Divorce Day
Brenda Smith awoke at the sound of the main school clock tower known as Big Ben striking for 5am. She’d shared its company for almost seven long years, which would be ended in a very few days’ time. Unless, memory prompted, she took part in Summer School. As an august alumna, or Sometime Scholar, she’d soon be eligible. She felt the bed around her, and discovered she was alone. Somewhat surprised, she opened an eye, and saw the study door was still standing ajar. Her evening dates always left it so, as a courtesy for the morning man. She smiled as she recalled her latest screwing session with dearest Davy’s dad, who’d been at The Styx for the Prize Day just passed.
He’d written an advance entry in her NYPD many moons ago, although when it had been made was another matter. She was aware he made irregular conjugal calls to the school, in order to screw several of the Staff. He ran many Mistresses….allegedly around two dozen at any time. There was the Good Doctor….the teacher Fiona Allbright BA BSc MSc PhD. Fifi had once been in a ménage-á-trois with him and Olivia Helen Whapshott at Hanover College, Cambridge. Next there was the august Head of PT….the lean, lithe and luscious Ava Frasch. This strict and sexy Siren, with an intoxicatingly slim waist, always had a particular penchant for married men. He was also screwing the nymphomaniac School Secretary. Sue Sweet’s six Sesquipedalian Sequential Suitor Service Sessions ran three nights every week, between 6.15pm and 11.15pm. There were four further fuckers from 4am, taking the total tools to ten. Somehow this put her own deviance and depravity into perspective, and almost made her feel young and innocent again. She was certainly The Sex Slut Of St Stricktlands School for Year LXXXIX, though it paled into insignificance in comparison to The SS. But she really should sort out her successor, and try to do so later today.
Her memory turned back to Georgie Boy, since fucking her fiancé’s philandering father somehow seemed so superbly sinful. He was a serious subbie, with a disciplinary disposition which leaned at least ’levendy ’leven….143 to 1 in old money. However her hubby-to-be would be bonking the brains out of her Mother at some stage in the summer, so dishonours would be equal. But surely some stud should be sleeping with her now? In the light of the early dawn, she slipped out of bed. Then she padded across the room to the door, and opened her Notarise Your Penis Diary. Not the New York Police Department, she reflected as always whilst turning the pages.
Divorce Day! - lunchtime: Refectory - 2pm: Rectory
Hubby (am):
Brian Macey 80/g to 40/g →S
Senior Swaps: Nigel Doughty(am) Verity(pm)
Hubby(pm): very nice Bi-some threesome
Yes….it was Messy, with whom she’d taken pity and agreed a parting poke. He’d failed in every attempt at Weekly Wednesday Weedings since they’d begun, way back in the Autumn Term. As she padded back to bed, she reflected upon how one couldn’t help but admire his perseverance. Ordinarily this slot wouldn’t have been available, however her de-facto open-husband had taken it upon himself to visit Scotland for the weekend. The attraction wasn’t the scenery, but one Dominetta Grizelda Gutteridge at the University of Aberdeen. After much mutual misunderstanding, they’d finally hit it off, and decided to give it a go in the autumn….always assuming he’d passed his A-Level examinations? She’d enjoyed being Mrs Sharp every Sunday, however she’d not known until recently how he’d harboured hidden hankerings for her former frightful fagmistress. So everything had worked out well.
They could go their separate ways, with her to the University of Lancashire. There shouldn’t be too much doubt about even dearest Davy obtaining sufficiently good grades, since he’d successfully stitched up the system. With the Chancellor as a firm friend, not to mention the Admissions Officer, he’d obtained offers of three E’s for his ménage-á-cinq. The quid pro quo, or Reciprocal Exchange, was they’d all be required to attend The Tell-tale Tit every month. It would be fucking fun and frolics for all four floozies with Sir Digby Vaillance in this No Tell hotel, and dished derrière discipline for Davy by the noble knight.
Finally, she heard movement as a pathetic pink figure shuffled into the study. She glanced up at the wall clock and saw it was 5.12am. “What time do you call this, cretin?” she demanded, she sat up in bed. He cowered convincingly, even as his shaft strained. “I’m s..so sorry, Missus,” he stammered, “I was afraid you’d p..put me into p..predicament bondage all over again….as you’ve done every week for the Weedings.” She emerged out of bed again, and put on a black shower robe. “I will,” she said sternly, “so for starters, you’ll have a time of AH….” Appreciation Hour, and he fell to his knees in the Position For Penance, “….in the Bottoms-Up Bar, since you’re practically in place already.” It was one well-worthy of worship, with his arms outstretched. “No….mercy, Missus,” he moaned….SLAPP “….Oww….” SLAPP “….Oww,” he gasped as she struck each cheek.
“No mercy it is, Messy,” she said wittily, with the usual wilful misunderstanding, “so we’ll make it AHH instead….” Appreciation Hell Hour, “….I’m not expecting much of you. According to CBT, you were incredibly clingy, and at the same time taking her terribly for granted.” His former girlfriend Celia Briony Tew, who’d given him the old heave-ho. Then she shifted the smooth steel leg spreader behind him. “Arms back,” she ordered, and he moved them beneath his body. “Ohh….ohh….” he moaned as she shackled his wrists, “….ohh….ohh,” he added as both ankles were ironed around them. The position also meant his legs were spread fetchingly….SMACKK “….Oww….” SMACKK “….Oww,” he gasped as she smacked his seat sharply, before padding across to her study back wall. As always, it was completely covered with instruments of coercion and correction.
She helped herself to the Humbler and a riding crop, before returning to the Bottoms-Up Bar. “Your scrotum will suffer substantially,” she said, kneeling behind him. “Ohhh….” he moaned as she took hold of his testicles, “….AHHH….” he gasped as she twisted them tightly and turned them, “….UGHHH….” he continued as she pulled them through the hole. “….ohhh….” he repeated as the second slat was slipped into place, “….Ahhh….AHHH….” he added as the wooden screws were tightened around his testicles. “This is bit I enjoy most,” she said as she took hold of the Humbler, rotated it, and pulled it between his legs. “….AYEEEEE….HEEE,” he gasped as his scrotum was suddenly stretched, with the Humbler hard up against the base of his buttocks at the back. “Enjoy,” she said, as she retreated back to her bed, “you’d best hope I wake up again at six o’clock.” He stared at her helplessly as she closed her eyes.
Big Ben was suddenly striking again, although quite clearly 6am had passed. Oops….since according to her wall clock it was 6.30am, so he’d had over an hour. “I have to talk to someone,” she said sternly as she arose, “don’t go away.” Ha bloody ha….he’d be saying silently. With this, she padded out of the study, and started along the gloomy corridor. Hopefully this would all heap more mental misery on him. Quite honestly he deserved it all, since he’d been really rotten to Davy for the past year. They’d once been fairly firm friends, but jealousy during Year LXXXVIII still had the better of him. So despite Davy’s Private Study penance every Monday lunchtime to make amends, he’d remained completely cold. Although just maybe, she mused, his phenomenal failure with the Weedings might have been a contributory factor?
She reached the Level 3 landing, and started up the stone steps. At this early hour they were both empty and echoing. Not from her passage, since she was barefoot, but undoubtedly from some stud’s Sex Thrashing. The whacks wafted on the wind, and then a second set started, so the sex was good this morning….Bang. She reached the Level 6 landing, and started down into the depths….Bang. What was the witticism? Yes….The Cunt At Infinity, a mathematical construct of Davy’s own making. It represented a destination desperately desirable yet utterly unobtainable….BANG. They were louder now, as she approached the source….BANG.” Slightly unnerved, she reached study 24….BANG. Was it some sort of firearm she was hearing?
David Shagton
Quis illum sceleratum fuisse putavisset
Who Would Have Thought He Was A Scoundrel, read the Latin logo….her, for one. She knocked politely, and waited. “Entarrrr,” called out a feisty floozy, so she opened the door and stepped inside. Oops….since it seemed dearest Davy was definitely in difficulty. He was shackled spread-eagled to a big board in the centre of the study, upon which was a white heavy-duty clad covering. She could similarly see two wanton wicked Witches, in the Wild West wear. It was Calamity Jane style, with black tassel soft leather top and slacks. Then there were winkle-picker black cowgirl boots, complete with steel spurs. There was nothing much else apart from matching cowgirl hats and bullet belts….allowing bare backs, and beautiful bottoms. “Good morning, Bren,” he said breezily, “may I present two of the Records Rooms Registrars….” ohh….THEM, “….Betty Knorr to your left, and Arlene Gunter to your right. They’re known as Bête Noir and Air Gun….” very droll, “….which is all too appropriate, since as you see I’m firmly in their firing line….” they both turned to face her, “….meet my Missus, Mesdames.”
They all shook hands. “We’ve met, Davy,” she said, “last Friday afternoon at six o’clock, when they both showed up at my study, whilst waving an illegible beat sheet. They didn’t actually state their names, however I rather recall their rattans on my rear….some six stingers each….” she shrugged, “….I hadn’t found a moment to tell you about it, and I don’t say I didn’t deserve the discipline. But Mesdames, we really will be wedded at the end of August, so I’d be grateful if you didn’t put any bullets into his balls.” There were two separate sniggers. “Your handwriting DID improve after your short sharp shock,” said Air Gun, “as is so often the case, after one of our little visits of vapulation….” a good word, taken from Grahame’s Guide to Grandiloquisms, meaning flogging or flogged, “….it’s sound stress relief at the end of a long, hard day. But we’re superb shots, and you’ll see we’ve made an outline all around his body.”
She padded up to him, and sure enough she could see lines of bullets all imbedded in the cladding. “Obviously, the best bit is when we do along his legs,” said Bête Noir, “it’s simply a question of how close we go to his gonads. Would you like a demonstration?” She nodded, her heart thumping, since it was somehow incredibly erotic. Clearly, dearest Davy’s distended dick agreed, as it was pulsing at the provocation. She stood to one side, whilst Arlene Gunter took careful aim….BANG “….HOOO,” he huffed as the metal landed an inch beneath his balls. She could see how his straining shaft was shedding semen slightly, clearly under severe sexual stress. “You’re obviously in….well, unsafe hands, Davy,” she said, “so I’ll just deliver my message: Kindly be at the Rectory for two o’clock this afternoon, as Amen Carmen has agreed to run through some of the wedding arrangements….although I may be late, since I’m on Refectory duty. I’ll want you in the altogether, but you can keep a pair of black shoes to maintain your prefect’s privileges en route….” she paused, “….and Naccatape.”
It was hardly an imposition, since he was an incorrigible exhibitionist who enjoyed wandering around the place unclothed. Hopefully though, she might finally get to see the Parish Priest’s Gonads Guillotine? He’d told her all about it from his previous visit, and if so he’d be well prepared. “Most certainly, Bren,” he replied, “although if I’m not there, I may have taken Umbrage….” in the Medical wing, when sufficiently unwell even Nurse Crusher couldn’t throw out the sufferer. She regarded illness as insolence, and her personal prescription for a headache was six of the best. But Kristina’s bedside manner had always been less like Florence Nightingale, and much more Comrade Colonel Rosa Klebb. She was the horrid harridan of Ian Fleming fame in….well, From Russia Without Love, “….meantime, how are you making out with Messy?”
She stared at him. “How did you know about his session, Davy?” she asked. “I found out yesterday evening,” he confirmed, “since Feely Ceely mentioned it.” Uh..huh. “Has he been up to his old tricks again?” she asked. “She was a damsel in distress,” he replied, “since her Dominant dolt of a date had been a Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma’am, man.” Of which there were many. She did her best to avoid them, but it wasn’t always possible. When one of them won at the Weedings, she was stuck with him. Still….it was only for a single session. It always made her realize how much happier she was with switches….preferably sixdy-sixdy. As was she herself, six dozen to the gross, or even-steven.
“Go on, Davy,” she urged. “She hadn’t had any orgasms,” he explained, “and he was an obvious oralophobe. Since Messy had been moaning for ages about taking a tumble, she’d offered him the opportunity….” BANG “….HOOO….he said she could sod off, since he was saving his spunk for what would be a better bonk, one with Conscious Cunt Contraction Control….BANG “….HOOO….worse still, HE wouldn’t please pussy, either….” BANG “….HOOO….so I stepped into the breach with oral appreciation….” BANG “….HOOO….we couldn’t copulate, since I’d just taken a twat twice,” BANG “….HOOO….but were able to sleep together until changeover time….” BANG “….HOOO….hopefully, I should have the wherewithal with which to assist these Amazons….” BANG “….HOOO….always assuming I still have a scrotum.” She nodded, knowingly. “The completely competent Cunt Casanova, as always,” she said, “and don’t worry, I’ll soon sort him out….” she paused, “….it’s your final period of Private Study with him tomorrow. He doesn’t know where I am, and isn’t aware of who shopped him. But should he do anything out of the ordinary, his scrotum will suffer substantially….” she flexed her fingers, “….having been one of The Six Knackerers last year, he should know I mean business….” she winked once, “….let me leave you with your lovely Ladies. I hope they’re both able to enjoy your fancy to the full.”
They both nodded. “Seven inches of circumcised sin,” said Air Gun, “although we’ve a dozen more bullets to fire, first.” He cringed quietly in terror, although his tool twitched. “There’s a sheet on my desk, Bren,” he said in strangled tones, “which is my last Deposition….” hopefully not his Will and Testament? “….I’d like you to look it over before it’s taken to Terrence. You can return it to me this afternoon….one way or the other.” She nodded, ambled across the study, and rolled it up. “Sue Sweet won’t like it a lot….” opined Betty Knorr, having clearly read it already, “….weeks of work wasted,” added Arlene Gunter. She pocketed the paper, padded out of the study, and closed the door behind her….BANG “….Hooo.” Oh well, one down and eleven more to go. The likelihood was low, although the threat was absolute….BANG. She reached the Level 6 landing, and started down the steps again….Bang. The sounds of shooting finally faded at Level 3, replaced by more conventional Canings For Cunt. Finally, she reached study 17.
Brenda Smith
Hodie mihi, cras tibi
It Is My Turn Today, Yours Tomorrow, she reflected as always….and ever so apt for a switch. She opened the door and padded inside to find Messy was where she’d left him. It would have been a nine-day wonder, had anyone released him in the interim. “I’m so glad you’re back, Missus….” SLAPP “….Oww….” SLAPP “….Oww,” he gasped, “It’s Ma’am, if you don’t mind, Messy,” she muttered, “and I’m afraid you won’t be very shortly….” he stared at her with worry, “….your sins have found you out. I’ve heard all about how you spurned Silly’s amorous advances yesterday evening. It’s all pretty pathetic, and even if you couldn’t bring yourself to bonk her, you could still have pleased pussy. So it’ll be another hour….only worse.”
She rolled a large apparatus behind him, which looked a little like a fairground wheel, standing some six feet in diameter, “….this is my group’s General Studies project….” she plugged it in to an electric wall socket, “….called The Big Weal….” what wit, “….obviously not spelled W-H-E-E-L. It’s a threshing….or rather thrashing machine for tenderizing tools, testicles and tushes. In your case, it’ll be the third of the three….” he wriggled, a pointless procedure. “NO,” he shouted….would he never learn? “….fine, so we’ll make it more….” she was rewarded with a simple sob, as she removed three of the six radial spokes, which had once been flexible plastic fly swatters. An ambiguous phrase, since the flies in question weren’t made of the material, nor were they so inclined.
Then she adjusted the remainder, “….two spokes will spank your seat soundly….beating both buttocks, one after the other. Then the third will tap your tool to make it tingle. I’ll be generous, and set it to slow, with one revolution per minute.” She pressed the start button, and the spokes started to spin….Whapp “….Oww….” Whapp “….Oww….” he gasped….Whapp “….Uhhh,” he added, from sinful stimulation. “Enjoy,” she said with a yawn, “since I’m going back to bed.” He stared at her with honest hatred, whilst waiting for the worst….Whapp “….Oww….” Whapp “….Oww,” she heard as she retreated back to her bed….Whapp “….Uhhh.” Then she extracted Davy’s Deposition, and slipped between the sheets.
On: Same Sex Fagging
Mesdames et Messieurs – With what will almost certainly be my final Deposition as a scholar at this illustrious educational establishment, I write in connection with the system of fagging. Although this has traditionally been accomplished by a scholar of the same sex as his fearsome fagmaster (or her frightful fagmistress) it occurs to me this need not necessarily be the case. I am reminded of researches by previous prefect Samantha Terrier during Year LXXXVII. She made a special request of the School Secretary to be allocated a fella for senior fag, and apparently there was no actual prohibition in the school rules. As matters turned out, it was MY bare bottom which bore the brunt of her beatings for Year LXXXVIII. I in my turn asked for and was allocated Mitchell Mary Murphy for senior fag, and Kelly Morgan for junior. Both these critters were caned competently and comprehensively for cause without complaint during Year LXXXIX. Having requested regular and repeated receipt of the rattan, I was able to ensure The Pirate was sent out of my study with a suitably stinging and sore seat. (I must mention my Mitches too had specifically asked her parents if she might be sent to St Sticks. One principal reason was because St Judes School in Letchhampton solely swishes studs, and not sluts. I have since spoken to my former Headmaster, proposing the principle of posterior punishment for guilty girls).
Whapp “….Oww….” Whapp “….Oww,” he gasped….Whapp “….Uhhh.”
Upon further reflection, the same sex limitation is regularly breached by the system of Senior and Junior Swaps. In this connection, my prefect peer Myfanwy Smith has already done a Deposition with regard to the S7….the Standard St Stricktlands School Study Scrotum Snatcher. It was with the suggestion they should be made available to pretty prefects, for the primary purpose of pulling appropriate parts during such Swaps. Likewise for pink bowties, enabling naked waiter service. (High-heeled shoes would present no problem, already being available).
Whapp “….Oww….” Whapp “….Oww,” he gasped….Whapp “….Uhhh.”
But given the inescapable evidence of two years’ experience with no ill-effects (other than suitably stinging seats) may I offer the idea of young bucks for prefects-with-pussy, and sinful sluts for those with penis. I appreciate there may be many instances where the present arrangements are preferred. Obviously the gay guys might well be much happier as matters stand, and likewise the lovely Lezzies. As regards the Bi-Babes and boys….well, almost anyone might be acceptable.
Whapp “….Oww….” Whapp “….Oww,” he gasped….Whapp “….Uhhh.”
The School Secretary has achieved an outstanding success rate with fagging placements over the years, and I would not wish to detract from her achievements. However, this proposed amendment would simply allow her greater flexibility. I commend it to the Governors for adoption forward from Year XC, and remain yours faithfully, David Shagton, prefect.
OMG….this was all making her horrendously horny. “Uhhh....” she moaned as she stroked her slit, “….uhhh….uhhh….uhhh….uhhh….” Whapp “….Oww….” Whapp “….Oww….” he gasped….Whapp “….Uhhh.” She was nearly there. “UHHH….yes….YESS….YESS,” she murmured, before turning over in orgasmic ecstasy. Then she closed her eyes.
Big Ben suddenly struck, and she awoke at once. She glanced up at the clock, and saw it was 7.45am, so again he’d had in excess of an hour. She glanced down at him, and saw a sad sight. He was completely covered in sweat, and his hair was a shambles….really Messy, in fact. “I’m so sorry, Ma’am….” Whapp “….Oww….” Whapp “….Oww....” he croaked as she arose….Whapp “….Uhhh.” She padded towards one wardrobe, opened it and hung up her shower robe on the door. Then she took out a pair of black riding boots, padded across the study and switched off The Big Weal. “You can provide me with a handy footstool,” she said, putting one boot onto his back. “Ohh….” he moaned as she trod her left foot into it, and zipped it up, “….ohh,” he added as she repeated it with the right.
“Lick them both, Messy,” she ordered, standing at his head, “although you’ve been let off licking labial lips, since my twat’s been totally turned by your torments.” He made several feeble attempts to do so….THWAPP “….Ahhh,” he gasped as she struck his cheek with the crop. “You can do MUCH better, Messy,” she said, “then you can think about a boot as I beat….” what wonderful wit, as he struggled to obey, “….since I may as well also address your Sex Thrashing.”
She strutted away, and collected a cane from her bedside cabinet. Ordinarily, it would be used to administer a Caning For Cunt for the lucky lad lying on the bed, with a Pillow Punishment Points Of Pain. It propped up the posterior, but also offered a sewn-in circular pressure pad of pure pain which was completely covered with small semi-sharp spikes at ⅛ inch intervals. Though this morning, Messy could have the hits in situ, since his arse was already in the air. “You may recall,” she said didactically, “how I administered a dozen due to dearest Davy yesterday evening on The Podium….” for the first of his brand-new Sinner Swishing Saturdays at six, “….although in accordance with my cunt currency, I’ve a special tariff for subbies. You edge eighdy to fordy….” or eight dozen to four, “….sloping somewhat to submission, so it’s a thorough thirdeen.…” formerly a frightful fifteen, “….so now you’ll suffer substantially for your sins….” she paused, “….but best put any thoughts of displaced revenge onto my worse half out of your mind….” he nodded weakly as she gauged the angles, “….staccato style in threes, so it’ll all be over quite quickly….” which wasn’t for his benefit.
She’d overslept, and they’d still to screw before the fags arrived….Shaggette and Dirty, “….you may kiss the cane, to confirm your innate inferiority and insipience.” Another good grandiloquism, this one meaning lack of wisdom. “Mmmm….mmmm,” he murmured as he did so, lovingly. Most likely, he’d prefer it to kissing her. “You can state some of the Standard Subbie Swishing Sentiments,” she said, “with one after each set of strikes.”
SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK
“YEEE..HEEE..EEEE….THREE, thank you MA’AM,” he yelped, “prolonged and painful posterior punishment puts me properly in my place, Ma’am.” Second and subsequent staccato style strokes stung much more, since they landed on the same spot. But Sex Thrashing ones were worse, since they struck straight downwards. Still, she hadn’t spunked him first before flogging, so he should count his blessings.
SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK
“YAROOO..OOOO..HOOO….SIX, thank you, MA’AM,” he gasped, “I deeply desire derrière discipline, Ma’am.”
SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK
“YEOWWW..OWWW..WOWW….NINE,” he gasped, “a nasty nine, thank you, MA’AM. I believe bad boys’ bare bottoms benefit from beating, Ma’am.”
SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK
“YEOUCHH..OUCH..OUCH….TWELVE,” he gasped, “a dozen due, thank you, MA’AM. Please be HARD with me….since I’m hard with you, Ma’am.” An action easily achieved
SWISHHHTHWACKKKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKKKK
“YIKES..YIKES..YIKES….THIRDEEN,” he gasped, “a thorough thirdeen, thank you MA’AM. Thank you for my thrashing, which was thoroughly therapeutic.” Despite all his faults, at least he was completely competent at contrition. “Ohh….ohh,” he muttered as she released his shackles, “Your tenderized tool appears to have leaked a lot,” she said as he shifted his stance and rubbed his wrists, “so let’s hope it’s learned its lesson. I don’t like living in a mess, Messy, so sort it out….there’s a good lad.” She collected the cane, as he shimmied around, and set it down onto her study table.
Then she watched whilst he licked up all the liquid which had fallen from his fancy onto the wooden floor. “I’ll ride you round the room,” she said, “ending up at Sexy Sammy’s Riding Bench for Expert Equestriennes.” Which had originally been Olivia Helen Whapshott’s General Studies project….Davy’s Mum, and placed permanently in this study. “Ohh….” he moaned as she sat on his back, “….MMMM,” he added as she stuck the crop between his teeth as some sort of bit. “MMMM….MMMM,” he gasped as she stuck the spurs into his sides. “Giddy-up, steed,” she ordered. “MMMM….MMMM,” he repeated as he commenced his crawl around the study, with the Humbler hardly helping.
No comments:
Post a Comment