Miss Beach Learns a Lesson (1)

[housemaster]

MISS BEACH LEARNS A LESSON (Part 1)

St. Stephen’s had been established by a small group of extremely wealthy members of British society who sought a more traditional education for their daughters. Since corporal
punishment had been effectively banned in the United Kingdom, the founders of the shcool settled on a suburb of Geneva, Switzerland, and the local authority was only too happy to allow its wealthy guests any teaching methods they chose. The school was remarkable for its high intellectual standards, its salary and benefits for faculty --which would have been generous in a large corporation-- and for its unfailingly strict adherence to the cane as a standard corrector.

I was the only American on the staff and found it odd that they named me Disciplinary Director in addition to my teaching duties. It was remarkable how quickly I became suited to the task. A young woman would arrive at my office and present a slip of paper from one of the masters describing her offense. I would review the paper and order her to “Assume the position.” This usually meant her grasping the edge of my desk on tip-toe. Her skirt would be raised and pinned up; her knickers would be drawn down; and then I would retrieve the cane or other determined implement and administer the school’s lesson. As a regular procedure, the girl would count each stroke after delivery and thank me for it. When the occasion demanded it, I required the girl to request the following stroke until the half-dozen or dozen had been completed. While the girls were often punished by the senior prefects and the masters themselves, apparently nothing had the effect of a visit to the “DD,” as I was referred to with a decided lack of affection.

The most remarkable member of the faculty at St. Stephen's was Amanda Beach, who taught Romance Languages and Comparative Literature. She was fluent in French, Spanish and Italian, clearly had an excellent mind, and was undeniably beautiful in that athletic, British manner. Her classes were known by all to encourage wide-ranging intellectual exploration with no holds barred. Although relatively young, she was the product of the traditional girls’ school education and was the most discipline-minded of the female teachers. A girl who came to class unprepared or acted in an inappropriate manner automatically received twelve strokes with the famous eighteen-inch ruler, on the bare, of course, in front of the class. Within days of my joining the school I saw her order the public tawsing of a girl who had been overly-boisterous during lunch. The punishment completed, Miss Beach thanked the prefect, dismissed the weeping girl, and then picked up in her conversation about the plays of Ionesco and Beckett precisely where she had left off. She was not callous or cruel but, rather, she believed there were standards of behavior and decorum, and these standards should not be compromised --for the good of the girls.

It was, then, with some surprise, that I joined the Headmaster in his office rather late one evening to discuss what he delicately called "a conundrum involving Miss Beach." Apparently she had gone to a party in town over the previous weekend and had imbibed a bit too much; she was seen in this state by a group of the school administrators who were walking through the city after dinner. While St. Stephen's gave its faculty a wide berth in private matters, something public like this could not be ignored. The first concern, that some of the senior girls might have seen their teacher acting so inappropriately, was for the most part allayed, but there was still a scintilla of doubt. In any event, the matter could not be ignored. The Headmaster and I spoke for a while, agreed on a tentative plan, and summoned Miss Beach from the ante-room just outside.

She was simply attired with just a touch of formality, as one might be when required by one’s Headmaster to appear on short notice, the seriousness of the matter being clear. Her short black dress covered black-tinted stockings, and her tastefully-high heels showed off her legs unmistakably. After she was seated, the Headmaster reviewed the events of the previous weekend and confirmed their gravity, and Miss Beach offered no dispute. At that point the Headmaster turned the meeting over to me. I thanked him and began.

“Miss Beach, it is unnecessary for us to go into detail about the offenses you have committed. They are a matter of record, and we need not dwell on the past. The Headmaster and I have discussed the more important question for all concerned, what we should do for the future.”

Miss Beach shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “As we see it, the school has two options,” I continued, “to remove you from the faculty or to retain you. The former would cause us to lose a remarkable educator and disciplinarian who has contributed significantly to the school. It would also spell great trouble for your further career, as the school would have to relate the reasons for your dismissal if any prospective employer inquired.

“By the same token, you will agree that if there were no consequence to your misconduct, we should be sending precisely the wrong signal to you and to your colleagues and the students, were this ever to escape outside these chambers. Thus the question becomes the circumstances under which you can be retained, and for that we shall need your agreement.” At this Miss Beach looked quizzically. What, she was thinking, could I be talking about?

“I have suggested, and the Headmaster has agreed that if you wish to stay at St. Stephen’s, you may —upon agreeing to a course of discipline. It will be confidential, among the three of us only. However, you will be treated for these purposes like any misbehaving schoolgirl, and punished accordingly.”

“You mean...” her voice trailed off.

“We mean, Miss Beach, that you will corporally punished as I, the director of discipline, deem it appropriate. On the bare, with precisely the lack of dignity that your most offending student would receive from me —or from you, for that matter— so as to imprint it in your mind forever, to avoid a repetition of this kind of conduct. After the first session, you and I will arrange once-weekly sessions in my office until the end of the semester.” I could see her calculating...four, no, five weeks left....

“And when would this first session take place?” she asked, trying to retain some control.

“Immediately upon your agreement, and right here in the presence of the Headmaster. He has, I believe, everything we shall need for this initial lesson.” Of course, the Headmaster had a variety of school canes and associated implements, although he almost never wielded them himself any longer —that was my job as DD.

“And how long have I to consider the matter?”

Here the Headmaster stepped in. “Miss Beach, surely you must have known that some form of punishment had to be secured for the good of the school, and you must have considered various options before this evening. Given your understanding of the privilege of teaching at St. Stephen’s, you should be able to respond without further delay. We can wait for a moment or two, if you would like to run the matter through, but I think that the issue is clear. Either we regretfully ask for your resignation as of the end of the semester, or you will accept the program set before you.”

To be honest, I do not believe that until this instant Miss Beach had ever considered me as a serious presence. A nice junior colleague, perhaps, but nothing more. Now she eyed me in a different way, as well she might. If she did agree, I would be in charge of quite a painful and humiliating process for her, particularly since it was made clear she would not be treated specially because of her faculty status. Her normally pale white skin had flushed deep red, something I had never seen before. Could it be that the impeccable, imperious Miss Beach was beginning to feel in her belly what her students felt as they approached my office each afternoon?

The Headmaster and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows wondering what Miss Beach would decide. After what seemed like a long silence, but was really no more than a half-minute, she spoke. “Headmaster, I shall accept the school’s proposal.”

“I am happy to hear that you have decided to stay —contingent upon your completion of the program, of course. I suggest that you address all further remarks to the Director of Discipline, since he will be in charge of your...lessons.”

“Of course, Headmaster.” She turned to me, still trying to maintain a semblance of control. “Well, what shall I do,” she asked, still with a tone in her voice that indicated she was not about to surrender personal authority.

“When you speak to me, Beach,” —I replied to her coolly and by her surname alone, as I would to one of the students— “you will address me as ‘Sir’ at all times. Is that understood, girl?”

She flushed red again and quietly uttered, “Yes, Sir.” I let the following silence linger as I enjoyed the moment, enjoyed it immensely, to be honest. Miss Beach was no fool and knew precisely what I was doing. She was frightfully distressed that this knowledge could not stem her emotions. I arose from my seat, moved the chair to the center of the room in full view of the Headmaster, and sat down.

“Beach, it is time to begin your lessons, as the Headmaster has put it. We’ll start over my lap, please. Quickly, Beach, quickly.” She whispered her “Yes, Sir” and complied. I raised her black skirt, revealing her black-pantied bottom and the slender space of bare thigh above her stocking-tops. I flexed my wrist a bit, and the Headmaster’s eyes opened a bit wider....