Julie was a monitor and her comrade, whose name eludes me, almost so. Now it was known that Miss Temple corporeally chastised her own mistresses, notably the under ones, at intervals for faults; such corrections were carried out in the utmost secrecy, at night, and there were maids on guard throughout the corridors to see that no girl ever witnessed the offender stumbling back to her quarters, after.
For these floggings were evidently atrociously severe, on the principle that a mistress should be able to suffer what she prescribed. Julie Severn had somehow learnt that one was impending; there was a trapdoor above the bathing section of her dorm and on the night concerned she and her tribadic friend hoisted themselves through it, walked the rafters until they found themselves full over the Chastisement Chamber where the penance was taking place—and they watched it through a crack.
Amazingly enough, Mrs. Harden had been suffering. Yes, neither her age nor her stump sufficed to spare the cruel Matron who was hoist over a horse, her yard of crupper the color of uncooked beef as a gardener of the grounds applied the martinet to it before the Head and her assembled mistresses. It was a grim sight indeed, so the girls later said, yet strangely exciting to see the stump of leg kick out sideways at each cut.
So absorbed had they then become in their mutual frigging that they had made a noise, been caught, and hauled off to Solitary. Sent for, Mr. Brocklehurst convened the school. Never shall I forget the fear he inspired in his seat of honor at the top of our Long Chamber as the two culprits, who had given up all hope, were brought in naked, their arms bound behind them. He walked calmly down and scrutinized them closely for some full five minutes. Finally, he went behind and examined them minutely, finishing with each girl's lovely long brown hair. Behind these living medals his words fell like the knell of doom— "These two top-knots must be cut off." Miss Temple seemed to remonstrate. "Madam," he pursued, "I have a Master to serve whose kingdom is not of this world; my mission is to mortify in these girls the lusts of the flesh. I repeat, their hair must first be cut off. . . ."
It was. And their heads were shaved. Each had to be curried—that is, a curry comb used for the coat of horses drawn up their buttocks till they bled —and then each swallowed the awful medicine of six full dozen with the soko, venomously applied by avenging mistresses. Suffice it to say that by the last two dozen the tails fell on wet flesh and neither girl had voice to scream. They had to be assisted in their calvary around the room after it was over. Both were reduced to the Minimus rank for the rest of term, with numerous other additive punishments to match.
But there were other reasons why Mr. Brocklehurst came to Lowood than mere inspection, and correction. And to these I propose to append a chapter here.
WHHHHRPP!
The eleventh cut streaked across my already deeply bruised under-rump, the ivory tip making my right cheek literally jump.
I shrieked aloud.
I WAS IN HELL FIRE ITSELF!
Impossible to describe my contortions upon the triangle then. I fairly made it creak. Sweat streamed cold from my forehead and hot down my back. Great merciful God in heaven, Lord of Hosts give me the last cut soon . . . soon . . . and have it done with forever.
11
Until this point I have refrained from allaying my reader's natural curiosity concerning what sexual instruction, if any, we girls received at Lowood. It was, like everything else there, thorough and brutal. I shall come to it, covering what went on during my own incumbency within those grim walls.
Every girl at Lowood was personally deflowered by the Reverend Brocklehurst. This was his droit du seigneur, and his mark of mastery upon us. It generally happened at some point in one's first, or Minimus, year but was unannounced. Whenever the carriage wheels of his brougham grated on the gravel, and we knew he had come for one of his stays, we junior girls trembled. We could be sent for at any time, for the stake of that so solid manhood to be driven through us.
This state of trepidation was carefully increased by the concupiscent great gjrls who loved to tease us about the event, incidentally exciting themselves. For though as painful as possible the defloration was evidently intensely arousing and there were few of them who would not have given much to feel that gristly tree-trunk in their guts again; there was the story of one girl who so dwelt on it in her imagination she could barely think of aught else, and wrought herself up to a pitch of pure crazed ecstasy. One day, it was said, hearing Mr. Brocklehurst's tread upon a landing, she wildly threw herself at his feet, embracing and licking at his boots, imploring him to take her, then and there. The man had apparently given her a ferocious flogging with his cane and then buggered her, leaving her in an almost insensible state of tormented frustration. Throughout the rest of that term the poor thing had stubbornly continued to masturbate at the memory, despite repeated birchings when found.
"You're going to feel it up to here," said a great girl to me once, in a grinning group. And she touched the top of my head. "Right to the back of your skull."
"And if you're tight, Eyre, I swear it'll come boiling out of your ears," said another. "Just see if it don't. That man pumps pints."
"It feels like a garden hose gone off inside you."
"Too bad if you've got a tough membrane, Jane; he'll split you like a fruit."
"You'll feel it for a week after."
"Bam!" A tall girl, smiling broadly, beat a fist into one palm. "I felt as if he'd bust open my whole belly."
"He split me so wide I thought I was going to shit out his stuff when he came."
"Oooooh, what wouldn't I give for that sausage up me now!"
This indecent raillery may seem harmless enough, but poor Joan Walker, whose narrow loins looked as if they would be broken in two by any such rogering, it reduced to tears.
I trembled. "Der-does he flog you first?"
"Yes," said one. And then, as if at a signal, the great girls all turned and went off together, arm in arm down the corridor, in pace, their tiny skirts whisking over their important thin white knickers, through which their buttocks bloomed. It was with a curious admixture of terrified trepidation and unconscious yearning that we awaited the inevitable rape by the Reverend; and when mousy Estella Moore suffered first of us four new-knicks that year, I know I for one was deeply jealous. The girl was sly and smilingly evasive to our questions for a whole week after; indeed, she looked contented as a cat after cream. She was a big girl, able to support a battering, I suppose, and he had allegedly done it in her thrice. Sometimes he took on two or more in a night, but we were all done separately. My turn came at the end of my first year at Lowood and it was a complete surprise; I had not known the man was present at all.
I awoke in the'dead of night to find a black-gloved hand over my mouth. A figure was standing beside my bed, holding a lamp. It was Nell, smelling strongly of her stiff kid outfit. She gestured to keep silent, then whispered, "Follow me."
The whole dormitory was darkened and asleep as I slipped out of bed and followed the lamp held aloft by Nell and richly shining on her opulent nether contours. I had on only my nightgown and was bare of foot. Tousled and sleepy I followed the majestic figure down stairs, up others, along passages in silence. All was dark and ominous and I scarce knew where I was until we abutted abruptly at an all too familiar carved door—Miss Temple's. Suddenly I caught my breath.
Nell looked at me, smiling. "When you leave this room, Jane, you will be a woman," she said gravely. My legs melted. "Oooh, Nell . . . I’m so frightened ... is he ... ?"
Seeing I would not knock, she did so for me and opened the door at the gruff growl from within. All too soon it had closed behind me. I felt sick with fear at what I saw.
The great chamber was little lit. A large log fire comfortably flamed and there was an oil lamp on the long leathern desk top, throwing its mellow glow over two figures, Miss Temple and the Reverend Brocklehurst. I caught my breath for it was with a little thrill almost of desecration that I saw our Headmistress naked from the waistband of her ta
ut blue velvet trousers up. She was lounging on one arm of Mr. Brocklehurst's chair and I felt naughty looking at her so and dropped my eyes. She had adorable titties, small chubby apples with little aureole but ink-dark nipples.
Her glasses winked reassuringly and she smiled as she beckoned me to come forward in front of them. I went to the desk.
Mr. Brocklehurst's face was swarthy and shadowed, but he too was laughing and had I not feared him so, I should have called him handsome. He reclined against the tall rest, wearing only a flounced shirt of the finest lawn which, I could see, was opened to the waist, exposing his muscular and darkly hairy chest.
"The lamb to the slaughter," he chuckled gently. I trembled like an aspen. It was happening, finally it was happening at last, and there was no way in the world I could stop it. Something deep within me thrilled like a bow-string as he picked up his great long cane from the desk-top. They had both been drinking from cut-glass carafes, Miss Temple's golden and the man's port-red.
"Come, Jane," said Miss Temple in a voice I had never heard her use before, so soft and dewy with smiling sensuality was it, "do not be so frightened."
"Know what you are here for, girl?"
"Yer-yess, sir."
"What?"
"To take ... for you to take my maidenhood."
He grinned largely. "D'ye think I can?"
"Yes, sir."
"Come, let's see it then. Come, come," as I hesitated and his stick twitched at my nightgown, "your honey-pot, child. Let's get a good look at it now."
I raised the hem of my gown to my waist. I had by this time quite grown out and was inordinately proud of what I then showed, just above the desk, on the sill of my thighs. My bush was black and thick and the lips it hid were fat and ripe. I had a bulgy mons, "prime for skewering," as more than one girl had remarked in the dormitory. Well, now it was going to get it.
"Strip altogether."
Mr. Brocklehurst stared long and intently at the plum. "That's what I'd call a soulful twat, wouldn't you, Hilda, heh, heh?" As he spoke I heard something knock beneath the desk, his side. I gulped, petrified. "Nice tough hymen, heh. Matron says you have a good one. Not too much horseback stuff in your youth. Mm, wet and sensuous. Yes, yes."
As he spoke he had been prodding me knowingly, first the juicy sentinel which felt surprisingly stiff, then inside my vulva, the bendy tip coming up against my inner membrane which it tested as on a thumb. Finally, he extracted the end of the rod, sniffed it appreciately and took a swig of port
"Heavens, you're going to feel this, girl. Taut as a drum and far more springy. You'll never forget it all your life."
"Also, you'll never regret it all your life," said Miss Temple, standing up and stretching superbly. "Mr. Brocklehurst is doing you a great honor, Jane. There aren't many men built like him and on your wedding night you'll be glad he served you. So will your husband. He'll open you right up, just you see. But first come over here and well do some exercises to help you take him."
She led me gently to a large rug in front of the fire. Here I had to do a succession of energetic exercises —squat bends, toe-touchings, then hopping in the squat position, then on my back with legs over the head, parted widely, stretching, stretching. Finally, panting and wet with sweat, I lay back to see Miss Temple in the mists above me, smiling serenely as ever and I couldn't help wondering if she had felt the bludgeon up that trim velvet belly of hers. She guessed my thoughts with a chuckle.
"Of course every woman loves to feel thoroughly filled and replete, Jane. He'll give it me later and I shall be grateful to you for taming him down a little, first. There are times when he makes me feel almost too impaled." It scarcely seemed possible I was speaking to Miss Temple when I said, "Can we get it over soon, Ma'am, please?"
"Yes, but first I shall have to whip you a bit," she went on in the same kindly tone. "Nothing too terrible, just to make you all nice and tingly."
She chose a long, withy birch and made me bend forward with hands on my knees, feet apart. Oooh! how they stung! What vinegary cuts! I do not know how many she gave me, laughing all the while, but I soon shrieked up at their intensity, hopping and clasping. And in that state I was led back to the man, yes like a lamb to the slaughter.
"Now I'll give you a few on the back." These too stung appallingly and left me doubled, gasping, clutching my armpits.
"God, Hilda, I tell you I feel so hard my teeth ache. I've absolutely got to have her now."
He stood up and I slowly raised my eyes. Only to
feel I had been struck in the face.'
The lawn shirt ended at his thighs. It was wide parted all down and from the furry ball-sack at his center reared the most manly masthood I had ever imagined. It was prodigious, a belly-high erection, dark and bobbing as he . . . it . . . came towards me. I recoiled, hand to mouth.
"Oh sir ... oh please oh please, sir," I quavered like a ninny.
"Think this little dipper can plumb y'r smudge pot, Jane Eyre?"
The erection was on me. The fat tube was darker than I had seen, heavy with blood, while the great slab of meat that was the cockhead, with its thick corona, seemed to be palpitating to get at, into me. The sliced eye, whitely oozing, accused my very essense. The entire organ had the rigidity of throbbing iron and to think I was to be "done," hewn in half by ... I turned to run.
Miss Temple caught me by an earlobe and swung me back before I had gone a pace.
"Isn't it a beauty, Jane?" she hissed hotly. "It spits like a clyster when he comes. Here."
She led me to a small low back less ottoman. I fell back on it, legs sprawled either side, head half-conscious. The good woman advised me to grip the little polished wood bar at that end, in order to withstand the siege. She herself straddled there, holding my shoulders. Suddenly I looked up, and squeaked.
He still had the shirt on, but no more. His strong black-haired thighs were either side the ottoman, his monstrous member rampant between them. In the firelight the great barrel seemed to have grown, I should never get a half of it up me. . . .
"Oh sir . . . sir!"
A glass clattered at my teeth. Miss Temple poured brandy down my throat.
"Feel game, girl?" he asked in a gruff though at the same time gentle tone. I nodded bleakly. I could not take my eyes off that . . . thing.
"I'll, I'll do my best, sir."
I heard him mutter something to Miss Temple. They were astride me at either end and then I saw him reach up and fondle her elastic titties. His prick gave a savage, mule-like kick. This index of its strength drained the last of mine from me and when his hands lifted me under the buttocks I was unresisting, listless. I did not remain so for long.
Like a huge slug the furiously empurpled kidney of the head slipped in my parted lips. It felt heavy, loaded, and, gritting my teeth, I shut my eyes. Then gradually, kneading my bottom halves in his powerful hands, he nosed in and out of the top of my vulva, caressing my clitoris with his Cyclops eye. I came rapidly to life, blinked open my eyes—"Oh sir, what are you ... oh dear God, sir. . . !"
They were bent forward and kissing above me as with a strangled gasp I gave a short squirting spasm round his cockhead. He laughed.
"I do believe the little mischief has come!"
"Give it her now, Broughton, right through and up her throat!"
They were talking in undertones but I had closed my eyes again, for it was coming in earnest. He had plugged me with his glib tube yet further and I felt as if I could barely breathe. Nothing existed. Nothing but the rhythmic probing as his head felt out the strength of my membrane. He splayed open my buttocks further and I uncontrolledly gasped out, "Do it .... give it to me, sir ... ah get it done!"
He slid out—the length of that gristle!—and I heard him saying something to Miss Temple. There was a pause while my whole hips were held on the top of his meatus, and then the world went mad.
"YEOAIEEEEEEE!"
The room rang to my unearthly scream. It must have been heard throughout tha
t holy edifice. In perfect concert Mr. Brocklehurst and Miss Temple made me skewer myself on that stake. The former squeezed between finger and thumb two morsels of buttock flesh most wounded by the whip while the latter pinched my nipples with unspeakable acerbity. I lunged upwards, shrieking, at which moment the man split my fig and plunged his full length into me in one.
I was dismembered. It felt as if a fist had slammed up my entire being. The head ended under my ribs. I fought for breath, found none, tried to kick but could not.
"Good," said the Reverend, "now let's fuck the little devil in earnest."
By the time I got hold of myself I realized I was doubled back like a ball, my thighs held tight on my chest by firm Miss Temple as well as my ravisher . . . and I could but thresh a foot or two for movement. Dear Heaven alive! My face seemed but inches off my vulva, affording me a loge-like view of my present impalement as the great greasy, blood-flecked member now drove down into my guts almost vertically. Squeezed down, I was no more than a simple sleeve for penis.
A. N. Dedeaux - An English Education Page 16