A third time Miss Bulstrode raises the crop. A third time it whistles through the air and makes stinging contact with Karen's bare bottom.
This is too much for Karen: she howls like a chained dog, and slumps forward over the back of the chair. The girls watch, hardly daring to draw breath, as a trickle of urine spurts from between Karen's thighs and arcs down onto the classroom floor. The trickle wavers, and bifurcates, flowing down Karen's thighs: then it picks up momentum, becomes a torrent, as Karen loses control altogether and empties herself copiously, creating an ever widening puddle on the classroom floor.
Miss Bulstrode places the riding crop on her desk. Karen seems dazed: her breathing is rapid, her body is making awkward movements, bending and straightening, flexing this way and that way, her hands clutching at, then springing away from, the source of her pain. She seems unaware of the pool of urine on the floor.
"Pull yourself together," orders Miss Bulstrode. "And get that mess cleaned up. There's a sponge and a bucket in the cupboard under the taps."
Even through her agony Karen is able to obey, though she goes to the cupboard like a somnambulist and looks at the sponge and bucket as though she has never seen such items before. The insides of her thighs glisten as she walks gingerly back to the chair. She gasps anew as she tries to bend down, gets onto her knees and starts to dab at her piss. The three red stripes blaze out of her buttocks like the brand on the rump of a steer. The girls can almost see them pulsing out exclamation marks as in a cartoon depiction of pain. Slowly, clumsily, Karen dabs at the mess; until Miss Bulstrode becomes impatient, tells her that will do, and to wash out the sponge at the sink and dry her hands.
"Now replace my chair. Put you own skirt and knickers in your desk: you can stand as you are for the rest of the lesson."
So Karen goes dismally back to her desk, her buttocks screaming, humiliation twisting her every nerve, and must now stand, half-dressed as she is, for every eye to look at her until afternoon classes are ended. She feels savage; she feels sick. She feels vengeful; she feels defeated and sorry for herself. But one thing is certain: she will never again accuse Miss Bulstrode of making a mistake.
It takes Karen a long time to recover from her caning. For several nights she cannot sleep properly due to the pain in her bottom. And after such humiliation how can she carry herself so proudly again? She cannot: she walks around with her head low and her shoulders slumped; she ceases to talk about her father, or name-drop celebrities; if she were a dog her tail would be firmly between her legs.
But Time heals most things: and one feature of Hazely is that nobody has time to brood. The daily work, the daily lessons, and the daily discipline must go on. Gradually Karen starts to recover: and whilst she is very wary of Miss Bulstrode there are no further punishments, and something of her old confidence starts to return. She starts – whilst not flouting herself – to carry her head a little higher again. And at night she starts to console herself with stories of vengeance. Miss Bulstrode may have reduced her to a quivering wreck in the classroom – but one day she, Karen, will have her revenge. She does not know how: sometimes she thinks in practical terms: she will tell her father, he will pull strings and have Bulstrode thrown out on her ear. Other times she allows herself to fantasize: she will employ people who will find Bulstrode and bring her to Karen for punishment. Karen will have her stripped, ignore all her pleas for clemency, and use her own riding crop on her. In her mind's eye she sees Miss Bulstrode struggling, as she brings down the crop again and again on her fat bare arse. The more Bulstrode screams the more Karen lashes: not content to flay her arse she starts on her legs, thrashing her front and back, having her legs held open so that she can thrash the tender areas inside. Now it is Bulstrode's turn to wet herself. Karen takes her by the hair and wipes her evil face in her piss: then she lays on the crop once more, thrashing her back and her arms, leaving red lines of pain on her bulging tits, having her legs held open whilst she thrashes her cunt.. When Miss Bulstrode is flayed all over, and lies there screaming and whimpering and begging for mercy, Karen has her mouth held open, stands over her in triumph, and pisses into her face.
These fantasies consume Karen: an hour can pass: she loses all track of time. They bring her great comfort and solace. They also make her randy and her hand strays down between her legs: only to come up short against the barrier of steel. This brings her back to reality again and she curses savagely at her predicament, at the inhumanity of it all.
But she is an intelligent girl, a resourceful girl. Surely something can be done, some arrangement be made?
The weeks pass. Karen has learned a lesson, though it is not exactly the lesson Miss Bulstrode intended. Karen has learned to conduct herself with apparent humility; but she has not learned to be humble. The sense of superiority and entitlement she has grown up with are too deeply ingrained in her.
But she holds her tongue, and learns to ignore the fact that the lessons she is forced to attend are mostly those she had mastered in Primary School. These things do not trouble her unduly. But there is a far more pressing problem to solve: that of sex.
For Karen is used to regular sex. Ever since she can remember she has had admirers, boys and men – and sometimes women – flocking around her like bees round a pot of honey. She has been able to pick and choose her lovers. Sometimes she has even worked as an escort – nothing seedy, but when her father has had an important businessman visit from overseas she has been detailed to visit him in his hotel room and ensure he has a good time. She remembers one such visitor, a Japanese businessman, aged about fifty, with the smallest dick she has ever seen. The man barely speaks any English, the only word he seems to understand is 'fuck'. He is a head shorter than Karen, and literally drools as she takes off her clothes and displays her long elegant legs. She expects it to be over quickly, but in fact he fucks like a little rabbit, keeping her at it for hours. She thinks of him as the 'Duracell Bunny', and makes the moans of pleasure which massage his ego, even though the friction of his little cock mostly irritates her.
And it seems to work, as he signs the contract with her father and a week later she becomes the proud owner of the ill-fated Porsche.
Sex and more sex. So much sex it was practically coming out of her ears. So many men hungry for her she came more and more to enjoy time alone. Then she would wake up in her spacious bedroom, with the rising sun streaming through the curtains, throw off her bedclothes and lie naked exposing herself to the sun. She loved the sun. She loved hot Mediterranean beaches, especially those where she could take off all her clothes. Sometimes the sun seemed like a lover, so sensual she could almost climax just from feeling its rays.
That was how she felt on such mornings. She would spread her legs, touch her body all over, but pay especial attention to the rays of the sun warming between her legs. She mostly kept herself shaved or at least partly shaved (she had experimented with Brazilians and Landing Strips and vajazzles, though always stopped short at tattoos.) When the sun had roused her to a pitch she would start to play with herself, slowly, never in a hurry, luxuriating in sensations, not being hurried towards a climax by some impatient man. Sometimes two or three hours would pass, whilst she lay there, massaging her labia, stroking her clitoris, sliding her fingers in and out of her cunt. After such a build-up her orgasms were explosive, far better than any she achieved with a man.
And if there was no sun she would use a hair-dryer, directing the hot air between her legs, over her fanny and her arsehole, stimulating herself until she was ready to come.
But that was then: before she was committed to this hell-hole. Now she can't so much as touch herself, let alone spend long leisurely hours masturbating.
So she is frustrated – deeply frustrated. And whilst Abigail – unbeknownst to Karen – is struggling with her own frustration, lying awake compulsively trying to think up some way to get relief, Karen is approaching the problem in her own idiosyncratic way.
Karen is neither of a religious or philosophical turn of mind. But she has two core beliefs, both of them impressed on her by her father when she was young. Number one: money can buy you anything – including love. Number two: everyone has their price.
So whilst Abigail is looking for tiny windows of opportunity in the routines of the day, Karen is wondering who, in Hazely, is best to approach, and what would be their price.
She runs her mind through all the Staff: the Wardens, Matron – she even considers going directly to the Principal. But after much consideration she settles on Miss McCloud.
It's a risk, of course. The principles on which the outside world are run do not necessarily apply in here. But Karen is desperate: each morning she wakes early – morning sex was always her favourite – feeling only a rub will set her up properly for the day.
If she cannot have a rub soon she believes she will go mad.
One lunchtime as the girls are waiting to enter the Refectory she approaches Miss McCloud.
"Please Miss McCloud," she says in her most respectful voice. "May I speak to you privately?"
It is rare for a girl to make such a request: Miss Bulstrode would almost certainly have dismissed it out of hand. But Miss McCloud looks at Karen, weighing her up, then asks if Karen is sure it is important, and agrees to give her a few minutes after afternoon lessons.
