CHAPTER 1

FIRST REPORT FROM ST. MARTHA'S

 

It was a Friday morning and with her usual athletic virility, Miss Amelia Frayn, strode into the Junior Form Room sharp at 9 a.m. Ten girls rose instantly and stood within the traditional flap-topped desks they used. There were two absentees from the class for the usual monthly reason. They were Molly Drewe and Connie Foster. How lucky for them, the others thing for Friday is the Weekly Test day. Decidedly the most unpleasant day of the week.

"Good morning girls!" sang out Miss Frayn cheerfully. Her teeth bared in a mockery of a smile and her blue eyes flashed icily.

"Good morning, Miss Frayn," chorused the class.

"Be seated."

The pupils fitted themselves into wooden desks which always seemed a little too small for comfort.

"Monitors!"

Two figures rose ... the slightly scruffy looking Sheila Miles and the sullen faced Janet Dean whose buxom, puppy-fat figure was only with difficulty restrained by her blouse and gym-slip.

"Exercise books and Latin Primers," said Miss Frayn, still in that same cheerful tone which seemed to indicate that everything was for the best in the best of all possible worlds. There were some muted groans around the class at the mention of the word Latin. They were quickly stilled by a sharp glance from Miss Frayn. "You will continue for one hour," she said, "and then I shall give you your weekly Test."

The silence was complete and tense. Many eyes flickered to the side of the wall blackboard behind Miss Frayn. Hanging there on hooks were a fifteen inch long leather strap about an inch and a half wide and just under a quarter of an inch thick and a slim, whippy-looking willow cane with a hooked handle. There was not a shadow of doubt that both would be used before the day was done. After all, it was a Test Day.

"Sheila," said Miss Frayn suddenly, "those plaits of yours are a disgrace. Why, one is shorter than the other! If you don't take more care in future, my girl, you'll find yourself over my desk. That is my last warning."

Sheila had recently been told to wear her hair in plaits and found her soft, mousey hair difficult to control. Her lower lip pouted and there was a flash of resentment in her eyes ... seen by Miss Frayn, who made a mental note to lay on good and hard next time this girl's bottom was presented. Sheila always found it difficult to control her natural aggression.

The exercise books and primers were distributed with Jane's breasts bouncing and swinging and her plump thighs constantly all a-judder. Pens were distributed and then heads bent.

"Begin," intoned Miss Frayn ... and glanced at her watch. It was just after five past nine. Another day was beginning.

For an hour ten young minds were concentrated on the task before them. For most of the girls it was almost a physical agony to translate Latin into English yet, all the same, they struggled valiantly with it. Mis Frayn almost seemed able to tell whether or not a maximum effort had been put in.

At last the hour ended. "Time's up," called Miss Frayn who had spent the time reading a woman's magazine. "Monitors ... collect exercise books."

Sheila and Janet hurried around the classroom and piled the books on the Form Mistress's desk.

"I'll look at those while you're doing your Test," she said. "You have two hours and, as usual, there will be no break this morning. Monitors, distribute the Test Papers." Once again, Sheila and Jane bustled about. Then heads went down again.

The real test of the week was on.

From time to time Miss Frayn's tongue clicked with annoyance and her blue pencil slashed. These were disturbing signs for the whole class and it made it difficult to concentrate on the task in hand. But all tried ... and tried very hard.

 

***

 

"Times up," declared Miss Frayn. "Collect the papers Monitors."

The sheets piled up on Miss Frayn's desk. Everyone knew that the results would be declared later in the day, probably about four o'clock.

Miss Frayn looked at the class with glittering eyes. "As usual," she said acidly, "the Latin work is pretty poor. It would seem that some of you have heads full of cotton wool rather than brains. Today, however, there are two particularly bad efforts which I have to deal with. Hilary and Freda ... I want you both out here."

There were two shocked gasps of dismay. Then Hilary stood ... tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, her high cheekbones giving her a slight look of arrogance. At that moment, however, she looked downcast. She stepped forward towards Miss Frayn's desk followed by Freda whose blonde hair hung in a single ponytail.

Side by side, they stood before Miss Frayn's desk ... petrified, rather like rabbits before a snake.

"Two disgraceful efforts," said Miss Fryan. "Most of yours Freda was downright gibberish. And you, Hilary, I thought had begun to make an improvement. Frankly, I am in two minds whether or not to give you both a caning." Freda began to tremble even more. "As it is, I shall give you both a strapping. But next time there is any more of this disgraceful work, it will be the cane. You're getting six strokes each."

"Oh Miss ... Miss ... I find Latin so difficult," whined Freda. Tears began to run down her cheeks. It wasn't simply the pain of the punishment, it was the mental torment of exposing herself and being punished in front of others.

"I dare say you do, Freda," said Miss Frayn coldly, "but it is no more than my duty to encourage you to make a greater effort. You will bend over my desk. Hilary, stand to one side."

"U-Urrff ... u-urfff ..." sobbed Freda helplessly.

However, she did not take too long to obey the order. It was not unusual for Miss Frayn to increase the number of strokes if one took too long ... which was quite common with new pupils. Freda's gym-slip rode up a little but Miss Frayn pulled it higher, tucking the hem under the waistband. A pair of navy blue serge knickers were revealed, clinging tight to a round young bottom.

The V which dived into the cleft was acute and something like three-quarters of the buttocks were naked.

Miss Frayn took down the strap from beside the blackboard and the watchers saw Freda's nates give a clench of dread. They all knew just how she would be feeling at that moment. Coming round the desk, Miss Frayn was stroking the length of the strap over her left palm. Freda's knuckles were white as she clenched fiercely on the far side of the desk.

"You will count the strokes," said Miss Frayn. "In Latin."

The brown leather strap swung up and then cracked down, falling diagonally across the bareness of Freda's right buttock cheek, instantly producing a long swathe of pink-red pain.

"Oww ... ahh ... oww!" gasped Freda, twisting half over but still hanging on to the edge of the desk. "Uno ..."

There was a trace of a smile on Miss Frayn's lips. The strap rose and fell again, landing a little lower than the first stroke. Another pink-red swathe. Freda squirmed and lost the grip of one hand, which flew back and clasped at the swathe.

"Eeegghh ... aaahhh ... ahhh ..." she cried.

"Hands away," rapped Miss Frayn, "last warning!" Which meant that if Freda clasped at her bottom again, the stroke would be repeated.

"D-Duo ..." gasped Freda. Her bottom kept flinching and twisting as she awaited the third stroke.

"Bottom square," snapped Miss Frayn. Freda groaning, got it square.

Tthhwwaaccckkkkk!

The third stroke fell a little lower than the second, diagonally, almost at the lowest part of Freda's buttock cheek.

"Aaaaaagghhh ... oww ... owww ..."

Freda's head jerked up and her bottom bucked back and forth. All the same, she managed to maintain her grip. "Treize ..." she whimpered. Like Sergeant's chevrons, three bright red stripes lay over the right buttock cheek, each stripe being brightest of all where it curled round and zipped cruelly into the flank.

Now Miss Frayn, preparing to deal with the left cheek, changed her position slightly. Freda's nates contracted and she twisted slightly in anticipation. Up went the strap and down it cracked. Hard.

"Ooooowwww ... oh ... no ... noooooo!" yelped Freda, squirming uncontrollably again.

The first matching chevron stripe appeared running diagonally over the left cheek. An impartial observer would have considered Miss Frayn's accuracy commendable. "Q-Quator ..." gasped Freda.

Only two to come, she told herself. Only two ... and that was enough. Hang on ... hang on, now.

Number five cracked down and it seemed that Miss Frayn was increasing the pace and strength of her strokes. Freda squealed loudly and twisted almost completely over, losing her grip momentarily. Fortunately for her, her hands did not come flying back. She began to sob as she choked out the number.

"Quinque ..." There were five burning bands across her bottom and soon there would be six.

Down it came ....Ttthhwwaaccckkkk .. that must have been the hardest stroke of all. Poor Freda. She uttered a loud, gasping yelp and was quite unable to stop her hand flying back and clamping to the stinging-burning swathe.

"S-Sex ..." she sobbed, starting to get off the desk.

"Get back, girl ... you know the rules! Get back, I say!" commanded Miss Frayn.

Freda's head twisted round. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her wide eyes were imploring.

"N-Noooo ... no ... more ... oooh ... Miss ... No more ..." she begged.

Miss Frayn, however, was unmoved. She waited a moment or two and then laid on an extra stroke. This fell across the very tops of both Freda's thighs ... a most highly sensitive area. With an agonised yelp, Freda catapulted up, hands pressing again as she performed a pavane of pain before the desk.

"Uuuurrfff ... uuurrrfff ... uuurrrfff ..." she sobbed, as she pulled down her gym-slip.

"Back to your place," said Miss Frayn. "And don't forget what I told you, Freda. Next time there's work as bad as this morning's, you'll get the cane!"

Continuing to sob, Freda stumbled back to her place ... and placed her bottom in a most gingerly fashion on the hard desk seat. All the same, a little moaning gasp escaped her. Through a mist of tears, she watched as a white-faced Hilary now placed herself across Miss Frayn's desk. Up came her skirt and a most curvaceously feminine bottom was revealed. The girl was virtually a mature woman.

Miss Frayn continued to ply her strap in the same relentless fashion, one diagonal stroke below the other. But Hilary was made of sterner stuff than Freda. Though her buttocks repeatedly clenched, though she squirmed convulsively and kicked, she did no more than gasp before calling out each stroke strongly. Though Miss Frayn did her best, she could not get a cry out of the girl. She was content, however, she liked a girl with a bit of guts. In any event, she thought, as she watched Hilary walk back to her place, eyes brimming with tears, she'll yell all right next time I give her the cane.

CHAPTER 2

SECOND REPORT FROM ST. MARTHA'S

 

Under the supervision of Matron, lunch was taken at one o'clock. Food at St. Martha's was typical school food ... not good, not bad. Just rather soggy and tasteless. As usual silence reigned, while Matron's beady eyes roamed to make sure no one was trying to hide away food rather than eat it. A serious offence which would almost certainly result in a caning.

Since it was Friday there was added tension in the Hall. For Friday was the day of the Weekly Test, for both Junior and Senior Forms, and results would be announced that afternoon. And various penalties for bad work would be exacted.

Friday was definitely the worst day of the week. Two of the pupils fidgeted on the hard trestle benches on which they sat. They were the dark-haired Hilary Drake and the blonde with the single ponytail, Freda Townsend.

Both had been strapped that morning by their Form Mistress Amelia Frayn. Six strokes each for very poor Latin papers. In fact, Freda had received seven strokes, the one extra for involuntarily clasping at her burning flesh during her punishment. That extra stroke had fallen clean across the tops of both her thighs, a very sensitive area, and that particular scalding swathe was troubling her most.

Needless to say, she and Hilary were dreading the approaching afternoon most of all. The fact that they had already been strapped once they day did not mean they could not be strapped again. Or even, possibly, caned. The very thought made them quake deep inside.

Lunch came slowly to its dismal end and both classes, forming crocodile lines trouped out. Some girls went to their Dormitory cubicles. Though they were not permitted to put on soothing-healing ointment until night time, they could at least get some cooling relief by pressing cold, wet flannels to their buttocks. With knickers removed, this both girls did, obtaining some easement even if only temporarily. Freda was crying softly; she had only been at St. Martha's for a little over three months and was still not used to its harsh, cruel regime. Hilary had been a pupil for eleven months and was more experienced and able to take punishment with considerable fortitude. Soon, when a vacancy occurred, she would be moving to the Senior Class. Not that that would make much difference for the regime was more or less the same, except that Miss Angela Dermott was inclined to award more strokes than Miss Frayn.

At two o'clock, Junior and Senior Forms went back in single file to their Classes. In tense silence the girls sat, straight-backed, their short gym-slips riding high up their bare thighs. Miss Frayn kept the Juniors waiting for a quarter of an hour before she arrived. That was her prerogative and was a little play designed to increase tension.

Then in she came, her straw-blonde hair bouncing, her blue eyes flashing keenly. As far as she was concerned, Friday was one of the better days of the week. She enjoyed the Weekly Tests and tomorrow she would be off to Aberdeen to see her boyfriend Angus. At that thought, she felt a shivering thrill inside her. I must be very wicked, she told herself, and didn't mind a bit.

Miss Frayn thumped the marked Test Papers down on her desk, took her seat and looked coldly around the Class Room. How scared they all look, she thought. It was gratifying to have such control, to be able to implement discipline as she thought fit. It was, she considered, what the young needed ... particularly young ladies ... and had no qualms about it. She was merely doing her duty, with the approval of parents and guardians.

"There does not seem to be much improvement in the work of this Class," she said at last.

Silence, except for a short sob from Freda.

A heightening of tension.

"I shall now read out a list of those who have failed this week's Test," she continued. A pause. "I shall read it, as usual, in ascending order. That is to say, those whose names comes towards the end have done worse than those who are named early. There are six names in all." There were a series of gasps throughout the Classroom. That was over half the Class. So, only forty-sixty chance of escaping.

Miss Frayn looked down at her list and began to read, slowly and with emphasis. "Amy Brown ... Rhoda Cawston ... Freda Townsend (a loud gasp was heard) ... Yvonne Picton ... Stella Manton ... Helen Rabin."

Silence fell, again except for Freda sobbing softly. Some breasts were definitely rising and falling faster than others.

"The first four named will be strapped," continued Miss Frayn, "the last two, Stella and Helen will be caned. I shall announce the number of strokes just before the punishment. Now, for the time being, we will proceed with French translation. Monitors, issue French Primers and exercise books. Start translating at the top of page 79."

Stella Miles and Janet Dean bustled about their duties. It was noticeable that, after Miss Frayn's warning that morning, Shella's plaits were far more presentable. For once in her life she had taken some trouble with them.

Everywhere heads were bowed and brows furrowed. Slowly pens began to move across the pages of the exercise books. Miss Frayn looked down with satisfaction. This was what education was all about. Most of the pupils under her had learnt next to nothing before because they had not been subjected to discipline. Most had been unruly and rebellious when they first arrived at St. Martha's. Things were different now, though. Most of them had learned quite a lot and Miss Frayn was rather proud of her achievement.

She began to consider what punishments she would be handing out.

Amy, sullen, was thick rather than lazy. She had to work twice as hard as some of them. In any event, she had only just failed. A couple of really good stingers would suffice for her, she thought.

Rhoda and Freda would get four a-piece. The latter would find that particularly painful after her morning strapping. Yvonne would get six and thoroughly deserved them. Stella and Helen would get six of the cane. They wouldn't like that one little bit. In fact, being Head of the Form, Stella would get eight. The Head always got two extra whatever the punishment. After all, she was supposed to set an example.

Apart from rather heavy breathing, there was silence throughout the room. Contentedly, Amelia Frayn allowed herself to think about Angus when she wasn't reading the magazine she had brought with her. And sometimes when she was. The next couple of hours passed pleasantly enough. For her, that is. For the Class there was plenty of tedious work to be done ... and plenty of time for six of them to contemplate what was coming to them. It was part of Miss Frayn's tactics to announce the nature of punishment well in advance. She knew it made the nerves jangle, especially of those who were going to be caned.

At four o'clock, the exercise books were collected by the Monitors who were then told to stand to one side of Miss Frayn's desk in case they were needed. Stella and Yvonne were trembling a little; Freda had begun to cry silently. How sore her bottom still felt! It was wicked that she should be punished again, she thought.

"All those due for punishment," said Miss Frayn, "will now come out and line up alongside my desk, facing the Class."

There was much scraping of chairs and six gym-slipped figures made their reluctant way out to the front of the Class. Stella, tall and shapely was biting her lips and very pale. She had very long legs so that her gym-slip seemed even shorter than most. It's worse for me than any of them, she thought. At my age I shouldn't be at school at all, let alone about to be caned. I'm a grown woman; it was ridiculous. How could her father - a stern Major in the Indian Army - put her through this? Did he, in fact, know? She was pretty sure he did for he was a rigid disciplinarian. She had repeatedly been spanked by her mother when she was younger. But this was different. Far more shaming, far more painful.

"Amy, step forward ..."

The raw-boned Amy, with short brown hair, took two paces forward. She was almost ugly, her eyes blank and resigned.

"Two strokes," said Miss Frayn, "and think yourself lucky. Hard as it may be, I want a bigger effort from you. Understand?"

"Yes, Miss," replied Amy meekly. Her full lower lips pouted a little.

"Bend over my desk ..." Amy did so without delay or demure and her gym-slip was tucked into her belt. A pair of quite muscular buttocks were revealed, clad in the thin, tight serge knickers which covered only a small fraction of the bottom.

Miss Frayn took down the strap and trailed it over her left palm. One on the right, one on the left, she said to herself, and I'll make them really hard.

She positioned herself, legs a little astride. The strap swung up, almost lazily ... then it hurtled down, with Miss Frayn giving a grunt of effort.

Tthhhwwwaaacccckkkkkkkk!

The leather thong cracked down loudly on Amy's right buttock cheek. The girl gave a strangled, breathless gasp and lost her grip on the far side of the desk. However, she checked her hand before it could clasp at the blazing red welt which had just been raised. That was forbidden. A low groaning-moan escaped her as she clasped the edge of the desk again.

Miss Frayn changed sides and the strap swung up again.

Ttthhhwwwaaaccckkkkkkkkk!