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Authors: Amanita Virosa

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Rectory of Correction (22 page)

BOOK: Rectory of Correction
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The rope proved easier than before. This time around her arm muscles had at least had some respite whilst her bottom took the strain. The presence of the Reverend with his paddle and the throbbing soreness in her naked rear probably also helped her to shimmy up the rope with greater alacrity.

Gasping, Amelia touched the bar at the top of the rope and began her descent. This was less appealing, as she would be lowering her tenderised behind towards the Reverend and his bat. She could not stay where she was, however, and she was appallingly aware of how her position above him revealed the most private parts of her person to his hawk-like gaze. Amelia could feel moisture trickling down her inner thighs and tried not to think about what sort of glistening picture she presented.

There was nothing for it, so she lowered herself as little as she could before jumping down to land on the mat.

Perhaps she had let go of the rope too early, for she could not keep her footing as she landed, pitching forward on to her hands and knees. Her bottom only stuck up for a split second, but that was enough.

The bat caught her across the middle of her buttocks even as she was rising up to run. Yelping, she dashed away and out of range as fast as she could.

The penultimate exercise gave her some chance to recover. She had to run ten widths of the gym, from the entrance to the far wall bars. The first time round, desperate not to lose sight of Arabella and Kirsty, she had run as fast as she could. She knew better now. The circuit training was too taxing to take it at full tilt. The ten lengths gave her time to collect herself and let her arm muscles and bottom recover a little, before she had to start the whole purgatorial round again.

It also gave her the chance to assess the others. Amelia knew perfectly well that she had to stay in touch with the leaders if she did not want to be adjudged to be slacking, but she had to pace herself better if she wanted to have a chance of getting through comparatively unscathed.

Bella was still in front; Amelia could see her at the squat thrusts. She was red-faced but determined and still in possession of her shorts, even if these looked about to burst every time she squatted. Linnet, on the other hand, was now clambering out of hers, blinking fearfully, as the Reverend watched her. Charlotte was struggling with the medicine ball.

Over on the precarious beam, Kirsty was being supervised by Mr Ziri, the nerveless girl seeming to manage easily. That left Gretchen, whose running had slowed to a rather pitiful limp. Amelia passed the plump woman, who was blowing like a steam train as she stumbled by on her last length of the gym.

Now it was Amelia's turn for the vaulting horse. She paused before the run. To her chagrin Kirsty had completed the beam and scurried off to do her squats. Mr Ziri was waiting beside the horse, pelota bat in hand. Amelia's belly flipped as his eyes dropped down to peruse her naked sex.

 

‘Not a very impressive show really, girls. I think I shall have to bring you down here more often to drill a little fitness into you.'

Six gasping girls were lined up by the vaulting horse. Only two of them were still possessed of shorts. Amelia had recovered enough from her exertions to feel the shame of her exposure, but she dared not cover her naked cunny despite the hot eyes of the gym instructor. Mr Ziri's tights now bulged noticeably at the front. Amelia took a gulp of air and hung her head.

‘Gretchen, Linnet, your singlets are soaked in sweat. You had better take them off before you catch your deaths.'

To her side there was a movement as Gretchen peeled her vest off with obvious reluctance. It was true that the cotton top was moist with perspiration, but then so was Amelia's. She did not point this fact out, however, electing to silently thank heaven for small mercies instead.

The girls were made to change positions, so that they stood in pairs according to dress. Bella and Kirsty still retained their shorts. Amelia stood between Kirsty and Charlotte; who also wore only her singlet, socks and plimsolls. Linnet and Gretchen, naked except for long white socks and gym shoes, blushed and trembled at the end.

‘As the bats seem to have little effect we are going to try this instead.' The Reverend glanced towards Mr Ziri, who had picked up a nasty-looking split-tailed tawse.

‘To finish the day's exercise I want you to run circles around the gymnasium. When you hear this sound,' he put a whistle to his lips and blew, producing a piercing tone by way of illustration, ‘you will run as fast as you can. When I blow again you will stop dead still. I may, or may not, call out one of your names then. Should your name be called you will skip over here,' he patted the horse, ‘to take a few of these.' The Reverend gestured to Mr Ziri, who gave the leather-covered pommel of the horse a heart-stopping thwack with the tawse. ‘Then the rest of you will stand and watch until the whistle sounds again, and you will resume your run.' His face grew grave. ‘I must tell you, girls, that slacking will result in strokes, as will failure to stand still until the whistle sounds, as will failing to watch attentively. Is that understood?'

Somewhat reluctantly, the girls chorused their assent.

‘Is that understood?' The Reverend's voice echoed around the hall.

‘Yes, sir.' This time the chorus was loud and emphatic.

‘Good.' The Reverend put the whistle to his lips and blew. The little knot of girls set off at a trot.

‘Faster, faster, I want to see some titties bouncing, girls. Now run.'

Charlotte was at her side and Amelia heard her companion sob at this. For her own part the crude remark had made her all the more aware of how her full breasts jiggled under her thin singlet. It could be worse, she told herself, as Gretchen's naked melons bounced in the corner of her eye. The group soon resolved itself into the usual order, Bella's long legs taking her away in front. Amelia tried hard to keep up with Kirsty, losing Charlotte as she chased the Scottish girl.

Pheeeeeep
! She careered to a stop, facing the wall bars. Only now did she appreciate quite how diabolical the plan was. Amelia waited in trembling trepidation, praying that her name would not be the one.

Pheeeeeep
! With a gasp of relief, she set off once more, chasing Kirsty's bouncing mop of red-gold curls around the circumference of the gym. She had just been starting to get her breath back by the horse, and now she was panting heavily again.

Pheeeeeep
! Again she stopped. Again came the awful wait.

‘Linnet, get that fetching little bottom over here.'

Amelia watched the naked girl trot over to the horse. She could sense Linnet's reluctance though she did not dare delay. Linnet's hair had been put into a single plait that swayed as she ran over to the waiting men. The muscular Mr Ziri and the Reverend Dawes waited, each with a tawse gripped in his fist, as they watched Linnet approach them. Her slenderness and delicacy seemed all the more pronounced in contrast to their powerful forms, her nakedness all the more shocking as the men were clothed.

Linnet's pale skin was but a little pink after her exertions, except for her bottom, which was still glowing from the bat's attentions. As she reached the dwarfing figures of the men, Amelia saw the girl's sloping shoulders quiver. She did not know if she had ever seen anyone who looked quite so vulnerable.

The Reverend Dawes did not deign to speak to the girl. He simply gestured to the vaulting horse. Linnet had been under his tutelage long enough, it seemed, for she neither hesitated nor questioned his purpose. Instead, she turned to face the horse. To bend over the pommel of the thing she had to give a little jump. Once in place her chubby cheeks were displayed to perfection.

No longer the angry scarlet they had been just after the attentions of the paddle, the oval imprints of the pelota bats were still plain to see. Gazing at them, Amelia felt a sympathetic twitch in her own punished buttocks and thighs.

The Reverend Dawes reached out and patted the proffered cheeks, drawing a startled cry from Linnet as he did so.

‘Mmmm, still a trifle warm. Not the meatiest bottom I have ever beaten, but it really is a little peach. Have a feel, do, Mr Ziri.'

The men stroked and patted, to the accompaniment of several whimpers from the object of their attentions. Amelia watched with set lips. She should have been glad of the respite. It was a chance to rest, conserve her strength and get her breath back. She should have been glad, but she was not.

To her chagrin, as the Reverend patted and praised Linnet's trembling rear, she felt a surge of jealousy rip through her. What does he mean, a peach? she thought furiously.

What can he see in that skinny little runt's excuse for a bottom? If you want to see a perfect one you have only to look at mine! Then the implications of the thought hit her and she felt panic overtake her. No, I did not mean it, she prayed silently, as if afraid that some power might read her thoughts and grant her foolish wish. Let him look at anyone but me!

Even so, when the fondling finally stopped and the tawse was raised in the Reverend's hand, Amelia willed him to lay on with all his strength. Go on, thrash her, she thought as her hands clenched at her sides. Make her suffer for being so pretty.

Her silent prayer was swiftly answered. There was a whirring sound and the brown leather tails blurred the air before a crack echoed around the gymnasium. Linnet was not given leisure to cope with that stroke, however, for even as the split tails cracked across her bottom Mr Ziri unleashed a complementary stroke that thwacked across her upper thighs a split second later.

The effect of this double stroke on her naked flesh was instantaneous. Linnet gave a shriek of pain and twisted like a gaffed fish on the pommel. Amelia was astonished that the girl did not jump right off the vaulting horse, so violent was the twisting of her slender body.

‘Quite still now, Linnet.' The Reverend's voice was gentle. He always seemed, Amelia thought resentfully, most content and at ease when he was whipping girls. The man was a complete and utter fiend.

As soon as the trembling girl managed to regain some composure, the fiend in question unleashed another blistering lash. Again it found its echo in an almost instantaneous stroke from his companion. Again Linnet shrieked and again her body convulsed on the horse.

The welts from the tawse strokes marked her bottom now; a neat set of furious scarlet stripes. There was a pause, and Amelia watched the welts bloom with mixed emotions. The only sound in the hall was Linnet's sobbing as Amelia and her companions held their collective breath. Then the hissing of the tawse tails filled the air again, followed swiftly by the sound of leather impacting on flesh. Amelia was so dumbfounded by the spectacle of Linnet's writhing form that she almost forgot what she had to do when she heard the whistle.

 

Pheeeep
! Again she teetered to a stop and waited, grateful for the chance to stand and gasp lungfuls of air. Yet terror mounted by the second as Amelia stood and listened. Gretchen had got it after Linnet. How could it be otherwise? Of course poor Gretchen had got it. The sight of those meaty buttocks bouncing under the impact of the tawse tails would, Amelia felt sure, stay long in her mind.

Then it had been Charlotte's turn. She had trotted so reluctantly over to her fate that she had been given eight instead of six strokes for her tardiness.

To Amelia's surprise, and great relief, it was not her name that was called next, but Arabella's.

Now only Amelia and Kirsty had escaped the kiss of the tawse, and the feeling in the pit of her stomach told Amelia that particular delight would not be long denied her. Even so, as she waited the seconds might as well have been hours. The beasts were playing with her, she realised with impotent anger. They were playing with them all, letting the pregnant pause go on so that it would fill each waiting girl's mind with mounting fear.

‘Gretchen,' the Reverend's deep voice called out. Amelia could not quite stop a sob of relief from escaping at the sound of someone else's name. ‘Would you mind bringing that fat bottom of yours over here?'

 

 

Chapter Ten

 

Faith came at midnight, as usual. Amelia did her best to ignore the rattle of the maid's key in the dormitory lock, quite without success. Who was it to be this time? she wondered, with a surge of resentment that was, she told herself, nothing whatsoever to do with jealousy.

A rattling of chains in the beds around her signalled that she was not the only one lying awake, and wondering which bed the maid would approach. Faith paused, and it seemed as if the dormitory itself held its breath. Amelia knew it would not be her bed to which she came. Cowed she might have been by the long months of the Reverend's ministrations, but Amelia was no waggle-tailed little whore like Linnet or Kirsty, and she would not consent to such indecencies.

The others could seek his favour if they chose, she told herself. Perhaps they allowed him to use them because of their own desires or, more likely, because they hoped he might be less severe with a girl who went willingly to his bedroom. Amelia did not care. It was nothing to her if her dormitory companions had little moral fibre. It was no concern of hers if the Reverend Dawes chose to indulge in sinful pleasures of the flesh.

At least, it should have been no concern of hers. For some reason she did not understand, the nightly ritual obsessed her. She hated the little trollops who trotted off with Faith to the Reverend's bed. It was indecent! It was outrageous! It was – well, it simply was not fair! Amelia could not help imagining what it would be like if it were she.

The thought was driving her slowly out of her mind. Every night she would lie awake, thinking about the Reverend; a cane or belt in his hand and no pity in his eyes. She would groan as she imagined her tormentor opening his fly, and her hands would flutter in their bonds, maddeningly unable to caress herself as she thought about the man.

There were enough groans from the other beds to make her wonder what the other girls were thinking of, though Kirsty and Amanda still had the privilege of sleeping with their hands unbound. Nightly, she would listen to them caress themselves to climax, tears of sheer frustration forming in her eyes.

Linnet she could, perhaps, understand if not forgive. The timid girl spent so much of the day on her knees these days, using her now rather expert tongue for the prefects' pleasure. Never allowed to attend to her own needs, the chit must have been aroused to boiling point by the time her hands were cuffed and clipped to her throat.

Then again, if the Reverend showed the least interest in her, it was hard to imagine the girl daring to refuse him.

At least Charlotte had the dignity and self-respect to refuse the man. She would rattle her chastity chains in obvious agitation, and moans of what might have been fear, or possibly frustration, would escape from her full lips.

Tonight, however, she was silent, as was Amelia, as she waited to see which bed the maid would glide towards. She hoped it was Linnet's. If so, at least she would be able to revenge herself the next day on the slut. Amelia clenched her fists and planned what she would do to the little tart.

However, Faith moved towards the other side of the dormitory. Damn, thought Amelia, so it is to be Bella. The favouritism the Reverend showed Bella ignited a slow-burning fury in Amelia's breast. For some stupid reason tears were welling in her eyes. She felt as if she was about to choke.

Faith did not touch Arabella's shoulder, however. Unbelievably, something even worse unfolded before Amelia's appalled gaze. The maid took out her key and unlocked the chain that tethered Charlotte's collar to the bedstead. Tugging this chain like a short leash, the maid guided Charlotte out of bed and led her, wordlessly, away.

‘Is that a dog basket?'

‘It is. I am afraid the bitch is not worthy of a bed, and it is still a little cold to keep her in the kennels, so she sleeps here.'

Gretchen was naked except for woollen stockings. She lay curled up in the large dog basket by the kitchen range and looked at the two pairs of shoes in front of her, trying not to move a single muscle.

‘And is she a very wicked creature?' a male voice she did not recognise asked.

‘Indeed she is most depraved and disobedient. I am afraid I have to administer salutary thrashings distressingly frequently,' the Reverend Dawes replied.

Gretchen's stomach tightened at the mention of thrashings. She was seized by the fear that the word might lead to the deed. Thus she lay curled up and trembling in her basket, trying to make herself inoffensive and small.

A polished patent leather shoe poked her in the belly.

‘She is certainly a meaty trollop, though,' the stranger said with a laugh. ‘Apart from the nursery maid at Hope Hall I have seen few titties to rival that tremendous pair!'

‘Yes, she is indeed a fleshly creature. All the more meat to beat, eh, Gruntie?'

The Reverend's shoes had come closer as well. Gretchen hardly dared breathe, but knew she must answer.

‘Y-yes, sir.'

She did not like the way the conversation was going at all.

‘She has lost a stone or two since she arrived here. Cross-country and gym is toning her and firming her up nicely, though I would not want to run all that flesh off her. I tell you what, let's get her out of the basket so you can have a feel.'

Gretchen spent her nights secured by collar and wrist cuffs to a chain that was padlocked to the wall. She did not dare raise her eyes to her master, but she heard the key click in the lock and felt the tug. She scrambled to her feet. The Reverend pulled her over to the kitchen table. On it he had laid a mean-looking cane. Gretchen looked away.

‘Have a feel,' the Reverend urged. ‘Those big dirigibles are perhaps not quite so firm as young Betsy Billings', but they are remarkable for a woman of her age.'

His fist held the leash chain a link or two from her collar, forcing her to stand up on the balls of her feet.

‘Legs apart, Gruntie, you know that by now,' the Reverend Dawes said with a shake of his head. ‘Jamie, would you give her a couple of cuts with that cane, just to remind her to spread her damned legs?'

Gretchen scrambled her legs wide apart and then stiffened. The Reverend Dawes stood in front of her and his words startled her into raising her eyes. Her master's predatory gaze impaled her. She wanted to drop her eyes respectfully, but found herself paralysed with fear. Gretchen heard the young man pick the cane up and give it an experimental swish. The Reverend smiled.

‘When will you ever learn, you silly bitch?' He chuckled and there was another swish, this time followed by a crack and a great deal of pain. It seemed to unlock the paralysis, however, for she managed to close her eyes and grind her teeth. The second stroke was worse than the first even, making her hop helplessly in agony.

‘You will keep your legs apart in the presence of your betters, you impertinent slut!' the Reverend spat. ‘We might choose to use you. Close your legs and you might inconvenience me. Tell me, girl, what do you mean by inconveniencing my guest and I?'

‘I'm very sorry, sir,' Gretchen wailed.

‘I will ensure it,' he said coldly. ‘Jamie, don't stand on ceremony, lad, do come and have a feel.'

Strong hands reached around and took her breasts. The young man hefted the soft globes with an appreciative whistle and gave them a hard squeeze. His tweed-trousered crotch pushed against her freshly welted bottom. Gretchen felt a stiff column of flesh press against her buttocks and swallowed hard.

‘Very fine, very firm. Very nice indeed,' the young man whispered in her ear, taking her nipples between finger and thumb and squeezing until she gasped. Nor was his grip all she had to contend with, for the Reverend stepped forward and took hold of her cunny in his free hand.

A strong finger probed, and slipped inside her lubricated slot. Gretchen could not stop herself from moaning aloud and pressing her mons out, trying to get pressure on her clitoris from the heel of his hand.

‘I wondered if you would care to give her a stiff dozen with the cane before buggering the slut?' the Reverend asked evenly. ‘I do believe we have some butter in the pantry.'

‘I could think of several less amusing ways of passing the evening,' Jamie replied. ‘Will you be joining me?'

Gretchen gave a lost groan as the Reverend's hand was snatched away. She tried to push her pelvis after it, to no avail, for Jamie's hands kept a firm grip of her body.

‘No, I have another matter to attend to. Can I leave you to it? Stripe that big bottom well for her. Take my word, the trollop will not feel it lest you lay on with a will.'

 

Amelia turned away and tried to block out the creaking bedsprings and slightly suffocated slurping sounds coming from Linnet's bed.

‘That's it! That's it! Keep your tongue stiff and get it right up there now, you little slut!' Arabella hissed.

The tingling was driving Amelia frantic. She pressed her legs together and swung them from side to side, but could get no pressure on the part that mattered with her hands so chained. The image of the Reverend would not leave her fevered mind. A picture of him kissing Charlotte whilst the slut stroked his erect prick jostled with a vision of him advancing pitilessly, cane in hand.

There was not much she could do about the image of her tormentor with another. Amelia did not understand, or at least dare not admit to herself, why this gave her pain. There was a solution to the other problem, though; the tingling in her clitoris and the visions of him unbuttoning his flies whilst his other hand swished the cane. Unfortunately, to solve that problem Amelia knew she would have to beg.

‘Kirsty,' she said at last, ‘please, could you do something for me...?'

She looked over at Kirsty who was fondling herself idly as she watched the activity in Linnet's bed.

‘What would that be then, Amelia?'

‘I want... I mean, I need... It's these damned cuffs. I cannot reach...'

‘The water? Is it a drink you are after?' Kirsty asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

‘No, I need... Oh, God, you know what I mean.'

In truth it should have been fairly obvious what it was Amelia needed. She was fighting her bonds now, writhing sinuously in the narrow bed. Kirsty walked over to her slowly and looked down at her perspiring form with a smile.

‘No, sorry, I have no idea, Amelia. You will have to ask.'

For all her overwhelming arousal and frustration, Amelia blushed furiously at the shame of having to beg for such a thing. There was little pity in Kirsty's eyes, however, and she knew that was exactly what she was going to have to do.

‘Please... Kirsty, touch me. I mean, use your fingers, or your tongue... I mean... oh, for pity's sake, bring me off.'

Kirsty considered her for a moment. The girl wore nothing but her thin cotton night-dress. Amelia could see her nipples pressing against the fabric. They looked stiff. If Kirsty is aroused enough, she thought desperately, maybe she'll do what I ask.

‘Sorry, pet.' Kirsty leaned forward and patted Amelia's cheek. ‘It has been forbidden.'

‘Oh, God, yes! Yes!' Bella began shrieking from Linnet's bed.

‘But,' Amelia babbled, ‘what about them? Oh come on, Kirsty, be a sport. Just do it for me.'

‘That's just what I cannae do,' Kirsty said with an amused smile. ‘The prohibition is particular to you. No one is allowed to diddle you any more, on pain of three dozen of the birch.'

There was a shriek and the creaking springs reached a peak. Kirsty inclined her head towards the sounds. ‘Bella and I have to enforce the ban, so there is no getting around it. No one is allowed to do you any more, Amelia. Not even Linnet.'

Amelia groaned and writhed in desperation. Of all the cruelties the Reverend had visited on her, at that moment, this seemed to her the worst.

‘Och, never mind, Amelia.' Kirsty gave her a grin and pulled the night-dress off, exposing her curvaceous charms, and climbing on to the bed. ‘He never said anything about you tonguing the rest of us!'

‘No, wait!' Amelia shook her head futilely as Kirsty took up position, kneeling over her head and lowering her nest of pubic curls towards her face.

‘A girl's got to have some fun, after all!' Kirsty said with a laugh.

Amelia tried to protest again, but the sound that came out of her mouth was but a muffled moan.

 

Thwuck
! The cane cracked across her upper thighs. Gretchen howled and hopped from foot to foot.

‘Position!' the young man said sharply. ‘Much as I enjoy watching your big titties jiggle as you do these funny little dances there is such a thing as discipline.'

Pain still lancing through her thighs, Gretchen forced herself to bend and touch her toes again. The kitchen was almost unnaturally still for a few moments. The warmth of the range was making her perspire, and she felt a bead of sweat begin to trickle down her back. Try as she might, Gretchen could not stop her bottom flinching in anticipation of the coming stroke. However, Jamie Fanshawe clearly cared little for her problems, content to take his time.

BOOK: Rectory of Correction
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