Sunday, January 10


'Sophie Adams report to my study after morning classes'

The Headmaster's request delivered after a long and boring assembly barely registered with Sophie. She was tired, worn out from too many nights of little sleep. Her friends turned to her in dismay, 'Oh Sophie what an earth have you done?'

She blinked in surprise, a vague feeling of unease starting to settle over her. The Headmaster wasn't known for friendly chats beside the fire: this wasn't likely to be a social visit.

As she filed out of the hall with the rest of her class she quickly cast her mind back over the past week. She hadn't been caught doing anything too bad, well no worse than usual. Mr Matthews, her housemaster, had seemed pretty annoyed to catch her out of bed twice last night. So annoyed he'd just shouted at her to get into bed and 'bloody well stay there!'

Still at least he'd spared her the fake concern lecture he usually wheeled out. 'Was there anything the matter? Did she want to talk about it? So strange to see a good girl starting to slip up. We just want to help you.'

Did he really expect her to pour her heart out, just like that? About the continuous nightmares, being afraid to sleep because she couldn't block out the horrible images. How she was scared of what they meant. Dreams so awful yet so real, like something that had happened to her but she couldn't remember.

Maybe if she thought he could actually help she might have told him. Or any of her friends, who really were quite worried. She couldn't see light at the end of the tunnel. There was none. And at this stage she was too tired to care about good grades, or getting onto the lacrosse team or going on the annual ski trip.

Sophie muddled through the morning classes, the hour of her appointment becoming ever closer. Her friends were sympathetic and comforting. Whilst the others in the class whispered about what she may have done, speculating whether she would get caned and how many strokes.

Despite herself she trembled as she stood outside the Headmaster's door. Checked her uniform one more time: navy skirt to the appropriate length; white shirt closed to the top button; green and navy tie knotted neatly; navy jumper, white socks pulled up to her knees and even the proper regulation white underwear. She knocked before she was considered late.

The Headmaster had never looked so imposing. The frown on his face accentuating the severeness of his gown. Nervously she looked around the study as he finished reading the papers before him; her files, it later transpired.

When he finally addressed her, he was mercifully brief in his lecture. 'Her recent underperformance had come to his attention....couldn't let it continue...standards...grades...achievement...'

She jumped as he picked up the senior cane, dark brown and so thick, and flexed it in her direction. Ordered her to bed over the arm of the sofa, with her skirt raised above her waist. Positioned her so her body rested on the sofa, her bottom high and vulnerable in the air, her toes straining on the carpet.

Now she was genuinely afraid. Clutching the sofa beneath her she prayed she wouldn't disgrace herself by crying. Hoped she could be brave.

Another few words: 'lesson...timely...better not happen again...brace yourself'

The whistle as the cane flew through the air, then the awful crack as it landed. A brief moment of blessed nothingness, then shock as the pain burned through her. She couldn't help crying out, her legs kicking up in protest. Quickly resumed the positioned and waited for the next and the next. Despaired as the pain became too much but could not stop it. After six she wholeheartedly assured him her behaviour would improve.

Tried nor to cry as another six were pronounced. Counted each painful stroke and swore she wouldn't get into this position again. Promised to go to bed early, to do her homework, to take pride in herself. And with every stroke the demons that plagued her were beaten back a little more.

Although a very sore and sorry girl left the Headmaster's office, inside she was more confident, more determined. An ordeal she never wanted to repeat, but yet for all its terror she had survived. She could survive anything. Finally, light at the end of the tunnel.

In response to Casey's Secret Saturday challenge and recounting a scene played with HH an hour ago! (My wildcard was tunnel)


Abel1234 said...

Awwwww. I felt so sorry for her / you. And yet the ending is uplifting, as if the caning helped.

Sounds like an amazing scene, as well as an excellent, intense story.

Big hugs xx

Master Retep said...

You're upping the ante. Casey story challenges which have to be answered in real-life, in real time.

Those strokes look low and sore, and all delivered from the same side - poor right cheek.

EmmaJane said...

@Abel, it was thanks and very much what I needed!

@masterretep Low and sore is how I like it ;) The right side looks worse cos of the lighting, be assured I'm sitting equally uncomfortably on both cheeks!

Casey Morgan said...

"..with every stroke the demons that plagued her were beaten back a little more."

RP used to call this "counter-irritant."

I'm impressed by the depth and shadow in your writing, especially in the these two pieces this month - you seem to be tapping into something profound. Like! Lots!

catherine said...

Yay - kinky EJ's back :)


Paul said...

EJ, excellent story, excellent scene, thank you.
Warm hugs,

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