An Unusual Fulfilment

03Oct13

Victorian caningThe country was rugged and wild; the last great wilderness south of the Thames some called it. Bagshot Heath was just a small corner of the English county of Surrey and as such lay hard on the south-western edge of London. But despite its proximity to the Capital, few suspected it existed.

There were few great trees here; the sandy soil did not support them. But the scrub was thick enough and tended to gather in harsh copses in the hollows between low sandy hills. And for mile after mile the only structure she had seen had been a gibbet set atop a rise to the left of the road.

In former years, not so long ago they said, highwaymen had plied their trade here and looking from the carriage window Amy could certainly believe it. She shuddered; the dangerous landscape suited her mood as she leaned out and scanned the road ahead.

The road itself wound on towards Reading and the more hospital parts of Berkshire, but it would not be long before they made the turn south and into rich lush land that more typified the county and on to their destination.

Amy Richmond was 21 and free. She was pretty enough, but no great beauty, which in her view was a blessing. Her family had set aside just enough money to provide for her independence, but not so much that she would be over troubled by the marriage market. In fact as her age of majority had approached she had pleaded poverty to all who would listen so that few would question her choice to seek employment at the Surrey and Hampshire Finishing Academy for Young Ladies. After all, pursuing a career in teaching was the path followed by many distressed gentlewomen.

She looked down at her plain grey dress and tugged on the respectable bonnet that struggled to contain her wild red hair. She would do, she decided.

“Whatever are you thinking?” her former governess had asked on hearing of Amy’s intent. “That school has no academic value and is merely a dumping ground for failed noblewoman and hapless girls regarded as a social embarrassment to their families.”

Exactly, thought Amy, I have no desire to trouble myself with sums or geography.

“You do realise that most of the girls will be your age or a little younger and that you will only be a teacher-in-training for at least a year and very probably two or three,” Charlotte had continued.

“Surely I must be polished before I can shine,” Amy countered.

“I have a good mind to polish your bottom for you, you foolish girl,” Charlotte snapped, “I remember well how it used to shine in that very corner following a good spanking.”

Amy had flushed peony and clutched at her throat. But inside she had thrilled at the memory as she thrilled now.

The carriage lurched and the hard leather seat slapped her hard on the rump. That would have been unsupportable at times, she smiled, and not so very long ago. Amy remembered how she had sometimes been accustomed to kneeling on the floor following ‘a good spanking’ as Charlotte had put it. Sitting down for a visit to Grand-Mama had been quite impossible at such times. She had spent many an afternoon at her grandmother’s taking tea off the mantle to a chorus of tsk-tsk.

Only what Charlotte cared to call a spanking, had oft consisted of a full session of the birch rod applied to her naked bottom in the hearing and sometimes full view of the maid. Amy blushed and squirmed on the seat.

Charlotte had never understood why she had so often had to punish the girl and why a spanking had never seemed to take. Amy allowed a little smile to dance on her lips. She had been mortified of course and at the time her begging for forgiveness had been in earnest. But that only added to the quiet fulfilment she had later felt.

Cousin Constance had understood.

Constance was half a decade the elder and had married at 24. Before that she had briefly and dramatically been subject to Charlotte’s vigorous ministrations. She too had never seemed to learn until her father had sent her to a Ladies College in Prussia for some harsher lessons.

On Constance’s return she had regaled her with tales of such cruelty and painful purgatory that Amy had been enthralled. Constance had spared her none of the lurid details.

Amy squirmed again on her seat as she recalled the tales.

“One is put in the charge of an older girl who may spank you for the merest thing,” a wide-eyed Constance had informed her, “On the bare bottom in the most dreadful way.”

Amy had licked her lips.

“And that is not the worst of it,” Constance had continued, “The tutoresses cane the girls in class right there in front of everyone. It happened daily I tell you. Then there was the Directress and her birch rods…”

Amy had hung on every word.

“You don’t think I will get sent there too do you?” she had asked.

Constance had smiled knowingly.

It had been Constance who had heard about the finishing school in Surrey.

“It is run on something like Prussian lines I hear, so if you did take up a post you would be required to thrash some tails I am afraid,” she had said.

Girl beatings by proxy, Amy had mused, not ideal but…

“And I hear they cane the student teachers too and one cannot teach there until one is at least 21,” Constance had continued, “Imagine that.”

Amy had. The letter of introduction from Lady Constance had gone a long way to securing her the post.

*

The carriage arrived a little before sunset, which at this time of year was just after six. Already the warm orange glow complimented the brickwork buildings and seemed to welcome her. Looking around she could see a small manicured lawn to the side of the main building and on it stood a white marble sun dial next to a good sized monkey puzzle tree.

Not that she had time to take it all in as the coachman had no sooner set down her bags when he again mounted the carriage and set off down the drive. It was left to a diminutive woman Amy took to be the maid to gather up the luggage and lead her into the house.

“The master will see you at once Miss,” were her only words as she struggled on with the bags.

Amy gaped after her quizzically, hovering harrier style on the chessboard tiles of the hall.

“In there Miss, just knock and wait,” the departing maid said nodding at a heavy oaken door set amid dark panels.

As it turned out the man within must have heard her expected arrival for even as the maid went from sight a clear baritone voice called out “Come,” and Amy availed herself of the door and entered.

George Faversham was of an indeterminate age between 30 and 40. His thick hair was curly to a point, but styled with some gravitas; an effect aided by the merest hint of silver among the dark chestnut brown. Although he was tall and slender, his shoulders had a heavy set with a suggestion of one used to pugilism, Amy thought.

Mr Faversham was styled the Dean of College and it was explained that he acted as business manager to the school and mentor to the junior staff during their training. The sign at the gates had lead on Dr Margaret Winchester as headmistress, but Faversham’s name had figured prominently alongside hers with the letters MA emblazoned in its train.

“Academia is of no concern to us here Miss Richmond,” George Faversham explained, “We address ourselves to etiquette and decorum through unrelenting and uncompromising discipline.”

“I am much encouraged by that Sir,” Amy replied, “In truth it is all I hoped for.”

“So I understand from Lady Constance’s letter,” Faversham agreed and letting his eye scan the paper on his desk he added, “Your cousin I believe.”

“Yes, it was she who…”

“There is no need to explain, Lady Constance was most informative as to your… interests,” he said with a light stern touch.

“I had no idea you were acquainted, Constance was rather vague I am afraid,” Amy put in.

“Discretion is an important aspect to our society here,” Faversham said significantly.

“Ah, quite so,” Amy replied.

She suspected that there was very much more to the Academy here, but trusted that Constance did indeed know the truth of it and had her interests at heart.

“A maid will see you to your room where you will find some books, including the rules,” he said, extending an arm towards the door. “You will be required to have an examinable grasp of them all before we let you assist in teaching a class and tomorrow you will return here at 10 o’clock sharp for the start of your induction. Meanwhile, I suggest you read the rules.”

“Very good Sir,” Amy smiled.

*

Amy never knew why, she certainly hadn’t consciously set out to test the man, but it was almost 10 minutes past the hour when she knocked upon George Faversham’s door.

“Come in Miss Richmond,” came his rather weary and somewhat exasperated voice from within.

Amy breezed in cheerfully eager to learn more about her new home and employment.

“May I…” Amy said indicating a chair.

“No Miss, you may not.” Faversham sounded cross.

Amy stood up straight and tried to cover her consternation. She was not accustomed to rude men, but then she had never met one in her small social circle.

“Tell me Miss Richmond, did you read the small and very concise rule book that was supplied to you?” he asked her pointedly.

“I am afraid after my cold supper and long journey I did not find the time,” Amy told him.

“I see,” Faversham said sharply. “If you had done so you would know that tardiness is a grave sin here at our school.”

Amy shot a glance at the clock on the mantle and flushed.

“My apologies Sir, I…”

“That is two sins to your name on your very first morning,” Faversham scolded her.

“Sorry Sir,” Amy mumbled, affecting a modern style of truncated speech for brevity.

“Pardon,” Faversham growled at her.

“I said I am sorry Sir,” Amy offered meekly.

“Well that is as maybe, but as a member of the teaching staff, albeit a junior one, you are expected to set an example,” he said with a hint of kindness. A hint, but he did not go overboard and his manner remained stern.

“Yes Sir,” Amy agreed.

“That makes what is to come all the more difficult for you,” Faversham told her.

Amy frowned.

“Tell me Miss Richmond, until you reached your majority you were often soundly thrashed were you not?”

Amy blushed for the Empire and did not know where to put herself.

“You must answer me Miss,” Faversham scolded.

Amy dipped her head and returned the merest of nods.

“You will speak your answer Miss Richmond,” Faversham barked.

Amy swallowed and offered a small “Yes Sir.”

“Yes Sir, what?” Faversham pressed her.

“Yes Sir, I was thrashed Sir,” Amy managed.

“You see here at the Academy young ladies are thrashed and on occasion you will thrash them. By this I mean, and to be clear, you will spank them, cane them, birch them as and when required,” Faversham told her. “But before you can do such duty you must accept such treatment.”

Amy nodded. That seemed fair, if embarrassing to admit.

“Tell me then, how were you punished?”

“I was sp-spanked quite harshly on my… my behind and sometimes I have been… b-birched,” Amy whispered.

“On your bare bottom?”

Amy forced down a breath and mumbled, “Yes Sir.”

“Good, for all such punishments are always on the bare here,” he said, “Shame is an important part of discipline.”

Amy thought of Prussia and thrilled; oh to hear a man speak so openly about her own personal obsessions.

“And so and to that end on every day of your induction you will experience a punishment as you are expected to give it,” Faversham explained, studying her carefully for a reaction.

Many a prospective student teacher had quailed at this point and tendered their resignation. That was why he had no interest in those desperate women who had no other recourse. Women like Amy had choices and if she was to choose this life then it would be all to the good for all concerned.

“I see…” Amy blushed.

“You must understand that here at this school we train young ladies for marriage and all that entails. If you accept this proposition then it is I who will discipline you,” Faversham told her.

Amy’s blush melted her down to the floor.

“Further, with two sins to your name already, I will augment this to the utmost extent with such in mind,” he continued.

“Wh-what will you do Sir?” Amy asked shyly.

“With most young ladies in this day and age I would begin with a smack-bottom and go from there,” he said sharply, “It is most instructive. But since you are in error and have previous… history, I will attend to you firmly, very firmly.”

“Yes Sir,” Amy agreed.

Her heart punched at the inside of her chest and she felt quite giddy.

“I will leave you for 15 minutes,” Faversham explained, “You may ring for the maid if you require assistance, but when I return I will find your skirts and so-forth pinned to the small of your back and your bloomers left off.”

Amy gulped, her pale complexion lost in a shade her hair had never known. She could only nod now as no word would breech her throat.

“When I return I will find you in that corner,” Faversham said, pointing to a vacant space beside an aspidistra towards the French windows, “Facing the wall.”

Amy dipped her head and wondered if she could accomplish such a thing without the maids help.

“Occasionally such ladies as you absent themselves at this point and I return to find them gone. If that is your intent then I understand and I bid you farewell.” Then with a curt nod he left.

Amy’s mind raced with thoughts drawn from the penny-dreadfuls and other such stories. This was an adventure beyond scandal and her heart continued to hammer at her chest. The bloomers would be easy enough to remove, but how to pin her skirts and underskirts to her waist was a challenge. She would have been mortified to call on the maid and yet what was she to do?

Just then the door opened and the woman she had seen with her bags on the previous day appeared.

“It is alright Miss,” she said cheerfully, “I know how it is the first time, leave it to me.”

The woman was homely with sharp features and Amy would have put her at around 30 years of age. In a small way she reminded her of Constance and despite her violent shame she nodded gratefully for the assistance.

*

Amy had never felt as exposed as she did standing in the corner of Faversham’s study with her bare bottom revealed to the room. The fact that she was otherwise fully clothed only served to emphasise her vulnerability. It was an entirely new experience for her though. Charlotte had often had her stand so, but on those occasions she had been at once stripped to her shift only and that within the confines of her own room or the schoolroom and never with the prospect of being seen thus by a man.

Nor had she any idea what to expect from this man on his return. What she hadn’t counted on was his brusque matter-of-factness at her shame.

“I see you have decided to accept our customs here,” he said as he came through the door. “Very well since we have much to get through I want you to bend across the desk please.”

Amy froze, unable to pull away from the wall where she would have to confront him.

“Miss Richmond, please, if you will,” he said in a commanding voice.

She nodded tersely and with her chin pressed hard into her chest she meekly turned and tentatively crossed the room.

“Bend over so that your behind is presented up and backwards,” he said somewhat casually, but she fancied she could hear a tight edge to his voice.

Nevertheless she obeyed reluctantly, but not before noting the short leather strap he held in his hands.  As she did so it seemed to her that she had taken up a somewhat extreme and obscene posture, but she realised it was only regarded by her as such on account of being under a man’s eyes.

“Legs together please,” he intoned, tapping the leather against his thigh as he spoke.

Amy pressed her heels in tight, which served to elevate her bottom still further.

“Now keep position,” he said firmly.

“Yes Sir,” she managed; her voice thick in her throat.

Her bottom, now that he studied it, was a firm round dome of astonishing whiteness. She was certainly a healthy girl and he couldn’t help noting the tinge of red hair peeking through her thighs that told of a heavy growth in front.

His strap fell with a sharp crack that made her bob at the knees before setting her legs straight.

“Ah,” she gasped.

He nodded; she had indeed taken punishment before. Then he watched as the red band of his strap’s passing grew and developed on her fine pale skin.

For Amy the bar across her bottom stung like a lemon on a tender spot in the mouth, but unlike the sweetness that usually followed, this had bite.

The second swipe robbed her of thought and she dipped a solitary knee as she rode out a wave of pain. This time Faversham did not wait, but struck her hard again across the bottom so that she squealed a little.

It took some moments for Amy to draw a breath and then she could do nothing but gasp like a drowning fish. Across her dark pink bottom now were deeper mottles of true red that even burned purplish at the edges of burning doughnut welts.

“I generally take a girl to between eight and 12 on this first test and so as you have much more to come I will do the same for you,” Faversham told Amy.

Amy, who was breathing vocally now, took a moment and then gasped, “Thank you Sir.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, noting her acceptance without protest. Then true to his word he added the last few strokes while she grunted in discomfort.

“Now Miss Richmond, if you would kindly take up a pose in the corner while I summon Alice to escort you to where you will acquire the necessary,” he said.

Amy’s bottom blazed as she stood up and it was all she could do not to indulge in unseemly rubbing of her behind. So she was back in the corner before she began to wonder who Alice was.

“Sir…? Mr Faversham… who is Alice?” Amy asked meekly, her voice muffled by the walls of corner that held her nose.

“She is a colleague, another new girl who will show you the ropes,” Faversham replied.

It was sometime before Alice arrived, by which time the realisation that Faversham could see her bare bottom and that it was really happening took hold of Amy’s imagination.

*

Alice was a girl not more than a year or two Amy’s senior. A pretty blonde, she was on the petite side and in George Faversham’s presence, was as meek as you like.

“Isn’t he just a brick,” Alice gushed once they had left his study.

Amy, who felt decidedly uncomfortable at her still exposed state, did not know how to reply.

“Oh… yes,” Alice offered sympathetically as she eyed Amy’s bare bottom. “It is rather trying isn’t it? We all go through it you know. Or going through it I should say. I expect I’ll join you ‘ere long.”

“Join me in what exactly?” Amy asked as she eyed the door to the outside nervously.

“We have to go and get the makings I am afraid,” Alice told her.

“The makings for what?” Amy held back as Alice held open the door. “Not out there surely, not like this… I’m, I’m…”

“Only girls on the grounds and I doubt we’ll see any of those at this time of day. Mr Faversham is the only man here and he has already seen you hasn’t he?” Alice giggled. “Oh the makings… eh… well for a birch rod of course. You’re ever so silly.”

“A birch? But I have already been…”

“You are to be birched and then caned I think,” Alice shrugged, “It can’t be helped. Like I said, I expect I’ll be in on the bill within a day or two. I don’t mind so much,” she was tentative as she said ‘so much,’ “Not with Mr Faversham dishing it out. Quite an adventure eh?”

Amy realised it was. Not that it made her feel any better about standing in the grounds with no bloomers and her skirts pinned up in the small of her back. To cover her embarrassment she asked, “Is he really going to birch me?”

Alice offered a tight smile and nodded.

*

It took over half an hour to reach a spot in the woods near the edge of the estate. The place Alice brought them too was right under the wall.

“Sometimes the local boys climb up and look over the wall,” Alice giggled.

Amy gaped.

“The danger is more fun don’t you think? Anyway, this is the place,” Alice shrugged.

Amy regarded the wall in horror and kept her back turned to the woods.

“You’re supposed to trim them yourself,” Alice told her as she extended some secateurs.

Amy nodded. All a part of the adventure, she told herself. Then somewhere inside she thrilled again. So with a final glance at the wall she turned and reached for the first length of birch twig.

“Not too long, not too short,” Alice muttered, “You have it. Done it before eh?”

Amy blushed. She had, and fully clothed it had been embarrassing enough.

*

Shamefully Alice was not dismissed for Amy’s birching. Instead the older girl looked on with awed pleasure as Amy again bent over the desk and pushed out her bare bottom. The birch was not the one which Amy had made. That one had been steeped in brine to replace the rod that Faversham now held. It was a sound enough procedure, but Amy realised that all her efforts under the threat of exposure to choose lighter withes for her rod had been in vain and some other girl would reap the benefit.

Amy shot a glance at Alice who was smirking. You might have told me that part, she thought. But then strangely she felt an odd thrill at the justice of her position. She deserved a good thrashing for attempted cheating. She rocked her still red mottled behind back and forth in expectation.

“Just a quick two dozen I think,” Faversham told her, “That should make you tender enough for the cane.”

“Yes Sir,” Amy replied meekly.

Two dozen was the most she had ever felt and this birch looked enormous.

“The cane hurts in small doses doesn’t it Sir,” Alice piped up eagerly, “The birch is worse though, over the distance. You wait until you get three or even four dozen juicy swipes, I couldn’t sit down for a week.”

“It will do you good Miss Richmond,” Faversham soothed, now addressing Amy, “I am afraid Alice gets carried away, don’t you Alice?”

“Yes Sir,” Alice said shyly.

Amy swallowed hard then tucked her head down. Then after a pause she shot a glance back and said, “Sir, under the circumstances, can’t you call me Amy?”

“Not while I chastise you, no, but afterwards no doubt Miss Richmond, afterwards,” Faversham said as he sliced in the first cut.

The biting burn felt like nothing she had ever felt. And this is better than the cane, she thought incredulously. But then as the sting overwhelmed her Faversham birched her again and all thought was lost in a sea of wet wailing.

*

Amy had stood sobbing in the corner for the best part of an hour. She was infinitely grateful that Alice had been dismissed, but it was with some apprehension that she considered her bottom under the cane. She already doubted her ability to sit down and the cane sounded horrendous.

“Coming back to us eh?” Faversham asked as Amy finally got her crying under control.

“Yes Sir,” Amy said miserably.

“Don’t worry, you are a sport and I shall hold at six of the best today,” he chuckled, “But I do advise you to read the rules and don’t be late tomorrow.”

Amy gulped and stealing a glance over her shoulder she contemplated the nilgiri in Faversham’s hands.

“Will I… will you… I mean to say… will I be punished again tomorrow?” Amy asked nervously.

“Not punished, not if you are good, but we must continue with your induction must we not? But tomorrow a good sound spanking over my knee should suffice,” Faversham told her.

Amy gulped as he summoned her from the wall and had bend over to touch her toes.

“This is going to hurt,” he said.

And it did. A deep sawing pain that went on and on until she felt her bottom was cut in half. It took all she had not to stand up and grab her behind and tears sprang afresh from her eyes. But Constance was right, this was where she needed to be. Here she would be fulfilled.



5 Responses to “An Unusual Fulfilment”

  1. 1 paul1510

    Damian,
    fulfilled and then some, I’d say! 😉
    Paul.

  2. 2 Kia

    She’s found friends who understand and a place she belongs- very beautiful 🙂

    I love the detail of having to make the rod for the next girl- having to balance the embarrassment and risk of exposure with the need to do the job properly, all the while not knowing who will benefit from the extra time taken.

  3. 3 DJ

    I glad you liked it and hit the spot – thanks 😉

  4. 4 Richard

    After the 2nd day i suppose the real punishment starts
    love the nineteenth century account glad to be living in this current one


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: