____________________________
| |
/)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\
/ )| DIRECTORIES |( \
__( (|____________________________|) )__
((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / )))
(\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///)
\ / \ /
\ _/ \_ /
/ / \ \
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o o
o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
o from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order o
o other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o
o o
o All works are copyrighted to the author and may not be used for o
o profit without obtaining the author's permission in advance. o
o o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o and should not be read by minors. o
o o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Emma At School (MF, S&M, spank, bond)
by Rosewood (an674112@anon.penet.fi)
***
EMMA AT SCHOOL
Chapter 1 - A Change Is Called For
As Emma approached her front door she decided that things really
couldn't get any worse. Not only had she just split up with Steven,
her boyfriend of two whole months, the two of them had been seen in a
compromising position by a teacher at school and reported. Emma had
been sent home in disgrace and now had to face her parents; compared
to the ordeal of the last 24 hours, this part would be a doddle.
As expected, Emma's mum and dad were waiting for her, looking
suitably solemn. They began their lecture with a diatribe against
Steven, and Emma tried not to let her deep sense of irony at the
reprimand show. The truth was that Emma had discovered, belatedly,
that everything her parents had told her about Steven had been true.
He had only been after her virginity, he hadn't ever really loved her.
He'd admitted as much to her after last night's disastrous date.
Last night! Her mind shut out her parents' droning and she
drooped miserably as she recalled the terrible events. Her parents
would never allow her out on school evenings - especially since Steven
came along - so, naturally, she regularly slipped out in the evening
and got a friend to cover. Last night was no exception. While her
parents thought she was studying life in Europe during the Great War
with Melanie, she was in fact engaged in heavy petting with Steven in
a car parked by the pond in Hampstead.
Emma shivered as she recalled the events. As on so many
occasions, Steven had been trying to get Emma to go "all the way" and,
as on every such occasion, Emma had rebutted him. It was
not easy either - what with two of his fingers buried deliciously
inside her and his mouth nibbling at her ear lobes - but she had
firmly said no. That was the point at which Steven had suddenly
turned nasty, calling her a tease and a slut. He'd suddenly tried to
roll himself on top of her and Emma had found herself pinned down by
the combination of his weight and her awkward position. It was Mr
Jenkins, the passing PE teacher who had recognised the car and peeped
in to see what he thought was consensual(if under-age) sex, who had
unwittingly saved Emma from rape.
Not that she could tell the head or her parents any of this, of
course. Apart from the fact that she should not have been out,
confessing that her "wonderful" boyfriend had tried to force her
to have sex with him would have confirmed all the very worst
nightmares of her mother and she would probably never have let her out
again.
All this went racing through her mind as her father spoke sternly
to her. When he asked about the incident by the pond, she gave her
father the same response she had her headteacher: they were "fooling
around", but had not made love.
Emma felt so stupid. How could she have fallen for Steven's
transparent charm? She allowed her father's harsh words to soak into
her, trying to stem the shame she was feeling by accepting
her lecture with good grace. Suddenly, when her father fired another
question at her, Emma realised she had no idea what he was talking
about.
"Er... sorry, I didn't hear you."
"I said," her father repeated, slowly, "I had never thought of
sending you away to boarding school, but now it seems quite a good
idea. The one I have in mind, the Katherine Parr school,
is well practised in dealing with poor behaviour and motivation. In
fact I may as well tell you now, they use corporal punishment in the
school."
Such a statement would, a day or two ago, have evoked absolute
outrage in Emma - yet now it simply meant being able to get away from
Steven and all her friends who would be laughing at her when they
found out about what had happened. No, boarding school seemed quite
attractive at that moment. And as for corporal punishment! Everyone
knew that almost all English schools had stopped using any form of
physical punishment for fear of the law - if this Katherine Whatsist's
was an exception, then the punishments administered could hardly be
very unpleasant.
Emma was feeling sorry for herself again now and asked her mum,
"Is that it? Can I go now?"
"Go now!!??" It was her father who spoke - or rather, shouted at
her. "No you may not! Your behaviour has been abysmal recently - at
home and at school - and your work not much better. Too much time
spent on boys!" he asserted.
Then Emma's father lifted her downturned face to his.
"Your punishment for curfew breaking and... and so on... last
night."
Emma waited for the sentence. Emma's father looked uneasy and
then spoke quickly.
"I've never laid a hand on you in anger in all your years, have
I?"
"No, daddy."
"No. Well I think that if I am prepared to send you to a school
where corporal punishment is the norm... well, I don't believe that
one can sanction a form of punishment one is not prepared
to carry out oneself. I..." he paused for a moment. "I'm going to
spank you."
"Spank me?" The words broke her from her mental ramblings.
"Yes, Emma, spank you! Do you want it here and now, or at bed
time?"
This was not anything Emma had considered - ever! However, again
her lethargic depression took over and she found herself staring at
the floor and saying, "Now!"
"Very well, take off your jeans, please," her father told her.
"What?" Emma exploded. "Why?"
"Because I told you to," her father said sharply. "It's obvious
that your mother and I made a big mistake in not spanking you when you
were younger and I'm going to make up for it now. You may be fifteen
years old, but that isn't going to stop me giving you the bare-bottom
spanking I should have given you years ago. Now - do as you're
told!!!"
Flushing with embarrassment, Emma began to strip in front of her
parents, tears starting to form in her eyes now.
"Please, Daddy. You can't spank my bare bottom - I'm too old!!"
she whined.
"I can and I will," he replied matter-of-factly, sitting down on
a stool, taking her hand and pulling her to him as she finally
extracted her feet from the heavy denim. "We have a lot of lost
ground to make up!"
Emma stood before her father now with her pussy covered only by a
skimpy pair of red panties. Her father's hands reached out to grasp
the waistband of her final protection firmly and then, with a tug,
Emma's knickers were around her ankles, her young sex bared to her
father and mother, and her face an even deeper shade of red than
before.
Her mother seeing her naked was, of course, not that unusual.
But her father had not seen her flowering body since she was eight or
nine. She was acutely aware of what he was seeing - her
delicate triangle of wispy hair which crowned her juvenile, but not
unexperienced, pussy. She felt the blood pumping round her face as a
vision came unbidden to her mind; she saw herself lying on her bed
with her thighs spread wide and her fingers rubbing and stroking her
enlarged clitoris as her father stood at the foot of the bed, watching
silently. As the image sharpened in focus, Emma felt a warmth and a
dampness between her legs and her feelings of shame trebled instantly.
She was almost pleased to hear the next command.
"Right. Come on young lady... over my knee!"
Although she'd never heard the phrase uttered by her parents it
seemed, somehow, a very familiar entreaty to her and Emma at once
moved round to her father's right and leant down over his thighs. Her
unfamiliar position felt firm and comforting in contrast to what she
knew was to come as she laid her own naked skin over his cotton
covered legs.
"I'm going to give you twenty smacks with my hand," he said,
resting his palm on his daughter's untamed bottom for a moment before
raising it. I do hope it teaches you a lesson!"
With that, he lifted his hand high in the air and then, after
what seemed like an eternity, he finally brought it down smartly
across Emma's pale, tensed cheeks. The heat Emma had been
guiltily experiencing between her legs was banished at once by the
sharp sting of her father's big hand on her pale cheeks. She opened
her mouth to scream, but for a few moments nothing came
out. The only substantial sound was of four rapid slaps landing on
her bared bottom - two on each side. Only once they had been
delivered, and Emma's father had paused, did the wail trapped in her
throat find its release.
At the yowl of agony, Mr Denning found his tentative conversion
to this alien form of parental discipline solidifying somewhat and he
continued the chastisement with redoubled force.
SMACKK! "Yeooooow! Daddy, it hurts... ouchh! Please, daddy,
noooooooo!"
Ignoring, as far as he was able, his daughter's pleas for
clemency, Emma's father went right on spanking her bare bottom hard
with his hand until he reached sixteen. Then, Emma's sobs
failing (to his own surprise and slight uneasiness) to move him one
jot, he paused.
"Emma?" He spoke quietly, yet firmly.
"Yes, daddy," his red-bottomed girl replied tearfully.
"Why have I spanked you?"
There was no pause before the clear reply.
"Because I've not been doing my best at school and I've not been
honest," she admitted.
Mr Denning looked across at his wife who was smiling broadly.
Perhaps she really had been right all this time, he mused, and his
daughter had really only wanted for a firm hand. Well, if
this was the response a good spanking brought, he would stick with it.
"You are quite right," he answered her. "And what's more, young
lady, as long as you reside under my roof, be that until you are
sixteen or sixty, each and every exhibition of slackness or
mendacity will result in your panties coming off and your bare bottom
paying the penalty. Do you understand me?"
Emma, during this last speech, had begun to cry. She had always
thought of those of her friends whose parents spanked them as better
off than those who, like herself, were grounded or punished in other
non-physical ways. She was now becoming, very quickly, much less
certain. And then to think that this was not to be a one-off! That
her daddy was threatening now to put her over his knee again and
again... as long as she lived there....!
"Do you understand?" The question was barked this time and
accompanied by two huge swipes of Mr Denning's hand which straddled
her cheeks and produced clear prints on her rosy bottom.
"Ohhhhh! Ohh! Yes, d..d..daddy," Emma managed to splutter as
the last traces of puppy fat on her bottom and thighs set her bruised
behind wobbling .
"Good!" Emma's father, although pleased to have discovered at
last a successful mode of filial discipline, found himself feeling
angry at his fifteen years of opposition to corporal punishment.
He toyed for a moment with the idea of demanding that Emma submit
to several further spankings before the following Monday when he
would drive her to Katherine Parr's, to help to offset the trouble
that she had caused his wife and himself over those years. One
thing at a time, though. And he knew that in any case, beyond the
shadow of a doubt, that the time would nonetheless come again when
he would have cause to administer a bare-bottom spanking to young
Emma. It would have to wait.
"Just two more," he said, breaking the silence which his thoughts
had spun around the trio. Then he lifted his hand again and...
WHACK! "Ouuuucch!"
CRACK! "Yeoooow!"
Mr Denning left his sobbing daughter in place for a minute or two
before requiring her to stand.
"Leave those where they are," he told her gently as she moved to
retrieve her discarded panties. He took her by the hand and led her,
still naked from the waist down, to the corner of the room and left
her there - facing the corner.
"That," he said, gesturing towards his daughter's scarlet behind,
"will serve to remind both of us of the new penalty for misbehaviour
in this house!"
And with that, Mr Denning and his wife, left the room, their
well-spanked offspring consoling herself with further tears in the
corner as her still naked bottom radiated warmth.
EMMA AT SCHOOL
Chapter 2 - A Sight For Sore...
Four days after her first ever spanking, Emma was being driven to
Katherine Parr School for Girls. She hadn't had to set foot in her
old school again. She hadn't had to run the gauntlet of her friends'
accusing glances - or face Steven. As they passed it by on that dull
Monday morning, Emma gave it only a cursory glance - she was moving
on.
She had managed to survive without the humiliation of any further
bare bottom spankings from her dad; in fact, she had amazed her
parents and herself with her immaculate behaviour since that first
embarrassing occasion which she endured, knickers round her ankles,
over her father's knee. Now there was just the case of Katherine
Parr's infamous corporal punishment regime. In the 1990s, what with
the Children's Act and everything, what leeway did schools have in
the realm of physical discipline?
This and other more mundane thoughts occupied her mind until,
after an hour's drive, her father turned the car onto the crispy
gravel drive of Bronte House. Emma peered out of the window. The
building didn't look as austere as she had expected. There were
curtains in the windows upstairs (what she rightly assumed must be
dormitories) and the large downstairs rooms, despite their size,
had a look of warmth about them. Emma's anxiety began to diminish
a little.
She felt more relaxed still when the housemaster, Mr Lindon,
answered the door. He had a kindly face and Emma took to him at once,
bubbling over enthusiastically when he asked her questions about her
tastes and hobbies.
"Well," the teacher said after a while, "Let's get you settled
shall we while I chat to your mum and dad? Say your goodbyes and then
follow me."
Keeping inside the tears she could feel pricking at her eyes,
Emma kissed her mum and dad, remembering her sore bottom of a few days
ago when her dad whispered to her, "Be good!"
"I will," she promised him, turning then to follow her
housemaster.
"Right, then," he said as they marched briskly through his
private section of the house. "Let me introduce you to my study."
Emma thought that a slightly curious thing to say, but then she
expected a little linguistic eccentricity from public school and
simple trotted along after him and followed him through a big oak
doorway. This, obviously, was his study. It was a medium sized,
beautifully decorated room with potted plants and paintings scattered
liberally around its many nooks and crannies. The large mahogany desk
took up a huge amount of room, but helped to make the study feel warm
and comfortable. Here and there were small models of vintage cars,
and the walls were literally covered with books.
Emma, however, saw nothing of this. She saw only what was placed
in the middle of the room. It was a construction made of black steel
tubing and green padding which Emma might have mistaken for an
exercise apparatus of some kind if only its function was not being so
unambiguously demonstrated by the young girl strapped to it.
Although she couldn't see her face, Emma guessed the girl to be
about her age. Her face was hidden from Emma's line of sight because
she was bent over double away from the new pupil, grasping a bar at
the other side of the contraption to which her wrists were fastened
by velcro straps. She was kneeling on two padded rests which
effectively forced her to maintain a position with her thighs
permanently spread, and her lower thighs too were secured in place.
This information alone would have been sufficient to tell any
onlooker that the construction was designed to assist in the
punishment of naughty pupils. However, none of these details were
part of what first struck Emma dumb as she entered the room. What did
strike her were three things.
Firstly, that the girl bent over before her had her skirt up
round her waist and her knickers neatly deposited on the floor, thus
exposing her bare bottom and, due to the position of her knees, her
youthful pussy. Secondly, that her bare bottom was adorned with five
very angry looking, and clearly recently established, weals. And
thirdly, that the weals in question had almost certainly been
originated by the terrifying, four foot rattan cane lying impatiently
on Mr Lindon's desk.
"How many more, Deborah?" the housemaster asked, not unkindly.
"One," the girl sobbed.
"Good," Mr Lindon said absent-mindedly. "I'll be back to finish
you off after I've said goodbye to Emma's parents. No talking please,
either of you."
Neither girl, given the situation, needed this final injunction
to silence and, once the housemaster had left the room, Emma's mind
finally began to draw some unpalatable conclusions from the scene
before her. There were few options: either this was Mr Lindon's own
daughter (or a pupil who was "special" in some other way), or her
predicament represented at least one point on the scale of punishments
to which Emmaâ' parents were now proposing to subject her. The latter
was, she knew, the more likely as well as the more frightening, and
she suddenly noticed that her hands had begun to shake.
She could hear the muted voices of Mr Lindon and her parents from
down the corridor and wondered whether her parents would take her home
if she told them of what was happening here in this room... but she
knew inside that they would wholeheartedly approve. This was to be
her fate. She inched closer to the bound girl. As her eyes roamed
shamelessly over the victim's pale, but vividly striped, bottom and
then dipped, uninvited, between her thighs she became aware of a
dampness beneath her own cotton panties and flushed, glad that the
girl could not see her face. She was bewitched by the completeness of
the girl's submission, sex and bottom simultaneously offered up, her
bonds making impossible any resistance.
Emma wanted to reach out her hand and run her fingers along the
moist, silky slit provocatively presented to her, but instead she
slipped her fingers under her own skirt and negotiated a passage
inside her panties and then into her own wetness.
She heard Mr Lindon's footsteps just before he entered the room
and pulled her hand from between her legs quickly, blushing heavily
once again and hoping he hadn't seen. There was no way of telling
from his impassive expression whether he had or not and Emma avoided
his gaze and looked at the by now quite familiar bottom which, she
knew, was now to receive the delayed climax of its punishment.
She looked on with a horrified fascination as Mr Lindon picked up
the cane and then walked over to the girl, reaching down to offer her
teeth something to bite down on before taking up his position. He
stood to the left of her, the cane resting gently across both cheeks
and seeking an unmarked area of flesh. Once satisfied, he widened his
stance to better balance himself and then raised the cane slowly up
into the air in a long arc.
Emma imagined herself now in the girl's place, bottom naked and
vulnerable, sex parted and shamefully hot and moist. She watched as
Mr Lindon's cane began the sweep down through the air, accelerating
rapidly towards its target and creating a terrifying swishing sound as
it gathered momentum and then suddenly....
THWACKKK! It struck! The girl's body jerked under the force of
the blow and she bit on her scream, turning it into a agonized grunt
as a new welt grew almost magically under the cruel caress of the rod.
Mr Lindon turned and replaced the cane on his desk and then,
leaving the punished girl in place for the time being, addressed Emma
in a level voice.
"Well now, Emma. Deborah here will look after you for the first
week or so of your stay while you get to learn how we do things. Your
parents have told me the reasons they've sent you here, perhaps you'd
like to tell me yourself as well.
Emma felt awkward speaking in front of the half naked Deborah,
and part whispered her reply.
"I... I was going out with this boy who they didn't approve of
and I started getting into trouble... like not getting in on time and
stuff and my dad said I needed somewhere with more discipline..."
At this, picturing herself once more under the housemaster's
cane, she began to weep and Mr Lindonâs voice softened a little.
"And corporal punishment has never been part of your discipline
at home?"
"Not... not before last week," Emma replied.
"What happened last week?"
"My dad... my dad spanked me," she answered.
"For the first time," the man completed her sentence. "How?"
"He... he made me take off my jeans and then he... pulled down my
panties and put me over his knee. And then he spanked my bare
bottom.
"With his hand?" Emma nodded in reply.
"How many?"
"Twenty."
Mr Lindon nodded his approval and then, rather than telling her
about his school's regime he moved to unfasten Deborah's ties, helping
her to her feet. Emma watched as the other girl slipped her panties
back on, wincing a little as they rubbed against her raw markings and
flushing all the time at the thought of what the new girl had just
witnessed.
"Take Emma along to your study won't you, Deborah," he told her.
"You can both sleep in the guest room this week while Emma's finding
her feet."
Deborah nodded, tears still trickling one by one down her cheeks,
and then smiled briefly at Emma and led her from the room silently.
Neither girl spoke until they reached Deborah's study which, by
means of its tidiness and the posters and decorations on the walls,
imparted a great deal of information to the new girl about her fellow
pupil's tastes and character.
"I'm sorry I had to see you being punished," Emma ventured
meekly.
"Me too!" Deborah snapped. Then, seeing the hurt expression on
Emma's face, she relented. "Hey, I'm sorry," she said more gently.
"I'm not angry with you - it's not as if you had any choice. Come on,
let's get you unpacked."
As the girls made their way to the store room where Emma's cases
had been parked temporarily, Emma tried to get some information out of
her new friend about the punishment regime.
"So, does Mr Lindon often cane the girls here?" she asked.
Deborah stopped and turned towards the other girl, placing her
hands warmly on her shoulders.
"Look, I'm sorry," she began, "but I'm not allowed to discuss any
of the rules and punishments with you until you pass your House Test.
I've got a rule book for you which will tell you most things, but I'll
get into real trouble if anyone finds out I've spoken to you about
punishment before you've passed."
She went on to explain what House Tests were. Basically, each
new girl had to learn the school rule book inside out and be able to
answer questions from the house captain at the end of her first week.
She had to get every single question right to pass. Up until then,
she was only allowed out of her study for chapel, meals, lessons and
bed. Once she had passed, she would become a full member of house -
and be assigned a sixth former to "fag" for. Emma had thought that
fagging had only happened in boys' public schools - and that it had
died out now anyway. It seemed that Katherine Parr was a school in a
time warp!
After tea (Emma was surprised to find that the food served at the
school was really good - plenty of vegetarian choices) Deborah left
her alone with the rule book and told her that she was allowed to
answer questions about what rules meant if she was unclear - but that
was all. Emma got comfortable and began to read. Her comfort was
short lived....
RULES
1. GENERAL These rules are to be strictly adhered to by all students.
Punishment for rule breaking will on all occasions include corporal
punishment, though additional sanctions may be applied as warranted by
each particular case. Throughout these rules, a pupil who is to be
punished shall be called the offender, and the pupil or teacher who
gives the punishment shall be called the administrator. The rules set
out, for each offence, minimum and maximum punishments which should be
strictly adhered to except where extensions are provided for in
section 4 of these rules.
Where a punishment is of a greater severity than the maximum permitted
to any particular administrator, the punishment shall be referred to
the appropriate authority at the necessary level. All punishments
shall be administered to the bottom.
2. HIERARCHIES (in descending order)
2a. Implements (abbreviations)
Birch (B)
Cane (C)
Tawse (T)
Paddle (P)
Hairbrush (H)
Slipper (S)
Ruler (R)
Hand (X)
2b. Clothing (abbreviations)
Bare bottom (b)
Panties only (p)
One layer of clothing (1)
Fully clothed (f)
2c. Administrators (max punishment)
Headmaster (24Bb)
Housemaster/mistress (12Cb)
House captain (12Tb)
House tutor (20Pb)
Class teacher (40Pp)
School prefect (9Tb)
House prefect (15H1)
Dormitory monitor (6Sb)
General monitor (18Rf)
Note: max no of strokes doubled for each movement down the implement
or clothing hierarchies (eg max punishment for School prefect is
equivalent to 36Pp). Administrators may not use implement or clothing
levels above that given as their maximum.
3. GUIDELINES FOR ADMINISTRATION 3a. Privacy
Bare bottom punishment should always be conducted in private, except
where: - there are a number of co-offenders, in which case they may
be punished together - there is an identifiable victim of the offence,
in which case they may observe the punishment - it is decided (at
house captain level or higher) that by conducting the punishment in
public, other potential offenders may be deterred from similar
offences - it is decided (at housemaster/mistress level or higher)
that it is otherwise appropriate for the punishment to be observed by
a third party - the offender's guardians have requested the medical
officer's presence - the offender's guardians have requested that the
punishment be administered in public
3b. Method
There are no specific requirements for the method of administration.
In general: - offenders should be afforded a basic level of dignity -
punishments should not be conducted in cruel or obscene ways - the
duration of punishments should not be unreasonably extended
3c. Information to guardians
Guardians shall be notified of all punishments at the level of 6Cb or
higher in advance of administration. Guardians may require: - a
medical officer to be present - a medical inspection to be made before
and after the punishment - a phone conversation with the offender
prior to
administration In the event of a 3Bb punishment (or higher), the above
conditions are mandatory.
3d. Appeals
Offenders may appeal against a punishment AFTER its administration.
If the appeal is successful, double the equivalent punishment shall be
voided in lieu at the next offence. If the appeal is unsuccessful,
the punishment shall be repeated.
4. EXTENSIONS 4a. Refusal
Offenders who refuse to accept punishment shall, following one
reminder of the appeals procedure, be liable to doubling of strokes,
implements or clothing level for each refusal. Administrators shall
refer punishments upwards if such doubling takes the punishment beyond
their maximum.
4b. Denial
Where an offender denies an offence, following one reminder of the
appeals procedure, their punishment shall be preceded by 6Xb (or 6Xp,
6X1 or 6Xf where this is the limit of the administrator's powers).
This additional punishment shall be repeated as necessary until the
offender agrees to accept the original punishment.
4c. Physical or verbal aggression
Where an offender becomes physically or verbally aggressive or
abusive, the doubling procedure outlined in 4a shall be invoked.
4d. Three strikes and out
Following the third punishment for an identical offence within a three
week period, an offender shall be referred upwards to the necessary
level and receive an additional punishment of 12 strokes at two
implement levels and one clothing level higher than the punishment
administered for the offence itself.
5. RULES (min-max punishment) 5a. General conduct
Pupils shall not bring the school into disrepute (3Tp-6Bb) Pupils
shall wear correct uniform (3Sp-2Cb) Pupils shall be polite and
obedient towards teachers (6X1-6Cb) Pupils shall be polite to other
pupils (6X1-3Cb)
5b. Lessons and work
Pupils shall attend all lessons on their timetable (3Pb-6Cb) Pupils
shall behave sensibly and appropriately throughout lessons (6Pp-6Cb)
Pupils shall complete all assignments on time (3Pp-12Pb) Pupils shall
work hard throughout lessons (3Pf-20Pp) Pupils shall comply with all
instructions given by their teacher (3Pf-20Pb)
... by this time Emma was lying on the couch in Deborah's study with
tears flowing down her cheeks so quickly that she could no longer read
the close-typed text. There were pages more of similar rules,
creating a web of directions in which no girl could hope, surely, to
remain unentangled.
Emma would have thought the book a practical joke if she hadn't
already witnessed her room-mate receiving the last of six strokes of
the cane on the bare bottom earlier that day. Now, as she read
through the rules, the sense of apprehension that had stalked her then
grew into a towering monster. She remembered her father's recent
spanking of her and realised now that it had been nothing in comparison
to what she could expect here!
She resolved, as every girl did on their arrival at Katherine
Parr, to be a model pupil.
Suddenly the door burst open and Deborah came flouncing through,
red in the face and swearing copiously. She ignored Emma completely
and threw herself onto the room's other couch on her front.
Emma guessed at the probable source of her friend's distress and
got up to approach her, caressing Deborah's hair gently.
"What happened?" she asked quietly.
"I'm not allowed to tell you!" the tearful girl snapped. "You
know that!"
Emma ignored this unwarranted outburst and continued to stroke
Deborah's hair.
"Can't you just leave me alone? It's not there it hurts!"
Deborah regretted her harsh words immediately, her tears flowing
faster as her comforter got up and walked off.
"I'm sorry," she whined. "Emma, really...."
"That's OK," Emma answered without a trace of a rebuke. "You're
quite right."
"About what?"
"That you're not allowed to tell me what happened and that it's
not your head that hurts." She smiled. "I have a solution."
"What?" Deborah murmured, closing her eyes once more as Emma
returned and hoping that she'd continue her tender caresses. What
solution? she asked herself dozily, the pain in her recently paddled
bottom making continued rational thought impossible. When she sensed
her skirt being raised, at first she imagined that she was back in her
house tutor's room, bent over his knee. Then she realised that it was
Emma by her side, exposing her panties and lifted her head.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
"Just you lie still," Emma told her sternly, pushing her
room-mate's head back down and finding, to her pleasure, that Deborah
allowed herself to be thus placated.
When, next, Emma took hold of Deborah's panties and pulled them
steadily down her legs and off her ankles, Deborah lay still, still in
the mode of accepting obedience required during punishments in the
school. Her fuzzy brain hoped only that Emma wasn't going to spank
her, not recognising the unlikelihood of that.
"I've got this herbal cream," Emma explained now, rubbing a small
quantity of the cold, white preparation on her palms. "It's brilliant
for any external injury, like nettles and bruises and stuff. I can't
see why it shouldn't work on your bottom."
She looked down now at Deborah's cheeks. The six welts given to
her by Mr Lindon were still very much in evidence, but they were now
swimming in a vivid sea of red which covered her whole bottom. She
wondered if Deborah would talk just a little in her woozy condition.
"Paddle or slipper?" she asked nonchalantly.
"Paddle," Deborah admitted sleepily. "Ten whacks for not getting
my homework done for Miss Pearson again. Bitch!"
"Careful what you say!" Emma warned her with a smile. "You don't
know who might be listening!"
With that, she began to smooth the ointment into Deborah's sore
behind, the girl wincing at first under her fingers, but then moaning
with relief as the remedy began to have its effect. As she rubbed,
Emma delighted in the feel of her friend's cheeks. She had only ever
fancied boys - she thought - but their bottoms were horrible. Either
too fat or too thin, too hairy or too pale.... But this, this
olive-coloured, peach-shaped bottom was perfect; the skin smooth to
the touch, responsive under the fingers.
"Ouch!" Emma caught a weal with her finger-nail and apologised
profusely. Instinctively she bent down to kiss the injured part
tenderly, being rewarded by a muted gasp from the girl beneath her.
She began to kiss each of the red stripes laced across Deborah's
bottom and, as she did so, she was aware of a creeping heat between
her own thighs. She moved her face close to the place where Deborah's
pussy lay hidden between her closed legs and smelt what she knew was
female arousal. As she continued to kiss and caress her friend's bare
bottom, Emma allowed one of her hands to slip between her own thighs
and find her pussy, rubbing hard at her clitoris and closing her eyes.
As she neared orgasm, Emma stopped working on Deborah's body and
Deborah remained silent as she felt the couch move slightly in rhythm
to her friend's masturbation and heard the shallow gasps Emma made as
she approached her climax. As she heard the other girl coming,
Deborah crushed her pussy down on the couch, relieving just a little
of her own tension, but wishing she had the courage to ask Emma to
touch her pussy and make love to her. Like Emma, she considered
herself to be straight - but unlike her she had had several
relationships with other girls - all at school - and was enchanted,
rather than disgusted, at Emma's obvious desire for her.
Emma had been taken by surprise by her sudden lust and, having
come just once, she removed her hand from her knickers and continued
to massage the cream into her friend's bottom, as if pretending that
nothing had happened.
During Emma's first week at school, she neither received a
spanking herself nor, apart from the caning she witnessed on her very
first day, did she see one being administered. She suspected,
correctly, that this was by design - as if spanking her would admit
her to the world of Katherine Parr before she had passed her Test.
She crammed for it constantly; not being allowed out of the study
she shared with Deborah, it was fairly easy to avoid distraction. Her
isolation was completed by an injunction against other pupils entering
Deborah's study during Emma's period of purdah.
She did have some contact with the school's corporal punishment
regime though. Either Deborah was one of those kids who gets into
trouble a lot, or punishments really were dished out left, right and
centre. Emma's room-mate would roll in once, twice - sometimes three
times a day, clutching her bottom with a tear-streaked face. When she
did so, Emma would pick up her herbal cream and begin to smear the
sweet smelling mixture over her hands while Deborah slipped off her
panties and lay on the couch ready to have her spanking soothed.
Emma tried each time to gauge what punishment her friend had received,
although Deborah no longer confirmed her guesses. Strappings and
canings were the easiest to spot because of the distinctive stripes
left by their beatings and Emma was grateful to find that these were
relative rarities.
Often, though, the only clue available was the vividness of the
redness left by the administrator.
As the days passed, Deborah began to adopt a different posture
for Emma's caresses. Claiming that the cream worked better when her
skin was taut, she now knelt up on the bed with her bare bottom up in
the air - just as if she were waiting for a spanking. Emma continued
to keep the lid on the sexual part of her reaction to Deborah's
flirtation, never refusing to get out the cream and never failing to
become wet as she smoothed her hands over her friend's ready-warmed
bottom, but never either letting her hands stray between Deborah's
thighs.
On Saturday, the day before Emma's test, Deborah came back from a
particularly heavy afternoon in floods of tears. She hadn't been
caned (Emmaâs first thought) but had received a bare-bottom
hand-spanking from a boy who was now a school prefect, but who had the
previous year been Deborah's boyfriend. She had been really upset
when he had dropped her and she still really fancied him.
Emma didn't even know that there were any boys in the school and
Deborah explained that teachers' sons were allowed to attend and there
were usually about two or three in each year at the school. They were
given no special treatment and their presence did lead to some
embarrassment for both boys and girls, given the punishment regime of
the school. When boys deserved, in the sixth form, to be made
prefects, they were - and were trusted not to abuse their right to
remove girls' panties.
Today this particular prefect, Robbie, had caught Deborah
skipping class and, despite her pleas to refer her, he had insisted on
administering her punishment himself. He had also refused to listen
to her entreaty not to bare her bottom because of their previous
involvement.
"Don't be ridiculous," he chided her. "First of all, you can't
expect prefects to give their ex-girlfriends special treatment, and
secondly, unlike most girls I spank, I've already seen your bare
bottom haven't I?"
"Yes, I know, but..." Deborah began.
"No buts! Come on, come to my study or I'll spank you out here
on the lawn."
Deborah slouched along after this boy whom she still lusted
after, who no longer wanted her, but who was now about to give her a
bare bottom spanking. When they got to his study, Robbie sat down and
contemplated his task.
"Of course, you should get an extension for your protests," he
said. "However, I understand your reasons, so I shall simply adapt
the punishment to persuade you of my determination to carry out my
duties properly. You will strip to your panties, please!"
"No!!" Deborah screeched.
The prefect jumped to his feet, took her face in his hands and
spoke quietly.
"If you make one more refusal, I shall double up twice and you'll
be getting the tawse across your bare bottom. Now do as you're told!"
Crying steadily, Deborah started to remove her clothing,
remembering the times she had gladly taken off her clothes for this
boy and welcomed his fingers between her thighs. These memories
flooded not only her mind but also her pussy and she knew she was
getting wet enough for Robbie to see her arousal if she didn't keep
her legs pressed tightly together.
Robbie's face was appreciative, rather than impassive, as Deborah
unfastened her bra and slowly exposed her breasts. She found herself
flushing with a humiliating pleasure that he still seemed to find her
attractive, mixed with embarrassment at her hardened nipples: pert
teats that Robbie's lips had often surrounded.
When she finally stood naked before him, except for her skimpy
panties, Robbie beckoned her to him and ran his hands gently up her
legs to the crotch of her remaining garment. Then, without actually
touching her pussy, he took hold of the strip of cotton which passed
between her legs and tugged downwards. Inch by inch, Robbie uncovered
Deborah's triangle of blond hair and then continued his task until the
girl's panties fell uselessly to the floor around her ankles. Then he
took her hand and she stepped out of her knickers and allowed her ex-
boyfriend to take her over his knee.
When his hand began to stroke her bare bottom, Deborah was unable
to hold in a moan of sensual pleasure and she closed her eyes and
scolded herself harshly as his hand travelled down to the top of her
thighs, applying the gentlest of outward pressure, and Deborah
responded, despite her earlier resolution, by parting her thighs until
her soaking pussy was on full view.
Only then, when Robbie had demonstrated his total command of her,
did the boy begin to punish her for skipping class. A full thirty-six
hard smacks, covering every square inch of her cheeks and moving down
to spank the back of her thighs towards the end of the punishment.
Deborah howled and cried, and indeed the spanking was a fierce one,
but the greatest pain was that this boy, who no longer wished to make
love with her, was happy to use his power to strip and spank her.
Once he had finished, Robbie made her stand, still naked, in
front of him for a final reproach.
"Before you go, you will thank me for punishing you," he told
her. Any rebelliousness in her had been suppressed by the weight of
his hand on her naked bottom and she replied meekly.
"Thank you for spanking my bare bottom," she said. "I should not
have skipped class and I deserved to be punished."
"You certainly did. And be warned that I shall be keeping a very
careful eye on you, young lady, over the next term. If you put a foot
wrong, you can be certain I shall have you in here with your knickers
off and over my knee. And it will be the strap you'll be feeling next
time! Dismissed!"
Deborah had run back over the grounds to her own house and down
the corridor to her study, falling into Emma's warm embrace and,
breaking the rule for once, telling her friend about everything that
had happened. Emma had responded by taking Deborah, bare bottomed,
over her knee herself, but to soothe rather than spank her, rubbing
the cream into her sore flesh with a deep sensuality and listening
with delight to the moans and sighs of the girl beneath her hands.
On Sunday morning, Deborah kissed Emma tenderly and sent her off
down the corridor to the house captain's study.
"Good luck!" she said. "You show them!"
"I'll try," Emma replied with a rather forced grin, before
walking slowly down the corridor to the blue door at the far end that
led to Amanda's study.
"Come! Ah... Emma, isn't it? Good. Sit down here and we'll
begin at once. Ready?"
Amanda was a tall, imposing eighteen year old who would have kept
the members of her house on a tight rein even if she hadn't been given
the power to upend and spank them. As is was, no girl failed to give
her the respect she demanded. In the room with the house captain were
five other sixth-formers, all prefects. They sometimes asked the odd
question, but principally the House Test was Amanda's responsibility.
"I... I think so."
"Fine. What can you get an extension for?"
"Er," Emma's mind went blank for a moment and she thought she was
going to remember nothing. Then the words flashed into her head.
"Refusal, denial, physical or verbal aggression, or three offences in
three weeks."
"OK. What is the punishment for smoking?"
"A minimum of six strokes with the tawse on the bare bottom and a
maximum of twelve strokes of the cane."
"Mm, hm. What is the maximum punishment a house tutor can give?"
"Twenty strokes of the paddle on the bare bottom."
The questions went on for fifteen minutes, the answers coming
easily to Emma as her confidence built up. Then, as she sensed the
test was coming to an end....
"How is a house public conducted?"
"A... a what?"
Emma knew that her response had made it impossible even for her
to bluff now, but she knew she hadn't even read those words. She
could see the interest of the prefects, sitting behind their leader,
growing.
"A house public. Come on, it's in the appendix."
"Appendix? What appendix?"
Amanda, who had been smiling up until now, began to frown.
"The appendix at the back of the rule book. The last two pages."
"I... I..." tears were beginning to well up in her now. She had
seen the appendix - she remembered now - but for some reason she
hadn't thought it was part of the rules. Why hadn't she asked? She
began to get desperate.
"I didn't know... I... can I have an extra day...?"
"You can have an extra three days," Amanda said. "You have
failed I'm afraid, so you're still on restricted movement. You'll
come back here at eight o'clock on Wednesday morning. And I would
suggest you make sure you get every question right."
"I will. I promise. Can I go now?"
"Not yet, I'm afraid. There is something else I must attend to
first. Stand up, please."
Emma stood shakily and watched as the house captain walked over
to her desk and pressed a large red button on the wall. Then she
opened a drawer and, to Emma's horror, took from it a long, stiff
leather strap. She walked back over to where the younger girl was
standing and held it so that Emma could see it clearly. It was some
eighteen inches long and about two inches wide, dark brown in colour,
and was cut into fingers at one end. The other end was bound into a
short handle.
"Do you know what this is?" Amanda asked her sternly.
"Y... yes. It... it's a tawse," she whispered.
"And what is it for?"
"For..." she was weeping heavily now. "For giving punishments."
"Yes. For giving punishments. For spanking the bare bottoms of
naughty young girls. And, as you will find, it is extremely
effective. Kneel down please."
Emma at School
Chapter 3 The cost of failure
Obediently, Emma knelt on the carpeted floor and closed her eyes,
trying not to imagine what would happen next. What did happen was
that the door opened.
"Deborah. Come in please."
Deborah? What was she doing there? Amanda went on.
"I'm sorry to tell you that Emma has failed her House Test. You
know what that means?"
"Yes, Amanda," Emma's friend replied.
"Well?"
"The tawse. Eight whacks on the bare bottom."
Eight strokes on her bare bottom. Emma could hardly believe her
ears and she felt tears running down her cheeks.
"Correct," Amanda continued. "Stand in front of Emma please."
Emma opened her eyes as Deborah approached her, wanting her
friend to hug her, console her or, better still, persuade the house
captain not to flog her. But she kept her mouth closed while Deborah
walked up to stand right in front of her. Not only, it appeared, was
she to be punished, but her only friend at the school, as well as the
house prefects, was going to watch.
"Emma!"
At Amanda's sharp voice, Emma snapped her head up.
"Yes, Amanda," she croaked.
"Please remove Deborah's skirt."
"Wh... what?" Emma's mind was racing ahead, trying to work out
what twist was being added to her punishment, but no clarification was
forthcoming.
"Just do as you are told please, young lady."
Emma reached up and unfastened the clasps that held up Deborah's
school skirt, dropping it to the floor. Her face was only inches from
her friend's subtly bulging panties and, despite the circumstances, she
felt a familiar twitching between her own thighs.
"Now pull her panties down, right to her ankles."
Something strange was happening here, Emma thought as she lifted
her hands to the elastic waistband of Deborah's white cotton panties.
However unlike you, dear reader, she lacked the distance necessary to
recognise her error and still feared for her own bottom as she bared
Deborah's pretty pussy and landed her panties on the ground.
It was only when Amanda gave her next instruction that the penny
dropped.
"Good. Now, Deborah, feet apart please and move forwards a
little for me. Emma, will you take a firm hold of Deborah's legs for
me."
Deborah obeyed at once, spreading her thighs to give Emma an even
better look at her slightly parted pussy lips and the pink secrets
within and then, as Emma took hold of her legs, anticipating the next
instruction by bending down over her friend to hold on to Emma's
elbows. In spite of the fact that she had clearly brought about the
tawsing of, not herself, but her friend, Emma could think of little
at that moment but the sight and haunting scent of her friend's sex.
Again Amanda broke in on her personal thoughts.
"Until you pass your House Test," she said, a little regretfully,
"I am not permitted to administer corporal punishment to you. You
will, of course, receive a generous amount when you finally do pass,
but in the meantime your friend Deborah will take the thrashing you
have earned. Did you hear what that was to be?"
Emma felt a guilty blush rising to her cheeks as she stammered
the answer.
"Er... eight stroke of the tawse on... on the bare bottom."
"Correct. Usually offenders count out the strokes as they are
being beaten. As you are the offender, you will count please."
"Please..." Emma suddenly began, as if finally realising what she
had brought down upon her friend. "Can't you just...."
"Silence!" Amanda ordered her. "Or Deborah, not you, will face
additional strokes for insolence. "Count out loud please!"
And with that angry command, Amanda lifted the tawse high and
swept it down in a long arc to crash loudly and forcefully across
Deborah's bared bottom.
As her friend screamed with pain, Emma began to cry again,
wondering whether Deborah would ever speak to her again, let alone
continue to be her friend. Tearfully she whimpered the
first count.
"One!"
As the second stroke landed, Emma felt Deborah's body jump under
the might of the blow and heard the jolt echoed in her loud screech of
anguish.
I did this! Emma told herself. I might as well be wielding the
strap myself! How will Deborah ever be able to forgive me?
THWACK! "Oooohh!"
Tears from Deborah's eyes began to fall onto Emma's bare calves
as she counted out the strokes, Deborah's pain given voice in her
desperate sobbing as she endured the punishment for her trainee
failing the House Test.
Then, as Deborah's bare bottom was strapped for a sixth time,
Emma became aware of a strong, sweet scent and realised to her
surprise that it was the smell of her friend's arousal - the same
smell she had delighted in on the several occasions when she had
soothed Deborah's well-spanked cheeks.
Could she really be getting turned on by this cruel spanking?
Could this vicious flogging really be warming not only Deborah's
behind, but also her pussy. Emma's own wetness (which had not
surprised her) now increased as she contemplated her friend's sexual
response to being beaten and she imagined herself in Deborah's
position - bent over with her knickers off and receiving Amanda's
robust attention. Surely all she would feel would be the burning
pain of the strap? Surely she wouldn't find her sex crying out
for attention in the way her friend's pussy was now?
CRACK! "Noooh!"
In her reverie, Emma almost forgot to call out "Seven!" as
Deborah's scream of agony cut through her mind, her whole body on fire
now as the different aspects of this electrifying event intermixed
with each other.
Deborah's arousal was unmistakable now. Her pussy's wetness was
visible to Emma from her position between the other girl's thighs (and
therefore visible too to Amanda as she wielded the strap!)
She watched as Amanda's tennis-trained arm lifted the leather
high above her head for a final time and pulled it sharply through the
air.
Emma followed the tawse with her eyes as it snaked down across
her roommate's buttocks, cursing her position as she couldn't watch
the impact and the unravelling of the new weal she knew must have been
left by the stroke. For the last time (for this session at least)
Deborah's mouth opened and her voice exploded bitterly around the
room.
"Eight!" yelled Emma in response.
Amanda said nothing for the moment, but walked back to her desk
to replace the tawse in its hiding place, leaving Deborah half-naked
and exposed. Emma desperately now wanted to lean forwards to taste
the sweet-smelling juices whose scent was still infusing her confused
mind. However, she simply waited for Amanda to issue her next
instruction which she did almost immediately.
"Stand up, Deborah," she said. "You need to get back to
educating your trainee don't you? I'd hate to have to call you back
here again on Wednesday. And anyway, I want to be able to have the
opportunity of putting young Emma over my knee, so you need to ensure
she passes. Understand?"
"Yes, Amanda," Deborah replied, still standing in front of her
friend and naked from the waist down, her swollen clitoris peeking
inquisitively from the folds of her sex.
"Good. You can replace your skirt... but no panties until your
charged has passed, I think. Just to remind you of the importance I
attach to it. OK?"
"Yes, Amanda."
Deborah pulled her skirt on and silently left the room with Emma
following, head-bowed, behind. Her friend was being deprived of her
panties too - as well as getting the strap. And all because of her.
She began to weep again as they approached Deborah's study.
"What are you snivelling about?" Deborah demanded.
"I... I'm sorry... I'm sorry for...." Emma began.
"Oh don't bother with your pathetic excuses. Just learn that
fucking book!"
And with that, Deborah threw herself onto her couch face down and
began, heaving gently, to cry her eyes out. Emma gingerly tried
stroking her hair, but Deborah slapped her hand away and grunted
loudly. Emma had screwed up good and proper. Deborah was her only
friend at the school and it was beginning to look as though she may
have lost her though this horrible business.
"Deborah..." she whispered. "Deborah!"
"What do you want, you little shit?"
"I... I wanted to ask... I mean, are you... will you still be my
friend?"
Deborah sat up sharply, her tears held back for the moment.
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Of course... I mean, I don't know anyone here and..." And
again Emma collapsed in tears.
"Listen Emma," Deborah said a little less harshly.
"Yes?"
"Have you just had your bare bottom strapped?"
"N... no. What do..."
"So just SHUT THE FUCK UP! I've got the reason to cry, not you!"
Emma flinched at the blow.
"I'm really sorry, Deborah. Really I am."
"Yeah, really!" Deborah retorted.
"I am. Can... can I rub some cream on you?"
Deborah's look was withering.
"And what makes you think I'd want you near me, letting alone
smearing your grubby hands over my bare bum?"
"I just... I don't know anyone... I don't have any friends...."
As Emma dissolved once again, Deborah felt her heart softening a
little. But she wasn't ready to let the new girl off just yet.
"Deborah?"
"Yes?"
"Would you... if I... would you let me be your friend if I let
you..." She looked Deborah in the eyes and then looked down, "If I
let you spank me."
Deborah wasn't ready for that and had to check herself to stop
her from jumping around the room excitedly.
"Spank you?" she asked, with a vaguely interested tone.
Emma just nodded.
"Hmmm. I suppose that might make a difference. A bare bottom
spanking?"
"Yes... OK," Emma agreed.
"Let's see... twelve whacks with... with whatever I want."
Emma recalled Deborah's wailing under the cane and tawse and
recoiled a little.
"Couldn't you just spank me with your hand?"
Deborah found that idea particularly delicious, but didn't let
on.
"I don't know about that.... OK, I'm prepared to agree to forty
smacks with my hand... and also six with the instrument of my choice?"
Emma realised that this was an increase in the scale, but nodded
her assent anyway.
"Ok, Deborah. Wh... when do you want to do it?"
"I'm not sure. Whenever and wherever I want, though. Agreed?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, what about my bottom rub?"
Emma was surprised at how pleasant Deborah was being now, unaware
of quite how many times the other girl had masturbated herself to
sleep while fantasising about spanking Emma's bare bottom.
She responded by beginning to remove her friend's clothing and
Deborah allowed her to strip her completely, not questioning the need
for her breasts to be bared for a bottom massage.
Emma led Deborah over to the couch and placed her as she wanted
her: on her knees with her bottom facing out into the room and, again
with no protest, with her knees a full two feet apart.
Taking her tube of cream, Emma knelt between her friend's feet
which projected out over the edge of the couch and, as she rubbed a
good quantity over her palms she looked, for the third time only, upon
Deborah's pussy. Although, following the advice of her mum's women's
magazines, Emma had inspected her own genitals with a mirror, she had
never thought of female sex organs as "beautiful". But now, her face
only inches from her friend's glistening pink folds, she found herself
transfixed by every crevice. She could see Deborah's clitoris,
enlarged like a tiny fat finger, and wanted so much to slide her own
digits through the warm wetness of her and to caress that eager
button.
Instead she began to smooth her cream over Deborah's bottom, but
this time her hands began quite soon to roam down over the girl's
thighs and then between them. She managed to restrain herself for a
full five minutes before, responding to Deborah's moans and her
wiggling bottom and her own mounting desire, she finally allowed a
single finger to stray, as if lost, away from the pinkness of the
girl's bottom and into the pinkness of her slit.
This tiny action changed everything between them. Deborah let out
a long sigh of intense pleasure and Emma's response appeared one
hundred percent natural, she fell into her friend's arms, her mouth
seeking out Deborah's and her hand homing in on her sex.
Two fingers slid easily deep inside Deborah's vagina, Emma's
thumb finding her clit and circling it repeatedly. At the same time,
Deborah began to pull at Emma's clothing and, within minutes, both
girls were completely naked and licking and stroking each other's
bodies with the passion created by a week's steadily growing arousal.
Although Emma had never experienced an orgasm at the hands of
another, and Deborah only very rarely, they both came quickly and
noisily, continuing their lovemaking through further climaxes until
each was completely exhausted and they lay, covered in sweat, entwined
in each other's arms. In the mind's eye of each girl there was now
playing a very similar sequence of images.
Emma having her panties pulled off. Deborah pulling Emma over
her knee. Emma's skirt being raised to bare her pale, young bottom.
Deborah lifting her hand and beginning to give Emma only the second
bare bottom spanking of her life.
Emma At School
Chapter 4 Asking for it
Nothing was said about Emma's punishment until the morning when
the girls awoke next to each other in one of the two narrow single
beds in the guest room.
"Mmmmm." As Emma's senses stirred, she became aware of the soft,
warm flesh next to her and nuzzled happily against Deborah's breasts.
"I thought you'd never wake up," her lover replied, running a
finger down Emma's spine.
"Tired," Emma answered with closed eyes and a relaxed smile,
giggling then as Deborah's hand slipped between her legs and roused
her pussy, her thighs parting to welcome the touch.
"Oohh, that's nice," she whispered, kissing Deborah's nipples
lightly and luxuriating in the snug feel of two fingers lodged deep
inside her while her girlfriend's spare hand approached her sleepy
clitoris.
"Good," Deborah cooed. "I need you awake so that I can begin the
first part of your spanking."
"F... first part," Emma stammered, the warmth in her pussy making
conversation difficult. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I didn't say anything about everything happening in one
go. I mean, forty hand smacks and six with... well, something else -
that could keep me going for days."
"You've only got two," Emma reminded her.
"Yes. A pity," Deborah agreed. "So... better start now then."
"Now?" Deborah's fingers were still stroking her sex deliciously
and she rather hoped that her lover might finish what she had started,
rather than.... But no. Suddenly her pussy was abandoned and she was
left only with a damp emptiness and the promise of a sore bottom.
"What are you going to use?" Emma asked, thinking that getting it
over might be the best tactic.
"Well.... difficult," the other girl replied. "I'd love to strap
or cane you... but if you do pass your Test on Wednesday then your
cute little bum isn't likely to stay covered for very long and we
don't want any marks, do we? So - go and look in the top drawer over
there please."
Emma obediently got out of bed and, naked still, walked across
the room to the desk, Deborah enjoying the sight of her
well-proportioned body as she moved. Emma pulled back the drawer and
lifted out the table-tennis bat within. It was one of those
old-fashioned ones: basically a bit of wood with a bumpy plastic
covering on each side. She felt the blood rushing to her head as she
turned, holding the implement, to her lover.
"With... with this?" she asked quietly.
"Indeed. Hand it to me please."
Emma handed over the heavyish bat and waited for her
instructions. Somehow she felt anticipation rather than fear and the
heat between her thighs wasn't abating either.
"Does... does this turn you on?" she asked. "You know.. spanking
me?"
Deborah replied by crooking her finger to draw Emma nearer and
then guiding the girl's hand down to her own sex, Emma fingers finding
her hot, slippery and accommodating.
"Do you mind?" Deborah asked her.
"No. I just wondered. What do you want me to do?"
"Normally, I'll spank you over my knee. However, I want this
first one to really hurt so I'll need a bit more swing. Face the
desk, legs wide apart, and bend over. No, hang on."
She trawled through a couple of drawers until she found a clean
white handkerchief.
"Can't have any screams, can we?" she observed, handing the
makeshift gag to the other girl.
Emma bit on the hanky and then followed the earlier instructions,
for the second time in two weeks presenting her bare bottom for
chastisement - this time at the hands (and bat) of a girl her own age.
She didn't have long to ponder, however, for Deborah wasted no time in
lining up her shot and swinging the bat like an Olympic ping-ponger
(or is it ping-pongist?). It flashed through the air and slammed into
Emma's exposed cheeks like a locomotive.
"Mmphhh!" Emma howled ineffectively through the gag as the sharp
sting of the bat shot through her bottom, its afterglow reminding her
of the time she'd had to pee while walking in a local wood as a little
girl with her parents and had crouched down atop a clump of stinging
nettles.
WHACK! WHACK!
The gag not only prevented Emma from screaming at the pain being
inflicted on her by her "friend", it also stopped her from begging and
pleading to be spared the last three strokes with the bat. If she had
been in a fit sense to reason she would have recognised that this
bottom-warming was extremely mild compared to what was often dished
out at Katherine Parr - mild, in
fact, compared to the punishments that Emma herself had watched being
inflicted on Deborah.
Deborah would no doubt have argued, correctly surely, that her
spanking of Emma in this way would help to acclimatise her to the
school's regime and that, in any case, it was in no way exceptionally
severe. Because of the gag, however, Deborah didn't have to consider
the question - in fact she only wondered whether she might not have
been rather over-lenient.
Certainly there was a pleasing red glow to her lover's bare
bottom, but only six strokes? She had better make sure the last three
really counted.
Emma noticed the difference. Having mistakenly thought that she
was experiencing ping-pong punishment at its hardest, Deborah was now
pointing out her error most effectively and causing Emma to bounce
around in a very unladylike manner under the fierce attention of the
bat, ceasing only after the delivery of the sixth stroke.
"You may remove the gag and dress now," Deborah said in a
businesslike tone.
"Thank you," Emma snivelled having freed her voice and then
finding that dressing was not a painless affair either - not when
you've chose to wear tight panties and your bottom has been well
spanked.
"There remain forty hand-smacks," Deborah reminded her. "That's
six sessions of six smacks - plus four for me to use now in your
training."
"Tr... training," the half-dressed girl stammered in reply.
"Yes. I will choose the setting for three of those spankings, on
the other three occasions you will ask me to punish you. Understand?"
"Yes, Deborah." Her friend's voice told her that complaint was
not an option.
"Of the three spankings you request (all before tomorrow night,
of course,) one must take place out of doors. When I choose to spank
you, you will obey at once, regardless of the situation. Is that
absolutely clear?"
"Yes, Deborah."
"Good. Now, sometimes I will ask you to strip to receive your
punishment, at other times simply to "prepare". We'll practice the
latter one now. When asked to prepare, you must remove your panties
and lift your skirt to your waist. Then you come and stand before me
with your legs apart and a hanky in your mouth so that I may touch you
if I wish. When I give the command you will bend down over my knee
and I will take care of the rest. So - prepare!"
Emma wanted to beg to be spared this further spanking, yet she
also wanted to please her lover and she dutifully slipped her panties
to the floor once more, stuffed the same handkerchief in her mouth and
stood as instructed in front of Deborah, pussy exposed and open.
"Very good," Deborah noted, choosing (to Emma's frustration) not
to play with her. "Now, over my lap, young lady."
Following the scenario, Emma laid herself across Deborah's knee
and felt her friend shifting her around a little to ensure she was
able to get a good shot. Then she stroked Emma's bare bottom one or
twice and lifted her hand.
"Naughty girls get punished at this school. It's time you
learned that," Deborah intoned, slapping hard at Emma's neatly turned
up cheeks. "And what's more, if you fail your house test this time,
I'll be taking the cane to you. Do you understand that, missy?"
"Nnngghh!" Emma gurgled through her full mouth, nodding her head
vigorously as her bottom was smacked again.
"And if you pass, in addition to all the other punishments you
receive you will submit to up to four spankings per week from me
during your first three months. Six smacks on the bare bottom on each
occasion. Agreed?"
Again, following the question and the harsh smack which
accompanied it, Emma nodded her head, despite the fact that she was
now agreeing to a massive heightening of the stakes.
"Good girl, Emma," Deborah said quietly. "One more smack and you
can get ready for lessons."
She slipped a finger into the warm crevice between her friend's
thighs and waited for Emma to respond with a thrust of her hips before
sliding her finger quickly out and administering the final hard slap.
All through morning lessons, Emma found herself unable to think
of anything but her warm bottom and the certainty that the heat in her
cheeks would soon be topped-up. She failed to answer most of the
teacher's questions and she could tell by the look on his face that he
was extremely annoyed not to be able to take the paddle to her. She
couldn't tell that he was logging her poor performance with a view
to "settling up" at a later date.
At lunch time Emma sped back to Deborah's study and was
disappointed to find her friend not yet back. Still finding her new
situation like a long dream, Emma's actions seemed to be following a
plan over which she had no control. She reached beneath her school
skirt and slipped her panties off quickly and then got out the rule
book which she dropped onto the couch.
Next she collected the various cushions together and piled them up in
the centre of the couch. Finally, Emma climbed up onto the couch,
hiking her skirt up past her waist and leaning across the pile of
cushions. In this position, she would be able to read and re-read the
rule book while she waited for Deborah to come back and then, when the
door opened and her lover entered the room, she would hardly need to
ask for the first of her six spankings.
Deborah was impressed. She'd not had a good morning (and in fact
had got her own bottom paddled in class) and was ready to call Emma
across her knee anyway. However, Emma's planning had meant that the
spanking she received was given, not in anger, but in loving thanks.
Not that it didn't still hurt. Deborah was an impressive spanker
and Emma had not yet begun to develop the tolerance of her classmates
so Deborah managed to bring tears to her friend's eyes by the time she
had finished.
Five more spankings followed in the next two days, the last one
at 8pm on Tuesday leaving a gap of 12 hours before Emma's second
attempt at the House Test. Emma had reserved her one open-air
spanking for this final session and Deborah readily agreed to Emma's
suggestion of a walk in the neighbouring fields. She equally gladly
accepted the skirt and panties offered to her a couple of miles from
school and helped Emma into place over the rickety wooden stile they
had reached. For once, Emma could allow herself to cry out as Deborah
smacked her bare bottom hard and Deborah's smile reflected the
pleasure she gained from this aspect of the punishment.
And after she had given her friend a sound spanking, Deborah
pulled Emma down into the long grass and the two girls made love
deliciously for almost an hour.
On Wednesday morning, Emma woke early in comfort and lay still
for a while with her arm around Deborah. She lifted the sheet
covering them to look over her soft, rounded body and, feeling the
dampness gathering in between her legs, longed to plunge her face into
her friend's pussy - yet she knew that she would have to wait until
after she'd passed her test. And there was no doubt in her mind that,
this time, she would.
"OK, let's start in the most obvious place," Amanda began.
Two hours had passed since Emma first opened her eyes and she had
spent much of that time bathing and grooming herself in preparation.
The house captain continued, "How is a house public conducted?"
This was the question on which Emma had faltered last time. Now
she was almost able to quote the rule book word for word.
"A house public is the term given for a punishment administered
in public by the offender's house captain or house master or mistress.
Such punishments shall be given immediately after evening roll call.
No pupils may be excused from watching. The offender shall be fully
naked and shall be tied to a punishment horse (like the one Emma had
seen Deborah tied to on her first day at the school). Following the
administration of the punishment, the offender shall be left in
position, on display, for fifteen minutes before being released and
allowed to dress."
Emma's answers to the rest of Amanda's questions were equally
accurate and Amanda was soon satisfied that she had fully learned the
rule book.
"Well done," she said. "You've passed. I now want to say a few
things to you about the ways in which your time here will now be
different."
Amanda looked at the younger girl with a quizzical look and then
continued:
"While I'm speaking, you may as well undress."
Emma had expected a spanking for her initial failure at the Test
but was still unnerved by the thowaway line.
"Do I... everything?" she asked.
"Yes please," Amanda replied. "I'd prefer it."
As Emma stripped off her school uniform, Amanda sat in a large,
blue, well-padded armchair and talked about the dormitory regime and
other aspects of the school that Emma had not yet experienced. She
told her about how to accept punishments from teachers in class and
informed her that a number of teachers had spankings saved up for her
already.
As Emma shyly pulled her panties down, the house captain got up
and fetched the strap from her drawer, pleased to note the lack of
surprise on the young girl's face.
"You were expecting this?" she asked.
"Yes," Emma looked into the powerfully-built older girl's face
and felt almost overawed by her poise and beauty. "I thought that I'd
probably still be punished for failing the Test last time."
"Yes. You're right, of course," Amanda replied. "And, if I'm
truthful, I like to be the person to initiate our new girls into the
ways of the school."
The house captain walked up close to the new girl and took her
nervous-looking face in her hands, kissing her tenderly on the
forehead.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"I think so."
"Good. Often when you come to me to be punished, I'll tell you
to bend over my desk or something similar to allow me a better swing.
However, for your first spanking I'd like you over my knee please."
Amanda took Emma's hand and led her across the room to a straight
backed chair. Smiling to herself she sat down and then took the
good-looking youngster across her lap for the first time. "I hope
you're comfy," she thought to herself as she lifted the strap. "This
is going to become a
very familiar posture."
EMMA AT SCHOOL
Chapter 5 - Meeting the locals
"How much further... where are we going?" Emma complained.
"Will you stop it!" her friend replied. Then, grinning, she
added, "Or I'll spank you!"
Emma made a face. She had agreed to allow Deborah to spank her
up to four times a week for the next three months and knew that
Deborah found it a great turn on - and that she enjoyed spanking her
bare bottom outdoors. It was also true, of course, that Emma got
amazingly turned on when her lover spanked her.
"Here!" Deborah was whispering now. "Look - through there!"
Emma followed her friend's pointing finger through the hedge to a
huge brick building. It looked, Emma thought, like a school.
"It's a school," Deborah told her, adding: "A boys' school."
"What!" Emma almost shrieked her response.
"Shhhh! You'll get us caught!"
"I'm not going in there," Emma muttered, shaking her head.
"Do you know the way back?"
"No."
"Then it looks like you're coming with me. Come on."
With that, Deborah took her friend's hand and pulled her across
the lawn and in through a small back door. Emma had to admit that
Deborah seemed to know what she was doing; she obviously came here a
lot.
They slipped through the corridors, avoiding meeting anyone until
Deborah pulled at a study door and bundled herself and her friend
inside.
"Hey! Debs!"
A tall, good-looking boy jumped to his feet and came over to kiss
Deborah on the lips, Emma feeling a twinge of jealousy. He looked
about seventeen. "And who's this beauty?" he asked, Emma blushing at
the flattery despite its corniness.
"This is my new best friend, Emma," Deborah said proudly.
"Good to meet you, Emma. Now..."
As the boy continued to talk, Emma looked around the room.
Well-decorated, good posters, good taste in music. She had to admit
to feeling quite excited being here and being in the presence of boys
after several weeks locked up in an almost all-girl environment. As
she gazed around, she suddenly noticed something odd under a table,
although it took a few seconds for her to realise that the "something"
was another boy, his face buried in a book. Emma felt annoyed that he
had not even acknowledged the girls' presence, but returned her
attention to Deborah and the first boy instead.
"OK. Look, I've got to go and play soccer for an hour or two.
Will you two hang around?"
Deborah didn't even look to Emma for an answer.
"Of course," she said with a flashing smile.
"Great. Alright, see you later Emma. Bye."
"So what are we supposed to do for two hours while he's away?"
Emma asked.
"I don't know. Just hang out. What's your problem?"
Emma knew that protesting her jealousy would not have any useful
effect and, instead, threw herself onto a tatty, blue couch against
one wall.
Deborah was about to follow her when she saw a glint on the
floor. Intrigued, she stooped to pick up the tiny object and then
froze as a sharp voice cried out.
"Stop! Don't move!"
It was the boy under the table and Deborah held herself deadly
still, expecting news of a wasp or some other danger.
"What... what is it?" she asked under her breath.
"Oh," the boy replied calmly. "It's the view of your knickers
under your skirt!"
"You bastard!" Deborah exploded, standing up and turning on him.
"What do you...."
But the boy interrupted her and something in his voice told her
to stop shouting and, rather, to listen.
"I thought I said don't move," he spat. "Now I suggest you get
back into that brazen pose and wait for my next instruction."
"Why should I?" Deborah asked with a snarl.
"Because I know damn well that if I report you for being here
when you're supposed to be at school you'll get your housemaster's
cane across that pretty bottom of yours - and, compared to that, the
spanking I'm planning to give you will be fairly mild!"
Deborah stared at the boy with her mouth open. Emma felt her
stomach turn over and then looked at her friend who was giving away
her thoughts by inaction. It was true, of course. A caning was the
minimum punishment for being caught in a boys' school and Emma had
seen the marks left by Mr Lindon's cane on Deborah's fair cheeks
before. It was almost impossible to believe, but Emma knew that her
friend was about to yield her bottom to a spanking from this
precocious youth.
Slowly, Deborah turned her back on the boy and bent down once
more. Her skirt was terribly short and Emma usually liked her to wear
it for precisely the reason that today it had caused her trouble. She
knew very well the view that the boy was getting from behind her lover
- her white cotton panties, swollen by her youthful pussy, only partly
covering her pale bottom cheeks.
The boy got up and walked towards the girl he was commanding.
Almost nonchalantly he flipped the remains of her skirt over her back
and then stroked her cotton-clad bum with his fingers.
"My name's David, by the way," he said. Emma felt a surge of
anger rising in her as Deborah held her position under the intrusive
touch.
"You said you'd spank her, not rub your grubby fingers all over
her!"
The boy swung round to face her, his expression unruffled.
"Oh," he said, his fingers moving between Deborah's thighs now.
"You can talk!"
Fixing Emma with his eyes, he slid a finger of each hand into the
waistband of Deborah's panties and slipped them down easily to her
thighs before beginning to fondle her now bared buttocks once more.
"Well," he continued. "I suggest that you save your breath and
get your own knickers off. 'Cos you're next!"
Emma blushed despite herself. "I'm not doing any such thing!"
she muttered. "I'd rather get the cane."
As she spoke, she saw his fingers straying once more between
Deborah's thighs and this time they clearly found the slippery
entrance to the girl's vagina. What horrified her more than this,
though, was the words Deborah spoke (with a slight gasp) as he did so.
"You wouldn't rather get the cane," she told her friend. "And
I'm not getting it to save your modesty. So you can either get
undressed and let David spank you like a good little girl, or so help
me I'll gladly assist him in ripping your clothes off you by force!"
"Debbie! No! You wouldn't! You..." Emma wept, her mind in a
spin, before David silenced her with a look and a step towards her.
"You heard your friend," he said. "Now strip! Everything off!"
Deborah's short speech had punctured her fighting spirit and she
realised that she would be on a one-person losing side if she tried to
resist further. Tearfully and slowly, she began to undress.
"I'm glad you've persuaded your... friend to see sense," David
said pleasantly to Deborah, making clear his understanding of the
relationship between the two girls. "Now, twelve swats each with a
wet flannel. Come on, girl," he said sharply to Emma. "Get them off
now!"
As David walked over to the washbasin in the study and proceeded
to thoroughly dampen a large, heavyweight purple flannel, Emma removed
her bra to leave her sitting in nothing but her knickers. Lacking
Deborah's support, and fearing an increase in the level of her
punishment, she then began to slide this last, skimpy garment from
her, dropping it to the floor and sitting naked on the couch.
David turned, holding the flannel which he had rolled up loosely
and looked straight at her.
"Sit on the side of the couch facing me," he demanded. "Legs
wide apart."
"No, I ...." Emma began, only to see David turn away from her in
disgust at her continued disobedience. He didn't look at her as he
delivered the next short monologue.
"You still have a lot to learn, don't you? Deborah, pull your
panties all the way down to the floor please. Right down... good
girl. Now, stand with your feet apart... wider... a little more, I
want to see your sweet little cunt lips. Beautiful - just perfect.
Now put your left hand between your legs and rub your clit. Yes... a
bit faster... keep going. Great... I want you to keep going with your
left hand... and stroke your pussy with your right hand... yes...
spread your lips a bit more. Now, two fingers inside you... right up
inside your cunt... further... yeah...and slide them in and our...
keep going... don't stop until you come...don't stop...."
Emma watched, horrified and totally gripped, as her friend
carried out each perverted command without protest and as she
gradually became genuinely aroused. All the time that Deborah was
wanking herself, Emma could see David stroking his evident hardness
through his trousers. Then as Deborah's breathing betrayed, through
the signs Emma knew so well, the nearness of her orgasm, Emma turned
towards her lover and watched her coming "to order" for this stranger.
David turned to Emma now.
"I don't expect you to have the obedience of Deborah. But I do
expect you to carry out simple commands!"
Looking at the floor, Emma slowly slid her feet off the side of
the couch and parted her thighs, displaying her open sex to this boy
she'd known for less than an hour. David smiled and thanked her
politely, telling her to maintain that position while he punished
Deborah. Then he moved back behind the other girl and lifted the
flannel above his head.
WHACK!
Emma could tell by the sound of the crack of wet flannelette
against bare skin that the blow was very painful. Deborah's scream
only helped to reinforce this knowledge. For the third time, Emma was
made to sit and watch while her best friend was beaten, only this time
she knew that when the punishment was over - she would be next.
She willed the spanking to proceed more slowly. She even, to her
shame, wished for her friend to receive additional whacks - anything
to defer the onset of her own chastisement any little way into the
future.
Yet, after twelve smart lashes had been delivered to Deborah's
upward-pointed and bare bottom, David turned once more to Emma. He
didn't speak unkindly... but then, in a position of such power, why
should he bother.
"Roll over onto your tummy so that you're bent over the side of
the couch. That's better... you're learning."
She was learning. She was learning that in the twisted world
into which her parents had thrust her, the rules of the outside world
simply did not apply. She had learned the central lesson intended by
her mother and father: that every action has a consequence. In the
case of her new life, that every misdemeanour, however slight,
resulted in her bottom being spanked.
But many other strange new dynamics were created in this world.
Your best friend and lover could demand the right to punish you too.
She could demand that you expose yourself to strangers - even to
strange men! She could demand that you bare your bottom for their
correction too. It even seemed that males in general were accorded
the right, in general, to spank the bare bottom of females in general,
though in this case, of course, it was blackmail that made it
necessary for her and Deborah to submit.
That was as far as her thoughts could wander, for they were
interrupted rudely - painfully - by the first flash of the flannel
across her bare buttocks.
Emma felt the heavy sting of the flannel and heard the sound of
her own involuntary screech of pain almost simultaneously. The
wetness of the flannel assisted it in bolstering its power and,
although it lacked the blistering aftershock of Amanda's strap, the
initial touch was every bit as nasty.
"Yeeooowl!" She shrieked again as the second stroke landed,
seeking out a new area to set burning. Part of the flannel's
advantage, David noticed, over other implements he'd tried was that it
both covered a large area, like a hand or paddle, but yet the "tail"
of the flannel delivered the concentrated force of a strap or cane
As Emma buckled under the following blows, she wondered whether
David's experience of being the spanker (for he undoubtedly did have
experience!) was of punishing boys or girls. She knew he was too
young to be a prefect: he was probably no older than her and that
compounded the humiliation which was brought by every...
THWACK!
"Oouuchh!"
As David neared the half-way point he began to aim his blows more
carefully. He swept the sixth across the crease between buttock and
leg, catching Emma's exposed vulva lightly as a happy coincidence.
Then he moved down a little further to her thighs, using the
"whiplash" property of the flannel to best advantage: when beating the
left thigh, for instance, the tail of the flannel snakes round to lash
cruelly at the inner thigh and he knew from experience how painful
that could be.
CRACK!
"Noooooh!"
It was true that David was not unfamiliar with being on the
imparting end of corporal punishment, and that he had some experience
of spanking girls. However, Emma's worst imaginings - that girls at
Katherine Parr were expected to bare their bottoms on demand to the
boys of St Stephen's - were wide of the mark. In fact, the staff at
both schools were genuinely concerned that their punishment regimes
did not contribute to sexist power dynamics and would have been greatly
disturbed by the goings on in Mark's study that afternoon.
THWACK!
"Arrrrh! Please stop... please... Ouuuchh!"
David's spanking of girls happened at home where he was expected
to attend to the discipline of his two younger sisters, Katy and
Sophia. The girls were twins and, at thirteen, two years David's
junior. Their parents, as strong believers in corporal punishment and
the need for children to respect their elders, would leave David in
charge when they went out and were very happy for him to bare the
girls' bottoms for a spanking if he deemed it necessary. Which he
often did. In fact, now that the girls' bodies were developing at
least as quickly, if not more rapidly, than his he was extremely
careful not to allow a single misdemeanour go unpunished.
There were evenings where he spent more time with a naked sister
over his knee than without. But, although he relished this duty, and
although he enjoyed tracking the changes in the girls' young breasts
and pussies, and although he denied them the modesty of having their
bottoms bared once over his knee but rather always pulled their
knickers down as they stood before him, he had never ordered them to
sit or stand with their legs open or attempted to touch their maturing
bodies other than to smack their bottoms soundly.
This aspect of his spanking of Deborah and Emma was new, as was
his choice of position though not implement: his parents dictated that
he should hand-spank his sisters while they bent over his knee and
this was therefore a welcome variation
WHACK!
"Yeeooow!"
Not that he hadn't spanked boys as well. Although he was,
indeed, too young to be a prefect at St Stephen's, David had also gone
to the attached boys' prep school and had been school captain there.
Unlike the secondary school which, like Katherine Parr, allowed all
senior pupils some rights to deliver punishments to the younger
children, St Stephen's Prep gave the right to spank to the school
captain only - a privilege which David had made great use of. Indeed,
it was during that year that he had discovered the means of
chastisement he was to beneficially employing on Emma at that very
moment.
SHRRRACKK!
"Oooooooooh!"
And now, or course, as a junior pupil at St Stephen's public
school (in England, remember, this means a private school) David's
repertoire of spanking techniques was being rapidly swollen by being
on the receiving end on a very regular basis.
David looked down at the lovely red-stained buttocks before him,
the sweet virgin slit nestling delightfully between the open thighs
and smiled. Just one more. He stroked the flannel smoothly over the
upturned and quivering cheeks, leaving a trail of water droplets, and
then lifted it one last time to lash the girl as hard as he could
across her already well-punished bottom.
David smiled again as the loud cry of pain echoed around the small
room, knowing that the girls' cries sounded little different to those
of young boys and would therefore not be considered remarkable by
passers-by. Then he ran his hand lightly over Emma's bare bottom and
told her she could stand up and turn around.
Emma gladly did so and watched David though her tears as he
walked back over to where Deborah retained her position - bent over
with her thighs spread - and stood behind her. With growing
disbelief, Emma watched him as he unbuttoned his trousers and tore
open a small packet he had picked up from the desk. She couldn't see
his cock as he was standing behind Deborah, but Emma knew that he was
fitting a condom onto his erection and simply watched and waited until
David, with no further preparation, took hold of her friend's hips and
pushed himself inside her.
She stood there, mouth open, as her lover held her position while
the boy began to fuck her. She looked on with horror as Deborah
started to breathe heavily and to push back on the cock filling her
pussy, her eyes closed and her mind obviously oblivious to the effect
the sight was having on Emma.
Even worse, Emma found her own pussy moistening as she watched
Deborah near her climax and then cry out as the waves of ecstasy
washed over her, building up her backward thrusts again after they
had subsided to meet David's approaching orgasm. Finally, Emma
allowed her hand to stray, unseen, to her own clitoris as her friend
and lover, Deborah, came again, this time more loudly and
simultaneously with the boy standing behind her and fucking her.
Emma's own climax surprised her in its suddenness and intensity and
she collapsed, weeping, onto the couch.
David, after enjoying the sensation of feeling his erection
subside inside Deborah's pussy, withdrew and then, leaving the girl
still bent over, dressed himself and left the room. Deborah stood up
slowly and pulled her panties up while Emma just stared at her.
"What are you going to do?" Emma spat at last.
"What do you mean?"
"What do you think. About him?"
"What do you expect me to do?"
Emma felt tears pricking at her eyes again and was angry with
herself for not repressing them. "What is wrong with you. After what
he did... he raped you!"
Deborah looked as though she was going to walk out of the room.
Then, suddenly, she laughed.
"Raped me?" she repeated. "I told him to fuck me to teach you a
lesson, you idiot. You've behaved like a silly bitch this afternoon -
possessive and pathetic. You don't own me!"
"To teach me a lesson?" Emma couldn't believe that Deborah had
really wanted that boy to screw her.
"And you'll be learning another lesson when we get home," Deborah
continued, straightening her skirt. "Over my knee."
"What! You don't seriously think I'm going to...." she ran our
of words and simply got up and started to collect her clothes. She
hardly noticed as Deborah left the room and certainly didn't care.
She looked up with more concern however when, seconds later, she
returned - this time with two boys behind her. Emma tried to cover
herself, but knew that these two now had also seen her nakedness. And
then she noticed for the first time the heavy wooden ruler in
Deborah's hand.
"Paul, Andy, this is my friend Emma. She's being a naughty,
stubborn girl and I'm going to need your help with her."
EMMA AT SCHOOL
Chapter 6 - Lessons out of school
"Deborah! What are you doing?"
"I'm afraid you need to be taught a lesson. And as the person
you've appointed to train you, it falls to me to do the teaching!"
Emma could see trouble and realised that fighting her way out was
not an option.
"Look, Debbie. I'm sorry - really. I was just jealous - please
tell them to go away. You can do what you like to me!"
"And you can be certain that I will," Deborah retorted with an
ironic smile. "However, there are other things you need to learn
about and the boys will be able to help me in this."
Emma was about to continue her pleading, but Deborah held up her
hand. "No more! I'm not prepared to negotiate. I want you bent over
with your legs straight and your hands on the couch. Now!"
Deborah's tone permitted no discussion. Emma, flushing hotly as
she was ordered around in the nude before two more strange boys,
turned around and displayed her already red behind.
"What do you think, boys?" Deborah asked.
"Very nice," a voice replied.
"But we can still improve the view, can't we?" Deborah said
softly.
"Spread your legs please, Emma."
"No... please... I...."
"Young lady, you will do as you're... TOLD!" As she spoke,
Deborah covered the space between herself and Emma in three brisk
strides. Then, on the word "told", she landed a furious blow with the
ruler on the naked girl's left inner thigh to emphasise the point.
Tears coming to her eyes, and words now bitten on, Emma moved her
feet apart until her pink pussy lips opened up and pouted, glistening,
at an enthralled audience. Deborah slipped her fingers into the silky
wetness and allowed Emma to forget the horrible situation for a moment
as she abandoned herself to her friend's skillful fingers. Then she
was brought rudely back to reality.
"Now boys," Deborah's voice was saying. "Come and introduce
yourselves."
Deborah's fingers left her for a moment and were shortly replaced
by a less gentle hand. With no preliminaries, two thick fingers slid
themselves deep inside her in a single thrust.
"I'm Andy," a voice said.
Fortunately, Emma was so wet by now that their passage was easy
and Emma couldn't hold back a gasp of pleasure as her pussy was so
quickly filled and even found herself pushing back on the intruding
hand as its fingers slid in and out of her before retiring.
"And I'm Paul."
These fingers were gentler, more tender. Instead of the rush to
enter her which typified most teenaged boys, Paul's fingertips
explored her folds carefully, finding her clitoris quickly and coaxing
a low moan of pleasure from her lips as he traced tiny circles over
it. She guessed that this was the taller of the two boys, the shy
looking one with the cute brown eyes and gave herself up to his light
caresses, parting her thighs a little wider and feeling a distant
orgasm creeping closer.
Too soon, though, the fingers left her and their delicious touch
was replaced by a very different sensual caress - that of the ruler.
Emma guessed, rightly, that it was Deborah's hand wielding the short
piece of wood as it cracked repeatedly across her bare bottom and
thighs. She was certain that either of the boys, and especially Paul,
would have difficulty (at least at first) in spanking her so severely.
Soon she was crying out loudly under the blows, desperately
trying to hold her pose to avoid shaming herself before the boys.
Again and again Deborah laid red stripes across her lover's rounded
buttocks, determined to break the girl completely right from the
start.
To her credit, it took a long time for Emma to buckle totally.
She took over thirty-five strokes, delivered with full force, before
falling forwards onto the couch in a quivering, weeping mess. Still
Deborah continued to flog the crumpled girl, now shouting at her as
well, until she was no longer even able to flinch at each blow but
just lay there on her face and took her mistress' punishment.
When Deborah had finished, she stood over Emma's prostrate body
sobbing with exertion and released anger. Emma's bottom and thighs
were a web of red marks and she lay almost motionless, her every
thought wiped from her mind by the terrible pain of the spanking.
"Now, let's see if we can deal with this jealousy of yours shall
we?" Deborah reached under her mini-skirt and slipped her panties
down to the floor, walking over to the couch and sitting down with one
foot on the floor and the other on the far side of Emma's head so that
her own pussy was spread as wide as her friend's and, her skirt
useless in this position, equally on display. Emma's eyes, her head
turned in that direction, were only inches from that pink slit she
knew so well.
"You!" she turned to Andy and almost shouted at him too. "Take
off your trousers and pants and come over here!"
Despite the rudeness of the command, the boy did as he was told
in the expectation of something good to come. His cock sprung from
his pants as he pulled them down and Deborah smiled hungrily at him as
he ambled over. She got Andy to kneel between her wide open thighs
and then, as Emma looked on, opened a condom packet and took the thin
rubber sheath out. Emma had only ever seen condoms when they were
being filled up with air or water and had only ever seen erections in
magazines. So when Deborah began to unroll the condom along the
length of Andy's rigid prick, Emma watched in fascination, her eyes
staying on the long, thick, rubber covered organ as Deborah manoeuvred
the boy closer.
Then Deborah spoke directly to Emma. "This is my pussy," she
said, rubbing her fingers along her slit, "I will choose what I do
with it, not you. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," Emma mumbled, watching Andy's hardness edging forward until
it nuzzled Deborah's pussy lips.
"My pussy is not owned by you. It's owned by me. And if, for
example, I want to have a nice thick cock inside it, then I'll have
one. Understand?"
"Yes."
Andy was now beginning to get impatient at having to wait while
Deborah continued to tell her friend off, and was also not too happy
about being used simply as a teaching aid. So he decided to take the
initiative. He reached round to grasp Deborah's bottom with both
hands and thrust hard, entering a surprised girl with a loud grunt.
From her position, Emma had the clearest view possible of the
thick, dark headed cock slamming up into her friend's pussy over and
over again as Andy fucked her in the same basic way that he had
previously fingered Emma. In and out, in and out with no real
technique but, and this was his hidden secret, with incredible
stamina. He never slowed down. He never appeared to be getting close
to a climax from which he had to pull back. He never showed any signs
of tiredness. He just drove deep into Deborah's pussy with a searing
rhythm which, after twenty minutes of solid fucking, had brought the
girl to orgasm no less than five times, Emma having to look on (in
close up) as this boy pleasured her girlfriend.
Finally, when Deborah's head had started to loll from side to
side from sexual exhaustion, and nearly half an hour after he had
first pile-driven his erection between her labia and inside her, Andy
came himself, groaning loudly as he filled the condom with his juices.
Carefully, the boy withdrew and Emma watched as his creamy cum oozed
from the used sheath.
Deborah kept her eyes closed for a few moments, regaining her
breath and then opened them to address Emma.
"So, you understand so far. Now, perhaps you could tell me who
your pussy belongs to?"
If Emma had not already had her natural resistance soundly
thrashed of her, she would have given then answer that she knew
Deborah did not want to hear. In the circumstances, however, she
answered: "To you, Deborah."
"To me. That's right - to me. I decide who gets to see it, who
gets to touch it, who gets to taste it. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Deborah."
"Paul. Do you like the taste of pussy. Virgin pussy, I might
add."
Emma felt herself getting wetter at the words, but hoped it
didn't show.
"Why yes, it so happens that I love the taste of pussy. Although
I'm not sure whether I've ever tasted virgin pussy before."
This was the boy Emma had thought looked shy. If he was, he hid
his shyness well.
Deborah carried on: "Well, while I'm chatting to Emma, you just
go ahead and have a good lick and tell me what you think."
Then she turned once more to Emma: "So we'll have no more of your
'I'm not doing this, that, or the other' shit, girl! If I tell you to
pull off your knickers and spread your legs in the middle of Oxford
Street, you'll do it. I hope you understand that."
"Yes, Deborah, I... Oh, God... ohhh!"
As she spoke, Paul, having knelt between her thighs, lowered his
head and began to lick tentatively at her enraged clitoris, running
his tongue every now and then along the full length of her slit. The
feeling was amazing. No boyfriend of hers had every offered to do
this to her - and, she admitted to herself, she probably would have
said no if they had. But what an amazing sensation. Now his tongue
was starting to push inside her vagina...
It didn't take long, in the heightened atmosphere, for Paul to
bring the girl under his lips and tongue to orgasm and Deborah
intervened once he had. She sat on the side of the couch and picked
up a banana from the side.
"Do you like bananas?" she asked Emma pleasantly.
"Oh yes," the other girl replied innocently. "I love them."
"Good."
Deborah sat next to her friend quietly peeling the fruit until
the top half of its length was left white and unsheathed. Emma had a
sudden uneasy feeling which grew rapidly as Deborah got off the couch
and took Paul's place between the girl's legs.
Emma knew that nothing she could say or do would change anything
now. Indeed, although she would never have admitted this to anyone,
when she felt the first brush of the banana's soft tip against her
pink vulva, she found herself willing Deborah to enter her with it -
to slide it hard up inside her.
Deborah was never one for speed in such matters though. Slowly,
she eased the fat fruit up into the other girl's greedy pussy, filling
her completely with the white flesh.
Then she began to fuck her friend with it. Emma groaned with
pleasure as the banana slid easily in and out of her pussy, Deborah
setting up an easy rhythm and calling the boys in to help. Their
hands and mouths were soon hard at work so that it seemed to Emma that
every inch of her body was being stroked, caressed or kissed. The
sensation was incredible. She had never felt anything like this
before and she never wanted it to stop. The trio took her up and over
mountains of pleasure, each peak a climax of intensity she had never
imagined. She could hear the three changing places so that she never
knew who was holding the banana (which was remaining in amazingly good
condition) or whose fingers or tongues were toying with her clitoris
or playing with her tits.
And then, very suddenly, it stopped. There was a sudden flurry
and the banana was pulled sharply from her. She shouted out loudly in
disappointment:
"Hey, what's going...." but was (thankfully) interrupted by a
deep male voice.
"And you! Stand up quickly!"
Emma jumped to her feet, spinning round to see a middle-aged man
with a black gown and a very angry face.
"My name," he explained, making no reference to Emma's nakedness,
"is Mr Sternly. I'm the housemaster here and you..."
He looked at them all through narrowed eyes.
"You are all in a great deal of trouble. I won't ask what was
going on because, to be frank, I really don't want to hear all the
sordid details. Boys, go and wait outside my study. You will each
receive twelve strokes of the cane on the bare behind. I will be
recommending to the girls' housemaster that they get the same. Go!"
The boys scuttled wordlessly from the room, leaving Emma and
Deborah to face the terrifying Mr Sternly alone.
"Is there any reason why I should not inform your housemaster of
this incident. Were you being forced to do anything against your
wishes?"
Emma didn't even hear the question. She was totally preoccupied
by the thought of taking a caning on the bare bottom from Mr Lindon.
She had seen the effects on Deborah of just six strokes and was
certain she couldn't take twelve.
"No, Sir. We're really sorry, Sir," Deborah was saying.
"I should think so. You've humiliated yourselves - and
embarrassed me with your... your disgraceful display of...
strumpettry."
He looked straight at Emma.
"What would your mother say, young lady. Hey?" he snapped.
Emma tried to answer, but found herself able only to answer with
a flood of tears.
"Don't bawl, you silly thing. That's just a refusal to face up
to your responsibility for your actions. Stop it, I say! Very well,
I'll give you something to cry about!"
And with that, he pulled the naked girl towards him with one
hand, placed his left foot on a chair and hauled her, still weeping,
up and over his knee - her feet and hands dangling in mid-air. Three
times in swift succession he brought his large, heavy hand down on her
upturned bare bottom, greatly amplifying the girl's wailing.
"I will not have little girls who think they're big women coming
round to my house and making an exhibition of themselves with my
boys!" he barked, delivering another ten severe smacks to her cheeks
to the rhythm of his words.
"Right, get yourself dressed," he said with disgust, almost
dropping her to the floor. Then to Deborah: "No, not you. You can
have a reminder to take with you as well. Come on."
Deborah hesitated for a fraction of a second and was rewarded
with another verbal barrage.
"Now, young hussy, over my knee. Or I'll take the cane to you
myself!"
Deborah knew, of course, that this man, not being a teacher at
her school, had no jurisdiction to cane her - or even to spank her.
Yet she knew, too, that this kind of fact rarely got in the way of
anything and allowed herself to be pulled unceremoniously over the
tall man's muscled thigh. Brusquely he flipped her skirt up, finding
her naked beneath.
"Do you usually walk around without panties on?" he asked,
accompanied by the first salvo of five smacks.
"No, Sir!" she responded in the kind of voice privates use when
answering their sergeant majors.
"Should I suggest to your housemaster that you be barred from
wearing panties for one month, perhaps?" Again, five blistering
smacks.
"No, sir!"
"Mmph!" he grunted, lifting his hand and delivering a further
three before letting the girl off to find her discarded knickers.
Then he looked at them both with a terrible stare. "If I catch
you in my house just once more," he lectured them. "It won't be a few
smacks on the bottom, I promise you that! Follow me."
Mr Sternly led the two tearful girls though the study corridors
(where boys were whispering excitedly to one another, swapping
versions of what might have happened) and into his own quarters. They
passed Paul and Andy, both too concerned about their own fates to
bother thinking twice about them, and followed the housemaster into
his study where he picked up the phone.
Emma heard him outlining the afternoon's happening and then tried
to piece together the rest of the conversation from her one-sided
evidence.
"Yes, I'm afraid so... yes... of course... well, twelve strokes
on the bare... I think so... good, that's the fairest thing... yes...
yes I'll send them straight away - they should be with you in, say,
twenty-five minutes. Good, what shall I... straight to your study?
Fine. Yes... that's OK, I'm sorry too. And I think four young people
will be pretty sorry before the day is out!"
EMMA AT SCHOOL
Chapter 7 - Paying the penalty
Neither girl said a word on the long walk back. Emma was unable
to get the image of herself bent over that terrible punishment horse
with her bottom bared for the cane. She couldn't control her tears
which, every time she thought she had stemmed the flow, would begin to
run down her cheeks again. Deborah's thoughts were, as usual, more
practical:
"Have I gone too far?" she asked herself. "What if Emma tells Mr
Lindon what really happened?"
The possible consequences didn't bear thinking about... and, she
realised, she was perhaps even more worried of losing Emma as a friend
- and lover. Despite all her bluster, she had grown very fond of the
new girl. Had she finally gone over the top with this afternoon's
performance?
The short walk back to school appeared to last forever. And yet,
it also seemed as if no time had passed before they found themselves
facing a very angry and determined looking Mr Lindon across his desk.
"Do you have any idea," he thundered, "how much damage can be
done to a school's reputation by this kind of scandalous behaviour?"
It was clearly a rhetorical question as the words kept on coming:
"You have embarrassed Mr Sternly and caused him a great deal of extra
work. You have also put me in a very humiliating position. This is a
respected public school. Girls of fifteen do NOT play depraved sexual
games with boys from local schools... with ANY boys for that matter!
What on earth got into you?"
This time the housemaster paused for an answer and Deborah
quickly replied: "We're both really sorry, sir, we..."
"SORRY??!" He hurled the syllables across the desk like a spear.
"What good is that going to do? And what on earth are you wearing?"
Deborah realised that Mr Lindon's eye had fallen on her skirt
which she hadn't dared to change in case a description of her clothing
had been passed on by Mr Sternly.
"What, my skirt, sir?"
"SKIRT! You don't seriously expect me to call that... that
ribbon round your waist a skirt?"
There was a long pause.
"Well?"
"I don't know, sir. I realise it isn't regulation."
"That has got to be the greatest understatement of the year.
Take it off... now! Put it straight in the bin."
Deborah turned and unclipped the skirt, walking slowly over to
the bin as she unwrapped it and stopping short at Mr Lindon's next
outburst.
"And what do you call those? Don't we have regulations about
underwear any more?"
Deborah realised he was talking about her panties. A lot of
girls she knew wore similar skimpy panties and it was generally
overlooked, yet they were undoubtedly against the rules.
"Yes, sir," she answered, turning her head.
"Very well. We'll have those in the bin as well then, please."
"Yes, sir," Deborah confirmed, peeling the tiny knickers down her
legs and dropping them, with her horribly expensive mini, in the bin.
Naked from the waist down now, she turned round with a heavy blush to
face the housemaster. Although she had been given bare-bottomed
spankings and other punishments by him on a number of occasions, she
had never had to conduct a conversation with him with her pussy on
display.
"Right, let's get on," Mr Lindon asserted in a business-like
tone. "Firstly, I have a question for you, Emma. Mr Sternly got the
impression that you were not involved in this... incident.. entirely
of your own free will. Obviously, if this is true then I shall not
punish you with anything like the severity due otherwise. Well?"
Deborah felt her heart sinking as she waited for Emma's reply.
Would the nightmare never end?
"No, Mr Lindon," Emma answered quietly. "Mr Sternly was
mistaken. I was just as involved as the others. I know it was wrong
and I expect to be punished for it. I'm sorry, sir."
Mr Lindon's face showed the first hint of compassion of the
afternoon. He looked thoughtful.
"I admire your honesty," he said at last. "It is an admirable
quality. However, you clearly recognise that your honesty cannot
lessen the penalty for your behaviour. I very much regret being in
this position with you so new to the school, but there it is."
Then he turned back to Deborah and spoke as fiercely as ever:
"It may not appear so, but you have been very lucky today. I had to
flog you only a matter of days ago and here you are before me again.
If it weren't for your companion I would have no compunction at all in
sending you to the headmaster to be birched. As it is, with Emma
being new here, I feel I should attend to your punishments myself."
Deborah breathed a massive sigh of relief. What was to come was
going to be bad, she knew, but to escape a birching so narrowly. The
birch was hardly ever used any more, maybe once every two years or so.
The last girl to get it was in sick bay for three days afterwards
unable to get up and the marks lasted for months! "Whatever the
punishment," she thought. "I can take it now."
Mr Lindon was sill speaking, and was now coming to the sentence.
"So. Both of you will receive twelve full strokes of the cane
across your bare bottoms, six now... and six at call this evening."
Emma gasped out loud. A house public! She was going to be
beaten in front of the whole house. Stripped naked, tied down and
caned! In front of everyone - even the two boys in the house. She
felt herself growing faint and reached out to the table to steady
herself.
"And you, Deborah. You will have an additional punishment. What
lessons do you have this afternoon?"
In the summer months, because of the late sunset, afternoon
lessons didn't begin until after four and then went on until supper.
This was followed by prep until nine. And then call.
"Er... maths, PE and French, sir."
"Perfect. In view of your unladylike flirtation with
exhibitionism and your inability to wear the correct uniform, you will
spend the afternoon and evening dressed EXACTLY as you are now. I
will also request of Mr Denby that you take part in PE as normal, but
nude."
"Noooooh!"
Deborah had never shouted at Mr Lindon before, but this terrible
statement had rendered her temporarily unable to control herself. The
housemaster moved quickly and decisively. He was around the desk with
strap in hand before Deborah closed her mouth and, almost before she
realised what was happening, he had pulled her forwards, thrust her
face down over the desk, and laid three fresh stripes across her bare
cheeks.
"Don't you dare..."
Emma could see that Mr Lindon was purple in the face.
"Don't you dare shout at me you impudent tramp or I'll deliver
you to the birching tower myself. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Deborah whimpered.
"I'm glad to hear it," Mr Lindon said, calmer now and letting the
girl stand up and rub her injured bottom. "Now, do I assume you
accept the punishment I have outlined, or do you wish to take the
other option?"
No way was she being birched by choice! But to spend the whole
afternoon naked from waist to ankle. In front of all the teachers and
the other children. And to have to do PE in the nude! She hated PE
anyway, and that sadistic Mr Denby. She was in no doubt that he would
relish the opportunity to make this particular lesson more awful than
ever!
"Very well. Let's begin. Emma, put your panties on that chair
and then face the wall, holding your skirt right up around your waist.
Deborah, I shall attend to you first."
Emma did as she was told silently, hearing the sound of the
punishment horse being pulled out into the centre of the room but
scared to look. Once her panties were off she walked slowly over to
the wall, pressing her nose up against it and then lifting her skirt
to her waist as she'd been told. She took one last peek at the scene
behind her and saw Mr Lindon arranging her friend's body for her
caning.
"That's it Emma," the housemaster said as he strapped Deborah to
the horse. "Just lift your skirt a little higher for me so I can see
the whole of your bottom. Very good. It looks as if you've had quite
a hard spanking recently."
"Yes, sir," Emma replied.
"Well, it's a pity it wasn't enough to persuade you to stay out
of trouble, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr Lindon grunted to himself. Less than two weeks here and
already in to have her bare backside caned. He hoped this wasn't
going to become a habit. Although.... He checked himself quickly; he
backed the school's corporal punishment regime to the hilt, but in
some ways his wasn't an easy job. Temptation at every corner.
He looked over to where his newest pupil was standing with her
skirt hiked up round her midriff, her youthful bottom already a
delightful red hue. Was it necessary to have girls who were waiting
for punishment against the wall with their bottoms bared? Well, it
certainly helped to focus their minds on what was to come, and it was
one of the traditions of the school, but it was hard not to enjoy the
sight.... And then there was the punishment horse design. Of course,
positioning a girl so that her legs were spread wide apart had some
very straightforward advantages: it ensured a nice wide target and it
enhanced the girl's humiliation.... But, and Mr Lindon turned his head
back to the girl strapped to the horse before him, it would take a very
special heterosexual male not to find the sight of a teenaged girl's
open pussy just a little arousing. Or even a lot... Deborah was one
of those girls who oozed sexuality, and the teacher had noticed when
he caned her last time that she actually became visibly wet during the
preparation and administration of her punishment.
The housemaster had an erection now and turned his back on the
girls to fetch the cane from his desk. He paused for a moment and
then lifted the familiar rod, smiled grimly and took the five steps
required to place him behind Deborah.
Emma heard very little during these few minutes and just kept her
face to the wall. And waited. She pictured her lover strapped to the
horse, just like the first time she'd seen her on the day she arrived
at Katherine Parr. She easily conjured up a vision of Deborah's firm
buttocks and her sweet sex nestling between her thighs and then, just
as easily, Mr Lindon standing behind her with the cane raised.
Somehow it was easy to imagine the scene when she knew if she turned
around she be looking right at it.
SWISHHHH! The sound seemed so familiar, even though it was only
the second time she had heard it. The fizzing sound of the long
flight, much longer than seemed possible, seemed to sear right through
to her heart - and she still had time to remember, "This is going to
happen to me!"
Emma closed her eyes tightly and heard the terrible crack as the
cane bit into her friend's unprotected cheeks, leaving, she knew, a
heavy red welt. Then, as Mr Lindon prepared to strike again, she
began to weep. Tears streamed down her face as though she were
standing out in the rain, her body heaved with her sobs. Behind her,
Deborah's caning was continuing at Mr Lindon's unhurried pace. But
Emma was hardly aware of it now, she was too busy anticipating her own
fate.
"OK, Emma. Your turn now!"
It couldn't be, could it? Deborah's punishment was already over?
Emma turned round in time to see Deborah, her bottom marked even worse
than last time, climbing stiffly off the horse to make room for her.
As if in a trance she walked over to it, keeping her skirt up round
her waist, and knelt on the two soft green pads at the base of the
horse. She didn't move for a while, still not quite believing what
was happening. Mr Lindon came over and gave her something to bite on
before gently easing her over the largest pad and placing her hands on
the two smallest ones on the far side of the contraption. It seemed
like a replay of the day's earlier events, bent over to have her bare
bottom chastised, and with her sex spread open in front of a man she
hardly knew.
As Mr Lindon knelt down behind her to strap her legs in place,
Emma felt a surge of heat through her pussy brought about by the
simple proximity of this man to her parted thighs. Amazed to find her
pussy displaying such a complete lack of loyalty, she closed her eyes
then, and waited.
Standing against the wall, just as Emma had earlier, was Deborah.
Indeed, part of the reason for her closing her eyes was so that she
didn't have to stare at her friend's bare bottom, latticed as it with
the proof of her punishment. Soon her bottom would look like that!
Emma heard a faint whistling sound, but not the thwack of wood
against skin. The moment the cane touched her bare bottom, all her
senses collapsed into one sensation - pain.
It felt like fire roaring through her body. Every nerve ending
set ablaze furiously by the insistent caress of the rod. She
desperately wanted to scream, but the gag prevented her and it seemed
as though her wail of agony was trapped inside her and screeching
round her mind along with the agony of the stroke itself.
Just one. She'd had only had one stroke. She vowed never, ever
to get into trouble again, forgetting that it was Deborah who had
directed the incident which had led to her caning. How could she take
five more, not to mention another six tonight.
Mr Lindon watched the girl's squirming with sympathy. It was
always tempting to go easy on a girl receiving her first caning, yet
he knew that her marks would be carefully inspected by the other
pupils afterwards and that lesser marks could lead to a doubled
humiliation. Not only would the girl have had to endure a still
painful bare-bottom caning, but her friends would be taunting her for
not having even been beaten properly.
"No," he thought," if anything, a girl's first caning should be
the hardest. After all, the idea is to persuade her that she doesn't
want to return for a second."
With that in mind, and noting with pride the angry welts which
were rising right in the centre of each cheek, completely
overshadowing the marks left by Deborah's spanking of her with the
ruler, Mr Lindon raised the cane again.
The second stoke was perhaps an inch and a half below the first,
and this time Emma heard the awesome sound of the rattan cutting
across her. Her body jolted visibly and again the impossibility of
crying out made her suffering still worse.
The burning sensation didn't stop after the blow had landed, each
of the two sites visited already continued to blaze - their intensity
dropping only very slowly. Emma knew that she would still be feeling
not just a dull glow (as she had after her recent strapping over
Amanda's knee) but acute pain for a long time to come.
She recalled that until two weeks ago, she had never even been
spanked before. She remembered her outrage when her father had pulled
her panties down to draw her over his lap for the first time and how
she had screeched as he spanked her bare bottom with his hand. That
seemed like the distant past now.
She wondered how things would change at home now. She knew that,
according to the school rules, her parents would have been told of
this caning and tried to gauge how they might react.
"They will probably be celebrating," she thought. She remembered
her father's vow to bare her bottom as often as necessary while she
continued to live under his roof and speculated about the kind of
punishment she might now expect at home. Once they knew more detail
about the kind of chastisement employed by the school, she guessed
that her father was unlikely to be satisfied with hand-spankings for
all occasions. She could quite easily envisage going home at
half-term (pupils were not allowed home, even for weekends, during
their first term at the school) to find that he'd equipped himself
with a whole range of punishment implements with which to attend to
her naked backside.
Mr Lindon was leaving good long gaps "for reflection" between the
blows. The third stroke was more painful still, right at the top of
Emma's bottom where there was less fleshy padding and the girl felt as
if she were being branded with a red-hot poker rather than caned.
She looked up to see, through her tears, Deborah's bottom in
front of her. Her welts had really come up now, still a fiery red but
with hits of purple at the edges. That was how she must look. She
shuddered.
Number five found the spot between the marks left by the first
two blows. If there were a competition for caning accuracy, Mr Lindon
conjectured, he might do exceedingly well. As he paused before
continuing, he let his mind conjure up the delightful picture of a
great sporting arena with rows and rows of punishment horses, each one
with a girl and teacher standing beside it.
On a signal from the judges, each teacher would pull down the
girl's panties, strap her to the horse and then lift up her skirt.
Then the crowd would cheer as a hundred cute young bottoms were
simultaneously caned.
Smiling broadly at the image, he decided to act mercifully and
deliver the remaining two strokes more rapidly and bring the girl's
ordeal to an end. He laid one stroke just above the crease between
buttocks and legs, Emma writhing under the cane as her vulva took
part of the blow between her open thighs.
Then, to complete the six, he chose the one last unmarked area,
between middle and top, and caned the girl one last time with maximum
force. Mr Lindon left Emma where she was for a minute or two before
gently unfastening the straps binding her legs and wrists to the horse
and helping her to her feet.
"Good girl," he said quietly in her ear. "You've taken your
first caning very well. Keep your skirt right up please so that I can
see how effective the rod has been. That's right. I just hope that
it has as pronounced effect on your behaviour as it has on your
bottom."
"It will," Emma snuffled. "I promise."
"I'm very glad to hear it," Mr Lindon told her. "Now I want you
to go and stand next to Deborah and the two of you can spend a few
minutes reflecting on your misbehaviour and the penalty for it."
Sitting back behind his desk, the housemaster found his hand
straying to the front of his trousers as he surveyed his handiwork.
Guiltily he stroked his hardening cock through the coarse material,
his eyes roving over the girls' prettily decorated bottoms. After a
minute or two, his conscience roaring at him, he stopped touching
himself and spoke loudly.
"Very well girls, you may go. Emma, you may dress yourself but
Deborah, you are to stay as you are. I don't want to hear from anyone
that you have either changed into a longer shirt or skipped lessons.
Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir." Deborah had indeed been planning to change her top
as the one she was wearing barely came down to her navel. Now she was
stuck in it and she would have no way at all of protecting her
well-beaten bottom, or her young pussy, from the eyes of others.
"Right. It's time for class. You'd better get your books and be
off."
EMMA AT SCHOOL
Chapter 8 - For all the world to see
Well chastened, the two girls shuffled out of the housemaster's
part of the building and into the main study corridor. There were
plenty of other girls about, preparing themselves for lessons, and
each either stood and stared at the two (Deborah's pussy and striped
behind on full display, of course) or ran over to question them.
Emma, as always happened on these occasions, was obliged to lower
her panties and lift her skirt to show her house-mates the record of
her beating. But she was, at least, allowed to do so in the privacy
of her study. Deborah, on the other hand, had no choice but to
display her blazing marks to everyone within eyesight.
The long walk across the school precinct from their house to the
classrooms was terrible. Word spread about Deborah's humiliating
attire more quickly than the girls could walk and the quadrangle was
certainly more crowded than was usual at that time of day.
Everyone knew that her appearance was part of a punishment as it
was not uncommon for girls to receive instructions to dress in a
particular way following certain types of rule-infringements. One of
Deborah's friends had recently had to spend an entire day dressed only
in bra and panties for repeatedly flouting the school's regulations
about underwear (including, on one infamous occasion, omitting it
altogether.
Another girl, a few months before, had had to sit through all
her morning lessons bare-breasted as a punishment for showing too
much cleavage for her housemistress' taste. In both cases, as the
rules required, the girls had previously had to accept a spanking
or beating of some sort - each had had a bare bottom caning. No
one, however, could remember a case in recent years (although their
were plenty of stories around) of any girl having to display her
naked pussy and bottom for all the world to see.
Worst of all for Deborah were the badly hidden (or in some cases
quite open) giggles, pleased smiles and knowing looks of those girls
who, for one reason or another, did not like Deborah and were pleased
to see her getting what they thought of as her comeuppance.
The most brazen of them would even come up to her, feigning
sympathy, and ask about her offense and punishment, refusing to be put
off by Deborah's monosyllabic replies:
"Really.. how many? ... Six? ... On the bare, I suppose... yes,
of course... it must have been excruciatingly painful... I'm sure it
was...and you still have? ... Another six... a house public! Oh you
poor thing... and this too... how embarrassing for you... and all
those lecherous boys around too... Well, we all feel for you,
darling... keep smiling..."
Deborah only just held herself back from doing something
excruciatingly painful to her tormentors but, in the circumstances,
thought better of it. She just kept her head down, trying to avoid
meeting the eyes of those following her awkward progress through the
school grounds, until she got to class.
Fortunately the first lesson, maths, comprised a test and she was
able to keep her mind off her predicament to some extent once she'd
run the gauntlet of stares on entering the classroom. However, having
found the test fairly easy, she was left with ten minutes at the end
of the period to sit (or "to fidget around restlessly" might be more
accurate) on her seat and contemplate the horror that was undoubtedly
to come.
As soon as she walked into the gym, she could tell that Mr Denby
was planning to make the most of her predicament. He loudly reminded
her in front of everyone, as if she would need reminding, that she was
to strip completely for the lesson and then sent her to fetch the boys
once the girls were changed.
As it was primarily a girls' school, there were no special
facilities for the sexes to change separately, so the boys used Mr
Denby's office, waiting there to be called once the girls had
finished. Mr Denby, however, stayed with the girls and pretended not
to ogle them as they dressed.
Deborah knocked on the door but no answer came, forcing her to
open it and, trying to conceal her nakedness behind the door, call the
boys out. They left the room sniggering madly and it was not hard to
deduce about what. The whole class then gathered in the centre of the
large gym.
"Right. Gymnastics today isn't it?" Mr Deny announced. "Let's
pair you up... er, you two... and you and Sally go together... and
Deborah with Martin..."
"No!" Deborah shouted, Mr Denby whirling on her.
"What, girl?!"
More timidly, Deborah asked if she could change partners. Mr
Denby's response was characteristic.
"You can do as your told or feel my paddle across your dainty
little cheeks," he snarled. Mr Denby, however much he was disliked,
was certainly a genuine sportsman and a spanking from his paddle was
worth any number of most other teachers'. Martin was one of Deborah's
least favourite classmates. He was far from unattractive, but he had
a reputation as a lech and a user, and had hurt many of Deborah's
friends. She knew that Mr Denby had paired them on purpose, but
decided that a paddling was an even less attractive option. Fuming
and embarrassed, she walked over to where Martin was sitting with a
very broad grin and glared at him.
"Right. Let's begin. We were doing sequences, weren't we?"
The class mumbled an affirmation.
"Hmmm. All asleep, I see. Very well, an exercise to warm us up.
Let's see.... Standing start. Backward roll to crouch, arms pointing
straight ahead. Forward roll into straddle, then push up into a
headstand with splits. Bring the legs slowly together and then
forward roll out... and nice clean finish. Er..." his eyes surveyed
the room: "Sally, demonstrate for us please."
Everyone looked at Sally, in whose eyes water began to collect.
It wasn't that she was not a capable gymnast. On the contrary, she
was one of the best in the class. It was just that she had forgotten
to put her gym shorts into the wash that week and was therefore
wearing a skirt. The movements described by the teacher, although
not difficult, would nonetheless mean her skirt tumbling round her
shoulders as she executed the required headstand. Her panties would
be on display to everyone, and doing the splits in that upside down
position would be even more revealing. Mr Denby anticipated both
the girl's discomfort and her coming protest.
"Come on, girl," he said. "It wasn't me who forgot to bring
their shorts. Demonstrate please."
It was obvious to everyone that Mr Denby had chosen Sally to
demonstrate specifically because of her dress. It was therefore
equally clear that, having turned down her appeal, if Sally didn't do
as she was told a paddling would await. And that, of course, would
also involve her knickers being put on display. On balance, she
decided to perform the sequence. Forgetting the reason for her
embarrassment as best as she could, Sally followed the routine with
panache, not stinting on the splits either! She was a believer in
doing everything to the best of her abilities even if, as on this
occasion, this meant showing her classmates the odd pubic hair. Most
of the girls in the class felt sympathy for Sally, but they were all
thinking of Deborah. She would be exposing herself far more
explicitly than Sally, and there was zero chance of Mr Denby
altering the sequence for her.
Having commented, generally favourably, on Sally's performance,
Mr Denby set all the pupils off to try the routine in their pairs.
Martin volunteered to go first and Deborah readily agreed. As he
carried out the series of moves, Deborah surprised herself with how
much attention she was paying him. He was good looking (in a
rugby-club kind of way) with large muscles and very little fat. His
dark hair stood up from his head like the bristles of a brush and
Deborah wondered at how a great-looking boy like this could end up
becoming such a shit.
Deborah stood by idly as Martin rolled up and down the mat with
expert precision. She had no reason even to step in and help him with
his balance. It was a perfectly executed routine - and being a
voluble creature she told him so, much to his delight.
Deborah spent the next couple of minutes, which Martin spent
preening and congratulating himself, willing the ground to open and
swallow her up. But it didn't and soon it was her turn. The initial
rolls caused no problem, but once in a straddle position she found the
idea (rather than the act) of raising herself to a headstand with her
legs still wide apart impossible to so much as contemplate.
"Come on, Deborah," Martin said, not unkindly. "If you don't
have a go he'll only paddle you. And it will be on the bare too,
won't it?" Classroom paddlings by teachers were supposedly never
administered on the bare bottom, but in her current position Deborah
would obviously lose that protection. She placed her hands flat on
the mat and then started to push up, her legs straight and splayed
out, trying not to consider Martin's view.
Martin, on the other hand, was watching intently as Deborah's
pussy lips slowly drew apart while she was opening her legs and then
while the girl swung up into a vertical position.
She was pleased to have almost completed the move, but then,
suddenly, she felt faint and Martin sensed that she was ready to drop.
He knew that this could cause damage and he needed to soften her fall
so he reached out instinctively as she toppled, one hand grabbing an
arm and the other, without intent, going between her legs and taking
most of her weight as she fell.
"You filthy fucking pervert," she exploded. "Get your shitty
hands off me!"
Martin didn't respond, but just looked hurt until Mr Denby spoke.
"I don't believe I've ever heard such language directed from one
pupil to another in class."
Then he spoke directly to Martin: "Now I am not, or course,
making a suggestion," he began. "But if you were to take her and her
foul mouth into my office and put her over your knee who could blame
you."
"No!" Deborah shouted again. "You can't!"
"No," he agreed. "Perhaps not. Maybe you should just get up
over the vaulting horse while I fetch the paddle?"
Martin could tell that this was not an alternative that Deborah
fancied and took the opportunity to grasp her hand firmly and lead
her, unresisting, towards Mr Denby's office. When they got there, he
sat down on a stool and told her to stand in front of him.
Deborah felt that she was attractive. People often told her so.
Yet being looked at so pointedly unnerved her. Martin let his eyes
take their time in moving over her naked body. He imagined touching
her as he appraised her. How he'd run his fingers through her thick
blonde hair. How he'd gently caress her neck, enjoying the feel of
her smooth, deeply tanned skin. The girl's breasts were nicely
proportioned and held their shape well without a bra, her nipples
standing out sharply. He imagined the soft, coolness as each breast
yielded to his warm hands before moving down... down over her tight
stomach and towards the fine haze of hair which marked Deborah out
as a "true" blonde.
Deborah's pubic hair, being not only fair but also fine, left the
region between her thighs rather unprotected. She had her legs
together now, of course, but he remembered her sweet pussy well from
her "headstand with splits." He recalled the moist inner lips
nestling in an open pink hideaway, the passage to her feminine secrets
appearing as a tiny slit.
"Turn around," Martin told her.
She didn't think of answering back but just did as she was told.
After all, just about everyone had seen her unclothed today, so what
was the point in arguing over trifles.
Deborah was slim, with the beginnings of a nicely curved adult
body. Her legs were long and tapered neatly to her rather beautiful
ankles. Her bottom drew attention to itself even when unmarked as
Deborah's hips were seductively wide.
Martin had, like everyone else, seen the purpling welts left by
Mr Lindon's cane but only now had he had time to inspect them in close
up. They were, he decided, gorgeous and set off the background of
young, rounded buttocks very well. Girls should be caned more often
he thought absent-mindedly. And that reminded him of something.
For Deborah, things were going from bad to worse. She had been
already been thinking of the same incident which had now sprung into
Martin's mind: back only a month or two ago, when Deborah had
reported Martin for selling cigarettes to twelve and thirteen year
olds. He'd been caned himself for that and had been looking for
revenge ever since. However, having told her to face him once more,
his next words surprised her.
"I want you to know something," he began. "I know you don't
approve of me, that there are lots of things about me which you
despise, but this is the truth. Whatever I've done, I've never
sexually abused anyone... Yes, OK," he said in response to the
challenge he could see forming on Deborah's lips, "I know you and your
feminist friends consider patting a girl on the bum abuse.... What
I'm saying is that I would never have touched you between the legs on
purpose; I really was trying to help."
His tone of voice, and the mere fact that Martin was bothering to
tell her this and didn't just start smacking her straight away
suggested to her that he was telling the truth and she began to feel
guilty about what she had said.
"It's true," he said, hoping for a response. This time he got
one.
"I know it's true," she told him. "I'm sorry for what I called
you."
"Thanks," Martin breathed a sigh of relief. "So now what?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know." He had a glint in his eye. "Do you deserve to be
put over my knee?"
Deborah's bottom was still stinging like mad from the morning's
ordeal, but then she guessed that a hand- spanking would make little
difference to the overall pain level. She knew too that her outburst
would have dented Martin's reputation still further and felt her guilt
increasing.
"How many?" she asked quietly, seeing Martin's handsome face
light up in a smile.
"Something conservative..." he suggested. "Say fifteen?"
Deborah thought for a moment and then said with a tiny smile of
resignation: "Oh, God. Go on then."
Martin pulled her closer to him and happily turned her over his
knee. Her bottom's cane marks looked even angrier up so close and
under the fluorescent light, and he wondered whether he shouldn't let
her off. Yet she had agreed to her spanking and was therefore
prepared to accept it.
Once Deborah's bare bottom was neatly presented, her scarred
cheeks ready to receive yet more chastisement, Martin placed one large
hand on her tender skin and said to her:
"You know, you don't have to go through with this...."
"It's OK, Martin," she said firmly. "I've said I'll take it, so
I will." At those encouraging words, Martin lifted his hand up high
and began to spank her soundly. The noise drifted into the gym, each
smack echoed by a cry of pain from Deborah.
SMACK! WHACK! SLAP! The blows rained down and Deborah was
surprised at how much a simple hand- spanking could do when delivered
on top of a recent caning. She heard her voice begging for mercy as
Martin spanked her, but she knew he wouldn't stop - not until he was
finished. It seemed to be going on forever, yet Deborah knew Martin
was only just past half-way through.
SMACK! "Ouch!" SPLAT! "Nooh!" WHACK "Yeeeowll!"
Never rule out simple bare-bottomed hand-spanking as a form of
punishment, she thought. This was hell....
Finally, Martin spanked her quivering and sore bottom two last
times and the ordeal was over. He told her to stand up.
"Now," Martin said, his words unplanned this time. "You say you
feel guilty about what you said. Could you prove it?"
"What do you mean? I thought I'd already done that," she
complained, rubbing her sore behind.
"Let me kiss you."
"Kiss you?"
"Yeah, you know, my lips against yours, that sort of thing."
Deborah looked more closely at him. There was no doubt that he
was an attractive boy and in her current vulnerable state she felt
kind of drawn to him, like a spider's prey. One kiss would be OK,
wouldn't it?
"OK," she said quietly.
Martin took her face in one hand and pulled it down to his level,
kissing her tenderly on the lips. Then he kissed her again, harder
and more passionately now, and was delighted to feel Deborah's tongue
responding to his own. This second kiss went on for a long time and
Deborah found herself engrossed. So much so, that when he stood up
and bent down to kiss her neck and a number of other sensual spots she
didn't protest, but just murmured with pleasure. His lips traced a
delicate path over each breast, pausing to envelop and suck gently on
her nipples. He knelt down before her and kissed her thighs, his face
only inches from her sex; then he spun her round and used his hands to
gently convey his next request.
As pressure was applied tenderly, Deborah responded by first
spreading her feet further and further apart. Then, when he was
satisfied, he tapped her shoulders and she bent forwards, as if she
was to be beaten again. He didn't strike her though. Instead, he did
what she had been both dreading and hoping for: he knelt behind her,
firmly grasped her thighs and found her pussy with his mouth.
Deborah managed to forget, for that moment at least, how much she
supposedly hated this boy, and instead wallowed in the wonderful
sensations as her vulva was sucked on, her clitoris lightly bitten and
her climax gently coaxed.
Even then, when Martin's mouth left her, it was only a temporary
desertion. Straight away, he was back, his mouth this time ranging
over her still bare bottom and kissing and soothing the pain. His
tongue followed each of the ridges in turn, cooling momentarily the
still throbbing pain there. Then he did something that Deborah had
always hoped to experience but didn't think she would ever be able to
ask for. He licked along the groove between her cheeks and then
stopped when he reached her anus. His tongue flicked out and prodded
and sucked at this tiny hole and, at the same time, his fingers found
her pussy again, bringing her to yet another orgasm. As Deborah
became more and more aroused, the boy behind her sped his tongue in
small circles around and around the tiny pink hole, and gradually
coaxed her on towards a third peak.
All in all it was delicious and when, after taking a minute or
two to let their flushed faces return to their normal colours, they
returned to the gym, Deborah was able to almost forget about her
enforced immodesty. Her black and white image of Martin was no longer
sufficient. Sure, he'd taken advantage of her situation to enjoy her
body (although only the spanking was forced - she had needed little
persuasion to allow him access to the rest of her). But he could have
spanked a good deal harder. He could have done so without first
discussing the punishment or its justification. He could have slipped
a hand between her thighs when she was still over his knee and when
she had little way of protecting himself. He could also, of course,
have fucked her. Having roused her so much already with his oral
stimulation of her secrets, Deborah knew she would have let him - if
only to regret it afterwards. But, in fact, he concentrated on giving
her pleasure; something in which he had been extremely successful.
She still thought of him as a sexist, lecherous, rugby-playing (and
annoyingly attractive) shit. But that opinion was no longer one she
could just hold unquestioningly. Her mind, as well as her warm, wet
pussy, told her there were contradictions in her judgment that she
hadn't noticed before. She wondered if, perhaps, it was anything to
do with this post-feminism stuff her older sister kept on going on
about.
The lesson seemed to come to an end quickly. Despite Mr Denby
continuing to instruct the class in tasks which he knew would force
Deborah into revealing postures, she remained infuriatingly serene and
even refused to give him any plausible reason for putting her over the
vaulting horse for a paddling.
French was next with Mme Jospin, a middle-aged native of "la
belle France" with a no-nonsense approach to teaching.
"Bonjour la classe," she intoned.
"Bonjour Madame Jospin," the children chanted back, feeling as
they always did as if they were back in primary school.
"Bien. Asseyez-vous. Aujord-hui, nous ecouterions de..." She
looked down at her notes and continued: "... de Deborah, n'est pas?"
"Me?" Deborah gasped, her mouth remaining wide-open.
"En Francais, s'il vous plait!"
"Er... moi?"
"Si, toi. Viens!"
Deborah stumbled out towards the front of the class, a chorus of
sniggering accompanying her to the front.
"Bon. Et ton sujet, c'est... quoi?"
"Er... c'est... c'est.... Mon sujet est...."
She'd forgotten. She didn't even remember once in the classroom!
As part of their course, each pupil had to give a prepared talk, in
French, on a topic of their choice. Deborah, one of those children
who always leaves things to the last minute, had planned to scribble
down her notes before afternoon lessons. However, Mr Lindon had been
seeing to her bare bottom with the cane at that time, and French had
been the last thing on her mind.
She tried to think of a way to begin. She'd chosen French
Impressionists and it was a subject she knew a lot about... but
without preparing the words...
"I... I'm sorry, Mmme...."
"En Francais! Francais!" the teacher barked.
"Oui, Madame. Um... je suis desole, mais... mais j'ai oublie mon
devoir." Deborah kept her eyes downcast, but realised how angry her
teacher was when she reverted to English.
"You've forgotten your homework? Just like that?"
"Yes, miss."
"You realise that you are supposed to be taking your GCSE French
exam in just over twelve months time?"
"Yes, miss."
"And that your presentation will be a vital part of that exam?"
"Yes, miss."
"And that this will be your last opportunity to practise this
aspect of the course?"
"Yes, miss."
"I see. So, what do you propose. Am I supposed to organise an
additional session for you so that you can practise, once you've
decided you're ready to offer us all the benefit of your work?"
"No, miss."
"Really? So, instead I shall have to explain to your housemaster
and your parents why you have done so badly in this part of the exam?
Why I have taught you so badly? Hmm?"
"No, miss."
"You have wasted too much of this lesson already. I will arrange
something with you afterwards. For now, bend over my desk. I'll deal
with your forgetfulness once I have everyone working."
Deborah had seen many of her friends beaten by Mme Jospin. She
was a firm believer in corporal punishment, although she considered
the school unnecessarily cautious in not allowing children to be
paddled on their bare bottoms in class. Deborah's semi-nakedness
would, for once, allow her to deliver what she considered a proper
punishment.
Deborah knew that twelve strokes with the paddle on the bare
bottom was the maximum sentence for missing an assignment. She knew
equally that Mme Jospin would not consider administering less that the
maximum. As she bent down over the side of the teacher's desk, she
wondered whether the paddle would seem harder today than usual,
reinforcing her earlier caning, or whether, due to the constant pain
she was experiencing from that prior punishment anyway, the paddling
would appear to sting a little less. She didn't have to wait long.
Soon all Deborah's classmates were writing out a French translation
and Mme Jospin was rummaging in her drawer for the paddle. Deborah
hated French translation; yet she wished she were doing it now!
It took Mme Jospin very little time to locate the paddle. It was
rarely far from the top of the pile of odds and ends in the desk
drawer and she turned it over once or twice in her hands so that
Deborah could remind herself of its look... and feel. Very few of
Deborah's friends had never tasted the hard leather paddle and only
its application on her naked skin would be new to her. It was almost
in recompense for the fact that classroom teachers had (with rare
exceptions) to spank through underwear that they were allowed to choose
their own paddles, within a framework of dimensions and weight set
down by the governors. Most chose wood. Mme Jospin swore by tough
leather.
WHACK! "Ouuchh!
Deborah had hardly noticed the teacher getting into position and
was unprepared for the first stroke as it slammed into her upturned
bottom. It certainly hurt. It definitely hurt more than usual, but
whether that was solely the result of her lack of panties or because
of the caning she had already received, she couldn't tell.
The teacher started to walk round the class and mark the books
now. In this one respect she paddled differently to all the other
teachers. She would look at her watch as she began and divide the
number of minutes remaining of the lesson by the number of strokes
left. Then she would carefully time each whack so that the whole of
the rest of the lesson consisted, for the offender, of nothing but a
sound paddling.
Deborah tried to think of other things each time the teacher
walked up behind her to deliver another painful stroke. Much of the
time, to her surprise a little, she thought about Emma, the cute new
girl with whom she had forged such a warm, and sexually exciting,
relationship. Having another girl give her permission to spank her
whenever she wanted to, to take pleasure in her body as she wished to,
was one of the most wonderful things she had ever experienced. She
loved telling Emma that she'd been naughty and that she wanted her
over her knee. She adored lifting her skirt and slowly tugging her
panties down to her thighs. She relished the feel of her naked
buttocks under her fingers. And, above all, she revelled in the sound
of Emma's cries of pain and the crack of skin upon skin as she spanked
her.
CRACK! "Yeoow!"
It didn't strike Deborah that thinking about spanking in order to
take her mind off being spanked would appear illogical to most people.
It seemed to be working for her. She wasn't sure how many times Mme
Jospin had paddled her, but the clock told her there were only six
minutes of the lesson left.
SMACK! "Ooooh!"
Deborah closed her eyes again and conjured her lover up, this
time offering her pussy to her mistress. She was wonderful to make
love to. Emma would do anything Deborah asked her to. She knew that
there was no sexual act Emma would refuse her, although there might me
several (like the rimming she got from Martin) that she would be too
embarrassed to ask for.
THWACK! "Nooooh!"
That one was harder, Deborah thought, her bottom blazing yet
again as she wiggled it from side to side to try to get a little air
to pass over the skin in an attempt to cool the heat. Only one or two
now, surely.
CRACK! "Yeoowll!"
How could a woman of fifty-something spank so hard, she wondered
to herself. She pondered whether Emma was noticing any increase in
the pain of her spankings now that Deborah was getting so much
practice. If she was still talking to her following her caning....
WHACK! "Whhahh!"
"Class dismissed," Mme Jospin said then, almost as the last blow
fell. "Deborah, you stay put please."
The girl did as she was told, only rising and facing the teacher
once everyone had left. For some reason, with everyone else gone, she
now felt her nakedness much more acutely.
"You are sometimes a very silly girl, aren't you?" the teacher
admonished her.
"Yes, miss."
"Well, I don't want you to fail. Every Thursday morning you will
come to my flat at eight-thirty and you will bring a
mini-presentation. There is a price to pay for this extra tuition,
however. You will deliver each one dressed, or should I say
undressed, as you are today. After your presentation, I shall put you
over my knee and, depending on how good or bad it was, I will spank
you accordingly. Is this clear?"
Yes, miss," Deborah replied, pleased that she wasn't going to
miss out on that part of her course, but not so pleased at having to
submit to a weekly bare-bottom spanking from Mme Jospin.
There were no further incidents before prep and Emma and Deborah
were both called out of their studies twenty minutes before the end by
their house captain.
"I wanted to run over a few details of this evening's event," she
told them, as if they were about to run a race rather than receive a
public caning. "After that, I suggest you go and shower and generally
make yourselves look presentable. You need to be in my study at nine
sharp. OK?"
"Yes, Amanda," both girls replied.
"Fine. Now, call will be taken beforehand, so everyone will be
out there in the hall. There will be two punishment horses as well,
so that you can be caned together. We will wait in here until after
call, and then march down the corridor following Mr Lindon: you two
first, then me. Clear so far?"
Deborah nodded.
"Now, you undress in here first, so you'll be naked. That won't
be a very new experience for you," she smiled at Deborah. "When we
get to the hall, you will each stand next to a punishment horse facing
the rest of the house while Mr Lindon explains why he is caning you.
Then he and I will each tie one of you down ready for the cane. I'm
afraid it's a slightly longer and thicker one he uses for house
publics. It won't sting that much more, but the bruises will last a
bit longer. After the caning, you'll both have to stay tied down for
fifteen minutes. Then, if you wish, you may go straight to bed. Any
questions?"
Emma and Deborah shook their head together.
"Good. Go and get yourselves ready."
"Ready?" Deborah exclaimed once they were upstairs in the
changing rooms. "How can you get ready for this?!" She looked at
Emma, who was slowly getting unchanged and spoke softly to her. "I'm
really sorry about this," she said. "I know it was my fault."
"No," Emma responded firmly. "I chose this relationship with you
and everything that comes with it. If you're going to be caned, I
want to be with you," she added, slipping her panties to the floor.
"Why. I mean, I'm really glad you don't hate me, but I don't
understand."
Emma looked at her puzzled face and breathed deeply. "Because...
because I've fallen in love with you," she said simply, walking off
towards the showers and stepping underneath the hot spray.
Deborah followed, still looking perplexed, and just stood
watching her lover as she began to soap herself. Then, after a minute
or two, Emma looked at Deborah with a little impatience before taking
her hand and pulling her into the shower with her and guiding her
friend's hand between her legs. In seconds, the two girls were locked
together on the floor of the shower cubicle, their minds for the first
time since lunch fully trained on something other than their imminent
public punishment.