A Girl Over the Eton Block

This is a story by Steven Rawlings slightly adapted. Enjoy.

Part 1 in which a beautiful girl is drawn into a discussion of severe school corporal punishment and trapped into showing her fortitude.

The Honourable Georgina Derverell was becoming bored by the boys rattling on about their club at Eton and the prowess of the boys there. She wished they'd change the topic of conversation, but didn't want to leave their company. Apart from the fact that she adored her brother, at nineteen a year older than herself and a handsome young man of parts, she was even more interested in the friend he had brought home for the vacation, this their last year at the College. If her brother was attractive, Jack left her with weak knees and throbbing belly, which no amount of her accustomed nocturnal frotting could assuage.
"So what is this silly club of yours?" she asked, since they would talk about it so much, "what does it mean to be a member?"
"It means you've been over the birching block at least three times," her brother snorted, "which is more than any girl could take."
"Nonsense. We get swished as hard as any boy at Madame Heriot's Academy, I can tell you."
"Well I'd like to see you take a double dozen on the block, Sis. You'd never manage it. Scream and struggle after the first couple, I'll be bound."
"Oh you boys think you're so strong. A girl could take a thrashing quite as well as you."
"You think so?" Jack countered. "Two dozen on the bare? I don't think so. Girls are too soft."
"We're not, we're not," Georgina answered angrily. "I've had three dozen before now and never screamed once. In fact I could be a member of your club if I wanted."
"Fraid not, Sis," her brother corrected her. "Has to be over the Eton Block. After all it is the Eton Block Club, so no girls in there. You can make all the boasts you like, since you'll never have to prove them."
"So why can't I go over the block and show you?" Georgina almost shouted, carried away by anger and pride, not wanting to be put down in front of Jack.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Georgy," her brother sneered. "We don't have girls in Eton. It's a place for men."
"You just don't want to be shown up by a girl," she replied hotly. "You just want to keep me out of your club. You could smuggle me in in the vac., if you wanted, I'm sure."
As her brother hesitated, lost for an answer to this tirade, Jack intervened.
"She's right you know, old chap," he declared. "Nothing easier really. Put her in some of your old school clothes and walk in bold as brass. No one would think anything of it, and we wouldn't find any one hanging about the library who could help it. Why don't we call her bluff?"
"I'm not bluffing," Georgina declared indignantly. "I'll show you."
Her brother looked bemused for a moment.
"Two dozen?" he said. Georgina nodded.
"On the bare and no squealing?"
She flushed beetroot red and nodded again.
"I say," he exclaimed, "what a jape! Let's do it. And you always wanted to see Georgy's bum, Jack, so now's your chance. When shall we go?"
"Sooner the better, before she changes her mind," Jack decided. "How about we borrow one of your pater's carriages this afternoon and go up to Windsor. Won't take above an hour, and it will be quiet enough in the middle of the afternoon; no chance of being disturbed."

Part 2. The plan unfolds.

The carriage deposited them outside the college gates at three. Georgina stepped out on rubbery legs. It had been one thing to boast of her whippings and her ability to take another on the block in the safety of her own home, with her brother to goad her and Jack's presence to inspire her to recklessness, but it was getting too near the moment of truth for comfort now. She felt strange without the comforting swish of skirts about her legs, now encased in tight fitting black trousers, with a short 'bum freezer' jacket above. The stiff starched collar dug into her neck and there was a tightness about her chest.

When the boys had helped her dress, her burgeoning young bosom had pushed out the jacket in a too obviously feminine profile, the buttons unwilling to fasten, and her figure openly declaring her to be what she was. They'd made her take it off, and the shirt beneath, until her breasts bounced naked on her chest, blushing as red as her ears as she felt and saw Jack's look, and the long rigid bulge in his trousers. She was relieved when they took a long crepe bandage and wound it tightly round the mysteriously hardened teats, flattening her bosom until she could pass as a plump boy. Perversely, now that she was wrapped away from his view, she felt disappointment that Jack could no longer see her swelling femininity.
It only took minutes to reach the library and, as predicted, they passed no-one on the way. Jack closed the door carefully behind them, while young Deverell went to inspect the bucket of pickled birch rods in the corner.
"Good," he exclaimed in satisfied tones, "still here and in fine fettle. You'll feel these twigs, Georgy; buds hard as stones and nice whippy bundles. All the better for standing a day or two in pickle."
His sister tried to ignore his peans of praise for the quality of the rods that were to slice her tender backside, her gaze fastened on the hideous black edifice in the bay window. It was about three feet high, almost a cube, but with the top well hollowed and rounded to accept a bent form, hers, in such a way that the buttocks were raised and spread, presented for maximum access for the rod. There was a step to kneel on and straps adorned it here and there to fasten a 'rider' so that he [she!] could not escape.
"This is it, Georgy," her brother announced, "time to honour your bet, or cut and run."
She lifted her nose defiantly, though inwardly quaking.
"I never welsh on a bet," she retorted. "What do I do?"
"Down with those breeks, and kneel on the step," she was told, "then bend over the block."

She unbuttoned the braces that held up the black trousers and let them fall to her ankles. She was about to kneel when her brother called again.
"Bare we said," and she unfastened her cambric drawers and drew them down, blushing again from head to foot as, even now in all her fear and shame, she was acutely conscious of Jacks eyes fixed avidly on her pale flesh. She knelt and extended her arms over the block, feeling its hard pitiless solidity against her bound and throbbing breasts.
The action bent and rounded her naked buttocks, bared and presented for the rod's kiss. Jack could drink his fill of the soft sensuous amplitude he had only imagined beneath flowing skirts. Now he had an uninterrupted view of white curves, deeply divided, with a heavenly view of her prominently puckered brown dimple at the bottom of the shadowed cleft. No such hiding place for the other treasure. Georgina was full of seat but with a definite gap between her thighs and, in this bent position, her ripely pouting vulval fig sat winking in that gap, merely fringed, not covered, by tendrils of auburn hairs, the lips engorged and glistening from her aroused and overheated emotions.
Deverell went to fasten the straps around her, to secure her in position. Jack halted him with a gesture.
"We won't need those, will we Georgy?" he said. "You promised you would not squeal or struggle, didn't you? You said you could take it like a man, and the men here aren't strapped, only the juniors."
Georgina gulped, then nodded, too overwrought to trust herself to speak, and her brother let the straps fall loose.
"One dozen from each of us," Jack announced with satisfaction. "Will you go first Henry, or shall I do the honours?"
"Oh, I'll warm her up for you, Jack, then you can see if you can draw with all your dozen."
"Capital. Then let us commence."
Henry drew a long dripping length of blackish rods from the pail, and flicked off the drops of brine that still clung to it. The rods made a mournful swishing sound that was rewarded with a clenching of the bent bare buttocks on the block.
"Hang onto your skin, Georgy, for I am going to tenderise it, and then Jack is going to co,plete your flogging, that is, if you're still in place by the time he starts, and not squirming on the floor, shrieking for your whipped bum."

Part 3. Her thrashing begins.

He braced his feet well apart behind the naked white moons and lifted the rod to bring it down in a long practised sweeping motion that brought all its half dozen switches to bear at once, spaced out slightly over the clenched bottom cheeks, each twig burrowing deep into the soft flesh, the various sharp nodes and hardened buds biting even sharper, and bring the blood to the surface.
Georgina bucked to the stinging blow, her breath going out in a strangled gasp. She'd forgotten how the birch stung, blotting from her mind the excruciating minutes she had last spent over Madame Heriots 'horse', when she'd taken two dozen tight ones for unseemly language. That had been nearly a year ago and her faded memory was rudely restored by the band of fire that blazed across her naked rotundities under her brother's salute.
Scarcely had she absorbed the scalding thrash when the next cruel cut swished in. She moaned to her self. 'God!' she thought, 'I am sorely out of practice. Phillipa and I could take three dozen at a time from the Dragon, and not sweat, and here am I already panting after only two'. Her thoughts were interrupted by another vicious cut that had her grunting and involuntarily squeezing her bottom cheeks together as if to wring out the pain.
Henry thrashed her steadily, laying on the strokes with drive and precision honed by experience, for both he and Jack were praeposters, senior prefects who dispensed high and low justice with the whippy limbs of the birch tree that the porter put up daily during term. Lovely, he thought, looking at the white mounds, now streaked with a multitude of vivid scarlet lines. He had wanted to do this for months, ever since she made a fuss about allowing him the use of her behind. Of course, that pretty new housemaid took care of that now, but she needn't have been so beastly about a bumming. He'd see how she like this way of doing it instead.
He thrashed the rod home again across the writhing buttocks, sweeping up from underneath to catch her on her most sensitive parts, the twigs splaying out to catch th tops of her thighs, a stray tip going in to clip the pouting fig, drawing a sudden yelp from the crouching girl.
"You mustn't squeal, remember," Henry warned.
"Didn't squeal," she panted, "but you might keep off my cunny. Tain't fair to cut a girl there."
"'Twas a trifle short, Henry, old chap," Jack confirmed, "Perhaps it shouldn't count. Still two to go then. Keep them long. She's puffing up nicely on the right and, if you stay long, she'll have a blister or two."
Indeed her flank was becoming an angry red where the hardened tips had dug in, many on top of each other, until the flesh was swollen and beginning to fill with blood beneath the surface. Henry suppressed a natural urge to seek out the tender female centre and lashed the unfeeling rod twice about her hips, fetching the incipient blisters with each cut and bringing them to ripeness. Georgina twisted on the block, trying to turn them out of his reach, but it gave little scope for a girl with her knees on the step, which limited her movements so that she found no escape. She beat her fists on the unyeilding black wood in protest at the outrage to her hinds but held her place and her tongue, snorting wetly through her flaring nostrils, and grunting as each blow fell.

Part 4. Her second dozen.

"My turn I think," said Jack, and Henry passed over the wicked rod and stood aside for his friend to scrutinise his sister's wounded bottom and prepare to add to its distress. Jack studied his target without haste. In the first place he did not wish to cut short his pleasure at the sight. As gentlemen they would feel obliged to assist her to regain her home as soon as the matter was settled, whichever way it went, and he was beginning to think she might just possibly upset the form book and come home the winner, and he would take the present advantage to gaze lecherously on the twin orbs whose fluid movements under a gown had so aroused his lust and were now, without benefit of covering of any sort, freely exposed to him, and to the flexible bundle of rods he was tapping against his calf in contemplation. Besides this out and out sexual motive, he wished to assess the state of bottom and girl, to see how best to test her, and where her weaknesses might be.
The big pale buttock looked very sore and sorry now, but not badly damaged. There was no actual broken skin as yet, only some grazes that showed sprinklets of red, and those angry blisters on her right. The vulval pouch looked even more swollen now; was it just those twigs that had whipped in or was she actually aroused? He had caught her looking at him once or twice and was sufficiently acquainted with women to have some knowledge of what strange cattle they were, and how they might well become aroused by a flogging in the presence of a man they had some preference for. Well, we would see. Perhaps he would `whip in' himself if she still held out towards the end, but those blisters looked the obvious target for now. He set himself for the effort and swung into the inflamed meat of the aching bottom and the raised red swellings on the flank.
Georgina groaned. It seemed a new beginning after the moments break she had had to collect herself, the beginning of a flogging with a subtle difference. Henry had hurt her as she had expected, a degree worse than Madame Heriot's but not too different. Jack was different. He struck harder and whipped the twigs into already wounded flesh, and her agony was all the greater for it. On top of that he was a man who was a stranger almost but, at the same time, one she wished to know better and whose scorn she would feel far more keenly than a brother she had skirmished with all her life. Jack she had to impress, while he was out to make her squeal. It was an unbalanced battle, but one she was determined to win.
She was almost defeated. As Jack swept the cruel twigs into her undefended seat, deliberately opening blisters on her contused flank, trying for, and finding the cringing anus in its murky depth with an expertly `short' cut, that sent one iron hard bud to bite into the pale brown vortex of the sphincter itself and drawing a short stifled squeak from her, she pounded on the block to relieve her agony, gasped, panted and hissed through her teeth. As the rod wrapped itself about her lacerated hips she squirmed from side to side as if to try and avoid the worst, turning her right flank away from him, only to be brought to heel by another 'short' cut that again found the anal dimple, now sporting a vivid red spot where the first shot had landed. As the streaks and stripes crisscrossed her buttocks and ran down onto her thighs she was coming close to surrender from sheer exhaustion. With only two to go she was saved, but in a manner that was even more testing of her resolve than the thrashing she was receiving.
"What goes on here?" an imperious male voice demanded from the doorway.

Part 5.
The two boys span round at the interruption, to confront the Rev. Fortesque, 'Swish' to his back from his well-known liking for the rod, standing in the doorway, polishing his pince-nez on a silk handkerchief while he peered myopically at them; a habit he had designed to disconcert the boy on whom his gaze was bent.
Instinctively Jack moved between him and the flagrant evidence of Georgy's femininity that gaped between her thighs. Henry, acting equally quickly, seized the opportunity of the masters temporary blindness to move directly behind Georgy's glaring bottom and tuck the linen square of his pocket handkerchief between the clenching thighs, contriving to leave part of it obscuring the fatal fig.
Meanwhile Jack confronted the now eyeglass equipped master.
"It's young Deverell, Henry's cousin, Sir. Lower fifth, only started this term. Been out in America. Beastly cheeky to a Prae and needing straightening out a touch. He's had a dozen from Deverewll and I was on ten when you came in."
"Well don't let me keep you from the good work. Can't have the junior cheeking a prefect, can we. Lay it on Granby; a good plump bum. You needn't hold back on this one. Let it fly and drive the devil out."
Jack hesitated a moment, then realising he had no option, swung again into the tumescent mass of reddened flesh that was Georgy's bottom. She bit her lip and took the stroke without a murmur, then another. They seemed to her as hard as any she'd had, but the Rev Fortesque had another opinion.
"Call that a swishing?" he expostulated, "why he never felt it. Here boy. Give me that rod. If this is his first time in the bill it needs to be done properly, so he'll remember it. He's obviously got some catching up to do on you hardened sinners. I'll show you how a dozen should be laid on."
Again Jack hesitated, but there seemed no help for it. If he told the truth of the matter both he and Henry would be in for the father and mother of all floggings, possibly even before the whole school. He handed over the rod. It was up to Georgy now. If she declared herself, as she had every right to, for she had taken the two dozen she had contracted for, she would be spared anything else, merely returned to her parents tender mercies. Georgy did not move.
'Swish' had not gained his reputation for nothing. He was tall and lean, with wrists of steel. His delight in the exercise, in seeing the vulnerable bottom squirm under his cuts, hear the pained gasps and grunts that even the hardiest rewarded him with, lent a keeness to the skill he had acquired from frequent and prolonged practice throughout a long career, to render him one of the most feared floggers in the school. Connoisseurs of the rod declared that they would rather take two dozen from anyone else rather than repeat a 'butchers' from `Swish'.
With a terrible force the stinging withies swept up into the already throbbing underhang of Georgy's tender young bum. If Jack had made her writhe and gasp, this new assault came near to undoing her. She was being beaten by an expert, and she could feel it; she was in hell, and burning behind as if from the devil's own attentions. She longed to scream out her pain, to leap from the block, to shriek, "enough, enough. No more for pity's sake," but the knowledge of what that would mean for Henry and, above all, Jack, held her firm. The strokes devastated her buttocks, all across the right cheek, not just on her flank now. Thank God the handkerchief stayed where it had been thrust, despite her writhings and cringing. If it had slipped even the Rev Fortesques shortsighted vision could not have failed to detect her female qualities, sullenly swollen and pouting between her thighs.
Her lip bled too, where she had bitten down on it in her agony of body and mind, but she clung on, enduring each of the twelve cuts as it scorched her once white bottom, now flushed an angry red, where it was not actually streaked by the blistering twigs, nor split by their abrasive bite into her plump rounds and onto her smooth round thighs. A last awful thrash, as `Swish' delivered his parting shot and it was over. She lay panting and snivelling over the unfeeling block, barely aware of her surroundings.
She was recalled to reality by Jack pressing her shoulders.
"Well done Georgy," he cried in admiration and gratitude, "you saved our bacon."
From somewhere she found the strength to answer him.
"Mine got sliced and smoked," she groaned. "Get me home, Jack. I hurt."
She groaned again as Jack helped her to pull up the tight black trousers, her bottom so swollen it would scarcely be got back into the tight casing, but there was the quad to cross, and the High to walk down before they could reach the safety of the carriage, and the disguise must be maintained. Once in its comforting security, she pulled them down without delay, and knelt across the seat, not caring to put her weight on the raw mass she carried behind.
"I shall not be able to sit again," she declared. "I fear I shall maintain this position on hands and knees for days to come."
"That will be very convenient when Jack comes to claim his poke, I think," Henry said, laughing.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, we always bum a junior after his first flogging, it's a tradition," Henry answered. "Can't say I wouldn't have enjoyed it myself, but I've been there once and Jack shall have it."
"Oh you boys!" Georgy exclaimed in exasperation, but it was noticeable that she did not otherwise protest at the proposal, or indicate any refusal of it.