Message-ID: <6442eli$9712151629@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "ass.reposter" X-Good-Total-Length: yes Subject: RP: Emma at School (Best stories from my archive) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: somogy1@hotmail.com Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34956027.30FF@hotmail.com> From: an674112@anon.penet.fi (Rosewood) Subject: Emma At School 1 - A Change Is Called For As Emma approached her front door she decided that things really couldn't get any worse. Not only had she just split up with Steven, her boyfriend of two whole months, the two of them had been seen in a compromising position by a teacher at school and reported. Emma had been sent home in disgrace and now had to face her parents; compared to the ordeal of the last 24 hours, this part would be a doddle. As expected, Emma's mum and dad were waiting for her, looking suitably solemn. They began their lecture with a diatribe against Steven and Emma tried not to let her deep sense of irony at the reprimand show. The truth was that Emma had discovered, belatedly, that everything her parents had told her about Steven had been true. He had only been after her virginity, he hadn't ever really loved her. He'd admitted as much to her after last night's disastrous date. Last night! Her mind shut out her parents' droning and she drooped miserably as she recalled the terrible events. Her parents would never allow her out on school evenings - especially since Steven came along - so, naturally, she regularly slipped out in the evening and got a friend to cover. Last night was no exception. While her parents thought she was studying life in Europe during the Great War with Melanie, she was in fact engaged in heavy petting with Steven in a car parked by the pond in Hampstead. Emma shivered as she recalled the events. As on so many occasions, Steven had been trying to get Emma to go "all the way" and, as on every such occasion, Emma had rebutted him. It was not easy either - what with two of his fingers buried deliciously inside her and his mouth nibbling at her ear lobes - but she had firmly said no. That was the point at which Steven had suddenly turned nasty, calling her a tease and a slut. He'd suddenly tried to roll himself on top of her and Emma had found herself pinned down by the combination of his weight and her awkward position. It was Mr Jenkins, the passing PE teacher who had recognised the car and peeped in to see what he thought was consensual (if under-age) sex, who had unwittingly saved Emma from rape. Not that she could tell the head or her parents any of this, of course. Apart from the fact that she should not have been out, confessing that her "wonderful" boyfriend had tried to force her to have sex with him would have confirmed all the very worst nightmares of her mother and she would probably never have let her out again. All this went racing through her mind as her father spoke sternly to her. When he asked about the incident by the pond, she gave her father the same response she had her headteacher: they were "fooling around", but had not made love. Emma felt so stupid. How could she have fallen for Steven's transparent charm? She allowed her father's harsh words to soak into her, trying to stem the shame she was feeling by accepting her lecture with good grace. Suddenly, when her father fired another question at her, Emma realised she had no idea what he was talking about. "Er... sorry, I didn't hear you." "I said," her father repeated, slowly, "I had never thought of sending you away to boarding school, but now it seems quite a good idea. The one I have in mind, the Katherine Parr school, is well practised in dealing with poor behaviour and motivation. In fact I may as well tell you now, they use corporal punishment in the school." Such a statement would, a day or two ago, have evoked absolute outrage in Emma - yet now it simply meant being able to get away from Steven and all her friends who would be laughing at her when they found out about what had happened. No, boarding school seemed quite attractive at that moment. And as for corporal punishment! Everyone knew that almost all English schools had stopped using any form of physical punishment for fear of the law - if this Katherine Whatsist's was an exception, then the punishments administered could hardly be very unpleasant. Emma was feeling sorry for herself again now and asked her mum, "Is that it? Can I go now?" "Go now!!??" It was her father who spoke - or rather, shouted at her. "No you may not! Your behaviour has been abysmal recently - at home and at school - and your work not much better. Too much time spent on boys!" he asserted. Then Emma's father lifted her downturned face to his. "Your punishment for curfew breaking and... and so on... last night." Emma waited for the sentence. Emma's father looked uneasy and then spoke quickly. "I've never laid a hand on you in anger in all your years, have I?" "No, daddy." "No. Well I think that if I am prepared to send you to a school where corporal punishment is the norm... well, I don't believe that one can sanction a form of punishment one is not prepared to carry out oneself. I..." he paused for a moment. "I'm going to spank you." "Spank me?" The words broke her from her mental ramblings. "Yes, Emma, spank you! Do you want it here and now, or at bed time?" This was not anything Emma had considered - ever! However, again her lethargic depression took over and she found herself staring at the floor and saying, "Now!" "Very well, take off your jeans, please," her father told her. "What?" Emma exploded. "Why?" "Because I told you to," her father said sharply. "It's obvious that your mother and I made a big mistake in not spanking you when you were younger and I'm going to make up for it now. You may be fifteen years old, but that isn't going to stop me giving you the bare-bottom spanking I should have given you years ago. Now - do as you're told!!!" Flushing with embarrassment, Emma began to strip in front of her parents, tears starting to form in her eyes now. "Please, Daddy. You can't spank my bare bottom - I'm too old!!" she whined. "I can and I will," he replied matter-of-factly, sitting down on a stool, taking her hand and pulling her to him as she finally extracted her feet from the heavy denim. "We have a lot of lost ground to make up!" Emma stood before her father now with her pussy covered only by a skimpy pair of red panties. Her father's hands reached out to grasp the waistband of her final protection firmly and then, with a tug, Emma's knickers were around her ankles, her young sex bared to her father and mother, and her face an even deeper shade of red than before. Her mother seeing her naked was, of course, not that unusual. But her father had not seen her flowering body since she was eight or nine. She was acutely aware of what he was seeing - her delicate triangle of wispy hair which crowned her juvenile, but not unexperienced, pussy. She felt the blood pumping round her face as a vision came unbidden to her mind; she saw herself lying on her bed with her thighs spread wide and her fingers rubbing and stroking her enlarged clitoris as her father stood at the foot of the bed, watching silently. As the image sharpened in focus, Emma felt a warmth and a dampness between her legs and her feelings of shame trebled instantly. She was almost pleased to hear the next command. "Right. Come on young lady... over my knee!" Although she'd never heard the phrase uttered by her parents it seemed, somehow, a very familiar entreaty to her and Emma at once moved round to her father's right and leant down over his thighs. Her unfamiliar position felt firm and comforting in contrast to what she knew was to come as she laid her own naked skin over his cotton covered legs. "I'm going to give you twenty smacks with my hand," he said, resting his palm on his daughter's untamed bottom for a moment before raising it. I do hope it teaches you a lesson!" With that, he lifted his hand high in the air and then, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally brought it down smartly across Emma's pale, tensed cheeks. The heat Emma had been guiltily experiencing between her legs was banished at once by the sharp sting of her father's big hand on her pale cheeks. She opened her mouth to scream, but for a few moments nothing came out. The only substantial sound was of four rapid slaps landing on her bared bottom - two on each side. Only once they had been delivered, and Emma's father had paused, did the wail trapped in her throat find its release. At the yowl of agony, Mr Denning found his tentative conversion to this alien form of parental discipline solidifying somewhat and he continued the chastisement with redoubled force. SMACKK! "Yeooooow! Daddy, it hurts... ouchh! Please, daddy, noooooooo!" Ignoring, as far as he was able, his daughter's pleas for clemency, Emma's father went right on spanking her bare bottom hard with his hand until he reached sixteen. Then, Emma's sobs failing (to his own surprise and slight uneasiness) to move him one jot, he paused. "Emma?" He spoke quietly, yet firmly. "Yes, daddy," his red-bottomed girl replied tearfully. "Why have I spanked you?" There was no pause before the clear reply. "Because I've not been doing my best at school and I've not been honest," she admitted. Mr Denning looked across at his wife who was smiling broadly. Perhaps she really had been right all this time, he mused, and his daughter had really only wanted for a firm hand. Well, if this was the response a good spanking brought, he would stick with it. "You are quite right," he answered her. "And what's more, young lady, as long as you reside under my roof, be that until you are sixteen or sixty, each and every exhibition of slackness or mendacity will result in your panties coming off and your bare bottom paying the penalty. Do you understand me?" Emma, during this last speech, had begun to cry. She had always thought of those of her friends whose parents spanked them as better off than those who, like herself, were grounded or punished in other non-physical ways. She was now becoming, very quickly, much less certain. And then to think that this was not to be a one-off! That her daddy was threatening now to put her over his knee again and again... as long as she lived there....! "Do you understand?" The question was barked this time and accompanied by two huge swipes of Mr Denning's hand which straddled her cheeks and produced clear prints on her rosy bottom. "Ohhhhh! Ohh! Yes, d..d..daddy," Emma managed to splutter as the last traces of puppy fat on her bottom and thighs set her bruised behind wobbling . "Good!" Emma's father, although pleased to have discovered at last a successful mode of filial discipline, found himself feeling angry at his fifteen years of opposition to corporal punishment. He toyed for a moment with the idea of demanding that Emma submit to several further spankings before the following Monday when he would drive her to Katherine Parr's, to help to offset the trouble that she had caused his wife and himself over those years. One thing at a time, though. And he knew that in any case, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the time would nonetheless come again when he would have cause to administer a bare-bottom spanking to young Emma. It would have to wait. "Just two more," he said, breaking the silence which his thoughts had spun around the trio. Then he lifted his hand again and... WHACK! "Ouuuucch!" CRACK! "Yeoooow!" Mr Denning left his sobbing daughter in place for a minute or two before requiring her to stand. "Leave those where they are," he told her gently as she moved to retrieve her discarded panties. He took her by the hand and led her, still naked from the waist down, to the corner of the room and left her there - facing the corner. "That," he said, gesturing towards his daughter's scarlet behind, "will serve to remind both of us of the new penalty for misbehaviour in this house!" And with that, Mr Denning and his wife, left the room, their well-spanked offspring consoling herself with further tears in the corner as her still naked bottom radiated warmth. From: an674112@anon.penet.fi (Rosewood) Date: Sun, 14 Jul 1996 20:00:28 UTC Subject: EMMA AT SCHOOL Episode 2 - A Sight For Sore.... Four days after her first ever spanking, Emma was being driven to Katherine Parr School for Girls. She hadn't had to set foot in her old school again. She hadn't had to run the gauntlet of her friends' accusing glances - or face Steven. As they passed it by on that dull Monday morning, Emma gave it only a cursory glance - she was moving on. She had managed to survive without the humiliation of any further bare bottom spankings from her dad; in fact, she had amazed her parents and herself with her immaculate behaviour since that first embarrassing occasion which she endured, knickers round her ankles, over her father's knee. Now there was just the case of Katherine Parr's infamous corporal punishment regime. In the 1990s, what with the Children's Act and everything, what leeway did schools have in the realm of physical discipline? This and other more mundane thoughts occupied her mind until, after an hour's drive, her father turned the car onto the crispy gravel drive of Bronte House. Emma peered out of the window. The building didn't look as austere as she had expected. There were curtains in the windows upstairs (what she rightly assumed must be dormitories) and the large downstairs rooms, despite their size, had a look of warmth about them. Emma's anxiety began to diminish a little. She felt more relaxed still when the housemaster, Mr Lindon, answered the door. He had a kindly face and Emma took to him at once, bubbling over enthusiastically when he asked her questions about her tastes and hobbies. "Well," the teacher said after a while, "Let's get you settled shall we while I chat to your mum and dad? Say your goodbyes and then follow me." Keeping inside the tears she could feel pricking at her eyes, Emma kissed her mum and dad, remembering her sore bottom of a few days ago when her dad whispered to her, "Be good!" "I will," she promised him, turning then to follow her housemaster. "Right, then," he said as they marched briskly through his private section of the house. "Let me introduce you to my study." Emma thought that a slightly curious thing to say, but then she expected a little linguistic eccentricity from public school and simple trotted along after him and followed him through a big oak doorway. This, obviously, was his study. It was a medium sized, beautifully decorated room with potted plants and paintings scattered liberally around its many nooks and crannies. The large mahogany desk took up a huge amount of room, but helped to make the study feel warm and comfortable. Here and there were small models of vintage cars, and the walls were literally covered with books. Emma, however, saw nothing of this. She saw only what was placed in the middle of the room. It was a construction made of black steel tubing and green padding which Emma might have mistaken for an exercise apparatus of some kind if only its function was not being so unambiguously demonstrated by the young girl strapped to it. Although she couldn't see her face, Emma guessed the girl to be about her age. Her face was hidden from Emma's line of sight because she was bent over double away from the new pupil, grasping a bar at the other side of the contraption to which her wrists were fastened by velcro straps. She was kneeling on two padded rests which effectively forced her to maintain a position with her thighs permanently spread, and her lower thighs too were secured in place. This information alone would have been sufficient to tell any onlooker that the construction was designed to assist in the punishment of naughty pupils. However, none of these details were part of what first struck Emma dumb as she entered the room. What did strike her were three things. Firstly, that the girl bent over before her had her skirt up round her waist and her knickers neatly deposited on the floor, thus exposing her bare bottom and, due to the position of her knees, her youthful pussy. Secondly, that her bare bottom was adorned with five very angry looking, and clearly recently established, weals. And thirdly, that the weals in question had almost certainly been originated by the terrifying, four foot rattan cane lying impatiently on Mr Lindon's desk. "How many more, Deborah?" the housemaster asked, not unkindly. "One," the girl sobbed. "Good," Mr Lindon said absent-mindedly. "I'll be back to finish you off after I've said goodbye to Emma's parents. No talking please, either of you." Neither girl, given the situation, needed this final injunction to silence and, once the housemaster had left the room, Emma's mind finally began to draw some unpalatable conclusions from the scene before her. There were few options: either this was Mr Lindon's own daughter (or a pupil who was "special" in some other way), or her predicament represented at least one point on the scale of punishments to which Emmaâ' parents were now proposing to subject her. The latter was, she knew, the more likely as well as the more frightening, and she suddenly noticed that her hands had begun to shake. She could hear the muted voices of Mr Lindon and her parents from down the corridor and wondered whether her parents would take her home if she told them of what was happening here in this room... but she knew inside that they would wholeheartedly approve. This was to be her fate. She inched closer to the bound girl. As her eyes roamed shamelessly over the victim's pale, but vividly striped, bottom and then dipped, uninvited, between her thighs she became aware of a dampness beneath her own cotton panties and flushed, glad that the girl could not see her face. She was bewitched by the completeness of the girl's submission, sex and bottom simultaneously offered up, her bonds making impossible any resistance. Emma wanted to reach out her hand and run her fingers along the moist, silky slit provocatively presented to her, but instead she slipped her fingers under her own skirt and negotiated a passage inside her panties and then into her own wetness. She heard Mr Lindon's footsteps just before he entered the room and pulled her hand from between her legs quickly, blushing heavily once again and hoping he hadn't seen. There was no way of telling from his impassive expression whether he had or not and Emma avoided his gaze and looked at the by now quite familiar bottom which, she knew, was now to receive the delayed climax of its punishment. She looked on with a horrified fascination as Mr Lindon picked up the cane and then walked over to the girl, reaching down to offer her teeth something to bite down on before taking up his position. He stood to the left of her, the cane resting gently across both cheeks and seeking an unmarked area of flesh. Once satisfied, he widened his stance to better balance himself and then raised the cane slowly up into the air in a long arc. Emma imagined herself now in the girl's place, bottom naked and vulnerable, sex parted and shamefully hot and moist. She watched as Mr Lindon's cane began the sweep down through the air, accelerating rapidly towards its target and creating a terrifying swishing sound as it gathered momentum and then suddenly.... THWACKKK! It struck! The girl's body jerked under the force of the blow and she bit on her scream, turning it into a agonized grunt as a new welt grew almost magically under the cruel caress of the rod. Mr Lindon turned and replaced the cane on his desk and then, leaving the punished girl in place for the time being, addressed Emma in a level voice. "Well now, Emma. Deborah here will look after you for the first week or so of your stay while you get to learn how we do things. Your parents have told me the reasons they've sent you here, perhaps you'd like to tell me yourself as well. Emma felt awkward speaking in front of the half naked Deborah, and part whispered her reply. "I... I was going out with this boy who they didn't approve of and I started getting into trouble... like not getting in on time and stuff and my dad said I needed somewhere with more discipline..." At this, picturing herself once more under the housemaster's cane, she began to weep and Mr Lindonâs voice softened a little. "And corporal punishment has never been part of your discipline at home?" "Not... not before last week," Emma replied. "What happened last week?" "My dad... my dad spanked me," she answered. "For the first time," the man completed her sentence. "How?" "He... he made me take off my jeans and then he... pulled down my panties and put me over his knee. And then he spanked my bare bottom. "With his hand?" Emma nodded in reply. "How many?" "Twenty." Mr Lindon nodded his approval and then, rather than telling her about his school's regime he moved to unfasten Deborah's ties, helping her to her feet. Emma watched as the other girl slipped her panties back on, wincing a little as they rubbed against her raw markings and flushing all the time at the thought of what the new girl had just witnessed. "Take Emma along to your study won't you, Deborah," he told her. "You can both sleep in the guest room this week while Emma's finding her feet." Deborah nodded, tears still trickling one by one down her cheeks, and then smiled briefly at Emma and led her from the room silently. Neither girl spoke until they reached Deborah's study which, by means of its tidiness and the posters and decorations on the walls, imparted a great deal of information to the new girl about her fellow pupil's tastes and character. "I'm sorry I had to see you being punished," Emma ventured meekly. "Me too!" Deborah snapped. Then, seeing the hurt expression on Emma's face, she relented. "Hey, I'm sorry," she said more gently. "I'm not angry with you - it's not as if you had any choice. Come on, let's get you unpacked." As the girls made their way to the store room where Emma's cases had been parked temporarily, Emma tried to get some information out of her new friend about the punishment regime. "So, does Mr Lindon often cane the girls here?" she asked. Deborah stopped and turned towards the other girl, placing her hands warmly on her shoulders. "Look, I'm sorry," she began, "but I'm not allowed to discuss any of the rules and punishments with you until you pass your House Test. I've got a rule book for you which will tell you most things, but I'll get into real trouble if anyone finds out I've spoken to you about punishment before you've passed." She went on to explain what House Tests were. Basically, each new girl had to learn the school rule book inside out and be able to answer questions from the house captain at the end of her first week. She had to get every single question right to pass. Up until then, she was only allowed out of her study for chapel, meals, lessons and bed. Once she had passed, she would become a full member of house - and be assigned a sixth former to "fag" for. Emma had thought that fagging had only happened in boys' public schools - and that it had died out now anyway. It seemed that Katherine Parr was a school in a time warp! After tea (Emma was surprised to find that the food served at the school was really good - plenty of vegetarian choices) Deborah left her alone with the rule book and told her that she was allowed to answer questions about what rules meant if she was unclear - but that was all. Emma got comfortable and began to read. Her comfort was short lived.... RULES 1. GENERAL These rules are to be strictly adhered to by all students. Punishment for rule breaking will on all occasions include corporal punishment, though additional sanctions may be applied as warranted by each particular case. Throughout these rules, a pupil who is to be punished shall be called the offender, and the pupil or teacher who gives the punishment shall be called the administrator. The rules set out, for each offence, minimum and maximum punishments which should be strictly adhered to except where extensions are provided for in section 4 of these rules. Where a punishment is of a greater severity than the maximum permitted to any particular administrator, the punishment shall be referred to the appropriate authority at the necessary level. All punishments shall be administered to the bottom. 2. HIERARCHIES (in descending order) 2a. Implements (abbreviations) Birch (B) Cane (C) Tawse (T) Paddle (P) Hairbrush (H) Slipper (S) Ruler (R) Hand (X) 2b. Clothing (abbreviations) Bare bottom (b) Panties only (p) One layer of clothing (1) Fully clothed (f) 2c. Administrators (max punishment) Headmaster (24Bb) Housemaster/mistress (12Cb) House captain (12Tb) House tutor (20Pb) Class teacher (40Pp) School prefect (9Tb) House prefect (15H1) Dormitory monitor (6Sb) General monitor (18Rf) Note: max no of strokes doubled for each movement down the implement or clothing hierarchies (eg max punishment for School prefect is equivalent to 36Pp). Administrators may not use implement or clothing levels above that given as their maximum. 3. GUIDELINES FOR ADMINISTRATION 3a. Privacy Bare bottom punishment should always be conducted in private, except where: - there are a number of co-offenders, in which case they may be punished together - there is an identifiable victim of the offence, in which case they may observe the punishment - it is decided (at house captain level or higher) that by conducting the punishment in public, other potential offenders may be deterred from similar offences - it is decided (at housemaster/mistress level or higher) that it is otherwise appropriate for the punishment to be observed by a third party - the offender's guardians have requested the medical officer's presence - the offender's guardians have requested that the punishment be administered in public 3b. Method There are no specific requirements for the method of administration. In general: - offenders should be afforded a basic level of dignity - punishments should not be conducted in cruel or obscene ways - the duration of punishments should not be unreasonably extended 3c. Information to guardians Guardians shall be notified of all punishments at the level of 6Cb or higher in advance of administration. Guardians may require: - a medical officer to be present - a medical inspection to be made before and after the punishment - a phone conversation with the offender prior to administration In the event of a 3Bb punishment (or higher), the above conditions are mandatory. 3d. Appeals Offenders may appeal against a punishment AFTER its administration. If the appeal is successful, double the equivalent punishment shall be voided in lieu at the next offence. If the appeal is unsuccessful, the punishment shall be repeated. 4. EXTENSIONS 4a. Refusal Offenders who refuse to accept punishment shall, following one reminder of the appeals procedure, be liable to doubling of strokes, implements or clothing level for each refusal. Administrators shall refer punishments upwards if such doubling takes the punishment beyond their maximum. 4b. Denial Where an offender denies an offence, following one reminder of the appeals procedure, their punishment shall be preceded by 6Xb (or 6Xp, 6X1 or 6Xf where this is the limit of the administrator's powers). This additional punishment shall be repeated as necessary until the offender agrees to accept the original punishment. 4c. Physical or verbal aggression Where an offender becomes physically or verbally aggressive or abusive, the doubling procedure outlined in 4a shall be invoked. 4d. Three strikes and out Following the third punishment for an identical offence within a three week period, an offender shall be referred upwards to the necessary level and receive an additional punishment of 12 strokes at two implement levels and one clothing level higher than the punishment administered for the offence itself. 5. RULES (min-max punishment) 5a. General conduct Pupils shall not bring the school into disrepute (3Tp-6Bb) Pupils shall wear correct uniform (3Sp-2Cb) Pupils shall be polite and obedient towards teachers (6X1-6Cb) Pupils shall be polite to other pupils (6X1-3Cb) 5b. Lessons and work Pupils shall attend all lessons on their timetable (3Pb-6Cb) Pupils shall behave sensibly and appropriately throughout lessons (6Pp-6Cb) Pupils shall complete all assignments on time (3Pp-12Pb) Pupils shall work hard throughout lessons (3Pf-20Pp) Pupils shall comply with all instructions given by their teacher (3Pf-20Pb) ... by this time Emma was lying on the couch in Deborah's study with tears flowing down her cheeks so quickly that she could no longer read the close-typed text. There were pages more of similar rules, creating a web of directions in which no girl could hope, surely, to remain unentangled. Emma would have thought the book a practical joke if she hadn't already witnessed her room-mate receiving the last of six strokes of the cane on the bare bottom earlier that day. Now, as she read through the rules, the sense of apprehension that had stalked her then grew into a towering monster. She remembered her father's recent spanking of her and realised now that it had been nothing in comparison to what she could expect here! She resolved, as every girl did on their arrival at Katherine Parr, to be a model pupil. Suddenly the door burst open and Deborah came flouncing through, red in the face and swearing copiously. She ignored Emma completely and threw herself onto the room's other couch on her front. Emma guessed at the probable source of her friend's distress and got up to approach her, caressing Deborah's hair gently. "What happened?" she asked quietly. "I'm not allowed to tell you!" the tearful girl snapped. "You know that!" Emma ignored this unwarranted outburst and continued to stroke Deborah's hair. "Can't you just leave me alone? It's not there it hurts!" Deborah regretted her harsh words immediately, her tears flowing faster as her comforter got up and walked off. "I'm sorry," she whined. "Emma, really...." "That's OK," Emma answered without a trace of a rebuke. "You're quite right." "About what?" "That you're not allowed to tell me what happened and that it's not your head that hurts." She smiled. "I have a solution." "What?" Deborah murmured, closing her eyes once more as Emma returned and hoping that she'd continue her tender caresses. What solution? she asked herself dozily, the pain in her recently paddled bottom making continued rational thought impossible. When she sensed her skirt being raised, at first she imagined that she was back in her house tutor's room, bent over his knee. Then she realised that it was Emma by her side, exposing her panties and lifted her head. "Hey! What are you doing?" "Just you lie still," Emma told her sternly, pushing her room-mate's head back down and finding, to her pleasure, that Deborah allowed herself to be thus placated. When, next, Emma took hold of Deborah's panties and pulled them steadily down her legs and off her ankles, Deborah lay still, still in the mode of accepting obedience required during punishments in the school. Her fuzzy brain hoped only that Emma wasn't going to spank her, not recognising the unlikelihood of that. "I've got this herbal cream," Emma explained now, rubbing a small quantity of the cold, white preparation on her palms. "It's brilliant for any external injury, like nettles and bruises and stuff. I can't see why it shouldn't work on your bottom." She looked down now at Deborah's cheeks. The six welts given to her by Mr Lindon were still very much in evidence, but they were now swimming in a vivid sea of red which covered her whole bottom. She wondered if Deborah would talk just a little in her woozy condition. "Paddle or slipper?" she asked nonchalantly. "Paddle," Deborah admitted sleepily. "Ten whacks for not getting my homework done for Miss Pearson again. Bitch!" "Careful what you say!" Emma warned her with a smile. "You don't know who might be listening!" With that, she began to smooth the ointment into Deborah's sore behind, the girl wincing at first under her fingers, but then moaning with relief as the remedy began to have its effect. As she rubbed, Emma delighted in the feel of her friend's cheeks. She had only ever fancied boys - she thought - but their bottoms were horrible. Either too fat or too thin, too hairy or too pale.... But this, this olive-coloured, peach-shaped bottom was perfect; the skin smooth to the touch, responsive under the fingers. "Ouch!" Emma caught a weal with her finger-nail and apologised profusely. Instinctively she bent down to kiss the injured part tenderly, being rewarded by a muted gasp from the girl beneath her. She began to kiss each of the red stripes laced across Deborah's bottom and, as she did so, she was aware of a creeping heat between her own thighs. She moved her face close to the place where Deborah's pussy lay hidden between her closed legs and smelt what she knew was female arousal. As she continued to kiss and caress her friend's bare bottom, Emma allowed one of her hands to slip between her own thighs and find her pussy, rubbing hard at her clitoris and closing her eyes. As she neared orgasm, Emma stopped working on Deborah's body and Deborah remained silent as she felt the couch move slightly in rhythm to her friend's masturbation and heard the shallow gasps Emma made as she approached her climax. As she heard the other girl coming, Deborah crushed her pussy down on the couch, relieving just a little of her own tension, but wishing she had the courage to ask Emma to touch her pussy and make love to her. Like Emma, she considered herself to be straight - but unlike her she had had several relationships with other girls - all at school - and was enchanted, rather than disgusted, at Emma's obvious desire for her. Emma had been taken by surprise by her sudden lust and, having come just once, she removed her hand from her knickers and continued to massage the cream into her friend's bottom, as if pretending that nothing had happened. During Emma's first week at school, she neither received a spanking herself nor, apart from the caning she witnessed on her very first day, did she see one being administered. She suspected, correctly, that this was by design - as if spanking her would admit her to the world of Katherine Parr before she had passed her Test. She crammed for it constantly; not being allowed out of the study she shared with Deborah, it was fairly easy to avoid distraction. Her isolation was completed by an injunction against other pupils entering Deborah's study during Emma's period of purdah. She did have some contact with the school's corporal punishment regime though. Either Deborah was one of those kids who gets into trouble a lot, or punishments really were dished out left, right and centre. Emma's room-mate would roll in once, twice - sometimes three times a day, clutching her bottom with a tear-streaked face. When she did so, Emma would pick up her herbal cream and begin to smear the sweet smelling mixture over her hands while Deborah slipped off her panties and lay on the couch ready to have her spanking soothed. Emma tried each time to gauge what punishment her friend had received, although Deborah no longer confirmed her guesses. Strappings and canings were the easiest to spot because of the distinctive stripes left by their beatings and Emma was grateful to find that these were relative rarities. Often, though, the only clue available was the vividness of the redness left by the administrator. As the days passed, Deborah began to adopt a different posture for Emma's caresses. Claiming that the cream worked better when her skin was taut, she now knelt up on the bed with her bare bottom up in the air - just as if she were waiting for a spanking. Emma continued to keep the lid on the sexual part of her reaction to Deborah's flirtation, never refusing to get out the cream and never failing to become wet as she smoothed her hands over her friend's ready-warmed bottom, but never either letting her hands stray between Deborah's thighs. On Saturday, the day before Emma's test, Deborah came back from a particularly heavy afternoon in floods of tears. She hadn't been caned (Emmaâs first thought) but had received a bare-bottom hand-spanking from a boy who was now a school prefect, but who had the previous year been Deborah's boyfriend. She had been really upset when he had dropped her and she still really fancied him. Emma didn't even know that there were any boys in the school and Deborah explained that teachers' sons were allowed to attend and there were usually about two or three in each year at the school. They were given no special treatment and their presence did lead to some embarrassment for both boys and girls, given the punishment regime of the school. When boys deserved, in the sixth form, to be made prefects, they were - and were trusted not to abuse their right to remove girls' panties. Today this particular prefect, Robbie, had caught Deborah skipping class and, despite her pleas to refer her, he had insisted on administering her punishment himself. He had also refused to listen to her entreaty not to bare her bottom because of their previous involvement. "Don't be ridiculous," he chided her. "First of all, you can't expect prefects to give their ex-girlfriends special treatment, and secondly, unlike most girls I spank, I've already seen your bare bottom haven't I?" "Yes, I know, but..." Deborah began. "No buts! Come on, come to my study or I'll spank you out here on the lawn." Deborah slouched along after this boy whom she still lusted after, who no longer wanted her, but who was now about to give her a bare bottom spanking. When they got to his study, Robbie sat down and contemplated his task. "Of course, you should get an extension for your protests," he said. "However, I understand your reasons, so I shall simply adapt the punishment to persuade you of my determination to carry out my duties properly. You will strip to your panties, please!" "No!!" Deborah screeched. The prefect jumped to his feet, took her face in his hands and spoke quietly. "If you make one more refusal, I shall double up twice and you'll be getting the tawse across your bare bottom. Now do as you're told!" Crying steadily, Deborah started to remove her clothing, remembering the times she had gladly taken off her clothes for this boy and welcomed his fingers between her thighs. These memories flooded not only her mind but also her pussy and she knew she was getting wet enough for Robbie to see her arousal if she didn't keep her legs pressed tightly together. Robbie's face was appreciative, rather than impassive, as Deborah unfastened her bra and slowly exposed her breasts. She found herself flushing with a humiliating pleasure that he still seemed to find her attractive, mixed with embarrassment at her hardened nipples: pert teats that Robbie's lips had often surrounded. When she finally stood naked before him, except for her skimpy panties, Robbie beckoned her to him and ran his hands gently up her legs to the crotch of her remaining garment. Then, without actually touching her pussy, he took hold of the strip of cotton which passed between her legs and tugged downwards. Inch by inch, Robbie uncovered Deborah's triangle of blond hair and then continued his task until the girl's panties fell uselessly to the floor around her ankles. Then he took her hand and she stepped out of her knickers and allowed her ex- boyfriend to take her over his knee. When his hand began to stroke her bare bottom, Deborah was unable to hold in a moan of sensual pleasure and she closed her eyes and scolded herself harshly as his hand travelled down to the top of her thighs, applying the gentlest of outward pressure, and Deborah responded, despite her earlier resolution, by parting her thighs until her soaking pussy was on full view. Only then, when Robbie had demonstrated his total command of her, did the boy begin to punish her for skipping class. A full thirty-six hard smacks, covering every square inch of her cheeks and moving down to spank the back of her thighs towards the end of the punishment. Deborah howled and cried, and indeed the spanking was a fierce one, but the greatest pain was that this boy, who no longer wished to make love with her, was happy to use his power to strip and spank her. Once he had finished, Robbie made her stand, still naked, in front of him for a final reproach. "Before you go, you will thank me for punishing you," he told her. Any rebelliousness in her had been suppressed by the weight of his hand on her naked bottom and she replied meekly. "Thank you for spanking my bare bottom," she said. "I should not have skipped class and I deserved to be punished." "You certainly did. And be warned that I shall be keeping a very careful eye on you, young lady, over the next term. If you put a foot wrong, you can be certain I shall have you in here with your knickers off and over my knee. And it will be the strap you'll be feeling next time! Dismissed!" Deborah had run back over the grounds to her own house and down the corridor to her study, falling into Emma's warm embrace and, breaking the rule for once, telling her friend about everything that had happened. Emma had responded by taking Deborah, bare bottomed, over her knee herself, but to soothe rather than spank her, rubbing the cream into her sore flesh with a deep sensuality and listening with delight to the moans and sighs of the girl beneath her hands. On Sunday morning, Deborah kissed Emma tenderly and sent her off down the corridor to the house captain's study. "Good luck!" she said. "You show them!" "I'll try," Emma replied with a rather forced grin, before walking slowly down the corridor to the blue door at the far end that led to Amanda's study. "Come! Ah... Emma, isn't it? Good. Sit down here and we'll begin at once. Ready?" Amanda was a tall, imposing eighteen year old who would have kept the members of her house on a tight rein even if she hadn't been given the power to upend and spank them. As is was, no girl failed to give her the respect she demanded. In the room with the house captain were five other sixth-formers, all prefects. They sometimes asked the odd question, but principally the House Test was Amanda's responsibility. "I... I think so." "Fine. What can you get an extension for?" "Er," Emma's mind went blank for a moment and she thought she was going to remember nothing. Then the words flashed into her head. "Refusal, denial, physical or verbal aggression, or three offences in three weeks." "OK. What is the punishment for smoking?" "A minimum of six strokes with the tawse on the bare bottom and a maximum of twelve strokes of the cane." "Mm, hm. What is the maximum punishment a house tutor can give?" "Twenty strokes of the paddle on the bare bottom." The questions went on for fifteen minutes, the answers coming easily to Emma as her confidence built up. Then, as she sensed the test was coming to an end.... "How is a house public conducted?" "A... a what?" Emma knew that her response had made it impossible even for her to bluff now, but she knew she hadn't even read those words. She could see the interest of the prefects, sitting behind their leader, growing. "A house public. Come on, it's in the appendix." "Appendix? What appendix?" Amanda, who had been smiling up until now, began to frown. "The appendix at the back of the rule book. The last two pages." "I... I..." tears were beginning to well up in her now. She had seen the appendix - she remembered now - but for some reason she hadn't thought it was part of the rules. Why hadn't she asked? She began to get desperate. "I didn't know... I... can I have an extra day...?" "You can have an extra three days," Amanda said. "You have failed I'm afraid, so you're still on restricted movement. You'll come back here at eight o'clock on Wednesday morning. And I would suggest you make sure you get every question right." "I will. I promise. Can I go now?" "Not yet, I'm afraid. There is something else I must attend to first. Stand up, please." Emma stood shakily and watched as the house captain walked over to her desk and pressed a large red button on the wall. Then she opened a drawer and, to Emma's horror, took from it a long, stiff leather strap. She walked back over to where the younger girl was standing and held it so that Emma could see it clearly. It was some eighteen inches long and about two inches wide, dark brown in colour, and was cut into fingers at one end. The other end was bound into a short handle. "Do you know what this is?" Amanda asked her sternly. "Y... yes. It... it's a tawse," she whispered. "And what is it for?" "For..." she was weeping heavily now. "For giving punishments." "Yes. For giving punishments. For spanking the bare bottoms of naughty young girls. And, as you will find, it is extremely effective. Kneel down please." Emma at School 3 The cost of failure Obediently, Emma knelt on the carpeted floor and closed her eyes, trying not to imagine what would happen next. What did happen was that the door opened. "Deborah. Come in please." Deborah? What was she doing there? Amanda went on. "I'm sorry to tell you that Emma has failed her House Test. You know what that means?" "Yes, Amanda," Emma's friend replied. "Well?" "The tawse. Eight whacks on the bare bottom." Eight strokes on her bare bottom. Emma could hardly believe her ears and she felt tears running down her cheeks. "Correct," Amanda continued. "Stand in front of Emma please." Emma opened her eyes as Deborah approached her, wanting her friend to hug her, console her or, better still, persuade the house captain not to flog her. But she kept her mouth closed while Deborah walked up to stand right in front of her. Not only, it appeared, was she to be punished, but her only friend at the school, as well as the house prefects, was going to watch. "Emma!" At Amanda's sharp voice, Emma snapped her head up. "Yes, Amanda," she croaked. "Please remove Deborah's skirt." "Wh... what?" Emma's mind was racing ahead, trying to work out what twist was being added to her punishment, but no clarification was forthcoming. "Just do as you are told please, young lady." Emma reached up and unfastened the clasps that held up Deborah's school skirt, dropping it to the floor. Her face was only inches from her friend's subtly bulging panties and, despite the circumstances, she felt a familiar twitching between her own thighs. "Now pull her panties down, right to her ankles." Something strange was happening here, Emma thought as she lifted her hands to the elastic waistband of Deborah's white cotton panties. However unlike you, dear reader, she lacked the distance necessary to recognise her error and still feared for her own bottom as she bared Deborah's pretty pussy and landed her panties on the ground. It was only when Amanda gave her next instruction that the penny dropped. "Good. Now, Deborah, feet apart please and move forwards a little for me. Emma, will you take a firm hold of Deborah's legs for me." Deborah obeyed at once, spreading her thighs to give Emma an even better look at her slightly parted pussy lips and the pink secrets within and then, as Emma took hold of her legs, anticipating the next instruction by bending down over her friend to hold on to Emma's elbows. In spite of the fact that she had clearly brought about the tawsing of, not herself, but her friend, Emma could think of little at that moment but the sight and haunting scent of her friend's sex. Again Amanda broke in on her personal thoughts. "Until you pass your House Test," she said, a little regretfully, "I am not permitted to administer corporal punishment to you. You will, of course, receive a generous amount when you finally do pass, but in the meantime your friend Deborah will take the thrashing you have earned. Did you hear what that was to be?" Emma felt a guilty blush rising to her cheeks as she stammered the answer. "Er... eight stroke of the tawse on... on the bare bottom." "Correct. Usually offenders count out the strokes as they are being beaten. As you are the offender, you will count please." "Please..." Emma suddenly began, as if finally realising what she had brought down upon her friend. "Can't you just...." "Silence!" Amanda ordered her. "Or Deborah, not you, will face additional strokes for insolence. "Count out loud please!" And with that angry command, Amanda lifted the tawse high and swept it down in a long arc to crash loudly and forcefully across Deborah's bared bottom. As her friend screamed with pain, Emma began to cry again, wondering whether Deborah would ever speak to her again, let alone continue to be her friend. Tearfully she whimpered the first count. "One!" As the second stroke landed, Emma felt Deborah's body jump under the might of the blow and heard the jolt echoed in her loud screech of anguish. I did this! Emma told herself. I might as well be wielding the strap myself! How will Deborah ever be able to forgive me? THWACK! "Oooohh!" Tears from Deborah's eyes began to fall onto Emma's bare calves as she counted out the strokes, Deborah's pain given voice in her desperate sobbing as she endured the punishment for her trainee failing the House Test. Then, as Deborah's bare bottom was strapped for a sixth time, Emma became aware of a strong, sweet scent and realised to her surprise that it was the smell of her friend's arousal - the same smell she had delighted in on the several occasions when she had soothed Deborah's well-spanked cheeks. Could she really be getting turned on by this cruel spanking? Could this vicious flogging really be warming not only Deborah's behind, but also her pussy. Emma's own wetness (which had not surprised her) now increased as she contemplated her friend's sexual response to being beaten and she imagined herself in Deborah's position - bent over with her knickers off and receiving Amanda's robust attention. Surely all she would feel would be the burning pain of the strap? Surely she wouldn't find her sex crying out for attention in the way her friend's pussy was now? CRACK! "Noooh!" In her reverie, Emma almost forgot to call out "Seven!" as Deborah's scream of agony cut through her mind, her whole body on fire now as the different aspects of this electrifying event intermixed with each other. Deborah's arousal was unmistakable now. Her pussy's wetness was visible to Emma from her position between the other girl's thighs (and therefore visible too to Amanda as she wielded the strap!) She watched as Amanda's tennis-trained arm lifted the leather high above her head for a final time and pulled it sharply through the air. Emma followed the tawse with her eyes as it snaked down across her roommate's buttocks, cursing her position as she couldn't watch the impact and the unravelling of the new weal she knew must have been left by the stroke. For the last time (for this session at least) Deborah's mouth opened and her voice exploded bitterly around the room. "Eight!" yelled Emma in response. Amanda said nothing for the moment, but walked back to her desk to replace the tawse in its hiding place, leaving Deborah half-naked and exposed. Emma desperately now wanted to lean forwards to taste the sweet-smelling juices whose scent was still infusing her confused mind. However, she simply waited for Amanda to issue her next instruction which she did almost immediately. "Stand up, Deborah," she said. "You need to get back to educating your trainee don't you? I'd hate to have to call you back here again on Wednesday. And anyway, I want to be able to have the opportunity of putting young Emma over my knee, so you need to ensure she passes. Understand?" "Yes, Amanda," Deborah replied, still standing in front of her friend and naked from the waist down, her swollen clitoris peeking inquisitively from the folds of her sex. "Good. You can replace your skirt... but no panties until your charged has passed, I think. Just to remind you of the importance I attach to it. OK?" "Yes, Amanda." Deborah pulled her skirt on and silently left the room with Emma following, head-bowed, behind. Her friend was being deprived of her panties too - as well as getting the strap. And all because of her. She began to weep again as they approached Deborah's study. "What are you snivelling about?" Deborah demanded. "I... I'm sorry... I'm sorry for...." Emma began. "Oh don't bother with your pathetic excuses. Just learn that fucking book!" And with that, Deborah threw herself onto her couch face down and began, heaving gently, to cry her eyes out. Emma gingerly tried stroking her hair, but Deborah slapped her hand away and grunted loudly. Emma had screwed up good and proper. Deborah was her only friend at the school and it was beginning to look as though she may have lost her though this horrible business. "Deborah..." she whispered. "Deborah!" "What do you want, you little shit?" "I... I wanted to ask... I mean, are you... will you still be my friend?" Deborah sat up sharply, her tears held back for the moment. "Are you serious?" she asked. "Of course... I mean, I don't know anyone here and..." And again Emma collapsed in tears. "Listen Emma," Deborah said a little less harshly. "Yes?" "Have you just had your bare bottom strapped?" "N... no. What do..." "So just SHUT THE FUCK UP! I've got the reason to cry, not you!" Emma flinched at the blow. "I'm really sorry, Deborah. Really I am." "Yeah, really!" Deborah retorted. "I am. Can... can I rub some cream on you?" Deborah's look was withering. "And what makes you think I'd want you near me, letting alone smearing your grubby hands over my bare bum?" "I just... I don't know anyone... I don't have any friends...." As Emma dissolved once again, Deborah felt her heart softening a little. But she wasn't ready to let the new girl off just yet. "Deborah?" "Yes?" "Would you... if I... would you let me be your friend if I let you..." She looked Deborah in the eyes and then looked down, "If I let you spank me." Deborah wasn't ready for that and had to check herself to stop her from jumping around the room excitedly. "Spank you?" she asked, with a vaguely interested tone. Emma just nodded. "Hmmm. I suppose that might make a difference. A bare bottom spanking?" "Yes... OK," Emma agreed. "Let's see... twelve whacks with... with whatever I want." Emma recalled Deborah's wailing under the cane and tawse and recoiled a little. "Couldn't you just spank me with your hand?" Deborah found that idea particularly delicious, but didn't let on. "I don't know about that.... OK, I'm prepared to agree to forty smacks with my hand... and also six with the instrument of my choice?" Emma realised that this was an increase in the scale, but nodded her assent anyway. "Ok, Deborah. Wh... when do you want to do it?" "I'm not sure. Whenever and wherever I want, though. Agreed?" "Yes." "Good. Now, what about my bottom rub?" Emma was surprised at how pleasant Deborah was being now, unaware of quite how many times the other girl had masturbated herself to sleep while fantasising about spanking Emma's bare bottom. She responded by beginning to remove her friend's clothing and Deborah allowed her to strip her completely, not questioning the need for her breasts to be bared for a bottom massage. Emma led Deborah over to the couch and placed her as she wanted her: on her knees with her bottom facing out into the room and, again with no protest, with her knees a full two feet apart. Taking her tube of cream, Emma knelt between her friend's feet which projected out over the edge of the couch and, as she rubbed a good quantity over her palms she looked, for the third time only, upon Deborah's pussy. Although, following the advice of her mum's women's magazines, Emma had inspected her own genitals with a mirror, she had never thought of female sex organs as "beautiful". But now, her face only inches from her friend's glistening pink folds, she found herself transfixed by every crevice. She could see Deborah's clitoris, enlarged like a tiny fat finger, and wanted so much to slide her own digits through the warm wetness of her and to caress that eager button. Instead she began to smooth her cream over Deborah's bottom, but this time her hands began quite soon to roam down over the girl's thighs and then between them. She managed to restrain herself for a full five minutes before, responding to Deborah's moans and her wiggling bottom and her own mounting desire, she finally allowed a single finger to stray, as if lost, away from the pinkness of the girl's bottom and into the pinkness of her slit. This tiny action changed everything between them. Deborah let out a long sigh of intense pleasure and Emma's response appeared one hundred percent natural, she fell into her friend's arms, her mouth seeking out Deborah's and her hand homing in on her sex. Two fingers slid easily deep inside Deborah's vagina, Emma's thumb finding her clit and circling it repeatedly. At the same time, Deborah began to pull at Emma's clothing and, within minutes, both girls were completely naked and licking and stroking each other's bodies with the passion created by a week's steadily growing arousal. Although Emma had never experienced an orgasm at the hands of another, and Deborah only very rarely, they both came quickly and noisily, continuing their lovemaking through further climaxes until each was completely exhausted and they lay, covered in sweat, entwined in each other's arms. In the mind's eye of each girl there was now playing a very similar sequence of images. Emma having her panties pulled off. Deborah pulling Emma over her knee. Emma's skirt being raised to bare her pale, young bottom. Deborah lifting her hand and beginning to give Emma only the second bare bottom spanking of her life. Emma At School 4 Asking for it Nothing was said about Emma's punishment until the morning when the girls awoke next to each other in one of the two narrow single beds in the guest room. "Mmmmm." As Emma's senses stirred, she became aware of the soft, warm flesh next to her and nuzzled happily against Deborah's breasts. "I thought you'd never wake up," her lover replied, running a finger down Emma's spine. "Tired," Emma answered with closed eyes and a relaxed smile, giggling then as Deborah's hand slipped between her legs and roused her pussy, her thighs parting to welcome the touch. "Oohh, that's nice," she whispered, kissing Deborah's nipples lightly and luxuriating in the snug feel of two fingers lodged deep inside her while her girlfriend's spare hand approached her sleepy clitoris. "Good," Deborah cooed. "I need you awake so that I can begin the first part of your spanking." "F... first part," Emma stammered, the warmth in her pussy making conversation difficult. "What do you mean?" "Well, I didn't say anything about everything happening in one go. I mean, forty hand smacks and six with... well, something else - that could keep me going for days." "You've only got two," Emma reminded her. "Yes. A pity," Deborah agreed. "So... better start now then." "Now?" Deborah's fingers were still stroking her sex deliciously and she rather hoped that her lover might finish what she had started, rather than.... But no. Suddenly her pussy was abandoned and she was left only with a damp emptiness and the promise of a sore bottom. "What are you going to use?" Emma asked, thinking that getting it over might be the best tactic. "Well.... difficult," the other girl replied. "I'd love to strap or cane you... but if you do pass your Test on Wednesday then your cute little bum isn't likely to stay covered for very long and we don't want any marks, do we? So - go and look in the top drawer over there please." Emma obediently got out of bed and, naked still, walked across the room to the desk, Deborah enjoying the sight of her well-proportioned body as she moved. Emma pulled back the drawer and lifted out the table-tennis bat within. It was one of those old-fashioned ones: basically a bit of wood with a bumpy plastic covering on each side. She felt the blood rushing to her head as she turned, holding the implement, to her lover. "With... with this?" she asked quietly. "Indeed. Hand it to me please." Emma handed over the heavyish bat and waited for her instructions. Somehow she felt anticipation rather than fear and the heat between her thighs wasn't abating either. "Does... does this turn you on?" she asked. "You know.. spanking me?" Deborah replied by crooking her finger to draw Emma nearer and then guiding the girl's hand down to her own sex, Emma fingers finding her hot, slippery and accommodating. "Do you mind?" Deborah asked her. "No. I just wondered. What do you want me to do?" "Normally, I'll spank you over my knee. However, I want this first one to really hurt so I'll need a bit more swing. Face the desk, legs wide apart, and bend over. No, hang on." She trawled through a couple of drawers until she found a clean white handkerchief. "Can't have any screams, can we?" she observed, handing the makeshift gag to the other girl. Emma bit on the hanky and then followed the earlier instructions, for the second time in two weeks presenting her bare bottom for chastisement - this time at the hands (and bat) of a girl her own age. She didn't have long to ponder, however, for Deborah wasted no time in lining up her shot and swinging the bat like an Olympic ping-ponger (or is it ping-pongist?). It flashed through the air and slammed into Emma's exposed cheeks like a locomotive. "Mmphhh!" Emma howled ineffectively through the gag as the sharp sting of the bat shot through her bottom, its afterglow reminding her of the time she'd had to pee while walking in a local wood as a little girl with her parents and had crouched down atop a clump of stinging nettles. WHACK! WHACK! The gag not only prevented Emma from screaming at the pain being inflicted on her by her "friend", it also stopped her from begging and pleading to be spared the last three strokes with the bat. If she had been in a fit sense to reason she would have recognised that this bottom-warming was extremely mild compared to what was often dished out at Katherine Parr - mild, in fact, compared to the punishments that Emma herself had watched being inflicted on Deborah. Deborah would no doubt have argued, correctly surely, that her spanking of Emma in this way would help to acclimatise her to the school's regime and that, in any case, it was in no way exceptionally severe. Because of the gag, however, Deborah didn't have to consider the question - in fact she only wondered whether she might not have been rather over-lenient. Certainly there was a pleasing red glow to her lover's bare bottom, but only six strokes? She had better make sure the last three really counted. Emma noticed the difference. Having mistakenly thought that she was experiencing ping-pong punishment at its hardest, Deborah was now pointing out her error most effectively and causing Emma to bounce around in a very unladylike manner under the fierce attention of the bat, ceasing only after the delivery of the sixth stroke. "You may remove the gag and dress now," Deborah said in a businesslike tone. "Thank you," Emma snivelled having freed her voice and then finding that dressing was not a painless affair either - not when you've chose to wear tight panties and your bottom has been well spanked. "There remain forty hand-smacks," Deborah reminded her. "That's six sessions of six smacks - plus four for me to use now in your training." "Tr... training," the half-dressed girl stammered in reply. "Yes. I will choose the setting for three of those spankings, on the other three occasions you will ask me to punish you. Understand?" "Yes, Deborah." Her friend's voice told her that complaint was not an option. "Of the three spankings you request (all before tomorrow night, of course,) one must take place out of doors. When I choose to spank you, you will obey at once, regardless of the situation. Is that absolutely clear?" "Yes, Deborah." "Good. Now, sometimes I will ask you to strip to receive your punishment, at other times simply to "prepare". We'll practice the latter one now. When asked to prepare, you must remove your panties and lift your skirt to your waist. Then you come and stand before me with your legs apart and a hanky in your mouth so that I may touch you if I wish. When I give the command you will bend down over my knee and I will take care of the rest. So - prepare!" Emma wanted to beg to be spared this further spanking, yet she also wanted to please her lover and she dutifully slipped her panties to the floor once more, stuffed the same handkerchief in her mouth and stood as instructed in front of Deborah, pussy exposed and open. "Very good," Deborah noted, choosing (to Emma's frustration) not to play with her. "Now, over my lap, young lady." Following the scenario, Emma laid herself across Deborah's knee and felt her friend shifting her around a little to ensure she was able to get a good shot. Then she stroked Emma's bare bottom one or twice and lifted her hand. "Naughty girls get punished at this school. It's time you learned that," Deborah intoned, slapping hard at Emma's neatly turned up cheeks. "And what's more, if you fail your house test this time, I'll be taking the cane to you. Do you understand that, missy?" "Nnngghh!" Emma gurgled through her full mouth, nodding her head vigorously as her bottom was smacked again. "And if you pass, in addition to all the other punishments you receive you will submit to up to four spankings per week from me during your first three months. Six smacks on the bare bottom on each occasion. Agreed?" Again, following the question and the harsh smack which accompanied it, Emma nodded her head, despite the fact that she was now agreeing to a massive heightening of the stakes. "Good girl, Emma," Deborah said quietly. "One more smack and you can get ready for lessons." She slipped a finger into the warm crevice between her friend's thighs and waited for Emma to respond with a thrust of her hips before sliding her finger quickly out and administering the final hard slap. All through morning lessons, Emma found herself unable to think of anything but her warm bottom and the certainty that the heat in her cheeks would soon be topped-up. She failed to answer most of the teacher's questions and she could tell by the look on his face that he was extremely annoyed not to be able to take the paddle to her. She couldn't tell that he was logging her poor performance with a view to "settling up" at a later date. At lunch time Emma sped back to Deborah's study and was disappointed to find her friend not yet back. Still finding her new situation like a long dream, Emma's actions seemed to be following a plan over which she had no control. She reached beneath her school skirt and slipped her panties off quickly and then got out the rule book which she dropped onto the couch. Next she collected the various cushions together and piled them up in the centre of the couch. Finally, Emma climbed up onto the couch, hiking her skirt up past her waist and leaning across the pile of cushions. In this position, she would be able to read and re-read the rule book while she waited for Deborah to come back and then, when the door opened and her lover entered the room, she would hardly need to ask for the first of her six spankings. Deborah was impressed. She'd not had a good morning (and in fact had got her own bottom paddled in class) and was ready to call Emma across her knee anyway. However, Emma's planning had meant that the spanking she received was given, not in anger, but in loving thanks. Not that it didn't still hurt. Deborah was an impressive spanker and Emma had not yet begun to develop the tolerance of her classmates so Deborah managed to bring tears to her friend's eyes by the time she had finished. Five more spankings followed in the next two days, the last one at 8pm on Tuesday leaving a gap of 12 hours before Emma's second attempt at the House Test. Emma had reserved her one open-air spanking for this final session and Deborah readily agreed to Emma's suggestion of a walk in the neighbouring fields. She equally gladly accepted the skirt and panties offered to her a couple of miles from school and helped Emma into place over the rickety wooden stile they had reached. For once, Emma could allow herself to cry out as Deborah smacked her bare bottom hard and Deborah's smile reflected the pleasure she gained from this aspect of the punishment. And after she had given her friend a sound spanking, Deborah pulled Emma down into the long grass and the two girls made love deliciously for almost an hour. On Wednesday morning, Emma woke early in comfort and lay still for a while with her arm around Deborah. She lifted the sheet covering them to look over her soft, rounded body and, feeling the dampness gathering in between her legs, longed to plunge her face into her friend's pussy - yet she knew that she would have to wait until after she'd passed her test. And there was no doubt in her mind that, this time, she would. "OK, let's start in the most obvious place," Amanda began. Two hours had passed since Emma first opened her eyes and she had spent much of that time bathing and grooming herself in preparation. The house captain continued, "How is a house public conducted?" This was the question on which Emma had faltered last time. Now she was almost able to quote the rule book word for word. "A house public is the term given for a punishment administered in public by the offender's house captain or house master or mistress. Such punishments shall be given immediately after evening roll call. No pupils may be excused from watching. The offender shall be fully naked and shall be tied to a punishment horse (like the one Emma had seen Deborah tied to on her first day at the school). Following the administration of the punishment, the offender shall be left in position, on display, for fifteen minutes before being released and allowed to dress." Emma's answers to the rest of Amanda's questions were equally accurate and Amanda was soon satisfied that she had fully learned the rule book. "Well done," she said. "You've passed. I now want to say a few things to you about the ways in which your time here will now be different." Amanda looked at the younger girl with a quizzical look and then continued: "While I'm speaking, you may as well undress." Emma had expected a spanking for her initial failure at the Test but was still unnerved by the thowaway line. "Do I... everything?" she asked. "Yes please," Amanda replied. "I'd prefer it." As Emma stripped off her school uniform, Amanda sat in a large, blue, well-padded armchair and talked about the dormitory regime and other aspects of the school that Emma had not yet experienced. She told her about how to accept punishments from teachers in class and informed her that a number of teachers had spankings saved up for her already. As Emma shyly pulled her panties down, the house captain got up and fetched the strap from her drawer, pleased to note the lack of surprise on the young girl's face. "You were expecting this?" she asked. "Yes," Emma looked into the powerfully-built older girl's face and felt almost overawed by her poise and beauty. "I thought that I'd probably still be punished for failing the Test last time." "Yes. You're right, of course," Amanda replied. "And, if I'm truthful, I like to be the person to initiate our new girls into the ways of the school." The house captain walked up close to the new girl and took her nervous-looking face in her hands, kissing her tenderly on the forehead. "Are you ready?" she asked. "I think so." "Good. Often when you come to me to be punished, I'll tell you to bend over my desk or something similar to allow me a better swing. However, for your first spanking I'd like you over my knee please." Amanda took Emma's hand and led her across the room to a straight backed chair. Smiling to herself she sat down and then took the good-looking youngster across her lap for the first time. "I hope you're comfy," she thought to herself as she lifted the strap. "This is going to become a very familiar posture." EMMA AT SCHOOL Episode 5 - Meeting the locals "How much further... where are we going?" Emma complained. "Will you stop it!" her friend replied. Then, grinning, she added, "Or I'll spank you!" Emma made a face. She had agreed to allow Deborah to spank her up to four times a week for the next three months and knew that Deborah found it a great turn on - and that she enjoyed spanking her bare bottom outdoors. It was also true, of course, that Emma got amazingly turned on when her lover spanked her. "Here!" Deborah was whispering now. "Look - through there!" Emma followed her friend's pointing finger through the hedge to a huge brick building. It looked, Emma thought, like a school. "It's a school," Deborah told her, adding: "A boys' school." "What!" Emma almost shrieked her response. "Shhhh! You'll get us caught!" "I'm not going in there," Emma muttered, shaking her head. "Do you know the way back?" "No." "Then it looks like you're coming with me. Come on." With that, Deborah took her friend's hand and pulled her across the lawn and in through a small back door. Emma had to admit that Deborah seemed to know what she was doing; she obviously came here a lot. They slipped through the corridors, avoiding meeting anyone until Deborah pulled at a study door and bundled herself and her friend inside. "Hey! Debs!" A tall, good-looking boy jumped to his feet and came over to kiss Deborah on the lips, Emma feeling a twinge of jealousy. He looked about seventeen. "And who's this beauty?" he asked, Emma blushing at the flattery despite its corniness. "This is my new best friend, Emma," Deborah said proudly. "Good to meet you, Emma. Now..." As the boy continued to talk, Emma looked around the room. Well-decorated, good posters, good taste in music. She had to admit to feeling quite excited being here and being in the presence of boys after several weeks locked up in an almost all-girl environment. As she gazed around, she suddenly noticed something odd under a table, although it took a few seconds for her to realise that the "something" was another boy, his face buried in a book. Emma felt annoyed that he had not even acknowledged the girls' presence, but returned her attention to Deborah and the first boy instead. "OK. Look, I've got to go and play soccer for an hour or two. Will you two hang around?" Deborah didn't even look to Emma for an answer. "Of course," she said with a flashing smile. "Great. Alright, see you later Emma. Bye." "So what are we supposed to do for two hours while he's away?" Emma asked. "I don't know. Just hang out. What's your problem?" Emma knew that protesting her jealousy would not have any useful effect and, instead, threw herself onto a tatty, blue couch against one wall. Deborah was about to follow her when she saw a glint on the floor. Intrigued, she stooped to pick up the tiny object and then froze as a sharp voice cried out. "Stop! Don't move!" It was the boy under the table and Deborah held herself deadly still, expecting news of a wasp or some other danger. "What... what is it?" she asked under her breath. "Oh," the boy replied calmly. "It's the view of your knickers under your skirt!" "You bastard!" Deborah exploded, standing up and turning on him. "What do you...." But the boy interrupted her and something in his voice told her to stop shouting and, rather, to listen. "I thought I said don't move," he spat. "Now I suggest you get back into that brazen pose and wait for my next instruction." "Why should I?" Deborah asked with a snarl. "Because I know damn well that if I report you for being here when you're supposed to be at school you'll get your housemaster's cane across that pretty bottom of yours - and, compared to that, the spanking I'm planning to give you will be fairly mild!" Deborah stared at the boy with her mouth open. Emma felt her stomach turn over and then looked at her friend who was giving away her thoughts by inaction. It was true, of course. A caning was the minimum punishment for being caught in a boys' school and Emma had seen the marks left by Mr Lindon's cane on Deborah's fair cheeks before. It was almost impossible to believe, but Emma knew that her friend was about to yield her bottom to a spanking from this precocious youth. Slowly, Deborah turned her back on the boy and bent down once more. Her skirt was terribly short and Emma usually liked her to wear it for precisely the reason that today it had caused her trouble. She knew very well the view that the boy was getting from behind her lover - her white cotton panties, swollen by her youthful pussy, only partly covering her pale bottom cheeks. The boy got up and walked towards the girl he was commanding. Almost nonchalantly he flipped the remains of her skirt over her back and then stroked her cotton-clad bum with his fingers. "My name's David, by the way," he said. Emma felt a surge of anger rising in her as Deborah held her position under the intrusive touch. "You said you'd spank her, not rub your grubby fingers all over her!" The boy swung round to face her, his expression unruffled. "Oh," he said, his fingers moving between Deborah's thighs now. "You can talk!" Fixing Emma with his eyes, he slid a finger of each hand into the waistband of Deborah's panties and slipped them down easily to her thighs before beginning to fondle her now bared buttocks once more. "Well," he continued. "I suggest that you save your breath and get your own knickers off. 'Cos you're next!" Emma blushed despite herself. "I'm not doing any such thing!" she muttered. "I'd rather get the cane." As she spoke, she saw his fingers straying once more between Deborah's thighs and this time they clearly found the slippery entrance to the girl's vagina. What horrified her more than this, though, was the words Deborah spoke (with a slight gasp) as he did so. "You wouldn't rather get the cane," she told her friend. "And I'm not getting it to save your modesty. So you can either get undressed and let David spank you like a good little girl, or so help me I'll gladly assist him in ripping your clothes off you by force!" "Debbie! No! You wouldn't! You..." Emma wept, her mind in a spin, before David silenced her with a look and a step towards her. "You heard your friend," he said. "Now strip! Everything off!" Deborah's short speech had punctured her fighting spirit and she realised that she would be on a one-person losing side if she tried to resist further. Tearfully and slowly, she began to undress. "I'm glad you've persuaded your... friend to see sense," David said pleasantly to Deborah, making clear his understanding of the relationship between the two girls. "Now, twelve swats each with a wet flannel. Come on, girl," he said sharply to Emma. "Get them off now!" As David walked over to the washbasin in the study and proceeded to thoroughly dampen a large, heavyweight purple flannel, Emma removed her bra to leave her sitting in nothing but her knickers. Lacking Deborah's support, and fearing an increase in the level of her punishment, she then began to slide this last, skimpy garment from her, dropping it to the floor and sitting naked on the couch. David turned, holding the flannel which he had rolled up loosely and looked straight at her. "Sit on the side of the couch facing me," he demanded. "Legs wide apart." "No, I ...." Emma began, only to see David turn away from her in disgust at her continued disobedience. He didn't look at her as he delivered the next short monologue. "You still have a lot to learn, don't you? Deborah, pull your panties all the way down to the floor please. Right down... good girl. Now, stand with your feet apart... wider... a little more, I want to see your sweet little cunt lips. Beautiful - just perfect. Now put your left hand between your legs and rub your clit. Yes... a bit faster... keep going. Great... I want you to keep going with your left hand... and stroke your pussy with your right hand... yes... spread your lips a bit more. Now, two fingers inside you... right up inside your cunt... further... yeah...and slide them in and our... keep going... don't stop until you come...don't stop...." Emma watched, horrified and totally gripped, as her friend carried out each perverted command without protest and as she gradually became genuinely aroused. All the time that Deborah was wanking herself, Emma could see David stroking his evident hardness through his trousers. Then as Deborah's breathing betrayed, through the signs Emma knew so well, the nearness of her orgasm, Emma turned towards her lover and watched her coming "to order" for this stranger. David turned to Emma now. "I don't expect you to have the obedience of Deborah. But I do expect you to carry out simple commands!" Looking at the floor, Emma slowly slid her feet off the side of the couch and parted her thighs, displaying her open sex to this boy she'd known for less than an hour. David smiled and thanked her politely, telling her to maintain that position while he punished Deborah. Then he moved back behind the other girl and lifted the flannel above his head. WHACK! Emma could tell by the sound of the crack of wet flannelette against bare skin that the blow was very painful. Deborah's scream only helped to reinforce this knowledge. For the third time, Emma was made to sit and watch while her best friend was beaten, only this time she knew that when the punishment was over - she would be next. She willed the spanking to proceed more slowly. She even, to her shame, wished for her friend to receive additional whacks - anything to defer the onset of her own chastisement any little way into the future. Yet, after twelve smart lashes had been delivered to Deborah's upward-pointed and bare bottom, David turned once more to Emma. He didn't speak unkindly... but then, in a position of such power, why should he bother. "Roll over onto your tummy so that you're bent over the side of the couch. That's better... you're learning." She was learning. She was learning that in the twisted world into which her parents had thrust her, the rules of the outside world simply did not apply. She had learned the central lesson intended by her mother and father: that every action has a consequence. In the case of her new life, that every misdemeanour, however slight, resulted in her bottom being spanked. But many other strange new dynamics were created in this world. Your best friend and lover could demand the right to punish you too. She could demand that you expose yourself to strangers - even to strange men! She could demand that you bare your bottom for their correction too. It even seemed that males in general were accorded the right, in general, to spank the bare bottom of females in general, though in this case, of course, it was blackmail that made it necessary for her and Deborah to submit. That was as far as her thoughts could wander, for they were interrupted rudely - painfully - by the first flash of the flannel across her bare buttocks. Emma felt the heavy sting of the flannel and heard the sound of her own involuntary screech of pain almost simultaneously. The wetness of the flannel assisted it in bolstering its power and, although it lacked the blistering aftershock of Amanda's strap, the initial touch was every bit as nasty. "Yeeooowl!" She shrieked again as the second stroke landed, seeking out a new area to set burning. Part of the flannel's advantage, David noticed, over other implements he'd tried was that it both covered a large area, like a hand or paddle, but yet the "tail" of the flannel delivered the concentrated force of a strap or cane As Emma buckled under the following blows, she wondered whether David's experience of being the spanker (for he undoubtedly did have experience!) was of punishing boys or girls. She knew he was too young to be a prefect: he was probably no older than her and that compounded the humiliation which was brought by every... THWACK! "Oouuchh!" As David neared the half-way point he began to aim his blows more carefully. He swept the sixth across the crease between buttock and leg, catching Emma's exposed vulva lightly as a happy coincidence. Then he moved down a little further to her thighs, using the "whiplash" property of the flannel to best advantage: when beating the left thigh, for instance, the tail of the flannel snakes round to lash cruelly at the inner thigh and he knew from experience how painful that could be. CRACK! "Noooooh!" It was true that David was not unfamiliar with being on the imparting end of corporal punishment, and that he had some experience of spanking girls. However, Emma's worst imaginings - that girls at Katherine Parr were expected to bare their bottoms on demand to the boys of St Stephen's - were wide of the mark. In fact, the staff at both schools were genuinely concerned that their punishment regimes did not contribute to sexist power dynamics and would have been greatly disturbed by the goings on in Mark's study that afternoon. THWACK! "Arrrrh! Please stop... please... Ouuuchh!" David's spanking of girls happened at home where he was expected to attend to the discipline of his two younger sisters, Katy and Sophia. The girls were twins and, at thirteen, two years David's junior. Their parents, as strong believers in corporal punishment and the need for children to respect their elders, would leave David in charge when they went out and were very happy for him to bare the girls' bottoms for a spanking if he deemed it necessary. Which he often did. In fact, now that the girls' bodies were developing at least as quickly, if not more rapidly, than his he was extremely careful not to allow a single misdemeanour go unpunished. There were evenings where he spent more time with a naked sister over his knee than without. But, although he relished this duty, and although he enjoyed tracking the changes in the girls' young breasts and pussies, and although he denied them the modesty of having their bottoms bared once over his knee but rather always pulled their knickers down as they stood before him, he had never ordered them to sit or stand with their legs open or attempted to touch their maturing bodies other than to smack their bottoms soundly. This aspect of his spanking of Deborah and Emma was new, as was his choice of position though not implement: his parents dictated that he should hand-spank his sisters while they bent over his knee and this was therefore a welcome variation WHACK! "Yeeooow!" Not that he hadn't spanked boys as well. Although he was, indeed, too young to be a prefect at St Stephen's, David had also gone to the attached boys' prep school and had been school captain there. Unlike the secondary school which, like Katherine Parr, allowed all senior pupils some rights to deliver punishments to the younger children, St Stephen's Prep gave the right to spank to the school captain only - a privilege which David had made great use of. Indeed, it was during that year that he had discovered the means of chastisement he was to beneficially employing on Emma at that very moment. SHRRRACKK! "Oooooooooh!" And now, or course, as a junior pupil at St Stephen's public school (in England, remember, this means a private school) David's repertoire of spanking techniques was being rapidly swollen by being on the receiving end on a very regular basis. David looked down at the lovely red-stained buttocks before him, the sweet virgin slit nestling delightfully between the open thighs and smiled. Just one more. He stroked the flannel smoothly over the upturned and quivering cheeks, leaving a trail of water droplets, and then lifted it one last time to lash the girl as hard as he could across her already well-punished bottom. David smiled again as the loud cry of pain echoed around the small room, knowing that the girls' cries sounded little different to those of young boys and would therefore not be considered remarkable by passers-by. Then he ran his hand lightly over Emma's bare bottom and told her she could stand up and turn around. Emma gladly did so and watched David though her tears as he walked back over to where Deborah retained her position - bent over with her thighs spread - and stood behind her. With growing disbelief, Emma watched him as he unbuttoned his trousers and tore open a small packet he had picked up from the desk. She couldn't see his cock as he was standing behind Deborah, but Emma knew that he was fitting a condom onto his erection and simply watched and waited until David, with no further preparation, took hold of her friend's hips and pushed himself inside her. She stood there, mouth open, as her lover held her position while the boy began to fuck her. She looked on with horror as Deborah started to breathe heavily and to push back on the cock filling her pussy, her eyes closed and her mind obviously oblivious to the effect the sight was having on Emma. Even worse, Emma found her own pussy moistening as she watched Deborah near her climax and then cry out as the waves of ecstasy washed over her, building up her backward thrusts again after they had subsided to meet David's approaching orgasm. Finally, Emma allowed her hand to stray, unseen, to her own clitoris as her friend and lover, Deborah, came again, this time more loudly and simultaneously with the boy standing behind her and fucking her. Emma's own climax surprised her in its suddenness and intensity and she collapsed, weeping, onto the couch. David, after enjoying the sensation of feeling his erection subside inside Deborah's pussy, withdrew and then, leaving the girl still bent over, dressed himself and left the room. Deborah stood up slowly and pulled her panties up while Emma just stared at her. "What are you going to do?" Emma spat at last. "What do you mean?" "What do you think. About him?" "What do you expect me to do?" Emma felt tears pricking at her eyes again and was angry with herself for not repressing them. "What is wrong with you. After what he did... he raped you!" Deborah looked as though she was going to walk out of the room. Then, suddenly, she laughed. "Raped me?" she repeated. "I told him to fuck me to teach you a lesson, you idiot. You've behaved like a silly bitch this afternoon - possessive and pathetic. You don't own me!" "To teach me a lesson?" Emma couldn't believe that Deborah had really wanted that boy to screw her. "And you'll be learning another lesson when we get home," Deborah continued, straightening her skirt. "Over my knee." "What! You don't seriously think I'm going to...." she ran our of words and simply got up and started to collect her clothes. She hardly noticed as Deborah left the room and certainly didn't care. She looked up with more concern however when, seconds later, she returned - this time with two boys behind her. Emma tried to cover herself, but knew that these two now had also seen her nakedness. And then she noticed for the first time the heavy wooden ruler in Deborah's hand. "Paul, Andy, this is my friend Emma. She's being a naughty, stubborn girl and I'm going to need your help with her." EMMA AT SCHOOL Episode 6 - Lessons out of school "Deborah! What are you doing?" "I'm afraid you need to be taught a lesson. And as the person you've appointed to train you, it falls to me to do the teaching!" Emma could see trouble and realised that fighting her way out was not an option. "Look, Debbie. I'm sorry - really. I was just jealous - please tell them to go away. You can do what you like to me!" "And you can be certain that I will," Deborah retorted with an ironic smile. "However, there are other things you need to learn about and the boys will be able to help me in this." Emma was about to continue her pleading, but Deborah held up her hand. "No more! I'm not prepared to negotiate. I want you bent over with your legs straight and your hands on the couch. Now!" Deborah's tone permitted no discussion. Emma, flushing hotly as she was ordered around in the nude before two more strange boys, turned around and displayed her already red behind. "What do you think, boys?" Deborah asked. "Very nice," a voice replied. "But we can still improve the view, can't we?" Deborah said softly. "Spread your legs please, Emma." "No... please... I...." "Young lady, you will do as you're... TOLD!" As she spoke, Deborah covered the space between herself and Emma in three brisk strides. Then, on the word "told", she landed a furious blow with the ruler on the naked girl's left inner thigh to emphasise the point. Tears coming to her eyes, and words now bitten on, Emma moved her feet apart until her pink pussy lips opened up and pouted, glistening, at an enthralled audience. Deborah slipped her fingers into the silky wetness and allowed Emma to forget the horrible situation for a moment as she abandoned herself to her friend's skillful fingers. Then she was brought rudely back to reality. "Now boys," Deborah's voice was saying. "Come and introduce yourselves." Deborah's fingers left her for a moment and were shortly replaced by a less gentle hand. With no preliminaries, two thick fingers slid themselves deep inside her in a single thrust. "I'm Andy," a voice said. Fortunately, Emma was so wet by now that their passage was easy and Emma couldn't hold back a gasp of pleasure as her pussy was so quickly filled and even found herself pushing back on the intruding hand as its fingers slid in and out of her before retiring. "And I'm Paul." These fingers were gentler, more tender. Instead of the rush to enter her which typified most teenaged boys, Paul's fingertips explored her folds carefully, finding her clitoris quickly and coaxing a low moan of pleasure from her lips as he traced tiny circles over it. She guessed that this was the taller of the two boys, the shy looking one with the cute brown eyes and gave herself up to his light caresses, parting her thighs a little wider and feeling a distant orgasm creeping closer. Too soon, though, the fingers left her and their delicious touch was replaced by a very different sensual caress - that of the ruler. Emma guessed, rightly, that it was Deborah's hand wielding the short piece of wood as it cracked repeatedly across her bare bottom and thighs. She was certain that either of the boys, and especially Paul, would have difficulty (at least at first) in spanking her so severely. Soon she was crying out loudly under the blows, desperately trying to hold her pose to avoid shaming herself before the boys. Again and again Deborah laid red stripes across her lover's rounded buttocks, determined to break the girl completely right from the start. To her credit, it took a long time for Emma to buckle totally. She took over thirty-five strokes, delivered with full force, before falling forwards onto the couch in a quivering, weeping mess. Still Deborah continued to flog the crumpled girl, now shouting at her as well, until she was no longer even able to flinch at each blow but just lay there on her face and took her mistress' punishment. When Deborah had finished, she stood over Emma's prostrate body sobbing with exertion and released anger. Emma's bottom and thighs were a web of red marks and she lay almost motionless, her every thought wiped from her mind by the terrible pain of the spanking. "Now, let's see if we can deal with this jealousy of yours shall we?" Deborah reached under her mini-skirt and slipped her panties down to the floor, walking over to the couch and sitting down with one foot on the floor and the other on the far side of Emma's head so that her own pussy was spread as wide as her friend's and, her skirt useless in this position, equally on display. Emma's eyes, her head turned in that direction, were only inches from that pink slit she knew so well. "You!" she turned to Andy and almost shouted at him too. "Take off your trousers and pants and come over here!" Despite the rudeness of the command, the boy did as he was told in the expectation of something good to come. His cock sprung from his pants as he pulled them down and Deborah smiled hungrily at him as he ambled over. She got Andy to kneel between her wide open thighs and then, as Emma looked on, opened a condom packet and took the thin rubber sheath out. Emma had only ever seen condoms when they were being filled up with air or water and had only ever seen erections in magazines. So when Deborah began to unroll the condom along the length of Andy's rigid prick, Emma watched in fascination, her eyes staying on the long, thick, rubber covered organ as Deborah manoeuvred the boy closer. Then Deborah spoke directly to Emma. "This is my pussy," she said, rubbing her fingers along her slit, "I will choose what I do with it, not you. Do you understand me?" "Yes," Emma mumbled, watching Andy's hardness edging forward until it nuzzled Deborah's pussy lips. "My pussy is not owned by you. It's owned by me. And if, for example, I want to have a nice thick cock inside it, then I'll have one. Understand?" "Yes." Andy was now beginning to get impatient at having to wait while Deborah continued to tell her friend off, and was also not too happy about being used simply as a teaching aid. So he decided to take the initiative. He reached round to grasp Deborah's bottom with both hands and thrust hard, entering a surprised girl with a loud grunt. From her position, Emma had the clearest view possible of the thick, dark headed cock slamming up into her friend's pussy over and over again as Andy fucked her in the same basic way that he had previously fingered Emma. In and out, in and out with no real technique but, and this was his hidden secret, with incredible stamina. He never slowed down. He never appeared to be getting close to a climax from which he had to pull back. He never showed any signs of tiredness. He just drove deep into Deborah's pussy with a searing rhythm which, after twenty minutes of solid fucking, had brought the girl to orgasm no less than five times, Emma having to look on (in close up) as this boy pleasured her girlfriend. Finally, when Deborah's head had started to loll from side to side from sexual exhaustion, and nearly half an hour after he had first pile-driven his erection between her labia and inside her, Andy came himself, groaning loudly as he filled the condom with his juices. Carefully, the boy withdrew and Emma watched as his creamy cum oozed from the used sheath. Deborah kept her eyes closed for a few moments, regaining her breath and then opened them to address Emma. "So, you understand so far. Now, perhaps you could tell me who your pussy belongs to?" If Emma had not already had her natural resistance soundly thrashed of her, she would have given then answer that she knew Deborah did not want to hear. In the circumstances, however, she answered: "To you, Deborah." "To me. That's right - to me. I decide who gets to see it, who gets to touch it, who gets to taste it. Is that clear?" "Yes, Deborah." "Paul. Do you like the taste of pussy. Virgin pussy, I might add." Emma felt herself getting wetter at the words, but hoped it didn't show. "Why yes, it so happens that I love the taste of pussy. Although I'm not sure whether I've ever tasted virgin pussy before." This was the boy Emma had thought looked shy. If he was, he hid his shyness well. Deborah carried on: "Well, while I'm chatting to Emma, you just go ahead and have a good lick and tell me what you think." Then she turned once more to Emma: "So we'll have no more of your 'I'm not doing this, that, or the other' shit, girl! If I tell you to pull off your knickers and spread your legs in the middle of Oxford Street, you'll do it. I hope you understand that." "Yes, Deborah, I... Oh, God... ohhh!" As she spoke, Paul, having knelt between her thighs, lowered his head and began to lick tentatively at her enraged clitoris, running his tongue every now and then along the full length of her slit. The feeling was amazing. No boyfriend of hers had every offered to do this to her - and, she admitted to herself, she probably would have said no if they had. But what an amazing sensation. Now his tongue was starting to push inside her vagina... It didn't take long, in the heightened atmosphere, for Paul to bring the girl under his lips and tongue to orgasm and Deborah intervened once he had. She sat on the side of the couch and picked up a banana from the side. "Do you like bananas?" she asked Emma pleasantly. "Oh yes," the other girl replied innocently. "I love them." "Good." Deborah sat next to her friend quietly peeling the fruit until the top half of its length was left white and unsheathed. Emma had a sudden uneasy feeling which grew rapidly as Deborah got off the couch and took Paul's place between the girl's legs. Emma knew that nothing she could say or do would change anything now. Indeed, although she would never have admitted this to anyone, when she felt the first brush of the banana's soft tip against her pink vulva, she found herself willing Deborah to enter her with it - to slide it hard up inside her. Deborah was never one for speed in such matters though. Slowly, she eased the fat fruit up into the other girl's greedy pussy, filling her completely with the white flesh. Then she began to fuck her friend with it. Emma groaned with pleasure as the banana slid easily in and out of her pussy, Deborah setting up an easy rhythm and calling the boys in to help. Their hands and mouths were soon hard at work so that it seemed to Emma that every inch of her body was being stroked, caressed or kissed. The sensation was incredible. She had never felt anything like this before and she never wanted it to stop. The trio took her up and over mountains of pleasure, each peak a climax of intensity she had never imagined. She could hear the three changing places so that she never knew who was holding the banana (which was remaining in amazingly good condition) or whose fingers or tongues were toying with her clitoris or playing with her tits. And then, very suddenly, it stopped. There was a sudden flurry and the banana was pulled sharply from her. She shouted out loudly in disappointment: "Hey, what's going...." but was (thankfully) interrupted by a deep male voice. "And you! Stand up quickly!" Emma jumped to her feet, spinning round to see a middle-aged man with a black gown and a very angry face. "My name," he explained, making no reference to Emma's nakedness, "is Mr Sternly. I'm the housemaster here and you..." He looked at them all through narrowed eyes. "You are all in a great deal of trouble. I won't ask what was going on because, to be frank, I really don't want to hear all the sordid details. Boys, go and wait outside my study. You will each receive twelve strokes of the cane on the bare behind. I will be recommending to the girls' housemaster that they get the same. Go!" The boys scuttled wordlessly from the room, leaving Emma and Deborah to face the terrifying Mr Sternly alone. "Is there any reason why I should not inform your housemaster of this incident. Were you being forced to do anything against your wishes?" Emma didn't even hear the question. She was totally preoccupied by the thought of taking a caning on the bare bottom from Mr Lindon. She had seen the effects on Deborah of just six strokes and was certain she couldn't take twelve. "No, Sir. We're really sorry, Sir," Deborah was saying. "I should think so. You've humiliated yourselves - and embarrassed me with your... your disgraceful display of... strumpettry." He looked straight at Emma. "What would your mother say, young lady. Hey?" he snapped. Emma tried to answer, but found herself able only to answer with a flood of tears. "Don't bawl, you silly thing. That's just a refusal to face up to your responsibility for your actions. Stop it, I say! Very well, I'll give you something to cry about!" And with that, he pulled the naked girl towards him with one hand, placed his left foot on a chair and hauled her, still weeping, up and over his knee - her feet and hands dangling in mid-air. Three times in swift succession he brought his large, heavy hand down on her upturned bare bottom, greatly amplifying the girl's wailing. "I will not have little girls who think they're big women coming round to my house and making an exhibition of themselves with my boys!" he barked, delivering another ten severe smacks to her cheeks to the rhythm of his words. "Right, get yourself dressed," he said with disgust, almost dropping her to the floor. Then to Deborah: "No, not you. You can have a reminder to take with you as well. Come on." Deborah hesitated for a fraction of a second and was rewarded with another verbal barrage. "Now, young hussy, over my knee. Or I'll take the cane to you myself!" Deborah knew, of course, that this man, not being a teacher at her school, had no jurisdiction to cane her - or even to spank her. Yet she knew, too, that this kind of fact rarely got in the way of anything and allowed herself to be pulled unceremoniously over the tall man's muscled thigh. Brusquely he flipped her skirt up, finding her naked beneath. "Do you usually walk around without panties on?" he asked, accompanied by the first salvo of five smacks. "No, Sir!" she responded in the kind of voice privates use when answering their sergeant majors. "Should I suggest to your housemaster that you be barred from wearing panties for one month, perhaps?" Again, five blistering smacks. "No, sir!" "Mmph!" he grunted, lifting his hand and delivering a further three before letting the girl off to find her discarded knickers. Then he looked at them both with a terrible stare. "If I catch you in my house just once more," he lectured them. "It won't be a few smacks on the bottom, I promise you that! Follow me." Mr Sternly led the two tearful girls though the study corridors (where boys were whispering excitedly to one another, swapping versions of what might have happened) and into his own quarters. They passed Paul and Andy, both too concerned about their own fates to bother thinking twice about them, and followed the housemaster into his study where he picked up the phone. Emma heard him outlining the afternoon's happening and then tried to piece together the rest of the conversation from her one-sided evidence. "Yes, I'm afraid so... yes... of course... well, twelve strokes on the bare... I think so... good, that's the fairest thing... yes... yes I'll send them straight away - they should be with you in, say, twenty-five minutes. Good, what shall I... straight to your study? Fine. Yes... that's OK, I'm sorry too. And I think four young people will be pretty sorry before the day is out!" EMMA AT SCHOOL Episode 7 - Paying the penalty Neither girl said a word on the long walk back. Emma was unable to get the image of herself bent over that terrible punishment horse with her bottom bared for the cane. She couldn't control her tears which, every time she thought she had stemmed the flow, would begin to run down her cheeks again. Deborah's thoughts were, as usual, more practical: "Have I gone too far?" she asked herself. "What if Emma tells Mr Lindon what really happened?" The possible consequences didn't bear thinking about... and, she realised, she was perhaps even more worried of losing Emma as a friend - and lover. Despite all her bluster, she had grown very fond of the new girl. Had she finally gone over the top with this afternoon's performance? The short walk back to school appeared to last forever. And yet, it also seemed as if no time had passed before they found themselves facing a very angry and determined looking Mr Lindon across his desk. "Do you have any idea," he thundered, "how much damage can be done to a school's reputation by this kind of scandalous behaviour?" It was clearly a rhetorical question as the words kept on coming: "You have embarrassed Mr Sternly and caused him a great deal of extra work. You have also put me in a very humiliating position. This is a respected public school. Girls of fifteen do NOT play depraved sexual games with boys from local schools... with ANY boys for that matter! What on earth got into you?" This time the housemaster paused for an answer and Deborah quickly replied: "We're both really sorry, sir, we..." "SORRY??!" He hurled the syllables across the desk like a spear. "What good is that going to do? And what on earth are you wearing?" Deborah realised that Mr Lindon's eye had fallen on her skirt which she hadn't dared to change in case a description of her clothing had been passed on by Mr Sternly. "What, my skirt, sir?" "SKIRT! You don't seriously expect me to call that... that ribbon round your waist a skirt?" There was a long pause. "Well?" "I don't know, sir. I realise it isn't regulation." "That has got to be the greatest understatement of the year. Take it off... now! Put it straight in the bin." Deborah turned and unclipped the skirt, walking slowly over to the bin as she unwrapped it and stopping short at Mr Lindon's next outburst. "And what do you call those? Don't we have regulations about underwear any more?" Deborah realised he was talking about her panties. A lot of girls she knew wore similar skimpy panties and it was generally overlooked, yet they were undoubtedly against the rules. "Yes, sir," she answered, turning her head. "Very well. We'll have those in the bin as well then, please." "Yes, sir," Deborah confirmed, peeling the tiny knickers down her legs and dropping them, with her horribly expensive mini, in the bin. Naked from the waist down now, she turned round with a heavy blush to face the housemaster. Although she had been given bare-bottomed spankings and other punishments by him on a number of occasions, she had never had to conduct a conversation with him with her pussy on display. "Right, let's get on," Mr Lindon asserted in a business-like tone. "Firstly, I have a question for you, Emma. Mr Sternly got the impression that you were not involved in this... incident.. entirely of your own free will. Obviously, if this is true then I shall not punish you with anything like the severity due otherwise. Well?" Deborah felt her heart sinking as she waited for Emma's reply. Would the nightmare never end? "No, Mr Lindon," Emma answered quietly. "Mr Sternly was mistaken. I was just as involved as the others. I know it was wrong and I expect to be punished for it. I'm sorry, sir." Mr Lindon's face showed the first hint of compassion of the afternoon. He looked thoughtful. "I admire your honesty," he said at last. "It is an admirable quality. However, you clearly recognise that your honesty cannot lessen the penalty for your behaviour. I very much regret being in this position with you so new to the school, but there it is." Then he turned back to Deborah and spoke as fiercely as ever: "It may not appear so, but you have been very lucky today. I had to flog you only a matter of days ago and here you are before me again. If it weren't for your companion I would have no compunction at all in sending you to the headmaster to be birched. As it is, with Emma being new here, I feel I should attend to your punishments myself." Deborah breathed a massive sigh of relief. What was to come was going to be bad, she knew, but to escape a birching so narrowly. The birch was hardly ever used any more, maybe once every two years or so. The last girl to get it was in sick bay for three days afterwards unable to get up and the marks lasted for months! "Whatever the punishment," she thought. "I can take it now." Mr Lindon was sill speaking, and was now coming to the sentence. "So. Both of you will receive twelve full strokes of the cane across your bare bottoms, six now... and six at call this evening." Emma gasped out loud. A house public! She was going to be beaten in front of the whole house. Stripped naked, tied down and caned! In front of everyone - even the two boys in the house. She felt herself growing faint and reached out to the table to steady herself. "And you, Deborah. You will have an additional punishment. What lessons do you have this afternoon?" In the summer months, because of the late sunset, afternoon lessons didn't begin until after four and then went on until supper. This was followed by prep until nine. And then call. "Er... maths, PE and French, sir." "Perfect. In view of your unladylike flirtation with exhibitionism and your inability to wear the correct uniform, you will spend the afternoon and evening dressed EXACTLY as you are now. I will also request of Mr Denby that you take part in PE as normal, but nude." "Noooooh!" Deborah had never shouted at Mr Lindon before, but this terrible statement had rendered her temporarily unable to control herself. The housemaster moved quickly and decisively. He was around the desk with strap in hand before Deborah closed her mouth and, almost before she realised what was happening, he had pulled her forwards, thrust her face down over the desk, and laid three fresh stripes across her bare cheeks. "Don't you dare..." Emma could see that Mr Lindon was purple in the face. "Don't you dare shout at me you impudent tramp or I'll deliver you to the birching tower myself. Is that understood?" "Yes, sir," Deborah whimpered. "I'm glad to hear it," Mr Lindon said, calmer now and letting the girl stand up and rub her injured bottom. "Now, do I assume you accept the punishment I have outlined, or do you wish to take the other option?" No way was she being birched by choice! But to spend the whole afternoon naked from waist to ankle. In front of all the teachers and the other children. And to have to do PE in the nude! She hated PE anyway, and that sadistic Mr Denby. She was in no doubt that he would relish the opportunity to make this particular lesson more awful than ever! "Very well. Let's begin. Emma, put your panties on that chair and then face the wall, holding your skirt right up around your waist. Deborah, I shall attend to you first." Emma did as she was told silently, hearing the sound of the punishment horse being pulled out into the centre of the room but scared to look. Once her panties were off she walked slowly over to the wall, pressing her nose up against it and then lifting her skirt to her waist as she'd been told. She took one last peek at the scene behind her and saw Mr Lindon arranging her friend's body for her caning. "That's it Emma," the housemaster said as he strapped Deborah to the horse. "Just lift your skirt a little higher for me so I can see the whole of your bottom. Very good. It looks as if you've had quite a hard spanking recently." "Yes, sir," Emma replied. "Well, it's a pity it wasn't enough to persuade you to stay out of trouble, isn't it?" "Yes, sir." Mr Lindon grunted to himself. Less than two weeks here and already in to have her bare backside caned. He hoped this wasn't going to become a habit. Although.... He checked himself quickly; he backed the school's corporal punishment regime to the hilt, but in some ways his wasn't an easy job. Temptation at every corner. He looked over to where his newest pupil was standing with her skirt hiked up round her midriff, her youthful bottom already a delightful red hue. Was it necessary to have girls who were waiting for punishment against the wall with their bottoms bared? Well, it certainly helped to focus their minds on what was to come, and it was one of the traditions of the school, but it was hard not to enjoy the sight.... And then there was the punishment horse design. Of course, positioning a girl so that her legs were spread wide apart had some very straightforward advantages: it ensured a nice wide target and it enhanced the girl's humiliation.... But, and Mr Lindon turned his head back to the girl strapped to the horse before him, it would take a very special heterosexual male not to find the sight of a teenaged girl's open pussy just a little arousing. Or even a lot... Deborah was one of those girls who oozed sexuality, and the teacher had noticed when he caned her last time that she actually became visibly wet during the preparation and administration of her punishment. The housemaster had an erection now and turned his back on the girls to fetch the cane from his desk. He paused for a moment and then lifted the familiar rod, smiled grimly and took the five steps required to place him behind Deborah. Emma heard very little during these few minutes and just kept her face to the wall. And waited. She pictured her lover strapped to the horse, just like the first time she'd seen her on the day she arrived at Katherine Parr. She easily conjured up a vision of Deborah's firm buttocks and her sweet sex nestling between her thighs and then, just as easily, Mr Lindon standing behind her with the cane raised. Somehow it was easy to imagine the scene when she knew if she turned around she be looking right at it. SWISHHHH! The sound seemed so familiar, even though it was only the second time she had heard it. The fizzing sound of the long flight, much longer than seemed possible, seemed to sear right through to her heart - and she still had time to remember, "This is going to happen to me!" Emma closed her eyes tightly and heard the terrible crack as the cane bit into her friend's unprotected cheeks, leaving, she knew, a heavy red welt. Then, as Mr Lindon prepared to strike again, she began to weep. Tears streamed down her face as though she were standing out in the rain, her body heaved with her sobs. Behind her, Deborah's caning was continuing at Mr Lindon's unhurried pace. But Emma was hardly aware of it now, she was too busy anticipating her own fate. "OK, Emma. Your turn now!" It couldn't be, could it? Deborah's punishment was already over? Emma turned round in time to see Deborah, her bottom marked even worse than last time, climbing stiffly off the horse to make room for her. As if in a trance she walked over to it, keeping her skirt up round her waist, and knelt on the two soft green pads at the base of the horse. She didn't move for a while, still not quite believing what was happening. Mr Lindon came over and gave her something to bite on before gently easing her over the largest pad and placing her hands on the two smallest ones on the far side of the contraption. It seemed like a replay of the day's earlier events, bent over to have her bare bottom chastised, and with her sex spread open in front of a man she hardly knew. As Mr Lindon knelt down behind her to strap her legs in place, Emma felt a surge of heat through her pussy brought about by the simple proximity of this man to her parted thighs. Amazed to find her pussy displaying such a complete lack of loyalty, she closed her eyes then, and waited. Standing against the wall, just as Emma had earlier, was Deborah. Indeed, part of the reason for her closing her eyes was so that she didn't have to stare at her friend's bare bottom, latticed as it with the proof of her punishment. Soon her bottom would look like that! Emma heard a faint whistling sound, but not the thwack of wood against skin. The moment the cane touched her bare bottom, all her senses collapsed into one sensation - pain. It felt like fire roaring through her body. Every nerve ending set ablaze furiously by the insistent caress of the rod. She desperately wanted to scream, but the gag prevented her and it seemed as though her wail of agony was trapped inside her and screeching round her mind along with the agony of the stroke itself. Just one. She'd had only had one stroke. She vowed never, ever to get into trouble again, forgetting that it was Deborah who had directed the incident which had led to her caning. How could she take five more, not to mention another six tonight. Mr Lindon watched the girl's squirming with sympathy. It was always tempting to go easy on a girl receiving her first caning, yet he knew that her marks would be carefully inspected by the other pupils afterwards and that lesser marks could lead to a doubled humiliation. Not only would the girl have had to endure a still painful bare-bottom caning, but her friends would be taunting her for not having even been beaten properly. "No," he thought," if anything, a girl's first caning should be the hardest. After all, the idea is to persuade her that she doesn't want to return for a second." With that in mind, and noting with pride the angry welts which were rising right in the centre of each cheek, completely overshadowing the marks left by Deborah's spanking of her with the ruler, Mr Lindon raised the cane again. The second stoke was perhaps an inch and a half below the first, and this time Emma heard the awesome sound of the rattan cutting across her. Her body jolted visibly and again the impossibility of crying out made her suffering still worse. The burning sensation didn't stop after the blow had landed, each of the two sites visited already continued to blaze - their intensity dropping only very slowly. Emma knew that she would still be feeling not just a dull glow (as she had after her recent strapping over Amanda's knee) but acute pain for a long time to come. She recalled that until two weeks ago, she had never even been spanked before. She remembered her outrage when her father had pulled her panties down to draw her over his lap for the first time and how she had screeched as he spanked her bare bottom with his hand. That seemed like the distant past now. She wondered how things would change at home now. She knew that, according to the school rules, her parents would have been told of this caning and tried to gauge how they might react. "They will probably be celebrating," she thought. She remembered her father's vow to bare her bottom as often as necessary while she continued to live under his roof and speculated about the kind of punishment she might now expect at home. Once they knew more detail about the kind of chastisement employed by the school, she guessed that her father was unlikely to be satisfied with hand-spankings for all occasions. She could quite easily envisage going home at half-term (pupils were not allowed home, even for weekends, during their first term at the school) to find that he'd equipped himself with a whole range of punishment implements with which to attend to her naked backside. Mr Lindon was leaving good long gaps "for reflection" between the blows. The third stroke was more painful still, right at the top of Emma's bottom where there was less fleshy padding and the girl felt as if she were being branded with a red-hot poker rather than caned. She looked up to see, through her tears, Deborah's bottom in front of her. Her welts had really come up now, still a fiery red but with hits of purple at the edges. That was how she must look. She shuddered. Number five found the spot between the marks left by the first two blows. If there were a competition for caning accuracy, Mr Lindon conjectured, he might do exceedingly well. As he paused before continuing, he let his mind conjure up the delightful picture of a great sporting arena with rows and rows of punishment horses, each one with a girl and teacher standing beside it. On a signal from the judges, each teacher would pull down the girl's panties, strap her to the horse and then lift up her skirt. Then the crowd would cheer as a hundred cute young bottoms were simultaneously caned. Smiling broadly at the image, he decided to act mercifully and deliver the remaining two strokes more rapidly and bring the girl's ordeal to an end. He laid one stroke just above the crease between buttocks and legs, Emma writhing under the cane as her vulva took part of the blow between her open thighs. Then, to complete the six, he chose the one last unmarked area, between middle and top, and caned the girl one last time with maximum force. Mr Lindon left Emma where she was for a minute or two before gently unfastening the straps binding her legs and wrists to the horse and helping her to her feet. "Good girl," he said quietly in her ear. "You've taken your first caning very well. Keep your skirt right up please so that I can see how effective the rod has been. That's right. I just hope that it has as pronounced effect on your behaviour as it has on your bottom." "It will," Emma snuffled. "I promise." "I'm very glad to hear it," Mr Lindon told her. "Now I want you to go and stand next to Deborah and the two of you can spend a few minutes reflecting on your misbehaviour and the penalty for it." Sitting back behind his desk, the housemaster found his hand straying to the front of his trousers as he surveyed his handiwork. Guiltily he stroked his hardening cock through the coarse material, his eyes roving over the girls' prettily decorated bottoms. After a minute or two, his conscience roaring at him, he stopped touching himself and spoke loudly. "Very well girls, you may go. Emma, you may dress yourself but Deborah, you are to stay as you are. I don't want to hear from anyone that you have either changed into a longer shirt or skipped lessons. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir." Deborah had indeed been planning to change her top as the one she was wearing barely came down to her navel. Now she was stuck in it and she would have no way at all of protecting her well-beaten bottom, or her young pussy, from the eyes of others. "Right. It's time for class. You'd better get your books and be off." EMMA AT SCHOOL Episode 8 - For all the world to see Well chastened, the two girls shuffled out of the housemaster's part of the building and into the main study corridor. There were plenty of other girls about, preparing themselves for lessons, and each either stood and stared at the two (Deborah's pussy and striped behind on full display, of course) or ran over to question them. Emma, as always happened on these occasions, was obliged to lower her panties and lift her skirt to show her house-mates the record of her beating. But she was, at least, allowed to do so in the privacy of her study. Deborah, on the other hand, had no choice but to display her blazing marks to everyone within eyesight. The long walk across the school precinct from their house to the classrooms was terrible. Word spread about Deborah's humiliating attire more quickly than the girls could walk and the quadrangle was certainly more crowded than was usual at that time of day. Everyone knew that her appearance was part of a punishment as it was not uncommon for girls to receive instructions to dress in a particular way following certain types of rule-infringements. One of Deborah's friends had recently had to spend an entire day dressed only in bra and panties for repeatedly flouting the school's regulations about underwear (including, on one infamous occasion, omitting it altogether. Another girl, a few months before, had had to sit through all her morning lessons bare-breasted as a punishment for showing too much cleavage for her housemistress' taste. In both cases, as the rules required, the girls had previously had to accept a spanking or beating of some sort - each had had a bare bottom caning. No one, however, could remember a case in recent years (although their were plenty of stories around) of any girl having to display her naked pussy and bottom for all the world to see. Worst of all for Deborah were the badly hidden (or in some cases quite open) giggles, pleased smiles and knowing looks of those girls who, for one reason or another, did not like Deborah and were pleased to see her getting what they thought of as her comeuppance. The most brazen of them would even come up to her, feigning sympathy, and ask about her offense and punishment, refusing to be put off by Deborah's monosyllabic replies: "Really.. how many? ... Six? ... On the bare, I suppose... yes, of course... it must have been excruciatingly painful... I'm sure it was...and you still have? ... Another six... a house public! Oh you poor thing... and this too... how embarrassing for you... and all those lecherous boys around too... Well, we all feel for you, darling... keep smiling..." Deborah only just held herself back from doing something excruciatingly painful to her tormentors but, in the circumstances, thought better of it. She just kept her head down, trying to avoid meeting the eyes of those following her awkward progress through the school grounds, until she got to class. Fortunately the first lesson, maths, comprised a test and she was able to keep her mind off her predicament to some extent once she'd run the gauntlet of stares on entering the classroom. However, having found the test fairly easy, she was left with ten minutes at the end of the period to sit (or "to fidget around restlessly" might be more accurate) on her seat and contemplate the horror that was undoubtedly to come. As soon as she walked into the gym, she could tell that Mr Denby was planning to make the most of her predicament. He loudly reminded her in front of everyone, as if she would need reminding, that she was to strip completely for the lesson and then sent her to fetch the boys once the girls were changed. As it was primarily a girls' school, there were no special facilities for the sexes to change separately, so the boys used Mr Denby's office, waiting there to be called once the girls had finished. Mr Denby, however, stayed with the girls and pretended not to ogle them as they dressed. Deborah knocked on the door but no answer came, forcing her to open it and, trying to conceal her nakedness behind the door, call the boys out. They left the room sniggering madly and it was not hard to deduce about what. The whole class then gathered in the centre of the large gym. "Right. Gymnastics today isn't it?" Mr Deny announced. "Let's pair you up... er, you two... and you and Sally go together... and Deborah with Martin..." "No!" Deborah shouted, Mr Denby whirling on her. "What, girl?!" More timidly, Deborah asked if she could change partners. Mr Denby's response was characteristic. "You can do as your told or feel my paddle across your dainty little cheeks," he snarled. Mr Denby, however much he was disliked, was certainly a genuine sportsman and a spanking from his paddle was worth any number of most other teachers'. Martin was one of Deborah's least favourite classmates. He was far from unattractive, but he had a reputation as a lech and a user, and had hurt many of Deborah's friends. She knew that Mr Denby had paired them on purpose, but decided that a paddling was an even less attractive option. Fuming and embarrassed, she walked over to where Martin was sitting with a very broad grin and glared at him. "Right. Let's begin. We were doing sequences, weren't we?" The class mumbled an affirmation. "Hmmm. All asleep, I see. Very well, an exercise to warm us up. Let's see.... Standing start. Backward roll to crouch, arms pointing straight ahead. Forward roll into straddle, then push up into a headstand with splits. Bring the legs slowly together and then forward roll out... and nice clean finish. Er..." his eyes surveyed the room: "Sally, demonstrate for us please." Everyone looked at Sally, in whose eyes water began to collect. It wasn't that she was not a capable gymnast. On the contrary, she was one of the best in the class. It was just that she had forgotten to put her gym shorts into the wash that week and was therefore wearing a skirt. The movements described by the teacher, although not difficult, would nonetheless mean her skirt tumbling round her shoulders as she executed the required headstand. Her panties would be on display to everyone, and doing the splits in that upside down position would be even more revealing. Mr Denby anticipated both the girl's discomfort and her coming protest. "Come on, girl," he said. "It wasn't me who forgot to bring their shorts. Demonstrate please." It was obvious to everyone that Mr Denby had chosen Sally to demonstrate specifically because of her dress. It was therefore equally clear that, having turned down her appeal, if Sally didn't do as she was told a paddling would await. And that, of course, would also involve her knickers being put on display. On balance, she decided to perform the sequence. Forgetting the reason for her embarrassment as best as she could, Sally followed the routine with panache, not stinting on the splits either! She was a believer in doing everything to the best of her abilities even if, as on this occasion, this meant showing her classmates the odd pubic hair. Most of the girls in the class felt sympathy for Sally, but they were all thinking of Deborah. She would be exposing herself far more explicitly than Sally, and there was zero chance of Mr Denby altering the sequence for her. Having commented, generally favourably, on Sally's performance, Mr Denby set all the pupils off to try the routine in their pairs. Martin volunteered to go first and Deborah readily agreed. As he carried out the series of moves, Deborah surprised herself with how much attention she was paying him. He was good looking (in a rugby-club kind of way) with large muscles and very little fat. His dark hair stood up from his head like the bristles of a brush and Deborah wondered at how a great-looking boy like this could end up becoming such a shit. Deborah stood by idly as Martin rolled up and down the mat with expert precision. She had no reason even to step in and help him with his balance. It was a perfectly executed routine - and being a voluble creature she told him so, much to his delight. Deborah spent the next couple of minutes, which Martin spent preening and congratulating himself, willing the ground to open and swallow her up. But it didn't and soon it was her turn. The initial rolls caused no problem, but once in a straddle position she found the idea (rather than the act) of raising herself to a headstand with her legs still wide apart impossible to so much as contemplate. "Come on, Deborah," Martin said, not unkindly. "If you don't have a go he'll only paddle you. And it will be on the bare too, won't it?" Classroom paddlings by teachers were supposedly never administered on the bare bottom, but in her current position Deborah would obviously lose that protection. She placed her hands flat on the mat and then started to push up, her legs straight and splayed out, trying not to consider Martin's view. Martin, on the other hand, was watching intently as Deborah's pussy lips slowly drew apart while she was opening her legs and then while the girl swung up into a vertical position. She was pleased to have almost completed the move, but then, suddenly, she felt faint and Martin sensed that she was ready to drop. He knew that this could cause damage and he needed to soften her fall so he reached out instinctively as she toppled, one hand grabbing an arm and the other, without intent, going between her legs and taking most of her weight as she fell. "You filthy fucking pervert," she exploded. "Get your shitty hands off me!" Martin didn't respond, but just looked hurt until Mr Denby spoke. "I don't believe I've ever heard such language directed from one pupil to another in class." Then he spoke directly to Martin: "Now I am not, or course, making a suggestion," he began. "But if you were to take her and her foul mouth into my office and put her over your knee who could blame you." "No!" Deborah shouted again. "You can't!" "No," he agreed. "Perhaps not. Maybe you should just get up over the vaulting horse while I fetch the paddle?" Martin could tell that this was not an alternative that Deborah fancied and took the opportunity to grasp her hand firmly and lead her, unresisting, towards Mr Denby's office. When they got there, he sat down on a stool and told her to stand in front of him. Deborah felt that she was attractive. People often told her so. Yet being looked at so pointedly unnerved her. Martin let his eyes take their time in moving over her naked body. He imagined touching her as he appraised her. How he'd run his fingers through her thick blonde hair. How he'd gently caress her neck, enjoying the feel of her smooth, deeply tanned skin. The girl's breasts were nicely proportioned and held their shape well without a bra, her nipples standing out sharply. He imagined the soft, coolness as each breast yielded to his warm hands before moving down... down over her tight stomach and towards the fine haze of hair which marked Deborah out as a "true" blonde. Deborah's pubic hair, being not only fair but also fine, left the region between her thighs rather unprotected. She had her legs together now, of course, but he remembered her sweet pussy well from her "headstand with splits." He recalled the moist inner lips nestling in an open pink hideaway, the passage to her feminine secrets appearing as a tiny slit. "Turn around," Martin told her. She didn't think of answering back but just did as she was told. After all, just about everyone had seen her unclothed today, so what was the point in arguing over trifles. Deborah was slim, with the beginnings of a nicely curved adult body. Her legs were long and tapered neatly to her rather beautiful ankles. Her bottom drew attention to itself even when unmarked as Deborah's hips were seductively wide. Martin had, like everyone else, seen the purpling welts left by Mr Lindon's cane but only now had he had time to inspect them in close up. They were, he decided, gorgeous and set off the background of young, rounded buttocks very well. Girls should be caned more often he thought absent-mindedly. And that reminded him of something. For Deborah, things were going from bad to worse. She had been already been thinking of the same incident which had now sprung into Martin's mind: back only a month or two ago, when Deborah had reported Martin for selling cigarettes to twelve and thirteen year olds. He'd been caned himself for that and had been looking for revenge ever since. However, having told her to face him once more, his next words surprised her. "I want you to know something," he began. "I know you don't approve of me, that there are lots of things about me which you despise, but this is the truth. Whatever I've done, I've never sexually abused anyone... Yes, OK," he said in response to the challenge he could see forming on Deborah's lips, "I know you and your feminist friends consider patting a girl on the bum abuse.... What I'm saying is that I would never have touched you between the legs on purpose; I really was trying to help." His tone of voice, and the mere fact that Martin was bothering to tell her this and didn't just start smacking her straight away suggested to her that he was telling the truth and she began to feel guilty about what she had said. "It's true," he said, hoping for a response. This time he got one. "I know it's true," she told him. "I'm sorry for what I called you." "Thanks," Martin breathed a sigh of relief. "So now what?" "What do you mean?" "You know." He had a glint in his eye. "Do you deserve to be put over my knee?" Deborah's bottom was still stinging like mad from the morning's ordeal, but then she guessed that a hand- spanking would make little difference to the overall pain level. She knew too that her outburst would have dented Martin's reputation still further and felt her guilt increasing. "How many?" she asked quietly, seeing Martin's handsome face light up in a smile. "Something conservative..." he suggested. "Say fifteen?" Deborah thought for a moment and then said with a tiny smile of resignation: "Oh, God. Go on then." Martin pulled her closer to him and happily turned her over his knee. Her bottom's cane marks looked even angrier up so close and under the fluorescent light, and he wondered whether he shouldn't let her off. Yet she had agreed to her spanking and was therefore prepared to accept it. Once Deborah's bare bottom was neatly presented, her scarred cheeks ready to receive yet more chastisement, Martin placed one large hand on her tender skin and said to her: "You know, you don't have to go through with this...." "It's OK, Martin," she said firmly. "I've said I'll take it, so I will." At those encouraging words, Martin lifted his hand up high and began to spank her soundly. The noise drifted into the gym, each smack echoed by a cry of pain from Deborah. SMACK! WHACK! SLAP! The blows rained down and Deborah was surprised at how much a simple hand- spanking could do when delivered on top of a recent caning. She heard her voice begging for mercy as Martin spanked her, but she knew he wouldn't stop - not until he was finished. It seemed to be going on forever, yet Deborah knew Martin was only just past half-way through. SMACK! "Ouch!" SPLAT! "Nooh!" WHACK "Yeeeowll!" Never rule out simple bare-bottomed hand-spanking as a form of punishment, she thought. This was hell.... Finally, Martin spanked her quivering and sore bottom two last times and the ordeal was over. He told her to stand up. "Now," Martin said, his words unplanned this time. "You say you feel guilty about what you said. Could you prove it?" "What do you mean? I thought I'd already done that," she complained, rubbing her sore behind. "Let me kiss you." "Kiss you?" "Yeah, you know, my lips against yours, that sort of thing." Deborah looked more closely at him. There was no doubt that he was an attractive boy and in her current vulnerable state she felt kind of drawn to him, like a spider's prey. One kiss would be OK, wouldn't it? "OK," she said quietly. Martin took her face in one hand and pulled it down to his level, kissing her tenderly on the lips. Then he kissed her again, harder and more passionately now, and was delighted to feel Deborah's tongue responding to his own. This second kiss went on for a long time and Deborah found herself engrossed. So much so, that when he stood up and bent down to kiss her neck and a number of other sensual spots she didn't protest, but just murmured with pleasure. His lips traced a delicate path over each breast, pausing to envelop and suck gently on her nipples. He knelt down before her and kissed her thighs, his face only inches from her sex; then he spun her round and used his hands to gently convey his next request. As pressure was applied tenderly, Deborah responded by first spreading her feet further and further apart. Then, when he was satisfied, he tapped her shoulders and she bent forwards, as if she was to be beaten again. He didn't strike her though. Instead, he did what she had been both dreading and hoping for: he knelt behind her, firmly grasped her thighs and found her pussy with his mouth. Deborah managed to forget, for that moment at least, how much she supposedly hated this boy, and instead wallowed in the wonderful sensations as her vulva was sucked on, her clitoris lightly bitten and her climax gently coaxed. Even then, when Martin's mouth left her, it was only a temporary desertion. Straight away, he was back, his mouth this time ranging over her still bare bottom and kissing and soothing the pain. His tongue followed each of the ridges in turn, cooling momentarily the still throbbing pain there. Then he did something that Deborah had always hoped to experience but didn't think she would ever be able to ask for. He licked along the groove between her cheeks and then stopped when he reached her anus. His tongue flicked out and prodded and sucked at this tiny hole and, at the same time, his fingers found her pussy again, bringing her to yet another orgasm. As Deborah became more and more aroused, the boy behind her sped his tongue in small circles around and around the tiny pink hole, and gradually coaxed her on towards a third peak. All in all it was delicious and when, after taking a minute or two to let their flushed faces return to their normal colours, they returned to the gym, Deborah was able to almost forget about her enforced immodesty. Her black and white image of Martin was no longer sufficient. Sure, he'd taken advantage of her situation to enjoy her body (although only the spanking was forced - she had needed little persuasion to allow him access to the rest of her). But he could have spanked a good deal harder. He could have done so without first discussing the punishment or its justification. He could have slipped a hand between her thighs when she was still over his knee and when she had little way of protecting himself. He could also, of course, have fucked her. Having roused her so much already with his oral stimulation of her secrets, Deborah knew she would have let him - if only to regret it afterwards. But, in fact, he concentrated on giving her pleasure; something in which he had been extremely successful. She still thought of him as a sexist, lecherous, rugby-playing (and annoyingly attractive) shit. But that opinion was no longer one she could just hold unquestioningly. Her mind, as well as her warm, wet pussy, told her there were contradictions in her judgment that she hadn't noticed before. She wondered if, perhaps, it was anything to do with this post-feminism stuff her older sister kept on going on about. The lesson seemed to come to an end quickly. Despite Mr Denby continuing to instruct the class in tasks which he knew would force Deborah into revealing postures, she remained infuriatingly serene and even refused to give him any plausible reason for putting her over the vaulting horse for a paddling. French was next with Mme Jospin, a middle-aged native of "la belle France" with a no-nonsense approach to teaching. "Bonjour la classe," she intoned. "Bonjour Madame Jospin," the children chanted back, feeling as they always did as if they were back in primary school. "Bien. Asseyez-vous. Aujord-hui, nous ecouterions de..." She looked down at her notes and continued: "... de Deborah, n'est pas?" "Me?" Deborah gasped, her mouth remaining wide-open. "En Francais, s'il vous plait!" "Er... moi?" "Si, toi. Viens!" Deborah stumbled out towards the front of the class, a chorus of sniggering accompanying her to the front. "Bon. Et ton sujet, c'est... quoi?" "Er... c'est... c'est.... Mon sujet est...." She'd forgotten. She didn't even remember once in the classroom! As part of their course, each pupil had to give a prepared talk, in French, on a topic of their choice. Deborah, one of those children who always leaves things to the last minute, had planned to scribble down her notes before afternoon lessons. However, Mr Lindon had been seeing to her bare bottom with the cane at that time, and French had been the last thing on her mind. She tried to think of a way to begin. She'd chosen French Impressionists and it was a subject she knew a lot about... but without preparing the words... "I... I'm sorry, Mmme...." "En Francais! Francais!" the teacher barked. "Oui, Madame. Um... je suis desole, mais... mais j'ai oublie mon devoir." Deborah kept her eyes downcast, but realised how angry her teacher was when she reverted to English. "You've forgotten your homework? Just like that?" "Yes, miss." "You realise that you are supposed to be taking your GCSE French exam in just over twelve months time?" "Yes, miss." "And that your presentation will be a vital part of that exam?" "Yes, miss." "And that this will be your last opportunity to practise this aspect of the course?" "Yes, miss." "I see. So, what do you propose. Am I supposed to organise an additional session for you so that you can practise, once you've decided you're ready to offer us all the benefit of your work?" "No, miss." "Really? So, instead I shall have to explain to your housemaster and your parents why you have done so badly in this part of the exam? Why I have taught you so badly? Hmm?" "No, miss." "You have wasted too much of this lesson already. I will arrange something with you afterwards. For now, bend over my desk. I'll deal with your forgetfulness once I have everyone working." Deborah had seen many of her friends beaten by Mme Jospin. She was a firm believer in corporal punishment, although she considered the school unnecessarily cautious in not allowing children to be paddled on their bare bottoms in class. Deborah's semi-nakedness would, for once, allow her to deliver what she considered a proper punishment. Deborah knew that twelve strokes with the paddle on the bare bottom was the maximum sentence for missing an assignment. She knew equally that Mme Jospin would not consider administering less that the maximum. As she bent down over the side of the teacher's desk, she wondered whether the paddle would seem harder today than usual, reinforcing her earlier caning, or whether, due to the constant pain she was experiencing from that prior punishment anyway, the paddling would appear to sting a little less. She didn't have to wait long. Soon all Deborah's classmates were writing out a French translation and Mme Jospin was rummaging in her drawer for the paddle. Deborah hated French translation; yet she wished she were doing it now! It took Mme Jospin very little time to locate the paddle. It was rarely far from the top of the pile of odds and ends in the desk drawer and she turned it over once or twice in her hands so that Deborah could remind herself of its look... and feel. Very few of Deborah's friends had never tasted the hard leather paddle and only its application on her naked skin would be new to her. It was almost in recompense for the fact that classroom teachers had (with rare exceptions) to spank through underwear that they were allowed to choose their own paddles, within a framework of dimensions and weight set down by the governors. Most chose wood. Mme Jospin swore by tough leather. WHACK! "Ouuchh! Deborah had hardly noticed the teacher getting into position and was unprepared for the first stroke as it slammed into her upturned bottom. It certainly hurt. It definitely hurt more than usual, but whether that was solely the result of her lack of panties or because of the caning she had already received, she couldn't tell. The teacher started to walk round the class and mark the books now. In this one respect she paddled differently to all the other teachers. She would look at her watch as she began and divide the number of minutes remaining of the lesson by the number of strokes left. Then she would carefully time each whack so that the whole of the rest of the lesson consisted, for the offender, of nothing but a sound paddling. Deborah tried to think of other things each time the teacher walked up behind her to deliver another painful stroke. Much of the time, to her surprise a little, she thought about Emma, the cute new girl with whom she had forged such a warm, and sexually exciting, relationship. Having another girl give her permission to spank her whenever she wanted to, to take pleasure in her body as she wished to, was one of the most wonderful things she had ever experienced. She loved telling Emma that she'd been naughty and that she wanted her over her knee. She adored lifting her skirt and slowly tugging her panties down to her thighs. She relished the feel of her naked buttocks under her fingers. And, above all, she revelled in the sound of Emma's cries of pain and the crack of skin upon skin as she spanked her. CRACK! "Yeoow!" It didn't strike Deborah that thinking about spanking in order to take her mind off being spanked would appear illogical to most people. It seemed to be working for her. She wasn't sure how many times Mme Jospin had paddled her, but the clock told her there were only six minutes of the lesson left. SMACK! "Ooooh!" Deborah closed her eyes again and conjured her lover up, this time offering her pussy to her mistress. She was wonderful to make love to. Emma would do anything Deborah asked her to. She knew that there was no sexual act Emma would refuse her, although there might me several (like the rimming she got from Martin) that she would be too embarrassed to ask for. THWACK! "Nooooh!" That one was harder, Deborah thought, her bottom blazing yet again as she wiggled it from side to side to try to get a little air to pass over the skin in an attempt to cool the heat. Only one or two now, surely. CRACK! "Yeoowll!" How could a woman of fifty-something spank so hard, she wondered to herself. She pondered whether Emma was noticing any increase in the pain of her spankings now that Deborah was getting so much practice. If she was still talking to her following her caning.... WHACK! "Whhahh!" "Class dismissed," Mme Jospin said then, almost as the last blow fell. "Deborah, you stay put please." The girl did as she was told, only rising and facing the teacher once everyone had left. For some reason, with everyone else gone, she now felt her nakedness much more acutely. "You are sometimes a very silly girl, aren't you?" the teacher admonished her. "Yes, miss." "Well, I don't want you to fail. Every Thursday morning you will come to my flat at eight-thirty and you will bring a mini-presentation. There is a price to pay for this extra tuition, however. You will deliver each one dressed, or should I say undressed, as you are today. After your presentation, I shall put you over my knee and, depending on how good or bad it was, I will spank you accordingly. Is this clear?" Yes, miss," Deborah replied, pleased that she wasn't going to miss out on that part of her course, but not so pleased at having to submit to a weekly bare-bottom spanking from Mme Jospin. There were no further incidents before prep and Emma and Deborah were both called out of their studies twenty minutes before the end by their house captain. "I wanted to run over a few details of this evening's event," she told them, as if they were about to run a race rather than receive a public caning. "After that, I suggest you go and shower and generally make yourselves look presentable. You need to be in my study at nine sharp. OK?" "Yes, Amanda," both girls replied. "Fine. Now, call will be taken beforehand, so everyone will be out there in the hall. There will be two punishment horses as well, so that you can be caned together. We will wait in here until after call, and then march down the corridor following Mr Lindon: you two first, then me. Clear so far?" Deborah nodded. "Now, you undress in here first, so you'll be naked. That won't be a very new experience for you," she smiled at Deborah. "When we get to the hall, you will each stand next to a punishment horse facing the rest of the house while Mr Lindon explains why he is caning you. Then he and I will each tie one of you down ready for the cane. I'm afraid it's a slightly longer and thicker one he uses for house publics. It won't sting that much more, but the bruises will last a bit longer. After the caning, you'll both have to stay tied down for fifteen minutes. Then, if you wish, you may go straight to bed. Any questions?" Emma and Deborah shook their head together. "Good. Go and get yourselves ready." "Ready?" Deborah exclaimed once they were upstairs in the changing rooms. "How can you get ready for this?!" She looked at Emma, who was slowly getting unchanged and spoke softly to her. "I'm really sorry about this," she said. "I know it was my fault." "No," Emma responded firmly. "I chose this relationship with you and everything that comes with it. If you're going to be caned, I want to be with you," she added, slipping her panties to the floor. "Why. I mean, I'm really glad you don't hate me, but I don't understand." Emma looked at her puzzled face and breathed deeply. "Because... because I've fallen in love with you," she said simply, walking off towards the showers and stepping underneath the hot spray. Deborah followed, still looking perplexed, and just stood watching her lover as she began to soap herself. Then, after a minute or two, Emma looked at Deborah with a little impatience before taking her hand and pulling her into the shower with her and guiding her friend's hand between her legs. In seconds, the two girls were locked together on the floor of the shower cubicle, their minds for the first time since lunch fully trained on something other than their imminent public punishment. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |