Carol looked down at her new slave sandals. Some of the sexiest girls in school wore them, and her mother had finally submitted to buying her a pair, even though they were more expensive than the ugly, clumpy sandals she usually wore. The thing about the slave sandals was the way the straps crossed behind the ankles, then came once more around, up the calf, and buckled at the side. This, and the way they held her toes and crossed over the top of her foot was what made them sexy. The first day wearing them had been hard, but this second day, it was slightly easier. You couldn't just slip out of them if they were rubbing, hurting; once you buckled them on in the morning, that was it - they stayed on until you got home. And Carol always had to walk home. It was two miles.

The first morning, Carol had worn the straps loose, but by the time she had reached school the sandals were killing her feet. Such was the arrangement of the straps, they just seemed to hang on and rub even harder, always pulling at the ankles, making their presence felt. They were impossible to escape, or forget you were wearing them. The girl sitting in the next desk at first spell, Amber, could obviously see the pain Carol was in, as her feet wriggled and writhed beneath her desk, trying in vain to find a comfortable position.

"First day in new slaves, eh?" Amber whispered.

Carol just nodded and grimaced, to show the discomfort she was in.

"The trick is to do them up tight, as tight as you can stand. Stops them rubbing."

This caught the teacher's attention. "Carol, Amber. Up here, now! I've warned you before about talking when I'm talking."

Carol meekly followed Amber to the front, her cheeks turning red.

"I should send you to Mr Potter's office, but I won't have you missing this lesson, so I'm going to punish you both now. Bend over my desk."

Mrs Rutherford went to her draw. Carol knew what was coming: the strap!

"Lift your skirts, both of you, and hold them up."

Amber got six strokes of the strap first. She didn't make a sound. It was a matter of pride amongst the girls to take whatever kind of punishment silently. But Amber was more used to punishment than Carol. Carol had to clench her teeth hard to avoid crying out, and that was just the first stroke. When the second fell with a mighty crack on her buttocks, she couldn't help but cry out. Everyone in the class laughed. And her cry seemed to spur Mrs Rutherford on. She obviously didn't get the satisfaction of a reaction very often, and the next stroke fell even harder. Carol couldn't help herself, in spite of her classmates' laughter. Her cry almost took on the proportion of a scream.

Carol managed to restrain herself somewhat during the following three blows. Even though each one was more painful than the last, something in the way she perceived the pain had altered. Maybe she was warmed up to it, adjusted. It somehow seemed warmer, even approaching pleasurable.

But she was surprised when the seventh stroke fell. "But Mrs Rutherford, you only gave Amber six strokes. Why more for me?" This was said through tears.

"Don't question my authority, girl. Your impudence has just earned you a further six strokes. Now, keep quiet and take your punishment."

Thirteen strokes of the strap. Thirteen! Although the girls had laughed at Carol at the start, they were now somewhat in admiration of her. She hadn't cried out during the remainder of the punishment, just moaned.

"Can I see?" Amber's friend Kate asked. "I've never seen what thirteen strokes can do."

They were in a relatively private corner of the playground, at lunchtime. Carol was already standing, because it was too painful for her to sit on the hard wooden benches. She bent over and held up her skirt to show Kate and Amber her poor, bruised bottom. Amber reached out and pulled Carol's knickers up to reveal her buttocks fully. Carol thought this a bit odd.

"Don't panic, Carol. We just want to see all the marks."

Carol had never been very friendly with Amber or Kate before this lunchtime, but now she seemed to be initiated into their club, so to speak. They were both regarded as 'naughty' girls, and had made many trips to Mr Potter's office. Carol noticed that they both wore slave sandals too.

"I don't know which is worse," Carol said, once her bum was no longer under examination. "The strapping really hurt, but the pain has died down now. These bloody sandals, though. They're killing me. If I sit down, my bum hurts like hell again, but standing up, the sandals are really getting me."

"So sit down for a bit." Amber patted the bench beside her.

Carol sat, winced, stood up again, then finally sat and settled.

"There, that's not so bad is it? Kind of nice, really. I love the feel of that cold, hard wooden seat when I go to sit down after a spanking. It just seems to finish it."

Carol assumed Amber was joking. She leaned forward and began to unbuckle her right sandal.

"Don't take them off! You mustn't, Carol," Kate said.

"Why not? My feet need a break before class starts again."

"You'll find them even harder to wear if you take them off now. Think what it'll be like putting them back on again, when you've seen all the little blisters and bruises they've made on your feet."

"And besides," Kate added, "You can't be a member of the guild if you can't wear your sandals for a whole day."

"Guild?" Carol was perplexed. "What guild? Is this something to do with that spanking I got?"

"Well, sort of, but not really. It's the Slave's Guild, and it's a secret."

"You have to wear slave sandals, every day of summer uniform. There are penalties if you don't. And if you breathe a word to anyone about it, anyone ..."

Kate took over from Amber. "....You're in deep trouble. That spanking will seem like the merest caress."

"I'm intrigued now. I've never been in a club before. All I have to do is wear these sandals?"

Kate stood up in front of Carol and leaned towards her, speaking softly, close to her. "It's not a club, it's a guild. And you're now a member, whether you like it or not."

"But first," Amber whispered, "there's an initiation."

"Well, I expected that," Carol said. "All clubs - I mean guilds - have an initiation. What do I have to do? Assuming I actually want to join."

"You don't have that choice, unfortunately," Kate said. " You're already in, but to become a full member, you have to do something bad enough to get you sent to Mr Potter's office." Kate's tone gave a sense of foreboding.

"For the cane!" Amber said, delight in her voice.

"We've both had it, and if you think that strapping hurt, you just wait."

Carol was shocked. "The cane? I didn't even know they had the cane at this school. I've never heard of anyone getting it. You're lying!"

"Really? You want proof?" Amber said. "Mr Potter insists that we tell no-one that he's caning girls, not even the other teachers. He's allowed to use the strap, that's all. He says if we tell, he'll make our lives hell."

"I've always wondered what that'd be like. Might even be quite fun. I mean, Mr Potter's pretty cute, don't you think, Carol."

"I hadn't thought of him like that. I've always been a bit scared of him, but now that you mention it ..."

"Anyway, this initiation," Kate interrupted. "Six strokes isn't enough. He'll probably only want to give you six, because you haven't had the cane before. But you have to get twelve strokes, otherwise you fail the initiation, and you have to repeat it."

"So what do I do?" Carol laughed. "Ask him for six more?"

"That should work, yes," Kate said, also laughing.

"Look, I still don't believe all this. You're both making this up to tease me," Carol said. "They don't have the cane here."

Amber turned away from Carol, bent over and raised the skirt of her school uniform. Two things struck Carol: the purple and yellow bruising on Kate's bum, obviously the result of a severe caning, and the fact that she wasn't wearing any knickers. Carol could see her bush and her slightly swollen vagina, and she could smell Kate's smell.

"That's something we forgot to mention," Amber said. We don't usually wear any knickers."

Carol gathered herself. "But, but you were wearing knickers in class. I saw them when you bent over for your strapping."

"It's my time of the month, Carol. My period. You're allowed to wear them then, but only then."

Carol took some time to think about what Amber and Kate said, about the guild. She had never really been a joiner of anything. She was really a solitary girl, spending most of her spare school time in the library. 'Girly Swot' was one of less unkind terms of abuse directed at her. But, lying on her bed, still wearing the sandals that had tortured her all day (yesterday she had removed them at first opportunity, once she got home, wondering why she had ever chosen them), she wriggled her feet. The leather straps taunted her, "Can't get me off! Can't get your feet out. Can't get free," they seemed to say. Carol worked her feet harder against the sandal straps, causing the bedcover to bunch up around her feet. It became obvious that no amount of struggling would free her feet until she chose to undo the tight buckles.

Carol felt hotter and hotter as she continued to work her feet. The feeling of them, trapped in leather, and it working against her, rubbing, it felt good. She reached under her skirt and pulled her knickers off, thinking of Kate. She thought of the bruising on Kate's bare bum and ran her had over her own buttocks. The sting of Mrs Rutherford's strapping, all thirteen agonising strokes of it, came back to her as she caressed herself. What she did next surprised her: she got up from the bed and grabbed her leather jeans belt from the drawer. Then she bent over the end of the bed and threw her skirt up over her lower back. She came up onto her toes, feeling her feet strain painfully but deliciously against her sandals. She held the position for a couple of minutes, revelling in her own self-inflicted vulnerability. Then, grasping her belt in her right hand, by its buckle, she lashed herself across the backside, hard as she could. The stroke of heavy leather brought back all of the pain of her strapping from earlier in the day. There was no worry about noise: her mother was still at work, so she had the house to herself, as usual. She lashed again and again. This time she cried out. She imagined the caning Mr Potter was going to give her as she lashed herself repeatedly. Cute Mr Potter, with his strong arms. Again. She was feeling hotter still, her cunt moistening. "Please Mr Potter sir," she said to herself, "May I have some more, please sir?" She whipped herself again and again, feeling the heat come through to her cunt. "How many more would you like, my dearest girl?" he would ask in return. "As many strokes as you want to give me, sir. Just please don't stop."

She continued to whip herself until her arm tired. Then she switched arms. The fresh blows stung the other buttock with renewed vigour. Each stroke felt better than the last, building, building. All the pain and humiliation of her spanking in front of the class came back, flooding over her.

Once her left arm was too tired to continue whipping herself, she stopped and went to her mirror. Her bum was completely covered in reddening welts. Touching them was a lovely sensation. Still looking in the mirror, Carol began to finger her pussy, slowly bring herself off. She fell back onto the bed, and once again worked her feet to try, futilely, to release them from their bondage in the tight leather sandals. This was going to be the orgasm of orgasms, Carol though, as the pleasure built in her entire body, to a level she had never experienced anything even close to before. When she finally came, she screamed. And she came again and screamed again. The third time was quieter, ultimately satisfying.

Carol finally unbuckled her sandals, in order to take a shower. She looked at the damage they had done to her pretty feet, the blisters, the bruising from the tight straps. The buckles had even managed to sink themselves in around her ankle-bone, and had drawn blood. Carol took a very long, very hot shower. The heat of the water on her welted buttocks was painful, but pleasurable. She found herself masturbating again under it.

As she dried herself, Carol heard her mother arriving home. Once out of the shower, she went to see her mother in the kitchen.

"You don't usually shower at this time of day, darling. Hard day at school?"

"I was just so hot today, I mean, the weather was hot. I was all sticky by the time I'd walked home."

"Oh dear, Carol. I'm afraid you're going to get all sticky again, then. There's a couple of things I forgot from the supermarket that I need for cooking dinner tonight. I have to start the chicken now, so could you walk over and get them for me please dear?"

Carol was about to protest, but she thought of her sandals. It would be nice to be made to put them on again and walk a few miles in them, see if she could stand any more pain. Then she really would be an initiate into the Slave's Guild.

The journey back from the supermarket really was hard. The heat of the day was at its peak. The late afternoon sun was merciless, making Carol sweat all over. Sweat was even running down her legs into her sandals. The salt stung her increasingly painful blisters. She was aware she was limping. ("A few things" my foot - it was a fairly long list of stuff.) But she didn't want to limp; it was like an admission of defeat. Instead, she went against the pain of her feet, trying her hardest to walk normally. Sexily, even, in spite of the weight of the shopping bags making her arms ache.

Two miles there, two back. When Carol got home she was instantly back in the shower, masturbating again. But this time she kept her sandals on through it.

"So, what was it you called Mrs Rutherford, Miss Davis?"

"A bitch, sir."

"Is that all you called her? She told me something different."

"I can't repeat it in front of you, Mr Potter, sir. I'm too ashamed."

"You can say anything in front of me, Miss Davis, particularly when I tell you to."

Kate was right. He was cute, but still a bit scary. "I called her a fucking bitch, sir, and when she told me to come up the front for the strap, I said, "Go to hell. You can't hurt me."

"And she sent you to me, because I can hurt you. A lot. More than you can imagine." Mr Potter wiped his brow. It was hot in his office. "You understand that such language directed at a teacher is a serious offence, Miss Davis. As you have not been before me before, however, I'm inclined to just give you a good, long, hard strapping. This will be a punishment you'll remember for the rest of your life."

"A strapping, sir?" Carol found herself getting hot, in a nice kind of way. Her vagina itched. "I was told you gave the cane. Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed."

"I don't believe I'm hearing this. You actually want the cane? Do you have any idea of the level of pain involved?"

"No, I don't sir, but I'm interested to find out." Carol heard these words come from her mouth as if someone else was saying them. She knew she was in the process of committing herself to a caning, getting herself in really deep trouble, but the process of doing it felt strangely arousing.

"Well, find out you shall. See that chair over there? Go to it, bend over, lift your skirt and hold it up for me. I'm going to cane you hard, six strokes on your bare backside. Then I don't expect to see you back here again, ever. Do you hear? You"ve asked for a severe punishment, and you'll get one."

Carol went to the chair and bent over it. She wondered what Mr Potter's reaction would be when he saw she had no knickers on. She bent over double and flipped up her skirt. She heard him gasp.

"What's the meaning of this, Miss Davis?"

"I can't explain it, sir."

"Can't you just? Well, you've just earned yourself six extra strokes!"

Just then, Mr Potter's phone rang. He answered it; the beginning of a long conversation. Finally he put the phone down. Carol hadn't moved. She was aware the Mr Potter could see her vagina lips clearly from where he was sitting, and she knew they were swelling in anticipation of the caning.

"Look here, Miss Davis, I have some urgent paperwork to do. It'll take about half an hour. In the meantime, I want you to remain in that position. Don't move a muscle. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir. I won't move sir."

Carol couldn't see her watch, the position she was in, but she imagined that the half-hour must have passed a while ago. She felt totally humiliated, and aches were racking her body. Finally, Mr Potter said something. It was coming. She wriggled her feet in her sandals, which she hadn't taken off since yesterday; she had slept in them. Her feet still hurt like hell, but it would be nothing compared to what was about to be inflicted on her.

"Miss Davis, I'll be ready to punish you in ten minutes. For now, I want you to go up on your toes. Right up now, there's a girl. Keep your legs straight."

Carol's new position made the pain in her thighs and calves sing with a new intensity. "I can't stay like this for ten minutes, sir. It's too painful."

"You will not move, girl. If you do, it'll be another six strokes. I know you've effectively asked to be caned, but, believe me, you don't want eighteen strokes."

Carol had no real concept of time, but surely the ten minutes must be up? Her whole body was screaming, but her legs and feet most of all. Her muscles has been trembling for some time, but she dared not move. Eighteen strokes ... that would be too much, surely. She would faint.

Ages past, and still Carol could hear Mr Potter's pen scratching on paper. The pain of bending and the tension was intolerable. Eighteen strokes couldn't be as bad as this. Damn it. Carol stood up. She almost immediately lost her balance, her head swimming. She steadied herself on the chair.

Mr Potter bellowed at her. "I tell you to do a simple thing, and what do you go and do?"

"I'm sorry sir, I just couldn't stand it anymore. Anyway, you've been much longer than you said."

"Are you arguing with me, girl?"

"Please sir, no I'm not, but could you please, please cane me now? Give me twenty-four if you want, just please do it now."

God, what did she just say?

"Very well, twenty-four strokes it is. Don't you imagine I'll be holding back either."

"Fuck you very much, sir." Carol was hot now. She wanted nothing more than to finger herself, bring herself to a flooding orgasm. Nothing more, perhaps, but for Mr Potter to fuck her senseless. His strong arms would grasp her hips as her rammed himself into her again and again from behind. Fuck her forever.

"If you said what I think you just said, you're up to thirty strokes. What did you just say to me?"

"Fuck you very much, sir."

"Right, you're going to repeat that to me after every stroke. And perhaps by the time I've finished with you, that filthy word will be permanently eliminated from your vocabulary."

The cane swooshed and Carol's buttocks exploded with pain. Oh God, thirty of these? "Fuck you very much sir."

And again. It was worse. She breathed deeply, trying to keep her composure, not leap up. Agony racked her. She gathered her breath and repeated the phrase.

The swoosh seemed to take longer. Time was slowing as pain was building. Three strokes. Twenty-seven to go. It would be too much, an eternity of hell.

The fourth stroke fell. Now the pain was unbelievable, unimaginable.

"You forgot to say that dirty phrase, girl, so that stroke didn't count. Now say it!"

"Fuck ... you very much ... sir." Carol could barely speak. Her breath came only in ragged bursts as she fought for control.

"That's better. If you forget again, it's two penalty strokes. Do you understand?"

Carol's reply was all breath, no voice. The pain was at such a level that it was taking her somewhere else - into another realm entirely. Her reply to each stroke became automatic, and she lost count. The heat in her vagina was building, building. Sheer pain mixed with other feeling in her body, feelings she had sampled when she was strapped in class, and explored further when she had whipped herself. Each stroke of the cane propelled her further into this nether-world of pleasure. That's what it was, sheer pleasure! Like nothing else.

"You only have three strokes left, Miss Davis. How do you feel about that filthy word now?"

Carol found her voice from somewhere, but she couldn't quite believe it when she heard herself say, in the clearest voice, "I fully intend to keep using it sir, as often as possible."

"Oh, do you? Well, we're still going up to thirty, but I won't be giving you any more today. I see that Mrs Rutherford has already given your backside a fair amount of her attention lately." He laid another stroke on Carol. She looked at her sandals, her beautiful sandals: the cause of all this pain, the doorway to this new world of adventure. As the final strokes fell, Carol watched her feet twitch in their leather strapping. She would enjoy walking home today. She would take the long way, but still make sure she was home in plenty of time to take care of herself before her mother got home from work. How would it feel, she wondered, to whip herself with her belt again, right over the top of the cane welts? She couldn't wait to look in the mirror.

"I want to see you in this office immediately after school on Friday next week, do you understand? Then, you will receive another caning, and I'm going to give you the strap across the soles of your feet as well. You won't believe how painful that can be. Hopefully, that will correct your language. Do you think it might?"

Carol replied quietly, "Yes sir, thank you sir."

"Right, you may leave. And you understand that you mustn't reveal that you were caned. I gave you the strap only. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir. Fuck you very much, sir." Carol knew that last remark was suicide, and she said it with a smile and a wink. To her amazement, Mr Potter smiled back.

Outside Mr Potter's door, Amber was waiting. "I got sent here too," she said gleefully. "I just wanted an excuse to be here so I could listen to you getting it. How many?"

"I don't know exactly, but maybe thirty-one. I lost count."

Amber was beside herself. "Thirty-one! That's a record! You are now well and truly a member of the Slave's Guild. In fact, we should make you president. The most I've had is a lousy fourteen."

"Well, you should ask him for more. He seems to be in the mood."

"Look, we'll meet at Kate's house after school. She's got a Polaroid camera. Then it's show and tell, OK?"

"Yeah, sure, but I have to do something after that, so I won't be able to stay long. Is it far to walk?"