This short story is an entry in the 2001 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Beginning Line
The Schoolhouse
By
Valerie Meilong <VMeilong1@excite.com>
The key turned easily in the lock. I opened the door and crept in. My fianc�e was away for one night, and I was sleeping over. I shouldn't have been snooping, nosy bitch me, but locked rooms tempt me.
I was surprised. The house had been a school, and was still cold and hard like a Victorian poor house, though it now had decent bathrooms, and a modern kitchen.
This was a typical impersonal headmaster's office; desk, cupboard, and two hard wooden upright chairs against the wall. I opened the cupboard door. It was empty xcept for a dry-looking birch and a wicked-looking cane, which I picked up. I heard sobbing. In the corner squatted a small tearful girl in a blue gym-slip. I blinked. She vanished. "Stupid imagination," I thought. I put the cane back, and picked up the birch. I heard moaning. A dark-haired girl, about fourteen, was bending over a chair, knickers around her knees. Her bare bottom was covered in tiny bloody scratches. She'd been soundly birched. I blinked, and this vision vanished. Trembling, I put the birch back, and crept out of the room.
My fianc�e? Twenty years older than I. Handsome, a tiger in bed, and disgustingly rich; he'd inherited a fortune from his father, five years ago in 1948.
At breakfast I said he needed a housekeeper. "Can't get 'em," he said laconically. I made enquiries in the village, and was put on to an old biddy who had once worked for him. "Come back? Not bloody likely," she said vehemently. "He's a monster."
I coaxed the story out of her. He'd bought a small lng-established girl's school, appointing himself headmaster. He soon racked up a reputation for excessive corporal punishment. It was even alleged that one girl died from her beating, and another died shortly after. It was all hushed up, of course - he was rich. Nevertheless, the school was closed down and was converted to a dwelling-house. "Folks say the place's 'aunted," she averred primly. I said nothing.
I could not forget those two girls. At the earliest opportunity I sneaked into that room again. I picked up the birch, and the girl appeared, lacerated bottom as before. Careful not to blink, I moved to her side, and gently lifted her upright. She clung to me pathetically, and we hugged. "Don't marry him, miss, he's evil," she whispered, then vanished. I replaced the birch, and picked up the cane. The little girl appeared. "Don't marry him, miss," she murmured.
I became morose. At breakfast I broke the engagement off. He was furious, and harsh words were spoken. "Be out of the house by this evening," he said angrily, stamping out, "and get your stuff out too, otherwise I'll chuck it into the yard."
I couldn't resist it. I crept into that room again, and picked up the birch Nothing happened. I picked up the cane. Still nothing. I put them back, and as I did so I heard a whispered, "Well done."
The End
© Copyright Summer, 2001
***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** This story is for entertainment purposes only, and it does not necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author. All characters are fictional and any resemblance to any real person alive or dead is purely coincidental. The Copyright of this story is held by ESP Publishing Ltd., Beijing, China. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via an electronic medium such as the internet is permitted as long as the text is not modified, and the name of the author and this copyright notice is clearly included. Any other form of publication is expressly forbidden unless authorized in writing by ESP Publishing Ltd.
Reviews
Louiza <louiza(at)home(dot)com>
A dark story, but nicely told. I like the creative way it plays with the ordinary way something that is repulsive can be fascinating at the same time, which speaks to the love/hate conflict many spankos share; when presented with a scene of abusive spanking or whipping, on one level you're disgusted but on another, you're aroused and can't take your eyes off of it. Well done! :)
Michele <mcasson(at)telus(dot)com>
Valerie has been one of our most prolific contributors for this year's SSC, and she's proved to be an original and surprising writer, one who avoids some of the conventions that can make spanking stories predictable. And we see this originality in "The School House."
I like this story a lot-- a kinky ghost story that reminded me of Jane Eyre. It's moody and dark, and within the confines of the 500 word format, Valerie effectively sketches her characters.