Schooled for Service

by Lady Alice McCloud

  A strong sense of distaste hit her, but she quickly climbed on, knowing that to do so with the flag still in her anus would mean adopting a number of ludicrous poses, and not wanting to parade herself more than was absolutely necessary. Only when she was on top and able to turn around did she realise that it was too late anyway, with the girls and chaperones already filing in behind her. Briefly she met Elizabeth’s eye, catching a look of deep sympathy, and Jane’s, who returned only a sneer. Then she was on her back, her body shaking with cold and fear.

  Immediately her legs had been taken and rolled up, flaunting her thighs, every detail of her quim and the full spread of her bare bottom with the flag stick protruding obscenely from her violated anus. One of the girls giggled, and Thrift closed her eyes with a sob of raw humiliation, unable to meet the eyes of those about to watch her thrashed.

  ‘One and twenty-five,’ a voice announced, ‘twenty-five strokes, all in. Get her up a bit higher, I need some more of her meat showing.’

  ‘There’s plenty! Whip her tuck, maybe she’ll come.’

  ‘That crown you just took says she doesn’t.’

  ‘Taken, so long as you lay them in fair and even, and none on her thighs.’

  Thrift let out another bitter sob at the way they were making a game of her beating, but it immediately broke into a scream as the broad leather strap cracked down on the tuck of her bottom, right over her quim. A second followed, an instant later, and harder still. A third, and she began to kick and fight, unable to control herself against the pain, her feet squirming in the chaperone’s iron grip and her fists thumping pointlessly on the hard stone of the tomb. A fourth, and her screams had blended to an incoherent bubbling sound as the chaperone found a rhythm, smacking the strap into the meat of Thrift’s cheeks, again and again...

  In no time Thrift had lost count, unable even to think under the pain of the blows, and the sense of helpless panic building up in her. All day her bottom had been receiving attention, bared and smacked again and again, to leave her on heat in such a way that with the tuck of her bottom being smacked it was inevitable that the chaperone’s prediction would prove true. Thrift would come under the strap, utterly disgracing herself, in front of all the others.

  It was going to happen too. Every smack was jarring her quim, bringing her higher, and higher still, with the pain fading to sexual heat. Still she writhed in her tormentor’s grip, screaming and squealing and babbling entreaties, as the blows fell in an even, firm rhythm, now so hard they were catching the pouted lips of her quim. Yet there was no pain, only a furious heat as the muscles of her bottom and thighs began to contract, and she was going to come.

  Her eyes came open, briefly, to find all the chaperones staring, and all the girls, Sally-Anne oddly pensive, the colliery girls giggling behind their hands, Lucy and Elizabeth open-mouthed in shock, Kirsty laughing. Again she shut them tight, willing herself not to do it even as her body tipped over into orgasm. She gave a final wail of despair as the fluid began to squirt from her pee hole, and she was there, coming in front of all of them, naked and whipped and humiliated, her fat bottom spread bare with the flag waving obscenely from her buggered anus, jerking in the chaperone’s grip, her cries no longer anguish, but pure, helpless ecstasy.

  Chapter Three

  Ribblesdale, Yorkshire, March 2005

  For a full month Thrift had been at Weathercote House and neither her belongings nor any papers to show that she had been sent there in error had arrived. Nor had anything else, no post, personal or otherwise, no visitors, for her or any of the other girls, or deliveries. All their needs were catered for by the chaperones, two or three of who would take a van once a week on the Tuesday morning and return that evening. Like the other girls, she had been allowed two dresses of plain, dark blue wool, also drawers, chemise and a single petticoat, all of cheap cotton with no more than a half-inch of lace at the fringe, several pairs of coarse stockings and another set of boots. Her original clothes she kept folded neatly at the bottom of her chest of drawers, taking them out only to look at in rare moments of peace and never wearing them, her corset especially, because they slowed her down so much it was sure to lead to punishment.

  Of that there had been plenty. Since the discovery that she could be made to come by being beaten on the tuck of her bottom it had become something of a joke among the chaperones. She was certain they also resented her status, and she had been upended and strapped more times than any of the other girls, even Joanna and Jane, who were constantly rebellious, and Kirsty, who actually seemed to take pleasure in provoking her own beatings. Thrift had also come to feel the sting of Miss Scarsdale’s cane, a punishment which, while no more painful, was reserved for moral infractions and so carried a special stigma, this when a chaperone walked into the dormitory for a random inspection at the exact instant Thrift was coming under busy fingers.

  She had quickly come to know the individual chaperones, all ten, although not all were directly responsible for the girls’ welfare and two were seldom seen except at meals. Three taught lessons, along with Miss Scarsdale. There was the tall, stick thin Miss Habberwick, who had the most ladylike manner and alone showed Thrift any favour but nevertheless used her strap with as much vigour as any of the others. There was Miss Shaw, who took particular pleasure in setting questions that were designed to catch the girls out, and then inflicting ingenious humiliations in addition to the standard three strokes of the strap. There was Mrs Stokes, older than the others, who was lazy and drank, so that for any given class it would be equally probable for her to be fast asleep for most of the hour, or in a towering rage, when she was quite capable of lining all seven girls up to present a row of bare, trembling bottoms which she would thrash indiscriminately.

  Two more, Miss Aislebie and Miss Laird, were responsible for physical instruction, something which was clearly felt to be important to the girls’ regime. Both took immense pleasure in tormenting the girls, who were frequently made to do their exercises in the nude, or to climb King Alfred’s Seat in a lesser or greater state of undress. Both frequently drank, and took bets between themselves on the girls’ speed, stamina, or anything else that amused them. Beatings were given either with the girls bent down and bare behind, or for more serious infractions, rolled up or kneeling on the tomb in the little yew grove. Both picked on Thrift.

  At night Miss Ponderby and Mrs Budge kept watch over the sleeping house, ever alert for the sound of conversation from the girls’ dormitory, and given to making lightning inspections three of four times a week, occasionally even twice in a night, episodes which invariably ended in one or more girls being punished. Miss Ponderby liked to make an exhibition of it, taunting her victim, frequently to tears, before applying three vigorous strokes, never more, nor less. Mrs Budge, the bulkiest of all, and the second tallest, seldom used her strap at all, but spanked the girls across her knee instead, and never lost an opportunity to fondle their bottoms. As often as not both singled Thrift out for special attention.

  Among the others, Mrs Ormondroyd tended the gardens and lived in a little cottage some way down the road, presumably with a husband, although he was never seen. While she seldom found need to discipline the girls, when she did it was usually with braided twigs or a heavy wooden paddle she kept in one of the outhouses, and she had a reputation as the most severe of all. Miss Laithwaite supervised the kitchens, laundry and all the other tasks the girls were responsible for, and was constantly urging them on with little flicks and smacks of her strap. Miss Gant was responsible for technical matters, a quiet, reserved woman of some breeding, yet who was rumoured to have not only given Lucy a severe strapping for no reason at all, but to have made her unfortunate victim go down on her quim afterwards.

  All ten terrified Thrift, but particularly those who took an improper pleasure in giving out beatings. Some of her fellows were little less intimidating. Initially there had been friction between the colliery g
irls, who proved to be not actually sisters, and Kirsty, all of whom had hot tempers and little sense of restraint. Yet their common class background had quickly overcome such differences. Since forcing Thrift to show off her ruined maidenhead, all three treated her with disdain, and clearly resented her. The big, stolid Sally-Anne seldom joined in, but was always ready to help if Thrift needed to be held down for an impromptu spanking, to be made to compare off the size of her breasts, or other humiliations. Elizabeth and Lucy received the same treatment, but Elizabeth less so, as she was valued for her ability to disconnect the microphone and other skills of her father’s profession.

  Thrift tended to gravitate towards Elizabeth, the only one whose station in life was not impossibly inferior, although Elizabeth in turn had quickly become attached to the mild mannered and timid Lucy. All three had grown friendly, Thrift doing her best to put aside her distaste for Lucy’s lowly birth in the interests of companionship. However, with the rule of silence and the almost constant presence of the chaperones, there was little opportunity for conversation, and despite considerable curiosity Thrift had not learnt the girls’ individual stories.

  Only by chance did an opportunity arise to speak to Elizabeth alone and without fear of being overheard. Miss Laithwaite, dissatisfied with the scouring of a pot after lunch, had come to the classroom at the end of afternoon lessons, catching the girls as they were leaving, in line, with Mrs Stokes at their head. As the last two in line, Thrift and Elizabeth had simply been taken by their ears and pulled to the kitchens, where they had been given three strokes of the strap each across their bare bottoms and told to scour the pot more effectively.

  They had worked as fast as possible, in the cold certainty that they would be late for physical exercise and so beaten once again, but when they had emerged from the house it had been to find the other girls out on the moor, running up towards King Alfred’s Seat, and neither Miss Aislebie nor Miss Laird visible. Both had quickly stripped to their chemises and drawers, but the gate in the archway had been locked. Not daring to go back indoors, they had retreated to the yew grove and sat down together on top of the old tomb, not knowing what else to do. After passing a few concerned comments as to their probably fate, they had fallen silent, only for Elizabeth to suddenly ask a question.

  ‘Where are the other girls, do you suppose?’

  ‘The other girls?’ Thrift replied. ‘Why, upon the moor, silly.’

  ‘No, not our companions,’ Elizabeth answered, ‘other girls here at the house. Weathercote House is plainly not a new establishment, and yet we seven are alone. Others would have been brought here in disgrace before us, would they not? It also seems peculiar that a staff of eleven is required for the seven of us, do you not think?’

  ‘Not entirely peculiar,’ Thrift responded. ‘At my family house in Dover Street, my father, my mother and I are attended to by eight servants, nine if you include the washerwoman, although she visits several addresses.’

  ‘We have two maids,’ Elizabeth replied with a trace of pride, ‘but even if we assume that our chaperones are paid no more than domestic servants, which seems unlikely, ten would seem an extravagance, to look after a handful of disgraced girls, especially when all the most disagreeable tasks fall to us. Besides, the house could support a far greater number; twenty perhaps, or more.’

  Thrift nodded, unable to deny the truth of Elizabeth’s assertion, or to supply an answer.

  ‘Others have been here before,’ Elizabeth stated, ‘that much is plain from the wear of the appointments and fixtures. Where are they now?’

  ‘In workhouses, so I would suppose,’ Thrift answered with a shudder. ‘Possibly the house was used for some other purpose before?’

  ‘It is named as a House of Shame on the Lintel, which is in the Albertian Gothic style, and thus a hundred years old at the least.’

  ‘Perhaps girls attend here for a single year? Perhaps it was felt that we, or you others rather, were in need of further education, which I understand is minimal in workhouses.’

  ‘Why educate a girl for the workhouse?’ Elizabeth queried. ‘And besides, I was first in all my subjects, save Foreign Language, which is of little practical value in any case. My father even expressed regret that I was not born a man, so that I might join my brothers in the family enterprise. My mathematics tutor, Mr Mulligan, was of like opinion, at least, so far as mental prowess was concerned...’

  She tailed off, looking glum, then began again.

  ‘I may speak plainly, I suppose, for all the shame of it. You at least may understand, as ruin no doubt bears a still greater stigma for a Lady.’

  ‘Indeed, but...’ Thrift began, and stopped, putting aside her need to stress her relative innocence in favour of hearing what Elizabeth had done, which was clearly the girl’s attention.

  ‘I was brought to ruin by Mr Mulligan,’ Elizabeth sighed after a pause. ‘He seduced me, with kind words and praise for my natural advantages. I allowed myself to be flattered, as being of no great stature or physical endowment I had always felt myself at a disadvantage beside others, while it is felt that to be too clever, and I trust I speak without false modesty, is frequently a disadvantage in obtaining a good husband.’

  She went quiet, looking down and picking at the lichen on the tomb. Thrift, aware of the unworthiness of her desire to know more, and in more detail, spent a moment wrestling with her conscience before speaking.

  ‘How did he manage such a thing? You have no companion, presumably, but surely you were chaperoned.’

  ‘I was,’ Thrift confirmed, ‘and our tweenstairs maid, Elsie used to serve as a companion of sorts when I was about in the enclave, but she was a greedy girl, and most improper. Mr Mulligan paid her first not to pass remark while he and I spoke in the street, and then to sit quietly in the hall of his lodgings while he...’

  ‘Seduced you?’

  ‘Seduced me, yes. I was flattered by his attention, and enjoyed the feeling of conspiracy attendant on our affair. There is pleasure too, as no doubt you know?’

  She cast a quizzical glance at Thrift, who nodded, blushing. Elizabeth pursed her lips and went on.

  ‘Great pleasure, too great for me to resist. I allowed him certain intimacies... to kiss me... and to touch... we had a game, setting one another mathematical puzzles, and he introduced a ruse, which I confess I found exciting, in that if we were unable to solve the puzzles we were obliged to remove an article of clothing. Only afterwards did I discover that he possessed an entire shelf of books on just such puzzles, including those evolved in such places as Liechtenstein and the Chinese Empire. Needless to say I quickly found myself quite naked, then obliged to... to take his pego in my mouth.’

  She was blushing crimson, and Thrift was little better, with a hard lump in her throat and a familiar tingling sensation between her thighs. Again Elizabeth cast her a quizzical look, to which Thrift returned a wry smile as she reached out to take her friend’s hand.

  ‘The affair lasted some time,’ Elizabeth went on, ‘and I dare say all might have been well, but we took to drinking wine when we met, and when I would take him in my mouth it would leave me in such a passion, with my... my...’

  ‘Quim?’ Thrift supplied. ‘Or perhaps cunt, although the word has such a vulgar sound.’

  ‘My quim,’ Elizabeth confirmed, ‘ever so moist, and... and at last, in a moment of truly insane passion, I permitted him to mount me, and to break my maidenhead. Even then, all might have been well, had I somehow managed to avoid a medical inspection and sufficiently excite my husband’s passion on our wedding night. It was not to be. My mother dismissed Elsie, who was always a slattern, and the whole story came out in anger, shouted from the street below, for all to hear!’

  ‘How awful!’

  ‘Yes, and what a fuss was made, with my mother weeping and father in a fury, as a closed car was ordered, and I was tak
en to a doctor, and given the most horrid inspection, with my feet in stirrups, and people peering at my poor ruined quim...’

  ‘I too have suffered this. Did they put you in a restraint belt?’

  ‘No, it was advised, and I was to have been found a place as a book-keeper in a workhouse, but before this could happen a most elegant gentleman visited my father. The two were secluded in the study for over an hour, and I was not told what passed between them, save that I would be collected by car in the morning, for Yorkshire, as I was. So that is my tale. I am weak, I know, and a wanton, but it seems a little thing, does it not, whether a pego has or has not been put into me? I am not with child, and my maidenhead could be repaired by a simple procedure if being broken were the issue.’

  Thrift was blushing, but she managed to reply.

  ‘The issue is moral, not physical, as Miss Scarsdale and Miss Habberwick have been at pains to explain.’

  ‘What would they know, that pair of dry old sticks?’

  ‘Their knowledge of the virtues would seem extensive, comprehensive even, but yes, I appreciate what you say. Now you are lost to your family, and to decent society, for what gain?’

  ‘None, that I can see. But what of yourself. Now that I have revealed my secrets, so should you.’

  Thrift paused a moment, but when the words came it was in a rush.

  ‘I am here by the most unfortunate accident, as I have told you all, and claimed to Miss Scarsdale! True, there were one or two unfortunate incidents at the Diplomatic School I attended, and... I confess, I am somewhat wanton, yet I have never allowed a man to seduce me... at least, not to the extent of permitting such liberties as to ruin me.’

  ‘Yet you are ruined, Thrift. We saw.’

  ‘I am ruined, physically, yes, but this was not as a result of moral turpitude!’