A dependent girl - in whatever form that dependency took - became by her very nature an obedient girl; and she put great store in obedience. A girl didn’t have to love her, or even like her (she could hate her for that matter), a girl simply had to obey her in all things, blindly and without question, no matter how demeaning, no matter how wounding to the pride. The fact that such a girl, plucked from the fold and given her personal attention, most certainly would come to love her, given time, was yet another example of the forging of psychological chains by dependency of a sort. She would leave a girl, a once independent free spirit, in a situation in which she would be lost without an order or command to guide her and quite incapable of independent existence.
In that way she saw it more important that her girls - as she was increasingly now beginning to view them in her mind’s eye - were trained and schooled in domestic duties and chores than schoolwork per se. Chastisement for having a wrinkled dress and apron or school uniform was as important as that for failing to keep up in the classroom - perhaps more so in some respects. Of course her girls would be loved, some even given a kiss goodnight, but there could be no telephone calls, no mail and no outside contact - total immersion was everything. Food would be nourishing but not necessarily palatable; but it would be eaten, every mouthful, or be returned the next meal - and the meal after that if necessary - until it was eaten; the will had to be broken starting day one if a girl was to become a well-adjusted ‘settled’ detainee. The late teens were a late age to start, but tackling finicky eating made for a good jumping off point.
She could almost hear the prison-grade cane slicing through the air, that whooping rising low whistle that it made, a whimpering, desperate teenager pleading for clemency as counterpoint, the distraught girl’s voice rising in a long, high wail of soul-destroying torment in response to the inevitable swish and crack of rattan on resilient young bottom flesh. Yes, a good caning or the use of the paddle was as good a cure for defiance as anything else and would be the mainstay of control. Yet this too would be underpinned by constant repetition of the institution’s credo, instilling in their minds their need for ‘guidance’ until the fact of their deserving of punishment ‘for their own good’ becomes a given.
And they should be taught a good, strong work ethic - though her take on ‘work ethic’ was a singular one. As in everything else, she believed this ‘work ethic’ should contain a strong discipline component. Indeed, she’d have those girls scrubbing brick floors on their hands and knees with a toothbrush by the time she was finished with them... Just as she would have that girl, Alice’s, jumped-up stepmother down on all fours if it were up to her - that over-blown ‘Lady Marchment’ person.
Yes, she thought of herself as a ‘strong personality’, that Karen Marchment. But she’d known plenty of those of ‘stout determination’ brought to their knees by the right approach. And her old friend and confident, Daphne Larkspear, knew exactly the right approach to deal with the likes of Lady Marchment... Besides, it wouldn’t exactly be the first time Daphne had had that woman down on her knees, as she understood it. And once under Daphne’s thumb a girl was hers for life! That was what Daphne always claimed, anyway - well perhaps now they’d see just how true that claim was, and how much was just bluster... Just how long-lived was Daphne Larkspear’s influence...
Back to Reality
Alice felt a palm press firmly between her shoulder blades, urging her forward and down to take up a bent posture, lying across the bench, the woman leaning over her from behind and retrieving the rubber soled plimsoll in the same movement. It took only seconds for the woman to pull the laces from the rear of Alice’s gym suit’s closefitting bloomer-styled lower section and draw aside the flaps containing and constraining her burgeoning, full rounded buttocks. The girl’s bottom cheeks were left exposed other than for a sausage of rubber that, running up the centre from the gusset to the elasticated waistband, filled the deep cleft, squeezing and pressing the sweat-drenched globes obscenely apart.
Behind Alice’s back the bottle-green school plimsoll was raised high in a meaty hand attached to an even meatier, well-toned arm; an arm well accustomed to exercise of every sort. For a moment the gym shoe hung in mid air, the rubbery sole bending under its own weight - then it was brought swooping down; hard! Swipe after unhurried, uncounted, rubber-soled smacking swipe the gym mistress landed over the same area of Alice’s tender bottom. She was beginning to really gasp with pain from the second or third slashing swipe and was begging beseechingly by the seventh or eighth. Even after the twelfth swipe had coaxed a husky throated scream from her lips, still the springy bottle-green plimsoll continued to belabour her bared bottom; the woman’s arm seemingly tireless.
“Further over... further than that! And keep those legs straight! You will soon learn, young lady, that I expect my girls to remain in position throughout their punishment.” The hash spoken mistress underlined her remarks with a rapidly delivered series of sharp slaps of her palm across the back of Alice’s plump thighs, each in turn, before again raising the plimsoll. The well-practiced gym instructress smiled with undisguised fulfilment as she watched the embossed outline of her open palm and fingers begin to rise in shameful shades of reds and purples on the girl’s flesh before once again bringing the gym slipper slashing down. “And you certainly do not stand up until I give you express permission to. If you should jump up, perhaps place a hand in the way to fend off a stroke or do anything at all to avoid or delay punishment... Well’ then it all starts again - right from the start.”
She brought the gym slipper down another two or three times in quick succession, before once again standing back, admiring the fruits of her labours. The girl had been reduced to tears; that was the main thing. The girl had learnt that she couldn’t ‘take it’, that there was no point to being stoic - being ‘brave’ would only serve to prolong the punishment. The next time she would be that much easier to break down, that much more readily reduced to tears.
And indeed poor Alice was sobbing pitifully enough now; it was music to the gym teacher’s ears: “Right! You will remain in that position, legs spread and knees straight, until I tell you to get up. And when I do give you permission to straighten up, you will not rub, or even as much as touch, your bottom. Any girl that went in for that sort of thing after her punishment when I was teaching instantly earned herself a re-run... from scratch! The same is going to go for the two of you, too! Make no mistake. I am going to tame the two of you until you are both as obedient as a pair of well-schooled fillies in the dressage ring by the time I’m finished with you.”
This was to be the two teenager’s first early morning PE session with the stony faced Miss Flora McBainstone; the first of what their privately hired home teacher, Daphne Larkspear, planned would henceforth become a regular, daily part of their regimen, her employer willing. Flora McBainstone ran the session like a boot camp in miniature: Arduous drilling was punctuated and synchronised by the regular pistol crack of the gym mistress’s pliable bamboo cane across each of their bare bottoms and ear-splitting blasts on her whistle. Running-on-the-spot was accompanied by terse demands to “get those knees higher! Lift those feet higher! ...higher than that, Alice, higher still, Angel”. And all to the rhythm of leather on flesh, as the backs of each girl’s thighs received the attention of the woman’s long-tailed tawse.
Star jumps were driven with a flick or two of the gym mistress’s riding crop across bouncing bottoms and both fronts and backs of thighs. Press-ups were pushed to exhaustion and beyond as the pink faced panting girls were goaded again and again to perform “just one more repetition - come on, one more”, the cane cracking down repeatedly across one or other girl’s backside until once more her inhumanly burning arm and chest muscles would raise her shuddering and sobbing from the floor.
Alice’s large breasts, unsupported by anything other than the blouse-like upper section of the gym suit, jiggled and tumbled and
rolled as she jumped, jack-knifed and high-kicked in obedience to the instructress’ shrill whistle. Her rump was burning as if afflicted by a thousand beestings, the legacy of oft-repeated slaps from Miss McBainstone’s rubber soled plimsoll, the two well delineated half moons of her bottom bared and protruding obscenely, thrust out through the opening in the rear of her gym costume’s bloomers. There were tearful rhythmic gasps and breathless moans coming from her cherry lips and those of Angel, her partner in punishment and both were crying softly, yet openly, the tears dripping down their cheeks and mingling with the tacky tracts of sweat.
Callisthenics had pretty much disappeared in the late 1800s, early 1900s, but not in this cruelly surreal ‘here and now’. Here those monotonous callisthenic exercises were de rigueur, queen among Miss Flora McBainstone’s ‘tool kit of discipline’, especially adapted to wear down, discourage and stifle ambition rather than ‘build character’. But then she didn’t require ‘character’; all she required of a teenage girl was that she should be quiet, demure and passive and that she should submit to her mistress’s demands, and those of others if placed in authority over her.
Alice was close to breaking point and for an instant stood flat-footed, her body refusing to move. From behind there came a loud retort like the crack of a pistol or starting gun. The pain didn’t come all at once but slowly spread until the whole of the left cheek of her bottom burned with fire as if branded by a hot thin white hot iron. There came in rapid succession a second and then a third sharp report, one associated with a similar branding across the right cheek of her buttocks and the third sizzling right across the backs of her legs, just above her knees. She was back star-jumping in an instant, astonished at her own reserves of stamina, the gym mistress further encouraging her clumsy pupil with a couple of hard open-palmed hand slaps across Alice’s bare thighs.
“Yes, child; it’s surprising the effort a riding crop can coax out of a girl. And I’ve broken in more than my share of young fillies with this one, I can tell you.”
“Such a lovely bottom,” The woman gym instructor’s voice was breathless, throaty. She reached out her palm, running her surprisingly soft fingers over the cheeks of Alice’s bottom, gently kneading the soft flesh, the moony resilient skin now ridged with the pattern of the gym slipper’s sole and criss-crossed with the thin tracks left by the riding crop.
“It must have been so smooth and lovely once. Such a shame there has been so much marking that is permanent. Mrs Larkspear, your stepmother and now me - and we all love nothing more than punishing your big fat bottom! And it’s such a perfect bottom to thrash. In fact just as I am given to understand Angel has been dieted down to a stick insect, I think I’m going to have to put together a weight gaining diet for you, my girl, put a bit more lard on that already chubby fat bottom of yours. In fact I think I’m going to make you into a real tubby - so much more feminine; all big pendulous swinging breasts and big fat broad hips. You’ll make the perfect partner for Angel with her boyish hips, flat-chested look and short hair. One boy, one girl - just as it should be!” The gym mistress laughed softly, as if enjoying some private joke, one that was presently beyond Alice’s understanding, before going on:
“Make no mistake, Alice Marchment - I am going to thrash and thrash and thrash that bottom of yours during these sessions; every morning. Before walking across she had plucked a cane from the dark wooden rack that was screwed to the back of the door, a stout, polished and devilishly flexible hickory rod of around a meter and a half long and now toyed with it, aware that the target of her attentions could see it in the mirror she was presently facing. “Touch your toes please, Miss Marchment - knees straight.”
The stroke took Alice’s breath away; she sprung up, clutching her burning rear and already bawling like a baby. “You flinched when I touched your bottom. I won’t have that; it shows the wrong mind set. When you are in this room that big fat bottom belongs to me. If you have a problem with having a woman touch it you are just going to have to get over it; no lad or man is ever going to be touching it. There is going to be no room for men in your life; the way your life has been planned out for you, you are always going to be under the control and supervision of a strict woman or women. When I touch you I expect you to smile; I expect to see the mist of desire in your eyes, I expect you to welcome my touch... and to show that welcome in your expression. Now strip and then it’s into the shower with you; and you, too, Angel. Turn your gym suits inside out and fold them neatly, then place them side by side on the table over there with the crotch panel or gusset uppermost for inspection. When you have done that, follow me.”
Obediently both girls began to slowly strip, folding their gym costumes as instructed, their faces scarlet with shame as much as with discomfort and the exhaustion of their enforced exertion. Both girls’ bottoms were a pitiful mass of thin purplish-red wheals edged with raised swollen ridges rising above the smooth flesh, much of the rest patterned with the tell tale reddened tread of the plimsoll. Painfully they both hobbled out the ‘gymnasium’ door before being herded along the corridor by their new gym mistress towards a second door, this one marked ‘Gym Shower’ in big bold raised navy blue capitals on a white enamelled plate.
“Hold hands, please, girls. “Ordinarily I would expect a girl to take her chastisement with decorum. If she should spring up in the manner you just did, Alice, she could expect a good couple of extra strokes or so. I decided to let you off this once, this being your first time with me; but only under the understanding that you do exactly what I say. Fail to stick to the letter of what I tell you do and you can expect a very thorough thrashing right here and now - twelve good hard strokes, and starting again from scratch should you as much as look as if you are going to bob up. Now, I said hold hands. That’s better! You are going to be holding hands together every where you go from now on - I have had a word with your teacher, Mrs Larkspear about it, and Alice’s stepmother.”
She watched the two teenagers teetering along hand-in-hand and as naked as the day they were born with a wistful yet satisfied smile on her face. There was no mistaking that the gym mistress was pleased with what she envisaged as a first faltering step towards her introducing the duo to full-blown lesbianism. It would take time, but the setup here was near perfect for remodelling impressionable young minds; what with the isolation, the closely controlled environment, the discipline and scope for domination and the sense of shared injustice she knew both girls would harbour in their minds. It was the latter, in particular, that would do most to form the bond between the two.
In her previous employ it had all been about instigating an exacting, structured formula of care and discipline in a healthy, all-female environment with a strong emphasis on developing feminine attitudes of humility and obedience. It had been a system that had just sort of evolved organically rather than having been designed at the outset, actively promoting all lesbian acts as ‘natural expressions of fellowship’ between the young women in their care. But it had been these more inventive forms of discipline she had helped put in place in that establishment that had begun to attract lurid interest in certain quarters, not least of which had been the gutter press.
The shower room proved to be a white tiled wetroom carved out under the usual high sloping ceiling that mimicked the steeply sloping steepled roof characteristic of the rear aspect of this part of the house. The space was starkly yet indirectly lit by fluorescent tubes that were recessed out of direct eye line within channels running around the tops of all four walls at ceiling level.
Towards the rear of the room a toilet pedestal rose seamlessly up from the flooring almost as if rooted in the tiling. Providing for what the gym teacher’s friend and colleague, Mrs Daphne Larkspear, liked to term ‘supervisory toileting’ the latter sparkled in the harsh light in all its transparent moulded Plexiglas glory, the water within clearly visible and shimmering with the rippling vibrations of the entering group’s footfall. Rat
her than being placed against the wall facing outward, as one might expect, the receptacle was set some half a meter out from it and faced towards it, whereat a full height mirror was recessed in the wall itself and reflected both the pedestal and the room beyond.
At either side at the pedestal’s rear - that part closest to the entering group - chromed stirrups were suspended high up on short stainless steel or chrome chains, each sporting an adjustable metal retaining clip from which dangled an open brass padlock. At the very rear of the pedestal - just behind the seat and at about the point that conventionally the cistern would be attached - a pair of what looked to Alice suspiciously like police handcuffs hung from their centre chain, the latter threaded through a ‘U’-shaped shackle set within the upper surface of the pedestal body itself.
The shower itself dominated the very centre of the room. Just about spacious enough to accommodate two smallish adults and rising from a stepped pedestal in the floor to where it merged with the ceiling the cubical took the form of an elegantly curved oval tube. Fabricated in transparent toughened glass, unencumbered by any form of structural framework besides the glass itself and featuring a curved glass door, the water issuing from a shower head mounted in the ceiling directly overhead, privacy had clearly not been the main objective listed on the designer’s brief.
Alice Under Discipline, Part 1 Page 26