The TOTS

Grizelda Gutteridge lay in her bed, and considered herself, for the twentieth time, it seemed, that morning. It was Saturday. Games day, in fact, for everyone except the upper 6th form. For the whole of the previous week, she recalled how she had been engaged in what had started off simply as a week of PWEP – Punishment With Extreme Prejudice – whereby she, as a school prefect, got to cane the hated David Shagton each day in front of a class of lucky 5th form girls and boys. And how she’d also arranged for three evening sessions with him as well, for a variety of, ‘other activities.’ Somehow, though, those hadn’t all turned out the way that she’d originally expected them to.

Oh, certainly, the first evening had gone much as planned. It had been a really excellent disciplinary session for the naughty little boy, complete with the extensive use of a borrowed Balls Pillory. This had been followed by a long, wild, ride on an equally borrowed Riding Bench for Dominant Young Ladies, one where the hapless male was used as nothing more than a handy phallus. But then the mechanic had altered – she still couldn’t put her finger on precisely when and where – and the second session had somehow become a rather wonderful candlelit dinner, followed by a lot of rough wrestling and dirty fighting which she had enjoyed shamelessly. She’d also enjoyed another equally shameless fuck, and this time without him having been tied down first. And, yesterday morning, she’d actually confessed to the class that she might have been a little bit complicit in past events herself, and so dear old Sileas Crabbe had obligingly caned both of them together in front of class 5E.

So what was she going to do today? She knew the answer to that question already, of course. It was just that she didn’t want to know. Please, she thought to her mind, not that. Anything but that. But her mind, her own psyche, or perhaps it was it her own subconscious, was having none of her objections. It was obvious what she was going to have to do today. Hell, she thought to herself. Bloody hell. She told herself that she was a prefect and that she didn’t have to do that at all. Her mind simply replied, ‘do it,’ to her, and didn’t give her the option of arguing. The feeling was so strong that she almost felt that her mind would simply take over and do it for her if her brain didn’t agree voluntarily. She shrugged. Yes, MA’AM, she thought, sourly, to herself.

10am. The games fields. Class 5A. The teacher presiding was, this morning, Ava Frasch. She knew that Have A Thrash had only recently been appointed PT teacher, and that this was only her second term at St Stricktlands School. She also knew that Ava Frasch was very, very good at dealing with boys, more especially, boys’ balls. She was the inventor of the BUSINESS shorts, the acronym standing for Balls Under Sentence Incorporating Necessary Erectional Sexual Stress, which were, as was obvious from the name, a kind of torture trouser. Wearing them, the penis was channelled upwards, not simply onto coarse Velcro material, as was the case with standard issue Knackerpants, but into increasingly severe sections of short spikes. Self torture, of course. The more erection, the more pain. Boys simply punished themselves for their sins. She noted that this morning, all the boys on the field here were wearing them. Their bare balls hung open dutifully to the elements, and also to Have A Thrash’s riding crop, of course. And their bottoms were also likewise exposed by neat cut outs around each buttock, so that the wearer could be conveniently cropped either at the back or the front with equal ease. PT shorts they were, indeed, she thought. Punishing testicles, though, not physical training. She walked together with David out onto the games field.

Ava Frasch blew the whistle. “OK, boys and girls,” she said, “time out. Five minutes’ light entertainment. You all know what to expect, at least you do if you talk to anyone in the rest of the 5th form. OK, Grizzie,” she continued, “the floor is yours, well, the ground, anyway.”

Grizzle Guts looked at her, and curtseyed politely. It was standard etiquette, a gesture of respect, even though she was a prefect. David was standing politely to one side, waiting to be called forward. She sighed. That damnable mind of hers was still insistent. OK, she said to it, here we go. She turned to the class.

“I expect you all know what to expect.” Pause. Then, “Or you think you do, anyway.” Various murmurs from the class. She sighed. “Well, the situation is that this is a PWEP session, and that is what it will be. Punishment With Extreme Prejudice.” She took a deep breath. “I have decided that I have been rather more guilty of, certain things than David, err, Shagger has. And, whilst I’m not going to go into details about what those things might be right now, the fact is that some punishment is due to me. Which David will now administer.” She looked at him, smiled slightly, and handed him the cane. Now there were gasps from all over the class, followed by the inevitable snippets of conversation,

“...don’t understand this at all...” “, Grizzle Guts never...” “you remember, idiot...” “...both got it in 5E yesterday...” “Me next, Shagger...” “...whacko, Sir.”

With an oddly blank expression on his face, he took the cane from her, and then flexed it, slowly. Obviously, she thought, he was switching from submissive to dominant. She knew from lots of other accounts just how dominant he could be. Holding a cane at St Stricktlands School was in itself an indication of absolute power and authority. She’d seen for herself exactly how his girlfriend Missus had switched only a couple of weeks earlier, and it, well, it had scared the knickers off her. And he was just the same, no, she thought, he was worse. Her heart thumped. Heaven knows, she thought, what he would be like next term when he himself made prefect. These poor sods here had every right to be scared witless at this juncture. They would, of course, next term be in the lower 6th form, in their very own, ‘year of hell.’

He was now standing tall, about eight foot high, it seemed, on the face of it. Then he pointed the cane at her. In a seemingly mild tone, but one somehow underscored with a subtle menace that would, no doubt, in the future, make many a schoolgirl’s legs quake with fear, “You are a very bad little girl,” he said, quietly, “and you will be punished accordingly.” More titbits floated across to her, from the assembled boys as well as the girls,

“OMG, he’s strict...” "...help our bums next term...” “...makes prefect I hate to...”
“Beat me, Sir,” “...bend me over...” “...deflower me next term, Shagger...” she looked up sharply at that last snippet and saw that it had been spoken by the sexy Sharon Schweppes, the 5k dorm captain, who was standing close by her. Grizzle Guts shook her head. Shhh obviously wanted to be a naughty girl next term, and she fervently hoped that he would be sensible and satisfy himself that she really was sixteen before satisfying himself, so to speak. Whether he had heard the suggestion was another matter, though. From the way of things, he hadn’t. Probably, she thought, he was concentrating more on a bottom to beat rather than a cunt to come, or even cum.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied, and awaited his next orders.

“You will remove your skirt, bad girl,” he said, “and then I will administer six of the best onto your bare bottom.”

More gasps. She took her skirt off, and dropped it down onto the grass. Further gasps when the class saw she wasn’t wearing any knickers, followed by various gaps of pain, too, from several of the boys. Her mouth curled upwards, and she used the opportunity to tease all the boys by turning around through 360º and showing them her all. As more and more boys inspected her bum and her cunt, the effect was to drive their obvious erections up into the danger areas of the BUSINESS shorts.

Ava Frasch looked at them without sympathy. “You have only yourselves to blame for your discomfort, bad boys,” she said, “if you weren’t letching over Grizzie, you wouldn’t have a problem right now.”

Grizelda Gutteridge did a quick count, and saw that already around half a dozen boys were now bending forward with pained expressions, whilst a further three were clutching futilely at their BUSINESS shorts.

“All right,” he said sternly, “you’ve had your fun with the boys. Now bend over, bad girl.” He swished the cane through the empty air as he spoke.

She complied, wiggling her bottom enticingly.

Another three boys clutched at their shorts, either from the sound of the swishing cane, or from watching the wiggle of her bare bottom. Or, possibly, both, of course.

Then he proceeded to cane her.

Swishhhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
OMG, she thought, that was a really good, ‘stroke one.’ If she hadn’t caught herself in time she would have been brought involuntarily yeeeing to her toes, a fine symbol of fortitude that would have been, she reflected. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of making any sound at all before stroke four, no Sir, she decided. That would show him. “One, thank you, Sir,” she said, flatly.

Swishhhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
She gritted her teeth in mental and physical anguish. It stung, It STUNG. He was so good with the cane. She could hear that he’d got the long, slow, sweep that was achieved through extensive experience, damn him, and she could see he was standing well back, so that the impact was really maximized on her now protesting bare bottom. And each time he administered a whack, her legs almost buckled, not to mention a wild urge to jump up and rub her bottom. Such weakness. She’d never live that down. “Two, thank you, Sir,” she said, a slight tremor evident in her voice.

Swishhhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
“Ow,” she gasped, despite her every resolve not to. She looked up and saw him looking down at her with a slight smile, that knowing, mocking, intensely annoying smile of one who knows that they have the upper hand. She knew exactly what he was thinking, that he’d broken her will to resist, broken the sound barrier, as it was called, on three whacks, damn his penis. “Three, Sir, thank you, Sir,” she said, humbly.

Swishhhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
“Ahhh,” she said, as the pain now began to build up even more. And he hadn’t even landed any strokes on previous ones, either, a trick which she herself used frequently to great effect on really naughty bottoms. The whacks so far were all on virgin areas of her bottom, too, but they all hurt like hell. Dimly, she saw another three boys go forward, moaning, and clutching at their BUSINESS shorts as they did so. “Four, Sir, thank you, Sir,” she said.

Swishhhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
“Ohhhh, five, Sir, thank you, Sir,” she said, closing her eyes to avoid trying not to look at all the boys at once. PWEP, of course, that epitome of punishment humiliation, a public caning in front of younger members of the opposite sex, although it was certainly fair to say that the boys now all had other things on their minds to think about, rather than her.

Swishhhhhhthwackkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
“Uhhhhh,” she said, her head arched upwards, only grateful that it was, by her reckoning, the final stroke. “Six, Sir,” she said. Then she remembered that she had better thank him, and quickly, too. She wouldn’t have put it past him to repeat her punishment it all over again, otherwise. Hell, she’d done that often enough herself, no matter the victim’s cries of mental anguish, which somehow made the second beating all the sweeter. “Please, Sir,” she said, very contritely, “thank you, Sir, thank you for caning my bare bottom, Sir. I know I was a very naughty little girl and that I deserved it all.” She looked up at him.

He was pointing the cane at her. “Kneel right down at my feet, bad girl,” he ordered. “PWEP you wanted, and PWEP you will now have.” She shuddered, but knelt down as instructed, never minding the mud on the field. With great deliberation, he then took hold of her hair, and, pushing her head downwards, proceeded to bury her face firmly into the mud. He let her up almost immediately, but of course she was now a sorry sight. Mud covering her face, and more mud on her knees. She opened her mud covered eyes. Now she started to hear titters. Then sniggers. Then light laughter. Then, finally, loud raucous laughter, all entirely at her expense. Even Ava Frasch was smiling.

David bowed slightly to Have A Thrash, and held out his hand to Grizzle Guts. “Come, my dear,” he said, “I think that’s enough ritual humiliation for you right now?”

Yes, she thought, to her mind. Satisfied now? She was shocked to hear her mind saying straight back to her that it wasn’t at all satisfied, not by a long chalk. She shuddered. The two of them walked slowly away. She turned back briefly, and saw that Ava Frasch now had all the boys bending over and arranged lined up in a long row. Obviously, she thought, Have A Thrash had decided to give all the boys some particular punishment, most probably for the crime of enjoying watching a girl getting caned, and having become erected as a result.

David walked her off the games field. “I have, I fear,” he said, “my own games to go to now, fuck it, you know how I loathe games, but there we are.” Silence. “And, I expect, a caning to look forward to for being late.” Then, “What time would you like to see me this evening, Grizzie?” he asked, shyly, it seemed, “assuming that you would, of course...”

She squeezed his hand. “David,” she replied, “you are a real connoisseur when it comes to caning, do you know that?” Stupid question, really, she thought to herself. Of course he bloody well knew that. Lisa McFee-Sven-Sless, alias Fuck Me Senseless had taught him, after all, and experts didn’t come any more expert than her.

“I do my humble best,” he replied modestly, but with a touch of pride peeking through, she thought.

She sighed. “Yes, my darling. I do want to, err, see you this evening. 8pm, if you please.” She sighed again. Her mind had substituted, ‘screw,’ for, ‘see,’ of course. She wasn’t going to tell him that in advance, however. She held a finger to his lips. “I won’t try to kiss you, not like this. Fuck knows I deserved that mud drubbing, though.” She shivered with the mental luxury that her mind was feeling right then. ‘Humiliation, lovely, lovely humiliation’, it was saying to itself. Plus, she noted with some anxiety, it was also saying to her, ‘More, more, more.’

7.30pm. Grizelda Gutteridge stood alone, and nude, in her study. She’d given up arguing with her mind. It had decided all the things that it wanted, and she was just going to have to go along with them all. Sighing with anticipation, she placed the three principal instruments of punishment that her mind craved most onto the study table. The riding crop, the flogger and, of course, the cane. Then she wrote out the notice that her mind had dreamed up, and hung it over her neck. Next, she sorted out the bondage rope, passing it through the ceiling pulley that Lisa McFee-Sven-Sless had told her was there for that very purpose in every St Stricktlands School study. One end was knotted firmly onto the chain link between a pair of stout metal police handcuffs, which hung temptingly high in the air. The other end of the rope she secured to the wall. Now she positioned a low footstool on the floor directly underneath the pulley, and stood on it, arms up, in order to gauge the correct height for the ’cuffs. No good, she thought, that was much too low. Back to the wall again in order to re-tie the rope a foot shorter. Another dummy run on the footstool. Still too low. Another three inches should do it, though. Perfect, she thought, just perfect.

She stood on the footstool a third time, and now she locked her wrists securely into the ’cuffs. It was time to place the matter into the, ‘out of her control,’ category. Her heart thumped wildly. She must be nuts, she thought. Why was she doing this to herself? She gave up thinking about it. She was just going to, anyway. After a moment of contemplation, she stepped carefully off the footstool. “Ahhhhhh,” she gasped, now suddenly immobile with her arms held high above her head. She kicked the footstool away. Now she couldn’t release herself even if she wanted to. As the Old Testament Book of Daniel had almost said, ‘her situation could not now be changed.’ She was trapped there for the next half hour until David arrived. Fuck, she thought to herself, why had she done it so early? Then she thought, with sudden panic, what if someone else came into her study meantime? She sighed. It would be so humiliating were that to happen. Maybe that was exactly what her mind was hoping for?

The humiliation wasn’t long in coming. A knock on the door. She remained silent, hoping that whoever it was would just go away quietly. They didn’t. Another more urgent knock, and then the door opened a little. Then it opened wide. A girl prefect walked into her study.

“My, my,” asked Jennifer Torcher, “what DO we have here?” Her voice sounded full of pleasure. Genitorture walked right round Grizelda Gutteridge’s front, and then around her back. Then she gently stroked her cheek. Grizzle Guts winced at the touch. “I sort of suspected that you were feeling a little submissive today, darling,” she said, “especially after the reports from form 5A came in this morning, but I really didn't think you’d gone quite this far?”

Grizzle Guts shivered. “Please, Jenny,” she whispered, “please untie me.”

Genitorture put her hands on her hips, “Oh, really, Grizzie,” she replied, “you HAVE to be kidding? With a notice over your neck in your handwriting reading...

I know that I have been a very horrid little girl to everyone over the years. Please punish me severely for all my sins and transgressions.

"I don’t think that’s want you want at all. However I do think that you should have a little more encouragement here. Horrid little girls like you need to learn how to hold their tongues, you know, and I have just the right thing for you.” She disappeared out of the study. Seconds later, she returned, grinning, widely. She held a ball gag in one hand, which she held up for her to see, and then proceeded to apply it without the option.

Grizelda Gutteridge fought as much as she could, but being tied up as she was, it was no contest. Jennifer Torcher simply stood slightly back from all the threshing around, and held her nose hard until she had to open her mouth in order to breath. Then she slipped the ball gag into it, and quickly tied it at the back before she could spit it out.

“That should keep you quiet,” she said, with evident satisfaction. “Oh, by the way,” she went on, “I, err, just may have mentioned your current position to a few other people on my way back. You don’t mind, do you?”

Grizzle Guts shouted at her, or, rather would have shouted at her. The invective was reduced to a tiny, “e..ee, I ing uurrr a uing ow an a un, a eay uing un,” which really didn’t count for much.

“I’ll be back soon, honey,” said Genitorture, ominously, “don’t go away.” She left.

Grizzle Guts grimaced, and repeated to herself what she’d just tried to say to Genitorture. Jenny, she thought, I think you’re a fucking cow and a cunt, a really fucking cunt.

Five minutes later the study door opened again. Now she was even more worried, because it was already beginning to seem as though plenty of people were getting to hear about what she’d done to herself. The new entrant was Patricia W B P Terrier, one of the two Terror Twins, who was grinning widely, and carrying something long, black, and metallic. The grin infuriated her.

Patty Terrier walked around her, and then fondled her bare bottom. “Mmm, nice,” she said, “but then you always did have a good bum, didn’t you, Grizzie? Now, see, I’ve brought you some more playthings.” She whispered into her ear, “You needn’t bother to thank me, I can see that you’re all tied up.”

Grizzle Guts shivered. “Uuuu orrr unnnn aaa,” she mumbled, which was the closest she could get, underneath the ball gag, to, ‘fuck your cunt, Pats.’

Patty Terrier proceeded, despite a lot of intervening kicking and protestation, to apply the leg spreader, finally clamping both ankles firmly. The extra penalty in height had now forced her onto tiptoes.

“Ahhhhhhh,” she gasped.

Patty Terrier then fondled Grizelda Gutteridge’s offered cunt, knowingly.

“Uhhhhhhh,” she moaned, at the sudden tease to her most intimate area.

Patty Terrier smiled. “I have to admit that I always wanted to do that to you, Grizzie,” she said, “so I’m grateful for the opportunity.” She left, giggling.

A few minutes later, the study door opened yet again. Kirstin Eis breezed in, grinning broadly. Word was obviously getting around. The Ice Queen held a pair of small metal clamps in her hands, which she was twirling around her fingers. “These are my favourites,” she purred, “and I’m sure you’ll just LOVE them, Grizzie, I know I do. We submissive sex sluts need to stick together, you know?” With that, The Ice Queen affixed each clamp tightly to Grizelda Gutteridge’s bare nipples. Kirstin Eis looked into her eyes and smiled as she tightened each screw.

“Ahhhhhhhh,” she gasped, and then gasped again as the second clamp was similarly tightened. Grizzle Guts looked down, and was horrified to see how erect each nipple had become. The feeling was, indescribable. Kirstin Eis patted her on the bottom in familiar fashion, and left.

The next entrant was Amanda Holdall. “Forgive me whilst I remove the notice, Grizzie,” said Randy Mandy, “it will simply get in people’s way,” She lifted it off her head as she spoke. “That’s much better,” she went on, “but don’t worry, I’ll tape it on the door for you. Now, Grizzie,” she went on, “there’s already a big queue outside, but rest assured it’s all organised.” She sniggered, “I fear you have, over the years, annoyed an awful lot of people, and so it’s certainly going to be a long and painful payback time for you.” Another snigger, and another annoyingly couple of condescending pats on her bare bottom. “It’s what you obviously wanted, Grizzie,” she said, “but, of course, it’s for your own good, and full marks for the thought and, well, for all the full marks that you’re going to get very soon.”

Grizelda Gutteridge’s heart thumped wildly.

Amanda Holdall walked to the door carrying her notice, and opened it. “OK, folks,” Randy Mandy called out, “let’s make a start.”

Around a dozen prefects filed inside, silently and slowly. In line. All in line. However, there was no hustling, nor jostling for position. Nevertheless, a lynch mob it plainly was. She could clearly see that from all their faces. As Randy Mandy had said, though, it was all perfectly organised, somehow. Grizzle Guts knew them all, of course, one way or another. Naturally, she supposed that, she’d shared classes with them all at some time. Presumably that was part of the problem.

Amanda Holdall picked up a flogger from the table. “Me, first, Ladies and boys, ” she said, and, turning to her, added, “4th form, Prep³ room.”

Grizzle Guts had no recollection of this alleged grievance. Then Randy Mandy drew back, and applied the flogger good and hard onto Grizelda Gutteridge’s bare tits.

“Uhhhhhh,” she gasped, in sudden pain.

“Thank you, Grizzie,” she said, “I really appreciated that.”

She handed the flogger to the first candidate in the line-up, Janet Bird, who looked at Grizelda Gutteridge coldly. “1st form, library,” she said. This made no sense to Grizzle Guts either. Janet the Gannet proceeded to give her one wide, hard, long, swat across her bare back.

“Ahhhhhh,” she gasped.

When she opened her eyes a few seconds later, Janet the Gannet had gone. She had been replaced by the next in line, the school’s resident Russian, Yaputcha Prikkin. He eyed her up, said to her, coldly, “3rd form, playing fields.” Then he picked up the crop, and laced it hard across her bottom, one whack each side.

“Owww! Owww!!” she gasped.

Fuck It handed the crop to the next in the line, and then stroked her cheek. “Thank you, Grizzie,” he said, “that makes us even, now.”

Now it was the turn of Eleanor MacNaughtie, who had taken the crop from him. “Lower 6th form, The Canteen.” She shook her head, dropped the crop onto the table, and picked up the cane. Grizzle Guts cringed. “Much better,” said Naughty Nellie, and proceeded to use it, applying one really hard whack across Grizelda Gutteridge’s bare bottom.

SWISHHHHHHTHWACKKKKKKKKK
“Mmmfffffff,” gasped Grizzle Guts at the sting of the cane, as her legs tried to sag, but couldn’t. What did it all mean? Gradually, as the line of prefects progressed, she began to understand what it all meant. She had obviously, variously, intensely annoyed all these people during the years, and at the locations, mentioned. Probably, she suspected, she’d ratted on them, shopped them, grassed them up, or got the boys caned, or some such thing.

She looked to the door, wondering if the end was in sight? It wasn’t. The line-up, or, as the English say, queue, was still around a dozen, with possibly plenty more waiting outside in the corridor. Fuck. She was only grateful that the organisation apparently meant that each inflictor only got two strokes at most, and that they were administered, apparently, within certain defined limits. Her back and front were apparently both OK, and her legs were fine as well. Needless to say, it was her tits, bum and cunt which were the most popular targets. She thought her head was off limits until Susan Army slapped her hard across each cheek with her hand. Mercifully, she thought, it was only the hand. She reeled at the slaps, however by the time she’d steadied up, Tsunami had already gone.

Grizelda Gutteridge didn’t remember anything of any of the perceived outrages. But apparently she had committed them, and it certainly did account for her almost universal unpopularity, it seemed. Maybe after tonight, though, things might be different? Her head arched backwards again as another stroke of the cane landed on her bare bottom.

“Thanks, Grizzie,” said Clare Voyant, “that makes me feel a whole lot better, now.”

Time passed. She had long since lost count of her assailants. It must have been at least seven or eight dozen, possibly even more. Eventually she became aware that the blows had stopped. Finally stopped. Then she became aware that David was sitting on her bed, looking up at her. Where the fuck have you been, she wanted to shout at him. Of course the ball gag was till doing sterling service, and clamped all speech within her. He shook his head, stood up, and slowly untied the gag.

She spat it out, gasping. “Where the FUCK have you been in my, my hour of need?” she demanded.

He smiled at her, and then slapped her face, “Where the fuck have you been, Sir, if you please, ” he replied, mildly, and then ran his hand gently down the cheek that he’d just slapped. Then he went on, “and the answer to your impertinent question is, ‘helping to organise things for you,’ my love. And just as well that we did, too, or things might have turned very nasty.”

She was suddenly outraged. “Might, might?” she shouted at him, “I’ve been cropped, flogged, slapped and caned for, I don’t know how long, and you dare say, ‘might,’ have turned nasty?”

He slapped her again. “Tut tut,” he said, “oh, dear me, such anger, this will have to be addressed, won’t it, bad girl?”

She fell silent, her heart suddenly in her mouth. He grinned and disappeared outside the door. When he returned he had another placard with him. “Read, observe, and learn, my love,” he said, holding it up in front of her.

Payback time! 8pm to 9pm, a one hour ONLY, once-off chance of a lifetime, by kind permission of Grizelda Gutteridge, formerly known as Grizzle Guts, for any upper 6th form prefect, to administer pain and ritual humiliation to her in full atonement for her many wrongdoings over the years. The Rules are as follows:

1. Form an orderly queue. If you get out of line, the administrators will eject you by force and you will lose your only chance for revenge.
2. When it’s your turn, state the year in which the offence took place, together with the location.
3. Leave quietly and quickly, since the administrators expect a heavy demand. Remember to say thank you – that’s only polite.
4. You may administer punishment only as follows:
a) One whack only with the cane onto the bare bottom.
b) One stroke only with the flogger onto the back, legs, bottom, tits or cunt
c) Two whaps with the crop, either one whap onto each bum cheek, or one whap to the cunt.
d) Two slaps of the hand to the face, one onto each cheek

By order
Amanda Holdall, Kirstin Eis, Jennifer Torcher, Patricia Terrier, David Shagton

She looked at him, gaping.

“Not bad, I thought,” he replied, “for fifteen minutes advance warning.”

Silence.

“Just as well that I was early this evening, too,” he added, quietly.

She tried very hard to come to terms with all this, and frowned. “What do you mean, ‘formerly known as Grizzle Guts,’ David…?” she asked.

He looked at her, sternly.

“...Sir,” she added, quickly, before she got her face slapped again.

“Ah, yes,” he replied, “I mentioned that to you in passing on our recent rather lovely evening tête-á-tête. We really do need to give you a thorough personality makeover, you know how successful that worked with Silly?”

She did. Silly was Celia Briony Tew, once upon a time, æons ago, it seemed, known as Sell By Tuesday. Now known as CBT, as in Cock and Balls Torture, and already a force to be reckoned with.

“How do you mean, David, Sir, I mean?” she asked, wonderingly.

“Grizzle Guts has got to go,” he replied, patiently, “so, in order to proceed any further, I will need to know your other name. So tell me what it is, bad girl.”

She looked at him defiantly. “No, Sir,” she said, “there’s nobody gets to know my other name.”

Now he looked at her, wolfishly, she thought. “Oh, goody,” he said, “I was really, really hoping you’d say that.”

She shivered slightly. “Why?” she asked, in a strangled voice.

Silence.

“I mean, why, Sir?”

He smiled, wickedly, “Because,” he replied, “it will now be my considerable pleasure to torture it out of you, down there.”

Grizzle Guts was mildly horrified, terrified and at the same time wildly ecstatic about all this. Her mind was shouting at her to say ‘yes, yes, yes,’ and she could feel her cunt becoming damp at the possibility of some suitable sexual torment, ‘down there’, some torment which she realised her mind desperately craved.

He smirked, and pointed to the riding crop the table.

She peered at it, her heart thumping. She was aware that crops were usually used for naughty boys’ and girls’ bare bottoms, and she also enjoyed using them on naughty boys’ balls, as well. However it had only been a few days ago that the lovely Lisa McFee-Sven-Sless had mentioned that the crop could also be used to excellent effect on naughty girls’ cunts, too. Hell, she thought, how could she have missed out so badly on something so delicious? Anyway, she thought, with a touch of enthusiasm, perhaps this deficiency was about to be made good?

“I borrowed this camera from Sammy’s study a few minutes ago,” he said, conversationally, “it was in the second drawer down, of course.” Then. “Do you happen to know why naughty girls always put naughty things in their second drawer down? What’s the matter with the first drawer or the third drawer?”

She immediately looked down at the floor, with a certain degree of guilt.

He picked up on that gesture instantly. “I’m suddenly led to wonder just what naughtiness might be lurking in YOUR second drawer down, Grizzie?” he asked.

Now she was horrified. “No, you BASTARD,” she replied, “that’s private...” But it was too late. He was already moving towards the shameful area where she kept a variety of, well, things she didn’t really want to discuss right now.

He opened the drawer. “Most interesting,” he said, and extracted from it one of her most secret shames. It was a studded slave collar, embossed with her initials, ‘D G G.’ Then he rummaged around inside some more, and located a long chain metal leash with black leather handle. “Even more interesting,” he went on, “and there was you suggesting the other evening that you didn’t have a secret submissive side? Well well well.”

He undid the collar, and slowly affixed it around her neck. Then he tightened it up. “Nice,” he said, as he locked the leash onto the collar, and allowed it to dangle down in between her tits. “I think a pic at this point will be just fine.”

She was about to shout, ‘No,’ at him and stopped herself. It would just be a waste of breath. He was going to do it anyway, the picture would appear in due course, doubtless in the annals of The Camera Club, membership, thank goodness, she thought, restricted to the upper 6th form only, for the delight of all concerned. All except her, in this case, of course.

She watched helplessly as he took several pictures of her, front, sides and back. She knew that the marks of all the croppings, floggings and canings which she’d received over the course of the past hour or so would all clearly be visible, and that would only add to the perfect pictures of punishment. Then she realised that her mind was actually enjoying all this immensely. Her cunt was beginning to feel damp all over again at this exquisite potential public humiliation. She rolled her head slightly and opened her mouth, teasingly. He caught on at once. He repeated all the pics, this time with her obviously now enjoying the indecent exposure which was to follow, and what was now clearly a case of rampant exhibitionism.

Then he put the camera down onto the table, and picked up the riding crop. He walked back to her, and fondled her cunt, knowingly.

“Uh,” she said at the touch.

“Dear me,” he said, “more than quite damp. Somehow I suspect that you’re going to enjoy all this.”

Yes, she thought, a choice cunt cropping for her. At last. She squinted at the crop in his hands. He flicked it, casually, at her exposed and defenceless cunt, looking her in the eyes as he did so.

“Uhhh,” she said, as the crop contacted her most prized possession. Oh, how it stung. Her legs tried to wilt, but they couldn’t. She tried, pointlessly, to close her legs, but the leg spreaders put paid to any nonsense of that kind. He flicked the crop again.

“Uhhhh,” she gasped. Another flick. “Uhhhhhh,” she moaned.

He continued to crop her cunt for what appeared to be an eternity. Was it a dozen, she thought? Or maybe it was more? Her cunt was on fire, the subtle stinging had made her arch her back backwards in something which was approaching ecstasy rather than pain.

“Are you ready to tell me your other name yet?” he enquired mildly.

She tried to speak, and failed. Her mouth was too dry. She tried again, “No, Sir,” she croaked, knowing that her mind was enjoying all this rough treatment far too much to be stopped just yet. She could feel her cunt becoming wetter and wetter by the minute.

The same thought must have occurred to him as well, because he stopped cropping her and stroked her cheek. Then he ran his hand up and down between her legs.

She shivered at the touch. “Ohhhhhhh,” she moaned, almost cumming. She quivered again in sheer pleasure.

“Oh, dearie me,” he said, “another sex slut, it seems? Tell me, have you had your session with dear old Wodin Thring yet?”

She nodded, wordlessly.

He smiled. “I assumed yes,” he went on, “because there’s not much time left for any slutty girls in this year’s upper 6th form, and he’ll soon be busy with next year’s slutty girls, that’s the ones in my year, of course.” He grinned. “That’s about all of them, I guess.”

She nodded again, and tried again to speak. “Y-yes, Sir,” she replied, “I had my... err, session with him last December. Then curiously, “How do you know about the sessions, anyway, Sir?” she asked.

He winked. “Because, bad girl,” he replied, “my mother, ” her jaw dropped slightly, “, yes,” he confirmed, “my very own dear mother had such a session with him last January. And by a case of simple carelessness, the audio visual record of it was somewhat carelessly left lying around at home, and it ended up being accidentally played in front of the Monthly Mothers Meeting. So, you see I know very well exactly how The Professor deals with sex sluts.”

She silently digested all this. It had never occurred to her that her own session might have been recorded. She made a mental note to ask Wodin Thring about this rather exciting possibility. Then she realised that David was speaking again.

“...if you happen to recall which Thrings Thing he used on you?”

She replied, lamely, “I think it was, err, The Intruder, Sir,” as his busy finger probed her again and again. She was having severe difficulty in concentrating. She was just about to cum, spectacularly, when he stopped. Her eyes flew open.

“Naughty naughty,” he said, teasingly, “no cumming until I get my answers.”

Now she was too furious not to react. “BASTARD,” she shouted, and promptly got her face slapped twice.

“That,” he said, with a broad grin, “was one slap for swearing, and the second for not saying, ‘Bastard, Sir’, of course.” Then he undid the tit clamps.

She grimaced with sudden pain, and her nipples tingled as the blood started to flow through them again.

“I think half an hour of tit torture is enough, ” he said, mildly, but then added, “...for now, anyway. Maybe I will have to give you more, later?”

Yes please, said her mind, at once, more later, please, more later. Her heart thumped wildly all over again at the possible prospect of yet more tit torment.

“I think it’s time we reappraised your position, Grizzie,” he said, finally, and walked to the wall. He untied the ceiling cord as he spoke, allowing her to gratefully lower her aching arms to her front. She was about to thank him, however he wasn’t being kind. He released her left handcuff, but then almost immediately swung her arms around her and refitted it around her back. Then he walked back to the wall, and pulled on the pulley again, this time putting her in that double back arched, and extremely uncomfortable, reverse crab posture that meant she was now bending over forwards with her arms up in the air.

Now he picked up the crop again, and smacked the end against his palm. “We’ve dallied around long enough, bad girl,” he said, sternly, “so now we get serious. I want some to know your other name, and I want to know it NOW.” With the final word, he applied the crop stingingly hard across her bare bottom.

THHHWAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
“Ayeeeeee!” she cried, with a sudden sear of pain from her left buttock. “NO, Sir,” she shouted back at him, defiantly.

THHHWAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
“Owwwwwwwwwwwww!” she shouted, and gritted her teeth together as her other buttock bore the brunt of the clip of the crop.

“I’m waiting, bad girl,” he said, patiently, “and I can wait all night, if necessary,” his voice a perfect intonation of a strict schoolteacher saying those words, which somehow seemed to echo in and around her head. “Remember, bad girl,” he added, unnecessarily, “this will hurt you a great deal more than it hurts me.”

She swallowed. She’d stick it for another six swats, she thought, and then see how her mind felt about some more.

He sat down on his haunches in front of her and proceeded to crop her hanging tits. Each stroke was somehow unexpected and brought a seer of physical pain coupled with an odd mental semi-orgasm of satisfaction.

Then she had an idea. She’d lie to him. Any name would do, after all. He’d beat her around a lot already, so he’d never think it was anything but the truth, not now, not after all the cropping he’d given her already.

“Sir,” she said, “I’ll talk, I’ll talk.”

He smiled up into her eyes. “Oh, that is such a shame,” he said, stroking the crop on her left cheek as he spoke, “and I was just beginning to enjoy it, too. So you had something you wished to tell me, bad girl?”

She was beginning to think that he had missed his true vocation in life. An SS Officer would have been right up his street, she thought. Then she remembered that with the personal tuition he’d recently received as recipient from the school secretary Sue Sweet, she of The SS fame, that thought was probably not too far off the truth.

“Helen, Sir,” she said, expecting him to say thank you to her, and then untie her.

What she got instead was two more stinging slaps, one on each cheek. “That’s the punishment for naughty little girls who tell lies,” he said, standing up as he spoke, and looking down at her coldly. She gaped up at him in disbelief.

“That was really very silly of you, my dear,” he said, “seeing as you’re currently wearing a studded slave collar with the initials D G G on it.”

True enough, she thought. Bloody stupid of her, really.

“So,” he continued, “always assuming that the G G portion stands for Grizelda Gutteridge, we can make the reasonable deduction that your missing name is actually your first name, and which begins with the letter D.”

Silence. You carry on making clever deductions like that, dearest David, she thought, and you’ll be head of detectives in no time. She didn’t say that out loud, however, for fear of getting slapped around again.

“Now we’ll have a further six strokes with the crop on your bare bum,” he went on, “and then we’ll see if you’re ready to co-operate this time.”

She grimaced with the fear, and also with the anticipation of the cropping which was to come.

He cropped her bottom, each stroke hard, and this batch were all accurately placed on her sit spot, three strokes on each side. They stung, of course, and possibly rather more, she thought, than the cane.

She gritted her teeth, endured the blows, and simply waited for him to stop. She knew that there was no point in arguing with him right now. Hell, she thought, he’d probably start all over again for such impudence. She spoke at once immediately he’d finished.

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” she said, humbly, “I don’t know what I was thinking of. Of course it isn’t Helen. So silly of me. It’s Danielle, Sir.”

He sighed, and slapped both her cheeks again. Her teeth rattled.

“Progress, at least, of sorts, though,” he replied, “at least we’ve got the first letter right, now. Some more with the crop, I think,” he continued, quietly, and proceeded to crop her bare bottom again, administering a further three strokes onto each buttock.

“Dolores, Sir,” she suggested, as soon as he’d completed his wicked work.

He shook his head again.

Slapppp, slapppp.
“Uhhh,” she gasped.

“First two letters right, this time....” he said, quietly, followed by yet another six strokes with the crop onto the bare bottom.

She wondered idly how he could be sure about that, unless, of course, he already knew the name which he was extracting from her the hard way. She wouldn’t have put it past him, the bastard.

“Dominique, Sir,” she said, gritting her teeth in readiness for the next slapping which she expected to get. She got it.

Slapppp, slapppp.
“Uhhhhhhh,” she gasped.

Then he was behind her again. Fuck, she thought, as the crop flashed down again with another six strokes on the bum.

“Five letters right, now,” his voice floated down to her, “I guess that’s progress, of sorts.” Then, “I don’t know about you, of course, but this is really fun. In fact, I’m enjoying it so much that I think that we’ll stop the questioning for a wee while to allow you to reflect a little on what your silence will achieve.”

Good, her mind thought, that means some more pain and humiliation before all this was over. He walked back to her front, and stood close to her head.

“I also found these neat little items in Sammy Terrier’s second drawer down,” he said, holding something up for her to see, “whilst I was, err, borrowing her camera just now. She really is a naughty little girl, isn’t she?”

She squinted, and shuddered. Crocodile teeth tit clips. Evidently, she thought, sourly, Samantha F M H Terrier had more than a slightly submissive side, too.

He reached forward. She gasped in sudden pain as the teeth bit into her erect nipples.

“NO, mercy!” she shouted, at the sudden sharp pain.

“I agree, slut,” he replied, soothingly, “no mercy, indeed, that’s what strict Ladies are always telling me when I’m laid out on a sex torture bench having my testicles stretched. In fact,” he added, mildly, giving the clips a quick twist, “I think you might actually remember saying some such similar thing to me only recently?”

Hell yes, she thought, and it was only two nights ago. Now she was racked with pain again. Her vision wavered, but her resolve didn’t.

“Well, bad girl?” he said, “what’s it to be?”

She suddenly had this delightful vision of him wanking in front of her and spunking in her face whilst she was in strict bondage like this. However, she didn’t say anything because she wanted him to spunk inside her rather more. Nevertheless, she understood now rather better how Kirstin Eis obviously felt when she was in her, ‘Sex Slut of St Stricktlands School,’ persona. Silence. She shook her head.

He sighed. “You know, Grizzie,” he said, “I’m really very glad that this is turning out to be a hard case. I think a little more, err, encouragement at this point would be beneficial. Then we can resume the interrogation afterwards.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but he walked to the wall again, and released the cord. This time, she was allowed to flop down onto the floor. Then he took off her leg spreaders, followed closely by her handcuffs.

Now he took hold of her leash. “This way, girl,” he said, sternly, “we’re going walkies.”

She struggled up until she was on all fours. She felt that she was being led just like a dog, well, a bitch, anyway. The humiliation factor was intensely delightful, or delightfully intense. Same thing, really. He reached her study door and opened it. When she crawled into the corridor, she could see that there were a number of prefects walking rapidly away in both directions. Her mouth twitched. They’d obviously all been listening at the door. Oh, well, she thought, it didn’t much matter any longer.

“Where are we going, Sir?” she asked, wonderingly.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out, slut,” he replied, absently.

He was walking fairly quickly, just enough to be awkward for her, she decided. He’d taken the precaution of bringing the riding crop with him, and every time she slowed down, he whapped her bottom smartly with it. Finally, though, their destination became obvious. It was going to be The Box Room. The room where she had treated him to a session in the autumn term, and she’d wanted to fuck him again even then. However, she’d been thwarted at that time as well by the appearance of Patricia W B P Terrier, and the upshot was that he had got away unfucked. Although, she recalled, the evening hadn’t been a total disaster, since both she and Pats had both ended up fucked instead by the dishy and delightful Richard Merryweather.

David continued to pull her collar roughly. She did her best, but crawling nude on all fours was time consuming, tedious, not to say also painful and humiliating. Just as he intended, no doubt. Finally, they reached the long basement corridor which marked the approach to The Box Room, or, as the official school maps politely termed it, ‘Exercise.’

She squinted into the distance. Uh huh, she thought. She could just see two figures walking towards them. When they became closer, she could see that another someone was likewise walking someone else, doggie style. She cringed inside at the humiliation of being discovered like this. Then she realised that the someone else would also be equally humiliated, and that it wasn’t only her problem.

The figures swung into closer focus. She grinned. The someone was indeed Richard Merryweather, and the someone else was Susan Sweet. He was, it appeared, walking The SS, who up until that moment she hadn’t quite grasped also evidently had a severely submissive side to her character.

“Good evening, David,” said Big Dick, in his pleasant baritone voice.

“Good evening, Sir,” replied David, courteously. “May I say how kind of you it was to allow me the remaining half hour of your reservation in The Box Room, and how much we appreciate it?”

He looked down at Grizelda Gutteridge, kicked her side, gently, but indifferently, and added, “Well, I do, anyway, and that’s all that matters right now.”

From the floor, Susan Sweet spoke under her breath, “Bastard,” she said, amiably, and received a stinging blow of Big Dick’s riding crop onto her bare bottom for her trouble.

“Can’t get the staff nowadays,” opined Big Dick.

“Shocking, Sir,” agreed David, “but that’s actually what I’ve arranged for this one later on, anyway.”

Grizzle Guts had no idea what he was talking about.

Big Dick grinned. “I’m sure she won’t enjoy it,” he replied, “any more than this little slut will enjoy the next half-hour hanging around in my study, either. Come along, you, quickly now,” he said, and applied the crop with a will.

“And you as well, bad girl,” growled David, “we have some hard work to do. Or, rather, you do.”

The Box Room was, she knew, simply that. Boxes. Lots and lots of them. All lined up on the walls of the room. One foot cubes, all of them, and all weighing exactly one stone. Fourteen pounds, rather, for anyone born in the United States. The task was to move them from one wall to the other. Tedious, mind bogglingly boring, drudgery. Work for its own sake. Well, she corrected herself, work for punishment’s sake, at least. However the boredom was reduced by the expedient of what was politely called, ‘encouragement.’ Balls weights for the male, tit weights for the female. Attached to the appropriate parts via a ceiling pulley, so that the victim had to haul the weight around with them as well as moving the boxes. This made it extra hard going when you were having to lift the weight as well against the pull of gravity, so that the stretching on your testicles, or tits, was intense. She knew all this very well, Hell, she’d done her time, times, rather, in The Box Room over the years. She knew that hard labour under sexual stress was a turn on for her, she’d enjoyed it on that previous occasion with David here last year.

“Just like old times, don’t you think, slut?” he suggested, as if reading her thoughts.

“Stand up, Grizzie,” he went on, “whilst I attach your, ‘encouragement.’ I think four pounds will do. For now.

She shuddered whilst he proceeded to attach the slings to her tits. There was a blessed relief for a moment when he removed the crocodile tit clips in order affix the slings, however he promptly put the clips back again afterwards, and so the relief was short lived. Somehow he managed to fondle her tits whilst he attached the slings, fuck him.

Then, when everything was ready, he took the crop and whapped it smartly across her bottom.

“Oww,” she gasped, with the sudden sting, also feeling the sexual imperative shoot straight between her legs again like a lightning jolt.

“A dozen boxes, bad girl,” he snapped, “go to it.”

She started her work. It was hard going. She gasped and strained against the tit weights each time, and each time she slowed down, he cropped her bottom again. The dozen boxes were finally moved.

“I was checking your time, Grizzie,” he said, “and it was fairly dreadful.”

She nodded, mutely. He smiled, maliciously. “Better try again, then?” He cropped her bottom smartly.

“Owwww,” she gasped, “can’t we just fuck, Sir?” she pleaded, and promptly received another two strokes of the crop across each buttock.

“Cheeky slut,” he growled, “now get going on your next dozen boxes.”

She was gasping now. Then it was another dozen. Then another. Her vision was wavering. All her world was endless boxes, and the stinging crop which accompanied them. Finally she couldn’t take any more. Her legs keeled over. She sagged, totally spent, down onto the floor.

He waited, patiently, until she raised her head. “Enough,” he said, “I shall let you off lightly this evening.”

She was relieved. She remembered how in previous sessions over the years, Sileas Crabbe, to name but one, had simply waited for her to recover a little, and then had her stand straight up again for another dozen boxes. Dear Sileas, she thought, it was such fun playing with him.

David removed the crocodile slips and the leather slings from her tits.

“Oh, ” she moaned, with relief, “, thank you, Sir.”

He bent down and massaged both nipples between his fingers and thumbs. “Gets the circulation going again,” he opined, with a wide grin, “and, of course, nice for me, too.”

She moaned again, almost cumming on the spot.

“However,” he continued, “you do now have to crawl back to the study wing. Get going, Grizzie.”

She dragged herself up to a crawling position, and crawled towards the door, the leash trailing behind her. He kicked the skirting board, which doused the room’s arc lights. He picked up the trailing leash, and then walked ahead of her, pulling on her collar again. He still cropped her bottom whenever she slowed at all.

Finally, they reached the prefects’ study wing again. It was tough going, up the flights of stairs. Not far now, not far, she thought, as she crawled along her own corridor floor, However, he didn’t stop at her study. Instead they continued to Sammy Fuck Me Harder Terrier’s.

Uh huh, she thought. The attraction was, she suspected, Samantha F M H Terrier’s Riding Bench. She expected that he’d want to exact his revenge from their first session this week, and fuck her tied down onto it.

The study door was open wide. Odd, that, she thought, with Sammy still being away. The explanation was the School Nurse, Kristina Russia, sitting on the settee, waiting patiently for them.

“I was beginning to wonder where you’d got to, Shagger,” she said, “but I can see the reason now. It does take rather longer crawling, of course.”

He smiled. “My apologies, naturally, Ma’am,” he replied, “but thank you so much for your assistance at this late hour, Ma’am,” he said, “we appreciate it.” Another kick. “Don’t we, slut?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, Ma’am, we certainly do,” she said, quickly, whilst wondering what assistance she was thanking her for was.

Nurse Crusher sniggered.

“Up on The Riding Bench with you, Grizzie,” he said, sternly, and pointing the crop at her, “NOW.”

Her muscles obeyed before she had time to even think about objecting. He and Kristina Russia strapped her down tightly. Head up, arms held straight downwards, legs spread wide. From seemingly nowhere, a box of tricks appeared with various electrical leads. OMG, no, thought Grizzle Guts to herself, not electrical torture, surely? However there wasn’t any doubt about it when she felt two more crocodile clips, this time with wires on them, being clipped onto her nipples. Then it was another electrode being inserted into her most tender private place.

“Uhhhhhhhh,” she gasped, as she was fucked by the electrode.

“Smooth metal, of course, but with, I see, some nice spikes,” he mused, “sounds nice and painful to a cunt. Just as well it’s so wet down there, of course, isn’t that right, Ma’am?”

Kristina Russia nodded.

Now Nurse Crusher and David were talking to each other, speaking as if she wasn’t there. It was so incredibly, well, humiliating. She was, of course, merely the victim, and therefore of no account whatsoever.

“Quite right, Shagger,” said Nurse Crusher. “Now, there can be no resistance to this torture, err, method of interrogation,” she went on, “and its operation is straightforward, as I’m sure you well remember, you bad boy...” She saw him shudder slightly.

“I do indeed, Ma’am,” he replied.

“However the set-up requires some experience with where to place the electrodes properly onto a naughty girl for best effect. So I’ve positioned them nicely for you, and, of course, you can do it for yourself next time. Now, Shagger, look closely at the control box.”

She stood next to him, and held the box up. He put his arm around her waist.

“Lower down, Shagger,” she said, with a slight smile.

He dropped his arm down, and groped her white micro skirt.

She smiled again. “This here is the intensity control...” she pointed to something, “...and this slider switch there, well, that’s gives pain to the left, and pleasure to the right. Oh, and this knob here is the orgasm inhibitor. You can set it either to tease or to cum, as you wish. There are several other controls, but I doubt that you’ll need them on this session, somehow, at least judging by the state of this one’s cunt. You must have been treating it very badly indeed, of course. Now have fun, Shagger, and let me have this stuff back tomorrow.”

With that, she turned towards him, rubbed her tits against his chest, and kissed him fully on the lips. Nurse Crusher giggled. “I shall look forward to some more of that another time, you naughty little boy,” she said, with obvious approval.

He took the control box from her. Nurse Crusher stroked his cheek, waved, and walked silently out of the study, closing the door softly behind her. Now they were on their own again. He looked down at her.

“You heard the Lady,” he said, softly, “pain, it is, but pleasure, it could be. The choice is yours.” He turned the control slowly.

Gradually, she became aware of a strange sensation in her cunt, something which she’d never experienced before. It was like well, like nothing she could relate to. Gently, though, and at first teasingly, it increased. A rhythmic, sexual stimulation which was unbelievably erotic. And then it became painfully erotic as he turned it up higher.

“Are you going to tell me that name now?” he asked, ominously.

She gritted her teeth and shook her head. “No, ” she moaned. The electrical stimulation in her cunt became more intense. Another shake of the head. “Noo, ” she gasped. The current increased again. “Nooo, ” she gasped. Another tweak. “Noooo, ” she moaned. She arched her head back. She gritted her teeth, and thought of England. There was no defence, as the nurse had said. She shivered. She shook. The current seared straight into her nerves, and then straight into her brain.

After an eternity of this sexual torment, perhaps five minutes in all, she decided that she couldn’t take any more pain.

“Dominetta, Sir!” she shrieked, “Dominetta is my other name!”

The pain stopped instantly. She sagged against her bonds. Finally her breathing settled down a little.

Then she said, wonderingly, “You knew, didn’t you, you bastard, you bastard Sir, I mean, you knew all along?”

He winked at her. “Certainly I knew, bad girl,” he replied, “no point in having an interrogation session when you don’t already know the answers, is there?” which thoroughly confused her, the logic was so back to front, somehow.

Then, “How DID you know, Sir?” she asked, when her breathing had settled down some more.

“Silly girl,” he replied, “I looked at your school records yesterday.”

She gaped at him. School records were confidential, she had thought. Then she sighed. Of course, nothing is secret from the secretary. The guardian of the secrets, that was what the word meant, after all.

“The SS?” she opined, sourly.

“Naturally,” he confirmed. “Susie Sweet is very, err, accommodating in such matters to me.”

She grunted, and said nothing. Susie Sweet was, she knew, very accommodating to him in various other matters as well, rot her knickers.

“However,” he said, “now that I, finally, have the information that I wanted from you, we can move you onto, well, more pleasurable things.”

Now she felt the sexual stimulation again, but this time it was sheer pleasure.

“You’ll be relieved to know that I’m not going to use the orgasm inhibitor on you this evening,” he said.

She was, indeed, very relieved. The one single thing that she wanted to do right now was to cum. In seconds, she did exactly that. “Uhhhhh,” she moaned, “oh, yes, Sir, yes, yes.”

The stimulation stopped. He waited until her writhings had ceased. Then he started the stimulation again. Twenty seconds later, she had another cum.

“Uhhhhhhhhh, fuck, fuck, yes, yes,” she moaned. Now she began to understand what it might feel like to be fucked senseless. She had her third cum, fourth cum, fifth cum, sixth cum, each one more intense than the previous one. “No more, Sir,” she begged, “I can’t take any more, ” She fainted.

When she regained consciousness, he’d already switched off the machine and extracted the electrode from her most intimate area. The crocodile clips on her tits had likewise vanished. She had never, she considered, ever, felt so utterly spent and exhausted as she was now feeling. Every muscle, every sinew in her body was quivering gently to itself, and she had no strength left to speak of. She was in a state of sexual afterglow of proportions hitherto unknown to her.

She dimly became aware that she was all at once untied from The Riding Bench, and that someone’s arms underneath her limp body were lifting her from it. She half opened an eye. It was David, of course, silly girl, she thought to herself, who else could it be? She expected him to carry her back to her own study, but in fact he carried her only a few feet, and then laid her gently down on Samantha Terrier’s bed, which was somehow already magically open, and all at once inviting.

She stiffened slightly at this. “David, David, my love,” she said, “surely we can’t sleep here tonight, not in Sammy’s bed? She’s due back at school tomorrow morning. What would she do if she finds us in her bed, together?”

He grinned at her. “Nothing, my love,” he replied, stroking her cheek, “except possibly to take some pretty pics.” He sniggered, and went on, “I fear that it wouldn't be the first time she arrived back to find me in her bed with another girl prefect, you know?”

She nodded her head. Undoubtedly, it was true. “Lucky bastard,” she whispered. Then, “Who was the lucky girl, by the way? Was it Randy Mandy?”

He shook his head. “If you really must know,” he replied, “it was The Ice Queen.”

She digested this revelation silently. Kirstin Eis, of course, she should have realised, The lovely, statuesque, Teutonic girl who fancied herself as the self-styled Sex Slut of St Stricktlands School. She realised that he was speaking again.

“Not a problem, really. However, right, now, you look rather the worse of wear, I’m afraid. Perhaps a night of sleep rather than passion might be best, don’t you think?”

She did think, but not very much. She was simply too tired to do much thinking. She wasn’t really aware that she’d agreed. She simply drifted off into sleep, within a matter of seconds.

During the night, she had some very odd dreams. At first, she was at a zoo, nude, and in an animal cage. She was tied down with her legs spread. There was a lot of penetration going on, and the fucking was being performed by a long line of naked and bound male prefects each taking it in turn to sample her cunt. However, as dreams seem to change of their own accord, somehow it seemed that she was tied down on a factory floor with all manner of men wanking over her, and then spunking over her. What was even more odd was that she was enjoying it immensely, and offering them the Queen’s Award for Industry, together with marks out of twelve.

Gradually these erotic dreams all subsided, and were replaced by a vague awareness that she wasn’t in her own study. Another few minutes went by whilst she tried to remember where she was, and how she’d got here? And then, finally, she remembered she was in bed in Sammy Terrier’s study together with David Shagton. And what was more, as she cast her mind back over the events of the previous evening, she’d been very well fucked, even if the fuck hadn’t been physically from him. She held that thought for a second. Did dirty David definitely deserve some proper punishment for her pain and pleasure, even if he hadn’t actually penetrated her personally? Oh yes, she thought, men and boys, they always deserved to be caned for the privilege of messing around with cunt.

She struggled slowly out of bed, leaving him lying there asleep. Good, she thought, he was lying on his front. Carefully, she drew back the bedclothes leaving his back and bottom exposed. Then she walked, slightly unsteadily, across to the study back wall and surveyed her available instruments of punishment. She frowned. Which one had the naughty boy said was Sammy Terrier’s favourite cane? Ah, yes, she thought, there it was, a really evil looking four footer. She picked it up and flexed up between her hands. Tasty, very, very, tasty, she thought to herself. She walked back to the bed and took carefully aim. Then she swished it straight downwards onto his bare bottom. The effect was startling.

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“Ayeee,” he yelled, as he awoke abruptly to the sudden stinging pain of a Sex Thrashing cane stroke, “what the FUCK!”

She grinned slightly. “Bad boy,” she said, sternly, “one more whack for such vulgarity. So we will start again, then.”

Now he looked up at her. She tapped his back with the cane. “Please, Ma’am,” he said, woodenly, “what am I being punished for?”

She shook her head. “Questions, questions, bad boy,” she replied, “always questions. You know about questions, don’t you?”

He grimaced. He must know by now that at St Stricktlands School, any question at all was highly likely to be determined to be a stupid one, and punished accordingly, either for ignorance or impudence or cheek, or all of those things. “Sorry, Ma’am,” he whispered.

She tapped his bottom. “However,” she went on, “in answer to your impertinent question, the fact of the matter is that you are presently receiving a three stroke Sex Thrashing for enjoying my, well, pain and pleasure last night.”

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“Ow,” he gasped, “one, Ma’am, thank you, Ma’am.”

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“Owee, two, thank you, Ma’am.”

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“Yeeoow, three, thank you, Ma’am,” he gasped, wiggling his caned bottom. Then he added, “Thank you for caning my bare bottom, Ma’am, I know it was very naughty indeed of me to enjoy administering all that, err, attention to you yesterday evening.

She sniffed, she hoped, sexily. “So I should think, bad boy,” she said, sternly, “and you will now suffer a further six whacks.”

He turned his head and looked up at her again, wonderingly.

Wondering, she thought, what on earth he could have done to merit a further six whacks? “These are your Sex Thrashing for this morning,” she said, “Six for Sex, bad boy. An extremely lenient punishment, I think you’ll agree?”

He nodded, and sighed. “Very lenient indeed, Ma’am,” he confirmed, “as you know I am firmly of the opinion that your, err, cunt is worth a full two dozen whacks, and so Six for Sex is extremely lenient for such a bad boy like me.”

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“Ahhhhhh, one, Ma’am,” he said

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“Ohhhhhhh, ohh, .two, Ma’am.”

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“Uhhhhhhhhh, uhhhh, three, Ma’am.”

She thought that she’d angle stroke four onto a previous red mark.

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“Oweeeeeeeee, .yeeeee, eee, eee,” he gasped. Clearly, she thought, she’d hit the spot there all right. “Four, oh, four, thank you, Ma’am,” he said.

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“Owwwwwwwww, .owwwww, .oww, five, thank you, Ma’am, I do so love you, Ma’am.”

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“Aghhhhhhhhhhhhh, .ahhhhh, ahhh, ahh, six, six…ahh, thank you so much for my lenient Sex Thrashing, Ma’am,” he gasped, “please feel free to give me more another time.”

He rolled over and looked up, painfully, at her. He was already showing the beginnings of an erection, and after a few seconds more it was fairly obvious that he was well on his way. In order to encourage him, she poked the end of the cane into his bare balls. “Uhhhhhhhhh,” he moaned, whilst his penis responded to the jab by raising itself into the air, now nearly fully erect.

She dropped the cane onto the floor and sat astride his erection, facing him, rubbing it with her bare bottom, watching him, teasing him, teasing his penis with the touch of her bottom against it, whilst at the same time allowing him a grandstand view of her cunt. She leaned forward, raising her bottom off his penis, and grabbed both his arms, which she pinned above his head.

“What a bad, bad, BAD boy we are, aren’t we?” Pause. Then she added, “At least I certainly hope so, otherwise I’m wasting my time here.”

He grinned at her. “Yes, Ma’am,” he responded, “I’m a very bad boy indeed, that’s what people are always telling me, so it must be true.”

She smirked, and said, “You mean that’s what strict Ladies are always telling you, you mean, don’t you?”

He blushed slightly. “A bit like that,” he replied, lamely, and with an obvious touch of guilt in his voice.

She lowered her cunt onto his erection, and nuzzled it, knowing that the feel of her cunt hair against it would drive him wild. Then she bit his neck, hard.

“A little love bite or two won’t be out of place,” she said, to which he responded with a simple, “No, Ma’am, thank you, Ma’am.”

Now she felt that it was high time she got herself properly fucked. She glanced up at the wall clock. 6.30am, it was. Hell, there wasn’t a great deal of time left. She let go of his left arm, and with her right arm she groped underneath until she located his erection, which she put into place up against her cunt. Then she thrust downwards until it just slipped against her vagina lips. He lay there with an ecstatic expression on his face. Smiling to herself, she fucked him slowly, each stroke of the fuck penetrating her cunt a little more until it was fully inside. Then she kissed him, hard, on the lips. Longingly and lovingly.

After several minutes of mutual pleasure, he rolled her over. “I think I should do some work now,” he whispered.

“Nice work if you can get it,” she replied.

He kissed her again and started to fuck her, slowly, rhythmically, each stroke of the fuck bringing her new waves of simple sexual satisfaction and pure pleasure. Minutes later, he came in her cunt, spunking her strongly, and tipping her over the edge in the process. He kissed her hard, and bit her lips as they both came together in each other’s arms.

Finally, he extracted his spent penis from inside her, and stood up, stretching. “Now then, my love,” he said, sitting down on the bed, and stroking her cheek, “to business, now.”

Business, she thought, confused. What had business to do with anything? He smiled.

“Not business in that sense,” he said, “but in administration. Bren and I worked out your new ID yesterday...”

New ID, she thought, wildly, what the fuck was the boy on about?

He sighed. "...if you listen, you’ll learn,” he went on, “but first of all, do tell me how it came about that you ended up with that unusual other name. Not exactly a common one, I have to agree.”

She smiled. “My father, Archibald, you know...” he nodded, “...well of course you know, you’ve caned him, as you told me, had, well, has, I suppose, various escapist fantasies.”

He simply looked at her. He didn’t need to say, ‘And you don’t?’ since the wordless accusation was transmitted across to her quite clearly.

“Well, all right,” she went on, petulantly, “so we all have various escapist fantasies, but what I mean is, his were from James Bond. You know, the old retro Ian Fleming stories from the 1960’s?” He nodded again. “Thunderball, I think this one was,” she continued. “The heroine was called Dominetta¹ Vitali, known as Domino.” Pause. “Mother hated it and refused to use it. I think that it reminded her of draughts, or chequers, somehow.”

He laughed. “I kind of agree,” he replied, “but the result is that you ended up with Grizelda, and, of course, Grizzle Guts, and missing a trick, you know?”

She furrowed her brow. “How, I mean, how, Sir?”

He smiled and touched her cheek again. “You don’t have to, ‘Sir,’ me now,” he said, “I’m not playing Dom at you. But that, of course, is the point right now. Dominetta could be shortened to Domme, couldn’t it? What a simply glorious name for a Dominant young Lady like you?”

She put her hand to her mouth, and blushed. She’d never thought of that one before. Domme. It did have a certain ring to it.

He went on. “So that is that, then. With your glorious conversion back into the human race over the past few days, with your very public penances last night to all your peers in the upper 6th form...” He stopped for a moment, and changed tack, “...you must have been pretty determined to go through with it, you know?”

She thought that it was her mind that had been pretty determined, but maybe it had been in a good cause.

“...letting everyone work off their past grievances, that should enable you to start off with the slate clean, well, a lot cleaner than it was, at least.” He winked at her. “Also,” he went on, “I might add, the best fucks I’ve had for a fortnight, my dearest Dominetta.”

She was startled at hearing the name that she forgot to call him an arrogant bastard. Dominetta. Somehow it felt right, though it was going to take her a while before she got used to it even in her own thoughts.

He stood up. Then he slowly lifted her up as well standing her up by the bed side. Disappearing into the shower room, he promptly returned with one of Sammy Terrier’s bathrobes.

“Kelly Morgan will be here momentarily, and so I recommend you beat a hasty retreat...” Suddenly he looked stern, adding “...unless you want it beaten for you, of course?” He smiled. “Anyway, your own fags will be awaiting your orders, Ma’am,” he said, suddenly respectfully, as befitted a lowly senior fag once again. “And,” he continued, “I might add, a most sincere, ‘thank you,’ for a rather, err, wonderful week with a difference.”

She sighed, put on the robe, and kissed him again. Then she blushed. “I really think I ought to be the one thanking you...” but was stopped short by a finger placed across her lips.

“Enough,” he said, “all part of the service. Now I do cordially suggest that you disappear, dearest Dominetta.” He smacked her smartly on the bottom, a gesture not entirely expected of a lowly lower 6th form senior fag to an upper 6th form prefect, however she simply squealed slightly, enjoying it to the full, and flounced out of the study, with both her head and her heart singing silently.

She walked slowly down the corridor. A yawning Randy Mandy appeared from a doorway holding a jug of something as she passed by.

“Morning, Domme,” she said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to say.

Once again, she was slightly startled. Had the magical transformation already taken place? It certainly seemed so. “Morning Mandy,” she replied.

“A good night?” Randy Mandy responded with a wide grin whilst her hand rubbed her cunt.

“Fucking good,” she replied, “as always.” and then added, politely, “and you?”

She smiled back. “Fucking good, too, thanks,” she replied. Amanda Holdall went her way.

Soon, she reached her own study, and squinted at the door. She noticed immediately that the magical transformation had indeed somehow taken place, because the name on the door now read Dominetta Gutteridge. She opened it and walked inside. There she saw both her fags, hard at work.

They stopped the instant they saw her, and curtseyed, of course. “Good morning, Ma’am,” they both said, in unison.

She suddenly felt her mind talking to her brain again. She closed her eyes for an instant, hoping against hope that it wasn’t going to tell her to do what she was suddenly desperately afraid that it was going to tell her. Alas, it was quite clearly telling her to do exactly that. For an instant she was minded to rebel, to tell it to go fuck itself, but she rather thought that it would simply get its own way in the end, so she might as well give in gracefully.

Sighing slightly, she walked to the rear wall of her own study, which, like most studies, was covered with a tasteful array of punishment instruments. She selected a suitable four footer, very similar, in fact, she thought, suddenly, to the one which Sammy Terrier enjoyed using most. Maybe she and her were more similar than she had imagined, after all? She swished it up and down several times. Both fags looked at each other. It was, after all, nothing unusual for them to get a punishment beating from Grizzle Guts for no particular good reason apart from the fact that she felt like caning someone. However, she walked up to Brenda Smith.

“Missus,” she said, slowly, “I’m aware that I haven’t been, err, terribly nice to you over the past nine months or so..” she stopped for a minute.

Brenda Smith said nothing. She simply nodded ever so slightly.

Domme had to agree that in her place she probably wouldn’t have said anything either, “... and so, with the, various... err, changes which, err, you and, David have made... for my benefit, I do need to get one more thing, resolved.” Domme was aware that she was prevaricating. Trying to put off the moment when she would have to, finally, come clean. She made a final mental resolve.

“Brenda,” she said, “I saw, a few weeks ago, here in this study, an example of your excellence with the punishment cane. I would now like you to use that excellence, and give me what I deserve. Six of the very best, please, on my bare bottom.”

Total silence from Missus. Karen Eis was standing with her mouth open.

She handed Missus the cane, and turned to The Ice Maiden. “Dismissed, Eis,” she said, “report back here at the usual time this afternoon." Then her mind kicked her again even as she spoke. Sighing, she said to Karen Eis, “Oh, damn it, you can stay and watch, Karen.”

The Ice Maiden smiled very thinly and still said nothing, but she was clearly very happy. Domme could see it plainly in her eyes.

Meantime Missus had switched. “I am going to punish you now, as instructed,” she said in that oh, so Dominant voice which she had somehow so successfully cultivated, “you will be caned, soundly, with this fine instrument of punishment. You will count each stroke, and at the end you will say, ‘thank you,’ for the caning. Do you understand me, bad girl?”

Domme shivered. “Yes, Ma’am,” she replied, “thank you Ma’am.”

In that instant she had been catapulted mentally back to her own days in the lower 6th form, to the time when she herself got the cane from her own fagmistress several times each week.

Missus swished the cane through the empty air. Domme shuddered. “Take that robe off this instant,” Missus commanded, “and then bend over, bad girl.”

OMG, she was going to be caned nude, and in front of Karen Eis, too! With another shudder, she obeyed. It was somehow impossible not to obey Missus, not when she held that cane in her hand.

“Dear me,” said Brenda Smith, looking her over, and at the residual red marks from the previous evening which adorned her tits, back, and bottom, “you HAVE been in the wars, bad girl.”

Domme shuddered as she recalled her experiences. “I was just, err, resolving a few, err, issues with my classmates,” she said, lamely.

“Glad to hear it, bad girl,” replied Missus, and tapped her on the bottom, meaningfully.

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“One, Ma’am,” said Domme, flatly.

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Two, Ma’am,” she said, this time gritting her teeth, hard.

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“Ow,” she said. Damn Missus. She’d hoped to get to four whacks without crying out, but, like David, Missus really did know how to lay on the cane. She looked up. Karen Eis was smiling at her, rot her knickers. Silence.

“I didn’t hear a count,” said Missus, coldly, “and so we will repeat that whack, bad, girl.”

Her heart fluttered. She’d missed the cane count. How many times had she done that over her years? A plethora of canings past obligingly whirled out from her memory. “No,” she said, foolishly.

Missus tapped her on the bottom with the cane with evident deliberation. “No, it is indeed then, bad girl,” she said, “in which case we will start again. From the very beginning. Best punishment practice. As my fagmistress has, I recall, told me on several occasions.”

Domme also recalled saying that to her. Certainly she had also pulled that trick on countless bad boys and girls over her year as prefect, and enjoyed it every time, too.

The Ice Maiden sniggered. No doubt she’d done it to her, too.

“Yes, Ma’am,” she said, contritely, “sorry, Ma’am. Please start again, Ma’am.”

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“Owww, one, Ma’am.”

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“Ahhhhhh, two, Ma’am.”

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“Ohhhhhhh, three, Ma’am.”

Missus ran the cane gently over her bottom. Damn her. Missus certainly knew all the tricks. No doubt she learned a few from her, too, over the past year. She cringed at the touch, knowing that there still another three whacks to follow. She looked at Karen Eis but spoke to Brenda Smith. “Please, Ma’am,” she whispered, at her mind’s insistence, “please be hard with me.”

Dimly she heard Missus’ reply, “Certainly, bad girl, my pleasure, of course.”

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“Aghhhhhhh, ahhh,” she gasped, amazed at how hard Missus could land a cane stroke. Then she remembered the cane count, “Four, Ma’am,” she said, quickly.

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“Ayeeeeeeeee,” she wailed, “Five, Ma’am.” Now she hoped to goodness that Missus would land the remaining whack quickly. “Thank you so much, Ma’am,” she said. Then she held her breath, and waited for the worst.

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“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh,” she cried, in the pain and relief that the whacking was now complete. “Six, Ma’am.”

Domme took a deep breath. "Please Ma’am,” she said, quickly, before Missus decided to repeat the whole caning all over again, “thank you for caning my bare bottom, Ma’am. I know I’ve been a really horrid girl, and that I deserved to be beaten by you, and that I deserved every single stroke of it,” she ended with a half-sob. She looked up at Karen Eis. “I’m sorry that I’ve been hard on you, too, of course, Karen,” she muttered, “I suppose I should be grateful that you don’t know how to use a cane, otherwise I’d be in real trouble right now.”

Karen Eis smiled, or, rather, her mouth did. Her eyes didn’t. Domme shivered suddenly. She knew without any doubt that she was seeing a facial expression which said Vengeance, and spelled with a capital V.

“Oh, but I can, Ma’am,” The Ice Maiden replied, mildly.

“You can?” asked Domme, thunderstruck, “but how, I mean, where, when?” She turned and looked up at Missus, who she could plainly see was equally shocked at this unexpected revelation.

The Ice Maiden looked very smug. “My big sister taught me a few months ago, you see.”

Her big sister was, she knew very well, the aforementioned Kirstin Eis, prefect.

The Ice Maiden continued, happily, “as you no doubt know, my big sister can be, err… very, very submissive on occasion, and she told me last term that she rather enjoyed the thought of being punished by her younger sister. So she taught me how to use the cane, and in fact I use it on her every, err, now and again when she, err, feels the need.” Karen Eis grinned again. “The Sex Slut of St Stricktlands School, I believe she sometimes likes to be known as?” Then, “I don’t know yet whether I want that title when it’s my turn to be prefect. I don’t think that I’m as submissive as she is, but we’ll have to see, of course.”

A short silence.

“Well,” she heard Missus say, from somewhere behind her, “now I’ve heard everything.” Then, “here you are, Karen,” said Brenda Smith, “you’d best have this.” The cane appeared in Karen Eis’s hand. “I suggest another six of the best would be appropriate, don’t you?” said Missus.

Karen Eis nodded, her eyes gleaming.

Domme shivered again, this time with both anticipation and fear. However the humiliation factor in being caned by her own junior fag was something which her mind was suddenly savouring, and so she remained solidly in position.

“Please be hard with me, then, Ma’am,” she heard herself saying again, as Karen Eis disappeared out of her field of vision.

Missus appeared at her head. “I fear you’ve only yourself to blame for this, bad girl,” she said.

Domme nodded. “Yes, indeed, Ma’am,” she replied, gravely.

“I am going to cane you good and hard, then,” she heard The Ice Maiden say, “and you deserve every whack of it.”

Her mind agreed that Karen Eis was quite correct, of course. “Yes, Ma’am,” she replied, suddenly struck again by the supreme irony of having to address a fourteen year old girl, her own junior fag, as, ‘Ma’am,’ whilst bending over and awaiting a hard caning from her.

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“Owwww,” she gasped. OMG, how it hurt. Of course, her bottom had just taken nine whacks off Missus, whose caning technique was, she knew, of the highest order, so this was, in effect, stroke ten. She forced herself to speak calmly. “One, Ma’am,” she said, “thank you, Ma’am.” From behind her, she heard The Ice Maiden giggle.

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“Ohhhhhhh, ohhh, two, thank you, Ma’am,” she gasped. It was clear to her that The Ice Maiden was no slouch herself when it came to caning bare bottoms.

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“Ahhhhhhhhh, .thank you, thank you, Ma’am, .three, Ma’am,” she gasped.

Missus was looking levelly into her eyes, and was smiling slightly now, that all knowing, intensely irritating smirk that she so often used to encounter when being caned in front of the class. David had used it on her only yesterday, the superior smirk which now seemed to be saying, ‘isn’t it SO embarrassing having to bend over like this and get beaten on the bare bum with me watching you get it?’ She shivered.

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“Yeeeeee, owwww,” she gasped, “Oh, Ma’am,” she said, acutely aware that she was talking to a 3rd former, “it stings so much, Ma’am.”

The Ice Maiden’s voice floated down to her. “It’s supposed to sting, bad girl,” it said, “that’s the whole point of a punishment caning. As my own fagmistress has told me on many occasions over the past year, of course.

She shuddered again at this latest reference to herself. “Four, thank you, Ma’am,” she said, quickly.

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“Ouch, ouch, owww,” she said, gritting her teeth with the pain, “five, thank you, Ma’am.”

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“Ahhhhhhhh, ahh, six, oh, six, thank you, Ma’am,” she said to The Ice Maiden, “thank you for caning me, Ma’am, I know I’ve been so horrid to you as well, and I deserved to be thoroughly beaten for it.”

Missus smiled at her again, however this time it wasn’t one of malice, but, rather, a gesture of sympathy.

Domme heard The Ice Maiden sigh. “All right, bad girl,” she said, “you can stand up now. No rubbing, of course.”

Sod the little bitch, she thought.

Missus added, “And, I suggest, take a good shower. I fear you’ve been doing all sorts of things that only very naughty big girls do, and, I’m sorry to say, it does rather look like it.”

Domme blushed at this very tactful reference to sex in the presence of The Ice Maiden. She stood up, gratefully, not daring to touch her caned bottom, and smiled at Missus behind what were real tears. She walked into her shower room, feeling two sets of eyes following her every step, and fighting back a sudden screaming urge to rub herself where she shouldn’t.

Domme showered, and used the opportunity to rub herself rather a lot where she shouldn’t. She ran her other hand very gently over her caned bottom as she did so. It felt so good. A quick finger inside and a nice little tickle. “Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh,” she moaned, gently. She finally emerged, and found Brenda Smith was standing there silently holding a towel. She wondered if Missus had heard her playing with herself. Most likely she had, she thought, and then decided that it didn’t matter. Lots of girls played with themselves, after all, hell, probably Missus did, too. She’d have to ask her sometime.

Brenda Smith dried her all over, very gently on her caned bottom They walked back into the study together, and The Ice Maiden had laid out some clean clothes for her on the bed. She’d also replaced the cane to its position on the wall and was clearly back into submissive mode as her junior fag. Karen Eis herself was wiping down the study table.

“You may go, Karen,” she said, “report this afternoon as usual.”

The Ice Maiden replied, “Yes, Ma’am,” then curtseyed politely, hung up her apron, and scampered out of the study, with, Domme thought, sourly, the story of a lifetime to tell.

Domme sighed and dressed, slowly, taking great care to ease her knickers carefully across her thoroughly caned bottom. Then she walked up to Missus.

“Give me a hug, will you, if you can bring yourself to do it, of course.”

Missus did. Both girls hugged each other. “Of course,” said Domme, huskily, “you understand that you’re still senior fag for the rest of this term, and that means you’re still going to get caned on regular occasions. However I can tell you that your punishment regime under Domme will not be nearly as harsh as it was under Grizzle Guts.”

Missus smiled slightly. “Thank you, Ma’am,” she replied, “I really do appreciate that. I can’t say that the last nine months have exactly been the happiest days of my life?”

Domme blushed slightly. Nine months of living hell would probably be nearly the mark, of course. She realised Missus was speaking again.

“I do have one other thing to mention to you, Ma’am. You may, or may not, know that, next term, I have arranged for David to spend every Monday night with his good friend Shirley Greene.”

Domme was shocked all over again. She had heard the rumours to that effect, but had discounted it as fiction. Apparently it wasn’t fiction, then?

Brenda Smith went on. “And that being the case, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get the system bedded down now.” She grinned and added, “Of course, ‘bedded,’ being the operative word.”

Domme looked at her. “But surely he can’t fuck The Green Goddess until next term?”

Missus giggled. “No, Ma’am,” she replied, “that’s exactly it. That’s why I am offering David to you every Monday night for the rest of this term, if you’d like him, of course?” she lowered her eyes, modestly.

Domme was silent for a second. She swallowed. “Are you sure, Missus?” she asked.

Brenda Smith nodded.

“Well,” said Domme, “err, yes, I mean, yes please, I certainly accept. But has David agreed to this?”

Missus’ eyes danced. “David doesn’t get a vote,” she answered, “it is my decision to whom I choose to loan him to for this arrangement. But I promise you, he’d say yes if he were asked. He is very fond of you, you know.” She gestured, suddenly, towards to the table. “Here,” she said, “have a look at this, Ma’am.”

Domme looked. There was a note there, which certainly hadn’t been there when she’d gone into the shower. And on top of it were three red roses. Wonderingly, she picked up the note.

To my dearest Dominetta - May I thank you kindly for all your time, effort and energy expended over me over the past week. I hope that I have learned a lot and that I have been of good service to you.

Yours respectfully and most sincerely,
And with all my love,
David Shagton
xxx

Domme was almost overcome with sudden emotion. “I can’t even begin, ” she said, but was stopped by another hug from Missus. “I can’t eat right now,” Domme went on, “I need some fresh air.”

Missus nodded. “I’ll just tidy up, then, Ma’am,” she said.

Domme replied to her, “And take the rest of the day off, will you?”

To which Missus smiled. “Thank you, Ma’am,” she said, “I’ll see you at 7am tomorrow morning then.”

Domme felt somehow as if another invisible load had had removed from her shoulders. She walked out of her study door almost light-headed.

She stepped out of her study whilst the early Sunday morning sun shone brightly, for once illuminating the long dark corridors of the school just a little. Even though it was a Sunday, she could still hear the continual sounds of caning coming from all sides. Caning was never far away at St Stricktlands School, the process of learning was a continuous one, seven days a week. In the prefects’ study wing, at this time of day there were always fags being caned. She counted four different canings in progress as she walked the length of her own corridor alone. With her own recently caned bottom still smarting, she walked in that curiously humiliating gait that all men and Ladies, and boys and girls, do when they’ve just been punished that says to the world, ‘I’ve just had my bottom caned.’ Ruefully she rubbed her own bottom, grateful that as a prefect there was nobody to add to the punishment for doing that. An ordinary pupil would have received extra strokes on the spot for rubbing their caned bottom in public.

She walked past some of the school classrooms. Even though it was a Sunday morning, and hence most classrooms were empty, there were still one or two in use, most probably, she thought, special detention classes, or form detentions of some description. The sounds of caning emanated from all these, coupled with the calls and cries of those whose beaten bare bottoms were being chastised for their crimes. St Stricktlands School was, Grizelda thought, a really great institution. A few more of them, and the national crime rate would plummet, petty theft, muggings, pilfering, oh, so many of the present day ills of society would simply vanish like the morning mist.

As she walked into the main school entrance hall, a figure in running gear entered the main door. It was Lisa McFee-Sven-Sless, looking her usual athletically trim self.

“Morning, Domme,” she said, “I take it everything has gone OK for you?”

Dominetta Gutteridge blushed. “Yes, Lisa,” she replied, “everything, and far better than perfect. I’d like to thank...”

But Fuck Me Senseless simply raised a hand and smiled, “No charge,” she said, and resumed her gait along the corridors.

Domme thought for an instant that she saw another shadowy figure behind her, but when she turned, it was gone. Maybe it had been one of the many school ghosts, she thought to herself? She felt, somehow, cleansed for her sins. Caning was always a great atonement, of course. She might even pop into the school chapel a little later on for the 10am service to give thanks for her deliverance, and for a wholly new perspective on life. Of course, the chapel seats would be sheer hell for the hour long service, they were hard at the best of times, but with a recently caned bottom, as she knew to her cost from occasions like this in her own past, they were really painful. However, she told herself, it was all in a good cause.

She sighed. It was so good to have a de facto, if not de jure, boyfriend, albeit only for the remainder of the summer term, a boy who would be pleased to consider her, cradle her, OK, she admitted, cane her as well on occasion, and, naturally, fuck her like no boy had fucked her in the past. And, of course, she could cane him as well whenever the mood took her. And, naturally, she now felt able to take on the very best, and worst, of the upper 6th form boy prefects, too. Raymond Lee was especially on her, ‘to do,’ list. Plus any other deserving candidates from the lower 6th form as well. She walked out of the main entrance hall. Out here, the sunshine was really bright in the early summer morning.

She suddenly realised that what she’d been through the previous week had been an experience akin to Katherine in Shakespeare’s play, The Taming Of The Shrew². Well, OK, so she’d been tamed. Of a fashion, of course. But the taming had mostly been done to herself by herself. And she reckoned she was a much better person for it. Certainly she expected to be a far happier one. She revelled in her new dawn. Amazing, she thought, she had a new name, and a new nickname to replace the hated Grizzle Guts. She also had several new friends, and a new boyfriend, to boot, if that was what one did to boyfriends. She grinned to herself as she thought of some of the things she could do to him wearing boots. And all of this had somehow come out of a strange desire only a week previously to, ‘sort out the little bastard.’ Somehow, though, it had been her who had been sorted out, rather than him.

Dominetta, Domme, as she now was, blew a kiss to the world.

To be continued……

¹ Dominetta Vitali in the original novel. However, in the 1965 movie, the name was changed to Dominique Derval, since the actress cast was French, not Italian.
² The T O T S, in other words.
³ Preparation, or homework

© Copyright Dave 2009.