The Prefect Team are instructed to clamp down on bad behaviour. From a new writer to us.

By Jamie Warrington

Sitting on the solitary chair outside the headmistress’s study was always a nervous affair for any pupil, even though it shouldn’t have been for Caroline Hunter. As Head Girl of St Florian’s Boarding School for Girls it was hardly unusual to be called to see Mrs Clearwater, the headmistress, to discuss some aspect or another of school business.

Caroline was tall and slim, approaching six feet. She wore her long blonde hair in a ponytail which fell down the centre of her back and it set off her striking blue eyes perfectly. She used her height to its full effect and was very sure of herself, without being arrogant. She was also very proud of herself, having made it through six years at St Florian’s and being promoted to the heady ranks of Head Girl.

She was popular among pupils and well respected among the staff. This was helped by her academic and general school record, which was flawless. High achieving student. Winner of almost every prize the school had to offer. Chairwomen of several societies and captain of two sports teams. Head Girl was the icing on the cake.

At exactly 11 am, the door creaked open and Caroline sprang to her feet as her headmistress stepped out. Mrs Clearwater was about fifty. She was popular, but not overly familiar with her students. She was also a stickler for appearance and discipline, qualities she impressed upon everyone in the school. She was also a great believer in preparing her girls for the outside world by giving them more responsibility than most schools.

Mrs Clearwater ushered her Head Girl inside and motioned for Caroline to stand in front of her desk. The headmistress stood for a moment looking the girl up and down. She was, as was expected, immaculate. Her black knee-length skirt, white socks and black shoes with a short heel were all perfectly regulation. The navy blue blazer, with three silver bands on the cuffs, sat perfectly over her neatly pressed white blouse and her nicely knotted blue and silver school tie. The silver badge on her lapel marked her out as something special and they glinted in the lighting.

Mrs Clearwater sat down and signalled her head girl to do likewise. Then the headmistress spoke.

“Thank you for coming to see me at such short notice, Caroline. As I am sure you are aware, discipline has been rather poor of late. Ordinarily, I would be encouraging staff to dish out punishment. However, this year, since you and your team are trusted implicitly by the school, it has been decided that a crackdown will commence and that it will be controlled by the prefects.”

Mrs Clearwater paused and stared at Caroline.

“Yes, ma’am.” The Head Girl blurted out, suddenly realising some sort of answer was expected.

“You have your Thursday afternoon Prefects’ Court for routine infringements and your, how shall I put it, your Thursday evening session in the Prefects’ Library where you can deal with anyone needing, shall we say, special attention.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Caroline responded immediately, ahead of her headmistress this time.

“Good! Any questions?”

“Erm, well…”

“Take a little advice from an old’un, Caroline. Crack down on the minor offences and the major ones are unlikely ever to happen.”

“Right. So, you want…”

“I’ll leave it to you then, Caroline.” Mrs Clearwater took a small pile of paperwork and smacked it edge on to her desk to neaten up the edges and, more importantly, to announce the meeting was at an end.

“Fine, ma’am.” Caroline sighed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

During the lunch break, Caroline gathered her team of prefects together.

“Girls, the Headmistress has asked that we, as prefects, conduct a bit of a crackdown on misbehaviour in the school. Mrs Clearwater believes that standards and discipline generally are falling and she is looking to us to reverse the trend.”

“Why us? Why not the teaching staff?” Jenny Cartwright asked, immediately grasping their popularity would sink even further if the prefects started picking people up on every little failing.

Caroline answered her with a glare before continuing.

“We are to use our Thursday afternoon Prefects’ Court to deal with the bulk of offenders. Obviously, all serious matters will continue to be referred to the headmistress as usual although I suspect Mrs Clearwater intends such cases to be kept to a minimum.”

“Any changes to the punishments, Caroline?” Debbie Jones, a pretty dark-haired girl, and a fairly new recruit to the prefects’ ranks, asked above disgruntled murmurings.

“Not really, no. As prefects, you can award a half hour detention, up to one hundred lines or up to four whacks with the slipper. Beyond that, you need to refer miscreants to the Prefects’ Court. I can then administer up to eight strokes with the slipper or four with a cane, depending on the court’s decision.”

“We’re not losing our Thursday evening library sessions, are we?” A solidly built girl with her blond hair tied back in a tight bun asked, looking distinctly worried.

“No, Diana, we’re keeping Thursday evenings in our library free for those we feel need special attention.” Caroline answered with a knowing smile.

“Thank God for that!” Diana Tranter remarked. “I was getting quite worried.”

Caroline’s mind wandered for a second. The “Thursday evening sessions” were the stuff of legend. They had begun (without staff knowledge) back in the mists of time as a way for the prefect’s to enforce the fear of God in any students they didn’t happen to like that week. Eventually, a teacher found out and rather than banning them, the sessions were made official. They were now used by the prefects as an extra way to enforce discipline, by making a very painful example of anyone who was unfortunate enough to earn their displeasure.

 The bell signalling the end of lunch snapped Caroline back to reality.

By the time of the next Prefects’ Court, two pupils had been referred to appear, with a further girl due to appear before one of the special sessions in the library later on in the evening.

At half past five, after a light supper at the top table in the dining room, the prefects gathered in the palatial surroundings of their common room. The meeting was also attended by Miss Owen, one of the history teachers and the Head of Blenheim House, the most senior of the four houses. The others were Assaye, Trafalgar and Inkerman.

Caroline Hunter opened the proceedings and called on Debbie Jones to look outside and see if the two expected offenders had arrived.

One miserable looking sixth former, and a second senior pupil who didn’t really seem to care, were waiting. Debbie gave a quick nod to Caroline.

“Okay, Debbie, bring the first one in. I think we’re all ready, are we?” Caroline looked quickly at each of the court panel, comprising herself as Head Girl, her two deputies and Miss Owen, arrayed behind a long desk which usually sat against the wall. The other prefects sat on the variety of armchairs and sofas arranged behind the “dock”.

No-one offered any objection, so Caroline confirmed her request to Debbie with a firm nod.

As Debbie held the door open, a slim eighteen year old girl with collar length mousey brown hair entered, crossed the floor and stood before the panel.

“Joan Smith, Caroline.” Debbie announced, and stood to one side.

“Thank you, Debbie.” Caroline glanced down at her notes. “Charlotte, you reported Joan to appear before us, I believe?”

“Yes, I did, Caroline.” A tall blonde girl stood up and approached the panel. Everyone listened intently as she told her account of the events.

Sixth former Joan Smith had only ever been before the court once before, when she was caught smoking in the fourth form. She was here now because she had been unfortunate enough to be caught making rude comments about one of the biology teachers. One of the prefects, Charlotte Donaldson, had overheard her in a corner of the yard, and decided that this needed to be nipped in the bud. She handed the girl a note and told her to be at court. As she walked away, she heard Joan make another rude remark, this time directed at her.

This last news was greeted with a combination of laughter and shaking of heads from the gathered body.

Caroline looked up at Joan. “Joan, you’ve heard what Charlotte has told us. Would you like to tell us your version of events?”

Joan, normally a mild-mannered girl, thought about the question and then shrugged. “That’s about how it happened, really.” She nodded slowly as she answered.

“Okay, then I’ll put it to the vote.” Caroline turned towards the twelve prefects on the floor. “Fellow prefects, you’ve heard Charlotte’s account, which has been accepted as accurate by Joan. Please raise your arm if you think Joan should be punished and speak out if you have any preference for that punishment.

Immediately, all the prefects raised their arm and most called out: “The cane, cane her, cane her.” Only a couple of voices opted for the lesser punishment of the slipper.

At this point, Caroline had a quiet and fairly lengthy discussion with the Head of House.

Finally, the Head Girl was able to pronounce sentence. She stared at Joan with her piercing blue eyes.

“Joan, we feel that being disrespectful to a member of staff is a serious matter. However, you are known as a well-behaved girl and have rarely appeared before the court up until now. So, while we might in some instances have referred you to the headmistress for more stern punishment, we have decided to deal with you here.

“For the offence of disrespect to staff, you will receive four strokes of the cane. Now, we also have to deal with the matter of your rude comment about Charlotte. That will earn you an extra two strokes. Okay?”

The sixth former’s face fell at this news, although she can hardly have expected much else.

This was never a situation Joan had ever thought to find herself in. Joan wasn’t particularly tall, nor particularly well shaped, but she wasn’t particularly unattractive. Her features could perhaps be described as sharp, but her most impressive feature was a pair of beautiful hazel eyes. However, she didn’t concern herself with looks. She was very academic, having got one of the highest marks in the school the previous year.  Her previous visit to the court had earned her six strokes of the slipper over her skirt, from a rather weak prefect group. Her mind reeled at the memory of it.

Caroline continued. “Normally, I am only permitted to administer four strokes of the cane, Joan. I’ve checked with Miss Owen, here, and we could get around the problem by giving you four strokes now and two later in the Prefects’ Library this evening.

“Since that seems rather tedious, Miss Owen suggests I ask you whether you’d be willing to take all six now, from me. The alternative is to send you to Mrs Clearwater so that she can cane you. What do you want to do?”

Joan, who was not at all happy and hardly listening to the Head Girl, bit her lip as she mulled over her options.

“If I was to be sent to the headmistress, when would that happen?” Joan asked.

“I would ask one of the prefects to escort you along to her office right now, Joan.” Caroline replied. “If Mrs Clearwater is still here, she’ll be able to cane you straight away. If not, then it will have to be some time tomorrow.”

Joan took only two seconds to think. “Okay, I’ll take the cane now, please.”

“From me? Six strokes?” Caroline raised one eyebrow as though that reinforced the fact that Joan was volunteering.

Joan nodded vigorously. “Yes please, Caroline.” She whispered.

“Very well.” Caroline rose to her feet and picked up the senior cane from the desk before her. “Please remove your blazer and skirt.”

Joan took off her blazer, which Charlotte took from her, and, with surprisingly little fuss, promptly removed her skirt.  After reaching down and picking it up, then folding it roughly, the skirt was also passed to Charlotte.

Caroline pushed the girl forward and told her to lean across and grasp the far side of the desk. The desk itself was the sort that had two pillars at either end for the drawers and a gap in the middle that went all the way through. Joan rested the full length of the desk and gripped the far edge, well worn by hundreds of hands.

The room had, by now, fallen ominously silent as Joan bent over and her regulation brief white knickers stretched taut across her bottom and revealed a small part of her bare backside at the corners. The flesh shone a milky white in the light from the desk lamps around the room. The panel pushed back their chairs and sat back to enjoy the show!

Within moments, the Head Girl brought the cane down squarely across the centre of the girl’s backside. Joan’s hands flew to her burning behind, but were soon replaced at the far side of the desk when Miss Owen advised her that she would take over if she moved her hands again.

The second and third strokes landed across the top half of the behind, with a loud CRACK followed by a whine from the punished girl. The fourth landed on top of the first and ignited the girl’s tears. The final two CRACKed across the lower half, with the final stroke landing across the very top of the girl’s thighs. This led to the eighteen year old letting out one almighty scream, which actually made some of the glasses shake!

When she had stopped screaming, Caroline helped the girl to her feet and told her to put her skirt and blazer back on.

The sixth former was still sniffling when Amy Campbell, younger sister of Caroline’s predecessor and senior Deputy Head Girl, handed her a gold fountain pen and had her sign the punishment register, a thick leather bound volume which detailed the name, form, offence and punishment of the offender, along with the date and her signature, which also acted as an undertaking that she would never again appear before the court.

Debbie followed the sniffling girl to the door, and ushered the second girl inside. Cara Cooper was one of the worst behaved girls in the school. She was tall, dark and a vicious bully, who tormented the younger girls relentlessly. She had been called before the court a record seven times last session, and the book recorded that she had received a total of twenty-eight strokes of the cane. That, along with innumerable visits to Mrs Clearwater, should have been enough for her to mend her ways. They evidently hadn’t worked.

As Cara stood before the panel, her scruffy attitude to life clear for all to see, Caroline rose to her feet, for it was she who had reported her to the court.

Caroline’s report was concise and precise, as was her want. “I observed this girl smoking in a corner of the yard.” The gathered prefects muttered disapproval at this. “When I approached, she made a miserable attempt to hide the fact. When I informed her that it was blindly obvious that she was smoking, she came clean before throwing the butt at me.” Again, mutters of disapproval.

The mutters soon became shouts of anger when Caroline revealed what had occurred next. “When I instructed her to pick up said cigarette butt and handed her the note summoning her to court, she proceeded to spit in my general direction.”

The shouts of “cane her” became so loud, that Caroline had to resume her seat and Miss Owen rose to her feet. “Order, please. Can we show a little decorum?” The noise subsided, and Caroline stood up.

“Cara, you have heard my version of events. Is there anything you wish to add?” The girl just smirked, not even offering an answer when prompted by Miss Owen.

“In that case,” resumed the Head Girl. “Let us take a vote.” To her surprise, not a single hand rose from the body. Caroline looked to her teacher for reassurance, who whispered in her ear.

Regaining her stride immediately, Caroline continued. “Anyone in favour of referring her to tonight’s session?” This time, every hand rose. “Followed by referral to the headmistress tomorrow morning?” Not a single hand was lowered.

“In that case, court is adjourned. Cara Cooper, you will be collected at 8pm tonight. Please make sure you have all tomorrow’s prep work done and you are wearing your pyjamas.” The eighteen year old just smirked as she walked out. 

At 7.45 that evening, Caroline Hunter and her senior prefects were sitting in her study bedroom in the Prefects’ Accommodation at the back of the main school building. This was going to be her first “Thursday evening session”. There would be no teachers and no limit on what they could do. Obviously, they couldn’t do too much damage, or else Matron would be asking awkward questions.

There was a knock on the door and one of the junior prefects, Anna Watson, stuck her head round the door and said: “We’re ready to go when you’re ready.”

Caroline was as ready as she’d ever be, and she nodded to Anna who returned the signal and closed the door behind her. A moment later, the senior team heard the downstairs door close as the four prefects departed to collect the two girls sentenced to appear before them.

Somewhere in the school, two eighteen year olds would soon hear the command they really didn’t want: “Cara Cooper, out.  Jane Sharpe, out.”

Anna Watson and Charlotte Donaldson opened the door to Cara’s dorm room and ordered her out. She was as arrogant as ever.

She grabbed her dressing gown and strutted ahead of the prefects as they escorted her to her fate.

Jane Sharpe was far more submissive and was biting back tears almost as soon as Morag Stuart and Fiona Sharpe knocked at the door.

She too walked ahead of her escort, but she was dragging her feet and more than once, her twin sister had to jab her in the back to keep her moving.

The two groups met up as they crossed the school grounds and advanced towards the prefects’ home.

The two students led the way up the steps and into the main hall.

“Ever been here before?” Jane asked Cara.

“Yes, and I’d rather not talk about it.” Cara replied.

“Quiet you two,” came the response from behind. “Jane, you won’t forget what happens tonight. Believe me.” Her sister’s anger was abundantly clear.

By the time they’d finished, they were standing outside the Prefects’ Library on the first floor. The double oak doors creaked open as the Prefects filed in, slamming the doors behind them. The two soon-to-be punished girls were left all alone in the cold corridor.

“Come on, I can’t take it anymore. What happens now?” Jane was obviously terrified.

Cara was far calmer than her counterpart. “You ever been caned?”

Jane shook her head.

“No, didn’t think so. Right, your sister’s a prefect, but that probably won’t help you. What’s going to happen is, we are going through those doors and we will leave with our backsides in agony. There is no limit to what they can do here.” She was cut off when the doors creaked open again, and Diana Tranter ushered them in.

Caroline was sitting with her back to the fire in a tall armchair, with her deputies either side of her and the other prefects in two lines on either side. In the centre of the gathering was a single hardwood chair. The two girls followed Diana through the glare of the prefects and stopped behind the chair when they were ordered.

They stood there miserably as the Head Girl rose to her feet. “Cara, you know what you have done and have offered nothing in your defence. Therefore, it is the unanimous decision of this body that you receive one stroke from each of us. That is a total of twenty strokes of the cane. Any moving and you will receive extra. From me. Am I clear?” As always, Cara remained unmoved.

“Right.” Caroline had started again, as one might speak of a sentence of death. “Remove your dressing gown, lower your pyjamas and bend over the chair.”

For once, Cara complied. She took her red gown from her shoulders and dumped it on the floor behind her, followed by her pink spotted pyjama bottoms. These fell to reveal a very shapely backside, with the unmistakable marks of a recent slippering very visible. With practised ease, she lowered herself over the back of the chair and gripped the seat, pushing her bottom up and ready for the caning of her life.

Amy Campbell began the ceremony. She stepped forward, collecting the senior cane from above the fire.

She stood to Cara’s left hand side, raised it above her head, like a Tudor executioner raising his axe, and brought it down hard across the girl’s bottom. CRACK. The stroke went off like a gunshot and Cara’s face grimaced, trying to bite back the scream.

Amy held the cane out to the other Deputy Head Girl, Emily Walker, who laid her stroke OVER Amy’s, bringing a screech out of Cara. One by one, the prefects took their turn at caning the helpless girl. Every time, Cara came closer and closer to moving, but experience taught her not to even contemplate it.

Eventually, only Diana Tranter, Senior Prefect of Cara’s Inkerman house and Caroline herself were left to give their strokes. Diana was famous for being a vicious caner and Cara braced herself for an evil strike. But it was a long time coming. Diana walked around her “victim” twice, before returning to admire her swelling behind, wracked with eighteen vicious cane marks. There wasn’t an inch of her perfectly shaped bottom that the cane hadn’t found. So, Diana took careful aim at the very top of the girl’s unpunished thighs.

Stroke number nineteen landed with a punishing CRACK. Cara could take no more and her hands flew to her thighs. Caroline was on her feet and moving towards her before Cara realised what she’d done. The Head Girl grabbed the cane from Diana and lashed it against Cara’s legs, catching the girl’s on the way in.

“You were warned!”

Cara screamed as Caroline delivered her final stroke, landing at an angle across all the others. The screaming continued for at least a minute before it turned to tears and then to sobs. Eventually, the noise subsided and Cara was able to tenderly pull her pyjamas up over her red and very painful backside. And she still had to face the Headmistress in the morning!

Diana opened the door to her and let her shuffle out the room and down the stairs. She stood at the banister and watched as the well punished Cara Cooper walked out of the building and back to bed. She was far from the arrogant creature she had been just hours earlier.

Now, it was Jane Sharpe’s turn. Her big sister, Fiona, was Senior Prefect of Assaye House. Not that that was going to help her! She took Cara’s place behind the hardwood chair. This time, it was her sister that stood up.

“Jane,” she began. “You have disgraced yourself and, most importantly, your house. You were caught in another girl’s room in the early hours of the morning. You know that this is in defiance of school rules.” Jane just stared at the floor.

“I should probably tell you,” Fiona continued. “That I have written home to tell Father about this. Somehow, I don’t think he will be the happiest man in the world.” Jane blushed at this. Her father was a firm believer in the tawse, so the next holidays wouldn’t be nice for her.

“Let’s get on with it then.” Caroline was speaking now. “Ordinarily, this would be a referral to the Headmistress. However, given the high regard in which I hold your sister, I have decided to punish you tonight.” Jane’s face was a mixture of relief and fear. She was already in tears.

“As you have witnessed this evening,” Caroline continued. “We here can award almost any punishment that we deem necessary to correct your behaviour.”

Without another word, Caroline nodded to Fiona Sharpe, who stepped forward and rapidly removed her sister’s dressing gown from her shoulders and tossed it to the floor. In a single movement, she grabbed Jane’s nightdress, pulled it up to her shoulders and pushed her down over the back of the chair, presenting her beautifully round and milky white bottom to the air.

It wouldn’t stay that way for long. Without a word of warning, Fiona slammed her left hand across her sister’s bottom, leaving a pale pink handprint on her right cheek. This brought a howl like a frightened cat from Jane, but her sister showed no remorse and continued in a steady beat on her bottom, turning it to pink and then to a strawberry red.

After a good ten minutes of hand spanking, Fiona let up and looked to Caroline for permission to proceed. A simple nod of the head as all the clearance she required. Fiona walked round the head girl and collected a long thin box from above the fireplace.

Handing the box to Caroline, she popped the top and drew out a long thin cane. It had been a gift from some Indian army officer back in the mists of time.

Fiona held the cane under her sister’s nose. “This, Jane, is normally only used to cane prefects. However, given your disgraceful conduct, I have permission to use it on you. That is why I gave you such a long and through warm up. It hurts like hell. You will receive three strokes and then it will all be over.”

Fiona returned to her position over her twin’s bottom and rubbed a little. Then, with no warning, she brought the cane down onto the very top of Jane’s bottom, producing a piercing scream that could have shattered the windows. Jane remained steadfast, looking Caroline straight in the eyes. Within seconds, a second blow CRACKed across the centre of the backside. Again, the scream resonated around the room. Again, she ignored the pain which shot across her bottom.

The final stroke landed across the very bottom of backside, right where it meets the thighs. The blow landed like a bullet and the whistle it made through the air sounded like a swarm of bees. This time, Jane couldn’t contain herself and her hands flew to rub the top of her legs. Fiona just stepped back and let her sister rub.

Caroline rose to her feet again. “Jane, you have taken your punishment very well. Well done. When you are ready, you may go.” Fiona stroked her sister’s black pony tail as the girl cried. Slowly and tenderly, she stood up, and her nightdress fell back into place. Fiona passed her sister her dressing gown, which she chose to carry rather than risk the weight hurting her tender backside.

Diana Tranter opened the door to Jane as she half walked, half limbed out of the library. Diana, joined by Caroline, watched as she followed in Cara’s footsteps and tenderly made her way down the stairs and out through the heavy oak doors.

The two prefects turned and walked back into the library, closing the door behind them and confident that they had changed two girls for the better.

In the darkened grounds, Jane Sharpe made her way back to her dorm room, silently promising herself that she wouldn’t touch another drop of alcohol.

EVER.

The End

© Jamie Warrington 2013