A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker - The Woody Back to School ...

A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker
I remember during my grubby year when I
would be scurrying hither and thither running errands
for Sophia and you would be on the Elite landing and
from behind a closed door you would hear the sounds
of palm on bare flesh. It became second instinct to
stop and kind of bow your head in sympathy before
going about your business.
When we were still grubbies and only eligible
for spankings down in the Brat Chamber our lectures
often came to a halt as, like earlier today, the sounds
of a cane, strap or slipper rebounding of some poor
gals bum echoed along the corridor.
It is routine to watch gals get red-carded out
of the assembly hall or the recreational hall and
watching them slowly trudge off to their fate.
When we moved out of the dorms and into our
two gal studies I can’t tell you how many times that I
have just been drifting off to sleep when I have been
jarred awake by the ominous swish and thwack of an
ashplant slicing across red and black striped jimjams
somewhere along the landing.
The sounds coming from the kitchen are
unmistakable to the trained ear. Somebody is being
spanked with Dotty Hammell’s lethal wooden spatula.
It sends a chill up my spine as only two weeks ago I
had the misfortune to be hauled over her knee and
have my cargo pants dragged down. Dotty may be an
absolute dote and the darling of the Liberal Left but
she sure spanks hard.
Nix and I wait patiently until the sixth spank
has landed then proceed to the buffet bar. A few
minutes later Lisa Sutton totters out of the swing