EXTRACT FOR
Back To School
(Klayton Frost)
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Back To School By Klayton Frost Copyright © Klayton Frost The right of
Klayton Frost to be identified as the author of this
book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights
and Patents Act 1988. All rights
reserved. Except for
use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in
part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or
hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written
permission of the author. All
characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author
and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They
are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the
author, and all incidents are pure invention. Back To School I attended St Martinas
University back in the 1990s, and things were a lot different then from how
they are now. The grounds were larger and the dorms were smaller, and you were
still required to wear a gown to the evening meal every day. There were
separate entrances for teachers and for students, and there was a proper,
fully-staffed infirmary on campus for anyone who got ill. The rules were a
little different too. Back then it wasn't only the disciplinary officer who was
allowed to dispense punishments with the cane - prefects were allowed to as
well. Even then St Martinas was
unusual - it was one of the very last institutions in the UK to still use
corporal punishment. It was also the very best school in the country in about a
dozen different fields, so I considered myself pretty fortunate to have secured
myself a place. I'd read the dry little paragraph in the prospectus about the
use of corporal punishment, but it had barely penetrated my brain. After all, I
was a relentlessly well-behaved young lady, and the very idea that I'd ever be
on the receiving end of any kind of disciplinary action never crossed my mind. Maybe that's why I was so shocked the first time I
actually saw a caning. It happened during a History lesson about two weeks into
the start of the first term. By then I'd just about started being able to find
my way from class to class without getting lost. I'd gotten used to the rhythms
of the everyday at St Martinas, and the dorms and the
common rooms and the high-ceilinged library were all slowly becoming familiar
territory. I was still learning the names of most of my fellow students, but I
recognised the girl who received the punishment. Her name was Jennifer, and she
was a relentless talker. She was sitting two desks back from me, and so I could
just about hear her whispers to her neighbour. I didn't think much of it though
- at least not until... "Jennifer, would you come to the front of the class,
please?" The teacher - a middle-aged professor with a stubbly chin and
thin, silver spectacles - spoke quite without anger, and yet an absolute, icy
silence fell as he uttered the words. "I'm sorry, sir," said Jennifer quickly,
covering her mouth with one hand. "Sorry." "Front of the class, please," repeated the
professor. Haltingly, Jennifer stood and walked to the front of the
room. Every eye was on her. The tension was so thick I could barely breathe.
Everyone - Jennifer included - knew what was about to happen. "Stand there and put your hands on the desk,"
said the professor, again quite calmly. Jennifer did as she was bid, taking a
position behind the teacher's desk with her hands on the wooden surface. I saw
that she was biting her lip, her eyes wide. Moving quickly the professor retrieved his cane from
where it was propped in the corner and stepped up behind Jennifer. He raised it
and brought it swishing down to land with a sharp SMACK squarely on her
backside. The poor girl yelped and jerked, and looked for a second like she was
about to stand up. The professor didn't waver, but simply put one hand between
her shoulder blades to keep her bent over the desk and delivered two more
lashes with the cane, each quite as hard and painful-sounding as the first. I
watched Jennifer's face - her eyes were squeezed shut tight, and as each stroke
fell she flinched and her fingers clenched against the wood of the desk. It all happened so quickly. The entire punishment had
been dispensed within a minute. The professor calmly returned the cane to the
corner of the room, and directed Jennifer back to her seat. She scurried away
gladly, wincing as she sank into her chair. I could hear her sniffling a little
as we resumed our lesson, but she never again whispered in class after that
point. If nothing else, the discipline dispensed at St Martinas
was definitely effective. After witnessing Jennifer's caning I made up my mind to
behave impeccably for the whole of my time at the university. I was already
pretty much a good girl, and so it wasn't a difficult decision, but the cane
scared me enough to forgo even little misdemeanours like talking during class
or running in the corridor. It was frightening not only because it looked
humiliating and incredibly painful, but also because it could be given so
quickly, with so little warning. It was always in the back of my mind that, if
I should break a rule, I could find myself up at the front of the class within
sixty seconds, suffering the cruel sting of the cane. No matter how well I behaved though, it was difficult to
account for the whims of the prefects. Most of them were decent sorts, who
hardly ever used the canes they were permitted to carry. The girl who was
responsible for our dorm, however, was rather less benevolent. Her name was
Melissa, and the seemed to enjoy nothing more than dispensing severe punishment
for the smallest of transgressions. Room inspections were a favourite tool of hers. There
were no set rules about the condition in which a dorm was to be kept, only that
it should be in good order. This allowed Melissa a lot of freedom when it came
to finding reasons to hand out penalties. No matter how long we spent tidying
and sweeping and making beds before an evening inspection, she would still find
something wrong. I remember one particular occasion early on. The dorm was
spotless and we were all standing beside our beds when she came in. My heart
was in my mouth. I'd managed to escape a punishment up until now, and I'd seen
the merciless enthusiasm with which Melissa had delivered a six stroke caning
earlier in the week to Jane, the girl whose bed was next to mine. The crime had
been an unmade bed - a tiny infraction - but the punishment had been sufficient
to drive Jane to tears, and left a series of welts on her backside that (she
told me later) didn't fade for a week. I was keen to avoid a similar fate. Melissa hovered by each bed, examining it for the
slightest crease or wrinkle. She was a tall girl, with a neat brown bob and a sharp
and knowing face. I watched the expression on that face as she moved from bed
to bed. A slight twitch of the nose, or a little movement at the corner of her
mouth made me feel like I was balancing on the edge of a deep, dark pit. I watched as she came to Jane's bed. Poor Jane looked
like she was about to burst into tears again already - I could see her legs
trembling. But - as I kept telling myself - there could be no punishment. The
dorm was perfect. Working together we'd spent almost an hour cleaning it. Melissa seemed to have come to the same conclusion. She
strode to the middle of the floor. Even though it was just an inspection she
had brought her cane with her and she held it clasped behind her back. Her face
was sour - obviously she wasn't very pleased to have no excuse to punish us. I
breathed a sigh of relief. Too early, as it turned out. After a moment's hesitation,
Melissa's face lit up and she moved to the door, reached up and ran a finger
along the top of the frame. It came away coated in dust, which she showed to
the room with a sly smile on her face. She flicked the dust away. "Disgusting," she announced. "It is your
shared responsibility to keep this dormitory in good condition. This is
unacceptable. Line up, all of you." At this stage we were all scared, fresh young students,
just turned eighteen, who wouldn't dare disobey a prefect. We did as we were
told, all four of us: me, Jane, Helen and Winter
forming a line in the middle of the room. "Now," said Melissa, and I could hear the
delighted cruelty in her voice, "all of you bend over and hold your
ankles." That was the moment when I knew a punishment was coming.
I looked desperately to my roommates, hoping that one of them would protest,
but no. Jane, terrified, had already bent over and put her hands around her
ankles. Helen and Winter, with pained looks on their
faces, did the same. It was so unfair - I couldn't believe that I was about to
be caned. Me! I'd never broken a school rule in my life. And yet, just like the
others I found myself bending over, wrapping my hands around my ankles. I felt
my school skirt ride up a little and I bent my knees, hoping that my knickers
weren't exposed. In that position all I could see of Melissa was her feet.
I watched as she moved behind us, walking slowly, enjoying our fear. Winter was
first in line, and as soon as I saw Mellissa take up position behind her I
looked away, focussing on the floor. An eternity of waiting, and then... Swish! SMACK! Followed by a groan of pain from Winter. I jumped at the sound of the cane hitting home as
though I was the one who'd received the stroke. Swish! SMACK! I counted the strokes that followed,
knowing that I would more than likely receive the same number. There were four,
each one followed by an increasingly urgent sound of pain from Winter. By the last it sounded as though she might break out
into tears. Helen was next. She took her four strokes in silence -
she was a member of the hockey team and by far the toughest out of all four of
us. All the same I could hear her exhale sharply through her nose after each
stroke. After that it was Jane's turn. She'd started crying
already, just from hearing the others being punished. Each time the cane fell
she let out a plaintive yelp of pain. Even knowing that I was next I couldn't
help but feel sorry for her. Swish! SMACK! That was the last. Me next. My turn.
*** The End *** Want to read the rest of this story? Then
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