Mary and the Granite Lady

Mary ~ A Story using the art work of Tom Paine. Some will be in coulour, others might l be in black and white (it depends how well they copy and my photo editing). To be added step by step as the story grows..

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It was over 60 years ago when I first set eyes on Miss Brooks, the Headmistress of a Girls Grammer School high up in the Northumberland coast, England, not far from the Scottish Border. The year was 1958. The school was called Saint Cuthbert’s.

The reason it was called thus was because of the islands that could be seen through the mullioned windows of the old brick, magnificent building, that housed the school. ‘The Farne Islands’, a bleak but beautiful group of twenty or so granite outcrops. That is what made our dear school look so grand. There was so much pale green grass, purple heather and granite outcrops around that area, that our warm red building stood out. As if it proudly wanted to show itself to the world.

And so it should, it’s academic reputation was high, and many former pupils had achieved great things. Yet at the same time, its reputation of a very strict regime was just as famous. It was Miss Brooks who pointed this out when I started there. She got all the new girls gathered together, and told us a little story about Saint Cuthbert.

She stood there, with her bobbed haircut, slim, and stunningly beautiful…..her voice washed over me, I was in love already. Her voice began to form words again and I paid attention. “……He was a devout Christian with a Holy Order of Monks in the Abbey. No women were allowed. He was so strict in his beliefs that he did not even allow cows! He said, cows are like women! And when women or girls are together, there is mischief!”

We laughed, briefly. But her strict stare stopped that within seconds.

“I believe that too. Girls create mischief. Girls are naturally naughty. In my opinion, the reason that girl’s bottoms are made so plump, is for them to be used as a means of keeping naughty, mischief makers under control! By spanking them!” She looked around the room. It was absolutely still and silent. “And in serious cases, implements should be used!”

We found out later in the day that this beautiful, well dressed Headmistress had a nick name. ‘The Granite Lady’. They said that as far as punishment was concerned, her heart was as cold as a piece of Farne Island Granite. I found it hard to believe.

Within my first term I knew exactly what they meant, I saw many punishments of the previously mentioned, plump young bare buttocks. And often delivered with a cold but beautiful granite smile.

Over the following terms, red bottoms were just a run of the mill thing. They were everywhere, and delivered regularly by all the staff. Every teacher had a size fifteen plimsoll, a tawse, and a cane in their classroom, supplemented by their own personal implements like hair brushes. And in the case of our French Teacher a martinet,

Most good girls like me, soon noticed, that in the main, every class had a group of naughty girls who became the ones to take the brunt of the punishments. So much so, that by the end of the first year, it was deemed funny to see them up ended and bottom bared. A spectacle to be enjoyed, even savoured. Us good girl were this side of the line, the naughty girls had crossed it. Once crossed their bottoms were destined to a life of almost permanent soreness, they were labelled as ‘in need’. That was…in meed of regular discipline. Us good girls loved being on the ‘right side’, and found great pleasure in watching those from the other side ‘get it’.

The greatest spectacle of all was when a good girl crossed over, forever to be labelled a ‘red bum’ by us giggling good girls.

I am sorry to tell you that I crossed the line. I blame my Aunt Julia. Although to this day she denies it. She was and is wonderful. At the time she lived in America! Not only was she my Aunt, but she was my pen friend. Not only sending letters, but gifts too.

Our school uniform was, white vest, white pant liners, green knickers…the knickerbocker kind, so we could use them for P.E.. …on top was a white blouse and school tie, covered by a gym slip and blazer when needed. Our legs were bare, sometimes socks, white, when no socks we wore shoe liners.

I was proud of my ‘presents from America’ and knew my friends from this side of the line were either envious or jealous. My Propelling Pencil was the envy of the school. Even Miss Brooks asked to see it one day, I was so proud.

The sixth form could wear stockings. It was always a joy to see a girl spanked in them, especially by a Prefect! Which was not only allowed, but encouraged!

I was in the fifth year, my reputation was of a good hard working girl. Until a a parcel from America came, containing pantyhose, soon to be called ‘tights’ in England. It never crossed my mind I was breaking ‘Miss Brooks Code of Dress’, when I put them on for school.

I was just going to show everyone my latest Yankee Prized Present. I can remember the joy when I put them on…

I left for school on this side of the good girl line, I was to return with more marks on my bottom than Aunt Julia’s flag had stars! And my poor pleasingly plump, rounded buttocks would be forever on the ‘red bum side’…

Bum! What a silly school girl word. A good girl word. Not at all suitable for God’s finest creation.

Let me explain…

Once over the line, one of the proudest things you owned was your bottom. Two fleshy pink soft round buttocks, ripe for spanking. It was said that naughty girls possessed the most beautiful naughty bare bottoms, and loved to show them off! More evidence of being a naughty girl!! It was said that every good bottom was jealous of a naughty bottom, and that is the real reason they delight in their spankings! Jealousy and revenge on a naughty girl for possessing a desirable rump!

I went to school smugly showing my lightly tanned smooth legs. How fabulous, how jealous everyone would be.

Have you heard the old saying, ‘Pride Comes before a Fall’? Well, ::sigh:: I went to school with my nose high, I was in an aloof and haughty mood. I walked with long strides, wiggling my bottom…thinking back I must have looked a little silly, but in my mind I was Greta Garbo. It worked, the ‘good girls’ looked on enviously, and with jealousy. How stuck up I must have looked to them all. And we all know there is no better sight than an aloof, haughty, stuck up girl getting a spanking. The good girls were in for the treat of their lives!

As for the ‘naughty girls’, well, it was as if they knew I was ‘crossing the line that day’ A couple whistled at me, and shouted “Look at you today Mary, have you got stockings on, watch out for the granite hatchet! It might fall on you!”

I shouted back in my poshest voice. “No, not stockings! They are so yesterday! I wear tights now, they came to me special, from America. Over there they call them Panty Hose.”

A cold calm voice answered me. Miss Brooks had heard every word. She had just come around the corner as I was shouting over my shoulder, looking back. I almost bumped into her, then stood rock steady, only two feet away from her.”Mary! How dare you come to school in those, you are breaking a serious rule my girl, and you know what that means! Not only that, you strutted across the playground, showing off, and then belittled the less fortunate. You young lady are getting to big for your boots! let me see the offending garment!”

How they laughed at my plight.

How I blushed as she yanked up my gym slip, for all to see. Worst of all, she did nothing to stop the laughter and hoots of derision. I was humiliated and could feel my blush coming. They had seen my pride, and now, quite spectacularly, my fall from grace was beginning, my journey to the other side of the line had started.

I was led smartly to her study.

I was glad, because I had seen many bare bottom spanking, slipperings and canings in public. At least this was going to be in private I thought.

Her Study had always been a place of pride for me, I had picked up a few awards over the years. She was always generous in her praise, and I remember on many occasions beaming with pride as I left. But instead of the sunny, beautiful smelling, polished wood, place of pride, on that day it turned into something dark, broody, and threatening. I was afraid, by all accounts her generosity in giving out pain and humiliation, especially to first time offenders was far greater.

She closed the door.

Then she told me to sit on a chair that she pulled out. “Was this what my bottom going to get spanked over.” I wondered.

“Oh Mary! I am so disappointed in you. I never thought that you would cross the line. You realise that if that is the case, your bottom will be subject to repeated spankings and worse don’t you?”

“Yes Miss Brooks.”

“I show little or no mercy to naughty bottoms, they need reddening and striping regularly. Anyway, I suppose I should listen to the usual account of bad luck, temptation, being led astray…and blaming someone else. All you naughty girls are the same! Long excuses which at the end, invariably amount to nothing more than rubbish. So let me hear what you have to say young lady!”

I sat and told her of my love of Aunt Julia from America, and how pleased I was with my lovely tights, and how modern I felt. But as time passed by it was obvious it was falling on deaf ears. I realised I was stroking my tights lovingly as she shouted…

“Oh what drivel! I thought that you, at least, might conjure up something remotely worth while listening to! But instead you have described your pride, your selfishness, your haughtiness. Me, me, me! What about those girls less fortunate? Do you think they want to feel envious and see you showing off? Because Mary, that is what you are! A show off! YOU…HAVE …CROSSED…THE…LINE. From today on, you are on the naughty side of the line, and very few, very few indeed, ever return to the good side!”

My heart sank. My world collapsed.

“Remove your gym slip, your shirt, and your green regulation knickerbockers!….I mean NOW!”

My only consolation was that I was in her study, perhaps my previous good record had accorded me that grace…a private punishment.

I began to fumble as my nervous hands trembled. But slowly I did as instructed. How embarrassing. How humiliating, to undress before my hero, my mentor, in shame and disgrace.

I stood, and she put my chair away, which I found puzzling. Surely I was not to bend over the desk for her to use some implement, not on my first time.

Slowly like some sordid striptease I removed my clothes, down to my vest, tights and pants, under her gaze. Already her demeanor towards me was greatly different. She was scornful and amused. She found my profound embarrassment and blushing, amusing. I began to fear her…dreadfully.

My face was crimson. As my green knickers left my hand to slide to my ankles, I felt ashamed, horribly ashamed. Little did I know, what terrible shock was about to be delivered to me. I was hanging on to being a good girl, by my fingernails, the abyss of the ‘naughty girl’ loomed deep and dark below me. What she would say in the next minute would make me lose what grip I had, and fall from grace.

More to follow… (Things might change, Tom looks at his image to make sure it is up to scratch, and also my writing)

Asa

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