Our story began here.
Catherine felt sick like she had drunk too much and reality was spinning around her head trying to have nothing to do with her. Each step she took towards the admin building felt as if someone else was walking and she had to carefully plant each foot before trusting it to carry her forward.
She had a case of nerves that she associated with the dentist or final exams, only much, much worse. She had tried explaining that she hadn’t meant to run away or any real harm, but Ms Barry hadn’t been interested.
“Mr Alexander will see you tomorrow,” she had growled. “The matter is out of my hands.”
As Catherine made her way there she ran excuses and explanations through her mind and tried to convince herself that the right form of words would get her out of hot water. She had always thought of her charm as her strong point, but since her arrest and being deserted by most of her friends, she realised that nobody liked her, not really; so much for personal charm.
“You’ll duck this,” Rupert had told her with a cocky grin. “Pretty with money does it.”
Only she hadn’t and pretty with money just didn’t cut it here.
Mr Alexander’s door looked huge and she actually swallowed before knocking.
“You may come in,” a distant voice called out.
Catherine eyed the door handle as if it were a snake. She must have stood staring at it for too long, because suddenly the door opened and Alexander was there.
“Miss Overton, didn’t you hear me?” Mr Alexander said in an almost kindly voice.
“I… eh… yes… sorry…” Catherine tailed off, her mouth hanging open in the centre of her pale drained face.
“We met at your induction, I had hoped not to see you so soon,” Alexander sighed, “Come in.”
Catherine followed him to the study, a bright room lined with books, the corners of which were cluttered with tatty second hand furniture. Except that was for one, Catherine noted, a detail that pre-Hardham she would not have even noticed.
“You know why you are here Miss Overton,” Alexander pursed his lips in disappointment.
Catherine replied with a small nod.
It obviously wasn’t a fulsome enough reply because Alexander peered at her expectantly.
“I-I went into the village Sir,” Catherine ventured. Then added hopefully, “I… I came back.”
“Yes, well I can see that,” Alexander pinched his nose, “Anything else?”
In something of a confessional spirit, Catherine suddenly wanted to make a clean breast of it.
“I called my father,” she gushed, “I just wanted to…”
What had she wanted or still want? She looked away and fixed her eyes on a point on the bookcase as if it held the answer.
“Did you meet anyone? Or visit the pub perhaps?” Concern was etched on Alexander’s face and his blue eyes twinkled a little.
“Oh no Sir,” Catherine said eagerly, “I just wanted… I needed to know that my old life was…”
‘Over’ sounded so final, but ‘changed’ sounded lame.
“I think I see,” Alexander smiled, “But you know there are rules.”
“Yes Sir, I know,” Catherine said gloomily, “But I won’t do it again.”
Alexander gave her a warm smile and then his face became thoughtful.
“Well I am certainly pleased to hear that,” he said.
Catherine relaxed a little and allowed herself a little smile.
“Leaving the premises without permission is a very, very serious matter,” Alexander explained, “It is actually a breach of your bail conditions and in all honesty I should report this to London for a ruling.”
Catherine felt something rise from the pit of her stomach and reach her lower throat. She couldn’t have screwed this up too, she just couldn’t.
“However, it is a first offence and I am empowered to deal with it,” Alexander continued.
“Deal with it?” Catherine said uneasily.
As she watched, Alexander crossed to his desk and picked up a cane that he had already placed there. She blinked hard and licked her lips.
“Please remove your skirt and place them on that chair,” Alexander said brusquely, “Then when you are ready slip your…”
He made a vague gesture at her, indicating the general area of her waist.
“… things down,” he continued.
Catherine gaped. She was not entirely surprised, but still the reality was a little hard to swallow. Literally, as she demonstrated not once, but twice as her throat worked over time.
“I believe I gave you an instruction,” Alexander said pointedly.
Catherine smoothed down the front of her thighs and blushed. Then with her eyes downcast, she began to fumble with the button and the zip of her skirt; unzipping and then re-zipping it before deciding to tackle the button first.
“Today would work for me,” Alexander said crisply, then seeing the woman’s apprehension, he pointedly turned his back.
With a fresh resolve Catherine hastily removed her skirt and then carefully folded it to place on the chair. Then she looked over at Alexander’s back to make sure he wasn’t watching before slipping down her high-cut delicate black briefs and stepping out of them.
The blood pooled at the crown of her cheeks as she demurely stood with her hands strategically crossed over her sex.
“Sir I…”
Alexander whirled around and seeing that she was naked below the waist, he nodded.
“That chair,” he said pointing at an old stuffed armchair in front of the fireplace. “If you would bend over the back of it with your head and arms in the seat, if you follow.”
The specs of red on Catherine’s cheeks exploded into a full blush as she crossed the room, realising that Alexander could now see her bare bottom.
“This one?” she asked in as a casual a manner as she could managed and pointed to the chair her had already indicated.
Understanding her disquiet he merely gave a quick nod.
She turned to fully face it, conscious that he was watching her and probably looking at her bottom. She felt a strange thrill at the idea. Then she leant against the back of the chair so that it pressed into her sex. The old coarse texture rubbed at her in a parody of pleasure and she subtly shifted her hips.
He coughed.
It was her signal to fold herself over the back of the chair so that her exposed bottom was arched upwards.
“Try to keep your legs together more,” he suggested with another little cough.
Catherine’s eyes widened as her thighs closed.
“This is…” she breathed, but she was too embarrassed to speak.
“A first caning calls for six or eight,” Alexander explained, “And then next time, should there be a next time, we add a little as an incentive.”
Catherine nodded dumbly, although he couldn’t see. She was in no mood for arithmetic just then.
“Given the nature of your offence I shall give you eight,” Alexander said.
Eight didn’t sound too bad, Catherine thought, not as bad as sticking my bottom up at a strange man anyway. So now what?
The stroke stole her breath and redefined her concept of pain. She yelled incoherently and if it hadn’t been for gravity, she would have shot to a standing position. Nor did the cane’s bite end there, for it seemed to go one building until the world shrank to that one line of pain.
She was still trying to process the stroke when Alexander gave her another.
“Shit,” she said in a gurgle that ended in a hiss.
The first stroke was still singing in her behind and now its fellow formed a duet.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she panted, bracing herself for more.
The third stroke did not seem as bad, especially as the first had finally begun to fall back to a dull roar. I can handle this, she asserted quietly.
“Sheesh,” she gasped as the fourth amended her view.
This one sawed in and kept sawing.
God please let it end, she prayed.
After the fifth impact she began to make a whining sound and shouted out at each slice of the cane right up to the final stroke until she was left in a panting heap over the chair-back.
“Alright,” Alexander sighed, “Let’s stop there. I really ought to have you cool your behind in the corner for a while, but it is your first time and I think you are actually sorry.”
“Yes Sir,” Catherin squealed, barely able to hold it together, “I am so sorry.”
She hadn’t been told to get dressed so she didn’t. She didn’t even try to cover herself. She had been thoroughly mastered and letting him see her seemed only respectful.
Alexander offered her his hand which she gratefully took, happy to be forgiven.
“Thank you Sir,” she said.
He smiled.
“You’re welcome.” Then seeing that she still hadn’t moved to get dressed he added, “You know my predecessor used to make naughty girls walk back to their rooms in the state they had been caned in.”
Her jaw dropped and she worked her mouth for something to say.
“Miss Overton, get dressed,” he smiled, “Oh, since you are in no hurry, please get dressed in the hall outside, there is no one about after all.” Then seeing her hover in confusion he added, “Before I send you away as you are.”
“Yes Sir,” Catherine blushed.
As soon as she hastened away the ridges across her bottom flared and once outside she burst into to tears.
*
Catherine cried all the way to Melanie’s room. She didn’t care who saw her, but she didn’t want to be alone, not just then.
Once she got to her friend’s door she didn’t wait and after a cursory knock she tried the handle.
“Piss off,” Melanie called out.
“Oh, sorry,” Catherine said miserably.
“Oh, it’s you. Hang on,” Melanie called back.
After a long moment the door lock clicked and Melanie appeared.
“Shit. What happened to you?” Melanie asked. “You had better come in.”
As Melanie turned to walk away Catherine could see that once again her bottom was very bare and as usual on these occasions her behind was scored with vivid welts.
Melanie winced as she lowered herself face down on her bed and Catherine gaped. Her hand stole to her behind but her little caning was virtually nothing next to Melanie’s adventures.
“You look as bad as I feel,” Melanie said ruefully.
“I-I just… I have been to see Mr Alexander,” Catherine said dully.
“Ooh, your first time,” Melanie cooed in sympathy, “Come on let’s see, I bet you have some beauties back there.”
“But you…”
“Oh it’s nothing. I’m used to it. Here I have just put some on. You’ll need it too,” Melanie said dismissively.
In a few moments both girls were laying side-by-side on Melanie’s bed while Melanie eased some pink sticky ointment onto Catherine’s bottom.
“Oh God, that feels so good,” Catherine groaned.
“Welcome to the club,” Melanie said cheerfully.
“Come on, give me that and I’ll do you,” Catherine said, realising that she was being selfish.
“I did mine,” Melanie said ignoring her. “Besides you have a cute bum and I don’t mind a bit.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Catherine chuckled, “Anyway, you missed a bit. Quite a few bits actually. What did that man use on you, a machine cane?”
“Alright, shift over and we’ll get head to toe,” Melanie giggled.
“How many did you get?” Catherine said in awe.
“Oh, twenty, looks like I am well on my way to winning my bet; or losing it. It depends how you look at it,” Melanie laughed.
*
Somewhere an owl hooted and a chill night breeze rattled through the trees before falling still. Jeanette looked up at the crystal clear night and marvelled at the stars. Lights-out had been over an hour before and she had finished her rounds and was now confident that all was well.
Then from the west, the wind picked up again and Jeanette shivered and hurried on.
The main building was quiet as she entered, the day staff having long since gone to their quarters and the only lights were the small emergency kind set in discreet corners. Jeanette thought about turning some more on, but decided that the shadows better suited her mood.
As she made her way up the stairs she remembered the first time she had made this journey so long ago. She had been 24 and an inmate here herself. She smiled at the memory. She had been so scared and yet so defiant. Much like the new girl Catherine, although her story was not one of privilege.
Her crimes were not pranks gone wrong, but a catalogue of misdemeanours and bad turnings that were rapidly leading her nowhere. Hardham had saved her. No, it was saving her still, she amended.
As she reached Alexander’s door she felt the same trepidation she had felt all those years ago as an inmate. She even took a breath before knocking.
“Come in Miss Barry,” Alexander answered.
Jeanette sighed and then taking a grip on the handle entered his study.
Alexander was waiting with his cane in hand.
“Here for your regular straightener are you?” It was part of the ritual and gave her an opportunity to consent.
“Yes Sir,” Jeanette breathed.
“You are late,” Alexander said gruffly.
“I’m sorry Sir, the stars were so…” Jeanette realised what she was doing, “Sorry Sir, no excuse.”
Alexander nodded.
There was a brief silence while Alexander eyed her up and then he nodded again. “You know what to do.”
“Yes Sir,” she whispered and moved her hands to her skirt.
Alexander turned his back as he always did while Jeanette first removed her skirt and then her underwear. Then he turned to see her correctly position herself over the back of the chair.
At 34 her bottom was fuller than it once was, but still it was still smooth and tight. He was pleased to see that she had exactly the right posture, the one that he had taught her to do so well.
Jeanette remembered months of defiance at such times, she must have incurred more penalty strokes than any girl in the history of Hardham she thought grimly. She realised now that it was because she had always know that this was what she needed.
As a point of discipline Alexander had taught her to present her bare bottom exactly so, she remembered. It had been mortifying. The indignity, the submission; he had not tolerated the smallest display of rebellion in word or posture. He had persisted until she had been utterly conquered and ready to learn.
“Miss Barry, how many was it last time?” Alexander asked.
“Forty-four,” Jeanette said. Her voice was thick.
“So you are expecting…?”
“Forty-eight,” she whispered.
“I imagine it will be 50 before the amnesty,” he murmured.
“Yes Sir.”
The stroke cut in hard and without preamble taking her unawares as it always did. Her jaw clenched and her eyes flew open in surprise, but her bottom did not move even as the neat dark line developed upon it.
She could never take it without tears and with 47 more to come she also knew that she would rebel a little by moving her bottom out of position before the end. But she knew that Alexander would never tolerate that and would punish her accordingly. If the mood took him he would award strokes again as well as giving her extra.
The next stroke ended all speculation; it ended all things in her mind but the sting that clawed at her bottom.
“Oh Sir,” she cried out.
Alexander answered with another stroke.
The end.
