Prefect ex

When she thought back to it, Rachel was not sure which she had noticed first: the glimmer of light that appeared under the storeroom door, or the creak of the stairs as someone started to walk down towards the basement.

Matt had clutched her to him, their hearts pounding. He turned off the light, then put his index finger to his lips, and quietly whispered: ‘Shshhh,’ as Rachel quickly pulled her blouse back on, hands shaking. To be caught after lights out, out of bounds, with her boyfriend, having been to the pub, having been smoking…. no, it didn’t bear thinking about. And then the footsteps drew nearer: doors further along the corridor were opened and closed… With nowhere to hide in the small, shelf-lined room, Matt wedged his foot against the door, leaning against it.

The footsteps stopped: whoever it was must be right outside the room. Rachel watched as the door handle turned, but Matt’s weight prevented it from opening. And then… the door flew back, pushing Matt out of the way, the light was switched on… and she found herself staring into the eyes of Simon Jones. Simon Jones… Head Prefect of Burlington School.

And more to the point: Simon Jones… her former boyfriend, from whom she had parted so acrimoniously at the end of the previous term. And for whom she still… cared. A great deal. Missed, even, despite all of the arguments and tension that had led them to break up.

Simon looked Rachel up and down, taking in her untucked blouse and flustered appearance. Then he gestured at Matt: ‘Who’s he?’ Hesitantly, stumbling over her words, she replied… ‘A friend… Matt Grove. He lives in the village.’ Oh damn, damn, DAMN: why had he had to find them like this?

‘So what are you doing on Burlington School property, Mr. Grove?’ Mr. Grove! Goodness, Rachel thought – they were only 18. Simon could be pompous at times.

‘I decided to walk Rachel home.’

‘From where?’

‘From the… from the village’. Thank goodness he hadn’t said pub!

‘And?’ Simon looked at them both.

A pause… ‘And?’ Matt replied.

‘And you walked her back to the School front door, but took a wrong turn and happened to end up with her in a storeroom in the basement?’ Simon queried. Rachel had forgotten how sarcastic he could be.

There was silence. They all looked at one another. Then Simon spoke. ‘Well, Mr. Grove, perhaps you had better follow us up the stairs, and I will show you the way out..’ He gestured to Rachel to go ahead, then to Matt, and reached for the light switch, having a last look round the small room. He stopped, and reached over to the shelf: ‘Oh don’t forget your cigarettes, Mr. Grove. I’m sure Miss Fox won’t want them, and it’s a shame to waste them.’

Rachel’s heart pounded as they walked up the stairs, and out onto the ground floor corridor. Simon took the way, and they followed him towards the side door. Simon opened it, and showed Matt out into the cold night, with a final sneering comment at the back of the departing figure ‘Don’t come back, Mr. Grove, there’s a good chap.’

He shut the door, and turned to Rachel. ‘Well, Miss Fox…’

‘Simon, please…’

‘Please what?’

‘Please… I mean… we weren’t doing anything wrong.’ Rachel was shaking now, terrified at the possible consequences of this. After the Headmaster’s warning in assembly the previous morning about the clamp down on disciplinary matters that he was going to personally impose, she knew she could be in real trouble. Goodness, she might even get suspended. Her parents would never forgive her.

‘Not doing anything wrong?’

‘No. Please, Simon. Come on – we’re still friends aren’t we?’

They looked one another in the eyes, Rachel seeking out some sign of warmth, or friendliness. Simon stepped back: ‘Miss Fox, I’m not sure what you class as ‘doing nothing wrong’, but as I read the situation I found you out of bounds, after lights out, with cigarettes, smelling of alcohol,’ (oh God she though he’s noticed), ‘half undressed, with someone who is not a member of the School, who you had brought into the building without permission. That’s quite a bit wrong, as I see it.’

‘Please….’ Rachel could feel herself on the verge of tears. ‘Please… don’t send me to the Headmaster.’

Simon paused.

‘Oh don’t worry. I won’t. I can think of far more effective ways of dealing with this.’

‘Like… like what?’

He hesitated again. He was enjoying this, she could tell. ‘Have you ever been caned, Miss Fox?’

‘WHAT?’

‘I said, have you ever been caned?’

No. No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t be serious. ‘No, Simon, please, don’t be silly.’

‘Miss Fox, I am not being silly. As you well know, the Head Prefect has the authority to use corporal punishment on pupils on occasions where he feels it to be appropriate. And on this occasion, I feel it to be appropriate.’

‘You can’t…. No. I mean, that’s only for the boys – you can’t do that to the sixth-form girls.’

‘Can’t I? I seem to remember noticing that in the school rules. In fact, I remember noticing it quite clearly. ‘Authority to use corporal punishment on pupils’. Nothing about ‘except girls’.’

She studied him carefully, through a mist of tears. ‘But that must have been before they let girls into the school. Look, Simon. I know we split up… but you don’t have to be silly about this.’

‘The fact that we went out with one another has nothing to do with it. I’m merely following the rules. Being kind to you, in fact: if I sent you to the Head you’d get caned and then expelled for this, and you wouldn’t want that two months before A Levels.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’ll see you outside the prefects’ room at 4.30pm tomorrow. Don’t be late. And now it’s time you went to bed.’

Simon turned sharply, and walked away, hoping that Rachel could not see the grin that was crossing his face. He could hardly believe his luck. He was still bitter about the way she had finished with him just before Christmas. After six months as a couple, it surely hadn’t been unreasonable of him to want more than just a few kisses, no matter how passionate they had been. And yet she rebuffed his every advance, steering his straying hands away whenever they ended up in an embrace. And as for sleeping together – well, that had been well and truly off tthe agenda. And then the big argument about it, and Rachel telling him that she’d had enough of him, that he was boring her, that she didn’t like the way he pawed at her all the time. Frigid little cow. And yet there she’d been tonight, as he did his usual patrol of the school buildings before going to bed, hiding away furtively with some local lad and her blouse half-way off. Well, he thought, tomorrow he’d show her who was boss.

As for Rachel, she felt like she was in a daze as she stood and watched Simon stride off. This was just too awful. No, it wasn’t just awful; it just wasn’t acceptable. He couldn’t do this to her.

Could he?

She walked slowly back to the dormitory that she shared with three other girls. And the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that Simon would indeed try to go through with his threats, and the more worried she became…

—

The events of that following afternoon will long be etched in the memory of those who were involved.

4.27pm… Rachel arrives outside the prefects’ room, shaking, scarcely able to believe that this is happening to her. She stands outside the door, nervously, several younger boys looking surprised to see one of the senior girls waiting in line for the prefects.

Five minutes pass, and then the door swings open. Peter Corrigan, one of the other prefects, beckons Rachel inside. She steps inside to see two of the other prefects talking to Simon.

Simon and the three others sit down in their armchairs, telling Rachel to stand in front of them while they agree her punishment. Simon picks up a large leather-bound book, and tells Rachel that, as required under the school rules, he is going to record her beating in the Discipline Log, and that it will be witnessed by the other prefects. She hangs her head in shame, and increasing fear, as he lists out her offences.

‘Firstly, visiting a local pub in term-time without permission. Three strokes. Secondly, bringing an unregistered visitor onto School premises. Two strokes. Thirdly, smoking. Three strokes. Fourthly, being out of bounds, after lights out. Four strokes. And given your state of dischevellement when I walked into the room last night, I am minded to add a fifth punishment for engaging in sexual activity on school premises. But then I know you are not that kind of girl, Rachel, don’t I?’ He laughed. ‘So then. Three – four five – six seven eight – nine ten eeleven twelve. Twelve strokes. Have you anything to say before we start?’ He stood up, and started to remove his gown and jacket.

This was unreal… so awful. ‘Simon, PLEASE. You can’t do this to me.’

‘Well I’m afraid I can, and I will. So let’s get on with it, shall we? I can’t hang around all day. Put your jacket and skirt over the arm of that chair.’

‘What?’

‘I said, put your jacket and skirt over the arm of that chair.’

‘But you can’t……’

‘NOW.’

Still she hesitates.

‘Rachel.’ He sounds threatening. ‘I said now, and I mean now. One second more and I will take you to the Head, and believe you me he’ll give you twice as many strokes and expel you into the bargain. So get on with it.’

She slips out of her jacket, and – terrified now – kicks off her shoes, undoes the button on her skirt, and unzips the side, letting it fall to the floor. She picks the garments up and lays them over the side of the armchair, noting the others watching her every move.

You could cut the tension in the air with a knife.

Simon walks over to the cupboard in the corner of the room. Rachel’s eyes follow him, and watch as he opens it, and pulls out a cane. He turns to face her, holding its curved handle, and she watches aghast as he flexes the rod in his hands.

‘I’d like you to stand over by the fireplace, pull down your knickers, and bend over and touch your toes.’

‘WHAT?’

‘I said, stand by the fireplace, take down your knickers, and touch your toes. Which bit of that couldn’t you follow?’

‘But.. you can’t ask me to undress like this.’

He looks her in the eye. ‘I think you misunderstand. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.’

‘But Simon…’

‘My dear, the Head Prefect always canes on the bare. Now get in position and take them off, before I have to do it for you.’

Rachel walks over towards the old stone fireplace. Carefully, making sure she is facing away from Simon and the other three prefects, she reaches her hands under the elastic, and slides her knickers downwards her knees. Her lips tremble, as she fights back the tears. She bends forward, and reaches her fingertips down towards her toes, legs tight together.

She feels Simon walking up behind her. She feels so alone, so vulnerable. Everything around seems very silent.

Simon looks at her, taking in her partial nudity, remembering how she had always rejected his advances in the past. He would show her. This was going to teach her not to reject him. God, was he going to make this a hard flogging.

He outlines the rules. ‘Miss Fox. I am going to give you twelve strokes of the cane. You are not to cry out, or to flinch, and if you do I will – at my discretion – decide not to count tthe stroke in question. And you should count each stroke aloud after I have delivered it. Do I make myself clear?’

Quietly, feebly: ‘Yes.’

He pauses, flexing the cane in his hands, allowing the sense of dread anticipation to rise. He moves closer now, behind her and to her left, and lifts his right arm high, holding the cane in the air, pausing, and then cracks it down with all his might, tracing an arc with it so as it lands perfectly, straight across the centre of her buttocks, cracking against her pale skin.

He pulls the cane away, hearing Rachel’s sharp intake of breath, and pitiful cry: ‘Owwwwwwww.’ She half sobs, as the unbelievable pain starts to radiate across her buttocks along the line that the rod has marked. She takes a sharp breath in, and remembering just in time, whispers: ‘One.’

Simon pauses, letting the full impact of the stroke take effect, then whips the stick down on her again, just below the previous stroke. Quickly this time, she counts: ‘Two’, uttering the word almost before the pain has hit her, before it has started to burn its way out along its path.

He takes in the two parallel, red lines, watching as they rise up angrily. Again he pauses: ten seconds, fifteen maybe. And delivers the third stroke, low down, right at the bottom of Rachel’s buttocks, almost on her thighs. She howls: ‘AAAAAAA,’ and then he hears her breathing in and out, deeply, trying to find a way to cope with the agony. Almost inaudibly: ‘Three’.

The fourth stroke, landing higher up, has the same effect. CRACK! A little scream. The soft, quiet counting of the stroke. Simon beginning to be impressed with how she is bearing up to the thrashing. Rachel desperately wanting not to give in, not to jump up, not to dissolve uncontrollably into tears: not let him win.

And then the fifth. WHACK. Right on top of the previous stroke, just as the fire from that had reached its peak and begun to level out, re-igniting the pain, the burning. She feels herself instinctively start to straighten up, to reach for her buttocks, but just in time controls herself and leans back down. ‘Five.’

Noting the reaction, Simon lines the rod up carefully. He waits, watching Rachel control herself, steel herself for the next blow. And just as she seems calm, prepared, he brings the cane down again for a third consecutive time on the same line. ‘Noooooooo.’ She starts to sob now, the pain unbelievable, scarcely able to bear it any more. ‘S..s…six.’

Simon notices how her feet have slowly moved apart, as she tries to balance against the blows, all attempts at modesty now forgotten. He looks round, to see the other prefects smiling at him, drinking in the view. He slides the tip of the cane against the inside of her thigh, and moves it slowly upwards to rest between her legs, tapping it gently up and down, pushing it against her. ‘Half way through, Miss Fox, you’re doing well.’ She is sobbing audibly now, the pain and the shame mixing into utter humiliation. She tries to focus her mind: only one minute, just one minute to survive, then it will be over.

The next stroke is hard, fast, low down. Rachel gasps, counts seven, And then the eighth, following quickly, and the ninth, and before she even has time to realise, the cane is thwacking down on her again, even harder, and as she gasps in shock the next stripe is applied. An in utter agony, she shoots to her feet, unable to stand it any more, her hands reaching back to clutch her burning wealed buttocks, as the tears flow down her face.

Simon watches her, a small smile flickering across his face as he notes his small victory, how she had not been able to withstand the punishment. ‘I think you’d better bend down again, Miss Fox. And that last one doesn’t count, so I guess we’re still on nine.’

Carefully, she leans forward, gingerly reaching down towards her toes. She feels his eyes on her, watching, pausing, letting her settle down. Then the next stroke, low down again, agonising. ‘Ten.’

Again a pause. A long one, twenty seconds maybe. She closes her eyes. THWACK! It takes all of her strength, all of her willpower not to stand up. ‘Eleven.’

And she looks back between her legs, and sees him walking back, then turning and lifting the stick high and sauntering forward and AAAAAARGH delivering the final stroke with all his might. She clutches at her ankles, holding herself in position, desperate not to flinch, and cries out ‘TWELVE’. Twelve, finished, all over.

She hears Simon’s voice, distant. ‘You may get dressed.’ And she stretches up, and pulls her knickers up slowly, and then turns towards the chair where her skirt has been lying, and steps back into it, the pain almost unbearable still, and wipes her tears from her eyes, and pulls on her blazer, and all the time Simon and the other three are watching her, lapping up her pain and her misery.

‘You may go.’ And she looks at Simon, and walks towards the door, and he walks over to it with her and reaches for the handle, but just before he does so he puts his hand on her shoulder and softly, gently squeezes it and she hears him tell her kindly, ‘You were so brave.’

And then it’s out into the corridor, past the crowd of kids at the door of the prefects’ room, some of whom have obviously heard what has happened, and ignoring their jeers and pushing through them she sets off through the corridors, then up the stairs back into her room and collapses on the bed, her roommates gathering round her to hug her and comfort her and make her feel loved.

—

She undressed and climbed under the duvet. She must have fallen asleep – a restless sleep, her mind churning overr the afternoon’s events, her backside throbbing. Thinking about Simon, and the beating, and about his hand on her shoulder as she had left. About how much she still liked him, even after what had happened.

And then she woke with a start, as the dorm door opened. And looked up… to see Simon peering round the door, no longer in his prefect’s gown but in jeans and his first-team rugby shirt. She reached out and flicked on her bedside light – 7.15. The others must be at dinner.

He closed the door behind him. She drew the duvet round her, as he walked over and perched himself on the side of her bed. They looked at one another, neither speaking, then both at the same time… ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Are you OK, Rach?’

She felt the tears welling up again. She nodded. ‘I was so stupid.’

Still clutching the duvet, and moving carefully so as not to re-ignite the pain, she shuffled round so her head lay next to his leg. He put a hand down on her face, cool, soft.

She kissed it.

And then pulled back, shocked at what she had done.

‘I still care about you, Rach.’

She looked at him, surprised. ‘And me about you. I’ve missed you.’

He laughed. ‘Although I guess we’ve got a funny way of showing it! How are you feeling?’

‘Sore.’

‘I’m not surprised. I mean, my arm’s sore, so God knows what your backside must be like.’

He leant down and kissed her forehead, and she reached her hands around the back of his head, and pulled his mouth down to her again, kissing him long and passionately.

They pulled apart, and Rachel suddenly had a thought. ‘What if someone comes in?’ Holding the duvet round her, she swung herself out of bed and went over to the door, turning the key in the lock, making a decision for herself as she did so. She turned round, and walked back towards Simon, and as she did so she let the duvet fall towards the floor, exposing herself to his gaze. He stood up, and moved towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her: ‘You’re so beautiful, Rach.’

She reached her hands under his rugby shirt, and lifted it up, over his heads, pressing her bare breasts against him. And then moved her hands down to his jeans, opening the buttons, pulling them downwards, taking his hardening penis in her hands. They kissed again, rubbing their bodies against one another, and then Simon pulled free and moved towards the bed, taking off his jeans as he went. He picked up her pillow and laid it on the middle of the bed, and taking her by the hand pulled her gently towards the bed, and laid her down, her bruised buttocks resting on the soft pillow, as his head dived between her legs. Rachel reached down and held him to her, moaning as the pleasure flowed through her body. She shuddered with pleasure as he moved up and started to rub his cock against her now wet opening, backwards and forwards over her, making her as wet as he could before he leant upwards and pushed himself in. She gasped as he entered, a moment of surprise and then such wonderful new sensations washing over her, and then lay back as he slid himself fully in. She felt his hands slide under her, cradling her buttocks as he rode her, thrusting himself onto her willng body, and then soon – oh so soon – felt him pull back out as he came over her tummy.

And then they started to hear footsteps outside, people obviously starting to emerge from dinner, and so quickly got to their feet and pulled their clothes back on. Rachel threw the duvet over the bed, turning the pillow over and moving it back to its rightful place, and then unlocked the door.

And with a last, lingering kiss, Simon slipped out of the room…