Story from Whispers 07.
Tricia on report
Early Friday evening was the time Jarvis had any girl 'On Report' sent to him. It was, he had to admit to himself privately, one of the highlight times of the week. He would never have admitted this to his Deputy, Miss Childers, of course. When he spoke of the necessity of 'approved correction' in the school, he spoke of it almost in terms of sorrow; of the unpleasant, but necessary, duty a person in his position had to perform. Once, he recalled with some pride, he had managed to make his eyes water whilst speaking on the subject.
'One does not like to have to do these things...' A sigh; a shrug.
'Of course not, Head.' The Deputy brisk and purposeful. Did she see through him Jarvis sometimes wondered?
'But, I am sure, it is all for the best in the long run.'
'Oh I agree, Head.' So, in such terms, another girl would be assigned to his tender mercies. Not that he was a particularly cruel man; certainly not a sadistic one. In his own estimation, anyway. It was simply that he was remorseless in the application of a punishment. Once announced, it could never be avoided under any circumstances. Every girl was made aware of that early. Thus it was that he was a figure of considerable dread and a visit to his study was something definitely to be avoided – if possible. However, under the school system, if a girl earned herself ten Demerits during any one week, she was sure to find herself 'on the carpet'. Demerits, it should be said, were awarded for a variety of faults, by Form Mistresses or the Deputy herself. They could be given for bad work, slackness, inattention, careless dressing, cheekiness and the like. Understandably, a girl who had earned herself nine Demerits by Thursday was very careful indeed to be on her best behaviour on the Friday!
Jarvis examined the note sent to him by his Deputy, then opened the large Punishment Book which was always kept on a small table in his study. It stated, quite simply: 'Tricia Staples – 12 Demerits.' Then Jarvis opened the Book and turned to the S SECTION: He saw at once that this Tricia had already paid him three visits that term. He recalled her now. A well-formed, brown-haired girl with plenty of spirit. Perhaps too much. That was probably her downfall. She was obviously not one to take kindly to discipline. Still, in the situation she was, there was no option. He noted that he had strapped her twice and, on the occasion of her last visit, had caned her. Six strokes. Most girls found six strokes quite sufficient to keep them on the straight and narrow for some time. This Tricia seemed to react otherwise. He rubbed his chin; sterner action seemed to be required. Well, he was the man to take it! He sat quietly, well content, anticipating the girl's arrival. A further glance at the Punishment Book revealed that the girl had just reached the age of 18. That meant – under his own Rules – he could use a heavier cane on her. That, he thought, might well be the answer. The girl, obviously a natural rebel, must be made to knuckle under.
The knock on the door came... then in she entered, garbed – as she must be – in the designated Punishment Uniform of white singlet, tight white shorts, white ankle socks and low-heeled black shoes.
'Tricia Staples reporting, Sir...'
'Bend over the desk, Tricia,' ordered Jarvis, not even bothering to look at the girl nor rise from his desk. He continued to examine the Punishment Book. It provided him with many happy memories. 'Legs straight out, arms behind your back.' He knew his instructions would be obeyed. Because every girl knew that, if they did not obey, matters became worse for them. That was what discipline was all about.
'This is your fourth visit here this Term, Tricia. I can't understand it.'
'I... I'm s-sorry, Sir...'
'Hmmmm.... so you should be. I've strapped you twice, then caned you. It all seems to have had no effect. You go on misbehaving...'
'Oohh... I try not to, Sir... really... I don't know why it is...'
'You obviously do not try hard enough, Tricia. In my view, you are simply wilful. You cannot control yourself.' Probably in many other ways as well, he thought with sudden heat. This was a young woman bending over his desk, no longer a child. Delightful thought!
'I'm sorry, Sir,' she repeated. There was a sobbing sound but Jarvis guessed it was feigned.
'Drop your shorts, Tricia.' Jarvis remained seated at the small desk whilst this was done; but he turned his head to watch the operation. Nice, strong young limbs; a well-rounded bottom. The white shorts fell around the girl's ankles. 'Now lower your knickers, Tricia.' Again Jarvis watched whilst this was done. The shapely posterior was nakedly revealed, the white briefs rolling down to the tops of the thighs. At last he stood up... then strolled to the cupboard where he kept his canes. 'You are a problem to me, Tricia,' he said, returning with a three-foot, hook-handled cane. 'And I don't quite know how to handle the problem.'
'Oh please, Sir... I'm not really a problem. I...I'll be better in future... much better...' A head turned and eyes looked appealingly at him. Jarvis was unmoved; he'd seen it all before. And heard it.
'That's why you're here. Tricia. The cane – usually – ensures a considerable improvement in behaviour,' Jarvis paused. 'I am going to start by giving you a dozen...'
'A... a dozen!'
'You heard me, girl. What happens after that depends to a large degree on your behaviour. Whether you show willingness to accept orders. And discipline. You do not yet seem to realise that discipline is the life-blood of this establishment.'
'Oh-oh... I try,' wailed Tricia. She'd had six of the cane before. That had been bad enough. Now it was twelve! She felt her nates contract in terror as her wrists were gripped tight. The Head never relented. If he said twelve, he meant it. That was an awful thought.
The cane whistled shrilly and Tricia twisted in dread. But that was no use. It caught her fair and square across both buttock cheeks. A searing, encircling streak of fire which brought back awful memories of her previous caning. Now this one was going to be twice as bad!
'Ow... owww... Oh sir... not so hard...'
'You deserve it a good deal harder, Tricia. Four lots of Demerits in one Term!'
Another lash from the cane, another breathless shriek from the girl. Jarvis was most appreciative of the way that well-rounded bottom bounced and twisted. It was a spectacle which had always had the greatest fascination for him. How enchanting was a young bare bottom... especially when it was in such agitated motion. Mmmm... yes pain certainly produced action!
'Yee... oww... oowwww... oh... oh please... Sir!' Jarvis tightened his grip on the wrists, then brought down the fourth stroke. This girl certainly had spirit. And courage. Most girls would have broken away by now... and he would have had to take more serious measures.
He delivered the next two strokes in quick succession, placing both at the junction of the buttocks and thighs. Tricia squealed loudly, twisting and threshing along the desk. Almost, but not quite, he lost his grip on her.
'Oh... sir... sir... no more... I beg you!' She was panting, yet she was still dry-eyed. A tough one. Yet did she imagine she could make him change his mind?
'No more?' Jarvis sounded astounded. 'I told you how many I was giving you. To start with...'
'To start with!' It was a screech of terror.
'It all depends on you, Tricia. Now, keep that bottom square... and take the punishment you deserve...'
'But... but I don't... I don't deserve it! Ooohhh.... I'm not a bad girl... none of you understand!'
'There you go again,' said Jarvis complacently. 'Defiance. Not accepting your faults. You've got to learn, my girl!'
Jarvis began to lay on the strokes again, but harder now. He had to keep the firmest of grips for Tricia was struggling and kicking with pain. Tough and spirited as she was, there was a limit to what she could take.
'Oooww... no... nooo! Oh... stop... stop no more!'
'Yeeggghhhh!' Oh how that bottom squirmed! Oh how she kicked!
'Aaaghhhh... no... noooo!'
A right good stinger, cracking across the very centre of that madly writhing-bouncing young bottom. Jarvis panting a little, relaxed and surveyed the weals he had produced. Each one a strong incentive to better behaviour in the future, he reflected.
Still bent over the desk, Tricia sobbed heart-rendingly. But Jarvis's heart was not rent. In his opinion, the girl had deserved all she'd got. What was more, he had the feeling she was making more out of it than was strictly necessary. Not that he had gone easy on her or anything like that. It was simply that he had gained the impression that the girl was harder than she liked to make out.
Jarvis let the sobs subside, running the cane through his fingers. How smooth it felt. Hard yet flexible. It must hurt a good deal when laid over tender girl-flesh. Not many girls could have taken a dozen like this Tricia had done. In fact, he couldn't think of one. Yet... he was still not finished with her. 'I hope,' he said, 'You are not sent back here again this term, Tricia.'
'Oh no... no... I promise!'
'Because you can imagine what would happen to you.'
'Oh Sir... Sir... I've had enough. I'll not come back... I'll be a good girl... I really will.'
'I'm going to make sure.'
'What?' Another screech of terror. 'I've had enough... enough!'
'It's a matter of discipline, Tricia. Just obey me... and it won't be so bad. If you don't obey me, it will be very bad!'
'I... I don't understand...'
'You don't like having to accept orders, do you?'
A pretty lip pouted, then quivered. 'No... n-no... I suppose not.' A head shook. 'Especially when they're stupid ones.'
'There you go again!' snapped Jarvis. 'Being cheeky. Implying our Rules are stupid. Will you never pull yourself together, girl?'
'Yes... Oh I'll try...'
'You've just had twelve strokes across your bare backside... and you're still cheeky. I find it amazing.'
'Oh... Sir... I don't m-mean to be. It... it's just in me, I s-suppose...'
'Well, Tricia, it is my duty to thrash it out of you. Let's both understand that, here and now!' He looked at the quivering bottom flesh. Those weals were quite outstanding. 'Now, Tricia, you're going through a little disciplinary exercise. It will be good for you. Do as I instruct – even though it may go against the grain – and you will escape lightly. If not, I'm afraid I shall be even more severe.' He saw the girl was now looking scared. This was beyond anything she had experienced before. That was good. It might straighten her out once and for all. 'You will now lie flat on your back on top of the desk.'
How startled she looked. 'On... on top of it?'
'That's correct,' said Jarvis in a matter-of-fact way. 'Then place your hands flat on the desk and draw up your knees.' He paused. 'This, Tricia, is a matter of discipline. Of obeying orders. Which you are so reluctant to do. Well?' He gave the cane a swish.
'A-alright... then...' she said warily.
Jarvis watched intently as the girl mounted the desk. How voluptuously her bottom curved and thrust as she did so! It truly was a joy to see. Nervously, she lay back, hands flat. 'Come along... bring up those knees...' He still had the cane in his hand and he saw her eyeing it apprehensively. 'Just do as I say.' Discipline... discipline... that's what had to be ground into them!
Slowly, reluctantly, the knees were drawn up. Yet the hindquarters were still protected by the lower limbs.
'Oh... oh Sir... you're not going to use... that... that cane again... are you?'
'That depends on you...'
The lower limbs came higher, the bottom curved tighter. More was exposed. Jarvis felt the surge of lust he always tried to hold in check. This was a duty, not a pleasure. Was it not? He swished the cane menacingly.
'Oh no... sir... pleee.... ease!'
'Higher... right up. Come along, Tricia. This is an obedience test. And, I may tell you, if you don't pass it, you'll certainly get another thrashing!'
Oh goodness, she looked really scared at that. Because she knew he meant it. The limbs came higher still. That luscious young bottom was now almost completely upturned. He tapped it with the rod.
'No... ooo... don't!' came the screech.
'Then just keep doing as I say... come along... let's have those legs right back... yes... that's it... ankles right to the head... more... more... come along, Tricia. Discipline... discipline...'
Moaning and sobbing, knowing how immodestly she was displaying herself, the girl forced her ankles back to her head, or as near as they would go. Her bottom was upturned high in the air; she was most shamingly exposed. Jarvis gazed down – with the utmost gratification. Discipline had won through.
'Excellent, Tricia,' he said, 'you are at last learning. Continue to do so.' Then he laid a vicious cut of the rod across that taut-curving bottom... which sent the girl catapaulting off the table, shrieking with pain, then squirming down to the floor. It was the hardest cut Jarvis had delivered all evening. And, in his own mind, he felt it fully justified.
Admittedly, the girl had obeyed but, if she hadn't done, she'd have got a half dozen like that. This was a time to cure. Once and for all. That had been his intention and that, he felt sure, was what he had achieved. As he looked down at the sobbing figure on the floor, striving to assuage her pains, he was even more sure.
Tricia Staples would not be returning to his Study that term.
More was the pity. But then, discipline had to be maintained. That was the most important thing of all. Or was it? Jarvis recalled that, a few terms ago, there had been a similar girl sent to him for a fifth time... with the most severe thrashing in prospect.
However, as it turned out, he had been persuaded to be lenient. That, he thought could happen again!