Rosecliff, Episode 020

Margaret Lange

10AM Sunday, I reported to the third floor study room across the hall from my dorm room. The desks were all pushed against the wall and chairs were collected into a circle around the center of the room. I stood behind an empty chair, like the other twenty-four girls in the room. Jocelyn had explained the process to me, in excruciating detail and at such a speed I had been forced to ask her to repeat herself on a couple of the details that sounded important.

A bald man in a tan suit with a white shirt and no tie entered the room and stepped into the center of the circle. The chair closest to the door had been left open for him. He pushed his round glasses into place on his nose and looked around the room while pinching his mustache. His gaze stopped on me. His hand dropped to his side and he smiled. I felt like running.

His voice was unusually deep. “Margaret Lange?”

I breathed deeply, suppressing panic. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Welcome to our group,” he said. “I’m Mr. Boggs.” He looked around the rest of the circle. “Take your seat ladies.”

I moved forward, circling toward the front of the chair I had selected.

Mr. Boggs turned sharply in my direction. “Not you, Margaret. It’s customary for the speaker in our group to stand and we’re going to start off today with you introducing yourself and telling us all why you are here.”

I grabbed hold of the back of the chair. My hands were perspiring. I stared at Mr. Boggs’ open collar. “My name is Margaret Lange and I’m here because I don’t have any choice.”

Several girls snickered.

Mr. Boggs said, “While that answer is truthful, it’s not exactly honest, is it Margaret?”

I bit on my lip. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand what he wanted me to say, it was simply that I had a problem saying the words. The irony, that no one else understood or believed, was that the answer he wanted contained no honesty at all.

Mr. Boggs sat in his chair and leaned forward, staring at me with his elbows resting in his lap. “I know it’s difficult, Margaret, but you’re not alone here. All the girls in this room have made serious mistakes, just like you. Now, you can share your story with us or you can take off that uniform and bend over the back of the chair, because if you can’t admit to what you’ve done, you haven’t earned the right to wear the Institute’s uniform.”

I sighed. It was no different when the lawyers brought the paperwork on the plea deal. Nobody cared what really happened. They all wanted the story the prosecutor developed. There was no innocence, only varying degrees of guilt. Brian had died and I couldn’t remember, but the prosecutor’s story didn’t make sense. “I went out to some clubs with Brian, my boyfriend.”

Some of the girls nodded. A couple groaned.

Mr. Boggs said, “Go on.”

I took a deep breath. It steadied my nerves. “We were drinking, more than we should have been. I blacked out and woke up jail. The police told me we robbed a liquor store and Brian killed the clerk. I resisted arrest and Brian shot a police officer. Another police officer shot and killed Brian. I’m here because I made the choice of being with Brian when he did these things.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks. It still hurt talking about it and even more to tell it like the police did, like the prosecutor did. Brian hated guns. We never went to liquor stores. The only time we drank was at clubs and that was mostly because you had to pay for them anyway just to get in the door. I had only had two drinks on the night it happened and it was the only time in my entire life I had blacked out and couldn’t remember. Something happened that night, I know it, but the story isn’t the one I told. I don’t know the truth, but I absolutely know the lie.

Mr. Boggs said, “Thank you, Margaret. I’m sure that was very painful for you. Please sit down and join us.”

Rosecliff, Episode 019

Scarlet Watts

“Fifty-four,” I counted, struggling to keep my fingertips in contact with the tops of my toes. My naked butt burned under the clear paddle’s relentless assault. The cafeteria was silent beyond the echoing claps of my spanking and the sounds of my own sniffling. I could only see the back wall and the floor of the stage, but I could feel the gazes of the assembled girls prickling the bare flesh of my back.

Walter...Dean Rosecliff held nothing back, swinging the paddle again with the intensity of his purpose. The clap rattled in my ears. I sucked in air. My butt bounced. Hot, stinging ripples washed over my body. More tears spilled from my eyes, running down into my hairline. I just wanted the spanking to end, though I knew the discomfort would remain with me well into the night.

“Fifty-five,” I said.

He delivered the final swat. My entire body trembled in a failed effort to suppress a sob. It was humiliating to be broken down into a snotty, sobbing, red-bottomed little girl in front of so many witnesses. If not for the all-consuming fire emanating from my butt, I might have pondered the implications of being so vulnerable in front of the students. Instead, my thoughts remained singularly focused on the spanking and the related pain it caused.

“Fifty-six,” I said.

Dean Rosecliff tapped the paddle against my hot bottom with enough force that it felt like another six light swats being delivered. “Stand straight, hands on head.”

I collected strength, breathing in and out slowly.

He struck my butt with more force. “Now, Scarlet or would you like another fifty-six swats?”

I straightened and folded my hands together atop my head. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I stared out into the crowded cafeteria. The room at large seemed less interested in my presence than the previous evening. Most girls were eating the dinner, casting only sporadic glances toward the stage. The girls who were staring at me, were in fact in no better a situation than me, standing at their tables, hands on their heads and in various stages of nudity. The probably found comfort in seeing me, exposed and discipline as if I were one of them. I, however, found no comfort in the companionship, only shame. Of course, I should have at least realized that while they were being punished for misdeeds, I was only being disciplined for the purpose of an example and understanding.

It seemed much longer than the forty-five minutes it was, standing there until the end of dinner time. I watched the girls put away their plates and exit the room. When all were gone and only staff remained, cleaning, Ms. Chambers finally came to the stage. She grasped hold of my elbow and led me toward the exit, not giving me position to lower my hands.

She said, “I finished reviewing the lesson plans you submitted.”

I glanced at her as we stopped in front of the door leading outside. “And?” I asked.

She opened the door and led me out into the cold night air. My nipples hardened and goosebumps decorated my flesh. I shivered. Her hand slapped my throbbing butt.

“I expect to be addressed with respect,” Ms. Chambers said.

I rolled my eyes. The woman was an irritant. “Yes, Miss Chambers.”

She stopped walking and pivoted herself directly in front of me. “I’m the head of Tanzanite House and your direct supervisor.” She glared into my eyes. “If I need to remind you again, it will be done with a hefty strap at breakfast in front of all those girls. Am I understood or do you require a demonstration in the morning?”

Trepidation beat in my chest. I lowered my gaze. “You’re understood, Miss Chambers.”

“Good,” she said and pivoted back to my side, walking along the path toward Tanzanite House again. “I have tentatively approved your lesson plans, though I wish to discuss some of them with you in more detail.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Miss.” The formal address tasted bitter. “I can discuss them with you whenever you want.”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “after we get you trained in the use of the leather paddle and strap.”

“What time, Miss?” I asked.

“In the morning at nine,” she said.

We reached the front doors of Tanzanite House. She opened the door and led me inside. At the edge of the common room she stopped. She pointed toward the far corner, beside the television. “Like last night, you will spend the remainder of the evening in the corner, only tonight you’ll face the room.”

I stared at her.

She smiled. “I’m the head of this house and when a member of staff gets themselves in enough trouble that they must walk around campus in the buff, I find it appropriate that I add my own discipline to their punishment. Don’t you think that’s wise?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, Miss.”

She slapped my butt a half dozen time with her hand, attracting the attention of the girls relaxing in the common room. “Off to the corner, Scarlet. And don’t let me catch you staring at the floor or the ceiling. You look at the girls in the room or I’ll consider you in need of a breakfast lesson in respect. Got it?”

“Yes, Miss,” I said and proceeded into the common room. My back pressed into the corner, I watched the girls watching me. And I blushed the whole evening.

Rosecliff, Episode 018

Britney Pearce

Riley yanked his faded black t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside onto the floor. It was a simple, haphazard gesture done with a casualness that no longer felt familiar. Years ago, living in the safety and comfort of my parents’ home, I too had strewn my clothes across the bedroom floor without a care in the world. The sight of it, not just his toned and tan skin, but the free thoughtless action of cluttering the floor, brought a smile to my lips. Rosecliff did not allow such things.

I unfastened my bow tie and held it between my fingers over the floor before deliberately letting it go and watching it flutter delicately onto the floor at the foot of his bed. It felt wrong in all the right ways. I shrugged out of the shoulder straps of my jumper, unzipped the skirt and let it all fall to the floor. My fingers quickly unbuttoned my white blouse and I discarded it atop the bow tie.

He unbuckled his belt, popped the button on his jeans, unzipped them, pushed them down his legs and kicked them off, all the while keeping his eyes on me. I stepped out of my shoes and yanked my socks off, one at a time. He walked to me, took my shoulders gently in his hands and pressed his lips against mine. I reached for him, but he turned me away, guiding me by my shoulders. With my back to him, he brushed my hair aside, kissed my neck and slipped his fingers lower. He unfastened my bra, pushed it from my shoulders and I let it fall to the floor. His arms pulled me back into him, his bare chest pressed against my bare back. I felt his warm breath tickling my neck and ear. His hands roamed freely over my flesh, caressing, fondling. I leaned my head back onto his shoulder and kissed his jawline. He kissed my lips, grabbed me firmly and tossed me onto his bed.

I smiled up at him looming over me. Precious moments, tender moments, these were the things Rosecliff stole. And here, just months before my scheduled release, I stole a little bit back. The risk probably wasn’t worth it, but I didn’t care. Riley made me feel alive. He gave me hope for a future where no one would care that I spent five years at Rosecliff.

Riley crawled on top of me, besmearing my legs, thighs, stomach and breasts with little kisses. His weight pressed against me, pinning me to the covers. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him down, thrusting myself upward. His stiffness pressed against me, teasing me with inconsistent pressure. He pinched my nipples with his teeth, holding me down as I moaned. I grabbed at his butt, strained my neck, pushing my head up, hungry lips seeks his. He thrust himself into me, over and over. I strained against him, warm tingles spread across my body, euphoria washed over me. He shuddered and collapsed on me, breathing heavily. I held him to me like a blanket.

I glanced at his alarm clock. Ten minutes until the rendezvous. I pushed him off me, pounded my fist on the wall at the head of his bed. “Paula, we got to go!” I rolled off the bed grabbed my clothes from the floor and pulled them on fast.

Riley sat on the edge of the bed, watching me with a bemused smile on his lips. “When will I see you again?”

“Never if I’m late,” I said.

He shook his head. “You won’t be late. Seriously, when do you get another free afternoon?”

“Two weeks, if I stay out of trouble,” I said, heading out his bedroom door.

Paula Jenkins met me at the front door of the apartment. She was still fixing her bow tie in place and her jumper’s shoulder straps still dangled from her waist. I helped her get the final touches in place. We were bunkmates and our boyfriends were roommates. It was a convenient setup, as long as we didn’t get caught.

She said, “We’ll have to run.”

I glanced at the clock. “All but the last block. We can walk the last.”

Rosecliff, Episode 017

Abigail Hastings

The shrill bellow of Mr. Oneal’s whistle captured every girl’s attention on the grass field. It was a relief for me, wearing not but white socks and athletic shoes, standing in front of the collected gathering of Tanzanite House for the morning exercise ritual. I suppose Ms. Watts felt much the same, standing on the opposite side of Mr. Oneal from me and wearing absolutely nothing. At Rosecliff, the only privacy a girl gets when naked, or nearly naked, is when something or someone else is drawing more attention. In this case, the attention was divided between Mr. Oneal and the relatively new girl, Emily Sargeant.

She arrived a little more than three months prior. 17 years old and convicted of theft. Her adjustment has been painfully slow. She considers herself a victim and has yet to accept responsibility for her situation. It’s not that unusual for new girls, I spent my first six months blaming every last one of my friends and family for my predicament. I doubt I’ll ever see any of those friends again and as for family, well I think they’ve mostly disowned me. My repeated letters of apology and admission of guilt as well acceptance of personal responsibility have all gone unanswered. But that’s the reality, apologies don’t undo the things we’ve done. Someday, Emily will understand too.

Mr. Oneal fixed his glare on her, freezing her in place only steps past the gate. “You’re late.”

She trembled. Her hands brushed at the blonde hair hanging around her shoulders. Tears glistened in her blue eyes. Her voice squeaked. “Less than a minute.”

He planted his hands on his hips. “Do you have an excuse or are you simply incapable of walking the hundred yards from Tanzanite House to the field in less than ten minutes?”

Tears bubbled out of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at the grass directly in front of his feet. “Get over here.” Not waiting for her to so much as blink, he turned and picked up his datapad from seat of the blue plastic chair behind him. He used his finger to punch in the relevant data while Emily slogged her way across the field. “Do you see Miss Abigail?” he snapped his fingers again and pointed at me.

Emily wiped tears from her cheeks and look in my direction. “Yes, Sir.”

He said, “You’re going to be her twin for the day. Face your housemates and strip down.”

More tears spilled and a sob racked her large chest. “Please, Sir.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at the assemble mass of Tanzanite girls. All eyes were locked on Emily. Some found the situation amusing, others found it frightening and still others feared if they looked elsewhere they might have misfortune of joining Emily and myself in our starkly embarrassing uniform, if you can call socks and shoes a uniform. Three years had toughened my skin, but the humbling effect of being naked never quite diminished.

Emily turned toward the girls, though I doubt she really faced them. The sports bra, shorts and panties of her exercise kit were quickly yanked off and laid in a folded pile on the grass. Her crying continued to shake her entire body, wobbling her ample flesh. Naked, she stood there, shoulder slumped, head low and hair hanging in front of breasts, waiting.

Mr. Oneal unhooked the leather tawse from his belt and positioned himself to use it on Emily. “Back straight, hands on top of your head, elbows pointing left and right, feet shoulders width apart.”

“Yes, Sir.” Emily cried harder, but she obeyed his every command.

He tapped the tawse against her tense buttocks. “One way or another I’m going to whip you into shape, Emily. 24 now, you can have another 20 at lunch and skip the meal, I’m sure you can afford to, and then you will run an 8 minute mile for before dinner or you’ll receive another 20 at dinner and miss that meal as well. Is that understood, Emily?”

She sniffled loudly, attempting to hold back another wave of sobs. “Yes, Sir.”

He raised the tawse and slapped it hard across the center of her butt. Two red stripes instantly appeared. She yelped, wiggled her butt and counted the stroke aloud. He swung the tawse again, striking just below the first two stripes. Her legs kicked up like a soldier marching in place while she cried out. She counted the stroke. He brought the strap down over the original two stripes. She cried and counted. He kept swinging, alternating between middle and lower half of her butt while she kept crying, wriggling, kicking and counting. 24 strokes later, her butt glowed a hot, shiny red.

Then we all got our morning exercise.

Rosecliff, Episode 016

Margaret Lange

My first night crept slowly. In jail, I had mostly enjoyed a solitary cell where the only sound had been the slow pacing of the guard outside in the corridor. Sharing a room with five other girls was new. The breathing and snoring were not unexpected, but I had not been prepared for the youngest girl, 18 year old Emily Sargeant, to cry herself to sleep. I stopped crying myself to sleep after they told me Brian had died. In fact, that’s when I stopped sleeping.

Sunlight sprinkled in through the windows. I watched the digital clock between the two windows until the time read 06:00 and the overhead speaker crackled alive with the ear-piercing shriek of a ringing bell. Everyone sat straight up in bed, clasping their hands over their ears, everyone that is except me. I rested my head on the pillow until the speaker shut off.

The girl above me jumped down onto the floor. She rushed into the water closet, taking first turn at the toilet. The other girls formed a line. I decided to get dressed for the morning exercise, which I’d read in my booklet was unavoidable. Besides, my last drink was at dinner. It had seemed a wise idea when I figured out I was sharing one toilet in the morning with five other girls. I was dressed and tying my shoelaces, sitting on my bed, when my bunkmate re-emerged.

She slapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re Margaret, I’m Jocelyn and we’re bunkmates. I’m guessing you either got up early or you’ve got a bladder of steel, but either way I can tell you’re smart cause you’ve already figured out what to wear. That’s the great thing about being at Rosecliff, back home I could never figure out what to wear in the morning. I’d try on like fifteen outfits everyday before I left my room. Here, it’s all decided. I’m blabbering aren’t I? I do that, just tell me to shut up if I’m going too long. So, tell me, did you really kill your boyfriend and five police officers? I mean that’s like hardcore, girl and you don’t look like a killer, but I guess that’s why they call girls like you femme fatales. Right?” She stared at me for a moment. “You aren’t deaf are you?”

I smiled at her. She reminded me of an old friend. “I wasn’t deaf, but ever since the clock struck six I’ve had this ringing in my ears.”

Jocelyn wiped the back of her hand across her brow as if wiping away sweat. “Whew. You had me worried for a minute there. Don’t mind the ringing, that is pretty much a constant around here. Most of us cover our ears when the damn thing goes off. Oops. I shouldn’t have said damn. Ms. Chambers doesn’t like swearing and she thinks damn is a swear word. I never heard of anyone thinking damn was a swear word before coming here. How about you?”

I shook my head. “How long have you been here?”

Jocelyn turned away from and opened up the bottom drawer on her chest of drawers. “Just over a year. In fact, yesterday was my one year anniversary. Somebody should have gotten me a gift. I mean I should have at least had some cake after dinner. If I wasn’t saving for one of those graphic calculators I would have, but I start trigonometry on Monday and they say I have to have one of those calculators. If you don’t have one they give you one and if you don’t have enough money in your account to pay for it, they really make you pay for it. If you know what I mean. Of course you don’t know, I mean you just got here. So what I mean is they blister your bare backside and keep on blistering it until you earn enough allowance to pay for it which for something like a graphic calculator could be a long time. I much prefer my butt blister free. Oops. There I go again. Ms. Chambers says butt is a bad word too, but I guess it’s not a bad word when she demands we bare our butts, but then double standards from adults is something I’m used to. That’s just life, eh Margaret?”

I got up and started making my bed. It was definitely going to be the hardest thing to get used to for me. Neatness was never my thing and getting sheets perfectly flat with perfect corners was something I thought only magicians and maids were capable of doing. It occurred to me that I would simply have to become one or the other. Magician sounded like the better choice cause if got good enough maybe I could just open a doorway that led me right out of the nightmare my life had become.

Jocelyn said, “Don’t bother with that now. We’ve got to get over to the field. Mr. Oneal doesn’t like girls being tardy and you don’t want to be disliked by Mr. Oneal. Besides we got plenty of time to make our beds, clean the room and even shower after exercise. If you need to use the toilet you better do it, otherwise we’d better get going. They don’t allow running around here. Well they do allow it out on the track and if you’ve been bad, Mr. Oneal will make you run in place, but that’s not what I meant. Hallway running, indoor running, you know, the kind of running your mother probably told you not to do, that’s the kind they don’t allow. You do have a mother don’t you? I read someplace that girls who kill people usually didn’t have mothers. Is that true?”

Somehow Jocelyn had managed to get completely dressed while talking a mile a minute. It was impressive. I almost laughed. The line to the bathroom was still three girls long. I didn’t have the immediate need and exercise period was only meant to last 45 minutes. The bathroom could wait. “Let’s go,” I said.

We left the room together, Jocelyn leading the way.