It was a rare
day that Winona didn’t get a spanking. And usually not just a spanking,
but also
a caning or a paddling. And every night when she went to bed, her arse
was red,
often raw and on occasion striped by welts from the teachers’ or the
headmistress’ cane. It was rare that Winona could sleep comfortably on
her
back. And usually there was a further spanking, usually with a
hair-brush,
administered before going to bed, after her mother had inspected the
proof etched
on her arse of her naughtiness, tardiness, slovenliness,
inattentiveness and
inability to gain good grades,. And sometimes on occasion, her mother
would slide
a brush handle into Winona’s anus to encourage her to further reflect
on the
error of her ways.
Of course,
Winona was far from the only girl at school to be treated so sternly.
Discipline
was taken very seriously at St. Charity’s Church School for Girls. From
the
moment of coming to school in the morning, where a girl might be
disciplined
for late arrival, to the time of departure, a pupil could expect
chastisement
for the infringement of any one of the many codes of conduct enforced
by the
school. This was a school where standards of good behaviour were set at
a very high
level. The most likely cause for punishment was to contravene the
school’s
strict dress code. The skirt had to be the right length: not too short
and not
too long. The hair had to be regulation length and plaited in the
required
style. There was no licence for colourful ribbons, short socks, gaudy
buckles, immodesty,
scruffiness or bad posture. Punctuality was rigorously enforced. Poor
performance was also sufficient cause for punishment. And woe betide a
girl who
chatted in class, showed insufficient respect to teachers and other
staff, who
behaved during school hours in a way that reflected poorly on the
school’s
reputation, or contravened any of the more important school regulations
for
which a dozen of the best was quite simply not good enough.
Punishment,
however dealt, was administered publicly and harshly according to the
degree of
severity. And every day those reprobates whose behaviour most warranted
it—generally the three or four whose sins were deemed most worthy of
punishment—received additional public chastisement from the
headmistress’ cane at
assembly in front of the entire school. And to protect the school
uniforms,
especially the knickers, it was mandatory that the punishment was
administered
on the pupil’s bare bottom which would bear witness of any other
punishment received
earlier that week or during the weekend.
It was
impossible for a schoolgirl to conceal the evidence of her punishment.
During
the calling of the register, each girl was required to turn her back to
the
wall with the dress hitched up and the knickers pulled down. And when
her name
was called out, the girl would not only acknowledge her name when
called by the
teacher but give an account of the punishments she’d received since
last time she’d
answered the register. The teacher could easily determine from the
redness,
rawness and the number of raised welts across the buttocks whether the
pupil
was telling the truth. Frequently the teacher would add a couple of
extra slaps
of her own to the bums of those pupils who’d shown themselves deserving
of
punishment, which would cause especial pain for those who’d already
suffered
the most.
This was how
Winona could be sure that the pain and humiliation she suffered at
school and
at home was shared by almost all the other girls in her class and,
given that
there was nothing exceptional about her class, by all pupils at St.
Charity’s.
It might perhaps be true that Winona had more welts and bruises than
most other
girls and it wasn’t simply because she had more tender skin. She was so
careless
in her appearance, so often late to class, so often tempted by small
acts of
mischief and, worst of all, plainly not one of the most academically
gifted in
her class. But there were other girls whose arses betrayed that they’d
also been
subject to treatment just as severe, just as there were some girls who
miraculously managed to escape any punishment at all. These star pupils
excelled at sport, shone at study, were prim and proper in their
appearance, were
never tempted to misbehave in any way, and were never less than
punctual. And
of all these pupils the one who excelled the most was Chrysanthemum
White.
She was a pupil
who every morning when she tugged down her knickers and pulled up her
skirt
revealed a bottom wholly untarnished by punishment. Chrysanthemum’s bum
was
white, perfectly formed, unscarred and unblemished. In short, it was
the envy
of every other girl, especially the ones who knew only too well the
perpetual
discomfort of trying to sit on the hard wooden seats with a bum that
never had
time to heal from one spanking or caning to the next.
Just what was
the secret of Chrysanthemum’s success? How did she manage to navigate
each
day’s worth of possible rule infringements that tripped up the more
unwary such
as Winona?
Of course,
those who most often caught the attention of the teachers most
assiduously seeking
out a pupil to admonish and thereby maintain a deserved reputation for
uncompromising strictness were most likely to be those girls for which
there
was prior form. And in this regard, Winona was a pupil with a long and
persistent record for misconduct and misbehaviour, whereas
Chrysanthemum had no
such history of any kind whatsoever.
It was on a
Thursday and after a particularly punishing Wednesday that Winona was
once
again summoned up onto the school stage to be one of those the
headmistress had
chosen to make an example of. Her name was announced by the Senior
Prefect for
Form 6A for having repeatedly and without sufficient remorse offended
against several
approved rules of good conduct.
“It is
inconceivable,” Jenny Carruthers said portentously, “that Winona
Churchill
should ever set a good example to others unless her bad behaviour is
firmly addressed.”
Winona had
dreaded this for so long. It had been several weeks now since her last
public
chastisement at assembly in front of the entire school. And it was so
unfair!
She’d been late for school on the Wednesday as a result of a caning on
the Tuesday.
She’d got little sleep as a result of the stinging pain across her
buttocks
that her father had made no better by the additional vigorous
application of
his slipper. And the rest of the day got no better. After a brisk
spanking by
Miss Vangotha for lateness, she received another during bottom
inspection for
allowing a sock to slip down to her ankle. She was assured that this
spanking
which left her bottom red, hot and stinging was administered for her
own good.
Mrs Pitcher insisted that in some mysterious way the punishment that
continued
for nearly ten minutes hurt her more than it hurt Winona; which seemed
entirely
unlikely. It wasn’t Mrs Pitcher’s bum that was now blushing red and
radiating
enough heat to poach an egg,
Winona’s misery
mounted as Wednesday continued. She was caned by the Deputy
Headmistress for
being in the corridor when she should have been in class: a crime that
earned
her the standard dozen of the best (made a baker’s dozen by Winona’s
neglect to
say “Thank you” between the tenth and eleventh stroke). This sin was
the result
of her spending longer than she should have in the lavatory following
her
earlier spanking. Then Winona earned a brisk two-minute spanking from
Mrs
Balham for restlessness in class as she wriggled around on her seat to
avoid putting
pressure on her swelling welts. There was also a very peremptory
half-dozen
strokes of the cane that Miss Smith administered in Physical Education
for
Winona’s slowness and lack of attention.
And finally,
when it seemed that no more punishment could be possible, Winona was
dealt
another dozen strokes of the cane on her injured buttocks by the
headmistress
for having gained less than 60% on the weekly Latin comprehension test
along
with five other similarly challenged students.
“I do hope this
is the last lesson you will need to learn on this matter,” said the
headmistress
on that occasion, although as became apparent the following day this
was quite
clearly not going to be the case.
It didn’t come
as a total shock to Winona for her to be singled out for punishment at
the
school assembly, even though she’d made every effort to ensure that she
didn’t arrive
late that morning. In fact she’d arrived some fifteen minutes early.
And this
was despite a very severe beating from her mother the night before in
which the
over-used hair-brush broke and a new one had to be found to continue
the
beating.
“It doesn’t
surprise me at all to see you in this position once again,” said the
headmistress to Winona as she roughly tugged her knickers down, hoisted
her
skirt up and stood her in front of the trestle that had been set up on
the school
stage. “You will say ‘Thank you Miss’ after each of the next dozen
strokes of
my cane. If at any time you neglect to do so, I shall commence again
from the
beginning. Do you understand me, Miss Churchill?”
“Yes, Miss,”
said Winona not sufficiently audibly.
“Excuse me,
Miss Churchill. What did you say?”
“Yes, Miss,”
said Winona somewhat louder and bolder.
“And do you
understand why you must be punished?”
“Yes Miss.”
“Tell the
assembly the reasons, Miss Churchill. And please speak loudly.”
Winona turned
around
to look at the other pupils ahead of her: hundreds of school-girls who
felt
both sympathy for her plight and fear that they might find themselves
in the
same situation. Her skirt at the front covered her crotch though from
behind it
was hiked up and her welted black and blue arse faced the headmistress
and the
senior staff behind. In a line beside her were three other girls also
waiting
to be punished: their hands clasped behind their necks, skirts up,
knickers
half-way between the knees and thighs, and bare arses on display.
“I have been
late to school. I have been careless in my appearance. I was lax at P.
E. I
should have been more attentive to my teachers.”
“And…?” said
the headmistress.
“Yes Miss?”
Winona asked.
“Your Latin
marks,” the headmistress reminded her.
“I failed to
achieve the required marks in Latin Comprehension.”
“Very good,
Miss Churchill,” said the headmistress. “Please assume the position.”
“Yes, Miss,”
said Winona obediently as she bent over the trestle, her arse in all
its bruised
ugliness on full display to all the other pupils.
“I hope you
will learn by this lesson never to misbehave again,” said the
headmistress as
she lovingly stroked Winona’s battered bottom.
And then
followed stroke after stroke for an unbearable twenty-five strokes in
all
brought about by Winona neglecting to say ‘Thank you’ between the tenth
and
eleventh strokes in the first administration and between the fourth and
fifth
strokes in the second. When it had at last come to an end, she said a
final “Thank
you” to the headmistress and presented the cane to the next reprobate
pupil.
She returned to her place at the back of the school stage and silently
sobbed
as waves of pain from her ravaged arse pulsed through her body. She
knew from
experience that these welts would last for many more days and that
there would
be a distinct imprint in her flesh that would ensure that this most
certainly would
be something that she’d remember for a very long time.
“If only you
girls would learn your lesson then this wouldn’t be necessary,” said
the
headmistress in a manner that suggested she truly regretted having to
administer such strict correction. Winona wasn’t so sure about this. It
often
seemed to her that the headmistress, like so many other teachers, took
rather
more pleasure than was strictly necessary from dealing out such
chastisement.
And she wondered (as she so often did) whether the punishment wasn’t
several
times more severe than the supposed crime.
And as always,
Winona envied most those girls like Chrysanthemum whose bottoms
remained
forever spotless.
And it was
later that day in column with the rest of her class that she marched
together silently
side-by-side with Chrysanthemum on the way to the school playing fields
for a
game of hockey, each girl dressed identically and carrying a hockey
stick. Just
as they were very nearly through the padlocked gate, the teacher, Miss
Jacobson,
who was known for being somewhat scatty, stopped in her tracks and
appeared quite
distressed.
“My goodness!”
she said in alarm. “I’ve forgotten the key to the playing field.” She
addressed
the Senior Prefect. “Please keep the girls in order, Miss Carruthers,
while I
return to school to fetch the keys.”
“Excuse me,
Miss,” asked Amanda, who was Miss Jacobson’s favourite pupil. “Are we
allowed
to talk to one another in your absence?”
“Talk to each
other?” wondered a flustered Miss Jacobson, who was no doubt concerned
whether
her forgetfulness might earn her a fine from the headmistress (usually
administered as a voluntary donation to a charity). “I don’t see why
not. But
only to the girl standing next to you and only in whispers. We don’t
want the
general public to hear you gossiping.”
And with that,
Miss Jacobson rushed off, while Jenny Carruthers, as was her character,
ensured
that any conversation between the waiting girls was no louder than a
whisper
despite there being no member of the general public anywhere in sight.
“So, Winona, how
are you feeling after your punishment?” Chrysanthemum asked in a kindly
solicitous voice. “I hope it’s doesn’t hurt too much.”
Winona was
startled to be addressed. She and Chrysanthemum had never spoken
before. “It
stings but it’ll get better,” she said, speaking with the wisdom of
experience.
“It must be
terrible for you to be caned so often,” said Chrysanthemum.
“It hurts so
much!” Winona admitted.
“Do you always
cry when you’re beaten?”
“I try not to,
but I can’t help it. Especially when my bottom is already sore.”
“I feel so
sorry for you,” said Chrysanthemum.
Winona
snivelled. “I wish I were like you,” she confessed.
Chrysanthemum
seemed
quite startled. “Why do you say that?”
“You never
get punished.”
“That’s because
I don’t break any of the rules.”
“And your
bottom is never spanked, caned or paddled,” said Winona. “I wish mine
was as
pure and welt-free. You bum isn’t even blush red like you get from a
spanking.”
“My parents
have never spanked me,” said Chrysanthemum. “I suppose they’ve never
had cause
to.”
“I wish I had a
bottom like yours.”
“You are
fascinated by bottoms,” remarked
Chrysanthemum with a strange smile on her face.
Winona nodded.
Although it had never crossed her mind before, Chrysanthemum was right.
But who
wouldn’t be when her bottom had been spanked and beaten so many times.
It
wasn’t her fault that her life had become so much bottom-fixated.
“Would you like
to see my bottom?” asked Chrysanthemum.
This was a
strange remark, but perhaps not so peculiar given that after a caning
or a
spanking, Winona had often compared bottoms with other girls who’d been
punished. And the bottoms she’d sniffed, stroked and kissed were black
and
blue, sometimes red and welted, with signs of earlier beating being
overlaid by
the fresh scars of more recent punishment. It was comforting in a way
to be
able to compare her own bottom with those of her fellows. It made her
feel that
she was part of a community who shared equally in the injustice of an
overly
strict regime of corporal punishment where the only licence seemed to
be in the
teachers’ imagination in identifying instances of misconduct.
But she had
never seen close before a bottom as pristinely pure as Chrysanthemum’s,
so
without really thinking Winona nodded her head again.
“Tomorrow
lunchtime at a quarter to one in the girls’ toilets on the top floor of
Block
25,” said Chrysanthemum as if this were the most natural thing in the
world.
“Don’t be late.”
And after that
Chrysanthemum turned her face away from Winona’s and looked straight
ahead,
while Miss Jacobson scurried back from the school with the key to the
playing
field padlock.
Winona wondered
all afternoon and the following morning about what this rendezvous in
the
toilets with Chrysanthemum might mean. What she hoped above all was
that
Chrysanthemum was in a curious way reaching out to her. It was Winona’s
opportunity to make friends with a girl who never got punished. And she
hoped
that by doing so, she might in some way learn those habits by which she
could
avoid being spanked or caned. Perhaps she would even learn how to study
more
productively and assiduously. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she too could
average
90% in Latin Comprehension? Wouldn’t it make her parents proud of her
if her
school report was speckled with the letters A and A+, rather than C, C+
and D? Then
no more hair-brush spanking. No more visits to the headmistress’ study.
No more
caning in front of the entire school assembly.
And after a
while, her bottom would lose that disfigured, blotchy appearance that
made her
feel so mortified during the daily bottom inspection and she would have
a
bottom as smooth and pretty as Chrysanthemum’s. But so distracted was
she by
thoughts of her rendezvous with the star pupil that she earned three
slaps on
the palm of each hand during Poetry Appreciation and six slaps on the
bottom
from Sister Wendy during Religious Studies. But at least that was
better than
two dozen strokes of the cane in front of the whole school.
And so, despite
her unarticulated reservations about keeping the appointment and
inculcated into
punctuality as all pupils at St Chastity’s were, Winona arrived at
exactly
12:45 at the girls’ toilets that Chrysanthemum had specified. She
gingerly
pushed open the door to see whether there was any other girl there. It
was
unlikely, of course. Chrysanthemum had chosen the toilets well. Even
though
they were open to all girls, they were only ever used by those who ever
had a
need to be on the top floor of Block 25 which was mostly reserved for
unpopular
subjects like Mechanics and Geometry.
“Hello!” said
Winona nervously. “Is there anyone here?”
“Are you by
yourself?” Chrysanthemum asked. She was inside one of the toilet
cubicles to
which there was of course no door as such privacy only encouraged
sinful habits
and naughtiness.
“Yes,” said
Winona as she strode over to the cubicle.
Chrysanthemum
was sitting on the toilet seat in a prim and proper manner with her
hands
clasped over the lap of her skirt.
“So you want to
see my bottom,” she said in a matter-of-fact way.
“Erm…” said
Winona for which this was by no means the only reason she wanted to
meet
Chrysanthemum. In fact it was the least of her reasons. What she most
wanted
was to become more closely acquainted with her fellow pupil. She’d
already
fantasised about being able to visit Chrysanthemum at home and to meet
her
mother and father. Wouldn’t it be something to meet parents who didn’t
regularly
spank their daughter? And perhaps, if all went well, she and
Chrysanthemum
could study together and perhaps even be privileged a sleep-over. And
her
ambition was that soon she would be one of those girls whose backside
was a
good example to all during the regular morning bottom inspection.
“Well, here it
is,” said Chrysanthemum, as she stood up, turned around, hitched up her
skirt
and pulled down her knickers.
And what a
bottom it was too. White, pale, unmarked, firm and tempting.
“Do you want to
kiss it?” asked Chrysanthemum.
“Can I?”
“It’s what you
want, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said
Winona hesitantly, still not really believing in what was happening.
She knelt down
behind Chrysanthemum in the cubicle with the pristine bottom in front
of her.
It smelt just as pure and unsullied as it appeared to be. There was a
small
wobble in the buttocks that was delicious to her eyes and so tempting
for her
lips. So very different from the bottoms she’d seen before at such
close
quarters. And even if her friends’ bottoms hadn’t been the victim of so
much
maltreatment, they would never have had the perfect proportions of
Chrysanthemum’s bum.
Winona put her
nose to the proffered cheeks and skimmed it over the barely visible
hairs of
the cheeks and between them. And this being what was so clearly
expected of
her, she tenderly pressed her lips to first one and then the other
cheek.
“Your bottom is
so beautiful!” Winona exclaimed.
“Which won’t be
the case with yours, young lady,” said the stern voice behind her of
the deputy
headmistress.
Winona stood up
abruptly, while Chrysanthemum in no hurry and with no sign of alarm
pulled up
her knickers and smoothed down her skirt.
“Miss,” said
Winona automatically.
“I was told
that you were misbehaving in this disgusting manner, Miss Churchill,”
said the
deputy headmistress. “And now thanks to Miss White, we know for sure. I
hope
this shameless show of depravity has not harmed you in any way, Miss
White?”
“It has been a very
painful experience for me,”
Chrysanthemum admitted.
“Not as painful
as it will be for Miss Churchill here,” said the deputy headmistress as
she
grabbed Winona by the ear to drag her to the headmistress’ study.
And as a
weeping, humiliated Winona was pulled along, suffering the jeers of her
fellow
pupils, she knew for sure that for as long as she remained a pupil at
St
Charity’s she would never have a bottom as pure, pristine and pretty as
did
Chrysanthemum.
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