Prize Day – Year LXXXIX
Finally, his soft shaft slipped out of the cute cunt called Irene Marge. “Here’s a tissue, Shagger,” she said, taking a second. They both wiped themselves down, and dropped them into a wastepaper basket. “Get dressed, Shagger,” she said with a smile, as she tied her overall again. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he said, “I’ve always had a light lusting for lovely Ladies in latex, and your oilskins admirably fulfill my filthy fetish….” SLAPP “….Oww….thank you, Ma’am.” He continued to replace his basic black uniform, and put his cane back beneath his belt.
“It’s time to let one of my milkees loose,” she said, “since the poor sod’s been going for over half an hour. It’s the one called Cook….” Oops, “….which is really Cuck,” he interrupted, “as in cuckold, so it doesn’t much matter. Even so, I expect he’ll be grateful for the release, since he spends so much time inside a Kali’s Teeth Bracelet.” When he was respectable again, they returned together into the shed. “No more….uhhh….mercy….Ma’am,” moaned Dirty Harry, “I’ve long since secreted all my semen….ohh,” he added as his nozzle was removed, revealing a placid penis. Next it was his noose, and finally his shackles and leg irons. “It’s not Cuck’s day,” said Saucy Harry, “since whilst you were away with what-ho, I’ve spoken to someone about having him branded….permanently….” there was a moan of despair, “….we’re expected shortly, Shagger.”
She crooked his arm, in Happy Hooker fashion. “I’ll look forward to your flogging, David,” said his Mother. “So will we,” muttered Tyler Watson, “are you attending Summer School?” He nodded. “The final week of August, Mesdames,” he replied. “It’s his wedding on the Saturday,” said his Mother absently, “David didn’t mention it, but fortunately his bride-to-be wrote last week.” Damn’ decent….since this was before she’d put HIM the proposal. Presumably, she felt it to be a fait accompli….which it was. “We’ll wait a while longer….” he heard Tight Twat saying as Saucy Harry and the others strutted towards the barn door….Harry Callaghan slightly shakily, “….until they’re all definitely done and dusted. Then we’ll join Helen in The Dell for some whippings in the woods.” Which WOULDN’T be much fun for the studs, being spunked out. Still, once again they’d all signed up to such treatment. They stepped out into the sunlight, and crossed the courtyard to his next destination of doom. It was out of the frying pan, and into the fire….almost literally.
The Blacksmith
malleo in malleatoris incus
“I’m reliably informed the Latin logo means Hammer Into Anvil, Ma’am,” he said as they stepped inside. As per his previous visit a few weeks previously, it was horribly hot and really rather reminiscent of hell. A large, roaring furnace adorned the centre of the room, and electric lighting was entirely absent. Once again it was standing room only with black figures. “Excellent,” said Gestapo Mark, as he saw them, “if all the Farmers could kindly stand back, we can get going with our next brandee.” As before, he was naked from the waist up, wearing only the black hobnail boots and matching long leather trousers from the Whipmaster wherewithal. Even they came complete with a cut-out for the crotch. A similar one at the rear revealed a particularly pert posterior, over which it was almost impossible not to ogle.
The teacher’s legendary felt-tip pen had always been a bit like branding. His horrid habit was to apply arses with what amounted to the famous MG marque….his initials, in indelible ink. “As advertised,” Mark Guest continued, “most animals in here today will return to school having suffered only slightly….with their owner’s initials, or lucky number of their choice in hot paint on their posterior….” Ohh, “….however, we’ve a supremely submissive specimen, who’ll be branded permanently….” there were several gasps, “….and its owner’s signed a release form….” presumably on his behalf? “….so off we go. She’s asked for the letters H P, with one on each buttock. So stand well back, since I shall shortly take out two tools….” the well-worn witticism, “….in addition to my straining shaft. All Farmers are welcome to stroke themselves whilst they watch. First of all, we’ll strap him across the trestle….” he duly did so, with Dirty Harry appearing to be highly unhappy.
The teacher strutted to the furnace, and extracted two red hot irons. Then he marched across the room to where the unfortunate felon awaited his fate. “MA’AM,” he moaned. There was complete quiet as the first iron moved closer, and he was glad it wasn’t him. “AYEEEEE….HEEE….EEEE….HELL, it hurts,” he shrieked at the first touch on his tush, “….AYEEEEE….EEEE….HEEE,” he added at the second. There was a spontaneous round of applause. HISSS….went the irons as they went into a bucket of water. “I suggest some salve on him sometime, Ma’am,” he said, “but now I’ll release him into your tender care.” Or not, as the straps were removed, and a pained Dirty Harry arose, holding his hiney. “Thank you so much, Sir,” she said, “it’s something I should have done years ago.” She grabbed her hubby’s ear, “Ohh,” he moaned as she frogmarched him outside.
“Did you have any other plans for him, Ma’am?” he asked politely. “Definitely, Shagger,” she replied, “he’s already suffered a session inside the pigsty, and met Turnip….” the big boar, “….and next it’s the pig paddy field. Apparently, there’s no shortage of mud, so it should cool his tender tush. Even if it doesn’t do so, there’s always Dowsing Duty as a fitting finale.” He nodded. “Obviously I too will look forward to later, Ma’am,” he said, “however might I cordially recommend you both consider taking two hour teachers’ tours? They commence at the main entrance, with the final one at five o’clock. I daresay there’ll be the opportunity to partake of some food when you visit The Canteen. They terminate at the assembly hall, so you’ll end up at the prize-giving ceremony as it’s about to start.”
She nodded. “An excellent suggestion, Shagger,” she said, hugging him hard, “where are you off to next?” He smiled. “Would you happen to have the correct time, Ma’am?” he asked, “since it’s fagging at four, and I need to know how fast to walk back to the school.” He glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s exactly three twenty to three, Shagger,” she replied, “so quick march, and I’ll screw you soon.” So he hoped, as she held her hubby’s hurting hiney. “Ohh….ohh,” he moaned as she guided him away. As he followed the track in a different direction, he realized he’d never asked about the Jones’ nicknames. Most likely, they’d both have been JayJay, or The Jays.
Big Ben was striking for 3.45pm when he reached the abandoned remains of the monks’ kitchen gardens from the original Stricktlands Abbey. He crossed the Staff car park, and continued inside the buildings through the side entrance. Distant discipline was still evident, even though it was Prize Day and there were no lessons anywhere as a result. Then it was into the long, dark cold corridors. He reached the Prefects’ Study wing, and started up the stone steps. At this hour they were anything but empty, as fags hurried towards their destinations. It was all in an effort to avoid application of the agonies, against the charge of Lateness. However, as a cane-carrying prefect, he was given a wide berth.
“Huhh…huhh,” he huffed as he reached the final flight, and the traffic started to thin out. All right, so he WASN’T fully fit again. However, he’d just walked all the way from the Home Farm….following a fucking, so surely there was some justification? Then he continued all the way along the gloomy corridor to study 24….where the door was wide open. He stepped inside, and saw both his fags had arrived already, both still wearing their unisex slave aprons and high heels. “So which one of you two terrors was born in a barn?” he asked wittily, as he gestured towards it. “She did, Sir,” they both replied in unison. “In which case, it’s one whack on both your beat sheets,” he said, “thus ensuring the culprit is caned for her crime.” There were two sniffs. “It’s not fair, Sir,” said 3M sulkily, even as The Pirate stamped her foot.
“One more for Mitches….Arguing, again,” he said, “and also for Kelly, only for her it’s Lack of self control. Sexy Sammy failed to flog it from you, and it appears I haven’t succeeded either….” he paused, “….I wish your frightful fagmistress better luck in a year’s time….” unless it was her fearsome fagmaster. He’d HAVE to do his final Deposition, before it was too late, “….bend over, both of you. Actually I’m grateful, since flogging your fetching fannies will help me recharge my batteries. I’ve just screwed someone, and as you saw from my Cute Cunt Calendar, I’ve another lovely Lady later. I’ve every intention of edging myself by the perusal of porn, however it can wait until you’ve departed for dinner.” They both assumed the Position.
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“Oooh..OOOH….TWO,” gasped Mitchell Mary Murphy, “thank you so much, SIR. I’ll admit it was me with the door, Sir….if it helps at all.” Not really….since it was too late to worry. “There were two strokes outstanding from this morning, Kelly,” he said, “so those are first.”
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“Oooh..HOOH….TWO,” gasped Kelly Morgan, “thank you, SIR.”
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““Owww..WOWW….FOUR,” she gasped, “thank you, SIR….I know I needed them, Sir. But surely there’s no need to be bothered with pornography….since you’ve two twats standing ready and available for inspection. You could wear my naughty knicks over your nose….” not for the first time, “….we’ll be fucking next February, so you could just regard it all as a presented pussy preview.” Thirdeen going on thirdy, but this had always been the case. “Two more for various Vulgarities, Kelly,” he said, “with one for Impertinently Imparting Information. However….are you in accordance with such sordid suggestions, Mitches?” She spread her legs wide in answer, as did The Pirate. “Please, Sir,” she said softly, “it’s my turn to offer you the naughty knickers….” which was true, “….perhaps you could pretend it’s Panty Pervert Pete pulling his penis in the public park.” A sound suggestion.
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“Yezz..YEZZ..YEZZ….SEVEN, thank you, SIR,” gasped Kelly Morgan, “swearing’s another horrid habit which should have long since been beaten out of me.” He set down the stick and stripped slowly, stacking each item neatly. Then he padded to his wardrobe and put on his black Lee van Cleef cloak, which would mean keeping his prefect’s privileges. Samantha Fuck Me Harder Terrier always wore black high-heeled shoes on her so-called Naturist days for the same reason. She’d tease his tool….before tanning his tush terribly. Then he picked up Mitches’ pair of pink knickers.
“Uhhh,” he moaned as he placed them into position, and inhaled her choice cunt scent. “Uhhh….uhhh….” he repeated, stroked his shaft and encouraging an errant erection, “….I’m a wanker boy….uhhh….which wants to wank worthlessly with wanton wicked wenches….uhhh….as it’s the closest I can….well, cum to cute cunt….uhhh….uhhh….separate your slits….uhhh….uhhh….” already his shaft was straining from the stimulation, “….we’re doing well….uhhh….uhhh….turn around and look me in the eye….uhhh….holding hands on hips….uhhh….with disdain and disgust at my deviance….uhhh….” the same as so many pretty pictures in WANKER! with the lovely Ladies leering. It really WAS a magazine which spoke so strongly to his sinful psyche. Even the injunction on the front cover said it all: Feel the shame of taking your favourite magazine to the checkout Lady, “….the horrendous humiliation is so squirmingly and sordidly scrumptious….uhhh….and works wonders for my wavering willy….uhhh….and you might take a picture for posterity and the Camera….uhhh….Club….uhhh….anything you say or do until we’re finished will be freebies for posterior punishment purposes.”
They both turned and stitched suitable expressions of scorn. “You’re a pathetic panty pervert….Peter,” said Kelly Morgan, “….a lecherous loser in love….” added Mitchell Mary Murphy, “….you want cunt….” said The Pirate, teasingly, “….but you can’t get cunt,” added 3M, equally so, “the lovely Ladies laugh and leer….” definitely, “….you should be castrated for your crimes….” yes, “….I’ll make a suitable start by knackering your nuts nicely….again.” He continued to stroke his shaft as she took hold of his testicles. “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH,” he gasped, bending forward as his scrotum was squeezed, “….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….” FLASHH….as The Pirate performed, “….AHHH….me balls, Ma’am.”
Slowly he straightened, and she handed over the camera to 3M. “Now it’s my turn to tackle your testicles,” she growled. “AHHH,” he gasped all over again….FLASHH “….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….more….uhhh….uhhh….only harder….uhhh….” she tightened her hold, “….AHHHHH….AHHHHH….AHHHHH.” Finally, after an eternity, she let him loose. Slowly he stood up straight, his shaft similarly so. “Thank you both so much,” he said, “I can see you’re both highly hot and bothered, so there are free hot showers available for each of you, with as much Wasting Water as you wish….” he paused, “….this was our final Dressing Down Day, all of which I’ve enjoyed immensely. I hope you have, too?”
There were two neat nods. “Yes, Sir,” said Mitches, “and I expect to offer the same facility to my fags next Autumn. Even if they’re bad boys, it’ll be good practice for them with wearing high heels. I watched you wearing yours so well at the Summer Balls last Thursday, and it should be a skill for all studs and sluts.” He could only agree. “You go first Mitches,” he said, “whilst Kelly makes my meal. I shall make up my beat sheets, and then have a short snooze, so leave everything in the oven for later. When you fetching floozies finally finish your filthy finger fantasies, you’re dismissed for the day. Report at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, since it’s Sunday.” They both curtseyed politely, and Mitches strutted away towards the shower room. Then he sat down at the study table and picked up his clip board. First of all, he turned to his Prefect Beat Sheet.
6. ++++ Prize Day ++++
7. Ewell, Servalan, dorm 5A, Incitement: 1, Disrespect: 1. Total:2
Next it was Kelly Morgan’s again, after updating entry 3 from earlier.
4. DDD: 1, lack of self control: 1; Vulgarities: 2 III: 1– Total: 5 – TAKEN
Finally it was his senior fag’s sheet
10. Dereliction of domestic duties: 1, Arguing: 1
Then he padded across the study, and took to his bed. Sounds of a slut sinning under the shower were somehow so stimulating, however he closed his eyes and ears.
He’d eventually been woken at 6.30pm by Big Ben striking. Both fags had long since left, so he’d eaten his dinner alone. He’d stored his cloak, and padded out of the study. The wing was strangely silent, but most of its occupants would already be en route to the main assembly hall. It was sometime shortly before 7pm when he reached it, and passed the wide-open double doors. He continued inside and saw several end-aisle chairs had been duly labelled. He located his own, and sat down. “Hello, Shagger,” said Celia Johnson beside him, “I saw your name, and wondered whether you were wanting any assistance in endless edging and gooning?” As indeed she’d achieved during the old-Hundred Bum-up Challenge,
“An excellent suggestion, Silly,” he replied, “since I’m somewhat short on semen, and I’ve a date due. My fags have helped out earlier, but since you said you’d be pleased to put me into these states of semi-oblivion a second time….well, feel free after the prefect prizes. But do bring me back to earth in time for my star turn.” He glanced up at the clock, and he’d timed it right….6.59pm precisely. The Interrogator was in place on the Podium, together with all the teachers. Recalling the similar events from Year LXXXVIII, the school Governors would all be sitting in the first row of an appreciative audience. “There goes my Aunt Marge, Ma’am,” he muttered as the Chair of Governors strutted up onto the stage. Inevitably she wore her Tanningtown style standard black leather business suit, with its strict short leather skirt.
“Greetings, everyone,” said Margaret Whapshott, “and welcome to Prize Day for Year LXXXIX. After awarding the prefect and subject prizes, we have some additional items this evening. I’ve long since said the cane’s too good for my naughty nephew….and niece….” so it seemed his Sister HAD similarly succeeded, “….you’ll see St Sticks has brought back the Birching Block….” she gestured towards it, and there were many murmurs of obvious approval, “….for flogging exceptionally sinful specimens in the 5th and lower 6th forms. It’ll be alternative agonies available after Explaining themselves, with some sinful sixdeen strokes instead of an automatic Detention. Three villains have volunteered for various vapulations….” floggings….as contained in Grahame’s Guide to Grandiloquisms, “….administered in accordance with disciplines due….” she smiled, “….in advance of the system starting in September. However, three explainees have already asked for the facility. So it’ll be six swished scholars….but not necessarily the best….” there was loud laughter, “….I’ll now hand over to The Headmaster.”
He stood up and bowed. “Thank you, Margaret,” he said, “and my own warm welcome to all parents, august alumni, invitees and scholars over sixteen. We will commence with the various prizes, starting with The Autumn Thrash. This is where a pretty prefect punishes the posteriors of all the pupils-with-penis In The Pink in the shortest possible time. The Trophy has been held by Mrs Helen Shagton since Year LXVII….” there were various gasps, “….alas her longstanding record of 9th November has now been….well, beaten….” more mirth, “….by one day. Our winner Beatrice Dore-Marjorie was once known as Margery Daw or Seesaw, but is now BDM….so beware, bad boys….” he heard many mutterings of, “Oo..er,” and, “Yes, MA’AM,” from around the hall, “….please step forward.” She arose from another end-aisle seat on the other side, and strutted towards the stage.
There was wild applause as Aunt Marge shook her hand and presented her prize. “Stay where you are, Bea,” he said, “since now we have the two winners of what is now known as the old-Hundred Bum Up Challenge Cups. Beatrice has successfully scored a double, since she has won for the pretty prefects….with a time equalling that of Year LXXXVIII. For the prefects-with-penis, it is Richard Sharp….please step forward.” From behind him, his former dorm captain stood and strode onto the Podium. Both Cups were awarded to loud clapping, as the two prefects returned to their places, and Aunt Marge followed to the front row. “As we have a new fitting finale,” he said, “we will now award the prize from the Department Of Deportment.”
This was something he’d missed last year, having left the Undercroft after receipt of his prize. It was the way one carried oneself whilst walking, and all pretty prefects were required to attend one class every week. “The lucky winner this year is….” there was an expectant hush, “….Andrea Pawling….” she arose from her seat….starkers, apart from a pair of black high heeled shoes plus a back board strapped to her shoulders, “….should she make it up to the Podium with Volume 1 of St Stricklands: A Hiſtory balanced on her head, her prize is three whacks. However, should it fall off en route, it is six of the best.” He watched whilst she walked, her back impossibly straight.
Slowly, she started the steps, and there was complete quiet. Suddenly, on only the second, the heavy book fell off with a loud clatter. “Which was absolutely appalling….Appalling,” said The Headmaster wittily, whilst wielding the weapon, “such a shame….” wheeewww, it went whilst he swished it through the empty air, and she flinched visibly, “….bend over, Andy. It will be six strokes, showing us all your superb seat.” She duly did so, her high heels accentuating the angle of attack, as always.
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“Yeee..EEEE..HEEE….THREE,” she yelped, “thank you, SIR.”
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“Yeeoww..OWWW..WOWW….SIX, thank you SIR,” she gasped, “thank you for my prize, Sir….ohh,” she added as he stroked her stripes with the stick. “Steady as she goes….so to speak,” he said to loud applause. She proceeded back down the steps, and retrieved the fallen book. Then she stepped stiffly past the appreciative audience to her seat again with what was clearly the classic canees’ gait of guilt….and a wide smile. But then, she’d been in dorm 6J the previous year. The six jailbirds was yet another CP dorm, so she might even have failed badly for the purposes of posterior punishment.
“We now have a new prize,” he said, “which once again will be awarded by acclamation, and administered by our newest Governor….Sir Digby Vaillance….” there was a round of polite applause as the noble knight stepped up to the Podium, dressed as always in his Smart suit. It was extremely expensively tailored bespoke Savile Row stuff….black pinstripe, suitably silky white shirt plus matching tie and shiny shoes, “….these are the Mrs Shagton Rear Of The Year awards….” he paused, “….may I use this opportunity of wishing them both well, since she is to become Shagger’s wonderful Open-Wife on the last Saturday of August….” there was wild applause, “….sometime scholars attending Summer School will be welcome to attend the ceremony at St Esstrickts Parish Church.
But returning to today, these awards are for the pertest posteriors of the pupils In The Pink, as voted by all the present prefects. For the guilty girls, it is….Totton, Holly….” loud applause, “….who managed a massive ninedy three per gross of the vote….” over nine dozen of the total twelve, “….and for the bad boys we have….Orwell, Harry Herbert….” more clapping, “….who achieved eighdy six….” he watched whilst the two lucky winners padded in parallel up onto the Podium to face their appreciative audience, “….notice they are each wearing Short Shirts. These too are a new innovation, by kind courtesy of H2O himself, who did a Deposition to the Governors. You will see they are specially shaped, sewn and seamed to remove much of the material.
The collar is unchanged, but at the back it is cut away just below the shoulder blade. A three wide inch tongue carries the buttons, and likewise allows the year colour tie to be worn conventionally….” he smiled slightly, “….for sinful sluts, an added advantage is it also enables an instant naughty nipple inspection, since a beautiful boob is proudly presented in place of a pocket….” there were loud guffaws, followed by several gasps of pain….presumably as many mere males got their gonads grabbed, “….please turn around, and present your perfect posteriors for punishment. It will be three strokes each in the staccato style….then you may arise, and return to your seats.”
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“Yeee..EEEE..HEEE….THREE,” yelped Hotty Totty, “thank you, SIR.” There was more clapping, with obvious approval. “One of the best bums in the business,” he confirmed.
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“Yeee..HEEE..EEEE….THREE,” he yelped, “thank you, SIR.” They both bowed and curtseyed to the Chair, and padded off the Podium. “Harry’s neat little bottom seems somewhat similar to Shagger’s,” he said, “since it seems they are third cousins.” There was more loud applause, and he waited for it all to subside. “Next,” he continued, “all ten prizes will be applied by the respective Heads of department, with one lucky winner from each form. So without further ado, it is time to swish six of our least successful scholars in every subject. They will also wear Short Shirts, rather than the caning aprons from years past. As you know, at St Stricktlands School, you get….well, bottom marks for bottom marks….” more mirth, “….first on the fanfare of failures are for French, for which Mr Mark Guest will officiate.”
He watched whilst the six felons appeared from the top of the black metal spiral staircase, likewise wearing Short Shirts, and padded across the Podium. “Turn around, and assume the Position,” he ordered as they presented their posteriors for punishment. He saw The Gestapo Marker append a black felt-tip to each of the six seats, all of which winced. The MG mark was named after the sports cars which carried the famous MG marque. It was a bit like the brandings he’d seen earlier, albeit not nearly as painful. Probably, Dirty Harry wouldn’t appreciate it at all. “Uhhh,” he moaned as his tool was taken in hand by his prefect peer, and all rational thought ceased.
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