Anna’s red bottom.

Anna was a good girl. She knew not to stand up until I told her. I stood behind Anna to get a better look. I admired my work. Anna’s bottom was gently reddened but I had not brutalised her. I had been kind to her.

I had touched neither Anna’s breasts nor her pussy. I had not kissed any part of her body, though God knows I had wanted to. I had taken care of Anna and now Anna would take care of me. I told her to kneel in front of me. She slumped back onto her legs. She looked small. Passively waiting for her next instruction.

“You will unzip me trousers,” I told her. “You will take my penis out and put it in your mouth. You will then suck it until I come in your mouth.”

I was being reasonable. I was not expecting vaginal intercourse.

I was surprised by the tone of Anna’s reply. “I don’t think that is going to happen.”

She stood up without unzipping me.

“My mobile phone was recording what you said,” Anna informed me. “I don’t think you want the governors to hear what you said.”

“They won’t, if you don’t play it to them,” I stammered, my precarious situation beginning to dawn on me.

“I won’t play it to them,” Anna replied, “but only if you let me do to you what you did to me.”

Anna seized the moment. Without stopping to put on any item of clothing, Anna led me to the sofa, sat down and pulled me over her knee. She dealt with my erection with a staccato burst of spanking, even though my trousers protected me somewhat from the fierce blows. Once she was confident that I had been so emasculated that I would remain flaccid, she told me to stand up. I did as I was told and she unbuttoned my trousers.

“So you are going to give me a blow job,” I asked.

Anna replied by pulling me back over her lap, pulling my pants down and embarking on a series of firm, rhythmic spanks on all parts of my bottom.

“I can’t think what gave you the idea that I would do so disgusting a thing,” she told me dryly.

I apologised as best I could, my words drowned out by the sound of Anna’s hand on my bare backside. I don’t think she was listening to me any longer.

With each spank, I groaned in ecstasy. To avoid disturbing anyone outside, Anna picked up her discarded knickers and stuffed them in my mouth. Unfortunately, they were clean.

Anna eventually moved on and up the pain curve. Perhaps she had finally realised just how much I was enjoying her slow, regular, firm spanking. She instructed me to stand up and put my hands on the desk. I stood up and saw that she now had a riding crop in her hand.

Instead of assuming the position, I threw myself at Anna’s feet and pleaded, “We can resolve this in another way.”

I started to kiss her feet. When Anna let me continue, I felt emboldened. I slowly moved up one her bare legs, kissing her as I went, marvelling at her beautiful skin. Hope rose in me that she would let me rise to worship at her pussy or turn to let me feast on her fleshy rump. When my head came to her knee, Anna tapped me gently on the head with the crop.

“Down, Sir!”

That was all I needed to drop back to her feet.

“Actually, I want you in this position,” Anna reflected.

As I knelt, cravenly kissing her feet, Anna leant over me and started to beat me, alternating between left and right buttocks. The sharp sensation of each strike drove me to stop kissing her feet demurely and to start to lick her feet and suck her toes. All I wanted was for Anna to possess me. She continued to beat me, laughing quietly.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you to count,” Anna sarcastically apologised.

I struggled to guess how many times she had beaten me.

“Fourteen,” I suggested.

“No, start at one,” she commanded.

“One, thank you, Miss!” I gasped as her next blow struck home.

Anna continued to hit me with the crop. I can’t remember if I begged her to stop or if I begged her not to stop. After each stroke, I could barely count the number, “Ten, thank you, Miss! … twenty, thank you, Miss!”

When she stopped, I gasped with pain. The stinging however quickly subsided and Anna ordered me to my feet. She tapped the insides of my legs with the crop to indicate that she wanted me in the conventional position. I had recovered and this time, when she started beating me again, I had no trouble counting out the last ten strokes she gave me. When I begged Anna to finish me off with six of the best, the little bitch refused.

“Lesson time, sir,” she said, as she collected her clothes and calmly put them on, as if nothing had happened. “Don’t be late!”

 I stood there dishevelled.

“Tidy yourself up, sir!” Anna instructed me adopting the tone of a teacher weary of having to correct minor infringements by recalcitrant teenagers.

Later that day I had to teach maths to Anna and her class. I hardly sat down all lesson. My backside was warm and tingling. I hopped around the class like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Anna was on top form. When she spotted that my shirt was hanging out, she told me, “Tidy yourself up, sir!”

Her eyes glinted with the confidence of a woman who knows that her man will do anything to once again be kneeling at her feet.

Later, when I struggled to explain a problem to the class, Anna strode forward and told me to stand aside. Her manner, like her solution to the problem, was masterful. As she walked back to her seat, admired by the other pupils as much as by me, I reflected that everyone in the classroom, boy or girl, would want to be where I had been. Across Anna’s naked lap with my pants down and with her tenderly rubbing oil in the ugly, red welts that she had inflicted on me.

My thoughts turned to the next time that I would call Anna into my study. This time with Abigail Smith. I would start by ordering them to strip and to show me how they had played with each other in the shower. We would see where we went from there.

Monday, 24 March 2014

Dear Diary,

Charlotte was copying from my test paper and the teacher caught her cheating today. He asked us both to stay behind after class. He didn't see but I caught this on my phone camera! Heehee!