ST.RADEGUND'S SCHOOL FOR THE CORRECTION OF GIRLS

BY PENT

Part 1

Tour guides on the paddle steamers of the Connecticut River point
to the building on the hill, and say: "That's St.Radegund's
School of Correction".

Voice dropping to a hoarse stage whisper: "It's said that they
beat the young girls who are there -as young as ten years old!"

The forbidding towers and turrets look more like a German
fortress than a place for helping troubled girls to find that
they can, after all, fit in with life around them - and enjoy it
- helped along by tough love and even tougher discipline.

About a year ago I happened to sit next to a jolly horse-riding
woman at dinner in a college. The occasion was to hear readings
from a new translation of Petronius' Satyricon.

Considering the mixture of philosophy and outrageous bawdiness
from ancient Italy that we were about to hear, I was somewhat
surprised when my neighbor told me that she was the Principal of
St.Radegund's School for the Correction of Girls . Priscilla
Battem, MA, was an outgoing lady and an excellent
conversationalist: she quickly drew from me that I fully approved
of corporal punishment for young girls. I made some pious
comments too, about "really painful punishment" so a girl never
got to (Heaven forbid!) *enjoy* her beatings.

And much other sanctimonious clap-trap.

Priscilla described for me the room where a girl receives her
punishment, lying full- length, face down on a table, her wrists
and calves held by soft leather binding. The usual paddles,
straps and canes used by the school lie on a smaller table.

The girl wears her school uniform of a white blouse and plain
grey kilted skirt, with shoes and short socks, but no underwear
of any kind. The teacher raises the girl's skirt and lays it up
over her back to expose her bare nates for beating.

The end of the table further from the girl's head is wider and
the calf straps can be adjusted to hold the girl's legs apart.
Many teachers prefer the access this gives to chastise the girl's
inner thighs.

Some teachers prefer to spank the girl as she lies, flat on the
table, fesses upwards, full and round, perhaps with a cushion
under her stomach, Priscilla said.

Others like to lower the table flap so the girl's legs are pulled
down by the straps around her calves, and her bottom is presented
to the teacher, bent over, in the more usual position for
beating.

The staff of St.Radegund's are all female and live in the school
buildings, Priscilla told me, and she bemoaned their limited
physical strength to give really severe correction when it is
clearly called for.

I saw the direction Priscilla's talk was taking us and pretended
at first not to understand, and remarked that "I was heavily
committed these days".

In the end, though, I "reluctantly let her persuade me" to say I
would try to help the school in the way she asked.

To cut a long story short, as we parted that evening after
hearing wildly erotic renditions of the Satyricon, I agreed with
Priscilla Battem to visit St.Radegund's School for the Correction
of Girls on the next Wednesday evening at eight to chastise any
girls who needed a specially firm hand.

Next Wednesday, the night was dark and overcast as I parked my
car near the massive building, perched on its hilltop:
St.Radegund's School for the Correction of Girls.

Not a single light in any of the windows - they must all have
shutters that are closed at night - except for one small window
up in the roof of that forbidding building, which showed a dim
glow.

The moon appeared briefly from behind clouds and it's reflection
glistened silver for a moment in the black surface of the
Connecticut river far below.

The single outside light was enough for me to find my way up the
wide stone steps and reach the iron-studded oak door at the top,
with its bell-pull.

I yanked it hard, just as the clock over the school was striking
eight. The door was opened by an elderly maidservant in uniform -
I told her my name:

"The Principal is expecting you, Sir. Please come in and let me
have your hat and coat".

"Thank you. Do you have a bath-room I can use before meeting with
the Principal?"

"Certainly, Sir. The door there, marked 'B'. I will wait for you
here Sir".

I was glad to relieve myself then splash water on my face, in
preparation for my exertions.

The maid was waiting and led me to one of the oak doors in the
hallway with a brass plate: "Priscilla Battem, MA, Principal".

The maid knocked. We heard "Come in!" and she swung the door
open.

Priscilla Battem came across the room:

"Ah! Mr. Embury! Thank you, Katherine. Would you please close the
door after you.

"I am so glad you could come as we arranged, Mr. Embury. Let's
sit here by the fire a moment. May I call you Pentland when we
are together in private? And you please call me Priscilla! (I
bowed my assent). Thank you, it lends a frank informality to our
talk.

"I will offer you a glass of wine *after* you have done your work
for us, but perhaps you would like coffee or something cool
before we go?".

"No, thank you, Priscilla. I am ready for work".

"Well, I have just one girl, Pentland, who awaits your firm
discipline on this fist visit of yours to St. Radegund's; I see
you have brought a brief case, and I assume it has any implements
of your own that you may prefer to use in place of our paddles
and straps?"

"Yes indeed, Priscilla".

"I have described the punishment rooms to you already, Pentland.
You will find a paper clipped to the back of the door: it has the
girl's name, with a description of the faults she is to be
punished for, and any notes on her background that may be helpful
to you - some girls were used to quite violent treatment before
coming here; others have had quite easy lives, physically.

"I leave it entirely for you to judge the type and amount of
correction that is appropriate for the girl.

"You will not be disturbed, unless you press the electric bell
push on the wall - just once - to call a member of the school
staff to assist you . . .

"Please take as long as you wish to chastise, counsel and give
guidance to the miscreant.

"When you have completed your punishment of the girl, can you
please press the bell push on the wall - press it twice? A
teacher will come eventually to escort the girl back to her dorm
room.

"Are the procedures clear, Pentland? Do you have any questions?"

"Your arrangements are simple, thank you Priscilla. The result of
much experience and thought, I'm sure!"

"Well, this has been a lot of introduction, just for your first
visit, Pentland. If you are ready, shall we will go to the
punishment rooms now?"

For some reason, I had expected punishments would be given in a
dank and dismal basement, but I was completely mistaken: We
climbed four flights of stairs until we seemed to be up in the
attics.

Facing the stairs on the top landing was a partition wall: looked
like pine paneling made properly dark and forbidding. with a
walnut oak stain.

The ceiling sloped down for a foot or so at each end of the wall:
clearly we were near the ridge of the roof.

Two doors in this wall were marked "1" and "2"; a third door
betwen them had no marking.

"The center door goes to the girls' side of the house, Pentland.
The doors with numbers on them are the punishment rooms.

"The room numbered "One" has the girl, tied down to a table and
wearing only a shirt and kilt, who is awaiting your punishment
this evening.

"The door over here with "B" on it is a bathroom should you want
it.

"I will look forward to sharing a glass of wine with you down in
my study when your work is done. You know my door: Just knock and
come in!

"Any questions? No? Good luck, Pentland!",

And with that the Principal turned and left me, not quite knowing
what lay ahead . . . When the Principal's footsteps on the stairs
had died away, I wished myself luck too, then knocked on the
first door and entered the wood-paneled and dimly lit room.

A young girl was lying on the punishment table, just as the
Principal had described: face down with her wrists and calves
held by leather straps. She was dressed in a grey kilted skirt
and a white blouse. I saw green eyes staring anxiously at me from
under her red hair, and I could see she had been crying.

I set my briefcase down on the small table, alongside the paddles
and straps. The note clipped to the door told me her name was
Sarah.

"Sarah", I said, "I am Pentland Embury, and the Principal has
asked me to punish you for what it says you did on this note.

"I am going to read it out loud and I want you to listen: I want
to know if you think what it says is true.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Sarah?"

"Yes mister Emby"

"Address me as 'Sir' when you speak to me, Sarah. Right?"

"Sir, Yes Sir."

"Good! Now listen carefully, Sarah".

I read it out loud - all except the last bit about no CP before
coming to St.Radegund's:

  "SARAH: At lunch in the refectory today, Sarah threw food. She
  hit the History teacher on the head with a boiled potato.

  "Sarah, 12, sometimes gets carried away with her high spirits
  which can result, as on this occasion, in gross
  insubordination.

  "Sarah must learn to behave herself properly at all times".

Sarah had never received corporal punishment of any kind before
she came to St.Radegund's five months ago; chastisement has so
far had little affect on her occasional unruly behavior, which
must cease if she is to stay at St.Radegund's.
"Now tell me Sarah, is this true? Did you throw a boiled potato
at lunch in the refectory and hit the History teacher on the head
with it?" (The sight must have been hilarious, but I kept a
straight face).

Sarah's words came tumbling out:

"Yes! That'swhatIdid. And Idon'tknowwhyIdidit!
Iliketheteacher,reallyIdo. IknowIdeserveabeating,
butpleeeeeeasedon'tbetoohardonme MrEmby,please!"

"Sarah, get a grip of yourself! Now I want you to say all that
again more slowly, so I'm sure I understand it".

"Sir. Yes Sir. I don't know why I ever did a thing like that Sir.
I like the History teacher Sir.

"Something just came over me Sir. I'll never do it again Sir.

"Please don't beat me too hard Sir!"

"Hmmmm. From the way you say that Sarah, I can tell you
deliberately aimed the potato at the History teacher. It was not
an accident; you intended it to hit the teacher.

"We have to stop 'Something just coming over you', Sarah, so you
don't ever do terrible things like this again 'Which you don't
understand why'.

"What you did to the teacher was really mean and nasty of you,
Sarah. You must remember to behave yourself in future Sarah, and
I am going to give you a sound spanking on your bare bottom -
probably more painful than you have ever had before, to help you
to remeber what I am saying.

"Do you understand me Sarah?"

Sarah, in a trembling voice: "Yes Sir. I do understand Sir"

With that, I lifted Sarah's plain grey pleated skirt and tucked
it into the neck of her white blouse . . . and stopped, rooted to
the floor:

I had seldom seen such sweet and innocent beauty as Sarah's bare
body. She was a slender girl, so slender that the cheeks of her
bottom curved smoothly into her legs with no fold or crease in
the surface there. It was the color of her skin which lent Sarah
an air of angelic purity: she was a clear dazzling white.

I pulled myself together:

"Sarah, I'll start by arranging you the way I want for your
spanking. I want your ankles further apart (she gave a low
groan), so I will move the leather ties on your legs . . . And I
want a cushion under your middle to raise your bottom".

I took the cushion from the table and told Sarah to raise her
middle. I slid a hand under to support her and pulled the skirt
from under her, up to her neck so she lay completely naked from
the waist down to her shoes and socks.

At the same time I slid the cushion under her tummy -feeling with
my hand to be sure I left her cunnie uncovered.

"There, Sarah. You are in the position I want. Just one little
thing before we start: Let's make sure you are squeaky clean down
where I am going to spank you".

I first took a freshly-laundered white cotton handkerchief from
my case, spat on it and gently rubbed her coral lips, which were
plainly visible with her legs pulled so wide apart.

The stain on the white cotton showed me that Sarah could have
been cleaner.

I took a 'Moisture-Wipe' tissue from my briefcase and wrapped it
around a finger which I slid gently down between Sarah's cheeks.

I pressed the wet tissue against her rosebud for a long time then
rubbed it slowly back and fore over Sarah's nether lips and
rocked my finger from side to side. She made faint moaning sounds
and clearly loved what I was doing.

Next I took a fresh tissue and slid my hand down between Sarah's
legs with it and gently dabbed her cunnie.

To finish, I took the handkerchief and carefully, slowly, dried
her quim and sparkling-pink coral lips.

I tucked the cleaning materials carefully into a plastic bag and
back into my case: I had noticed a growing market in such things
on the Web, and saw no reason to be prudish about joining it.

"Now Sarah, before I can give you a spanking, you must relax your
bottom".

That was nonsense of course: Sarah was beautifully relaxed from
my gentle massaging down between her legs . . .

I slowly rubbed and squeezed Sarah's soft warm bottom -her cheeks
were smooth as silk and exquisitely pliant to my touch - and I
asked her:

"Sarah, what brought you here to St. Radegund's School for
Correction; what did you do wrong?"

Sarah loved what I was doing to her soft warm bottom, smooth as
silk. She bent her back to press her cheeks up towards my
fondling hands, and squirmed her bottom slowly from side to side
as a dreamy smile came over her face.

"Well, Sir, I never had a Dad Sir and me Mom didn't want me
around for her boyfriends to see Sir so I lived a lot at school
friends' Sir.

"Then me Mom left home Sir with one of her men Sir - went to
Florida or somewhere - and I moved in with a school friend Sir.
Her Mom liked me Sir and didn't mind Sir.

"Sir then I did a daft thing at school Sir: all the teachers were
on the stage Sir in the auditorium for the start of the year Sir,
and I'd seen this lever thing Sir that said 'Sprinkler: Stage:
Test' Sir and I went and did it . . . Sir.

"They all got soaked and me friends and me near shit ourselves
laughing. But they sent for the police Sir and next day they put
me up in front of a judge Sir.

"Sir he found out that no one was respons'ble for me Sir and sent
me here Sir. Didn't say how long for Sir; just 'until they think
you can behave, then find a foster home for you', is what he said
Sir - 'Next case!'"

"The judge said you are to be here until they think you can
behave, Sarah. Did he say what would happen if the staff here
think you never can be trusted to behave yourself?"

"No Sir. He didn't Sir."

"Well, they certainly wouldn't be able to keep you here Sarah,
that's for sure! There's only one place for girls who are
violent: girls who soak the teachers with water or throw boiled
potatoes at them, Sarah, and who won't change their ways and
behave themselves.

"They go to a junior penitentiary, where they sleep in a stone
cell behind bars and the warders all carry clubs and handcuffs to
keep you in order and to protect themselves.

Sarah had stopped squirming her bottom around and her eyes grew
round as I said this.

"They have hungry rats there, which come out at night and wriggle
all over you in your warm bed; They like the taste of blood too
and bite you in the night".

I didn't need to go on: Sarah was looking really frightened by
now. I kept gently rubbing and squeezing her bottom, but she had
stopped enjoying it.

"You are only twelve years old, Sarah, but you are an intelligent
person. Your mother treated you badly by walking out on you
Sarah, and you get these sudden urges to take revenge on the
people who are in charge of you now: your teachers.

"You are the only person who can change the way you act, Sarah,
and you have got to change or you will be sent to the
penitentiary.

"I *know* you can do it Sarah! You must just make new rules for
yourself and keep to them:

BEHAVE YOURSELF! DO NOT BE MEAN!

"Do you understand what I am saying, Sarah?"

Tears were running down Sarah's face now, she was scared and
sweating: I could smell her fear.

"Yes Sir, I do understand Sir."

"I am going to help you to remember always what I've said,
Sarah".

With that, I began to spank Sarah's silky white bottom, light and
fast. With one smack I repeated the words: BEHAVE YOURSELF! With
the next smack: DON'T BE MEAN!

I kept my fingers together and used my hand like a paddle, loose
at the wrist. I smacked fast and light and covered all of Sarah's
bottom, giving more attention to any place that was not quite as
red as the rest. Her bottom bounced and quivered under my quick
pat-a-cake smacks while I watched her dazzling white cheeks grow
more and more red.

For every two spanks I said: BEHAVE YOURSELF! and DON'T BE MEAN!

I made Sarah's pain build up slowly until I was flattening her
cheeks with every slap; It was agony for her and tears were
pouring down her face and she sobbed as she squirmed and wriggled
under my inexorable spanking, croaking:

"Nooooo! Stopppp! Ohhhhh! It Huuuurts! Perleeeese! Ohhhhhh!"

Sarah's cheeks became a brilliant glowing scarlet, in striking
contrast to her back and legs which remained dazzling white.
Never did any painter achieve a brighter red in his paintings of
a sunset.

Sarah's bottom was looking just gorgeous.

But I didn't want to numb her bottom so much that she stopped
feeling pain from each one of my my spanks so I said:

"I will give you a short rest Sarah, to take some of the pain die
away".

Through her sobs and tears: "Oh Sir! Thank you Sir!"