New Girl at St Justine's, Volume 1 Read online

  Martha Duerrisse remained unmoved.

  “You broke the school rules, Diane. And also there is a suggestion of lesbianism. Not definitely proved, of course. But a strong suggestion I shall take into account the fact there is no definite proof.”

  “Th-Thank you ... Ma’am ...” The girl’s voice was low. Cringing. Her whole body seemed to be shuddering with dread.

  Martha opened a large, indexed black book on her desk. Her finger ran down a page. “You have been caned before, Diane, I recall.”

  The girl nodded hopelessly. She had large brown eyes and long dark hair. There as a sudden close-up of her terrified face ... eyes brimming with tears, lips quivering.

  “Twelve strokes for repeated slackness in class. Followed four weeks later by eighteen strokes for the same offence. Correct?”

  “Y-Yes, Ma’am ...”

  Another close-up. The tears brimmed over and cascaded down soft cheeks.

  “So you know what the cane feels like?”

  Now there were great heaving sobs as the tears flooded down. “O-Ohhh ... yes ... oooohhhh ... yes ... Ma’am!”

  Martha nodded sagely. “Well, Diane,” she said, beginning to write in the big, black book, “this time, for these two offences - one only partially proved, of course - you are not going to get twelve strokes. Nor eighteen. You are going to get twenty four.”

  With an awful wailing cry, the girl fell to her knees in front in the desk, clasping its edge. “Ma’am ... no ... ooo ... oooohhhhh ... no ... Ma’am ... I m-meant n-no harm ... I swear it ... only ... kindness ... Ma’am ... I ... did no wrong ... please ... please ...”

  “Stand up, girl,” said Martha calmly. “Unless you want to earn yourself another six.”

  Sobbing, Diane forced herself up. She was shivering uncontrollably.

  “P-Please ... oohh ... p-please,” she could be heard whining.

  “I may tell you, Diane, that, if the lesbianism had been proved definitely, you would not be receiving twenty four strokes but thirty six ...”

  “Oh dear God ... no ... oooooo ...”

  “Yes, Diane, oh yes. I don’t often give a thirty six stroke caning but, when I think it is deserved, I do so.”

  “Mmmmfff ... mmmmfff ... mmmmffff ...” sobbed Diane, head bowed.

  “Right, my girl, into the Punishment Room with you and prepare yourself. I shall be along shortly.”

  “Mmmmfff ... uuugghh ,,, mmmfff ... uuugghhh ...”

  The girl Diane stumbled as she made her way across the room to the black door.

  “Fiona found her nails digging painfully into her palms. How fascinating it was! How incredibly exciting!”.

  Now the camera switched and one saw the Punishment Room. Weeping, Diane was removing her clothes. First the short gym-slip. Beneath she wore a half-cup white brassiere and a tiny pair of white briefs. These were next removed. A very good figure, thought Fiona. Lovely firm breasts and a curvaceous bottom. Perhaps she was just a shade too plump. The suspender belt, stockings and high-heeled shoes were removed.

  Diane stood naked.

  Still sobbing.

  Still trembling.

  Most understandably!

  Uncle Erik has seen all this, though Fiona. What a naughty man! What a dirty old man! Still, good luck to him. If that’s what you wanted - and could afford - why not have it?

  Then Martha entered the room. She was garbed in her usual plain black dress. Her features were pale and impassive. She might just as well have been entering church. She went at once to the cupboard and slid back a door. From one of the tanks she withdrew a cane.

  Turning, she spoke. “I note from the Punishment Register, Diane,” she said, “that, previously, you felt a Grand 1 cane. This time it will be Grade 2. Thicker and rather more painful.”

  There was a close-up of Diane, sobbing uncontrollably. Then the camera moved out a little and one saw her superb, firm young breasts heaving up and down in her distress. They were bespattered with her tears.

  “Get yourself over the Horse, girl.”

  It was obvious that Diane knew that pleas would be useless. Indeed, that any delay might cost her dear. With a despairing, anguished wail, she made her way blindly across the room and more or less fell over the Horse.

  Unhurriedly, in silence, Martha first buckled Diane’s wrists. Then her thighs were secured by straps, these being pulled across and round the lowest part of each thigh. The thighs were only parted fractionally. But, as Fiona saw, by reason of the curving bolster of leather, the girl’s bottom was thrust up and out in a taut curve. At some two and a half feet from the floor, it could not have been more conveniently presented for punishment.

  Fiona found her head buzzing.

  She was half sick with excitement.

  It was almost impossible to believe it was all happening. She watched, fingers entwining, as Martha picked up the cane. Her excitement intensified further.

  However, rather to her surprise, Martha simply walked to the front of the Horse and laid the cane on the floor, where Diane could not help seeing it, right under her nose.

  “I will return,” she said.

  Then the screen faded.

  “Is that all,” said Fiona, feeling rather disappointed.

  “Oh no,” replied Martha, “you’ll see her getting her caning alright. I just wanted to explain something. With me, a caning if far more than simply laying a rod across a girl’s bottom. She has also to be made to think about it thoroughly, both before and after. Her nerves have to be stretched. She had to be made to suffer mentally as well as physically. I keep them waiting for an hour before I cane them. Can you imagine what it is like? The minutes ticking slowly away ... yet all too fast ... knowing in the end, for certain sure, you’re going to endure excruciating pain ...”

  Fiona shook her head. “It ... it ... sound awful,” she replied, feeling rather fearful.

  “It is,” nodded Martha. “Right before you is the rod that will shortly be laid across your helpless bottom. Your helpless bottom, which right at that moment, is sticking up into the air, the skin drawn taut. It’s going to hurt ... to really hurt ... and there’s nothing ... absolutely nothing you can do to escape it. That hour is all part of the punishment. And a most unpleasant hour it is.”

  Fiona nodded understandingly. For the first time, she had seen Martha’s face quite animated, the sea-coloured eyes bright. There was no shadow of doubt she thoroughly enjoyed her job!

  “Let us go back,” said Martha.

  Once again the lights dimmed and the screen came alive. The sound hummed.

  Martha was seen entering then there was a sudden close-up of Diane’s bottom. The soft nates clenched convulsively several times at the sound of the door opening and closing. Yes, after that hour, Diane’s nerves were stretched even tauter than her buttock flesh!

  Martha bent and picked up the cane.

  “Kiss it,” she ordered. holding it to Diane’s pale lips. It was close-up again. Beginning to sob afresh, Diane kissed the pale yellow rod. It gleamed softly. Hard and smooth, yet, one sensed, so flexible. Martha sawed it to and fro,so that Diane’s lips repeatedly ran the whole length of it.

  What could have been in her mind during those awful moments, wondered Fiona? What anguish! What dread!

  Martha withdrew the cane. “You deserve your punishment, Diane,” she said solemnly. “You broke school Rules deliberately. And you interfered with a fellow pupil. While you’re getting it, remember that, if anything like this occurs again, I shall be even more severe with you. Do you fully understand that, girl?”

  There came a kind of croaking sound ... which, presumably, Martha accepted as an acknowledgment. Then, unhurriedly, she walked around the Horse and gazed down at Diane’s quivering white bottom. Now the nates had begun to clench regularly with dread. Abo
ut every five or ten seconds. Still in close-up. Now the cane tapped lightly on the flesh. The clenching became almost frantic. A high-pitched keening wail was coming from Diane. A quick-flash close-up of her face, wild-eyed with terror. Then back to her bottom, quivering incessantly.

  Martha straddled her legs a little. At last she seemed satisfied with her position and stance.

  There was a smooth backward sweep of her arm ... the cane high ... then it came lashing down with all the force she could command. One actually heard her grunt with the effort. For the merest fraction of a second, the smooth yellow cane seemed to bury itself in the soft flesh of Diane’s bottom. Then it sprang away to leave a vivid twin-tracked weal encircling both buttock cheeks ... at just about their very centre.

  There came a series of disbelieving gasps from Diane’s throat ... followed by an ear-splitting shriek. At the same time, her bottom performed frantic squirming contortions ... juddering this way and that, setting all the soft flesh quivering madly. It must be stated that, by reason of the manner in which she was secured, though the flesh was taut, Diane’s bottom had ample scope for movement.

  After that first deadly cut from the rod, it certainly used it!

  Martha Duerrisse seemed unmoved. She contemplated the squirming bottom in a professional sort of way. Somewhat like a surgeon who has just opened up a patient.

  Calmly she waited.

  It took some time for the tumult of flesh to die down.

  Then, suddenly, with remarkable speed, the cane rose up again ... and whiplashed down. The second weal leapt up no more than a fraction of an inch above the first. One saw that in close-up. Also the frenzy of Diane’s squirming. It was quite an awe-inspiring sight.

  Fiona’s nerves were tense. She was biting her lips. This was for real. The girl was being caned ferociously. Or had been, not so long ago. In a way it was exciting. Yet it was frightening too.

  Such cruelty.

  For something which, to Fiona, seemed quite minor.

  This St Justine’s was certainly a terrible place. If you were confined to it.

  ZZZZZZZWWWWAAEEEE ...

  CCCRRRRAACCCKKKKK!

  Diane got her third stroke ... and shrieked with agony again ... squirming as frantically as before. If not more so. The weal blazed across the flesh a fraction of an inch below the first weal.

  Martha Duerrisse’s expertise with the rod was already being made apparent to Fiona. Thought the main tumult had subsided as the stroke was delivered, Diane’s bottom was never quite still. It was twisting and flinching with anticipatory dread, so that Martha had to choose her moment and strike with speed and precision.

  This she did as stroke succeeded stroke.

  Four!

  Five!

  Six!

  Each stroke was delivered both accurately ... and with venomous force. The weals spread out slowly from the first one ... the centre one. Martha was working both up her victim’s buttocks and down them.

  At each, Diane’s gasping-shriek was of the purest agony.

  Almost seeming to split her throat.

  Ringing in the ears.

  Indeed terrible to hear.

  And yet, and yet, said Fiona to herself, it’s only really just begun. There are still eighteen more strokes to be laid on.

  How appalling!

  Then, in her mind’s eye, she made Diane’s contorting bottom that of her step-sister Belinda ... and a cruel surge of lustful pleasure went through her.

  At that moment, Martha stopped th film and turned up the lights. Once again, Fiona felt a trace of disappointment.

  “I want you to note, Miss Von Bal,” said Martha, “that I am caning the girl really hard. As hard as I can. Do you realise that?”

  “Yes ... er ... yes, Madame Duerrisse. It certainly does look hard.”

  “I don’t believe in a light caning,” continued Martha. “It is neither one thing nor the other. To be truly effective, full force has to be used. On every stroke. One has to be merciless, I am afraid. Moreover, to be truly memorable, a caning has to be planned. I wonder if you have ever realized that?”

  Fiona shook her head. “No,” she answered simply, feeling a trifle foolish.

  “There is no point in wild, haphazard stripes all over the girl’s bottom. That way some parts get more than others, others less. What is required is an even spacing of the strokes so the whole bottom feels the full burning torment by the time the punishment is completed. That requires patience and considerable skill. Do you realize, Miss Von Bal, that, although Diane has receive only six strokes so far, some two minutes have passed?”

  “No ... no I hadn’t been aware of that, Madame. She certainly does twist and squirm about a lot after each stroke ...”

  “So would you,” said Martha drily ... and Fiona felt a stab of horror. How unimaginable to be over that Horse like Diane ... naked and helpless ... being caned! It was impossible even to contemplate. “However, as you may have noted,” continued Martha, “I wait for the girl to settle down as best she can. Then there comes a moment ... a brief moment, indeed ... when she is adequately still and well placed. Then I give it to her again. Good and hard ... and accurately. That is the correct way to cane a girl if you want her to obtain maximum benefit from it.”

  Fiona swallowed. ‘Maximum benefit’, indeed! That was a strange way of putting it!

  Once more the lights dimmed; once more the screen was filled. There was the sound of Diane weeping and pleading.

  “Uuuughhh ... aaaaghh ... m-merceee ... merceee ...”

  “Ooooh ... st-stop ... stooopppp!”

  “Oooooh ... I’d r-rather d-die ...”

  Martha’s features remained as impassive as ever ... and she had not uttered a word since the caning had begun. She was simply the inexorable agent carrying out, without query or comment, the punishment she herself had ordained.

  Now she had moved across to the right hand side of her victim. A close-up of the quaking bottom showed six evenly-spaced weals curving round Diane’s right flank. Each had bitten into the flank by about two inches. Masterly accuracy. And now, of course, by changing to the other side, it would be the left flank which felt that whip-lashing bite.

  The caning was resumed ... and the same pattern followed. First one stroke falling higher, then the one which followed falling lower. Martha was putting the same venom into each and every one ... and Diane’s terrible screams grew even louder whilst her contortions became ever more frantic. Though that scarcely seemed possible!

  Seven!

  The pause ... the waiting while the jerking and squirming continued. The moment ultimately presenting itself ...

  Eight!

  Oh God, how it whiplashed and bit! One could see the awful agony of the flesh!

  Nine!

  Stupidly, but perhaps understandably, Diane had begun to tug madly at her bonds.

  “Let me GOO ... OOO ... OOOOH ... let me GO ... OOO ... I can’t stand it ... I CAN’T!”

  Ten!

  “YYYAAAIIIEEEE ... AAAGGGHHHHHH!”

  Fiona found she was biting her lips furiously. Her heart was hammering away. It was an awful spectacle. She half wanted to avert her eyes from such cruelty, yet remained riveted.

  Eleven!

  One could no longer heard Martha’s grunts over the cacophony of sound. But one saw her clenched teeth and the effort she put into each stroke.

  Twelve!

  A quick close-up of the twelve, vivid, encircling stripes. The spacing and lineage were being maintained with almost miraculous precision. Then the camera cut to Diane’s features as Martha went to the other side of the Horse and pulled up the girl’s head. In its torment, the pretty face was virtually unrecognisable ... brown eyes blind with tears ... mouth out of control ... slobbering. Deftly Martha twisted a hank of
Diane’s hair and then tied it to a small ring in the side of the Horse. It forced the girl to look into the mirror and upon her own torment, albeit through a haze of tears. Martha wiped away some of these tears with the back of her hand and, for the first time, spoke.

  “Look at your backside, Diane. A pretty sight, is it not? And it will be prettier still when I have finished with you!”

  Diane gazed in horror, eyes wide, mouth gaping, she managed to closed her mouth and find words.

  “N-No ... m-more ... no more ...” she croaked hoarsely. “L-Let me ... die ... I w-want to d-die ...”

  “I expect you do,” said Martha callously. “It is a common enough reaction when a girl is being properly caned. However, that will not be permitted you. If you’ve been counting, you’ll know we are at the halfway stage.”

  Slowly Martha walked round to the other side of the Horse.

  Why does the girl not faint, Fiona asked herself. How can she stand it? It is more than human flesh and blood can endure! What Fiona did not know at that time was that all ‘pupils’ at St Justine’s daily received a potion which strengthened their powers of endurance most considerably. Another clever little invention of Uncle Erik’s!

  By the time the eighteenth stroke was reached, Diane’s voice had cracked. Only jetting-hissing sounds came out of her gaping mouth and, at each stroke, her half-mad, rolling eyes seemed to protrude momentarily as if on stalks. It was an appalling sight ... and Fiona, feeling rather sick all of a sudden had to turn her eyes away.

  She did not see the last six and most terrible strokes of all fall across Diane’s frenzied bottom, she only heard them ...

  Heard the terrifying whistle of the rod.

  Heard the sharp crack of it biting into flesh.

  Heard the almost inhuman noises that erupted from Diane’s throat.

  Then, at long, long last, it was finished. Diane’s awful, awful agony over the Horse had lasted some seven or eight minutes.

  “You see what I mean, Miss Von Bal,” came Martha’s voice, “about making sure the whole of a girl’s bottom suffers from a caning.”

  Fiona forced her eyes back.