Kristen was on holiday for the summer break with a fellow teacher friend, Ellen. It was good to be away from school. Teaching those spoiled little snots was starting to wear on her last nerve. She'd been teaching for about a decade and the children, if you could call them that, were getting worse every year. They had no discipline, no manners and no regard for authority. If only they still allowed corporal punishment. Some of those brats needed a good and thorough spanking!
When Kristen was young and in school, children were afraid of being sent to the principal's office. The paddle was prominently displayed on the wall behind the principal's desk and it was rumored to have gotten much use. Even some parents that met with the principal in his office found the paddle unnerving. They no doubt had a brush with a paddle at some time in their time at school. Kristen herself, had never been paddled in school. She was a good girl that studied hard and got straight A's as far as anyone knew.
But, that was all behind her for now. The beach had lost some appeal with the oppressive heat this summer so she opted for cooler climate this year. She was on an extended holiday in Europe with another teacher, seeing the sights and taking in the culture. Today she and her friend were staying at a bed and breakfast in Donegal, Ireland. The bartender at the pub they had landed in the last evening told them the inn used to be a boarding school for nurses. They lived and trained there. When the first world war broke out, they volunteered at the hospitals because in those days Ireland was still part of the United Kingdom.
Being a bit of a history buff, upon returning to their base in Donegal, Kristen asked the innkeeper about the former use of the B&B. He didn't know a lot but he claimed to be descended from the former French headmaster, his great, great grandfather, and showed her a book. Her friend, Ellen, was tired and excused herself as Kristen examined the old book. It was a handwritten journal of Dr. Beauregard Durand, a French doctor that fled his homeland at the outbreak of WWI to establish this school to train nurses, a sorely needed resource in times of war. He allowed her to take it to her room to read it if she promised to be careful with it. She assured him she would treat it like a priceless relic.
Before she left for her room, the innkeeper told her of a legend his father had told him as a young boy. It is said that on a full moon, you could hear the student nurses giggling as the headmaster spanked the unlucky nurses with the lowest scores in class or who had misbehaved. He even told her the very desk he bent the poor lassies over was still here, in the reading room on the second floor. Kristen knew the room and had seen the desk. As she was turning to leave, Mr Durand reminded her it was a full moon tomorrow night and winked.
On the way up the steps, Kristen did indeed hear something that could have been giggling or a tree branch rubbing something. She was not one to believe in ghosts and the supernatural. Still, she peaked into the reading room. Her curiosity took over and she walked toward the desk. She touched the wood surface, worn and smooth on both sides. One was from the person sitting at it but why was the outward facing side also worn smooth? As tired as she was, she was probably hearing things. She went to her room to browse the journal of the headmaster before bed.
The book was dated beginning on July 28th, 1916, only two years after the start of the first world war. It actually stated it was number three. Perhaps he kept a journal of each year since the war started? The journal mostly contained his thoughts on the war, the state of the world and any interactions with the nursing students. She noticed that at the end of each day he recorded the girls that he had disciplined. Some days it was one but as she thumbed through the pages, the list was some times as many as seven. One name appeared more than others, Bridgette. Apparently, she was the bottom of the class and as a result, had her bottom tanned regularly!
His accounts were often short but periodically he would expand on an event, giving a detailed example of some particular event. One such entry was about an encounter with an American student he had first encountered with his paddle. Unlike the local girls, she must have been coddled because she protested her spanking and called out when struck. She also wore the strangest undergarments he had yet seen. None the less, her bottom was reddened and sent upon her way. Kristen could only imagine how this all played out 100 years ago in the very room not more than 100 feet away!
Finally, she could hold her eyes open no more and set the book on the nightstand before she turned off the light. Tomorrow Ellen and her were taking a trip to Malin Head to see the sights. It was a good drive so she wanted to be rested. Ellen didn't like driving on the left side of the road so it fell upon Kristen to deal with the car and shifting with her left hand.
The next morning Kristen went down for breakfast and a cup of coffee. Ellen was already there, rested and chipper. They were generously offered a thermos of coffee and a picnic basket for the trip to Malin Head by the cook along with some advice on where to go for some of the best views.
Kristen asked the cook about the inn's previous history. She had lived here all her life and was a historically active member in the community, Her knowledge was much greater than that of the innkeeper. Her very own grandmother was once a nurse that had been trained here but it was at the end of the war and she never left Ireland when her training was completed. She told Kristen that if she was interested, she had some diaries from her grandmother that were quite enlightening. She said it with a wink that Kristen didn't quite understand the meaning of but she graciously accepted the offer.
Kristen's eyes lit up. The ability to see both a teacher;s and a student's accounts of day to day life 100 years ago would certainly paint a clearer picture of events. Kristen thanked her for the food and the information as they packed up for the trip around Donegal for the day. She needed he coffee. The thing they don't tell you in travel brochures is that the summer daylight in Ireland is very long. Ireland, especially Donegal in the north of Ireland, is quite far north. Kristen had to close the drapes at 10PM because it wasn't completely dark yet. When she awoke much too early at 4:30AM, it was already getting brighter outside.
The day driving around Malin Head and the giant “EIRE” on the ground was interesting. It was put there so that early pilots would know where they were. The picnic lunch was a nice touch and they ate it overlooking the sea. On a clear day you could see the Scottish isles in the distance.
Though it was still fully daylight, Ellen and Kristen returned to the inn rather tired. They had a bite and a pint in the pub to relax. Ellen again said her good nights and went up to her room. The cook had left the diary she'd mentioned for Kristen at the front desk.
Kristen lingered on the second floor reading room to browse the diary. She read the first page, it was of Bridgette Doherty, nursing student, first year. The first entry detailed her day and the argument she had with an instructor. For this, she had earned a trip to the headmaster's office for three strokes with the paddle. As she read more of the diary, she noticed a pattern. Bridgette was constantly fighting or arguing with someone that often found her in the headmaster's office for a “fanny warming” as Bridgette termed it. Kristen had found Bridgette, the one the headmaster was repeatedly paddling!
Kristen had the idea to try to find the same day in both the headmaster's journal and the student's diary to see what each wrote. Perhaps they crossed paths and would describe the same event. She rose to retrieve the headmaster's journal but there was a something odd happening. Irish stouts are quite strong so maybe she was a bit tipsy.
It was then Kristen again heard sounds in the room. The desk that the student nurses were disciplined on was sitting there. If only objects could tell us their secrets. Perhaps Bridgette would shed some light from her diary.
She felt the wood surface and heard a laugh, a loud crack of thunder though there had been no storms in the forecast. She suddenly felt dizzy and flayed with one hand for the nearby chair as she slumped into the padded leather seat.
When Kristen was aware of her surroundings again, it was much darker in the room. Perhaps the lights had gone out as there were lamps and candles burning. Beyond that, the room looked different than before. It looked more like an office and the desk was centered in the room. How long was she out?
Just then a man walked into the room, long jacket, goatee, thin build and looking like something out of Downton Abbey. He looked as surprised to see Kristen there as she did to see him. Then it dawned on her, he was the innkeeper in some sort of period reenactment costume?
He spoke, not so much to her but in general, with a fairly heavy French accent as he opened a journal to a page marked with a bookmark, “What 'ave you done?”
She was shocked but answered with her own question,” Excuse me, what did you say?”
He turned to face Kristen, “You are za Yankee?”
Kristen spoke up, “Yes, from America.”
He turned to fully face her as he retrieved something from his desk drawer, “It makes no difference to me. One of zee instructors sent you here so you must have done something wrong. Therefore, you will be disciplined.”
Kristen could not believe what she had just heard and stammered, “W-what did you say?”
“I did not stutter. Assume zee position across my desk. Hurry, let us get zis over with,” he said.
Shocked, Kristen just sat there, confused in the chair, “Oh no! I'm not supposed to be here...”
But it was too late, the larger man pulled her from the chair and bent her over the desk, the same desk she had wondered by it was worn smooth on both sides, and she could see where her body neatly lay into the rounded edge. As she pondered that discovery, the Frenchman lifted up the back of her light, thin sundress she had worn that day. She jumped as she felt her panties pulled to her knees and her bottom suddenly cooler than before.
“Hold still,” came the command as the first swat of his paddle struck her bottom.
“OW!” she heard herself yell and tried to straighten up.
“Silence! Or we shall double zee three strokes you have already earned!” said the Frenchman.
Kristen could hear giggling from the hall as the next stroke landed on her behind, stinging more than the last one. She bit her lip and tried to push up from the desk but he held her there still. The third stroke contacted her rear and he released her.
Kristen, a tear in her eye, stood, her dress fell to cover her reddened rear. She reached down and pulled her panties up to discover that it still stung to touch, unsure what to do next after her sudden assault.
Before she could unleash her anger, the Frenchman dismissed her, “Next, s'il vous plait! You, again, Bridgette? That's the third time zis week!”
With that he gently shoved Kristen by the shoulder toward the door as another young lady, head hung low and dressed in a long Victorian dressing gown stepped into the room. Kristen could see six more similarly dress girls awaiting their turn over the desk. As bewildered as she was, she heard the distinct crack of the paddle as the poor girl she had passed in the doorway took her turn over the desk. It was now quite clear to Kristen why both sides of the desk were worn smooth from use. She had also glimpsed the most paddled girl in the school, Bridgette Doherty!
Kristen, gingerly rubbing her bottom, walked slowly down the hall. It was familiar but somehow different. Did she have too much to drink with dinner? Was this a dream? Had she read too much of the journal and diary and they were now part of her nightmare? As she was pondering the events, trying to rationalize them in her mind, someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“You must be new,” said the girl in an especially thick Irish brogue, “I have not seen you before. The good doctor has a wicked swing, does he not?”
Kristen turned to fully face the girl speaking to her. It was the one she'd passed in the door way, Bridgette. She was rubbing her own bottom as Kristen noticed she was subconsciously doing as well.
Kristen, unsure how to proceed, spoke the truth but not the whole truth, “Yes, I've just arrive today. I'm Krissy. Sorry to be meeting under such circumstances.”
“Well, I'm ashamed to say, this is not my first time over the master's desk. Where have you been roomed and why are you wearing such a short slip in the hall?” asked Bridgette.
Kristen, now going by Krissy, made up a plausible story on the spot, “My luggage isn't with me and I fear this is all I have clean with me.”
Bridgette put her arm around Krissy and assured her, “Don't worry, I'll get you boarded in my room. I don't have a roommate and I've got some spare clothes you can wear until Mrs O'Neil gets you some proper uniforms ready. You have seen Mrs. O'Neil haven't you?”
Krissy replied truthfully, “No, I was in the headmaster's office by mistake. I hadn't seen anyone yet.”
Bridgette let out a little giggle, “There's no mistake if you wind up in the doctor's office. Not a girl leaves there without lifting her skirt and dropping her panties for at least three whacks.”
Krissy's head was spinning as she was escorted by her new friend to the house mother for her uniforms and other needs. Surely this was the most vivid dream she'd every experienced. The stout tonight must have been extra strong. When would she wake?
Meanwhile, Bridgette kept tugging at Krissy's arm, pulling her toward the office of Mrs O'Neil. Surely she would soon awake and have a good laugh with Ellen and the cook over breakfast in the morning. For now, she just went with Bridgette to Mrs. O'Neil's office. Surely, she could make sense of all of this in the morning.
As they rounded the corner, they were at Mrs. O'Neil's office. Bridgette knocked and the old lady with the little white hat looked up at them. Bridgette pulled Krissy in at being acknowledged.
“Good evening, Mrs. O'Neil,” started Bridgette, “This Krissy from America. She needs to be setup and she'd like to be my roommate if you please.”
Mrs. O'Neil stood up and showed her full stature. Not a tall lady but taller than both Bridgette and Krissy. Big bosom and large hips under her dark dress and apron. She walked around to examine Krissy in the dim light of her office.
“Well, I don't know what they wear in America, but that won't do in MY house!” she stated with a jutting chin and conviction. “Come with me child and we'll get you kitted up with the necessities.”
The matron opened a storeroom door and turned on a light. It was still dim but Mrs. O'Neil held up a few garments and tossed one back before she handed Krissy two full length cotton dresses, a few pairs of bloomers, a corset, stockings and a funny belt as well as some basic toiletries.
Bridgette took some of the things and Krissy thanked the matron before following Bridgette back down the hall to what she assumed would be her room. She didn't have long to wonder when they stopped and Bridgette opened the door. The room was small but had two cots, one of which clearly was in use. Bridgette tossed the load she'd been carrying onto the other bed and showed Krissy where she could put her things. There was a small dresser at the foot of the bed and a writing desk at the other end. She pulled out the drawers and placed everything in the drawers. When she came to the odd belt, she asked Bridgette what it was.
“That's for your monthlies!” she said, “Don't tell me you don't have anything like this in the US?”
When she examined it again, Krissy understood now, it was a belt to hold a pad in place for periods, “Oh, ours are... more like an undergarment instead of a belt.”
Bridgette, trying to be helpful, “Well, you had better use that one. When the doctor sees one, he won't paddle you. If you use something else, he might not recognize it.”
Krissy still remembered her time over the doctor's desk. She still felt the dull ache on her bottom. She thought how odd that this was the state of feminine hygiene of 100 years ago. It seemed almost incomprehensible to her now. Tampons have not been invented yet. This could be a very strange time indeed if she didn't wake up soon.
Krissy pulled off her sun dress and flopped onto the cot. Meanwhile, Bridgette started removing the various layers of clothing she had on. First the apron, then the dress followed by the corset and lastly she changed into a sleeping gown. She looked at Krissy in the dim light and cocked her head.
As Bridgette turned her bed down to get in she asked, “Why are you wearing such funny bloomers? They hardly cover your bottom and what is that over your shoulders?”
“It's a bra-ssiere,” said Krissy, to use the longer form of the word that Bridgette might recognize. “We call these bloomers panties and most American women wear them now. It's more convenient than bloomers.”
“Ah,” said Bridgette, “I've heard tell of those brassieres but never seen one. Is it more comfortable than the corset? I don't suppose it matters, you will be back in the headmaster's office if you don't wear the proper uniform tomorrow.”
I slept like a baby that night but was roused by Bridgette. My morning felt it was about to start way too soon. She was already putting on her uniform. I pulled my things out of the drawer and started to dress. It took much longer than I expected and Bridgette had to help me with some of it, especially the corset. I thought she pulled it too tight but she insisted it was perfect. It certainly was restrictive.
All of the nursing students gathered in the dining hall for breakfast. Bridgette and I were some of the last to go through the line. There appeared to be several dozen nursing students, all in the same uniform we wore though some had different colored apron belts. I asked Bridgette and it indicated those girls were second year students.
Breakfast wasn't much, some porridge and buttered bread, but it was filling. We sat at a table with three other ladies, all of them younger than myself. Bridgette introduced me to them. They were all Irish like Bridgette. I have to admit, my ear was becoming accustomed to hearing their thick accent. They were Fionna, the redhead with freckles across from me. Next was Keira with the long black hair in a bun to my right and Caitriona to my left, also with dark hair in a bun.
Bridgette told them she bumped into me at the nightlies at the headmaster's office. They all giggled. Apparently, every person here already knew the new American girl had been to the headmaster's office for a paddling on her very first day. Not even Bridgette had been paddled that soon upon arriving. She was sure she turned a bright shade of red at the table.
Krissy desperately wanted to change the subject, “So, how are the classes here? What will we be learning?”
Fionna answered with a disappointed slump, “Dressing changes in the morning and enemas after lunch.”
Bridgette chimed in with a shudder, “I hope I'm not picked to get an enema again.”
“You'd rather empty bed pans, would you now?” laughed Keira.
We all laughed but I realized that if I wasn't having a dream, it might have just become a nightmare!
By the time breakfast was over, Bridgette was guiding her new friend to the instructional area. Today it was in a room made up like a group hospital ward, a dozen beds along the two facing walls, each with a table and several instruments on it. A very stern looking woman in a nursing uniform waited for the girls to assemble. Krissy stuck with Bridgette and did as she did, standing next to a bed.
“Good morning, ladies,” stated the nurse in a booming voice to be heard over the low chatter.
All the girls quieted down and immediately replied, “Good morning, Nurse O'Connell.”
“As you know, today we are practicing our enemas,” said Nurse O'Connell, “Who has not had an enema this week, raise your hand.”
Krissy looked around and about half the girls raised their hands but Bridgette did not. The nurse walked to their bed and examined the pair of students.
“You must be new here and I know Bridgette had an enema the last session. What is your name, child?” asked the nurse.
“I'm Krissy,” she stated.
“Oh, you're the American I heard about. We'll, today's your lucky day, Krissy!” said the nurse with a chuckle, “On the bed you go.”
Bridgette had a snicker on her face. She wasn't getting the enema today after all. Krissy was shocked at the sudden turn of events. Was she really going to get an enema? The curtain was pulled around the bed and Bridgette handed Krissy the hospital drape she was to wear. Krissy could see from across the way that the girl designated to receive the enema was getting undressed and putting on the drape. Krissy, bewildered, did her best to follow suit and placed her clothes on the chair next to her bed. As the girls were dressed and in the bed, the curtains were pulled back. The nurse gave instructions to both girls giving and girls receiving the treatment today.
“First, you will need to fill the can with warm water,” said the nurse, “Then mix in a teaspoon of soap and stir vigorously.”
Krissy watched as Bridgette did as instructed into a white enamel can with a red rubber hose protruding from the bottom side. There was a bit of foam at the top of the can.
“Now, young ladies on the bed, turn on your left side and pull your right leg up in front of you,” said the nurse, “As you know, this provides the best position for the warm soap suds to cleanse the bowels while also allowing the easiest access to the anus.”
Krissy watched and mimicked the other girls. She could see the girl in the next bed's milky white bottom as she was sure the girl behind her could see hers.
“Use a dollop of petroleum jelly on your finger to thoroughly lubricate your patients bottom,” said the nurse.
Krissy heard the words but was still surprised when she felt a slippery finger force its way into her bottom!
“Purge the air from the hose or your patient will get the cramps too quickly,” said the nurse, “Then insert the nozzle about two knuckles into the anus.”
Again, Krissy heard it but wasn't ready for the second invasion in her rear end. She was amazed at the fact that the girl that she could see also had a black nozzle attached to a red hose coming from her bottom to the can on the table next to the bed.
“Raise the can about chest level and release the clamp,” said the nurse, “If your patient complains you can lower it slightly. You may have to raise it slightly higher if the progress is not satisfactory.”
Krissy felt a warm sensation in her rectum followed by the sound of a slight gurgle. A few seconds later she felt a warmth throughout her abdomen. She looked over her shoulder to see Bridgette smiling as the enema flowed into her bottom.
“You should have emptied the can by now. If it isn't empty, hold it higher to force the remaining water into your patient and clamp off the valve,” said the nurse with authority, “The patient may complain but you are the caregiver, you know what's best.”
Krissy could feel greater pressure as Bridgette held the can up and the last of the enema went inside of her. She felt full. Bridgette clicked the valve shut. Krissy looked around. Several of the girls had their hands on their bottoms to hold their rears closed.
“Now, we note the time and count off five minutes,” said the nurse, “They need that time for it to work in their bowels. Now is a good time to get your bed pan ready.”
Krissy then realized she'd not be going to a toilet but would be using a bed pan, as would the other girls. She cringed at the idea but it was too late now. Bridgette helped her roll over onto the bed pan.
“Hold it a bit longer, Krissy,” said Bridgette, “and you can let it all out.”
Krissy held on as long as she could but it felt hopeless. Had it been five minutes yet? One of the girls must have given in as a loud sound of water hitting a steel pan could be heard. Followed by at least one more and Krissy herself lost her ability to hold it back.
The nurse walked around and noted, “Kiera, Shannon and Krissy, you've earned a visit to the headmaster's nightly for your inability to hold the five minutes. Also, Fionna, Allison and Bridgette, you will also be seeing the headmaster for not helping your patient hold it for five minutes.”
Groans from the affected girls could be heard only to be drowned out by the snickers of the girls that weren't getting a spanking this evening.
“Time is up, all may release now!” said the nurse.
A cacophony of evacuation sounds erupted in the room. Krissy continued to empty her bowels into the bed pan, to her great relief. It had earned her a second night with the paddle but she couldn't hold out any longer. Bridgette didn't seem to mind being drug into her punishment either. Once it was all out, Bridgette removed the bed pan and cleaned up Krissy's bottom.
“Krissy,” said a shocked Bridgette, “Where's your hair down there?”
Krissy blushed, “Some of us Americans shave it off.”
Once the bed pans were emptied and the girls that had received enemas were dressed, the process of cleaning the room and equipment began. Linens were stripped and sent to the laundry and new linens were used. In no time it was noon and they would be gathering for the midday meal.
After lunch they were in the classroom studying some basic anatomy and attended a lecture on cleanliness as a way to prevent the spread of infection. The lecturer was speaking of a recent advancement in antiseptics that were making a tremendous difference in wound healing.
When that was over it was time for dinner. Krissy was shocked when names were read off and her's was one of them. It was the students that were to see the headmaster for the nightly spankings. She dreaded this more than the previous night.
Bridgette tapped her on the shoulder, “Cheer up, you have a long way to go to get as many as I have.”
They were the last of the girls to assemble at the headmaster's door. He opened it with a book in his hand. He surveyed the girls and made notes in his book. Krissy recognized it as one of his journals. Krissy heard the previous four girls as they were spanked bare bottomed before Bridgette had her turn. Krissy watched as Bridgette grabbed her drawers and pulled them down then pulled up her dress as she leaned across the desk. Her spanking was administered. She curtsied and thanked the headmaster.
Now it was her turn. She slowly pulled down her baggy drawers and pulled up her dress. The headmaster waited for her to lean across the table. She tried to prepare herself for the first of her strokes but was still greatly stunned with the force and pain the wooden implement could produce in her. A tear came to her eye by the third stroke. As she was rubbing her bottom and pulling her drawers up, the headmaster left his office, having been summoned by the nurse on an urgent matter.
Krissy could hear a swirling wind noise, a giggle in the hall. She was slightly dizzy and put her hand on the desk to steady herself. When she was able to straighten up, she notice the room was somehow different. It wasn't the headmaster's office, it was once again the reading room. She looked around for a clue. Her bottom still hurt and she was still wearing a nursing student uniform.
Had it been a dream? Her rear told her it was not but who would believe her? Who would believe she'd met Bridgette, the one that wrote the diary? Who would believe she was the American Krissy that had screamed upon her first visit to the nighlies? How could she explain any of it?