Biding one’s Time, by Mark Danelaw
The first part: Introduction, can be found here.
Annabelle had to get something on the conspirators, something that would help unravel the plot. From here on in Elspeth was going to be Guardian’s problem. There was limit as to what Annabelle could do in that direction. The other three were her new targets.
Rachel lived off school and would be a hard nut to crack. That left Helen Holt and Lucy Horton-Grange. It was possible that Josephine Horton-Grange was also in on it. There were two connections in that column. Firstly her eldest daughter was parachuted into the school and the fact that she was on the board. It also occurred to Annabelle that the Countess of Avebury was another suspect but her gut said no and there was nothing about her actions to suggest it. In fact it made no sense. Lady Avebury could have removed Clements or not even appointed her in the first place. Instead she seemed by the evidence to be trying to sure up her career. No it was Cardwell and Holt, Annabelle was certain now.
She had to get into Holt’s rooms here at the school for any evidence that could help detach Denton from the others; she was the one who was going to get betrayed at some point. Annabelle had to use that.
Meanwhile she was a schoolgirl and had to get through her week.
***
The 19-year-old Georgia ‘Georgy Porgy’ Porter stood outside her housemistresses study cursing her luck yet again. How could she get into so much trouble? Old Mac had asked to see her and that meant just one thing. Her hands found her rather rotund bottom and she quietly wished it a fond farewell. Then she knocked.
“Enter,” came Mac’s voice from within.
Mary ‘Mac’ Macintyre was young for a housemistress and looked younger still. The flecks of grey in her hair gave her some gravitas, but she scarcely needed it.
“You wanted to see me Miss?” Georgy said sheepishly.
“Ah, Georgy come in,” Mac sighed, “I suppose you know why you are here?”
Georgy opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again. She shook her head.
“Answer me when you are spoken to,” Mac barked.
“No Miss, I mean yes Miss, but no Miss I don’t know why I am here.”
The housemistress sighed and handed Georgy her geography essay. “It is an F by the way,” she said, “No doubt we will come to that, here take it.”
Georgy took the papers like they might bite ad eyed them with suspicion. An F was going to be hell on her arse, but what else could be here?
“May I draw your attention to the last page,” Mac said in a voice like ice.
Georgy scanned the pages and winced at the copious red ink scratched across it almost everywhere. She shook her head in confusion then she saw it. “I didn’t write that,” she gasped.
“And yet you handed it in,” Mac said.
Georgy made to protest, but she was confused.
“You did hand this in, yourself?” Mac challenged her.
Georgy nodded. “But I didn’t write… why would I… that’s…” The insult to her teacher was crude and childish, but she did not write it.
“I believe you,” Mac sighed.
There was a rush of relief on Georgy’s part, but just for a second.
“But if you had checked your work thoroughly before handing it in you would have seen it,” Mac accused her, “But you didn’t, which is also why you probably got an F isn’t it?”
Georgy closed her eyes and silently cursed. She had been pranked, but it had been a rushed essay… she was so busted.
“Now please let us have your bottom over the arm of the chair, skirts up and knickers down of course,” Mac suggested as she reached for her favourite cane.
“Oooh,” Georgy groaned and with a reluctant trudge did as she was told. With her knickers down to her knees her quite considerable bare bottom was elevated. Not that she was fat exactly, not even chubby really, but generously proportioned.
Georgy Porgy pudding and pie, she was caned and made to cry, Mac remembered the nasty little ditty she had overheard that had given the girl her name. Girls could be so cruel, but not as cruel as the Macintyre cane.
“You are lazy girl, lazy and careless and habitually in trouble. Detention beckons and a straightener on Friday night… you are for the high jump my girl,” Mac said as she eyed up the target.
“Yes Miss,” Georgy was miserable as they come.
“Yes Miss,” Mac sighed. “I ought to give you 30, really I should.”
“Yes Miss,” Georgy did not know what else to say.
“Don’t you deserve it?”
Georgy sagged and closed her eyes in resignation. “Yes Miss,” she whimpered.
“Yes Miss,” Mac parroted again, “If I did that and again on Friday, as you deserve,” she added sharply, “Then you would go into detention on Saturday with a very sore bottom. Then after you would be packed off to matron with a bottom you couldn’t sit on for the rest of term.”
“Yes Miss,” it was getting ridiculous, why couldn’t the woman get on with it?
Mac sighed, “What to do, what to do?”
Georgy was feeling somewhat exposed with her bottom in the air and more than a little apprehensive.
“I tell you what, I will give you a choice,” Mac sounded sadistic now, but there was some method to her game, one that held some hidden mercy without her appearing too soft. “I can give you 18 now and another 18 on Friday. Quite a bill and your bottom won’t thank you for it come Saturday afternoon. Or…”
Georgy was alert now. She really hated these types of choices.
“Or I could give you the 30 you deserve now and give you a pass for Friday. Then you’ll have most of the week to recover somewhat before your no doubt instructive conversations on Saturday.” There she had made a good offer.
Thirty and over with, which was six less overall… detention would be hell anyway, but common or garden hell, not Dante’s version. “Yes Miss, I mean I’ll take 30 now,” she said.
“Good girl,” Mac said and tapped the offered bottom with her cane.
“Miss,” Georgy said.
“Yes Miss Porter?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no you’re not, not yet,” Mac said and placed a decent stroke across the girl’s bare bottom.
Taken by surprise Georgy screamed and began punching the seat of the chair.
“That was unseemly,” Mac said, “I will have more decorum from you or the stroke will be taken again. That was one; you will count them hereafter and then thank me.”
“Yes Miss,” Georgy was breathing hard and gritting her teeth against the line of pain.
The next stroke fell halfway between the first and the crease where Georgy’s bottom met her thighs.
Another challenge for the girl and she baulked as she processed and then managed, “Two thank you Miss.”
Mac watched the two lines develop, stark pink puffs of flesh that ran the width of Georgy’s bottom. Then she caned that bottom again, lower, but not quite on the fold.
“Tooo… f-fthank you Miss,” it was hard to keep it straight and Georgy wondered if she could go the distance. No, I might just pop out for a sandwich halfway through, she ridiculed herself. Well she had had worse. The next stroke challenged that thought.
Georgy hissed and then after missing a beat she said, “Three, thank you Miss.” There, not so bad… all three strokes began to double down now, that gift that really does keep on giving. Another added to her collection, which she announced sharply: “Four,” again holding it together so that she could offer up a, “thank you Miss.”
Five was an absolute bitch of a stroke and six not any better; Mac paused. Georgy had thanked her for both and now gripped with knuckles white on the upholstery and marvelled at the deep slashed that sawed at her behind.
The wait was unsettling, but half welcome, did she want it or was she…? She heard the house mistress put the cane down and attend to something at her desk. Six cuts of pain burned across her bum and sang there demanding her attention. Sometimes a satisfying feeling when it was over. This was an effective wait though. Georgy was a veteran of the cane in this very study, but 30 at once was always going to be a stretch. Extended like this would not be entirely fun and she was definitely and absolutely going to cry.
“How are you bearing up girl?” Mac asked her.
“Oh just peachy Miss, but I think you missed a bit,” she couldn’t help herself. That was going to cost her.
However, Mac was laughing, “I am sure I did, but I’ll get there… eventually.”
“Yes Miss,” Georgy replied ruefully. Sometimes she liked Mac, even at times like this. Maybe she subconsciously sought out trouble… she threw off the thought thinking to leave the psychobabble to others.
***
When the caning resumed Georgy was ready and resilient. The tenth stroke was a bitch though and she had a passing thought that she had sat on a barbeque grill.
“Ten, thank you Miss,” she said and then swayed a little as it really began to hurt. Yeah, as opposed to the way it has been tickling so far, she thought.
Another stroke sliced in just where her thighs met arse and she unexpectedly shrieked. “Sorry Miss,” she blurted, “That’s 11 thank you Miss.”
This time Mac caned all the way through to 15 strokes before she paused again. Georgy was grateful and rocked in pain as she breathed rapidly and contended with the first true tears that trickled down her face.
“Do you think you could try, just for me, to stay out of trouble Georgy Porgy?” Mac said wearily.
“Yes Miss,” Georgy pouted, “I will try; honestly I will.”
“Well then, let us get this over with,” Mac sighed and moved behind the girl to continue caning her.
***
The last stroke hovered before it landed and Georgy was in purgatory. Her bottom was sliced with pain slashes; many of them overlaid strokes especially right where she sat. Of course it was intentionally, Mac was an expert and she really did want Georgy to be discouraged.
The last stroke landed and Georgy gasped. It took a moment and then she said, “Thirty thank you Miss.” She was shaking and the damn burst and she began to cry, properly cry; a cascade of proper sobbing.
“Good girl,” Mac said and reached over to ruffle her hair. “Now go and face the wall and let it all out, you have all break-time.”
“Yes Miss,” Georgy sobbed. Then with painful steps she crossed the room to face the bookcase. With a deep breath she stood to attention and placed her hands clasped into the small of her back just above her well-caned bottom sporting 30 standout welts now presented to the room. It took a minute to pull herself together and embrace the catharsis; harder today because her arse was throbbing like the devil and each fresh stroke was sawing away demanding her attention. Sitting in class would be hellish for days, in fact unless a teacher or two cut her some slack or at least a cushion or two, then she might have to cry off class for the infirmary; enema and all.
Until then she would bide her time and let the burn fade as she settled in to have another good cry. Mac was good like that, she would let her be for a while. Then she saw the book just in front of her nose and it took immense will power not to laugh out loud: Dostoevsky’s finest work assailed her, Crime and Punishment, no less.
***
Annabelle remembered last minute she had an essay, then shrugged it off. It was too late to get it done to be handed in. She would apologise and take whatever was offered to her arse. It didn’t really matter, she was already in detention for the next two weeks and hopefully by then the case would be broken and she could leave.
The last thought was suddenly a confusing one. It would be a wrench and she did not know why. She had been here before of course, Stockholm had its day sometimes. She had sometimes felt attached to an environment she inhabited for a few weeks or months, but this was a strange one.
Very shortly Sarah Carmichael was almost certainly going to spank her bare bottom for her and she was ready to take that in her stride. Now that was not going in any report, she grinned. Well at least Carmichael was quite a bit older than her; that was far less embarrassing than being spanked by Daphne.
Daphne, of course, now she had an idea of how to get to Holt.
Continues in: Sore Bottoms and Sacrifices
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