School Pool

By Verity

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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School Pool
by Verity

‘Nothing AT ALL!’

‘Nothing!’

‘Wow!’ That was a facer.

But we run ahead too far. First, it’s necessary to introduce Marco Diggle, aged twelve, neatly kitted out in tie, blazer, freshly ironed white shirt and grey trousers for the first day at his new school. At St Bees Church of England School for Boys, to be precise. With him was his best friend, Caspar Pennistone, thirteen, who had already been at the school for a year, and who was going to guide Marco through his first few days.

A few days before the beginning of term, Caspar helped Marco to sort out the kit he would need. The school had its own swimming pool, and Marco displayed a pair of new speedos. But Caspar shook his head.

‘You won’t need these, for a start.’

‘No?’

Marco’s eyes opened wide as Caspar explained that the boys in the first and second form were not allowed to wear swimming trunks in the pool. They were only worn from the third form upwards, that is, by boys from about age fourteen.

In dismay, Marco asked, ‘You mean, in the swimming classes we wear nothing AT ALL?’

‘That’s right. You’re kept all bare for the whole period. They lock our clothes and towels away until the end.’

Marco gulped and his skin tingled a little, wondering how it would feel.

‘Who sees us?’ he asked.

‘Just the other boys and the swimming teacher. Oh, it feels a bit funny to begin with, but you get used to it.’

‘Only trouble is,’ Caspar added, ‘You have to behave yourself, when you’re bare. If not, you get some on your botty.’

‘Oh, wow!’ Marco was liking what he heard less and less. He tingled again, but somewhere else. Then he said, ‘P’raps that’s why they keep us that way.’

‘Mebbe.’

Later, Marco told his mother that he wouldn’t need his speedos. Not in school, anyhow.

His sister, Priscilla-Rosalie, grinned and said ‘They just want to look at you, that’s what. I’ve heard stories. They’ll get to look at you for the whole period.’

‘That’s enough, Priscilla-Rosalie,’ said her mother.

‘The teachers like to look at their bare willies,’ said Lucrecia-Rosalie.

‘I said, that’s ENOUGH!’

To Marco his mother said, ‘Actually, I support the idea. And boys your age should be naked on the beach too. That’s how it used to be.’

‘It would get my vote too,’ said Priscilla-Rosalie.

At school, the first swimming day came round very quickly. At the poolside, a group of naked, somewhat shy twelve-year-olds assembled by the exit from the changing-room, waiting for their first lesson. The grizzled attendant, Noakes, had seemed to enjoy the discomfiture of the new boys, making sure they put all their clothes and towels in the lockers, then slamming the doors and rattling his keys.

He announced, ‘You ain’t goin’ to get NUFFINK out of there, clothes nor towels, till the end of the lesson and until I sez so. You all gonna be bare for a GOOD LONG TIME, so you better git used to it. Now, git out to the pool.’

When all the schoolboys were assembled on the tiles, Noakes boomed out, ‘And now meet your teacher...Miss Truscott.’

MISS!!??!!

‘Wow!’ The boys gasped. None of them had expected this. For Marco too, it was something Caspar had kept back. ‘Wait till I get hold of him!’ he muttered.

‘Silence!’ snapped their new teacher. She was an athletically built woman, dressed in singlet and shorts. One or two of the pupils had bashfully tried to cover themselves, but Miss Truscott was having nine of it. She sharply told them all to stand in a row by the side of the pool with their hands by their sides. Then she walked along the line eyeing the nude youngsters up and down, heedless of any shyness or blushes, indeed seeming to find some grim satisfaction in it. And (horrors!) she paused right in front of Marco.

‘Yes, you have a good body for a young swimmer. You should slide through the water well. Turn right round.’

Marco felt goosepimples of embarrassment as he obeyed. He had never felt so bare. Miss Truscott said, ‘Yes, very neat, you should do okay. Turn back again. Your name, boy?’

‘Marco Diggle.’

‘Marco Diggle, MISS!’ yelled the teacher.

‘Marco Diggle, MISS!’ the boy shouted back.

The teacher’s eyes narrowed. ‘Marco Diggle, do you want to feel my hand on your bottom?’

Marco had already heard about the strict regime at the swimming classes. ‘No, Miss,’ he said quickly.

‘Because, if you do, you’re going the right way about it.’

‘Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss.’

After that the class was not so bad, as the youngsters spent most of their time in the water. There was just one difficult moment, when the headmaster came in accompanied by a young female secretary. The secretary seemed to look around with interest, but the bare schoolboys were partly obscured by the rippling water, and in any case she soon left.

Miss Trusset fully showed her hand, in all senses, a couple of weeks later. On this occasion, as sometimes happened, the two junior forms had their swimming class together, and the other class, of course, included Marco’s friend Caspar. Now, whether Caspar was especially stimulated by being naked one could not say, but the fact is that his usual tendency to show off somewhat and to provoke adults was at its worst, and he repeatedly annoyed Miss Trusset by leaping spectacularly into the pool, or pirouetting on the edge.

In the pool there was a large rubber dinghy for the use of non-swimmers. Caspar already knew, from earlier experimentation, that removing the rubber stopper made the dinghy rocket at high speed across the water as the air was forcibly expelled.

Now fully possessed by the spirit of mischief, Caspar, diving under the water, with an effort, pulled out the dinghy’s stopper...

Pop!

And the effects were even more spectacular than he had expected..

Whoo-o-o-ooosh!!

Miss Trusset, in a bathing-suit, was at the time in the water, and had the misfortunate to stand up just in the path of the jet-propelled dinghy.

Splattt!

Down went Miss Trusset into the water again, to rise enveloped in the now-deflated dinghy, like some fearful sea-monster, puffing and blowing.

Furiously she tore the rubber away.

‘WHO DID THAT??’

It was no surprise to her when everyone, without having to speak, looked at the unhappy Caspar, his mouth now open with dismay.

Miss Trusset climbed out of the pool. ‘COME HERE!’

Caspar reluctantly obeyed. From other boys he heard murmurs of the dreaded word, ‘Paddle...’

The youngster’s stomach turned over. He knew about Miss Trusset’s fearsome wooden paddle, and had indeed seen it used.

‘I am NOT going to paddle you, Caspar Pennistone,’

‘Whew!’

‘Instead, I am going to use my hand, which, in my opinion, is much harder!

‘Oh wow!’

Without any more wasting of words, the teacher marched Caspar over to a bench, sat down, and turned the thirteen-year-old face-down over her lap.

SMACK! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!!....

The loud smacks rang all round the swimming-pool as The Trusset’s palm fell hard and repeatedly, and the naughty youngster kicked, yelled, twisted and bounded on the teacher’s lap. And then... The Trusset had a special refinement (if such it can be called) when spanking a young culprit. After twenty or more conventional smacks across both of the youngster’s bottom-cheeks, she would then separate his cheeks as far as she could with the fingers of her left hand. She would then bring her right hand down hard several more times, her fingers parallel with the naughty boy’s crack, so that her fingertips smacked down right in the exquisitely tender area deep between his buttocks. The noise produced from the other end always provided ample evidence of the efficacy of this ‘special’ technique.

The unfortunate Caspar received some of these to finish his spanking, then a few moments later was dancing and yodelling on the poolside, madly rubbing his hot rear cheeks.

‘WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW...!!!’

In front of the nude youngster everything bobbed up and down wildly and rather comically, but the mirth of his classmates was very much concealed. They already knew, with the mood The Trusset was in, that anyone seen laughing would almost certainly be joining Caspar in his ‘danse de fesse’.

Afterwards, in the changing-room, twisting in front of the mirror, Caspar looked unhappily at his distinctly red bottom-cheeks. ‘I hope they don’t see this at home. There could be trouble.’

‘It’s your own fault,’ said Marco unsympathetically. Then he asked, ‘Do they see you bare at home?’

‘Just on bath night, usually. But that’s later in the week. So it should be okay.’

But for Caspar it wasn’t okay. The Trusset, inflamed by Caspar’s provocative behaviour, and not for the first time, had spoken to the headmaster about him, and the headmaster had sent a brief letter to Caspar’s home, but with another boy, to avoid the chance of the note being ‘lost’ on the way.

Caspar and his sister were at the time being looked after by their Aunt Lucrecia, as their parents were temporarily abroad on diplomatic business. By the time Caspar got home his aunt had already read the letter, and her face was cold and set. She simply held it out to Caspar and snapped, ‘Read that. What have you got to say?’

Aunt Lucrecia was one who ‘stood no nonsense’, and, reading the letter, with a horrible sinking feeling Caspar guessed what he was in for. With fine logic his aunt interrupted his stammered excuses and said angrily, ‘And I don’t want to hear a single word from you!’

In a corner of the sitting-room Caspar’s sister, Drusilla, was doing her homework. She also had seen the letter and observed the furious set of Aunt Lucrecia’s jaw, and guessed what was coming.

‘Yes! Bare bottom!’

‘You get on with your work, Drusilla Pennistone,’ said her aunt angrily. ‘And keep your eyes on your books.’

She sat on the sofa. To Caspar she said, ‘Leave off your blazer and come here.’

‘But, Aunt..‘

‘COME HERE!’

Caspar reluctantly went over. His aunt said shortly, ‘Caspar, I’m going to put a stop to this kind of behaviour, and NOW.’

Then she briskly started to unbutton his school trousers.

‘No, Aunt!! Please!!’

But in a moment his aunt had unfastened his trousers and skinned them down, then his underpants. As soon as she had turned the naughty youngster over her lap and lifted up his clothes, she doubtless saw that his bottom-cheeks were already distinctly rosy and drew her own conclusions. But the sight did not diminish her wrath; instead it seemed to spur her to additional efforts.

SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!....

‘WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!...

Aunt Lucrecia’s hand landed hard and furiously some twenty times. Then for the second time that day the mischievous thirteen-year-old was entertaining his audience with a mad Indian war-dance, whooping, shrieking, frenetically rubbing his burning rear cheeks with both hands, while tears poured down his cheeks and dripped on to the carpet.

‘OH, MY BOTTOM, MY BOTTOM, MY BOTTOM!!!’

The unfortunate Caspar had paid twice over for taking on The Trusset, and it would be some time before he tried the experiment again.

As for Marco, he gradually became more accustomed to the nude swimming lessons as the term went on. He said so to Caspar.

Caspar laughed incredulously. ‘So you think it can’t get any worse?

‘Well, it can’t, can it?’

Caspar, unabashed by his recent experiences, laughed again. ‘You poor wally, just how wrong can you be? Listen..’

To be continued.

(The End)