Final Full Day
The prefect David Shagton sat at his study table, whilst writing out a naughty Note. He was naked, apart from a black shower robe. But this was sufficient to protect his prefect’s privileges….for the moment, until he was ready to relinquish them.
Digger – no need to knock, since your sinful son’s engaged in Perusal of porn.
Although it was Wednesday, this very last period of Private Study wouldn’t be with William Shanks. Iron Will had graciously agreed the previous week to regard his penance as paid. The slot had been taken by his Patron, and it would be role-play, as recently requested. Slowly, he stood up and padded across to his wardrobe. He collected his Cunt Casanova Key from its peg for the last time, and placed it carefully into a trouser pocket. Then he continued to the back wall. As always, it was completely covered with instruments of coercion and correction. He’d need to pack it all away sometime soon for tomorrow’s transportation….but perhaps he might make Mitches manage it?
After all, this was what fags were for, to be at his beck and call. Or to provide a posterior for punishment….and in her case, a pussy for poking. It would also be highly humbling, having to handle so many of the items which had hit her hiney hard. Carefully, he made a selection of several suitable sticks, including Sexy Sammy’s favourite four-footer. His former frightful fagmistress had bequeathed it to him this time last summer, at the close of Year LXXXVIII. Might he now do the same? Certainly it might make packing much simpler….even allowing for any altruism. He positioned them all temptingly on the coffee table, and then there was a knock on the study door.
He glanced up at the wall clock, which read 12.51pm. “Entarrrr,” he called out, wondering whether the noble knight was a little early? It opened to reveal one of The Little Green Men, carrying something large. “What’s this all about, bad boy?” he asked, “and why aren’t you in Lesson 4?” He himself wasn’t, since they’d packed up early, however he was asking the questions. “Please, Sir,” he replied, “I’m on Delivery Duty….” the ministry of the bleedin’ obvious? “….and since it’s the Final Full day of term, Miss Angel Angle very kindly let me off my German lesson….” generous indeed, “….although as a quid pro quo….” a Reciprocal Exchange, “…. I’ll be required to report for the rattan in her study one evening next term….for a really raw rear….” so she clearly fancied flogging his fetching fanny out-of-hours. She’d be able to take a few more liberties with her libido, and wouldn’t have to stay so properly professional.
Obviously he’d still only be a Brownie Boy, so sex wouldn’t be on her agenda….at least not next year, “….but the delivery is your fold-flat holdall….” Ohh, “….to help house your cane collection, for carrying home….” he paused, “….there’s a memo for you too, Sir.” He handed it over, and he saw it was a one-liner about his Monitor Duties this evening.
Shagger – You’re doing dorms 4K and 5P, which should give you lots of flogging fun. Sue xxx
Fair enough….as his memory meandered back to the Year LXXXIX Autumn Arrival Afternoon. He’d been a brand-new prefect, just starting out on his long road. Somehow the period had passed in the twinkling of an eye….exactly as Samantha Terrier had once claimed it would do. “Drop the bag down by the door,” he said curtly, “obviously doing these duties will save you a dished Detention, but why are you worried? It’s Departure Day tomorrow, when the slate will be wiped clean in any event.”
There was a sly smile. “Yes, Sir,” he agreed, “but it’s all a part of my longer term game plan. You see…I’m trying to ingratiate myself with the School Secretary….” Ohh, “….and doing all this work for her seemed a suitable start.”
Sound thinking. “What exactly do you hope to achieve with The SS?” he asked, suspecting the answer? “Please, Sir,” he replied, “I’ve heard from my fearsome fagmaster how Fräulein Major Süβ role-plays die Gefängnislagerkommandantin und das Geheime Staatspolizeimädchen….” the prison Camp Commandant and Gestapo Girl, “….and I want a turn at taking interrogation when I’m older. I’m a German garçon….” with Angular Angela, it appeared, “….and he tells me this is how Major Sweet prefers it.” Clearly he was being groomed for greatness. “Who’s your fearsome fagmaster?” he asked. “Please, Sir,” he replied, “it’s the prefect Alexander Gordon, Sir.” Not exactly a surprise, either. “Your name and dorm?” he asked. “Please, Sir,” he said, “I’m Waverley, William, of dorm 3W, Sir.” Got it in one.
“So I assume it’s Wavy Willy of The Little Wretches?” he asked, to a slight smile, “and with no drastic career changes, you’ll wind up eventually as one of The six Wankers….” he shrugged, “….there are worse. However the good news, as I daresay The Cock O’ the North may have mentioned, is how you’ve a better-than-average chance of making Cunt Casanova. Do you know your disciplinary disposition, since the lovely Lisa McFee-Sven-Sless doesn’t do Dominant dolts?” There was a neat nod. “Yes, Sir,” he replied, “apparently I’m a sixdy-sixdy switch, or so Sir says.” He grinned. “A second sound step to fucking Fuck Me Senseless senseless,” he said, “prior to becoming a prefect….” he….well, cocked his head, tasting an idea, “….has Alex taught you how to wield the weapon?” There was a guilty grin. “Yes, Sir,” he admitted, “although he said I should be circumspect about the skill.”
He slipped off his shower robe, and handed it to the younger year. “Put it on,” he said, “and I’ll inspect your punishment prowess. You can give me a Start-As-You-Mean-To-Go-On beating….no more, although I’d doubtless fail an erection inspection.” Then he handed over his standard stick, the cane which he usually carried with him at all times. “Thank you….Shagger….” he said, clearly having switched into the mindset of a Superior Sir. At his tender age, it was no mean achievement, “….bend over….bad boy, and we’ll begin your beating.” Oo..er, yes, SIR….as he almost automatically assumed the Position.
Swishhhthwackkkk
“One, thank you….Sir,” he said, claiming canees’ privilege. It enabled him to stay silent, apart from the cut count, some suitable salutation and an affirmation of appreciation. “A neat little bottom,” mused Wavy Willy, “simply Asking for the cane….” another two dollars for his mythical collection of when it was complimented, “….I’ve always thought so, on the occasions I’ve watched your whacks.”
Swishhhthwackkkk
“Ooo….two, thank you, Sir,” he gasped, “presumably for my Big One and Biggest One?” There was a slight snigger. “Yes,” he agreed, “which would normally be one more whack for the Question….impudence in this instance.” Well spotted.
Swishhhthwackkkk
“Yeee….three, thank you, Sir,” he yelped. “Ordinarily, I’d stop now for some studied sadism, Shagger,” he said, “but I’ll apply the coup de grâce.” Colloquially called the Cut Of Grace.
Swishhhthwackkkk
“Yikes….four, thank you, Sir,” he gasped, “all convincing cuts, and a completely competent caning.” There was no doubt about how well he’d been taught. “I wonder whether you’d mind signing my Sheet, Shagger?” he asked. “Not at all, Sir,” he replied, “since I rather relish being knackered naked, especially by younger years….” he spread his legs, “….AHHH….AHHH,” he gasped, “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AYEEEEE….I submit, SIR.” A piece of paper plus pen was stuck unceremoniously in front of his face.
St Stricktlands School Stretch Slave Sheet for: William Waverley
The undersigned hereby humbly undertakes to bare his balls and accept a suitable
stretching at any time and any place by his Master or Mistress. The balls should be bared
completely before the scrotum is stretched.
He signed away his pride in the next available space….David Shagton. “Thanks,” he said, “I’ll just demand my dues.” He took a deep breath and waited for the next genital assault, “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AYEEEEE….I am your stretch slave, SIR….” his shaft strained, as the younger year placed the cane onto the table along with all the others, “….you can put the robe over the back of a chair….” he duly did so, and now they were equals, “…..it’ll be possible to indulge myself again later. As you saw from Sue’s memo, I’m administering Farewell Foursomes to dorm 4K, and I shall allow them to turn the tables at some stage.” There was a wide conspiratorial grin. “I’d agree with you about getting my gonads got good by The Knackies, Shagger,” he said, “especially The Ice Maiden….” thou too, Brutus? “….is it really true you’ll be fucking her for the first time next Spring?”
He stroked his stripes, again a further floggable felony. “Yes,” he confirmed, standing up, “Relay and I are both taking a trip back to our Alma Mater to do the dirty deed as a traditional threesome….” Raymond Lee, the self-professed purveyor of penis during Year LXXXVIII, and also his firm friend, “…..she felt a slit of such stature should command two Cunt Casanovas craving coitus….and quite correctly….” he paused, “….unless you’ve anything booked for this evening, how would you like to accompany me? You can show some sluts your superb swishing skills.” He licked his lips. “I’d adore it, Shagger,” he replied, “since so far I’ve only beaten bad boys….and I’d have had you for Rising Without Permission, and Rubbing Of Rears after receipt of the rattan….” he was going to be GOOD, “….where might we meet?”
He pursed his lips. “My arrangements are quite complicated,” he said, “so I can’t explain them all. Best be at the Dorm wings entrance hall latest a quarter past seven….on the assumption you’re doing another Detention….?” another neat nod, “….and I’ll be along shortly.” William Waverley smiled happily. “Thanks, Shagger,” he said, “I’ll look forward to later. Could you excuse me, since although you were the last on Level 6, I’ve still a further five floors to do before afternoon school.” He waved him away. “Thanks for the holdall….Willy,” he said, “could you kindly pin this note to my door?” He handed it over. “Enjoy, Shagger,” he said wryly, “now I understand why you only wanted four whacks. I expect you’ll be having a whole lot more.” Got it in one….as the younger year left the study and closed the door.
He glanced again at the clock, which now read 1.08pm, so he’d best be busy. He padded across to his bedside cabinet, and opened the second drawer down. Inevitably this was where the sinful stuff was stored….never the first nor third. He leafed through what was on offer, and removed the current copies of Spread Slit Specials and WANKER! He padded back to the settee, and knelt by the coffee table. Then he stared at the front cover of the second, with its injunction to Feel the shame of taking your favourite magazine to the checkout Lady. As always, the lovely Ladies were leering at the losers. He took himself in hand, “Uhhh….uhhh….uhhh,” he moaned. It was their disdain and disgust for dicks which was so delicious. “WHAT are you doing….son….?” asked Sir Digby Vaillance, having crept inside the study quietly, and suddenly standing over his shoulder. He peered peevishly at the pornographic publication, “….although the answer’s pretty plain.”
Slowly, he stood up, his shaft straining stratospherically. “Please….dad,” he replied, “I’m a wet, weed and wanker boy. I’ve been wanking worthlessly with wanton wicked wenches and Witches….again. I’m no good at chatting up crumpet, and can’t get cunt. It works wonders with a wanked willy….when I have huge helpings of horrendous humiliation and risible rejection.” He hung his head at this catalogue of confessions. Alas, this was how it HAD once been the case with him….less than two years previously.
The noble knight seemed stern. “I warned you what would happen if I caught you Stroking At Slits, son,” he said, “this time it will be my So-Sorry-Sir-Ma’am-Malacca-model….” oo..er, yes SIR, “….after some sound spanking, in the Wheelbarrow Position. Open up Spread Slit Specials, and put in onto the table. Prop yourself up with your arms, so you can peek at pussy.” His Patron sat down comfortably on the settee, and he backed himself up across his lap. “We’ll have you a little closer to the cunt, son,” he said, taking hold of his testicles. “AHHH,” he gasped as he was knackered neatly, “me balls, dad.” Now his face was only inches away from the fuckable floozies….Smackk Smackk “….Oww,” he gasped, Smackk Smackk “….Oww.”
Finally, the spanking stopped. “Stand, son,” he ordered, “and then it’s down for derrière discipline….” the old-fashioned phrase, relating to previous generations of punished posteriors, “….I shall swish you school style, so bend over the coffee table. This time you can select something from WANKER! with six stinging strokes from my wonderfully whippy Whangee weapon.” He arose and flexed the cane in question….knobbed nastily at irregular intervals all along its lovely length.
“Please, dad….” he implored, assuming the Position and looking at the laughing Ladies again. Their scornful stares were so squirmingly and sordidly scrumptious, “….a beating down to the balls….and then beat my balls.” Wheeewww….went the Whangee weapon through the empty air. “It seems you’ve already been swished, son,” he said, “since I can see four stripes. Spread your legs, tell me your misdeeds….and use the Winchester Whacks of OW and WOW.”
SWISHHHTHWACKK
“OWWW….ONE….so sorry, SIR….” he gasped, thinking quickly whilst re-writing history, “….Mum caught me Spying Up Skirts….again.” There was a short sniff.
SWISHHHTHWACKK
“WOWW….TWO, so sorry, SIR,” he gasped. “Which accounts for three, son,” he said, “so what about the fourth?”
SWISHHHTHWACKK
“OWWW….THREE, so sorry, SIR,” he gasped, “It was an extra one for a wiggle.”
SWISHHHTHWACKK
“WOWW….FOUR, so sorry, SIR,” he gasped. “Were you attempting any Staring At Slits, son?” he asked. “Yes, dad,” he admitted, “since Sis wasn’t wearing any naughty knickers, it seemed too good a chance to miss….alas I failed.” Whether or not there WAS such a soul was another question, but again this was only role-play. There was a short silence.
SWISHHHTHWACKK
“OWWW….FIVE, so sorry, SIR,” he gasped, wondering whether the studied sadism would surface this time? “There’s no shortage of sluts who’ll show you such sin, son….” such a shame he’d never had the nerve to try out this theory when he’d attended St Judes School. The mantle had fallen instead to his firm friend Desmond O’Doherty. Over time, Dirty Dez had duly become Dishy Dez of St Dudes, “….but if all else fails, when you reach eighteen I’ll take you to a professional prostitute. She’ll show you everything….and what to do with it, as well. It’ll cost quite a bit, but it’s a good investment for your future, and fortunately the family’s not short of funds.”
Which would certainly smooth the path to penile pleasure, although it wouldn’t address the problem of pleasing pussy. Happy Hookers couldn’t and wouldn’t, and such a son might end up with a warped view of what wanton wicked wenches and Witches wanted. “Thanks, dad,” he said instead, “maybe I won’t need to purchase so many porn publications in future. But are there pretty prostitutes which punish posteriors? I’ve….err…..seen some in Mistress Monthly.” There was a guilty grin, which once again confirmed the noble knight’s naughtiness. “Yes, son,” he said, “they’re called disciplinary Dominatrices, which don’t do dicks as such, although they’ll usually offer some sort of relief after rattan.”
SWISHHHTHWACKK
“OWWW….SIX, so sorry, SIR,” he gasped. “I’m afraid you’ve failed your erection inspection, son,” he said, “so I’ll add three for the Thrill of a thrashing onto your beat sheet. You can have them on your next weekly whacking….” he recalled the noble knight saying something about this, “….but as requested, we’ll conclude your caning with a couple of cuts to the crotch.” Hopefully, not TOO hard….Swishthwack “….UGHHH….” Swishthwack “….UGHHH,” he moaned in acute agony, massaging his man meat, “thank you dad….HUHH….me balls….HUHH….me balls….” slowly, the room settled down again, “….ohh….ohh,” he added as the older man fondled his flogged fanny. “Thank you so much….Shagger,” he said, so the role-play was over, “….we’re done for today….” just as well, “….I don’t actually have any daughters, but don’t let it stop you from inventing any as required….” fine, “….I’m really looking forward to the first of our swishing sessions next autumn at The Tell-tale Tit.” A No Tell hotel in Lancashire.
“Always assuming I’ve passed my A-Levels, Sir,” he replied. “Details,” said his Patron, expansively, “you only need three grade E’s….” which ought to be achievable, even with his indifferent scholastic average over the years. Still, time would tell, and he’d know next month, “….sit down with me on the settee….unless you’d prefer otherwise?” He smiled wanly, rubbing his raw rear again, as Sir Digby Vaillance sat comfortably. “I’ll stand, Sir….if you don’t mind. Thank you for the thrashing….well, in loco parentis….” In Place Of A Parent, “….but what about your real sinful son, Sir? Does The Dirty Digger still receive your rattan?” The older man shook his head.
“Digger’s definitely a Dominant dolt in disciplinary disposition,” he replied, “markedly more than me….” as indeed Richard Merryweather had mentioned, “….and probably to the tune of tendy to twenty….” ten dozen to two, “….and after he attained his majority, I terminated tanning his tush. But it appears I’d weaned him off wanking worthlessly too well, since he ended up as a gay guy….” Oops, “….so he sorts out stress by swishing and screwing a series of studs. He says he’d be far too busy for any form of marriage, or indeed a permanent partner. In this respect, I can only agree. When I ran the business, I admit to not spending sufficient time with him, or indeed my wonderful Wife….but we are where we are.” Lady Valencia Vaillance, he also recalled his Mentor mentioning.
“Such a shame, Sir,” he said, “since I now flog my philandering father….but then he leans at least ’levendy ’leven….” 143 to 1 in old money, “….perhaps Digger could punish YOUR posterior?” His Patron pursed his lips. “Actually Shagger,” he said softly, “it’s something I could consider. Whether he’d be up for such role reversal’s another matter, but there’s no harm in asking….” he pursed his lips, “….maybe he might be harbouring any amount of anger at being abandoned in his younger years? So I too might usefully take a leaf out of your book, and offer him periods of penance….” he winked once, “….one never knows, he might even take up with the Tarts again.” Clearly this was his good deed done for the day. “It goes without saying, Sir,” he said, “how all this will stay completely confidential….as always.” His Patron smiled.
“One of the things I wanted to speak to you about is Mississippi, Shagger,” he said. “Presumably the lovely Lady teacher,” he replied, “and not the American river?” There was a neat nod, “Indeed,” he agreed, “I was talking to her recently, and she suggested I might like to try out one of her favourite fantasies for the fellas one evening, with Walk The Plank. I understand you’ve done it once, and your scrotum’s still survived.”
He shrugged. “I could say the same about Ball Busta Bertha,” he replied, “for whom you were kind enough to fix me up with an expensive session. You assured me she wasn’t totally terminal to the testicles, and I can now agree. But it’s Edith Zippy’s practice to pick on prefects past and present….” preferably plums pain perverts, “….and also new nax, enabling them to enjoy an exquisite exhibitionistic entrance. I’ve actually taken it twice, since the second was with my protégé Harry Herbert Orwell earlier this term. It may well be a third, given I’m attending Summer School. Apparently the adult version is getting the Gonads Gallows, with noose around nex and nax….” necks and knackers, “….fortunately with Guardian Angels on hand in the water, in case of any problems, “….but with Walk The Plank, your scrotum should certainly be safe. You just jump off the top board, with a 7lb diving brick attached to your balls, and swim to the shallow end….simplicity itself….”
he grinned, “….all right, so it tends to test the testicles’ tenacity. But it’s also wonderful when one is an incorrigible exhibitionist. Standing starkers whilst stroking a staining shaft, before taking the plunge down to Davy Jones’ Locker is indeed erotic entertainment….especially with an appreciative audience….” he took a deep breath after this exposition, “….but talking of terminations, how did you get on yesterday at the Rectory? I assume your Sunday Special wasn’t simply Afternoon Tea with the Reverend Carmen Jones? Did she give you a go on the Gonads Guillotine?” The older man involuntarily cupped his crotch. “It was at least equal to the Scrotum Smasher,” he said, in slightly strangled tones, “for a Lady of the Cloth, she’s not at all bad-looking, and has a MEAN mouth.”
They stared into space, both well away on Planet Priest. “I daresay you spotted her three Looks, Sir,” he said, “with № 1 when she’s sitting close to you….a sly sideways smile, which is surely, ‘how about pleasing pussy?’ № 3 occurs if you ended up writhing around on the floor, whooping in acute agony? It’s the which one I call, ‘it was only a little kick in the crotch.’ № 2 is when she bares her teeth, whilst her eyes flash fire….” his Patron interrupted, “….I saw it, Shagger,” he said heavily, “when my gonads were in the Guillotine, waiting for the worst. It was quite definitely, ‘I’m going to castrate you.’ Hells’ teeth….I spurted some semen as the blade fell….” he shrugged, “….it’s a shame she has to stay semi-celibate. But as you intimated, I WAS able to offer her any amount of oral appreciation….after I’d been booted in the balls….” he smiled again in fond memory, “….she did mention to me about your wedding, which I understand is going to be a Dominatrix do?” He nodded.
“Indeed,” he replied, “with the Bride wearing Miss Whiplash in white, the Bridesmaids dressed as Burdizzo Babes, and me in the altogether. I shall be dragged collared and leashed on my knees along the aisle by my new spouse, whilst whipped well. Also, all married mere males will wear a wedlock on their willy….not just me. For single studs it’ll be a Kali’s Teeth Bracelet, to prevent them getting any ideas of Indecent Intent about the Bridesmaids….” he paused, “….would you like an invitation to the ceremony?” There was a wide smile. “Most definitely,” he said, “and DV 1 is available for this trip, too….wherever you’d like to take it?” He smiled. “We weren’t planning to go very far for the start of the honeymoon,” he said, “and spending a Working Weekend at Bindery House would….well, set the tone of our open-marriage. Obviously Bren would be waited on hand and foot by all the guests. I daresay it’s a venue which has been used often enough in similar circumstances by other couples?”
There was a neat nod. “Yes,” he agreed, “it’s always good business for Daisy Cheney and Ivy Leek when there’s a disciplinary Domme hitched to a submissive slave spouse. I know you’re both sixdy-sixdy switches….” six dozen to the gross, or even-steven, “….but it’s not the point. Several hours’ hard labour, pulling potatoes in the kitchen garden….hot, bothered and in the altogether should do you the world of good. It’s as you contemplate coitus with your belovèd, who’s basking starkers in the summer sunshine on the terrace, sipping white wine.” His penis promptly pulsed at the prospect.
“So, Shagger,” he said at length, “time’s passing, and you need to eat before Lesson 5. If you get dressed, we’ll lunch in The Canteen, and can talk en route.” He nodded, and padded towards his pile of folded clothes. Impeccable tidiness had been caned into him, firstly by his Mother, and secondly at The Styx. “Ohh,” he gasped as he raised his basic black trousers, and the hem scraped across an aching arse. Finally, he collected Sexy Sammy’s favourite four footer from the table, before joining Sir Digby Vaillance at the door. Then they stepped out together into the gloomy corridor. “Sue Sweet says you’re on Farewell Foursomes this evening with Prefect Monitor duties, Shagger,” he said, as they continued towards the Level 6 landing, “and do call me Digger, now we’re equals….” he nodded, “….it’s something I haven’t yet seen. So I’d like to tag along with you, as we’ve done before on several occasions. Perhaps you might even graciously agree to give me a go with beating a few beautiful bottoms?”
He nodded. “Most certainly, Digger….” he said, as they started down the otherwise empty echoing stone steps, “….and obviously there’s also the possibility of Soliciting suitable sluts for subsequent screwing in your study….” there was another wry smile, “….we’ve two dorms to do. First of all, it’s The Knackies of dorm 4K….containing one of my favourite floozies. Karen Eis is already a living legend, and she hasn’t even started screwing….although she’s taking advance bookings. I’ve already paid my deposit, with six of the best taken one evening at her hand. She suggested it would be horrendously humbling to be beaten in public by one of the younger years. I agreed with her contention, so to provide a taste of her own medicine, I’ve arranged for her to suffer some of the same.” Being lunchtime, things were silent, although there was still distant discipline wafting on the wind.
“You should score better in bonking with The pliants of dorm 5P….” he continued as they crossed the entrance hall, and started into the first of the long, dark cold corridors, “….and indeed I’ve copulated a couple of their cute cunts….” when they’d reached sweet sixteen, “….though obviously not my sinful Sister’s slit. I expect you’ll find a fuckable floozy….her included.” The older man smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about the luscious Lynda,” he said, “how she’s simply a serial sex slut who’ll screw anyone in exchange for a hot shower.” It appeared her reputation was spreading well? “Yes,” he agreed, “one day she might even take on the mantle for Sex Slut Of St Stricktlands School? Bren’s the present holder, and for Year XC she’s awarded it to her girlfriend, Verity Gneiss.”
There was a wide smile, “Very Nice is indeed VERY nice,” he agreed, “and a Bi-Babe to boot….which was exactly what I did to such a submissive soul when I sessioned with her in your study.” What wonderful wit? “I expect Sis will also make Mascot for the Letchhampton Rugby Football Club,” he continued, “the way it works is the home team makes bets with the opposition. If they lose the fixture, the visitors all have free fucks. However if they win, the club makes lots of cash….and then the local lads get lucky. So either way round, it’s fifteen phalluses every Saturday afternoon, for what isn’t quite prostitution….” he turned his brain back to today, “….apart from my Monitor duties, I’m hoping to attend one of the Prefects’ VD Classes first. They’re nothing nasty, as I believe I explained.”
The noble knight nodded. “I’d like a last look at the Weekly Wednesday Weedings,” he said “at least, those run by your Missus. I daresay a new pretty prefect will wish to continue them next term….” which was perfectly possible, “….but by way of special thanks for this evening, perhaps you might wish to partake in poking another professional prostitute? If you’ve anyone in mind, but haven’t the funds, I’m happy to assist. I know you’re not exactly short of sex, but occasionally a paid pussy is particularly pleasurable….especially the high-class Happy Hookers at the top of the price range….” he shrugged, “….it’s nothing I didn’t do for The Dirty Digger.”
He pursed his lips. “It’s a very kind thought,” he said, “and I’ll take you up on it. There’s Strict Sarah, the enviable escort….” and more mature Madam, “….we once met at The Stern Maiden. I can visit her in Tanningtown on my way home.” The older man grinned widely. “As you know, Shagger,” he said. “I have her Calling Card….” as did he, somewhere in his study, “….I can confirm she’s a superb screw, and was worth every new pound.” He took it out his wallet whilst they walked
.
Strict Sarah
Your enviable escort for every occasion
Subsequent swishing (and screwing) available
Reasonable rates
phone 0800 856969
“She suggested half-price, Digger,” he said, “apparently liking the look of my neat little bottom at a previous meeting, when I’d been on waiter duty.” With another dollar in the pot. “Such an offer isn’t to be sneezed at, Shagger….” he said, counting out some NP30 notes….three dozen ones, “….here’s four gross….” what it was, not only to be well orf, but filthy rich, “….which should provide ample funds for your….well, business luncheon….” the polite way of putting the poke, “….and also enough for your First Class rail fare home afterwards. If you’d care to be at the main entrance hall at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, you can use my Roller….” it would certainly enable him to bow out from St Sticks in style, “….I’ll swing by Sue Sweet’s office sometime this afternoon, and make the call.”
Done and Dusted. “Thank you, Digger,” he said as they took their trays and located an empty table. “Ohh,” he gasped, sitting down, as the really rough raised ridges reminded him of recent rattan. “Could you meet me in the Dorm wings entrance hall at a quarter past seven, Digger,” he said, “and don’t forget your cane. As I intimated, there’ll also be William Waverley waiting, one of The Little Green Men. He glanced up at the wall clock, and saw it was 1.34pm. Sufficient to eat, but still be on time.
No comments:
Post a Comment