Reformatory Girls Ch. 13

The two Wardens strengthen their grip on Miss Lucy's legs, and hold her, several feet in the air, with her legs wide open. Miss Bulstrode approaches with her riding crop held high: then with all her force she brings down the crop directly onto Miss Lucy's bare pudenda.

Miss Lucy emits a scream that practically shatters the old glass in the Waiting Room windows. Screaming, struggling, thrusting her pelvis upwards and shouting obscenities, she is carried back to the chair across the Waiting Room.

Miss Bulstrode takes the precaution of locking the doors and placing the keys in her pocket. Then she advances on Miss Lucy.

"You little hellcat," she says, the lust of battle in her eyes. "You're going to be sorry you tried that. Hold her legs wide open."

Miss Armstrong and Miss Harman each have one of Miss Lucy's legs in a grip of steel. They adjust their positions, holding her raised legs as wide apart as is possible. Miss Bulstrode raises her crop again: and this time brings it down on the fleshy inside of Miss Lucy's right thigh. A cruel red line materialises across Miss Lucy's flesh. Miss Bulstrode raises her crop again, then pauses.

The girls are watching with their hearts in their mouths and their knickers growing damper by the second. But why has Miss Bulstrode paused? They get their answer as a spurt of yellow liquid issues from between Miss Lucy's legs and splashes down onto the parquet floor: Rebecca Lucie is wetting herself.

There is not a huge amount to come, for Miss Lucy has already emptied her bladder comprehensively into Clare Davenport's mouth. Soon the stream has dwindled to a trickle, and the little puddle on the floor is not much to look at. But there is not a girl in the room who has not relished the spectacle of Miss Lucy losing control of her bladder.

Miss Bulstrode raises her crop again, and a second red stripe appears on the inside of Miss Lucy's thigh. Miss Lucy screams again, but the defiance is going out of her, her screams are more of pain and desperation. A third time Miss Bulstrode lashes her. Then the Warden steps back:

"Somebody else take over," she says: "Before I do this girl some damage."

Miss McCloud steps up to the plate. If Miss Lucy is hoping for gentler treatment from the fine whippy cane she is to be disappointed. Three times Miss McCloud raises her cane: three times it whistles through the air and lands on the inside of Miss Lucy's left thigh.

Miss Lucy's screams have morphed into one long unbroken wail. The pain in her thighs, the pain on the nub of her pubic bone, is ferocious, like lines of fire, like knife-cuts. But the Wardens are far from done with her.

"Get her back over the chair," orders Miss Bulstrode. "And see that she doesn't escape this time."

The Wardens manhandle Miss Lucy over the chair back; but before Miss Bulstrode can resume operations Miss Lucy collapses and slumps to the floor.

"Hold her up," says Miss Bulstrode.

Miss Barker takes charge. She locks her arms around Miss Lucy's waist from above, and lifts her up, pushing Miss Lucy's head under her own skirt, gripping it between her thighs, and holding Miss Lucy such that her bare bottom is extended towards the Wardens.

Miss Bulstrode brings down the riding crop crisply across one of Miss Lucy's buttocks. The flesh oscillates from the impact. Miss Lucy screams anew, her screams emerging slightly muffled from under Miss Barker's skirt. Miss Harman, Miss Armstrong and Miss McCloud all add their signature swipes to Miss Lucy's buttocks, swinging freely and forcefully until her buttocks are a road map of red lines and wheals.

Still they have not finished: the crop and the canes lash down across the back of Miss Lucy's thighs, until even Miss Bulstrode can see that the girl has had sufficient punishment.

All the defiance and savagery has been thrashed out of Miss Lucy. Making a noise like a cow with a broken leg stuck in a ditch, she collapses onto the floor beneath Miss Barker, clutching haplessly at the pains in her legs, her head rolling, her breath coming in gasps, her hair plastered all over her face, traces of sticky urine glazing the insides of her thighs.

She is a sorry sight: and some of the girls, notably those who have not fallen victim to her torments, are feeling sorry for her.

Not so Miss Bulstrode:

"If Matron would be so good as to round up your belongings," she tells the stricken Miss Lucy: "Miss Barker and Miss Harman will see you off the premises."

Matron, with a scornful glance down at her prostrate niece, waits for Miss Bulstrode to unlock the door, then leaves to do the Warden's bidding.

There is a collective winding down, an easing of muscles and tension, in the Waiting Room. Miss McCloud addresses the girls:

"I apologise to you all that you have missed your Recreation Period. In a moment we will proceed to the Refectory. Kelly Watson, you have received a blow to the face: come here please."

Kelly rises and does as she's instructed. Miss McCloud examines her carefully.

"You have quite a bruise there Kelly," she says. "I will get Matron to dress it when she returns."

"It's nothing Miss McCloud," says Kelly. "Really."

"Nevertheless, a little witch hazel perhaps," says Miss McCloud. Then she continues:

"Kelly: you performed a brave action just now. It has not gone unnoticed and it is not unappreciated. Furthermore, you were punished unjustly last week. We were not to know, of course, that Rebecca Lucie had access to itching powder. Nevertheless, on behalf of all the Wardens I apologise. Miss Bulstrode?"

And Miss Bulstrode, who would rather bite off her own tongue than apologise to one of the girls, gives Kelly a nod, accompanied by a curt grunt, which is the nearest she will ever come to an apology.

Kelly cannot believe her ears: two Wardens apologising to her! She forgets the terrible itching she was forced to suffer; she forgets the three vicious cuts across her buttocks: her face breaks out into a smile:

"Thank you Miss Bulstrode, Miss McCloud," she says.

Miss Bulstrode nods at her again then turns away: for Matron has reappeared at the doorway with a leather suitcase.

"Get up and get some clothes on," she orders Rebecca Lucie. "Unless you want us to turn you out as you are."

It is all Miss Lucy can do to sit up: every movement she tries to make sends needle-points of pain stabbing across her thighs and her buttocks. Her Aunt helps, to the extent of unearthing a T shirt and a pair of jeans from the suitcase, and she and Miss Armstrong force Miss Lucy's protesting limbs into these garments, not troubling themselves with her bra or her knickers. When she is at least fit to appear outdoors she is hauled to her feet, and ushered by Miss Harman and Miss Barker out of the doorway.

She leaves without so much as a backwards glance at her victims.

Ten minutes later it is a very sorry ex-Assistant who staggers towards the number 74 bus stop.

...

As the girls wait beside their beds for the order to fasten their chastity belts Miss McCloud take a moment to address them:

"Girls," she says. "You have experienced a great deal of upheaval today: for some of you the experience has been quite traumatic. However, you must put all that behind you now: Rebecca Lucie has left Hazely and will not be returning.

"It has been decided that a line will be drawn under whatever may or may not have passed between Rebecca Lucie and yourselves in the past. Since that person is no longer here it would be difficult to determine the truth: so no further investigations will follow.

"Karen Frayn: the letter you were obliged to write has been destroyed. The itching powder likewise."

"That is all, girls. Now fasten your chastity belts."

The girls all do as they're told, and Miss McCloud performs her usual checks. But when she comes to Clare Davenport she stops:

"Clare," she says: "are you still experiencing any irritation around your genitals?"

"Only a little Miss McCloud," says Clare. "It's almost stopped."

"In the circumstances," says Miss McCloud, "it would not be humane to insist on your wearing your chastity belt. For tonight only you may leave it in your bedside cupboard."

Clare's mouth falls wide open: but before she can speak Miss McCloud has passed on to the next girl.

At around the same time a conversation is taking place between Miss Bulstrode and Matron, in Matron's office.

"I shall resign of course," Matron is saying.

"There is no need for that," replies Miss Bulstrode. "Nobody is holding you responsible."

"Perhaps not," says Matron. "But the job is becoming too much for me. I've given Hazely thirty years - frankly, I've had enough Miss Bulstrode."

"Well, if you really feel that way."

"I do Miss Bulstrode. Tomorrow I shall hand in my resignation. I shall of course stay on until a replacement can be found."

"Well we shall be very sorry to lose you Matron," says Miss Bulstrode. "Life in Hazely will not be the same without you."

Kelly Watson is the last girl in the line. When Miss McCloud reaches her, as well as checking her chastity belt she examines the bruise on Kelly's cheek.

"It is highly colourful Kelly: a mixture of blues and purples. I think a little more witch hazel."

"It really doesn't hurt much," says Kelly.

"Nevertheless, a little more witch hazel would not go amiss. Come outside into the corridor where the light is better."

Surprised - because there is not much wrong with the light in the dormitory when it is switched on - Kelly follows Miss McCloud out into the corridor. There Miss McCloud takes a bottle of witch hazel from her Uniform pocket, shakes a little onto a tissue and dabs the tissue onto Kelly's cheek. Kelly winces; and Miss McCloud replaces the bottle.

"I need to make a small adjustment to your chastity belt," says Miss McCloud.

Again Kelly is surprised: as far as she knows her chastity belt is locked into place just as it is every other night. Her surprise deepens when Miss McCloud takes the master key on her belt chain and unlocks the two little clasps either side of the belt, then closes the belt until the clasps are almost, but not quite, locked together.

"But it's not properly locked," says Kelly.

"Kelly," says Miss McCloud. "You did a brave thing today. Without your prompt action that wicked girl may have evaded us. In addition you were wrongly punished."

"But..." says Kelly.

"Say nothing to anybody about this," says Miss McCloud. "Especially not to the girls. Whoever is on duty tomorrow morning will expect to find it locked again. Do you understand?"

Kelly thinks she understands.

"Yes Miss McCloud," she says, a small smile breaking over her features.

They return to the Dormitory, where Kelly climbs into her bed and Miss McCloud, after bidding the girls goodnight, switches out the lights, plunging the room into darkness.

Kelly does not waste any time. As soon as she is under the bedcovers the hated chastity belt is pushed aside, her nightdress is hitched up, and her hand is between her legs.

And how good that hand feels. It is months, more months than she can count, since Kelly last masturbated. Now she strokes herself with a real sense of homecoming. Her fingers rediscover the contours of her vulva, her pubic bone, her vaginal opening, and her fleshy labia. Milking the cow, she thinks, with a laugh, as she tweaks her labia and pulls them lightly, using both hands to tug on them alternately, just as Miss Lucy had done earlier. You're a big fat cow Kelly Watson she says to herself, as endorphins flood her brain and a sense of euphoria steals over her, and now you're going to have a big fat orgasm. The middle finger of her left hand locates her clitoris: her right hand slides up under her rucked-up nightdress and locates her left breast: it may be tiny but it is still sensitive, still capable of giving her pleasure. She tweaks her nipple, runs her finger around her fleshly little molehill and gives it a squeeze. Her clitoris is swelling, she is getting wetter and wetter between the legs, her arousal, so long contained, is rising to fever pitch. She draws up her fat knees, making a tent of the bedcovers, opens her legs wider, diddles herself faster and faster - and then those glorious, long-lost sensations are taking her over, her orgasm is starting, and she is lost, a heaving, convulsing, writhing form, gasping and exhaling, no longer fat Kelly Watson but an organism of flesh and blood and nerves and muscles caught in the throes of an all-consuming, ecstatic orgasm.

The moment Miss McCloud switched off the lights Clare Davenport was assailed by voices:

"You lucky cunt."

"Have one for me."

"Wish someone would put itching powder on my fanny."

"Oy - Bedwetter: have one for me while you're at it."

The last is Tania Nye, who has 'affectionately' called Clare 'Bedwetter' ever since Clare was put into nappies.

Clare smiles and says nothing, and the voices die away, leaving Clare to her own devices. She does not start at once, like Kelly Watson, but reflects a moment on the events of the day, and in particular on Miss McCloud's compassion. Did the Warden only intend that Clare should be free to scratch herself? Or was she implicitly giving Clare permission to pleasure herself.

Clare suspects the latter. But in the end it does not matter, for she is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Within a few minutes of the voices having died down she has her hand between her legs, exploring parts so long out of bounds, rediscovering long-lost sensations.

And as she starts to masturbate she thinks of Tina Dukes, and in her head she begins a conversation.

'Tina: you would not believe what happened today. I can't go through it all again, but it all began with that letter: the letter I wrote to you but could not send, and which Miss Bulstrode got hold of. I thought I was going to be thrashed - I did get one - but in the end everything came good - Miss Lucy is gone - and all because of that letter. And now - guess what - I'm lying in bed without my chastity belt. That's right Tina, I've got my hand between my legs - I'm masturbating! I'm touching myself, right down where it isn't allowed, I've got a finger inside my fanny and a finger on my clitoris, and I'm feeling the most delicious sensations and I don't have to listen out and nobody will cane me, I'm masturbating, Tina. And Oh God, Tina, it feels so amazing, I can open my legs as wide as I like, and use as many fingers as I like, I can go inside myself and diddle myself - I can even play with my arsehole. And Tina, I'm as wet as hell, only I don't suppose hell is wet, but you know what I mean, and I'm starting to talk nonsense because the sensations between my legs are building up, and Tina I'm practically on the brink, I'm almost there, I'm bringing myself off, Tina, I'm masturbating to a climax in my own bed, and Christ, Tina, I'm going to shut up now because I'm about to cum, I'm cuming Tina, I'm cuming, cuming, cuming.

Four orgasms later Clare is sinking into sleep. She could have gone on: but really she is satisfied, and hers is not a nature given to over-indulgence. With her night-dress still drawn up she is lying on her right side, her knees drawn up, and her left hand close to her mouth. From a distance it looks as though she is sucking her thumb: in fact she is holding her fingers under her nose. "Hello old friend," she murmurs sleepily to herself as she breathes in the powerful odours of her vagina.

Long after Clare has fallen asleep another girl is woken by a sound coming from the bed next to hers: a sort of hybrid between a long drawn-out sigh and a cow mooing.

"Bloody Hell Kelly," hisses Sharon Williams, who has been hearing puzzling noises on and off for the last couple of hours: "Are you still at it?"

She doesn't know, and never will, just how Kelly has managed to get inside her chastity belt.