From Uniform Girls 18
Teresa glanced out of the window but there was nothing to be seen. Unless you counted the blank brick wall opposite. She sat on the bed again, eyes fluttering, nervous. The bed and a wooden table and chair, that was all there was in the bare little room. Like a prison cell almost. The bed with its stark tubular metal frame could easily be imagined in a prison cell. She squirmed her bottom. The blanket she was sitting on was a vivid royal blue. A violent colour, scary in itself in a way. The whole place was scary. The two starched white pillows precisely placed; the metal jug on the table… Downstairs…
She hadn’t really seen anything downstairs. Too scared to look and anyway that Matron, Mrs Jarrett, had marched her straight through the hallway and up the stairs. ‘You will wait in your room until Mr Canfield is ready for you, Probationer. Mr Canfield deals with Probationer Nurses and he will see you shortly, I expect.’
St Probyn’s Training Unit. She had heard it referred to as St Probyn’s Penitentiary and in the little room with Mrs Jarrett clanging the door shut behind her Teresa could easily see why. But more to the point, though, what did you get here? What was the training? She had asked and no one would tell her. Girls who had been had only given a blank look. Or shook their heads. ‘You’re not supposed to ask, Teresa. It’s confidential, haven’t you been told that?’ Yes she had but girls were usually prepared to talk about things. It seemed they weren’t about St Probyn’s. Nothing except that single humourless joke: St Probyn’s Penitentiary.
You all had to come here, at least there was that. All Probationers had a two-week stay, once they’d done their first hospital period. So it couldn’t be too awful, could it? Not if everyone had it. Sitting on the bright blue blanket Teresa told herself that. ‘Take your coat off,’ Matron had said. ‘You’ve got your uniform on?’
She had put her coat in the cheap little cupboard, with her bag. Yes, Teresa had her uniform on. Mrs Smith, Matron at the hospital, had checked that out before she left. ‘What have you got underneath, Probationer Taylor? Not tights?’
Teresa said yes she had. ‘Tights are not correct wear for St Probyn’s. You wear proper black nylon stockings with a suspender-belt. Have you got any?’
Teresa hadn’t. She wore tights always, like most other girls. No one at the hospital said you couldn’t wear tights with your uniform. ‘Well you’d better borrow from someone. And you wear black knickers. Mr Canfield at St Probyn’s is very strict on detail. You must be properly turned out.’
So under her blue-striped uniform dress and white apron Teresa had on nylons and a suspender-belt, borrowed from another girl. She also had on black high-heels. That was something else required. Naturally you didn’t wear high-heels in the hospital but they were required here, at St Probyn’s. The suspender-belt felt funny when you weren’t used to wearing one. Something else to put you on edge in this horrible little room. Teresa stood up and then sat down again. This Mr Canfield… What was he like…? ‘Very strict on detail.’ She looked again at the door.
Five minutes later it opened. Teresa’s heart gave a violent thump. Mr Canfield? He was quite young, in his thirties, in a short white coat over trousers. She got shakily to her feet.
He smiled. ‘Hello. Teresa Taylor? I’m Graham Linford. Mr Canfield is tied up for the moment but I have to see you anyway. Your examination.’
It wasn’t Mr Canfield after all. And what…? ‘Come with me please.’
Out into that bare white-walled corridor and into another little room. Very much like her own one except the bed didn’t have that bright blue blanket on it. Instead there was a white sheet. Mr Linford was closing the door behind them. ‘Slip your things off,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to have a look at you.’
Oh. Flushing. He gave her that smile again. He was quite good-looking. ‘Come on, Nurse. We must learn to move smartly here. You’ll need to move smartly for Mr Canfield.’
Fumbling at her apron, and then the dress. She had to take everything off and get on the bed. ‘You can leave the nylons and suspender-belt, but everything else.’ Mr Linford said. ‘It’s just a routine examination. Are you a virgin?’
She mumbled something, hot-faced, and had to repeat it. ‘Not… uh… no…’ Breathless, Teresa had her knickers off now and had got on the bed. On that cold white sheet. On her back. It wouldn’t perhaps have been so bad if Mr Linford was an older man but he wasn’t. Only about 30, good-looking. ‘Raise your knees,’ he told her. ‘And open your legs. It’s only routine. Right… let me see…’
Her nyloned knees were spread wide and Mr Linford… His hands… It’s only routine, she told herself. Desperately. His fingers were there. Carefully probing. His quiet voice asking her, with his fingers now… inside. ‘Only… twice…’ she gasped out. Mr Linford, as his fingers did what they were doing, wanted details. Who. When. Exactly what…? ‘It’s routine, Nurse, but we need it for the records.’
It was the worst thing. Just the worst thing. That you could imagine. Not knowing where to look when it was finally over and she could sit up. Standing up on wobbly legs. Her boobs and pussy bare. Her pussy that… She could still feel those fingers…
Mr Linford slapped her bare bottom. ‘OK? Get dressed now. That seems OK. We’ll see if Mr Canfield is ready.’
Somehow getting her things back on. She was all hot, all shaky. Her mind still focussing on it. Lying there. Her legs wide open. Mr Linford… Mr Linford with those nice blue eyes was smiling. ‘That was all right, wasn’t it? Some girls quite enjoy it, I believe.’
Back in the other room. Mr Linford left her there, shutting the door again. There was no Mr Canfield, not yet. The room was just the same. Then she saw it wasn’t. On the table, next to that white jug. There was now a cane.
Teresa stared at it, thinking for a moment it was a mental aberration. Her mind playing tricks after that traumatic business in the other room. No, it was a cane all right. She picked it up, and quickly put it down again. It certainly hadn’t been there before. Who had put it there. And what was it for?
Two minutes later the door opened again. An older man, in a suit. Teresa got shakily to her feet again. It must be, this time… she stood upright, feeling herself trembling, her thoughts darting wildly here and there… and back to what was on the table.
He came close. In his fifties probably, smooth grey hair, glasses. Yes, he would be Mr Canfield all right, in that suit. Eyes behind the glasses silently sizing her up.
‘Probationer Taylor?’ A firm, not-very-friendly voice. Teresa nodded. Scared little words popped out: ‘Yes sir.’ She could still feel Mr Linford’s hands as she lay on that other bed in just the nylons and suspender-belt. With her legs wide.
‘Your collar, Nurse. Is this how you normally wear it?’
Her collar? Teresa’s hand went up. Oh. One side was sticking out from behind the apron top. From when she had got dressed again in the other room in front of that Mr Linford. Hardly conscious of what her hands were doing.
‘Leave it. Don’t adjust it now. We will consider it further later. But could it be typical of your approach, Nurse? Slipshod? Not too concerned with proper standards? Not too concerned with discipline?’
‘No!… No sir.’
His hands were at her waist. At the buckle of her belt. That wasn’t wrong, was it? Too loose or something. She realised she was holding her breath, and let it go. A little frightened moan came out with it.
His hand came away. ‘Bring the chair over. Stand up on it. Then lift your skirt. We will see if there are other examples of improper turn-out.’
The wooden, straight-backed chair that was at the table. Teresa tried not to see the cane as she took the chair. There couldn’t be anything else: a suspender-belt not fastened, a stocking seam not straight? Or in that awful unthinking state she had been in when Mr Linford had done with her she had somehow forgotten to put her knickers on again? This Mr Canfield really scared her. And there was that cane. He can’t cane me, she thought — but the cane was there. For a reason.
Clambering onto the chair in the spiky heels. The seat felt slippery and she didn’t wear high-heels much, certainly not for standing on chairs. What if she fell off. Teresa swallowed. Dry spit in her mouth.
‘Lift it, Nurse. Right up. Round your waist.’
It wasn’t any worse than that Mr Linford. It wasn’t anything like as bad. Just lifting your skirt. But somehow it seemed as bad. Up on the chair and Mr Canfield’s face, his sharp eyes, on a level with her… Just keep calm. Don’t panic. Think of something. But what…? Teresa’s mind thought inevitably of that cane. Her skirt and apron up. Exposing the full length of the black nylons fastened with the straps of the white suspender-belt. They were fastened properly, they had to be, although she couldn’t look down. But she had somehow pinned her apron like that, with one side of her collar sticking out. ‘Mr Canfield is a stickler for detail.’ His hand was at one front suspender-strap. Checking that it was properly fastened, properly tight. The hand let go and slid round to the side strap. And then to the back of her bare thigh above the taut stocking. Stroking slightly. Teresa could hear herself breathing. She seemed to be gasping for breath. The hand had slid up, to the tight seat of the black nylon knickers. Jiggling her bottom. Another of those squeaky little moans came out.
‘These stockings, Nurse. Were you told you could wear patterned ones?’
The stockings had little black designs on them. Teresa had got them from that other girl, Monica, and hadn’t had time to think. You wore plain stockings (tights) in the hospital of course.
He had let go. ‘Right. Get down. Nurse. Put the chair back.’
She stumbled over, her skirt back in place again. Put the chair back. Stood trembling in front of him. He wasn’t going to do anything? Please.
‘Right, Probationer. Now I am going to cane you. Improper and slipshod dress.’
The shocking words that part of her had known were going to come. Now I am going to cane you… ‘Nnnnghhh…’ A mewling sound coming out of her mouth.
‘Get up on the bed. Kneel on it and drop your knickers. At St Probyn’s, Probationer Taylor, we do not stand for any sort of slipshod behaviour. That is the first lesson we have to learn. Come on, sharply please.’
Kneeling on the bed and hoisting her skirt again. Her collar, and the stockings. Hadn’t Monica known? But maybe you got caned anyway here. For something or other. That was why they wouldn’t talk about it, weren’t allowed to talk about it. Teresa’s hands were doing what they had to do. Pulling down her knickers. Baring her bottom. For that…
It was in Mr Canfield’s hand now. The cane. Teresa’s bottom bare: her skirt up round her waist, her knickers lowered to the tops of those patterned stockings.
‘Move the pillows, Nurse. Place them in the middle of the bed and lie down with your hips over them.’
‘Please…’ The word coming out although she knew there was no point in arguing. Mr Canfield was going to do it. Yes. She yelped as the cane came out and cut across the bare back of her thigh. A red hot, stinging pain. ‘Do it, Nurse.’
Lying down. Face down on the bright blue blanket. Her bottom exposed, raised up over the two gleaming pillows. Mr Canfield taking her hands, to put them together behind her back.
‘Keep the position, Nurse. Keep your hands together. I do not want them reaching for your bottom as soon as I put the cane to it. And I don’t want you diving around like a landed fish. Understand. Nurse? It is an exercise in discipline.’
She gripped her hands together. This was what they wouldn’t tell you about, weren’t allowed to tell you about. St Probyn’s Penitentiary. The bare cheeks of her bottom automatically clenching. Her mind had difficulty taking it in. That Mr Linford and now this. On her first afternoon here. There were two weeks, you had a two-week stay. At St Probyn’s Penitentiary…
Continued in Join the Dots...