By DJ Black
The woman pulled up the collar of her grey speckled worsted coat against the wind as she scanned the far horizon. As ever there was no sign of the ship, nor did she expect to see any, not after… she sighed, she could no longer remember how long they had been waiting for it now. Still. Almost every day she trudged out to the headland against the wind to check.
“I hate this place,” she muttered, she could have screamed it; there was no one to hear.
The island was a long way from the wild shore, too far for a small boat and even if such a journey could be made the near coast was less inhabitable than this remote strand of rock battered by an autumn sea.
Some of the others did not care, she knew that well enough, they had no homes or anything left of their old lives. Not since the war. The god-cursed war that had left her marooned on this god-cursed island, she screamed and stamped her foot, whirling around in a manic dance hoping for… something.
By something she meant men, no men, that was the hardest part. She was barely 30 for fuck sake… but all the men had gone to the war, all except him. She stopped her dance and looked furtively around in case anyone was watching. In case he was watching.
Before the war the island had been the home of an exclusive girl’s school a very exclusive centre of education. The students had been evacuated, along with all their teachers, all except him, too old she guessed. He had stayed to keep the school going. Was he mad? Was she? She checked her watch, she had already missed elevenses and it simply wasn’t done to miss lunch.
Teri Lightfoot took one last forlorn look at the horizon and then turned back to the grey stone buildings a mile or so off.
*
“Did you see a boat?” Cait asked as Teri reached the old beach café. The café had once been a perk of the school’s staff and some of the older students, closed since the war, but Cait had made it her personal haven, coming almost as often as Teri went to scan for the ship. She made a coffee from old stock and served it too herself as if the little haunt was still open.
Cait Bevan was a small woman of indeterminate age. Young to be sure, perhaps the same age as Teri, but sometimes wise beyond her years and at other times more childish. She had a short mess of windswept dark-blonde hair and thick dark-rimmed glasses
“No, of course not,” Teri stopped and sighed.
“Coffee?” Cait offered.
Teri nodded.
“Better come in, its cold,” Cait said nodding at the leaden grey clouds being dragged across the sky by the stiff breeze.
Teri shrugged, but obeyed and followed Cait into the café.
Teri was almost a head taller than Cait, willowy like a model, not particularly pretty, but not bad. Lucky for her, most men did not look beyond the long thick auburn hair.
“It is almost lunch time,” Teri reminded the smaller woman, although she accepted the cup of coffee.
Cait made a face and it was her turn to shrug. “There is time,” she said, adding with a mischievous smile, “Probably.”
A look of panic crossed Teri’s face and she shot a glance in the direction of the main school building.
“I am kidding,” Cait laughed, “My God, that man has you spooked doesn’t he?”
“No,” Teri denied the accusation, but her tone was surly and uncertain. Then she made a pout and said, “Well yes, doesn’t he spook you?”
“I think he is nuts, but then his place, his rules I suppose,” Cait took a careless sip of coffee and shrugged.
“He thinks we are kids, like we’re his students or something,” Teri began an old refrain.
Cait blinked nonchalantly and took another sip. “I take things as they come, I mean it beats being in a city somewhere being bombed,” she shrugged.
“How do we know there is even a war, I mean we could be the last people on Earth,” Teri had said this before too.
“There is the radio, sometimes we get news,” Cait reminded her.
“Yes, yes, but meanwhile…” Teri rolled her eyes in frustration. “Meanwhile we have him to contend with.”
“Still better than the war,” Cait suggested and then as if she had been wondering asked, “Have you ever actually run afoul of him and his rules?”
Teri looked at the floor and then off towards the headland outside. “No,” she said quickly, “I stay the hell out of his way… you know apart from our daily assembly and those god awful mealtimes.”
“Oh it’s not so bad,” Cait winced, “Well it is, but you know what I mean…”
“Yeah, I know…” Teri sneered.
Both women together said, “Beats the war,” and then they laughed.
*
Teri was uncomfortable when Cait followed her out the café as if they were going to lunch together. They weren’t exactly friends, although the smaller woman always seemed to be on hand to strike up a conversation. Then again, Teri wasn’t exactly friends with anyone.
“They are cutting it a bit fine,” Cait said nodding at the ‘Tennis Twins,’ as they had been dubbed, still playing a game. The two young women hadn’t even known each other before pitching up on the island, but after discovering a mutual love of tennis they had been inseparable.
“Hmmm, not exactly subtle are they?” Teri muttered in disapproval.
“How do you mean?” Cait asked.
“You know, all that holding hands,” Teri said sourly.
“Oh yes, unsubtle hand-holding, they must be enemy agents,” Cait mocked, then added, “At least they are getting some, I am not sure I don’t envy them.” She looked at Teri for a reaction, but got none.
The refractory was a red brick outbuilding across the courtyard from the main building. It was a large one story affair, long and narrow with tables set out with chairs for some 200 students. Teri had never bothered to count the number of women stranded at the school, but it was barley a tenth of that number and they all gathered around three or four large tables.
As usual Mary Uxbridge was waiting at the table near the door checking off people on a register.
“Why, why does she do that?” Teri muttered to Cait, who only grinned at her would-be friend’s rebellious discomfort.
Mary Uxbridge, the oldest of the women, had taken upon herself to organise things. She with Janet Stone, the self-appointed cook, organised a rota for ‘volunteers’ to help at meal times and these two along with Kathy and Ann formed a committee headed by Himself to run the school; Kathy and Ann, having assumed the roles of kitchen gardener and housekeeper respectively.
“Good afternoon Mary,” Cait said, paying some lip-service to the woman’s authority.
Teri would have breezed past with only a cursory nod, but for Janice, who barged past out of breath spluttering, “I am not late am I?” She looked bedraggled and as if she had just got dressed, which she probably had on account of the Headmaster not approving of women wearing trousers at mealtimes.
“No you are not late, not quite,” Mary reassured her, “Not the last either.”
Teri scanned the room and saw that everyone was there, as far as she could tell, all except the ‘Twins.’
Teri went to the emptiest laid table and took her seat. Cait joined her, although Janice went and sat with some of the other women, and a moment later Mary stood up and went to the same table. Teri looked up at the clock knowing it would be 12.27, just like always.
Just like always the ‘Twins’ swept through the door, having miraculously changed out of their tennis whites in the time available and made their way to Teri and Cait’s table. At the start of the summer, they had usually come to lunch in their sportswear, but rumour had it that He had had a word and soon after they had started dressing more modestly for lunch.
There were a lot of nervous faces among the women, not one of them acknowledging what they were all waiting for. Only Cait was smiling and making conversation, although Teri had long since stopped listening.
Teri hated the butterflies in her tummy, like they were waiting for a king or something; who the hell did they think he was? Who did He think… the door opened and the Headmaster entered. Mary Uxbridge and Janice Stone got to their feet and several of the other women did the same, even the ‘Twins.’
Cait laughed mockingly, but stood up anyway, just like almost everyone else until only Teri and one other still sat.
The other being the ever poised Amanda Sullivan, an aloof well-groomed dark-haired woman in her 30s, who also remained seated. Teri scarcely knew Amanda, nobody did, she held herself apart from the others, as if they were all unimportant. Who did she think she was? Teri thought and then with a rare insight realised that she might well be seen by most of the others in the same way.
Cait gave Teri a look and tilted her head slightly as if to say, ‘well, what does it matter?’
Teri rolled her eyes and reluctantly got her feet. From the other side of the room Amanda was heard to mutter, “Well for goodness sake,” as she too stood up.
Dr David Arthur Wells, known to all as the Headmaster, was a tall imposing man approaching 50. He was not as fit as he might have been in his rugby-playing days, but as a former Royal Marine he had not let himself get too out of shape. His salt and pepper hair was still sandpaper short military style and his steely smile only just reached his almost omniscient eyes as he scanned the room.
“Good afternoon ladies,” he said once he was sure he had everyone’s attention.
“Good afternoon,” the women intoned by way of reply, although not quite with one voice so that there was a short babble.
The Headmaster’s gaze fell upon Teri and Cait’s table and he smiled broadly as he made his way over to join them.
“Oh joy,” Teri sighed.
Cait only stifled a giggle.
“Hello, hello, how are we today?” the Headmaster said with a kind of patronising bonhomie as he pulled up a chair.
“I think we are fine Dr Wells,” Cait said with a cheeky air, “And how are you?”
The Headmaster let his stern gaze dwell on the small cheerful woman, perhaps warning her in some way.
Cait swallowed a smirk and glanced at Teri for a reaction.
“Any news of the outside world?” Teri interjected, trying to be diplomatic.
“Sadly none,” the Headmaster said wearily, “So we must make do, mustn’t we? Onwards and upwards, so to speak, tell me have you been assigned any tasks yet, to put us on a more stable footing?”
“Tasks?” Teri frowned.
“I am on the dinner rota this Thursday and luncheon next Tuesday, I think,” Cait said pleasantly. Somehow she knew that is not what he meant.
“Tasks?” Teri asked in a puzzled voice, “Assigned by who?”
“Oh, your committee and I have been talking about getting more organised and getting more of the girl’s helping out,” the Headmaster said enthusiastically.
Ignoring the ‘girls’ reference Teri said disparagingly, “Oh, the committee,” and made a face.
The Headmaster allowed his slight glare to creep into his tone and said, “It is a good idea, food stores won’t last forever and the water supply will need servicing, gutter’s cleaning, more hands in the garden… that sort of thing.”
“Surely we won’t be here that long… a ship is bound to come sooner or later. Besides, I don’t do that stuff…” Terri countered.
“Precisely, training, lessons if you will, we can all learn,” the man spoke as if decisions had been made. “As for a ship… I don’t think anyone out there can spare any such transport for just a handful of people… I don’t think things are going well… and won’t for the foreseeable future… I intend to bring it up at assembly tomorrow.”
Teri turned her attention to the serving hatch and wondered when she could politely get away from the bloody man and get some food. “Whatever,” she said absently, a ship would come soon and then she would be away from this place. Enlistment would be preferable, she knew that now.
“Please watch your tone Miss Lightfoot,” the Headmaster scolded, “I am sure we don’t need to have another little meeting.”
Teri blushed furiously and almost rounded on him. The previous meeting he was talking about had taken her off guard at the time and she fumed every time she remembered how compliant she had been. She was furious now, because she had opted for pretending it never happened and now he was casually telling everyone.
“Speaking of which,” the Headmaster continued, “Miss Bevan, you missed your turn at lunch last Friday, for the second time since we previously discussed such an absence… also Mrs Stone tells me that your room and bathing area have been somewhat neglected… and one or two other things have been brought to my attention. Quite the rebel aren’t you?”
Teri shot her friend a look, waiting for one of her smart-mouth come backs.
“Oh yes,” Cait said with semblance of sounding meek, “Sorry,” but there was a smirk about to break free and her tone was borderline cheeky.
“My office directly after lunch, if you don’t mind,” he told her.
“Of course,” Cait smiled insincerely.
With that the Headmaster got up and went to join another table.
“What the fuck?” Teri gasped once he was out of ear shot.
“I know, but better to humour the man,” Cait rolled her eyes, “Anyway, luncheon is served,” and she too left before anything else was said.
*
Cait made her way across to the main building and up the grand staircase to the first floor. The ceiling was ornate and carved like a cathedral of wood, the panel walls only serving to emphasise the impression. A church dedicated not to God but to education personified in the Headmaster. Cait loved the theatrics of it and paused to take it in turning slowly on the spot as she gazed about her.
“Don’t pretend you’re not scared girl,” she said aloud and then feeling a surge of heat quickly looked over the bannister to see if there was anyone in the lower hall to hear her. She blushed even as she smirked. “Onwards and upwards,” she mocked, remembering the Headmaster’s refrain.
She all but skipped to the heavy oak door to the Headmaster’s study, an act of bravado that was more self-mocking than disrespect. “Oh goody I’m here,” she laughed, but she sounded more manic than mocking. The bell push wasn’t working, she knew, so she knocked.
“Come in Miss Bevan,” the answer came at once.
“Headmaster,” Cait said breezily as she entered.
Dr Wells groaned dejectedly and for a moment missed the good old days. “Miss Bevan,” he indicated a chair in front of his desk. “Why do I always get the impression that you are lampooning any given situation?”
“Well, probably because usually I am,” Cait smiled but with serious eyes. “We do what we must to survive in times like these. Don’t we Headmaster?”
“You know there is no ship coming don’t you?” the Headmaster said ignoring the last cryptic comment.
“That’s Teri’s shtick, besides I have nothing to go home for, not anymore,” she seemed sad for the merest moment and then the cheeky smile returned. “Anyway, you rang my lord.”
“I am not impressed with your behaviour, not one bit,” the Headmaster said sternly.
“No,” Cait pushed out her lower lip and shrugged, “Funny that.”
“I see,” he sighed. “I have spoken to you before…”
“Spoken… is that what you call it?” Cait rolled her eyes.
“Don’t mock me Miss Bevan, you know how this ends,” he growled.
“I’m sorry, I mean that, I am just nervous really,” Cait placated him. “I have decided not to fight you and your rules and your little kingdom. I mean half the women here are terrified of you and half the rest think you are a saviour. I mean that too, not mocking you. Like I said, we all do what we need to survive.”
“I see,” the Headmaster nodded and decided the woman was being as cooperative as she was ever going to be. “This is the third time we have faced this little situation…”
“The fourth… I think,” Cait said with a grim smile.
“As you say,” he said, no longer remembering, “So when do you think you will ever learn?”
“Learn?” Cait asked, raising her brows in seemingly genuine inquiry.
“Learn not to be so… bloody cheeky, pull your weight and so forth?” he was getting impatient.
“Oh…” Cait winced and shook her head, “Never probably, that ship sailed… oh two husbands ago.”
“You’re married?” the Headmaster frowned as if that changed something.
Cait shook her head and batted the question away as unimportant. “One divorce and… and you know… the bloody war… and don’t say you’re sorry… onwards and upwards and all that… it was a few years back now and plenty of others are in the same boat.”
“Hmmm,” the Headmaster made a church with his hands. “I think we had better get this over with, don’t you?”
“Oh I am perfectly happy to sit here while I still can; no rush as far as I am concerned,” Cait smirked.
“Nothing better to do, is that it?” the Headmaster growled, he was determined now to take charge. “Well I do, and you had better stand up.”
Cait felt her mouth dry and she felt awkward as she stood up.
The man crossed the room and opened a cupboard to remove a fierce-looking long thin cane.
“Bare bottom is it?” her childhood Welsh accent crept in to her voice.
“As ever Miss Bevan,” the Headmaster intoned.
Cait nodded and tried to work up some moisture in her throat. “Okay,” she whispered to herself. You have no right to do this you know, she said to him in her head, but she was pretty sure she had told him that the first two times.
The Headmaster pointed at the chair she had just been sitting on with is cane and then turned his back.
Cait drew in a long slow breath and let it out even more slowly. Then she reached for the hem of her short tartan skirt and bunched it up to her waist in back. Then as she folded herself over the back of the chair she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her tights and underwear until she was able to draw them over her pale Celtic hips and over her heavy round bottom characteristic of short curvy women. Then with heels together in some hope of obscuring her lady parts she pushed her bare bottom up and out as she had previously, hoping he was satisfied.
“I ought to thrash you soundly Miss Bevan,” the Headmaster told her as he turned and eyed her exposed behind, not entirely unmoved.
“I thought that was the idea,” Cait said, but her words, now pure accented Welsh were thick with stickiness in her mouth.
“Older girl’s get 12,” he said, almost forgetting where and when he was.
“Dr Wells, I am a woman not a girl so I suggest you have at it so I can be forgiven and go,” Cait was nowhere near as brave as perhaps she sounded.
“Quiet,” the Headmaster agreed and paused only to survey her round tightly split bottom, noting the equally tight but lightly furred purse of her womanhood. Then he tapped the exposed flesh with his cane.
Cait gasped in anticipation.
The Headmaster smiled, knowing at last he was in control. Then he caned her.
Cait hissed and waited while the line of pain sawed into her for a few moments.
The Headmaster watched as the white line on pale bottom turned pink, then red and slowly rose to a ridge. Then he caned her again.
“Mmmmmm,” Cait grunted and screwed up her eyes as she rode the muscle deep cut. Then she blew rapidly and hard as if that would release some of the pain.
He caned her again.
“Nihhh,” she gasped and rolled her hips with the pain.
Then like a general planning his next strike the Headmaster scanned the battle scarred behind and then tapped the under curves of her bare bottom. A startled Cait let out with a little gasp and then wiggled her rear at the false alarm. Then he caned in sharply across the top of her sit spot.
“Wahhh, wahh, wahh,” Cait panted and gritted her teeth. This was worse than she remembered and for the first time wished she had asked how many.
“Feeling it, are you Miss Bevan?” he asked, his voice edged in faint amusement.
“Yes Sir,” she panted and fixed her eyes on a blemish on the wall.
He caned her sharply just above where her thigh met bottom. Taken by surprised, Cait yelped and then descended into angry growls, swearing under her breath.
“What was that?” he asked in a warning tone.
“Nothing Sir,” she gasped and continued to breathe heavily.
“Glad to hear it,” he said and caned her again on the under curves of her bottom and then as she reacted he caned quickly thrice more.
The change of pace disconcerted her and she began spluttering incoherent protests.
“Not so cheeky now, are we Miss Bevan?” the Headmaster chuckled.
“No Sir,” Cait agreed and realised for the first time that she was crying, then with a steely determination she drilled her gaze into the spot she had found on the wall and added, “Indeed not, thank you for asking.”
The Headmaster smiled and nodded in passing admiration for her bravado. “How many was that?” he asked her, having lost count himself.
No fucking idea, she thought bitterly, adding sullenly aloud, “Sufficient Sir.”
“Six more I think,” he told her.
“Shit,” she sniffed.
“I can make it eight,” he offered.
“No Sir, thank you Sir,” she said quickly. God he was putting her in her place, she thought and almost admired him.
He caned her once more and allowed himself a feeling of triumph as she yelled out. Then after a few seconds pause, he caned her as hard as he could across previously punished bottom.
Cait squealed and then made a spluttering sound for several seconds. Her breathing was ragged now and she was visibly sagging.
“You are an enigma to me Miss Bevan, always bucking authority but never offering any constructive alternative,” he told her and then caned her.
Apart from another yelp amid her chaotic breathing, she said nothing in answer to either his words or the stroke. He caned her again and she wailed in distress.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered and twisted against the drilling pain.
Pretending not to hear, he caned her again and she screamed.
Cait groaned and stamped her feet, she almost started begging.
“Just one more,” he told her and then delivered the worst stroke yet.
There was a long straggled noise which ended in a hiss and then she was panting hard again. Finally she managed to ask, “Have we finished?”
“Indeed we have Miss Bevan, you can stand up,” the Headmaster told her and then discreetly turned his back as she did so.
He didn’t watch as she furiously massaged her rear while she stamped her feet, but by the time he turned she was already hiking up her tights and underwear with a hiss. Both garments were two sizes too small now.
“Let that be a lesson to you Miss Bevan,” the Headmaster intoned.
She nodded and took his proffered hand. “Thank you Sir.”
Part Two
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