A Major of Marnie (Miss Robin's Academy Book 3) Read online

  "Wives!" cried Marnie.

  "Please allow me to finish," said Miss Robin, with a hint of flintiness in her voice. "While you are here, you shall undergo rigorous training to prepare you for the life that awaits you as a military wife. Your parents have enrolled you into this academy. Your mother's brothers are military men—is that correct?"

  "Quite so," said Mrs. Stowe. "One of them suggested your establishment, Miss Robin."

  Marnie rolled her eyes. "Taking advice from those dim-witted fools—Mother, how could you?"

  Her mother looked away. "I do so want your happiness, Marnie. I want someone to love you and take care of you, to provide for you. To admire you. I do not know what I have done wrong—how I have failed—but you are so intent on pushing everyone away from you that I no longer knew what to do. I saw no other way to help you!"

  "You should count yourself lucky, Marnie." her father added. "You have all but exhausted my patience. This is your last chance. We will pay for your tuition here and then—no more. Perhaps you will learn to be pleasant if you know it is a choice between that and the workhouse!"

  Marnie felt her heart drop through her body.

  "But you can't possibly mean—" she said. "That I can't come home? That I'll never—never see..."

  "Oh my darling girl," said Mrs. Stowe, seizing Marnie's hands in her own. "Of course, you will see us."

  "...Scarlett again?" Marnie finished.

  Her mother paused for a moment before withdrawing her hands. She pursed her lips. "I never like to quarrel with your father, Marnie," she said quietly. "You know that. And yet I quarrelled with him about this. I didn't think it was fair for him to give his own daughter an ultimatum in this way. It saddens me to see that perhaps he was right all along."

  Mr. Stowe stood, and his wife joined him.

  "So long, for now, dear Marnie," Mrs. Stowe said. "I hope you do well here. Truly, I do!"

  Marnie felt tears prick her eyes and swallowed them down. She turned her face away.

  "Do you not wish to farewell your parents, Marnie? Once they take their leave, it may be some time before you see them again," Miss Robin said.

  "Good riddance!" Marnie snarled.

  She kept her back to the door as her parents were shown out.

  Miss Robin followed Mr. and Mrs. Stowe to see them out of the academy. When she re-entered the room, she found Marnie still seated, shoulders hunched and arms crossed.

  "Well, Miss Stowe, I must say—this is not the most auspicious beginning to your career as a Privette at my academy."

  "Why should I care about that?" said Marnie. Her heart and thoughts were racing. At that moment, she cared not a fig for her parents or her sisters or even the wealth and comfort that her father had summarily informed her she stood to lose. All she could think of was her horse—getting back to Scarlett and getting her away from the hateful people she had once considered her family.

  "I understand you are not pleased to be enrolled, Miss Stowe. Not all girls are. But try to think it through. If you do not wish to do well for your parents' sake or for the sake of your own happiness and reputation—do it to secure a future for yourself."

  "A future. A future. It's all my parents speak of. How many grave errors have girls made because they thought they were doing something prudent for their 'future'?" Marnie said mockingly. "By 'future', all they mean is money. Not a single person in this blasted country seems to care a jot for anything else!"

  She thought of her mother grimacing at her father's habits—the way his jaw clicked when he ate, his way of chuckling to himself and refusing to share the joke. Marrying Mr. Stowe had been prudent; that was a certainty. But had it made her mother happy? She doubted it very much.

  Miss Robin sighed. "I can see that I have very little hope of convincing you tonight that this may be a blessing in disguise," she said. "So I will offer you a word of warning, instead. At my academy, we value discipline above all things. As such, we structure our days with military precision. Lessons, mealtimes, recreation hour and visitations are strictly observed. Proper behaviour in all situations is not only monitored, but enforced. We do not accept insubordination, disrespect or self-pity. The punishments in my establishment are just, but they can be severe."

  Marnie snorted. "What will your punishment be—boring me to death?"

  Miss Robin picked up a small gold bell from the corner of her desk and rang it. "See for yourself," she said.

  After a moment, a woman entered the room in response to Miss Robin's bell. She was ice blonde, like a fairy queen—and her eyes were bright dark blue. Her gown was a dark blue that made her eyes shine all the more brightly. Marnie sprang to her feet. On realising the woman was a good inch or two taller than she was, she stood on tiptoe, hoping not to be outdone.

  "Miss Stowe, meet Mrs. Jones. She will be your chaperone."

  "Delighted," said Mrs. Jones, with a gleam in her eye that Marnie did not quite like. The woman looked perfectly charming, but something in her manner gave Marnie an unsettling feeling.

  Miss Robin smiled at Mrs. Jones and said, "Mrs. Jones, Miss Stowe is afraid that she will be bored by our punishments. Perhaps you could do something to pique her interest?"

  "With pleasure, Miss Robin," Mrs. Jones said.

  "I'll let you two get acquainted then. Miss Stowe, I'm sure I'll speak to you soon. Try to think before you speak."

  Marnie opened her mouth and then closed it again. Mrs. Jones ushered her out of the room.

  Marnie was walked back to the academy's entrance hall, then up a central staircase carpeted with red velvet. She climbed in silence to the second floor.

  Mrs. Jones walked with authority, her back ramrod straight. Though her figure was beautifully turned, Marnie couldn't help but feel a certain tremor of trepidation when regarding the broad shoulders and the strong hand, which opened a door at the end of a long corridor.

  This room was a comfortable but not elaborate space. The beds—there were two—were dressed in fine but plain cream linens, the carpet was a plush deep red, the picture rail navy. A chest of drawers stood between the beds. Above each bed was a window. There was a clothes press in one corner. On it hung a white chiffon frock, so light it seemed to float in the air.

  In the other corner was a type of furniture Marnie had never seen before. Mrs. Jones caught her looking at it.

  She closed the door and turned a key in the lock. "I'm glad to see you're taking an interest, Miss Stowe. Luckily for you, you're about to have the opportunity to see the punishment horse in much closer detail."

  She picked up the strange looking piece of furniture and placed it in the centre of the room, in front of Marnie.

  Marnie took in the odd A-framed thing, with a red leather padded section across its centre and cuffs hanging from each of its legs. But she wasn't processing what she saw—her thoughts were elsewhere. At the word horse, Marnie had felt her heart contract. She would have to think of some way for her family to allow her to return home. But how could she? Her father was so stubborn once he had made a decision. Her mother wouldn't dare to cross him.

  "Miss Stowe? I hate to interrupt your reverie, but I require you to bend over the punishment horse at once. Your punishment is worsening with every moment you delay it."

  Marnie felt a bolt of pure fear.

  "You think you can punish me?" Marnie said, using indignation to mask the terror she felt. She folded her arms, and as she did, the pouch she carried swung against her chest. "I'd like to see you try."

  "Not only will I try, but I will succeed."

  The two women stared at one another until Mrs. Jones lost patience.

  She wore a belt around her dark blue gown which had a kind of chatelaine attached. Before Marnie could understand what had happened, she had taken hold of one of the instruments dangling from it, lifted her arm, turned Marnie and brought it down on her buttocks.

  Marnie gasped at Mrs. Jones' strength. Her new chaperone then used Marnie's surprise to her advantage, pulling Mar
nie forward until she was draped over the punishment horse. She cuffed one of Marnie's wrists and then, though she struggled, seized the other and secured it to the horse. She then cuffed her flailing ankles, with an ease that Marnie found infuriating. When Marnie was secured, Mrs. Jones easily unknotted the velvet pouch from Marnie's wrist and opened it.

  "A sentimental keepsake?" she said, withdrawing the horseshoe, which was Marnie's most prized possession.

  Marnie saw a red haze descend.

  "You let that go at once! That is mine—mine—and none of your business! You witch! You ogress!" she cried.

  Mrs. Jones frowned. "I am not going to purloin your things, Miss Stowe. It will be stored with your clothes and you will be able to retrieve it when—or, I should say, if—you graduate."

  Marnie wrenched against her restraints, moaning in her frustration.

  "This is not the way we typically like girls to begin their time with us," Mrs. Jones said, slipping the horseshoe back into its pouch and placing it on the chest of drawers. "But I have been forewarned of your poor behaviour and poor attitudes, Miss Stowe, and intend to begin correcting them immediately."

  As Mrs. Jones approached, Marnie shrieked and swore. "You will regret this! You filthy wench! You she-devil! Wait until my parents hear what really goes on here! My father could ruin you!"

  "Keep on talking, Miss Stowe, if it pleases you to do so. I have nothing to do but attend to you—and if that means adding another five or ten or fifty strokes to your punishment, then that is precisely what I shall do."

  Marnie struggled against her restraints, but it was to no avail. When she stopped struggling, she realised that Mrs. Jones was hauling her gown upwards.

  "Such a fine gown, Miss Stowe. I expect you're used to finery. Well, you're going to have to get used to quite a different way of doing things."

  Marnie could only let out a frustrated groan. She kicked out, futile though it was.

  Mrs. Jones clucked her tongue in disapproval. "I can see that correcting you will not be easy. But have no doubt that I will administer as much discipline as is necessary to have you leave aside your wicked ways," said Mrs. Jones.

  The chaperone continued to raise Marnie's skirts. She then lowered her charge's drawers until they were around her knees. Marnie felt the cool air in the room over her bare thighs, her nude bottom cheeks and down the seam of her sex, and once again pulled against her restraints. If she thought too much about the humiliation she was enduring, she would surely weep—an unthinkable indignity! It was much better to act outwards, to curse and writhe and stretch and strain, expelling her feelings before they could take root too deeply inside of her.

  "We have a variety of punishments at Miss Robin's, Marnie," said Mrs. Jones. To Marnie's shock, the woman was stroking her bottom cheeks, first one and then the other. It was a firm, rhythmic touch, scandalous, but not unpleasant. A confusing rush of sensations overtook Marnie and she squeezed her eyes shut.

  "Your rudeness to Miss Robin deserves a substantial punishment. However, given that it is your very first day, we shall show a certain amount of clemency in the instrument we select. Perhaps I shall allow you to guess what it is you can feel. Perhaps that will help you keep it in mind the next time it occurs to you to make a smart remark."

  Marnie could only see the plush velvet carpet in front of her, which made her other senses even keener in their search for information. She heard the jingle of the slender chains that were suspended from Mrs. Jones' chatelaine. She felt the tingle of fearful anticipation in her own exposed skin.

  She had always been aware that her bottom stood out more than was seemly. She always requested the demurest bustles in her gowns due to its size and girth. In her mind, she had tried not to feel regret that she didn't have a smaller, less pronounced bottom—she told herself it was good for horse riding to be ample in that area—but her face burned with shame whenever she caught someone perceiving and assessing the high round globes that always seemed to protrude no matter how much she tried to disguise them. It was yet another reason she longed to wear men's clothes. How much more forgiving a loose coat and a pair of dark wool trousers would be!

  And now, tall, statuesque Mrs. Jones, whose figure, Marnie had noted, seemed in perfect proportion, was staring down at the exact place Marnie wished to hide.

  "I see you are blessed with an ample derrière, Miss Stowe," said Mrs. Jones. "One day, your husband will be very pleased."

  Pleased? Marnie furrowed her brow. How could anyone ever be pleased with her odd figure, with its mix of long limbs, small firm breasts and exaggerated bottom?

  The sudden shock of impact on her cheeks stopped Marnie's train of thought. After a moment of stunned stillness in which she felt nothing at all, a sharp sting rose up through her struck buttocks. She had never felt anything like it. She had a strong impulse to reach back and apply pressure to the rising prickle she felt, but being restrained, she could not reach.

  Swish-thwack. Marnie's body jerked at the second crack. Then there was a third, a fourth. She let out a frustrated scream of pain. The sting had grown into an itching, throbbing burn that ran across the extent of her exposed skin. She felt so helpless, so humiliated as she attempted to shift her hips away from Mrs. Jones' expertly placed stokes.

  But they kept raining down, one after the other. Soon, her whole bottom felt as though it was on fire. She screamed and screamed, bucking and twisting against her restraints.

  "Goodness me, would you keep down that dreadful racket?" said Mrs. Jones. "Only three strokes left. Try to endure them in silence, Miss Stowe, unless you would like me to increase that number."

  Each of the final three strokes felt like a lash of fire on Marnie's heated, tender skin. But she bit down on her lip and didn't cry out.

  "Very good, Miss Stowe," said Mrs. Jones.

  Marnie breathed a sigh of relief. She waited for the sound of her restraints being unbuckled.

  Instead, she felt the touch of Mrs. Jones' fingertips as they touched the soft curls at the juncture of her legs.

  "We shall shave these off, first thing tomorrow. Miss Robin requires that all of her girls are kept neat and clean."

  Once again, Marnie pulled hard against her restraints. "How dare you!" she cried.

  "Stop your nonsense. This is an essential part of your training regimen. At Miss Robin's, we keep track of a girl's response to punishment in order to understand her and ultimately to guide her."

  Mrs. Jones parted the folds of Marnie's sex and ran a finger down its length. When a finger touched her pearl, Marnie gasped. "So responsive, Miss Stowe. But then I find this is usually the way. The girls who complain the most are the ones who crave the harshest punishment."

  "Crave!" Marnie began. But Mrs. Jones cut her off.

  "Do not waste your breath in lying to me. Your body does not lie. It shows the proof of your craving for discipline."

  She circled Marnie's swollen pearl with the tip of her finger. Marnie tugged once more against her restraints. It was pointless arguing with this woman.

  "Are you going to free me?" she asked, trying to ignore the building pleasure she felt as Mrs. Jones continued caressing the tender bundle of nerves.

  Mrs. Jones withdrew her hand.

  "One last thing," she said. "At Miss Robin's, we kiss the instrument of punishment. I'm sure you're curious to know what it was."

  Marnie detested the cheerfulness in the woman's voice.

  She heard the rustle of skirts as the woman came around to the front of the punishment horse. She presented a slender leather object to Marnie's lips.

  "Now. Kiss it and thank me for your punishment," Mrs. Jones said with a hint of mirth. She was plainly enjoying herself. Marnie felt fury spark within her once more but saw the situation was hopeless. She touched her lips to the leather tongue in front of her.

  "Thank you for my punishment, Mrs. Jones," she said.

  "You may be interested to know that this is called a tawse," Mrs. Jones said, letting the instr
ument fall back to her side, where it clinked with the others that formed part of her chatelaine. "A simple thing, really—a tongue of leather with a split. It's used further north for disciplining naughty children. Its bite can be quite a good deterrent, when wielded with an expert hand. Which, I admit, I credit myself with possessing," Mrs. Jones said.

  As she spoke, she loosened the straps around Marnie's ankles and wrists, then helped the girl to stand. Marnie's legs felt shaky beneath her.

  "My drawers—" Marnie said.

  "Leave them."

  Mrs. Jones helped Marnie gently to the bed.

  "On your front, please, Marnie."

  Marnie hesitated for only a moment before obeying. Suddenly, a wave of tiredness crashed over her. It would be late by now, surely, and she had not taken any supper. She watched dozily as Mrs. Jones returned the horse to its corner, then went to the chest of drawers between the two beds and withdrew a jar of salve.

  "This should bring you some relief," she said, sitting on the bed next to Marnie.

  She opened the jar, and, at once, Marnie smelled the comforting smell of lavender and chamomile. Mrs. Jones began to massage the salve into her throbbing buttocks, and while she winced with pain at the initial contact, she was soon soothed by the rhythmic application of the soothing balm.

  She was so tired that Mrs. Jones could barely get her out of her gown and into a thin nightgown. Marnie was grateful to fall into the soft feather bed and the warm oblivion of sleep.

  The next day had brought a series of new indignities.

  Firstly, she was bathed by her chaperone, who spanked her whenever she showed any disinclination to follow her orders. Then there was the dress she was expected to wear. Mrs. Jones first put her in a chemise so thin it was almost transparent, over which was placed an under bust corset whose laces were drawn so tightly that Marnie felt she could hardly breathe. Over this was a gauzy white muslin dress, scandalously sheer across the bust, whose skirts crossed in two draped folds at the front. Both the chemise and gown had buttons in odd places. The outfit was completed by white drawers, white stockings with white silk bows at the top, matching white slippers and a white sash.