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Monday, 14 January 2019

My Diary — the misadventures of Christina Winchester 6 part 2

From Privilege Club 13 continuing on from part 1. The horrible Mr Snipe has Christina where he wants her…
Mummy wouldn’t be home for another hour or so and there seemed no way of avoiding the punishment Snipe clearly had in mind for me. But whatever he dished out couldn’t be worse than his ridiculing me in front of Mr Everett. Slowly, I nodded.
‘Right. This time you will be making music of quite a different kind. This lesson will be far more…’ he snickered… ‘rhythm based!’
I felt the very air thicken. His gaze met mine. He was enjoying the fear in my wide eyes. He reached into his bag and brought out a metronome. For those unfamiliar with this instrument, it is a device that clicks back and forth to keep the performer in rhythm. He set it down on the dressing-table. He held my violin bow firmly in his right hand.
‘Listen carefully. I will set the metronome on a slow, steady pace, say… a beat every two seconds. On the first beat you will present your arm outstretched, palm up. On the second, you will spin around and present that bottom you like to flaunt so much. For the third you will present your other palm, then bottom again and so forth. Is that clear?’
I gave more of a tremble than a nod.
‘Excellent. We shall begin. Ready?’
The metronome clicked and my hand shot out reluctantly.
WHAAAPPP!
Down came the back of the violin bow, cutting cruelly across my shaking palm. It stung so much I almost forgot to turn. I got into position just in time to feel the bow slice with full force over my poor buttocks. Mr Snipe’s arm may have looked old and frail but it had the strength of a much younger man.
Up I spun again to receive a crisp CRACK across my other palm, and then back around to offer my scantily-clad bottom for an almighty SMAAACCKK which felt like sitting on an electric fence.
‘Stop!’ Snipe yelled. ‘Remove your skirt and jacket. I want you to feel true humiliation when I punish you.’
Reluctantly, I did as I was told. Shame filled my veins at being made to stand, semi-naked, in front of this nasty old brute. I wanted to hide.
The punishment continued. Front. Rear. Palm. Bottom. On and on I went, getting dizzier all the time to the regular click-click-click of the metronome. I didn’t know which was worse, seeing the stroke landing or merely feeling it. My head spun, and my maidenly buttocks and both palms were growing scarlet. Snipe paid no heed to my yelps and ouches. He administered stroke after stroke with impeccable timing, never tiring and never missing a beat. Finally, I collapsed to my knees, rubbing the two sore areas together furiously.
‘Owwwwwwwww,’ I wailed.
‘What are you doing? I’m not finished with you yet!’ he growled.
‘Please, Mr Snipe, I’m so dizzy. I can’t go on like this.’
Snipe surveyed me with menace His hand reached over and stopped the metronome.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘As you’re such a little cry-baby I will concentrate solely on your rear-quarters for the last part of the chastisement. However, the cost of relieving your palms will be that your bottom must take its due without protection.’
I was drowning in embarrassment. If it had been Mr Everett standing there I wouldn’t have minded blessing him with the glorious sight of my bare teenage curves, but not horrid old Snipe!
Tears welled in my eyes as I shimmied my panties off. I could see in the mirror that my bum-cheeks were already pink.
To my surprise, Snipe handed me my violin and bow.
‘You will play the piece that you should have been practising. Every time you make a mistake you will hand the bow to me. After it has been applied firmly to your bareness, you will receive it back and begin again until it is played perfectly.’
Oh God! Why hadn’t I practised?
I couldn’t even hold the bow steady, let alone play. I made an error within the first five notes and this was sharply corrected. The more mistakes I made, the more nervous I was, and the more nervous I was the more mistakes I made — and, consequently, the more scorching the fire on my bottom. The individual strokes blended into a deep rouge colour, making it look like a delicious ripened plum. Snipe yelled orders with the enthusiasm of an Army General. I couldn’t help punctuating the melody with a chorus of squeals. At long last I completed the piece without fault. Snipe scowled and gave a sarcastic round of applause.
----//----
A few Thursdays later, Mr Everett asked me to stay behind after class.
‘Nothing to worry about, Winchester,’ he smiled. ‘It’s just that I have really noticed a change for the better in your behaviour over the last few weeks. I’m glad, because you’re an exceptional actress and I hope to cast you as the lead for this year’s play.’
I beamed and shuffled my feet.
‘The part is quite demanding, and you’ll need to put in a lot of practice. I was speaking to Mr Snipe, who assures me he’s discovered a way of getting a spotless performance from you. He was very secretive, and wouldn’t tell me what it entailed. I was just curious, and hoped you would explain…’

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