The Fifth Former, on report for disrupting her class, her bare bottom certainly facing the whack of the tawse, if not a cane. She was trying to look cool and calm, but her nervous blinking gave her away. The secretary had heard the older girls were usually told to bend over something - a chair, the desk, the conference table, perhaps even a sofa. They were beaten harder than the juniors and the furniture helped to support them and prevent them from moving.
The elegant Sixth Former, almost a woman, folding and unfolding her long legs, embarrassed that the more junior girls knew that she was about to be thrashed. Sixth Formers almost always got the cane and a Senior at that: heavy, whippy rattan, it would leave dark stripes on that shapely bottom for a week or more.
All these and many more like them fed Miss Holloway’s fantasies and caused her to wrestle futilely with the ‘dirty thoughts’ they engendered.
Then, one Wednesday afternoon, sports afternoon, the intercom from the headmaster’s office buzzed.
“Miss Holloway, would you mind stepping in here for a minute?”
“Of course, sir, coming straight away.”
She was surprised by the request. Some minutes earlier ‘Faster’ Fraser, the games mistress, had ushered three unhappy-looking girls into Mr Masterson’s study. When she emerged alone a little later, she stuck her head around the secretary’s door.
“Caught them red-handed smoking behind the pavilion. They’ll be for it now.”
“Poor things - it usually means twelve with the heavy cane.”
“Well, serves them right. They shouldn’t be smoking at their age. Or indeed at any age,” she added.
Miss Holloway had felt the familiar tingle in her stomach as she listened for the punishment to begin. Sure enough, after a couple more minutes, she heard the crack of a cane and the cries of one of the girls. If she listened hard enough, she imagined she could almost hear the swish of the descending rattan. She counted twelve strokes, and then there was a pause. Presumably the next bottom was being lined up. Miss Holloway reached down and pressed her hand against her lap.
The first whack of the next series was followed by a loud yell and then the raised voice of the headmaster. There was a long pause, followed by another whack and even louder cry. She could hear Mr Masterson remonstrating with a girl. After another pause there was a crack as the cane landed for the third time. This was followed by a loud shriek and Mr Masterson’s harsh voice. Shortly after that, the intercom buzzed. Miss Holloway hadn’t heard the girls leaving. Were they still in the study, and if so, what could the headmaster want? She wondered whether he’d broken the cane and needed a new one from the stock in her office. Occasionally ordering replacements for broken canes was one of the duties Miss Holloway secretly rather enjoyed. When they arrived, carefully packaged in corrugated cardboard, she couldn’t resist the odd, discrete swish with the whippy, bendy rattan before she placed it on the rail with its siblings.
She went into the headmaster’s study with just a cursory knock on the door. The sight that met her stopped her in her tracks. In the middle of the room three chairs from the conference table had been placed in a row, about a yard apart, with their backs to the fireplace. Two girls were bending over, grasping the padded seats. The girl on the left was obviously the one Miss Holloway had heard receiving twelve strokes: her bare bottom was a grid of purple stripes from the join with her thigh to the top of both cheeks. Her shoulders shook with gentle sobs. The girl on the right looked round as the secretary came in. Miss Holloway recognised her immediately as Mrs Winchester’s daughter, Margaret. She was bending down, clinging on to the chair seat, but her behind was still white and unmarked. The girl who was, presumably, meant to be positioned over the middle chair was standing up, hopping from foot to foot, wailing and massaging three red lines which were etched across her backside.
“Ah, Miss Holloway. Sorry to bother you. These wretched girls have been caught smoking. As I expect you know, the penalty is a dozen strokes. Jane took her punishment well, but Alice here keeps jumping up and won’t stay still. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to restrain her.”
Miss Holloway could hardly believe her ears. She was about witness first hand everything she had fantasised about for so long. She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded to the headmaster.
“Now, I think if you go round in front of that chair and we try to get Alice to bend over again, perhaps you could hold her down by putting your hands on her shoulders.”
Miss Holloway moved into place, but Alice was still showing no signs of cooperating. She was jumping from one leg to the other, rubbing her bottom, and blubbering pathetically.
“Alice, get back into position at once. You’re only making things worse for yourself.”
Slowly and reluctantly, Alice bent over the chair, her tears wetting the seat cushion. Miss Holloway placed her hands on the white Aertex sports shirt, just below the girl’s shoulders. She wasn’t wearing a bra; she could feel her body shaking with each sob. ‘Three Taps’ walked over to his desk, dropped the cane on to it with a clatter and opened one of the drawers. He drew out Stinger, feeling its weight. He smacked the back of the brush against his left hand.
“Right, Alice, the penalty for all this fuss is extra strokes, two for each time you interrupted. I strongly advise you not to move again until I tell you to get up.”
He patted her right cheek the regulation three times and then lifted the heavy brush and brought it down hard. It landed with a sibilant smack, Alice’s bottom bounced. She squealed but managed to stay in place. He repeated the stroke on her left cheek, with much the same result. Four more times, Stinger smacked against Alice’s rapidly reddening backside, producing yells of anguish but only minimal movement which Miss Holloway managed to constrain.
‘Three Taps’ walked back to his desk, put Stinger down and took up the cane. As he returned towards the three upthrust bottoms, he swished it twice, menacingly, registering its balance.
“All right, Alice. You took that spanking quite well. Now, we’ll start again with the cane. Twelve strokes and I want you stay in place this time. Miss Holloway, have you got a good grip on her?”
Miss Holloway managed a horse “Yes, sir.” She was feeling almost dizzy with exhilaration.
For a few seconds, the headmaster held the long, thick cane against Alice’s burning bottom. Then he raised it high above his shoulder, paused for a moment, and brought it arcing down. Alice’s cheeks quivered, she bounced up and down, and howled “Ooooww!” at the top of her lungs. Miss Holloway held on tight and stopped the girl from getting up. From where she stood, in front of Alice, she couldn’t actually see the effect of the stroke on the girl’s derrière, but it required little imagination to guess at the vivid tramlines it had produced, to add to the three already there and the red glow produced by Stinger.
‘Three Taps’ was in no hurry. He timed each stroke to arrive as the effect of its predecessor rose to a crescendo. Alice wriggled and squealed, hopping from foot to foot and flexing her knees in a futile attempt to dissipate the pain. Through her own efforts, clinging on to the chair seat as hard as she could, combined with the firm grip of Miss Holloway, she somehow managed to get through the dozen strokes. At last the headmaster stood back and surveyed his handiwork. He was an accurate caner and the fifteen stripes across Alice’s bottom ran in neat, parallel lines, with only one or two dark, purple overlaps. Alice sobbed and squirmed, her tears splashing on to the cushion beneath her.
“Right, Alice, I hope that has taught you several lessons. The most important one, of course, is not to smoke. But I hope that you’ve also learned the consequences of failing to take a punishment properly.”
There was no response from the weeping girl.
“Are you listening?” The headmaster tapped her bottom with the cane. Alice flinched, perhaps fearing another stroke.
“Yes sir, I’ll never smoke again. I promise.”
“And if you need to be punished again, you’ll behave with more digni
ty?”
“Yes sir, I’ll try.”
“You’d better continue to hold her down, Miss Holloway, while I deal with Margaret.”
At the sound of her name, Margaret Winchester winced and shifted her feet from side to side. Mr Masterson took two steps to his right and tapped the long cane against Margaret’s bottom. Margaret clenched her teeth, determined to get through the ordeal without making a fool of herself as Alice had. She glanced up at Miss Holloway. She noticed the secretary looked flushed and that there were beads of perspiration on her forehead. She assumed it was from the effort of holding Alice down. Mr Masterson was banging on about something to do with smoking. She felt two distinct taps on her right cheek. She tightened her grip on the chair seat and wished he’d just get on with it.
“…the reason why we take it so seriously is that it will ruin your health…” Tap, tap.
Margaret took a deep breath. It felt as if every nerve ending on her two cheeks had gone to ‘Red Alert’.
“…so this will be painful, but it’s for your own good. Now stay still and don’t move until I tell you.” Tap, tap, tap. Margaret tightened her bottom. The headmaster tapped it again.
“Don’t clench.”
She tried to relax her cheeks, but every fibre in her backside was screaming “Brace! Brace! This is going to hurt!”
The fibres were right. As the first stroke cracked across the lowest part of her buttocks, she couldn’t help jerk but up on to her toes and let out a gasp. It felt as though someone had just taken a brand out of the fire and laid it over her cheeks. She started counting the seconds between strokes. She had got to five when she heard the brief swish of the cane as it arrived for the second time. Gritting her teeth, she took it without a sound. She counted again, this time the interval was about four seconds. She uttered a muffled “Ooomph” and flexed her knees, hoping this might relieve the throbbing sting.
Miss Holloway now had a better view of the action. As she held the writhing Alice in place, she could see the stripes developing on Margaret’s left cheek, one after the other, like the rungs of a ladder as ‘Three Taps’ worked his skilful way up her backside. The secretary wasn’t just flushed and perspiring from the effort of restraining Alice: she was now extremely aroused. She wasn’t counting the strokes, but judging by the progress of the scarlet lines on Margaret’s bottom, the poor girl must almost have had her ration.
Margaret was counting, both the strokes and the interval between them: ‘... number eight, “Ooowch!” One, two, three, four, five, thwack! “Ooooww!” Number nine. One, two, three...’ She had been caned before, once by the headmaster and once by her mother, but on each occasion it had only been six strokes. Those were painful enough, but she could never have anticipated how disproportionally agonising she would find the second six of the dozen she was now getting. It took all her determination to hold more or less still and not howl like a banshee. ‘...three, four, five, six. Whack! “Ooooowww!” Number ten. One, two, three, four, five, Crack! “Aaaahhh!” Number eleven. One, two, three...” She knew now she could make it, although the last one proved the hardest of the lot. ‘Three Taps’ raised the cane high above his head and brought it down with all the force he could muster. Margaret leaped several inches and tossed her head, causing her long, fair hair to fly like a mane. “Oh God!” she muttered, “Ooooww, ooooww!”
The headmaster took a pace back.
“Very well, you can all get up and arrange your clothes. I trust that’s cured you of any enthusiasm for smoking. Please come over to the desk and sign the Punishment Book.”
Miss Holloway released Alice and the three girls stood up, clutching their backsides. As they turned to pull up their knickers, she could see the effects on each of their bottoms: rows of red, purple, and mauve stripes, outlined with dark blue ridges. Alice’s backside was even redder than the others, due to the spanking with Stinger; she was sobbing her heart out. Jane was and sniffing and red-eyed, while Margaret remained the most stoic of the three. Miss Holloway was breathing hard. She hoped that the state of her own panties wasn’t showing through pencil skirt she was wearing.
The girls signed beside the entries in the Punishment Book, which recorded the date, their names, the offence committed, and the punishment awarded (and, in Alice’s case, the extra strokes she’d been given). Then they filed out of the study, muttering the traditional thanks to the headmaster as they left. Mr Masterson turned to the secretary.
“Thank you for your help. It was Alice’s first chastisement and the poor girl wasn’t taking it well. I couldn’t have managed without your help. I suppose you think I was dreadfully strict?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “But I feel that smoking needs to be dealt with severely. If they get into the habit at an early stage, they’ll suffer more than just a sore backside in later life.”
Miss Holloway was in such a state of arousal that she was afraid her knees might be visibly trembling.
“I think you had no other choice, Headmaster.” Her voice sounded strangely hoarse. Mr Masterson put it down to the emotional experience she’d just been through. He returned the cane to its cupboard, picked up Stinger and replaced it in the drawer.
“Well, thank you Miss Holloway. Make yourself a cup of tea, and you might bring me one, too. I think we deserve it!”
She went back to her office, put the kettle on, and then groped in her bag for her spare pair of panties. She hurried to the staff toilet, her mind in still in turmoil at the events she’d witnessed in the last few minutes.
***
Later that evening, after supper, Mrs Winchester sent for Margaret. The girl’s stomach knotted: was her mother going to beat her as well? She entered the study nervously.
“Now, Margaret dear, Mr Masterson tells me that he had to cane you this afternoon. You were caught smoking by Miss Fraser?”
“Yes, Mum. I’m sorry.”
“How long have you been smoking?”
“It was the first time, honestly. I just wanted to try a cigarette, but I didn’t like it.”
“It was a very stupid thing to do and I’m glad you were caught. There are some things that your father and I don’t want you even to try: smoking is one of them. If you’re caught again, we’ll be extremely angry with you.”
“I won’t smoke ever again. It tasted horrible and it made me cough. I think that’s why Miss Fraser found us.”
“Well, you deserved your punishment. I hope it taught you a lesson.”
“It certainly did: I don’t think I’ll able to sit down for days. I’m really sorry, Mum.”
“Just don’t let it happen again. All right, off you go to bed. No doubt your dormitory mates will want to see the state of your bottom!”
As she opened the door, her mother called after her.
“The Headmaster said you took your punishment bravely. He caned you harder than the others so that there could be no question of you getting off lightly because you’re my daughter. I’m glad you didn’t make a lot of fuss, like Alice did. Well done.”
Margaret smiled back at her mother. “Thanks, Mum. Goodnight.”
***
At the weekend Miss Holloway was still savouring the stimulation from having participated in the punishment of the three smokers on Wednesday afternoon. On Saturday evening, she and Dick were going to cinema, the early performance, and then Miss Holloway had invited him back to her flat for supper. She went to great trouble: she tidied the flat, carefully chose some romantic big-band records, decorated the kitchen table with a vase of flowers (she didn’t have a dining room), and prepared the ‘party food’ she was best at: prawn cocktail, beef stroganoff, and ice-cream with a rich fudge sauce. She asked the local off-licence for advice about drinks and came away with a bottle of dry sherry and a Bordeaux red wine for which she paid more than she could really afford. She spent the rest of the afternoon washing her hair.
She dressed in a blue polka-dot skirt with a white blouse, and when she met Dick outside the cinema, he thought she looked
stunning. He took her arm and paid for the most expensive seats. Miss Holloway declined his offer of popcorn. The film was a romance: ‘An Affair to Remember’, with Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant. Dick put his arm round Miss Holloway and pulled her head on to his shoulder. The people sitting behind them ostentatiously moved to seats with a better view of the screen.
It was a fine evening, so afterwards they walked back to her flat hand-in-hand, humming the film’s theme song: ‘Our love affair’. The date was off to a romantic start.
When they reached Miss Holloway’s flat there were a few moments when they flapped about and told each other how cold it been outside. Basically, both of them wanted to embrace the other, but shyness prevailed and after a while the moment passed. Miss Holloway put one of her big-band discs of the gramophone, while Dick wandered around the sitting room making admiring comments on the decor, the pictures on the wall, and the ornaments on the mantelpiece. He picked up a ship in a bottle.
“This is clever. Where does it come from?” He was hoping for a reply along the lines of ‘It was made by my great-grandfather, the one who skippered schooners, whilst he was ship-wrecked on a Polynesian island’. What Miss Holloway actually said was:
“I got it for five shillings in a jumble sale.”
“Oh. And these African prints. Have you lived in Africa?”
“No. My neighbour threw them out in the rubbish. I rescued them.”
“Ah...” And so on. The conversation was a little stilted.
“Would you like a glass of sherry?” Miss Holloway asked, suddenly afraid that he might want a beer. “I’m afraid I haven’t got any beer”, she added unnecessarily.
“Sherry would be lovely, thanks.”
She didn’t have any sherry flutes, so she poured a stiff measure into two wine glasses.
BEXHILL SCHOOL FOR GIRLS, Assembly Page 4
