Forsythe's Fate

by Steve Forsythe

 

'How did I come to find myself here?' I cursed inwardly. I was standing before the closed door to Mrs Birch's office. Trembling with dread, I had but a few minutes left before I would have to knock and await her ominous approval to enter. Mrs Birch, the puritanical Governess of our small reform school had a fearsome and thoroughly deserved reputation as an uncompromising Disciplinarian.

I had been sent by Miss Dewar, our form Mistress, to discuss my misbehaviour. This was but a euphemism. I would inevitably end up bending over for a long 'discussion' with her wicked cane. Although this was my first formal visit to Mrs Birch, I knew deep down that any pleas for mercy would fall on deaf ears, yet I still hoped for just a stern talking to, and 'one last chance'.

At the time it had seemed a bit of harmless fun. I'd stuck a pin in the bottom of one of the girls when she bent over. A stupid prank that I now wished I'd resisted. If only I could turn back the clock. Miss Dewar had not been amused. In my hands I held the letter she'd written for me to deliver to Mrs Birch.

Dear Mrs Birch

I'm at a loss to handle Forsythe. I have been concerned for some time at his lack of application to his work and general misbehaviour in the classroom.

Today's prank is the final straw. Sticking a pin into the posterior of one of the girls when she bent over was not only disruptive to harmony; it was a cruel and potentially dangerous act.

Forsythe clearly needs a firm 'talking to'. I'm sure you are better equipped than I to implement suitable corrective procedures.

Hillary Dewar

A slight smile had creased her lips as she handed me the letter and told me to go and discuss the contents with Mrs Birch.

I bit my lower lip as my muscles twitched in response to the fear that gnashed within me. I felt hollow as I remembered my first encounter with Mrs Birch. My first day of school.

A terse martinet, she wore a crisp white blouse, dark stockings and skirt, with her hair drawn back in a severe bun. Wearing high heels she was nearly six foot tall. Her callous words at that first introduction were still echoing through my mind. And now I stood waiting to be chastised by that same impassive woman.

My fear was intensified as I had also failed to complete a written imposition from Mrs Birch set only the weekend before. I had been set 250 lines with the whole weekend to complete them. Unfortunately I'd only managed to complete 200 lines before assembly on Monday morning, despite spending more than 30 hours of solid writing over the Saturday and Sunday. But then her 'lines' had been a passage from Gray's anatomy.

By its superficial surface, with a thin fascia, which separates it from the subcutaneous tissue, by its deep surface, with ilium sacrum, coccyx, and greater sacro-sciatic ligament, part of the Gluteus medius, Pyriformis, Gemelli, Obturator internus, Quadratus femoris, the tuberosity of the ischium, the origin of the Biceps, Semitendinosus, Semimembranosus and Adductor magnus muscle. The superficial surface of the gluteal artery reaches the deep surface of the muscle by passing between the Pyriformis and the Gluteus medius, the Sciatic and internal Pudic vessels and nerves and muscular branches from the Sacral plexus issue from the pelvis below the Pyriformis. The first perforating artery and terminal branches of the internal circumflex artery are also found covered by the muscle. Its upper border is thin, and connected with the Gluteus medius by the fascia lata. Its lower border is free and prominent.

A rather unpleasant thought as I now contemplated the pain to be inflicted on that part of my anatomy that the lines referred to.

I was on the verge of tears as the clock finally struck the hour of my appointment. As I gently knocked on the door I remembered the shrieks I'd heard from this same room in the past, the pupils who had left dishevelled, sobbing. If only I could turn the clock back. But it was too late. My stomach quelled with fearful trepidation, my world spinning round. I felt out of touch with reality as I waited for her command to enter.

I heard the click of her stiletto heels as she strode about in her study. The scrape of furniture being moved. Was she preparing for me? I shuddered involuntarily. Then came the sound of those heels, clicking louder. Suddenly the door swung open and I was greeted by her terse unsmiling face. If looks could kill. I shivered as she simply grasped my ear and marched me in.

"So!" she berated me, "you think it's amusing to stick pins in bottoms do you?"

I didn't know what to say. I just stood there looking sheepish.

"Not so smart and cocky now are we?" she chided.

"No Ma'am" I grimaced. She continued to scold me as I squirmed, all the time getting more nervous as her cold demeanour bored into my soul. I truly regretted my actions. I didn't need a caning, her scolding alone had me fearful to be good in future. "Well now, let's see how funny you find it when I play with your bottom shall we... "

She strode off to return with an essay I'd had to write the week before. We'd had to use each of thirty words she'd written on the blackboard. "Sit at the desk" she coldly ordered as she threw my essay down.

"What's the meaning of this?" It looked awful in the cold light of her study and I cringed. I'd ripped it out of the exercise book and it looked so awful. "This is the standard of your work is it? Maybe you need an extra lesson to correct your slovenliness?" she asked.

"No Ma'am," I mumbled tearfully. I felt so small before this overbearing, yet beautiful woman.

"Have you nothing else to say for yourself?"

"Please Ma'am, I'm sorry. I should have left it in the exercise book. But I did underline each word so you'd be easily able to see that I had used every word you asked."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "and did I tell you to do that?"

"No Ma'am, I just thought it would be easier for you," I simpered trying to ingratiate myself.

"So you thought I wouldn't be able to find the words myself did you?" she retorted.

"No Ma'am, that wasn't what I meant." Panic rose in my voice, I was like a trapped mouse.

"So what did you mean?" she eyed me coldly, "I wasn't astute enough to work things out perhaps?"

"No Ma'am, I'm sorry." I was helpless as she twisted everything to make it worse.

"So you disobeyed me on your essay, drawing lines all over the place. And you never even bothered to complete the two hundred and fifty lines I set you did you?"

"Please Ma'am, there wasn't enough time. I worked for over thirty hours, I had to sleep sometime."

"Stop your snivelling," she scolded. "It's time you learned some obedience... Get your trousers down now." I looked on horrified, but her withering look compelled me to obey.

"Now get over that desk." I watched uncomfortably as she collected some rope bonds and came over. "I've no doubt you'll wriggle and jump about. I don't intend to have to chase you round the room so we'll tie you down to make sure you take your punishment properly. It will not be pleasant! I believe if a caning is to be effective as a deterrent that it should weal and sting intolerably. Accordingly I expect it to be quite impossible for you to remain in place without being firmly secured."

My pleas not to be secured fell on deaf ears as she meticulously secured me over the school desk. "Right! For your pathetic attempt at your lines you'll receive eight strokes." I winced.

"For your disgraceful essay we'll continue with a further eight strokes," she continued regardless, "and finally, since you so enjoy practical jokes, we'll deliver a final eight strokes on behalf of Miss Dewar and see how funny you find that!"

I whimpered aloud "Please Ma'am, not so many, I've never been caned before!"

"Yes we soon see how brave you are when your trousers are around your ankles and bottom bared. Now I have a very special cane to introduce to you. This is a real, old-fashioned disciplinary cane. Notice it's dark brown, hard in texture, it's almost like an extremely slender walking-stick, yet so flexible."

She stroked the cane before me as if it were her lover. Bending it almost double she grinned at my nervous twitching, the fear in my eyes. "This is an instrument of considerable severity. It is to be used as an Ultimate Sanction, far too severe for most purposes. But you are in for very severe punishment aren't you?"

I felt a sort of shrivelling inside and that familiar sensation of self-pity. My heart was pounding. But I bit my tongue for fear of worse to come. I was trapped, helpless, like a fly in the web of an evil spider. She remained watching, impassive, her tongue gently parted her lips, she was on edge, like a tigress waiting to devour her prey.

She stepped away and desperately I turned my head to see where she was. No doubt she saw the terror in my eyes. No doubt she enjoyed the fact that I was scared out of my life. That was part of her plan. The sickness of dread mounted up in me. I was for it and there was nothing I could do about it. My mouth went dry.

Mrs Birch moved slowly forward to a position on the left side of the punishment desk. I struggled helplessly in my restrictive bonds. It was futile to try and escape. I was so tightly secured I could but wriggle my feet and hands and my upper body. I contorted to try and avoid the cold malevolent feel of the cane as she playfully lined me up. Repeatedly tapping my buttocks then drawing it back and letting it gently thwap back on to the spot.

"Remember this will hurt," Mrs Birch spoke, breaking the silence, "it's intended to." She drew her arm up above her head trailing the malignant cane with it, my flesh shrank as my buttocks flinched and spasmed involuntarily; this was it. Then came the quiet bloodcurdling whoosh of the cane descending, fast.

A streak of fire flamed across my rump, and seared deeply within, it robbed me of breath as I let loose a scream like a banshee. Nothing prepared me for the intense pain that rolled through my body from that one stroke. I could not cope with the pain. My body contorted and twisted in its bonds. It was just unbelievable. And there were many more like that to come.

"NOooooooH" I screeched, "Pppppplease.....God help me, Nooooo". I twisted again and again, as though trying to shake off a fiery cloak of pain as it sent its tentacles of trauma tunnelling within me. I knew it was bruising deep within my buttocks. My head jerked as my mouth gaped open and saliva drooled out. And as the pain finally transcended to bearable levels I looked back into Mrs Birch's steely eyes, they were cold, yet they sparkled with fire.

She remained coolly watching. As my gyrations slowed I felt her once more measure me for the second stroke. "No... No," I shouted "please I'll try harder. Please Ma'am," I whined. It was futile. The second stroke flashed down with all the force of the first. I was looking into Mrs Birch's eyes as it fell, pleading for help, but saw only the clenching of her white teeth, her face set hard... and then her vision was shattered before me as pain once more roared through me from just below where the first stroke had fallen. I was once more filled with the burning torment, my brain exploded before I once more gasped and shrieked in agony.

There was nothing though that I could do. I was helpless. Again she drew out the moments. I could sense her in my agony, though I still had my eyes closed, trying to absorb the unbearable pain, my teeth clenched in anguish... Before the searing pain had subsided the third vicious stroke fell. Followed seconds later by strokes four and five. My voice broke as I mewled like a kitten. Mrs Birch meanwhile coldly announced each stroke after it had fallen, in a loud clear voice.

After the twelfth fiendish blow had lashed across the back of my thighs she paused. As my wild thrashing subsided I heard her from afar speaking to me, a joyous cadence in her voice, "You're just beginning to learn what a real thrashing is... aren't you Forsythe?" she asked as my screams subsided a little.

The pain throbbed deep within me. "Mercy please, oh please no more, I can't take it," I croaked my voice hoarse from my screams. My breath panting from my exertions, my chest heaving. Livid weals of pain were stalking through my backside, the heat was incredible, and it felt as though blood was running down my legs. I later realised this was sweat and that my whole body was dripping with it from my thrashing around. My back prickled from the salt, but this was nothing compared to the pain in my rear.

She stood up, and moved behind me. I felt her cool hand caress my inflamed buttocks. "Hmmm, looks bad. The bruising will be pretty severe in the morning I guess," she mused, "you certainly won't be sitting comfortably for a few days."

Then I felt my flesh shudder again as she came round from the other side and lay the cane against my buttocks again.

Tears of self-pity and dread came as she smiled. "Only twelve to go." As the thirteenth stroke fell through the air with that same deathly whirr my last view was of her smiling face as she witnessed my howls and agonised struggles. The strokes fell as before, thirty seconds or so apart, except for one vicious flurry of three. I was not aware of time. Time stood still as my whole being was consumed by my ravaged rear. As the cane overlaid raised welts of pain I shrieked and cursed and begged till I could struggle no more. My saliva drooled to the ground and mingled with the sweat that streaked off my body. My world was one of total pain. I was unaware of Mrs Birch. There was just my tormented brain, my ravaged behind and that malignant cane in my world of darkness and pain.

Nothing I had ever experienced before in my life came close to the pain I now endured. Surely I had not deserved such purgatory for so minor a fault. I was at that moment a broken pathetic creature. I whimpered in distress, surely my behind would explode, my lungs were rent from my cries. It was excruciating.

Finally it fell no more. The deep ridges of pain fused together and burned fierily, my buttocks seemed to have swelled several inches leaving the skin taut and extra tender. I found myself groaning with relief. It was finally over. Mrs Birch was beside me. I could feel the cool touch of her skirt against my side. How long had I lain there. I tried to control my breathing, as my heart ran wild from the harrowing experience.

Her hand stroked the vivid ridges that had been raised and sent fresh spasms of flame through me. She pinched one spot hard between her thumb and forefinger and I shrieked out.

"Noo ..... that hurts." She smiled relishing my travail.

I felt her continue to clinically study my whaled behind. I shrieked again as her cool fingers once more ran over the burning flesh. "Quiet you little sissy," she rapped. Didn't she realise how tender I was, how thoroughly evil that rattan cane was? My nerves were close to snapping. The soft hand continued to roam. I continued to gasp. My behind felt as if I had sat down on red hot coals.

"It should have taught you a lesson," she murmured. "Still you deserved every bit of it. And you'll be better for it won't you?"

"Yes Ma'am" I stuttered, at that moment I would have agreed with anything she said.

"So you do agree?"

"Yes Ma'am, yes. I deserved it. I'll be better for it," I groaned in reply. Her voice was unyielding, mesmeric, she found it fun to let me stew like this. I shivered.

An icy tingling ran down my scalp at her reply. "Well I'm going to finish off with 3 strokes of my tawse." I couldn't believe my ears, there was still more to come. She picked up a hefty leather strap and draped it over my tender rump. "If you utter one more word you'll get an extra twenty one strokes" she coldly advised.

"Please..." I stuttered, I was going to ask what if I cry out when you hit me. But the opportunity was gone.

"Right twenty four strokes it is," she calmly snapped. Her voice possessed the cold relentlessness of total authority. For a moment her voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. There was a buzzing in my ears, had I heard right? I was like a squirrel in the middle of the road, frozen in time by the headlights of an oncoming car. She spoke imperiously. I was too scared to disagree.

Her voice was hard as flint. At that moment I thought I was going to faint, the room swam before my eyes, my throat closed up in dread. But that strap fell relentlessly upon my backside as my screams echoed through the room.

I was finally released and told to stand in the corner. I gathered myself together and stood. The pain in my bottom seemed instantly to double and I clasped my hands to my tender rear. Pain smouldered in my eyes like a fever. I struggled into the corner. "Yes, we don't look so cocky now do we, red bottom on display, tears in your eyes. Hopefully we won't be seeing you again."

I certainly had no plans to return. Finally she curtly ordered me to put my trousers back on. But before dismissing me she had one last shock in store for me. "Those lines you were supposed to complete. I want the full two hundred and fifty completed this weekend, or you'll find yourself over My bench again after morning assembly on Monday. Is that clear?"

I left that horrid study, my flesh taut, my movements stiff and disjointed. I knew that when I awoke my whole behind would be horribly swollen and unmalleable. It would be difficult to move and walk, yet I would have to spend the weekend on my tortured behind with her onerous imposition. One that I dare not fail to complete.

That night I lay face down on the bed and finally fell into a fitful and troubled sleep.

I rose at 5.30am and it was with great care and tenderness that I negotiated the stairs and shower. I was exceedingly stiff and sore. My buttocks had turned a deep blue, almost black in parts, and still throbbed intolerably. The skin was taut and every movement sent shards of pain through me. The shower stung like mad. I moved stiffly around like an athlete with torn muscles recovering from the big event. I ached and wanted only to lie down. A pleasure I could not enjoy. I was hollow, totally defeated as I commenced my lines.

 

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