Rectory of Correction

by Amanita Virosa

  Tonight, however, she was silent, as was Amelia, as she waited to see which bed the maid would glide towards. She hoped it was Linnet’s. If so, at least she would be able to revenge herself the next day on the slut. Amelia clenched her fists and planned what she would do to the little tart.

  However, Faith moved towards the other side of the dormitory. Damn, thought Amelia, so it is to be Bella. The favouritism the Reverend showed Bella ignited a slow-burning fury in Amelia’s breast. For some stupid reason tears were welling in her eyes. She felt as if she was about to choke.

  Faith did not touch Arabella’s shoulder, however. Unbelievably, something even worse unfolded before Amelia’s appalled gaze. The maid took out her key and unlocked the chain that tethered Charlotte’s collar to the bedstead. Tugging this chain like a short leash, the maid guided Charlotte out of bed and led her, wordlessly, away.

  ‘Is that a dog basket?’

  ‘It is. I am afraid the bitch is not worthy of a bed, and it is still a little cold to keep her in the kennels, so she sleeps here.’

  Gretchen was naked except for woollen stockings. She lay curled up in the large dog basket by the kitchen range and looked at the two pairs of shoes in front of her, trying not to move a single muscle.

  ‘And is she a very wicked creature?’ a male voice she did not recognise asked.

  ‘Indeed she is most depraved and disobedient. I am afraid I have to administer salutary thrashings distressingly frequently,’ the Reverend Dawes replied.

  Gretchen’s stomach tightened at the mention of thrashings. She was seized by the fear that the word might lead to the deed. Thus she lay curled up and trembling in her basket, trying to make herself inoffensive and small.

  A polished patent leather shoe poked her in the belly.

  ‘She is certainly a meaty trollop, though,’ the stranger said with a laugh. ‘Apart from the nursery maid at Hope Hall I have seen few titties to rival that tremendous pair!’

  ‘Yes, she is indeed a fleshly creature. All the more meat to beat, eh, Gruntie?’

  The Reverend’s shoes had come closer as well. Gretchen hardly dared breathe, but knew she must answer.

  ‘Y-yes, sir.’

  She did not like the way the conversation was going at all.

  ‘She has lost a stone or two since she arrived here. Cross-country and gym is toning her and firming her up nicely, though I would not want to run all that flesh off her. I tell you what, let’s get her out of the basket so you can have a feel.’

  Gretchen spent her nights secured by collar and wrist cuffs to a chain that was padlocked to the wall. She did not dare raise her eyes to her master, but she heard the key click in the lock and felt the tug. She scrambled to her feet. The Reverend pulled her over to the kitchen table. On it he had laid a mean-looking cane. Gretchen looked away.

  ‘Have a feel,’ the Reverend urged. ‘Those big dirigibles are perhaps not quite so firm as young Betsy Billings’, but they are remarkable for a woman of her age.’

  His fist held the leash chain a link or two from her collar, forcing her to stand up on the balls of her feet.

  ‘Legs apart, Gruntie, you know that by now,’ the Reverend Dawes said with a shake of his head. ‘Jamie, would you give her a couple of cuts with that cane, just to remind her to spread her damned legs?’

  Gretchen scrambled her legs wide apart and then stiffened. The Reverend Dawes stood in front of her and his words startled her into raising her eyes. Her master’s predatory gaze impaled her. She wanted to drop her eyes respectfully, but found herself paralysed with fear. Gretchen heard the young man pick the cane up and give it an experimental swish. The Reverend smiled.

  ‘When will you ever learn, you silly bitch?’ He chuckled and there was another swish, this time followed by a crack and a great deal of pain. It seemed to unlock the paralysis, however, for she managed to close her eyes and grind her teeth. The second stroke was worse than the first even, making her hop helplessly in agony.

  ‘You will keep your legs apart in the presence of your betters, you impertinent slut!’ the Reverend spat. ‘We might choose to use you. Close your legs and you might inconvenience me. Tell me, girl, what do you mean by inconveniencing my guest and I?’

  ‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ Gretchen wailed.

  ‘I will ensure it,’ he said coldly. ‘Jamie, don’t stand on ceremony, lad, do come and have a feel.’

  Strong hands reached around and took her breasts. The young man hefted the soft globes with an appreciative whistle and gave them a hard squeeze. His tweed-trousered crotch pushed against her freshly welted bottom. Gretchen felt a stiff column of flesh press against her buttocks and swallowed hard.

  ‘Very fine, very firm. Very nice indeed,’ the young man whispered in her ear, taking her nipples between finger and thumb and squeezing until she gasped. Nor was his grip all she had to contend with, for the Reverend stepped forward and took hold of her cunny in his free hand.

  A strong finger probed, and slipped inside her lubricated slot. Gretchen could not stop herself from moaning aloud and pressing her mons out, trying to get pressure on her clitoris from the heel of his hand.

  ‘I wondered if you would care to give her a stiff dozen with the cane before buggering the slut?’ the Reverend asked evenly. ‘I do believe we have some butter in the pantry.’

  ‘I could think of several less amusing ways of passing the evening,’ Jamie replied. ‘Will you be joining me?’

  Gretchen gave a lost groan as the Reverend’s hand was snatched away. She tried to push her pelvis after it, to no avail, for Jamie’s hands kept a firm grip of her body.

  ‘No, I have another matter to attend to. Can I leave you to it? Stripe that big bottom well for her. Take my word, the trollop will not feel it lest you lay on with a will.’

  Amelia turned away and tried to block out the creaking bedsprings and slightly suffocated slurping sounds coming from Linnet’s bed.

  ‘That’s it! That’s it! Keep your tongue stiff and get it right up there now, you little slut!’ Arabella hissed.

  The tingling was driving Amelia frantic. She pressed her legs together and swung them from side to side, but could get no pressure on the part that mattered with her hands so chained. The image of the Reverend would not leave her fevered mind. A picture of him kissing Charlotte whilst the slut stroked his erect prick jostled with a vision of him advancing pitilessly, cane in hand.

  There was not much she could do about the image of her tormentor with another. Amelia did not understand, or at least dare not admit to herself, why this gave her pain. There was a solution to the other problem, though; the tingling in her clitoris and the visions of him unbuttoning his flies whilst his other hand swished the cane. Unfortunately, to solve that problem Amelia knew she would have to beg.

  ‘Kirsty,’ she said at last, ‘please, could you do something for me...?’

  She looked over at Kirsty who was fondling herself idly as she watched the activity in Linnet’s bed.

  ‘What would that be then, Amelia?’

  ‘I want... I mean, I need... It’s these damned cuffs. I cannot reach...’

  ‘The water? Is it a drink you are after?’ Kirsty asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  ‘No, I need... Oh, God, you know what I mean.’

  In truth it should have been fairly obvious what it was Amelia needed. She was fighting her bonds now, writhing sinuously in the narrow bed. Kirsty walked over to her slowly and looked down at her perspiring form with a smile.

  ‘No, sorry, I have no idea, Amelia. You will have to ask.’

  For all her overwhelming arousal and frustration, Amelia blushed furiously at the shame of having to beg for such a thing. There was little pity in Kirsty’s eyes, however, and she knew that was exactly what she was going to have to do.

  ‘Please... Kirsty, touch me. I mean, use your fin
gers, or your tongue... I mean... oh, for pity’s sake, bring me off.’

  Kirsty considered her for a moment. The girl wore nothing but her thin cotton night-dress. Amelia could see her nipples pressing against the fabric. They looked stiff. If Kirsty is aroused enough, she thought desperately, maybe she’ll do what I ask.

  ‘Sorry, pet.’ Kirsty leaned forward and patted Amelia’s cheek. ‘It has been forbidden.’

  ‘Oh, God, yes! Yes!’ Bella began shrieking from Linnet’s bed.

  ‘But,’ Amelia babbled, ‘what about them? Oh come on, Kirsty, be a sport. Just do it for me.’

  ‘That’s just what I cannae do,’ Kirsty said with an amused smile. ‘The prohibition is particular to you. No one is allowed to diddle you any more, on pain of three dozen of the birch.’

  There was a shriek and the creaking springs reached a peak. Kirsty inclined her head towards the sounds. ‘Bella and I have to enforce the ban, so there is no getting around it. No one is allowed to do you any more, Amelia. Not even Linnet.’

  Amelia groaned and writhed in desperation. Of all the cruelties the Reverend had visited on her, at that moment, this seemed to her the worst.

  ‘Och, never mind, Amelia.’ Kirsty gave her a grin and pulled the night-dress off, exposing her curvaceous charms, and climbing on to the bed. ‘He never said anything about you tonguing the rest of us!’

  ‘No, wait!’ Amelia shook her head futilely as Kirsty took up position, kneeling over her head and lowering her nest of pubic curls towards her face.

  ‘A girl’s got to have some fun, after all!’ Kirsty said with a laugh.

  Amelia tried to protest again, but the sound that came out of her mouth was but a muffled moan.

  Thwuck! The cane cracked across her upper thighs. Gretchen howled and hopped from foot to foot.

  ‘Position!’ the young man said sharply. ‘Much as I enjoy watching your big titties jiggle as you do these funny little dances there is such a thing as discipline.’

  Pain still lancing through her thighs, Gretchen forced herself to bend and touch her toes again. The kitchen was almost unnaturally still for a few moments. The warmth of the range was making her perspire, and she felt a bead of sweat begin to trickle down her back. Try as she might, Gretchen could not stop her bottom flinching in anticipation of the coming stroke. However, Jamie Fanshawe clearly cared little for her problems, content to take his time.

  At last the next stroke came, and it was a real scalder. It caught her on the underhang of her bum. A line of Gretchen’s flesh suddenly felt on fire. She screeched, unable to stop herself from straightening up, jumping in the air and dancing an agonised little jig whilst grabbing her striped rear.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Jamie said mildly, ‘the Reverend warned me about your poor deportment under correction, girl. It is a good thing he left me these ropes. Don’t you agree?’

  Blinking away hot tears, Gretchen glanced over towards him. Thick ropes of raw cotton dangled from his hand.

  ‘Right, get the butter from the pantry,’ Jamie said softly, ‘and then stand by that big upright chair.’

  ‘It is a lovely morning, girls,’ the Reverend announced as they were finishing their breakfasts. ‘Too fine for skulking in classrooms. What do you say to a nature trail? We can go up to the groves and cut some switches. The birches should be nicely in bud. You may retire to the dormitory before we set out, and remove your drawers.’

  It was indeed a fine early April morning. The spring had brought with it the prospect of release. Amelia looked forward to the day with curiously mixed emotions. It was not that she had got used to the Reverend’s discipline. It was just that the constant, ever-increasing state of frustrated arousal in which she had spent the last few weeks made it impossible to know what she wanted.

  One thing was certain, however, sunny spring day notwithstanding: Amelia did not relish this expedition one little bit. She had visited the birch groves before, and once was quite enough. His announcement provoked an anxious fluttering in her vitals. As she unlaced her drawers, a few minutes later, she sensed she was not the only one. A nature trail could only mean one thing. The Reverend intended to test their botanical knowledge, and that was why he had ordered them to take off their flogging drawers.

  ‘I remember nettles, urtica dioica, but what about butcher’s broom?’ hissed Charlotte as she pulled her own drawers off.

  Amelia looked at her, appalled. The Latin name of the spiny evergreen completely eluded her. Her stomach gave a lurch. The botany lessons the girls had been given previously had entailed a demonstrative element she had no wish to repeat.

  ‘Ruscus aculeatus,’ Bella said, in slightly contemptuous tones.

  With an effort of will, Amelia averted her eyes from the undressing girls and the glimpses of shapely stockinged leg and bare thigh that were revealed as they removed their flogging drawers. The night had passed fitfully, and she had awoken more than once, moaning with unrequited desire. As she placed her flogging drawers on the chair by her bed she bent and gave herself a quick, surreptitious stroke or two, trusting that the prefects would still be occupied unlacing their own pantaloons.

  ‘Aaaow... let go!’

  Kirsty chuckled as she swung Amelia around by the ear.

  ‘I told you, not allowed,’ Kirsty said. ‘Now touch your toes whilst I give you a couple of reminders.’

  Amelia glanced at the cane in her companion’s hand.

  ‘No really, Kirsty, it’s not necessary. I’ll—’

  ‘Just tell the Reverend she refused punishment for self-abuse,’ Bella suggested.

  With a defeated sigh Amelia bent and touched the toes of her patent leather shoes. She swallowed hard as she felt her little skirt flipped off her bottom by the tip of Kirsty’s cane.

  ‘Now that is a nice sight,’ Bella said.

  ‘Yes, pity we have so little leisure to enjoy it!’ Kirsty agreed.

  There was a whistle and a meaty crack and Amelia’s bottom blazed with pain. Somehow she managed to stay bent over.

  ‘Straighten those legs, Amelia. No clenching now, my dear. I still havenae decided whether to report you.’

  The second stroke thwacked across the tops of her thighs. This time Amelia could not stop a groan escaping.

  ‘All right, get up, we had better get a move on. We wouldnae want to keep the Reverend waiting, now. Would we, girls?’

  Despite herself, Amelia had to smile.

  If anything, the unassuaged tug of her desire was the worse for the cane strokes, and her bottom throbbed quite horridly beneath the silly little skirtlet. Being punished by Kirsty, a girl scarcely older than herself, was particularly galling. Worst of all, there was the coming trip to the birch groves; not a prospect to gladden the heart of any girl in Amelia’s situation. Thus, as she waited for the Reverend with the others on the rectory porch, she did not feel particularly cheerful. However, Gretchen looked so comical that as the Reverend led her around the corner, it was all she could do not to smile.

  Gretchen was, as usual these days, dressed in nothing but her little black corset and woollen stockings. Apart, that was, from a gleaming leather harness and bridle which was furnished with gleaming horse brasses and shining buckles.

  Amelia had seen girls made to play the part of ponies before, of course, yet there was something quite different about Gretchen’s rig. The hefty, straw-stuffed yoke around her shoulders, for instance, and the fact that her bridle included blinkers. Instead of a dainty sulky, she pulled a small but solid flat-topped trailer.

  It was Bella who said it. ‘Crikey, I’ve heard of pony girls but she looks more like a carthorse woman! Giddap there, Gruntie, or should we call you Dobbin?’

  An anxious giggle ran around the knot of girls which, for once, the Reverend did not quell with a glare but seemed content to allow. It was not hard to see why, for Gretchen’s cheeks had flushed to a bright sc
arlet.

  Big and strong she might have been, but the journey to the groves was almost all uphill, and the cart she hauled was evidently heavy. More than once the Reverend Dawes gave the reins to Bella and ordered the other girls to push the cart from behind to help it up a steeper slope or dislodge the wheels from a rut. It was not a task Amelia relished, for bending as she pushed revealed far too much bare bottom for comfort. As the Reverend always followed behind, cane in hand, on these occasions, this was more than mere concern for her modesty.

  However, the bright spring morning seemed to have put the Reverend in a jovial frame of mind, for she reached the groves having received nothing worse than a few blush-inducing observations about the sight she, and her companions, had presented to his gaze.

  The birch groves of Hope Hall were just as she remembered them. Long rows of ancient coppiced trees wound their slightly eccentric courses up and down an irregular series of sandy knolls. The Reverend set off to look for botanical samples, leaving the prefects to supervise the work.

  ‘Longer than that, Linnet, don’t you know how to cut a birch rod?’

  ‘Sorry, Bella, I’ve never done it before.’

  ‘Never mind, just touch your toes, quickly now!’

  Linnet obeyed reluctantly and the sound of birch twigs hissing against flesh disturbed the clear spring air.

  ‘Yipes, that really stings!’

  ‘Not as much as if you had cut it long enough. Bend over again!’

  Charlotte got a couple of licks after Linnet, being adjudged to be cutting too slowly. Bella prowled the bushes with a bunch of twigs in her hand, like a young panther prowling lithely through the woods in search of prey. Amelia escaped, however, for grim experience had taught her how to cut a proper birch limb. As Bella made Linnet bend for her twigs a second time, Amelia glanced at Kirsty. To her surprise, the prefect had cut few birch rods, and in fact seemed to be miles away.

  ‘Kirsty!’ Bella said at last. ‘The Reverend will be back soon. What has got into you?’