When she reached a passage about Miss Markham getting caned, she got so involved she forgot to blink and her eyes started watering. Golly! The Head! Got caned! And with Molly! 'Four distinct, parallel stripes, purplish red at the edges...' she read. Just like the ones Rachel'd had, except she'd got six.
She heard a sound. A door had opened and shut and she heard the sound of someone moving off down the stairs to the second floor - it must be Miss Waring.
She was so excited, she couldn't wait. She put the book back on the shelf - safer, she thought, to leave it here; they could always come back, whatever Very Waring said, when the coast was clear. She went out into the corridor and listened. Then she crept down the stairs, past the door to the mistress' room and on down to safety.
'Rachel,' she thought, 'you're in a book!'
---oOo---
"Ready?" asked Emily, closing her brolly and giving it a shake as they stood under the narrow roof of Monica's porch. Prudence nodded grimly. Emily gave her a nudge. "Cheer up, Pru!"
"I will, once I've..." Prudence grimaced.
"I know," said Emily, with a sympathetic squeeze of Prudence's arm. "I think you're very ... honourable."
"Huh! Thanks," muttered Prudence.
Emily knocked firmly on the door, and they heard footsteps approach and a hand on the latch. Monica greeted them with a big smile.
"Come in, come in!" she cried with open arms. "You're a pair of dark horses, aren't you?" Emily grinned and stepped in to be given a big bear hug. 'Ooph!' she grunted as she had the breath squeezed out of her.
"Prudence!" said Monica with affection.
"Hello, Monica," said Prudence, summoning as much enthusiasm as she could. "Thank you for ..."
"Nonsense," cried Monica. "It's wonderful to have you!"
The two younger colleagues removed their coats and leant their umbrellas up against the corner by the door. Monica took the coats and hung them up on pegs.
"Welcome!" said Monica. "Margaret's upstairs changing."
"Ooh! Can I go and join her?" asked Emily. "She said she'd bring a uniform for me."
"Of course, my dear. Straight up the stairs on the left," said Monica. "You two naughty ones get yourselves kitted up. Prudence and I will decide what lies in store!"
Emily's eyes widened, then she grinned happily and set off for the stairs. Prudence stood awkwardly, looking around.
"Can I get you a glass of sherry, Prudence?" asked Monica, walking over to a small table and picking up a bottle of Sandemans.
"Er ... actually, Monica, can I have a word?" Monica put the bottle down.
"Of course, my dear," she said, her tone softening in concern at the seriousness in Prudence's voice. "Come - sit down and tell me all about it."
Prudence smiled awkwardly and walked over to the sofa, where she sat and looked up at her colleague.
"Um ... this is embarrassing, but..."
She proceeded to explain, sighing frequently and keeping her gaze lowered to her lap, about the VS she'd given Susan French for no better reason than her concern at not having yet given any study card marks that week; how French had been caned as a result; how unjust that had been; how guilty and depressed she'd been feeling ever since...
Monica listened attentively, nodding occasionally.
Prudence went on to describe the caning she'd received from Miss Markham and how it had changed her, but how she'd been struggling since then to be authoritative yet fair with the girls. She added a quick description of how she'd handled Middleton, and about Miss Bainbridge's support. Finally she took a deep breath, stopped and looked up pleadingly.
Monica gazed at her sympathetically. "Well," she said, "by the sound of it, you've found your authority very effectively. As for your feelings of guilt ... I'm sure French has forgotten all about it by now, and ..." She paused, looking closely at Prudence. "But perhaps that's not the point...
"No," said Prudence. "I need ... Oh God! Monica, I hate that cane, but I just can't see any other way. I ... I ..." She covered her face with her hands. "Damn it!"
"Very well," said Monica, looking down thoughtfully. "I suggest that we get this over with before the others come down. This isn't about fun, is it?"
Prudence uncovered her face and shook her head. "No, and I don't want to spoil the evening by being so ... bloody morose! But if you'd rather we..."
"Nonsense, Prudence!" said Monica. "I don't mind admitting that it will give me a certain wicked pleasure to give you a good ... give you what you need, but before I do I need to know what you would regard as a suitable level of punishment. I only have a junior cane."
Prudence looked torn. "Oh God!" she said, with a pained kind of smile. "What do I let myself in for? I don't know!" She thought for a moment. "I suppose ... it'd better be at least what French got, but then she must've been given the senior cane ..." She looked up at Monica, asking for help.
"Six on those rather fetching slacks, and then another six on the bare?" suggested Monica. Prudence nodded.
"Agreed then. Why don't you go and wait for me in the dining-room? It's just through there." She indicated a door to the right of the fireplace. "We can be a bit more private there so we won't have the others walking in and interrupting us. Does ... er ... Emily know?"
"Yes," replied Prudence.
Monica nodded. Prudence got up and walked over to the door. She turned.
"Thank you, Monica."
Monica laughed grimly and gave Prudence a fierce look. "Perhaps you should save your thanks for afterwards? I warn you, Prudence, when I punish, I mean it!"
Prudence's stomach lurched and she turned away, suddenly frightened - as, she supposed, she should be. She thought about how French must have felt, waiting outside the Head's study, and afterwards.
She entered the dining-room. It was elegantly decorated with prints of country scenes adorning walls papered in a deep red with an understated pattern of small gold fleur-de-lys. On the left was a curved bay window, curtains closed, with a fitted bench beneath. A rosewood dining-table occupied most of the rest of the space, with six chairs arranged three on each side and a sideboard against the wall by the door.
After a few moments Monica appeared in the doorway, the cane in her hand. She pointed with it to the bay window.
"Over there."
Prudence obeyed. Monica followed and indicated a point near the left end of the bench. "Bend over here."
Prudence straightened the waist of her slacks at the front and bent over, placing her hands on the cushion of the bench. She planted her feet firmly about two feet apart so that her buttocks were fully spread and her slacks pulled tightly across them.
"Good," said Monica. "Now, you will thrust your bottom out as far as you can before each stroke to show me that this is what you have chosen. Is that understood?"
Prudence nodded and muttered a dry-mouthed, "Yes."
"I need hardly add that I expect you to remain in your present position, without lifting your hands. I would normally add an extra stroke for each occasion that this instruction is not obeyed. Do you wish me to do that?"
Prudence thought for a moment and then nodded reluctantly.
"I'm sorry?"
"Yes," said Prudence clearly. Monica made a practice swish of the cane through the air and Prudence flinched and jerked forward before settling back and sighing.
"Ready?" heard Prudence for the second time this evening.
"Yes," she said, her voice rising in uncertainty. She held her breath and screwed up her face in anticipation.
Nothing happened.
She looked around.
"I asked if you were ready," said Monica, a touch impatiently. Prudence twisted round a bit further to look up at her, puzzled. Monica waved the cane over Prudence's bottom and said, "Thrust out then!"
"Oh! Yes, sorry." Prudence turned back to face the bench and dipped her back so as to elevate her bottom as far as she could.
Monica stepped back and measured the cane against the fulsome jutting cur
ves moulded by their tight grey slacks. She raised it slowly and carefully and brought it down with a combination of wicked speed and a twist of the wrist that made the whippy strip of rattan bite deep across the centre of Prudence's fleshy bottom.
"OW!" yelped Prudence in hurt surprise. She almost lifted her left hand but remembered just in time. She breathed quickly and bent her legs.
Monica watched and waited, impassive. After a while, Prudence settled and then thrust out her rear once more.
The cane swished and thwipped and Prudence gasped and wiggled.
Monica licked her lips. She stood waiting again, tapping the cane lightly against the side of her calf. After about thirty seconds, Prudence offered herself once more. Monica obliged.
SWISH - THWAPP!
"AOOOOH!" cried Prudence, stamping her heels on the carpet and shaking her head rapidly. That one had caught her quite low. Monica watched calmly as the younger woman, breathing hard now, gradually overcame the effects of the third of these fiercely applied strokes. It took longer this time but eventually Monica detected a tentative thrusting out of Prudence's bottom - not quite as lewdly lovely as previously, but it would do, she thought.
SWISH - THWAPP!
"AAIIEEE!" yelped Prudence in agony. That had been the hardest yet. Monica looked towards the door, thinking that if Margaret and Emily hadn't heard what was happening before, they most certainly would have now. Prudence was bending and stretching her legs and shaking her head so that her hair flew back and forth; she let out repeated, breathy moans, 'Ow! Ow! Ow!'
In the bedroom upstairs, Margaret and Emily had stopped and looked at each other at the sounds of the very first stroke and cry. They were sounds, of course, with which their well-attuned ears were distinctly familiar.
"What on earth ...?" Margaret had exclaimed, standing suddenly. Emily had sat her down and explained, as the continuing sounds of poor Prudence's agonised yelps drifted up the stairs, about Prudence's depression, and about French and the VS.
"Ah! I see. A real punishment," said Margaret. "Quick, let's finish getting togged up and sneak down for a look, shall we?"
Emily set aside her misgivings and quickly pulled on her white socks, tied her tie and stepped into her black lace-ups. They were both now attired in the Cropton uniform of blue blazer and skirt, white blouse and tie and giggled at each other in glee. They crept out onto the landing and had just started to tiptoe down the stairs when they heard another swish and crack, followed by Prudence's piercing scream.
"God! Poor girl," whispered Margaret. "I'm not sure she knew what she was letting herself in for with Monica, you know."
"Oh dear!" said Emily, looking worried. That last stroke had sounded awfully hard. At the foot of the stairs they looked around and Margaret pointed to the dining-room, holding a finger to her lips to say 'Sssh!' They stepped carefully and silently towards the door. Another stroke fell and Prudence let out a long wail of torment, crying,
"No! No! Please! Not any more! I can't ... I...!" and they heard her sobbing helplessly.
Margaret and Emily poked their heads around the door just as Monica said, quietly and kindly,
"There's one more for your twelve, Prudence, but if you've had enough then I for one will still applaud your endurance. You're a very brave woman. Would you like me to stop?"
Prudence groaned and, in a pathetic, choked voice, shaking her head, said, "No - no, Monica, let me have the last."
Unseen by the punisher or the punished, Margaret and Emily had edged round the door and watched now in silent awe as Monica, standing between them and the thrust up target, slowly raised the cane before whipping it in ferociously.
"AAAARRGGHH!" yelled Prudence, jumping up and clutching her backside. Monica stood back and caught sight of the watchers. She gave them a disapproving frown. Prudence stood before the curtained window, her face to the ceiling, leaning back, fingers spread over each buttock, repeating, 'Ow! Ow!' over and over. Margaret and Emily caught a glimpse, when Prudence eventually removed her hands, of the fresh red stripes that criss-crossed her bottom. Monica, however, waved them out with an impatient gesture and they retreated as silently as they'd come.
They went across into the kitchen. After a while they heard murmuring and tears and Margaret peeped round the door to see Monica leading Prudence, slacks in hand, knickers nestled just beneath the overhang of her striped and reddened backside, to the foot of the stairs. Emerging from the kitchen, Emily and Margaret heard the sounds of a bath being filled and soon Monica was descending the stairs. Margaret felt twinges of fear twist her stomach. She reached out to grasp Emily's hand and whispered,
"We're for it now, Em!"
Monica appeared, strode straight to the wall between the fireplace and the dining-room door and took down a heavy strap that hung there. It looked mean. She looked mean. She surveyed the two of them, her eyes bright with a sadistic but playful hunger.
"Dawson, Stokes, over the back of the sofa ... NOW!"
28. Coming Back for More
Emily emerged from a fevered dream drenched in the sounds and sights of punitive games, to the gentle, calming lightness of Sunday morning birdsong outside her window. She stretched languorously and became aware of the throbbing in her buttocks. As she shifted they started to sting as well. 'Mmmm', she murmured. Suddenly she was startled by Prudence's face above her.
"Good morning, Miss Stokes." An affectionate, twinkling smile lit up Prudence's features as she leaned down and kissed Emily deeply and lusciously on the mouth. She was dressed.
"Mmmm, thanks," said Emily. "What time is it?"
"About eight," said Prudence. "I should get back to my room and wash and change. Putting these slacks back on is killing me!" She ran her splayed fingers gently over her buttocks, pressing here and there, wincing as she did so.
"Gosh! Yes," said Emily. "A nice loose skirt for you today, I think."
"You too!" said Prudence. "Unless of course..."
Emily laughed. "I'll have to see. Don't want to be too obvious in chapel," she said. Prudence leaned in to give her a peck on the forehead. "See you later."
"Mmm," purred Emily. Prudence let herself out quietly and Emily arranged herself carefully on her side, facing the window.
Closing her eyes, she conjures up the events of yesterday evening, deliciously, moment by moment...
... Monica makes us bend over the sofa and gives Margaret six really hard whacks with that big brown strap. I feel my insides melting with excitement and fearful anticipation as I lie draped, bottom up, next to my suffering Head of Department. Margaret bears them stoically, but by the last two her breathing's laboured and I can see the sweat on her brow and the pain on her face. I feel a wonderful sense of camaraderie.
And then it's my turn! Oh gosh! Monica Gibson certainly hits hard! I get six too, and it's the hardest strapping I've ever endured. I'm not as brave as Margaret, crying out on the last two - they sting sooo much on top of the others, I can't help myself.
Monica makes us step out of our knickers then and stand before the fireplace, hands on heads - "Absolutely no rubbing!" - pinning our skirts to the tops of our backs. There we stand, two naughty girls, backsides burning and throbbing on display while Monica goes to prepare supper. Eventually Prudence appears and Monica emerges from the kitchen to suggest Prudence punish us herself for our 'insolence and lack of respect' in peeking at her while she was being caned.
This time I'm first - over Prudence's knee on the sofa - and Prudence whacks me with Margaret's butter-pat. That stings even worse on top of the strap welts! Twelve, was it? Enough to bring tears to my eyes, anyway, and a heat to my bottom that lasts all through dinner! Margaret gets the same.
Monica insists then that we change out of our uniforms so we can enjoy dinner as normal colleagues, which feels right somehow. Margaret and I have fun upstairs comparing our deep red bottoms.
We have a delicious soup with brown bread and some cold meats and potato salad, all washed down with two bottles of wine -
Monica's really generous. We discuss Verily and hockey and various of the girls - Prudence tells us about Thomas in the attic and her extraordinary confession. I don't believe it but Margaret says she thinks it's probably true. Then I tell them about my caning by Verily and the arrangement we made.
"And are you up-to-date now, Emily?" asks Monica.
I tell her I'm prepared nearly up to Christmas.
"So are you going to ... claim your caning from Verily then?" asks Prudence.
"I don't think I'll want to after tonight!" I tell them. Monica agrees readily - rather too readily!
After dinner, Monica suggests a game of bridge - with a difference. Margaret and I change back into our uniforms and join the other two round a small table in the living-room. We've all played before but Margaret's the most experienced. I'm paired with Prudence, Monica with Margaret. Monica's idea is that we just play a series of hands, not bothering with games and rubbers, and the losing pair - well, Margaret or I of course - get one stroke of the cane for every ten points the contract's worth, whether it was made or not. So, for example, three 'no trumps' would be 100 points, ten strokes.
I ask Prudence if she's ever caned anyone and she says no but she's sure she'll get the hang in no time!
"I'll show her how," offers Monica generously, "the moment you two lose the first hand."
I shiver and Margaret, to my left, squeezes my knee in solidarity.
To add further spice, knowing how Margaret and I love to be the punished schoolgirl, Monica has prepared some slips of paper folded in a hat with a misdemeanour on each one.
The first hand has Margaret bidding to make three hearts, which she does. Ninety points. Nine strokes. Ulp!
"Sorry, Emily," she mutters. Monica's eyes gleam as she brings me the hat and I dip my hand in.
You have been caught out of bounds for the second time this term, I read out loud. Monica says she'll give Prudence a demo and takes me by the ear over to her desk near the stairs uttering dire threats and tells me to bend over. It's thrilling. The others come and stand nearby. She lifts my skirt, lowers my knickers and presses me down in the small of my back to make my bottom come up more. She takes her time, stroking the cane up and down against my bottom before finally letting rip. Ouch! That junior cane is quite whippy and stings like mad. But Monica holds back a bit, I reckon - the night is young - and I bear it quite well though my bum is well and truly zinging after nine swipes.
The Girls of Cropton Hall Page 39