The cool of the autumn afternoon was not enough to take away the heat of nervousness Abigail felt throughout her entire twenty-four-year-old body. The first-year teacher had only been at Hatley on Kent for six months. Since training and orientation last Spring, she had easily acclimated to the all-boys school. As one of the only literary teachers, she had also become quite a favorite of the student body. Standing a fit 5‘4“, the redhead from Scotland had flowing curly locks down to her shoulder blades. Done up in an attractive messy bun, today her hair felt like the perfect complement to her long neck, which was currently covered in small beads of sweat. At this exact moment, one was running down her light-skinned B-cup cleavage displayed respectfully in her standard white blouse and green school jumper.
She had been summoned to Headmistress Marta Swan's office by Carson, the Headmistress' personal secretary. The sixty-something stoic man had delivered the note as she was heading to her rooms. It simply read, "Headmistress' office, five pm."
Ever punctual, Abigail sat in a high back chair opposite the Headmistress' desk, the clock on the wall behind ticking away a precise four fifty-one. She was sitting in a straight-back position at the chair's edge, her green eyes wide with concern, her lovely bust displayed with confidence; a temperament not shared with the young woman's psyche. Why was she here? Was she being sacked? Had there been a complaint? Or worse, an allegation?
As she glanced out the high arched windows onto the autumn-colored grounds she felt a welcome chill run down her spine. It was both cooling and concerning. She suddenly wished she had a glass of water. It was in this moment of apprehension that the door to her left opened and in walked Marta Swan, her head bowed as she read a paper file. The fifty-three-year-old educator cut a formidable swath. At nearly six foot she already towered over the majority of the staff and student body. Add on her customary three-inch black boots and she was the epitome of practiced intimidation. Abigail could not help but admire her. She sprung to her feet as her boss sat in her own chair.
"Oh, do sit, Ferguson. I appreciate the respectful yet unwarranted gesture." Abigail obeyed and sat again suddenly unsure of what to do with her sweaty hands. Headmistress looked up for a moment and Abigail thought she saw the makings of a smile.
"I imagine you are wondering why I have asked you here. Let me settle any fears; you are not in trouble."
A visible sigh washed over the young woman, and she blushed slightly. 'Charmingly delightful,' the Headmistress thought.
"That is quite a relief to hear, Ma'rm."
"Yes, quite. And in case you were wondering this is your personnel file. I loathe those tablets! There is something so noble about paper, don't you agree?"
"Indeed, Headmistress."
"I am specifically looking at your aptitude and personality battery you filled out last spring. Do you recall?"
"Aye, Ma'rm. I do," Abigail responded in her lilting Scottish brogue.
"Say, 'Yes,' please, Ferguson. We are in England, are we not?"
"Yes, Headmistress, my apologies." She blushed again and looked down for a moment. She had never been called out for her colloquial affect before. Again, Marta Swan noted the reaction, 'Perfect,' she thought.
"You scored highly in all categories, especially compliance, service, and discipline. It is with those in mind, I have summoned you. Take a look at these paneled walls, Ferguson. You see these portraits of staff gone by? Hatley has a storied history." She gestured to the dozens of framed photos and Abigail followed with her eyes. Headmistress stood and crossed toward a group of portraits. "These are the head-masters who were my predecessors. I stress masters, as I am the first headmistress of this institution. As a woman, I am sure you can appreciate the challenges that might bring."
Abigail hesitated unsure if she should respond. As she made to, the Headmistress went on. "In fact, I was the first female on staff who was not a cook of a domestic. Paving the way for the likes of you and you five female peers. I am proud of that legacy."
She paused long enough for Abigail to respond. "As you should be, Ma'rm." Headmistress Swan turned away from the wall and smiled dryly at the young woman. There was a bit of a fire in her eyes that Abigail found strangely alluring.
Marta Swan was now speaking in lower tones of gravitas usually saved for speeches at commencements. "As women, we have expectations that far exceed our masculine colleagues. We are expected to outperform ridiculous limitations set on us by a society that continually underestimates us. And overcoming that dichotomy, Ferguson, takes discipline! Something I believe you are familiar with."
Headmistress was now at a tall stately wooden cupboard. "Inside these doors are artifacts of a legacy of loyalty and discipline that I have accrued during my tenure." She stepped away and Abigail saw she was gripping a long paddle shaped like a cricket bat. It was golden brown with gold embossed letters that read "Staff Only." A leather strap attached to the handle was being wound around her wrist.
'How curious' thought Abigail, unaware that her life was about to change forever. Her sweaty palms and neck were now accompanied by a strange tension in her stomach. It was a mix of apprehension and a strange excitement.
"Do you know what this is, Abigail?"
"I believe so, yes. My Da told tales of his unruly youth on Shetland and the frequent use of a paddle." She was smiling slightly at the folksy memory.
Headmistress was magically behind her now. The young woman's focus on her body's reactions and the thoughts of spankings had caused her to miss the older woman's approach.
"I need you to stand please." Abigail turned in surprise at the sudden voice behind her. Headmistress was occupying her entire field of vision. Her deep brown eyes and dirty blonde hair were not enough to distract Abigail from noticing that her boss' blouse had been unbuttoned some, revealing a lacy black bustier and a stunning set of DD breasts.
Did she just think her boss' breasts were stunning? What the devil was- ?
"Stand. NOW!"
Abigail bolted up ram straight, her legs shaking slightly inside her dress trousers, the tingle in her stomach now shooting up her torso and inflating her pink nipples. Her hands remained at her hips, fingers twitching. She was breathing quickly, unsure what was happening, or why she had complied so rapidly.
"Well done. I had thought your discipline and compliance scores would have garnered a quicker obedience but there is still time to improve. Do you wish to?"
"Headmistress?"
"Improve in your obedience? In your... service to this school? To me?"
Abigail's heart was challenging Usain Bolt. Her ears were ringing softly, and she desperately needed that glass of water. "Erm... I suppose. Yes."
"You either do or you do not. There is no 'suppose." There was a sudden whoosh of air and the "thwack!" of wood on body as Headmistress Swan delivered a slapping blow with the staff paddle to Abigail's left buttock. The young teacher faltered as expected and cried out at the shocking pain.
"AHHH! Ma'rm what are you - ?" She never finished the question as another whoosh announced a second blow landing right for balance. Another cry came out as tears welled in her wide-open green eyes.
"Do. you. wish. to. improve?!" The stern question was delivered just inches from Abigail's right ear and was accompanied by the pressure of the paddle on her crack. The promise of more blows clearly being spoken.
Miss Ferguson's mind was reeling. The spankings, the lecture, and the pain and confusion both brought were spinning around inside. They danced with a growing arousal Abigail was shocked to be relishing. The hardness of her nipples was now partnered with a heat in her knickers that undoubtedly had a considerable moist component. Her arse cheeks burned with a sting that she found oddly enticing.
And above all of that conflagration was a desire: a desire to want to not only obey but to please. She took a deep breath, stood tall again, her hands somehow finding a natural position of laying on the small of her back.
"Yes, Headmistress," her voice shook slightly. "I wish to learn and serve."
The voice of command was direct, unemotional, and triumphant. "Lower your trousers."
Abigail turned her head in shock and was met with Headmistress' hand roughly pushing her chin back forward. "Now!"
Abigail rapidly slipped off her shoes and undid her zip. Her brown casual trousers were soon in her hand. She folded them in half and placed them on the chair. The air in the room did little to cool off the heat on her thighs and her recently abused cheeks. Yet she stood in her green thong, back stiff again ready for whatever came next. She did not expect a gentle squeeze and caress on her exposed cheeks. Mistress' slender and firm fingers caused Abigail to gasp in pleasure, her head slightly dropping. It was short-lived as three more blows landed. She held as still as possible, waiting for number four. After all, Headmistress had been even up to now.
"Excellent. Abigail."
"Thank you, Headmistress. I want to do well."
"Good. And it is 'thank you Mistress', for here on."
Abigail nodded, her breathing still rapid, her body trying to oxygenate her stinging flesh and calm her excitement. And when did she become just 'Abigail?'
The fourth anticipated spank finally arrived, and this time Abigail hissed a wince and followed it with a low moan. Mistress moaned herself in approval. All was going to plan.
"These blows are necessary to show you who is in charge, of course, but also to show you what pleasure is possible when you fully comply." She was walking around the front of Abigail and was sliding a finger around the young woman's left hip. Headmistress bent her head slightly, her thin yet attractive lips were inches away and Abigail desperately wanted to feel them on her own. Instead, she felt a shiver run through her as Mistress ran the same fingers across the moist gusset of her thong.
"Mmm, already lubricating in arousal. You are performing beyond expectation." Abigail was going to whisper a 'thank you,' but the desired kiss stopped her. Mistress Marta's mouth was firm, and wet and warm. Her tongue drove into the younger mouth and was soon met in likeness. Abigail's eyes closed and she groaned in pleasure, the firm fingers on her labia pushing fabric between. She was shockingly close to orgasm when Mistress easily tore the flimsy lace fabric away and Abigail winged slightly at the dig of it in her hips. The hand of discipline held up the shredded undergarment to Mistress' nose and she sniffed in satisfaction.
"Jumper, blouse, chair."
She stepped back and Abigail was soon pulling off one and in record time unbuttoning the other. She was now folding the two mentioned garments in a pile on top of her trousers. Why did she accept being near naked so easily?
Her white and pink flesh was flush with heat and arousal, beads of sweat covering her from thigh to forehead. She was feeling a mesmerizing arousal that was liberating in its boldness and nuance. Was this why she scored so high in service and compliance? Was she always a submissive and just never had anyone bring it out?
Now in just her green push-up, (she liked the way her smaller firm titties looked in these styles of bra, and the looks from some of the older boys secretly titillated her) she was back to standing at attention, her pussy now positively swamp-like.
"You are a wondrous addition to our legacy here my pet." She ran her other hand up Abigail's back and across her neckline. "I am proud of you; you are ready for the next step. Take hold of my desk and spread your feet shoulder width." There was no need for repeating orders. Abigail Ferguson's immediate action was a sign that she was not just willing but actually sexually agitated. Her hands now on Mistress' desk her firm breasts and aroused points were hanging like enticing fruit. She looked down in wonder at her total nakedness only to see her green bra land behind her. Mistress had removed it so deftly it went unnoticed. She was skilled and sexy as fuck, Abigail thought as she moaned in delight.
"Prepare!" Four more loving and well-deserved blows landed on reddening cheeks. With each a warmth that was painfully comforting was spreading throughout the young woman's core. There was no longer any differential between pleasure and pain. She wanted both in equal measure. So much so that an orgasm was building within that core ready for eruption. Unfortunately, Mistress stopped the spanks before it could release. Abigail's head hung in frustration; her skin alight with anticipation.
Mistress Marta was holding something gold-colored in her hands. The paddle now lay on the desk in front of the displayed young teacher, and she longed for it to complete her cuntal corruption. Instead, long fingers circled her left breast and made a concentric journey to her prominent areola. She shuddered, her cum so fucking close. The pleasure was intense but so was the sharp pain that arrived a millisecond later. Abigail screamed this time, this new pain more intense in its sharpness. She looked down and saw a toothy clamp on her bud attached to a gold chain still in Mistress' clutched hand.
"This is how we at Hatley mark our serving staff. This chain and its clamps," the plural making itself known in the application to the right nipple, "represent your new role. And this..." In front of the new servant's tearing eyes, she held a gold badge with the school's crest emblazoned below the words, 'Property of...' "informs you to whom you belong." Mistress hooked it onto the chain at its center and the tug caused Abigail's tortured teats to distend at the weight.