Reformatory Girls Ch. 14: Rebecca Lucie 01

Rebecca is not the only one to gasp. A number of the girls let out exclamations of excited surprise; possibly Philida is surprised at her own temerity.

"The Whore has to be fucked," she says in mitigation.

Then she does begin to fuck Rebecca, drawing the courgette backwards and forwards, out and in and out of Rebecca's vagina, establishing a slow-motion rhythm, out and in and out again, as Rebecca struggles helplessly.

The girls have fallen silent, watching: thrilled, amazed.

"Fuck that Whore," breathes Gillian.

The courgette must have invaded Rebecca's vagina some twenty times before Philida comes to a halt, and looks down, smirking.

Rebecca, who has her eyes closed, trying to shut out this nightmare, says nothing.

"Look at her - she's loving it," says Jessica.

One by one the girls release their grip on Rebecca. It seems her ordeal is over.

But Gillian is pursing her thick lips thoughtfully.

"Whore's have to be paid," she says.

The girls look at her; Philida in particular gives her a curious look: there has always been a touch of rivalry between the two girls, over who has the more influence, and who dares to push things furthest. She frowns when Gillian hitches up her nightdress.

"What are you doing," whispers Jessica: for Gillian has tugged off her own capacious knickers and is standing semi-naked, revealing her thick strong thighs, her broad hips and the triangle of her pubic hair beneath her full stomach.

"I'm going to pay the Whore," she says. And with that she climbs onto Rebecca's bed, squats over Rebecca's face and hitches up her nightdress again.

"No," gasps one of the girls. There are more gasps and exclamations. Philida stares open-mouthed - as the first gush of urine splashes down from between Gillian's thighs straight into Rebecca's face.

"Jesus Christ," Jessica mutters.

Gillian is soon in full flow: there are hissing and plashing sounds as her piss streams down onto Rebecca, hitting her on her cheeks and lips, running down her face onto her chin and onto her pillow. Rebecca struggles, but Gillian has her pinned fast: her minge is just above Rebecca's mouth: if she lowered her weight any further she could crush or suffocate Rebecca.

"Drink it down, Whore," says Gillian nastily.

Rebecca struggles and splutters as some of the piss finds its way into her mouth. The girls watching are holding their breath: some sniff or wrinkle their noses: the steamy smell of hot piss fills the air.

Gillian is still going strong; Rebecca is spluttering and choking: there is piss in her mouth and in her nostrils: it is all she can do to breathe. The stench of piss is overwhelming her: piss and the animal smell of her tormentor's vagina hovering just above her nose and mouth.

At last the stream dies to a trickle. Gillian casts a look at the girls: it's a look which says: 'Anyone dare to top that?' Then she climbs down off Rebecca's bed, wipes herself between her legs with Rebecca's scrunched-up sheet, and lowers her nightdress.

The girls begin to slink away. Rebecca blinks piss out of her eyes and stares at Gillian.

"I'll kill you for this," she says.

Gillian laughs:

"Sweet dreams Whore," she says lightly. Then, with the others, she retires to her bed, leaving Rebecca to her piss-soaked pillow.

"I shall have a good rub tonight," Rebecca hears her saying.

"Hear, hear," says Jessica - and she speaks for all the girls. For apart from Rebecca there is not a girl present who is not excited and turned-on by what she has witnessed. Soon the sheets are rustling: there are many busy fingers at work that night in the Dormitory.

The following week it is a carrot; and the week after that an unripe banana. Though mercifully (Gillian having made her point) there are no further 'payments' of urine.

But as in all things there are diminishing returns: when the unripe banana is unpeeled, not all the girls bother to turn out of bed.

So Philida puts her thinking cap on. And a few days later she announces:

"Cook has promised me a young cucumber from the greenhouse. And tonight, Whore, it's going up your bottom."

The girls titter; and the refrain quickly takes hold: 'the Whore's getting it up the arse tonight'.

All morning there is an air of renewed excitement and speculation. At break Philida overhears two girls having a bet as to whether she will really go through with it. If she had any doubts before she has none now.

"You may as well pay up now," she tells the girl who has bet against it happening.

Rebecca is in despair. Is there anything she can do to escape? Go sick? That would only postpone it. Tell one of the Mistresses? None of them would believe her: and the girls have made it quite clear what will happen to her if she breaks the inviolable taboo against 'sneaking'. She's scared: but she's also filled with fury: she'd like to punish, to hurt, to murder her tormentors.

Still the taunts echo round her ears: 'the Whore's getting it up the arse tonight.'

At afternoon break she takes herself off to the bike sheds, just to escape from everybody. Strictly speaking they are out of bounds during break, but that's the least of her worries. As she reaches the corner of the tin-roofed shelter she sees a girl emerging with a saddlebag. It is Marcia Hyde-Clare. She titters when she sees Rebecca:

"The Whore's getting it up the arse tonight," she says.

Marcia is a straw-blond girl with an inbred look and a weak chin: she is not one of the 'A' list girls, but more of a hanger-on, encouraging from the sidelines, always looking for a way to ingratiate herself with Philida and the others. And she does not seem to realise how far she has strayed from the pack. Either that or she thinks the Whore of so little account that she has not noticed the danger signals.

Rebecca's hackles rise: she feels the blood pumping in her temples. Something inside her snaps: and then, as though she's being lifted up by a force beyond her own volition, she launches herself at the sniggering Marcia. She lands a punch on her left cheek which sends her head rocketing backwards, and follows it up with a blow to her right cheek which sends her reeling onto the grass. Marcia at first is too stunned to scream: by the time she finds her voice Rebecca is on top of her, knees across her chest, banging her superior head onto the grass. Marcia screams and struggles: Rebecca, driven on by a near-supernatural fury, swivels herself round, tugs up the girl's skirt, and begins to tear down her knickers. Marcia is screaming blue murder, but Rebecca has the strength of a demon: she tears off Marcia's knickers and makes a grab at her snatch. She means only to squeeze it, to dig in her fingernails: but she finds her middle finger over Marcia's slit, and before she knows what she is doing she has forced it inside. Marcia's legs are kicking and thrashing but Rebecca is implacable: she thrusts her finger up to the hilt then starts to follow with her second finger. Marcia is yelling like a pig being slaughtered: out of the corner of her eye Rebecca can see figures hurrying towards them: but she is possessed with the lust of revenge: she locks her fingers inside Marcia's cunt like a bulldog locking its jaw onto the leg of an intruder, and works her hand round, works her fingers round, deeper and harder.

"Now who's getting it up them!" she screams, twisting her fingers round like a corkscrew.

She starts in with a third finger - and who knows where she would have stopped had not a pair of strong arms locked around her shoulders and pulled her clear.

There is pandemonium. The pack has arrived, along with Miss Cooper, who has Rebecca's arms locked behind her, and Miss Mills, who kneels down by the stricken Marcia. The girls are shouting and pointing at Rebecca, Marcia is screaming, clutching alternately at her face and her pudenda, and Miss Mills is calling for calm.

"She's insane," yells Marcia. "She's a psychopath."

Rebecca is still fuming inside, but the fight has died out of her, and she ceases to struggle. Miss Cooper orders everyone to calm down. Miss Mills examines Marcia's injuries whilst the girls, still casting murderous looks at Rebecca, look on.

"You help her to the sick bay," Miss Cooper tells Miss Mills when it has been established that Marcia is capable of walking. Marcia, propped up by Miss Mills and Philida Ffitch-Talbot, is led away, accompanied by the other girls.

"You," says Miss Cooper grimly to Rebecca, "will come with me to the Headmistress. It's a long time since we had a flogging at Windsor, but I've no doubt at all she will give you one before you are expelled. That is," she adds, "if she doesn't decide to call the Police."

For the first twenty paces or so she continues to pin Rebecca's arms behind her back, propelling her forwards. But it is awkward; the other girls are now at a safe distance, and Rebecca has ceased to offer resistance. She lets go, and walks behind Rebecca, giving her a shove on the shoulder every so often.

Rebecca may have ceased to fight: but inside she is far from calm: her blood is still pounding and her thoughts are racing. She's almost as shocked as Marcia at what she's done: but through the tumult of her emotions she knows one thing with certainty: flogging or no flogging, she is not going to wait to be expelled from Windsor.

She trudges on, head bowed, adrenalin still coursing through her: and as they reach the point nearest to the school car park she suddenly springs away from Miss Cooper and starts to run.

"Hey: come back here!" Miss Cooper orders.

Rebecca does not come back. Instead she hares across the car park, leaps down a flight of stone steps, and runs for the school driveway. Miss Cooper briefly gives chase, then gives it up and pants away towards the school buildings. Rebecca runs on: down the long school drive between the avenues of beeches, blood pounding in her temples, towards the wrought iron gates. The gates are open, and she pounds through them into the lane. There she pauses, doubled-up, to catch her breath - before running on, alert as a hunted animal to any pursuer, ready to plunge off into the woods at a sign of pursuit.

But no-one gives chase. And soon she has reached the end of the lane, the junction with the main road, where she stops to a walk, gasping for breath. There she takes up a position which gives her a sighting back down the lane and holds out her thumb.