by DJ Black
It was more than two hours since lights-out and the sun had long set on the Colossians Baptist Ladies College in the good old State of Alabama. Why was everything 'good old' in this part of the world, she wondered? It was crazy, just like the inmates; nothing was particularly old compared to her native England and so far there wasn't that much good about it, not here in college anyway. She had as yet not seen much of Alabama. Maybe it was like the movies, she thought ruefully.
Carrie Johns tiptoed down the hall, painfully aware that every footfall was a shout, or at least seemed that way. Damn these old wooden floors, she cursed inwardly. The only illumination was from the high hall windows that dropped moonlit oblongs onto the floor at regular intervals ahead of her. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw someone watching her, and icy fingers of fear stole down her spine.
Carrie gulped and in her head rehearsed a yarn about being English and stupid and 'Where exactly is the midnight cocoa room?' in her best clichéd prep-school tone. Some of the snobs here had already bought that line, but only some of them.
Frozen in place she slowly turned her head to face hard puritan eyes regarding her from the shadows. The Founder towered over her, drilling her with his eyes almost 120 years after he had died.
"Creepy bloody painting," she cursed in a whisper. But if anyone had been watching her they would have seen the green eyes set in a heart-shaped face close with relief beneath the fringe of her red-brown hair... hair that must not touch the collar, according to College rules.
Carrie was small, slight in build and barely five feet two in height; which was the main reason she had been chosen for this assignment.
"You want me to infiltrate a Bible-bashing Southern college, Chief?" she had gasped. "But I am nearly 25."
"As we're staffed entirely by graduates, I don't have too many 18-year-olds at my disposal. The FBI would have used their own agent, but they don't have anyone that young either. So as the only one who could pass for an eighteen year old..."
"Oh terrific." Carrie had rolled up her eyes.
"Cut that out," the Chief had scolded her in his best paternal manner.
"How long will I be in this dump?" Carrie said with a pout.
"I have enrolled you in the second semester. It should be long enough?"
"It should be, and anyway, a whole semester...?" Carrie had been dismayed, but already it seemed so long ago.
Carrie looked again at the portrait. It was almost as if he knew she was an interloper. She shrugged. She had no time for this.
The principal's office was locked as she knew it would be. Its usual occupant was one Martin De Mark, an imposing cuss who could turn from jocular to imperious on a dime. But he was not in her sights. It was his secretary's office that was her target. Or more specifically the student register. A request for it through the usual channels had been considered by the chief, but it was decided that it might tip off the suspect, and with students coming and going all the time a sudden departure would not necessarily be a pointer.
Carrie needed to know who had enrolled at Colossians in the month prior to her arrival. That ought to narrow it down to no more than half a dozen suspects.
"Damn," she cursed as she tried the door with an improvised lock-pick. The word was a no-no at Colossians and she blanched out of habit lest someone was there to hear her. There wasn't of course.
Okay it was worth a try. Now for plan B, she thought hoping she could come up with one. The trouble was, all she knew about the suspect was that she was female and could be no older than Carrie was. The informant had said that the woman was hoping to hide in an Alabama college until the heat was off, but hadn't said which one. Their only other lead had been the prospectus found in the trash at the back of the motel she was last known to have been occupying whilst on the run. The motel had porn on tap so a genuine candidate was unlikely to have used it.
Carrie let out a heavy sigh and made to go back to her room. The light that came on left her momentarily blind.
"Miss Johns," Principal De Mark said breezily. "How might I help you?"
"Eh... oh, silly me, I appear to be lost. Where might I get some cocoa? I can't sleep," Carrie said blinking hard, her cut-glass tones laid on with a trowel.
"I think it was explained to you during your first week here that there are no such arrangements available to students after lights out," De Mark said sharply, adding, "and during your second week when Mrs Coleridge paddled you for the same mistake."
Carrie felt her buttocks clench and her hand went unconsciously to her rear end as she blushed. The events mentioned had happened so fast that she had not had time to consider breaking cover. The same thought occurred now.
"Tomorrow; my office after second period, see me," De Mark said in a crisp voice. "Now I suggest you go to bed."
Carrie hung her mouth open to reply, but all she said was, "Yes Sir."
---oOo---
"Now Miss Johns, you know the drill," De Mark growled.
Carrie's hand fluttered like a broken-winged bird, her arms flapping straight and nervously at her sides as she took a slight crouching position as if about to flee.
"Can't we... I mean, can't we talk about this? You haven't even asked me what I was doing," Carrie protested.
The morning had dragged by as Carrie had wracked her brains for a plausible reason for her skulking on the administration floor after dark. Now in the principal's office things were spinning out of control.
"I don't care, Miss Johns. Let's face it, whatever you tell me will be a story and I don't plan on giving you another chance to lie and imperil your soul," De Mark said in a bored voice.
"But I..."
"Tell you what Miss Johns, I don't know how they do things in England, but while you slip your panties down and bend over I will fetch the cane instead of the paddle. Just in case last time we had a communication problem and you didn't understand that 'the paddle' is American for 'don't get caught out of bounds'."
Carrie took a deep breath and clamped shut her jaw.
"Look..." she began, but what could she say?
De Mark cocked an eyebrow until Carrie swallowed hard and reached under skirt to tug at her underwear.
By the time the principal had turned back, a red-faced and soon to be very red-bottomed Carrie was bending over with her panties at her ankles to display her bare behind.
"Spare the rod and spoil the child," De Mark intoned. "You know this English device is so much more biblical somehow."
"I am not a child," Carrie said sullenly, her accent slipping to show her rather lower middle class South London roots.
"You are under 21, which is much the same in my book, young lady," De Mark said sternly.
"But I..."
"You're not going to argue, are you?"
"No... Sir," Carrie said bitterly through her clenched teeth.
"That attitude will get you two extra," the principal barked.
Carrie gasped, "Sir I..." tears pooled at her eyes as she closed her mouth in resignation.
"Bend right over now, right over. If I have to offer you a chair back, there will be a further two stroked for the privilege," De Mark promised. "I don't know what your game is, but it ends here and now. Do you understand?"
Carrie gulped and folded herself over a little more so that her bare bottom was more obviously on display. She hoped it would be enough.
"Yes Sir," she said; the words awkward in her throat.
"Legs together and bend a little more. Let me see you grab those ankles," De Mark growled.
The rush of blood to her face felt hot on her cheeks but she did as she was told until her bottom was thrust right up and back at him in what seemed a somewhat obscene manner. Still he had ordered her legs closed, which was more than she had heard from other girls here.
The hard swish ended in a tight thwack somewhere nearby. It took a moment for the sting to register and she grunted and dipped her knees. The paddle had been worse she remembered, although just as embarrassing. But even as this thought came the cane continued to bite and she struggled bug-eyed for breath as the pain continued to build.
The second stroke was even worse and she sucked in air through her nose sharply as she processed it.
"Breathe through your mouth, it will be easier," he told her. He sounded concerned.
Carrie nodded and after a moment, did as she was told. She was still panting hard when the next stroke landed.
"Ah," she barked and did a little dance without lifting her feet or standing up.
"You take it well, Miss Johns," De Mark said in admiration.
For some reason she was pleased by the compliment, which disarmed her. It was a transient thought brought to an end by another stroke.
"Eeeee," she squealed angrily as she struggled to stay bent over.
"Now, now," he chided her even as he caned her again.
"Ooh! Ow! Thank you Sir," she managed, aware of some wetness on her cheeks.
"You are welcome Miss Johns," De Mark said, launching into another stroke.
"Aah, uhhhh." The grunt stayed in her throat and she then emitted a long drawn-out groan as she scrambled to keep hold of her ankles.
"Two more I think. The extras I spoke of," the principal said, tapping her proffered bottom with the cane, an act which made her jump a little in anticipation.
The next stroke sent her up and back down low with an angry growl.
"Do that again and it won't count and I'll give you another," he chided.
She again sucked on air and it was a moment before she managed to say, "Sorry Sir."
For the last stroke her eyes and mouth flew open in tandem and she crushed her ankles in her hands to ride out the relentless wave of pain.
"Paddle swats from me come in multiples of six starting at 12," De Mark informed her. "If you are caught sneaking around corridors at night again, that is something that you will truly learn."
"Yes Sir," she sniffed. She was shaking at the knees now and had started to rock back and forth.
"Stand up Miss Johns and repair your dress," the principal said archly.
As she eased herself upright her bottom flared up and she was put in mind of her grandmother's old electric bar fire on a winter's evening long ago. It felt for all England as if she had sat on it three or four times.
Carrie shot a glance at De Mark and was surprised and glad that he had turned his back while she dressed.
"You deserved that Miss Johns," he said in a friendly tone.
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir," she responded.
It sounded strangely natural on her lips and the only resentment she felt was that she was not angry. As her knickers, or panties as they called them here, slid over her bottom she gave a wince.
"You are welcome Miss Johns," De Mark said and offered her his hand.
She shook it with a limp hand and blushed.
"Off you go," he said brightly when she did not move.
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