They realised with growing consternation that the strange man who had photographed them surreptitiously on the beach was to be their guardian for the rest of the summer! I did not yet confront them with their crimes, for the full-plate prints were not ready. Yet I and my duenna prepared the girls for their fates by a simple process of education. They were to learn the customs of English society and, however unusual they might appear to be, these young ladies must school themselves to submit. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. That was to be the motto of this house. For several hours a day, the girls worked at the books chosen for them. Do not suppose, Dolly, that I gave them those choice volumes which remain locked behind wires on the top shelves in the library-tales to make pretty little maidens blush. Such gems as Beatrice or The Days at Florville, Suburban Souls or Nights of the Rajah would be imprudent suggestions as yet. But I have not scrupled to set them reading James Miles's House of Correction memoirs-for what are these but law and justice?-and even a chapter or two of the gallant Adventures of Captain DeVane, describing Britannia's imperial glories. He who would enjoy taking down Claudia's knickers must first persuade the girl that the action is consonant with morality and the code of manners prevailing. Later I hope my charming pupils will graduate to the loving affections of father and daughter in Beatrice or Jacqueline Grant arse-upwards for ravishing in the Rajah's palace. But such frolics cannot come yet. It was enough for the time being to show my pupils how the noble Mr. Miles had dealt with such girls as Jennifer Parry or Elizabeth Craig, Elaine Cox or Jane Mitchener, even young women like Susan Webb. I therefore set each of my pupils the task of composing a long account in her own words of the training of one of the reformatory girls. You may imagine how careful I was in my allocation! It was one thing to set the birching of a saucy little imp or a randy young wife for Katharine, but Claudia required a more decorous subject. In the end I set Katharine to give an account of the fate of fifteen-year-old Elaine Cox, at the master's hands-a shouting, striding tomboy defiantly tossing the lank fair hair which framed the broad oval of her face with its slum-child's snub-nosed insolence! Katharine's eyes widened as she read of the scene in the reformatory whipping-room. The pleated grey skirt of the school uniform, worn scandalously brief on Elaine's sturdy thighs, was removed. The matrons strapped her kneeling over the block. Then the white stretched briefs were pulled down, baring the full pale cheeks of Elaine Cox's tomboy bottom for fifty agonising strokes with a prison bamboo cane. Claudia, meanwhile, was made to work at the amusing tale of the youngest girl, beguiling Jane, with her lank dark hair and fringe, the openness of her firm pale features and resilient young body whose beauties touched the frontier of childhood and womanhood. Claudia was so sentimentally moved that I expected a tear to fall at the fate of pretty Jane. Younger than Claudia herself, that appealing girl with her teeth set teasingly on her lip, the lank dark tresses framing her face, was bent over the stool and fastened down. With poor Jane's knickers and skirt removed, the very matrons felt a pang at her fate. The wide brown eyes under the brief slant of her fringe were so appealing. Though the blossoming womanliness of her figure was never in doubt, there was such a tense pale innocence of youthfulness in the shape of Jane's trimly-rounded adolescent bottom-cheeks as she bent for punishment. Alas for pretty Jane. Pity her they might, but this was a chance for which every matron and master longed. Twenty-four vicious lashes with the punishment-strap across Jane's bare buttocks. Still secured over the stool, her sobs hardly checked, she was then alone with her master.
There being no witnesses to tell tales, the cane, the birch, even the braided leather of the pony-lash made their intimate acquaintance with her young backside. For two weeks or more in the washroom, the matrons watched the fading of empurpled weals and dark bruises from Jane's demure young buttocks and thighs. I will tell you of a little incident, Dolly, which may bring a smile to your lips. Claudia was busily translating Jane Mitchener's story, her eyes growing ever larger with wonderment. I could see she was having difficulty with one of the pages, which she then brought to me for my advice. Before the evening thrashings, the rules required that Jane should be inspected by the master in the afternoon so that her fitness for the whip might be certified. He removed her skirt, also the stretched white briefs which constituted Jane's schoolgirl knickers. Then she must bend over his desk while he surveyed her from behind. Young Jane was, of course, ordered to keep her eyes to the front. The inspection lasted for half an hour or so. Still Jane was greatly perplexed to know what instrument was used. In her teasing innocence she thought it was like a pair of warm whiskery lips in a pouting kiss. The kisses, as they seemed, feasted on the bare pallor of her trim adolescent thighs. They nuzzled the lightly-mossed lips of her vagina until she did not know whether the wetness came from her or them. They pouted with gentle affection over the tense white cheeks of her trembling teenage bottom. Yet they could not be lips, she said, blushing at her own explanation. For her buttocks were parted a moment later and the gentle pouting was applied to the very dimple of Jane's little anus. Then, she explained, there would be a sound from behind her as of vigorous polishing. It ended with the sense that long but random jets had splashed her bum-cheeks from a plate of warm gruel. She was told to remain bending while her master left the room for a moment. Jane naturally put a hand behind her and wiped her backside with it, studying with curiosity the marks of the warm slipperiness on her fingers.- When the master returned-presumably from putting away the instrument of the inspection-he would sometimes open the long drawer of the desk. There, among the canes and whips, was a roll of useful paper. He tore off a sheet or two and ordered Jane to wipe her bum-cheeks before pulling up her knickers. She was instructed to drop the used paper in the basket before she left and that night the master thrashed her with exceptional severity.
Imagine Claudia's puzzlement and her question to me! As a mere student of English she could not grasp the meaning of the passage! I was very gentle with her, Dolly, explaining that such posthumous memoirs often posed problems to the greatest scholars. I comforted her with the assurance that the passage of time would, in truth, make such doubtful pages clear. I was intrigued to see the contrast between Claudia's innocence and the worldly wisdom of our voluptuous Rhinemaiden, Katharine. The elder girl asked no questions. Indeed, she read avidly the confessions of the lewd old fellow who enjoyed himself so greatly with some of the reformatory girls. In this case, I would notice her pulse quicken a little as she read of the enforced kneeling over the block, the strapping down, so that the master should have fun with his whip upon the full pale cheeks of Elaine Cox's bottom.
Katharine licked her lips as the account described the vulgar rear view of the youngster's vaginal pout between her thighs and the justices gazing at Elaine Cox's arsehole. In this case too an “inspection” carried out privately in the master's study had preceded the caning. I promise you, Dolly, that with my own eyes I saw Katharine read one passage several times over with growing animation.