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“Psych!” Storm straightens, laughs, and runs before he can get to her, leaving him flailing in the middle of the water in every direction but out.
Jane chances a glance at the headmistress and sees the woman becoming practically apoplectic with impotent rage.
This needs to come to a close, and quickly. Storm is making a mockery of this school, and its propriety, and its guards. Judging by the expression on Frau Lotte’s face, Storm’s little prediction about expulsion might have been more accurate than Jane could have imagined. She wonders if Storm wasn’t actually less trouble in Basel. It would make sense. There she had an entire city to unleash her impulses on. Here she is cooped up and every bit of chaotic disobedience is unleashed on the locals.
There is much mirth among many of the students. Jane can hear the whispers and the giggles as they become engrossed in this unexpected little drama playing out in front of them. This is truly starting to spiral out of control. She glances over at the headmistress, wondering if the woman is planning on sending the students back to their respective classes, but things are already coming to a head.
Storm has forgotten something:
Hannes is not the only security guard.
Creeping like a commando, Laura appears in the undergrowth behind Storm. Some of the girls shout to Storm, clearly on her side and invested in seeing her get away with this thrilling chase, but it is too late. The woman has moved too swiftly and competently, and though Storm catches the movement out of the corner of her eye, she cannot move fast enough.
Laura snatches her up from behind, and a great gasp goes up as Storm is caught. Unlike her male counterpart, Laura leaves nothing to chance. She pulls Storm’s wrists back behind her back and has her captured in seconds.
Jane calls out to the guard. “Hold her there, please. I need to get something.”
* * *
Storm can’t fucking believe it. She was so, so close to getting away and now here she is, caught in front of everybody. Laura has a tight grasp on her wrists, and all the squirming in the world only makes her shoulders hurt.
Then things get much, much worse.
Storm’s eyes widen as Jane emerges from the chateau with a short birch rod in her hand. Something about the sight of the thing with all the bushy bits and organic pieces gives her a very bad feeling right in the pit of her stomach. It is almost as though the ancestral voices of generations of troublemakers before her have all cried out at once.
Jane’s expression as she draws closer can only be described as merciless. Suddenly Storm wishes there was not so large an audience. It was fun to have onlookers when she was making a mockery of all these stupid things, but now it feels like she has made a huge mistake.
Jane does not say a word to Storm. Instead she addresses the guard.
“If you wouldn’t mind changing her position so I can administer the necessary punishment, and holding her in position, please, Laura? This young lady has demonstrated she has no intention of behaving herself.”
Taciturn as ever, it is nonetheless obvious that Laura is only too pleased to aid Jane. In short order, Storm finds herself bent over the guard’s knee, which is propped up on the edge of the fountain, creating a fulcrum over which she swings at the hips. It is an embarrassing and unfortunate position and with her hands still pinned in the small of her back, there is absolutely no escape.
* * *
Jane flips up her dress and pulls her shorts and underwear down in one motion. There will be little in the way of modesty for the girl now. Storm has foregone privacy by the very public nature of her rebellion.
Jane wastes no time in beginning the beating. Caught between the guard and the disciplinarian, Storm is soundly thrashed. All eyes are on her, the entirety of the school ranged across windows and outside, and those who were getting ideas of following in her behavioral footsteps are swiftly learning what a bad idea that would be.
Having been previously soaked to ensure each of the thin branches is as sturdy and supple as it can be, the birch lashes across Storm’s upturned bare bottom, each and every individual twig making whippy contact with her tender skin.
Her bottom immediately blushes red, and with each and every stern, sweeping application of the traditional implement, it becomes redder and hotter, speckled in places where the infernal tips and nodes of the birch have made harsher contact.
Jane is determined to make this the last punishment Storm earns in a while. It is time she started taking consequences seriously and had some healthy fear of what might happen to her. It is clear that she lacks respect for discipline. It is also clear that Storm’s misbehavior is becoming an issue for everybody she comes in contact with. Her rebellious influence is already spreading, and if justice is not publicly seen to be done in no uncertain fashion here and now, Jane knows she will have forever lost the respect of the faculty, and more importantly, the students she is here to discipline.
This punishment is far harsher than anything Storm has experienced before, much harsher than Jane likes to impart. But the young lady has made it impossible for it to be any other way. Storm has had more than enough rope, more than enough leeway, and more than enough understanding. At each and every turn, she has made matters worse for herself.
So Jane plies the rod without sparing her charge, watching grimly as the little welts compound and become bigger, thicker, more painful things.
Storm tried to be stoic at first, but she is unable to be for long. She wails and gasps and squirms so hard she would certainly escape if she were not being very firmly held by Laura, who has absolutely no intention of letting her go.
Usually, Jane lectures a girl while she is being punished, but on this occasion she stays grimly quiet, allowing the sound of the birch on bottom to be the main audible consequence, matched with Storm’s cries which rise and fall and rise again as she tries her best to resist the punishment.
By the time Jane considers herself to be done, Storm has gone quiet again, sniffling quietly to herself the way a girl does when she has been properly punished and is truly chastised. Her bottom and upper thighs are bright red and covered in marks, welts, and even a few small grazes that will require some care.
An example has been made. It is time to take this back inside.
* * *
