BEXHILL SCHOOL

Showtime: Curtain up

 

The rattan cane which the Head Girl at Bexhill is allowed to use is just a Junior, but even so the swishing sound it makes when whipped up and down is enough to induce fear in the heart of whoever is bending over and anticipating that first strike. I placed the length of the cane across Jane's knickers, which stretched tightly across her bottom as she lay over the gym horse which we'd brought up to the Sixth Form Common Room especially for tonight's Prefects tanning. I thrashed the rod down, the brief whistle ending in a substantial 'thwack!' as it met the thin material of her knickers. I was surprised to see a white line appear across the blue cotton. Jane let out a low howl and there was a gasp from two or three of the on-looking victims, lined up and awaiting their turn.

To give Jane her due, she took her six strokes quite bravely, staying in place throughout, despite her whimperings. I allowed sufficient time between each whack for the pain of its predecessor to build to a climax before the next one swiped down. As tradition demanded, the last stroke was the hardest of all and landed exactly where I had aimed: on that 'sweet spot' between the curve of the bottom and the top of the thigh. Jane bucked momentarily, catching her breath, but her hands never let go of the wooden side of the horse.

I waited a few seconds and then nodded to the line of Prefects.

The first girl, Linda, stepped forward, glanced at me, and then took up a position beside the horse. She tapped the leather crop against Jane's upthrust bottom, placing the 'keeper' - the leather tab at the end of the crop which is supposed to prevent damage to a horse's (or indeed a schoolgirl's) skin - at the edge of the knicker-clad right cheek. Six parallel pink lines peeped out from under the material: my strokes had been perfectly aligned. Linda raised the crop higher than I would have expected and thrashed it down. Jane's backside wiggled momentarily under the blow and she let out whistle of pain. Linda waited a few seconds and then smacked the crop down again. The 'keeper' left a vivid purple imprint on Jane's exposed buttock. Linda walked slowly back to the end of the Prefects' line, and the next girl stepped up, again leaving Jane lying across the horse rather than asking her to adopt another position . Jane was now beginning to sniff in her attempt to keep back the tears. This time the Prefect delivered her whacks in quick succession, seemingly catching Jane by surprise, because she let out a loud yell as the second stroke struck.

It was the fifth, and one-but-last Prefect - Catharine - who made the breakthrough. By now Jane was sobbing loudly, although still bravely clinging to the edge of the horse. Catharine had delivered a mighty first stroke which landed on the crown of Jane's bottom. Jane bounced up and down, trying to relieve the raging sting of the crop. When she steadied down again, Catharine repeated the stroke in exactly the same place. Jane yelped loudly and lifted her face, set as firmly as she could in her efforts not break down completely.  But I noticed something else: a tear had appeared the middle of her knickers: her pink, red, and purple cheeks were clearly in view through the rent. Catharine was proud of her feat and, as the last Prefect walked up to take her turn, Catharine punched the air as they passed.

Amanda, the final Prefect, whipped two of the hardest strokes yet into the seat of poor Jane's panties, shredding them, and her backside, even further. As she walked back to the line to prepare for the next victim, Amanda gave Jane a final glance as she lay writhing over the horse. I thought I detected a rather salacious look in the Prefect's face.

I waited for a few seconds and then approached Jane, who was looking fearfully up at me. I laid my hand against her bottom (it was red hot!), feeling the torn material of the knickers.

"OK, Jane, you're done. You can get up. I hope you've learned a lesson.'

Jane eased herself painfully upright, hands clasped to her backside, and shuffled over to where her partner-in-crime - Jennie - waited, ashen-faced, for her turn.