Putting On My Punishment Uniform

I have to wear school uniform as a punishment: not just for punishment, like to receive a spanking, but as a punishment in itself. It's a long time since I last had to wear regulation school uniform and being put back into school uniform is meant to remind me of how it used to be, to be governed by rules and regulations over which I have no control but which I have to obey.

Every last little detail of my school uniform is regulated and none of it would I wear given a choice, even from the baggy white cellular cotton knickers and a full cup control bra outwards. The bra makes my breasts stick out but holds them in an uncomfortably rigid and unyielding way, each imprisoned in its separate Y-shaped prison. Any attractiveness that this might give to my outline though is then hidden under progressive layers, starting with the shapeless woollen vest which hangs off my bra and covers me down to my knickers. The material is scratchy and itches unbearably i hot weather, not that that makes any difference as to whether I have to wear it.

Next come the traditional long legged school knickers in a heavy knit cotton in an unattractive shade of bottle green. Long since consigned to history elsewhere these 'bags' or 'school bloomers' remain part of my punishment uniform. My vest must be tucked right down into these knickers, the waistband pulled up and the legs pulled down. I can feel the elastics gripping me firmly around and well down each thigh. It feels unnatural and enclosing but that is how I'm required to wear them.

Then the woollen knee length socks, again in bottle green with a bright yellow band around the top. They are long enough to come right up above my knee and then be turned down neatly, each held up by an elastic garter with a bright yellow tab which shows at a glance whether I'm wearing them. I am only as far as my underwear and socks and already I'm feeling uncomfortably trussed up.

The uniform blouse is of starched green and white striped cotton and is styled like a man's shirt with a button to the neck collar. The collar and cuffs have been extra heavily starched: I should know, I am required to make sure they are. It's a fight getting the buttons into the stiffened holes and the blouse collar encircles my neck rigidly. I have to wear a tie and it must be knotted neatly with the narrow rear end in between half an inch and one inch shorter than the front. I hate wearing a tie and it always takes the several attemps to get it right. Once I get it tidy and turn my collar back down the tight tie plus the double layer of starched collar forms an unyielding ring around my neck.

Then I have to get into my gymslip, that most archaic of school uniform garments. I put it over my head and it hangs from my shoulders like a sack made of bottle green wool serge. The broad shoulder straps are secured closed each by two buttons. It is a mystery why they open at all as the gymslip just drops straight over the head. They just make it more fiddly to iron and provide more buttons to come loose and need re-sewing. Perhaps that is the point. Ditto the buttoned half belt at the back which never needs to be undone and is covered up and unseen under the uniform braid girdle.

The bright yellow braid girdle has to be wound around your waist twice and then knotted neatly in an even bow over your right hip. No unevenness is tolerated.

Once my braid girdle is on I can adjust my gymslip, straightening the three box pleats which hang from the bodice. Despite my breasts being held rigidly to attention in the fully enclosing cups of my control bra, the flat front bodice panel over my baggy blouse and the loosely pleated serge gymslip ballooning between the bodice and braid girdle conceals my outline entirely, rendering me dumpy and shapeless.

I hate the shoes which go with this uniform. They are heavy flat soled, round toed laceups in a particularly repellent shade of mid-brown: 'sensible' shoes; appropriate for recalcitrant schoolgirls dragging themselves off to lessons. I can feel their unfashionable clunkiness weighing on my feet as I clump at every step.

All this might seem an adequate uniform there's still the blazer: bottle green wool, hot and heavy in summer but which must be buttoned up neatly, regardless. And like all school blazers the sleeves are just that bit too long so that only my fingers and thumbs are clear of the cuffs.

Then finally, the piece of uniform I hate and detest above all others -- the hat. The bowl shaped green felt hat with its bright ribbon and crest. The pudding basin monstrosity with its chin elastic which has to be worn under the chin and behind the ears to hold the hat securely in position. That position being dumped flat and square on the head, no deviation allowed, so that I end up peering out from under the brim.

That is me in my school uniform: a shapeless mass of bottle green wool serge adorned with bright badges from the crest on my hat to the badges on the front of my gymslip and the pocket of my blazer, marking me out as a schoolgirl, one of theirs, bound by rules and regulations, waiting to be told where to go and what to do.

It is my punishment uniform. I wear it. Because I'm told to.



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