The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  "Bend over the desk, Thomas," said the Headmistress, coming back to stand by Rachel.

  Rachel bent forward and grasped the familiar far edge. She felt her shorts squeeze even more snugly around the curves of her bottom, worried that they might even split, so tight had they become since last term.

  Miss Markham stood to Rachel's left, but closer to her head this time than Rachel remembered her standing before with the junior cane. She turned slightly to that side to watch, wincingly, as the Headmistress prepared herself to deliver the first stroke. She felt the cane tap her left cheek. At this point Rachel lowered her face to the surface of the desk and closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to watch.

  After a few moments, Rachel heard the swish and then was rocked forward by the impact. And almost immediately an excruciating, stinging fire burst across both her buttocks. She cried out in agonised surprise. The burning line seemed to stretch right round, not just on her right buttock but on the left too. She found herself breathing hard and swallowing and grimacing one upon the other. Her legs shifted around and her bottom swayed as she gripped the desk ferociously.

  Miss Markham stepped forward and surveyed the site of the first stroke. The dark oil she had applied to the cane had left a clear brown line on Rachel's shorts. The stripe had landed, as intended, across the very centre of the girl's bottom.

  She drew the cane back and, aiming carefully, laid it squarely and fairly just above the first. It landed with a loud smack. Again, a brown line appeared, whilst Thomas let out an anguished,

  "AAAOOW!" wriggling her bottom and lifting one foot then the other and gasping and groaning.

  Going out of bounds was a very serious misdemeanour and the Headmistress knew that Thomas' caning would serve as an example to others.

  Rachel was in extreme pain. Already, after only two strokes, her whole bum felt like a bonfire of stinging fury. She'd broken out in a sweat over her entire body and was more afraid than she'd ever been during a punishment.

  When the third hit home, just below the first, she screamed and rose up on her hands, her face screwed up in the desperation of her attempt to endure. She fell back down with a sob and writhed over the surface of the desk, unable to control herself, oblivious to any need for dignity or courage or any of that schoolgirl bravado she'd held so dear.

  Susan winced. She was back hovering at the end of the corridor leading to the Head's study, the brown bag safely stowed away up in the dorm. Poor Rachel! She shivered in sympathy. The sounds of the swish and the impact, she could tell, were different - slightly deeper and heavier, scary, and Rachel didn't usually cry out so helplessly after only three. Her own hands were sweating in sympathy and even went to her bottom and held it as if she could somehow protect Rachel this way. When the crack of the next stroke was heard - even this far away it was quite distinct - and was followed by another spine-chilling scream from Rachel, Susan actually turned away and wanted to run off down the corridor. Tears sprang to her eyes and she hugged herself desperately, torn between escape from this helpless situation and the desire to be close to the girl she loved in her ordeal. She even thought of racing to the study door, throwing it open and running to Rachel, to hug her, to cover her, to save her, whatever it meant.

  Verily knew how it felt, how intensely painful, nay, intolerable, during those moments immediately after the cane mapped its wickedly sharp path across one's soft flesh, and yet she knew too that this was just, and that Thomas would survive and would learn and be redeemed. Four distinct and separate brown lines ran parallel across the white shorts of the miscreant, testament to her skill with a cane, even Molly, which was longer and more flexible than any she had handled in her long career.

  She had paused after the fourth, allowing the sobbing girl time to regain some composure. Once Thomas had quietened and stilled somewhat, she raised the cane again and brought it smartly and carefully down to land between two previous lines on the lower half of the girl's buttocks. The shorts creased as the flesh beneath gave way and another howl of mortification rose up. Rachel seemed held to the desk by her hands alone: every other part of her tore this way and that, her torso bucking, her legs scissoring crazily, her head thrashing up and down as she cried, choking and moaning, before weakly gasping out a whispered, "Pleeeeease! Please, no more ..."

  But one more there must be, and it must be the worst! Miss Markham measured Molly from her stance by Rachel's shoulders, whence the cane would whip round, catching both buttocks almost equally. She lined it up to catch the lowest curve of Rachel's fulsome, fleshy bottom and sighed silently, empathy and compassion mixed with her determination to punish and punish well.

  As the cane bit cruelly into the underhang of her bottom, the softest, most sensitive place, and its message of immeasurable torment was delivered, Rachel's mind went red and she lost all control. She leapt up screaming and clutched her tortured rear, hopping from foot to foot, rubbing and clutching those searing spots, tears gushing from her tightly shut eyes.

  "OW! OW! OW!" she screeched, expressing her agony with unfettered disinhibition. She was sure she must be bleeding, even under her shorts, and as she bent and rose and stepped back, nearly falling over in the desperate throes of her pain, she squeezed her hands under the waistband and tried to reach down to feel for wetness, aware, even in her torment, of a fascinated curiosity.

  Miss Markham stood back and watched this performance with both satisfaction and sorrow. That it was necessary she regretted and felt saddened by, and she remembered her own horrendous struggle in moments such as this as a girl just punished. But Thomas was now also so thoroughly thrashed, the news of which would no doubt have spread to all corners of the school before lights out, that Verily felt confident no girl would venture out of bounds again for some time to come. And that had been her purpose: hurt to prevent hurt, or at least the danger of greater hurt.

  Susan meanwhile had leant against the wall just inside the corridor to the Head's study and slid down to rest on her haunches, the tears streaming down her cheeks as the last two strokes had been administered behind that grim oak door. She couldn't help picturing, almost feeling, what poor Rachel was going through and it all reduced her to sobs. After the sixth stroke, she'd prayed fervently that surely that would be the end, and as more seconds ticked by without that awful tell-tale swish, and its chill-inducing aftermath, she started to relax. She dried her eyes on her sleeve and stood, looking anxiously towards the door.

  Miss Markham had replaced the cane in a corner behind her desk and offered Rachel a handkerchief. Rachel's face was drawn and pale, her eyes red and dazed, the occasional sob breaking like a bubble in boiling lava to shake her shoulders as she clutched the scented cloth in both hands. She stood frozen, afraid to move, the slightest movement like a red rag to the bull whose horns of raw and throbbing pain still ravaged her tender bottom. Eventually, she nodded slightly in acknowledgement of the gift and wiped her eyes and cheeks and blew her nose. She wanted to speak but couldn't. The Headmistress appeared to understand and said, "Ssshh," and, very quietly, "There now."

  After a minute, during which Verily stood close to the traumatised girl, Rachel looked up into the eyes of her mentor, and tormentor, and tried to smile. Rachel's eyes melted Verily's heart entirely: they seemed to say, 'Am I alive? Have I survived? Do you love me still?' Verily was reminded of Patricia, all those years ago, as they'd emerged from this same study after Miss Bentley had thrashed them so mercilessly after the incident with Miss Bates' tyres. Patricia - so sweet, so brave, and the mother of this girl before her now. She wanted to take Rachel in her arms and indeed was about to when the young girl said,

  "Thank you, Miss," and somehow the spell was broken. Verily was amazed at how quickly Rachel could recover her spirit, and she silently rejoiced in this, celebrated the strength of the feminine that was her anchor and her light.

  "Is there any point, Thomas," said the Headmistress wearily, "in my saying let this be a lesson to you? That going out of bounds except when per
mitted is absolutely forbidden?"

  Rachel grimaced as another wave of stinging swept through her throbbing buttocks but quickly regained herself and said in an exaggeratedly innocent voice,

  "Oh yes, Miss. I promise. I have learnt my lesson. I won't do that again ..." and Miss Markham noticed the emphasis on the word 'that' as if Rachel was, perhaps without realising it, revealing that she would however do various other things that would bring her back to this desk, this cane, this state of punished redemption that she seemed so drawn to. As Verily herself had been.

  "We'll see," said the Headmistress. "Now, you'd better get along to Miss Gibson's team talk, hadn't you? And hopefully you won't be too sore to play well on Saturday. You made a brave choice, Thomas, and you bore your punishment bravely too. Now off you go."

  As Rachel walked very stiffly to the door, wincing at every step, Verily observed with satisfaction the six, faint but neatly parallel brown lines adorning the round bottom of the departing sixth-former. Her aim had been true.

  Susan took a sharp breath as she saw the door handle turn and when Rachel appeared, pale and limping, she dissolved into tears again. Thus, bizarrely, it was Rachel who ended up comforting Susie.

  "Hey, Susie, what's wrong?" she asked as they hugged awkwardly, Rachel trying to thrust her bottom safely back and out of the way as Susie's arms encircled her and squeezed with the grip of a love-lorn python. Susie just held on tight, a little ashamed of herself now. Eventually, Rachel said,

  "I've got to go in there," indicating the now closed door to Upper Sixth B's form room. Susan gently released her and said,

  "Sorry. Yes, I know," drying her eyes and beginning to smile. "You are incredible, Rache, you really are."

  "Thanks," said Rachel, cupping Susan's chin in her hand and placing a kiss on the end of her nose. "I'll find you straight after. Wait for me in the dorm will you, and have the cream ready? Gosh, do I need it!"

  "I bet," said Susan, thoroughly revived now. "Good luck with Gibbo!"

  "Thanks, I'll need that too."

  Rachel turned away and Susan exclaimed,

  "Rache! Your bum! Have you seen it? What are those lines?" She moved closer to inspect. "That isn't blood is it?" she asked, horrified. Rachel twisted round to look, puzzled herself at the ends of the brown lines she could make out on the side of her right buttock. Then it dawned on her.

  "The oil!" she said. "Marky rubbed some kind of oil on the cane, and it must've marked my shorts."

  "I see," said Susan uncertainly.

  They kissed quickly, then Rachel walked over to the form room door, knocked loudly, opened it and disappeared inside.

  ---oOo---

  Shirley Barton felt more miserable than she thought she'd ever felt in her life before. She sat at a desk at the side of the classroom near the back as Miss Gibson outlined the strengths and weaknesses of the Pickering Girls' High hockey team as far as she knew them.

  "They'll still have that number eight," she was saying. "The tall girl, very quick - you remember her last year, Barton? Ran rings round you in midfield and scored two of their goals."

  Shirley's heart sank even further.

  "Yes, Miss," she said sullenly. And Julia hardly seemed to notice this embarrassment, this humiliation of Shirley. She was sitting over on the other side of the room near the front, next to Gabrielle: Gabrielle, the new star, little Miss Perfect, Head Girl and Cropton's own number eight, the NEW number eight, the position Shirley had played last year. And where she had fully expected to play this year too, behind Julia, supplying the passes, until Gibbo had announced, five minutes ago, that she wouldn't be playing at all. Not even in the team! She couldn't bear it. Back down to the Second XI! She felt as if everything that had made Cropton Hall a tolerable existence - her friendship with Julia, the fun they had together, and the kudos she got from being in the First XI, with some of Julia's glory reflecting on to her - all had been ripped away from her and stamped upon. And so suddenly! She felt a heaviness in her chest that made it hard to breathe and her thoughts were evil as sin.

  She hated Julia now, although she still saw her as beautiful and clever and funny and ... it was unbearable. And as for Gabrielle: she'd liked her well enough before - a friendly girl - but now? She wanted to run her fingernails down her face and tear her hair out! She'd watched with gradually increasing jealousy this term as those two had got closer and closer, while between Julia and herself something had changed since the summer: that spark hadn't quite been there any more. And Shirley had had to swallow her hurt as Julia took to sitting next to Gabrielle in English; the two of them also did History together, and no doubt fawned all over each other there too.

  It was that double whacking by Gibbo that'd sealed it, an episode Shirley had had to listen to described over and over again. Since then, Julia and Gabby had been inseparable.

  "Sorry, Shirl," Julia had said later that day when Shirley had suggested they go into the village together, as they'd used to do, every weekend, to buy cigarettes, look out for boys. "I think Gabby needs me right now."

  'Oh, so Gabby needs you now, does she?' mimicked Shirley petulantly in her mind. Her heart was in shreds and she lived with an angry, gnawing but seductive pain that made her thoughts violent.

  At that moment, another scream was heard faintly in the distance. Gibbo had closed the door when they'd heard Thomas' caning begin, and now she paused for a moment and muttered, 'Dear, oh dear, what has she done?' before resuming her excited talk of 'wall passes' and 'maintaining our width'. Shirley felt a grim sense of oneness with Thomas at this moment - their agonies matched. She'd already thought of maybe doing something deliberately to get herself caned in the hope of winning Julia's sympathy but she hadn't had the courage. She'd survived the new regime unscathed so far, unlike the two love-birds over there.

  Gibbo was still rabbiting on five minutes later when there was a knock on the door and Thomas appeared. Everyone turned to look, and another convulsion of self-pity shook Shirley's heart as fourteen faces all sent waves of sympathetic caring towards the younger girl - a girl who was still in the team, and towards whom Julia had also become very friendly recently. She limped over to stand hesitantly by a seat. Suddenly Shirley didn't feel so at one with Thomas any more.

  "It's all right, Thomas," said the eager coach. "I suggest you stand, though I do wish, just for once, you could stay out of trouble! We haven't got on to the defence yet, so you haven't missed anything too important."

  Shirley shifted around in her seat, getting more and more irritated and wondering why she was still in this room - she'd already been told she wasn't even going to be a substitute on Saturday. Why did she have to sit through this? She looked over and saw Gabrielle whisper something in Julia's ear. Julia grinned, as if it were the funniest thing she'd heard in her life.

  At five o'clock the tactics session finally drew to a close. Shirley was the first to notice the brown lines across Thomas' white shorts (which, she observed, were sexily, almost obscenely tight-fitting) and she couldn't suppress a rather mean-spirited exclamation,

  "Golly, Thomas! Did you sit on a hot grill or something?"

  She regretted it instantly. Fortunately Gibbo hadn't heard, being deep in conversation with Pearson, the newly appointed captain, but Julia and several other girls had and they gave her some surprised and disapproving looks. Julia just walked right past her and took Thomas by the arm, helping her gently towards the door. Shirley felt even more awful.

  Miss Gibson came over with Gabrielle, looked at Shirley closely and asked, sympathetically,

  "How are you feeling, Barton?"

  Shirley tried to smile and said,

  "Oh, of course I'm a bit disappointed, Miss."

  "Yes, I'm sorry," said Miss Gibson, "but the team must come first."

  As the mistress left, Gabrielle put a hand on Shirley's shoulder and said,

  "That was really honest of you, Shirley. I'm sorry."

  Shirley tried to hide her loathing and rage, and just shru
gged. She followed Gabrielle out into the corridor where the new Head Girl and hockey Captain hurried to catch up with Julia. Thomas said something to them and turned to go upstairs.

  Alone now, Shirley Barton stood and watched as Julia and Gabby each put an arm round the other's waist and strolled off, linked, laughing, smiling, so together. Suddenly those lines she'd learnt from 'Othello' last term came to her: and they fitted so perfectly. In silence they screamed from her tortured mind:

  "Oh! You are well tuned now. But I'll set down the pegs that make that music, as honest as I am."

  ---oOo---

  "Not there!" screeched Rachel, burying her head in the lumpy pillow and moaning. Susan pulled her fingers away sharply and sighed. She gazed down at the six angry stripes amidst the mass of livid reds and purples adorning the two fully-rounded mounds of Rachel's bottom before her. She'd managed to soothe most areas, but the lowest stripe was proving untouchable. Rachel was stretched out face down on Susan's bed, naked apart from her socks and plimsolls.

  Susan dipped her fingers in the pot for more cream, rubbed it between her fingers and then placed her freshly-moistened hand further up Rachel's back and stroked very gently down the centre of her spine, into the hollow and then up the steep slope and, narrowing to one finger, carried on very softly down the crack between the beautifully-curved hillocks. Rachel lifted her head slightly with a new alertness and shifted her legs apart. Susan's finger continued its journey down until it reached the point where she knew she might change the quality of Rachel's moans. It worked. She heard her beloved take a sharp breath and then gasp softly. Susan circled her finger ever so smoothly around Rachel's button several times before reaching further to gather some of the moisture she felt forming between Rachel's lips.