Chapter 13: Union Dues

Vido Cuckles doesn’t want to jump the gun. He knows what the plan is - what the secretly meeting pro-CP teachers, assistants and ancillary staff had decided between them at the start of the week. They’d got there early Monday morning, before other staff arrived, before the girls showed up.

“That’s a ridiculous time to get to school.”

That’s what Henckel Fairlaw had said when Cuckles caught him just as school was closing last Friday night.

“You want in on it though, that’s when you’d better get here.”

By then, Ludo Simkiss, head janitor, had had word from the hospital. Cuckles knew all the ancillary staff. He used to drink with Darden Simkiss - even knew him from school, the actual Kennigwort Senior Boys School next door. So talking to the janitors seemed normal to him, and through them he knew the groundsmen as well. Anyway, you never knew when you might need some favour or other. But half way through the Friday afternoon, Cuckles had come across Ludo, Darden’s brother, looking grim.

“What’s up, Ludo? Sky falling or summat?”

“My stupid little brother,” he’d spat back. Turns out Sutter had had to drive Darden to the nearest emergency department.

“You’re kidding,” Vido Cuckles had gawped.

“Little moron. And Sutter was worse.”

The other janitor had half bitten through his tongue when his chin had hit the handle of some massive metal bin. That’s what Ludo Simkiss had told him. More than that, he wasn’t telling.

“Is Dards keeping him company or summat?”

“No.”

“What then?”

Nothing. Just that scowl on his face.

Monday morning, the union meeting - that’s what they’d all started calling those meetings. There’d been round-up calls at the weekend. Eccar the thick-necked gym bod, twitchy-face Dickle the eleven plus teacher, head janitor Simkiss - they seemed to be the organisers. The second union meeting they held early morning Monday round the back of the playing fields - huts used by the groundsmen, with old Alid Borger looking pretty smug to be hosting. Dickle said at that one that they’d better hold off from going at the girls too hard - the orange girls especially. Full teachers were allowed to target yellow-skirt girls, by the governors’ rules. But only the orange could be targeted by assistants and ancillary staff.

“What’s the effing problem then? Someone changed the rules back?” This was asked by Alid Borger, face turning from smug to pissed off in an instant.

Dickle tried to get Ludo Simkiss the older janitor to answer. Simkiss wouldn’t give details, but they got the impression there’d been some kind of a fight.

“Between who? What kind of fight?”

Simkiss had muttered, “Darden’s not saying. And Sutter can’t talk - not so you clock on what he’s telling you, anyroad.”

Frowns all around at that. “What’s that mean?” someone asked.

And the janitor had rumbled, “Seven stitches in his tongue. Thing’s swollen up half way to a tennis ball.”

When they’d all demanded the how and the why, Burris Eccar had told them, “Never mind. Just hold off from all going at the girls for a few days next week. Till we see how this pans out. That’s what us three decided.”

With no more useful info, speculation had gone all over the place. Maybe Ullerade had punched Dab Sutter in the jaw. But that seemed just too unlikely. Or a pair of angry parents had jumped on the janitors once school was out late Friday. But Cuckles knew that couldn’t be right. Ludo Simkiss had been back from the hospital in time for Cuckles to ask him what had turned his face so grim.

And Cuckles had since heard about some scuffle in the entrance lobby, something about Ullerade - and Maplum, his assistant - which, frankly, sounded even fishier - stopping Eccar and Tund chasing orange girls out from the gym hall. Not the janitors, though - two teachers.

They’d all found out on Wednesday, though. That had proved the old sore about fact beating fiction. A video uploaded to SImkiss’s little brother Darden’s favourite social channel. Ludo Simkiss’s kid brother Darden - Cuckles’ soon-to-be-former drinking buddy - squealing like a girl. The older Simkiss could barely look Cuckles in the eye. “Stupid fucker,” he’d said. “Topped by bloody schoolgirls?”

The three Missketeers. That’s what some wag on the social called them - though the girls themselves had yet to be named. It came with a bit of a in the comments. Others tried to big up the political kick: stick that up your government reforms, Sardo Joinard!

Old Ludo Simkiss had looked grimmer than grim. “I’ll never have him back,” Beaten by a fucking year eight and year nine? He’s not working on my crew again. Ashamed he’s got my name.”

Still, they’d all stuck to Monday morning’s instructions, issued by wannabe sergeant-major Eccar. Hold back - don’t, for fuck’s sake, give the game away too early. Keep your powder dry but ready. Strike late, strike hard! Then they won’t see it coming!

Confirmed in hurried whispers after Wednesday’s social media video reveal. Target just the orange girls. Just this one and that one. Not too many - not too early.

The weird nasal bloke from Leezing’s Office was apparently lined up to make a bunch of parental after-school calls. Your daughter is required tomorrow - excuses will not wash.

And it’s Friday already. First break, and he’s out on the prowl in the playground. And there’s Cuckles’ new target from his new class crop. Mercy Karp, tight in that group with two girls who did the evil deed. Karp has been hanging out with Farthing Pelling - one of this Misses and also in Cuckles’ class - plus Lendersby, Keet, from nine minus, next year up. Though that witch - clearly the leader - from that prick Ullerade’s class is not there among them.

Cuckles is half shocked on that Friday that reports of that video still haven’t hit the National Press. But there’s a real nasty stink going on inside the school. The new tech staff - the blokes who manage cameras, do the uploads - are in everyone’s cross-hairs. How the hell did that selfie of those three girls get out? The techies are swearing, backs to the wall, that it wasn’t one of them. They did upload to the database though - as required - they admit that - it’s the law, they’re claiming - but with do-not-make-public metadata flags attached ... whatever an effing metadata flag is. It had to be from someone at the other end, they claim. Maybe a secret DR lover working undercover at the SPD?

Cuckles stares at his target girl Karp. Her face is looking glum, and Cuckles knows why. Then Farthing Pelling starts to speak, and Karp’s face lights up. She seems agape as she follows every face twitch from her apparent new hero. Farthing Pelling, a girl far too young to be hero-worshipped. Cuckles had fancied getting Pelling himself - she’d looked right up his street when he first saw the class at the start if the term. He’d tried to get her flinching along at the back of the class, pretty quick in week one. Ardum Fimber, mister watch-but-don’t-touch, had given Cuckles the usual stage cues to coerce her: here, this one, have at this one, Vido. So he’d pulled her the back of the class, fingers tingling, mouth close to watering: a lamb to the slaughter, a fresher meat treat, ready to tenderise. The usual Cuckles / Fimber game - Fimber Mr hands-off, but a voyeur all day long. Warning all the new girls as he watches - “Look to front! Do not look behind you or you’ll find yourself back there the minute you try it!”

Cuckles had felt it misfiring from the start though. Pelling just hadn’t started quaking in her boots. She’d done what he said - bent over, touched her toes. Cuckles had given her a solid spanking over pants - early days, build up slow, like he’d learned to do last year with this year’s year nines. But the girl had just kept her feelings to herself. No real grunts, no nervous fidgets and flinches. Cuckles was used to girls falling apart, but Pelling wouldn’t show him he was getting to her, and that had pissed him off. So he’d lined up something worse for her, on Friday of week two. Sent her out with rubbish for the bins. Warned Darden and DAB Sutter to wait for her there, ready to catch the little cow.

He’s heard since from Pieter Dickle - since that video emerged - that Pelling’s used to getting a pasting from her dad. Her older sister Penny had been one of Dickle’s favourite targets.

Cuckles had asked him, “How did she take a spanking?”

The Diddler had twitched a wink back at Cuckles. “Too active for her own good.” Whatever that meant. Down there, he assumed, all the pelvic floor muscles. But the Pelling father having at his own girls at home, that maybe explained things with stoic little Farthing. He’d tried to get her again before the Friday, spanking her lower on her legs as well. She’d even given started giving him snide little looks. A mix of I know what you are and Is that all you’ve got?

Ludo Simkiss isn’t blaming Cuckles for setting up his brother. It’s the stupid little shit’s own fault, he says. No-one gets topped by a year eight effing schoolgirl!

Cuckles hasn’t visited the hospital. Darden and him weren’t that close, really. That’s what he’s telling himself, anyway. But Ludo’s descriptions have painted the picture. Sutter with his tongue stitched up, looking like a bullfrog with a swollen, bruised-up gob. And Darden, not so badly off - they’d sent him home much quicker, but he’ll never live it down. He’s not welcome back in Ludo’s crew. Literally bollocked by a five foot schoolgirl, then black-balled by his own big brother to boot.

Cuckles badly wants to get Farthing Pelling, bad enough to make up for all of this crap. But the Union says differently - for now, at least. Dickle the Diddler and grumpy Ludo Simkiss have cooked up a plan in which Pelling doesn’t figure - not yet. Not this week.

Cuckles watches from a distance, palms itching, breath blowing. Watches Pelling - watches Karp - girls he stares at every lesson. The group around them has swollen too, since that video went public. Not just girls in orange either now - a few in yellow and others in blue are suddenly keen to admire these little bitches.

It was him who’d told Fimber to stick both girls in orange - Karp and Pelling. Fimber nearly always went along with Cuckles’ itches. Between them they’d stitched up six girls for orange, when the minimum was two. Plus another six on top for the yellow. The orange girls ended up the best ones, by and large - the physically precocious girls. Cuckles kept proposing them and Fimber just kept nodding through his yeses. Pelling and Karp. Ryce Gulbel, Wenda Martyn. Then the posh pair from the rich end of town, Clarissa Smoot and Winella Vurgos. All confirmed by Fimber. Some to his complete surprise. A couple of requests - Gulbel, Martyn, had come down from blokes in that first union meting. Others were just Cuckles chancing his arm. Fimber had turned down a couple after them, though. Larra Creebon.

“Creebon? Not a good idea.”

Cuckles got the impression from Fimber’s flicking cheek-twitch that he’d had some kind of a warning about her. Touch this one and you’ll pay - that kind of a vibe. Same with Elsta Hollum: nothing but a blank-faced head-shake from Fimber, no other explanation.

Fimber had picked most of the yellows himself. They weren’t much of Cuckless’ concern, since he couldn’t get at them outside of the class, not being a full teacher. So - requests from teachers in the union aside - Chack Beelar had made a plea for Siriya Selthorn, and Fimber had nodded that one through - Cuckles had just gone with Fimber’s yellow picks. Mercy Karp had been one, who Cuckles then suggested would make a tip-top orange.

It’s only yesterday when Cuckles has really gone at Karp. In class, last period: time now being short before the end of the week, and gagging to get the union’s targets their full HPs, he’d noticed Karp’s attention drifting. Fimber wasn’t being exactly interesting, but at least most other girls were pretending to listen. Karp’s head was to the window - she’d been off in her own world.

Cuckles has developed a habit, which Fimber allows, of drifting up and down the rows. He’ll occasionally stop and indicate a girl. He’d sidled up behind Karp and caught Fimber’s eye: look at this one! Let me at her!

“Karp! To the back!”

Fimber may not be a spanker himself, but his voice can crack out good and sharp. All the girls know what, “To the back,” means by now. Some special attention from nasty Mr Cuckles.

Fimber and Cuckles had developed this routine through all last year and one further term before, after Fimber’s last assistant left the school when she got married. That first term - spring - their relationship was tense. Fimber not touching the girls, except on rare occasions, gave Cuckles the impression that CP was not a thing that Fimber much approved of.

But the Liberal Conservative shake-up was moving. CP now approved of. Schoolgirl strikes (which had barely been a thing, though you’d never have guessed it from the LIb-Con press) absolutely not to be tolerated. Emphasis very much on girls, not boys.

It was a comment from Fimber early in the next school year that got Cuckles’ attention. “Falla Bumber wants taking down a peg or two.” This in a break when the girls had scurried outside to the playground.

Cuckles had just let that sentence sit there. They’d talked about other details, unrelated. Then Cuckles took a chance. “What did you mean about Bumber? Before?”

The twitch of irritation on Fimber’s face had given him more clues. “Just so full of herself. She’s just always so... irritating.”

Cuckles had shrugged. “Give the girl a few bum-slaps.”

Fimber had stared at him a bit too intently. “No. Disrupts the class. I lose my thread. Not an option.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I do know what you mean, though.” He’d lifted his eyebrows.

Then they’d both fallen silent, until Cuckles had said, “I could maybe...”

“Hmm?”

“If you wanted. You know. Give some slaps to Bumber. Like, maybe ... myself?”

“Ah.” Then a nose-flare.

“While you carry on teaching?”

A silence from Fimber. “Not really a thing that gets done that much. In the school. Assistant teachers. Spanking.”

“Just, with all the hoo-haa,” Cuckles had said. “In the press, on the telly. Sardo Joinard, that Home Office bod.”

Then the break had ended and the girls had come back.

Two days later, Fimber snapped when Falla Bumber and some others would not sit down, would not stop talking.

“You lot! Shut it!” This from Fimber, but the girl had still shrieked when another girl finished up her story.

He must have been thinking, Cuckles thought later. He must have consulted.

A shouted, “Bumber!” had cracked across the class. “I just told you to shut up! You are constantly disruptive!” Then to him. “Mr Cuckles.” A sniff. A slightly too-long pause. “Yes. Take Bumber to the back of the class and - teach her a lesson. As discussed. As we discussed.”

When Cuckles, with his heartbeat loud in his ears, had taken Bumber by her elbow, pulled her up off her seat and prompted her to wriggle to the back of the class, every girl in the room - now shocked into silence - had watched them all the way. Which was when Ardum Fimber had stumbled on their system.

“Eyes to front! All of you! Whatever happens back there to Miss Bumber is none of your concern!”

No clothes had been lowered. Just Falla Bumber’s knee-length blue skirt had been flipped up and over, as he made her lean over his tall assistant teacher’s stool, that he sat up on to see down at all the class’s work.

Cuckles had never spanked anyone before - not a boy, not a girl. It hadn’t been covered in the Assistant Teacher Training course. So Falla Bumber was the first human being who Vido Cuckles had ever spanked. It had lasted just a couple of minutes. He hadn’t done it all that hard. His hand had impacted just her bum over her pants, which had covered both cheeks. But the girl had anticipated, flinched, squeaked, sniffed. At the front of the class, Ardum Fimber had continued to drawl on through his lesson, but he’d definitely watched. In fact - though Cuckles had never worked out how - it had seemed to help him focus on his dull teacher’s script.

By the end of that year, he’d spanked most girls in that class. As the LibCon juggernaut crashed through expectations, as The Billy Hall Show smashed so many boundaries of decency, which all quickly got lost in the rear view mirror, Cuckles got bolder. Bought a cane. A strap. And used them, too. Not excessively, but he’d surely broken them in.

And all through that year he’d had at her: Falla Bumber had been his practice girl. When there were no repercussions for either man, Fimber, who for whatever reason had it in for Bumber - or maybe just liked to see the poor thing jump and squeal - pick on her regularly. Every week, at least once. Then more than once. Till before the year end, it was close to every day. With weary repetition: “Bumber, time to shuffle to the back of the class.” The girl got picked on so often, other girls had started to laugh. They’d hissed out, “Back of class Bumber,” and, “Bum bash Bumber,” and, “Back Crack Bumber.”

Fimber let the giggles go, but wouldn’t tolerate anyone looking. “Eyes front! Any girl looking back, you’ll be up for it next!”

And he’d do it too - pick on some other who twitched a bit too strongly when Falla Bumber squealed. Not all of them. There must have been a few who he’d been warned not to target. Creebon and Hollum, they’d never got picked. The threat, sometimes - but never the result. Others got it more regularly. But Falla Bumber got the full kit and kaboodle.

Cuckles had ramped up Bumber’s punishment slowly. To be honest, he’d kept waiting for Fimber to admonish him, to tell him afterwards, “Not that. Don’t do that.” But such slap-down words had just never come. And as the girls got more practiced at keeping eyes on Fimber - as his threats paid off - Cuckles started taking ever greater liberties with Bumber. So as not to give the game away, he’d worked out how not to give her non-verbal instructions. Hand-signs. Physical pressure -legs pushed apart. Hips pressured lower. He’d slapped her legs as well - slapped her inner thighs too. Pulled her hands into this position or that. Made her whimper, flinch and moan.

When the cameras first came in, he’d consciously dialled it back quite a bit. Fimber was in agreement with that, though he never mentioned anything Cuckles did back there. He’d just watch from the front and take all of it in, with every other eye fixed on his pleased-as-punch face - even if their ears failed to take in his words, what with the cascade of spanks and snivels from behind. Or sudden, pictureless silences. Or contextless shuffles - stool squeaks - random grunts. The unexplained whimpers. The shrill squeals of terror.