Red Darn – A Saint Clare Story (2010)

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Copyright 2010. Please respect this copyright. Don’t distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it’s not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

This is a very short short story. Until very recently, I’d forgotten about it. I wrote this for the 2010 soc.sexuality.spanking short story contest (and it won)!

The category was “A Picture is Worth 500 Words,” the prompt to write a story based on an image of a WW2 ration book. The image below is not the one used for the contest. Though I can’t remember it, I’m sure this wasn’t it for reasons that become clear at the story’s end.

For more St. Clare Stories, see the stories’ page.

Red Darn – A Saint Clare Story 
by Mija
F/f

A shout startled the daydreaming girl, yanking her from her afternoon novel-reading.

“Fairfield, what are you about?”

Fiona (aka Fairfield) looked up, annoyed. A pair of navy wool knickers were being shaken in her face.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Miss,” said the girl resentfully.

“These knickers, *your* knickers, are shredded. Clearly you took a shortcut on your run.”

“Only once. I–I got lost. I’ll write to my mother — she’ll send me a new pair by return post.”

The matron drew herself up as her annoyance visibly increased.

“No you won’t. Bad enough cheating, but as our headmistress made it quite clear at the start of the term, we are *all* were expected to conserve and ration as part of the war effort.”

“But I can’t do gym without knickers,” replied Fiona, sounding hopeful. Perhaps she would be excused gym.

“Right. And so,” said the older woman, thrusting a school sewing basket into Fiona’s unwilling arms “you will give up your free time until each of the tears is properly darned. You better work quickly, young lady. Remember you have gym class Monday morning.”

As the older woman sailed from the room, the sixteen-year-old curled her lip and eyed the wretched basket with disdain. Fiona hated sewing and darning. Further, it was Friday evening and she’d looked forward all week to finishing her book. With a sigh she examined the long tears in her tattered knickers before finally opening the basket.

Inside were slim darning needles threaded with several rows of wool stitching, someone else’s example of a perfect darn. Perfect, that is, save the color.

“Miss Fairfield! What on earth are you wearing?”

Fiona looked up at the games mistress, already sulking.

“Matron made me mend my knickers, Miss.”

“I doubt she suggested you mend them in red, but you can be quite sure I will ask. This is wildly inappropriate and you should know better.”

The girl stared at the floor, being as still as she was able.

“Stand forth and touch your toes.”

The girl felt the eyes of her classmates burning into her as she stepped that much closer to the annoyed gym mistress and bent over to the other girl’s murmured whispers. At least one classmate giggled, though it was likely from nervousness rather than any ill will. Fiona’s pleated games skirt rose so far that most of her bottom, including the lower curve of her bottom showed. Tears pricked the corners of Fiona’s eyes as the slipper thudded loudly into her darned knickers, once, twice…

….six times.

By the time the final one landed, the gym mistress’s left arm, wrapped around the girl’s waist, was the only thing holding her up. Her tears had gone from pricking to falling her eyes. Her jaw clenched in a quiet, seething resentment.

Fiona’s bottom still ached as she stood in Matron’s study. The woman’s face flushed as she examined the girl’s knickers. Clearly they were now beyond repair.

“What a lazy sneak you are! Fairfield, these knickers are truly ruined; they’ll have to be replaced.”

Nervous as she was, Fairfield couldn’t help but feel pleased there was no possibility of further darning. Unfortunately thought, she couldn’t keep the delight from her voice.

“Sorry, Matron. I’ll write to my mother tonight.”

Matron eyed Fiona grimly, making the girl blush.

“You’re “sorry” Fairfield? Are you indeed? Well you should be, and I promise you will be when I finish with you today. Have you forgotten clothing is rationed, you horrible naughty girl?”

Fiona felt hot with fear and embarrassment, her anxiety rising. It never occurred to her there would be another spanking in addition the gym mistress’s skippering. Her mouth dried completely, leaving her unable to say anything as the matron opened the drawer to an end table and removed a heavy wooden hairbrush, holding it up so Fiona could examine it closely, should she desire to do so. Fiona did not wish to see more closely. In fact, she didn’t want to see it at all.

“If only your mother had spanked you longer and harder I dare say you’d be more responsible and considerate. Remove those ruined knickers at once and get across my knees, Fairfield. If I have to repeat myself I promise you’ll feel this brush at bedtime every night this week.”

At that, Fiona yanked the knickers off and practically threw herself over Matron’s lap.

The matron wrapped her arm around the girl’s bared waist, raised the brush and brought it down with a crack.

“You will receive three minutes with the brush.” She resumed her whacking, making Fiona howl, instantly. Matron continued, her arm well practiced.

“Think of this as me doing *my* part for the war effort.”

*Note: I didn’t notice until after I’d written the story that the ration book in the picture is for food rather than clothing. Doh!

Below is the actual picture that was used as the contest prompt.