Suspects and Suspicions by Mark Danelaw
The first part: Introduction, can be found here.
The pink slip informing Annabelle that she had been summoned to Saturday detention left her unmoved. She had heard rumours and horror stories about it, but at heart it was kid’s stuff and days away. She had a slept belly down and kept a low profile for a couple of days. Now she had to slip out and report. In due course she would have to have another crack at the admin office, but for now it was too risky. She could not be caught again.
Annabelle told herself that her caution was professional and prudent. Getting caught was risky because she would have no plausible cover story and it would pose too many questions. However, at the back of her mind she wondered if she was just too scared of getting another sore bottom.
The thrashing from the headmistress and then the housemistress had broken her somewhat. She fixed her gaze in the bathroom mirror; her eyes had a haunted look and she was bedraggled as if no amount of grooming could quite get her confidence back. Looking back at her was the 19-year-old student she was pretending to be, not the 24-year-old detective she was.
She had infiltrated two different gangs, faced down and execution squad and had been beaten up three times; but a few weeks in a British public girl’s school and she was on the verge of quitting. No wonder these bitches were part of an elite that ruled the world.
“Come on Anna, you can make this work,” she told the face in the mirror, “You have faced worse.”
She thought of the night with Torrance… he hadn’t taken no for an answer… you didn’t say no to the leader of the South London racket… that hadn’t made a report… Was this job any worse? Was it worth though; a money laundering case, maybe, some connection with dodgy international finance?
“Not your call Detective Constable, not your call, you have a job,” she steeled herself and then panicked at what she had said… she looked around for an eavesdropper. “Man, you are getting jumpy.”
***
Back in her room Alice was snoring and Annabelle decided she might as well go while the going was good. Even if her roommate woke up, she probably wouldn’t even ask, let alone tell. It was part of the bitches’ code.
It was a school not a prison and Annabelle knew that way out without incident. The long way via trees in the grounds made her invisible and the side gate through the school wall was unobserved. It was almost too familiar now; but not once did she let her guard down
The red phone box was dark since she knackered the light and it would probably take months for anyone to fix it. She called the usual number and hung up after the three rings. It rang back almost immediately.
“The pub is clear tonight, back room snug, I will meet you there,” Guardian said and hung up.
Annabelle was shocked. This was highly unusual, not to say risky… she consulted her watch. It was 10:22, last orders for a week day, was in eight minutes, but this shouldn’t take long. Maybe Guardian was pulling her out.
An extraction was bad, she hadn’t achieved anything. It meant either a break in the case on some other line of enquiry or she had well and truly fucked up somewhere. Either way her suffering would have been for nothing. Right then given the state of her arse that was an unholy thought.
Annabelle found the side door to the snug and was able to enter the pub without going through the bar. The small room had wooden panels and a few mirrors advertising English breweries. The two tables on the right were empty, and Guardian sat with a pint in the opposite corner. There was a straight up single scotch waiting for her; she wasn’t being pulled then
Guardian looked up, Chief Superintendent Michael Bowyers was a hard faced man with steel grey hair and hard grey eyes. He smiled briefly and then frowned. “You look awful,” he said.
“Thanks, you look like a sight for sore eyes,” she grinned, not to mention a sore bottom, she conceded to herself.
“I thought I would hear your report in person… leave the team out of it for once,” his mouth was a hard line of concern, “Sit down,” he nodded to a low bar stool.
Annabelle eyed the diminutive furniture with contempt and shook her head. “I would rather stand Mike,” she said ruefully, forcing a smile, but she blushed all the same.
Guardian frowned quizzically and then drew his mouth into a hard line. “I guessed as much, how bad is it?”
Annabelle let her true feelings show for the first time in days, but she wasn’t going to cry; “These women are psychos,” she laughed, “I am never going to be able to sit down again.”
“Is it worth it? I can pull you out,” the Chief Superintendent asked.
“You tell me boss,” Annabelle winced openly and reached for the whiskey, “Mine I take it?” She didn’t wait for confirmation.
“We don’t know much more than when you went in… a payment from a school account has been made to another account with the school’s name on it, or one like it. Is it sloppy or clever… hiding in plain sight? No other payments except to our guys… a mistake, an over payment… but then why does it have directors and signatories that we can’t trace?” the Chief Superintendent got down to business at once; they didn’t have much time. “What do you have?”
Annabelle sighed, “In truth, very little, but… well it may be nothing but…”
“Oh this sounds good, I know you and your hunches,” her Guardian grinned.
“There is a very odd little clique at the school… Denton, the deputy head and Helen Holt… my housemistress, she shrugged somewhat embarrassed and unconsciously rubbed her bottom at the name’s mention; and a new and very junior teacher, Lucy Horton-Grange, her mother is a school trustee… Also I tried to take a squint at the school finances and Rachel Denton was there as if by magic as if she was… I don’t know? Thinking about it, I was discovered too easily.” Annabelle took another swig of whiskey.
“You think this little group is usual, why?” Guardian asked; his mind calculating.
“Trust me, knowing now how the school dynamics work… the hierarchies, it doesn’t fit and they were secretive about it,” Annabelle told him, “Also it was Denton who caught me in the admin office, which was strange the more I think about it.”
“You were seen?” the Chief Superintendent blurted.
“Yah,” Annabelle sighed, her hand strayed to her bottom again, “they thought it was a prank, they aren’t suspicious.”
The Chief Superintendent followed her hand with his eyes but quickly snapped them back to her face. “How rough is it?” he asked.
“I have had worse, and I am pretty sure I can’t get killed on this job, it is a doodle boss,” she reassured him and finished the whiskey.
“That’s my girl,” he grinned, “And Annabelle… put as much in the report as you are able… let me edit things before I pass it on to the team.”
She blushed and nodded.
“As for this little trio you have identified, we will look in to it. You might be on to something there,” Guardian said sagely and slowly nodded.
***
The next day was grey and overcast. It had rained overnight and every now and then there was a disconcerting rush of wind to disturb the trees. This arboreal rush in the school grounds periodically threatened to bring a shower down on them, making it an awful day for any outside games lessons. It was not much better for those stuck in class with dour lesson or in the headmistress, Margaret Clements’ case, a solid wall of admin work.
Margaret had asked Ducky to bring the summaries of the previous three year’s books into her. And now she was setting them out left to right on her desk while Ducky hovered nearby with a pensive look etched on her face.
Ducky always thought that any problem was her personal failing and now she waited in buttock clenching dread for a good telling off. As ever her fear of a jolly good spanking, or worse the cane, was mild compared with her visceral terror that she had somehow failed Miss Clements.
The Headmistress was oblivious to Ducky’s irrational fear, contending as she was with irrational fears of her own. Was she failing as a head? Her guts screamed that something was off and she scratched her head. The income was holding up, increasing in fact, but the so had the budgets for each department and yet there was slow and steady decline in reserves across all departments. It amounted to eight percent in the second year over the first and another seven in the subsequent year.
“Ducky, be a dear and get me all the summaries… no, all the accounts from the last 10 years,” Margaret said absently, still focussed on the paperwork laid out on her desk, “But the summaries first,” she looked up and smiled; her warmth was professional and distracted.
“Is something wrong Ma’am?” Ducky meant, ‘have I done something wrong?’
“I don’t know,” the headmistress muttered, “Money is coming in but we are increasingly spending less, you know, year on year… but across all departments except on certain things I can’t explain or trace…”
“How do you mean Ma’am?” Ducky asked.
“Did we have a school trip to Paris or London? And do we have 300 event T-Shirts? I mean apparently they were for an event I don’t recall and cost £30 a shirt? These items alone cost us around £50,000? Everything itemised at less than £500 expenditure so I did not have to sign off on it… all of it buried evenly across various departmental budgets…” the Headmistress was more than suspicious now.
“Oh,” Ducky sighed, even she did not need to have it explained, “Who could do that?”
“Well quite, it is an outrage,” Clements gasped.
“No Ma’am, I mean, who could actually do that, in school I mean?” Ducky asked.
***
Annabelle stood under the shower to allow the cascade of hot water sear her sore bottom. Her teeth clamped as she endured it, embracing the pain as both a lesson and a cure; although at that moment and for many to come she would have prayed for an ice pack. Then her courage failed and she stepped out and shoved the lever all the way to cold. The instant contrast was bliss as now a chilled torrent of water ran in rivulets of the red welted hills of pain that described her arse. Her groaning now sounded positively obscene.
The cold running water echoed that falling from the sky outside matching her misery. Annabelle was quite certain she would never sit down again, or at least not so long as she was an inmate at this school. And what was it for? What had she actually learned?
The three women, Guardian did not dismiss it; the reaction to her intrusion in the admin block, not only Denton’s timely arrival, but now that she thought about it, Holt’s attitude until she had distracted her with the cover story… Then there were the payments to some sort of shell company connected to the school that Guardian’s team had uncovered.
Annabelle shoved her arse deep into the soothing shower of chilled water. She had to have another go at the office, even if it cost her another meeting with Clements. She shut of the water with a decision. Then barely draped in her towel she headed back to her room and ran a plan through her head.
Back in the room she shared with Alice Anthony she dropped the towel and stood naked and unafraid; approaches and options for a raid on the office foremost in her thoughts. She hadn’t even fully closed the door, which swung half open.
“Closed the door will you…” Alice sat up with a yawn, then she gasped, “oh my God look at that bum,” Alice gaped, “You must have seriously pissed someone off.”
“It speaks,” Annabelle said as still naked she pouted to a mirror as she began to apply war paint.
“Did Holt do that?” Alice sat up, now transfixed by Annabelle’s bare bottom.
“The very same, with no little help from old Clements,” Anabelle replied. It was the longest conversation she and her roommate had so far had.
“Jeez, what did you do? Can you even sit down?” Alice had been caned once or twice, but generally she had kept her head down and her nose in a book.
“What I did is piss someone off,” Annabelle replied evasively as she wrapped her bra around and clipped it. With a twist and adjustment her tits were in place as she reached for a blouse. Her bum was way too sore and the detective had decided to leave the worst until last. “As for sitting down… I am a true blue Saint; do we ever get to sit down? Where are you living?”
Alice dragged her eyes reluctantly from Annabelle’s ravaged bottom to the even less edifying sight of a rain-filled sky. “I do not feel up to that lot,” she groaned, “I would much rather stay here with a book. In fact I definitely feel decidedly queasy, I might report in sick…”
Annabelle stood in just bra, blouse and stockings. But she turned full bush out to face Alice. “You have seen my arse?” she turned back and stuck it out with a kind of inverted pride. “You want the same? No book is worth it, trust me.” Then with a heart of steel she picked up the knickers she had selected from the bed and manfully stepped into them. With great reluctance and a hiss she pulled them over her welted bottom. “You’re not sick, are you?”
“I am too, I’m very sick… I have a headache and…” Alice pouted and put her hand to head.
The as yet unclosed door opened more widely and Head Girl Daphne Penrose-Gough gently entered with a frown. “Who is sick?” she asked.
Alice looked to Annabelle and pondered her next words carefully. “I am,” she said.
“Another one,” she said wearily, “It must be the weather.” Then to Annabelle she said, “Are you sick too?”
Annabelle was quickly zipping up her skirt, eager not to leave a target exposed. “No I am just peachy and headed to breakfast,” she said.
“Do that thing,” Daphne said, and then to Alice she said, “And you, you had better report to Matron.”
“But…,” Alice suddenly had a real tummy ache following an attack of butterflies.
“You’re sick, you report to matron,” Daphne said sharply.
“Yes Head Girl,” Alice groaned
***
By the time Alice reached the infirmary she was already regretting her deception. Not mention breakfast. She wasn’t given to trouble, she liked lessons and had found keeping her head down and reading had served her well. No detentions, no visits to Holt and just a two spankings in games. This was her first true naughtiness and she was completely out of her depth.
“Not another one,” Eileen Kelly sighed. The curvy 50-something Matron regarded the pimply-faced redhead with resignation.
Over her shoulder a somewhat apprehensive Heather Collins stood looking like she would rather be anywhere else.
There were four medical couches in the middle of the room. Each one had a roll of absorbent paper at one end, pulled down to cover the leatherette padding. There was also a stark white light illuminating each couch that would leave nothing to hide to any occupant.
“Right girls, get undressed,” Matron told them.
Both girls exchanged glances and Alice closed her eyes in resignation.
“Come along girls, I have some school issue T-shirts so you won’t get cold,” Kelly told them as she gathered the white cotton garments from a draw.
“Perhaps just an aspirin Miss,” Heather ventured.
“Naked, both of you, I want you both kneeling up on a couch each…” they were told; “Quickly now.”
Alice wondered if it were too late to say she felt better and decided it was. Nudity wasn’t in her wheelhouse and even Heather’s bits, now suddenly in her face, was disconcerting. Eileen Kelly had seen it all before, many times and already knew how this was going to go.
The T-shirts were over-sized but barely covered either girl’s hips; still they donned them gratefully, not least because the infirmary was cold.
“On the couch, kneel up, that’s it,” Matron told them.
The sporty Heather was up first and the least shy of the two. On all fours her hips were at a right angle, presenting her bare bottom to the room. Alice struggled to clamber on and had to be helped. Even then she sat on her heels and tugged at the hem of the shirt in a vain effort to cover her behind.
“Kneel up, heads down, I want your elbows touching your knees,” Kelly told them.
Heather obliged with a blush, squirming into position. Alice resisted at every turn and had to be guided by the Matron’s firm hands.
“You don’t have to…” Alice protested, but hands were slapped away and soon her posture matched Heather’s.
“Now stay like that,” Matron warned as she regarded the two young women with their bare bottoms uppermost side by side on the paper-covered couched.
Matron studied them both for a moment, checking for full compliance. Then she donned disposal gloves before she went to a tray and picked up a jar of white cream and unscrewed it. Concentration furrowed her brow as she dipped a glass tube as thick as her thumb into the jar to stir it quickly.
Alice couldn’t see what was happening but Heather stole a glance and felt her mouth go dry. Luckily that was not where the thermometer was going. “Miss I…” Heather began.
“Shush, just a minute,” Kelly soothed as she smeared the right amount of lubrication on the tube and some on her fingers, “You can wait your turn.”
Then the Matron approached Alice’s slim hips and freckled behind to appraise it. The girl was skinny as, although her bottom was round and prominent, not to say astonishingly white except for a sprinkle of orange dots and a pimple or two. In this position the tiny flower of her soft brown anus was as tight as any she had seen. The girl wasn’t a player, not solo or with a friend, she decided.
Eileen touched the small bud with a small scrape of cream hooked on her leading finger. Alice gasped, her eyes breaking wide. Never had she…
Then with a firm slow pressure the Matron pressed until the tight ring yielded, stretching to encircle the digit and then clinging around it as it disappeared.
“Oh, oh, oh,” Alice whimpered.
There was something obscene about the way in which Eileen gently pumped first one cream coated finger and then separately another ensuring a generous insertion.
The glass bulb was bigger. At the business end it was the size and shape of a large acorn fused to a long 20mm thick tube that led to a reading. The bulb pressed where the fingers had been and again the ring stretched to accommodate, but without enthusiasm.
“N-n-n-nooo,” Alice babbled; her eyes and mouth wide with surprise.
As the bud opened to the full extent required it suddenly swallowed the acorn leading the way to a long slow insertion that made Alice squirm. Once a good 10cm had been absorbed Matron let it sit so that Alice was bottom up with a rod jutting up towards the ceiling.
“Now hold on to that for two minutes and don’t squeeze,” Matron told her, “If it falls out it will break and I will be cross.”
Then Matron turned her attention to Heather.
“I feel much better, really I do,” Heather whimpered.
“That is what I intend to find out,” Matron said.
***
Alice and Heather felt ridiculous and beyond embarrassed to be kneeling up on beds in the san with their bottoms in the air and fat thermometers protruding from their most intimate place.
Alice didn’t know how hot her bottom would turn out to be, but her face was melting. She prayed no one came in and saw this.
“Just a little longer girls,” Matron said from her place sitting reading a magazine; she didn’t even look at her watch.
Heather gritted her teeth, the damn thing was big and thick and she was feeling rather stretched and somewhat full. Some girls liked this kind of thing she had heard.
A few minutes passed and both women were beginning to struggle.
“Okay,” Matron finally said and crossed the room to Alice. She took the reading she expected and made a tutting sound as she gave a long slow tug on the glass and pulled it free to the girl’s chagrin. “I think we have a malingerer,” Eileen Kelly said in a tone of heavy disapproval.
Heather winced at the ‘M word’ and her regrets at coming redoubled. As Matron moved behind her she felt a surge to her face knowing how exposed she was and closed her eyes and prayed for any kind of hike in temperature.
Kelly tutted again as she pulled the glass rod free. “It looks like you two will have to report to your housemistress’s later… but before then I want you down and facing that wall,” she scolded, “Normal both of you, you little skivers.”
Both girls clambered off the med-beds and scampered to do as they were told. There was always a chance Matron would let them off a visit to the beak, a small one granted, but it served them well not to cross her now.
Neither T-shirt covered much and in short order there were two bare bums lined up along the wall while Matron cleared up and went to fetch something else.
“I was ill, I was,” Heather whispered with a pout.
“I’m sick too… sick of PE,” Alice groaned in dejection. Now she had missed library time and would be released just in time for hockey.
They stood there shivering for a good few minutes while the Matron clattered around and set something out on a side unit near the store room and then she stopped. “Now ladies, turn around,” she said.
This sounded ominous, Alice thought and when she turned Matron was sitting on a simple chair with a tennis shoe on her lap. She quailed. She hoped to God that she didn’t have to see old Holt after this.
“Who is first?” Eileen Kelly asked as she took up the shoe and patted the palm of her hand with it.
Heather sighed and shrugged as she stepped forward.
“No, this one,” Matron said and beckoned to Alice.
Alice gulped and opened her mouth to protest before thinking better of it. Tugging her shirt down in front she took nervous steps across the room to stand with head bowed before Matron.
“Over my knee girl,” Eileen Kelly said and pulled across her lap.
This served to elevate Alice’s bare bottom, a smooth and tight offering atop of snow white long legs. This was too embarrassing, she thought, especially when the Matron smoothed her behind with the hand holding the shoe.
“A taste of slipper will show us how ill you really are,” Matron said.
Yeah, it is well known to, the Institute of Surgeons swear by it, Alice observed silently.
“How is your head?” Eileen asked and then spanked the shoe down hard across Alice’s bare bottom.
Alice sucked in air as her eyes and mouth flew wide open. The sting across her bottom was the worst she had ever felt. Or was until the second spank landed and she yelped.
“What about your tummy?” Matron asked and spanked her again.
“I…,” Alice could scarce draw breath.
There were half a dozen more spanks just like the first three and Alice squirmed and squealed for each impact.
“I promise you one thing my girl,” Matron scolded, “Whatever else ails you, your bottom will definitely be out of sorts by the time we are finished here.”
Alice squealed and made growling noises as the tennis shoe slammed down again and again.
“Were you sick, were you?” Eileen Kelly snarled.
Alice could not speak and the shoe showed no sign of mercy. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” shoe finally blurted with an extreme effort.
“I said, were you sick?” the Matron demanded.
“N-no,” Alice sobbed. She was treated to another long round of spanking until her arse was raspberry red and she was a sobbing, bawling mess.
“So you were lying?” Eileen Kelly insisted.
Alice nodded miserably and whispered, “Yes Miss.”
There was one more heavy round of spanking, who knew how many swats, then Matron let the girl up and told her stand back near the wall.
“You, come here,” Matron said to Heather, “Are you sick?”
“No Miss,” Heather admitted and dejected, walked across the san to her fate.
“Honesty at last, now over knee,” Eileen Kelly sighed.
“Yes Miss,” Heather said as she moved across the Matron’s thighs to present her pale bare bottom.
Alice was still crying and very much trying not to, but there was something primeval about seeing her compatriot put across Matron’s knee, something not found in books. Absently she massaged her bum, but forgetting for the moment the burn.
Eileen Kelly thought Heather’s behind was a significant improvement on the skinny Alice and raised her arm straight up high and let it hang. Then she brought the tennis shoe down with full force to enjoy the heavy thwack across the surrendered girl’s completely bare bottom.
Heather gasped and followed it up with a small groan. Matron waited for the pink patch to develop, a mottled stain across both cheeks, and then she spanked again, partially overlapping but allowing the impact to land lower.
This time Heather yelled. Nor did Matron wait, raising her arm high she brought the tennis shoe down with full force, over and over and again and again, while the girl kicked and yowled. Very quickly the patches of overlapping pink turned ever darker until both bottom cheeks were stained with a heavy Burgundy. Heather, of course, who at first had been stoic was already a sobbing mess and praying for an end.
“Did you think you would fool me?” Matron said, “Either of you?”
“No Miss,” they both parroted.
“Get up girl, both of you face the wall again and get those hands on your head,” Matron sighed.
Eileen waited until Heather’s tears were under control while she compared bottoms. Alice’s was small tight and raspberry red on account of her pale white skin. Heather had a heavier hue, the colouring mottled and dark dull pink.
“It is possible that I made a mistake,” Matron said, “So get back on the couch, both of you, I want you kneeling up like before.”
Alice, now eager to please, scrambled back to the table and got back on it and into position with her bottom jutting upwards.
Heather swallowed hard at the obscenity of the pose and knew she had to copy it. Her face matched her bottom in colouring; although her arse was now very hot and tight to bursting. She did not relish the stretched position.
Once both were positioned Matron dipped the thermometers first into the jar of gel and then into proffered bottom roses. Both girls gasped. In short order there were two surrendered upturned bottoms with thick glass tubes like flagpoles without flags sticking out of them. Of course any flags would have been white in line with their complete surrender.
“Stay like that a while, just in case,” Matron said innocently and then went to prepare the enemas.
The next part Heads Down and Bottoms Up
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