True friendship

Wendy woke with a start, the darkness of the unfamiliar room momentarily confusing her. She sat up in the bed, looking around, noticing the piles of clothes that littered the floor, where they had been discarded to quickly and so passionately the night before. There was a stirring next to her, and she felt an arm reach out around her waist, pulling her back. “Matt, no,” she whispered.

What time was it? She looked round, and her heart leapt as she saw the digital glow of the bedside clock: 7.24am. But she’d meant to leave by 6 – to get back to her room before anyone at the College was around. She leant down and kissed her boyfriend on the forehead. He looked up at her and murmured sleepily, sexily: “Come here…”:

She pulled away: “No, Matt, I can’t. I’ve got to go: it’s late.” Climbing out of bed, she hurriedly started to reach for her clothes, dressing quickly. She noticed her hands shaking slightly: she hadn’t meant to stay this late, and the consequences of being caught off-campus scarcely bore thinking about. As she pulled on her coat, her boyfriend jumped up, and moved between her and the door. “Twenty seconds won’t make any difference,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his still-naked body.

She looked up at him, and then closed her eyes as he bent his head down to kiss her, long and hard, as he had done for so much of the night.

She pulled away: “I must go. But.. it’s been wonderful. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Thanks. It’s been great. I’ll see you in six weeks’ time, yeah?”

Six weeks. The Christmas holidays. “Yeah,” she smiled. “Can’t wait.”

She opened the door, and turned down the corridor. It wasn’t exactly the most luxurious of places she’d ever stayed, but the room above the pub had served just fine for the purposes. Cheap, clean – and no-one to pry to closely into he affairs of two teenagers very much in love.

She opened the side door of the pub, and stepped outside into the cold, clear morning air. “Morning, darling,” came a loud voice: the wife of the pub landlord was up and about. “You off home, then. Back to the College, isn’t it?”

“Erm… yes, yes, I am. It is.”

“Boyfriend still in bed, is he?”

“Yes.” Why had she had to bump into this woman?

“Typical. I can never get my hubbie up on a Sunday morning either. ‘Specially after a good night the night before”. And she winked.

Wendy blushed deeply. She hesitated, not sure how to reply. “Well, erm, yes, I mean, anyway, I must be going. Bye.”

“Sure, dearie. See you soon.”

She opened the gate that led from the side of the pub car park, and set off along the footpath along the edge of the woods. It was a ten-minute walk back, and her heart pounded as she went. She thought back to the night with Matt: the first time she’d seen him since he went to University. She’d been so worried that he would have found someone else: although they’d been together for almost a year now, so many relationships never survived the first few weeks of Freshers’ parties.

But last night had been better than ever: Matt had driven the 100 miles in his clapped out old car, she’d met him at the pub for dinner, cuddled and talked in the corner and then gone upstairs and….. and what? She couldn’t really say “made love”: that would imply that they’d had sex, which they hadn’t: Matt knew and respected her feelings on that. But short of actually letting him deflower her, there couldn’t have been much that they didn’t do. He was so strong, so sensuous: knew exactly how and where to touch her, to stroke her, to kiss her.

Suddenly, she found herself at the high hedge that marked the boundary of Cranleigh College. How she had begun to hate this place, with its petty rules and old-fashioned outlook. This was the 21st century, after all. And yet the staff at the school seemed to treat all of the students as if they were young girls stuck in the 1950s. OK, with 400 young women between 13 and 18 to educate, there needed to be some rules – but this place was stifling.

She looked at her watch: 7.52: if she went through the back door, she’d be OK – no-one would see her. She turned to her right, and skirted along the hedge, reaching the gap that led into the College grounds. She fumbled in her pockets for her key, and walked up to the door.

“Morning, Miss Harris.”

She jumped, and turned round. Oh hell: her Housemaster, out walking his dogs. Of all the people she hadn’t wanted to see. “Morning, Dr. Jenkins.”

“Up bright and early?”

“Erm.. yes. I, er, couldn’t sleep, so went for a walk.”

“Good idea. Nice morning for it.”

“Yes. Very.”

“Well, I must be getting on. Dogs to walk before Mass.”

“Yes, right. I’ll see you there.”

“Good. Bye.” He clapped his hands at his dogs. “Come on!”

Wendy turned back to the door. That had been close. He’d seemed to believe her, though. Hands trembling, she turned the key and went inside. She climbed the back stairs, up three flights, went through the small common room area (which was empty, thank goodness!) and reached her room. She reached for her other key, unlocked the door, and slid quietly in.

“I’d wondered where you’d got to.” Jenny, her roommate, sat up in her bid, smiling. “So tell all! How was your night of passion?”

Wendy picked up a cushion from the chair next to the door, and threw it at her friend. “Nosey!”

“I didn’t think you were going to stay the night.”

“I wasn’t. But… well, it was so good to see Matt, and he had the room booked, so…” Wendy and Jenny had been best friends since they started at the school four years before, and there was little that they didn’t share with one another.

“So did you… you know… do it?”

“You know I wouldn’t. Well, not “it”, anyway. Most other things, though.” She laughed.

“Naughty girl! Anyway, you’d better make that bed of yours look slept in.”

“Yeah. Oh, by the way, I bumped into Jenkins as I can back in. Said I couldn’t sleep and had been out for a walk. He seemed to believe me, but if he asks, can you back me up?”

“Sure, buddy. I don’t know, the things I have to do to cover up for you!” She giggled. “I’ll just have to get you to return the favour for me sometime!”

—

TWO HOURS LATER….

The Sunday morning school Mass seemed to drag on for ever, Father James’ sermon seeming even longer and more boring than usual. As they emerged at the end of the service, Wendy and Jenny saw Dr. Jenkins coming towards them.

“Jenny, could I have a word?”

“Yes, Sir.” She shot a glance at Wendy, then followed the Housemaster.

Jenkins led Jenny away from the crowd, then asked her quietly: “If I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, sir.”

“OK. Thank you. Now, what I need to know is whether Wendy Harris spend last night in her own bed in College or not.”

Jenny gulped. “Yes, sir. Yes. She did.” She tried to sound innocent. “Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to check. I saw her coming into College quite early, and I wondered.”

“That would have been at about 8 o’clock, right? She did get up quite early and go for a walk, so that must have been it. I’d guess she was out about half-an-hour”

“It must have been. And you’re sure – that she was in her own bed all night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, thank you. That’s reassuring. Anyway, I must let you get on – I guess you’ve got work to do!”

“Yes, sir – and a hockey match this afternoon.”

“Good. Who are you playing?”

“St. Theresa’s. Away from home. Should win, I hope.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Jenny set off quickly, trying to catch the other girls off. Wendy tailed off from the main group: “What did he ask?”

“He wanted to know if you’d been in your own bed last night.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him that you hadn’t – that you’d been for a night of wild passion in the Crown Arms pub.”

Wendy went pale. Jenny laughed: “Only joking. I said that you had been, and that you’d gone for a walk at about 7.30.”

“Phew. Thanks, Jenny. Anyway, come on – let’s catch the other girls up: we’re thinking of having a quick practice session now so we’re really ready to win this game this afternoon.”

—

8 O’CLOCK THAT EVENING

Wendy and Jenny threw their bags and hockey sticks on the floor, and collapsed on their beds, still in their tracksuits.

“What a game!” Wendy exclaimed.

“I know. Six-nil. Great win. We played SO well. You’ve had a pretty good day all round, haven’t you?”

She laughed. “Pretty good. I would say the hockey was the best bit, but…!”

“OK, make me feel envious.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

There was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” said Jenny, jumping to her feet. She opened the door, to see one of the younger girls standing there with an envelope. “I was asked to make sure you got this as soon as you got back from St Theresa’s.”

Jenny took the envelope. “Thanks.”

“OK, bye.” And the younger girl turned and ran off.

Jenny closed the door. “Who was that?” Wendy asked.

“Linda Howells.”

“What did she want?”

Jenny sat down, and started opening the envelope. “She had a letter. Addressed to both of us.”

Wendy came over and sat next to her friend, curious. Jenny read it: “Dear Miss Harris and Miss Foster, I would be grateful if you could both report to my office as soon as you return from your first team hockey match at St Theresa’s. Thank you. Yours, Hamilton Jones, Headmaster.”

Her hands were trembling as she finished the note. She looked at Wendy. “What do you think?”

“We’d better go and see him. I mean, it could be about the hockey or something. But I don’t altogether like the sound of it – it could be Jenkins causing trouble about me being out last night, still. I hope not, though.”

“But as long as we stick to our story?”

“I know. We’re fine. Might not be about that anyway. But you will still say I was here, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course.” Jenny put her arm round her friend, and gave her a hug. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

—

TEN MINUTES LATER

The two girls knocked hesitantly on the Headmaster’s door. They heard footsteps, and then the door opened to reveal the intimidating figure of Hamilton Jones, headmaster of Cranleigh College, and much feared by all its students.

“You’re here at last. Good. Miss Harris, you wait outside. Miss Foster, come into my study.”

The girls glanced at one another, concerned looks on their faces, and Jenny walked into Jones’ room. He shut the door behind her. She looked around: it was an elegant room, dominated by the Head’s large desk in front of the window ahead of her; two comfortable sofas, and bookcase-lined walls.

“Take a seat.” Jones gestured her to one of the sofas, and sat down opposite her. “I’d like you to tell me, honestly, what Wendy Harris got up to last night.”

Jenny felt the colour drain from her face. “How do you mean, sir?”

“You understand me.”

“I… I mean, she went to bed about 11.30pm, just after I did, and I know she had a bit of a restless night ‘cos she got up quite early and went for a walk.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nothing else?”

“No, sir.”

“OK, then. Stand up.”

Jenny rose to her feet.

“Turn round.” He barked his order at her, and she turned away from him, now facing the sofa.

“Take down your tracksuit bottoms, and bend over.”

“What?” Jenny spun round in shock, scarcely able to believe her ears. This wasn’t happening to her. Jenkins was now on the other side of the room.

“You heard. I wasn’t asking you, I was telling you. Do it.”

She turned round, in a daze, and – hands shaking – slowly slid her tracksuit downwards and leant forwards, her scanty knickers offering little protection to her modesty.

“Take your tracksuit down to your ankles, bend right forwards and put your palms on the seat of the sofa.”

This wasn’t happening to her. “But sir…”

“Now!”

As she bent forwards, she felt Jones move close behind her. “You, Miss Foster, are a liar. You lied this morning to Dr. Jenkins, and again this evening to me. I take a very dim view of lying, Miss Foster, and as a result I am going to discipline you very severely. Do you understand?”

“But Sir, I’m not lying.”

“Don’t make it worse. You are about to receive a very sound caning, Miss Foster. Now, I’m going to give you one last chance to tell the truth, before I start your punishment.”

“Please, Sir.” Jenny was torn, dreading what was about to happen to her but remembering her promise to her friend. But Jones… the cane… this didn’t happen to girls like her.

“OK, then, if you’re not going to be honest, I’ll get on with the thrashing. I’m going to give you three strokes of the cane for lying to Dr. Jenkins earlier, and another three for lying to me. You will not flinch, cry out or touch your backside at any point, and you will count the strokes out loud and thank me for each one. Do you understand?”

“Y…y…yes, sir.”

She braced herself. She knew the cane was used about ten times a year at the school, but had never in her wildest fears imagined herself being on the receiving end of it. But now….

CRACK! She rocked forward, her hands pressing hard into the soft fabric of the sofa, as the first stroke landed. The force of the blow amazed her – and then the pain, running across her butttocks, welling up, like nothing she’d ever felt before.

“Count the strokes, girl.”

“Y..y..yes, sir, sorry. One, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes, sir, one sir, thank you.”

“Good.” She felt Jones pause, and step back.

CRACK! Just as the pain of the first stroke had reached its climax, the second followed, just as hard, the accumulating pain from the two blows now searing her behind.

CRACK! “Ow”… she cried out loudly, tears beginning to fall, unable to contain herself as the third stripe fell between the first two.

“Stand up, girl”. She lifted herself up. “Turn around.”

She turned to face him, her hands straying to her burning behind.

“You have now had three strokes for lying to Dr. Jenkins. I know that you lied, because I had lunch today in the Crown Arms. I talked to the landlord. And his wife, who was most surprised that one of my students had booked a room there with her boyfriend. So I know exactly where Miss Harris spent the night. Now I’m going to be kind to you: I’m going to give you the opportunity to be honest, and then I’m going to let you go.”

“But, Sir….”

“I admire your loyalty to your friend,. my dear, but there’s no point in keeping up the facade when I already know the truth.”

“No, Sir.” Tearfully, she went on. “I mean – Wendy was out last night. But I didn’t want to land her in any trouble.”

“And you haven’t. Now, I’m going to let you off the other three strokes for your honesty. I want you to pull up your tracksuit, and go straight back to your room.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jenny pulled up her tracksuit, and wiped away the tears from her face. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Yes. I don’t want to ever see you in here again. Now go, and send Miss Harris in.”

Jenny turned to the door, her nightmare over – thak goodness he had stopped at three strokes. But then she suddenly thought of Wendy. If Jones had threatened her with six strokes, what would Wendy get? My goodness….

She went out of the door, and saw her friend standing against the wall, pale. “My goodness, Jenny…. I heard…. through the door… he gave you the cane?”

Jenny nodded, bursting into tears. “He wants you to go in. He knows everything. The pub people told him. Be brave, Wendy.” And she give her trembling friend a huge hug.

A voice boomed from inside: “Get in here at once, Miss Harris.” Jenny let go of her friend, and watched as Wendy walked through the door and shut it behind her.

—

Jones had sat down behind his desk.

“Stand in front of the desk. You have some explaining to do, Miss Harris.”

“Sir?” What was she to do? Pretend that nothing had gone on the night before: try and bluff her way out of it? But he knew already… and as she looked at him, she noticed to her shock the feared cane, lying across the desk.

“You know what I’m talking about. Now would you like to make this easy for both of us and tell me exactly what happened last night?”

She remained silent, not sure what to say. “I only popped out for a couple of hours. I wanted to see a friend. I was lonely.”

“You wanted to SEE a friend? From what I’ve heard you did rather more than just see him.”

“Sir?”

“Now you listen to me, young girl. First, you leave school premises without permission. Second, you go to a public house, in direct contravention of school rules. Third, you spend the evening drinking alcohol in the pub… remind me: how old are you?”

“Seventeen, sir.”

“As I thought. So you spend the night breaking the law by drinking in a pub. Fourth, you then go to bed with a man and spend the night doing things for which I only hope your prayers for forgiveness will be answered the next time you go to confession.”

“But, sir, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Miss Harris, I spoke to the landlady of the pub myself this lunchtime, and believe you me she heard enough from your room last night to convince me that you were doing things that no well-brought up and religious girl should do, may you be forgiven. And fifth you lie to your Housemaster when he asks you where you’ve been, and sixth you get your best friend to lie for you as well.”

Wendy hung her head in shame, wiping away the tears that were beginning to fall.

The Headmaster continued. “In five years as Headmaster of this school, I’ve had to discipline many girls, but never… NEVER… have I been faced with such a litany of deceit and dishonourable behaviour. Tell me, Miss Harris, have you ever received corporal punishment before?”

“No, Sir.”

“Well I can assure you that after I’ve finished with you in the next few minutes, you’ll never want to experience it again. Now I usually work on the formula of three strokes of the cane per offence, with six for particularly serious offences, of which sleeping with your boyfriend is clearly one. So that makes five times three, plus six, that’s twenty-one strokes.”

Wendy’s knees almost buckled – she could hardly believe this. Twenty-one? She’d seen Jenny’s face after three, and that was bad enough.

“Now, Miss Harris, I am a kind man. I know that you have a reputation for being a good student, and that you haven’t been in trouble before. So I’m going to be generous, and restrict your flogging to twelve strokes, but they are going to be administered on the bare.”

“Sir?”

“I’d like you to take off your clothes, and then bend over and touch your toes in front of my desk.”

“Sir?”

“Get on with it. And I can’t believe that nudity is an issue for you after what I’ve heard about last night.”

Sobbing openly now, Wendy pulled off her tracksuit top and T-shirt, and then lent down to undo her trainers. She took these off, her bare feet feeling to cold wooden floor of the study, and then reluctantly slipped out of her tracksuit bottoms. She stood in front of him, clad only in her black bra and knickers. Was this really happening to her, she kept asking herself?

“Underwear off. Now.”

She unhooked her bra, pulling it free of her small, pert breasts, and dropped it on the floor with her other clothes, and then slid down her knickers. Stepping out of them, she bent straight forwards, touching her toes as he’d requested, making sure she didn’t have to stand in front of him in the nude.

Jones picked up the cane, and walked round to her side of the desk. He tapped at the inside of her ankles with the cane: “Further apart. Thank you.”

He looked at the naked girl, bent before him, and knew then that this was going to be a caning the likes of which he had never administered. He’d teach the young woman a lesson she wouldn’t quickly forget for her immoral behaviour. He repeated the mantra he’d recited earlier to Jenny: “You will not flinch, cry out or touch your backside at any point, and you will count the strokes out loud and thank me for each one. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He stepped back, measuring the cane across her buttocks, and then whipped it down across its target. He heard her audible sigh as the stick made its mark and started to take its effect on her: it was always interesting to watch the reaction to the first stroke of a girl who’d never been caned. In a weak voice, she murmured: “One, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

He paused. He had no intention of rushing this. Twenty seconds between strokes would do fine. He waited, watching her discomfort, then lashed the cane down for its second stroke, another good one. “Two, Sir, thank you, sir,” she said almost immediately.

The third was a beauty: low down, hard, the angry red weal rearing up almost as soon as the cane moved away from her skin. She paused this time before counting the stroke, this one clearly having had its effect. “Three, sir, thank you sir.”

The next three were carefully measured, landing fractionally one below the other, the last of them coinciding neatly with the very first stroke. The girl counted four and five as usual, but on the sixth leapt to her feet, clutching her buttocks. “Please, sir, no more.”

He was having no sympathy. “That one doesn’t count. You’re still on five, with seven to go. Please re-assume your position, Miss Harris, for the remainder of your punishment.”

Slowly, she bent forward, and he measured the cane out directly on top of the stripe formed by the previous and first strokes, cracking it down on the same target once more. Again, she leapt to her feet, howling in pain.

“We’re going to be here all night at this rate, young lady, so if it’s an easier you can bend over my desk.”

“T..t..thank you, sir.” She stood up and stepped forward, leaning forward over the edge of the desk. “Bend right forward, and hold on to the far side of the desk, please.” Wendy stretched painfully into position, and Jones walked back, lifting the stick high and running forward, landing a perfect blow.

He watched as Wendy’s fingers tightened, her knuckles white as she fought not to stand up. “Eight, sir, thank you sir.”

“No, Miss Harris, it’s six: the last two didn’t count, as I explained.”

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir, six sir, thank you sir.”

She was sobbing loudly as he delivered the next four strokes, each adding a further parallel line to the stripes that marked her. Seven… eight… nine.. ten: each she counted, her voice quavering.

“I’d like you back touching your toes for the final two, Miss Harris.” She stepped back, and leant gingerly forward, this time clutching her ankles for support, her reddened arse lifting into position before he applied the next blow, the harshest yet, across the only area of white skin left unmarked between the other blows. She cried out, but bravely held her position: “Eleven, sir, thank you, sir.”

“One more. Unless you flinch, of course.” He stepped back, and with all of the power of his not inconsiderable six-foot frame cracked the cane down across her for the final time, the stick cutting the air as it descended perfectly across its targets. He watched as she held on, desperate despite the pain not to stand up, not to incur any further blows. She tried to compose herself, taking deep breaths before concluding: “Twelve, sir, thank you, sir.”

“Good girl. You took that very bravely. And I do hope it will have taught you a sound moral lesson. Now stand up, get dressed and go back to your room.”

Slowly, Wendy stood up, looking down through her tears at the floor and picking out her clothes. She pulled on her tracksuit bottoms first, lifting them carefully over her throbbing backside, and then quickly threw on her T-shirt and top, and stuffed her knickers and bra into her pockets. She bent forward – oh so painfully – to put her trainers back on, and then stood up, and looked at the Headmaster, who had put the cane away and was now seated behind his desk. “Sorry, sir, for all the trouble that I’ve caused.”

And then she turned, opened the study door, and walked out into the corridor.

—

Wendy opened the bedroom door, and went inside, to see Jenny stretched out on her bed, her trousers down and her hands covering her backside. Immediately, though, Jenny stood up and went over to her friend, who burst into sobs again as Jenny took her in her arms.

“Was it awful?”

“Yes.”

“How many did he give you?”

“Twelve. Well, fourteen: two didn’t count.”

“Nooo. I only got three, and that was terrible. You must be so sore.”

Wendy nodded. She hugged Jenny: “I’m so sorry – for getting you into trouble. I mean – you got caned because of me. I don’t know how I can forgive myself.”

Jenny held her tight, dissolving into tears herself: “Don’t. Don’t feel bad. You’re such a good friend, Wendy, that nothing could make me angry with you. So don’t feel guilty. Anyway, I got off lightly compared to you – come and lie down.”

Jenny led Wendy over to her bed, and let her lie down. Slowly, Wendy slid down her tracksuit trousers, and Jenny gasped at her swollen and striped buttocks. “You poor girl.”

Wendy buried her head in the pillow, and sobbed loudly, her hands reaching down to cover her backside, feeling for the first time the weals that marked her. And looking up at Jenny, she knew then that whatever happened with her boyfriend – whether she and Matt stayed together for life, or split up at Christmas – the sacrifice that Jenny had made to try to protect her was what real friendship was about.