India Grantham pushed the door open and dragged a terrified Jordan Sweeting after her into the corridor. "Stand here while you wait for him," she cried, getting him to attention and tugging his skirt straight. "Look at the state of you. How is he going to find you attractive with your silk bow all over the place? And keep your knees pressed together. You know he likes you to be a sexless little wimp."
As she fussed the frilled neck of his blouse, the opposite door flew open and Marcus Hall was pushed through by Beatrice and Dorothea. The wretched male teacher was sobbing, pulled this way and that between the two prefects, their hair flying as they spanked his legs and got him upright, close to the beetroot face of his male partner. The girls adjusted their own uniforms and straightened their hair, then Dorothea took over.
"You know why you're here - you know what Miss Jannison expects."
Jordan Sweeting's lips broke into fearful trembling, and Marcus Hall hated the day he had ever come near Fanningsway Hall. Teaching girls had its attractions, but it had taken such a frightening turn. As the two of them stood looking into each other's eyes, required by kissing practice regulations, they recalled the words of the dreaded Principal. "While you are in your silk uniforms, you WILL be girlfriends."
They co-ordinated their voices to reply. "We - will be girlfriends to each other while we are in our lovely Fanningsway uniforms, Miss Dorothea."
"Exactly. It's what you're longing for anyway." The two males stood submissively as the girls straightened and handled them all over. What ridiculously short skirts, showing these demeaning panty girdles. How humiliating, to have your blouse sleeves straightened for you from elbows to cuffs, and your blue silk tie to be redone into a pretty bow at the neck of your frilled school blouse. There was no need for it, but girls' hands insisted on shaping their pantyhose down each leg, from thighs down to high heels. Mercifully they had passed their inspection.
"Right," barked Dorothea, "get ready for femmy sissy-teacher kisses."
But it is when the wretched males find themselves about to step into each other's folding arms, and their noses and lips approach to within inches of each other, that their wakening maleness seems to cry out for one last return to virility.
"Please no," whimpers Jordan. "Oh please don't make us," begs Marcus.
It has become a daily pantomime, never varying, as the girls set their jaws in fury. "You little turds. You cowards." The box seat is opened and India and Beatrice produce the leather tawses.
"Ohhh! Oh please no! Have mercy girls! Please don't strap us again!"
The teachers bend for their panties and girdles to be taken down to their knees, and are positioned with their frilled faces next to each other, their asses facing in opposite directions.
They count ten loud strokes each across their flaming bottoms, and stand again to be regirdled and pantied. Their uniform skirts are arranged for kissing, and the girls get their phones ready. They take photos of each teacher first.
"Don't waste our time," demands Dorothea. "Hold him round the back of his bolero, Sweeting, and your other hand will slide his skirt round his hip and ass. And you, Hall - get his face right into yours - hold him round his hair and don't let him pull his lips back. Right, there will be one full minute of kissing, during which five separate kisses - running into each other. Go!"
The teachers sink into helpless moans and whimpers as shame covers them, especially since they can do nothing about how stiff their cocks are, aching more and more as they thrust together.
"Come on, more intimate," cries India, taking video of their skirts and legs lacing together. "More pumping," demands Beatrice, giggling, taking flash photos, ten in a row to show the girls later.
The girls quiver with pleasure as the sounds of rippling lips turn slowly into passionate slucking, as wet tongues and lips spread over each other and the teachers bleat with shameful, sexless desire.
"Hmph," declares Dorothea, "obviously not enough practice. Into Miss Jannison's office, the two of you, holding hands!"
Principal Jannison rises to her feet as they are brought in, her face glowering with contempt. She despises the whining of these two every time they are brought in to her.
"Oh please don't make us be so sissy," come the wails as the two of them cling to each other's arms, then turn, seeing the impassive determination of the Principal, and begin their soft dabbing kisses on each other's lips, which she insists upon. Miss Jannison sees the wet, bubbled fronts of their uniform skirts, and is in no doubt at all.
"Girls, these two have no control. They are obviously in need of more practice, they are such wet, simpering wimps. I expect the three of you to put them through an hour of the most passionate practice before you allow them to go and prepare their lessons for tomorrow."
Sniggers break into giggles, and Marcus Hall and Jordan Sweeting can't avoid the inevitable creaming that happens inside their girdles, so forcibly that their shame is clearly seen dribbling down their stockings for Miss Jannison to see.