The scent had reached Amelia’s nostrils now; the strange, pungent odour of latex that always made her senses reel. She remembered the rubberwear section of Mademoiselle Isobel’s; she had seen things like these waterproofs there.
With a shudder, and a blush, she pushed away memories of tight rubber bloomers and the horridly sticky rubber incontinence sheets she had been forced to endure at Hope Hall.
‘Here, Amelia.’ Kirsty interrupted her unwelcome reverie again by handing her a little pile of black rubber things.
The dormitory became a whirlwind of naked girls struggling with rubber boots. The ‘galoshes’ were like no rain gear Amelia had ever encountered. They consisted of a tight sleeve of thick black latex, in truth more like a stocking than a boot. This ended in a much more rigid shoe form with six-inch heels. Faith moved around the dormitory, dispensing the talcum powder, which was essential to enable the girls to ease the clinging rubber up their legs. The boots reached high up Amelia’s thigh, finishing at the very crease where her leg and crotch met.
‘Are you sure these are the right ones?’ she asked Faith, without much hope.
‘They are rather long, aren’t they?’ Faith smiled sympathetically. ‘Now tighten up that belt to keep them snug. The Reverend says that if they are not drum tight, he’ll beat a tattoo on your slovenly behinds.’
With a sigh, Amelia bent to her task. The galoshes were topped by a sort of fixed belt, which she buckled up and pulled tight, almost like a garter. The boots done, she turned to the cape.
‘No,’ Faith said from behind, ‘it’s easier to do the sou’westers first, believe me.’
The rubber hat increased the pungent smell around her, as well as restricting her peripheral vision. There was a chinstrap, which Amelia tightened.
She glanced at Charlotte, who looked surprisingly fetching. She had her own boots fastened tight, and the bottom of her sex actually came a little lower than the tops of her absurdly long, gleaming boots. She had her legs slightly apart, trying to balance on the perilously high heels.
She was blushing furiously, though the fact that she was struggling with the chinstrap of her hat made it look as it might be from exertion rather than shame. Whatever the reason, the girl’s pale skin, blushing cheeks and strange garb made an intoxicating combination. Amelia wished again that she’d had the time to appropriate Linnet.
The rubber cape went on and Amelia felt a prickle of panic. Stupidly, she had assumed that its surprisingly thick and heavy folds of latex would reach somewhere around her knees. In fact, if she stood straight, the hem of the garment barely touched the top buckle of her boots.
‘We aren’t going out in these, are we?’ Charlotte wailed.
‘I think so,’ Faith said as she tightened the strap on Linnet’s hat. ‘Where you are going is on the other side of town.’
Amelia felt the blood rush to her temples. The hem of the cape brushed her sex as she teetered on the precarious heels.
‘No objections, I hope, girls?’
The Reverend’s deep voice made Amelia quake with fear. For a big man, he could move almost silently at times.
There was a tense silence, broken only by the rustling of rubber. The Reverend stood contemplating his trainees with satisfaction. He held a carpetbag in one hand, an umbrella underneath his arm.
‘Please, sir.’ Charlotte’s voice was hoarse with fear. So different, Amelia thought, from the haughty tones the girl had first used to their tutor. ‘Must we go out in public – in these?’
‘The rainwear is to protect you from the elements, girls,’ the Reverend said mildly. ‘But I see you feel uncomfortable, Lady Charlotte. Does anyone else feel the same way?’
Amelia looked around. Gretchen stood with her head bowed, frozen, as she had been since the Reverend’s sudden entrance. Kirsty stood at attention, a glimpse of red-gold fur just visible between the black rubber of her boots and the hem of her cape. Bella, too, waited docilely enough, a ribbon of pale flesh displayed between boots and cape hem and a nest of chestnut curls perfectly visible below the bottom of her cape.
Linnet was trembling visibly and her pretty face was all that could be seen of her under the rubber, except a glimpse of thigh flesh and a few dark pubic strands. It was clear the girl lacked the courage to speak up. It was her or no one, Amelia realised.
‘Please, sir...’ Was that her voice? That submissive, plaintive little whisper; was that really what the Honourable Amelia Colinbrooke sounded like under the spell of the Reverend Dawes? Fighting her fear, she straightened up her shoulders and swallowed hard. ‘Please, sir. I feel uncomfortable, too.’
There was literal truth in this statement. The sight of Charlotte and the others dressing had caused Amelia’s nipples to engorge until they felt ready to explode. The rubbing of the cape over the swollen buds was driving her to distraction, even as she spoke. Worse, the dormitory was warm, and the latex cape was fast getting hot. A rivulet of perspiration formed on her chest as she waited his response, and she felt it tickle as it trickled down between her breasts.
‘P-please, sir.’ Linnet’s voice made Amelia’s sound confident. It was no more than a whisper, choked with fear. ‘I do, too.’
‘Anyone else?’ the Reverend said. ‘No? Very well. Charlotte, Amelia and Linnet, stand out here. I think I have the means to deal with your fears. Hold your arms out, Charlotte, and push back your cape.’
Amelia suppressed a moan as she realised his intention. Why had she not kept her stupid mouth shut? She watched him open the carpetbag and take out some heavy leather straps that seemed to drip with glinting steel D-rings and snap hooks. Quickly the Reverend buckled leather restraints around Charlotte’s wrists and upper arms, just above the elbows.
‘Please, what...? Ow!’ The slap was a hard one across Charlotte’s bare bottom.
‘Silence now, Lady Charlotte,’ the Reverend said gruffly. ‘I believe I have allowed you your say.’
The whimpering girl’s arms were folded across the small of her back, then the wrist and opposing elbow bands shackled firmly. Charlotte was now pinioned helplessly, but the Reverend was not quite finished. Letting the cape fall back over the girl’s naked body, he produced a broad leather collar and quickly buckled it about her throat, over the high neck of the rubber cape. A dog leash was clipped to this and the end handed to Kirsty, who did not bother to hide her delight at this game.
‘Watch her on the stairs, Kirsty. If she falls in those heels she will not be able to use her hands to save herself.’
The Reverend handed a set of similar restraints to Bella with instructions to truss Linnet likewise. Faith performed the same office for Gretchen, even though she had made no complaint. The Reverend took a final set of leather cuffs and collars from his bag, and turned to Amelia with a smile.
‘I am glad you spoke up, my dear,’ he said as he buckled on a wrist cuff. ‘I like to know if a girl feels uncomfortable in her rainwear.’
Amelia gave a gasp as he hauled her arms across her back to pinion them in place.
‘You see,’ he continued, ‘if I know who feels unhappy, I can make sure it is quite impossible for them to run away!’
When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut? Amelia berated herself as she struggled to keep from falling on the slippery cobbles of the high street. The first irony was that the streets of Hatherby were quite deserted. The relentless rain had driven everyone indoors and there were few eyes around to linger on the revealing hems of the girls’ little rubber capes.
The second irony was that she could not have spoken out now, had she wished. As an afterthought the Reverend had added gags to the protesters’ bondage. A wide bung of black rubber had been forced into Amelia’s open mouth. This had been secured with a strap that passed behind her hat, the strap of the sou’wester being tightened in concert with its fellow so it chafed quite painfully beneath her chin.
Rain hammered down, bouncing off the capes and making the procession of girls look shiny and slick. They did not walk quickly. The heels had been difficult indoors; on the wet street the girls moved with teetering caution, especially those who’d had their arms secured behind them.
Amelia followed the Reverend Dawes, who walked under a large umbrella tugging her chain leash from time to time. The rain was cold on her face, and splashes hit her bare flesh, reminding her of how inadequate the covering was. It felt the more pronounced because the rest of her body was very warm indeed. In fact, her torso was veritably steaming underneath the heavy cape. Amelia’s nipples rubbed maddeningly against the rubber cover as she walked, and perspiration bloomed all over her naked body. This trickled in cooling rivulets down her back and between her breasts.
If she could have moaned aloud, no doubt Amelia would have done so. Tears of helpless, hopeless humiliation sprang to her eyes, washed away almost as soon as they formed by the torrential rain. She knew she was helpless on her master’s leash as any spaniel bitch.
The big wooden hall was so new that it still smelt of fresh sawn wood. High ceilinged and brightly lit by the incandescent, new electric light, it radiated an aura of modernity.
They stood in a sort of foyer. Hinged partitions divided this from the main part of the hall. However, these had been folded back like a mahogany concertina, allowing Amelia and her companions an unrestricted view into the place.
A powerfully built man in a singlet and what looked liked circus tights was swinging Indian clubs in the centre of the hall. He was bald, with an impressive waxed moustache and even more impressive biceps, which flexed as he swung the heavy clubs with easy grace.
The Reverend coughed discreetly and the bald man turned, blinking at the little party in astonishment for a moment. We must be a bizarre sight, Amelia thought, feeling her cheeks begin to burn as they stood dripping water on to the floor of the foyer.
‘Ah, Reverend,’ the man said with a grin, ‘you made it after all. I was afraid the rain might prove too heavy.’
‘Not at all, Mr Ziri.’ The Reverend began to unbuckle Amelia’s collar, gesturing to her and the other girls. ‘Mademoiselle Isobel has provided excellent waterproofs for my charges, as you see.’ He turned to the prefects. ‘Unleash and unbind them, girls. I want you all in your gym shorts and singlets right away.’
‘Welcome to Hatherby gymnasium, my dears.’ Mr Ziri had a heavy accent. He walked up the little row of girls, studying each in turn and fiddling with his moustache in a way Amelia did not much like. Nor did she like the way his eyes lingered on her breasts. Not for the first time, she wished they did not jut out before her quite so prominently. The tight jersey singlet did little to conceal her buxom charms in any event, and the way the Reverend insisted the girls wore their gym strip emphasised them further. Her little vest had been stuffed inside her shorts and pulled down until her breasts were flattened by the pressure of the material, making her nipples stand out like bullets.
‘We are going to do a little circuit training, girls.’ The Reverend rejoined them, having changed into his sports shorts and vest. ‘Mr Ziri has devised an exercise routine for you. He and I will be on hand to lend encouragement.’
Amelia looked at the gym equipment glumly. She had a good idea what ‘encouragement’ was going to mean.
Mr Ziri went to a side room and emerged with objects that made Amelia’s stomach flutter fearfully. With a twinkle in his eye he handed one of the wooden paddles to the Reverend Dawes. They were flat, with oval faces which gradually narrowed from the widest point until a handle was formed, flaring out slightly again at the very base. At the widest the paddles were a good seven inches across, and including the handle part they were almost two feet long. The Reverend slapped his paddle, hard, against his hand, producing an explosive crack. Amelia would have laid good money that six girlish stomachs contracted in concert at the sound of that impact. Certainly hers had.
‘These are pelota bats,’ the Reverend said with a grin. ‘Mr Ziri and I are going to have a game of what did you call it again? Jokari?’
‘Yes, Reverend.’ The man laughed, slapping his paddle against his thigh and producing another horrid crack.
‘It is not balls we will be batting, if there is any slacking on the circuit,’ the Reverend said, suddenly serious, his eyes narrowing as his gaze raked the line of trembling girls. ‘I think, perhaps, that I shall give you a taste before we start, just so you know what to avoid. Turn around and grab the lowest wall bar. Feet out, I want your toes against the line.’
The polished wooden floor had been marked out to make games courts, and there was a white line about three feet from, and parallel to, the wall bars. Amelia looked down, placing the toes of her gym shoes against the line with care. Then she bent from the hips, knowing to keep her legs rigidly straight, and grasped the lowest bar, which was no more than a few inches from the floor. This meant her body was jack-knifed, with her bottom quite the highest part of her.
The fluttering in her belly grew worse by the second as she waited. She had to force herself to take regular breaths. Don’t be so stupid, Amelia, she told herself crossly. How bad can it be? A little smack, a little sting. It will soon be over. After all, she’d had enough corporal punishment over these long weeks. She should be getting used to it by now.
Perhaps that was the problem. The more she was thrashed, the more she found it hard to stand and wait for it to start. Every cane stroke, every kiss of birch or leather, seemed to have burned itself on to her memory, making her anticipate, all too vividly, how tender her bottom was and how much the next punishment was going to hurt.
The beast was making it worse by not getting on with it, she thought, willing her tutor to get the demonstration over with. Clearly, however, the Reverend was in no hurry.
‘Six such lovely bottoms, Reverend,’ Mr Ziri said with relish. ‘These shorts display them very nicely. I don’t suppose they give much protection.’
‘Thin cotton, Mr Ziri, but even that can save a sight more skin than these minxes deserve. We might have to take them down for some slippering on the bare before we are through, do you not agree?’
‘Indeed,’ the other man said, a good deal more eagerly than Amelia would have liked. ‘Unfortunately, it often proves necessary to put such pretty young ladies across one’s knee!’
The two men laughed heartily at this. Amelia felt the blood rush to her face as she strained to hold her position. It was becoming difficult to keep her legs straight, and her back was also beginning to feel the strain. However, she knew the penalties for poor posture well enough, and she resolved to keep her position perfect as she waited for the inevitable paddle spank.
Somebody was for it. She could tell from the way the men were talking that they were eager to administer salutary slipperings. By the time they left the gymnasium someone’s bottom would be very sore. But still, it did not necessarily have to be hers that really got it. If she concentrated every fibre of her being on keeping her position well, and then on doing the exercises flawlessly, it might be someone else’s cheeks that were made to pay.
‘Kirsty has a lovely seat. She fills her shorts very well, do you not agree?’
Kirsty was at the opposite end of the line of bending girls from Amelia. She had hoped he would start with her and get it over with, but she tried to tell herself she would not have to wait much longer.
‘Indeed, Reverend, a most lovely bottom. Plump and firm as anyone might wish.’
‘Nicely padded, certainly. Eh, Kirsty?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Crack! The sound was explosive, echoing about the gym.
‘I don’t suppose you felt that much at all, eh, girl?’
‘Ooh, ah, actually sir, yes... I rather did.’
‘I’ll give you another anyway, for luck,’ the Reverend said languidly. ‘If that is all right with you, of course,
my dear.’
‘Yes, thank you, sir.’ Even the irrepressible Kirsty, Amelia noticed glumly, was sounding strained and hoarse.
There was another crack and an anguished hiss of pain.
The Reverend chuckled, and there was the sound of a gentler pat. ‘There now,’ he said, ‘I suspect she felt that, even through her shorts.’
‘Oooh... ah... yes, sir. Thank you, sir,’ Kirsty said.
‘Now this is an altogether more delicate proposition. Not such generous proportions, eh, Linnet?’
The girl in question could only manage a panicked whimper in reply.
‘Don’t whinny, girl,’ the Reverend said sharply. ‘You are not a horse.’
‘S-sorry, sir,’ a frightened voice said softly.
‘Yet you will notice, Mr Ziri, there is a certain chubbiness to this bottom. For all that she is a slender slip, there is some flesh to mortify!’
The Reverend had clearly illustrated his point for another sickening crack echoed around the hall. Linnet was not Kirsty, however, and she yelped with pain.
‘Be quiet you silly girl, and get back into position. Push that bottom up and out. Do it, or I promise it will be the worse for you!’
There was a second crack and another yelp. Amelia swallowed hard and closed her eyes.
‘Now this is beautiful Bella. Lovely long legs, excellent thighs, a fine and meaty bottom.’
A girlish gurgle suggested to Amelia that the Reverend was illustrating his remarks with a demonstrative hand.
‘She looks fit and strong. I might do something with this girl,’ Mr Ziri said.
‘Oh,’ the Reverend replied, ‘I think we could all do something with a bottom like this!’
The sound of the bat smacking resilient flesh rang out again. Arabella managed to limit her response to a grunt. There was another crack and an agonised sigh.
‘Not bad, Arabella, you are learning.’
‘Uh, ah, thank you, sir,’ the object of his approbation managed to gasp.
Rectory of Correction Page 15
