



 
                      PRINCIPAL TRACY'S LESSON 

                                by 

                             Joe Doe


A JOE DOE VERSION OF A TRACY STORY -- AS A TRIBUTE TO KATIE SMITH 



Tracy nervously looked over the forms as her friend's car drove 
through the heavy iron gates and barbed wire fences of the girl's 
reformatory.  "I still don't understand why I have to sign all of 
these admission forms just to try on a school uniform," she 
complained.

"You're not faculty or staff, and you're not visiting an inmate, 
so I have to classify you as a student for insurance reasons," 
Amanda explained, dismissively.

Tracy was visiting Amanda out here the country for a couple of 
weeks, and they had agreed that they would try on Tracy's new 
costume as soon as possible, in case alterations needed to be 
made.  It was only mid-June, and Halloween was a long way off, 
but still....  Last year's costume contest had been the only 
competition that she had ever lost, and she was determined to 
avenge her defeat with a first place trophy this year.

She had graduated from high school at 16 and, at 26, was the 
youngest high school principal in the district.  Although her 
school was not that far away, she had visited the reformatory 
where her friend Amanda worked only a few times. 

This private correctional institute was an alternative prison that 
housed a large group of women between 18 and 40 years of age.  
Although all of the women prisoners were adults, the reformatory 
rules required them to dress in school uniforms at all times, and 
the "students" were subjected to a wide array of humiliating 
punishments.

In the past, Tracy had found the sight of the adult women running 
around in their ridiculously short gray skirts, white shirts, 
striped ties, gray blazers, and gray caps to be highly amusing.  
The uniforms made the women look like teenagers, and she always 
enjoyed watching as the humiliated women were paraded around town 
on various "school outings."

But now that she was about to be fitted for HER uniform, she felt 
strangely apprehensive…

She had already talked to Amanda about lengthening the skirt.  Yes, 
she would definitely have to do that.  As it was, the smallest 
movement would cause the skirt to ride up and display her childish 
navy blue underpants.  It certainly wasn't the type of outfit that 
a respected professional like Tracy should be wearing. 

She did want to win the contest, but realism could go too far.

Amanda led her to the girls' locker room and handed her a small 
cardboard box with her name and a mysterious number written on 
the side.

"Put your purse, jewelry, clothing, and underwear in the box," 
Amanda said, curtly. 

Tracy was slightly startled.  She noted that Amanda's manner seemed 
more brusque and peremptory now that they were actually inside the 
prison-like reformatory. 

"Where's my uniform?" she asked.

"That'll come later," Amanda replied.

But don't you think...?" Tracy protested, looking nervously around 
the room.

"No, I don't!"  Amanda cut her friend off.  "First things first.  
Step one is to confiscate all clothes and contraband.  I process 
new students every day, and I know what I'm doing.  You can start 
by taking off your jacket."

Tracy didn't like Amanda's snippy tone, and she didn't understand 
why she couldn't see her uniform NOW.  But she decided not to press 
the issue.  Amanda was doing her a favor, after all, and, besides, 
there was something in Amanda's voice that discouraged argument. 

She knew that tone well; it was the voice that she herself used 
when disciplining HER students....

Tracy took off her expensive jacket and handed it to her friend.  
Amanda smiled when she saw the label.  "This cashmere jacket is 
so beautiful," she said, admiringly.  "Of course, the gray blazer 
that you'll be wearing will be polyester, and it won't wrinkle so 
easily." 

"A lot of the girls complain that the logo on the jacket and the 
cap makes it obvious that it's a school uniform, but I think it's 
important that STUDENTS be clearly marked as such.  Don't you agree 
it's more appropriate, Tracy?"

Tracy nodded and awkwardly took off her shoes.  Once again, she 
handed them over to Amanda, who said, "I'll bet these cost a pretty 
penny!  You could probably buy 10 school uniforms for the price of 
just one of these shoes," she giggled.  "Of course, your school 
shoes won't have high heels or lifts, but I'm sure you'll get used 
to that, 'shorty.'"

Her expression was smug.  Tracy was sensitive about her height and 
youthful looks.  She was always embarrassed when she was carded in 
bars.  She compensated by wearing shoes that increased her height, 
but, even so, Amanda was nearly 6 inches taller.

Tracy took off her blouse, but hesitated about removing her 
beautiful charcoal skirt.  Amanda quickly prodded her back 
into action. 

"Hurry up, young lady!" Amanda said, folding her arms and tapping 
her toe as Tracy stripped for her.  "We don"t have all day for 
this!"  Tracy obediently took off her skirt and surrendered it. 

"Your legs are a little skinny, dear; I can see why you hide them 
under that knee-length skirt," Amanda observed.  "Of course, you 
won't have that luxury with your uniform skirt.  I imagine it will 
feel a bit awkward for you, showing so much leg after running 
around in these adult clothes for so long." 

"Remember that we talked about making the skirt longer, Amanda," 
Tracy said, trying to regain the upper hand.

"Hush, child," Amanda said in a patronizing voice.  "What I said 
was that the skirt length would be appropriate for you.  There'll 
be no further discussion.  Now quit stalling and get out of that 
pretty little slip.  We don't allow fancy underwear like that in 
school, Missy!"

So Tracy surrendered her expensive slip.  And then Amanda added, 
"Nor pantyhose, either...much too grown-up, under the circumstaces."

After skinning out of her pantyhose, Tracy found herself standing 
in front of Amanda wearing nothing but her lacy lavender bra and 
panties.  "Could I have...my uniform now, miss?" Tracy asked, 
nervously.  She wasn't sure why she'd added the "miss" at the end, 
but somehow it had seemed appropriate. 

Amanda, arms folded, looked down at Tracy with a wicked gleam in 
her eye.  "Not so fast, little lady!"  She re-crossed her arms and 
began tapping her foot again.  "I believe I said, rather clearly, 
'the underwear goes in the box.'  Did I not?" she demanded.  "Do 
you have a hearing problem, perhaps?"

"Well, I just thought I could put my uniform on over the top," 
Tracy replied.  "No one will see my underwear...at least not if 
you get the skirt lengthened the way you promised."

"That attitude is the difference between a first place prize and 
third place," Amanda replied, sharply.  "Of course, if you'd rather 
lose, then...."

"It's not that.  I just feel strange, stripping in front of you.  
It feels strange to have you standing there fully dressed in your 
business suit, watching me...take off all my clothes." 

"I understand, dear," Amanda said, sympathetically.  "You know, 
Tracy, a lot of girls are shy about taking off their clothes in 
front of the other girls in gym class the first time.  But you'll 
get used to it, eventually.  I'm sure some of the 18-year-old 
cheerleaders at your school aren't thrilled to have you walk 
though the locker room when they're dressing.  Imagine how 
embarrassing it is for them to be putting on their little sexist 
uniforms while you strut through the locker room in your expensive 
power suit....

"But you never stopped to worry about THEIR feelings, did you?" 

Tracy had never thought of it that way, but maybe being forced to 
strip while Amanda watched smugly, arms folded, was really just a 
taste of her own medicine.  She did have a reputation for being 
haughty and demanding....

"What am I thinking?" Tracy wondered, scolding herself for having 
such bizarre thoughts.  She was still a school principal, after 
all, not some nervous 18-year-old too shy for the locker room!

"I really think I should keep my underpants, at least," she said.

Amanda cut her off.  "Bra and underpants go in the box, NOW, young 
lady!"  Amanda put one hand on her hip and held out the other for 
the offending garments.  "Hand them over, this second, and quit 
stalling!  I have other students to process today!"

Tracy glared, but unhappily shrugged off the bra.  A few seconds 
later, she reluctantly slid off her panties and surrendered them 
to Amanda's waiting hand.

Amanda smiled triumphantly as she took away Tracy's last shred of 
clothing.  "You have enough padding and wire in this bra to build 
a mattress," she teased.  "The 'wonder' is that you need a bra at 
all!"  She tossed the garments casually into the box. 

Tracy said nothing, but immediately put her left hand in front of 
her crotch and her right arm in front of her breasts.  She was 
furious, of course.  But standing there naked and shivering in 
the girl's locker room also made her feel helpless and vulnerable. 

As soon as she was dressed in her regular clothes again she was 
going to give Amanda a piece of her mind!

Amanda dismissively threw Tracy a towel.  "You can use that to 
cover yourself, if you're terrified someone will take a peak at 
your cute little bod!"  She was clearly amused by her friend's 
predicament. 

Amanda picked up the box containing Tracy's clothes and started 
to walk away.  "Let's hit the showers," she said, briskly.  "You 
should really wash off your makeup and perfume before you put on 
the cute little uniform I've picked out for you, young lady.  Come 
this way."

Tracy quickly wrapped up in the scanty towel and scurried along 
behind Amanda.  The taller girl walked quickly, and Tracy had a 
hard time holding up the towel and trying to keep pace.

The concrete floor of the locker room was seemed freezing cold, and 
she felt uncomfortable trotting across it barefoot.  The chill on 
her bare feet brought back unhappy memories of gym class, when the 
smart, petite Tracy had been the victim of the larger girls....

Without her expensive power suit, she felt like just another 
nervous teenager, as she anxiously clutched her towel and 
scampered toward the showers.  She shuddered as she thought 
of all of the other barefoot girls who had walked across this 
icy concrete before her. 

Stripped of her expensive clothes, she realized to her horror that 
she was now indistinguishable from the other students. 

Tracy had been modest and underdeveloped, and she had despised 
having to shower in front of the taunting bullies in her gym 
class.  She recalled the words of her own high school principal: 
even though Tracy was smarter than everyone else she was still 
only a student, and rules were rules....

"Wait a second," she thought.  "I'm NOT a student.  I don't have 
to do this!"

"I don't think I need a SHOWER, Amanda," she protested.  "Why can't 
I just put on my uniform now?"

"I can't have you getting $500-an-ounce perfume all over your 
school uniform, dear," Amanda said, patronizingly.  "Everyone 
knows perfume and makeup aren't allowed in school.  Plus, it 
will make it easier for me to fix your hair if you wet it down." 

"But I don't want to take a shower in front of you!" 

"We've been through this before, young lady.  All the new girls are 
shy about having the faculty watch them in the showers first, but 
we need to keep an eye on you little scamps to make sure you don't 
get into any mischief.  And you'd better do a thorough job...."

Tracy was preparing to counter Amanda's argument as she rounded 
the corner, but, as she entered the large gang shower area, she 
realized that she had bigger problems.  Standing against the wall 
was Tracy's 18-year-old former student, John Harris!

He had been a disciplinary problem for the last four years and had 
spent as much time in Tracy's office as he did in the classroom.  
She had tried to expel him several times, but his father's wealth 
and political connections had saved him.  She had been relieved 
when he had graduated two weeks ago, even though she knew his 
diploma had been bought and not earned.   

John was wearing a neatly tailored suit -- but, more importantly, 
also the black academic gown that identified him as a master.  
Tracy swallowed as she realized that his political connections 
had earned her bane a good job at the reformatory.

It was the same reformatory where she now stood, naked except for 
a flimsy towel....

"There you are, John," Amanda said warmly.  "This is the new 
student I was telling you about.  Can you keep an eye on her 
while I lock up these silly clothes she was wearing and check 
on her uniform?" 

"For Pete's sake, Amanda!" Tracy squealed.  "You can't leave me to 
take a shower...in front of him!"  Tracy clutched her towel closer. 
"I'm BARE NAKED UNDER HERE!" 

"Stop making such a fuss, child!" Amanda chided.  "Be a good girl 
and drop your towel, before John takes you over his knee and 
paddles your little buns!"

"I'm a 26-year-old high school principal," Tracy protested.  "John 
Harris was my STUDENT until two weeks ago!"

"'WAS' is the operative word," Amanda said brusquely.  "John is in 
charge now!" 

Amanda walked over and unceremoniously ripped off Tracy's towel.  
She tried to cover herself, but a solid SWAT! On her bare backside 
from Amanda sent her scurrying into the shower. 

She looked nervously over her shoulder as Amanda took a thick 
envelope from John, smiled, and walked out of the room.  Tracy 
didn't have to be psychic to guess that the envelope was stuffed 
with money.

"Nice to see you again, Tracy," he said, brightly.  "Of course, 
it's even nicer seeing SO MUCH of you!" 

"I think you should turn around, John," she replied, desperately 
trying to muster a speck of her old authority.

"STUDENTS need ADULT supervision in the showers, Tracy," he 
observed, archly.  "You ARE a student here now, even if only 
for a short while.  Also, I think you need to start referring 
to me as 'Mr. Harris' -- as in 'Yes, sir, Mr. Harris' or 'Right 
away, Mr. Harris.'

"Disrespectful students who use a teacher's first name are 
punished, Tracy.  Don't you remember the time you suspended 
me for calling you ‘Tracy'?  Don't test me, young lady.  You 
really don't want to make me angry."

She knew that was true.  He had always been a punk and a bully in 
school.  And Tracy was stark naked and considerably smaller and 
less powerful than the muscular young man who was ogling her. 

She knew that she had to play along until the opportunity to escape 
presented itself.  She carefully kept her back to her grinning 
ex-student as she squirted out some sickly green soap from the 
institutional dispenser on the wall....

"You really have a nice shape, Tracy," he observed, casually, as 
if admiring a flower or a painting.  "You're short, but your legs 
are nicely proportioned, if a bit scrawny.  You have a tight, firm 
ass, almost like a teenage boy's.  That can be a disadvantage, 
though; the old queen teachers are going to enjoy using that firm 
little backside of yours!"

He didn't bother trying to hide his enthusism.

"Imagine the look on your face when the old goats bend you over 
your school desk and slip their weathered members into your tight 
little bottom.  I bet you'll wiggle and squirm when they work their 
gristly tools around inside you.  Of course, that will only make it 
better for them...and worse for you."

Despite her efforts to ignore his degrading commentary, she 
pictured herself draped helplessly over a school desk as she 
nervously watched a smiling old geezer unzip his trousers.... 

She had never had anal sex, and, as she imagined an elderly 
lecher preparing to deflower her, she felt her sphincter pucker 
in frightened anticipation.

"If I were you, Tracy, I'd show all of my instructors a really good 
time," John counseled.  "That muscular bottom of yours doesn't have 
much fat on it, and, if they cane you, it'd be sheer agony!

"Your bottom cheeks are flexing, Tracy," he chortled.  "Surely 
you've experienced the cane before!  I remember what an advocate 
you were for bringing back corporal punishment in our school.  
It's too bad the school board turned you down; I'm sure you would 
have enjoyed using the cane on me." 

"Isn't that right, Tracy?" he taunted.  "Didn't you want to punish 
me?  Didn't you want to pull down my pants and shorts, and cane my 
bare bottom until I sniveled and begged for mercy and promised to 
be a good little boy?"

She had desperately wanted to punish John, but school rules had 
strictly prohibited it.  But now that HE was the teacher, the 
concept of corporal punishment had lost its appeal for her, and 
the thought of the cane gave her a chill.

"It's time to scrub your front, Tracy," John said, feigning 
nonchalance.  "I need to make sure you scrub EVERYWHERE, so 
you'll need to turn around."

She stiffened.  She couldn't.  He would see!  That spoiled, snotty 
brat would see EVERYTHING!

"Don't be bashful, princess," he chided.  "If I have to, I'll just 
get a brush and scrub you down myself...."

That horrifying idea tipped the scales, and Tracy reluctantly 
turned, revealing herself in all her nakedness.

"Not bad, munchkin," John said, appraisingly.  "But you're going 
to have to put your hands on top of your head, so that your new 
teacher can have a GOOD look."

Though she desperately wanted to keep her hands locked in place 
over her torso, a glance at his expression told her that that 
wasn't an option. 

Reluctantly, the blushing principal obeyed her former student's 
humiliating command.

He let out a slow and appreciative wolf whistle as she exposed 
herself to his searching gaze.  "You are a hot little number!" 
he chuckled.  "A little flat on top, but just my type."

He beamed as he ogled the blushing, squirming principal.  "As a 
teacher, Tracy, I have carnal rights with all my students, and 
I have to say that I'm looking forward to having you as my bed 
warmer tonight. 

"Do you make a lot of noise, Tracy?" he asked, crudely.  "Are you 
going to wiggle those cute little buns for me?  And remember, young 
lady, I'll expect you to swallow every drop!" 

"I'm not a student, John," Tracy protested.  "I'm just here to try 
on a uniform."

"And try on your uniform you shall, young lady, as soon as you're 
done with your scrub-down.  We'll need to see the nurse first, 
though.  I have no intention of bedding you until I've watched 
the nurse check out that randy little box of yours.  I'll probably 
ask her to shave you, as well.  You'll be getting quite a few 
visits from former students, and we don't want a wet, sticky 
mess between your legs, now do we?"

He smirked.

"In addition, I've already signed you up for my first period gym 
class.  Most of the girls are quite a bit bigger and more athletic 
than you.  The classes are given in the nude, and you'll be petite, 
flat-chested, and shaved -- the natural target of the class 
bullies, I'm afraid...."

Tracy shuddered.  As a gifted student, she had always been the 
youngest in the class.  She had been small, shy, and bookish, 
and the more athletic girls in gym had always tormented her 
mercilessly.  As she stood naked in the shower, blushing furiously 
under John's leering gaze, all of her buried memories and teenage 
insecurities returned with a vengeance.

"But I'm not a student, John," she pleaded desperately.  "You're 
making a mistake."

"No mistake, Tracy," he retorted.  I've arranged it so you'll be 
spending the next two and a half months of your vacation here at 
this school.  It's really the best way of preparing you to be 
comfortable in your new costume, don't you think?"  He cocked an 
eyebrow at her.  "And you really should read admission forms before 
you sign them...."

                    ***********************************          

Tracy felt tiny and powerless as John led her down the empty school 
corridors.  The uniform she was wearing was childish and degrading, 
but, after the humiliating nightmare in the showers and the nurse's 
office, she was grateful to finally be dressed.

She shuddered as she remembered the evil, grinning nurse watching 
her squirm on the exam table as John teasingly rubbed in the 
shaving cream....

As she entered the ancient, empty schoolroom, Tracy saw her 
reflection in the window for the first time. 

She gasped.  The successful and self-confident career woman had 
been replaced by a gangly and frightened adolescent.  Her school 
blazer and the ridiculous beanie cap that she was now required to 
wear were both emblazoned with the school badge: two crossed canes 
with the word "DISCIPLINE" above and "OBEDIENCE" below.

But, worst of all was the absurdly short skirt, which barely 
covered her school regulation blue knickers.  Bending over was 
out of the question; she knew that the slightest mis-step would 
display her childish underpants to everybody! 

She shuddered as she contemplated the "school outings" in town.  
She knew that many merchants would relish seeing the haughty 
principal stripped of her power and authority.  She winced as 
she imagined their amused smiles as she was paraded around in 
her school uniform. 

A number of her former students, now adult graduates, also worked 
downtown.  She knew they would be delighted to see her....

"Please remove your cap and blazer, Tracy, and place them neatly 
on my desk," John said sternly.

Tracy was confused, but she obeyed. 

"Before I take you to the dorms, Tracy, I want to review the 
subject of discipline," he said, clearly relishing his new 
authority.  He tapped a seat in the front row.  "The student 
kneels on the seat, with her tummy resting on the desk-top and 
her hands clutching the front of the desk.  The built-in chair 
kept her feet from kicking up during her punishment, and the 
position kept her bottom nicely arched.

"You'll be pleased to know that all punishments are administered on 
the bare bottom, Tracy, which corresponds to your recommendations 
to the school board, I believe. 

"It's good to see you out of those ridiculous clothes and into a 
proper school uniform.  But, despite your new station in life, you 
have continued to use my first name.  That is totally unacceptable. 
I am to be addressed as 'Mr. Harris' or 'Sir' from now on.  Is that 
clear, young lady?"

"Very clear, Mr. Harris," Tracy said, staring at her shoes like the 
naughty schoolgirl she now was.  "I'm sorry I used your first name, 
sir.  I forgot...."

She felt her knees weaken as John picked up a long, slender school 
cane and a smaller, "warm-up" spanking strap.  Her bottom cheeks 
flinched in nervous anticipation as the leering delinquent SWISHED! 
the wicked cane through the air.  

He chuckled.  "Perhaps a demonstration of your ideas on corporal 
punishment will enhance your memory...."



Edited by C. Lakewood

 
