Bend Over Jessica

Rose Tremaine generally thought of herself as a good girl. Despite a couple of spells in Lord Fawcett’s Institution for Delinquent and Depraved Girls (for receiving stolen property), she had, with the help of Lord Fawcett, rehabilitated herself and now ran a small hat shop in Covent Garden. She hadn’t seen Tessie Blackmoor, her partner-in-crime from the reformatory for a long while – she was out of London for the summer picking hops in Kent with her street gang.

So Rose was taken aback when she received an official communication from Dr Grimace, Head of the Reformatory. She was due a remedial reminder of how to behave and should therefore present herself at the Institution on Monday evening, when Mr Sikes, one of the Masters, would take care of her.

Rose was nervous. She didn’t like Mr Sikes, who had thrashed her to tears at the last reformatory and who had a disconcerting habit of hearing everything and also had eyes in the back of his head. So when she presented herself and was shown into the dormitory to change, her knees felt a bit wobbly. Putting on the short grey dress, white knickers, white bra and long white socks that were reformatory uniform and plaiting her long hair into two pigtails, she noted how the uniform made her feel silly. Young. Not at all like a respectable businesswoman that she now was.

She knocked on the door of the Governor’s office. Mr Sikes was already waiting for her, Smart as usual, in his black suit. He fixed her with a look. Rose knew those looks.

“Well Rose,” he said. “I hear you need a lesson in humility.” It was baldly stated and Rose could think of nothing to say. At least nothing that was polite.

“Er…..I…er….don’t think so Sir” she managed.

“Oh I think you do,” he said. “Take down your knickers.”

Rose reluctantly pulled down her knickers, just enough to bare her bottom. He sighed impatiently. “Right down!” She pulled them down a little more.

He pulled her over his knee and she gazed unhappily at the ground, taking in his shiny polished black shoes and black socks. She felt his hand lift her short dress. He pulled her knickers down and off, commenting that they would only get in the way. Then he started to spank her. Gently at first, then harder, his hand splatting down across her bottom and occasionally, her plump white thighs. Rose, remembering that he didn’t like girls to make a fuss, tried her best to stay still and quiet, only the occasional gasp and wince escaping her.

After a while, he let her stand. “Kneel down here. Hand behind your back,” he ordered, whilst he lectured her on the sin of pride. Then he drew her round to the other side. “I want to make your bottom an even shade of red,” he explained. Then the spanking resumed, hot, painful, embarrassing.

Eventually, Mr Sikes let her stand up. Rose went to pull down her dress.

“Leave it!” he commanded sharply. “Hold it up around your waist.”

Rose flushed, aware that everything was on display to his searching gaze. That was the worst thing about the Reformatory. No privacy. Well that, and that once you were there, the staff could so whatever they wanted to you, no matter how sordid.

“Go and stand in the corner, with your nose pressed to the wall, whilst I choose the implements I’m going to beat you with.” he ordered.

Rose waited in the corner, red bottom on display. She could hear him lifting down implements and shifting furniture. Then she was summoned to lie over one of the spanking horses.

First of all, Mr Sikes spanked her more severely, this time with a heavy mahogany hairbrush. He kicked her legs apart and took care to spank her on all her intimately exposed flesh, the inner tops of her thighs, the very curve of her bottom. Rose wriggled and gasped.

Then he lifted his heavy tawse.

“Thirty I think.” He said. “Count them.”

Already Rose felt wet-eyed at the thought of that tawse and Mr Sikes didn’t hold back. He swung it hard against her bare bottom, making her jerk and squeal. Oh God, that really hurt. Just after one stroke! And there were 29 to go!

Mr Sikes impatiently put a hand in the middle of her back to prevent here movement and set to work. He let her count each stroke before he gave her the next, pausing to thrash the tawse down until she had wobbled out her answer. A couple of times, he told her to breathe deeply. But that didn’t prevent poor Rose from gasping and whining and eventually, only the last eight or so, sobbing a few tears into the top of the spanking horse.

Mr Sikes let her stand. Then he ordered her over the other whipping bench, the one that had straps and could hold your legs apart, exposing you to view. She let herself be guided over it, sniffing and felt the leather straps being secured around her ankles and waist. Her bottom was on fire and she knew it would be bright red. She felt his hand fleetingly, oh so fleetingly, trail between her thighs.

“We are still learning humility Rose. So I’m going to strap your inner thighs.” he stated.

Rose pulled at her bonds, but it was no use. Soon, using a wicked little leather strap, he was spanking her inner thighs, not using his hand hard, not needing to as the leather bit and burnt her tender parts. She started to weep quietly again, unable to escape from the bite of the little strap. When Mr Sikes thought she’d had enough, long after Rose thought she had had enough, he drew back.

“12 with the cane to finish.” he said, picking up a thick cane.

The caning hurt, but concentrating on her burning thighs, Rose wasn’t sure she felt every single one until the last three, which were hard and strong. She cried aloud at each, but he didn’t hold back.

Then he stopped.

“That, young lady, will do for now.” he said. Then he went into the governors special box and withdrew a pot of cold cream, and started to massage it into her bottom.

“I hope you’ll continue to stay on the straight and narrow Rose. You don’t want a full sentence in the reformatory again, do you?” he said conversationally.

Rose shook her head.  She really didn’t. She’d have to steer clear of Tessie for a bit. You never knew who might be watching.