Continued from Harsh Reality. From Uniform Girls 20
Jennifer scurried to the cupboard. On the lowest shelf she found the newspapers. She took the top few sheets and returned to the adjoining room. ‘On the floor with it.’ The senior tutor pointed at the cleanly-swept bare floor. Jennifer stooped down and smoothed the newspaper out. ‘Stand on it. And on no account move away from it.’
The woman read through further notes in silence, pacing slowly across the room. Occasionally she looked up at the girl, standing, waiting, perched on her little square of newsprint. ‘How did you taunt the other girl? The new one? What did you call her?’ She stood still, standing face-on to the girl, her facial expression demanding a reply.
‘I… called her… Little tits…’ Jennifer blushed as she confessed, repeating the words she had used as a cruel taunt. The woman gave Jennifer a slight smile. ‘Then I shall call you big bottom, young lady. Now remove your knickers. I wish to deal with you, without the obstruction of knickers.’
But it wasn’t as simple as that. The woman had only mentioned those big shapeless institutional pants. ‘Not your braces…’ she directed, as Jennifer attempted to remove them. And then she had made the girl stand upright, her hands once again on her head, while she clipped the braces together, right between Jennifer’s legs. The girl closed her eyes to suffer the indignity, as the ‘V’ of the elastic descended from her shoulders, over her breasts, to meet in a tight triangle right deep down between her legs. She was told to turn round; and the awful woman had checked to make sure the elastic continued its intimate pathway, right deep down between the girl’s buttocks, parting the bouncy flesh a little.
‘Big Bottom?’ The woman waited for Jennifer to respond to the taunt. Jennifer reacted too late, and a firm hand slapped down across one of the girl’s rounded buttocks. Jennifer gave out an involuntary yell. ‘So why did you taunt the girl about the size of her breasts?’ The girl shook her head. ‘Perhaps we ought to take a closer look at your own… attributes…’
From a drawer in the little table on the landing, the senior tutor produced a pair of scissors. Cruel insensitive hands clutched at the girl’s cotton tee-shirt, tweaking Jennifer’s nipple as she pulled the fabric away from her body. With two or three deft snips of the scissors, the garment was cut. When released from the woman’s clutches, the rough hole exposed Jennifer’s right breast. A little dark pink nipple peeped out.
‘A big bottom with a bare tit,’ commented the woman, inspecting it with her long bony fingers. ‘You evil girl.’ Once again, the cane was brought into play. This time, the woman ordered Jennifer to remain upright, her hands on her head, the elastic of the braces still stretched tightly across her breasts and deep into her very soft, girlish areas.
‘Tits.’ The woman said the word out aloud, the sibilance again reverberating around the room. ‘Spell the word for me, Jennifer.’ As the girl pronounced each letter, the long thin cane whistled down in a long sizzling arc, implanting itself deeply into Jennifer’s ample bottom. Just four letters, but the girl was sobbing with the pain, before the four letters had been spoken. ‘And again, young lady…’ And once again, she was forced to spell out the letters… T… I… T… S… and as each letter was heard, the cane cracked down.
Later, Jennifer had again collapsed across her bed, face-down, her tears soaking down into the bedclothes. Her bottom had stung so terribly. She had massaged it gently with her fingers, feeling the ridges raised by the cane. Somehow, she felt so totally devoid of feeling. No anger. No bitterness. No willingness to argue with that awful domineering woman. She just wanted to cry; and she just wanted her to leave her poor bottom alone.
Almost worse than that dreadful prolonged caning was the senior tutor’s promise; that tomorrow she would be treated like that disobedient delinquent she appeared to be. Could there be anything worse than the cane? Jennifer’s slight experience of corporal punishment could offer no suggestions.
Finally, she was able to release herself from the pinching restraint of those braces. She stretched herself out flat, pressing her body into the soft bedclothes, feeling the blankets and sheets supporting her. Later, she sat up, naked, and stared at herself in the mirror, looking at her breasts, wondering what that woman had thought of them. That female tyrant had laughed at her; told her that her bottom was perfectly contoured for punishment; and when Jennifer had threshed her legs about, the woman had simply slapped her thighs, telling her to control herself. ‘I’m not impressed, Jennifer. Now behave yourself…’ And once again, the thin whippy cane had whistled down, implanting itself right across every bare inch of her fleshy bottom.
But the punishments were working. In the solitude of her room she remembered those few days ago, when she had enjoyed the power, and she had misused her privileges by taunting the other girl. She remembered how she had ‘trapped’ a little group of them, and how she had enjoyed dealing with them. The power had corrupted her.
She recalled the scene in the senior tutor’s study, as she had lined up two girls and they had bent forward across Miss Forsyth’s oak desk. She remembered the complexion of the girls’ bottoms and their tear-stained faces as they filed out into the ante-room, a few minutes’ later, and the wonderful sense of satisfaction she had experienced.
But now, young Jennifer felt fear. She needed her sleep, but there was little chance of rest. Throughout the night hours, the floorboards creaked. She almost expected to be woken, to be told to touch her toes for the kiss of the cane. And her bottom was still stinging. Once again she ran her fingers softly over the twin mounds, counting the ridges left by the cane. And in sheer desperation she cried once again, promising herself that in the morning, she would leave.To be continued in the final instalment — Harsh Discipline.