Crammer Pt 03

Crammer Pt3

She was standing just 5-foot in front of me with an amused expression on her face. My cheeks were aching, because I'd just been obliged to climb a set of stairs with a blazingly hot bottom. I had had to keep my hands held behind my head like a naughty boy, it was humiliating. Furthermore, the action of climbing the stairs with an aching arse on just the power of my lower limbs, stretched the undercurves of my bottom, the skin was already very tight, and I was unsteady on my feet as well. I had tottered along a landing to this large room, evidently arranged as a dormitory and forced to stand exposing my erect cock to her gaze. She was a big woman, like Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca, I hadn't yet had the pleasure of looking at her from the rear, but I imagined she had an ample bottom. She looked to be about 35, and fit, perhaps she was gym teacher. She was the same height as me, but she looked more filled out and definitely more muscular than I was.

"Keep your hands behind your head, boy. I'm Mrs. Harman or ma'am to you, and I'm the housekeeper and assistant to Miss Prymm. You are of course in a dormitory and at the end, behind me you see an archway to the ablutions. It's a wet room fitted with sanitary equipment. We expect cleanliness at all times. Any questions?"

Her little speech was delivered rapidly, actually my grandfather had been a builder out in Japan, I knew what a wet room was, I'd hesitated for a few seconds, and now I thought it would be a good idea to answer her question.

"No ma'am."

"Good, now remove the rest of your clothes and have a good shower. I'll be back in about 15-minutes with your uniform."

"Er yes ma'am," I muttered with hesitation.

"Come along now, Bold. I've haven't got all day. Your clothes will be laundered and stored. You're not shy are you, I've seen everything you've got before, and some bigger boys than you. Chop-chop, or I'll add a dozen with a tawse to your backside."

Motion still hurt whenever I had to move position, undressing wasn't painless, but the smart was easing off. She left the room with my clobber and I entered the ablutions as she had called them. It was spacious and there was two of everything. Toilet pans, shower heads, bidets, sinks, and even two full-length mirrors placed opposite to each other. I could and did inspect my bottom and it was still very red, but the terrific smart of the spanker had abated somewhat. It was beginning to feel pleasantly warm. I stroked my cock, visualizing Betty spanking me over her knee, and got a fantastic spend. Then I finished my shower and dried off before moving to the nearest bed in the dormitory. There were four beds, two each side of the room and appropriate furniture alongside side. A couple of minutes later there was a knock on the door, followed by a swift opening. Mrs. Harman had returned and another female followed her wheeling a clothes rack.

"This is Miss Richards and she deals with laundry and such, Bold. And by the way, when an adult enters a room, you stand up to attention. I'll let you off this time, but remember it is a misdemeanour, punishable by at least a dozen strokes on your bare bottom."

Once more I was obliged to stand fully exposing myself and feeling an imminent onset of an erection. I couldn't control it. The two females had an interesting fascination for me. The older was dressed in her suit, an old-fashioned black blouse and skirt, like Mrs. Danvers. Miss Richards looked like a typical maid, also dressed in a black blouse and skirt and wearing an apron, at about 25 she was only a few years older than me. I was beginning to lose control, having to stand there, and I feared that my erection would develop to alarming proportions.

"I think he likes you, Daisy."

"I think he'd better get dressed, Mrs. Harman.

"I think you're right. Now then, Bold, you'd better pack away your uniforms in your cupboard, leaving one shirt and pair of shorts, socks and plimsols."

It took just a moment to slip my shorts past my erection and I noticed that without the benefit of underpants the seam tended to ride between my cheeks, and my erect cock bulged at the front. It was embarrassing, and I feared that it would take eons for the swelling to ease. I finished dressing and luckily the shirts hem just covered the front of my shorts. Mrs. Harman announced that it was now time to revisit Miss Prymm in her study. The erection had died down slightly, but I could still feel it as a lump pointing towards my left hip, and as I walked, or rather shuffled down the stairs and to the study, the seam of my shorts caressed my arsecrack, and kissed my ringpiece. It was a pleasant feeling and I feared it would provide more stimulus to my unruly cock. This was tempered by what I feared was about to happen. I had been thinking about Mrs. Harman's leniency, she could have thrashed me at least two times and Miss Prymm had promised me a caning. I knew I deserved the caning; I'd been very rough with Mum these past few months. Now I knew Miss Prymm was going to show me that she could cane harder than Dad, she'd already proved her mettle with a mere 18 strokes of a spanking paddle. I was walking in front of them and the hem of my shirt reached down to the middle of my bottom. My mistresses were walking behind and evidently having a look at my undulating cheeks through the shorts, I heard Mrs. Harman remark that the shirt was too long.

I was just about to knock on the study door when a boy approached us, at speed, rom the other end of the passage. We halted and waited for him.

"Mrs. Harman, ma'am," he gasped, "the Headmistress is interviewing two visitors who have only just arrived. Miss Bullivant asks you to attend her."

With that, he scuttled back and we followed him. We turned a corner and approached some rooms. As we got closer, I could hear somebody in pain, and I could just hear the rhythmic slap of what seemed to be a strap against naked flesh. Each slap was accompanied by an 'agh'. We passed a closed doorway and the intensity of the castigation died away. I was thinking that this place was a lot bigger than it seemed from outside, corridors wouldn't be out of place in some sort of institution, or mansion, but not in a house, curious. We entered a kitchen and I was directed to stand still while the ladies were served with tea by a maid. A few minutes later, another young girl hurriedly moved through the kitchen and through another door. As quick as she was, I could see that she'd been crying. Moments later, a well-built woman entered the kitchen and sat down, she was immediately served with tea.

"Hypatia, dear," began Mrs. Harman, "been busy?"

"Just that wretched girl from the reformatory school, she managed to mix up the laundry. Who's that creature?" she nodded towards me.

"Young boy who couldn't keep to his school work, he's due a caning from Miss Prymm."

"Well he won't be on his own, two lads his age have turned up. There with Miss Prymm now. I expect they'll be clutching their bottoms shortly."

"Miss Richards, will you sort out some shirts that fit for this boy."

"Yes ma'am, the shirts must have got mixed up somehow."

Daisy Richards knew how to seize an opportunity to blame the misfitting shirt on the already punished girl, I thought. She disappeared off somewhere and I had to stand and ignore a lot of pointless jawing. Daisy returned after about ten minutes with a shirt that was supposed to fit. The width of the garment was ok, but it was cut so short that it barely reached my waist.

"You've changed the shirts in his cupboard, of course," an answer wasn't required, and Mrs. Harman continued. "The strategy behind the shirt and shorts never fails to impress me, you know Hypatia. Tight shorts would emphasise the shape of the bottom, but the loose fit and arrangement of the seam is devilish. Each buttock is loosely moulded, and with the shirt hanging just at waist height. The penitent is bottom conscious most of the time, especially when nursing a robust spanking."

At that moment, an elderly man entered with a plea.

"Could I have some help with something, Mrs. Harman?"

"Certainly Mr. Mimble." Young Bold is available for an hour."

I wasn't sorry to get out of that atmosphere, even if it meant work. As soon as we were out of the kitchen and in a yard, Mr. Mimble spoke.

"I bet you're glad to be out of there, kid. I could see you through the window and I remembered years ago when I had to stand to and listen to gabling women."

"What am I supposed to do?" I mumbled.

"I was just off to collect some cuttings from some hazel plants, Miss Prymm likes to have some handy. You can lend a hand by carrying a basket and collecting them."

Just then, the same boy who had run away, approached and delivered another message.

"Mrs. Harman says, can you make an extra bunch up, Mr. Mimble, sir?"

"Thank you, Gilbert," replied Mimble, before he could run away again.

"Young Gosling," he explained, "I used to work with his father at Blackfriars School."

We walked from the yard and I gathered a wide basket from an outhouse and we walked about 1/4 mile to some lightly wooded area.

"You're the only bloke I've seen so far," I remarked.

"At the moment that's true," he answered. "The main three women know each other from Cambridge and have MA's in mathematics. Despite their different ages, they have teamed up to run a school for revising Math's pupils. At times there are six boy boarders under strict discipline. You are not alone, this evening there will be three of you, all with sore arses, and I know that you will be joined by another tomorrow. The young girls are all connected with a female reform school nearby. Some of the inmates take the opportunity to get some education or work experience here during the day."

By the time Mr. Mimble had been explaining the arrangements we had arrived at a copse, and he got to work with his secateurs. The basket was evidently designed to hold long items and the closest such items I could think of were cricket bats and pads. It was also ideal for the cuttings of hazel twigs, (Mr. Mimble had told me that we were cutting hazel twigs), as they were about three foot long. I didn't think anything in particular at the time, until we returned to an outhouse in the yard. There were three tall baked clay urns and he poured some rock salt into each one of them. This was followed by water, and then he put all but five of the long twigs into the three urns. It was when he began to tie up a bunch of the five twigs into a bundle that my unease began. I remembered, 'make an extra bunch up', a bunch for my arse perhaps. Carrying the extra bunch, Mr. Mimble led me to the kitchen, and Mrs. Harman led me to the study. She knocked on the door and heard an 'enter.'

Mrs. Harman stepped back, and it was obvious that I was to enter the study first, I engaged the doorknob and was met with two youths in distress. They were furiously rubbing their bottoms, with tears streaming down their faces, and in a rush to leave the room. Miss Prymm was sitting with Mum at a table laden with sandwiches and cake, they were sipping tea.

"A'h, I see that Mr. Mimble was able to provide the necessary. Here comes Miss Richards. Daisy would you go to Miss Bullivant, she will need your help with these two in the dormitory. Be sure to have the correctly fitting uniforms. Has Bold been behaving himself, Mrs. Harman?"

"Just the two minor infractions Miss Prymm, I thought that in the circumstances they could be dealt with later, pending Mr. Mimble's gardening."

"A'h, Yes, that's a nice-looking rod. Well, Bold, I have decided to reduce your caning to six of the best and introduce you to what's generally considered to be the birch. In the 1950's, PC Corlett designed the Manx Pattern Birch, before that, most birch rods tended to be of the splay type and not really severe enough for judicial purposes. Mr. Mimble makes a cut-down version of these birches consisting of five tines of 3/16's thickness, instead of the thicker 1/4inch."

At 3/16's they looked severe enough to me, I shuddered at the thought of those sticks cutting into my bottom. I had the carried the basket for Mr. Mimble and noticed that the twigs were quite heavy and hard, and the buds were untrimmed. I was dreading this punishment. Mrs. Harman pushed two chairs together, back-to-back, and placed an antimacassar on the top. Both of them had lightly upholstered arms and I could see why these were to be used. My fears were confirmed when she rummaged in the sideboard and produced what looked like four dog collars.

"I think you know the drill, Master Bold," announced Miss Prymm.

I didn't have any issues with turgidity, the dread of that so-called lesser birchrod drove any lecherous thoughts from my mind. My backside was still sore from the paddle and as I dwelt on my fate, I felt that at least I had had a warm up, even if it was a very warm glow at the moment. Dutifully, I bent over the summit of the two chair backs, straddling the arms, and then maneuvered my shins to rest upon those arms. With my midriff now fully supported, I stretched my arms along the remaining arms. I found that I could grab hold of the chair legs and rest my shoulders on the front chair arms, I felt very comfortable. As anticipated, Mrs. Harman used the dog collars to secure my limbs, I took the opportunity to bury my teeth in the front of a cushion lying in the seat of the chair. My thoughts at this moment were on what I'd read about birching in magazines like The Pearl and the more modern literature of the same ilk that Chrissy and I used to study. Some wrote that the birch was not as bad a cane, that the first few strokes just stung a little. The reality of my situation at the moment suggested otherwise. Conceding that the tines were thin compared with the thickness and flexibility of the cane was one thing, but there were 5 tines and hence 5 applications of a thinner cane.

Strangely as these thoughts ran through my head, a feeling of inevitability suffused my mind, I found that accepting my fate and not fighting against it, somehow soothing. Now I was at peace, and I remembered reading somewhere about Prana. This was an eastern thing, the idea was that correct breathing with full lungs, helped with a sort of energy to deal with stress. It couldn't hurt, and besides that, how many times had I had a knock, been in pain and took deep breaths to regain some sort of equilibrium. I quickly got into a rhythm, steady breathing, comfortable safe, with a nice warm glow at my rear end. I was concentrating on my newly found well-being, when I heard the swish. Luckily I had full lungs of air and I had time to bite down into the cushion. Something like thousands of fire ants stung my entire bottom and I had a momentary fear that I would never be able receive this punishment and retain some dignity. The sting of just the first stoke was ferocious, I almost panicked, and as it was the blow forced all the breath from me. There was a delay, as Miss Prymm was making sure that I was getting the full benefit of 5 lots of biting stinging. The pain did escalate, and I realised that I had writhed to the stroke, I took the opportunity to regain lungs full of air and regain what composure was possible in these awful circumstances. Once again, I had the warning of the swishing and then the loud splat as another platoon of fire ants had their way with my bottom. Contrary to the wisdom that I'd read, the pain was no worse. The torment was frightful, but I was prepared for it. After I had finished writhing, the third stroke was applied with the same terrible ferocity. The level of pain was easily on a par with a cane, but somehow different, and I was beginning to be inured with the agony. Agony it was, but it was getting no worse, each stroke reignited the flames aft, and strangely, although I felt each following stroke intensely, it didn't seem to matter. I was somewhere else, and this steady whipping in my nates fed an intense fire that was somehow not important. I just felt a joy at being at peace, I didn't care about anything else.

I came to with a start, I had been savouring a contentment, and now I felt a cold wetness that was not quenching my tormented bottom. It was although I had been sitting in a working forge. I had just been birched and it had been horrendous, I should have been in copious tears. Instead, my eyes were tearful, but I had not been crying. The feeling of joy was still within me. I heard voices from afar.

"He's not hurt is he Millie?"

"He's not injured, Florrie. He's still in a lot of pain from the birch, but he's learnt to accept it and entered a sort of what some call sub-space. I've seen it before, he'll come down very soon. As you can see, his bottom is a fiery red and there are tiny spots of blood, but this witch hazel will work wonders."

"You're not going to cane him, are you?"

"He was promised to six of the best, Millie. It'll wait for an hour, but he's still getting the cane. You do agree that still he deserves it, don't you? It'll be with a slender 1/4 incher, it will reinforce the sting that he's felt from the birch, but he'll be able to sit down tomorrow."

"Yes, I suppose so, Millie."