The Apprentice

The Apprentice 1

By Terence

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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The Apprentice

Chapter One: My first day at Chatterley Hall

From the passenger seat of my Dad’s car I could make out the spires and turrets of Chatterley Hall, the prestigious boarding school for young ladies where I was to start my apprenticeship, having just finished my own - far less exclusive - secondary education at the age of 16.

A middle-aged woman was waiting for me at the end of the gravel drive. My father gave me a quick smile as I retrieved by suitcase from the boot, and drove off. I was alone, totally alone, for the first time in my young life.

“Good morning, Tom”, said the woman. “You are Tom Danvers, are you not?”

“Yes, that’s right”, I said. Well, it was.

“Welcome to Chatterley. My name is Mrs Lodenheim, the Headmistress’ secretary. I will show you your room, where you can freshen up and change into your work uniform. I will then introduce you to Mr Furzton who will have charge of you. How does that sound?”

“Fine”, I replied, and followed her, lugging my suitcase, through a maze of corridors, down some stairs into the basement, where she unlocked the door to a small, dark room with stone walls. A bed, a cupboard, a chair. That was the totality of the room’s furniture.

“There is a toilet down that corridor. The showers are communal, and this being a girls’ school, I suggest you use them either very early or after lessons have started. Now would be a good time, for example …”

I told her I had showered that morning, and the drive had only been an hour. She told me to get into my uniform and she would come and collect me 10 mins later.

The uniform was blue, and it was more like a police uniform when I had expected a school uniform, this being a school and all. But here she was already, picking me up and taking me to meet my new boss.

It was not far to go - his office was just a few doors on from my room. He was a bulky, stern-looking man, and wore a more elaborate version of the uniform I was in. He was sitting behind a desk and asked me to pull up a chair to sit facing him.

“Hello, Tom, it is very nice to meet you finally. I suggest that, for today, you just follow me around and observe. You’ll get the hang of it quickly, and I may ask you to assist me from time to time, but nothing difficult. The aim is that you will be able to work on your own in a few weeks. The apprenticeship lasts 18 months, as you know, and, if you do well, we already have a job lined up for you at one of our sister schools. Funnily enough, you will be taking over from Mr Marks, who trained me, back in the day. He wants to take early retirement.”

“Thank you”, I said, embarrassed. What else should I have said?

The school bell rang at this moment, announcing the end of what I thought would have been the fourth period. The cries of young girls could be heard as they fled their classrooms to start their lunch break. Not long after, there was a faint knock at the door.

“Why don’t you let in our first customer of the day?”, asked Mr Furzton.

I gingerly opened the door and looked into the big eyes of a young girl, around 14, dressed in a blue school blazer and skirt. She clearly had not expected to see me, and seemed surprised.

“This is Tom, Kelly. He is starting his apprenticeship with me today. Have you got your slip?”

She extracted a piece of paper from the inside pocket of her blazer and handed it to him.

“Ok, Kelly, you know the drill.”

She took off her blazer - her prim blouse was buttoned up but it was clear that she had begun to develop into a young woman. She then, with a quick, shy glance in my direction, followed Mr Furzton into the adjacent room. This looked a bit like a doctor’s consulting room, only that there were a number of wooden frames, padded benches and the like dotted around the room. Kelly was already lying on one of these benches.

Mr Furzton motioned me to stand in a corner and I did, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible as Mr Furzton opened a cupboard and selected a long, thick rattan cane from it. He took up position next to Kelly prostrate body and then started to cane her bottom. Ten strokes - he counted each one. Kelly then got up, wiped away a tear (she had been silent throughout), cast me another embarrassed glance, put her blazer back on and left.

“Tom, why don’t you go and collect the slips from the girls waiting next door?”

There were three girls in Mr Furzton’s office, to my surprise, at a rough guess aged 12, 13 and 16. I introduced myself: “Hello, I’m Tom, I’m Mr Furzton’s new apprentice. He has asked me to collect your slips.”

They handed them over, more or less demurely. The oldest was clearly particularly uncomfortable at my presence.

I took the three slips into the next room and handed them to my boss. He scrutinised them with a frown. “I wasn’t expecting to see Rebecca again so soon”, he mumbled. “Why don’t you call her in first?”

I did. The oldest girl sighed and followed me. Mr Furzton looked at her sternly. “Rebecca, you were here just four days ago. On that occasion Miss Lopes sent you - I see that this time you fell short of Mrs Ross’s expectations. What escalation of your punishment do you suggest? Mrs Ross has asked for 20 cane strokes, as you will know.

“How about 25?”, she whispered, barely audibly.

“30 I would have gone for”, riposted Mr Furzton, “but if it is to be 25 you will have to take off your skirt.”

“30, then, ok”, begged Rebecca, but Mr Furzton was adamant. “Hand your skirt and blazer to Tom and no more backchat!”

She complied, took off her blazer and then unzipped her skirt at the side and took it off. Her blouse was quite long, unfortunately, so that I did not get to see much. That was to change, however, as she bent over one of the padded frames ready to receive her caning: her blouse now receded and revealed a pair of blue cotton knickers. Clearly this was going to hurt more than through the skirt, but there was still quite a lot of material between her behind and the cane.

“Please count each stroke!” Mr Furzton was brandishing the cane he had used on Kelly. He raised it high in the air and then let it swish down, making contact with Rebecca’s seat with a loud ‘whack’. “One”, from Rebecca. “Whack!” “Two!” She was clearly in pain. Clearly, the her knickers softened just some of the force of each stroke - red stripes were forming where there was no material to protect her skin. After five or six strokes, she was screaming after each stroke, then had to recover in order to count the stroke properly. After 25 strokes, her upper legs were criss-crossed with red stripes and she was crying freely.

She quickly got dressed again and left, without even glancing at me.

“So you’re learning on the job, Tom. I should have explained some of the rules we operate here. Any girl that is sent to see me within seven days of her last visit gets her punishment ‘escalated’, as we call it. The first time this means we increase the punishment by one third or have her lose a layer of clothing. She chose poorly, as the knight in Indiana Jones said.” He chuckled to himself. “Things get more interesting if they are sent back within seven days of their second visit. You may soon find out - I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we were to see Rebecca again soon.”
“So what have these girls done to deserve to be punished?”, I asked.

“Well, down here we only deal with minor disciplinary and academic offences. Forgotten or shoddy homework, repeated bad test results, infringements of the dress or grooming code. Serious offences are brought before a disciplinary panel which has the power to impose harsher penalties - but we are usually the ones to carry them out.”

He glanced at his watch.

“No rest for the righteous. Two left to do. But they are both minor. Call in Jennifer.”

Jennifer turned out to the the younger one - I guessed she was about 12. Her blazer obscured any clues as to her body’s development.

“Left or right handed?”, asked Mr Furzton.

“Right”, came her demure response.

“Ok, stick out your left hand then, palm up!”, he ordered.

She complied, and he gave her six strokes with a very thin cane, almost a whip, across the palm. She winced, but did not cry out.

The slightly older one was next, Bronwen, a tiny little blonde.

“I see from your note that you are normally a good girl, but that you fell short in your last written Latin test. Miss Tugendhat has asked that you be given a short, sharp shock. So bend over this frame, please.”

Bronwen was trembling slightly as she did as she was told. In the meantime, Mr Furzton had got a large wooden paddle from his cupboard.

“On this occasion, just two!”, he announced, as he whacked it across her bottom the first time. She screamed louder than anyone had screamed that day.

Whack!

Another blood-curdling scream from Bronwen.

“Ok, let that be a lesson to you. Lunchtime is almost over, you better get back to class!”

As we were alone again, I asked, while Mr Furzton was putting away the paddle and cane, rather sheepishly: “So what do we do the rest of the time?”

“Well, the first thing is to prepare the paperwork - each punishment needs to be properly documented. That’s a good job for you, now that I think about it. Here are the four slips - the first three already have files, you find them in the filing cabinet next door. You will have to start a new file for Bronwen. Copy out the slip, then set out the punishment administered and any special circumstances - this really only applies to Rebecca, but you will find all about her previous visit in her file.”

As paperwork went, this was quite enjoyable. It turned out that Rebecca was a frequent visitor to Mr Furzton’s office - her file was thick. However, it seemed that she usually visited every three or four weeks - this was the first time she had had to visit twice in a week, and therefore the first time her punishment had been ‘escalated’. It was my job to explain how that escalation had come about - that she had chosen a lower number of strokes than the ‘tariff’, which called for a extra 1/3 of strokes, and therefore been obliged to shed one layer of clothing. I also had to detail, for each punishee, how she had conducted herself during her punishment. There were boxes to tick which ranged from ‘stoic - no reaction’ to ‘lost control, had to be restrained’.

I did not know if I was allowed to look at any other files - so I didn’t - but I would have loved to check if any girls ever had had to be restrained.

Mr Furzton came back into the office. “Are you done? Good!”, he said. Now, I’ve prepared a dummy for you next door - time for some practical training!”

In the other room - which I had come to call ‘The Execution Room’ to myself - he had actually strapped a stuffed doll onto one of the punishment frames.

“If you are to take on some of my duties, it is important that you know how much force to apply. Not too much, not too little. We do not want the girls to be seriously injured, nor do we want them to laugh behind our backs if the punishment does not hurt at all. So the bottom of this doll is equipped with a sensor - on this screen” - he pointed to a flat screen that I had not noticed before - “you will see the force of your stroke. You want to be in the ‘green’ zone: if you hit so hard to reach the red zone, it’s way too hard; if you stay in the white or yellow zones, you are not hitting hard enough. So have a go, develop a feel for the cane. I’ll leave you to practice. When I get back, I want you to administer 10 strokes, but with the screen off. If at least eight of these are in the green zone, and none is in the red, you can have a go at a real punishment later this afternoon.”

So I got practising. It was actually surprisingly difficult to - pun intended - hit the sweet spot. I literally missed the dummy’s bottom on my first attempt, hitting the back of its knees instead, and this did not register at all on the screen. Even when I did hit the target, my strokes were initially too feeble. So I hit harder, gradually increasing the strength, entering the green zone and getting close to the red zone. I slowly got a feel for the right level of strength, and deliberately looked away from the screen as I hit, repeatedly getting it right. I put the cane down, walked around the room a few times, looking at the various frames, chairs and other implements. There were more or less elaborate punishment frames - some just a bit of padding on a stool, others that allowed the ‘victim’ to be secured in various positions. There was also a chair that looked medical, with stirrups to secure the legs in a spread position that just looking at it got me excited. I was grateful to my dad for pestering me to learn a ‘proper’ job - I had had no idea that this was what he had had in mind!

My inspection of the room and its contents completed, I returned to practice. My first stroke earned me a ‘red’. Ouch. Far too hard. I moderated the strength. By too much. It took a while to get the feel for the cane and for the strength needed to wield it back. When I had, I stopped again, took another turn around the room. When I picked the cane up again, I started too lightly, but then quickly got up to the right level.

As I was taking another turn around the room, Mr Furzton returned.

“How are you getting on?”

“Ok, I think. Just taking a break.”

“Good, so let’s see where you are.”

He switched off the screen and I took hold of the cane. Again, I started light and increased the strength gradually. After ten strokes, he switched the screen on again. It turned out that I had managed to land seven in the green zone, two in the white and one in the yellow. The disappointment in my face must have been obvious, because he laughed and said he’d give me another chance. This time, I managed to land nine in the green zone and one in the yellow.

“Well done, lad.”, he commented. “So you now hold a provisional licence, as it were, for ten strokes with the number three cane. The girl will have to agree to you punishing her, and we’ll halve the strokes as an inducement. So any number three cane punishments up to 20 strokes, we’ll ask her, ok?”

I nodded enthusiastically.

The remainder of the school day was long - there was nothing to do, and I was so eager for the after school punishment session to start, the hours (there were only two left, in fact) dragged out and seemed like days, the minutes like hours. Finally, the knock on the door. I let in five girls, aged between 14 and 17, took their slips and asked them to wait. As I took in the slips to Mr Furzton, I quickly glanced at them - number 4 cane, paddle, number 3 cane (yes!), but 25 strokes (darn!), number 3 cane (yes!), and 15 strokes (hurrah!), then another number 3 cane and 20 strokes. So my chances were looking good, I thought!

Mr Furzton looked at the slips and frowned.

“Rebecca again! That must be a first, two visits in a single day. What’s up with the girl?”

I hadn’t even noticed that one of the girls I let in had been Rebecca. She’d been the last one to hand me her slip and was due 20 strokes with the number 3 cane.

“We’ll take her last, she may take some time”, said Mr Furzton. “Call in Sinead.”

I did. Sinead was ok-looking, nothing stunning, around 15. She walked in very timidly.

“This is Tom, my new apprentice. He will be helping me with some of my duties from now on. Your teacher is asking for 20 strokes with a number 4 cane. Tom isn’t qualified to administer punishments yet, but with your permission he would be allowed to give you up to 20 strokes with the number 3 cane - he’s passed his test for that cane. So what do you say? 20 strokes with the heavier number 4 from me or 20 strokes with the number 3 from Tom?”

She blushed, looking at me, and shook her head. Damn!

“That’s fine, get over the stool, then.”, said Mr Furzton and fetched the heavier cane from his cupboard. It struck me that he was quite disappointed, too. He certainly applied the cane much more harshly than I had witnessed in the morning. Each stroke produced a heart-rending scream from Sinead. After ten strokes, she got up and ran to the corner of the room.

“Ok, Sinead, I’ll give you two minutes to compose yourself,” said Mr Furzton, “but then please get on this punishment frame!”. He pointed to a larger frame with velcro restraints.

Sinead was still crying quite openly and shook her head.

“You do realise that if you fail to obey I will have to refer you to the headmistress, don’t you?”

Faced by this threat, she reluctantly moved towards us and assumed the position on the larger frame. Mr Furzton quickly secured her wrists and ankles using the velcro straps. Only then did he tell her:

“Forcing me to restrain you means that the remaining strokes will be administered onto your panties. Tom, please lift her skirt!” She screamed “No!”, but I eagerly raised the hem of her skirt and tucked it under her waistband, revealing white panties. A few pubic hairs were sticking out at the sides. For some reason, this excited me tremendously!

If anything, the next ten strokes were even more vicious than the first ten, and the results were readily apparent in the form of red stripes on white skin. Sinead, still crying, was released and left.

As she was leaving, Mr Furzton reminded me to update her file before I forgot what had happened. So I got it from the other room as I called in the next girl, Emily.

I copied Sinead’s slip and added the explanation that she had fled and needed to be restrained, resulting in her losing the protection of her skirt. When I was done, Emily was already bent over the stool. She was a slim girl, tall, around 17. Her skirt was folded on a chair next to the stool.

“Ms Darby has asked for ten whacks with the paddle on panties. Would you prefer to be restrained?”
She shook her head.

“Please stay in position, you know what will happen if I am forced to restrain you!”

So did I, and I was hoping that it would become necessary! I should explain that I was very inexperienced sexually at the time. A bit of a nerd, my successes with the opposite sex had been few and far between. In fact, I hadn’t had any. I had never even seen a girl topless, let alone a girl’s pussy.

WHACK!

The paddle connected with Emily’s panty-clad bottom. She remained silent. This did not bode well!

WHACK!

The second stroke was louder, yet duller. Emily screamed out.

WHACK!

Another loud scream. The skin surrounding her panties clearly showed an impression of the holes that were drilled into the paddle. I had no realised how quickly that would happen.

WHACK!

Emily jumped up and ran around the room, holding her bruised behind. Mr Furzton threw me a telling, and somewhat triumphant, glance.

“Ok Emily, you chose poorly when I asked if you wanted to be tied down. Please come over here and lie on this punishment horse, please.”

She shook her head.

“You are only making things worse for yourself. I’ll send Tom straight to the Head!”

Again, the threat worked. She reluctantly shuffled towards the punishment horse he had indicated.

“Tom, can you call in one Anna, please? We need a female witness for this next bit.”

I opened the door to the waiting room and asked Anna to join us. She came in, curious that she hadn’t seen Emily leave. Anna was a big, spotty girl of 15 or so.

“Put your panties on the chair with your skirt, please.” This was directed at Emily.

She glanced in my direction, blushed, then turned away from me and pulled her panties down. Making sure not to let me see anything but her back, she put them on the chair and got onto the punishment horse.

“You get her wrists, I get her ankles” said Mr Furzton and started untangling the velcro. I walked round - sadly this did not allow me to see anything - and secured her wrists. I then hesitated - if I walked back to my original spot, it would be quite obvious that I was hoping for a better view.

“It’s ok, Tom, just come back to this side”, said Mr Furzton and winked at me.

I wasn’t quite prepared for what I saw: Mr Furzton had secured her legs in such a way that they were spread, giving me an excellent view of both her hairy pussy and equally hairy bottom-hole! I nervously looked over to Anna, who was still standing by the door. From her position, it would not be obvious that Emily was giving us such deep insights! Phew!

And now the paddle went up and came down with a loud thud, slightly higher in pitch, but immediately drowned out by Emily’s scream. Now there was nowhere for Emily to go, and she was screaming continuously for the following six whacks.

“Can you get her file, Tom, and complete the report, please, while I untie her?”

Shame, but nothing for it. As I walked towards the door, Anna made room for me and took a few steps towards where I’d been standing. She gasped as she realised how ‘open’ Emily had been during her punishment. But that couldn’t be helped now - I slipped into the next room, threw a bashful smile at the two scared girls waiting there, and got Emily’s file. I was filling in the form while Emily got dressed again and left, still crying.

“Anna, you have met Tom, my new apprentice. He will be my right hand from now on. As part of his training, he has to conduct a number of punishments, although he is not yet, of course, qualified. He has passed a preliminary test on the number three cane, which is the cane your teacher, Mrs Ross, has asked for in your case. Should you agree, we will reduce your punishment from 25 to 10 strokes, but those 10 would be on panties rather than on your skirt. What do you say?”

I held my breath, as I was finishing filling in Emily’s form. But it was no good - she was shaking her head. Damn!

Her punishment was pretty standard - she chose to be restrained, no doubt put off by what had happened to Emily - and kept her composure while receiving 25 strokes. So filling in her form was quick work.

So all my hopes were on the last but one punishee - the last one being Rebecca I had no prospect at all of being involved in her punishment. She was called Winifred, clearly a very posh name for a very posh girl. Again, she did not have a file - a first time offender, therefore. She actually thought long and hard about having her punishment of 15 strokes reduced to seven - but then shook her head, doubtfully. Mr Furzton, whom I began to like more and more, tried to change her mind, but to no avail. She bent over, received her 15, keeping her dignity. Again, nothing much for the form and the virgin file. As she was about to leave, Mr Furzton asked her to stay in the waiting room as she might be needed as a witness.

This promised to be interesting - while dejected at not having had a go myself, I was looking forward to whatever escalation Mr Furzton would have in mind for Rebecca.

“Well, Rebecca, I am really disappointed to see you again.” She tried to explain that her new punishment was for badly done homework that she had handed in a week previously, but he wouldn’t hear any excuses.

“Had you come back within seven school days, that would have earned you two escalations. Twice in a day calls for more. Miss Jackson asks for 20 strokes with the number 3 cane on panties. Think hard about the two escalations you would like to suggest - I will add a third.”

“30 strokes with the number 4 cane?”, she whispered.

“30 strokes is right, but a second escalation will take you to a number 5 cane. So I get to choose the second and third escalations. You will receive the first 10 strokes with a number 3 cane from my new apprentice. The next 20 from the number 4 cane, as you chose, from me. And you shall be fully naked throughout. Tom, please call in Winifred as a witness!”

Winifred came in and I explained to her what was about to happen. She gasped. Rebecca sobbed quietly, but began to take off her clothes. Socks first, then her skirt, her blazer, her blouse, then her bra and finally her panties. A girl my own age, fully nude, facing me! She now got over the frame - she wasn’t restrained, which surprised me. Her legs were tightly squeezed together, so other than a tuft of pubic hair all I got to see was her (very nice) white bottom. Mr Furzton had already helped himself to the thicker number 4 cane, but had handed me the number three. My first stroke was still quite hesitant, but I grew in confidence. While Rebecca remained stoic at first, the last two strokes made her scream out, albeit quietly. That changed as Mr Furzton laid into her - soon, her bottom was bright red, with a little purple in the middle. She then go dressed, eyes downcast, and left with Winifred, as I was bending over my desk filling in yet another form. I wasn’t quite sure how to express the various escalations and was just asking Mr Furzton, when there was a knock on the door and Mrs Lodenheim, the headmistress’ secretary, came in.

“Mr Furzton, I am afraid one of the girls you punished today has made an official complaint against you. Please come and see the Headmistress about this now. Tom should come, too.”

This did not sound good. We both followed her, out of the basement and into the more respectable parts of the school.

(End of File)