The Horse

From Phoenix 2

It squatted in the corner, fat body perched upon splayed legs, half-concealed in the wintry afternoon’s gloom. It didn’t move, just sat there, waiting.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the polished floor and a voice, gruff and authoritative, told the newcomer to wait.

In the gloom she waited, and every now and then dared a glance in the direction of the monstrosity which still crouched unmoving in the corner. Her eyes darted away each time, she fiddled with her hands, smoothed one dubiously over the seat of her little shorts, then had to look back at it again.

A tiny, stifled sob sounded in the cavernous room and she put her hands to her eyes and brushed away what might have been tears. The little golden hairs on her bare legs stood up as she shivered and suddenly felt goose-pimply down her thighs. She held her breath. The heavy step returned along the corridor and the door opened then closed. The old gym-slipper flexed menacingly in the strong hands. The footsteps echoed across the floor and then in an instant the lights came on.

The horror in the corner was revealed. The girl looked from it to the man to the gym-slipper.

‘Well?’ The voice sounded loud and frighteningly unsympathetic in the high, empty room.

‘S-sir?’ She sounded lost and alone.

‘You know what you’re here for don’t you?’

The voice boomed. The slipper splatted irritably against a tweedy trouser leg.

‘Ooh — er — y-yes sir.’

‘So?’

‘S-sir?’

‘Get ‘em down girl. Get ‘em down!’

‘Oooh — yes s-sir.’

Her neat little sports shorts, fat and tight around her bottom, edged down from her hips, the full bum-cheeks pushed out over the top of the elastic, their plump nakedness trembled as she finally completed the baring of her bottom. She stared with big eyes at the impatient slipper.

‘Now then — over there!’ The slipper gestured towards the corner.

The nervous girl dragged her reluctant feet against the shiny floor as she obeyed, gym-shoes squeaking faintly as she went. She stood pathetically in front of the thing.

‘And now you can get yourself across it.’

It was too tall for her to do it easily. She had to put her hands on top and bounce on her toes to get enough height to get herself over it. Her sports vest rucked up underneath her and her bare belly pressed against the chill leather.

Short, stubby fingers played with the soft young buttocks, nudging them intimately and plopping several self-indulgent pats on each helpless cheek. The girl’s dread of what was to come made her moan plaintively.

The man took a short pace back, and then rested the cool sole of the gym-slipper pointedly across the crown of one bare cheek. With a certain ritualistic solemnity he swung his arm away, the slipper hesitated springily as he drew it fully back, then he smacked it solidly down across his aiming point, the sound of rubber against naked flesh like a pistol shot in the tall room.

‘Ooo — oogh — ooo!’

The girl’s bottom jiggled as she jolted across her perch. She dragged in a breath and fought against the tears which already threatened to overwhelm her.

The slipper lurked beside the tweedy trouser leg, patiently waiting. The smooth pink cheeks settled nervously back into position.

Crack! Wobbling frantically they jerked alive again, pinker now in some parts more than others. The girl struggled to keep atop her perch as she huffed and puffed with the sting.

The door on the far side of the room swung open. Shoes clomped across the boards accompanied by the same squeaky sound of gym-shoes.

‘I see you’ve started without us,’ said the woman.

‘Yes, hope you didn’t mind,’

The girl craned round to look at the new arrivals. Her damp eyes met those of the gym-shoe wearer, dressed in a red track-suit top and short pleated white skirt. Miss Howard met the girl’s eyes and smiled wanly, looking nervous and subdued herself.

The older woman, black scholar’s gown draped from her shoulders, cast an eye casually over the tender-looking bottom bent over so prettily.

‘Very sweet,’ she said. ‘Look even sweeter when she’s had a few more wouldn’t you say?’

The man chuckled. The slipper patted against one warm cheek as if with a proprietary interest.

‘Well then — if you’ll excuse us —’

Whack! Crack! Smack!

The slipper resuming its work with gusto, the wretched girl gasped and squirmed frantically as her bared bottom was treated to a swift and stinging flurry of crisp spanks. She bleated her protestations, but to no avail. Determinedly the man punished her bouncing buttocks with obvious glee, the girl’s sudden tears diminishing the vigour of his spanking not at all. Legs scissoring, smooth bare thighs alternately pressing tightly together and then kicking wildly apart, the weeping girl suffered helplessly, finally finding enough breath from somewhere to bawl lustily as the last half-dozen spanks whacked smartly across her now hotly crimson bottom.

‘Get down,’ said the man, slipper in hand, ‘and get over there.’

The blubbering girl slid down from the horse and dragged forlornly at her drooping shorts.

‘Don’t bother with them,’ said the woman, just stand over there and watch what happens to your playmate. And let it be a warning to you my girl.’

The tearful girl stood to one side and watched through misted eyes as the next part of the pantomime was played out.

‘And now we’ll have you up there if you please Miss Howard,’ said the woman to the wearer of the gym-shoes.

The younger woman, hardly more than a grown-up girl herself, cast an embarrassed eye at the girl who stood with her shorts still around her thighs, watching from her place beside the window and nudging her weight from foot to foot as she tried to ease the smart in her punished bottom.

‘Don’t worry about her. It’ll do her good to see you brought down a peg or two. ‘

‘But — she’s a pupil Miss Stevens! I-I’m not at all sure —!’

‘Don’t patronise her,’ said the woman peevishly ‘Just get her pants down and get her across there. I’ll do the rest.’

From the folds of her gown she produced a slim and whippy cane which trembled malevolently in her grasp.

Miss Howard, edging away from the man’s liberty-taking hand baulked even now.

‘But I protest at this ridiculous charade!’ she said, though rather nervously. ‘You are not entitled to punish even her, and as for punishing me —!’

‘And you madam, cannot argue with whatever punishment we consider your conduct merits. Certainly you aren’t going to say that you weren’t caught with your finger in the pie, are you?’

The grown-up girl licked her lips and struggled fruitlessly to find a reply. The man tittered at the woman’s choice of words. She shot him a glance which he failed to notice.

The hopelessness of her position staring her in the face, the young sports mistress was forced to realise that she had no alternative. Her eyes flickered momentarily to the girl, then, head bowed, she submitted to the inevitable. The woman sensed her capitulation immediately.

‘Right,’ she cooed, ‘now let’s have you up there my girl, and we’ll see what a taste of the cane will do to make you less irresponsible.

Without warning the cane swished sharply across the young woman’s legs.

‘Now do as you’re told — there’s a good girl,’ she simpered ironically.

The grown-up girl snatched away from the cane and sucked in her breath as she felt the smart across her bare thighs, and then, seeing the cane drawn ominously back again, she hoisted herself up into position, short skirt sliding up as she bent over, brief, tight knickers straining across the fullness of her firm buttocks.

The cane whacked wickedly across the girl’s tight-stretched pants.

‘And we’ll have your knickers down too,’ said the woman, and gasping with the sting of the cane stroke, the girl had to wriggle awkwardly about on her belly as she struggled to edge her knickers down off her bottom.

Her plump, rounded bum-cheeks spilled from the constricting pants, the one diagonal stripe already glowing hotly as the knickers slid down to her quivering knees.

Her eyes bright and spiteful, the woman patted the flinching cheeks with the cane, and then whacked it solidly down across the bending buttocks.

The girl jerked and reared up.

Whack!

‘Oooow — ooogh!’

Wallop! Crack! Swhack!

The girl squirmed against the cold leather, her bare buttocks shaking and jerking as she slammed her thighs together after every other stroke. Panic-stricken, she began to lever herself up and stared in a helpless way back over her shoulder.

‘Oh, n-no — please —’

Whack!

‘Get down!’

‘Ooh —’

Crack!

‘Do as you’re told!’

The cane sliced hard across both cheeks again.

Biting her lip, sobs pushing noisily between her teeth, she subsided tremulously across her elevated perch. The cane went back to work.

The other girl, shorts still rumpled around her thighs, stared in horror at the whipping the sports mistress was getting. She flinched at each stroke and almost cried herself as she watched the other, older girl being forced to submit to such treatment.

The caning ended at last. The wretchedly sobbing young woman lay exhausted, tears streaming unheeded down her flushed face.

Miss Stevens, hands theatrically upon her hips, gloated over the young mistress’s humiliation. The man’s eager eyes flickered from the woman to the hotly-punished buttocks which quivered yet as the girl shivered miserably.

‘Right — now get down,’ said the woman.

Stiffly, easing herself with considerable trepidation from her elevated punishment position, Miss Howard slipped her feet to the floor. Eyes downcast she dragged her knickers back up, avoiding the gloating look of Miss Stevens, the man’s embarrassing stare, the girl’s damp eyed pity.

‘You, girl — dress yourself and get along,’ said Miss Stevens. ‘And as for you madam, I think I’ve taught you a lesson.’

She looked the distraught Miss Howard up and down, mulling over the possibilities, revelling in the girl’s helpless situation, thinking forward to later in the evening.

‘You’ll come to my rooms at eight — is that understood?’

Miss Howard sniffed back her tears, feeling stupid and trapped.

‘Yes ma’am,’ she mumbled, submissiveness complete.

The man grinned guardedly as he heard her say it, knowing, even if the girl didn’t, that she probably hadn’t even begun to pay her full penance as yet.

The door swung squeakily on its hinges as the other girl left hurriedly, then the gym-shoed sports mistress followed as she was dismissed.

Miss Stevens rested a hand atop the old vaulting horse and smiled a secret smile. The man too seemed to regard it as an old friend. He patted it conspiratorially as the two left the gym, the lights going out, the horse left to squat in the corner and await its next victim.