Portrait of a Disciplinarian (26 page)

‘Settle down, Ladies,’ Clementina demanded, and banged on the table the base of the half-bottle of champagne she’d been enjoying. ‘Settle down!’

The conversation died and a last titter was hastily stifled. Stephanie glanced round the room as Clementina went through the formalities. A count of heads to see who was there only confirmed what she’d known
already
, that the vote was in the hands of the unaligned girls.

‘… and that’s that,’ Clementina concluded, ‘so may the best girl win. Myrtle, you’re up.’

As the senior girl, it was Myrtle’s right to go first, and Stephanie struggled to look calm and composed as her rival got to her feet.

‘I shan’t bother with a speech,’ Myrtle began, to an immediate ripple of clapping. ‘You all know who I am, and that I’ll make a jolly sight better Secretary than little Stiffy there, who can’t even wipe her bottom properly.’

There was a ripple of laughter mixed with gasps of shock and outraged whispers, but Myrtle carried on blithely.

‘I don’t imagine she’s up to much when it comes to trophies either. I suppose you’ve all heard how she got pinched trying to steal a policeman’s helmet on Boat Race Day? Yes, I thought you would, but I don’t suppose all of you know that afterwards her mother gave her a spanking and sent her down to Devon in disgrace?’

This time there was general laughter, even from some of the girls whom Stephanie counted as allies. Her face had flared red.

‘She shouldn’t even be here,’ Myrtle continued, ‘and when she gets back she’ll be getting her bottom warmed again, by her ghastly aunts, bare, and in front of anybody who happens to be about. So you can see that she’s just the sort of modern, independent girl we need for Secretary, I don’t think.’

Stephanie’s face was now crimson, while there wasn’t a single girl in the room who wasn’t either giggling or exchanging whispered remarks with her neighbours. She forced a smile and thought of the effect Singularis Porcus would have.

‘But enough of her pathetic behaviour,’ Myrtle went on. ‘We’ve had some jolly good trophies, but I’m sure
you’ll
all agree mine is the bee’s knees, or maybe that should be the pig’s wig.’

As she spoke she gestured to the door, which swung wide to reveal three of Myrtle’s closest friends – and Singularis Porcus.

Stephanie’s gasp of protest died in her throat as the assembled girls burst out laughing, cheering and clapping while the huge pig was manoeuvred into the room. Objecting would be useless and only make her failure all the more humiliating. Myrtle hadn’t even broken the rules: the trophy had to be stolen, but there was nothing to say it couldn’t be stolen from a rival. There was even a precedent, because Clementina herself had secured re-election by presenting a pair of sponge-bag trousers originally removed from an MP by her challenger.

All she could do was sit tight-lipped in anger as Myrtle soaked up applause and congratulations. She even found herself clapping. The crust of self-confidence she’d gained when she learnt that Myrtle got spanked had now cracked, and all her feelings of inferiority were welling up again. Only one girl wasn’t joining in to praise Myrtle, Bobbie Drake, who pushed through the crowd to inspect the pig.

‘That’s my father’s pig!’ she exclaimed.

‘Rather a coup, don’t you think?’ Myrtle responded.

‘Maybe,’ Bobbie answered, ‘but I think you might have waited until after the Okehampton Show to pinch him, don’t you?’

There was real anger in Bobbie’s voice, and a sudden hope flared in Stephanie’s brain.

‘Excuse me,’ she said to Clementina. ‘I have to prepare my trophy.’

‘As a matter of fact –’ Myrtle was saying, but broke off as Stephanie came over to her.

‘I need to explain,’ Stephanie said.

‘Yes, you do, don’t you?’ Myrtle responded, smugger than ever.

‘Outside, please,’ Stephanie said. ‘It would spare embarrassment.’

Myrtle gave a derisive chuckle but followed Stephanie from the room, as did Bobbie. Stephanie’s heart was hammering as she closed the reading room door behind her.

‘In here,’ she suggested, pushing into the now empty dining room.

‘What’s up?’ Bobbie demanded.

‘I need you to do something for me,’ Stephanie meekly said as she reached up beneath her dress to lever her drawers down and off.

‘What?’ Bobbie asked, puzzled.

‘She wants you to spank her, silly,’ Myrtle laughed, ‘because –’

‘No,’ Stephanie interrupted. ‘Grab her, Bobbie, quick, please! I beg you, if we’ve ever been friends!’

Bobbie hesitated only an instant before gripping Myrtle from behind in a bear hug.

‘Get off!’ Myrtle squealed. ‘Get off me, you great beast, you stupid gorilla, you –’

Her words were abruptly cut off as Stephanie’s drawers were jammed firmly into her mouth and pushed deep, leaving her struggling furiously in Bobbie’s grip, with no more chance of breaking free than if it had been a real gorilla that was holding her. Stephanie jumped back, avoiding Myrtle’s efforts to kick her. Bobbie hauled Myrtle off the ground, leaving her legs waving in the air, but otherwise helpless.

Stephanie had been the victim of the same move all too often, and knew exactly what to do. Darting in, she grabbed one flailing leg, jerked Myrtle’s stocking free of its suspender clip and hauled it down. Myrtle also knew exactly what was happening, and fought harder than ever to stop herself being tied, but there was nothing she could do. After just two failed attempts Stephanie managed to get the stocking around Myrtle’s legs and pull it tight, trapping both at the ankles.

Still Myrtle fought, jerking her tied legs back and forth and mumbling furiously through her mouthful of sweaty silk, but Bobbie was too strong for her. She was forced, slowly but surely, down into a kneeling position and her arms pulled back behind her thighs. Using her own stockings, Stephanie bound Myrtle’s wrists together and fastened them to the first stocking. Trussed up like a piglet ready for market, Myrtle was completely helpless, but she was still wriggling and doing her best to spit Stephanie’s drawers out of her mouth. Stephanie wedged them deeper in before turning to Bobbie.

‘Thank you,’ she panted.

‘Quite the fighter, isn’t she?’ Bobbie answered, and gave Myrtle a firm smack on her outthrust bottom. ‘That’s for the bruises on my legs, and this is for pinching Dada’s pig.’

Myrtle’s body jerked to a much harder smack, and her expression of pop-eyed fury became even more lurid. Stephanie laughed, reckless in her triumph, as she pulled one of the dinner trolleys from its place against the wall.

‘Help me up with her, Bobbie,’ she asked, taking hold of Myrtle’s shoulders.

‘What are you going to do?’ Bobbie asked, only for a broad grin to spread across her face as she realised. ‘I say, that’s rather clever, Stiffy. She’s your trophy, isn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ Stephanie said, ‘she is.’

Myrtle’s writhing grew more furious still at the news, while the expression on her face suggested that she was about to have apoplexy. Stephanie spoke again as they lowered Myrtle on to the trolley.

‘Do stop wriggling like that, or you’ll fall off and hurt yourself. Now … presentation. We must get it exactly right.’

‘You should serve her up like a stuffed pig,’ Bobbie suggested. ‘It would be appropriate.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Stephanie agreed. ‘Would you mind nipping into the kitchens for the biggest platter you can find, and perhaps a few vegetables? But first, could I trouble you for a stocking?’

‘My pleasure,’ Bobbie responded, and peeled the article off before leaving the room.

Stephanie used the stocking to tie her drawers into place in Myrtle’s mouth, which reduced the frantic girl’s protests to muffled grunting and the occasional snort.

‘Very pig-like,’ Stephanie commented. ‘Now let me see …’

Ignoring Myrtle’s continued efforts to make her feelings plain, Stephanie began to search the room for props. Lunch had been cleared away, but Mrs Tubbs had been putting fresh flowers out and had left a pair of scissors beside a vase of daffodils. Both had obvious uses.

The fury on Myrtle’s face turned to panic as Stephanie approached her, holding the scissors up and grinning as she snipped the long steel blades together. Feeling far too pleased with herself to bother about either propriety or the likely consequences of her actions, she began to cut Myrtle’s clothes off. It was a tricky job, made trickier by her victim’s refusal to keep still, and she repeatedly had to break off to smack Myrtle’s bottom. Nevertheless, by the time Bobbie returned she had removed Myrtle’s dress, leaving the floor littered with scraps of deep red silk.

‘Oh I say!’ Bobbie declared, blushing faintly at the sight of Myrtle’s bottom, which was covered only by a pair of fashionably brief drawers, into one side of which Stephanie had already slid the scissors. ‘Not starkers, surely, Stiffy?’

‘Starkers,’ Stephanie confirmed, and squeezed the scissors shut.

Myrtle’s drawers parted with a faint snap as the blades sliced through the silk. Already taut across her bottom and hips, they sprang apart, exposing her naked
rear
, the lips of her sex pouting between her thighs and the tight star of her anus blatantly displayed between her open cheeks. Stephanie laughed, indifferent to the demented tone in her own voice as she went on.

‘What a sight! And before you suggest I have any mercy, Bobbie, remember how she had me caned in front of the whole school. I want to get my own back, Bobbie, so don’t stop me.’

‘She does look frightfully rude,’ Bobbie said doubtfully.

‘Not as rude as she will when I’ve finished with her. Help me get her on to the platter, would you?’

Bobbie hesitated for only a moment before helping Stephanie lift Myrtle on to the platter. Now far beyond the point of no return, Stephanie set to work preparing Myrtle as if she were to be served at table. A few more snips of the scissors allowed the already ruined drawers to be removed, followed by the remaining stocking, and finally the brand-new Caresse Crosby brassière, which needed tugging out from where Myrtle’s breasts were squashed up against her legs. With Myrtle stark naked, Stephanie stepped back to consider.

‘What do you think, Bobbie?’ she asked. ‘Do you think I should leave her trotters bare, or put her shoes back on, the way chefs put those little paper tops on a rack of lamb?’

‘Shoes on, I think,’ Bobbie responded, now getting into the spirit of things, ‘and an apple in her mouth.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Stephanie agreed. ‘It would be unthinkable to serve a roast pig without an apple, but that must be the final touch. Now, if you would care to arrange the vegetables, I think we can improve the display of her bottom.’

Myrtle had twisted her head round at Stephanie’s words, her face full of consternation and then panic. From the long sideboard, Stephanie picked up a cruet set; pepper, salt, oil-and-vinegar-dressing and two types of mustard – one of them the brand that had been mixed
with
boot polish and applied to her anus before her caning in front of the Teigngrace assembly. She whistled to herself as she unscrewed the top of the pot, relaxing her lips from time to time to give a manic grin. Myrtle began to writhe again, so vigorously that Bobbie had to stop laying out potatoes and asparagus spears and hold her instead.

‘Thank you, Bobbie dear,’ Stephanie said, and dipped a finger into the mustard pot.

It came out thickly coated. The mustard was a satisfying dun brown and of the perfect texture for lubricating bottom holes. Stephanie opened Myrtle’s quivering cheeks to improve her access and applied the mustard between, wiping it over her victim’s now pulsing anus and then inserting a finger up to the second joint. Myrtle’s bottom hole was tight and warm, which felt rather nice, and brought home to Stephanie that she was beginning to be aroused. She ignored the sensation, extracting her finger and giving a tut of mock distaste when Myrtle farted as her bottom hole closed.

‘Disgusting!’ she said with a laugh, and planted a firm smack across Myrtle’s bottom.

Bobbie gave a doubtful smile and went back to arranging the vegetables, but Stephanie wasn’t finished. She took the largest and yellowest of the daffodils from a nearby vase and poked the stem into Myrtle’s now slippery anus, which opened obligingly to allow some six inches to be slid inside.

‘Perfect!’ Stephanie crowed. ‘Or nearly so. An apple, please, Bobbie, and if you would be kind enough to wheel her in, I expect the girls are getting impatient.’

Stephanie took the large red apple Bobbie had chosen from a bowl on the sideboard. It was wax, but that didn’t seem important, and as soon as the trolley was out in the main hall she began to undo the stocking she’d had knotted behind Myrtle’s head.

‘You have two choices,’ she said as it came loose. ‘The apple goes in your mouth or up your cunt.’

‘Oh I say, Stiffy!’ Bobbie protested.

‘I mean it,’ Stephanie insisted. ‘So you’d better behave, Myrtle. Right, let’s have those drawers out, shall we?’

‘You’re going to regret this!’ Myrtle spat as Stephanie’s drawers were pulled from her mouth.

‘Maybe,’ Stephanie admitted, ‘but not today. Now open wide, unless you’d prefer to explain all this to Freddie on your wedding night?’

‘Filthy beasts!’ Myrtle hissed, but her mouth opened.

Stephanie wedged the apple well in between Myrtle’s jaws, then pushed the door to the reading room wide and strode in, with Bobbie wheeling in the trolley behind her.

‘Ladies,’ said Stephanie, ‘allow me to present my trophy, Miss Myrtle Finch-Farmiloe, stuffed and trussed in the manner of a roast pig, which I am sure you will all agree is highly suitable.’

Her words met with absolute silence, every girl in the room staring dumbstruck at Myrtle’s naked body, with the daffodil in her bottom quivering gently in the air. The first to find her voice was Clementina.

‘Good God!’

‘Shall we vote?’ Stephanie said calmly and took her seat, although her feelings were so heightened that she could barely take in her surroundings beyond the bound and humiliated figure of her arch-rival on the serving trolley.

‘I, er … I move for a vote,’ Clementina said, rallying herself.