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Subject: Beth The Compulsive Masturbator 2, by MrSpraycan
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Disclaimer:  Adults only, whatever that means wherever you are lucky enough
to be reading this. If you don't like spanking stories, this isn't for you.
Longer disclaimer in Pt 1.
	This item is of fictional nature. All persons and places in it are
imaginary and no resemblance to real or historic characters is intended. No
illicit behavior is endorsed or condoned. Art and/or Entertainment is the
idea.

	'Ironic Eroticist' or 'Filthy Fucker'? You decide.

	*Copyright* is claimed, 1997 by Baton Rouge ThoughtScapes, and for
the author, Mr.Spraycan, who chooses to be 'anon'. For entertainment
purposes only. No commercial use is warranted without permission.  Do not
repost. Store only with this notice intact.



BETH THE COMPULSIVE MASTURBATOR (2/3)

When Beth got back to school the next weekend, she was almost pleased to be
there.
	Almost. Mixed emotions wracked her. Suddenly, everything was
different. She was involved in some kind of weird sexual entanglement with
her stepmother. Which was good, superficially. She'd never enjoyed herself
so much, even if her backside was still a little sore. But, in the greater
scheme of things, it was bad. It could only hurt poor Daddy's feelings, if
he ever found out. It was a relief, in many ways, not to still be at home.
Because something that intense could only lead to trouble, delicious though
it was . . .
	At least she'd somehow reconciled her endless sexual longings.
Instead of just wanting to endlessly rub rub rub, now she wanted to fuck
fuck fuck. Mixed up with that urge was this powerful new desire to submit,
to offer herself, to be hurt. Was that so bad, totally perverse? She didn't
think so, somehow. To give was better than to receive, though of course it
all depended on what you were receiving.
	And that was the specific source of all these mixed emotions.
Suddenly she wanted more sexual outlets than she'd ever be able find here .
. . and restraint, well that wasn't even a faint possibility, with her.
And, worse yet, the school's prim and prissy rules forbade her satisfying
herself in the meantime with her favorite outlet. But, equally, those
selfsame dumb rules would ensure that she would get her ass spanked, if she
misbehaved during this half-term. Which was, definitely, good. Except, she
wasn't attracted to any of these older women who'd have the job of spanking
her. Apart from, oh well maybe, Yvette . . . Oh, this was going to be
confusing, she fretted.

	Beth stopped by at Miss Wheatstone's office first. The letter from
her stepmother was in her shaking hand. She knew what it said. She'd help
draft it, on her sister's Mac. She watched Miss Wheatstone's face. The
woman read it, a faint pink coming to her cheeks. Without looking up at
Beth, she picked up her phone and asked Miss Strabolgi to join her,
immediately. She began re-reading it, carefully. When the other woman
entered, she handed her the letter.
	Angela's reaction was more spontaneous, less contained. "OOOH! I
mean, well, I think, yes, we can live with this . . . can't we?"
	"We try to listen carefully to a parent or guardian's wishes," Miss
Wheatstone agreed.
	Beth stood impassive, trying not to appear too concerned. Trying to
look innocent.
	But she knew that the letter read:

	"Ladies:
		"Thank you for informing me of Beth's misbehavior. I was
shocked by your news. I firmly believe she should not be allowed to persist
with her disgusting habits. I heartily concur that she must be speedily
taught the error of her ways. This is _not_ behavior she learned at home, I
assure you.
	"You have my complete authority to inflict any corporal punishments
or public humiliations you see fit upon her. Please don't concern yourself
with protecting her dignity, or inhibit yourselves in any way in your
attempts at chastising her. To stand any chance of reversing her
indiscipline and immorality, you must punish her vigorously.
	"Let me be blunt: It must hurt.
	"In my opinion, she should receive a daily caning, no matter what
other disciplinary measures are planned or have been earned.
	"If you beat her, beat her long and hard. Let her know that her
disgraceful habits will not be tolerated.
	"Cordially/Francesca di Montepesci Higgins
	"PS: I believe that I observe a developing homoerotic tendency in
Beth. Please try to correct this trait. It is socially damaging, and
fundamentally unproductive."

	Beth kept a straight face as the two women read the letter again.
She had typed it nude, her fingers sticky from masturbating, her mouth and
chin still wet from an afternoon of feeding herself her 'seafood dip,' and
of carefully licking her stepmother's well-lubricated vulva. She'd written
and re-written it three or four times, with her stepmother and both sisters
reading over her shoulder, making lewd suggestions.

	Miss Wheatstone was quite pale. She told Beth with a trembling
voice: "Thank you, Beth, that will be all. We will discuss this matter with
you later."
	Beth left quickly, headed for the nearest toilet, to discover her
panties stuck to her. They didn't stay that way for long.
	Angela Strabolgi had dropped to her knees at Miss Wheatstone's
side. But she wasn't praying. Miss Wheatstone lifted her skirt and croaked:
"Angela . . . did you believe that? She's ours, that's for sure. Oh, I
can't believe it . . . I'm piddling myself . . ."
	Angela was kneading and stroking, and reassured the headmistress:
"Don't fight it. We've got her, so let's not waste our opportunities . . .
Let me get your panties off, Heather. Oh! My! You have made a mess! May I .
. ."

	That night, Sunday, Beth found out a little more about how things
had changed. The huge ugly chastity belt had been put away. She hoped for
good. It had left ugly marks, and been impossible to sleep in. Also gone,
it seemed were the ugly pajamas, the	bells, the gloves. All that
paraphernalia. She settled into bed, glad to be back, reading a paperback.
Soon the lights were turned down. She was too horny for sleep, of course.
	And she made the most of her opportunity. She rubbed and squeezed,
pulled and stroked, until her labia, clit and nipples were throbbing. Then
carried right on. She was paying no attention now. An hour or more went by.
She stifled her grunts and moans, thankful for a lot of noise from the
heating system, and the sound of rain on the roof.
	Suddenly, a bright flashlight shone on her. Not just on her
sweating, flushed face, or even her bare breasts. No, Beth had kicked off
the blankets, and she was displaying, flaunting herself. The light shone
like day on her spread thighs, her livid, juicy sex. Yvette, Angela and
three senior girls were watching, expressions of sheer disgust on their
faces.
	Beth was grabbed by the arms and legs and literally dragged from
her bed in mid-wank, a strong hand slapped firmly over her mouth to prevent
her yelling for help. She was rushed out into the corridor, the doors
kicked open. Rushed down the corridor, into a deserted classroom. There,
with not a second's hesitation,  she was thrown over Angela's knee. A fat
wooden paddle was produced, and her ass was given a tremendous spanking
that left her sobbing and gasping for breath.

	With her step-parent's full permission, public notoriety was the
next step for Beth. The next morning was the first school assembly of the
new half-term. After some boring announcements, school prayers, a pledge of
allegiance, Yvette came to Beth's side, where she was standing at the back
of the hall. The Frenchwoman took her politely but firmly by the upper arm,
and led her down the side of the hall, her heels clicking on the wooden
floor. She brought her to the side of the stage, and up the steps onto it.
By now, Beth was blushing, struggling weakly. "Stand still!" Yvette hissed.
"Or you'll be sorry!"
	Miss Wheatstone shuffled some papers, then began again: "One last
matter, before you all go. I think everybody is quite familiar with the
school's regulations concerning unnatural behavior. I'm not referring to
cigarette smoking or drinking now. Nor to the excessive interest that I see
being paid to pasty-faced weedy boys from town, or in the various media.
No. What I'm talking about, this time, is our rules about self-abuse and
excessive prurient interest in other girls. You know them, don't you? Yes?"
	A muttered, insincere chorus of "Yes, Ma'am," crept round the
crowded hall.
	"Quite. I thought so. Well, every once in a while, I regret to say,
we encounter young ladies who are NOT as familiar with the rules, or think
they are TOO IMPORTANT to obey them, and need to be reminded of them."
	There's excited whispering, nudging, and lots of knowing smiles
directed Beth's way.
	"Quiet, please. Now, it's often the case that an offender -- a girl
who doesn't seem to understand that self-abuse and homosexual lust are
SINS, as well as revolting, dirty habits -- ah, it's often the case that
such a girl, such an evildoer, becomes a persistent offender, someone who
won't be told, someone who can't be persuaded, someone who resists all
attempts to help her, medically or, uh, in other ways . . ."
	There's some laughter, which is shushed.
	". . . of course, this young lady here, Beth Higgins of Form
Five-A, is the one I am referring to. The nastiest young lady we've had the
misfortune of seeing here, in Lord knows how long. I mean it. Any of her
classmates or dorm companions will attest to her total lack of restraint,
her blatant offenses against the school's rules about lewd behavior."
	A rumble of sudden excitement from the 80% or more of girls who
knew nothing about this, other than vague gossip and spiteful comments.
Well, now they knew. And Beth's life would be made a misery.
	Miss Wheatstone spoke louder. "Alright. Simmer down. I'll just make
this last point. Beth must be carefully watched for the rest of this term.
And that means, by all of you. Yes, all of you." Angela Strabolgi had
appeared at her side, carrying a long leather spanking paddle. An object of
legend, of dread, so rarely seen. Another murmur of awe. Some suppressed
snorts of laughter.
	"Beth, turn around please," Miss Wheatstone ordered, sharply.
	Shaking, crimson with shame, Beth was glad to turn her back on the
giggling, whispering, smiling crowd.
	A long pause. "Now, Beth. Bend over. Touch your toes, young lady."
	Beth slowly bent down, realizing what a sight she was presenting to
her schoolmates.
	"Her skirt, please, Miss Strabolgi . . ."
	 Angela took the hem, lifted it, held it high, out of the way.
Beth's tightly stretched white panties seemed to shine in the morning
light. Careful observers would have seen the fading stripes on her thighs,
the pink glow through the thin cotton, and a moist patch between her legs.
	"Beth, you must learn to behave chastely and modestly," Miss
Wheatstone commanded, raising the paddle shoulder high and bringing it down
with a loud smack on Beth's backside. She grunted and hissed her pain,
unwilling to yell out loud.
	"A dozen swats with the paddle will cure you of the illusion you
can defy me," the headmistress said, with a thin smile.
	Another stroke, a third.
	"This time, Beth, we've allowed you the privilege of being spanked
on the backside with your skirt lifted. That's merciful . . .uh!" A fourth.
"But if I hear of any more dirty behavior, your skirt will be up . . . uh!
. . . and your panties will be down. So if you don't want the disgrace of
showing your bare buttocks to the whole school, you know what to do, don't
you? And . . . uh! . . . we won't stop at a dozen either, young lady . . ."
	Beth let out a loud yelp at number six, and was audibly sobbing by
the time the even dozen had been administered.
	"Wait," Miss Wheatstone commanded. Beth waited, bent over.
	"One last thing, ladies . . . since she has been such a disgrace to
the school, and is apparently determined to bring it into disrepute, I am
from today on cancelling her Uniform Privileges. From the time of this
announcement onward, Beth Higgins will wear a special outfit, signifying to
all, including herself, her flagrant disregard for decency and good manners
here . . ."

	Beth wasn't sure what to make of this "loss of uniform privileges"
until later in the day. She'd gone to her locker at a mid-morning break to
find all her clothes confiscated. And now, in Angela Strabolgi's office,
she was presented with the alternative. Instead of her regular schoolgirl
uniform, she was handed a ridiculous short-skirted outfit in a Raggedy-Ann
patchwork of satin materials to wear, a clown's outfit in stripes and polka
dots, pinks, lime greens, blues, yellows and oranges, with insulting
slogans sewn on the back of it: "I Play with Myself," and "I Smell: Stay
Away From Me". Topped with a pointed white conical fools' cap, with the
words "Dirty Girl" written around the lower edge.
	"No!" Beth had protested. "It's horrible! No, I can't. Please, how
can I wear this?"
	"It's this or nothing, you little troublemaker.Well? Don't tempt
me, because I would love to do that instead . . ."
	Dressed in the absurd costume, Beth had miserably wandered the
halls all day. from class to class, followed by contemptuous laughter,
excited shouts, mean-spirited curses and insults. Even girls she'd thought
of as being quite friendly, or possible allies, had shunned her, curled
their lips, laughed in her face. Out of earshot of the teachers, there had
been some nasty threats, even: "stay away from me, you lezzie bitch or
you'll get slashed!"

	And did it work? What do you really think?
	Beth consoled herself that night -- boy's pajamas, laces, bells,
the whole kit notwithstanding -- with a slow, gentle squeeze that did what
she wanted, even if it was much slower than she'd have wanted it.
	And, just as obviously, her fragrant pajamas were discovered by
inspection, and she was sent to Angela's office. The woman's solution: that
Beth's loss of UP required reinforcement,  and that day and night,  hand
restraints should be added to the dress code requirements.

	Her stepmother's influence began to show, now.
	Each morning, Beth was summoned at wake-up time, and taken to the
matron's office. There, in front of Yvette and Miss Smythe, she was
forcibly stripped and closely inspected for evidence of wanking.
	Not surprisingly, it was always found. It didn't require a very
keen eye or nose. But Beth would be made to spread her legs and submit to
all kinds of indignities to prove she was wet.
	And after this, she would be sent, just as she was, nude, with just
a short bathrobe on, to the senior gym mistress's office. Here, another
close associate of Miss Wheatstone had been drafted into the program.
Anthea Jones was a taut, fit jogging and gymnastics fanatic. From a poor
black family and determined to succeed in education. The perfect choice to
reward Beth with six vicious strokes of the cane on her bare backside, bent
over the back of a chair in the center of the room. Anthea took her time.
Added penalty strokes as she felt like it, several most days. Leaving time
for tears and some massaging of her victim's bottom after, of course.
Beth's sobs soon waned as Anthea stroked and fingered her anus and pussy,
with a quiet professional demeanor. She though it her duty to calm Beth
enough to rejoin her classmates. She was good about not being at all
judgmental as the young woman panted and moaned with pleasure, and
gratefuly kissed her hands after.
	Being late now, Beth was then left with no choice but to shower
with the junior girls, at the low end of the pecking order of the school.
This chattering giggling bunch of 13- and 14-year-olds gathered round,
jumping and leaping, like playful seal pups in pink. Most were only
shoulder-high to her. They found her nudity hilarious, a constant joke, a
perfect foil for their childish insults and occasional nasty pinches and
prods. Though some of the precocious ones had catty things to say about
what they saw as her small breasts, big ass, and persistent aura of musty,
seaweedy, fishiness. 'Stinkpot' or 'Cunty The Cow' were the nicest names
they had for her.

	They were two weeks into the 'clown suit' program, and Beth's daily
caning hadn't helped make her pajamas any cleaner. Maybe, the opposite. So,
Beth was summoned to Miss Wheatstone's office to hear what has been
decided. "Beth, what are we going to do with you? Really! We have spoken
with your mother . . ."
	"Stepmother . . ."
	"Mother, so far as you are concerned, dammit! And, humph, she
confirms that it is her intention to see this perversion stop. Understand,
s-t-o-p? Stop! So, since being made a laughing stock here has done little
to curtail your disgusting behavior, you are going to wear something that
will make it clear WHAT you are, you slut . . ."
	Which turned out to mean, that Beth's humiliation was to be
increased still further. How? By having her go bare-breasted and barefoot,
in just a pair of white cotton pajama bottoms.
	Miss Wheatstone had picked this idea out herself from many staff
suggestions. The logic behind it was to 'shame her wantonness,' a concept
an older religious studies teacher  thought would be effective. And . . .?
Beth managed to get the crotch of the pajamas wet by lunchtime, and so
brazenly smelly that no one would sit near her by mid-afternoon. She was
sent to bed early without supper as punishment.
	And how do you think she calmed herself enough to get to sleep? Of
course, she stroked herself, shamelessly.

	The next morning, Beth was woken early, and marched from her dorm
at 6.30am. But to her surprise she wasn't inspected or caned. She was quite
confused by that. Disappointed, almost. She'd grown used to spreading her
legs, seeing the revulsion on the nurse's face. And the caning? Well, it
felt better after it was over, but. . . And she'd come to enjoy looking at
the naked juniors cavorting round her.
	But, today was different. Instead, she waited in a small room off
the main assembly hall, in just her pajama bottoms. Not clean new ones.
Yesterday's filthy pair, sticking clammily to her. The smell even troubled
her, by now. She could feel herself oozing, feel her skin prickling, feel
her pubic hair gummed with her juices. She couldn't get the thought of sex
out of her mind . . . she longed to untangle her bush, to scratch, to touch
her hot, agitated pudendum. But, in front of a teacher? No, it wouldn't be
allowed. She kept asking what was going on. She was being monitored,
guarded really, by Yvette, who would say nothing, but just read a book.
	Finally, Yvette looked at her watch. "Okay, 8.15. Up you get, Beth
. . ."
	"Why? I mean, what . . .?"
	"You're for it now, young lady. Hold your hands out, in front of
you . . ." Handcuffs, brand new heavy ones, were snapped on and ratcheted
tight. "Now, follow me . . ."
	"Mam'selle . . . please? What's going on? Can't you tell me?" Beth
was quite anxious.
 The pretty Frenchwoman was smiling a little as she took a narrow leather
strap -- a dog collar! -- and put it round Beth's throat, fastening it
snugly.
 	"No, I can't . . ." Yvette said shaking her head vigorously. "Just
that, well, you have gone too far, and now, well I'm sure you understand .
. ."
	She smiled, then took Beth's wrists and lifted them high. A little
snap-fastener was quickly attached, joining the chain of the cuffs to a
ring on the collar.
	Beth gave a little gasp of fear, and almost protested. Yvette shook
her head and said: "elbows down, and pull them back . . ." She walked
behind Beth and grabbed one elbow, and looped a strap round it. Then, round
the other. Pulled it tight. Shortened the strap until Beth's elbows were
pulled closely to her sides, and her breasts were fully bared. She tweaked
Beth's swollen nipples with contemptuous familiarity.
	"Please, miss," Beth whimpered. "I'm sorry . . . I don't want to be
beaten . . ."
	The dribbling of her genitals would have disproved that lie.
	"Vraiment?" Yvette shrugged. "Too bad! Because . . ."
	Beth sighed and protested: "My pants are falling down . . ."
	"Which would be quite good," Yvette laughed. "But, it'll stop you
walking, and stink the place out. Okay . . . I'll lace them up." She pulled
the drawstring tight, knotted it roughly. And, unable to resist, kissed
Beth on the mouth. "Mmm, this is going to be fun," she purred, then
ordered, snappily, "Now, this way."
	Beth sobbed.	Yvette gave a shrug, and walked to the door,
beckoning Beth to follow. "Come on, or I'll find a leash and drag you there
. . ."

/Continued in Pt.3]

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