F Campbell - Margo

Molly Winton did her best. She managed to stand. She managed to hold out an unwilling arm and to open the wounded palm, but when the singing cane was humming to its mark, she withdrew it in a motion so instinctive that it was doubtful she could have done otherwise. She stood abjectly, awaiting male wrath. But she was entirely cowed. Several moments of shocked concern had passed her by. She once more straightened and once more held her arm out. Her voice was controlled.

"I'm sorry, sir. This isn't a bit easy. Please cane my hand."

It was swiftly done, and the punished girl returned to her pose of pained penance.

Henry Ross was a connoisseur of matters such as this. He had no wish to ruin a delightful afternoon or impose too great an agony on any of his victims. Magnanimously, he announced, "I'm prepared to consider the three strokes sufficient, Miss Winton. May I compliment you on your decision to extend your arm?"

"May I put my clothes back on?"

"No, you may not. I see no point in girls wearing clothes. They are simply a hinderance to those who attend you."

He pointed to the girl who had come forth previously.

"You Miss Hinton please be good enough to inform the class what you know about the autumn equinox."

Hefty Hinton looked properly distressed. She had no idea what the autumn equinox might be. She gulped a couple of times and then frankly admitted, "I don't know anything about it, sir. I never beard of it."

It was a repeat performance. Hefty marched bravely to the front and stood expectantly to learn her punishment. She managed to keep her hands close to her sides, covering nothing of her sex. The headmaster nodded approvingly and thrust forward a chair.

"Do not sit on this, Miss Hinton, but raise your leg upon it. I want you to stand in exactly that position."

Henry Ross moved majestically to the rack holding instruments of torture. He selected a wicked-looking small whip. Watching, Margo could make a shrewd guess about how Miss Hinton was to be punished. The headmaster continued to speak, now in an almost bland tone.

"Since you know nothing of the autumn equinox, perhaps you will be kind enough to tell the class and myself exactly the names of those portions of your person generally associated with sex. I will be satisfied if you name four."

Hefty Hinton blushed. She had been at Rossland long enough that her blushes had become infrequent, but she produced a magnificent specimen now. As though diving into icy water in one fell swoop to get the agony over with, she blurted out, "Two breasts. And… my pussy, sir."

"That last item? It escapes me, Miss Hinton. To what are you referring? I know the term is commonly used to refer to kittens."

Hefty's blush continued. She searched her mind, but found her store of euphemisms scant.

"There are several names for it, sir, but they are all rude. I mustn't use them."

"The most offensive is the most graphically descriptive, Miss Hinton. Be good enough to use it."

"My cunt, sir?"

"That is much better. I want all of you to use that term in speaking to me of that portion of yourselves. Rossland wants no false modesty. Now name the fourth item. You let that one out."

Hefty glanced anxiously around as though hoping to discover on others what she could not remember herself. Timidly, she suggested, "My mouth?"

The headmaster sighed. It was obvious he was a much put-upon man, confronted by both ignorance and stupidity. Thoughtfully, he swished the small thonged whip through the air, as though aiming for small invisible flies.

"You will remain quite still for ten, Miss Hinton. There will be a break when you change from one leg to the other. It might be best if you clasp your bands behind your neck. And face the class too. I'm sure they will judge you by your deportment."

The thongs bedding themselves within the virgin cleft making their own vicious sound, quite unlike any other. The recipient of their bite gasped and straightened even more erect in stark terror, but held her pose. The second and third strokes followed in even, measured cadence. Margo shrewdly guessed that he headmaster was gauging the pain he inflicted carefully. Quite probably, he had no wish to have naked girls groveling on the floor in an anguish too great to bear. Henry Ross was an artist. At the fifth stroke, when it was time for the punished girl to turn around, he suavely inquired, "I trust you feel some benefit, Miss Hinton?"

"Yes. Thank you, sir."

It was obvious Miss Hinton had wish to grovel on the floor either. But she was breathing heavily. She was flushed a bright pink, and in the motion of turning around, her hands instinctively sought her wounded sex, but were met by the swift cut of the thongs and told curtly to get them back behind her back, her bottom and whatever else was open view. The class gazed at her, speechless.

Margo remembered at this injunction not to show disgust. She composed her features carefully, and since she could do nothing to help anyone, stood silently to watch and memorize. Momentarily, her glance caught the eye of the girl being punished. A smile passed between them – a smile of understanding. As though encouraged by her knowledge of a limited infliction, the girl who still had five strokes to accept within her crotch stood bravely at attention, with no more than wincing, cringing, and gasping. When the tenth cut had reddened the tender flesh, the class would willingly have clapped in approval of the girl's courage, but they did not dare. The girl herself was given permission to return her foot to the floor and rejoin the class.

"Why are you handcuffed, Miss Hinton?"

The third maiden to wend her way to the front answered, "I dropped a dish at lunch, sir. It was stupid clumsiness, and so I am handcuffed."

"For an appropriate period of time, I trust."

"One week, sir. Handcuffs do not impede my class work."

"Excellent, and now since your offense is failing to answer a simple question is hardly an academic crisis, your punishment will be relatively mild. Be kind enough to put on these panties."

The headmaster handed an immaculate pair of spandex panties to his astonished pupil. "I think you will find them adequately tight."

The headmaster ordered two pupils to assist the handcuffed maiden to don the new panties.

They were tight indeed, but very becoming, a garment designed to improve on nature itself. Henry Ross nodded in satisfaction and returned his attention to Hefty Hinton.

"You will find a pail over in the corner, my dear. I want you to take the foliage you find therein and do a good job of padding the spandex covering this young lady's loins. I want every inch of space properly filled, and I want a couple of leaves inserted well within her lips down there. Kindly proceed."

Miss Hinton picked up the offending pail and looked at its contents aghast. She turned to the watching man, her eyes wide in concern.

"But, sir?"

"Quite sorry, my dear. They are stinging nettles. No doubt they are a cousin to our poison ivy. I had a patch of them imported from England several years ago, and they have flourished mightily. They will adequately supply our school with its requirements."

"But, sir, they sting, I can't possibly?"

"Yes, you can. Do it. If your hands suffer in the process, I will remind you that your own punishment was extremely light."

The girl with the nettles and the girl who was about to receive them in a place she leased wanted stood and stared. But what could they do? They shrugged at other, and Miss Hinton dismally said. "I guess you have to. Go ahead and do it. Here, I'll help."

It was both clever and cruel. The nettles stung the young hand, now busily thrusting them beneath the tight spandex. Miss Hinton used her cuffed hands to pull aside the top of her panties, so as to aide in her own punishment. She was instantly gasping and became increasingly pink as the panties were loaded with the deadly leaves. In the one last desperate detail of the sad proceedings, Hefty grasped a handful of the terrible things and thrust it hard down inside the spandex, pushing it ruthlessly into and upon the innocent sex. She looked at her own hands, now reddened and angry, and clasped them beneath her armpits in the same manner as the girl whose hands had been caned. She returned to her seat. All eyes focused on the girl with the cuffed wrists.