A Spanking in Time (Bexhill School) (3 page)

Chapter 3

The Dinner Party

The two girls bending over the back of the sofa, their jeans and panties around their ankles, might not have altogether agreed with Jane’s assessment of Mrs. Evelyn Winchester’s vigour. They had already received six blistering strokes of the strap, leaving their bottoms red and burning. Now, the Deputy Head Mistress paced up and down behind her daughter, Margaret, and her friend Paula.

“How dare you help yoursel
ves to our drinks’ cabinet? You’re both
far
too young to be drinking spirits.”

“Mum, we’ve left school. We’re not children any more. We just had a couple of drinks – like you and Dad have.”

“’
A couple of drinks’
? That gin bottle is half empty and there are four tonic bottles in the bin.”

“Well, we
’re not drunk.”

Paula rather gave the lie to that statement by hiccupping loudly.

“You’re both plastered and I won’t tolerate it. You’re lucky I didn’t go to the school and fetch a cane. Now stay still.”

Margaret was on the left. She winced slightly as she sensed her mother raise the
strop again. Mrs. Winchester whipped the leather thong down hard across her daughter’s glowing cheeks. They bounced under the impact.

“Ooowww! Please Mum, that’s enough.”

“I’ll tell you when it’s enough and it’s not yet.”

She raised the strap again and thrashed it across Margaret’s bottom. Margaret let out a howl and squirmed against the soft material of the sofa’s back.

“Please, Mum. Please let Paula off. It’s not her fault and she’s a guest in our house.”

“Of course I’ll let Paula off, if she doesn’t mind me calling her parents and telling them what she’s been up to. Would you prefer that, Paula?”
Mrs. Winchester laid the tawny tongue across Paula’s bottom and drew it slowly across the girl’s cheeks, the cool of the leather contrasting with the burning skin beneath.

“Oh, no, please
Mrs. Winchester, don’t tell my parents: they’d be furious. My Dad would probably horse-whip me.”

“So I think you’re better off getting another six from
me, aren’t you? Bottom right up, please.”

Mrs.
Winchester swung the heavy leather down again. Paula howled at the impact.

Henry, Evelyn’s accountant husband, who had been told to stay in the kitchen while the punishment took place, poured himself another whisky and tried to ignore the commotion going on down the corridor.

When all twelve strokes had been administered to each unwilling
derrière
, Mrs. Winchester told the girls to get up and go to their room. They levered themselves upright, dragged their knickers and jeans painfully over their bottoms and slunk out of the sitting room.

“Sober up and don’t be late for supper,”
Mrs. Winchester called after them, “Remember that your old headmaster and his wife are coming.” The Winchesters had invited Mr. Masterson and his wife to dinner. Both girls had been at Bexhill and quite liked ‘Three Taps’, so they were looking forward to seeing what he would be like out of the context of the school.

Margaret and Paula climbed the stairs, somewhat unsteadily, sniffing back tears and clutching at the close-fitting denim that aggravated the blaze in their backsides. They closed the door to Margaret’s bedroom and threw themselves, sobbing, into each other’s arms.

“I’m so sorry,” said Margaret, “it was my fault. I should never have suggested that we had a drink.”

“Of course it isn’t your fault: I went along with the whole idea. My God, your mother spanks hard. Dad would have been worse though – he’d have used a riding crop, so I guess I got off lightly. Let’s look at the damage, shall we?”

The girls peeled down their jeans and knickers and both gasped as they glimpsed their bottoms in the bedroom’s full-length mirror. Blue, red and purple welts criss-crossed their backsides in a vivid pattern. Where the stripes crossed, they became almost black. Mrs. Winchester had not held back.

“That’s worse than anything I ever got from ‘Three Taps’,” said Margaret, gingerly massaging her cheeks.

“Shall we show him this evening? Tell him he’d better buck his ideas up if he wants to compete with the Deputy Head?”

“Good idea – and if we don’t sober up a bit, we might even do it! I think I’ll take a shower.”

“OK, after you. What are you going to wear tonight?”

“Well, nothing tight – that’s for sure! A dress, I suppose.”

“I only brought some evening slacks with me. I guess I’ll have to wear them. Are your dining room chairs hard?”

“Like boards! ‘Three Taps’ will wonder why you keep squirming about.”

“Oh well. I’ll unpack while you shower.”

Margaret had invited Paula to stay for a few days. She’d set up a folding bed in her room so that the two girls could chatter long into the night.

***

Edward ‘Three Taps’ Masterson and his wife Marge arrived promptly at eight o’clock. The Winchester family and Paula welcomed them.
Mr. Masterson beamed to see the two girls, who had left the school a year previously. As the hosts offered around pre-dinner drinks (the girls pointedly being given soft ones), Mr. Masterson seem keen to hear what Margaret and Paula were up to. He was, they both privately decided, much less stuffy in a social setting than they had ever known him at school. The conversation flowed easily and, as the wine circulated at the meal (girls included this time) and the company mellowed, ‘Three Taps’ even performed a couple of very funny imitations of two of the more eccentric teachers. Everyone laughed.

“Tell me,” the Headmaster said, turning to Paula, “what were the best and worst moments you remember at school?”

“The best moments? Mmmm, I’m not sure. I was certainly very proud when I got my tennis colours after we beat St Mary’s in the schools’ finals. But also enjoyed being a Prefect. I liked the responsibility.”

“You mean you liked bossing people around!” said Margaret, putting on an exaggerated frown.

“I never bossed you about – that’s very unfair!” Paula riposted.

“Well, you couldn’t really say much to me when I was made a Prefect, too. But I bet you wanted to!”

“Talking about ‘bossy’, I remember when you read the Riot Act one night at prep. You sounded so pompous!”

“Now, now,” said
Mr. Masterson, “no bickering! You were both excellent Prefects, just the sort we needed. So, Margaret, what was your
worst
moment at Bexhill?”

“Oh, that’s easy! When you gave me twelve with the senior cane for smoking. I couldn’t sit comfortably for days afterwards!”

“What!” exclaimed Henry, “when was the wretched girl caught smoking? I’d have thrashed her so hard that she’d
never
have been able to sit down again!”

“Relax, Henry,” said Evelyn. “I knew all about it and talked to Margaret afterwards. I was satisfied it was just a spur-of-the-moment silliness and that she wouldn’t smoke again.”

“I remember that,” said Mr. Masterson, “it was you, Alice and..and...yes, if I’m not mistaken, Jane, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right: you placed three chairs in a row and made us all bend over them, facing the fireplace. I was the last in line. Waiting for my turn while you dealt with the other two was the worst bit.”

“You took your punishment very bravely, I recall, and so did Jane. But Alice jumped about all over the place and wouldn’t stay still. I had to call in Miss Holloway to hold her down.”

“Poor Alice, she really didn’t like it at all, especially when you gave her some extra smacks with Stinger for getting up. But I suppose she deserved it – she was the one who gave us the cigarettes.”

“Did she? So it was her! I asked you whose cigarettes they were and you wouldn’t say. That’s why you all got twelve. If she’d owned up, I might have let you two off with six.”

“Now you tell me! But we wouldn’t have sneaked on her anyway. We didn’t know we’d have got less if she’d admitted owning the packet. If we had, we’d have laid into her afterwards.”

“I’ve always rather admired the way the girls stick together when they’re in trouble,” said Evelyn.

“It’s part of the school ethic,” said Marge. “But it must be damned annoying at times when they all stand shoulder-to-shoulder and you can’t tell which of the wretches is the most
guilty!”

“That’s why my policy is always ‘thrash the lot and you’re bound to get the culprit,
’ ” said ‘Three Taps, smiling. “So, Margaret, did you ever smoke again?”

“No. I didn’t like it much on that occasion and so I never tried again.”

“I’d like to think it was the memory of the sore bottom that deterred you.”

“Well, of course it was that, too.”

“So much,” said Henry, “for all this new-fangled talk about banning corporal punishment in schools. Typical Labour Party bosh. Short, sharp shock and get it over with. It’s always worked in the past; always will. What do you say, Edward?”

“I agree. I think banning the cane would be a great mistake. It’s hard enough as it is to keep discipline in the classrooms nowadays.”

“I agree,” said Evelyn. “The Headmaster and I were discussing it just the other day. We are even thinking of giving each of the teachers a paddle and encouraging them to use it if the class starts getting too unruly.”

“Jolly good idea,” said Marge.

“Why don’t we ask those on the receiving end, as it were? What do you think, girls? Would you rather have had detention or extra prep or something than the threat of the cane?”

Margaret looked at Paula. Paula spoke.

“Oh no, I don’t think so. Some of the teachers did give us detentions or extra prep, and we hated that. It was boring and so demeaning: everyone could see you sitting there in the classroom while they were having time off. I wasn’t spanked very often, but I’d much rather have had a good smacking and got it over with. It only lasts a few seconds, after all!”

“I used to hate the wait when I knew I was going to get a thrashing,” said Margaret, “but I agree with Paula, it’s better than detention. I mean, there was even some status attached to getting the cane, wasn’t there, Paula?”

“Oh yes, we used to show off our stripes quite proudly. The juniors really admired you if you could get through a caning without making a fuss.”

“It wasn’t so easy – not making a fuss,” said Margaret, looking at the Headmaster and wondering whether she should continue. She decided to go for it. “I mean, when Mum canes people, she just sort of gets on with it. It’s different with ‘Three Taps’ over there!” She nodded at
Mr. Masterson.

“What do you mean, and who’s ‘Three Taps’ anyway?” he asked, smiling, but puzzled.

“Don’t you know you’re nickname is ‘Three Taps’? I’m sure the girls still call you that,” said Paula, grinning at him.

“Why on Earth ‘Three Taps’?” he was laughing now.

“You tell him, Margaret. You had more cause to know why he’s called that!”

“Come on, you’re keeping us in suspense,” said Marge, sitting forward. “I want to know why you awful girls call my husband ‘Three Taps.”

“All right, I’ll tell you,” said Margaret, “but promise you won’t get offended?”

“Of course I won’t, but if you don’t get on with it, I’ll ask Henry whether he keeps a cane around here somewhere!”

“It’s because of the way you beat us. It’s always the same. You tell us to take down our pants and bend over; you prepare us by lifting up our skirts, and then the ritual begins. It’s the worst bit, isn’t it Paula?”

Paula nodded enthusiastically.

“You tap our bottom with whatever you’re going to use – Stinger or the tawse or a cane – and then start lecturing us. It’s just awful, waiting for that first swipe. Tap. Yak, yak, yak! Tap. Yak, yak, yak! Sometimes it’s two taps, and then more yak-yak.”

Everyone was laughing.

“But why ‘
Three
Taps
’
?” exclaimed the Headmaster.

“Because that’s when you know the first stroke is about to arrive. When you feel three taps, you can be certain it’s the end of the lecture and the thrashing is going to begin. It’s always the same. Tap, tap,
tap. Whack! Ask any of the girls!”

“Paula, is this nonsense true?” Marge could hardly get the words out for laughing.

“Absolutely! I’ve experienced it myself. He’ll always be ‘Three Taps’ to me and all the girls he’s ever thrashed!”

“Well I’ll be damned,” said Edward, “I never realised, but now I think about it, I believe you’re right. Three taps and off we go. It’s a bit like bouncing
a tennis ball before you serve. These wretched girls are quite observant, aren’t they?”

“We’ve haven’t got much else to do when we’re bending over and waiting for that first stroke. Counting the swirls on the carpet has its limitations,” Margaret giggled, glad that her risky remarks had gone down well.