by Anthony Alba
Susan Griffith was a delinquent! When I heard the news I could hardly believe it. It was one thing for the average woman to be hauled away to the reformatory, but for someone like Susan... well, things like that simply didn't happen, or so I had always thought. Her money and connections should have made any legal difficulties simply go away. It had always worked that way for me.
When I first heard, I shivered with delight and no small amount of excitement. To think of Susan locked away, subject to strict corporal punishment for the smallest infraction, dressed only in a demeaning school uniform... it was enough to make me long for the privacy of my bed. I was sure the mental image I had of her would be good for half a dozen orgasms at the very least. I had known Susan ever since school; one might say we were acquaintances and rivals at the same time. We both came from the same background and moved in the same circles. Of course, Susan had always thought herself so superior to everyone, myself included.
Once I learned what had happened to her I could think of nothing else but seeing her in her uniform. It would be even better if she could see me and know that I knew of her downfall. No one seemed to know about it, and I had found out about it only by accident.
I had been out shopping on Saturday when I'd come across Hanna Rider. She had been in school with Susan and me, though she was not 'one of us' so to speak, and I had let her hang out with me from time to time. Hanna had been useful, finishing homework, completing assignments I could not be bothered with. She had gone off to college, taking some job as a part time waitress to pay for her tuition. I could only shudder at the idea of having to work in some sort of greasy spoon place.
Whatever I may have felt about Hanna, unlike Susan, I always made sure to keep my feelings well-hidden. There is no need to antagonise people, and with Hanna so eager to fit in, I always figured she might have her uses even after school. How true that was. I saw her at the shopping mall and started to move off. To be honest I wasn't really in the mood to deal with her, but before I could get away she saw me and dashed over. There was nothing I could do but smile and make the best of it. Over a cup of coffee she told me all about how she had graduated and was now a nurse.
"And I'm not just another nurse in a hospital," she told me in an excited voice. "I am the resident nurse at the local reformatory."
Once I heard that, I really got interested, and of course once she got going, Hanna told me in a hushed tone all about Susan becoming a delinquent. She was a bit vague on the charges that had landed Susan behind the reformatory walls, something about improper conduct and immoral behaviour, whatever that meant.
It took virtually no effort on my part to steer the conversation around to the sort of work that Hanna did. As I expected she was delighted that I was taking an interest in her petty little existence. After that I made sure she knew that I would be very interested in a visit to her reformatory to see the work she did there.
The little people are so easy to manipulate, you just have to know how to handle them. This was something Susan had never managed to master and, before Hanna and I parted company, she had agreed to get me on an approved visitors' list for next week. It would not be a full tour, she quickly added, only the Headmaster, Mr. Winston, could authorise that, but I was sure once I got my foot in the door, I would find a way to see Susan.
I was on pins and needles with excitement the rest of the weekend. After some discreet inquiries, I learned that none of our friends knew about Susan's fate. It amazed me that a woman like Susan could be so quickly locked up with no one the wiser. I suppose it made sense that her family would keep it quiet; I could only imagine the damage to her reputation if word got out. I was tempted to tell the others, but after some debate with myself, I kept quiet. It was going to be my little secret, and if I told the others they would all want to visit and see her. Where was the fun in sharing her downfall? First I would savour her humiliation, and then perhaps I would let the others know.
Finding the reformatory was far from easy. It didn't show up on my Sat-Nav, and it was only with Hanna's directions that I managed to find the complex, encircled by tall, grim walls. Above the main gate there was an old-fashioned crest, some words in what I presumed was Latin underneath what looked like an open book flanked by two canes. It was all I could do not to rub my hands with glee and giggle like a little girl when I saw that crest. I was really here. Soon I would get to rub that pretentious little prig's face in her shame.
Hanna was there to meet me, and I almost didn't recognise her, dressed as she was in a crisp white, knee-length dress. It looked like it belonged to a nurse from the 1940s with white stockings and a white cap atop her glossy black hair drawn up into a strict bun. A navy cape draped over her shoulders to keep at bay the late autumn chill completed the outfit.
"Come along," she said once the usual pleasantries were done. She even went so far as to take my arm. "I will show you the nurse's station." Normally I would have shaken her hand off, but there was something about the way she was dressed that gave her an air of authority. Not to mention I did not want to fall out with her yet, for I still needed her to get me to Susan.
We hadn't gone far when I saw one of the classrooms. The centre of the door was filled with small squares of clear-framed glass, and it afforded me a perfect view of what was going on inside. My breath caught at the sight. It was one thing to have heard rumours and stories, but to see it... well, that was something far, far better.
The classroom was filled with old-fashioned, sloped wooden desks, the sort that you see in a museum. Even at a glance I could tell that the attached hard wooden benches were uncomfortable to sit on.
There were twenty desks in all, each filled with a woman dressed in a parody of a school uniform: white blouse, blue blazer, blue tie, short, pleated blue skirt, legs bare except for polished flat Mary-Jane style black shoes and white ankle socks. Most of them had their hair tied up in braids or pigtails. The few that didn't had short pageboy or pixie-style haircuts.
As I watched, I saw a girl ease out of her cramped desk and walk hesitantly to the teacher's desk at the front of the class. The teacher, a strict-looking fellow in a tweed jacket and black academic gown, handed her a sheet of paper, and I saw her look down at the page with fear on her face, fear that was quickly replaced with relief as she took the page and scurried back to her desk.
Another student followed, only she was not so lucky. A few tears actually began to trickle down her cheeks when she saw the mark there, but without a word she reached under her short skirt and drew down her snug white cotton panties. She stepped out of them and folded them neatly before handing them over to the teacher. Then, to my amazement, she lifted the back of her short skirt and tucked it up into the skirt's waistband, leaving her bottom completely bare. Her nudity was emphasised even more when she bent over to grip the edge of the teacher's desk, thrusting her bare bottom up and out.
I'd never had a thing for other women, but there is something about the sight of a bare bottom bent over and waiting for its due that was beauty itself. At the sight of those taut cheeks so exposed and vulnerable I felt a dampness begin to spread between my legs.
All the students in the class were given a clear view of her naked bottom for a few seconds before the teacher climbed from his chair and lifted a wicked-looking leather strap from a hanger on the wall. I shivered at the sight of the instrument, but I did not have to imagine for long how much it would hurt. The teacher took up position behind the girl and, without any further ado, he proceeded to flick the strap down against her bottom.
The delinquent quivered under the first blow and a pained grunt escaped her lips as she jerked forward. He waited several seconds, letting her savour the sweet pain of the leather before he brought it down again. Again she gasped and I marvelled at the way the leather wrapped around the curves of her bottom. A more rigid cane might have left some of the sides of her particularly fine bottom escape. Not the reformatory leather. It was long enough to cover the width of her rear and two broad bands of red already marked her flesh. I had expected a quick flurry of blows but the teacher acted like he had all the time in the world. And the delinquent was forced to endure the pain and wait, knowing that she would be getting more. A third flick of his wrist and she gasped again, a soft sob breaking past her clenched lips.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the girl was allowed to straighten. Stiffly, she lowered the back of her skirt into place. It was so short that it just about covered her bottom, and I noticed that the teacher made no move to return her knickers to her. I cast a questioning look at Hanna, and she gave me a small, pleased smile. "If a girl earns a leathering or stripes, she loses her panty privileges until the signs of her punishment have completely faded."
"How old is she?" I asked. The woman looked a lot older than the uniform suggested but could I have been mistaken?
"All inmates are between eighteen and thirty five?" Hanna replied simply. "I hear there are plans to raise the maximum age to forty soon."
The girl was rubbing her bottom for all she was worth as she limped back to her desk. I saw her wince as she eased her bottom onto that hard wooden bench. I could almost feel sympathy for the girl. Sitting there for the rest of the class after that dose of the strap must have been an ordeal. Of course the woman was a delinquent, I reminded myself; she deserved everything she got.
"Come along, Tabitha," Hanna summoned, and reluctantly I pulled my eyes away from the classroom. Another girl was approaching the teacher's desk for her results, and I could see that the teacher had not replaced the strap on its hook. It seemed he would be using it again before the class was over.
Hanna tugged on my arm, and I was left with no choice but to follow her or try to pull free of her grip. I have to say I did not care for the way she kept hold of my arm just above my elbow. Anyone who saw us would think that I was one of her charges.
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