6.30pm and time to get ready for bed once more. The door to the dormitory opened and Miss Beeton, the 19-year-old wardress walked in. She was wearing the smart navy blue uniform trouser suit and low heeled shoes worn by all prison staff.
“Good evening girls,” she said.
“Good evening Miss,” the ten women replied.
Miss Beeton walked to the end of the line of pyjama-clad women, strolling in front of them, leather-covered paddle in her right hand. Her head was just about level with their breasts so that she looked up at each flushed face before her. She reached the end of the line turned and looked back ...
“Pyjama bottoms down ...” Ten pairs of pyjama trousers were unbuttoned, pushed down and stepped out of. Each woman folded her pyjamas neatly and placed them on the floor at her feet, once more standing to attention.
“Pyjama tops up,” was Miss Beeton’s next order to her class. The ‘schoolgirls’ stood holding the hems of their pyjama jackets up level with their breasts.
“Legs apart.” The women placed their feet about two feet apart.
“Legs together ....”
“Front of pyjama tops up under the chin for breast inspection - MOVE!!!!” was all Miss Beeton had to say to have twenty breasts displayed. They were big breasts but firm, hardly sagging at all. The women stood obediently, pyjamas under their chins, arms straight down at their sides.
Miss Beeton once more strolled along the line until she came to Jane Thomas. “Put your hands under them and push them right up.”
Jane did so, pushing her breasts as high up as she could. “Now, when I say go, pull your hands away and shout bong as your tits drop down. Go...”
Jane removed her hands, letting her breasts drop, bouncing softly. “Bong,” she said in a low voice.
Spplaattt... Miss Beeton gave her a smack with the paddle across the front of her thighs. “I said shout, stupid. Do it again.”
Red-faced, Jane lifted her breasts and let them drop again, saying “bong” loudly as she did so.
“Louder!”
“Bong!” she shouted as she lifted and dropped them again. She was made to lift and drop her breasts half dozen times, shouting “bong” each time, before being told to stop.
Next it was the turn of Angela Millard-Stokes to hold her breasts up by the nipples. She gasped as Miss Beeton ordered her to pull them first to the left and then to the right, then the left breast to the left, the right breast to the right repeatedly. The young wardress, hands on her hips, smiled up at her victim.
“Up ... down ... left ... right ... left tit to the left ... right tit to the right ...” Miss Beeton was enjoying herself. Angela was near to tears, with both shame and the soreness of her nipples.
After some ten minutes of each woman having to bounce her breasts or pull her nipples, the order came to replace their pyjama tops.
Miss Beeton gave the order for them to turn around ... “And now, would you girls be so kind as to show us your bums,” she said with a mock upper class accent.
Ten bottoms were at once displayed to the teenager, who walked along pinching a cheek here, slapping a cheek there, making comments about whose bottom was fat, whose bottom was firm, whose bottom she would most like to smack!!!
The ten mature women stood in just their pyjama tops, bare bottoms displayed as the young wardress poked and prodded them while making derisive remarks.
“Let’s have your bottoms on display,” the wardress ordered. “That’s good, girls. Now hands under the overhang of each cheek, fingers resting under each buttock.”
Each woman reached round and placed her hands as told, fingers touching the beginning of the swell of each cheek.
“When I say go, you will bounce your cheeks up and down. I want good hard flicks of your fingers and to see those bottoms really bouncing. Is that clear?”
“Yes Miss,” ten cultured voices replied together.
Miss Beeton kept them waiting some thirty seconds... “GO!!!”
The fingers at once flicked up and down... ten large bottoms bounced and danced.
“Come on Thomas, get those cheeks moving, girl,” Miss Beeton said, giving the woman a hard slap on her left buttock. Jane Thomas gasped, her fingers worked harder, her buttocks bounced and quivered.
The wardress made Angela Millard-Stokes bend over and touch her toes for six strokes from her paddle, three stinging strokes across each cheek for not bouncing hard enough. She then made Sarah Dickinson smack her own bottom with the paddle three times on each cheek for the same offence, and ordered her to give herself another six when she deemed they were not hard enough.
She kept the women at it for a full ten minutes. ‘BOUNCE’ both bottom cheeks ... ‘BOUNCE’ the right cheek only ... ‘BOUNCE’ the left cheek only ... ‘BOUNCE’ both cheeks. And so it went on, buttocks wobbling, wrists aching. They dare not stop. To even appear to slow down could, and would, result in the paddle being laid across those very cheeks.
For further amusement, Miss Beeton next made each woman step out in front of the class one at a time and bounce her bottom while singing the old nursery rhyme:
Jelly on the plate
Jelly on the plate
Wibble, wobble
Wibble, wobble
Jelly on the plate.
She continued calling out which cheek she wanted to see bouncing, making threats of punishment for any ‘girl’ not singing loud enough or trying hard enough ...
After five minutes they were told to stop, replace their pyjama trousers and turn to face the door. They were then allowed a short rest ... if standing at attention could be called a rest.
“Running on the spot - begin ...” Miss Beeton suddenly shouted at them. “Come on, get those knees right up. Arms at your sides. Come on, you lazy cows, get those knees up!”
Angela Millard-Stokes gasped, but pushed her knees higher. Breasts and bottoms wobbled, mouths gaped open, but they kept running.
The wardress had them at it until she thought it best to stop, before they became exhausted. “Dickinson, come out here, girl!” she pointed to a spot in front on her with her switch. The tall blond woman came and stood to attention before her.
“I will not have any slackers here, girl. You were told to run. Did you think I wouldn’t notice your legs getting lower and lower?”
“I ... I did ... did my ... b-best ... M-Miss.” Sarah Dickinson panted.
“Then I’m afraid your best is not good enough, girl. Fetch me your gym shoe.” As she spoke she walked to the wall and returned with a chair. She took the shoe from the prisoner, and sat down.
“Get across my knee... legs out straight!” she snapped.
Tears of shame prickled at her eyes.
Spllaaattt ...
The wardress laid the gym shoe across the centre of Sarah Dickinson’s right cheek.
Spllaaattt ...
Next, the left cheek.
Spllaaattt ...
The centre of her bottom. With each slap the big buttocks trembled.
Spllaaattt ...
The right cheek again, then the left, next the centre. Miss Beeton laid on some 24 slaps before she was sure she was getting through to the woman. Sarah gasped and grunted as the last half dozen fell. They stung like hell, but she had had far, far worse. Her biggest hurt was her pride. Whenever this young wardress had them for a class, she was always fearful her pride would stop her obeying them and she knew where that would lead.
“I hope that will encourage you to try harder next time, girl!” Miss Beeton dropped the gym shoe and patted the prisoner’s bottom.
“Ahhh... oohhh... y-yes... M-Miss... aahh... it will... it will M-Miss.”
“I hope so, for your sake, girl... not to mention your fat bum’s.”
Sarah Dickinson bit her lip. Being called a girl by this teenager was like a knife in her. She knew the little bitch was goading her, hoping she would retaliate so she could put her on report. From her upside down position, she felt a hand run over her right bottom cheek. “Sore, is it?” the wardress asked, with a mocking tone in her voice.
“Y-Yes... yes M-Miss... it... it is... M-Miss.”
“Well, if you had been a good little girl, and done as you were told, you wouldn’t now have a sore botty, would you?”
“No... no M-Miss...”
“And that goes for all you pretentious cows,” Miss Beeton said, addressing the nine remaining women. None needed telling. They all knew.
Miss Beeton gave Sarah Dickinson’s bottom a slap. “Up you get then,” said the teenager, and the 28-year-old got awkwardly to her feet with her pyjama bottoms down by her knees. “Pull your pyjamas up, and get back in line.”
“Let’s have those pyjama bottoms down again, girls...”
Once more, pyjama trousers were unbuttoned and pushed down. Only this time they stopped halfway down the thighs.
The wardress returned to the rear of the women. “Arms straight above your heads, legs a metre apart. When I say bend, you will all slowly bend over and grip your ankles.”
“Bend!” The women slowly bent over, displaying all that had once been so private. Now they had to show everything... to whoever wished to see it.
They were made to bend and stretch. Sometimes they bent over for a full minute, others for a second. They were made to stand with arms in the air, until they felt like lead. All the time they were threatened with a spanking if their arms and legs were not kept straight.
“Right, girls... What I would like you all to do, is pull the cheeks of your bottoms apart. Wide apart, so that we can see those arseholes of yours. Would you all be so kind as to do that for me?”
With a groan, the ten bent figures obeyed the shaming order.
“Thomas, I want those cheeks wider than that. Don’t be shy.”
Jane Thomas pulled harder, so much so she felt as if she would tear herself apart.
“That’s better. You see, you can do it,” the wardress scoffed.
She kept them bent over for a full three minutes. They could all see, from between their legs, the wardress sniggering, eyes going from one to the other. She was enjoying every moment as she kept the ten women prisoners bent over, humiliating themselves.
“I’m watching you, Dickinson! Get those legs straight and those cheeks apart, girl, unless you want to go back over my knee, as well as on report,” Miss Beeton called out.
With a groan, Sarah Dickinson straightened her legs and pulled harder on her cheeks.
“Hands back on your toes.” Miss Beeton took a pencil from one of the shelves as she passed.
Slappp!
She smacked Sarah’s right cheek. “Cheeks apart.”
The prisoner at once reached round and pulled her bottom cheeks apart once more.
Miss Beeton slowly pushed the pencil up Sarah Dickinson’s bottom.
Sarah shuddered as she felt it sliding in. The little cow, the bitch! Oh how the rotten little bitch loved to degrade her. I could kill her... I will... I will. But, at heart she knew all she would do was to stay bending, holding her buttocks open, with a pencil protruding from her arsehole.
“You may all stand.” Miss Beeton said. “Pull your pyjamas up, that is apart from Dickinson, who can’t,” she laughed.
“Dickinson, stand out the front, and show your classmates your award for being the best ‘arsehole’ in the class.”
Pencil twitching from side to side, face burning with shame, Sarah walked forward.
“Wiggle your bottom for your school friends ...”
The shamefaced woman swayed her hips, making the pencil swing to and fro
“What is Dickinson, girls?”
“An arsehole, Miss,” came the reply. The felt no pity for Sarah, all knowing it could so easily be one of them standing there. Shamed so by this teenager.
“Back in line, Dickinson. Get that pencil out and your trousers up.”
Red-faced, Sarah Dickinson removed the pencil and joined the others.
Miss Beeton pointed to a spot at the end of the dormitory. “Time for a race. When I say go, you will run to the far end of the room, touch the wall and return here, touch the other wall and run back. And I don’t have to tell you, you keep running until you are told to stop. Got that in your thick heads?”
“Yes Miss...” The ten pyjama clad women stood in line, breasts heaving.
“And to make it more fun,” Miss Beeton announced. “Whoever is last when you’re told to stop will get my switch across her bottom.”
Miss Beeton checked they were in line, raised her arm: “Ready... steady... wait for it... GO!!”
They set off down the hall, none wishing to be last, breasts bouncing as they ran more or less in line. Up and down, up and down they ran. Legs became heavy, breath harder to find. And all the time having to worry about being last.
Catherine Green, being the youngest, was pacing herself best. As they one more turned from the end wall, Miss Beeton, having watched Catherine’s well run race, reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair. Catherine gave a scream, leaned back to ease the pain and crashed down on her bottom, much to the amusement of her tormentor. “Now run, you little cow.” Miss Beeton said, laying her paddle across the woman’s bottom as she set off.
By the time Catherine was on her feet the others were nearing the far end of the hall. She ran flat out, but as she reached half way the others were on their way back. She ran and ran ... and with only a few strides left to overtake Jane she heard Miss Beeton call a halt.
“And now for our prize winner ... you, I think, Green won that. The rest of you get back in line, facing me, and you,” pointing at Catherine, “get your fat arse up here!!”
Biting her lower lip, Catherine came forward and stood waiting.
“Get your pyjama bottoms off, woman. Do you think you’re to have it across them, stupid?” Miss Beeton walloped her paddle across Catherine’s pyjama clad bottom.
“No ... No ... M-Miss ... I ... I’m so-sorry Miss,” Catherine answered, quickly removing her trousers, and placing them folded on the floor.
Miss Beeton roughly twisted the woman round by her arm so that she had her back to the other ‘schoolgirls’. “Hands on your head, and up on your toes,” she snapped.
Catherine at once obeyed. She stood naked from the waist down, awaiting her punishment. Punishment she knew she did not deserve, punishment for being last in a race for this little bitch’s amusement. Punishment because this girl had picked her out from the start to receive it.
“Now, girl, I am going to give you six. If you move your hands from your head, or come off your toes, you will get two extra. Understood?” Miss Beeton tapped the buttocks before her as she spoke.
“Y-yes... Miss...” Catherine felt her buttocks twitch as the paddle tapped.
WHAPPP! The stroke landed dead centre of both cheeks. Catherine rocked forwards, teeth bared as she took in the pain. But she stayed on her toes.
WHAPPP! The next stroke landed a little lower. Catherine gave a gasp.
WHAPPP! This time higher. The woman gritted her teeth.
Miss Beeton laid the next two on in quick succession. Catherine gave a yelp and all but put her heels on the ground. But hung on.
The young wardress kept her victim waiting for the last stroke, tapping first one cheek and then the other. She was having great fun. How many girls, she thought, had the power to spank a once proud woman’s bare bottom because it amused them to do so. A woman so much her senior at that. Oh yes, it was great fun to watch these arrogant cows quivering in dread of her.
Bottom twitching uncontrollably, Catherine summoned up all her willpower not to earn extra strokes, although she knew her tormentor could spank her bottom all day if she felt so inclined.
WHAPPP!
“Aaaaahhhhh... ooohhhh...” Catherine, although expecting it, was not ready for the pain. Miss Beeton had swung the paddle upwards so that it bit deep into the softest part of her bottom, between the cleft. The sudden shock made Catherine come off her toes. She at once returned to stand as ordered but, to no avail.
“You stupid slag... bend right over and touch your toes... I want that skin tight... move, woman!!”
Sobbing, Catherine bent over. Was there no escape from this hell? What had she done to deserve to be treated so? She had never harmed this girl, or the monsters that were now her Mistress. No, she was paying the price for others. Others who had acted as she had in the past. And she knew, as all who were brought to this hell-hole, there was no escape. She had thought of taking her own life. But even that was impossible. There was no opportunity, one was watched at all times, the knives and forks were made of plastic. There was not a piece of string, rope or wire to be seen. Even the bedclothes were made of untearable material. Escape was hopeless. And she had been warned, as they all had, that to attempt either would bring a 24 stroke spanking every morning for a month. No, there was only pain and more pain. There was no escape. One just had to accept it and hope to please these sadistic swines. Wasn’t that the reason she was now bending over awaiting the paddle across her naked bottom from a girl nearly half her age, some twelve inches shorter than her and half her build? She knew she could easily overpower this girl, but in her brain were etched the consequences. Pain... pain and more pain ...
Miss Beeton laid two wristy strokes across Catherine’s taut buttocks.
“Aaaaahhhh... oohhhh... ooohhh...” Although Catherine cried out, she remained bending.
“Up,” said Miss Beeton, lightly tapping Catherine’s bottom with the paddle.
Catherine stood. How she wished she could clasp her hands to her stinging bottom. But even that was forbidden.
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