Karen Palmer's revenge Parts 1-3

[Foxy Lady]

Mrs Heather Wainwright sat in her chair in the Principal's study. Term had finished and the school was quiet. If anyone had been watching, they would have found it difficult to read her expression. But no one was watching, although someone was close.

Mrs Wainwright was thinking, not for the first time, about how things had changed since her day, since her last day as a pupil at this school before she had moved on to university – uni, as everyone called it nowadays.

There was a tradition that, with term ended, and the girls free from the discipline that was strictly maintained in the school, the senior girls who were moving on to uni, she shuddered at that awful abbreviation or contraction, could run through the corridors and classrooms and studies, free from constraints. In her day, there had been pranks, some inventive, some just tedious or juvenile. She smiled as she recalled some of them.

Times had changed now. The girls made a lot of noise and shouted rude words and generally made a nuisance of themselves to the staff who were tidying their things away for the summer break. This year had been the same, although there had been more of an edge. The girls, all masked as if that would conceal their identity – another tradition – had rushed into her study, shouting and screaming, cursing and abusing her. But this year, things had been more personal. Hands had groped her breasts. A couple grabbed her bottom. And one had, quite deliberately, clutched her crotch. Yes, this year there had been a sexual element to the proceedings. And Mrs Wainwright knew which of them would be behind that.

She didn't know when it had happened, but something had also been taken. The cane. It was never used now, of course, but it was hung on the wall as a reminder of the importance of discipline. Except it wasn't there. One of the girls had taken it and she was sure she knew which of them it had been.

As she sat, she heard a squeak, the unmistakeable sound of someone treading outside her door.

'Come in, Karen Palmer,' she called.

The door opened and Karen stepped inside and leaned back against the door to close it. She was no longer masked and wore a short black skirt, a black jacket and high patent heels.

And in her right hand, across her chest, she held the cane.

 

[Foxy Lady]

Karen moved across to stand a few steps away from Mrs Wainwright's desk. The cane was now swinging beside her thigh.

'Good evening, Heather.' If she was expecting to be starchily corrected and told to call the Principal by her proper name, she was proved wrong. 'As I am no longer a pupil, I thing we should be on first name terms.' Still silence. 'I expect you are wondering why I am here.'

As it happened, Mrs Wainwright was wondering quite what was going to happen next. But she waited to be told. Karen would not be able to remain silent for long.

'I've suffered your discipline for seven years,' she informed her former teacher. She did not acknowledge that this would not have been necessary if she had been better behaved. 'Well, I'm not a pupil any more and I've come to see if you take the discipline that you took so much pleasure in enforcing.' Heather wondered if she knew it gave her pleasure. Probably not, Karen was not especially perceptive about others, being totally wrapped up in herself and her feelings. It was probably just a form of words.

Karen was now swishing the cane. Mrs Wainwright stood and walked round her desk, standing so close that Karen had to look up to her.

'Karen, or perhaps I should call you Ms Palmer now that you are no longer a pupil. I don't know exactly what you have in mind, but I can guess. Let me tell you something. I am older than you, but I am also bigger and stronger and considerably more experienced. I could, should I choose, pick you up and throw you physically out of this office and off the premises. But I am not going to do that. I will let you do what you are planning, so that you can see for yourself the long-term benefit of the sort of discipline that I was sadly not allowed to inflict on you. I will show you that I can indeed take it, as you put it. Now, I have other plans for this evening, so tell me what it is you have in mind.'

 

[Foxy Lady]

'Bend over your desk, Heather, and I will show you what I have in mind.'

Heather had a shrewd idea of what her former pupil had in mind. Not only did have years of experience of Karen's devious mind, she could read the devilish grin on her face and understood the significance of the way she was swishing the cane. She turned and stretched herself across her desk, her hands gripping the far side.

She was taken by surprise, though, when Karen lifted her skirt and folded it over her hips.

'Well, well, well, who would have thought that Miss Perfect Principal would be dressed for a raunchy evening.'

She had been expecting staid, demure underwear appropriate to a boring middle-aged teacher. Instead she had found she was not wearing panties, but a black belt with garters adorned with small red bows that cut across her flabby ass.

'Well,' she carried on, 'your husband will have to wait his turn until I have finished with you.'

Heather did not bother mentioning that her husband had diabetes that had rendered him impotent and unable to have sex for the last five years. She also did not mention the discreet and very satisfactory arrangement she had with the senior physics master, who was the one who would have to be patient if she was delayed.

Karen was as eager as Heather to get it over with and proceeded without delay to lash the Principal's buttocks with a swift, hard stroke of the cane. Heather jumped from the unexpected blow, but did not flinch. Nor did she flinch or cry out when the second blow landed.

It was only then that Karen noticed the plump dark pudenda that bulged between the tops of Heather's thighs. Karen took careful aim and cut across with a sharp lash.

Heather's nails gripped the edge of her desk, her body arched and she screamed.

'Damn you

Karen Palmer

God damn

and

FUCK

you.'

Her body had hardly sank back onto the desk when a second blow struck, then a third, then another, and another, and another.

Heather's knuckles were white as she clenched the desk as the searing pain drew tears from her eyes. Her body was trembling in anticipation of the next blow, and shaking in response.

At last, she let out a low moan. Not on account of the pain, but because of what she could feel seeping down her thighs.

Karen sniffed loudly and began to laugh as the Principal pissed herself.

'Let me know when you have had enough,' she whispered in Heather's ear, but Heather had no intention of begging for mercy. That would have been the ultimate humiliation.

Finally, Karen's blows began to weaken as her arm and shoulders ached. At last, the blows stopped landing and Heather eased herself upright and turned to face her assailant. There she stood, in a pool of her own piss, her body shaking, her hair stuck to her forehead, her makeup streaked with her tears.

But to her surprise Karen saw something else. She saw a poise and dignity that astounded her after what she had just inflicted.

And when Heather spoke, her words took Karen even more by surprise. In a firm voice, she said: 'Thank you, Miss Palmer, I think I should call you that now that you have left the school.' She held out her hand. 'Now, please hand me the cane and let us see if you can take it, as you put it earlier.'