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The Scarlet Society
“Aunt Christine, what’s this?” asked Jenny, her fourteen year old niece. Jenny had been going through Christine’s things in a box which contained mementos of her high school and college years. She had found a scroll in the box. It was tied with a ribbon of dark scarlet. On the outside of the scroll was the legend “Last Will and Testament.” Since Jenny was going to be a freshman at Audubon Hall in September, she was naturally curious about the find.�
Christine regarded the scroll. Oh yes, that brought back memories.
“It was sort of a memento, dear, a badge of honor given to inductees of a secret society at Audubon Hall. It was called the Scarlet Society and only a few girls were chosen each year.”
“Then why does it say ‘Last Will and Testament’? Whose last will?”
“Well, Jenny, it was a very secret sort of sorority. All the members were sworn to a strict code of silence. All I can tell you is that it was a singular honor, and I was chosen.”
“Wow. A secret club thing. What does it say inside? Can I open it?”
Christine took it back. She’d forgotten about the thing. It shouldn’t even be here in this box. She should be more careful.
“Better not, Jenny. It’s old and might crumble. Besides it’s just the usual stuff--- you know in honor of this and that we bequeath to you blah, blah, blah. You know?” She smiled at her niece. But it was a lie. She knew damn well what it said, and it was chilling. Not the sort of thing you let your fourteen year old niece read. But it was also the very reason why Jenny was about to be given the benefit of a free education at the finest girl’s prep school in the South.
“Let’s look at something else,” she said. “Oh, here is my old senior yearbook. Now, this is interesting�.”
Her thoughts were in two places. In one she was pointing out to Jenny the marvelous antebellum architecture of Audubon Hall, but in that other place she was remembering.
Seventeen years earlier.
The summons from the headmistress was unexpected, so Christine Landry was just a little nervous. But she knew she shouldn’t be. An honor student at Audubon Hall Academy, class of 1957, she was also a class officer, president of the drama club and an award winning tennis player. On top of that she was beautiful. A tall, slender girl with an athletic but curvy figure, she wore her hair in long wavy blond tresses that spilled over her shoulders. She usually wore a pair of large black-rimmed glasses which she thought made her look studious, but which everyone else thought made her look like a sexpot librarian. She never got into trouble. Hmmm�but she had disagreed in class sharply with her history teacher, Mrs. Thornton, about the causes of the Civil War. Oh, she hoped her outspoken tongue had not got her into trouble.
And, she was surprised to see Jane Caldwell and Anne Windsor arriving at about the same time. Jane was senior class president. Anne was also an honor student, probably close to being named valedictorian. It was April and graduation was just around the corner.
So what did Mrs. Hebert, the headmistress, want with them all? Perhaps it was about graduation. Or the graduation ball to be held in celebration. In such august company surely it was not trouble. She breathed easier.
They were ushered into the inner office. Mrs. Hebert actually rose to greet them. Her expression was pleasant but guarded. She tried to force a smile but Christine could see it wasn’t working. With her was the deputy head Mrs. Caron. There were lines of worry in her face too.
“Please be seated, ladies. I know you wonder why I’ve asked you here.” The headmistress took her seat behind her desk. “No, you are not in any trouble.” They all relaxed visibly. “You are, quite simply, girls, the best we have. And in fact, that is why I have had to summon you here today. In my tenure as Headmistress I have had to do this seven times, and I will tell you that on all past seven meetings like this it has never been easy. But, the girls tapped for this singular honor have always taken up the challenge. You should know that.”
She surveyed the puzzled looks on the girls’ faces.
“You are to be offered induction into the Scarlet Society.”
The girls sat up at this. The Scarlet Society was the most prestigious honor bestowed on girls at Audubon Hall. But they were puzzled. The members were not tapped for the honor until one of the final assemblies of the year. Mrs. Hebert would walk the aisles and suddenly stop by a girl’s seat and put her hand on the student’s shoulder. The student would rise to thunderous applause and take her place on the stage. They were then presented with a scroll bound in dark red satin and a shoulder sash of the same color. There were also honors at graduation.
“I’m sure you don’t know this, but Audubon Hall does not own the land on which it sits. It has a lease, a very longstanding one, but one which must be renewed each year. Audubon Hall owes its existence to the Blanchette family heirs, established by the will of Elias Blanchette. Under the will certain conditions must be met or the lease will terminate and the land revert to the heirs.”
Mrs. Hebert rose and paced behind her desk, as she continued to explain. “Elias Blanchette was an eccentric man with very old fashioned ideas. At some time in the past, there was apparently a wave of shopliftings in the neighboring businesses. Sadly, some of our girls were the culprits. As owner of our property, and technically our landlord, Blanchette demanded that the girls be punished, and not just punished as we saw fit, but punished in a rather old fashioned way. The school, of course, refused. Blanchette was incensed. He felt we were way too permissive and that we were turning out ill behaved, immoral women with no sense of discipline or decorum. Relations between the school and Blanchette deteriorated, and he sought to terminate the lease. But before he could do that, he died.”
“That should have ended it, but it did not. His will established a new condition for our lease which was that his heirs or their designee be allowed to discipline the three girls who during the school year had misbehaved the most and then, and only then, would the lease be renewed be renewed for another year.”
Christine shivered at the mention of the word ‘discipline’. She was afraid that it did not mean lines at Saturday detention, the standard penalty for demerits.
“The will went on to say that the proscribed punishment was to be in accordance with standards established in 1850 in Audubon Hall’s predecessor school, Touro House, actually a boarding school for orphaned girls.”
Christine had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Those had been harsh times for schoolgirls in the Old South.
“You see, Elias Blanchette had found an old ledger of punishments meted out those days for various offenses. Keep in mind, ladies, it was a very different time. The instrument of punishment described in those old ledgers was called ‘the rod’. The book had entries by date giving the lady’s name, the offense, and the number of strokes awarded.”
She looked at the three girls before her who were now wide eyed and pale as the implication of her explanation began to sink in.�
“The ‘rod’ is not a stick. It is a sheaf of thin flexible switches called a birch. It was designed to cause an intense stinging or burning sensation without damaging the skin. Actually the experience, I’ve been told, is more humiliating than painful, although enduring a birching requires some fortitude. And, girls, the place of delivery is to the bared buttocks.” No one spoke for a moment after that.
Jane Caldwell broke the silence first. “But, Mrs. Hebert, as you said yourself, we are not the girls here who receive demerits. Why, I don’t have a single one this year. Why are you telling us this?”
“Because it doesn’t work. The girls who tend be discipline problems refuse to cooperate. That was tried years ago and we found that only our best and brightest have the loyalty, the courage and the strength of character to do this. The Blanchette heirs have no idea who our naughtiest girls are, so they accept what we tell them.”
The three girls looked at each other as if in shock, but said nothing.
“So we established the Scarlet Society, an honorary club, a singular honor granted to the three ladies each year who in the entire school exemplify the virtues taught at Audubon Hall of courage, honor, integrity� and leadership. You’ve seen the induction ceremony at which each inductee is given a scroll and a scarlet sash. What no one knows about, save a few, is the initiation that precedes it.”
There was dead silence in the room. The girls looked stunned.
“No one will force you to join The Scarlet Society. You may decline. But if you accept, your female children and those of your siblings will be given full scholarships to Audubon Hall when they come of age.” She told them to think it over and they were dismissed.
Christine was nearly in shock as she returned to class. The Scarlet Society was viewed by all as a huge honor, the most prestigious honor bestowed on a Audubon Hall student. She’d seen the formal investiture at Assembly, the recognition at graduation. Little had she realized the dark secret behind the Society. If she declined, would they offer it to someone else? Suppose they all refused? Audubon Hall may have to acquire new facilities at enormous expense. But, if she accepted, her legacy would be given to her daughter if she bore children, or to her brother’s or sister’s children.
At a subsequent meeting they were told the details, and they were sobering. The “initiation” was carried out on a Saturday at the Blanchette house just down the street from Audubon Hall. The Blanchette heirs controlled the proceedings. In particular, Veronica Blanchette, a sister of Elias who had lived with him until his death, actually presided. The actual punishment of the girls had been, for the last eleven years, been carried out by one Edwina Lecroix, who worked for the family as a caretaker. She was a hard and domineering woman who appeared to have distinct distaste for pretty schoolgirls.
There was a basement in the old house with a punishment stool formerly used at Touro House. They would stand in a line. One by one they would be expected to lift their skirts and bend over the stool. Their panties would be lowered. One dozen strokes would be meted out across the bared buttocks. They would remain in position. No cursing or swearing was allowed---but they could cry. It was expected that some of them would. They would then rise, adjust their clothing, thank the proprietress for correcting them and resume their place.
“So, now you know girls. And you can tell no one, do you understand?”
The girls nodded.
“I need to have your answers in a week. We will meet back here in my office.”
Over the following week Christine pondered whether to do this or not. She wanted to join the society, but did she have the courage? It was chilling to contemplate. Positively medieval. The Blanchettes might as well be The House of Usher. As a child she’d had no experience being physically punished. Her parents didn’t believe in it. Besides she was a good girl.
Except when it came to Johnny Burke, she reminded herself. They were an odd couple, she and Johnny. She was the good girl, studious, polite and refined. Johnny was a bad boy. He was rough around the edges, a bit rebellious with an aura of dangerousness about him. And that made her heart race whenever they were together. Naturally her parents didn’t care for him, but she was eighteen now. The thought occurred to her that maybe Johnny could help her make up her mind about the Scarlet Society.
For some time things between them had been moving in the direction of more intimacy. And while Christine was still a virgin, it was not her intent to remain that way much longer. Johnny’s hands had been all over her body and under her clothes, touching her, thrilling her. They frequently ended their dates out on the levee near the Mississippi River Bridge where they would repair to the back seat of Johnny’s car for some serious petting.
Tonight was no exception.
“So what if I was a real naughty girl, Johnny? What would you do?” asked Christine with a giggle as they snuggled in the back seat of his Chevy.
“Hmm,” mused Johnny smiling. “Real naughty? Well, young lady,” he said, affecting mock sternness. “Oh, I guess maybe I’d have to turn you over my knee and give you a good spanking.”
“Oh,” she said, pretending to be shocked. “But I’m too old for a spanking.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Johnny with a light laugh. “A real naughty girl is never too old.”
“Well,” said Christine slowly, “I have a confession to make. I have been real naughty.” She said the last in a throaty whisper. “So I guess you’ll have to spank me.”
“Are you serious?”
What game was this? Johnny didn’t care. It was quite delicious. After Christine had assured him that she had been quite naughty and required correction, as she put it, he pulled an unresisting Christine across his knee. He smoothed her skirt down and rested his hand on her firm backside. For a long-waisted girl she had an exquisite and rather prominent bottom. He brought his palm down square in the center of her behind with a loud smack! Then he gave her another. Then another.
To Christine it just kind of tingled. He was spanking her through her skirt. Not a good test. Taking a deep breath, she brought her hands back and gripped the hem of her skirt. Slowly she raised it until it cleared her bottom cheeks and rested in the small of her back.
Johnny could not believe his good fortune. Christine’s lush bottom was now exposed in all its glory. Her lovely seat was encased in flimsy French cut nylon panties with white lace trim. The panties covered about half of her bottom leaving the lower portion of her bottom cheeks quite bare.
“I’ve been real naughty, Johnny,” she said in a husky voice. “You have to really spank me. Do it hard. Pretend I did something to make you mad.” Christine had decided that if she were going to find out what punishment felt like, who better than her heartthrob boyfriend to dish it out?
“Ok, Chrissy. I hope you know what you’re asking for. Here goes, girl.”
For the next five minutes she found out what a real spanking was all about. Johnny’s hand cracked down on her nearly nude bottom, smacking the wobbly cheeks in a measured tempo. His hand alternated cheeks, covering the expanse of her satiny behind. The sound of sharp cracks in the closed confines of the car was loud. She was glad they were alone. Someone might have thought firecrackers were going off. Christine gasped at the intense burn created by his smacking palm, but she let it continue as long as she could stand it. She found herself clenching and unclenching her buttocks, gasping at the steadily mounting sting and fluttering her legs. At the same time the spanking was firing neurons, sending a thousand tiny impulses of energy into her clitoral area. She was becoming distinctly aroused. His hand on her backside, the heat, the sting. It was all supercharging her libido.
When it reached a point where she could stand no more, she yelped frantically, “Ooooh! Stop. Stop, Johnny. That’s enough.” Johnny, not wishing to displease his sexy girlfriend, complied.
“Sure, baby,” he said, turning her over and sitting her up. Then he grinned. “I don’t know what you did, but do you feel better now?”
Christine got on her knees and reached behind her to rub. “Oooh, wow,” she said. So that was a spanking. When it was happening she had wanted it to stop, it stung so bad. Now that it was over, her bottom glowed and she felt sexy as hell.�
The make out session that followed was the most intense of Christine’s life. Johnny’s hands were everywhere.. She lost her bra and Johnny kissed her nipples making them hard. His hands moved to her sex. She felt all slippery down there and when Johnny put two fingers inside her she swooned. In the meantime she had felt the hardness of his erection, and had deftly removed it from his pants. She marveled at its length and stiffness as she ran her fingers up and down its length.
“Something’s gonna happen if you keep that up, babe,” groaned Johnny.
“I want it to,” she gasped.
Johnny had a rubber. He said he’d had it for some time. For when she was ready. That night he slipped it on. She straddled him and lowered herself on it. She was so wet it went in easily. One push and boom! A sharp pain---a virgin no longer. Slowly at first, and then gathering speed she rocked her hips, impaling herself on Johnny’s manhood. Their movements became frantic. From down in her core she felt a growing onrush of something coming, like a storm of euphoric sensation. It hit her like a freight train and she jerked her hips like a madwoman as waves of pleasure engulfed her.
And there was more after that. Johnny, it seemed, had quite a few tricks up his sleeve. He pleasured her for what seemed like hours.
Later she talked� it over with Jane and Anne, the whole Scarlet Society issue, omitting, of course, her recent experience. They shared some experiences that each had had at some point in their lives.
“I got spankings from mom up until I was fourteen,” admitted Jane. “If I sassed her I got sent upstairs to wait. That was the worst part, knowing what was coming. Then she’d come in with her hairbrush. After that it was over her lap, skirt up and panties down while she spanked my bare behind until I was in tears. Let me tell you, it hurt.”
“I usually didn’t get spankings,” said Anne. “But one summer I was with my cousins out on their farm in Lafayette. We all got caught smoking. My aunt took us all out to the barn and one by one we had to drop our jeans and bend over a saw horse for a good licking with a leather strap. We got to keep our panties up, but it burned something awful. I never smoked again, that’s for sure.”
Despite these tales, they nevertheless agreed. “One for all and all for one, girls,” said Jane as they placed their hands out, stacking their palms. That same day they announced their decision to a grateful headmistress.
After that it was pins and needles for the trio. A date had not been announced, but all knew it had to come soon. Christine tried to put it out of her mind but the thought intruded daily. What would it be like? She looked up “birching” in the encyclopedia. It showed woodcuts and old artwork of youths under the rod--- bared buttocks and headmasters wielding switches. Her own buttocks twitched with the memory of last Saturday night. With Johnny it had been sexy. The tactile sensation of a lover’s palm smacking her tender bottom. But this birch rod? She shivered at the thought.
The fateful news was delivered on a Friday morning. “It’s tomorrow, girls,” said Mrs. Hebert at a hastily convened meeting. “We will meet here in my office and then go over. Please wear your school uniforms. If anyone asks, say it’s for planning graduation.”
“If anyone wants to back out, now is the time,” said Mrs. Hebert. They had assembled in her office, the three girls, the head and assistant head. “No one?” She visibly relaxed. “You are courageous women. Audubon Hall will be forever in your debt.”
Christine had dressed that morning in her uniform. It consisted of a blue pleated knee length jumper over a white blouse. A jacket with the emblem of Audubon Hall completed the ensemble. Underneath she had taken care to wear full cut nylon panties. Did they seriously intend for her to take them down? The thought sent a shiver of embarrassment up her spine.
It was a gloomy old house on Third Street, in the French style so prevalent in the Garden District, set back from the street and virtually hidden by willows and magnolias. Inside, dark furnishings dominated and closed drapes blocked out the sunlight, making the house seem ancient and cold. The rooms they could see featured and high ceilings and wood flooring covered by old faded rugs. They were met by Veronica Blanchette, Edwina Lecroix and another woman in a nurse’s uniform. “This is Miss Granger,” said the elderly Ms. Blanchette. “She is here to see that there is no permanent injury. The girls shall be punished, not marked. She has prepared the rods herself.” It was a declaration issued proudly, as if she were pleased with herself.
Is that supposed to make me feel better, thought Christine? They were a chilling trio. It was as if they had entered a time warp and were now in a house out of a nineteenth century southern gothic novel. Edwina Lecroix wore a black floor length skirt and a white blouse with a choker collar. Her grey streaked hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Veronica Blanchette wore a full length lavender dress, formal attire for a woman in her 70’s. She addressed the girls.
“I trust you three understand the rules. You are here to accept punishment which you richly deserve, but which your institution chooses not to impose. So, according to my brother’s will, as your landlord, we will dispense the punishment. You will do as ordered. You are to conduct yourselves as proper ladies. There is to be no swearing or foul language. If you refuse to stay in position we will repeat the punishment and if you withdraw the condition of the will is not met. You will now obey Miss Lecroix.”
“You will come this way,” barked Edwina Lecroix. She led them down a spiral staircase that ended in a basement. It was a large room with stone floors, dimly lit by lamps in wall sconces. It had little furniture save for some armchairs, but in the center of the room was a lone piece of furniture. A sturdy wooden stool specially made for punishment, it had heavy reinforced legs and a slightly concave top for cradling the upper torso as the miscreant bent over. This bent over posture would cause her to thrust her buttocks out, presenting them for the rod.
A tall bucket stood next to the stool and Christine could see the handle ends of three bundles of switches, the ends tied in red ribbons. It was a frightening sight and Christine feared she’d lose her nerve. She looked at Jane and Anne. Both were pale, their bosoms heaving with anxiety.
“We will go in alphabetical order,” announced Edwina Lecroix. Jane realized that she was first and stepped toward the frame gingerly, as if unsure, looking around nervously all the while.
“Step here,” commanded Miss Lecroix.
Jane stepped up and bent over the stool.
“Bend over and grasp the bar,” was the next command.
Jane saw that there was a bar between the two front legs. She bent over and grabbed it, allowing her body to settle on the concave top. The action pushed her bottom out and her skirt raised up in back. Edwina Lecroix nodded to the nurse who walked over and lifted up Jane’s skirt past the small of her back revealing her panty-clad bottom. She secured it to Jane’s top with clothes pins.
“You may lower her panties,” said the hard-faced woman, who had, in the meantime, selected a rod from the bucket and was tapping it against her leg.
The panties were lowered to her knee hollows. Jane’s behind was now bare, the pale cheeks twitching in anticipation. She was a short girl, with a ripe figure that featured a bubble-shaped bottom that jutted provocatively. There was breathless silence as the nurse stepped away and allowed Miss Lecroix to approach.
“Twelve strokes, girl. Prepare yourself. I begin.”
Christine could scarcely breathe as she watched. The rod was thin, composed of five or six green whippy stalks about three feet long. Miss Lecroix stood to Jane’s right and raised the rod behind her shoulder. She moved her upper body forward and her arm descended in a blur.
Swish�.whack! The rod hit across the center of the pale cheeks. Jane flinched, clenching her bottom as the withes spread out and smacked her seat. She hissed---a sudden intake of breath.
“One,” said the nurse.
Swish�thwack! Another stroke landed. Jane’s bottom twitched. She emitted a grunt of pain. Red weals flared up on her flesh.
“Two,” said the nurse. Seconds ticked by. Miss Lecroix repositioned herself to deliver another stroke.
Swish�.thwack! “Ahhh�!” cried Jane.
“That is three,” said the nurse.
Christine watched with mounting dread as the cruel stripes were laid across Jane’s wriggling bottom cheeks. Miss Lecroix took her time, allowing fifteen or twenty seconds between strokes. With each stroke the pale moons of Jane’s bottom quivered. Her cries became shrill, her bottom cheeks clenched and unclenched and her body writhed and shook as she tried to steady herself.
Swish�.crack! “Owww�oh�.owww!” cried Jane as the harsh strokes fell. The count finally reached twelve. She was sobbing softly as she was instructed to rise. Jane stepped back, her face a mask of pain. She wiped tears away, bent over and pulled her panties back up, wincing at the contact of skin with cotton.
“Well?” said Veronica Blanchette. “Do you have anything to say, girl?”
Jane had nearly forgotten. “Th�thank you for correcting me, Miss,” she managed to choke. She sobbed softly, hiccupping and hissing as she drew air through clenched teeth as she resumed her place off to the side. The expression on her face left no doubt that it had been an excruciating ordeal.
Christine felt frozen to the spot. She was next. She heard her name as if it came from a far distance. Her heart was beating wildly, her hands were shaking, her breath came in short ragged gasps. In a daze she approached the ancient punishment stool and bent over it, her rump jutting lewdly. She felt the swish of fabric as her skirt was raised in back. She shivered and clenched as she felt the woman’s bony fingers inserting themselves into her panties which were then dragged down, baring her bottom. A cool breeze raised goose bumps across her fleshy mounds. These went away the minute she felt the switches of the rod tapping her seat in preparation for the whipping.
For a moment all was still. Then she heard a faint “whoosh” and stinging fire exploded across her bottom. She had never felt anything like it. It was if a thousand fire ants had bitten her all at once. She almost yelled, but choked it back. She gripped tighter on the bar as she heard the nurse say, “One.”
A second stroke impacted her behind slightly lower than the first. She moaned and closed her eyes. It stung like crazy. This was nothing like Johnny’s palm warming her up. She clenched and unclenched her buttocks. Stroke number three fell at a moment when she had relaxed. She immediately tensed and let out a low “ahhhh�”. It really burned. How could she stand this? Nine more to go!
Swish�thwack! She heard the sound before she felt the intense sting. “Owww�ahh!” she cried. That’s four�.that’s four, she thought. Oh God, eight more.
There was a rhythm to it. A stroke would land, making her rise up on tiptoe and tense. Then she would will herself to relax and just as she did, another searing stroke would scorch her bottom. She suspected the awful Miss Lecroix was timing it, waiting for the pain to peak and then whipping the switches down again. She imagined her bottom jiggled with the impact, putting on a rude and humiliating display.
Toward the end she was nearly wailing. Tears ran down her face, but she was determined to hold on. She shifted from foot to foot but the motion did nothing to shake off the burning sting that engulfed her bottom.
How she held on for all twelve strokes she didn’t know. When she was told to stand up and replace her panties, her bottom felt like she had backed into a fire and she was sure it had swollen to twice its normal size. She stood sniffling as Anne went across the stool. Anne was a tall lithe girl with a boyishly slim bottom. The birching began.