SSC (Picture - old Kansas schoolhouse)

The Schoolhouse
by Tasha


It used to be a schoolhouse. But now the boards are rotting and the
windows are broken. The walls and blackboard are covered with mould.
Spiders lurk in every corner. Water drips on me from the gaping hole in
the roof and I flinch. He tells me to be still.
His footsteps make the boards groan as he circles me. From the corner of
my eye I see him winding the long strap around his hand, tightening it.
The leather creaks as though in anticipation. I keep my eyes on the wall
in front of me. It will be worse if I look away.
 'Take off your clothes.'
I do as I am told. Slowly. The way he likes. I fold each item of
clothing and place it neatly on the chair beside me. I don't try to
cover myself; I know better than that. I keep my knickers on. He likes
to take them down himself.
 'Bend over and touch your toes.'
Trembling, I lean forward, stretching towards the floor. I press my
fingertips against my toes and close my eyes. A fat droplet of water
splashes onto my naked back and I make a sound he doesn't like.
Instantly, the strap flashes against my legs, making me cry out and
sway. I manage to stay in position, wincing at the pain as I focus on
remaining still for my punishment. It will be doubled if I move.
 'Do you know why you're here?'
 'Yes, sir. I'm here to be disciplined for not performing my duties
properly.'
These are the words he taught me the first time he brought me here and
it's what I say every time. Tonight it's because I spilled wine on the
tablecloth.
The schoolhouse is a mile down the road from the house, far enough away
that no one will hear my cries. It's a terrible walk, even in lovely
weather. He makes me walk several yards ahead of him so he can watch me
as he follows.
 He gives the strap another tug and I hear it creak.
 'Careless maids deserve to be punished, don't they?'
 I swallow, then force the words out. 'Yes, sir.'
'Let's see if a sound whipping will teach you to be more attentive in
future.'
He slips his fingers into the waistband of my knickers, tugging them
down to my knees. Slowly. I start to cry as he bares my bottom. It's
chilly outside and the wind penetrates the decaying building easily. I
feel so much more exposed in the cold.
 'How many strokes do you deserve?'
 I don't hesitate; he broke me of that long ago. 'Fifty, sir.'
There is a gentle tinkling sound as the wind loosens a shard of glass
hanging in a window pane. It falls and breaks softly on the rotting
floor.
 The leather creaks again and I brace myself.



© 2004 SSC by Tasha