"Phew! you certainly caught it on the right."
"You could put a ruler over the lot, I declare."
"Th-that one you're touching now," I said as a hand pulled the buttock slabs up to examine well under me, "that was the worst of all. The last one. For clenching."
I felt a curious quaint pride in having come through and in having these great girls examining my wounded person with such obvious respect.
"You should never clench with Oakes. She always notices," said Parker, still feeling me.
"Besides," added Crawford, "clenching only makes it bruise more. It helps against the first sting, but not the second."
"It helps in birching, though."
"That's why they fig you first."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Ginger suppository up the anus. Makes you spread like billyho." The girls giggled, then Parker whispered something to her friend and Crawford left the room. The Dorm head leant over me and said a little breathlessly, "I'll put some cold cream on them for you, Eyre, and you'll feel ever so better, just you see."
I was not averse. Actually I was beginning to feel a pleasant heat in my soft and swollen lower lips. Parker went up to her alcove and came back and sat on my bed. She began to rub the cream into my cheeks with slow squeezing hands. I panted at once. Soon my hinds were so greasy they were slipping under her ministrations, blubbery balls of flesh that she churned together with her thumbs up their insides.
"Feel better?"
"Ooooh yes. Ber-but I ... oh Parker . . . I'm. . ."
She chuckled knowingly. "Relax. Let yourself go, silly." Then, "You'll have to cant your bum up a bit so's I can get at those lower weals."
With grateful greed I did so, on my knees, my loins arching of their own accord. I knew the twinned apricot of my sweet slot was pouching prettily back between the top of my thighs.
"Oh thank you," I panted. "This is lovely."
She laughed again and laved into my cunt with her greasy thumbs. I ooohed at once. I felt red-hot down there, like a kettle about to burst. When one thumb flicked my clit I groaned aloud. The ready sentinel was stiff.
"I . . . oh heavens if you go like that . . . I'm, uigh, I'm afraid I'm going to squirt!"
"Of course you are," she chided. "Just let yourself go. You're learning something we all find out here sooner or later. It's five times as fine after a whipping. There, you're drippy as a sponge."
All the while she had been massaging the underside of my bud with the ball of her thumb. It was irresistible. I said quietly, "I feel I'm going to blow up now," and I did. She jammed her thumb full home, palming my belly, as I came, giving me purchase on which to mash my hungry red dragon. I jacked straight, gripping her wrist between my thighs, and tides of ecstasy flowed, molten, over me in wave on shaking wave. She was right. I had never known such lengthening of bliss, finger myself as I might at Gateshead. Finally, when I could look back limp, I saw Parker sniffing her hand with a smile.
"You smell of violets in a hot sun, darling," she said. "Heavens, you certainly go a lot. Was it good?"
I wriggled expressively for answer.
"Well, we shall have to wipe you off in the washroom, shan't we, or you will be on the mat for staining your sheets tomorrow. The grease won't matter so much, but if Matron sees your goo. . . !" She tugged at my shoulder. "Come on, idiot. Then you can be nice to me behind my curtain afterwards, can't you, I'm certain you've a tongue like an eel. Remember, I do have to give you three more in a mo'."
Suddenly I wanted to cry, and did so.
"Wha-wha-wha," I blubbered, keening. "We're all always being caned here . . . and it hurts so much. . , ."
"Yes, but think what a lot of good it does you."
"Der-do you have to whip me again tonight, Parker?"
"Yes I have to but if you're very nice to me I'll try and take you highish. Anyway it's going to hurt like hell on the bottom you've got and if I let you off at all the other girls will notice, and guess. So I'll have to make them fairly tight ones but not too. How's that?" she asked me, grinning.
That night, after I had done to Parker what Eliza Reed had made me so proficient in, she gave me three blistering beauties before the grinning dorm and I went to bed in tears at her treachery as much as anything. With three more the next morning I would have had forty licks laid across my bottoms since the beginning of the week. This average of ten a day was not exceptional for new-knicks and I think Susan Cuningham had even surpassed it. But little did I know what Friday was to have in store for my poor bruised behind.
Whhhhhrppp!
EIGHT!
What a whistler!
Oh that I could only have stamped in my agony . . . but I was strapped strained, sweat pouring down the furrow of my back and into my peach-cleft below it. Dear God, how this man knew how to whip. My master, Edward Fairfax Rochester
"Ah God," I groaned when breath came back to me. "As you are merciful, sir, pardon me these last. . . r
"But I am not merciful, Jane. You know that by now. And I am not because you do not want me to be."
He prepared for the next. . . .
8
"Angels see our tortures. . ."
Miss Temple had always something of serenity in her air, of state in her mien, of refined propriety in her language: never more so than when she read the Collect at morning prayers.
Friday was fine and fair. I felt a radiance throughout that morning whose source I did not know. Something of pride was in it when girls came up and asked if my Duty had been "tight." It had been, I assured them with a certain assumed nonchalance. I had cleared the Untidy badge from my person, and, yes, come through, albeit with a C. I was one with them all now.
In a long vacant room in the pre-lunch break period someone was walking towards me in the mincing prance given by very high heels. It was the mistress Miss Miller, who had given me the "treat," one I had liberally repaid, or so it seemed to me. In my eyes now she looked lovelier than ever, as she fairly bounced forward, her tiny pleated tartan skirt flicking at the tops of her strong, round thighs. As she stood before me I could not keep from staring at the juncture of the latter. Behind the light material lay, I knew, a powerful, black-haired. . . .
"Jane Eyre!"
"Yes, Miss."
I stood there grinning before her, frankly trying to look my most winning, and pretty. After what seemed a long time, and without smiling, she said, "I think you will come to see me this afternoon at four."
My grin grew. Such an admonition from any other mistress would have been cause for my heart to drop into my shoes. But Miss Miller was my ally now. I felt I knew what she meant.
"Yes, Miss." And I ventured a slow wink.
She looked surprised and after another long while nodded to herself still unsmiling. "You don't understand, do you?" was all she said, as she strode strongly off, her skirt flipping on her round haunches behind. I could scarcely wait for those hours to pass. Finally four o'clock struck.
There was a good fire and everything in Miss Miller's room looked cheerful—if one kept one's eyes away from the canes. She herself was seated in a low arm-chair on one side of the hearth and I saw at once that not only was she stockingless, she had nothing on beneath her tiny skirt. She lounged in such a way as to let me look at her great haired seam, and I looked.
"Will you take some tea, Jane?" she said solemnly. "Oh thank you, Miss, thank you." I dropped to my knees where the pretty tray had been placed on the little round table near the fire. How fragrant was the steam of the beverage which I poured myself while she watched—and the scent of the toast! Moreover, there was a good-sized seed cake, my favorite kind. As I cut myself a piece with her permission, I turned to say impulsively, "Oh Miss, it is so good to feel I have a friend, and that not every time I am summoned to a mistress's chambers will it be for personal chastisement."
I began to realize that Miss Miller had not moved a muscle since my entry, and that she was staring at me with a deep, unsmiling interest.
"I understand you got a Duty last night, Jane."
"Yes, Miss. Oh it hurt like anything. Would you like to see the marks?"
I stood up, treating her unthinkingly like a comrade and, I must admit it, hoping to seduce her by show of my invitingly plump bottom cheeks. I was indeed about to turn when I realized that her look was not one of interest so much as hostility.
"I begin to see that I was very wrong," she said slowly, at length. The teacup clattered as I set it down and my world started dissolving into the crumbs of the seed cake I equally shakily replaced. "This morning I could scarce credit it that a new-knick like you imagined a mistress might become your friend, but you seem to have truly got above yourself to this extraordinary extent, already. It is unbelievable. It reveals that you know absolutely nothing about the errand of Lowood, Jane Eyre. It is a disciplinary academy" She almost shouted the last words at me. "You have probably heard that we mistresses get disciplined in turn for errors, and that our punishments make yours look like child's play — though no girl is ever granted to see one. Leniency to a pupil, any favoritism, is one of the worst offenses possible. I propose to eradicate it and drive from your mind once and for all the ideas you have evidently been entertaining there."
"Oh Miss, Miss. . . ." It was dreadful. I stood wringing my hands, close to tears again.
"First of all, failing to curtsey to me this morning and now, having the insolence to lower your eyes to my private person. For your own good, you are going to learn your place in life, Jane Eyre." She stood up and went to the side. "First let me show you something, though." She came back with a pencil and the school roll, neatly lettered. "Close your eyes and prick a name." When I had done so she said, "Good, a Major. Eileen Parsons. Do you know this girl?"
"Barely, Miss."
She strode to a bell-pull and tugged it. A maid appeared at once.
"Send Parsons," said the mistress and when the maid had gone she looked at me with, yes, literal loathing.
"I'm going to whip your buttocks as hard as I know how, Jane. And then I shall teach you your place. You'll not get three, you'll not get four, you'll not get six. It's eight you're going to get, my girl."
"Oh Miss, mercy ... I didn't mean ... I never knew. . . ."I wrung my hands imploringly at her. "Oh I shall never be able to take so many, my behind is so sore. . . ."
"You will take them as well as this girl does or you will take them over, cut for cut, tied up in a Chastisement Chamber. Eileen Parsons has done nothing to merit punishment. She is a particularly meek and well-behaved girl whom none of us has been known to fault. Nevertheless, I shall flog her mercilessly and she will not complain, because that is the manner of Lowood. To be whipped by a mistress is a mark of esteem, a form of loving touching, do you understand? Now. I shall deal with you after you have watched her suffer. You will not need clothing. Strip to your shoes and then clear the center oi the room of chairs so that I can get a good run at you both, and set the punishment table well against the wall."
I cried all the time I did so, utterly dismayed at how things had turned out and gone so topsy-turvy, and terrified of what was in store, a fear augmented by the juicy whistles of flourished canes as Miss Miller tested their pliancy on leather cushions.
Finally, I heard a knock.
A senior girl came in. Aged almost eighteen she was a trifle on the short side with thin flaxen hair, and a heart-shaped face with brown eyes. Her expression was solemn but impassive as she curtseyed, with barely a glance at my naked person, and the cane.
"You sent for me, Miss?"
Miss Miller's attitude towards this sultry senior girl was quite different. She smiled and said, "Yes, I'm awfully sorry but I'm going to have to thrash you."
There was a brief silence, the girl's tongue ran over her lips, but her face did not change as she answered, "Very well, Miss. Now?"
"Yes. I don't think I've had this pleasure in quite a while."
"You gave me my last a year ago, Miss. Six of the best for talking in Prep."
"I'm glad you remember them, Eileen."
"Oh I do, Miss."
"Admirable. I want you to show this new-knick here how a great girl can take it. I need a model example. If you cannot provide me with it, Eileen, I shall have no hesitation in calling for the birch. Now then, roll up your skirt." When what there was of it had been so rolled, the mistress nodded. "Good. I like your buttocks. I shall not ask a senior girl like you to have to bare before a new-knick, therefore instead of six I shall give you eight, for the privilege of covering."
There was a pause. The girl frowned steadily at the floor.
"Miss. If I might be so bold."
"Yes?"
"I would willingly take them down and suffer the smaller count."
"For which unasked interjection I shall give you altogether nine."
"Yes, Miss"—after a moment.
"Bend over and put your bottom out, I'm beginning to feel you have not been beat enough, Eileen. So. Good. Jane Eyre, you come here."
In a lissom cat-like stretch the girl bent over the table at right angles, or a little more, her legs together. She was not secured, but a small gate in the form of a polished wood bar went behind her ankles and another at her knees, in front, so that her legs were effectively braced back; she reached right forward and buried her face between her arms, wreathed in her hair. A small flange in the table opened up and tilted at her groin.
I was made to kneel down close to her on the right, so that my face was at a level with her hips. Miss Miller took much pains to see that I was as close to the part to be punished as possible—"And don't take your eyes off for a second, Jane." By the time she had finished positioning me my nose was almost on the outstretched part and she laughed and said, "If I hit your face, I'll let you off it all. Meanwhile, just look and concentrate on your nothingness."
I had before my fearful gaze, then, the peerless silken rounds of Eileen Parsons, all too soon to be punished—for nothing. They were clad in the transparent skin of the Major's knickers, white with pale blue satin ribboning. At Lowood one learnt that God made us each separate individuals, and that each bottom is different.
This was a lovely one, nicely fatted yet not too much so, with little overhang; what they were remarkable for was their strong deep young separation, each cheek seemed to stand out proudly on its own. There was a sudden whizz of yellow before my eyes and I blinked and recoiled. The first slice had fallen. It was a beautiful blow, visibly lifting the chubby flesh. Miss Miller turned and strolled back.
There was a profound silence. The mistress was taking about three paces to her run and, after what seemed a long time, she bounded forward again and gave her target another full-bloodied swipe that seemed to shave my nose by inches—whuck!
"Keep your eyes open, Jane Eyre."
"Yes, Miss."
These first two were the "sighting" strokes, full across the arse cheeks, one about an inch or more above the other. The mistress would now try to place the rest of the count in between these darkening bands, visible beneath the stretched cambric, to produce, if she were accurate of aim, a single solid aching lump of unbearable burning pain. And—whuck! —the third now drove surely in, right between the pair. Eileen Parsons shifted her feet, but gave no other sign. I ventured a timid glance as the mistress strode back this time; a pleat of her skirt had caught in her cleft, behind, and with awe I saw her thick round thighs and the bulge of buttock cheek, so much wider and fatter and more powerful than her victim's. Soon I was to suffer too ... ah God, give me strength.
She lounged back, one hand on hip, taking her time. The first three fearful swipes had taken perhaps a minute. They meant a mounting toll for the girl whose first symptoms of suffering I, set so close, could now discern, a fleshy writhing-in at the base of the cheeks which were surprisingly downy. The mistress came for her fourth. Her skirt swung and I saw the thickly tufted bush which looked to me, in my present state of terror, large and cruel. She swung so hard now I hear
d her grunt. Still the stoical girl made no sign. After the fifth there was another long wait and I stole a glance along the table-top. The girl had turned her face between her arms, to my side; her forehead, quite crimson, was contorted and she was biting into the top of her right arm, at the shoulder, so as to help to bear the pain.
Perhaps the relentless mistress noticed my glance for she said slowly, "Am I hurting you, Eileen?"
Forced to answer, the girl brought up her head and hissed out an eloquent, "Yesssssss!" She raised up on her arms—"Please, Miss, mer-mer-may I have a rest? I have not been beat like this for some time and I had forgotten how dreadfully it stings. Ooooh!" Miss Miller laughed mirthlessly. "All the more reason to whip you often. Right over now, please." After the sixth she again gave a long pause, The cheeks were terribly bruised by now. She was clearly growing excited, breathing hard and flushing.
A. N. Dedeaux - An English Education Page 11