On the Bare

by Fiona Locke

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Charlie.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Charlie,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’m Scott. But I have to warn you: you can’t stay there all day. The cell phone reception sucks and the pizza delivery guy will never find you.’

  She liked him immediately. His breezy confidence was reassuring and she imagined he could talk the most despondent suicide in from a ledge. But, frightened though she was, she was determined to get what she’d come for. He would have to rescue her.

  She made a half-hearted thrust at the rope to show willing before pulling back and covering her face with a little moan. ‘I can’t!’ It was becoming her mantra.

  Scott wasn’t daunted. He offered her a sympathetic smile as she peered through her fingers at him. ‘It’s OK. Stay there. I’ll come to you.’

  She could barely contain her excitement as he covered the rest of the distance. Then, just as she was leaning out to reach for him, a freak wave struck the raft, causing the front end to lift. Only a fraction, but it was enough to make Charlie lose her balance. Her arms pinwheeled and she tumbled into the whitewater, just as Scott grabbed her hand.

  She screamed with real fear, terrified that he’d lose his grip on her. Her bare legs thrashed in the water as the current tried to drag her down.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ he said firmly, but somehow he didn’t seem quite as self-assured now.

  All she could think of was the tree trunk shattering against the jagged rocks; the debris rising like spears from the water to impale her; the many ways this could all go horribly wrong. Tears sprang to her eyes and she felt herself mouthing prayers she hadn’t resorted to in years. All pretence abandoned, she was at the mercy of very real fear and in very real danger.

  ‘Don’t let go,’ she sobbed, clinging to his hand with both of hers. If he was struggling to maintain his own balance, she didn’t notice. She was too frightened to think of anything but the fury of the water and the treacherous death that awaited her if she lost her grip.

  ‘Charlie, listen to me,’ he said, his voice calm and measured. Back in control. ‘I’m going to pull you up and I want you to grab the rope. Can you do that for me?’

  At first she shook her head, terrified.

  ‘Yes you can,’ he said with reassuring authority. ‘I won’t let you fall.’

  Charlie steeled herself and followed his instructions, allowing him to haul her up onto the rocks so she could take hold of the rope with both hands. The current had swallowed her flip-flops, but they wouldn’t have given her much protection anyway. Scott entwined one arm in the rope and grabbed Charlie’s life vest with his free hand, pulling her across step by step until at last they reached the riverbank.

  When her feet touched stable ground she clung to her hero in an ecstasy of gratitude. He had saved her. Really and truly saved her! Her heart was pounding with adrenalin. This was it. The pinnacle. Not even the Australian adventure could beat this. And tonight she would –

  ‘Don’t I know you?’

  Charlie blinked in confusion and looked up. It wasn’t her rescuer who had spoken. The black-eyed stranger was watching her, his eyes narrowed. There was something cynical in his tone, something suggesting that he’d known all along.

  And all at once she remembered him. He’d been with her on a rafting trip back in June. She’d only fallen in that time, but suddenly she remembered his knowing expression as she flailed in the water and the guide hauled her back into the raft. Quickly she turned away, burying her face in Scott’s chest.

  The stranger laughed, a sharp ugly sound. ‘Yeah, I thought so.’

  ‘Holy shit. It’s her,’ Tyler said, realisation dawning. ‘Serial Wrapper.’

  Charlie looked nervously up at Scott. His kind face was now frowning. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked the guide.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve heard the descriptions and it must be her. This little girl’s been a serious nuisance all summer – wrapping boats in every company on the river, then crying wolf when the rescue team arrives. I bet you’re an excellent swimmer.’ He addressed this last comment to Charlie, who nodded sheepishly.

  The mood on the riverbank was like a gathering storm. Tyler cursed and stalked a few paces away. The Swedes were muttering angrily to each other and the tough guy crossed his arms in satisfaction. Even the mild-mannered professor looked ready to blow his cool. As Charlie stood there, soaking wet from the escapade and with water puddling at her feet, she began to fear they might lynch her.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘it’s just a bit of harmless fun. I’ll go now and you’ll never see me again.’

  ‘Not so fast,’ Scott said. All his good-natured cheer had evaporated and he caught her by the wrist. ‘You didn’t just put yourself in danger; you put all of us in danger with you. For “a bit of fun”.’

  She squirmed a little at the lecture in spite of herself as the others murmured approval at his words.

  ‘I know, I know, and I –’

  ‘No, I don’t think you do know. I risked my life for you.’

  She hung her head. ‘I’m really really sorry,’ she mumbled. Perhaps if she could make herself cry they would see how sorry …

  The stranger snorted with derision, as though reading her mind. ‘She’s not a bit sorry,’ he said, adding after a weighty pause, ‘but we can do something about that.’

  Charlie looked up, alarmed. And her eyes widened as he set his bag down on the grass and withdrew something from it. Something about two feet long and wooden with a wide flat bit on one end. It was a miniature version of the rafting paddles they’d been using; she’d seen them for sale in the gift shop. For one crazy moment Charlie thought he was going to order her to paddle the raft down to the takeout with it. But when he smacked it sharply against his palm she was left in no doubt about his intentions.

  ‘You’ve given us all such a memorable summer I think it’s only fair we give you something in return. Something to remember us by – every time you try to sit down.’

  She backed away warily. ‘Look, I –’

  ‘I think that’s an excellent idea,’ said Scott, tightening his grip on her arm. ‘I’ve never seen such reckless behaviour in my life.’

  ‘And flagrant disregard for safety,’ his partner added.

  ‘But there’s no harm done!’ Charlie protested.

  Scott looked aghast. ‘No harm? Did you fail to notice all the jagged rocks and tree limbs in the water? Either you or I could have come to a very messy end. Or any of these people here.’ He gestured with his arm and from the corner of her eye Charlie saw them all nodding.

  ‘Oh, she noticed all right,’ Tyler said angrily. ‘She just thought it would be exciting. Didn’t you, Charlie?’

  If this kept up much longer she wouldn’t have to make herself cry. She was already feeling guilty enough. She’d had no idea just how dangerous the whole fiasco was going to turn out to be.

  The stranger regarded her coldly, underscoring with his icy stare the wrong she had done everyone. ‘Take off your life vest.’

  When she hesitated Tyler said, ‘It’s the property of the rafting company. Hand it over.’

  Her fingers fluttered nervously at the buckles and she only managed to unclip herself after several attempts. She slid out of the vest and passed it to the guide before realising that her flimsy white shirt was soaked through and torn in places. Her nipples stood out in sharp relief. Blushing deeply, she covered herself as much as she could with her free hand. In desperation she sought the face of the professor. He was the only one she thought might take pity on her. But his expression was as unforgiving as the rest.

  The brooding stranger was rolling up his right sleeve and Charlie tensed, ready to run. But Scott tightened his grip on her arm. He shot her a warning glance and she looked at the ground in despair. There was no way out and she knew it. What was worse – she knew she deserved it.

  The stranger smacked the paddle against his hand again. ‘I suspect no one’s ever taken you in hand or you w
ouldn’t be so desperate for attention. Well, you’re about to get it.’ He nodded at Scott. ‘If you wouldn’t mind holding her …’

  ‘Certainly. And I know just the position.’

  Charlie squealed in surprise as Scott brusquely turned away from her, grabbed her by the arms and hoisted her up on his broad back. He settled her into position with her legs dangling on either side of him. Earlier his grip had felt so strong and capable, so secure. Now it made her feel trapped and displayed.

  ‘Very pretty,’ the stranger said, patting the generous expanse of cheek revealed by her hotpants. ‘But these will have to come down.’

  ‘No!’ she cried in dismay.

  ‘It’s no use protesting now, girl. They hardly cover you anyway. But that’s the whole point, right? Showing off. But a naughty little girl who’s about to have her bottom paddled doesn’t get to keep her cute little shorts on.’

  His words made her writhe with embarrassment and a hot flush stained her cheeks.

  He hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged the clingy cotton shorts down, baring her bottom. ‘Well, well,’ he said, chuckling darkly. ‘No panties. How thoughtful of you, my dear.’

  Charlie’s face burned as she hung there, helpless, her lower half completely exposed and vulnerable. Scott planted his feet wide apart and bent forward at the waist, raising her bottom up provocatively. Charlie whimpered and pinned her thighs together in a vain attempt to limit the view.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re complaining about,’ the stranger told her scornfully. ‘I don’t see any tan lines, so it’s not as if you’re shy about flaunting yourself.’

  That was true; she was proud of her body. But that was when she was in control of what she was showing. Nude sunbathing was a far cry from the public shame of being held half-naked on a man’s back.

  ‘Now then,’ the stranger continued, ‘you’ve endangered all our lives for “a bit of fun” –’

  ‘“Harmless” fun,’ the professor corrected.

  ‘Oh yes, quite right. It was “harmless” fun, wasn’t it? Well, you’re going to learn your lesson today, young lady. And I intend to make sure it’s one you don’t forget. This bottom of yours is going to be soundly paddled until it’s red and sore and you’re a very sorry little girl indeed.’

  His words shamed and belittled her and she blushed so fiercely her ears burned. She lowered her head with a plaintive moan, burying her face in Scott’s short spiky hair.

  The cool wood of the paddle rested against her bottom and she squeezed her eyes shut in expectation of the pain. Water droplets crawled down her back and over her bottom, tickling her and making her wriggle. The paddle tapped gently. Once. Twice. Each time she clenched her cheeks, quivering with awful anticipation, fearing it, dreading it, but at the same time wishing he’d get it over with.

  She waited, helpless to do anything else, until at last she sensed he was about to start. She held her breath, gritting her teeth. A second later the paddle met her defenceless cheeks with a resounding crack that startled the birds and sent them flapping into the sky.

  The pain was astonishing. She howled, forgetting her determination to keep her legs together as the sting blazed across her backside.

  When she felt the paddle tap her in readiness for another stroke, she froze in horror. No way could she take another swat! She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a sound, the wood smacked against her tender flesh again. She found her voice at once.

  ‘Owww! Oh please, please, it hurts!’

  ‘A spanking is meant to hurt,’ the stranger said, tapping her cheeks with the implement again. ‘And it’s nothing compared to the injuries you might have caused with your antics.’

  The paddle cracked down again and this time her legs scissored wildly as she strove to contain the deep burning pain.

  ‘My, you are making a fuss. Haven’t you ever been spanked before?’

  ‘No, never,’ she whimpered.

  ‘I’m not surprised. Might have done you a world of good.’ He brought the smooth wood down across her cheeks again, eliciting another anguished cry.

  ‘I’m sorry! I’m really sorry, I mean it!’

  ‘It’s a bit late for “sorry”, young lady.’ There was no sympathy in his voice.

  ‘She’s only sorry she got caught,’ said the man who looked like her father.

  The full weight of her disgrace was too much to bear. And she knew it was true. She moaned, a low wretched animal sound. Water continued to trickle along her back and over her cheeks, dripping like tears down her legs.

  The stranger laid on another swat that reverberated through the trees. With a pitiful cry Charlie writhed and twisted in Scott’s grip. But her struggles were useless; he held her wrists firmly and she was no match for his strength.

  She’d always loved being carried piggyback from some cleverly orchestrated accident, feeling tiny and protected. But this was different. And the forced intimacy was a further humiliation. Now it only made her hyper-aware of the spectacle she was making of herself. Her small breasts were pressed into Scott’s muscled back and the thin wet T-shirt offered so little cover she might as well be naked. Her legs flailed impotently in the air, but she couldn’t bring herself to wrap them around Scott’s waist; that would only add to the lascivious display. She was probably deafening him with her cries, but she was in too much distress to care.

  She caught a glimpse of the sunburnt Swedish man to her left. He stood with his arms crossed, watching impassively as another hard whack wrenched a howl from her. Her bottom must be the same bright red as the man’s face and shoulders. It certainly felt as burnt.

  Tears of pain and regret blurred her vision as she babbled frantic pleas and promises, apologising again and again. ‘I can’t take it back!’ she sobbed in desperation.

  ‘No,’ her punisher agreed, ‘but you can take your punishment for it.’

  ‘And learn from it,’ she heard someone add. The professor? The Swedish girl? She had no idea.

  Each wail of pain was met with grim silence as the group witnessed her disgrace. Their unspoken approval heightened the sense of shame and by the end of the punishment, Charlie was feeling truly sorry for what she’d done.

  Scott eased her down gently and she sank to her knees on the grass. She felt terrible. Abandoned. Alone in a world of people she had wronged. She could never make it up to them. Bereft, she put her head down in the grass and sobbed with heartfelt remorse.

  ‘There, there,’ Scott said, the kindness returning to his voice. ‘You’ve paid the price. It’s all over now.’ He crouched down beside her and gathered her in his arms.

  Charlie clung to him, soaking his shirt with her tears and choking out guilty apologies between sobs. He held her for a long time and when her tears at last subsided she realised that everyone else had gone.

  Feeling dazed and oddly euphoric, she blinked up at Scott, sniffling. He helped her to her feet and passed the skimpy hotpants to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered shyly, turning away to draw them up over her throbbing burning bottom.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’ll take you back to the Visitor Centre.’

  She took his hand and allowed him to lead her a few feet before stumbling in the grass. ‘Oh!’ she cried, crumpling to her knees. ‘My ankle!’

  Preventive Measures

  CARLY WATSON SCRIBBLED furiously, trying to keep up with Mr Balfour’s recitation of fourth declension nouns.

  ‘… senatus … senatum … senatui … senatu … And the plural: senatus … senatuum … senatibus …’

  The third declension had been a nightmare. All those irregularities. It was the year 2054; why did they still have to study Latin, of all things?

  St Bartholomew’s School for Girls was unusually old fashioned. Its Governors believed in the traditional methods of education and, as such, the girls had none of the modern gadgets that made life so much simpler and easier for their peers in other schools. Within the walls of
St Bartholomew’s was a school that did not seem to have changed much in the past century.

  ‘There are no adjectives which follow the fourth declension,’ said Mr Balfour, ‘only nouns.’

  Carly breathed a sigh of relief. She was already losing track of all the different forms of words she’d learnt. Sometimes she would stare at a word for a whole minute, unable to recall if it was a noun or a verb.

  ‘Adjectives follow exclusively the first, second and third declensions. Now, if we –’

  A sudden knock at the door interrupted him and he frowned at his pupils as if they were to blame.

  ‘Come in.’

  The door swung open to admit Jane Rossiter, a prefect. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr Balfour, but I’m to give you this.’ She handed him a note.

  Mr Balfour took the folded slip of paper and dismissed Jane with a curt nod. He read the note silently and looked up.

  ‘Carly Watson,’ he said.

  Carly had been reading over her notes. She jumped, startled. ‘Yes, sir?’

  Mr Balfour gazed at her sternly. ‘You’re to report to the Headmaster’s office.’

  She blanched. ‘I … But I …’

  ‘Now, young lady.’

  Trembling, Carly got to her feet and crossed the room on shaky legs to take the note from the Latin master. Mr Balfour closed the door behind her and she was alone in the corridor. She looked at the note, but all it said was that she was to report to Mr Fortescue. Carly had no idea what it was about, but it couldn’t be good. With a nervous gulp, she set off for the Headmaster’s office.

  There were two girls waiting outside his office, perched on the antique settle. Carly knew them both. The one nearest the door was a tall brunette named Pamela Whiteley. She had a resigned expression on her face. Next to her sat Jocelyn Drake, captain of the girls’ lacrosse team. The slender redhead was wearing her gym kit. Both girls looked as nervous as Carly. She took her place beside Jocelyn.

  ‘What did you do?’ Carly whispered.

  Jocelyn shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. I was called away from practice with no explanation. I expect I’ll find out.’