Rectory of Correction

by Amanita Virosa

  ‘Is it sore, dear?’ the Reverend enquired, patting Linnet’s now scarlet bottom gently.

  The girl winced. ‘Y-yes, sir. V-very sore, sir,’ she sniffled, as new tears trickled down her almost equally red cheeks. A good deal of her dark hair had escaped from the ponytail as she’d struggled on Faith’s back. Some strands were now stuck to her wet cheeks.

  Faith fought a wave of resentment; the Reverend did not ask about her bottom, which was still on fire. The maid felt as if she had been sitting on a hive of angry bees. It really was not fair.

  ‘Just one thing before supper.’ The Reverend took hold of Linnet’s hips and steered her to face him as he sat in the chair by his desk. ‘I want you on your knees.’

  The girl obediently sank to her stockinged knees before him, eyes wide. The Reverend reached out and stroked her hair with affection.

  ‘Faith,’ he growled, ‘stop snivelling, you silly chit. Come over here and show her what to do.’

  Faith did not need ordering twice. Quickly she joined Linnet, kneeling before her master. She took the girl’s right hand and guided it to the Reverend’s bulging fly.

  ‘Undo the buttons,’ she whispered, and watched the girl obey.

  Linnet’s fingers were as delicate as any Faith had ever seen. If the girl was nervous it did not affect her dexterity, for she soon had the flies entirely undone.

  ‘Get on with it,’ the Reverend Dawes grunted.

  Licking her lips, for this always made her anxious, Faith took Linnet’s hand in hers and guided it into the open trousers.

  ‘Take it out... be gentle,’ she said, glancing to see Linnet’s nervous face.

  Linnet guided the man’s erection out, blinking as if in alarm at the rigid thing that twitched impatiently in her dainty hands. Faith was not surprised. The first time she had seen that swollen cockhead it had made her feel quite faint. In fact, the sight still left her a little dizzy.

  Faith touched the underpart of the upcurving shaft. ‘Kiss it, here,’ she said, her voice rather hoarse. To her surprise, and perhaps her secret chagrin, Linnet proved naturally skilful at the task in hand. She bent her pretty head and began kissing and licking, working her pink tongue up towards the bulging glans.

  The Reverend groaned. He had taken a fistful of Faith’s hair in his left hand, whilst retaining his grip on Linnet’s locks with his right. Faith winced as he twisted her hair, in apparent abstraction, as Linnet’s tongue did its work.

  ‘Mouth, now!’ he suddenly shouted.

  Panic seized Faith. Linnet looked at her questioningly, but it was too late to explain. The girl had lifted up her head to look for instructions.

  ‘Stay!’ was all Faith could think to say, for the Reverend’s seed was squirting unstoppably across the girl’s breasts.

  There was a long, slightly stunned silence when he stopped spending. Linnet still held his deflating cock, the creamy semen dripping from her breasts onto her naked thigh flesh, above her stockings.

  Faith barely dared raise her eyes to her employer, but in the end she had to look up inquiringly.

  The Reverend was looking down at Linnet, one eyebrow raised disdainfully.

  ‘Yes, well, not exactly what I had in mind,’ he said dryly. ‘Still, there will no doubt be plenty of opportunities to teach you how to perform this task properly. Lick me clean, now.’ He turned to Faith. ‘I shall deal with your failure to instruct her tonight. In the meantime you had better lick that up. All of it, and be quick about it, girl.’

  The maid took a deep breath and bent to lick the still-warm fluid from Linnet’s breasts as the girl lapped the last dribbles from his deflating manhood.

  ‘Hurry up, girls,’ the Reverend grunted, as Faith swallowed a mouthful of the viscous stuff and bent to lick the dribbles from Linnet’s thighs, ‘all this exercise has made me rather hungry!’

  Chapter Four

  It was a distinctly subdued little knot of girls that waited in the corridor outside the schoolroom after supper. Every time Amelia so much as twitched a muscle, the pressure of the whipping drawers on her bottom made her aware how very sore her behind already was, and how little she desired more punishment. Placing a hand, gingerly, on her tender buttock, she suppressed a wince.

  The thought of having to kow-tow to Bella and Kirsty was appalling. By rights it should have been her strutting around with a prefect’s badge pinned to her blouse and cane gripped in her hand. Instead, Amelia faced ‘detention’, and heaven only knew what that beast of a prelate meant to do to her. She had to clench her fists and will back tears when she thought about the unfairness of it all.

  ‘Wait in silence,’ the Reverend Dawes had told them, helping himself to a slice of fruit cake. Supper had not been meagre in quantity, but the fare had been distinctly plain. Amelia had seen the expression on Gretchen’s face when she’d realised she was not going to get a crumb of the big cake. At least the Reverend had seemed in an unusually good mood, and had found no further fault with his trembling charges as they dutifully munched their bread and dripping around the table.

  Gretchen was still pouting glumly as the four girls stood waiting by the door. Charlotte did not look a great deal happier. She scowled mutinously and kicked disconsolately at the skirting board. Amelia knew how Charlotte felt, but the time had long since passed when she was foolish enough to display her displeasure quite so recklessly. Amelia looked away. Bella alone seemed, if not exactly cheerful, at least resigned to her fate.

  ‘I suppose that ginger slut is having another slice by now, or sucking something more savoury, perhaps!’ Clearly Charlotte could hold her peace no longer. ‘It was a damned poor go making her a prefect. Bella, it should have been you and me.’ She looked at her friend for support.

  Arabella put a finger to her lips and frowned. Charlotte gave her, and the others, a despairing look, then shrugged. ‘For God’s sake, Porky, the little cow is not around us now. It’s not as if these two would peach...’

  Bella drew herself up to her full height and looked down her aquiline nose at her erstwhile friend.

  ‘Do not call me that any more, Charlotte, unless you want to find yourself on the wrong end of my stick,’ she almost spat.

  Charlotte looked at her old friend with incredulity, but there was no doubting that Bella meant exactly what she said. If Charlotte had been about to reply to this rebuke she thought better of it as she stared into Bella’s unflinching gaze. Charlotte licked her lips anxiously, and after that she held her tongue in check.

  The four girls waited glumly for another fifteen minutes. Amelia was almost out of her mind with apprehension by the time she heard the Reverend’s footfall in the corridor. He came into view, followed by a solemn-looking Faith, who was carrying a large tray loaded with straps and all manner of other peculiar objects.

  ‘Right, girls, ready to do a little atoning for your sins?’ the Reverend asked brightly.

  The girls’ ragged response was particularly unenthusiastic.

  ‘Good, good,’ he said mildly. ‘Very well, go in, my dears. Do go in!’

  First he ordered the girls to move the desks back. Amelia worked with Gretchen, who was visibly trembling now, lifting the desks and putting them back against the wall. Next he unlocked the big stationery cupboard at the back of the hall and passed out things which, to Amelia’s astonished gaze, looked like shallow wooden boxes or drawers.

  These trays were about three-foot in length by two in width and fashioned from varnished beech. A strap, which Amelia did not like the look of, was affixed near the middle of the box, across its width. The Reverend Dawes had them set these out in a little row. Gretchen was first, then Charlotte and Amelia. Finally Arabella’s box brought up the rear.

  ‘All right, girls, remove your skirts and blouses, please.’

  Amelia began unbuttoning her blouse even before she had time to be outraged. Once she would have pr
otested, even balked. Now she just obeyed, wondering as she did so at the change in her attitude.

  Gretchen also did as she was bid, with alacrity that bordered on the craven. Bella blushed a little, then gave a shrug and began to unbutton her blouse. Only Charlotte seemed to find the order too much to obey.

  ‘I’m sorry, Reverend Dawes,’ she said, the tremulous note in her voice undermining her determined expression, ‘it simply is not decent.’ She stuck her little chin out firmly, and struck a pose that was evidently meant to display firm resolve. Unfortunately, she could not prevent herself from blushing red, nor her chin from trembling, and these factors combined to rather spoil the effect. ‘I am quite sure that my grandmama would not permit me to...’ Charlotte’s cheeks went a deeper shade of red, ‘...to expose myself to you in this way.’

  Shut up, shut up, you stupid little fool! Not very long ago it might have been Amelia who spoke Charlotte’s words; now she stared at the other girl and willed her to be quiet and not make more trouble for them all. The Reverend Dawes looked at Charlotte without concern.

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ he said quietly, ‘if that is the way you feel, I could not allow any question of impropriety. I tell you what, if you would bear with me whilst I get these others ready, why don’t we go and telephone your grandmother, and see what she says?’

  Charlotte looked nonplussed at this proposition, delivered in the most reasonable and amiable of tones. She licked her lips uncertainly, eyes darting about as if looking for a trap, then hesitantly gave a nod of her head.

  ‘Good,’ the Reverend said, ‘that’s settled. Come along, you three, fold up your skirts and blouses neatly and put them on the desks.’

  Amelia could not help but be aware of the sight she presented, for Arabella and Gretchen were identically clad. The wickedly tight corsets left their breasts entirely bare, and the bizarre whipping drawers were designed to leave no part of their charms to the imagination. Indeed, as Gretchen walked awkwardly over to the desks, Amelia could clearly make out the dark pink lines that striped her bottom though the thin tight cotton of her drawers.

  ‘They will not be needing their hands for a while, Faith,’ the Reverend Dawes said with a meaningful wink. The maid got straight to work. First a supple belt, in a figure of eight shape, was slipped over Amelia’s shoulders. The strap went around the front of her shoulders, crossing in the middle of her back, where it was tightened up. Amelia was still wondering about this as leather cuffs were buckled firmly on to her wrists. Then she wondered no more. Faith hauled up her right and then her left wrist, clipping the cuffs to the middle of the shoulder belt. It was mildly uncomfortable, like having her arms pinioned in the wrestling move known as a back-hammer. A sick feeling in her stomach told Amelia the discomfort would get rapidly worse.

  As she stood helplessly in this bondage, the Reverend Dawes stepped in front of her. He smiled, watching her reaction. Amelia dropped her gaze. She saw his hand come up. He stroked her breast gently, finger circling her nipple until it stood out like a little strawberry.

  ‘I hope you do not feel there is anything indecent about detention?’ he said softly.

  Amelia bit back a moan. She wanted to step back, but did not dare; she felt horribly vulnerable with her arms bound behind her. Closing her eyes she whimpered as he took her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Of course it was indecent! It was an utter outrage! She wanted to voice her objections, but did not.

  Strange things were now happening in her crotch: a tingling that could drive a girl quite out of her mind. Part of her wanted to tell him to unhand her, another part to beg him to grant her some relief before she went insane. Fortunately for Amelia, residual pride and her sense of self-preservation somehow prevailed a moment longer.

  ‘N-no, sir,’ she managed to whimper.

  The Reverend raised her head with his hand and planted a kiss on her perspiring cheek. ‘Good girl,’ he said with a wicked smile. ‘Right, shall we get on with the game?’

  Gretchen and Arabella had been trussed up as tight as Amelia now, and the three girls each gave him an uncertain nod of assent.

  ‘Very well, Faith, the peas if you please.’

  Amelia could not imagine what he wanted with peas, until Faith took the container from the tray. She walked over to the first of the three boxes and opened the tin.

  The hard sound of dried peas bouncing on wood struck fear into Amelia’s soul, as profound as any crack of whip on bottom or back might have engendered. A couple of dozen peas covered the bottom of the box. The Reverend took hold of Gretchen’s elbow.

  ‘Now, my dear, would you care to step this way.’

  Gretchen gave a sob as she was helped down until she knelt in the box.

  ‘Oooh,’ she said. ‘Ach, please sir, how long must I...?’

  ‘Be silent, or I shall have you gagged, girl,’ the Reverend said sharply in response.

  Faith buckled the strap that joined the sides of the tray closed over Gretchen’s calves. She did not fasten it particularly tightly, but Amelia realised with mounting terror that with her arms pinioned, it would now be next to impossible for Gretchen to get out of the box unaided.

  The rattle of dried peas in the next box cut short such thoughts. Amelia’s mouth went dry as the Reverend Dawes took hold of her upper arm. Gently he steered her over to the box. There was little she could do about her situation so, looking around wildly, she let him guide her down on to her knees.

  Right away Amelia found herself in the most acute discomfort. Several of the stone-hard peas were lodged beneath her knees. Her pinioned arms hurt almost as much, but Amelia had no doubt that the pain in her knees would soon eclipse this. It was going to be exactly what the Reverend had promised them. No less than a little trip to purgatory.

  ‘I do apologise for bothering you with this matter, Lady Peaslake, but I am afraid Charlotte has voiced certain objections to her treatment. No, no, my policy is to meet any reasonable objections. If she does not wish to uncover in front a man, I quite understand... What? Yes, she is here...’

  The Reverend Dawes handed Charlotte the telephone. Nervously she spoke into the handset.

  ‘Grandmama, please can I come home? I promise I will stop behaving in such a... But, Grandmama...’

  A minute or so later the dainty hand that returned the telephone to the Reverend was trembling slightly. Charlotte felt a surge of anger at her grandmother’s treatment of her, but it was not so hot that it could dispel a mounting sense of terror.

  ‘Yes, naturally.’ The Reverend’s eyes were on her as he spoke. ‘Of course, Lady Peaslake, with the utmost rigour. Yes, well... I have to pay a visit to the police station anyway... Yes, quite, cords I thought, though those judicial birches they use are also salutary.’

  He smiled at Charlotte as the words conjured terrifying images. Police station! Cords! Judicial birch! Charlotte felt her dimpled knees go very weak indeed.

  Amelia could see the perspiration beading Gretchen’s back where it was bare above her appallingly tightly laced corset. She could see the plump shoulders quivering and her fingers clenching and unclenching helplessly in their bonds. Gretchen gave a sob and continued her strange motion, a sort of slow, desperate writhing as she moaned in pain.

  Biting back a groan of her own, Amelia tried to move her legs again. The peas beneath her felt like crucifixion nails being pounded into her knees. Moving, even an involuntary fraction, sent jolts of agony lancing through her. The discomfort had built distressingly quickly, until it was simply too much to endure. Her arms ached abominably, too, and the tightness of her drawers was terribly distracting.

  The maddening throb of her clitoris beneath the cotton was more difficult to ignore than the excruciating pain in her legs, if that were possible. Tears of unendurable frustration began to trickle slowly down her cheeks. Gretchen’s shoulders heaved again as she moaned in her discomfort.

&nbs
p; A groan came from behind Amelia. It seemed Bella was also having difficulty enduring the pea box purgatory. How long had they been there? Amelia bit her lip to prevent another wail. It seemed to have been hours, days even, though she suspected she had been kneeling there for less than ten minutes. The design of the box was simple but diabolically effective. With hands bound behind her and the strap fastened across the backs of her calves near to the knee, there was no way to get out of the thing unaided. She looked around wildly, blinking tears away.

  The only person in the room not in bondage was Faith. The maid had been left in charge and was dutifully waxing the Reverend’s canes. Amelia looked at her with pleading eyes.

  ‘Faith, please, let me out, just for a minute. I’ll do anything... Oh, God, this is torture. Please, let me out just for a little break.’

  It was hopeless, of course. Faith seemed to live in terror of her master. At any rate, Amelia had yet to see her do the least thing to disobey the Reverend Dawes. But that did not stop Gretchen and Arabella begging, too. It was as if Amelia’s appeal had broken the other girls’ ability to suffer in silence.

  ‘What is this noise?’ The familiar, dread voice came from behind the kneeling girls. Amelia gave a startled sob. How long had the Reverend been standing there? When had he come in?

  ‘All three of you mewling like boiled cats after a mere five minutes,’ he continued. ‘I’d hate to think what you will sound like at fifteen!’

  Gretchen’s shoulders slumped at this and Amelia could see the woman’s body was racked with desperate sobs.

  ‘There, there.’ The Reverend stepped into Amelia’s field of view and patted Gretchen’s head fondly. ‘That is not a fate you must face quite yet.’ He turned to the maid. ‘Unstrap them, Faith. I need to take this little baggage down to the police station. Before I go I think it is time these girls met the bristle pigs. But first, you had better help them to get out of their flogging drawers.’