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* * *
This isn’t fair.
That is all Storm can think as she is soundly spanked both in a position and with an implement that makes it impossible to stay any kind of still. It is one thing to stay in place for a few strokes of a cane. It is something else entirely to keep herself under control for the steady tattoo of a brush against her bottom for an extended period of time. Every time she gets closer to actually bucking off Jane’s lap, the next stroke of the brush is harder and lower. A conversation is taking place, not a verbal one, but one between her butt and Jane’s brush.
Jane’s not lecturing her, and Storm couldn’t talk if she wanted to. Every time the brush lands it makes a sound like a gunshot, and each one of those shots brings fresh deep ache to Storm’s posterior that makes her toes curl and her breath come short. It hurts. It really. Fucking. Hurts.
She is hyper-aware of the fact that this is all being watched by the headmistress, a woman Storm has decided she hates. She thinks it is stupid that Jane appears to be on the woman’s side. She wasn’t even nice to her. She just wanders about, being some creaking old tyrant and forcing everyone she meets into stupid dresses.
Resentful of the punishment, and especially of being an example, the notion of actually being apologetic for her behavior does not cross Storm’s mind. The headmistress is rude, and Jane is clearly just trying to impress her.
Storm tried to help Jane out twice today with the mean old bat, but apparently Jane is eager to impress the woman at Storm’s expense. She’d been starting to feel like Jane maybe wasn’t that bad, letting her keep the dog for a bit, but this punishment is reminding her that they stand forever on opposite sides of a line demarcated by embarrassment and pain.
* * *
As Storm’s struggles become more desperate, her breathing ragged and the tension in her body making her rigid, Jane is torn between truly giving Storm a punishment she will never forget, and remembering that this is Storm’s first day at school, and among her first handful of brushes with real discipline. Her fiery temperament sets her up for a justified beating quite easily, but Jane is not inclined to completely break the spirits of those in her care. Headmistress Lotte might not like it, but Jane follows her professional instincts now, as always.
“That will do,” Jane decrees, stopping and laying the brush down. “I trust you’ve learned a lesson about respect, Storm.”
Storm slumps dramatically over Jane’s knee and onto the bed, sobbing into the coverlet, but not without first reaching back and pulling her underwear back into a position where it can cover more of her flesh.
“Say sorry to Headmistress Lotte.”
“Sorry!” Storm sobs the word like a curse.
“A very adequate performance, Miss Strict,” Headmistress Lotte remarks.
“As for you,” she says, turning her attention to the tearful young lady. “You had best be grateful for the fact I have engaged the services of Miss Strict. If I was to have punished you, you would have found yourself wearing a dress made of sackcloth and kneeling out in the snow until I saw fit to let you back in.”
Storm sniffles into the bedding and doesn’t move. She clearly feels exceedingly sorry for herself, but at least she is restraining her mouthy impulses for now. However, this is still not how a well-behaved young lady behaves after a spanking. Jane prompts her into motion.
“Do I need to stay and dress you, or are you going to get cleaned up and put your uniform on?”
Storm lifts her face from the bed enough to say, “I can get dressed.”
“Good. Then go and do it.” She swats her charge lightly with the brush and releases her.
Roused from the bed, Storm grabs her uniform and escapes into the nearby ensuite, refusing to look at either one of the women involved in her punishment. The sound of a running shower emanates from behind the door, along with a muted, but very disrespectful and entirely audible antipodean curse:dickheads.
Jane pretends not to hear it. Headmistress Lotte does the same.
* * *
An hour or so later there is a knock at Jane’s door. When she answers it, she is surprised to find that the headmistress has made her way to her chalet. The woman has changed into what can only be described as hiking dress. There is a lot of houndstooth and thick stockings, and also, a bag with a dog’s face on it. There is also a dog by her side, a fine golden Labrador Retriever who sits calmly and with a certain amount of glossy elegance by her mistress’ side.
“I’ve brought you some food for the dog,” she says, presenting Jane with a small sack of dog food. “No reason for the poor creature to suffer because he was abducted by a hellion.”
“I am sorry Storm was so rude today,” Jane says, feeling somehow responsible, as if she should have warned Headmistress Lotte more. “And thank you for the dog food.”
“Modern young ladies are not taught to respect their elders, and if I am to be honest I consider that in some part a good thing. It is much easier to teach someone bold how to soften slightly than it is to elevate the timid. The former can be done by imparting a modicum of restraint. The latter might very well never be achieved. I spend a great deal of time with some new arrivals getting them to speak up. That will not be an issue with Storm.”
“No,” Jane agrees. “It will not.”
“You will be busy here,” the handsome woman continues. “Though most are not nearly as directly confrontational, many are spoiled, and there are some students who once settled, begin to lack motivation for their studies.”
“I look forward to providing appropriate accountability,” Jane says, quite genuinely meaning every word.
“Good,” Headmistress Lotte replies. “Now, don’t forget, we do have security. It is necessary to keep locals out, and occasionally, to keep the girls in. You may find yourself encountering one or two of them if you do decide to go rambling. I have informed them of your arrival, but proper introductions will have to wait until tomorrow. Be sure to introduce yourself if you happen across them in the meantime.”
