‘If you wouldn’t mind, Miss, perhaps you could get out the end door, and if anyone should ask we ain’t seen you and you ain’t seen us.’
‘That is no doubt for the best,’ Thrift said with feeling, ‘and naturally no mention will be made...’
‘Not a word, Miss,’ he answered, tapping the side of his nose with a finger as he began to withdraw.
Thrift went the other way, wondering if it was better to admit to having been fucked, and if so, by whom, or to simply hope the one man stupid enough to come inside her hadn’t got her pregnant, not that she knew which of them it had been. In any case, it was not a suitable subject for the officers she would shortly be meeting, and she was trying to decide exactly what she would say as she opened the door of the supply wagon and stepped down onto Carlisle Station, directly into the arms of Miss Aislebie.
Chapter Five
Ribblesdale, Yorkshire, May 2005
Thrift managed a wan smile as she was sent into the schoolroom with a smack of Miss Laird’s strap. A buzz of excitement ran over the assembled girls, quickly stilled at a sharp word from Miss Shaw. Elizabeth briefly met Thrift’s eyes, showing concern and sorrow, before turning back to her work. Taking her seat, Thrift turned her attention to the board, on which a diagram had been carefully chalked showing the intricacies of legislative procedure and how the Government and Judiciary related.
On being returned to Weathercote House she had been marched immediately upstairs, to the wing mainly occupied by the chaperones, and taken to a room with a single, heavily barred window and massive bolts on the door. There had been a box in one corner, some four feet to a side, into which she had been pushed without a word, and the squat, solid door locked behind her. Inside, in a darkness relieved only by a set of tiny air holes, she had crouched without food or water, wet with sweat within minutes. Within hours she had wet herself.
When she had at last been released, soiled and painfully thirsty, she had been made to clean herself and the box, then soundly thrashed, face down in the nude on the bed, one hundred hard strokes of the strap. The beating had her clawing at the thin mattress, too far gone to speak before it was over, and she was left with her bottom a mass of welts, sobbing her heart out until she at last found the strength to drink the water and eat the cold gruel Miss Laithwaite had brought up for her.
After the box she had remained in the room for two full weeks. Each day she had been visited only twice save for at mealtimes, by Miss Aislebie or Miss Laird each morning for her to be put through a regime of exercises, and by Miss Scarsdale in the afternoon, for tuition, and to be questioned about her escape. She had admitted everything, except the details of her journey to Carlisle, which she pretended she had made huddled in a corner of the supply wagon, and Elizabeth’s part in the plan, both of which quickly became very important to her as secrets, and not merely because it would inevitably lead to further punishment if she had admitted to them.
Both had helped her, Elizabeth directly, and the soldiers after a fashion, which made them allies against Miss Scarsdale and her chaperones. To have told would have been a betrayal, and a surrender, while as long as she maintained the secret a little part of herself would still be free. The same was true of the pleasure she had taken in her ravishment, and with Elizabeth, something they had not been able to take away from her. Even when in the box she had made a point of bringing herself to orgasm over the memory of having to satisfy them all, not so much for pleasure, but as an act of defiance.
Once out, she returned to the normal routine of Weathercote House. Afternoon lessons were followed by exercise, as usual, and they were told off to run up to King Alfred’s Seat, unchaperoned, to Thrift’s astonishment, until as she glimpsed a man who was presumably Mr Ormondroyd, half hidden in a copse of scrub thorn with his two great hounds. At that moment Elizabeth fell in beside her, and was going to speak when Kirsty joined them.
‘So you’re back,’ she panted. ‘I’m glad of that, I am. I’m glad, ‘cause I’ve a chance to give you what you’re due.’
‘What is this?’ Thrift managed. ‘I have done nothing to you!’
‘Haven’t you just!’ Kirsty answered. ‘Tell her, Lizzie, I’m gone ahead, for I’d not want to catch another dose of the strap for your being slow.’
Kirsty ran off ahead, leaving Thrift alone with Elizabeth. For a moment they ran in silence, before slowly at the rocks, when Thrift spoke again.
‘What did she mean? What happened?’
‘We were punished,’ Elizabeth explained, ‘all of us.’
‘I’m... I’m sorry. You’re not angry, are you? What happened?’
‘I’m not angry, no,’ Elizabeth answered. ‘When they found you’d gone, we were all locked into the dormitory. There was no supper, and when Miss Scarsdale came up she had all six of us bend over the ends of our beds. She gave us twelve strokes of the cane, each, I don’t know why, because she never even asked if any of us had helped you.’
Thrift made to reply, meaning to protest that it was no fault of hers, but decided against it. She felt weak after her long confinement, despite the daily exercises, and even Lucy was drawing well ahead of them. Fearful of Miss Aislebie’s strap, she ran on, as best she could, but still ending up touching her toes for ten while the others looked on.
Worried that Kirsty and the others might catch her in the shower and use the noise of the water to cover the smacks and screams of an impromptu whipping, she held back, only to get in trouble with Miss Laithwaite and have to take another three, this time bent over the kitchen table as she was whacked with a long handled wooden spoon. It left her bottom hot and smarting, and her quim wet, adding to her embarrassment and apprehension at the prospect of a punishment she knew would be as painful and intimate as it was unavoidable.
Sure enough, no sooner had the dormitory door been bolted behind Miss Ponderby and Mrs Budge than Kirsty was nodding to the microphone. Thrift hung her head, resigned, telling herself that protest was not only useless but thoroughly undignified, and that it would be best to accept her fate. Nor did Elizabeth try to stall, but obediently mounted up on Sally-Anne’s shoulders to disconnect the microphone. Thrift spoke before Kirsty had a chance.
‘I am sorry you were caned, all of you, and I realise you may feel it was in some way my fault, even if only for not informing you of my intentions. Perhaps, if it makes you feel better, one among you might spank me, although for the sake of mercy I beg you to consider that I have already been made sore behind.’
‘Not so sore you couldn’t handle some more,’ Kirsty answered, ‘but we had something different in mind, me and the girls. Still, if you’ve a mind to be spanked?’
‘I will accept that as just,’ Thrift answered.
Kirsty glanced at the others. The twins nodded, and Sally-Anne. Lucy merely hung her head.
‘I think Thrift has made a very brave and fair decision,’ Elizabeth said.
‘But will you take your turn with her?’ Kirsty demanded.
‘Turn?’ Elizabeth queried.
‘Yes, turn,’ Kirsty answered. ‘We all got the cane, no? And I want to spank her, and no doubt you others?’
‘I do, for one,’ Joanna agreed, Jane nodding enthusiastically.
‘And me,’ Sally-Anne agreed.
‘See?’ Kirsty responded.
‘All of you?’ Thrift questioned.
‘All,’ Kirsty confirmed. ‘You too, Lucy. Come one, Hen, show some spirit. How often do you get some quality piece offering to go over your knee?’
For a moment there was a flicker of a smile on Lucy’s face, and then she looked away. Kirsty shrugged, sat down on her bed with her legs sticking out and patted her lap.
‘Oh very well,’ Thrift sighed, ‘but Lucy shall be first.’
Lucy made to speak, and was staring round eyed as Thrift approached, but sat and patted her lap just as Kirsty had done.
Thrift was struggling to fight down her shame at going across a craftman’s daughter’s knee to be spanked, but that didn’t remove the feeling of warm anticipation in her quim, and the moment she was down there was an unexpected sense of companionship as well. Lucy first unbuttoned Thrift’s drawers at the back to allow them to be taken completely open. Then she set to work, spanking with surprisingly firm, methodical smacks delivered to the plumpest part of Thrift’s bottom. She had also twisted one arm up into the small of Thrift’s back, delivering a thorough, workmanlike spanking that gave ample evidence that it was not the first time she’d had another girl across her knee.
After fifty firm swats Thrift was let up, rubbing her bottom in surprise at the unexpectedly rough treatment. Her drawers fell down, but she stepped out of them at an impatient gesture from Kirsty. All the others were ready, but she went to Elizabeth, knowing that the warmer her bottom was before she let the rough girls at her the less it would hurt. Elizabeth was gentle, holding Thrift around the waist and using a cupped hand, to make the smacks ring out around the dormitory, but inflict very little pain. It still added to the warmth of Thrift’s bottom, and she approached Kirsty with a mixture of fear and need.
Kirsty was swift, and viciously hard, tripping Thrift to upend her and dishing out a blistering spanking, as hard as she could. It had Thrift kicking and squealing in seconds, and crying before it was over, so that she got up snivelling, her vision hazy and with mucus running down her nose. Her bottom was a throbbing ball of heat as she crossed to where Joanna and Jane were waiting, side by side on a bed.
Jane snapped her fingers to indicate that Thrift should go down between them, and she did. Both her arms were immediately grabbed and twisted hard up behind her back, even as they began to belabour her bottom, a cheek each, slapping furiously hard and unevenly, to set Thrift writhing and begging for mercy. They spanked her well, for over twice as long as any of the others, to leave her shaking and unsteady as it finally stopped and she rose to her feet, only to be put straight back down, across Sally-Anne’s knee.
Like Lucy, Sally-Anne dished out a practised domestic spanking, holding Thrift firmly in place and laying on the spanks to an even rhythm. Yet if Lucy had been firm, Sally-Anne was doubly so, using the full weight of her brawny arm to reduce Thrift to a kicking, snivelling wreck in seconds. It didn’t stop, or even slow, the punishment dished out with business-like thoroughness until Sally-Anne felt it was done, whereupon Thrift was dumped unceremoniously on her hot bottom without the slightest warning.
She stood up, trembling, her vision a blur, and put her hands back to soothe her punished bottom. The flesh of her cheeks felt thick and very hot, while her quim was so wet juice had begun to run down between her legs. Her urge to play with herself was almost overwhelming, and as her vision cleared she glanced at Kirsty, half dreading, half hoping, that the Scottish girl would want her quim or bottom licked.
Kirsty wasn’t even looking at her, but was sat on her pot between the beds, pale, freckly bottom stuck well out as the pee spattered onto the china beneath her. Wondering if she dared simply bring herself off in front of them anyway, Thrift turned for her bed, only for Kirsty to speak.
‘We’re not finished with you, yet, your Ladyship.’
Jane nodded, smirking.
‘Too right. Best get your chemise off, Duck.’
Thrift swallowed, but hastened to obey, telling herself she had no choice although it was exactly what she wanted. Her chemise off, she stood stark naked as Kirsty rose from the pot.
‘Are... are you going to sit in my face?’ Thrift asked tentatively.
‘Not that,’ Kirsty answered, ‘although if you’ve a mind to lick my cunt?’
‘If I must,’ Thrift answered.
Kirsty laughed and pointed to the floor at her feet as she sat down, then kicked the potty out into the space between the rows of beds. Thrift stepped forward, blushing, but the heat in her bottom and quim were too much to let her make more than a token display of resistance. Kirsty opened her legs and sat back, showing off the gingery puff of her quim air, and the pale pink slit beneath. Thrift went down, hesitating only a second, and then she was licking, her tongue dabbing at Kirsty’s quim as she let the agonising shame of licking out a common girl turn to ecstasy in her head.
Beside her, Sally-Anne had sat down on the potty Kirsty had just used, but Thrift barely noticed, concentrating fully on her task, to make Kirsty come in her face before applying grateful fingers to her own quim. Jane followed Sally-Anne and Joanna followed Jane, each adding the full contents of their bladders to the potty. Still Thrift licked, with her pleasure rising, until she had let her arms slip around Kirsty, to hold her bottom and pull her in. Kirsty sighed, then laughed.
‘See her, good little cunt licker, ain’t she?’
‘She can do mine after,’ Joanna answered. ‘Lucy, get on the pot.’
‘But I...’ Lucy began, only to be cut off by a snap of Joanna’s fingers.
‘Get on it, or....’
Lucy hastened to obey, blushing as she split her drawers and lowered her pale, shapely bottom onto the pot. Thrift ignored her, wondering if she was to be made to lick all three of the rough girls, maybe Sally-Anne too, or whether Elizabeth and Lucy would be made to perform too. Whatever it was, she knew she would be obedient, her lust too strong to react otherwise for all her shame.
Kirsty was getting urgent, and Thrift barely noticed when Elizabeth added her contribution to the pee pot, but licked harder, and was immediately rewarded by the Scottish girl’s thighs tightening around her head in orgasm. Still she licked, until Kirsty was quite done, then sat back, her breathing deep and even, her quim ready, to find all the girls staring at her except Elizabeth, who looked nervous as she pretended to study her fingernails.
‘May I... must I lick you all?’ she managed, glancing around.
In the middle of the floor stood the potty, swimming with pee, over half full, and steaming gently.
‘Not just now, Hen. First there’s the matter of your punishment.’
‘But... but I have been spanked!’ Thrift answered as a sudden, horrible suspicion entered her head. ‘Not in the potty, no, Kirsty, that’s not fair... that’s not fair!’
‘Oh but it is,’ Kirsty answered.
‘Where’s the good in spanking you when it gets you off?’ Joanna demanded, moving quickly close to catch Thrift by one arm.
Kirsty took the other and Thrift was hauled to her feet, babbling.
‘No... please, no, Kirsty... I’ll lick you... all six of you... any way you like! I’ll... I’ll... No!’
They took no notice, but tightened their grip, dragging her out onto the middle of the floor.
‘No! No... this is not fair!’ she wailed. ‘It’s not fair!’
‘See that, she says it’s not fair!’ Kirsty laughed. ‘Was it fair that the six of us got our behinds welted, answer me that, Hen!’
‘That... that wasn’t my fault!’ Thrift squealed. ‘Please Kirsty! I licked you nicely, didn’t I? I will again, whenever you like, and I won’t make a fuss about it, I swear! I’ll... I’ll lick your bottom, if you like, I will! And you, Joanna... anything, but not this! No!’
She squealed as they began to force her down, and to fight. Sally-Anne stepped up behind, to take Thrift by the shoulders and push, using her full weight. Thrift went down, into a kneeling position.
‘Please! I beg!’ she managed, her voice shaking as Joanna put a hand to the back of her head. ‘No...’
Joanna pushed, and Sally-Anne. Kirsty twisted Thrift’s arm up behind her back. Thrift tried to fight back, but couldn’t, the consternation in her head rising to a physical pain as she was forced forward and down, over the potty, the scent of the girls’ pee strong in her nose, and stronger still. She began to thrash her head in desperation, trying to spill the potty, but Kirsty spoke in a low gr
owl, right in Thrift’s ear.
‘You spill that piss, Hen, and I swear your face goes in just the same, but in the morning.’
Thrift gave a muted sob, Kirsty chuckled. Again the three girls pushed, and Thrift let herself be pushed down, to within an inch of the pee, only to start struggling in blind panic at the sheer awfulness of having her face dunked. Kirsty laughed again, Joanna’s grip tightened, and Thrift heard Jane’s voice from above her.
‘One... two... three...’
‘And in she goes!’ Kirsty finished, and Thrift’s face had been forced down, her mouth coming open to make a last protest, just in time to be filled with hot, pungent piddle, and she was blowing bubbles, half her head immersed in the reeking fluid, her feet kicking in desperation and her loose arm flapping pathetically at her sides. She was pulled up, gasping, pee dripping from her fringe and the tip of her nose, her whole body shaking, but the girls didn’t even slacken their grip, much less release her.
‘That makes me feel a deal better,’ Joanna sighed.
‘Ay, me an all,’ Kirsty agreed, ‘but I’m not finished. Back in you go, your Ladyship.’
Thrift’s head was thrust back into the pee, right to the bottom of the pot, so that her nose banged on the china, only to be pulled back and held so that only her face was under the surface.
‘Now drink,’ Kirsty advised, ‘or drown, take your choice.’
Both the twins laughed, and Thrift at once began to fight again, her face splashing in the pot, only to have it forced deeper in as Kirsty’s voice snarled in her ear.
‘Drink, you little Pollicle bitch!’
Still Thrift fought, with the pain already growing in her lungs and the consternation boiling in her head, sure they could not possibly mean what they said, and then it was too much for her, and she was drinking, gulping down the urine as fast as she could as her body shook with sobs. Laughter exploded all around her and the next instant she’d been pulled up and was gasping in air once more, with the piddle running down off her face and over her breasts and belly.
Schooled for Service Page 11
