Grace Munson was in bed with her husband, Wilson, but they hadn't started fucking yet, even though Grace had worn her prettiest and sheerest black nylon nightie and made sure there was plenty of her favorite French perfume on the insides of her thighs, along the valley of her big round titties, and in her armpits.
She had been married to the forty-six-year-old London industrialist exactly six months tonight, and on this warm early July night she had a number of things on her mind. Foremost among them was the disgraceful conduct of her seventeen-year-old stepdaughter Willa. Wilson Munson had been a poor collier, working for a meager wage, back in his early twenties when he had met Lorna Ponderby, the local chemist's delicate, honey haired daughter, and been smitten with her. They had been married five years before Lorna happily announced that she was pregnant, and the result had been hotheaded, impulsive and temperamental, chestnut-haired Willa. After Willa's birth, Lorna had discovered that she couldn't have any more children, and meanwhile Wilson had invented a process which sorted out coal from the mine in which he was employed in a far more efficient manner than had ever been done before. In spite of never having had much schooling, he was intelligent enough to engage a solicitor who aided him in holding back his idea until the mine-owner was willing to pay a decent price for it. Part of his capital Wilson Munson then invested in a tanning factory, and here again, he seemed to have the Midas touch. By the time he was thirty-five, he had become a millionaire, with a fashionable house in Nottingham, and a lavishly furnished apartment near Kensington Gardens in London.
Lorna had died three years ago, from leukemia, which might have been predicted from her fragility and lack of vitality throughout their marriage. He had been so busy making money and consolidating his industrial empire that he hadn't taken much interest in pussy or the result of pussy, which, of course, was Willa. He had engaged a placid Swiss governess for the girl, sent her off to fine private schools, and traveled a good deal between Manchester, Birmingham, Wales, and occasionally France, where a French syndicate of mine owners was about to adopt his idea at a very handsome price for his own coffers.
A year ago, his doctor had told him that he had better slow down, stop smoking and drinking so much, or he would not live much past fifty. Resignedly, since he enjoyed life and especially his business, he had allocated many of his duties to subordinates in the ranks and stayed home in London, spending the summers in Nottingham. It was during his sojourn in his summer home that he had met Grace Tatby, the twenty-five-year old daughter of a gamekeeper. Since Lorna had been quiescent and most fastidious about such things as fucking, he had gradually gone less and less to her bed. What primal urges he had, Wilson Munson had relieved either with his own hand or with a professional woman encountered in his travels. So it wasn't unusual that this middle-aged, rather stout and florid-faced industrialist should fall as hard as a teenager experiencing his first passion at the sight of Grace Tatby. She was five feet six, with a pair of high perched, closely spaced, stunningly full, firm titties, a behind to match, rather gracefully slender thighs and calves which accentuated her big bosom and bottom all the more alluringly. Her hair was dark brown and she wore it in a chic upsweep. Her husband's money had given her the opportunity to hire a tutor to improve her countrified drawl and diction and also to teach her etiquette and the manners of a hostess who would show hospitality to many important business leaders.
But basically, Grace Tatby was a sensualist, and she was not a virgin when she married Wilson Munson. Indeed, she had lost her cherry to a stable boy when she was only fourteen and he a year older. Her widower father had thrashed her plump, milky-skinned bottom with a strap and warned her that a repetition of her sexual adventuring would mean an even more severe thrashing and perhaps enrollment in a correctional school.
Thereafter she had been quite discreet, but she had still had all the sex she wanted. She had experimented with girls, too, and in her senior year at high school had been initiated into Lesbian games by a buxom girl of eighteen named Myrna Smollett.
Wilson Munson had met her on the rebound of an affair which her father had angrily made her break off. He had grown somewhat infirm, and Grace had been forced to stay there and wait on him almost hand and foot, cooking his meals and serving them, doing his laundry and many of the menial tasks which marriage to a poor farmer or industrial laborer would have entailed. As a result, when she chanced to meet Wilson Munson in the tobacconist's shop where she had gone to get some pipe mixture for her irascible father, and where he had gone to buy a new meerschaum with his initials engraved upon the mouthpiece, she decided to set her cap for him.
It wasn't difficult at all. At the very first meeting, Wilson Munson's appraising eye had scanned Grace Tatby's thighs and titties, and he had felt the first real flurry of lust that he had known in all his life. The slow, deliberate way she had of walking, of turning her head, of raising her hand to her hair in a way that thrust her titties out as if begging for caresses, the undulations of her luscious hips, and a thousand other things impressed themselves on his conscious, sexually deprived psyche.
Cleverly, she played the role of virtuous young woman, and when he suggested to her that he would set her up in London as his mistress, with an apartment all her own, charge accounts, plenty of clothes and jewels, she refused.
In his state of newly acquired power and wealth, Wilson Munson wasn't accustomed to have anyone say no to him. Thus, her refusal to be his bedbitch nonplussed him, and of course, she took on a greater importance in his eyes than ever before. Finally, realizing that she was a prick teaser who wouldn't give until marriage, he asked her to be his wife and she readily accepted.
Although he was virile, he was relatively inexperienced, and also he was overeager. Mated with this voluptuous young wife, he strove to impress her with his manhood. The result, many a time, was premature ejaculation, and a thoroughly bored Grace Munson. However, she intended to keep her bargain. She had been in love with a supercilious assistant college professor at the University of Nottingham, until his parents, upon discovering her common origin and her reputation for being an easy lay, had forbidden the marriage. That was how, on the emotional rebound, she had decided to be shrewd and practical and marry this man who was old enough to be her father.
From the very outset, chestnut-haired Willa disapproved of her and showed her resentment in many subtle and several more obvious ways. This was the main reason that Grace hadn't pulled up her sheer nightie and let Wilson climb over her and stick his hard rutting cock deep into her tight cunt. Before he was going to be allowed to do that, she told herself, he was going to make a very important decision about that unruly, headstrong and conceited daughter of his.
CHAPTER TWO
"Wilson Munson moved closer to his voluptuous blonde wife, his pudgy hand on one of her swelling round titties, his other hand trying to tug up her sheer black nightie.
"No, dear, not yet. You have to listen to me first. I mean it, Wilson," she teased, rolling away from him with an agility that showed her youth and sensuality and made him sexually envious of younger men who could have coped with a piece like this without many of the heartaches he had already experienced in the short time of their marriage. "Oh, look, Gracie girl, I'm bloody well bushed from work all this week, so don't give me a bad time. Be a good girl. How'd you like a nice fur coat?"
"I've already got three. Oh, don't worry, you'll get your little bit of nooky."
"Damnation, Gracie girl, you know I don't like my wife to use talk like that," he grumbled.
"You're a liar, Wilson Munson, you know you are," she taunted, sticking out her tongue at him and acting kittenish because she knew that was exactly the way to bring him around. "You can't get enough of me, and you like to pretend that I'm just your mistress. I like it fine myself, only we've something important to discuss tonight."
"That tutor was a mistake," he grumbled. "I liked you the way you were back in Nottingham, just a nice, uncomplicated country girl with a wonderful body."
"That's very flattering, dear. I'm sure that Mr. Marchant would love to hear you praise him that way."
"Sometimes I wonder," he eyed her uneasily, "whether the afternoons I was away in London, having you study French and diction and all those other things with him, the two of you weren't putting horns behind my back."
"What a disgraceful thing to say to your own wife, darling!" she giggled. "With Mr. Marchant? You really must be desperate to say a thing like that about me. Why, he's older than you are, if he's a day, and he's a stiff old stick of a man. I don't think he's ever fucked a girl in all his life."
"I told you I don't like that sort of talk."
"Until you're actually fucking me, you don't," she giggled again. Then, seeing that she had gone a bit too far, she reached out and put a hand on his cock where it bulged through his nightshirt. His instant moving towards her told her that she was exactly on the right track.
"Just a bit more, just a bit more, love, don't be too greedy," she whispered. She had a kind of coarse streak to her, Did Grace Tatby, and after all, she had known what fucking was since her fourteenth summer. Her large, cat-green eyes were narrowed now and a calculating light was in them which he mistook for passion. "It's about Willa."
"Why the devil do you want to bring her into this, Gracie?" he almost whined, his prick throbbing fit to burst, again reaching for her.
Skillfully she evaded him again. "Now I said stop it, till I'm ready, love. Because that daughter of yours is really a problem child, and you know she is. The fancy tuition fees you've paid to keep her in private schools all this time, and she's got herself expelled from all of them. What that little bitch needs-excuse my French, darling-is a good sound hiding on her bare arse, and that as soon as possible."
"Now wait a minute, Grace. You're just spiteful because the child doesn't like you."
"Child!" Grace Munson exploded, then shook her head. "You really aren't keeping up with things, are you love? Or maybe it's you who needs the tutor. I could read between the lines of that last letter Miss Marcus sent you, you know. She said that she was regretfully deciding to terminate Willa's academic affiliation-those were her very words, the poor old frump!-with her precious school because Willa had developed certain unwholesome traits. Didn't you even begin to wonder what that expression meant, love?"
"Well, I gathered that she was sulky and didn't care much for her classmates or her teacher," he said sullenly.
"It's a lot more than that. Your fine and fancy daughter, Wilson darling, did what lots of schoolgirls do. She found herself a playmate at night, a little girlfriend, and you know what girls do at night at a school far away from home. They rub together, they kiss, they touch, and they lick and suck."
of vulgar talk!" he exploded, his face turning an even redder hue.
"But it's the truth, darling. But of course you didn't see that. All you could do was comfort and coddle poor dear Willa, and find her another school. And I'll lay you odds she's about to be fired out on her lovely young arse from that one any time now. I know all the signs. Her last few letters are starting to complain about everything. The girls in school don't like her, and that's no wonder. Her teachers are persecuting her-that's no wonder, either. And one of these days you'll get a note from the principal at this school too, dear, telling you that Willa has been caught with a girl, doing very objectionable things. Now do you understand me?"
"I do, but I can't believe it. Why, she's seventeen, and she has a mind of her own."
"Oh, decidedly she has that, dear. But what she needs is not one of those namby-pamby schools, but a place where they'll really larrup her when she needs it. It's high time you stopped protecting her and shielding her from the world, and instead brought her up short and let her know what her place is going to be."
"And I suppose you know of a better school than the Delton Academy for Young Ladies?" he sarcastically demanded.
"Of course I do. I had a brochure in the mail this morning for a new school, and it sounds exactly what Willa needs. It's in Peak National Park, or rather, just a mile or two beyond it. It's a girls' school, of course, which is just as well because I have a feeling that your precious daughter is beginning to notice boys, and that's another way to get in trouble at these fancy schools you've sent her to, Wilson darling."
"You're really too hard on her though, Grace. After all, she's going through a trying time of adolescence. We aren't around to see her, so you really can't blame her for being unsociable."
"Unsociable isn't the word, lover. Nasty is the one I'd use. She hates my guts, and she shows it every time she comes here. Oh, she's got a keen mind, no two ways about it. Her grades are quite good, though they could be better. And she's got a very glib tongue and she can talk herself out of almost any situation. What she needs is a school where the teachers are familiar with her line of gab and can give her her just desserts."
"Well, we'll see. So far I haven't heard from the school."
"No, but I know you will. All right, Wilson darling, I just want your promise that when she comes back from the summer camp next week, you'll seriously think about a change in schools."
"All right. I'll read your blasted brochure in the morning. And now, for God's sake, Gracie girl, take care of me!" He grasped her hand and drew it down to the bulging prick which strained against his nightshift. With a contented little sigh, knowing that she had him where she wanted him, Gracie Munson slid her hand under his nightshift till at last her slim fingers clasped his aching ramrod. With a groan of delight and torment, Wilson Munson turned toward her as she deftly lifted up her lace-trimmed nightgown. What Grace Munson had referred to in mentioning the letter sent by the principal of Willa's school was, bluntly speaking, girlfucking. Chestnut-haired seventeen-year-old Willa Munson was precocious beyond her years, and because her father had purposely sent her to a new school which was supposed to be quite exclusive and swanky, so that he would have plenty of time for a honeymoon with his new young wife, she had determined to have as much fun as she could.
She looked older than her seventeen years, at first glance. She was five feet six and a half, a half inch taller than her mother, with a saucy oval face, a small, petulant, ripe mouth, highset cheekbones and a firm chin which already said something about her determined character. If Grace had said she was headstrong, it was an understatement indeed. Willa had been used to getting her own way since she had first lain in-her cradle and grasped for Lorna Munson's pearl necklace. She had succeeded in grasping it and breaking the string, and her mother had thought it was "just too precious for words." So even in babyhood, Willa Munson had declared her flamboyant, nonconformist spirit.
Her eyes were dark-brown, set widely apart and quite large, surmounted by thick dark lashes and extremely thin brows. She was quite vain, and would stand for hours in front of a mirror admiring herself and doing her makeup. She had tweezered her eyebrows because she had once read in Punch an article indicating that fashionable and soignee women of society always arched and fashioned their eyebrows to indicate their hauteur. She had affected a maddening drawl, thanks to several movies she had seen and been impressed by, and she draw herself up and deliver a pronunciamento in her class which drove her headmistress to distraction and made her classmates want to throttle her.
Even in the decorous school uniform, which comprised a black cotton dress over a waist-long tunic and bloomers, black cotton stockings and low-heeled black shoes, her voluptuous and provocative beauty was undeniable. The tunic, nor the dress, did not suffice to hold in check the bold jutting pears of her firm young titties, set widely apart and high-perched on her chest, nor did they fail to emphasize the suppleness of her waist and then the sudden, lascivious flair of her hips, and the upstandingly impudent, broad, firm ovals of her virgin ass. Her long legs were springy and lithe, with highset calves whose muscles flexed and rippled constantly under the black cotton stockings. No matter how drably she was dressed, she at once looked the part of a mercurial young rebel who would do something simply because it had been forbidden, or if bidden, would do something else or simply nothing at all.
In her present school, corporal punishment was not in order, though the principal and her headmistress alike had privately often expressed the opinion regarding the dubious virtue of sparing the rod, particularly in Willa Munson's case. Their enrollment consisted primarily of girls from extremely well-to-do families who wished to be disembarrassed of either daughters or cousins or nieces because of their own intricate private lives of their traveling or their own adulterous affairs. All of the girls had too much spending money and, being nowhere near any school for young men, thought about young men constantly. In lieu of fucking, they substituted girlfucking, which was understandable as well as inevitable. And on this very evening when her stepmother was trying to get her middle-aged father to come to reason about her, Willa was also in bed in her dormitory room with her roommate, Gillian Porterby.
Gillian was just sixteen, came from Dorset, where her elderly uncle was the squire of a lordly estate. Her parents had died when she was ten, and her uncle, who detested children, was only to happy to enroll her in the most exclusive and fashionable school at his disposal. She was a sticky-sweet, black-haired, petite girl, who wore spectacles, and who was suspected of toadying to the teachers. At least, all of the headmistresses admired her and called on her frequently during class, which alone would have been enough to condemn her as a "greasy grind," apart from her glasses and her perpetually shy and reticent manner when in the presence of her young peers.
But inwardly, Gillian Porterby was as wanton and adventurous as Willa Munson herself, and the proof of it was that on this warm July evening, about eleven o'clock, the two of them, wearing just their stockings and garters high on their naked thighs, lay naked facing each other, their hands roving over each other's titties and asscheeks. Petite though she was, Gillian possessed the figure of a pocket-Venus, with spacious round bottomcheeks, plump thighs, and saucily turned calves, and a pair of appetizing titties that would soon attain a size 38-D bra enclosure. Her skin was a milky pale, while Willa's was exquisitely carnation-pink-and-white.
The room was in total darkness, and they were whispering together. It was Gillian who had proposed to Willa that they wile away an otherwise boring night by attempting the sweet games which Sappho assayed with her charge, the young Bilitis.
"Isn't it nice? Who needs nasty boys? They always paw you and make bloody-awful remarks about you when you think you're hot for them," Gillian Porterby was murmuring. She still wore her spectacles, for she always went to sleep with them. They gave her a piquant look, and almost made her look dressed, but not quite.
"Well now, I don't know about not having boys," Willa Munson truthfully whispered back, as she squeezed one of Gillian's plump, round, satiny asscheeks, her other hand exploring Gillian's softly dimpled belly en route to the exquisitely, extremely thickly-haired grotto of her roommate's cunthole. "They can be awfully useful when you're randy, you know. You mean you've never had a boy?"
"Oh no! I couldn't, not with Uncle Lawrence having a governess for me all the time. Good gracious, Willa! Not any more than you can. And there isn't a boy within miles of this awful place," Gillian Porterby wistfully complained. She took one of Willa's nipples in her mouth and sucked it experimentally. Willa moaned and squeezed her chum's bottom with both hands, and the two girls came together, their pussies rubbing in sweet frictional conclave.
"That feels awfully good and yummy," Willa Munson breathed. "Am I doing it right?"
"Mmmmmmm hmmmmm!" Gillian Porterby sighed ecstatically, pressing herself even more tightly against her naked chum. Her slim left forefinger had found its way to Willa's equally hairy lovecleft, pushed past the pussycurls and encountered the delicate pink curls of Willa Munson's virgin cunthole. "Do you like that, Willa love?"
Now their lips met in a tender kiss, and bespectacled Gillian Porterby thrust her nimble pink tongue between Willa's eagerly parting lips, imparting a new and thrilling sensation in the psyche of her ardently experimental partner. At the same time, her forefinger pressed into Willa's moistening and twitching pussy until it found the nucleus of all Willa's pussy-emotions, the clitoris. This she began to touch delicately and fleetingly, until Willa began to groan and rub her loins furiously against Gillian's.
that's terrific, Gilly love," the chestnut-haired beauty panted. She flung her right leg over Gillian's left, trying to arch and strain herself as if she wished to merge into the petite Venus's very flesh. Then she returned Gillian's kiss with ardor and interest, her tongue entering Gillian's mouth, and for a moment the girls clutched each other, and for a moment the girls clutched each other, straining cunt to cunt and tittie to tittie. Their breathing was quickened now, sibilant in the darkness, and the bed creaked from their ardent grindings.
"Wouldn't it be fun if we had a fellow right here with us, wouldn't it?" Gillian Porterby wanted to know.
"I'd sure like to try. But I tell you, Gillian, my stepmother just hates my guts. I expect I'll be stuck in this darned old place until I'm old enough to be married. And don't I wish I were right now! You're awfully nice, Gillie, but I'd still like to know what it would be like to have a boy doing this to me. Oooooh, use your finger good now! Stick it in my bummyhole, too!"
Willa Munson had already experimented with the sweet joy of self-inflicted onanism. She had learned that a finger inside one's own asshole, delicately prodding just inside the lips and gradually increasing the tempo of this probing could lead to the most exquisite sensations, while at the same time another finger plied her own sweet pussy with tickling caresses. She breathed a happy sigh as her roommate quickly comprehended her desire and placed another dainty finger along the sinuous crease which led to the most secretive and sensitive furrow of all and then at last touched the puckering lips of her asshole.
"Yes, that's it, oh Gillie, frig me good now-frig me in both my holes and give it to me-oh you love, you!" the chestnut-haired teenager gasped.
As their lips, their tongues were rapiering, Gillian Porterby had her right forefinger against her roommate's clitoris, her left forefinger hiking slowly back and forth inside Willa's quaking asshole, while each girl's pussy rubbed frantically together in a fucking-frictional rhythm that soon drew them both to ecstatic and rapturous moans and finally blissful come. The brochure which Grace Munson had received in the mail advertising a strict school for girls described the luxurious facilities of the institution and stressed the aims of the instructresses in making all pupils conform to the highest standards of deportment expected of young ladies. Grace detested her young stepdaughter Willa, and for that reason, having read the brochure and observing how discipline was mentioned, she insisted that her husband Wilson consider the possibility of transferring his daughter from Delton to this new school.
What particularly interested her was a paragraph stating that although the school term opened on the 20th of September, it was possible to make arrangements for the entrance of new pupils staring with the first day of August, so that these newcomers would have the extra advantage of being acquainted with the school's rules and modus operandi in time to take their rightful place with their new classmates in September.
For Grace Munson, this presented a golden opportunity to rid herself of Willa, who was now home for the summer vacation and who, in Grace's opinion, was going to come between herself and Wilson in demanding attention and thus weakening Grace's hold on the infatuated middle-aged man.
At Delton Academy, Willa was due the very next day, since the school closed the end of June and then held all the girls over till about ten days more for special examinations and reports which would be considered in allocating them in their proper scholastic rank in the fall.
"I had really planned on keeping Willa home with us this summer, my dear," Wilson Munson told his wife the next morning at breakfast, "but I don't suppose it'll hurt to have her away at this new place. It'll be like a summer vacation and it's scenic enough, being so near Peak National Park."
"That's exactly what I was thinking, darling. Now you know it'll be just the two of us alone together, and it'll be just heavenly. Didn't you like last night, darling?" Grace purred, giving him a seductive wink which made him cough and flush. Indeed he did remember last night. After he had given in to her, Grace had crawled over him and really given him one of the best fuckings of his life. He was passionately fond of his beautiful young wife, and quite proud of her in a jealous and possessive way. And she was smart enough to know just how to control him and get what she wanted. She had succeeded in getting him to send Willa away. Now she played her final trump card.
"There's a little secret I have to tell you, darling. I'm preggie," she whispered.
"You mean it, darling?" he gasped, his eyes shining with delight.
"Yes, I'm sure now. I didn't want to tell you last night for fear of sort of making you treat me as if I were made of breakable china ware," she giggled.
"My darling, that's wonderful news! I hope it's a boy, I really do."
"Well, darling, if it is, I'm sure he won't give us the trouble that Willa does. So then it's all right for me to write Mr. Calavaro and enroll Willa starting the first week of August?"
"If you like, go right ahead. I'll give you a check as soon as you tell me how much you need. But now I better be getting dressed and off to work, honey. See you tonight."
He left his seat at the table, came over and kissed her on the mouth, and Grace, who was wearing just a nightie and her bathrobe over it, reached up her beautiful bare arms and kissed him hard, then slipped her tongue between his lips. "It'll be heaven, just the two of us," she repeated seductively. "It'll be like a second honeymoon. And I don't think I'm more than about two months pregnant, so there will plenty of time for us to have fun in until I get big and ugly."
"You won't ever be that," he gallantly responded. He took another kiss, felt his prick aching with desire, but knew that there wasn't time. He had to work. And as soon as he had left the house, Grace Munson leaned back in her chair and giggled with delight. She was going to settle that little bitch's hash once and for all. If this brochure meant what she thought it did, the references to discipline could only mean that at that school, naughty girls got spanked and thrashed. In fact, she might even arrange to come down there and watch Willa get her first good bare-bottom-smacking!
* * *
The school which had been described in the brochure was about eight miles north of Sutton Coldfield, and situated along the lonely moors which framed one of England's largest and most famous national parks. It had originally been the domicile of a titled English nobleman, who had been given the land and the estate for his service to Charles II, the "Merry Monarch" who replaced the dour and puritanical rule of Oliver Cromwell with sexual orgies and limitless sensual pleasures. His last heir had died about forty years ago, and the castle-like edifice finally had been put up at auction and sold to Matthew Calavaro, who had come forward with the best offer for this isolated and ancient building and had been awarded it.
Matthew Calavaro had obtained a license from the government to operate a ladies school. He possessed eminent reference, he was wealthy, and several important members of London high society vouched for him. The government officials who granted him the permit to operate a private institution of learning were doubtless impressed by these great names, or they would have done more checking than they actually did before granting this debauched scoundrel a license to offer educational advantages to pretty young girls.
For Matthew Calavaro, aged forty-six, had once operated a brothel in his native Rome, escaped police action there and fled to Paris, from which city he was also expelled for flagrant immorality.
He was the black sheep of an extremely important Italian family, his parents having come to London when he was a very young boy. His father had stumbled upon a patent which had to do with packaging railroad shipments efficiently and economically, and had made a fortune. This fortune was inherited by the dissolute son, who made some shrewd investments on the stock market and practically doubled his capital by gambling in the casinos of Nice, Cannes and Monte Carlo.
Three years ago, he had learned of the existence of this gloomy old building on the moors not far from the national park, and had believed it to be an ideal location for a project which he was entertaining. The project was simply that in a lonely and inaccessible site, he would be able to offer to some of the wealthiest and most important clients the tasty young flesh of attractive girls who would be completely under his charge and supervision, and who would be selected primarily if it was found that they were being enrolled by distant relatives or guardians, who would not be likely to make overly close investigations of the merits of the Calavaro School for Young Ladies, which was the name he gave his pretended institution of learning.
Oh indeed, it was an institution of learning in one sense: because every girl in it would ultimately become a slave-bitch to satisfy the lustful caprices of debauched men and woman of great wealth and reputation who would never be suspect because of their very status in society. For the privilege of spending a weekend at this castle out on the moors, these perverse men and women would pay a high fee. And there was one thing more which Matthew Calavaro had counted on to make his venture still more profitable: the ultimate sale of his unsuspecting and innocent pupils as slaves to wealthy bidders. These people would of course "adopt" the girls they bought, so that if any government investigation was made, it would appear that she had been an orphan for whom Calavaro had found a suitable and acceptable foster home.
It was his sister, however, who helped him word the brochure which was sent out to potential clients, aiming at getting them to dispose of troublemaking girls exactly like Willa Munson. For there were many wealthy people who were the aunts or uncles or legal guardians of pretty girls who had their own selfish reasons for wanting to get rid of them and send them far away where they would not be a source of constant trouble. One such guardian, for instance, was elderly Horace Denby, the uncle of a red-haired spitfire of sixteen years of age, named Katherine Hollingsworth. Katherine's mother had been old Horace's sister, but they had quarreled bitterly because Horace himself, a perennial bachelor, had a reputation of enjoying the fleshpots of London. But when his sister and her husband were killed in a avalanche in the Swiss Alps, old Horace had seized the opportunity to become the legal guardian of his niece Katherine. The main reason was that her parents were quite wealthy and all her money was left in a trust fund of which he was administrator. And since she had no other living relatives, he saw the opportunity to dip his hand into her funds while getting rid of her by putting her into the Calavaro school. Moreover, since she was physically extremely attractive, and because Matthew Calavaro himself had let him visit the school on one occasion, Horace Denby looked forward with keen impatience to the time when he would be able to fuck his own beautiful, rebellious niece.
Matthew Calavaro's sister was forty-two, her name was Serafina, and she was tall, with a haughty cruel face, her black hair coiled in a thick bun at the back of her neck, olive skinned, and as perverse in her own Lesbian way as her brother was in savoring the conquest of young pussy. He held the rank of principal, while she had the title of directress of the institution. The instructresses were hired with the main view of getting a staff which would be expert in administering corporal punishment to the young pupils and whose members would be complacent enough to allow the corrupt Calavaros to project their vicious white-slavery operation under the guise of an educational institution.
And so, on the very morning when Grace Munson knew joyously that she had wound her husband around her little finger again, Serafina Calavaro was in the act of punishing one of the loveliest pupils of her brother's school.
This girl was Edwina Carruthers, eighteen years of age, with long golden hair that fell below her shoulders, a heart shaped face with huge, beautiful blue eyes, a full sweet mouth and dimpled around the cheeks.
She had come from Manchester, where her parents had both died of pneumonia six months ago. Her aunt, a spinster who detested children, had been only too happy to send her away to the Calavaro school to punish her for turning down the courtship of an eligible young man of whose family her aunt had enthusiastically approved. But Edwina, though sweet and docile and a virgin, had found the young suitor bullying, rude and lecherous, and she had indignantly refused to consider him as a potential husband. Enraged at this, her aunt had packed her off to the Calavaros. And only two weeks ago, Matthew Calavaro had had a wire from the aunt's solicitor informing him that his client had just died of a stroke, that the niece was to be an heiress when she attained her twenty-first birthday and that meanwhile he would be beholden to the Calavaros if they could continue to keep her in their fine school.
Serafina, an aggressive Lesbian butch and sadist, had been rapturous over this news. She had coveted Edwina's voluptuously ripe young body, and she had longed to have a chance to chastise this pink skinned beauty. However, Edwina's scholastic as well as personal conduct had been so exemplary that until now there had been no reason to condemn her to the whip and the subsequent degradation which Serafina Calavaro had in store for her virginal body.
Like all lesbians, Serafina Calavaro had her little pets. One of these was Cecelia Maydew, a glib, seventeen-year-old sandy haired girl who wore glasses and a constantly prim and disapproving expression and who was the school tattletale. Cecelia had been at the school two years, her first cousin was her guardian and he was stationed in Sidney, Australia, and had enrolled her in this school to keep her out of mischief. She had already gotten into a good deal of it in short order. Her very first week, she had run afoul of the school rules, and had been sentenced to a whipping which Serafina herself had administered. But she found that Cecelia was something of a masochist and also extremely precocious when it came to sex. After the whipping, the sobbing young girl had begged forgiveness, and Serafina had quickly introduced her to her perverse pleasures of girl-fucking. By now, the sandy haired toady was not only Serafina Calavaro's bedbitch, but her personal spy over every other girl in the school. And a few days ago, the directress had summoned Cecelia to her bedroom and instructed her of what she wanted the girl to do to remain in favor with her. It was simply to seduce and corrupt beautiful virginal Edwina.
It had been arranged by transferring Edwina's present roommate to another room and putting Cecelia in her place. Last night, Cecelia had sneaked into Edwina's bed, begun to caress and fondle her, and then proposed to her that two girls become dear friends by girlfucking. Edwina had been ready to faint with shame and had tried to push Cecelia out of bed, in a choking voice full of indignation. And at that exact moment, Serafina herself, in only her bathrobe over her nighty, had entered the room and "caught" Edwina red-handed.
So this morning poor Edwina Carruthers found herself in the punishment room which Serafina Calavaro maintained in her own private chambers. The pink skinned beauty was stark naked except for long black silk stockings which clambered high on her ripely rounded young thighs, held up by black elastic garter bands, her pumps, and nothing else save her blushes and long golden hair. Two of the matrons of the school had forcibly undressed the weeping and pleading girl, and then tied her up for the whipping which was about to take place. Dying of shame, lovely golden-haired Edwina found herself with her wrists tied together and drawn high above her head, the rope which corded them fixing in turn to a pulley ring at the top of the ceiling. Her legs had been straddled almost a yard apart and cords around her slim ankles were fixed to floor rings. The room itself was made of stone, like a dungeon, without any windows. There was a whipping post, a sawhorse, a spanking stool with leather padded top, and a low wide couch-on this last, Serafina proposed to take the sweet virginity of her naked golden haired captive.
The dominatress was clad in a one-piece black leather body sheath which gusseted her between her long legs. These were booted to mid-thigh, in glossy black leather with extremely sharp high heels, and she wore matching leather gloves almost to the shoulders. In her gloved right hand, as she stood behind the sobbing, pleading naked victim, she grasped a five-thonged leather martinet.
"Your conduct last night was shocking, Edwina," she pronounced in a commanding, vibrant contralto voice. "It is only because you have no living relatives and your aunt's solicitor has asked us to keep you here as a favor, which prevents me from expelling you in disgrace. If that had taken place, Miss, you should at this moment be in the auditorium before the whole school, naked as you are now, and given the birch on your naked bottom as an example to all the girls."
"But I didn't do anything, Miss Calavaro, I swear I didn't! It was Cecelia, she got into bed with me and tried to make me-oh please, have mercy, I'm so ashamed, oh at least put some clothes over me, I want to die, so mortified," lovely Edwina Carruthers groaned.
"You dare to talk a false modesty after what I saw between the two of you? Cecelia will have her own punishment, don't worry about that. I am sparing you public disgrace, Miss, by thrashing you here and now. Are you ready for your whipping?"
With a groan, Edwina again tried to placate her implacable executioner: "Oh I swear to you, Miss Calavaro," she groaned tearfully, "that I didn't do it, I wouldn't think of such a horrid thing-oh please, I've never been wh-wh-whipped in all my life, on please spare me, please, it's unjust, I didn't do it!"
"My poor child," the directress said with hypocritical compassion, "your fault is serious enough without adding the charge of being a liar too. I know that you are eighteen, that you consider yourself a grown young woman. But the regrettable thing is that you also forgot the proper conduct of a young lady at my brother's school to satisfy your nasty little passions. Old as you are, Edwina, you are nevertheless going to have to be punished for this wickedness. And now, get ready for your thrashing!" And with this, drawing back the wooden handle of the martinet, she sent the tapering leather bands clacking across Edwina's ripely rounded naked pinksheened ass, making the girl lunge forward with shrill cry of pain.
CHAPTER FIVE
Serafina Calavaro watched with mounting excitement as the beautiful golden haired naked victim lunged forward with a strident cry at the first lash of the martinet. The characteristic smack of the leather thongs against the plumply contoured, pink-satiny globes of Edwina's virgin ass thrilled her inexpressibly, as did, even more, the sound of the girl's anguish at this rude initiation into flagellation, and finally the marks left by the five leather lashes as they spread across the girl's jutting hindquarters.
She moved slightly more towards the left side of her victim, so that she could see Edwina's beautiful titties and the dark-golden fleece of that chaste cunthole whose owner she had accused of Lesbian naughtiness with her spy Cecelia Maydew. She sucked in her breath at the vision before her, for of all the girls in this school which she and her brother ran for their own lecherous purposes and for profit as well, undeniably Edwina Carruthers ranked among the most beautiful and desirable. Edwina's bubbies were widely spaced and high perched on her pink chest, the globes already full and ripe and wonderfully firm. The aurolae were narrow, a dark coral tint that showed up exquisitely on the soft pink smoothness of the girl's bare flesh. Her nipples were ardently developed, crinkly buds which seemed, as she now arched forward and tautened them, to beg for caresses... which Serafina intended very well to bestow upon the captive once she had been thoroughly subjugated.
Edwina's belly was beautifully dimpled, with a wide shallow navel, and the breathtaking curve of the lower abdomen into the pelvic basin was indeed a visual spectacle which entranced the dominant and perverse Lesbian directress. The abundant cunthairs were in soft fleecy curls, hiding the soft pink lips of Edwina's maiden quim, a delicacy which Serafina Calavaro promised herself to delectate and savor in her own lingering and imaginative way. Perhaps indeed poor Edwina was not at all guilty of being a dyke, and of course Cecelia had been instructed to creep into the girl's bed and try to seduce her to furnish a perfect pretext for what was now taking place. But the dominatress knew perfectly well that by the time she had finished with the girl, Edwina would be groveling at her feet and imploring her to have mercy, even if that mercy implied a wanton surrender to the most degrading whims she might compel from this beautiful golden-haired slave-candidate.
If she had straddled Edwina's thighs, it was for her own sadistic purposes. Often the most obdurate girls, who could endure a severe thrashing on the bare behind with a cane or a birch or a strap or a martinet like this, surrendered all their resistance and courage once the whip visited the tender apex between their yawningly opened legs and was repeated. She could remember now, looking back a year, the valiant and heroically defiant Madge Williams, a nineteen-year-old brunette whose quarreling and divorcing parents had decided to dispose of her and go their own separate ways by enrolling her in this school. Madge had fought like a tigress during the first week of school when informed that she was to be whipped. It had taken two of the matrons to force her down over a spanking stool and a third to ruck up her skirt and petticoat, descend her drawers, while Serafina Calavaro applied a well-worn leather sole to the oval shaped, tawny-sheened, cheeks of Madge's squirming ass.
Even then, though her flesh had been swollen and left a dark, angry red which soon turned bluish at the summits and base, the victim had stoically refused to submit, swearing she would ran away, that she would go to the authorities and inform them just what sort of school was being run out here on the moors. Accordingly, Serafina Calavaro had had the two matrons attach Madge to a metal triangle in one of the cellar dungeons, which she and her brother had modified and furnished to suit their own debauched and sadistic desires, as well as those of their very many wealthy clients. Her arms drawn high above her head and her body tightly extended on the triangle, with her ankles corded to the base of the legs, Madge had found herself with her thighs spread a good yard apart. A dozen upward-whistling kisses from a supple birch rod on which the buds and twigs were still intact, had broken her defiance and had made her beg hysterically for pardon. That pardon had been granted only when she had crawled naked on the floor to wind her beautiful bare arms around the dominatress's booted legs and then of her own accord gamahuch Serafina Calavaro.
The emperatrix sighed now in nostalgic recollection of the beautiful bed bitch. Unfortunately, she had been able to enjoy Madge's charms only a month, for her brother had then sold the girl to a wealthy roue by the name of Sir Edmund Poritfex. Only last week she had received a letter from him which she and her brother had read with both envy and delight. Madge had been disciplined severely almost every day of her stay in the Poritfex manor in Somerset. She had been trained to become a ponygirl, drawing a cart in which her master sat, flicking her with a long carriage whip as she crawled on all fours, equipped with bridle, reins and mouth-bit. She had learned to become a living hammock, with her arms and legs tied to opposite walls in which rings were set, her master lying upon her and taking his nap thus. She had serviced him in every way a girl can a virile and imaginative man, and she was now as obedient as anyone could wish for.
Of all her victims, Serafina Calavaro best enjoyed a defiant girl. Her sadistic nature was such that she really disdained her little toadying spy Cecelia Maydew. No, what she most delighted in was to force a haughty, chaste young woman or girl to degrade herself, to surrender and then to perform unwillingly the most humiliating and degrading acts. All the time the victim was doing those, to be sure, Serafina could sense her mortification and shame and frustrated rage, which made the victory only the sweeter. It would be so with Edwina Carruthers, she had decided.
Now again, after having feasted her eyes on Edwina's trembling, tethered body, she moved back behind the trembling naked young woman, drew back her right arm and sent the thongs hurtling across the base of both quivering, tensing, naked asscheeks. The angry smack of the thongs was followed instantly by a piercing cry of, "Ahoww, oh have pity, Miss Calavaro, I didn't do it, I swear I didn't, oh don't beat me like this, it's too dreadful, too shameful!
At the same time, the naked girl had lunged forward again, her back hollowing magnificently, her naked reddening bottomcheeks squirming and weaving under the bite and burn of the lash.
"The whip will teach you to tell the truth, Edwina," the directress hypocritically responded. "Submit yourself humbly, accept your punishment as well deserved, and make resolutions never again to practice that disgusting and forbidden naughtiness at which I caught you with Cecelia." So saying, she launched a third stroke which, this time, swept across the tops of the girl's rounded hips and again made her squirm forward with a pathetic cry of pain as she turned her tearstained face back over her shoulder to beg for mercy.
But mercy would be granted precisely when Serafina Calavaro knew that her victim could endure no more suffering and was willing to sacrifice her chastity and untouched virtue in return for pardon from the lash. So, compressing her lips, and her eyes sparkling with lust as she watched the naked young beauty sway and squirm, trying vainly to twist and weave her hips about and to contract the muscles of her bottom to diminish the all too spacious area offered to the martinet, She slowly lifted her arm and let the five thongs hover in the air over the culprit's posterior. Edwina Carruthers, her flushed and tearstained face turned back over her shoulder, saw the menace of the lash, and her beautiful eyes widened with poignant distress. "Oh please, oh have mercy, Miss Calavaro, I swear to you, I swear to you I didn't do that, I wouldn't do such a dreadful, shameful thing, oh please believe me please!"
"I believe only the evidence of my own eyes, my girl," was cold reply. And then the thongs cracked down as they spread out across the voluptuous, opulently rounded bottomglobes. With a sibilant intake of breath, Edwina plunged forward, her bubbies jiggling in the maneuver. Her breathing was quickened now, and the tears ran down her cheeks as she jerked at her bound wrists tractioned so high above her. But worst of all, she felt the obscenity of her hugely straddled legs, to which the dominatress had added the salacious nuance of the black stockings which made the girl's naked flesh stand out all the more alluringly. And Serafina Calavaro understood quite well Edwina's despair, and also the girl's awareness of her vulnerability. In good course, the tapering tips of those glossy, polished brown leather thongs would whisk from downwards up into the gape of the straddled legs and attack Edwina's virgin cunthole when it was time to wrest the ultimate capitulation from her beautiful, mature victim.
Now, gloating over the young beauty's anguished torture, ruthlessly indifferent to Edwina's sobs and groans and pleas, Serafina Calavaro circled her prey. Her own bubbies rose and fell with violent agitation against the quirass of the leather body sheath, as her eyes fixed on those heaving love-turrets, the delicate aurolae and the voluptuous pink buds of Edwina's virgin nipples, the smooth belly and its shallow wide dimple, and then the evasive hollowing of the loins and finally the thick-fleeced veidore of Edwina's cunthair, and finally the offsetting contrast of the black hose which made the pinksheened flesh all the more obscenely naked: these were details which the dominatress most savored.
"Are you beginning to feel sorry for being so wicked, Edwina?" she asked in a voice that purred, cat-like, with sadistic gloating.
"Oh I beseech you, Miss Calavaro, do have pity on me, do let me off, I swear to you by all that's holy that I didn't do anything with Cecelia! I-I don't like girls-I wouldn't ever dream of doing such a disgusting thing, I swear to you I wouldn't!" The impassioned supplication of the naked young beauty before her only added fuel to the flames which burned so furiously in the psyche of this perverse imperatrix. "I don't believe you," she said curtly. "Besides, you've given yourself airs and you've made yourself very much hated by the other girls. It's time you had a thrashing like this to take you down a few pegs, Edwina. So cry all you like, beg all you like, you shall be whipped until I think you've had enough."
After uttering this pronunciamento, the leather-garbed dominatress took her station behind and at the left of the sobbing naked golden-haired culprit, slowly lifted the martinet and swept it down diagonally from the top of Edwina's right hip down over the groove separating the luscious asscheeks and thence to the base of the left hemisphere. The thongs clung greedily to that soft trembling, palpitating flesh, and with a wild cry of pain and anguish, the naked captive plunged forward once again. The pulley creaked its protest, but it returned her to where she stood with hugely widened legs and her ankles corded to the floor rings. Her body was shaken by fitful tremors and contractions, and Serafina Calavaro could trace the rippling flexions of muscular spasms visiting the stockinged calves and thighs and merging into the now vividly striped bare ass of her coveted captive.
Now, stepping back and drawing the martinet far back in her right hand, she swept it across the top of Edwina's left thigh. The ends of the leather bands wrapped round the succulent column just above the stocking top, and the excruciating sting at the front of the sensitive upper thigh forced a sobbing plaint from the young beauty's lips: "Eeyeowwwouuu!!! Oh have mercy, oh I can't bear it, oh do forgive me, I swear I didn't do it, I swear I didn't!"
"I told you it would avail you nothing to beg pardon until I have given you what I consider a sufficient punishment for your wickedness, you impertinent and oversexed little slut," Serafina Calavaro scornfully retorted. After having said this, she moved to the girl's right and this time the thongs curled wickedly round the top of the other leg, inflicting equal torment and drawing a new scream of plaintive suffering as Edwina Carruthers lunged and twisted this way and that, trying desperately to clench her legs together and to diminish herself under the cruel martinet.
Now Serafina Calavaro extended her left gloved hand and lingeringly caressed that beautiful back, so deeply hollowed and glistening with the sweat of torment now, and then she grasped the cascading golden tresses and lofted them over Edwina's left shoulder so that there should be no protection whatsoever from the lash to the nape of Edwina's neck to the tops of her black hose. Her eyes blazed with ferocious lust, such as only a lesbian dominatress can experience, in contemplating so beautiful and ripe a body, and knowing it to be hitherto unprofaned and unsullied.
Edwina bowed her head and sobbed heartrendingly at this prolongation of her torture, because she dimly sensed how she was being exploited exactly for the perverse lust of her executioner. But then once again, stepping back, Serafina sent the thongs hurtling in a diagonal and backhanded cut which took the top of Edwina's hip and left angry, reddening streaks down over the shuddering bottomcheeks to the base of the right globe.
"Aiiii! Oh my God, oh please, oh stop, you're killing me!" Edwina Carruthers wailed. Again she lunged this way and that, her hips weaving in the most obscene gyrations. Her face again turned back over her shoulder, half concealed by the tumbled golden tresses of her lovely hair, distraught, her eyes blurred with tears and very wide, her nostrils flickering, her mouth trembling, and her magnificent titties rising and falling in agitated turbulence.
"Are you beginning to feel sorry for your naughtiness, you insolent bitch?" Serafina gloatingly demanded. Thus she twisted the needle into the psyche of this sensitive young virgin, destroying her resistance, annihilating her will as she intended to annihilate Edwina's physical resistance.
"Oh don't-oh please-oh I beg of you, I swear-by all that's holy-I didn't do it, I didn't, not with Cecelia, I didn't-" But the dominatress quickly and cruelly caught those last unfortunate words: "So then, you randy little slut, if you didn't do it with Cecelia, you did it with other girls, is that what you're trying to tell me? Why, you wicked, disgracefully immodest hussy! I ought to flag you alive, I ought to take the skin off that big arse of yours!" And in a perfect paroxysm of rage, the dominatress drew back her hand and applied three whistling, smacking lashes, all of them horizontally directed over the ripest curves of Edwina Carruthers's naked, squirming ass.
Wild screams attested to this torture, and Edwina Carruthers jerked and twisted in the most agitated way, long and sporadic shudders visiting her thighs and calves, clenching and then opening the cheeks of her by now vividly marked bare behind. The once soft pink sheen of her naked skin had been replaced by angry, darkening bands, crisscrossing where the backhanded strokes had fallen with such efficacy.
Pausing a moment to contemplate her handiwork, the dominatress now regaled her weeping victim with two ferocious strokes over each upper thigh, once again wrapping the thongs around the straining, trembling naked flesh above the stocking top. Hoarse, inchoate yells of pain where drawn from the victim, and her babbled words were unintelligible. Sweat ran down her flanks and ribcages, and her bubbies heaved wildly as she fought for breath and tried to speak through her convulsive sobs.
"Are you ever going to do it again with anyone here? Are you? Answer me!" Serafina Calavaro hissed. This time, lowering the martinet to the floor, with a flick of her wrist. The tips of the leather bands shot into the gaping pink cleft of Edwina's maiden cunthole. Her entire body seemed to lunge upwards, then she dragged wildly at the cords binding her wrists and holding her arms high above her head, so tightly, indeed, that the armpits were distended, and one could see the dark-golden curls of love hair and the sweat glistening in globules in that intimate fleece: "Ahrr-rowwwouuu!!! Oh my God, oh not there, in the name of heaven, oh not there, Miss Calavaro, have pity, I'm only a girl, oh have pity on me now!"
"You haven't answered my question yet, you silly bitch! Are you going to do it again? Am I going to catch you ever again in bed with some girl, with your dirty little games? Am I?" And once again the martinet flicked upwards into the victim's gaping cunthole.
Edwina Carruthers tilted back her head and, her glazed eyes fixing on the ceiling, blind with tears, uttered a wild and prolonged shriek: "Owawwrrrowwweeeouuuuu!!!! Oh no, oh never, I never did it, I swear I didn't-ohhh-aahhh- oh Miss C-C-Calavaro-oh have pity on me, oh not there, not between my l-l-legs, I b-b- beg of you, oh God, I can't stand the pain, I'm going to die!"
"Nonsense," the leather-clad dominatress laughed cruelly. "Far from dying, Edwina, you are more alive now then you've ever been before. So you are repenting your sins, are you? Let me see you, let me see if these are crocodile tears."
With this, she went round to face the hysterically weeping girl, who cringed and tried to force herself backwards as she saw the terrible and pitiless imperatrix confront her, the sinister brown gleaming thongs of the whip dangling to the floor like serpents waiting to strike again.
Serafina's eyes glistened as they fixed on the splotches and streaks left by the tips of the whip's five lashes on the fronts of those sensitive, beautifully rounded thighs. Now, drawing back her arm, she lashed poor Edwina right across the titties, and the naked girl uttered a wild yell of indescribable agony as she lunged backwards, then shook herself, as a bather might coming out of water, in order to disperse the frightful heat of that atrocious stroke. Her head fell back and her mouth gaped in a long, hoarse shout which had no words but whose volume and intensity bespoke eloquently enough the torture to which she was being subjected.
Once again the dominatress studied her handiwork. There where the martinet had kissed those beautiful titties, they were shuddering and jerking, the flesh palpitating and all the neural fibers in flux from the pain and the excruciating heat of the lash upon those tender erogenous centers. Her thighs, still yawned apart, strove frantically and uselessly to clench. Her body weaved and squirmed, as if she were in the act of being fucked and responding as ardently. A cruel smile curved the thin lips of Serafina Calavaro as she lowered the martinet to the floor and once again deliberately flicked it up so that the tips bit into the tender cunthole.
"Yeowwouuuahhrrrrawww!!! Oh not there, whip me anywheres else but please not there, oh my God, I'm going to die, oh I can't stand the pain, what do you want of me, oh, I'll do anything if you'll only stop!" At last the capitulation she had so long anticipated was now pronounced by the hysterically agonized naked culprit.
"Do you mean what you say for a change, Edwina? Or are you just trying to gain a few moments of pardon? If you are insincere, my girl, I shall whip you to the very blood. Yes, and then I shall rub salt into your cuts, and I shall make you wear a pair of mustard drawers overnight, do you understand me? Speak and quickly!" And this time the martinet spoke for her as it dashed over the panting titties, once more wresting from Edwina Carruthers the most frenzied and agonized of shrieks.
"So you will do anything," the dominatress continued gloatingly. "Very well. If I let you off any more whipping, will you go down on your knees and thank me and promise to be my slave and do whatever I tell you to form now on? Will you? Will you indeed?" And then again the martinet entered into play to force the fateful answer, as Serafina Calavaro slashed it first over Edwina's bare belly and then straight over her pelvic basin so that the tips grazed the palpitating, chaffed and reddening young cuntlips.
"Ohhhaiiieeeahrrrowww!!! Oh yes, I'll do anything, anything you want in the world, only in God's mercy, stop, stop, Miss Calavaro, I can't stand the suffering any more, I can't, I truly can't!
"I'm going to put your obedience to the test, Edwina," Serafina Calavaro purred.
Casting the martinet to the floor, she walked over to the wall, touched a button, and the electrical connection began to lower the pulley to which the rope fixing poor Edwina's wrists was attached. The girl's body slumped, her head bowed, moaning piteously. Then, hurrying to the girl, Serafina took a pocket knife, opened it, and cut the cords fixing the captive's ankles to the floor rings. Crumpling to the floor and sprawled there, Edwina's naked body lay, crushed and defeated. For a long moment the dominatress stood greedily looking down at her conquered victim.
"Very well, you promise to obey, so do it!" her voice cut like a whiplash. "Crawl to me now, put your arms around my legs and begin to kiss each of my booted feet. Then say you are going to obey me in everything I command, and be sure that you do it once I give you an order, is that understood, Edwina?"
She dragged herself to her knees, her face haggard and wet with tears, her eyes swollen, her nostrils flickering and clenching. She moved to the dominatress, her arms went round those gleamingly booted thighs, and then she bowed her head and whimperingly began to kiss the glistening toes of those prodigiously high-heeled leather boots.
Serafina's eyes softened now, and her bubbies began to rise and fall with greater ardor. Now she was almost at the crux of passion, yearning for the moment when she should taste the sweet virginity of this naked slave whom she had humbled through her own sadistic skill.
She let the unfortunate, weeping naked girl continue this obeisance for a long moment. And then she purred, "Straighten up on your knees now, and help me unfasten this body sheath of mine."
Uncomprehendingly, poor Edwina looked up at her cruel, flushed face, into the narrowed and gleaming eyes which bore into her like a gimlet. To quicken the girl's responses, Serafina brutally slapped Edwina's face, first one cheek and then the other with her gloved right hand, till the girl's head bobbed about and her cries became deafening.
"Stop crying, you little fool, or I'll ready give you something to cry about. I'll have you tied up by the toes, do you understand, dangling downwards, and I'll whip you between the legs until I tear off all that pretty hair which hides that naughty slit of yours, do you understand me?"
"Oh don't-I'll do whatever you want-but please don't wh-wh-whip me anymore, oh please don't, M-Miss C-Calavaro," Edwina Carruthers whimpered, upturning her desolately contorted, teardrowned face to the implacable imperatrix.
"Then do what I told you to and quickly! Here, don't you see the fasteners? Loosen them, and then pull the sheath back down and help me step out of it. Be quick about it, you stupid bitch!" Serafina Calavaro harangued the sobbing, terrified, half-fainting captive.
With fumbling fingers, poor Edwina, her golden hair streaming down over one lovely tear-stained cheek, feverishly hastened to obey. At last the sheath descended from that supple, svelte body. Serafina Calavaro was still an enchantingly desirable woman, with the perverse allure of the lesbian sadist. Her pear shaped titties were still remarkably firm for age, needing no brassiere's support. They were small but beautifully contoured, with narrow, brownish-orangeish aurolae centering pert, dusky buds. But when the sheath was dragged down and her loins bared, Edwina could not help gasping and shrinking back in a kind of abhorrence in offended modesty: the dominatress's cunt fleece was exaggeratedly thick and shaggy, densely black and completely covering the lips of her sex. A cool, comprehending smile warped the moist, thin lips of this cool Lesbian. "Yes, Edwina. I have decided to take over your education. Since you prefer to play your stealthy little games at night in the dormitory with your roommates, you have been punished for this as you now know. But since you have a preference for this kind of thing, I am going to make you practice it on me, for I am immune to your wiles. And if you do not service me as I wish, the whipping you have just had will be child's play compared with what I intend for you, is that understood?"
Edwina Carruthers, her voice choked in her throat, could only nod and tremble, still kneeling, and now she was bidden to pull the sheath off the booted legs of the dominatress.
Now in boots and gloves alone, Serafina Calavaro stood naked before her crushed and conquered prey.
"Now then," she instructed in a sibilant hiss, "put your hands on my bottom, squeeze it lovingly, and kiss my pussy. You know what I mean, don't you, Edwina? Seeing what you did with Cecelia last night, you certainly ought to know what a girl's pussy is!"
"Oh God, but I didn't, I swear I didn't, why I've never done anything like this before-oh don't make me do it, Miss Calavaro, I implore you, oh have mercy on me, I'm a d-d-decent girl, I've never- oh please!" Edwina wailed.
Cruelly Serafina Calavaro seized the tumbled golden tresses in her left gloved hand, twisted and yanked them, and then began to slap Edwina's tearstained face with her right palm, first one cheek and then the other, rocking and buffeting the girl's head back and forth until Edwina's wails and screams indicated to her that the victim was now ready to perform the most degraded tasks in order to escape any further punishment. "Very well, then, do what I told you to! Let me feel your lips on my pussy, Edwina. A long tender sweet kiss, such as you must have given little Cecelia last night, eh?"
And this time, poor Edwina Carruthers knew better than to argue or discuss or beg for mercy. Shuddering so violently that she could feel the retching of nausea, weakened from the terrible burning pain of the martinet, her body tortured in places she had never dreamed a girl could be whipped upon, the golden haired penitent now forced herself to press her lips against that thick, shaggy black cunthair.
"That's very good. Harder, though, I can't quite feel your lips-ah, that's better! Now squeeze my bottom-mmmm-that's very nice, Edwina. I'll teach you to be a little bitch yet, you'll see. Now put your tongue out and rub it over my pussy. Do what I tell you to, or I swear you'll be whipped in front of the entire school to the very blood!"
The torture which still made poor naked Edwina Carruthers wriggle and squirm her hips as she knelt before this perverse directress, was sufficient reminder to the unfortunate young beauty that she dare not risk the danger of more punishment. Conquering not only her pride but also her repugnance, she forced herself to thrust her tongue against the pussylips of Serafina Calavaro.
Cooing like a dove now, the Lesbian dominatress instructed her charge. "Slowly now, all around and round-aahhh, that's awfully good- mmmmm, you sweet little bitch, you're learning quickly, aren't you? Oh don't try to tell me that you've never done this before. What you're doing now to me is proof enough of what a little liar you were! Ah, not so fast, be careful, or I'll whip you good on your big titties! And now, put your tongue inside of me and rub it around until you feel the little button. That's my clitoris you bitch, and it will make me randy enough to come. Do it!"
And again, since she had said A, she knew she must also say B, and so the weeping naked golden haired victim complied with this new degradation. Her tongue found the clitoris, and Serafina Calavaro moaned in bliss as, closing her eyes, her gloved finger still tightly twisted in the yanked-up tresses of her captive, she cupped one of Edwina's titties with her other hand and fondled and squeezed it to enforce obedience.
It was not until her body was shaken by a violent spasm of creaming that she at last languidly released the weeping girl and told her coldly, "Now you may go to the infirmary and tell Miss Allan that I want her to report to me just before supper time to see in what condition you are. If you are a very good girl, Edwina dear, I may send for you tonight at bedtime. Put your clothes back on and get out of here now!"
And this was the school to which Grace Munson had determined to send her hated step daughter Willa! Nor did it at all matter to her egoistic nature what was to befall the lovely, courageous girl.
The problem which Willa Munson caused her jealous and greedy stepmother was hardly unique. Indeed, at about the same time Grace Munson was perusing the brochure from the Calavaro School for Young Ladies with a view towards enrolling Willa in what would be a kind of teenaged torture house, Arnold Fortescue was arranging to send his lovely seventeen-year-old niece Margaret to that very institution.
Arnold Fortescue was a squire with landed estates in Devonshire, and, at fifty-one, was still a bachelor and likely to be till his dying day. But this was not to say he did not enjoy pussy; quite the contrary, he delectated over young pussy especially, and he had had eyes on his niece for some little time.
Indeed, when she was only fourteen, he felt his prick harden at the thought of making her kneel down and French him, dandle her on his lap and feel her slim, long thighs and the soft, delicately-haired cleft of her pussy as well as her budding titties. But now, since his brother and sister-in-law were six months in their graves as the result of a plane crash over the Andes on their way to Peru, after having visited Rio for the Great Festival, Arnold Fortescue at last believed that his tempting young niece could become trained to be his bedroom slave.
She was now legally his ward, and he controlled a rather large estate which her parents had left her. He had banking connections in a little town some twenty miles from which his lavish estate was located, and the head of the bank was an old chess-playing and drinking companion who believed that Arnold Fortescue was the soul of virtue and integrity. Not a little of this friendship had come about through Arnold's furnishing him with several attractive weekend assignations with ladies of dubious virtue but nonetheless deliciously attractive and quite complaisant.
Margaret Fortescue was about five feet seven inches in height, had auburn hair done up in ringlets along the top of her forehead and gathered into a prim bun at the back of her neck. She was willowy, but her bottom was superbly spacious, and her titties were hard young, closely spaced pears which jutted arrogantly against the front of her invariably tight blouses. She was in a private school at the moment, much like Delton, where Willa was, but Margaret's school did not believe in corporal punishment, and Arnold Fortescue most assuredly did.
Only last week, under the pretext that she had been impertinent to him, he had rather playfully caught her by the hips, forced her down on his lap, tucked up her little black uniform skirt and smacked her a few times over her bloomers-the school was old-fashioned enough to require this outmoded item of feminine apparel. When he finally let her go, Margaret's face was violently flushed, her eyes sparkled with anger, and through her tears, she informed him that he should not have done a stupid thing like that to her and that she would never forgive him for it. He had tried to draw her to him and kiss her, but she had slapped his face.
He was now resolutely determined to put her into a correctional institution, where perhaps through the connivance of the directress or the principal, as the case might be, Margaret might be taught to respond to him with the utmost humility and eagerness to serve. And the service that he wished from her was the offer of her voluptuous young pale-white-skinned body, as well as the cherry of her virginity.
And accordingly, in line with his lecherous plans, Arnold Fortescue had sent his niece Margaret off to the Calavaro School, exactly two weeks before Grace Munson had made her fateful decision to send her detested stepdaughter Willa to the same establishment.
Margaret was spirited and precociously intellectual. Her grades were in the upper fifteen of the class, but it was not her scholastic ability that concerned her uncle. She was known to be flirtatiously inclined towards the opposite sex, and that was fine so far as it concerned him-but she had no use for him whatsoever. His cook, who was an uninhibited gossip, often narrated long and luridly detailed accounts of how she had observed Margaret walking down the alleyway hand in hand with some gawky boy, and how even once she had seen the two of them exchange kisses. This posed a threat to Arnold Fortescue's intentions to be the first to taste the soft furry cleft between his niece's supple thighs.
Accordingly, he wrote a lengthy letter to Matthew Calavaro himself, in which he explained that his niece was forward, impetuous and arrogant, that she considered herself superior to almost anyone else, and that in his opinion her spirit should be chastened. He had received a letter back almost at once, indicating that the shrewd director of this establishment had read between the lines and comprehended his motive. Further correspondence followed, and by this time Arnold Fortescue was mentally rubbing his hands in glee at the prospect of visiting the school in the near future and finding that from an intolerable and indomitable vixen, he had found himself a pliable and docile and servile bedbitch.
And so, suspecting that there might be a considerable premium paid him if he was able to guarantee Arnold Fortescue's desires, Matthew Calavaro determined to subject lovely auburn-haired Margaret to the weight of his scholastic discipline.
Margaret was greatly annoyed to find herself sent off to this lonely school in the moors, so far away from London, and still more so when she discovered that she would be expected to take summer school courses. She was a senior in high school by scholastic grade, and she had counted on starting the first year of college. But her uncle hypocritically remarked to her that she was still his ward, and the school she had attended previously had, in his opinion, not academically ranked so high as the Calavaro institution.
In a sense, it was a relief to Margaret to escape her uncle's lecherous attentions because this seventeen-year-old wise virgin suspected quite well what he had in mind for her. She also detested his cook, Mrs. Gloriba, a Cockney Englishwoman who had married a Rumanian hotel manager and then fallen upon evil days when he took to drinking and she was forced to go into domestic service. Mrs. Gloriba loved nothing better than spreading scandal about her neighbors and particularly about lovely Margaret, who she thought gave herself far too many airs and, in her own words before Arnold Fortescue, "ought to be given a good smacking on that uppity arse of hers, sir, because then she'd come around, to my way of thinking." And it was precisely Arnold Fortescue's way of thinking, also.
And so during the very first week of her enrollment, Margaret Fortescue found herself in a class of about a dozen girls of seventeen and eighteen years of age, all of them from distant places and all of them consigned by relatives or near-kin who wished to get rid of them. She was under the direct supervision of Clara Moncrief, an instructress who, like all the others on the Calavaro staff, had been screened by the brother and sister to make sure that she would show no mercy when it came to inflicting corporal punishment on her unruly charges.
Clara Moncrief was thirty-two, about five feet eight, with light-brown hair cropped rather short, suggesting mannish tendencies. She was a Lesbian, and thus she appealed vastly to Serafina Calavaro, whose particular favorite she was. Both women, though aggressive, could adapt themselves to pussy rubbing and gamming in their tenderer moments, but both women preferred most of all to apply a sadistic regimen to the lovely young victims at their disposal and held captive by being enrolled in this very isolated school.
Clara Moncrief had been raped by a hitchhiker when she had been eighteen, while she was driving near Bournemouth. The man had worn an Army fatigue outfit, and Clara had given him a lift because she felt sorry for him. An hour later, lying on the wet stone floor of an abandoned old house out in the countryside, her panties torn off and her skirt lofted above her waist, her wrists tied behind her back, she was regretting her charitable instinct. He fucked her thoroughly, and then, rolling her over onto her belly, he used his belt to whip her on her saucily oval shaped bottomglobes until she weepingly agreed to French him. After that, he buggered her, and finally, after about six hours of captivity, fucked her again by making her pull her knees back to her titties and arch up her bare bottom and palpitating quim to his rigid cock.
The consequence was that Clara Moncrief detested man almost as much as Serafina did, though for a different reason. And both women loved to whip and torture helpless young girls, because the beauty of the latter reminded them of the cruel and brutal men whom ultimately these girls would embrace and love.
So when Clara Moncrief saw Margaret Fortescue seated in the front of her class, her steely gray eyes contemplated the girl with more than usual interest. Having been documented by Serafina Calavaro herself on what was expected of her in the training of this novice, Clara Moncrief decided to put into effect at once a regimen of severity which would cause the girl to rebel and thus give ample pretext for giving the girl a good thrashing. She called on the girl on the fourth day of this first week and insolently remarked. "Now then, Miss Fortescue, knowing that you are new to us and that you come to us with an excellent reputation for scholarly achievement, will you be so kind as to give me the dates of the Norman Conquest, the signing of the Magna Carta, and also the approximate era of the Albigensian War?"
Margaret Fortescue flushed hotly as she saw the other girls turn to look at her. And in a clear, sweet voice which had nothing of hauteur to it, pronounced the dates and did so with exemplary correctness.
"You are something of a showoff, I perceive, Margaret," Clara Moncrief drawled. "I'll give you something harder to do." She handed the humiliated beauty a primer such as a child in the fourth or fifth grade might read, and asked Margaret to stand at the desk and read ten pages aloud to her colleagues. It was an idiotic story, and Margaret glanced angrily several times at her headmistress. Finally, halfway through, she gasped out, "But this is ridiculous, Miss Moncrief! You can't learn anything from this. It's for a child."
"You are insubordinate and insolent, my girl. You have the audacity to tell me how I am supposed to teach you girls? I think, young lady, we are going to pay a visit to Miss Calavaro's office."
So when the other girls had been dismissed, Clara Moncrief led the fuming, indignant beauty to the office of the dominatress. Coldly receiving the anguished newcomer, Serafina Calavaro looked up at her accomplice and said, "I quite concur, Clara. This girl needs discipline in the very worst way. Do what you think best. You have my full authorization."
"Come along, my girl," Clara Moncrief decreed. Taking Margaret Fortescue by the wrist, she led her out of the directress' office and down a flight of stairs which led to the various punishment chambers which had been admirably equipped for disciplinary purposes... as well as for the ultimate lecherous enjoyment of the accredited and affluent members of the Board of Trustees and all of whom endowed financially the strange brother sister who operated this torture house-for such it was.
When Clara Moncrief pulled open the door and shoved Margaret inside, the latter uttered a cry of disbelief. There was a saw horse in one corner of the room, a spanking stool whose top was padded with thick black leather in the other, and in the middle was a low, flat, rectangular whipping bench equipped with buckling straps at head, foot and in the middle to bind the victim immutably.
Finally, there was a cross arm whipping post with a little platform standing about a foot off the floor, and at each end of the cross arm was a metal ring which locked around the victim's wrist.
"What are you going to do to me, I forbid you to touch me-no, no, don't touch me, let me go!" Margaret Fortescue cried as she tried to break her wrist free of the headmistress's hold.
"Whip you, my beauty," was the exultant and gloating reply.
"Oh no! You shan't! I'd rather die!"
"You shan't die and you shall be whipped. Now then, to get you ready for it." the brown-haired instructress exclaimed.
Margaret had begun to struggle, but the agile and athletic Clara Moncrief was more than a match for her. In a trice, the woman had her victim forced up against the whipping post, each wrist locked by the gyves, forced to stand on tiptoe-for the cross arm was adjustable. Then, methodically and very lingeringly, glorying in the sensation of mastering this beauty whose naked charms she was about to unveil for the first time, Clara Moncrief lifted the black skirt of the school uniform, then the petticoat, safety pinned them up above the girl's waist, and then attacked the old-fashioned cotton bloomers every girl in the school was obliged to wear.
"No! I forbid you to do that-stop it-oh no, Miss Moncrief, you shan't-I've never been whipped-I didn't do anything-this is unjust- you have no right!" the girl cried angrily, jerking at her shackled wrists.
"I have every right, you little bitch. Didn't you hear Miss Calavaro say so, right in front of you? I'll tell you this, Margaret, you're going to be flogged within an inch of your life until you bend to my will. Now get yourself ready. You have a magnificent arse, made exactly right for whipping, and be sure, my girl, that every time you disobey or annoy me, it shall be bared like this and smacked and spanked and whipped-like this!" Suiting action to word, the Lesbian drew back her right hand and applied a vehement stroke against first the right asscheek and then the left, making Margaret lunge against the whipping post with a stifled cry of indignation and pain.
The pale creamy skin of this voluptuous, svelte girl excited the Lesbian instructress. It marked beautifully, as was testified at once by the two bright pink splotches which outlined her palm on the shuddering, contracting asscheeks. The globes were spaciously full, with a very narrow crease between them.
"How does that feel, my girl?" Clara Moncrief taunted. "I'm going to start by giving you a very simple spanking. Or, as we call it, a smackbottom. After that, we'll see if you're not more amenable to my orders. Get that big arse of yours ready."
"Ohhhhh! I'll tell my uncle-he'll take me out of this miserable school-ouch-stop it-oh, this is unjust, infamous-ahrrr-you are hurting me!" The beautiful auburn haired virgin began indignantly to protest, but all through those protests, Clara Moncrief continued to smack those jouncy asscheeks with the full force of her arm, flattening the flesh and making Margaret Fortescue lunge desperately against the post, until she cried out in anguished distress. Her head turned back over her shoulder, and she saw the face of the Lesbian transformed with greedy, sadistic lust. Then again the spanking resumed, it was energetic and deliberate, and soon Clara Moncrief had covered that voluptuous, pale creamy-skinned ass with vivid, bright red splotches, so not an inch of uncut flesh remained.
Trying her best to hold back her cries and give her executioner no satisfaction, Margaret Fortescue ground her teeth and closed her eyes, digging her fingernails into the wood of the cross arm. The shackles around her wrists were tight and chafed her delicate wrists, and her pride was chafed, and even more, her virgin ass. By now some fifty slaps had rendered it a bright scarlet and she was breathing in gasps, tears running down her cheeks as she shifted from foot to foot and tried methodically to escape the harsh impact of that tireless palm.
But at last Clara Moncrief stopped, out of breath, her eyes sparkling with desire, her small, orange-like titties rising and falling violently in her excitement. Going to the wall, she took down a whippy yellow Malacca cane with a cord grip, and approached the panting, groaning captive.
"Do you see this, Margaret? You are going to get a baker's dozen with it. After that, we are going to have a special session of class just for the two of us, and you are going to tell me whether you feel up to answering my questions respectfully this time. Attention now-I begin!"
Hardly had she uttered these last words, than with an angry Spatt! the whippy cane darted across Margaret Fortescue's upper bottom-summits. A wild shriek of pain resounded, and the frantic, helpless beauty turned back her contorted face to beg for mercy, even against her will. "Eeeeeeowwwouuu! Oh, it cuts, it burns, it tears me, oh stop, you've no right to whip me like this, you've no right at all!"
"Still obstinate, are you, Margaret? The cane will have the final word, you'll see. That stroke won't count. You still have thirteen to go. Get ready!"
Now there followed a vicious cut across the base of both asscheeks, and Margaret Fortescue tilted back her head to stare at the ceiling and shriek wildly as her body jerked convulsively under the fiery kiss of the flexible rattan.
"That is one, my girl. And here comes the second," the Lesbian announced. The cane bit with a wicked crack across the ripest curves of Margaret Fortescue's ass-summits.
"Now for the third," the headmistress sibilantly announced, this time pressing the cane against the side of Margaret's right hip to let her know where the next blow would fall. She grinned sadistically as she saw the girl jerk her hips frantically away from the cane. Then she raised her arm and, deliberately suspending the blow, waited until the girl was panting and defenseless. Then the cane fell with an angry crack, and again Margaret shrieked wildly in her agony.
By the time the thirteenth cut had been called out, Margaret was sagging from the whipping post, her body shaken with hysterical, convulsive sobs.
"There!" Clara Moncrief murmured. "Now do you think you can be a good girl? Or shall I take the leather paddle to your big arse, Margaret?"
"Ohh-ahhhh-oh G-G-God-oh, no more, M-Miss M-Moncrief-I'll do wh-whatever you w-w-want, only for G-God's sake, oh stop, I beseech you humbly, oh how I suffer!" the young girl wailed.
The gyves were unlocked, and she slumped to the floor. A cut of the cane over her stockinged left calf make her scream and come to an attentive post on the floor, facing her cruel executioner. "Kiss the cane, bitch!" the dominatress hissed, and held it out to that trembling mouth. Pitifully, all her courage fled now, all her self-esteem, all her pride gone, Margaret Fortescue pressed her lips to the infamous weapon which had left such ugly, darkening weals on her ripe virgin ass.
Clara Moncrief would have loved nothing more than to make the girl gamahuch her or pussy rub with her, but she had strict orders from Serafino Calavaro. This girl was to be preserved for her uncle, and only he would take his right over her submissive body. The fee paid would compensate them for the temporary envy and regret they would experience in not being able to corrupt this beautiful auburn haired virgin in the way of Lesbos.
Margaret Fortescue was to become a partner in the torture house, along with Willa Munson and beautiful Edwina Carruthers. Exactly like poor Margaret Fortescue, the charming sixteen-year-old Katherine Hollingsworth was to be educated for the purpose of becoming ultimately her elderly uncle's love-slave. As a consequence, the coppery-red-haired girl had been enrolled in the Calavaro School with old Horace Denby's strict injunction against any physical pleasure being taken with her save by himself. Yet on the other hand he gave the Calavaros full authority to whip and smack and thrash and humiliate lovely, spirited Katherine as they deemed advisable in order to quell her innately rebellious temperament so that she would become a dutiful and humble slave-bitch.
Just as Arnold Fortescue counted not only on enjoying the body of his auburn haired niece Margaret but also her estate, so the unscrupulous Horace Denby intended to confiscate all of Katherine's legacy for his own devious purposes. His expenses at the Calavaro School were quite high, understandably; the tuition was purposely set high in order to attract those who had ulterior motives for getting rid of their charges or nieces or even daughters as the case might be, and also because persons who could afford to pay such a tuitional sum, usually, the wily Matthew Calavaro rightly decided, had lechery as well as larceny in their hearts to start with.
However, the primary difference between Katherine and Margaret was that the former had absolutely no idea that her old uncle had carnal desires upon her delicious virginal body. She mourned her parents, and was quite disconsolate when the old lecher sanctimoniously told her that she must be sent to the Calavaro institution for her own good, since it was one of the finest schools in England.
When she saw the place, out on the lonely moors, she quailed with a certain nameless fear- certainly justified! And a week or two after she had began the late-summer courses which all such new entrants were required to take, she ran afoul of her instructress, Brenda Carstairs.
Brenda Carstairs was thirty-five, tall and stately, with chestnut hair piled in a coronet braid around the top of her head and with an oval bun at the nape of her neck. She looked like a beautiful, haughty Amazon, and she was also a Lesbian like Matthew Calavaro's sister as well as Clara Moncrief. Her body was absolutely stunning, and there were times when Matthew Calavaro eyed her with a glint of lust in his gaze, but he knew better than to attempt any overtures on a woman who had no use for men. The instructress, however, was somewhat standoffish and kept to herself, which annoyed Serafina Calavaro a great deal because she herself had designs on Brenda's elegantly sculptured body. But Brenda Carstairs much preferred to terrorize and dominate younger girls, preferably between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, and make them bed slaves who would gam and pussyrub with her to her heart's content.
Katherine's day of reckoning came exactly eight days after she had begun her enrollment. It was in an open class of about fourteen members, between the ages of fifteen and sixteen, and Brenda Carstairs was conducting an exercise in French. The Calavaro brochure made great to-do about the cultural courses which were offered to all pupils, and French was one of these.
Katharine had the misfortune to mispronounce one of the nouns which Brenda Carstairs asked her to say aloud, and when the Lesbian instructress corrected the red-haired girl, Katharine made the further blunder of repeating her error, simply because the language was quite new to her.
"Are you trying to draw attention to yourself, Miss?" the chestnut-haired instructress angrily demanded.
"Oh no, Miss Carstairs, but I've never studied French before, and I just can't quite pronounce it the way you want," was the innocent answer.
"Try again, Brenda Carstairs maliciously urged.
And Katharine did, with a third unfortunate result. Brenda Carstairs' dark-brown eyes narrowed with anger: "That will do, Miss! At the end of this class, you are going to learn what it means to play your little practical jokes. I don't know what school you attended before you came here, but we at Calavaro School for Young Ladies have our own ideas about discipline."
And so when all the other girls had been released, Katharine Hollingsworth sat nervously at the desk while Brenda Carstairs sat at hers without a word, writing reports. After fifteen agonizing minutes had passed, the Lesbian at last rose and said coldly, "Follow me."
Wonderingly, the coppery-haired young girl obeyed. And, just like poor Edwina and Margaret, she found herself led into the cellar of this ancient castle-like edifice, stopped before a metal door which her instructress then opened and pushed her inside. It was, just as Edwina and Margaret also had discovered to their consternation, one of the many punishment chambers in which this torture house abounded.
It was smaller than the others, and it contained a low wide couch, a sawhorse with an extremely sharp ridge at whose front and rear legs buckling straps were attached, a leather-padded whipping stool, and a St. Andrew's cross. Brenda Carstairs contemplated the trembling, wide-eyed redhead and then commanded, "Now you may take your skirt, blouse and petticoat off, my girl."
"But why, Miss Carstairs?"
"Because I tell you to, you little vixen! You are going to be whipped."
"I-wh-hipped?" Katharine Hollingsworth echoed, her voice breaking with emotion. "Oh no! You shan't do that to me, I haven't done anything wrong!"
"Not done anything wrong, indeed!" the instructress mocked her. "And all that mispronouncing of the word which is so simple for anyone in the class except yourself, and you who came to us with such high grades in your previous school-do you think I am a fool, Katharine Hollingsworth? It is you who are the fool if you believe that I shall let you leave this room without having your arse exposed, yes, stark naked, and well thrashed as you so richly deserve! Now then, pay attention. If you don't at once obey me, I shall call in two of the matrons here and they will forcibly strip you stark naked, and then you will lie over that sawhorse and be tied down so that it presses you very uncomfortably between the legs. Your big bottom will be up in the air and I shall whip it. Miss. Now then, do what I told you to if you expect any mercy!"
Dazed and horrified by this prospect, so unjust and so undeserved, Katharine Hollingsworth made the fatal blunder of trying to run. The door, of course, was locked, and the dominatress seized her and a brief struggle ensued. It was soon over, as Katharine cried out in pain from half a dozen stinging slaps across her face. Once she tried to defend herself, but Brenda Carstairs seized one wrist and doubled it behind the young girl's back until she bent down to ease the terrible traction with a shrill cry of pain.
It was extremely simple for the instructress, practiced as she was in such matters, to force the sobbing, distraught girl over to the sawhorse and make her mount astride it. Instantly crouching, Brenda Carstairs seized each wrist in turn and strapped it tightly, drawing the buckle up until Katharine cried out in pain. Then her legs were attached in the same way by the ankles of the girl, encased as they were in black silk hose. It was the incongruity of these fine old-fashioned hose and the old-fashioned, childish bloomers, which gave all girl pupils in the Calavaro school a most provocative appeal to the perverse instructresses as well as to the brother and sister who ruled this torture house and finally to their elegantly socialite and wealthy clients.
Now, disregarding the sobs and pleas of the unfortunate young girl, Brenda Carstairs hoisted up the skirt and petticoat, and then ripped the bloomers off entirely. This was not done without considerable jostling of the tethered young body, and as soon as poor Katherine's dainty redfurred virgin cunthole bore down upon the sharp ridge of the saw horse, she uttered a piercing cry, "Oh please, oh let me go, oh this hurts me so, please, Miss Carstairs!"
But Brenda Carstairs was wrapped in contemplation of the magnificent virgin ass which now appeared to her upturned, vulnerable and lewdly distended by the cruel ridge of the saw horse. The cheeks were plump ovals, extremely jouncy and resilient, and the skin was milky pale with tiny rosy flecks to make it even more alluring. Katherine's thighs were long and shapely, her calves also long and sinuously highset.
These charming nether globes were divided by a deeply widening furrow, which broadened at the base of the bottomcheeks, and gave access to both orifices. Thus, as the unfortunate young girl sobbingly arched herself away from the dreadful ridge which pressed against her pussy, Brenda Carstairs could see the soft pink lips of that dainty maiden quim framed by the dark-red pussycurls which made it the most enchanting sight in the world to the aggressive Lesbian.
It was true that the Calavaros had instructed her particularly to exclude Katharine Hollingsworth from all sensual "education," which was to be undertaken by her lustful old uncle. But the sight of that lovely behind, those graceful long thighs which the black silk stockings made even more exciting and particularly in heightening the contrast between the black and the pale satin of her bare skin above, as well as the sight of that virgin cunthole, made Brenda Carstairs determined to be the first to taste sweet Katherine's maiden charms. She could do this, she knew, by swearing the victim to silence by means of the most baleful threats.
"First, for your insolence, I'm going to give you a smacked bottom," she announced, "Then, for your impertinence and your little prank in drawing attention to yourself, you shall have the strap. After that I shall expect you to kneel down and beg forgiveness from me, you little vixen. Attention now, I'm going to begin."
"Oh no-oh please don't whip me, please, I did nothing, I didn't mean to get you angry, I didn't mean I-owwhhh! Oh it hurts, oh please don't, oh this dreadful thing is hurting me between my legs, Miss Carstairs, oh please take me down, I can't-aarrr-oh please, you're hurting me-oh, I beg of you- I can't- eeeyeoww!!"
For, completely ignoring the pathetic plaints of the young victim, Brenda Carstairs, palming the small of the girl's back with her left hand, had lifted her right and begun to spank the naked oval asscheeks so provocatively upturned to her attentions. Each blow flattened the resilient flesh, and forced the unfortunate girl to press her cunt against the cruelly probing narrow wooden ridge of this sawhorse. Every time she wriggled or moved or twisted about, she felt the frictioning chafe of the ridge, and so this became a double ordeal of pain and shame and torment for her.
The spanking lasted a long time, and before it ended, Katharine hysterically begged pardon, promised she would be very good and would do anything that was asked of her, and implored mercy. The dominatress let her sob and squirm and groan a long moment on that horse, as she began to undress. Under her black gown, which was the obligatory costume for all instructresses, she wore a thin slip, a satin brassiere and a panty girdle whose tabs hooked to her sheer black nylon hose. She removed her slip and stood in the deshabile of bra and panty girdle, and then slowly walked over to the wall and took down a long leather strap whose end was shaped like an arrow in order to impart additional sting to the victim's flesh. It was about four feet long, with an extra-thick handle end of six inches, and when poor Katharine saw this terrible fustigatory implement, she began to please in broken, sobbing words for mercy: "Oh Miss, oh please, Miss, oh don't-oh not anymore- oh I hurt so- I'll be good- I won't ever be naughty again-if you'll only spare me anymore- oh not that awful strap, you'll kill me-oh it hurts me so between my legs, oh please let me go!"
"I want to be certain that you will be obedient henceforth, Katharine. We shall try a few strokes of the strap and see how you behave," was the hypocritical answer.
Planting herself at the victim's left and well behind her, Brenda Carstairs raised the strap and brought it down in a diagonal, slashing cut which sent the arrow-shaped tip of the weapon against the edge of the girl's right hip and leaped over the huddling, flaming bottom-globes. The violent contraction of Katherine's ass-muscles made the oval cheeks of her behind clench violently, only to spasm open and expose once more the exquisite furrow which led to her virgin bumhole and to gape apart the soft pink lips of her tender quim. Her cry was piercing and agonized, and her body leaped and squirmed as she turned back her tear stained face to implore pardon.
A second lash followed, as Brenda Carstairs swiftly crossed to the girl's right and laid the strap from left to right, the pointed tip of it biting home against the edge of Katherine's naked left hip. Again a wild scream ensued, and once again poor Katherine tried to arch her body off the horse to ease the atrocious grinding chafe against her already cruelly twinging pussy.
The third lash followed horizontally, leaping across both huddling and squirming, flaming asscheeks, and the girl's cry was deafening this time: "Eeeeyouuuueeeahrrr!!! Oh, no more, I'll do anything you want, only spare me, please, Miss Carstairs, I'll be good, I'll be so good!"
"Do you promise? Will you do whatever I tell you to if I stop?" And again the strap leaped across the ripest curves of both flaming, shuddering asscheeks.
"Aiiii- oohhhrrr, oh yes, only stop!"
"I shall see. But if you don't obey me, Miss, back on the horse you go and I shall whip you raw," was the sibilant answer.
Swiftly now, her eyes flaming with lust, Brenda Carstairs crossed to the horse, unstrapped the girl's wrists and ankles and helped her stumble off, watching her sink down on her knees and groan, one hand rubbing her sore pussy, the other her welted bottom.
"Take off everything except your stockings!" was Brenda Carstair's next command.
Thinking only of easing her suffering, poor Katharine obeyed and stood there trembling and sobbing, absolutely divine clad in only the black stockings and garters, having scuffed off her shoes at the dominatress's command.
Brenda Carstairs went to the dungeon door and turned the lock so that no one could disturb her. Then, reaching behind her, she undid the bra and let it flutter to the floor, and next the panty girdle, till she was naked except for her hose and pumps. Then she moved over to the couch at the far end of the room at the back, lay down upon it and murmured huskily, "Come to me, Katharine. You must do whatever I tell you to, or I'll whip you severely, you understand me? And if you dare to tell a soul of this, I shall call you a liar before the entire school and have you flogged, yes, Miss, just on a horse like this with everyone watching as I give you the birch rod on your naked behind and legs and well between them!"
With a cry of terror, the naked coppery-haired teenager almost ran to the couch and flung herself upon the dominatress. With a mocking, triumphant smile, Brenda Carstairs cupped the girl's panting titties, rubbing her thumbs against the dainty nipples, till they stiffened. Then, at her order, poor sobbing Katharine kissed her on the mouth, and allowed the dominatress' tongue to probe between her lips while now Brenda Carstair's hands squeezed those shuddering, swollen bottomcheeks as she commanded the girl, "Now rub yourself against me till I'm satisfied. Either that, or you shall be whipped very hard!"
Thus it was that Horace Denby's lovely sixteen-year-old niece was initiated into the rituals of Sappho as well as those of the lash. All the same, her virginity was still spared and it would be reserved for Horace Denby's ignominious lust.
CHAPTER EIGHT
While his perverse sister was amusing herself with lovely golden-haired Edwina Carruthers, Matthew Calavaro was at this same moment quite preoccupied in another punishment chamber on the same corridor exhibiting the newly acquired obedience of a lovely seventeen-year-old girl whom he proposed to sell as a "companion and ward" to an elderly lecher who was one of the school's most ardent and affluent supporters.
Her name was Maxine Bolton, and she had had the misfortune of being the niece of an unscrupulous uncle whose mania for gambling had robbed her of not only of her inheritance, but was about to rob her of her freedom as well. Maxine's parents had opened a little restaurant in Soho about eighteen years before, and its culinary fame had so spread that within two years they were obliged to open a second in the financial section of London. At the time of their death in an airplane accident in Spain three years ago, their chain numbered fifteen restaurants all of which were making a very handsome profit.
Carl Desmond, the older brother of Maxine's mother, had been the black sheep of the family and had squandered his own patrimony on women and then roulette at Cannes Monte Carlo. He was a manufacturer's representative and traveled throughout the British Isles, earning a handsome salary and commissions. But he had joined a key club, one of the most exclusive in all of London, and its fees were so high that he was at a loss to look for new revenue to meet them. Quite by accident he had had a brochure from the Calavaro School for Young Ladies, and he too had read between the lines to understand that stern discipline was the key word to this institution. A visit to the school itself and a private interview with Matthew Calavaro convinced him of the value of enrolling his lovely young niece. Matthew Calavaro intimated to him that if he were willing, there would be several wealthy amateurs who would be quite eager to pay a very high price to obtain Maxine as their personal slave. And so he had written a letter of authorization to the rascally owner of the school urging him to consummate a sale for as high a price as he could get without delay, since his club was pressing him for dues.
Two weeks ago, Maxine had had her first whipping before the entire class, held down over her teacher's desk by two of the girls who grasped her wrists, while her teacher herself lifted Maxine's skirt and lowered her bloomers and proceeded to administer first a humiliating smackbottom and then five stinging smacks with a leather tawse. The humiliation and shame outweighed the pain, and the courageous young beauty endured this chastisement-to the surprise of the class as well as of her teacher-with remarkable fortitude and very few outcries.
But of course she had been marked down as a candidate for servitude and sale, and so her teacher continued to harass her until the usually even-tempered brown-haired beauty openly rebelled in class one day. That was three days ago, and she had spent three nights and two days in this punishment cell undergoing a very rigorous training, the goal of which was to prepare her to be sold for the sum of five thousand pounds (about $14,000 in American money).
On the afternoon of the day she had rebelled in class, Maxine had been taken to this torture chamber-for such it really was-and there blindfolded and left standing facing a rear wall, tied up by the thumbs and made to stand on tiptoe. Three agonizing hours had passed until at last the door opened and Matthew Calavaro himself entered, wearing a one-piece body sheath of gleaming black leather, a mask over his face, and black gloves and boots. He lectured the unfortunate young beauty on her defiant conduct and insubordination, and informed her that she was to be severely whipped. Then, trussing up her clothes and lowering her bloomers, he inflicted a long and humiliating handspanking, often stopping to squeeze and pinch and caress her shuddering, opulently rounded milky asscheeks, fingering between them and grazing her anus and then at times sliding his hand in front of her and feeling her virgin cunt. At this, she protested with tearful indignation, begging him to whip her and be done with it but not to humiliate her so. He saw this remark of hers as pretext to give her still more punishment, finding that she was far too insolent and impertinent.
Before the session was over, poor Maxine found herself with her bloomers and stockings and shoes completely removed, capering under the kisses of a thin hickory switch which striped her milky skin from ankles to the chinkbone and back again. But she still held out, still maintained that she had been right and that her teacher had unjustly condemned her, and she indignantly denounced Matthew Calavaro for his indecency in touching her where he had done.
Greatly amused at this ingenuous defense, the sadistic and perverted owner of the school left her there all night long without food or water, and did not return until the next morning at about nine. Poor Maxine had spent a terrible night, sleepless, her thumbs aching and swollen from being tied up so long, and the muscles of her feet ached abominably because she had been obliged to stand on tiptoe all this time. He studied the marks left on her legs and bottom, squatted down and then began to caress her. Again she burst into indignant tears and began to denounce him as a rogue and a villain. She was quite mature for her seventeen years, and her speech had that classical and academic ring to it which one expects perhaps in older people who are not at all practical. He found this of course quite amusing. It only increased his desire to conquer this beautiful rebel.
When he asked Maxine whether she was ready to make a public apology to her classmates and her teacher, she still defiantly refused. He smiled to himself because that was precisely the answer he desired. Still squatting, he put his hands on her bare calves and passed them slowly up her naked legs, admiring the satiny skin, the smooth contours and the mobile flexions of her lithe muscles. Once again Maxine struggled, begging him to punish her if he had to but not to touch her, for he had no right. Ignoring her completely, he continued this palpation. His hands moved now to the fronts of her thighs and on up towards the sensitive groin. When he reached the fleece of her pussy, she ground herself against the wall in a desperate attempt to stop his maneuvers. But a sly pinch with his right thumb and forefinger to the inner edge of her right buttock just inside the sinuous crease which separated those luscious and spankable hemispheres made her squeal and jerk back, at which he promptly passed his left forefinger into her cunt and determined that she still had her cherry. Mad with rage and shame, the unfortunate half-naked beauty struggled and screamed and protested but to no avail.
"Before I finish with you, you stubborn little bitch," he growled, "you'll go down on your knees and beg some man to take that proud cherry of yours. You mark my words, Maxine."
"I'd die first, I won't, I'm going to write my uncle and have him get me out of here," she cried.
He did not bother telling her at the moment that her uncle was the very one who had condemned her to this entire regimen and that indeed her uncle was now negotiating with him to sell her to some wealthy buyer who would use her exactly as a master uses a female slave.
Then he asked if she was hungry, and when she gasped out that she was, he untied her and, still leaving on the blindfold, obliged her to kneel down on all fours. One of the matrons now entered with a bowl of bread and milk, bits of crumbled bread floating in about half a bowl of milk, and placed it before her. Matthew Calavaro waited until the matron had left and closed the door behind her, then took down an oval shaped leather paddle from the wall and, tapping poor Maxine's bare quivering ass, informed her that she was to eat her breakfast and to do it very quickly. She had three minutes or else she would be paddled.
Frantic with shame, the unfortunate young beauty conquered her pride because of her hunger and thirst, bent her face until she felt the milk brush her chin, and lapped it up in the manner of an animal. She took four minutes, so she was condemned to a spanking with the leather covered paddle. He dragged her over to a sawhorse, strapped her down on it, and then began to work a little crank on the underside of the apparatus. This projected upwards a pad which pressed against the girl's belly, hoisting her up until she felt as if she were being racked. It also tightened the jet of her round milky ass-globes, and rendered her all the more sensitive to a thrashing.
Applying twenty swats with the paddle, he left her dissolved in tears, and crying out in her shame. For after he had finished spanking her, Matthew Calavaro lewdly ran his hands over her flaming, swollen bottom, goosed her and then again fingered her pussy till he came up against the virgin barrier.
She remained on the horse until lunchtime, when one of the matrons came in and fed her again with a bowl of soup. Holding the bowl with both hands in front of the blindfolded girl's tear-stained, congested face, the matron warned the victim to eat quickly or else she would receive another whipping at suppertime.
At suppertime, the same process was repeated, with another bowl of soup into which some bits of bread had been strewn. And then at ten o'clock, when she was nearly fainting from the pain caused by the sharp ridge of the sawhorse against her cunthole, Matthew Calavaro entered and asked her if she was ready to repent.
Again she protested the injustice of his condemnation, and he told her that he found her conduct disgraceful and that her obstinacy was going to cost her dearly. He applied another spanking, this one with his hand, and left her to spend the night on the horse.
In the morning, as before, she was removed and made to kneel on all fours and lap up her breakfast of bread and milk. Again she received a spanking with the leather paddle. This time she was placed back on the pillory, with her neck yoked in it and her wrists as well, her head bowed forward and forced to stand on the tips of her toes. Twenty strokes of the birch across her thighs and bottom finally broke down her defiance, and she pleaded for mercy.
Matthew Calavaro asked her if she was ready to repent, and when she tearfully agreed, he told her that he would put her newly found obedience to the test the very next day.
He was now dressed in a business suit and wearing glasses, looking quite respectable and dignified. Beside him stood a man of about sixty-two, fat, with purplish cheeks denoting high blood pressure and overly enthusiastic wining and dining, Joseph Sardinian. He was wealthy and retired head of an investment firm bearing his name, lived in Surrey on a huge country estate to which he proposed to take Maxine if he and Calavaro could come to terms.
Joseph Sardinian was a vicious pervert who enjoyed dressing attractive women up as little girls, spanking and humiliating them, and forcing them to use their tongues on his penis and anus. He was almost impudent now, having spent many years in fucking, never having married for always maintaining several mistresses. He was standing now in a bathrobe loosely tied, and sandals, and Maxine was kneeling on her palms before him, her lovely face upturned, an anguish glow in her eyes as Matthew Calavaro informed her what was to take place: "Your precious uncle doesn't want you anymore, my dear. He has sold you to this very estimable gentleman, who from now on will be your guardian and uncle, shall we say. You are to obey him very strictly, just as you have learned to do me. Mr. Sardinian gets angry very easily, and he enjoys whipping and spanking naughty girls, so you are warned. Now do you think you can be good or shall I put you back on the sawhorse for say forty-eight hours?"
"Oh my God no, oh please no!" Maxine groaned, her face haggard with terror.
"Then, are you willing to obey Mr. Sardinian here as your master?" was the terrible question.
Maxine Bolton was about five feet five and a half inches in height, delectably rounded, with dark-brown hair in curly ringlets all over the top of her forehead and the sides of her lovely face. It was round and beautifully dimpled, with huge dark-brown eyes full of anguish and entreaty, and her mouth was a rosebud and her nose Grecian. But her body was one of the most delicious sights of all. Round, high perched closely spaced titties with broad dusky pink aurolae and soft nipples, a suavely curved belly with wide shallow navel, plump but beautifully proportioned thighs and neatly rounded calves, and a pale milky skin that already made Joseph Sardinian pant with lust.
Since poor Maxine could see that Matthew Calavaro held in his right hand a three-thonged leather whip, and since she was naked and cringing before these two men, she did not dare revolt. But she could not comprehend what he had just told her: "But Mr. Calavaro, please, it can't be true what you are saying-my uncle wouldn't do that-it's illegal-you can't sell people-there isn't any such thing as slavery-" she gasped.
"You little fool, he needs the money for his gambling," Matthew Calavaro laughed mockingly. "You certainly don't suppose that Mr. Sardinian and I here are going to turn over the documents to the Department of Revenue, do you? No one will learn of this transaction, but it will be as binding as if it were openly publicized and perfectly legal. That is why I advise you to be as humble and obedient as you can towards your new owner. And I want to hear from your lips the statement that you are agreeing to be just that. Otherwise I will have to demonstrate to Mr. Sardinian how I am going to train you and how I propose that he continues the training once he takes possession of you. Well?"
"But it can't be-nobody is a slave-oh my God, if only you could bring my uncle here, if only I could talk with him-"
"I have had enough of your little nonsense, Maxine. You're going to obey and you're going to start at once. Now go over to Mr. Sardinian, put your arms around his legs and tell him that you are going to be his slave," Matthew Calavaro angrily declared.
To quicken the girl, he raised the three-thonged whip and applied a slashing and noisy cut across the middle of her naked back which made her scream in pain and crawl forward. Her eyes were drowned in tears, and as she stared at the elderly roue, he loosened his bathrobe and shrugged it off, displaying his emaciated, hairy legs, and his dwindled prick. "Take my cock and suck it, Maxine," he ordered in a hoarse voice.
A look of utter disbelief appeared on the lovely brown-haired girl's face. "Oh no-I won't ever do a thing like that-oh no, you can kill me but I won't, I won't!" she cried, shrinking back in horror.
Instantly Matthew Calavaro swept the whip over her bottom, and poor Maxine twisted like a worm and uttered a shriek of pain. A second blow followed and then the third. In desperation, the naked brown-haired teenager rushed her hands back to her flaming behind in an attempt to protect it.
"I thought you said she was disciplined, Calavaro," Joseph Sardinian growled. He squatted down painfully, took up his bathrobe and pulled out a cigar from his pocket and a packet of matches, lit it and exhaled a gray cloud of smoke. "I certainly don't want to buy such a little rebel as this one."
Angry that he might lose a sale and a very handsome profit, for he was charging Maxine's uncle a commission of twenty percent on the sale, Matthew Calavaro obsequiously assured the prospective client: "Don't worry, Mr. Sardinian, I'll have her doing what you want in no time at all. You just wait and see."
Then, seizing the girl by her curly hair and twisting his fingers in it, he brought her up to her feet screaming in pain and, giving her three or four swishing cuts across her naked thighs and seat, marched her back over to the sawhorse. But this time, she was obliged to lie on her back so that the sharp ridge bruised her spine, while Sardinian himself and Calavaro both hurried to tie her wrists down to the base of the front legs and then her ankles to those of the rear.
"Now we will see if you are going to obey or not," Matthew Calavaro said gloatingly. Standing beside the squirming, groaning naked girl, he raised the whip and brought it down lightly so that the tips of the thongs flicked against her plump virgin cunthole. A wild scream of pain and despair resounded, as she tried to wriggle and jerk free, only hurting herself as the sharp ridge rammed against her asshole crease and her tender spine. Now a lash struck her on the titties, and one on the belly, and she arched and squirmed and screamed incessantly, beads of sweat standing out of her forehead and in her armpits.
When the whip visited her titties again, she could not endure any longer the pain and she screamed out that she would obey.
"We'll see. If you don't, back you go on the horse," Matthew Calavaro coolly promised.
When he untied and lifted her down from the horse, he steadied her with his left hand against her panting titties, his right hand caressing her belly and moving down to the thick fleece of her virgin cunthole. Poor Maxine wept uncontrollably, and then sank down on her knees at his order and crawled towards the naked old man who was buying her. He, puffing at his cigar, watched her through glinting eyes that were narrowed with lust. He watched her round full bubbies jiggle as she came towards him. "Now then, put your hand out to my cock and lift it and then kiss it and say you are going to be a good slave," he hoarsely commanded.
Poor Maxine Bolton hesitated, looked around frantically as if to make a last appeal, but at once Matthew Calavaro regaled her with two vicious cuts of the three-thonged whip across her already inflamed and trembling asscheeks. With a shriek of pain, she hesitated no longer. She put her hand to Joseph Sardinian's cock, bent her head and pressed a shuddering kiss upon the flaccid organ. Panting with delight, the old man ordered her to take it inside her mouth and to suck it and then to put her tongue against it. Gagging with nausea, the unfortunate naked young girl obeyed, for behind her was always that dreadful whip and the threat of more and far worse punishment.
Half-fainting, she crouched there on her knees before her future master, and Matthew Calavaro looked up triumphantly at the old man: "Are you satisfied, Mr. Sardinian?" he demanded.
"Yes. Now leave me with her, and then I'll join you in your office and you'll prepare her to be taken away. My chauffeur will be here this evening and we'll drive back to London."
"Excellent! You will be my guest for dinner, and of course I wish you to meet my sister, who herself is an excellent trainer of slaves," the delighted school owner beamingly retorted.
Then, shaking hands with the wealthy roue, he left the dungeon. The naked white-haired man stared triumphantly down at his new prize. "Now bow your head down and lick my feet, Maxine," he ordered. "When I get you home, I'm going to dress you in a little girl's outfit. You'll have rompers on, and a lovely ribbon for your hair. And you'll be spanked like a naughty girl whenever I don't approve of what you're doing. Now obey me."
Conquering her revulsion, Maxine Bolton forced herself to bow her head and hesitantly press her lips against his gnarled feet as he kicked off his sandals. Then she was ordered to resume sucking his cock, and only her terrible fear of punishment that would fall upon her if she refused forced her to comply.
Thanks to her ministrations, Joseph Sardinian at last achieved an erection. There was a low padded leather bench at the end of this punishment room, and he ordered her to lie upon her jack and be ready to service him. Then, kneeling over her, his hands squeezing her titties, he lowered himself and pressed his erect tool against her virgin cunt. Maxine turned her face to one side and wept softly as she felt him press home till finally he had crammed up against the virgin barrier. Then, angrily, he chided her for not showing more cooperation, ordering her to put her arms and legs around him and hold him tight. When she obeyed, he drew a long breath and then thrust home with all his might, and Maxine Bolton screamed to announce the loss of her cherry.
An hour later, after he had humiliated her until she was nearly dying of shame, by putting her over his lap and spanking her, pinching and fingering her all over from head to foot, he left the dungeon. Sprawled on the bench, she wept uncontrollably, despairing and forsaken, knowing what her fate would be as the slave of this old lecher."
Willa Munson had been driven to the Calavaro School for Young Ladies by her own father, and the long ride out to the moors near Goyt Canyon was an agonizing one for the lovely chestnut-haired virgin. Several time she tried to beg him not to send her so far away, but Wilson Munson was an agonizing one for the lovely chestnut-haired virgin. Several times she tried to beg him his daughter by telling her that if she showed good conduct for the next semester, he and Grace might talk it over and perhaps then she could come back home.
When they reached the gloomy castle-like building of the institution, out there all alone on the moors and so desolate, Willa had a premonition of unhappiness and even disaster. "Oh please, Daddy, don't leave me here, don't leave me!" she begged.
Tm sorry, Puss, I have to. You know how your stepmother is. I'll see if I can't work on her. But you know, if you'd tried to be nicer to her and called her even 'mother,' things might have gone differently at home," he grumbled.
Then, driving into the grounds through the gate which the caretaker unlocked, he took her into Matthew Calavaro's office and introduced her. Instinctively, Willa Munson did not like this beady-eyed man, nor his glib speech as he assured her father that she would be looked upon as a preferred pupil and given every advantage.
There was a tearful farewell, and at last Wilson Munson took his leave.
Matthew Calavaro continued his hypocritical kindness towards the forsaken chestnut-haired girl. "We shan't start you off in any classes till next Monday, my dear," he told her, taking one of her hands between his and squeezing it in a gesture of kindliness. "This will give you time to get acquainted with some of the lovely girls here, and also our faculty. If you have any questions, you have only to ask my sister, Miss Serafina Calavaro, or myself. Feel that you are a friend here and not just a pupil, my dear."
Then, ringing for a matron, he instructed that Willa be taken to one of the dormitories and to room with one of the fifteen-year-old girls, named Theresa Davis. He had a reason for doing this. Theresa, though fifteen, black-haired and slim and insolent, was herself a decided Lesbian devotee and a particular favorite of his sister's. He intended to have Willa seduced by Theresa so as to give himself pretext for punishing this delicious chestnut-haired virgin. From what he had understood from the conversation with Willa's father, he gathered that the girl's stepmother had no use for her. If that was the case, no one would really care what happened to Willa and, if she were sufficiently subjugated, she could make a very good bed companion for himself. By the threat of dire punishments, he was certain that he could force her to silence if he decided to take her cherry. And her beauty stirred him into wanting to do just that...
One of the matrons then took Willa to the supply room and ordered a new school uniform for her. When the spirited chestnut-haired beauty saw that she had to wear old-fashioned bloomers and black stockings, she made an indignant remark about not being a child, a remark that the matron purposely remembered so that, when next the girl was called to order for naughtiness, it could be used against her. All she said was rather curtly," Every girl in this school wears this sort of thing, Miss. You are no better than anybody else, and Mr. Calavaro has ordered that everyone wear it. Pick it up now and bring it to your room, and I will introduce you to your roommate."
"Oh, I suppose I have to," Willa sighed resentfully.
The matron, who was fat and gray-haired and occasionally was used by Serafina Calavaro to,, help punish a particularly rebellious pupil, led her up the stairs and down the corridor to a door at the very end of the floor. She knocked gently, and when the clear sweet voice of Theresa Davis called to come in, she opened the door and said, "Theresa, here's your new roommate. This is Willa Munson."
Willa Munson did not especially care for Theresa at first sight. The girl was about half an inch taller than she was, very arrogant, with olive skin, oval face, big black flashing eyes, a small insolent mouth and dainty aquiline nose. She had pear shaped titties set widely apart, a very slim waist, sleek hips and long thighs and sinuous calves. She was the only child of a widowed mother who had since remarried a much younger man and decided to leave Theresa in school while she and her new husband traveled throughout Europe, both of them being quite rich. At twelve, "Theresa had been found in bed with her own governess, who had been discharged, but even then the mother had known that Theresa was emotionally warped. So the idea of putting her in a distant school where she would receive discipline seemed to be an excellent idea- except that she had not reckoned with Serafina Calavaro. The latter had promptly made a pet and bedroom favorite of the black-haired, insolent young girl, and used her as a kind of spy and seductress throughout the school whenever she wished to get one of the naive virgins into difficulties which would result in punishment and final capitulation to her own lustful desires.
"So you're Willa," she haughtily declared as she turned from the desk by the window where she had been writing a letter. "Where did you come from, anyway?"
"London, naturally. What difference does it make? I frankly don't want to be here anyway."
"Oh ho, so it's like that, is it?" Theresa giggled. "Let me give you a little piece of advice, Willa honey. You had better keep your mouth shut except maybe to me about the way you feel around here, because there's something they do in this school you might not like."
"What's that?"
"Did you ever get your bottom smacked, Willa? I know you're about seventeen, aren't you?- "Yes I am. But I just don't like this place, it's so far away and so lost. Why, you can't even get into a town and have some fun."
"Oh, they'll give you plenty of fun here if you keep talking like that," Theresa said maliciously. "You got any boyfriends?"
"No. And of course I won't find any here either."
"Of course you won't, silly, this is a girl's school," the provocative young brunette retorted. "But of course you can have lots of fun with girls too, or didn't you know that?"
Willa blushed. She knew it very well. In fact, she was regretting leaving the Delton Academy because she was going to miss Gillian, with whom she had had a sweet Lesbian relationship that more than made up for not being allowed to play around with boys. And Gillian wouldn't be here.
She shrugged. "But don't they have movies or anything like that?"
"Once in a while, yes. But mostly, you work. They give you lots of homework and they give you tests on it and if you don't get enough good marks, they put you down for a good spanking."
"How long have you been here?"
"About a year or so. But I like it. Miss Calavaro treats me just great. You've got to learn to get along with her and her brother, or it's going to be tough on you, Willa."
Willa Munson considered this news as she sat down on the edge of her twin bed. From the window she could see the long stretch of dreary landscape and the rocks and hills of the moors beyond. It was a very depressing sight.
"How do you like your new outfit?" Theresa continued, wanting to have fun with this newie.
"I don't like bloomers. I had to wear them in the other school I was in and I thought at least they wear mod stuff here."
Theresa Davis left the desk and came over to study the luscious chestnut-haired beauty. She put an arm around Willa's waist and murmured insinuatingly," Honey, with a shape like yours, you'd look better without wearing any. Or anything, if you get what I mean. You and I can have lots of fun."
"Take your hands off me, Theresa. I don't even know you yet, and I don't play around with a stranger," was haughty, spirited Willa Munson's indignant retort as she pulled herself free. She didn't know it, but she had made an implacable enemy who was going to hasten her first visit to one of the torture rooms of this grim castle on the moors.
Grace Munson basked in her triumph of getting rid of her step-daughter Willa, because now she knew that she would have complete hold over her infatuated middle-aged husband Wilson. What he had no way of knowing was that just before their marriage, Grace had had a torrid crush on a handsome young soccer player who lived in Nottingham and who played for one of the county league teams. His name was Roger Dugby; he was twenty-seven, towheaded and stockily built.
Grace, who had started fucking when she was fourteen and who had also learned the pleasures of pussy-rubbing with a girlfriend in high school, realized that Wilson Munson was not exactly the greatest lover in the world. First of all, he was hardly prepossessing, being fat and somewhat self-centered in his ways. She was also aware of what his doctor had told him about cutting down his smoking and drinking if he expected to reach fifty. However, his wealth appealed to her, for she had always been poor. She fancied her wardrobe, the pleasures of being able to go to Simpson's in the Strand and order a dinner that would cost five or six pounds without batting an eye, and she loved the jewelry and furs and other gewgaws with which Wilson surrounded her in his gratitude that this gorgeous creature should take an interest in his dull self.
When Wilson drove back from Goyt Canyon, feeling rather mournful and perhaps a little worried that he might not have done the right thing, Grace kissed him enthusiastically and murmured, "Now you will see, darling, there will be just the two of us, and I can really look after you. Besides, that snip of a daughter of yours needs taking down a few pegs, and they will give it to her there, don't you worry. Now come along and lie down, and I will fix you a lovely supper of kipper and I have a tasty suet pudding, the kind I made back in Nottingham that you loved so much."
She flattered him with many attentions that night, and came to his room in her sheerest nightie, well perfumed and amorous. It was a way of saying "Thank you" for his giving her what she really wanted, the elimination of the dangerous, detested stepdaughter who could only be a trouble-maker between them. Then the next step was to see if she couldn't find a lover on the side when Wilson traveled.
So that night, although she pretended that he was ferocious and that he was bruising her and making her gasp for mercy, her mind was really on Roger Dugby. His biceps, his pleasant China-blue eyes, his firm hard mouth which she fancied coming down upon her bubbies or her pussy. Wilson had a habit of "sneaky" caressing and acting like a little boy who is doing something he knows he shouldn't and is expecting to be punished for it any moment. What she wanted was a vigorous, ferocious lover who would really make her pant and lie back on the pillow and announce that she just couldn't take any more. Wilson would never be up to that standard, that was for sure.
Her opportunity for pleasure outside her rather boring marriage came sooner than either of them thought. Two days later, Wilson received a wire from a tannery in Chelton which he had retained as a kind of sentimental memento of his first million. There was a change of management there, and he, as a chairman of the board, was expected to solve a problem which had arisen from a clash of personalities. He shook his head dolefully, then scratched it, and told Grace, "I am afraid I have got to be gone for about a week, darling. The trouble is, it has been so long since I was down there that I don't remember any of the people in charge. And I am supposed to pick and choose and make decisions. I am in for a hard time, I don't mind telling you."
"I will keep the home fires burning for you, lover," Grace cooed. She arched up and tiptoed and kissed him in the mouth. "I can hardly wait till you get back. You are always so exciting when we go to bed," she whispered.
Wilson Munson blushed with pleasure, patted her on her bottom, gave her back her kiss, and then went happily off to the railway station.
Grace immediately went to the shower, laved her body with the perfume soap, then applied perfume to her armpits and pussy and the insides of her wrists and thighs. Then she put on a green satin housecoat and high-heeled pumps, tidied up her hair and went to the phone.
On the day that Wilson had taken his daughter Willa to the Calavaro School for Young Ladies, she had gone marketing and lo and behold, whom should she meet but Roger Dugby! He was in town training, and he had just signed with the London Dodgers, and would be playing half his games in a little stadium in East London. He couldn't help saying how dashing Grace looked and that marriage must agree with her. She had taken hold of his hand back at the corner of the market, and whispered. "Oh if you only knew, Roger darling! I had to marry an old man to raise some money for my poor old dad, and I figured that I had been a problem to him long enough and I owed him a favor. If it weren't for his money, Roger, I don't think I could stay it. It is just dreadful to have to go to bed with a man old enough to be your father."
Roger Dugby was properly solicitous and at the same time smilingly eager. He interpreted Grace's remark- which was exactly the way she wanted him to do- as a kind of invitation to bed on the side. They left after Grace had given him her phone number and extracted his own from him.
And now the time seemed ready, so she telephoned Roger at his London flat in Chelsea, and made an assignation with him for that night. Bold as she was, she had more commonsense than to try to have a lover on her own premises, for the very practical and good reason that one never knew when Wilson might suddenly walk in unannounced and unexpected.
She lounged all day watching TV, then dressed up in her finest, making certain she had on a pair of sheer black panties and matching bra, treated herself to an excellent dinner at a fine little restaurant about a mile from where she lived, and then took a taxi over to Roger Dugby's flat.
As soon as she had crossed the threshold, Roger hugged her like a bear and kissed her on the mouth so passionately that it took her breath away. "Oh my darling," she breathed when he finally let her go, "if only you had taken me away from Nottingham, what fun we could have had together instead of all this waste of time!"
"Never you mind, ducky," Roger chuckled, "we will make up for it plenty of times now, seeing as how your old man goes traveling so much."
"Oh that's devilish of you, dear Roger, but I just love the sound of it," she breathed as she began to undress.
Roger Dugby was already undressed. All he wore was a bathrobe and pajamas, and the bathrobe was already off and now he was shucking down the pajama trousers and exposing a tremendously stiff prick with bulging, empurpled head. The sight of it made Grace shiver as she disrobed down to bra and panties, garterbelt and smoke-colored nylons and her pumps. Kicking off her pumps, she went to him and cuddled his prick in one hand as she put her other hand at the back of his neck and arched up to kiss him.
Then she was really startled and surprised by what happened next. Roger Dugby lifted her up by the waist and hauled her over to the couch, flung her down over his lap, pulled down her black nylon panties and proceeded to give her voluptuous ass a thorough smacking.
"Awr-stop it-Roger-you brute-what is this for-what did I do? Owwohh, please-you are hurting me terribly-oh you will mark me and he will see it-Oh Roger!! Ahrr, why are you spanking me-what did I do?" she wailed.
"You little bitch, this is to avenge your husband, if you want to know. Besides, I have always jolly well fancied a warming before I fuck," he chuckled thickly.
When Grace's bottom was a furious red and tears were coursing down her cheeks, he picked her up and stood against her, his hard prick nestling against her thick pussy hair. With a groan, she felt him slip inside of her, and she found also that she was thoroughly lubricated for a screwing.
Then, his fingers gauging her sore asscheeks, she began to crush herself back and forth against his weapon, and it was the most exciting fuck she had ever had in all her life.
It was the beginning of many such clandestine meetings which would ultimately change the lives not only of Grace and her lover, but of lovely Willa herself!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Since both the Calavaros had understood from Wilson Munson that his daughter had been left with them for the purpose of teaching her better discipline and humility, the perverse brother and sister had determined to enjoy the lovely chestnut-haired rebel, each in his or her own lustful way. To be sure, Willa's father had not intimated to either of them that her virtue was to be spared; to be sure, he would have been aghast if he had known the true ambitions of this vicious pair who ostensibly ran a school for young ladies but who actually took cruel advantage of the isolation of this institution and the helplessness of its pupils to enjoy the fulfillment of their own depraved lusts as well as to earn handsome profits for such indulgence.
About a week after Willa had begun her term at the Calavaro School for Young Ladies, Serafina and Matthew were having supper together in the latter's private rooms. "Well, Fina," he chuckled lifting his glass of wine to toast her health, "We've a fine batch of young bitches in tow, haven't we?"
"We do indeed, Brother. In a week or two, aren't you going to have your regular little semester show for our rich patrons?"
"I was thinking of it only this morning, my dear. I have several letters from some of the gentlemen and ladies who wish to observe what we have accomplished here in the way of training these naughty girls to be more humble and obedient," he said with a mocking smile." But I think you have something on your mind. What is it, my dear sister?"
"Only that this new girl, Willa Munson, is a very tasty morsel. And I suppose, Brother, that you have designs on her yourself."
"As a matter of fact, that's quite true. But then I have no objection if you want to enjoy her a little, only don't spoil her too much."
"You know I have put her in a room with Theresa Davis."
"Oh yes, that little dyke."
"I wish you would not use such vulgar terms, Matthew," Serafina's face darkened with anger. "She is very useful to us both, as you know or should know. I had thought of having her try her wiles on our charming newcomer, which will give me an opportunity to sentence Willa to a good thrashing. And if you wish, you may watch from the peephole."
"That's an admirable idea, my dear sister. The father struck me as something of an ass, because he's obviously madly in love with his new young wife, and it's the wife's doing that his daughter is here with us."
"I will drink a toast to her, then. Obviously we can't sell Willa, but we certainly can have a little fun with her. And I know, my dear brother, that with your usual acumen you'll see to it that she doesn't dare let out a word of what's happening to her. First of all, we can deny it, and secondly if you have my little friend Theresa seduce her, we can only say that we whipped her because she was very indecent."
"A capital idea, my dear sister. I'll see she doesn't complain!"
"That was exactly what I had in mind, Matthew. I think tonight I shall have Theresa begin her little games."
The black-haired Lesbian directress finished her wine, bade her brother a cordial goodnight, and then went to her chambers. She rang the bell for a matron and when the latter appeared, Serafina ordered Theresa Davis to be brought to her.
The slim, precociously oversexed girl appeared a few minutes later, simpering with pleasure at this summons. She wore the school uniform, for it was still too early to go to bed, and she sent languid glances in Serafina Calavaro's direction, for the two of them had often spent the night together and Theresa was exceptionally gifted in the ways of girlfucking. "It's so nice of you to call me here, dear Miss Serafina," she cooed as she sank down on her knees before the couch on which the directress lounged, seized Serafina's hand and brought it respectfully to her lips. "May I stay tonight?"
"I'm afraid not, darling. I have work for you to do."
"Oh I see. I'll bet I can guess with whom. It's my new roommate, isn't it?"
Serafina Calavaro laughed, showing still superbly strong white teeth for her age. "What a vicious little devil you are, Theresa darling! Yes, it's Willa. I want you to wait until you think she's asleep, and then get into bed with her and start to love her. I'm sure she'll resist you, and there will be noise enough for one of the matrons- whom I shall post myself to be out in the corridor waiting for just such an event-to hear and to make an investigation, then report to me."
"I don't like her at all, Miss Serafina, she's too uppity."
"Never mind, dear." Serafina's hand caressed the girl's head and cheek. "I'll let you watch her being whipped, if you like. You're a good girl, and I shall have a reward for you if you bring this off nicely."
"Oh thank you, Miss Serafina!" Again the slim teenager seized the directress's hand and kissed it fervently, then rose. But she hesitated a moment, her dark eyes humid and fixing on the sensual face of her beloved initiatress. "The only reward I want is to be with you, dear Miss Serafina," she murmured.
"You shall be. Now get back to your room and don't make Willa suspicious, not till you're in bed with her, remember!"
As soon as the girl had gone back to the dormitory, Serafina rang the bell and a few moments later a matron knocked at the door and was admitted. The matron was about fifty, sour faced, gray-haired and fat, and she was sometimes called upon to administer punishment herself. Her name was Jane Dougall, and Serafina herself had hired the woman, especially when she had learned that Jane Dougall had been discharged from her post as a governess with a very wealthy family because she had severely whipped a fourteen-year-old girl, the youngest of three who had been in her charge.
"Jane, I've some work for you this evening, if you don't mind," the directress began.
Tm happy to be of service, Miss Calavaro."
"I think you will be. You don't much like Theresa Davis, do you, Jane?" .
Jane Dougall's face hardened. "That little slut!" she said viciously. "Begging your pardon, Miss Calavaro, I know she's a good spy and all, but what you don't know is that Tm pretty sure she's been playing around with some of the other girls and I don't think you authorized it."
"Oh? Tell me about it, Jane. Come on, sit down and have a glass of wine with me."
"Thank you very much." The woman's harsh face softened at this mark of favor. As she sipped her wine, she confidentially went on: "Well, ma'am, two nights ago, I was making my rounds as usual, and it was about midnight. I thought I saw Theresa sneak out of her room- that's with the new girl, you know- and go down the hall to the very last room on the right."
"That would be the room that Edna Weston and Penny Bardolph are in, wouldn't it?" the directress broke is.
"That's true, Miss Calavaro. She was in there quite some time, and I could hear giggling and other things- you know. But I didn't say anything because I thought maybe you had sent her-"
"As it happens, I didn't. So, Theresa is up to tricks of her own and thinks she can pull them off without my knowledge, does she? Now listen to me very carefully, Jane. I've told Theresa that I want the new girl punished. You know what that means."
Jane Dougall smirked and nodded, she understood only too well the contrivance by which newcomers to this school were accused of Lesbianism, which gave the Calavaros the right to whip them and amuse themselves with these delightful victims. But as she herself had often participated in the punishment- and just so it obviously was- of many an attractive teenager, and as it suited her own sadistic nature to do so, she was far from being shocked by this latest complot.
"Very well," Serafina Calavaro continued as she poured more wine for the matron and herself. "Theresa is undoubtedly going to make Willa quite upset and there will probably be an outcry, enough to call you in there. You will bring Willa to my chambers at once, and then you will come back for Theresa and take her down to one of the punishment rooms, is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"You will blindfold her and tie her and prepare her bottom for a good thrashing, Jane. If you wish, you may give her a smackbottom, yourself, but nothing more, do you understand?"
"I'd just love to use a whip on that saucy arse of hers, begging your pardon, ma'am!" Jane Dougall snapped.
"You'll do what I tell you to do. There'll be other opportunities for you to indulge your passion for the whip, believe me. We are having next week a little gathering of some of our most important backers, you understand me?"
"Oh yes, indeed I do!" Jane Dougall's eyes blazed with interest.
"Very well. Bring this off properly and I'll let you be one of the executioners when we stage our little scenes for our dear friends. Now I think I'd like a little catnap so I can be fresh and ready for tonight. You'd best do the same, Jane, so you'll have all your wits about you."
The gray-haired, fat matron smiled knowingly. "It's a pleasure to work for a person like you, ma'am," she fawned on the svelte raven-haired directress. "You can be sure I'll do my best and what a pleasure it will be to teach that saucy minx Theresa that she's not quite so clever as she thinks!"
All of the girls in the school were required to wear the thin white cotton nighties which were furnished by the institution, just like their daily attire of bloomers and skirt and blouse and black silk stockings. Willa Munson had unpacked her suitcase and put her things away in two of the drawers in the dresser which her younger roommate Theresa Davis had told her would be hers, and when bedtime came this evening, the chestnut-haired beauty had begun to change to her pajamas. "Oh no, you can't wear those at all," Theresa had told her. She had also seen Willa's lush young body in just bra and bloomers, and her eyes had glistened with lubricity. It was going to be very easy for her to crawl into bed with her roommate and make girl-love to her, she thought to herself.
Although Willa had, as we know, experienced the forbidden joys of Sapphic love, this did not mean that she was particularly interested in resuming such a relationship with Theresa. She had already marked Theresa down in her own mind as a little sneak and a know-it-all. Moreover, since Theresa was two years younger than herself, Willa's natural ego made it impossible to treat the younger girl as an equal.
"But who is going to know if I put on these pajamas instead of that stupid old nightie?" she complained.
Theresa shrugged. "Suit yourself, Willa, honey. Only don't say I didn't warn you. You know, lots of times, the matrons check the dormitories and make inspections, sometimes when you're not even expecting it or when you're fast asleep. And if they find you're not in your nightie, boy, it's a good smacking at the very least from them and maybe worse."
The thought of being spanked did not appeal at all to Willa Munson. She flushed under Theresa's rather curiously prolonged stare, and then grumblingly put on the nightie and got into her twin bed a few feet away from Theresa's.
The black-haired teenager waited until her alarm clock showed a few minutes of midnight. She had amused herself during this interim by pulling up her own nightie and tickling her pussy and her inner thighs just to get herself in a randy mood so she could really girl-love Willa. When she thought it was time enough, she carefully drew back the sheets and tiptoed out of bed towards the sleeping Willa. Then, very carefully, she pulled up her nightie passed her tummy, and, reaching out with the other hand, very gently and carefully tugged the sheet away which was covering Willa's lovely body. Willa was lying on her right side with her back turned towards her roommate. Holding her breath, Theresa got into bed and snuggled up very carefully against her roommate. Willa had been dreaming. She had fallen fast asleep, rather bored by the silly tests and questions asked in her classroom. She didn't like this school one little bit, and she was going to write a letter home and tell her father about it just as soon as she could. Mr. Calavaro had told her that a new girl had the privilege of writing a letter only once a week, and tomorrow would be the day. She hoped they wouldn't read it, or they would find out what she thought of them. She didn't like the Calavaros at all, the matrons still less, the food was all right, but these uniforms were just as stupid as they had been at Del ton which she hadn't particularly liked either-except, of course, for her darling Gillian.
Theresa was holding her breath as she lay spoon-fashion up against Willa's luscious bottom. Her bare loins and belly and her thighs pressed intimately against Willa's thighs and bottom, and now very carefully she extended her left hand and grasped the hem of Willa's nightie and began to lift it up slowly. Willa murmured in her sleep, and drew her left knee up a little, parting her beautiful thighs. Still holding her breath, Theresa slid her left hand up the satiny bare thigh and on towards Willa's pussy. She found the thickly thatched niche, and then the delicate crinkly pussylips and began to tickle them.
Willa moaned now, and suddenly awoke. She was conscious of a most delightful and tantalizing sensation between her legs, and at first she couldn't identify it. Then tentatively, she put her own hand down, only to feel Theresa's hand already there.
With a cry of astonishment and surprise, she grasped the roommate's wrist, and gasped, "What-what are you doing-is that you, Theresa?"
"Yes, of course it is, you silly goose!" the younger girl hissed. "Don't make so much noise or the matron will hear us! I was just loving you up, honey. Here, pull your nightie up all the way and I'll be awful sweet to you. I know what it is all about. I'll bet you'll love it."
"You take your hands off me, Theresa! I mean it! What do you think you're doing, getting into bed and doing that to me? I have a good notion to tell the Calavaros about you!" Willa hotly retorted. She pushed Theresa's hand away and tried to get out of bed. But at this moment the wily black-haired girl gripped her titties in both hands and pressed her mouth against Willa's and forced her back down on the bed as she swung herself into position over the chestnut-haired girl's body. And Willa felt Theresa's black pussycurls rub against her own lovefleece.
"Stop that! You get away from me now! Do you hear me, Theresa? I'll hurt you if you don't let go-get away, you nasty little bitch, I don't go for your type at all!" Willa cried.
She grabbed Theresa's wrists and pulled them away from her bubbies, and then tried to sit up and swing her legs out of bed. At this very moment, Jane Dougall opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"So this is what is going on here!" the fat grey-haired matron exclaimed. "You nasty hussies, Miss Calavaro is going to hear about this! Is that you, Willa Munson? You're the new girl, aren't you? For shame! Come along with me, you're going to hear about this right off!"
"But, Matron," Willa protested, "it wasn't my fault at all! Theresa got into bed with me and the first thing I knew, she was feeling me up-"
"I don't care to hear about your dirtiness, Miss," the matron sniffed with obvious disapproval. "All I know is that you are going with me to see the directress!"
With this, she seized Willa's wrist and dragged the astonished young beauty out of the dormitory room and down the corridor and down the steps to the private chambers of Serafina Calavaro, who, needless to say, was pacing the floor of her salon impatiently awaiting her confrontation with the delicious new victim.
Jane Dougall knocked on the door, was told to come in, turned the knob and entered, pulling the fuming and hugely embarrassed chestnut-haired girl along with her.
Tm sorry to disturb you at such an hour, Miss Calavaro." the matron exclaimed, "but I caught this nasty little slut in bed with Theresa Davis. She tried to deny it, but I could see with my own eyes that they were-well, it's too disgusting, if you know what I mean."
"Thank you, Miss Dougall. I think I can cope with the situation," the perverse directress assured her. "Good night, and thank you again."
The matron inclined her head in sign of respect and left the room closing the door behind her. Serafina, who was wearing only a black satin slip and a quilted blue robe over it, and her sandals, stared greedily at the blushing, angry young girl. "This is a very serious charge the matron has placed against you, Willa."
"I know it is, and it's not fair! I was sound asleep minding my own business and the first thing I knew, Theresa was in bed with me and pulling up my nightie and trying to do things to me! I'm not that sort of girl!"
"You protest a little too much, young lady," Serafina Calavaro drawled, her eyes glinting with desire at the sight of Willa's magnificent bubbies and lush bottom which the nightie showed out so temptingly. "You may be sure I am going to get to the bottom of this-and I do mean bottom!" With this wicked little quip, she took hold of Willa's wrist and said, "Come along now!"
She was about to take Willa to her private punishment chamber which was part of her own apartment, as we know. But Willa uttered a cry of anger and indignation: "You aren't going to punish me because I didn't do anything wrong! I hate this old school, I'm going to write my father tomorrow that I want to go back home!"
"Keep your voice down, it's late," the directress warned her angrily. "I do not think you're going to write that letter, my girl. Instead, it will be myself who will write a letter to your father, telling him what a naughty, immodest creature you really are, and I shall also tell him, Miss, that I have punished you for it! Come along, or I shall have my brother help me prepare you for your punishment!"
With this, she viciously and expertly twisted Willa's wrist until the chestnut-haired girl uttered a cry of pain and bent over, at which time the directress mockingly insisted, "It's useless to struggle, you see. Now come along!"
* * *
Theresa Davis was complimenting herself on her cleverness. She was sitting in bed with her hands grasping her knees, giggling softly at the prospect of being called to her beloved Miss Serafina's room where the squirmy lust-feelings which were already tingling in her pussy could be more than satisfied. Jane Dougall opened the door and marched straight in. "You are to come with me, Theresa," she said curtly.
"Sure! I was waiting for you to call me, Miss Dougall. Wait till I get my slippers on-" Theresa began.
"That won't be necessary. Come just as you are, this minute!"
"All right, you don't have to get huffy," Theresa said maliciously. She stood on her feet, and the matron at once grasped her by the wrist and led her out of the room.
However, when they went downstairs and turned down a different corridor from that where the directress's rooms were located, Theresa had suddenly had misgivings. "Say, this is the wrong way!" she exclaimed a little nervously.
"Oh no, Miss, it's the right way for you," the matron triumphantly declared.
And then when she began to pull on Theresa's wrist and lead her down the steps which led to the fateful cellar where all the torture chambers were located, the black-haired young girl uttered a cry of fright and anxiety: "Wait a minute-why are you taking me down there? I'm suppose to see Miss Calavaro!"
"Oh, you will, young lady, never you fear!" Jane Dougall firmly replied. "But I have my orders right from her, if you have to know. You come on with me now. And don't try to fight or argue, it'll only go worse for you!"
So saying, she tugged again on the slim wrist, and poor Theresa Davis followed her down the stairs, getting more apprehensive by the minute.
Jane Dougall led the frightened black-haired teenager to one of the smaller punishment cells, opened the door, turned on the light switch, and then shoved Theresa forward. The brunette uttered a cry of fright, seeing the sawhorse, the pillory and the low flat whipping bench to which buckling straps were attached.
"What are you going to do-didn't she say I was to go to her room? I'm sure there's a mistake, please, Miss Dougall!" she whimpered.
"Oh there's no mistake, Miss, don't you worry about that! Take your nightie off this minute!" the matron commanded.
Theresa turned scarlet with shame, and her dark eyes widened as they looked poignantly at the fat gray-haired woman. "Oh please, what are you going to do? I was told to-you know-you ask Miss Serafina!"
"I have just finished coming back from her room, Theresa, and she told me to do what I am going to do to you. If you argue anymore, I shall do a great deal worse. Now get that nightie off at once!" was the frightening answer.
Beginning to sob now and really worried, the slim black-haired teenager slowly pulled off the nightie and stood naked. The matron's eyes gleamed with greedy cruelty. She had a score to settle with this little bitch, and the only thing she regretted was that the directress had ordered only a smackbottom for this little slut.
"Now come along," she snapped as once again she seized Theresa by the wrist and lead her towards the sawhorse. "Get astride that and do it quickly!"
"Oh no, not that, it'll hurt-oh please don't make me get on that-please-owwww- aiiiieeeeee!! You're hurting my wrists, oh please let go, ouch-allright, I'll do it, oh please!" Theresa wailed as the matron took her by the earlobe and pinched it cruelly. Sobbing as if her heart would break, she awkwardly mounted the narrow-ridged sawhorse, and instantly the matron strapped her wrists and ankles together as tightly as she could, thus spread-eagling and stretching the naked young girl on this infernal apparatus.
Theresa turned her fear-contorted face back over her shoulder to look at the formidable matron. "Oh, what are you going to do to me, oh please tell me, please!" she sobbed.
"Give you what you've had coming for a long time, you nasty little sneak! You didn't think that Miss Serafina knew about your going into the room that Edna and Penny have, did you? No, I thought not! Don't you worry, they are going to be down here maybe tomorrow. But right now, Theresa, I'm going to do to you what Miss Serafina told me to."
With this, the matron moved towards the saw-horse, posed her left palm on the small of the girl's back, and then began to spank those saucy naked bottom-ovals with energetic, noisy slaps of her strong right palm. Theresa wailed and screamed, wriggling wildly, for those stinging and burning spanks made her body jerk and grind against the horse, with the result that the sharp ridge ground against her tender cunthole.
By the time Jane Dougall had finished, Theresa's lovely olivesheened bottom was a flaming red and swollen pitifully, while the unfortunate naked young girl jerked wildly at her bonds and begged imploringly for mercy.
"There, that's a long overdue installment on what's coming to you, you little bitch! I'll leave you here to think about the rest," the matron mockingly declared as she applied a final pair of noisy slaps which made poor Theresa's bare ass bounce and jerk wildly on the horse. Then, leaving the culprit to sob and groan, the matron went out and locked the door behind her.
Willa Munson stood defiantly facing Serafina Calavaro in the salon of her private chambers in this gloomy castle-like edifice on the moors, clad only in her white cotton nightie, barefooted, her beautiful long chestnut hair tumbling down in a shimmering cascade to her shoulder blades. The svelte, black-haired Lesbian dominatress lounged on the Chesterfield, her legs crossed, smoking a cigarette in an ivory holder. It was evident, though poor Willa could not have guessed it, that she had anticipated just this scene and so had waited up until the witching hour of midnight to take her first emprise of the lovely virgin.
"I see, Willa," the dominatress said sarcastically, "that you've wasted no time in disgracing yourself. What you've done is shocking, Miss, and you may be sure you're going to be punished for it!"
"But it's not true!" Willa protested angrily. "That sneaky little Theresa got into bed with me and tried-tried to do things to me. I tried to kick her out, and then the matron came in. It's not my fault at all, and it's not fair to punish me for it, either."
"My matrons are trained to observe the truth, Willa. Besides, a good whipping will bring the truth out even more. Come with me." And with this Serafina Calavaro seized the beauty's wrist and dragged her into the special room which she had had equipped especially for her own lascivious and sadistic punishments.
In only the nightie, Willa felt atrociously ashamed, but this dominatress was scantily clad too, in her quilted robe, under which was the sheerest of black nylon slips. For all this, of course, had been premeditated.
Serafina Calavaro threw open the door of the special chamber and shoved Willa Munson inside. When the young girl saw the apparatuses in this grim chamber, she uttered a stifled cry and tried to run. But instantly Serafina regained her hold of Willa's wrist and dragged her forward. At the same time, doubling the girl's arm backward, she made Willa bend over and in almost the same movement forced her towards what she was jokingly inclined to call the "bend-over horse."
This was simply a gym apparatus which had a heavy rectangular base and four legs on the side of each of which was a metal ring to which cords could be attached. At the center, a crank lifted at its end on a round post, an oval shaped pad of soft, pliable leather. At one end of this pad was a leather strap which could be hooked into the other side of the pad. Where the usual horse provided for the victim's riding astride of it and being fastened down by wrists and ankles so as to uparch her bottom for the lash, this one made her stand with her belly pressing against the pad and strapped over the back to hold her snugly. A turn of the crank would then hoist or lower the vertical pole as desired, so that she could be stretched atrociously or lowered even more suggestively to jut out the hemispheres of her condemned bottom.
In a trice, Willa found herself forced over this pad, and instantly Serafina Calavaro drew the broad strap around Willa's back and hooked it into place, adjusting it several notches so that it pinned her effectively. Recovering from the agony of her wrist, Willa now tried to get away, but of course she was helpless. It was a simple matter, therefore, for the dominatress to squat down, take up the cords which lay along the base of this device, and leisurely, gloatingly, make Willa's wrists and ankles fast, first one and then another, to the rings. Then, adjusting the crank to her satisfaction, she made the round post's top force Willa's waist up even more, to the extreme, so the girl was so agonizingly stretched that it seemed to her that her flesh would burst and her bones crack. She gasped and groaned, her face congested, and she tried to budge, but only muscular tremors surged up and down her lovely legs and bottom.
"That's better," Serafina Calavaro hissed. "And now to get that big round bottom of yours ready for the thrashing it deserves for your filthiness."
With this, grasping the hem of the cotton nightie, she yanked it upwards, and Willa Munson uttered a cry of embarrassed rage and shame, for now she was naked from the waist down, her broad, firm, satiny pink-and-white-skinned ass-ovals thrust out in the most lascivious manner, vulnerable to the lash.
Serafina's nostrils twitched and shrank, her eyes glittering with lust. It was seldom she had seen so voluptuous and enticing a prey, even though this school abounded in lovely virgins. It was a pity she couldn't sell the girl for a huge profit, for instance to someone like Alfredo Piranguez, an extremely wealthy coffee plantation owner from Rio de Janeiro, who made an annual pilgrimage to the school and usually took back with him at least one "niece" or "ward." Naturally, he went through the legalistic formula of "adopting" the slave girl whom he purchased from the Calavaros, and thus far there had been no one to tell the Calavaros what a fraudulent scheme this really was.
Of this, of course, Willa Munson knew nothing. Groaning and sobbing, she dragged frantically at her wrists, succeeding only in chafing them as the thin cords cut into the tender limbs. Meanwhile, Serafina proceeded lingeringly, savoring every moment, every nuance of her triumph. She rolled the nightie up and tucked it under the strap affixed over Willa's bare back and forced her barebelly against the pad. Though there were several thicknesses of leather in this pad, the round hardness of the upright vertical pole could be felt, and in Willa's constrained posture, it became an atrocious ordeal in itself.
Serafina had to caution herself not to go too quickly with this delicious piece of pussy. Of course, she could not know that Willa was not entirely an innocent virgin, since the latter had already been initiated into the forbidden joys of Bilitis by her petite roommate at Delton, the charming Gillian Porterby. But the sight of that magnificent bottom, on which now several red splotches from her palm stood out against the soft pinksheened satiny skin, the convulsive tremors which beset the luscious asscheeks and the full, lovely thighs, even the nervously muscled calves, were such a regalia for her that she had to close her eyes for a moment and shiver as she promised herself a long and lingering domination of this rebellious beauty.
"I hope, Willa," she now harangued the squirming, naked girl, "you begin to realize that you won't be able to get away with any of your little tricks in this school of mine and my brother's. The next time I see fit to punish you, miss, it will be before all your classmates. I am sparing you the shame now, because what you have done is so sinful and so obscene that I would not corrupt my other pupils by exposing them to it."
This hypocritical sally was part of Serafina's subjugational tactics, but it only enraged Willa. "Ohhh, I told you I didn't do it-you have no right to do this-I'll write to my father-I promise you I will-and he'll come and take me away," she stormed.
"Not at least until your arse has been well thrashed, my beauty," Serafina Calavaro purred. Then, her lips tightening, she placed her left hand on the small of the girl's back and began to spank her harshly. The barrage of slaps range out, flattening the succulent ovals of that shapely, protruding ass, and each blow seemed to shake Willa to her very fundament.
Bent over the post as she was, and strapped to it, her wrists and ankles corded, every movement which her body involuntarily made under the stinging and now increasingly burning storm of slaps became a torment to her. She groaned, her eyes filling with tears, she ground her teeth together and closed her eyes and blinked them, but the spanking went on. Finally she could not stand the cumulatively burning heat which was making her bottom become inflamed and swollen and she uttered a wailing cry.
"Oh stop it-you're hurting me-this awful thing is pressing into me-you're hurting me-let me go!"
"You're still rebellious, you little bitch. I shan't let you go until you've really had a thrashing. This is just a warm-up," Serafina Calavaro insisted.
She glanced at her palm now and saw that it was red. It was stinging, also. She grimaced with distaste, and then she drew back to a deep upholstered armchair in front of this bend-over horse of hers, which was her own invention, with a few adaptations that could be used later on, and seated herself. Crossing her legs, she breathed quickly, her magnificent titties jutting against the cusps of the slip. Her eyes were narrowed and burning with lust-light, and she felt the twitching of desire in her pussylips. Meanwhile, poor Willa groaned and squirmed over the horse, trying to lift her face up and to stare out beyond her. She tried her best to ease the atrocious position, but the hooked strap over her back wouldn't yield, and the rigor of that pole forced into her belly was still an agony. Her bottom burned furiously and even now, although the spanking had stopped, it seemed to her that the heat was even more intolerable.
Now the dominatress lit a cigarette and put it into her ivory cigarette holder, then puffed meditatively as she pondered the wonderful ass and the long sleek thighs that tapered gracefully until they merged into the impudently broad, enticingly jutting ovals of that magnificent ass. The highset calves were rippling and flexing constantly now, and to see the pinksheened skin visited by all those myriad flexions increased her own perverse and greedy lust for tasting this virginal young flesh and usurping it for herself.
At last she rose, crushing out her cigarette in a silver tray on a little tabouret beside the chair. She walked over to the wall and took down from the panoply, in full view of Willa, who had now lifted her face and was staring at her tormentress with an anxious kind of mingled hate and fear, and reached out slowly towards the many hooks from which dangled whips, cravaches, paddles, tawses, martinets and even a long carriage whip, as well as numberous malacca canes and rattans.
"I think," she decided at last, pursing her lips as a connoisseur might do as he contemplated a choice of vintage wines from the sommelier, "that a few cuts on your bare legs will put you into an excellent attitude for getting your bottom-thrashing, Willa."
With this, she took down a very springy but thin cane, perhaps no longer than three feet long, with a crooked handle as grip. Swishing it in the air, she turned and walked towards the culprit bent over the horse. Willa uttered a cry: "Oh God, you'll kill me, no you shan't, you shan't, you can't beat me like this, I'll tell my father, I will, I will!
"I have anticipated that," the dominatress purred as she patted Willa's left calf lightly with the cane. "I will write to your father myself, dear. Not only will I tell him how I have punished you, but why. When he finds out that his charming, mature daughter plays in the dark with other girls and does her nastiness, I have a feeling he will give you another thrashing on top of this one when you go home for the holidays. Now you just see how you like the feel of this cane, Willa."
Now she drew her wrist back and flicked the supple rattan against the middle of the girl's bare calf. There was a sharp gasp, and it felt to Willa as if a red-hot poker had been traced across the flesh-not only across it, but into the bond. Already a second smack resounded as the cane danced across the middle of the other calf, and this time her cry was prolonged and shrill. She wriggled and twisted and jerked at her bonds, panting and trembling, her entire body in delicious movement for the dominatress to behold. The sight of those delicious asscheeks, flaming red in color, jiggling like mounds of Jello, excited the Lesbian headmistress, as did the sight of shell-pink pussy which peeped from between Willa's struggling, naked thighs.
Now, greedily, the dominatress patted Willa's left knee-hollow, and she smiled with perverse delight as she heard the young girl suck in her breath and saw her stiffen all her muscles in a useless defense. She kept on patting the tender region, and finally drew the cane back and held it there for a moment to aggrandize the suspense. Finally, when it struck with a sharp "Splatt," Willa uttered a shriek and jerked her hips from side to side as much as the pad and strap permitted.
"You like my little cane, I see. Very well, I shall use it a good deal on your naughty legs. It will teach you not to crawl into bed with another girl," the dominatress hypocritically declared. Another smack followed on the other knee-hollow, and Willa tried desperately to jerk herself free of her bonds, but in vain.
Slowly the dominatress proceeded. Touching here and there on each calf in turn, she applied stinging flicks of the rattan, leaving darkening, thin red welts on the lovely pinksheened flesh. Willa's cries were deafening now, and there was a pattern running from her ankles up to the base of her flaming asscheeks. It was a far more severe thrashing than any newcomer had ever had, but it was the girl's defiant beauty that roused the perverse subjugatress.
Then, replacing the cane in its peg on the wall, Serafina Calavaro went back to her chair and removed her slip, standing naked in high heeled sandals which she had put on just before leaving her salon to take this delicious culprit to the punishment chamber.
"And now, you little vixen, the real whipping," the woman announced. "Not my hand, assuredly. Your big bottom is too hard, and you've worn my hand out. Would you like the paddle, a nice firm paddle covered with leather, or a good firm tawse? You have a rather plump bottom, my dear, and it can take a good deal of thrashing, be sure of that. Ah, here's what I want-the leather sole. It makes a good noise, it smacks hard, and it reduces you to the role of a little child. Yes, I think we'll use the sole for your real thrashing."
"Oh my God, no! Stop it, Miss Calavaro-I didn't do it with that girl-she did it on purpose- I know she did-she got in bed with me and tried-"
"Silence!" the dominatress interrupted, bringing down the sole with fall force across both bottomcheeks, leaping the sinuous furrow which separated those jutting, scarlet bottom-globes.
Willa let out a piercing shriek of intolerable suffering, because the leather sole had at once intensified the previous heat of the spanking and added its own ferocious kiss. It was plainly outlined, even superimposed over the flaming background left by the handspanking.
"Oh yes, it's very good indeed. Now then, I'll teach you to play your dirty little games, which undoubtedly you did at the other school and weren't caught at," Serafina Calavaro continued, her voice harsh with lust. The sole rose and fell, alternating with vigor on the naked oval ass-cheeks of the sufferer. Willa lifted her face, the cords of her neck standing out, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes glazed and dilated with agony, emitting shriek upon shriek as the sole crashed down on her tender, swollen ass. She arched and jerked against the strap which crossed her smooth bare back and pinned her like a worm to the pole and the pad of punishment. Her titties dangled, heaving wildly now, and she was choked by sobs and groans as the implacable dominatress ruthlessly continued the attack.
At last, when forty good whacks had been rotated out, Serafina Calavaro stopped, out of breath, her naked body shuddering and moist with perspiration from her own lust-desires.
"There now," she panted, "perhaps that'll teach you that we have discipline here. But I'm not finished with you yet, you young slut. A special punishment is reserved for those girls who commit sexual misconduct. Yes, miss, right on the spot which was the wickedest-here!" and with her long forefinger, she delved under the girl's scarlet asscheeks and found the gaping lips of Willa's pussy, then prodded inwardly until she found the virgin cheery. Willa uttered a strangled cry of indignation and anguish at this obscene palpation.
"Yes, here," the dominatress mocked. Then, going back to the wall, she took down an even shorter cane, much thinner, hardly the width of a Venus pencil. Armed with it, she went behind the girl, slowly lowered it, and drew it up between Willa's asscheeks until it touched the cunt itself. The tip was sharpened, like an arrow.
"Ohhhh, my God, not there, don't hit me there-oh please, Miss Calavaro, don't, oh I beg of you, please don't!" Willa screamed, casting aside all her rebelliousness and defiance.
"Perhaps you will learn to be more obedient the next time," Serafina smiled, lowering the cane, and then she flicked it lightly up, right into the girl's cunt.
The frenzied struggles of the naked captive made the apparatus creak as Willa released an indescribably shrill shriek of intolerable suffering and, her teeth chattering, bathed in tears, almost unintelligibly gasped out, "Ohhhahhhhahhhrrr, oh my God-not there-oh, I'll do anything you want-anything-anything-only stop!"
"Anything?" For the second time the cane flicked up into the tempting young pussy.
And again Willa's cry was deafening, while her body strained and struggled against her bonds.
"Anything?" Serafina repeated, tauntingly, prodding that soft, tender pussy with the cane again.
"Oh yes! Ahhhh-oh don't hit me there any more- please don't-don't hit me there- anything you want, Miss Calavaro, but please, please don't hit me there any more-I can't stand it- I can't-truly, I can't stand it-you're killing me!" was the frantic scream.
"Very well, I'll see if you'll be good now," the dominatress purred.
She untied the girl's wrists and ankles now, undid the leather strap and helped Willa to rise by reaching forward and down and grabbing hold of the girl's pear shaped bubbies. Willa sobbingly, moaningly sagged against her executioner's body, and Serafina trembled to feel that young flesh against her own nakedness.
"Take off your nightgown at once," she commanded. Half-fainting, Willa Munson obeyed.
"Now get down on your knees," was the next order. And when the girl had obeyed, Serafina stood with legs astraddle, hands on hips, eyes blazing.
"Now kiss me-you know where!" she ordered.
Willa uttered a gasping cry of revulsion, but when she saw the cruel look on that evil face, and when she heard Serafina Calavaro hiss, "Then back you go over the horse and I shall cane you in that same place until you are willing to do everything, yes," she at last capitulated.
Whimpering, her hands squeezing the dominatress's asscheeks, Willa Munson did to her what she had done to sweet Gillain in love. But this was out of pain and fear and shame and hatred, and it was to be the basis of Willa Munson's new life.
Willa Munson had spent the night in the bedchamber of Serafina Calavaro. After she had been forced to kneel and thank the subjugatress for her thrashing, she had first gamahuched the svelte black-haired Lesbian. Then, certain that she had conquered the chestnut-haired beauty definitively, the cruel sister of Matthew Calavaro had ordered Willa to follow her to her bedroom. Then, stretching out on the bed, Serafina had commanded the trembling, shamed teenager to stretch out over her and, kissing her tenderly on the mouth and with her hands under Serafina's asscheeks, to grind her pussy back and forth till the dominatress achieved her furious orgasm.
Then she had made the girl take some wine, and into it she had dropped a tiny gray pill, a derivative of cannabis, one of the most potent aphrodisiacs known to mankind. Within a half an hour, Willa was shivering as with fever, her skin moist and twitching, her eyes wildly dilated, and her beautiful pear shaped titties rising and falling agitatedly. Greedily the dominatress had taken advantage of her victim. She had mounted over Willa, and, her hands squeezing and kneading Willa's still inflamed and still very warm bottom-globes, begun to rub pussy to pussy, inserting her tongue inside Willa's mouth and drawing the girl to a frenzied climax. Before the night was over, Willa had been obliged to crouch on all fours and while Serafina Calavaro frigged her tickler with her left forefinger, the dominatress buggered he with a rubber dildo which she had strapped to her loins and which she had previously lubricated with cold cream so as to facilitate its entry into Willa's tight virgin asshole.
And in the morning, when she had had a matron bring in breakfast to the two of them, she had mockingly told the shamed girl, "Now then, Miss, both of us know what a little slut you really are at heart. I don't think it'll do any good for you to write to your father about being punished, because I can tell him from first-hand experience what an immoral little bitch you really are. If you are wise and keep your mouth shut, you will be one of my favorites. Otherwise, you will be severely whipped at least three or four times a week."
And so Willa Munson decided to remain silent on what had happened to her, even though she knew it to be terribly unjust. She went back at noon to her room to wash and dress in the customary school uniform, and Theresa Davis was not there in the room as she had expected her to be.
There was a very good reason for that. Poor Theresa had remained all night in the dungeon, fixed to the apparatus to which she had been bound by Jane Dougall and then given a hand-spanking...
Jane Dougall entered the dungeon in which Theresa Davis had been imprisoned, with a bowl of bread and milk, placed it on the floor, and then freed the weeping black-haired teenager from the sawhorse, and helped her down. All night long the fifteen-year-old slim brunette had been forced to press her tenderest parts against the infernally sharp ridge of the apparatus. She whimpered and gasped as the matron led her towards the center of the floor, "Oh please- oh let me see Miss Serafina, Please, Matron!"
"She doesn't want to see you, you little bitch. Now get down on all fours and eat your lunch and be quick about it. I'll just take a paddle down from the hook and help you along if you've any ideas about begging off," the gray-haired, fat matron threatened.
Sobbing as if her heart would break, the naked teenager crouched down on all fours and dolefully began to lap up the frugal repast. Jane Dougall stood by, a leather-covered paddle in her right hand, and from time to time applied a light smack over the girl's still well-marked bare asscheeks.
When it was finished, she ordered Theresa to stand up and then to march over to a metal triangle, formed in the shape of an isosceles. Trembling with fear, Theresa wanted to know why this was being done to her, and the matron retorted, "Because it's Miss Serafina's order, that's why! Now get over there quick or I'll give you a thrashing by myself and without waiting for her order, you understand me?"
Cowed and all her spirit gone at the knowledge that her beloved directress had abandoned her, the naked girl frantically obeyed. She was ordered to stretch her wrists above her head and clasp them together, whereupon the matron tied them tightly with a cord and passed the other end through a ring set on the very peak of the metal frame. Next came her ankles, straddled widely apart and each tied to the base of one of the isosceles triangle. Theresa Davis now faced the door of the dungeon, her legs hugely widened, the chafed lips of her pussy plainly in evidence, and her titties rose and fell in agitated turbulence, as she begged the matron to tell her what was going to happen to her. But the sadistic gray-haired woman said nothing as she calmly left the dungeon and locked the door behind her. So Theresa Davis was left to her imagination, which indeed was vivid enough to make her tremble and sob and to feel more than apprehensive about what would happen next.
It was not until late that afternoon that Serafina Calavaro entered the dungeon and found her exquisitely precocious fifteen-year-old black-haired pet stark naked and readied for any punishment she cared to inflict.
They had blind-folded Theresa so she would not know who had come into the dungeon, and this had been at Serafina's own order. When she heard the sound of footsteps, the sensual young favorite of the dominatress raised her head and uttered a poignant cry: "Oh please, oh I want to talk to Miss Calavaro, oh please won't someone help me? I hurt so, please let me up, I've been here all night and all day and it's just dreadful, oh please, I haven't done anything, I only did what I was supposed to do!"
"You have a nasty tongue, you little bitch, and you are not at all trustworthy," came the husky voice of the dominatress, striking terror into the young girl's heart. "Yes, it's I who gave the order to have you tied here and spanked by Matron Dougall. You were giving yourself airs, my girl, and I won't permit that. Our relationship is supposed to be secret."
"But I don't tell anyone about us, I don't, honestly I don't, Miss Calavaro, oh please let me go, it hurts me so!" the young girl wailed.
"Besides which," the dominatress went on coldly, "Miss Dougall saw you coming out of the room which Penny and Edna occupy. I am sure, in view of the lateness of the hour, you were up to your nasty little tricks with those girls."
"Oh no-oh please-I-I can explain-"
"By all means, do. Meanwhile, to refresh your memory, Theresa, I'm going to give you a good whipping. Even if you did nothing with those two girls, this punishment will teach you to be a little more discreet. Get yourself ready!"
In spite of the young girl's frantic supplications, the dominatress, who was clad in a one-piece black leather body sheath, knee-length boots and shoulder-length matching black gloves, went to the wall and took down from one of the hooks a rectangular-shaped leather paddle. The jouncy, saucy bottom-globes of the unfortunate young girl were elevated up at a most lascivious angle, and she could plainly see the soft pink pussylips peeping between the black curls of the exquisite virgin's snatch. For of course Theresa Davis was virgin to man.
It pleased the cruel dominatress, however, to sacrifice this spy of hers who had now outlived her usefulness and thus a dreadful fate awaited Theresa Davis. She began to spank the naked brunette teenager with slow emphatic blows which drew wild cries of agony and frenzied threshings of that lithe olive skinned body over the whipping apparatus. Soon Theresa's bottomglobes were angrily swollen and a violent dark red throughout. Her voice was breaking and her throat raw from her hoarse shrieks and cries for mercy.
And since Serafina had tasted one of Willa's three tempting virginities, she had decided to sacrifice Theresa to her brother.
Hanging the paddle back on the hook, she mockingly informed the weeping young girl, 'The principal of the school is going to pay you a visit at bedtime, Theresa dear. I think he is quite vexed with you also. I shall see you tomorrow after you have had all your punishment, and you will have an interview with me and I will find out then whether you have decided to be much more obedient and less sneaky. Remember this, you are never again to take on yourself the privilege of sleeping with any of the girls in the school unless I have formally ordered you to do so."
And so several more hours of agonized despair awaited the unfortunate black-haired teenager. Jane Dougall brought Theresa her supper on a tray, sat down a stool in front of the apparatus to which the girl was tethered, and fed her by spoon, exactly as if she had been a baby. In vain the culprit tried to beg the matron what was going to happen, but the latter did not answer her. Then again the dungeon was locked behind her, and Theresa Davis was left with her imagination and her fears, her body chafed from the long pinioned sojourn on the whipping device.
Serafina had gone to her brother's room to inform him that instead of Willa, she was willing to surrender Theresa. He was delighted, for nothing pleased him more than to force his priapic attentions on a girl whom he knew to prefer the tender amours of her own sex. "I'm amazed, my dear sister," he chuckled as he put his bathrobe on over his pajamas and thrust his feet into sandals, then lit a cigar. "You are usually not so generous with your favorites. What did Theresa do to displease you so?"
Tm sure you'll find her a most delightful little bitch, my dear brother. She has pleased me for quite sometime, as you well know. But when I was told that she used her position as a favorite to go wandering down the corridors at night and making love to whomever she pleased, I felt that she had gone a little too far in taking authority which was not hers to take. You need not worry about any repercussions. Tm sure that Theresa's remaining family will never know or even be concerned with what happens except that we probably won't be able to sell her outright. Oh by the way, is the little celebration working out?"
"Quite so, Serafina. Only this morning I had letters from the last of the guests I expected, saying they were eagerly awaiting the time when they should see us again and our new slave-candidates."
"I think we shall make a great deal of money this time, my dear brother," the dominatress purred. "How many guests in all do you expect?"
"I should say about thirty, give or take a few. The old Rajah of Biwahrta will be our most famous guest, and he is enormously wealthy, as you well know. If he buys a slave, we shall have to dye her skin brown and put her in a native costume. What he will do then is to leave one of his many concubines behind, so that the customs people will see that the same number of females are leaving England as came into it. Then later, of course a special visa will be given to the girl he loves so that she may return to her master," Matthew Calavaro explained.
"Excellent! Well now, I shall have one of my other little pets to bed with me, like Edna or Penny. Both those naughty minxes aren't aware that I have caught their lover Theresa and so they are going to be punished too. Meanwhile, amuse yourself with Theresa. She's extremely sensual, although she's never had a man. I think she will delight you."
"No man could ask for a more helpful or affectionate sister," he chuckled. Then, taking his leave of her, he went downstairs to the dungeon in which Theresa had been locked up.
And so when the dungeon door opened this time, Theresa uttered a wild cry of fear: "Oh, who is it? Oh is it you, Miss Serafina? Oh please take me down, I've been punished enough, I didn't mean to go to Edna and Penny, I really didn't, I'll never do it again if you'll just give me another chance! Oh please, I hurt so between my legs and my poor bum-oh please!"
"You are going to hurt a great deal more, I'm afraid, Theresa," Matthew Calavaro said in a husky voice as he slipped off his dressing down and then doffed his shorts, revealing his long thick prick in savage erection.
"Ohhh! Oh, please, don't look at me like this, I'm naked. I'm naked, I don't want a man to see me!" Theresa wailed, flinging herself wildly back and forth against her bonds till the triangle creaked its protest.
"You didn't have the same modesty when you went to visit Edna and Penny, I am told, Theresa," Matthew Calavaro joked as he slowly approached the sobbing naked teenager. "You know who I am, I think? Do you recognize my voice?"
"Oh yes- Oh Mr. Calavaro, for God's sake, please take me down, and let me put some clothes on, Fm so ashamed!"
"Not just yet. It pleases me to have you naked like this. I'd often had my eye on you, Theresa. You're a very tempting model, you know. What lovely slim legs, and that sweet pussy of yours, oh, what a shame, it must feel very sore from having been pressed against the sawhorse all night long, eh?"
He was standing now, facing her, only a foot or two away from the trembling naked blindfold girl. He put out his left hand and cupped one of her small but firm, pert titties, and Theresa uttered a strangled cry of fear and shame and tried to fling herself backwards. Now his right forefinger approached her pussy, and began to tickle the chafed-looking lips while Theresa moaned and sobbed, the tears running down her flushed cheeks, as she pleaded brokenly to be spared: "Oh don't touch me-oh it isn't right, Mr. Calavaro, oh please don't! Oh let go of me, oh I feel so ashamed, please let me put some clothes on, oh for God's sake, if you're going to wh-whip me, at least cover me up, I don't want you to see-"
"Your pussy?" he finished for her. "But that's a very charming part of you, Theresa. My sister has often spoken highly of the talents which that adorable little slit of yours possesses. I'm here to test them, you see. You've never had a man, have you?"
"Oh don't do it to me! Oh I'd rather die! Oh don't-oh don't-oh whip me all you want, but not that, I beg of you!" she wailed.
Matthew Calavaro could hardly contain himself. To maintain this dialogue with the frantic naked beauty, to realize her anguished suspense at being blindfolded straddled before him and absolutely helpless, and to know that most of all she Was a Lesbian who detested men, cumulatively gave him the most sadistic joy it was possible to experience in this school of his. He kept his hand on her tittie, while his forefinger continued to frig her, delicately moving inside the lips every so often till at last he had jammed his finger up against her virgin cherry. Theresa, mewling and whimpering, babbling incoherent protests and supplications, twisted and squirmed herself in every possible direction in the vain hope of trying to free her tenderest and hitherto unprofaned quim from his obscene palpations.
At last he left her, but only to go the wall and to take down a five-thonged martinet whose tips were notched at the end so as to give additional sting when applied to the naked flesh. Placing himself behind her, he drew back his arm and slowly hovered the lash while he watched her squirm and bend and jerk in frantic anguish, her face turned back over her shoulder, her voice hysterical and strident as she begged to know what he was going to do to her.
"Whip you until you beg me to fuck you, that's what, Theresa," he chuckled. And then the whip swept out, and the five thongs clacked angrily across her naked bottom, making her lunge forward with a scream of pain.
A dozen times the five-thonged whip swept over her naked asscheeks, and Theresa Davis was hysterical as her body jerked and lunged and weaved and twisted, while the marks left by the lash marred the olive satin of her smooth young skin.
Lowering the whip to the floor, he now leaped it up between her legs, and the tips shot into her cunt and inflicted atrocious suffering. Her prolonged, raucous shriek attested to this agony as she yanked at her tractioned wrists, begging him to have pity on her and not to whip her there.
"But you shall be whipped there and nowhere else until you ask me to fuck you, Theresa," he told her. And once again the five-thongs leaped up between her hugely straddled thighs to send the notched tips right into her already chafed and over-sensitized virgin cunthole.
Maddened screams of pain were torn from her lips as her body lunged forward, then swerved from side to side. Now quickly crossing in front of her, he lowered the whip again and for the third time sent it whistling up to bite into her cunthole.
"Awrrrohh-eeeowwwouuu- Oh I can't stand it there, oh have pity, Mr. Calavaro, oh don't whip me there anymore, please!" she screamed.
"I told you that I should whip you until you beg me to fuck you, and I meant just that, Theresa," was his reply. Now he sent the whip across her panting titties, and even as she shrieked and wriggled and twisted under that cut, he again lowered the whip to the floor and sent it flicking upwards to bite into her pussy.
Theresa capitulated: "Eeeoyowuuu!!! Oh have mercy, I can't stand it there, oh do anything you want with me but for God's sake stop whipping me between my legs, Mr. Calavaro!"
"That is not quite the formula I taught you, is it? Try again, Theresa," he said. And once more the whip, aimed from downwards up, swept into her cunt.
"Ohhahrrr, oh fuck me then, for God's sake fuck me, anything except that awful whipping, oh do it to me and get it over with, but don't hit me there again, I'm begging you, Mr. Calavaro!" was her agonized cry.
It was high time. He was already at the bursting point. Flinging down the five-thonged whip, the naked director of the Calavaro School for Young Ladies stepped close to her, his fingers gripping her asscheeks, as he thrust his prick between the lips of her virgin cunt and forced himself up against her cherry. Theresa now had misgivings, and tried frantically to back away and to scream for mercy. But his fingers were like talons as they dug into her blazing bottom, forcing her to her fate. With another savage lunge, he tore through the virgin barrier and then began to fuck her, while, weeping hysterically, she babbled for mercy...
Meanwhile, after supper, Serafina Calavaro had ordered two matrons to take Edna and Penny into another of the torture chambers in the cellar of this grim old castle-like edifice, to strip them naked, blindfold them, and bind them together with a cord around their waists.
Both girls were sixteen, Edna being a sandy-haired blonde with a rather placid, pretty face, big titties, a spacious bottom ideal for spanking, and plump thighs, with pink and white skin. Penny was more vivacious, auburn haired, an inch taller, with longer legs and high-perched, rather large pear shaped titties, but with a compact and almost boyish bottom.
The contrast of these two beauties was all the more vividly accentuated when Serafina entered the dungeon in which they were imprisoned. The matrons had shackled their wrists with handcuffs attached to a heavy trapeze bar lowered from the ceiling by a pulley, and they were absolutely naked, facing each other and with a cord around their waists pressing them closely together. Blindfolded as they were, and having to wait all this long while to know what was to be their punishment, their agitation was naturally understandable. They burst into sobs as they heard Serafina close the dungeon door behind her.
"Now then, we're going to have a reckoning for your little escapade with Theresa Davis," she announced to them. "You may be sure that she is getting her own punishment. You girls know that at times I have been especially nice to you. But I will not stand for your taking it on yourselves to have love affairs in this school. Theresa was wrong and was punished. You shall be similarly punished. Get yourselves ready."
"Oh what are you going to do to us, Miss Serafina?" the more timid Edna begged, her voice breaking with sobs.
Tm going to whip you both, girls. You will naturally rub yourselves together and that in turn will bring about a certain shall we say, emotional excitement. Whoever is first to have climax, will spend the night with me. The other will remain in this cell and be severely whipped in addition. Now that you are warned, I shall begin!"
With this, choosing a riding crop that was extremely flexible and with a pointed flap at the end, the directress planted herself first behind Penny and applied two whistling cuts over her boyishly tight-spaced asscheeks, which drew cries and frantic wrigglings from her. Then going round, she applied two equally severe cuts over Edna's broader bottom. The effect of the welts on the different skins of her two victims excited her, and she took off her dressing gown and was naked in sandals.
Now moving back to Penny, she swept the crop across the slim auburn-haired girl's upper thighs, drawing a piercing cry and making Penny jerk forward and grind her cunt against Edna's. Standing right up against Penny, the dominatress reached round and smacked the leather riding crop over the ripest curves of Edna's broadly rounded bottomglobes, and now it was Edna's turn to cry out and lunge forward, with the result that both girls were grinding pussy to pussy exactly as Serafina Calavaro desired.
Now, moving between them and to the left, so that she could reach around with backhanded strokes for Penny and apply a direct cut over Edna's more ripely enticing behind, she continued to alternate the fustigation.
It was plain to see that Edna, the more timid of the two girls, also marked the most and produced the most violent reactions after a stinging cut of the riding crop. She lunged her body savagely against Penny's, and her hips swerved from side to side in the unmistakable friction of pussy-rubbing.
It was Penny who was brought first to climax, which was exactly what Serafina had hoped for. She preferred the slim auburn-haired beauty to the rather cringing and cowed Edna, whose placid temperament did not entirely satisfy her own perverse desires.
Unlocking the handcuffs from Penny's wrists, she led the sobbing girl to her own bedchamber, while giving a matron instructions to leave Edna as she was for the night and to remind her in the morning that the sandy-haired blonde culprit was to received a serious whipping.
The night was spent in consoling Penny, who, stimulated by the thrashing, proved the most ardent partner the dominatress could have asked for.
Shortly before lunch, poor Edna met her fate. Fed breakfast by a matron who used a spoon to give her the bread and milk which was customary for such culprits undergoing punishment, she was visited again by the dominatress, taken over the latter's lap, and made to count out fifty swats with the leather sole. Then, as a last condescension, she was allowed to go down on her knees and thank her mistress for the spanking and promise never to offend again. As a reward, the directress of the Calavaro School for Young Ladies allowed her to bow her head and gamahuch her, while she stroked the weeping girl's hair.
And now the time had come to plan for the oncoming celebration which would entertain wealthy guests and which, though no one knew it at the time, would change the lives of all concerned.
Willa Munson had written exactly one letter back home, a letter which Serafina herself had edited, seated beside the chestnut-haired girl and warning her with cruel looks that the slightest change in wording from what she had told the girl to say would mean a good thrashing.
Meanwhile, her father, Wilson Munson, had come back from his trip greatly exhausted. The political tussle in which he had been involved setting up a new board of managers of the tannery had tired him out a good deal. He was eager to get home and to rest. Maybe he and Grace could even have a little vacation, perhaps in Paris all along the French Riveria.
This was the week in which the Calavaros were about to hold their little "celebration" for a very exclusive group of wealthy backers who would ultimately come away with slaves they had bought from this institution. Grace received him fondly, delighted with her own cleverness in concealing from him the lover she had taken during his absence. That night, he fucked her vigorously, but she made the mistake of lying passively beneath him and not giving him her usual passionate exhortation. When he had finished, and lay panting on his back, he gasped, "what's the matter, baby, were you tired out or something?"
"Oh no, good heavens, what makes you think that?" she quickly answered.
"Well, usually you're so hot. My goodness, if I didn't know you better, I'd say that maybe somebody else had been taking care of you while I was away," he joked.
Grace turned pale. In her effort to cover up the fact that he had struck much too close to home, she angrily exclaimed, "That's a filthy thing to say about your own wife, Wilson! You apologize now or I won't speak to you again!"
"Of course I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean it. I was just joking. Maybe we're both tired out. How about a vacation in a couple of weeks? I was thinking of maybe the Riveria."
"That would be lovely," Grace at once smiled sweetly at him and turned on her side to him and began to cuddle him. Her hands stroked his thigh and then his cock, coaxing him back to life.
But the damage had been done. Angered by his feeling of possessing her so completely, Grace phoned Roger Dugby and told him she just had to see him the next afternoon. Her husband would be in his London office, she was sure, and after the vigorous lovemaking Roger had given her during Wilson's absence, she had come to prefer the young man to her middle-aged, dull husband.
But the next afternoon, as luck would have it, Wilson came home early from the office and decided to take a nap. He found that Grace was out, and assumed that she had gone shopping. However, he stopped in the hallway and looked at the phone, and saw the memo pad which lay beside it. There was a phone number on there which he didn't recognize, and the initial "R."
Suddenly a presentiment came over him. He saw that he was fat, getting gray, and that Grace was young and beautiful. Her protest that she loved him dearly and her attempts to be hot in bed might well have been just a ruse to deceive him. It wasn't unusual for a young woman to marry an older man and then take somebody on the side to give her the fucking she really wanted. The demon of jealousy grew in his mind. Impulsively, he picked up the phone, dialed the operator and gave her the phone number, asked if she could get him the address. A few minutes later, having written it down, he had taken a cab to Roger's flat.
When he got to the building, he went into the lobby and saw that Roger had a second-floor flat. He walked up the stairs and down the landing till he reached Roger's door. Then, his heart pounding wildly, he put his ear to the door and listened. He could hear giggling, and then a man's chuckle. And then suddenly, his heart almost stood still. It was Grace's voice: "Oh darling, do it slowly, just tease me, if you only knew how wonderful it is to be fucked by a real man and not a middle-aged old fool like my husband!"
He saw it all now. He realized that Grace had duped him. He had mistaken her general passionate nature which would have accepted any man who could fuck her properly for real love on his part. And what a mistake it had been to have yielded to her and sent his darling daughter off to a school so far away! He would remedy that at once. But there was still time to get Willa back to Delton for the fall semester.
But first he had to deal with his wife. He walked slowly down the stairs and out to the street, hailed a cab and went back home. Then he took a nap, and so it was that Grace walked in an hour later to find him home and sleeping in his bed. She breathed a sigh of relief. Then she made a fuss over him: "Wake up, darling, it's just about time for supper. My goodness, You ought to have told me and I would have gotten home earlier from my shopping so I could have a nice dinner all ready for you."
He rose from the bed, and faced her, his face very pale and without expression. Then suddenly he slapped her face.
"Wilson-what the devil did you do that for?" she said angrily, as she rubbed her cheek and stepped back.
"So Roger is a better lover than I am, is he? Well, I'm not surprised. I think, Grace, that I'm going to see my solicitor tomorrow morning and arrange for a divorce on the grounds of adultery. I'll name your boyfriend as correspondent."
"My God, don't do that-it'd ruin his career- he-he's a soccer player and a very good one-"
"Alright. I won't name him. Instead, you'll go into court with me and agree to adulteries with unknown men. But I want you out as fast as you can go, Grace. And I'm getting Willa back home. Now I see why you wanted her out of the way, so you could twist me around your little finger. But I'm going to teach you a lesson first."
"What-what do you mean?" Grace quavered.
He went to the bedroom door and locked it, and then came back to her. Seizing her by the wrists, he pulled her down over his lap, pulled up her skirt and slip, pulled down her panties, then began to spank her naked ass with gusto. Pretty soon she was yelling for help and begging for mercy, but he kept on spanking. When he had finished, he pulled her to her feet and flung her on the bed. Then, zipping open his fly, he pulled out his prick and, grabbing her by the knees, forced them back against her titties and then fucked her brutally.
When he had finished with her, he said contemptuously, "You owed me that from the other night, you faithless bitch! Now you can pack your things and go to a hotel. I'll pay for that and I'll make a settlement on you. But I never want to see you again.
* * *
At the back of the huge cellar of this castle-like building which housed the school, there was a specially constructed auditorium. It contained about fifty loge seats extremely comfortable and plush-lined. There was a stage covered with a curtain, and on the stage was several apparatuses on which some of the lovely potential slave girls would be exhibited.
The men and women who had come to watch this special program were all elegantly dressed and they were masked to hide their identity.
Among the guests were Horace Denby, who had been promised that his sixteen-year-old niece, Katherine would be as submissive as he could wish, and Arnold Fortescue, who was waiting to have a private session with his lovely niece and ward Margaret.
The old Rajah of Biwahrta, attended by his grand vizier (a tall, gloomy-faced Hindu with a caste mark on the center of his forehead) and three of his attractive wives with their faces veiled, sat in the front loges.
Serafina Calavaro presided as mistress of ceremonies, and she was dressed in her usual one-piece bottomsheath of gleaming black leather, but with red leather boots and gloves, and a long carriage whip with a mesh tip, which she cracked in the air wickedly for dramatic effect.
Now Edna and Penny, the two girls she had punished for their lesbian pleasures with her former favorite, Theresa Davis, were brought out, their wrists tied behind their backs, blindfolded and stark naked except for knee long red leather boots. Ropes were lowered from the ceiling and tied to their wrists which were then lifted above their heads, while another rope circled their waists. Serafina now told the audience that she was going to whip them so skillfully that they would not anywhere have the skin broken, but that they would feel the lash so cruelly that they would rub together to achieve lesbian climax.
Circling the stage, she sent the whip whistling out to wrap around their young bodies, leaving thin red lines on their backs and shoulders and bottom and thighs, while they screamed and pleaded for mercy. In their frantic contortions to escape the stinging flicks of the lash, they began to rub their cunts together and finally both girls sagged in their bonds as climax hit them.
There were three girls to be sold and the first of them was now presented. She was Nellie Branson, a tall shy, golden-haired girl of eighteen whose parents had died and whose foster parents-to her bad luck-happened to be friends of the Calavaros. She had a magnificent body, being about five feet eight inches in height, with big round closely set titties, a round full upstandingly curved bottom and full though not too plump thighs. Her skin was a very pale white, unusual in blondes, and it was seen that the Rajah lusted for her at once when two matrons led her out and, at the directress's order, strapped her on a whipping horse which was on wheels and was then rolled around so that her big bottom jutted out towards the audience. Serafina now took a rubber dildo and, with the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, opened up the girl's buttocks to insert the dildo into her asshole. Nellie screamed aloud in pain, and her body jerked convulsively as the probing weapon was stuck all the way inside.
Next Serafina took up an oval-shaped paddle, and began to spank the beautiful tall golden-haired captive. Her cries became deafening, and she begged for mercy while the tears ran down her cheeks. Her swollen bottom lunged and twisted and reared and weaved while the spanking went on to about fifty swats.
She was then asked if she was ready to profess total obedience, and she hysterically agreed to do anything in the world if only Serafina would stop the spanking. Taken down from the horse, she was made to kneel on her palms, and then the Rajah himself, clad in a white linen robe, stepped onto the stage and approached her. Lofting the hem of his robe, she plunged her head beneath it and began to French him while he expressed his gratification to the audience in broken English. He forced her to swallow all his spunk, and after it was done retired to his place where his vizier took a glass of wine from a tray presented by a pretty young girl wearing only a filmy bra and panty set and high-heeled pumps, and gave it to the ruler to refresh himself.
The bidding for Nellie was hot and heavy, but the Rajah won her with a bid of five thousand pounds. The second girl was now presented, Ernestine Thalby, seventeen, saucy-faced, her black hair cut in a mannish do, her bubbies like small oranges and with wonderfully long legs and a saucy, oval-shaped ass. Her skin was a pale white, even richer than Nellie's.
She was extremely stoic, and Serafina told the audience that she could endure more lashes without crying out than any girl in the school. Two matrons took hold of her wrists and stretched her out on a whipping bench, which had a bolster under her belly to help arch her bottom. Then Serafina took a riding crop and applied very slowly thirty-five cuts from the chinkbone to the hollows of her knees. Sweating in agony, grinding her teeth together, digging her fingernails into the whipping bench, the young brunette endured with remarkable courage this atrocious whipping which left angry red, darkening stripes on her shuddering ass.
Only a few groans and sobs exuded from her lips. When the thrashing was over, the Rajah again outbid all other guests with six thousand pounds, and the naked brunette was taken from the stage to be bathed and given food and a sedative and to prepare her for her journey back to India.
Now came the third slave, Connie Blunt, a sixteen-year-old coppery-haired girl who was like a young Venus, with splendid round widely spaced titties and a sumptuously rounded ass, with tawny skin.
She was an accomplished bisexual slave, Serafina told the audience, and could service a male or a female owner with equal humility and expertise. Connie, kneeling on her palms, proceeded to gamahuch five women from the audience and then to suck off and swallow the spunk of an equal number of men. Once again the Rajah bid high for her, but a handsome gray-haired dowager in a purple evening gown and wearing a fortune in jewelry, out bid him for a change and won Connie for her very own.
Serafina then presented five different punishment episodes, in which the girls who were thrashed had been given demerits by their teachers and whose punishments she had saved just for this particular evening. One of them was Willa Munson, who was bent over the spanking stool, gagged and blindfolded, and given the paddle twenty times and then the cane a dozen. The Rajah wanted to buy her, and Serafina had to tell him that Willa was not for sale...
Wilson Munson had driven out to the school and parked his car and been admitted. One of the matrons, who happened to be Jane Dougall, met him and told him that there was a conference in the private auditorium and that he would have to wait till it was over, perhaps very late. But Wilson demanded to see his daughter. When the matron hedged, he told her he was going to call the police.
Frantic with fear that he might carry out his threat, the fat matron hurried to the auditorium and had a word in Serafina's ear. She herself left the duties of these punishments to her brother, and accompanied the matron back to where Wilson Munson stood in her office, fuming with anger.
"Willa isn't feeling well tonight, Mr. Munson," she stammered. "Why don't you stay this evening, and tomorrow you'll see her?"
"Because I want her now. I'm taking her out of this miserable place," he said angrily. "Now you just get her, or there's going to be trouble."
"But I'm afraid I can't-"
"And why not, really? I want the truth, Miss Calavaro!" he growled at her.
Now Serafina Calavaro herself was afraid of the consequences. She told the matron to go get Willa, even though she knew Willa was in the infirmary having cold cream rubbed on her hurts. When his daughter finally emerged, hobbling, grimacing, with her eyes swollen and red, her father took her in his arms and demanded, "What have they done to you, my poor darling?"
Willa had been warned not to tell her parents about the whipping she had had and still less, of course about the sexual servitude which she had had to render to Serafina. But when he saw her red, swollen eyes, and noticed how she winced with pain when he pulled her to him, he repeated his question, "Come on, Willa, don't be afraid, I'm taking you out of here. Now what did they do to you?"
And Willa broke down and told her father. "I see," he said angrily, "well, I won't bother to get your things. I'll drive you back to London, my poor girl. And then we'll see about a place like this which tortures its pupils just because the parents are far away. I've been a fool, Willa, but I'll make it up to you."
* * *
The Calavaros were arrested the next day and brought to trial a week later. The juvenile court took into custody all of the unfortunate girls who had been pupils at this torture school. And when Willa told her father what she had learned about Margaret Fortescue and Katherine Hollingsworth, he told the prosecutor to investigate these particular cases. So Horace Denby and Arnold Fortescue, far from being allowed to turn their nieces into slaves, were themselves charged with embezzlement from their nieces' estates, and sent to prison.
Wilson Munson was now a free man. And he told Willa, "I'm not going to remarry, my dear, but I am going to get myself a girlfriend. As for you, darling, you've been punished for something you never did. If you want to date a boy, go ahead, just use your own judgment."
And the happy ending to our story is that six months later, Willa met a handsome young man of twenty-four, the son of a famous London attorney, who became engaged to her and married her three months later.
However, she didn't come to him a perfect virgin. Even though her cherry was intact on their wedding night, he discovered how passionate she was and also that if she was spanked, she would be still more ardent in bed.
And so the torrid teens in the torture house were finally freed, and in most instances what they had learned of submission to the male or female under the paddle or the lash stood them in very good stead when it came time for them to meet their rightful mates!
