Reformatory Girls Ch. 07

"Kelly," says Miss Lucy: "If ever I'm desperate enough to want to have sex with a Reformatory Girl I shall choose one who has breasts."

With that she releases Kelly's nipples and un-straps her feet from the stirrups.

As she puts her legs miserably through the leg-holes of her large knickers Kelly struggles with tears.

"Why did you do that?" she finally blurts out.

"Because I can," Miss Lucy replies.

Back in her bed Karen is furious. Not only has that scheming bitch cheated her out of her orgasm, she has rubbed salt in her wounds by giving that common tart Ruby Grey an orgasm 'free and gratis'. Not only has she been cheated out of her orgasm and, it seems, all future orgasms: she and her father have been cheated out of five thousand pounds. For whatever Miss Lucy said about having given what she was paid to give, Karen is in no doubt that she has been conned. The bitch deserves to be sacked. She deserves to pay back every penny.

But when it comes down to what to do Karen is less certain. How can she communicate with her father and let him know what has happened? How can she ask him to go and retrieve his money? When she tries out possible letters she realises there is nothing she can say that will be comprehensible to him and pass the censor.

It is clear to her they are very unlikely to see any of that money again.

She sniffs and screws up her nose. Despite washing her face before bedtime she has been unable to get rid of the smell in her nostrils: that dark, hot, shitty smell, more concentrated than the smell of ordinary shit, that came from deep inside her anus.

That evil little bitch. She'd like to report her. But of course, she can't report her. Miss Lucy is right: who is going to believe one of the girls over Miss Lucy? And if they did, Karen herself would be in serious trouble.

Nor is it even safe for Karen to tell anybody. She does not have a special friend she can confide in. And walls tend to have ears in Hazely, it would not be wise to spread what has happened around all and sundry.

So Karen fumes silently.

But she is not only angry: she is also afraid. She remembers the look Miss Lucy gave her, and her parting words: You are going to regret that. She rather wishes she'd kept her mouth shut now. She is not looking forward to future encounters with Miss Lucy.

By the following Saturday Karen is hoping that Matron will call her as fervently as she was hoping Miss Lucy would call her the previous Saturday.

But she is out of luck. The moment the girl in front of her is called in by Matron, Miss Lucy is at the doorway. The timing is so precise it almost seems calculated. And Karen hesitates for so long that Miss Bulstrode has to shout at her to get a move on.

"Not in such a hurry today are you Karen?" says Miss Lucy, as she closes the door of the consulting room.

Karen stands by the couch. All her instincts are telling her something bad will happen to her if she undresses and puts herself at the mercy of Miss Lucy. And though she can't think of a way out, she hesitates, reluctance written all over her features.

"Come along now Karen," says Miss Lucy. "Skirt and knickers off: let's have your feet fastened in those stirrups."

She gives Karen a look which leaves Karen in no doubt that the words spoken the previous week have not been forgotten. Karen stands, motionless: she cannot, she will not, undress herself and render herself powerless and vulnerable before Miss Lucy.

"Get a move on Karen," says Miss Lucy more firmly. "Or do you want me to call Miss Bulstrode and ask her to help me?"

Very reluctantly Karen removes her skirt and knickers: the air feels cool on her thighs and her tummy: as she slips onto the examination couch she feels more than usually exposed.

With a touch of impatience Miss Lucy takes her feet and straps them into the stirrups.

"Arms back above your head," she tells Karen.

"What?" asks Karen, puzzled.

"Stretch out your arms," says Miss Lucy. And before Karen knows what is happening one of her hands has been fastened to a bar at the top corner of the couch.

"What's going on?" demands Karen.

"I'm strapping your hands down," says Miss Lucy.

"You can't do that," protests Karen.

"I'm getting a little fed up of you telling me what I can and can't do," says Miss Lucy. "We are entitled to strap down any girl who we think may be awkward or dangerous."

"I'm not awkward of dangerous," protests Karen.

"You tried to masturbate last week," says Miss Lucy. "And today you are being uncooperative. Therefore I'm strapping your hands down."

With that she takes Karen's other hand, and before she knows it Karen is strapped down by the hands and feet, the stirrups are adjusted, and her legs are bent at the knees and spread fully open.

"That's better," says Miss Lucy: and the smile on her face, which had always hovered ambiguously between kindly and malicious, is now most decidedly malicious.

"If you hurt me I'll call out," says Karen.

"Go ahead," says Miss Lucy. "We went through that last week. Have you ever seen my Aunt thrash anyone?"

"No," mutters Karen.

"She may not look very strong," says Miss Lucy. "But I promise you she really lays it on. Call her now if you want to."

Karen, of course, stays silent. Miss Lucy takes a moment to look down at her, scanning her naked legs and pudenda, letting Karen know exactly how things stand, ensuring that she feels vulnerable and frightened.

"Tell me Karen," Miss Lucy says at last: "Have you ever been plucked?"

At first Karen thinks she has misheard: of course she has been fucked, what kind of a question is that? Then Miss Lucy clarifies:

"Plucked, Karen, as in plucking a chicken. Not fucked. I know you've been fucked: hundreds, if not thousands of times I shouldn't wonder."

"No," says Karen weakly.

"Then it will be a new experience for you, won't it? Now get ready: and remember not to scream, unless you want my Aunt to come and thrash you."

Karen watches as Miss Lucy takes a pair of tweezers, reaches between her legs and presses the ends against her skin. Miss Lucy grips: and suddenly Karen has to stifle a scream as Miss Lucy yanks on the stubbly end of one of Karen's pubic hairs, and it feels to Karen as if her skin is being ripped off her pudenda.

"Oh God no," pleads Karen: and she gasp-screams again as a second pubic hair is tugged from her vulva.

"Hurts does it?" says Miss Lucy calmly. "Perhaps you should have thought twice before you decided to threaten me."

"Oh no," gasps Karen as another hair is plucked from its follicle. "Please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

There is nothing half-hearted about Karen's apology this time. She is deeply, sincerely sorry that she threatened to have Miss Lucy sacked. But Miss Lucy seems impervious, and continues to ply the tweezers, plucking at the tiny growth of stubble until there are tears in Karen's eyes and her vulva feels as though it has been scraped raw, or jabbed with pins, or set on fire: Karen has never experienced any pain with which to compare it.

Still Miss Lucy continues to ply the tweezers, plucking at Karen's pubic stubble - even humming to herself as she does so. Only the constraints of time bring about an end to the torture.

"That will do," Miss Lucy tells Karen: "for this week."

She proceeds to shave Karen, briskly and brusquely, the razor, as it draws over Karen's mound, compounding the pain caused by the plucking. When she has finished she looks down on the girl stretched cross-wise on the examination couch, admiring her handiwork.

"A few more weeks and we'll have you plucked nice and smooth," she tells Karen. "Oh, one more thing before we finish."

Karen gasps and wrenches at the restraints as the stinging after-shave is sprinkled over her pubis.