I suppose some might find this edgy.

Copyright held by John Buttercane

Young Belinda Mathews closed the door of the girls' toilets and walked awkwardly towards Mr Marshall's study.  She shook her wet hands, trying to dry them in the cool air. The distant cries of a hockey match swirled around the high corridor

She always needed the lavatory before seeing the Head, even when she knew she wasn't in trouble, like now.  There was something about his study, the heavy furniture, the cold light from the big windows, the musty smell from the books. And of course the stool. It made her want to go.

And only newspaper to wipe with.  She'd written to her mother about that, saying it was ridiculous at a private boarding school. There's a war on, came the reply, so get used to it.

She took a deep breath and knocked.

'Enter'.

Mr Marshall in his tweed jacket stood next to a tall man she hadn't seen before.  He had a gray moustache and wore a dark suit and a white shirt. They were standing by the fireplace drinking tea

'Ah Belinda of the fourth', Mr Marshall said, finishing the contents of his cup. 'Take a seat', he said, indicating a row of upright chairs.

Belinda sat and stared at the dark carpet.  She was always shy before strangers, and especially so with a tall, handsome man. She wondered why he was in the headmaster's study.

'You're not in trouble' Mr Marshall said smiling. 'Quite the reverse in fact'.

Belinda's relief was short-lived.

The headmaster was dragging out the heavy punishment stool. 'I've selected you for a very important task', he said, carefully placing the stool before the low sofa at the far side of the room.

At St Agatha's the stool meant just one thing and Belinda didn't want it. She turned pale with fright. She hadn't done anything wrong, she knew she hadn't.

'Look at that face', laughed Mr Marshall, 'you'd think the four horsemen of the Apocalypse had just arrived. Listen', he said in a consoling voice, 'Mr slipper and Mr Strap are off duty today - unless of course we run into heavy resistance.' He laughed again, seeming to think this was funny.

The taller man watched from the fireplace, curious but aloof.

'Sir Anthony is a great friend of St Agatha's, Mr Marshall continued, bowing towards the distinguished guest, 'a generous benefactor.  More importantly', he said, 'he is considering sending his niece here to be educated'.

The headmaster paused, allowing this earth-shattering fact to sink in. 'This is where you can help, Belinda,' he said, pointing at the stool. 'Sir Anthony wants to see how unruly schoolgirls prepare themselves for punishment at our school.'

'But sir' began Belinda.

'No buts Belinda', Mr Marshall said, 'just get on with it'.

Belinda didn't move. She licked her dry lips in embarrassment and panic.

'Must I ask again?' Mr Marshall said.

Belinda stood up. 'I need to talk to you sir', she said.

'What in heaven's name is it?' he asked.

The schoolgirl came forward. He inclined his head so she could whisper in his ear. His features twisted in mock bewilderment and shock.

'Oh, never mind that!' he said jovially. 'Old army men like us. Nothing we haven't seen before - and a thousand times at that. All human, after all. Not a bit of it!'

While this private interview was taking place, Sir Anthony walked to the couch from the fireplace, testing the seat of the punishment stool with the palm of his hand as he passed. He sat down, apparently waiting.

Mr Marshall indicated an oak cupboard on the other side of the clock.

Belinda reluctantly went to it and removed the rubber soled slipper. Head down, she carried it to the couch, placing it on the seat beside Sir Anthony.

But when she reached the stool, she hesitated.

'Do I need to get the strap?' Mr Marshall asked at last.

Belinda reacted quickly to this. Reaching under her skirt, she pulled down her underpants, all the way. She stepped out of them and laid them carefully on an upright chair.

She walked slowly to the narrow space between Sir Anthony and the stool.  Turning away, she stepped up onto the stool's crossbar and raised her skirt above her hips, exposing her bare legs and bottom. Holding it up, she slowly lay belly-down over the leather top and gripped the rung on the far side with both hands. She lay motionless for several moments, head between her outstretched arms.

'And where do we put our legs?' Mr Marshall asked at last, sighing.

'Please sir, I don't want to'.

'Hurry now', he warned.

Belinda edged her feet back off the crossbar and opened her knees slowly until they gripped the outer legs of the stool. The move parted her bottom cheeks, exposing her sex and anus.  She began to snivel, softly.

The tall man on the couch was already leaning forward, an expression of concentrated glee on his handsome face.

'Now listen carefully Belinda,' Mr Marshall said, stooping down beside the schoolgirl, 'I have an important announcement to make in the upper third.  You will remain in that position, perfectly still and perfectly obedient, until I return in 15 minutes. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes sir', came the muted reply.

Mr Marshall turned again when he reached the door.  'Sir Anthony needs a long and detailed look at how a St Agatha's girl prepares herself for the slipper. Do you understand?

'Yes sir', Belinda said.

The door shut. An eerie silence gathered in the musty study, amplified by the ticking clock and the distant cries of girlish games from the hockey field.