In the North East of Scotland, large families were the norm even up into the 1950s. So, when I attended the local Primary School, there were scores of children of my age there, all shapes, sizes, and temperaments. This meld of kids meant that I didn’t stand out from the crowd despite being a softy. My time at Primary School was therefore quite comfortable and peaceful, but this situation changed when I moved up to the Senior Secondary School. The overriding ethos of the school was that boys had to be hard, competitive, and unemotional; the stiff upper lip and all that rubbish. Anyone differing from the macho norm was a legitimate target for bullying. Sadly, this harassment was not only tolerated in the school but was even encouraged by senior staff, who viewed it as character-building. They often added to the misery by the indiscriminate use of the belt on their weaker charges.
Understandably, many kids adopted fake manly personas to escape this bullying, but this of course, just encouraged the boneheads to be harder on the rest of us. I knew that I couldn’t alter my character to satisfy the bullies, so I withdrew completely into myself and tried to become invisible. I became a loner and concentrated on my studies. In time, most of the bullies gave up on me but others, including one particularly nasty teacher, thought that I was disrespecting them and continued to persecute me.
Despite all these aggravations and much to the dismay of many in school, my exam grades were good, and I reached the sixth year with most of the qualifications that I needed to go to the University. Since the sixth form was composed exclusively of academically-minded students, I expected that I’d now be out of harm’s way and, by in large, this was the case. Some ongoing-hassle from the younger boys persisted, but the worst appeared to be over.
A ball out of left field, in the shape of Jenny Tough, now came into play. Jenny and her gang were fearsome, and they ruled the roost over the girls in school. But this was not enough for Jenny. She dreamed of having boys cow-tow to her as well and who better to pick for her first boy target than the one that her bullying brother had failed to break?
On Monday morning, the school secretary Miss Smythe came into our class and handed a note to the teacher.
“John Smith, you are to go immediately to see Miss Abernathy.”
I was dumbfounded. Why would the Deputy-Headmistress want to see me? As I walked out of the class, I noticed several girls were sniggering and chuckling. Did they know something that I didn’t?
The Headmaster was in overall charge of the school, but most of the day to day running was the responsibility of his Deputies; Mr. James oversaw the boys in school, and Miss Abernathy looked after the girls. She was a spinster in her mid-forties and old-school; highly protective of her charges but also very, very strict. She didn’t tolerate any misbehavior or rudeness and had no remorse about active use of the belt to bring miscreants to heel.
Pupils were only called to the Headmaster’s or the Deputy’s office if they’d severely broken the rules. I couldn't think of anything that I'd done recently to merit this request and the fact that I was to see Miss Abernathy rather than Mr. James made it even more mysterious.
When we arrived at Miss Abernathy’s office, Miss Smythe knocked gently on the door.
“Come in.”
I followed Miss Smythe into the office. Miss Abernathy looked up and frowned.
“Come here, boy. Stand in front of the desk. Don’t slouch; stand up straight.”
As I moved into place, Miss Abernathy’s cold stare gave me the shivers. I couldn’t get out of my mind a story that she detested boys with a vengeance and was soon to find out that this was true.
“Now Mr. Smith, you are quite the little pervert, aren’t you? Not content with flipping my girl’s skirts, you’ve been physically harassing them and copping a feel, as crude parlance puts it.”
My jaw dropped. I was stunned. From where had Miss Abernathy got these fairy stories?
“It’s no use feigning innocence, young man. Four girls have made statements, and two boys have confirmed them. The only thing to be decided is your punishment. These infractions are so serious that I should send you straight to the Headmaster, but I won’t do so if you accept to be punished by me.”
This offer was highly irregular. If merited, I should have been disciplined at least by Mr. James. I could, therefore, have refused, but I just wanted the nightmare to end with as little repercussion as possible. “I will accept punishment from you for my misbehavior.”
“A wise decision young man, but be aware that I won’t hold back. You’re going to get a lesson that you’ll never forget. You’ll never pester my girls again.”
I cringed when Miss Abernathy took out a heavy three-tailed Lochgelly Tawse from her desk drawer.
“Bend over.”
Resigned to my fate, I did so. I rested my chest on the desk and clasped its far edge with my fingers. Miss Smythe then gripped my wrists and held them down while Miss Abernethy moved around behind me. She undid my belt and pulled down my trousers. Ah well, I should’ve expected that. The Deputies were entitled to give the belt on underwear so why would they dilute its effect by allowing any modicum of extra bottom cover. Miss Abernathy hesitated for a few moments. Then, to my horror, she hooked her thumbs inside the waistband of my underpants and pulled them down below my knees.
I gasped. “Oh no, please Miss, please Miss, not on the bare.”
“It’s the only punishment that fits your offenses. You deserve it. The tariff is ten of the best with extras if you disrupt the proceedings. I can promise you that it’ll be a long time before you forget my belt's close encounters with your butt.”
By now, I was desperately hoping that Miss Abernathy wasn’t as handy with the belt as her reputation suggested. The first strike shattered any illusions. Heat and pain seared into my bum as each of the three tails dug into my buttocks and released their pent-up venom. This agony continued to build and spread throughout my bottom while Miss Abernathy drew back and readied for her second strike. The pain was reaching its peak when the tawse hit home again, further ratcheting up my agony as did strikes three, four and five. Oh, my goodness, Miss Abernathy may be petite, but she was master of this art; after just five hits my ass was ablaze. How could I deal with another five?
“Please Miss, stop, I can’t take any more.”
Miss Abernathy was unrelenting despite these plaintive pleas. “Be quiet, you deserve the full quota, and that’s what you’re going to get. You’ve also earned two extras for whining.”
I’m sure that Miss Abernethy put an extra effort into the remaining strikes because those malevolent tails drove me over the edge. I broke down to a gibbering, sobbing wreck.
As I lay there on the desk, I heard a very croaky voice. “This part is over. You did well. Lay there for a while and recover.”
Through my tears, I saw Miss Abernathy stagger over to her chair and slump into it. She was very flustered and breathing erratically. My immediate thought was that she was exhausted from her efforts, but then I noticed that Miss Smythe was similarly afflicted. Their reactions weren’t due to exhaustion. The earth had just moved for both ladies. One thing was sure; I wasn't the only one that needed to regain composure.
I stayed in position for some time, still struggling with the repeating waves of pain coursing from my glowing bottom. Every waft of cold air was absolute bliss. I was focussed on the wildly varying sensations in my butt when Miss Abernathy spoke.
“Now Mr. Smith, I’m sure you’ll not forget that part of your punishment in a hurry. Get to your feet and make yourself decent.”
As I was gingerly trying to get my drawers and trousers up in place, it dawned on me that Miss Abernathy had said "...that part of your punishment." Was this not enough? What other agonies did she want to inflict on me?
Seeing the realization on my face, Miss Abernathy said, “I want to be sure that you’ll never annoy my girls again, so I’ve arranged something special to reinforce the message. You will go to Miss Smythe’s office and recover until lunchtime. She will then take you to the School Nurse, whose instructions you will follow to the letter.”
Like a sheep, I followed Miss Smythe to her office, sat down and bided my time. Those plastic chairs were not built for comfort, especially when supporting a newly thrashed behind. I could see Miss Smythe chuckling at my discomfort.
Later Miss Smythe took me through to Mrs. Jones, the School Nurse.
“Now Mr. Smith, I’m told that you’ve had an interesting morning. I must check that you are okay. Go behind the screen and strip off.”
I did so and reappeared wearing only my underpants.
“No, no. Take your drawers off as well. I am doing a full examination. Don’t be shy. I’ve seen it all before.”
I wasn’t so sure that Miss Smythe was so experienced but thought ‘what the hell’ and took off my undies.
Mrs. Jones didn’t react, but Miss Smythe went bright red at my nudity.
“Now, get onto the trolley and lay face down on it.”
As soon as I did this, Mrs. Jones began examining my bottom.
“Oh my, Miss Abernathy must’ve been particularly upset with you.”
“Yes, I’ll not forget the message anytime soon.”
Mrs. Jones then began to rub lotion onto the tenderized cheeks. These actions were soothing and drew out much of the remaining heat from my ass. I was enjoying this blissful massage and not paying much attention to anything else when Mrs. Jones slipped her hand under me, grasped my cock and fed it into an elasticated sheath that she had in her other hand. She then passed a garment linked to the sheath underneath me, clicked shut the two halves of its waistband and pulled the sheath up between my legs before locking it in place with two straps that went over my buttocks and clipped onto the waistband.
“What’s going on? What are you doing to me?”
“Well, if you're to be a girl, we can't have unsightly boy bulges showing themselves, can we? Now, sit up on the edge of the trolley.”
Mrs. Jones held a hand mirror in front of me. What the hell? My boy bits were gone, replaced by a triangle of short brown hair. Instead, almost concealed amongst fuzz there now was a distinct and lipped gash in my crotch. I’d no idea what this new area was but did sense that it lay over the pee hole of my now trapped willy.
“That’s much better. A nice girly mound in place of those ugly boy parts,” said Miss Smythe.
I went berserk and started shouting. “Stop this. Enough is enough. What is going on? Why are you doing this to me?”
“Well, if you’re to be a schoolgirl for this week everything has to be tickety-boo. You’ll have to dress, act and behave like a girl. This transformation is the first step. You now have the outline of a pussy and will have to pee sitting down.”
“Are you mad? No way am I going to be a girl, not in a million years.”
“Of course, you are. You agreed to be disciplined by Miss Abernathy. The second part of her sentence is for you to have actual experience of the perils of girlhood.”
“But I never expected this.”
“Did you ask what was the full punishment?”
“No, I accepted my fate and assumed that a belting was to be it.”
“Well, now you know it wasn’t. I’m sure you’ll be more careful about what you agree to in the future.”
There was no point in arguing. I’d fallen into a trap and just had to accept it.
“Okay do your worst.”
“Right, now put these on.”
I looked down to find Mrs. Jones holding up a pair of shocking pink panties. I slipped my feet into them, and she gently pulled them up around my still tender bottom. They were a delight, so smooth and soft and figure hugging. Next, Mrs. Jones fitted a bra with inbuilt breast forms on me. The boobs were huge, very heavy, and made me feel unsteady.
“Stop whining. The breasts are a normal size for a girl of your age. Buck up and get used to them.”
I stood up and looked at myself in a full-length mirror. I found my appearance unsettling. I should’ve been angry at being forced to wear a bra and panties, but to my amazement, I wasn’t. Indeed, I was at ease in them. The undies looked good and felt nice. I was at one with them. Why on earth was I reacting this way? I was a sensitive boy, not a girl, so I should only like boy’s wear.
I didn’t have time to linger over this dilemma. Mrs. Jones was on a mission and soon had me dressed as a schoolgirl; camisole, white blouse, half-slip, and a navy knee length pleated skirt, all finished off with white socks and Mary Jane shoes. Once she fitted me with a medium length wig, I could at a distance have passed muster as a schoolgirl, but anyone close at hand would still instantly recognize me as a boy in a skirt. But, of course, that was deliberate and a part of my punishment.
My head was now in a spin with contradictory thoughts. I was terrified to be dressed as a girl but, as before, remarkably comfortable in this girl’s outfit. Physically I was a boy, albeit a sissy, but now in this cocoon of femininity I felt giddy and dare I say it, girly. What was happening to me?
I couldn’t help feeling exposed. I’d revealed more when I was in short trousers, but then my down-there essentials were encased in at least two layers of robust material. Now, there was only a wafer-thin piece of cloth between my privates and the outside world. Yes, I had a slip and skirt but, unlike even the youngest of girls, I did not know how reliable they were or how to control them to keep my lower regions concealed. The variable breeze from a fan in the room which ruffled my slip and skirt and threatened to lift them didn’t help to quell my discomfort.
“Now Joan, you look perfect, be a good girl and go with Miss Smythe.”
Miss Smythe took me by the hand and led me along the main corridor to the boy-free sanctuary that was the girl’s cloakroom. I blushed as the few girls that were in there looked at me in stunned silence.
“This is Joan Smith; she will be with us for the rest of the week. Please take care of her.”
The jungle telegraph did its magic, and soon I was surrounded by hundreds of girls all wanting to get a glimpse of the boy dressed as a girl. Prominent amongst them was Jenny Tough, who was grinning as she prodded me and patted my still tender bum. “I look forward to seeing you later. We’re going to have a lot of fun.”
Miss Smythe took control and led me further into the cloakroom towards the loos.
“You’re going to have a very stressful afternoon. I think it would be wise to go before you start your classes. You don’t want to risk having an accident.”
She opened the door of a cubicle and ushered me in. “I’ll stand guard to be sure you’re not disturbed.”
I was very nervous. I knew that I had to sit to pee but was now scared that my fittings wouldn’t do their job and I’d wet myself. Imagine the glee that would cause. I needn’t have worried. Soon, I was seated with my knickers at my knees and liquid tinkling from between my legs into the pan. This flow suddenly stopped when a cacophony of noise built up outside the cubicle door. Were the girls waiting for me? Could they see me? All irrational thoughts of course but I was hardly in a normal situation. I relaxed and finished off once it dawned on me that I wasn’t their primary interest. They were dealing with the same urgent needs as me, before going to their classes. As the noise declined, I relaxed, dried myself, pulled up my knickers and tidied down my slip and skirt. As I came out of the cubicle, the school bell rang. I washed and dried my hands, and then Miss Smythe took me along to my class and introduced me to the teacher.
“This is Miss Smith. She will be joining us for the rest of the week.”
The whole class erupted in laughter, and it took the teacher quite some time to regain control. He lost it again as I was walking to my seat. “No, no, Miss Smith you sit over on the right with the rest of the girls.” So, with laughter ringing in my ears, I had to walk back to the only free seat in the front row of the girl’s section. I sat down beside Beth and Mandy who were struggling hard not laugh at my predicament. The lesson went along okay, except for a breakout of chuckling each time the teacher asked Miss Smith to answer a question. One odd thing that I noticed that afternoon was that boys called out to write on the blackboard seemed quite distracted and unable to do their tasks properly.
The time that I was dreading, the afternoon break soon arrived. I tried to follow Beth and Mandy out of class but was immediately pounced upon by Jenny and her gang. They dragged me out into the girl’s playground and passed me around the groups of girls that were out there. I will not detail what happened. Suffice it to say that every indignity suffered by girls at the hands of insensitive boys were inflicted on me many times over. I was a disheveled mess by the end of the break and only with the help of Beth and Mandy was I able to tidy and compose myself enough to continue in class. Without any doubt, I now appreciated just how frightening and demeaning boy pranks were for girls.
The remainder of the afternoon passed quietly. I went to Mrs. Jones room and changed back into my boy clothes after she checked that I hadn’t picked up any severe bruises or scratches from the melee in the afternoon. Many robust comments were made to me by boys in the playground as I headed off home.
Mum noticed that I was inordinately quiet that evening. “You look pale. Are you ill?”
My bottom certainly didn’t feel pale, but I just said, “I had a hectic day at school. I think that I’ll have an early night.”
At first, I tossed and turned as I mulled over all the extraordinary events of the day but eventually, fatigue took over, and I slept right through to morning. Mum was surprised but pleased that I got up, dressed, had breakfast and left for school without any hassle from her. I headed off early because I didn't want to risk punishment for lateness.
I went to Mrs. Jones room, and like the previous day, she helped me change into the school uniform. Strangely, I felt less at ease in the outfit than on the day before. Probably a result of my playground traumas. I steeled myself and headed along the corridor to class. Inevitably, my ears rang to a barrage of crude comments. “You can’t avoid us forever. We’re going to sort you out for good sissy boy.”
Morning classes went fine but then came break time when I was pounced on again by Jenny and the gang. “We have a special surprise for you. Something to put you in your proper place.”
I was dragged to the far end of the cloakroom, bent over a bench and my hands tied to a hook. I saw that two hairbrushes and two plimsolls were laying nearby. Jenny flipped my skirt up, and then spanked each cheek hard three times with her hand. She was fit and didn’t hold back; it hurt even with pantie protection. She followed this with three hard swats with a hairbrush and three breath-taking strikes with a plimsoll. When the gym shoe struck home for the final time, it may as well have been on the bare. My rear was hot and sore.
I could hardly believe my ears when I then heard Jenny say to her gang, “I promised you a treat, she’s all yours, one cheek each.”
One girl stood to the left and one to the right and in synchrony proceeded to smack each cheek six times. They then slapped each buttock three times with a hairbrush and then a gym shoe. There were four girls in the gang, so the math is quite simple. The hits were nowhere near as hard as by Miss Abernathy the day before, but they were unremitting and on both cheeks simultaneously. So, I was racked with pain and howling by the time the gang finished their fun.