Delphine’s Schooldays – Chapter 15

The story continues. Read the previous chapter by Posy Churchgate here

From the centre of the prison Sarah led me out through a barred door whose crash echoed through the prison as she slammed it shut behind us. A woman in a blue dress knelt and scrubbed the floor with a cloth, a large metal bucket beside her. She looked up as she saw us approach. I saw the face of a woman prematurely aged, probably ground down as much by her life before prison as by the rigours of Holloway.  

“A prostitute” said Sarah “and a very regular visitor. She likes it here don’t you Mavis?”

“Yes Miss” said Mavis in a grating East End accent,

“Carry on. I have told you before, I want to see big circular motions. That floor has to gleam.”

“Yes Miss”

Sarah kicked the bucket over and soapy water flowed over the floor that Mavis had just carefully brought to a shine.”

“You’re very clumsy Mavis. If that happens again you will be spending a week in solitary.”

“I’m very sorry Miss” mumbled Mavis, bowing her head. I saw a woman who had no more fight in her, who had been broken by prison. I could only hope that Spencer-Harrington would be humbled in the same way.

We walked on down the wing to another set of bars. As we passed through the door Sarah said

“This part is a bit quieter. There is only one prisoner in here, Catherine Spencer-Harrington.”

We carried on down the wing. Sarah went up to the final cell on the right, peered through the spyhole before unlocking the door and going in. I followed her.

Catherine Spencer-Harrington, in a blue prison dress, sat listlessly on the bed, gazing empty eyed at the green painted bricks of the opposite wall. She appeared not to notice us.

“On your feet!” shouted Sarah.   

Spencer-Harrington stood up, slowly and reluctantly

“Name and number!”

“I am Miss Catherine Spencer-Harrington, daughter of..”

Sarah slapped her fiercely across the face with a gloved hand.

“You are 46895 Harrington you worthless….”

“Permission to correct you Ma’am, my name is Spencer-Harrington, my family has owned most of Sussex since..”

Another fierce blow landed on her cheek. She jolted back and rubbed the cheek.

“Only respectable people have double-barrelled names. You, Harrington, are a common prostitute, a danger to public morals. For all your airs and graces you are no better than Mavis Bristow who is in here again for soliciting on the streets of Bethnal Green and is currently on her knees cleaning the floor of D Wing. That’s where you belong, Harrington, on your knees doing menial, degrading tasks. Now tell me again your name.”

The two blows had done their work. Spencer-Harrington bowed her head and said quietly

“Prisoner 46895 Harrington Ma’am, serving two years for running a bawdy house, living off immoral earnings and conspiracy to corrupt public morals.”

I looked around at the dismal cell, its brick walls painted in sickly green, no furniture but an iron bedstead with a thin mattress and a moth eaten blanket. There was an enamel chamber pot on the floor and I noticed that she had already piddled in it. The place stank.

“You have a visitor Harrington. You know Miss Ranson I think?”

She nodded and I could see fear in her eyes. I was her Nemesis and I had returned for my revenge.

“Kneel before her.”

Spencer-Harrington approached and knelt before me. I thrust her head beneath my skirt and used my other hand to lower my knickers.

“Now” I said, “lick my cunt just like you used to do in the war.”

She began to lick, I felt her tongue push against the pubic bone, then felt it move up, felt its hard muscle pushing against the slit,felt juices flooding my cunt as the arousal grew within me.  As I dilated, as if to receive the penis I never wanted to have, she pushed in like a snake, pushed backward and forward before moving on to take my labia between her lips and suck. I began to rub my clit. I came quickly.

Sarah pulled Harrington-Spencer out from under my skirt and dragged her over to the chamber pot.

“Thirsty work isn’t it Harrington? You need a drink!”

She pushed Harrington’s head down so that her face was no more than an inch from the smelly yellow fluid.

“Lap it up like a cat!”

Harrington-Spencer did not respond at first so Sarah pushed her face down into the piddle and she began to lap it up with flicks of her tongue. I watched with fascination. Her face was contorted with anger and hatred at this new humiliation.

“Meeow!” ordered Sarah.

Catherine lapped up some more piddle, lifted her head and said quietly


“Lap up some more!”

She lowered her face into the bowl again and lapped and lapped before Sarah pushed her face down into the piddle again, holding it down for twenty seconds. It bubbled and fizzed as she struggled for breath.

Sarah seized her hair and pulled her head up. She gasped for breath.

“I have had enough of your airs and graces, Harrington. You are going to learn to obey. If you don’t life is going to get even mote unpleasant for you. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am”

We left the cell and Sarah slammed the door. I thought I could hear Spencer-Harrington sobbing in the cell.

We made to walk back to the main wing but as we passed the next cell Sarah pushed me into it, and slammed the door behind her.

“And you Ranson are a filthy pervert. You should be in her too. One day you will be and when you are my prisoner the fact that we once had intimacy will count for nothing. I will make every day a misery. . Now take your clothes off”

I hesitated, unsure I had heard correctly.

“Strip Ranson! You’re in prison. You do as you are told!”

Shaken by the sharp tone, I complied. I laid my clothes on the bed and looked nervously at her. She puled on her leather gloves, stretched them tight over the knuckles and I saw in her eyes a glint of  sadistic delight. I had seen how she broken the haughty Harrington-Spencer. I was afraid and began to quiver. She grabbed an ear lobe and pulled me towards her.

“On your arrival here you will be stripped and inspected. I will start with your ears.”    

When she had looked inside my ears she prised my mouth open.

“Your teeth are even worse than they were the last time we were intimate. No wonder your breath smells. You disgust me Ranson. I could vomit at the very thought of you.”

I said nothing, bowed my head.

“Bend over and part your bum cheeks”

As I did this I knew what was coming. I felt a gloved finger sliding up my back passage.

“Need to make sure you’re not hiding contraband up her don’t I Ranson?”

She slid the finger backwards and forwards followed by a second and a third. I had stopped struggling. I needed this to be over quickly. I had no more energy to fight. Sarah Holliday was that terrible thing, a sadist who unerringly spots the weaknesses in her victims. She had broken stronger women than me. And I was broken. I was hers to abuse and violate at her will.

As I relaxed I felt her whole hand go in, ball into a fist. I was struggling to hold back a scream of pain. But it was soon over. She withdrew roughly and I collapsed sobbing onto the bed. Sarah laughed demoniacally and left, slamming the door behind her.

I was aloe in a cell in Holloway. Naked in the cold. I pulled the grubby blanket round me for warmth. I dozed off and lay on the bed for I don’t know how, long. I woke up to the bang of the door opening, Sarah walked in followed by Mavis Bristow carrying her bucket.

“She’s all yours Bristow.”

“Thank you Miss” said Mavis and curtsied.

“All high and mighty aren’t you?” she said to me in her vile Cockney accent. “But you ain’t nuffink in here darlin’.”

With that she emptied the bucket of water, dirty with the filth of the wing, over my head. She put the bucket over my head and hit it hard. The loud metallic clang reverberated through my head. They both laughed.

I came round in my room at the school. Mary Rushworth had grabbed my shoulder and was shaking me awake.  

“You need to come quickly Miss Ranson. Coningsby-Firth and the French girl have run away!”

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Delphine’s Schooldays – Chapter 11

The story continues. Read Chapter Ten by Posy Churchgate here

I have always thought of Belinda Coningsby-Firth as one of the slower witted girls at the school. She is pretty, that much I have to admit, and I doubt her lack of intelligence will be a barrier to contracting a good marriage. It may well turn out to be an advantage. Very few St. Faith’s girls amount to much academically and I have long felt that the role of the school is to equip them with a modicum of the social skills needed for their future roles as consorts to politicians and businessmen. If they are lucky that is. It is true that Delilah Carless won a place at St. Scholastica’s College, Oxford but that had more to do with Sir Reginald making a large donation to the college than to her academic ability. She struggled with the course and not even Sir Reginald’s money could save her from being sent down when she was caught for a second time with an overnight male visitor in her rooms. This was very embarrassing for Sir Reginald but, I rather think, a blessed relief for everyone else involved. Delilah now spends her time with an utterly ghastly young man who is, I am told, a racing driver, and keeps what I consider the most undesirable company.  That she was once Head Girl here only increases my disappointment.

I hope for rather better for Coningsby-Firth although she is at that age where one is unsure whether her crushes on other girls are the usual adolescent passionate friendships or signs of a longer-term Sapphic disposition. I have noticed her recent closeness to Lotbiniere. The French girls is, I suspect, just using her although one cannot exclude some perverse attraction on her part. She is French after all.

There is a knock at the door.

“Come in”.

Belinda Coningsby-Firth walked in, head bowed. I noticed she was shaking. She was afraid. Good.

“You asked to see me Miss Ranson.”

“I did. I need to talk to you about Lotbiniere. You have become close I believe?”

She blushed.

“You can tell me. Do you think I don’t know that girls of your age have special friendships?”

“Miss, we are friends, we like to do things together we..”

“Go on”

“She is so beautiful, she is everything I desire to be”

“In what way?”

“She has such confidence. I love to watch her ride. I always go to the tables and help her with the horse”

“Do you love her?”

Coningsby-Firth blushed again.

“Miss I adore her!”

She began to cry.

“My dear girl, these feelings are nothing to be ashamed of. I do sometimes think that these crushes are what enables a girl to cope with the rigours of school life. You all think no doubt, that I am a hard and unfeeling person but I care for every one of you. It is a privilege of my job to watch the girls grow into women as they progress through school. Next week I host the Old Faithians Annual Dinner and it is a joy to hear how girls I have taught have made their way in life and to think that I have a part, albeit small, in their development.”

I reached into my handbag, took out a clean handkerchief and gave it to her. As she wiped the tears from her eyes I continued

“Tell me one lovely thing Lotbiniere has done for you.”

“Miss, she lets me polish her riding boots.”

“And do you enjoy that?”

“I do. I spend hours on them when I should be doing my prep. I have to make them gleam.”

“Anything else?”

“She tried to kiss me last week.”

“Kiss you? How?”

“She grabbed me as we were walking back from the stables, she pulled me towards her, she tried to push her tongue into my mouth but I fought her off. It is disgusting isn’t it Miss? I mean two girls”

“Are you still friends?”

“We are Miss. I love her so and I want to do what she wants to do. I mean…”

“It’s not disgusting at all. It is called Sapphic Love”

I went to my bookshelf and took down a parallel text edition of the poems of Sappho.

“Read these and see for yourself how beautiful it can be.”

“Thank you Miss.”

I took a cane and sat down in the armchair.

“No need to be afraid girl. Come and stand in front of me.”

She stood before me and I could see fear in her eyes again.  This was a good thing.

“Take your skirt and knickers down.”

After a brief hesitation she complied.

“Lift up your blouse so thar I can get a good view.”

“What of Miss”

“The glories of your womanhood.”

I took the cane and with the end ran it up from the perineum, over the slit to rest on her clitoris. She winced and then relaxed. I mean it is not unpleasant for a girl to have her clitoris softly stroked is it?

“What is this?”

“I’m sorry I don’t know”

“It is the clitoris. And what purpose does it serve?”

She remained silent, went red again.

“It serves no purpose but to give you pleasure. It is one of the greatest pleasures of being a woman to have this beautiful, beautiful, bud. I want you to yield to Lotbiniere the next time she tries to kiss you, to put your hand down her knickers, to stroke her clit, softly, slowly, then more quickly, to make her scream with pleasure. That which we call orgasm.”

“Orgasm Miss?”

“I rather think you know what an orgasm is. I don’t believe that girls of your age haven’t discovered your clits and the delights it gives. Am I not right?”

She said nothing.

“Pull your skirt back up girl.”

I walked over to my desk and took a new exercise book out of the drawer.

“In this book you are to record everything you do with that French slut. You will report to me every Friday at 4 o’clock and bring the exercise book with you.”

She looked at me, bowed her head, and began to cry again.

“And if you don’t you will feel my cane. Is that clear?”

She nodded then turned and left without another word.

This had been a good day. Now that we were into the spring and the Easter holidays were approaching, the weather had improved and longer hours of daylight always improve the mood. After supper I sat in my lounge with a glass of gin. I switched on the wireless and turned the knob to find the Home Service for the news.

Society Madame Catherine Spencer-Harrington had been arrested at her Soho business premises and charged with brothel keeping and several counts of living off immoral evenings. I smiled. I imagined her humiliation at being led to a police car, the flash bulbs of the press corps highlighting tears and smudged makeup, before being locked in a cell, shaking and weeping. I put my hand down my knickers and found my clit. This was going to be a very good evening.

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