Whip Hands (16 page)

‘Okay, Rhona, you win. What do you want first? Some jogging on the spot or some stretching exercises?'

‘You can call me Miss Fairchild, for a start.'

I swallowed my fury. If she wanted to play games, then so be it.

‘Okay, Miss Fairchild.'

‘That's better, Joyce. Now do as I say. Pick up your stuff and follow me. We don't want to waste time, do we?'

My heart sank. I knew exactly where we were going. I followed Rhona as she proceeded at a brisk pace down empty corridors with high windows. We crossed a small courtyard, which I recalled from the previous visit, and then we were in a changing room, unmistakably so, with lockers and benches against every wall. The smell of unwashed clothes hung in the air. Twenty years vanished and I began to experience an insecurity I thought I had left behind in my teens.

Rhona reached into a locker and brought out an olive green garment, which I recognised to be a gym dress.

‘Your workout gear is very smart, Joyce, but since we're on school premises I'm afraid you really must conform to the rules. So off with the lycra and on with this dress. As a parent you'll be glad to hear we have decided to stick with these. Much cheaper than all that brand-name gear kids want to be seen in nowadays. It should fit. You look about a fourteen.'

This was a humiliation indeed. Rhona put down the clipboard and swept her baggy cotton top over her head with a fluid motion, hardly disturbing her close-cropped hair. She patted it just in case. Her tight-fitting crop-top revealed that she had kept her figure better than I had. She gave me a sharp look.

‘Right, Joyce, so what are you waiting for? I'll be in the gym preparing for your first test. Please don't keep me waiting. Into your gymslip. And nothing underneath, please.'

I could hardly believe my ears! I stripped down to my pants and slipped the dress over my head. It wasn't a bad fit, although the colour was hateful. I refused to look in any of the mirrors on the back of the locker doors as I did up the bodice buttons. Then, with a shudder, I tiptoed out of the changing room.

Rhona was right in the middle of the vast floor space. She stood beside a mat and I guessed there would be press-ups. Sure enough there were, but that was only the start. They were followed by crunching abdominal curls that soon had me gasping for breath.

‘Well, well, Joyce, we're not exactly super-fit, are we?'

‘Please, Rhona, let me take a break.'

‘If you don't call me by my correct name in class then your report will suffer, Joyce,' she admonished me cheerfully.

I nodded, barely able to talk. She let me dash to the cloakroom for a drink of water. When I returned, she had the bench press ready with a pair of dumbbell weights.

‘Okay, Joyce, I want to see how your upper body strength looks. On your back and pick up the weights. Now stretch your arms out and raise them above your chest until the weights touch. Hold and then lower slowly. That's right. Now repeat ten times.'

After that my arms were shaking badly and I was beginning to perspire freely. My last real workout at the health club had been several weeks earlier. I tended to head straight for the jacuzzi and the sunbeds these days, and avoid the gym. I lay like a limp rag. Rhona made a few notes on the clipboard.

‘Joyce, why haven't you followed my instructions?'

‘What do you mean, Rho... Miss Fairchild?'

‘I distinctly remember telling you to strip before changing into the dress. And I can see from here that you still have underwear on.'

Ineffectually I tried to push down the hem of the olive dress, which was ridiculously short for a grown woman.

‘Well?' she barked.

‘Well, what?' I shot back unthinkingly.

I received a glittering look that spoke volumes. Meekly I slipped the cotton panties down my thighs and over my sneakers. Lacking other instructions, I dropped them beside the mat.

‘Now, we move on to stamina. I must warn you that so far you have not really come up to the grade required, so this next part is rather important.'

It was something called circuit training, which Rhona told me would last for twenty minutes, and it involved running round the edge of the gym, bench-stepping and squats. After the first circuit my ears were popping and my heart was thumping. The gym dress was sticking to my chest.

‘Miss Fairchild. A break please. Another drink of water.'

When I returned this time, the vaulting horse had miraculously appeared. Rhona must be strong to drag that out by herself, I thought. Her expression was more severe than ever.

‘Another ten minutes, Joyce. Start when you're ready.'

She couldn't be serious! I must have completed more than ten minutes. She shook her head. I felt close to tears. I knew that behind all this was a desire for revenge. I was only now beginning to appreciate that the desire must have grown rather than diminished over the years.

‘You are perilously close to failing, Joyce. Of course, there is an alternative. To make amends, and to guarantee young Fiona's future education, you might receive a dose of discipline. Well overdue, if I may say so.'

‘What the hell do you mean by discipline?'

‘I think we both know what I mean. The kind of discipline that used to be meted out at this school but, alas, no longer. The time has come for you to suffer, Joyce. You stole him from me. You surely didn't think you would escape judgement for ever? Well, now it's decision time for you. Make up your mind quickly, please.'

‘You mean you would fail me on health grounds. Surely that wouldn't prevent Fiona from being offered a place even if she passes her physical with flying colours?'

‘I'm not saying that it would definitely. But, all other things being equal, if she was against another applicant with a perfect health background she might lose out. It must seem tiresomely trivial to you, but there we are. Life is sometimes like that. So, like I said, it's up to you to decide, Joyce.'

I could see that Rhona knew she had the whip hand. My God, what am I saying? I had a rough idea of what she meant by discipline. Probably the use of a ruler on the palm of the hand, or possibly on the bottom. It would be humiliating, but there was no one around to see it.

‘Okay, how many strokes?'

‘It's been fifteen years, hasn't it, Joyce?'

‘I thought you'd get around to that.'

She didn't respond, but just stared hard in a very intimidating way right into my eyes. ‘Right. Over the horse.'

For a minute I had no idea what she meant. Of course, the vaulting horse! Its padded leather top came up to my chest. I hauled myself up and took the weight on my elbows.

‘Okay, get on with it, Miss Fairchild.' I tried to sound nonchalant.

I didn't see what she had in her hand, but the first two strokes, forehand and backhand in quick succession, were like cuts to the bone. In abject cowardice I dropped to the ground before she could give another. I reached down with both hands to nurse my burning cheeks. I felt nauseous with shock.

‘Come on now, Joyce. I'm not going to harm you. Unlike what you did to me, this will have no lasting effects. I've been patient so far in settling this score with you. Understand?'

I nodded miserably and climbed back up.

‘Please, Rhona, not so hard.'

‘Right over this time.'

She pulled me over so that I was resting my stomach on the padded leather and trying to support my upper half on the sloping wooden far side of the horse. To my surprise I saw Rhona leap up beside me so that she sat straddling it. She put one hand between my shoulders and, reaching down, pulled up my skirt with her other hand. As she did so, I felt something rough and stiff graze the back of my thighs. She was not using a ruler.

In Rhona's hand was an old-fashioned tawse, in my schooldays known as a Lochgelly. Looking over my shoulder, I could see this one was twin-tongued, split up the middle and designed to pinch a length of skin between each of the solid leather straps. Apart from the anticipation of the pain it could inflict, this was a fresh humiliation, to think I was to be treated exactly like an errant fifth-former caught smoking.

The next ninety seconds contained the most intense sensations I've ever experienced, and ever wish to experience. Rhona was obviously a fitness freak and the blows landed with perfect execution on alternate buttocks. They seemed to tear at my flesh, the searing heat of each stripe hardly borne before the subsequent one was announced by the hissing leather tongues. I was being thrashed to within an inch of my sanity. I struggled to no avail. She held me fast. So I closed my eyes, but that made it worse. Images of the bullying mistress from my schooldays flashed before my eyes. I began to whimper.

Then it was finished, or so I thought. I would have promised to do anything to stop the pain and humiliation. Rhona vaulted down with agility. I stayed as still as possible, gingerly exploring my exposed behind with a hand. I could feel thin weals of raised flesh where the tongues had caught me, and the heat was intense. I could imagine how gruesome I must have looked, draped over that dreadful box with its smelly leather seat. To make matters worse, the dowdy gym dress had pulled up to my armpits.

‘Right, Joyce, down on the floor. You look ridiculous in that gym dress. Take it off. Leave your trainers on. Come on.'

Miserably, I did so. Without a word she grabbed me by the hair and I found myself facing the wall-bars. With handcuffs she attached my wrists to the bars at waist height. It was done in no time. Could I have resisted if I'd wanted to? Probably not. Events had taken on the inevitability of a nightmare.

She came and stood over me, supporting herself against the wall-bars with one arm outstretched. I noticed that she had taken off the lime green jogging pants and was wearing tight-fitting shorts to match her lycra top. In the other hand was something I could not see clearly. It was all black and had nylon straps which swung against her muscular leg.

‘Now, Joyce, it's time for the payoff, I think. Let me summarise. You want your daughter to get into Willowglen, and it's in the balance whether she'll make it on your performance so far. So you've got to keep me sweet. Is that a fair assessment of the situation?'

I grunted, looking up to catch a glimpse of her face. As I did, she revealed to me what was in her grasp. The dildo gleamed dully, its sleek blackness a fearsome length. Sensing my forthcoming role, I made a swift mental comparison with Sebastian.

‘Does this remind you of anyone, I wonder?' she enquired sneeringly. ‘As you can imagine, it reminds me of a certain night, a night when I knew real passion but which you subsequently ruined for me, and then stole the man who gave it to me.'

‘Rhona, I had no idea it had affected you so badly. We were all young then. Surely you've got over it and found someone else?' I knew I sounded unconvincing, arguing from a semi-crouch, unable to square up to her.

‘Nope, I haven't. Any relationship I've had has been blighted by memory of that evening. You broadcast my most intimate moments to anyone who was interested, Joyce. Colleagues, friends and parents. Did you never think what effect that would have on my self-image? Or are you just too much of a bitch to care? I've been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.'

I couldn't think of an immediate answer. In the meantime Rhona was busy with the dildo. Its plastic base was in place against her pubis as she tightened the buckles at each hip. She grasped the full girth of her strap-on erection and tested it for firmness. It sprung back with alacrity when she pushed it down with the palm of her hand. She produced a tube of lubricating gel and slicked the bulbous end of her false member, slowly running her fingers the full length of it. She noted my reaction with amusement.

‘Ten inches, in case you were going to ask.'

Briskly she kicked my feet so they moved backwards.

‘Grip the bars and arch your back, you bitch. You won't argue your way out of this. You shafted me, and now it's your turn.'

In a flash, as she gripped my flaming buttocks and spread my legs, I realised just where she was going to take me. The coldness of her probing member made contact with my seat of shame. I tried to wriggle free, but she held me firm and increased the forward pressure, at the same time stretching the surrounding flesh. I knew I would have to relax or suffer the consequences. I screamed as I felt myself impaled. She withdrew, but only for a second. Then she pressed the monstrous member further into my very innards. I recall nothing further.

Rhona pulled free and spared me further humiliation. I sank to my knees, sobbing. I heard the dildo fall to the floor with a clatter of plastic buckles.

From a distance came Rhona's cold, dispassionate voice. ‘By the way, Joyce, I did tell you that this was all being recorded, didn't I?'

I whirled around in horror, in time to see her removing a cleverly concealed video camera off its tripod. She waved the videocassette.

‘I shall watch this later tonight. And, of course, I will have the advantage of being able to hear your cries of pleasure, too. I'm sure they were pleasure, weren't they? And I'll send you a copy through the post if you like. Just so you know your initiation into the joys of female domination has been captured perfectly on video.'