Nakkies

David Shagton sat in the prep¹ room and idly sucked his pencil. Whilst he idly sucked it, he looked at the prep monitor, and idly thought about sucking various parts of her delectable body. The prep monitor for the evening was Amanda Holdall, one of his favourite girl prefects… and, he well knew, one of most boys’ favourite prefects. This was not entirely unconnected from the fact that Amanda Holdall was known throughout St Stricktlands School as Randy Mandy. He was attempting some of his ‘A,’ level mathematics, and wasn’t succeeding terribly well. He was trying to integrate some nasty functions, which were, it seemed, located somewhere between plus and minus infinity, and the unbidden thought kept coming back to him that he’d really much prefer to integrate himself with Randy Mandy…somewhere around her middle, in fact.

Oh, yes, he thought, for the hundredth time, she really was a stunning beauty. Dark haired she certainly was, and he knew for a fact, that her cunt was similarly attired, having had the good fortune to see it on two pleasing occasions. In fact, as the mythical John Bond had once famously observed, the collars and cuffs matched perfectly. She also had a bum to die for. He was similarly fortunate in having seen that bottom at extremely close quarters too, since Amanda Holdall enjoyed face-sitting boys… and he’d enjoyed that experience with her on those two previous occasions as well.

Not for the first time, the thought came back to him that he’d quite definitely seen her somewhere before. That is, somewhere which wasn’t at the school. He frowned. No, it was definitely prior to his arrival at St Stricktlands. There was, well, something, that was familiar about her. He just couldn’t place what it was. Something about how she walked, how she held herself, how she dressed. In fact, he’d been meaning to ask her about it for months, but the opportunity had either not come up, or something else had cum up, so to speak. So he continued to watch her walk around the room, looking over boys’ shoulders every now and again, and generally putting them completely off their work as a result. You simply couldn’t ignore the presence of Amanda Holdall standing only inches away behind you and breathing softly on your ears. If boys could die from lust, he decided, then the mortality rate at St Stricktlands School would be frightful. He made a further desperate attempt to understand how the D operator system worked to convert differential equations into ordinary quadratics, without a great deal of success. That occupied his brain for a further five minutes until she wafted past his desk, with an ever-so slight wiggle of her skirt as she walked, leaving just a trace of unmistakable feminine fragrance behind her as she went. His body got the message well enough, though. His penis responded in a trice and was rock hard before she’d reached the teacher’s front desk and sat down, smiling knowingly at all the boys as she did so.

Finally, the bell rang. It was 8pm. End of prep for the evening. End of purgatory. He shrugged. The idea of segregating boys and girls for homework was fine in theory, because of not distracting the sexes from, well, thoughts of sex, but of course the theory was blown completely out of the water by then allowing the inclusion of a prefect of the opposite sex as prep monitor. Of course, he considered, not all girl prefects had quite this effect on boys. Grizelda Gutteridge, for example, fuckable though she was… (he smiled at the memory here, since he had indeed fucked her during his first term at the school) …simply used her position of authority to administer as many beatings as was practicable in the available hour, and to as many boys and girls as possible. She did so, he suspected, for the two good reasons that (a) she was allowed to, and (b) that it was fun (for her) doing so. He grimaced slightly. Grizelda Gutteridge, as he knew well to his cost, preferred to beat boys, of course.

He started to gather up his maths books, whilst his memory obligingly ran through for him various choice beatings that he’d received from Grizzle Guts over the past two terms. Then he slowly became aware that the tenure of his desk was not solely his. To put it another way, Randy Mandy was now sitting on the corner of the desk looking down at him, and smiling in that special smile of hers. His heart jumped, his pulse rate trebled, and his penis decided that it was definitely time for some serious action, even though his brain assured it that it was wasting its time.

“Evening, Shagger,” she breathed, conversationally.

He smiled in return. His mind thought of all the things that he might want to say to her at this point, witty and droll reflections of great depth, and feeling, and high emotion. Eventually he managed to squeak out, “Hello, Ma’am.”

Randy Mandy laughed. Trilled would be a better way to describe it, he thought. Even her laugh was enough to set a male off sexually. “Lucid as ever, I see, Shagger,” she said, and lightly wiped her eyes. Then she went on, “Was there any particular reason why you wasted well nigh half your preparation hour in following me around the room undressing me with your eyes?”

Guilty as charged, he thought, wondering whether a hard caning was about to follow. Grizzle Guts would, he knew well, most definitely have done that to him. Yes, Ma’am, he thought, oh, yes Ma’am, indeed, suddenly relishing the idea of bending over at Grizzle Guts’ stern command whilst she flexed a long, whippy cane before his eyes. Odd, that, he thought. Even though she was a bitch to him, and everyone else at the school, he still continued to fancy her.

“Apart, of course,” Amanda Holdall continued, into the silence, “from simply letching over me…which of course I know perfectly well is what boys do to me all the time, and is of course very flattering for my ego.”

He swallowed. Desperately, he racked his brain for the elusive question. What the fuck had he been meaning to ask all this time? His penis assured him, quietly, that given half a chance it would prefer him to ask her for a fuck in any event. Finally he succeeded in grasping the insecure thread of his thoughts.

“Ma’am…” he started. One always addressed the girl prefects at St Stricktlands School as Ma’am. At least, one always did unless one fancied an instant caning from them for, ‘being disrespectful to a prefect.’ Once again, he reflected, he’d discovered that datum the hard way from Grizzle Guts, amongst others.

“Shagger,” purred Amanda Holdall, in reply, “it’s past 8pm. You may call me Mandy.”

He swallowed again. The very presence of her body so close to him was almost too much to bear. “…err, Mandy,” he started again. Then, finally, his brain cleared a path through the complete confusion of the overgrown mental undergrowth that was his mind right then, “Please, Ma’am,” he asked, “have we met before?”

Another trill of soft laughter again. “Oh, Shagger,” she replied, “what ARE we to do with the boy…of course we’ve met before. Lots of times. Several times very closely, in fact. Presumably you still remember those occasions?”

He did. Impeccably so. He could hardly forget them, even if he wanted to, which he most certainly didn’t. “No, Ma’am…Mandy, I mean, yes…no……what I mean is, before school…I mean before I came to the school…I mean I keep feeling that I’ve seen you somewhere before…. not here at St Stricktlands…” He stopped speaking, aware that he was rambling incoherently.

Amanda Holdall considered. He stared at her chest, fetchingly moving slightly as she breathed, with even more dire consequences to his Knackerpants incarcerated penis, which was now throbbing urgently, of course, despite his every effort to tell it to the contrary that it was onto a good hiding to nothing. He was aware that if it continued to misbehave like this, Amanda Holdall might well administer a good hiding to something else.

She sighed, slightly. “To the very best of my knowledge,” she said, finally, and slowly, “we have never, ever, met before you arrived at the school, Shagger.”

He shook his head. “I’m POSITIVE, Ma’am… Mandy,” he said, “that I know you from somewhere.” Then he thought about it some more. “Do you have any sisters at all, perhaps?” he asked.

She shook her head. “None,” she replied, evenly.

“Cousins?” he asked, now with a touch of desperation in his voice.

Slowly she smiled. “I do have one cousin. A girl cousin. About your age. Who, now I think about it, used to live in your part of the world. Letchhampton, isn’t it?”

He nodded, now feeling that he was finally making progress. “What’s her name, Ma’am….Mandy?”

She grinned broadly at him, leaned forward, and kissed him on his forehead. “Nicola Fox,” she breathed.

He felt several tons of bricks all fall onto him all in one instant. “Nikki Fucks,” he croaked, as vast secret stores of memories were all simultaneously unleashed into his brain from the cavernous recesses of his mind. “OMG…Nikki Fucks,” he repeated, distantly, as the memories swirled around him.

“I take it that you know her?” observed Randy Mandy, now clearly amused. “Perhaps you’d like to come along to my study now,” she said, gently, “and you can tell me all about it?”

An offer, he thought, that one just couldn’t refuse. He gathered up the remainder of his books, dropping them totally carelessly into his bag, thus ensuring them to be in a complete disarray of utter disorder the following morning when he most needed them to be tidy, and thus virtually assuring himself of a caning accordingly.

However, tomorrow was not his mind’s immediate concern. He stood up to contemplate his good fortune. His erection reminded him that it was up, too, and most definitely running. Randy Mandy held out her hand to him, smiling as she did so. He took it, his pulse rate now well into the danger zone, and together the two of them walked out of the now empty classroom towards the prefects’ study wing of the school. It was the usual long walk through the dark, cold, corridors of St Stricktlands School. Even at this late hour, he could still hear the distant sounds of the occasional caning being applied, each whack echoing around in the eerie semi silence. Finally, they reached her corridor.

He followed her into her study. She motioned him towards a small two seater settee. He sat down. She opened a cupboard and took out two small glasses, together with a small bottle of something.

“Drink up, Shagger,” she said, as she poured out a generous helping of whatever it was, “it will help you to be a little lucid, although whether more coherent remains to be seen.”

He took a sip. It was clearly highly alcoholic in nature.

“I was never that close to cousin Nikki you understand, Shagger,” she said, “since she was the black sheep of the family.” She coughed, and blushed slightly. “Actually,” she continued, quietly, “that last statement wasn’t wholly true. My aunt and uncle regarded ME as the black sheep of the family. With the inevitable result that we two cousins only ever met a couple of times in our whole lives.”

He shrugged. These things happened. He took another sip, and began to speak.

He had always fancied Nicola Fox. No surprise there, of course. All the boys at St Judes School fancied her. She was, without a doubt, the school tart. Not for nothing was her nickname Nikki Fucks, of course. Of course he was very careful never to tell anyone his feelings about her, least of all Nicola Fox herself. In addition to being a tart and a perfect prick tease, she was also known to be an expert balls crusher. It was frequently suggested that she’d knackered more boys than she’d had hot dinners. Nikki’s Nakkies, as they were well known, were renowned. Many and better boys than him had proudly boasted in school about, ‘going on a date with the little fucker,’ and then limped back into school the following morning tenderly massaging their testicles, and generally being reformed characters… at least for the rest of the day.

Naturally, there was nothing more than he would have liked better to do than to put his hand up Nikki Fox’s severely short black rolled-up miniskirt and touch her up. He spent many an hour daydreaming about doing exactly that, plus all sorts of other similar things, every few days when he wasn’t otherwise letching over the likes of Sally Diamond. Unfortunately, he dared not wank over Nikki Fucks. The reason was simply that if he did, he knew that he would have to confess it to his Headmaster, Dr Ivan Quorn, and there was no doubt in his mind that the first thing Low IQ would do would be to tell her. The consequences of that would, he knew, be fairly dire. He was only just sixteen at the time, and still in the 5 th form. The problem was that he was still exceptionally shy, and most certainly so where girls were concerned. Of course, the second thing that Ivan Quorn would do would be to cane him soundly for such an outrage.

“I wasn’t aware that you were once shy with girls?” asked Amanda Holdall, wonderingly, “what solved your little problem then?”

He smiled. “The two Terror Twins were the first big step in the treatment,” he replied, “which I’ll tell you about later. Then, being sent to St Stricktlands School was the second.” He shivered slightly in memory, and continued, in a slightly strangled tone, “And getting The Big One was the third.”

Amanda Holdall giggled. “True enough, Shagger,” she said, “getting eighteen strokes of the cane, naked, and in front of the whole school for fucking your lower 6 th form girlfriend certainly did put you on the route to stardom.

He exhaled, slowly. “It made me so notorious, somehow, I think, that Ladies were suddenly interested in me.” He swallowed. “But you must know how it goes, Mandy,” he suggested, slightly smugly, “sometimes, all manner of otherwise respectable Ladies like to fuck infamous men?”

Randy Mandy smiled. “True enough, Shagger,” she said, again, with a sudden impish grin, “although not the whole truth. But tell me now, Shagger, just for the record, how many girl prefects have you fucked your wicked way through so far during your brief school career here?” She paused and giggled. “We’ll forget the female teaching and administrative staff for now,” she said, “just give me the roll call of dishonour for those naughty girls.”

He grinned back. “Umm,” he said, “I think that’s Grizelda Gutteridge then…both Samantha and Patricia Terrier, Kirstin Eis and Jennifer Torcher.”

She giggled again, and moved closer to him. “Not bad,” she said, “Grizzle Guts, The Terror Twins, The Ice Queen and Genitorture. In fact…not at all bad for a boy who claims to have been shy with girls.” She paused. “Do go on with the story about cousin Nikki,” she said.

He sighed, slightly.

His troubles that day had started with Agnes Primula’s English lesson. Although Miss Prim, as she was known, kept impeccable order in the class itself, the situation prior to her arrival was anything but orderly. He’d been minding his own business frantically reading the English textbook that they were due to follow that afternoon, having failed to read it the previous evening for homework as he should by rights have done.

“Bad boy,” commented Amanda Holdall, “that in itself should have been a caneable offence. At least,” she went on, darkly, “it certainly would have been, here at St Sticktlands School.”

He agreed. Of course, the situation at St Stricklands School was more disciplined…well, considerably more disciplined, of course, since the cane was routinely applied for even minor infractions such as a failure to correctly prepare for the following day’s lessons. Suddenly he remembered his books, the ones which he’d stuffed so recently and carelessly into his bag. Oops. He really would need to try and tidy them up before class in the morning, or it would, indeed, be a well deserved punishment caning for him…and doubtless in front of the whole class, too.

Nikki Fucks, however, evidently had other ideas for him right then. She marched straight up to his desk and sat down on one corner, enticingly, her rolled-up skirt now decent by only an inch. His heart thumped. She leered down at him, suggestively. “Shagton,” she asked, softly, but loud enough so that everyone else in the vicinity could clearly hear, “have you ever put your hand up a girl’s skirt?”

“You understand, Mandy,” he said, trying to keep his mind on the story and off her body, and failing dismally, “that I wasn’t called Shagger until after my arrival here.” he paused. “I have, I recall, Grizzle Guts to thank for that, but I suppose with a name like mine, the crown for that award might have fallen to anyone.”

Randy Mandy merely mouthed him a kiss.

His vision faltered for an instant, but he recovered, and continued, gamely,

A short pause whilst he blushed furiously and wished he were dead. “Err…n…no, Nikki,” he replied, falteringly. Loud, raucous, laughter followed this admission from several boys. He heard several snippets, “Never even…” “…little wanker…” “wouldn’t know how to…” “…losers like him…” Now Nicola Fox went in for the kill. “Ah,” she said, grinning maliciously, “but… and now here’s the rub… have you ever wanted to?”

Now he knew that he was either doomed or damned whatever he said. He hung his head whilst several nearby girls giggled and dug him in the ribs.

“So let’s hear it loudly for the Ladies, Shagton,” said Nikki Fucks, finally.

“Err…yes, I would,” he said.

Now there was ribald laughter from all the girls, with snippets such as, “all the same, boys…” “even Shagton, you see…” “…a good knackering…” “no, a good caning…” “…dirty little boy,” and so on.

All good clean fun, of course. Now Nikki Fox knew she was on the home straight. She glanced up at the door to check that there was no sign of Miss Prim just yet, and, having satisfied herself on that point, asked him, “So…would you like to put your hand up MY skirt, then, Shagton?”

Another silence in the room. His heart thumped as he knew that his hitherto secret desire for Nikki Fox’s skirt was about to be revealed to the world. “I…err…err…” now she leaned forward and took hold of his balls.

“You have three seconds to answer me, Shagton,” she said, “or you will get your balls knackered, good and hard.”

Now he knew that there was no escape. “…err…yes, I would,” he said, with a slight squeak.

Now there were more female squeals of delight, and several more guffaws from the boys. “Well, well…Shagton wants to grope Nikki,” he heard one boy say to another. His friend replied, amiably, “maybe there’s hope for him yet.”

He was suddenly aware that his balls had been released. Nicola Fox was somehow standing up and her skirt was now magically back to its regulation position. All in an instant, of course. Clearly, he thought, bitterly, Miss Prim must have entered the room. He looked around. She had.

Agnes Primula walked to the front of the room. “Good afternoon, class,” she said, into the sudden silence.

A polite chorus of “Good afternoon, Miss Prim,” was returned to her. Nicola Fox raised her right hand.

“What is it, Miss Fox?” asked Miss Prim. The class held its breath for the inevitable. He cringed.

“Please, Miss,” she said, her eyes lowered, but with a slight smile on her face, “Shagton here has just said that he wants to put his hand up my skirt.”

Agnes Primula was shocked, but only slightly so. Of course it was a fairly frequent occurrence that a boy was obliged to confess this particular felony. Miss Prim sighed, and looked around the room. “Is this accusation true, class?” she asked. There was no shortage of offers from the girls to confirm that the accusation was, indeed, wholly true. There were several girls who were very clear about that. The fact that they all had, in his estimation, really evil grins on their faces was evidently of no concern to Miss Prim, he thought, sourly. Maybe they would have preferred him to confess that he wanted to look up their skirts?

“A fair point, of course, Shagger,” commented Amanda Holdall, absently. “Jealousy rears its ugly head, as usual.”

Agnes Primula sighed. “Shagton,” she said, “you are a dirty little boy. You will report to Dr Quorn’s study at 4pm this afternoon for a caning. Miss Fox will accompany you.” Then she looked at him over her glasses. “Really, Shagton,” she said, “I’m surprised at you. However, St Judes School will simply not tolerate such disgraceful behaviour towards respectable young Ladies, and it will always be dealt with in the traditional manner. Six of the best for you, bad boy.”

He bristled at the suggestion of Nikki Fox being in any way a, ‘respectable young Lady,’ but of course the respectable young Lady was now sitting both demurely and respectably at a nearby table, as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. A tart and a tease, he thought to himself, with resignation, although certainly not stupid. She had timed herself to the second to ensure that she was entirely the innocent party the instant that Miss Prim had walked into the room.

“True enough,” observed Randy Mandy, “a tart and a tease. Sums her up quite well, I remember that much, at least. And that, Shagger, my dear, is probably where you got the connection from between us. Although I well remember too that I too used to roll my skirt up rather a lot like that, until I realised I didn’t have to bother…because I discovered that I could drive all the boys insane quite well enough without resorting to such…depths.”

He exhaled, and replied politely, “And I’m sure you’re not stupid, either, Mandy. In fact, I expect you’re probably a lot cleverer than I am.”

Amanda Holdall looked at him. “Shagger,” she replied, “that was really very perceptive of you.” She paused. “Maybe that alcohol has indeed been good for you. Clears the old inhibitions a bit, and unties the tongue.” Another pause, whilst she licked her lips with her tongue, as if to demonstrate the proposition, whilst looking closely into his eyes. His pulse rate doubled all over again. “And, of course,” she continued, “whilst it’s very nice to be complimented for having a wonderful body, which I have the good fortune to have, of course…it’s also very nice, once in a while, to be given some appropriate appreciation for my mind as well. And, yes,” she added, modestly, “I do hope to get three A grades at, ‘A,’ level this year.”

He sighed. He suspected that he’d be jolly lucky to get three borderline passes of grade D’s at, ‘A,’ level next year…at least on present performance.

She frowned, suddenly. “Do you know Relay at all, Shagger?” she asked. He did, but only by reputation. Raymond Lee, in fact. It wasn’t the first time that he’d been asked that question. He shook his head.

“You two,” she said, grinning, “really are very similar.” She giggled. “Shockingly bad boys, of course, but charmers, the both of you.”

At 4pm, David duly reported to Dr Ivan Quorn. It had been a terrible afternoon already, with everyone and his uncle, it seemed, knowing all about his forthcoming caning, and the reasons for it. The girls had been all smiles, and offering him tips about telephone directories down his trousers, all of which were wholly useless because he knew from bitter experience that Low IQ always caned boys on the bare bottom. Not girls, though. Girls weren’t caned at all at St Judes School. He had no idea why not, the little darlings deserved it often enough in his humble opinion, but they always escaped with a detention. The boys, though, had been grudgingly sympathetic to his present plight. There were too many of them who had suffered similarly at the hands of Nicola Fox already, and they all knew exactly how the system worked to the girls’ advantage. Ivan Quorn wasted no time in getting to the point.

“Now then, Shagton,” he said, slowly, “what is the punishment at this school for naughty little boys who want to put their hands up girls’ skirts?”

David’s heart thumped as Nikki Fucks eyed him up gloatingly from the other side of the room. “Please, Sir,” he replied, reluctantly, “we give them a good hard caning, don’t we, Sir?”

Low IQ replied, with a slight smile, “Quite right, bad boy, we do indeed. A good hard caning it is.” Pause. “So, Shagton, since you are apparently guilty of wanting to put your hand up this respectable young Lady’s skirt, what do you deserve?”

David swallowed, once again taking considerable mental exception to the repeated suggestion of Nikki Fucks being in any way accurately described as a, ‘respectable young Lady.’ David swallowed again. “Please, Sir,” he replied, humbly, “I deserve a caning, please, Sir.” He swallowed again at the sheer humiliation of having to outline his own punishment in front of his perpetrator.

Ivan Quorn looked at him as if this were somehow a novel suggestion that, up until that moment, he had not given any consideration to. “An excellent suggestion, bad boy,” he said.

“Whacko, Sir,” David added, “please cane me good and hard.” He couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

Ivan Quorn smiled, walked across to the cane cupboard, opened it, and selected his middle school cane. This was three foot six long, and really whippy, the one, in fact, which was usually used on him when he was confessing his several times weekly wanks over Sally Diamond.

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Randy Mandy, “I’d forgotten about that. The sorry saga of Sally Diamond’s famous, ‘tight little cunt,’ I think?” Giggle. “I take it that you still haven’t seen it, let alone fucked it?

He shivered slightly. “No, Mandy,” he replied, blushing, “Sally Diamond still isn’t sixteen, and won’t become so until next September.” He bristled slightly. “Then, however,” he went on, grimly, “we shall see what we shall see.”

Amanda Holdall looked at him. “You sound pretty confident there, Shagger,” she said, slowly. Then, “Have you done a deal somewhere?”

He waved his hands. “Well, yes… it’s… err… all cut and dried, you see, Mandy…” he replied, a little airily. Maybe it was indeed the alcohol talking, he decided, “…a special… err… deal with her mother, Jeanette, with whom I err… have a special err… understanding. I finally get to fuck Sally’s…. err… tight little cunt on her sixteenth birthday, and Jeanette gets to… err… deal with me in any way she chooses as a… err… facility fee.”

Randy Mandy laughed out loud. “Oh, Shagger,” she replied, “what are we to do with the boy?” Then, frowning prettily, “That’s Jeanette Diamond, as in The Iced Diamond…supply teacher at this school?” she asked.

He nodded. “The very same,” he replied.

“And…” Randy Mandy continued to probe, “…the… err… special deal with her?”

Obviously, she wasn’t to be put off the juicy details. He sighed. “She’s going wear a…err…Reformatory uniform, for the occasion, and generally give me… err… what for in her detention room… which is… err… more like a torture parlour for men.”

Randy Mandy stroked his cheek. The touch was like an electric shock. “Sounds like great fun to me,” she said, idly, “if you like that sort of thing.” She looked in straight in the eyes. An assortment of celestial harps sounded in his ears. His heart thumped. “Which I’m quite sure you do, of course, bad boy,” she added.

Low IQ proceeded to flex the cane menacingly between his hands. Then he gave a couple of practice strokes through the empty air. “What should we do next, Shagton?” he asked, pleasantly.

David ground his teeth, silently. “Please Sir,” he replied, “I need to bare my bottom for the cane.”

Ivan Quorn said, in an interested tone of voice, “Oh, I see,” he said. “Do you feel, then, Shagton, that the punishment cane for bad boys is better on the bare?”

David grimaced. Humiliation was a major part of a punishment caning, of course, and Low IQ knew this perfectly well, of course. “Yes, Sir,” he replied, woodenly, “the cane is far more effective on the bare bottom. Every… err… stroke stings that much more and of course it’s… err… so much more embarrassing for a boy to have to bare his bottom in front of a… err… respectable young Lady.”

Nikki Fox giggled.

Low IQ replied, with a slight smile, “An accurate assessment, bad boy. The cane does sting much more on the bare. And it’s only fair that Miss Fox here should see your bare bottom.”

David didn’t follow the logic of that at all. She was going to see everything he’d got, whereas he’d seen nothing of her kit, but had simply said he wanted to put his hand up her skirt. He didn’t call that fair at all.

“Very well, then, bad boy,” he said, “the bare it is.” Ivan Quorn gestured to him to bare his bottom.

He eased his trousers down, and then his underpants, allowing his penis to spring into view. He glanced at Low IQ, who smiled, knowingly, but said nothing. Nikki Fox giggled again as she evidently inspected his erection.

Then Ivan Quorn asked, “How many whacks do you feel that you deserve, bad boy?”

David swallowed again. He always hated this question. Only the caner knew what the correct answer was, and he or she wasn’t saying… at least, not until after you’d guessed, and usually, guessed wrongly. Pitch the answer too low, and more whacks would be added to make up the number that they’d thought of. Too high, though, and, well, the higher amount would just be given anyway on the grounds that they had been requested by the canee. It was a one way bet towards maximum caning.

“Please, Sir,” he replied, finally, “Miss Prim… I mean, Miss Primula, said that it would be six of the best for me, Sir,” he said, desperately attempting to put the blame onto someone else for choosing a figure.

Ivan Quorn turned to Nicola Fox who, David noted sourly, was now breathing rather heavily. “Do you think that would be appropriate, Miss Fox?” he enquired.

She nodded, a slight smile clearly evident on her face.

Low IQ considered David’s fate. “I suppose a certain leniency would be in order here,” he said, grudgingly, “bearing in mind that this is a first offence for you…” the headmaster shot a quick glance at David, who grimaced as a mental image of what Nicola Fox’s cunt might look like suddenly flitted across his vision, “…at least, as regards Miss Fox here. So I agree that six of the best, with the additional humiliation of Miss Fox overseeing your punishment, so to speak, should be sufficient. This time,” he added, darkly. Ivan Quorn paused. “Count each whack, bad boy,” he went on, grimly, “and, of course, remember to thank me at the end. Now bend over…and make it nice and tight.”

David took up what was for him now a very familiar position.

“Not, of course,” he said, sourly, “nearly as familiar as it is now. At St Judes, I thought it was really something to get caned a couple of times a week. Here at St Stricktlands School I get caned several times a day.”

Randy Mandy giggled, and stroked his cheek again, this time resting her finger on his lips. “I’m well aware of the punishment regime here, Shagger,” she said, mildly, “a fact which you should remember, especially bearing in mind that I have survived the lower 6 th form myself, of course.” She looked him in the eyes again. “I was a very naughty little girl, of course.”

I’ll just bet you were, he thought to himself, remembering how amazingly lovely her bum had looked like whilst he was applying her, ‘Hot Cross Bums,’ to her amazingly lovely bare bottom the previous term, and wondering what it would have been like to have been in her year, hence her classes, and therefore being treated to the regular sight of watching her get the cane on her delightful bare bottom. He sighed. One couldn’t have everything.

“Fantasizing about watching me getting caned in class, were we, Shagger?” she enquired, teasingly.

“A little, Mandy,” he replied, wondering, as ever, how Ladies were so successful in working out what he was thinking.

Swishhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkk

He gasped, “Ow…one, Sir.” Across the room, Nikki Fox giggled.

“Of course, Mandy,” he commented, “this was all before I discovered that it’s a point of honour among canees not to make any sound until at least stroke two, and preferably stroke three if at all possible.”

Randy Mandy giggled. “Quite right, too, Shagger,” she replied, “although, of course, here at St Stricktlands, as you know, most caners are quite good enough to extract an involuntary response from a canee on stroke two.”

He had to agree that this was indeed the case. You were actually hard pressed not to gasp out at the sudden sting from even stroke one of most canings received at the school.

Swishhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkk
“Oww…two, Sir,” he gasped, his attention now fully on the sight of Nicola Fox, who now seemed to be rubbing her hand hard against her skirt in a spot that he wouldn’t have expected so-called respectable young Ladies to rub against. Ivan Quorn failed, of course, to notice this.

Swishhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkk
“Owww…three, Sir…oh…SIR, it hurts.” Nikki Fox grinned, and stuck her tongue out at him. Once again, this gesture entirely escaped Low IQ’s notice.

Swishhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkk
“Oweeee…four, Sir.” His vision started to swim. He gritted his teeth.

Swishhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkk
“Yarooooo…five, Sir,” he gasped. Only one more, he thought, with relief.

Swishhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkk
“Ohhhhhhh…ohhhhhh….owwwww….six…six, Sir….six of the best, Sir…thank you, Sir…thank you so much for beating me, Sir…I know I deserved every whack of it, Sir,” he concluded, humbly, wishing he were dead.

Finally, Low IQ instructed him to arise and to replace his clothes. He didn’t offer to allow him the luxury of a rub for his furiously stinging bottom, and of course David dared not ask. “I suggest, Shagton,” Ivan Quorn announced, gravely, “that you consider VERY carefully any nocturnal activities for the next few days. You have been warned. Dismissed, both of you.”

Nikki Fucks giggled. “Thank you, Sir,” she said, “for dealing with this bad boy so effectively. I simply can’t understand why boys these days seem to be so prone to thinking such shocking thoughts all the time.”

Ivan Quorn bowed slightly. “My pleasure, Miss Fox,” he replied, and added, with heavy irony, “I daresay I shall be seeing you again in a few days time, of course, for a similar remedial action on another deserving candidate.”

The two of them left Ivan Quorn’s study together. David simply didn’t know what, if anything, he could or should say to her. Somehow there wasn’t a lot he could say.

“Never mind, bad boy,” said Nicola Fox, brightly, as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, “in a few days your troubles will all be over, since by then I shall have found a new victim…or two.” With that, she flounced off down the corridor.

David gazed after her, longingly.

“And that was it, was it, Shagger?” enquired Randy Mandy enquired. “Your troubles were all over in a few days?”

He shook his head, and sighed. “No, Mandy,” he replied, “by no means over. She hadn’t reckoned with the intervention of my dear mother. You see, I was a weekly boarder at St Judes School, and by the time Friday had arrived, Ivan Quorn had already written to her, outlining my crimes.

When he returned home on Friday evening for the weekend, his mother was waiting for him. “Does the name, ‘Nicola Fox,’ strike any chords with you, David?” she asked, amiably, and holding a letter in her right hand, which he couldn’t read, but could clearly see had the St Judes School logo at its head in large letters.

He simply flushed and looked down to the floor.

“I shall take that as a, ‘yes,’ then, bad boy," she replied to her own question, and sighed. “Well, David,” she went on, “the bad news is that you will be telling Nikki Fox on Monday that you will be getting another caning next weekend from me for obviously thinking impure thoughts about a respectable young Lady…”

He took his usual considerable exception to what was apparently the general adult view of Nicola Fox.

“…and that she is invited to watch.”

He gasped in pure horror. “PLEASE, no, mum,” he wailed, “anything but that.”

However, his mother merely looked in the direction of the cane cupboard. He stopped arguing. It was quite clear to him that any further arguments and he would be getting anther caning right here and now. He wondered how on earth he was going to be able to pluck up courage to talk to the school tart, especially after what he’d already been through, and to confess what was now going to happen to him. It was all too awful for words.

He had a miserable tea, spent a miserable evening, and went to bed, equally miserably. His younger sister, Lynda, was, of course, all smiles, especially after his mother had apparently explained to her that bad boys who want to put their hands up girls’ skirts usually have all sorts of impure thoughts about them, too.

She sneaked into his bedroom after they’d both gone to bed, “Who’s a DIRTY little boy, then?” she asked, delightedly. He said nothing in reply. Lynda continued to turn the knife. “Mummy has explained to me what DIRTY little boys are thinking about when they want to put their hands up skirts. Who’s a DIRTY little boy who’s going to get the cane for thinking DIRTY thoughts about Nikki Fox and about her… c… cunt?”

He sighed slightly into the dark. She was still only fourteen, and was clearly still a trace embarrassed about saying the, ‘c,’ word.. However, he thought, she clearly relished it, and he was sure that the embarrassment wouldn’t last long. Soon, he suspected, she’d be saying, ‘cunt,’ at him, and other boys, without a care in the world, and more especially if it gave them grief. He got one whack on his charge sheet if he used the word at home. She didn’t. He’d always thought that this was wholly unfair. He sighed.

Fortunately, having made her point to her satisfaction, Lynda had sneaked out again, leaving him fretting as before. He sighed. Although he had only recently turned sixteen, he had never actually seen a girl’s cunt for real, apart, of course, from Lynda’s, when they were younger, and, occasionally, his mother’s, and those didn’t really count as, well, serious cunt. He had a really miserable weekend fretting about Monday morning.

“Strict, isn’t she, your mum?” murmured Randy Mandy.

“She most certainly is,” he replied, sadly, “and I’m still on a full caning regime at home. She maintains a charge sheet for me, exactly the same system as here at school, and I get regular canings from her.”

Randy Mandy smiled. “No more and no less than a naughty little boy like you deserves, of course, Shagger,” she replied, mildly, squeezing his leg slightly.

“However,” he went on, ignoring her previous statement, and also the suggestive squeeze, “interestingly enough, she too is a switch, like me. I administered a Hot Cross Bums to her, well, the same day as I gave you yours, in fact.” He paused, as the memory of Randy Mandy’s caned bottom wafted across his line of mental vision. “The last day of last term… if you remember, bad girl?”

Amanda Holdall grimaced. “I do well remember, Sir,” she replied, “and a very good caning it was, too, Sir. It hurt for the whole morning and took nine days after that for the cross marks to go completely, you bastard…Sir.”

He mouthed a kiss back to her.

At St Judes School the following Monday morning, he decided to put off the inevitable as long as possible. He decided to leave it until lunctime before making his move. He found Nikki Fox talking to a gaggle of girls sitting on a wall at the far end of the playground. He went up to them and stopped.

She looked up at him without enthusiasm. “What do you want, Shagton,” she asked, icily, “and why?”

Not a promising start, he decided. However, he didn’t have much of a choice. If he didn’t sort out Nicola Fox to watch his caning, his mother had cordially informed him that he’d be getting special canings from her every weekend, and of increasing magnitude, until such time as he did. It was a simple as that.

“H…Hello. Nikki,” he faltered. All the girls giggled, mercilessly.

She sighed. “Get to the point, Shagton,” she said, “you have exactly five seconds, before we all knacker your balls.”

He shivered. “Please, Nikki,” he said, desperately, “I… err… just wondered if you’d like to come over to my house next Friday evening?”

Nicola Fox leered at him with clear distaste. “What kind of a chat-up line is that, Shagton?” she replied coldly. “And just why would I want to do that? Hardly original, is it? Now, get lost.”

He realised what he’d said, and how it must have sounded to her. “No, honestly, Nikki,” he replied, panicking, as the thoughts of yet more parental punishment flashed through his brain, “I wasn’t thinking about it like that. My mother is going to punish me, you see.”

Nikki Fox looked at him with interest for the first time. “Punish you, Shagton?” she said, “now why would she be doing that… and what is that to do with me, anyway?”

His heart raced. “Please, Nikki,” he went on, desperately, “it’s… well… it’s, you see… err… she knows that I was… err… thinking… err.... impure thoughts about you… you see.… and.… err.... she says that I need to be… err… given severe punishment for it.” He wound down, wishing he could fall into the ground. All the girls in the group were now watching him closely, several with open mouths.

Nikki Fox was now clearly intrigued. “Punished how?” she asked, bluntly.

He blushed. He simply couldn’t say it. But he had to say it. Eventually he said it. “With her punishment cane,” he said, with a half sob.

More giggles from the girls. Nicola Fox’s eyes widened. “On the bum?” she asked.

He nodded, and finally ground out, “On the bare bum, Nikki,” he confessed, sheepishly, “and she says that she wants you to watch me get it.”

Nikki Fucks looked at him for a long minute, speculatively, and then giggled abruptly. “Are you admitting that you fancy me, Shagton?” she asked.

He couldn’t speak. His eyes felt as if they were glued to the hem of her skirt. She promptly moved it towards him, and lifted it, so that he could now see up it. Then she spread her legs. She looked into his eyes, which were now clearly looking at something they shouldn’t, something that was both bushy and inviting.

“Indeed you do, Shagton,” she confirmed, answering her own question, “indeed you do. I’d never have suspected you of it, either.” Another giggle. “You do know, of course, that I always knacker boys who fancy me? He knew that very well. She turned to her friends.

“Pin him down onto the ground, girls, and hold his arms and legs out nicely for me,” she said, “whilst I’ll give him Nikki’s Nakkies for nine.”

He gasped in horror, knowing what that was.

“One assumes a nine second knackering?” Amanda Holdall suggested.

He nodded. “That was more or less it,” he replied, shivering slightly. “On the bare balls, though… and actually a nine second stretching, rather than the conventional grab, squeeze and pull of a normal knackering.”

Randy Mandy’s hand ran itself across his trousers, and made a soft grabbing motion over his balls.

“Uhhhhh,” he gasped, even though she hadn’t actually knackered him. “Of course, Shagger,” she said, softly, “I’m an expert at knackering boys, too. Well,” she grinned, “at St Stricktlands School, show me a girl who isn’t. But I don’t think that I’m quite in cousin Nikki’s league, here.”

He found himself floored and pinned down on the school playground in very short order. His arms and legs were held firmly by at least four girls. His trousers and underpants were pulled down roughly, and his legs were spread outwards. His balls were now ready for treatment.

A smiling Nikki Fox moved towards him, her right hand ready with her fingers flexing. Then his vision vanished as a skirt, complete with bottom inside, was placed neatly over his head.

“It wasn’t actually face sitting, as such,” he said, sheepishly, “although now I come to think about it, that was probably the first time that I ever felt a female bum fully on my face. But it was done more in order to keep me quiet whilst my very public knackering took place.”

Amanda Holdall grinned. “Well, yes and no, Shagger,” she replied, “we girls have to start somewhere, you understand. And the girl who did that to you was simply gaining experience so that she’d become more proficient at the process…when she graduated, in due course, to using her bare bottom on boys.”

He grinned. “Was that the way of it with you, Mandy?” he enquired, politely.

“Indeed it was, Shagger,” she replied. “I first started out with my skirt, and then my knickers, and then it became apparent to me exactly how much boys craved to make a… more intimate acquaintance with my bare bottom.” She paused. “Just as you like it, I think, Shagger?” she enquired.

He nodded. “Exactly so. Exactly as I like it, Mandy,” he replied.

He felt her hand carefully take his testicles between finger and thumb, holding them hard at the base. She squeezed, slightly, to give herself some good grip. Then she started the stretch.

“Uhhhhhhhhh,” he moaned at the sudden slow thrill of the balls stretching. His balls felt as if they were being pulled off his body.

She slowly pulled on them harder, and automatically he raised his body as far as it could go from the ground. Not that the gesture made the slightest difference, because Nikki Fox simply pulled them even higher. He could clearly hear girls all giggling around him, all obviously enjoying his plight and pain immensely.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” he continued to moan, wondering even in his agony how long his balls would be at the end of it all. Surely this eternity of pain must be nine seconds now?

Suddenly, he felt her hand release his balls. His body slumped back down onto the ground. The skirt lifted itself off his face. His vision swam. Hazily, he could see her standing tall in front of him, her hand on her hips.

“What’s your address, then, Shagton?” she asked, coldly, “and what time will your caning be?”

He swallowed. “8… Acacia… Avenue… Letchhampton,” he gasped in reply, “and it’s… 7 o’clock… sharp.”

Nikki Fucks grinned, “I’ll be there, bad boy. Actually I wouldn't miss it for anything. But now… some little going away presents for you to remember me by.”

He was about to say something, like, ‘no!’ or maybe, ‘mercy,’ however there was suddenly no point in saying anything, because all at once, Nikki Fox’s right foot had made its wicked way to his bare balls. With malice aforethought, she carefully placed her shoe over the balls. Then the skirt appeared back in front of his eyes. He felt her foot grinding down onto his balls. Dimly, he heard several giggles from the gaggle of girls.

“Nooooo…uhhhhhhhhhhhh,” he gasped, his cry of testicular pain at once muffled by the skirt suddenly hard on his face again.

Nikki Fox wasn’t merely content with giving him a little balls grinding. She gave him a whole lot of balls grinding. First, she ground his bare balls clockwise with her shoe, and then anticlockwise. Each reversal of direction brought a new grunt of testicular agony. Back and forth went her shoe.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” he moaned.

“Mmmm,” said Randy Mandy, “I like that. When you mentioned earlier that cousin Nikki was a bit of a balls crusher, I didn’t realize that you meant it quite so literally. But I see now that she really did crush boys’ balls. No wonder she was so notorious…and, I have to say it, popular.” She sniggered. “That’s always the way with boys, though, isn’t it? The harder you deal with their balls, the more they seem to enjoy it, and to want it more."

He had to agree that this was, indeed, most definitely the case. The more a boy was knackered by a girl, the more a boy wanted to be knackered, in fact.

“Interesting,” he heard Nikki Fox’s voice float down, “an erection.” Then another girl’s voice, “He wasn’t joking then, Nikki. He really does like you after all.”

Now he was wondering whether his private hell would ever end. His eyes were closed tight shut. Then the shoe was withdrawn, but only for an instant. Now it was back again, only this time her flat heel was pressed down hard, crushing his balls. He flinched and moaned all over again. However, worse was to follow. Now her shoe sole was rubbing knowledgably up and down against his erection, and suddenly the knackering was also a wanking.

The girls all giggled. “Mmm…he likes it better now, doesn’t he, Nikki?” he heard one girl say. The shoe continued to rub his penis up and down, and grind into his balls at the same time.

All at once, he came, pumping up under her shoe all over his tummy.“Time to go, girls,” he heard Nikki Fox say.

When he opened his eyes again, only seconds later, it seemed, the skirt had gone. Then he realized that his arms and legs were now free as well. The gaggle of girls had mysteriously disappeared and were now completely out of sight. He clutched wildly at his bruised balls, attempting to massage them tenderly. Then, belatedly, he realized that he was still lying down in a public playground, totally exposed, and, for all the world having been playing with himself.

“And nobody said anything?” asked Amanda Holdall. He shook his head. “I had thought that nobody in authority saw anything,” he replied, “but,” he added, darkly, “there I was wrong.”

Amanda Holdall grinned. “At St Stricktlands School of course, such behaviour would be regarded as perfectly normal, of course, and so the problem wouldn’t even arise.”

He grimaced. It was quite true, of course. At St Stricktlands School, girls were fully allowed to treat boys in their own year like that at any time and at all times. In fact, any boy so treated would then get the cane if the girl happened to be noticed in action, on the grounds that he had been, ‘interfering with the girl’s hand.’ The school ethos was, simply, that any boy who was knackered by a girl had either done something to deserve it, either overtly or covertly, or might have been thinking about doing it. Either way about, appropriate punishment was required, by the immediate application of a good hard caning with the girl watching. A rogue’s charter, he thought.

“A rogues’ charter, indeed,” Randy Mandy confirmed, “but such fun, of course…assuming that you’re a girl, of course.”

He shivered at the clarity with which his thoughts were being examined. He sighed. “Actually, Mandy, it amounted to much the same thing at St Judes, too, although it wasn’t actually formalized there as it is here.”

He was still lying on the ground, gasping, when he became aware that there was another skirt standing by his head. Squinting upwards, he saw with renewed horror that it belonged to the teacher, Agnes Primula, who had been mysteriously missing all the way through his ordeal, but was, of course, instantly available to discover him lying on the ground in a state of what was more than simple exposure.

“Shagton,” she demanded, sternly, though, he thought, with the faintest ghost of a smile, “why exactly are you lying on the ground like that… in a state of such undress…and what exactly have you been doing to yourself, bad boy?”

He faltered. “P…please, Miss,” he replied, attempting to lie rapidly, and making his usual thoroughly poor show of it, inviting disbelief with every word, “I…err…must have…err…slipped.”

A sniff. “I see, Shagton,” she replied, with heavy sarcasm, “you, ‘slipped,’ you say. And somehow, in this process of, ‘slipping,’ your trousers and your underpants both managed to fall down more than slightly as well? By themselves, of course?”

He swallowed. “Err…yes, Miss Primula.”

Another sniff. “Well, Shagton,” she went on, “It seems to me that you must have been up to your old tricks again, and were taking the unfathomable opportunity to play with yourself in public.” He cringed inwardly. “You will,” she went on, “now need to be properly punished for this further outrage.” She paused. “What would you prefer, Shagton? A detention, perhaps, which will go on your school record? Or would you rather report yourself to Dr Quorn?” She sniggered. “I believe you are rather well acquainted with the principle of reporting to Dr Quorn?”

He swallowed again. No contest. “Please, Miss Primula,” he whispered, “I’ll report to Dr Quorn for a caning tomorrow morning.”

She smiled down at him. “Excellent,” she replied, “now sort yourself out before any young Ladies see you like this.”

He started to try to pull his underpants up, but they were hopelessly muddled up inside his trousers. He was concentrating on this task, when she suddenly stood astride him, inspecting his erection.

She towered over him. “Does it still hurt, bad boy?” she asked, softly, “Nikky’s Nakkies of nine, I mean, followed by a balls crushing and a spunking from her shoe?” Her skirt was now inches away from his face. Another couple of inches and he’d be able to look up her skirt. Her voice floated down, “And don’t even THINK about looking up MY skirt, bad boy,” she said, softly.

“Yes, Miss,” he said, now in total mental confusion, “I mean, no, Miss,” he replied.

She ground on, turning the knife, “Do you really fancy her?” she asked.

Silence, whilst he wondered whether there was any point in denying the accusation. He opened his mouth to reply, but she got in first.

“No, Shagton,” she said, replying to her own question, and stepping off him as she spoke, “on second thoughts, don’t even bother to try to answer that question… I can see perfectly well exactly how much you do fancy her.”

He looked down, following her gaze, and was mortified to see some spunk soiling his shirt, as well as that all over his tummy. Damn Miss Prim, he thought, sourly. She must have seen everything after all, but simply chosen to ignore it all.

She started to walk away, whilst he endeavoured to pull his underpants and trousers back up. “It’s all a part of growing up, Shagton,” she said, turning back to him, and handing him a paper tissue from nowhere, “girls, I mean. The sooner you learn how to sort them out, the better it will be for you.”

“Quite true, of course,” he said, darkly, “but I’ll get to the sorting out bit in due course.”

Amanda Holdall giggled. “I suppose cousin Nikki and her friends didn’t quite keep the story a secret?”

He nodded. “Precisely,” he said.

It was not only exactly as he had feared. If anything, it was far worse. In half an hour, the whole school it seemed, knew of his hitherto secret dirty desires for the person of Nicola Fox. The story mutated rapidly, of course, Chinese whispers style. Very soon, it had got to the stage that he’d walked naked through all the school buildings, wanking as he went, and then spunked himself on his knees in front of Nicola Fox, in order to demonstrate his undying love for her. It was horrible. He was hopelessly humiliated everywhere he turned, and for the remainder of the week.

The following morning, immediately after assembly, as was the usual time for bad boys like him to report to the headmaster for a caning, he found himself standing in Ivan Quorn’s study. He sighed. At least he’d been first in the queue that day. On some mornings there was a long line-up of boys waiting outside the headmaster’s study for a caning. Wankers, all of them, he assumed. Ivan Quorn always dealt with wankers immediately after assembly, and for that particular crime, David was by no means the only culprit at St Judes. Low IQ was late back that morning, and he thought he may as well save some time and prepare himself, so he’d gone into the study, and lowered his trousers and underpants ready for action. Then he tucked his shirt in, neatly, as he had been taught to do, since it made the application of the punishment cane easier by giving the caner an unimpeded view of the bare bottom.

Then he heard voices. To his horror, Ivan Quorn and Agnes Primula both walked into the study, holding hands. Instinctively, he covered his best assets. He wondered, irrationally, whether there was something going between the two of them. The thought was confirmed when they both dropped hands, the instant they saw him, suggesting, he felt, immediate guilt on their parts.

“And was there?” asked Amanda Holdall.

“I never did find out for sure,” he replied, evenly. “I suspect yes, of course, but that’s simply because I have a dirty mind.”

Randy Mandy sniggered at that. “You don’t say, Shagger,” she replied, “but then, so do we all.”

Ivan Quorn recovered quickly. “So, Shagton,” he said, “the usual, is it? Sally Diamond again?” He shook his head and looked at Agnes Primula.

“Please, Sir,” he replied, Miss Prim… I mean, Miss Primula, may have… err… mentioned to you, that she… err… caught me… err… yesterday afternoon in the playground.”

Low IQ smiled at Miss Prim. “Ah, yes,” he said, “according to Agnes… Miss Primula, I mean, she found you in a state of sorry exposure.” He shook his head. “Bad boy,” he confirmed. Then, “and so what would you like to confess… to add to your increasing catalogue of crimes?”

He sighed. “Please, Sir,” he said, resigning himself to the inevitable, “I was… err… playing with myself over Nikki Fox.”

Agnes Primula looked surprised, but impressed by this outright confession of what was, after all, an entirely untrue postulate. “Should I leave, Sir?” she asked, politely.

Low IQ grinned. “Oh, no, Miss Primula,” he replied, “since you apparently accosted him, it’s only fitting that you should also witness his punishment.”

He cringed inwardly. It appeared that his caning for something he didn’t do was now about to be witnessed by a Lady teacher, too.

“Very well, Shagton,” said Low IQ, selecting his usual cane for the purpose, “bend over, bad boy. Your caning phrase will be, after each whack, ‘I must not wank in public over Nikki Fox,’ got that?"

He nodded. “Yes, Sir,” he whispered, “please, Sir… is it a dozen for me, Sir?”

Ivan Quorn smiled. “You know, Shagton, I think we’ve reached a point of real understanding here. Six of the best for the exposure… and a further six for spunking yourself in public.”

David bent over. “Hands on head, bad boy,” the headmaster’s voice floated down.

Ivan Quorn applied six stinging whacks with Agnes Primula standing smiling down over him. By stroke six, he was mortified to see that a dribble of clear liquid was now hanging from the end of his penis.

Agnes Primula, who had been, up until then, looking closely into his eyes, a gesture which he found completely unsettling, glanced downwards, and smiled. “Why, headmaster,” she said, delightedly, “I think you’re beating it out of him.”

At the end of the second six, David thanked him politely for the punishment. His bottom stung horribly.

“Stand up, bad boy,” commanded Ivan Quorn. David cringed, and stood up straight, hands on head.

Now Agnes Primula could quite clearly see the full extent of his naughtiness. She said nothing, however, but merely produced another paper tissue from up her sleeve, which she offered to him with a wink.

“You may take the tissue, and use it, Shagton,” said Low IQ.

He took it, gratefully, and wiped himself down, wondering, as he did so, what it would have felt like had she wiped his penis for him.

“Get out, Shagton,” growled Ivan Quorn, “I believe I have another half dozen or so more little wankers like you to cane this morning.”

Agnes Primula giggled, “Oh, Ivan,” she muttered, quietly, “you do have all the fun, you know.”

“Job done, then?” asked Amanda Holdall.

He shook his head. “No, Mandy,” he replied. That night I dreamed about Agnes Primula. And, when I woke up, I couldn’t get the thought of her out of my mind… the way she’d been standing over me like that the previous day, coupled with her watching me getting beaten. So the following night I wanked over her. First, I wanked over what it would have been like if she’d bent down over me in the playground and held my prick. Then I wanked over what it would have been like to put my hand up her skirt in order to touch up her bum. Then I wanked over what it would have looked like if she’d lifted her skirt during my caning. And then, finally, what it would have been like if she’d wanked me whilst I was being caned in front of her.” He sighed. “That meant I got yet another caning off Ivan Quorn on Thursday morning… another six of the best, for the crime of, ‘I must not wank over Agnes Primula,’ of course.”

Amanda Holdall beamed. “Is there no end to the depths of this depravity, Shagger?” she asked.

“Not by a long chalk,” he replied, “it wasn’t a good week for me, because I still had Friday evening to contend with.”

At home on Friday evening, his mother put her hands sternly on her hips. “Well, bad boy?” she demanded. He sighed. “Please, mum,” he replied, sulkily, “Nikki Fox says she’ll be here at seven this evening,” and then lapsed into surly silence. He ate his dinner wishing he were dead, whilst his mother painfully extracted from him a list of all the things which he wanted to do to Nikki Fox.

At 6.50pm, his mother announced that it was time for him to prepare himself, and that he should remove his trousers and underpants.

At 6.55pm exactly, the doorbell rang. “Answer it, David,” his mother ordered, and strode off into the lounge, brandishing his punishment cane, the one which normally hung inside the kitchen cupboard and which was duly labelled, ‘David.’

He opened the front door and gasped. It was two elderly Ladies collecting for charity. They looked at him in return and gasped back. “I’m s…sorry, Ladies, I’m so s…sorry,” he stammered, covering his best assets as he spoke, “I was expecting someone else.” He added, lamely.

The two Ladies recovered from their initial shock. “I should certainly hope so,” said one, primly, “we’re collecting for the NSPCC².”

He flushed, and located a couple of coins on the hall shelf. These, he placed gingerly into the collection box with his left hand. They pointedly ignored his non standard attire, and quickly headed off smartly down the path.

“Sometimes,” he heard one Lady to the other, “I think we’re collecting for the wrong charity. Boys like that deserve to be beaten.” The other one responded, patting her shoulder, “Dorothy, my dear…I think that’s EXACTLY what’s going to happen to him. His bottom has just been bared, you see. He’s obviously just about to get a really good, old fashioned caning applied to it.” They both sniggered. “Beat the boys and hope they cry,” Dorothy replied.

At 6.59pm the doorbell rang again, and this time he’d covered himself up with a towel. It was, of course, Nikki Fox. She was wearing her standard school attire, including her trademark of a rolled-up black skirt which was decent by only half an inch.

She reached forward and lifted the towel. “You will NOT be needing that, bad boy,” she said. Then she inspected his penis, which was already moderately erected. “Guilty as charged,” she said.

His mother’s voice floated from down the hallway. “Thank you for popping in, my dear,” she called out, “if you’d just like to go into the drawing room, I shall be with you shortly.”

Nikki Fucks barged past him and made a lunge at his bare balls as she walked past him. He jerked forward automatically. “Uhhhhhhhhhh,” he gasped, even though she hadn’t actually made direct contact with his private parts. She smiled sweetly and headed off into the drawing room. His mother followed.

He wasn’t sure whether to enter or not. Then he looked up and saw that Lynda was sitting on the stairs, looking very pleased with herself.

She held out her hand, and he passed the towel up to her. “I like her rolled-up skirt,” she said. Then, “Do you like it too, Davey?” she enquired. He said nothing. Lynda giggled and gestured downwards at his obvious erection. “There’s no point in denying it, Davey,” she went on, “I can SEE perfectly well that you like it.”

His mother emerged five minutes later and pointed at him. He jumped visibly at the stab of the advancing finger. “YOU, bad boy,” she said, “Inside, now, and confess to ALL your dirty little desires. Do NOT miss any of them out, or it will be the worse for you. I have left Nicola a list, and you should include them all… or else. When you’ve finished I will come in and administer the appropriate punishment.”

He gulped and walked into the drawing room. Nikki Fucks was seated at a table, looking, he thought, at that moment, more like a schoolmistress than a schoolgirl. He swallowed.

“Please, Nikki…” he began, but was interrupted by a hard swinging slap on his left cheek.

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“No familiarity here, Shagton,” she snapped, “You will call me Miss.”

He gulped again. “Please, Miss, I’d just like say, with every respect, that I.…” once again he was interrupted by another hard slap, this time on his right cheek.

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“Don’t waste my time with pointless trivia, Shagton,” she said, “just get on with your confessions.”

He desperately tried to think straight. He glanced at the table. There was a sheet of paper there. On it was written what looked to be a long list, presumably his innermost desires about her person. Her pencil twirled around her fingers. “Well, bad boy?” she asked. “I’m waiting.”

His erection throbbed. “Please, Nikki,” he started, “I just wanted to look up your skirt…”

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“Whatever else you wanted, Shagton,” she snapped, “it most certainly wasn’t just to look up my skirt.”

He went on quickly, even as she ticked off what was presumably written down as, ‘look up skirt,’ “…I mean I wanted to put my hand up your skirt first.…” another tick, “…and then put my hand down inside your knickers…” another tick, “…and then put my hand… err… on your… err…”

Nikki Fox sighed, “…cunt,” she said, bluntly.

He jumped at the word. It was bad enough when his sister used the word, but when a really attractive girl like Nikki Fucks did, it somehow set him off.

“Cunt,” said Amanda Holdall, both bluntly and teasingly, and with a broad grin on her face. He closed his eyes for a second and quivered all over. Ladies who talked dirty always had that effect on him.

Nikki Fox sighed. “So now let’s get down to the really naughty stuff,” she said, “and be quick about it, bad boy. I haven’t got all evening. Confess all the things you want to do to my cunt.”

Now he was scarlet with humiliation and shame. “Please, Miss,” he grovelled, “I wanted to… err… put my finger.... err… up inside your… err… cunt…” another tick, “and then… err… run my… prick… err.... up and down your bare bottom….” another tick, “…and then run it up and down your bare… err….” he stopped again, sweating..

“…tits?” enquired Nikki Fox, with cheerful malice.

“...err… yes,” he replied, “…err… tits.” Another tick. “Then I wanted to.… wank over you.…” another tick.

Nikki Fox smiled. “Only one more, Shagton, but, oh, yes… it’s a goody. What a DIRTY little boy you are, to be sure.”

Now he wished that he could fall through the floor, “…and finally I wanted to… spunk over your tits whilst I was wanking over you.”

Nikki Fox sighed. “So why don’t you want to fuck me, bad boy?”

He blinked at her. “P… pardon me, Miss?” he stammered, in total confusion.

She sighed. “I’m asking, boy,” she said, soothingly, “what’s the matter with my cunt?”

He stammered, “Err… n… n… nothing, Miss,” he replied.

Then she said, patiently, “Then why haven’t you fantasised about fucking me?”

He was now even more hopelessly embarrassed. How could he tell her, apart from anything else, that if he did that, then Low IQ would promptly cane him for the thought. And, at least, thus far, anyway, the secret of Sally Diamond’s tight little cunt wasn’t general knowledge at St Judes. “I… err… I don’t know, Miss,” he faltered.

She shook her head. “Hopeless. A real case of a hopeless loser. That’s what happens to little wankers like you. They aren’t even real boys who know what they should want… and that’s to put me across their knee for a good hard spanking on my bare bottom, slap me around a bit, and then give me a really rough fucking… just what I deserve, in fact.” She paused. “I think your mother will have a whole lot of work to do on you, bad boy,” she went on, “if you want to get anywhere with girls in the sex scene. And she needs to give you some firm pointers in the right direction. Urgently, too.”

Amanda Holdall grinned. “Underneath her brash exterior, it seems that cousin Nikki has a somewhat submissive secret side to her as well,” she said, “it must run in the family, of course.” Then, wryly, “A pity that she couldn’t have met you now, of course.” Silence. “I think you’d do quite well with her after you’d beaten her bare bottom for her and then slapped her a few times, Shagger,” she added.

That thought hadn’t occurred to him before. But the girl was possibly right. Nikki Fox probably really wanted to be caned… and she certainly wasn’t going to get that at St Judes.

His mother had entered the room seconds before, carrying his cane, and merely smiled. “Quite right, Nicola,” she said, “and rest assured that I shall be doing just that. I have some ideas ready for him, and he will be going on a special kind of holiday this summer where he will be able to learn a few of the things that he needs to know.”

He didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“And where was this special, ‘holiday,’ then, Shagger?” asked Amanda Holdall, curiously.

“With my Aunt Marge,” he replied, smarting slightly at the thought. “For a whole month, it was. Hell, and then some.” He paused. “You may have heard of her, Mandy. That’s Margaret Whapshott, in fact.”

Randy Mandy looked blank and then grinned. “Oh,” she replied, “the famous inventor of the Knackerpants.” She paused. “Talking of which, Shagger,” she went on, “I do think that you’d be much more comfortable if you took yours off, now… wouldn’t you?” He had to admit he would. They were horrible to wear at the best of times, and with any erection they were doubly so. He stood up, and Randy Mandy eased them down for him, smiling up at him as she did so.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh,” he said, with considerable relief. His erection was now fully visible to her, of course.

Apart from a certain twinkle in her eyes, she made no mention of the fact. He sat down next to her again. Somehow, though, her fingers started to stray towards his penis, and then she started to fondle and caress it whilst he talked.

“How many whacks to you think the dirty little boy deserves, Nicola?” asked his mother, politely.

Nikki Fucks considered. “Oh… err, I think a round dozen should suffice, Mrs Shagton, if that’s all right with you?” she enquired, airily, as thought she expected no negative. He shuddered. Then she gave a really evil grin. “Could we do six with me looking at his bare bottom, and then the rest of them with me looking into his eyes?” Giggle. “It’s so nice, isn’t it, to look into a boy’s eyes whilst he’s receiving the cane on his bare bottom?”

His mother nodded, approvingly, it seemed. “Bend over, then, bad boy,” his mother demanded.

He duly bent down. His mother ran the cane up and down his bare bottom. He flinched at the touch. Nikki Fox disappeared from view. Then the first whack flashed down,

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He jerked upwards in automatic response. “Ow,” he said. It stung, horribly, after a couple of seconds, “One, mum,” he said, woodenly.

Randy Mandy stroked his erection again. Now he was having trouble remembering what day of the week it was, let alone how the story went, but he continued, with difficulty,

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“Oww,” he repeated, fully aware that the pain was going to start building up with each whack, “two, mum.”

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“Owee,” he gasped, knowing that his bare bottom was being minutely inspected by both his mother and by Nicola Fox, “three, mum.” A soft female hand ran itself along his bottom. He flinched at its touch.

“Nice work, Mrs Shagton,” commented Nikki Fox, “I can see that you’re a real expert with the cane.”

His mother confirmed, “That I am, Nicola… that I am.”

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“Ohhhh,” he ground out, “four, mum.” He heard Nikki Fox snigger. “Do you get to see many boys caned, Nicola?” asked his mother, idly.

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“Ahhhhh,” he gasped, “five, mum.” Another snigger.

“Oh yes,” came the reply, “all the time, in fact. I just ADORE watching bad boys getting the cane on the bare.”

“Me too, of course,” added Randy Mandy, “there’s really nothing to touch it. It drives me wild. I can’t wait to fully finger myself after watching a bad boy being beaten.” She paused, absently holding up a middle finger, and, he suspected, the very one which she might use to finger herself with. He shivered with sheer lust all over again, whilst she went on, “I think it’s the same with most girls, of course.”

There it was again, he thought, sadly, to himself. The reverse prospect held sway too, that of boys enjoying watching girls getting caned. Except that if boys wanked themselves afterwards they’d promptly get the cane themselves, whereas girls were apparently allowed to finger themselves with impunity. It simply wasn’t fair. But then, as he quite realized, nothing in life, and especially at St Stricktlands School, was fair. One of the many unwritten rules, of course. ‘Don’t expect fairness,’ it read, ‘because there isn’t any.’

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“Yeeowee,” he gasped, now desperately wanting to clutch at his stinging bottom, “six, mum.”

He closed his eyes. When he opened them a few seconds later, Nikki Fucks was seated in front of him, only inches away from him, in fact.

She reached down and forced his chin upwards. “Look up at me, Shagton,” she said, “and that doesn’t mean looking at my tits, either. Look into my eyes… or it will be the worse for you.”

He did his best, despite the acutely uncomfortable nature of his position.

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“Owwwww…seven, mum.” This time the pain was much worse, of course. The second six of a dozen was always much worse than the first six, as he knew very well to his cost. And it was all somehow far worse by the addition of the humiliation of being watched by a smiling and very sexy girl.

“Are you sorry, Shagton?” she asked.

He croaked, “Yes, Miss, I’m very sorry.”

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“Ahhhhhhhh…eight, mum.” He gritted his teeth.

“You’re sorry about wanting to put your hand up my skirt?” she enquired.

“Yes, Miss,” he replied, “I’m so sorry I wanted to put my hand up your skirt.”

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“Owwwwwww….nine, mum.” Now he had got the idea of what was wanted. “Please, Miss,” he said, respectfully, “I’m so sorry I wanted to put my hand down inside your knickers.”

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“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh…ten, mum. Please Miss, I’m so sorry I wanted to put my finger inside your cunt.”

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“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh…eleven, mum. Please Miss I’m so sorry I wanted to stroke my penis over your bum and your tits.”

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The final whack was much harder, as he knew it would be. “ARGHHHHHHHHHH,” he moaned, “Twelve, mum…twelve…thank you for caning me, mum. I know I deserved it. And please, Miss, I’m so sorry I wanted to wank over you and spunk all over your tits.”

Nikki Fucks shrugged, although she was quite clearly aroused by the spectacle of humiliation and pain in front of her. He could see her chest heaving and how her lips were parted. For two pins he could cheerfully have indeed fucked her, had he known exactly how to go about doing that, which he didn’t, at least not in practical reality. Obviously he knew the theory of it all.

“Sweet, innocent little flower,” commented Amanda Holdall, “but alas no longer, I see,” she added, giving his erection another tweak as she spoke.

“As I said, Mrs Shagton,” Nikki Fox purred, “he really does need to sort out what boys are supposed to do to girls.” She stood up and smoothed down her skirt, as least, as much as there was of it to smooth down. She giggled. “See you next week, then, bad boy,” she said, “sweet dreams.”

Then she turned towards his mother, “Thank you so much, Mrs Shagton,” she said, politely, “I really enjoyed that.” She left.

His mother said, quietly, after she had gone out of the room. “The girl’s quite right about you in several respects, of course, David, but I will resolve the problem for you in due course… never fear. You may stand up, bad boy.” Dimly he heard the front door close. “Now, it’s bed time for you,” his mother went on, “however, as a special treat, you may first rub your caned bottom.”

“And did she?” asked Randy Mandy, curiously.

It took him a moment to work out her train of thought. “Yes,” he replied, “that she did. The special holiday with Aunt Marge. What I forgot to mention was the additional salient fact that one Mrs Alice Terrier also lives in Aunt Marge’s quaint Cornish seaside village hell…”

Amanda Holdall grinned, “…ahha,” she said, “and her two teenage twin daughters of course live there as well?”

He replied, dryly, “Exactly, Mandy. I had a whole month of getting teased and tortured sexually by the Terror Twins before finally admitting to them that I fancied them and wanted to fuck them. It took me the whole month, mind, to get to that point, and even then I never fucked either of them, either.” He shrugged, “Well, that was then, of course,” he continued, mildly. Then he paused and added modestly, “As you know, I’ve since made up for that omission now. Omissions I mean.” He grinned again, at the thought of The Terror Twins’ cunts.

He stood up and massaged his now very sore bottom. Oh, how it hurt. And, of course, after a few minutes of rubbing, his erection was back with a vengeance and with nowhere to go, either.

His mother said evenly. “I wouldn’t think of it, if I were you, David.”

He blushed again. He had been considering having a wank to ease the pain, but evidently his mother wasn’t about to allow him that little luxury. “Goodnight, mum,” he said, darkly, and walked slowly out of the room holding onto his caned bottom.

Lynda was still sitting on the stairs, having it appeared, clearly overheard all the recent events. “Does your bum hurt, Davey?” she asked, softly.

“Of course it fu…hurts,” he answered as he tried to pass her, and trying hard not to swear, because he knew once again from past experience that if he swore in front of his sister then she would, ‘shop,’ him, and his mother would promptly add a whack onto his charge sheet for foul language. “You heard, I’m sure. A dozen on the bare, after all.”

Amanda Holdall sighed. “I haven’t any sisters, as I said, but I do have an older brother. I used to do that to him. Shop him, I mean. Very good, clean fun, it was, too. I used to enjoy it immensely.”

He didn’t doubt it. That was just the type of thing which all girls, it seemed, routinely enjoyed doing to boys.

“What does it feel like, Davey,” Lynda ground on, blocking his passage neatly, “to be caned on the bare bottom with a girl watching you get it?” She giggled, knowing perfectly well how intensely humiliating it was for boys to be caned in front of girls. “Are you going to see her again, Davey?” she asked, gloatingly revelling in his complete humiliation.

He sighed. Nicola Fox was obviously a lost cause.

“And so… was she a lost cause?” asked Randy Mandy.

He nodded his head at the sudden unhappy memory. “Alas yes, Mandy,” he replied, “quite appropriate to the school’s patron saint³ .” He sighed. “You see, she cared nothing for me at all.” He shrugged. “And both the beatings over her at St Judes never even made me remotely famous, you see, because, as she intimated, she got boys caned for her pleasure at least once a week.” He sighed again. “And shortly after that, she and her family moved away rather suddenly, and that was the last I ever saw of her.”

Amanda Holdall shrugged. “And thus ended the sad story. Still,” she went on, softly, “all is not lost. However, tell me, Shagger… did you wank over her again?”

He smiled slightly. “Well, yes, of course, Mandy,” he replied. “I did wank over her on occasion… it did make a change from wanking over Sally Diamond.” He looked at Randy Mandy. “Ivan Quorn didn’t care who I wanked over, just as long as I confessed it to him for a caning,” he said. Then, curiously, “do you know what did happen to her?” he asked.

She shrugged. “My aunt and uncle moved to Australia,” she replied, “and I haven’t seen them, or her, since. We’ve lost touch completely.”

A lost cause, indeed, he thought to himself. The likelihood of ever meeting up again with Nicola Fox was, in his estimation, roughly in the region of zero, plus or minus a point or two.

Amanda Holdall considered. She took a further sip from her glass.

To be continued……

¹ Preparation, or homework.

² National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.

³ St Jude is the patron saint of lost causes.

© Copyright Dave 2009.

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