double detention discipline

Chapter 241 - part (4) of (4)

 Departure Day (Year LXXXIX)

 

He strode out of the kitchen, and through the hall, noting how the dining room table had been laid up for three. The fourth place comprised a cane, riding crop and martinet, so clearly it would be a Dominatrix do for dinner. As always, the naked waiter and chef would eat in the kitchen, below stairs as it were. Then he continued into his bedroom. One suitcase had been stacked by his wardrobe, next to His Box Of Tricks, but the other lay open on his bed. Clearly, his sodding Sister had still engaged in a Porn Hunt, even though he was a prefect.

 

There was also the special fold-flat holdall containing his considerable collection of items for coercion and correction. Oops….since on one wall were The Pirate’s panties, pointedly placed over a picture. He put down the porn periodicals, and inspected his bedside clock. It was already 6.26pm, when wonder of wonders, a nude nubile entered his room. She made no effort to classically cover herself….no surprise, since she was simply a slut. “Hello….Sir,” she said, “I hope you had a good time in Tanningtown….” she stared at the bed, “….I must have missed those, although why you would want them is beyond me. You’ve three cute cunts calling, so your shaft should surely score with at least one.” Clearly, this was becoming a running gag.

 

“It would take too long to explain, Lyn,” he replied airily, shifting it to the bedside cabinet, “simply to say Good Hunting down at the RFC….with one whack onto your beat sheet for the Vulgarity, which is letting you off lightly. Should you run into Wok Peace, be assured he fancies you furiously. He’s a macho male and member….who mentioned the matter only moments ago.” She smiled widely, and stroked her slit. “I’ve been Wasting Water, Sir,” she said, “so I’m seeking studs who’ll screw me soundly. One day I might even make Mascot.” As indeed he’d suggested quite recently to Sir Digby Vaillance. “I’ll put you down for another six strokes,” he said, “for your latest collection of cums. Did Mum administer your Welcome Back Whacking?”

 

She nodded, turned around, and showed him a seriously striped seat. “It ended up as a dozen due, Sir,” she said, “just as I like it. Do give my very best swishes to my former frightful fagmistress when she arrives shortly, Sir.” He nodded. “Certainly,” he said, “however pursuant to your Slight Snack at The Stern Maiden, I can be of some help to you. I happen to have some contact details for Jules. His real name is Thomas Edison Carson….known as The Tech Man, for obvious reasons. His phone number is Mire Heath 269, so make of it what you will….” his good deed done for the day, “….now you must excuse me, since I too should shower.” SMACKK “….Ooh….” she gasped as he administered a Sexist Smack, smartly, “….you’re so Masterful, Sir.” She wiggled away. “One more whack for Incitement,” he called out after her retreating rear, before starting to store his clothes tidily into the wardrobe. “Ohh,” he moaned, removing the Naccatape from his nuts, and putting it into a pocket.

 

Now naked, he padded into the bathroom, hoping there might just be one dry towel? Alas no….so he’d have to find another from the airing cupboard. He duly did so, and turned on the tap. There was hardly any hot water either, so it would be a short shower. In the sorry circumstances he wouldn’t be Scrotum Strafing, so simply soaped himself all over. Then he allowed what warmth was left to wash away his travels….and travails.

 

Very soon he was finished, since the water was now turning quite cold. He turned off the tap, and stepped out. As he dried himself down, he reminded himself how he’d soon be stuck with such sordid showers again. It would be for a whole week during Summer School. Why had he even signed up for such a stupid stunt? But the answer was obvious, and because he was a sixdy-sixdy switch. He’d enjoy revisiting the rattan, sampling some school style stick and swishing sessions by playing In The Pink. Almost certainly, he’d have a full time fearsome fagmaster, not simply for Senior Swaps, which would be a first. Doubtless it would be deliciously decisive derrière discipline, with plenty of peremptory Put-You-In-Your-Place painful posterior punishment. He’d be taken down, and shown some Superiority. Oo..er, yes SIR….as he stroked his shaft slightly.

 

Then he hung up the wet towel, and padded out of the bathroom. Oops….since his sinful Sister was strutting towards him, now dressed in the Happy Hooker hosiery, and holding her handbag. The crimson-coloured miniskirt was so short it was decent by only half an inch. He shivered slightly and his penis pulsed whilst he drank in the matching fishnet tights, jacket and boots with stiletto high heels which accompanied the apparition. A studded collar, plus much mascara and lipstick completed the picture of a sexy Siren out to pull in the punters. “That’s a nice little nothing you’re almost wearing….” he said, echoing the words of the mythical James Bond from the ancient movie Diamonds Are Forever….WHUMPH “….UGHHH,” he moaned, keeling forward as she kneed his nuts. “I may be a sweet subbie in disciplinary disposition, Davy,” she said, “but as you know, I enjoy putting pathetic panty perverts in their place. Whose naughty knicks were they?” He stitched the swishees’ smirk. “Uhhh….Kelly Morgan’s,” he replied, “….uhhh….she said I should keep them as suitable sniffing souvenirs….uhhh….pending poking her pussy.”

 

She sniggered and swept past him, leaving behind a trace of probably cheap perfume in her wake. “Fuck,” she shouted as she evidently slipped on a step, “sod these sodding shoes.” So vanity is all, a triumph of aesthetics over utility. “Huhh….huhh,” he huffed, struggling back to his bedroom. At least dressing for dinner would be easy, since he only needed two items. He rummaged all through the open suitcase and failed to find them. So with sod’s law, they must be in the second. He shifted the first to the floor, finally found his pink bowtie, and applied it around his neck. Then it was the matching pair of high-heeled shoes, and he was set for naked waiter service. It was the usual slight misnomer, and not enough to make much difference.

 

He returned downstairs, taking each step slowly and standing slightly sideways. Probably he’d had much more practice than her in high heels? Then it was along the hall and into the kitchen. “Anything I can do, dad?” he asked. “Yes….Davy,” he replied, now they were equals, “kindly stir the game bird soup.” Absolutely apt….as he strutted towards the stove, and picked up a wooden spoon. The only surprise was one wasn’t on the dining room table for….well, punishment purposes. Almost absently, he added some salt from the cellar standing close by. “Oops,” said his father, “I should have said….I’d already salted it. We’ll have to hope they don’t notice.” Fat chance, he suspected, and they’d probably both pay in pain for such stupidity.

 

Suddenly, the front doorbell rang….DING DONG. He glanced up at the clock, which read 6.51pm so at least one of them was early. He took a towel, and hung it over his arm. Then he strutted out of the kitchen and along the hall. He opened the door, and saw three brand-new prefects standing on the step, all dressed in basic black. “A warm welcome to you all, Mesdemoiselles….” he said politely, standing aside….SLAPP “….Oww….” SLAPP “….Oww,” he added as his former fag slapped his face. “Which, Shagger,” she said sternly, “was for my coffee-flavoured cunt this morning.” He closed the door, and then followed them into the dining room. Carefully, he seated each of them. “You didn’t tell us about this, Mitches,” said Theresa Rhys as he opened a bottle of wine and poured three glasses. “Bend over,” said 3M, “for such shoddy service. Whatever happened to a taster, first?”

 

Fair comment, as he assumed the Position….CRACKK “….Oww,” he gasped. “It was a bit of bed bondage,” she explained to her two favourite friends, “I asked Shagger for the Slut Slit Stretcher, so I’ve no complaints there. I was poked by The Pirate and The Ice Maiden, with a strap-on dildo head harness. But then he added another indignity, which was to have them apply honey and coffee grounds. OMG….it was so nasty, but kind of nice,” Cue Barbarella again, and he could see Racy Tracy appeared quite taken with the idea. “Bottoms Up,” said Richella Ruth Rhodes, with the official school toast, “and welcome to prefecthood, everyone.” CHINKK….went all three glasses together. “We’ll start with some soup, Mesdemoiselles,” he said. “What is it, waiter?” asked Ritches, “and you may call us Madam.” Fair enough, “It’s game bird,” he said, “which we thought appropriate….” SLAPP “….Oww….so sorry, Madame.” He strutted out into the kitchen.

 

Seconds later he was back with three steaming bowls, which he set down. “Oops….butterfingers,” he said as he spilled some of the 3R’s. “Bend over,” she said….CRACKK “….oww,” he gasped. He mopped it up with his towel, and then stood by. “Waiter,” she said, “this soup’s seriously suspect. Send in the chef at once.” He strutted away. “Sorry, dad,” he said, “Ritches has rumbled us….and they’re all Madams.” His father smiled slightly, and took another towel. “Madame is not satisfied with my work?” he asked in an eerie echo of the ancient movie Belle de Jour. It was something else they’d both watched and wanked worthlessly with together one afternoon….SLAPP “….oww….so sorry about the surplus salt. It was merely a misunderstanding in the kitchen.”

 

She gestured. “Bend over, both of you….for a couple of cuts with the cane. It’ll be a Blanket Beating, until one of you cares to confess the crime, when there’ll be a further four.” Not canings for coverings. It was amazing how one’s perspective of punishment changed, when one was dishing the discipline. They both formed the angle accordingly as she stood and flexed the cane between her fingers. “Two tempting tushes for tanning,” said Racy Tracy, “Shagger’s genetic inheritance is obvious.”

 

Swishhhhthwackkkk….Swishhhhthwackkkk

“One, thank you, Madame….” he said flatly, “….one, thank you, Madame,” his father repeated, both claiming canees’ privilege. It enabled them to stay silent, apart from the cut count, some suitable salutation and an affirmation of appreciation.

 

Swishhhhthwackkkk….Swishhhhthwackkkk

“Ooo….two, thank you, Madame….” he gasped, “….ooo….two, thank you, Madame,” his father echoed. “Stand up and get going,” she said imperiously, seating herself again, “since the over-salted soup’s getting cold.” They retreated into the kitchen, and he poured two bowls for themselves. When they’d finished, his father shed his apron and appended a bowtie. “Take two platters, Davy,” he said, doing the same, “and we can make a grand entrance.” They both strutted into the dining room, and set them down with a flourish. “Some nice slices for Mesdames?” asked his father….SMACKK “….Oww,” he added. “I wouldn’t mention the Gneiss Slice, if I were you,” muttered Mitches darkly, as both shafts strained.

 

“Would Mesdames all want stuffing?” he asked….SMACKK “….Oww,” SMACKK “….Oww,” he gasped. “Such cheek,” said Theresa Rhys, “or perhaps I should say cheeks.” Very witty, as they completed serving the sausage meat, bread sauce and vegetables. Then they collected the soup dishes and strutted back to the kitchen. “She wasn’t quite correct about your arse, Davy,” he said as they started their own meagre meal, “since your Mother’s is also adorable. It would have won the….well, Mrs Shagton Rear Of The Year Award, had it existed at the time of our tutelage.” A case of true love, if ever there was one.

 

After another indecent interval, he took the dessert into the dining room. “Here’s some home-made fruit salad, Mesdames,” he said, clearing away the débris, “please help yourself to cream. Alas, it’s not whipped….” SMACKK “….Oww….” he ladled out three portions, “….coffee for everyone?” There were three neat nods. “Yes please, waiter,” said 3M, “of the conventional kind.” He nodded and returned to the kitchen, where they ate their own salad. Then he added what was almost boiling water to the cafetière, and strutted back into the dining room. Carefully, he poured out three cups. “I was somewhat sorry you didn’t spill anything, waiter,” ventured Ritches, “since then you might have managed to meet my martinet.”

 

An action easily achieved, as he bent down. “Please, Madame,” he replied, “I’d like to confess a crime….it was I who salted the soup a second time.” She smiled widely. “So here’s your flogging of a further four, as promised,” she said happily….Thwackk “….Owww….” Thwackk “….Owww….” Thwackk “….Owww….” Thwackk “….Owww,” he gasped, “do help yourselves to seconds.” He stood up, and strutted out. “Have a quick cuppa, Davy,” urged his father, “whilst we put some of this shambles into soak.” They bustled about, righting the wreckage whilst taking sips of tea at irregular intervals.

 

“I’d best check up on our dates, dad,” he said several minutes later. Taking his towel again, he strutted back into the dining room. “I hope everything was to your liking, Mesdames,” he said politely to three sly smiles. “Yes, thank you, waiter,” murmured Mitchell Mary Murphy, mopping her mouth, “however it’s high time we sampled some shafts….” most certainly, MA’AM, “….Ritches and I will do your dad’s dick as agreed, whilst you take Tracy’s twat.” They all arose. “You can collect him from the kitchen,” he confirmed, folding the towel neatly to the table, “and he can complete the washing up tomorrow morning.”

 

Or he might have Lynda on the job, which would annoy her immensely. Any amount of Domestic Duties would do her some good, since she’d escaped them for so long. Mere men’s work, his Mother had always called it, but now he was an adult….and a Superior Sir. They all strutted out of the dining room, “Maybe,” muttered 3M, clearly recalling his earlier comments in his study, “I MIGHT imagine it’s you, whilst your philandering father fucks my fancy.” SMACKK “….Oww….thank you, Mitches,” he replied, “and I love you too.” She mouthed him a kiss, as she and The 3Rs turned towards the kitchen. Theresa Rhys regarded him with an avuncular eye, and steered him towards the stairs.

 

 “Mitches had an unfair advantage,” she said, “by being your senior fag, she’s had several more screws than me. But tonight, you’re all mine….” she started upwards, “….don’t let me stop you from Straying Up Skirts....” he followed her closely, and fondled her fetching fanny, “….ooh….ohh….you really RUDE wretch….” so who had suggested the sin….as he stroked her seat? Needless to say, there were no naughty knickers, “….as a result, I shall now need to knacker your nuts.” Promises….as they reached the top, and she turned around. “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH,” he gasped as she squeezed his scrotum soundly, “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AYEEEEE….I submit, MA’AM.”

 

 She winked once, continued into his bedroom, and switched on the light. “Why ever would you want WANKER!” she asked, “since you’ve a convenient cunt calling for coitus?” So the running gag was still going. “It was just a dare, Ma’am,” he replied, which was close enough. “You never did sign my sheet, Shagger,” she said ruefully, “but there’s no time like the present.” She handed it to him, plus pen

.

St Stricktlands School Stretch Slave Sheet for: Theresa Rhys

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. Then she took his testicles in hand between finger and thumb, in order to demand her dues. “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH,” he gasped, “AHHH…..TRACY….AYEEEEE….I am your stretch slave, MA’AM.” She smiled sweetly. “The last time we screwed here,” she said, “your Mother applied your Sex Thrashing. I’m now properly passed for posterior punishment, so take off your waiter wear.” He stacked his shoes and hung up his bowtie. She turned down the bedclothes, placing a pillow halfway horizontally. “I’ve heard all about your whippy Whangee weapon,” she said, “do you happen to have it handy?”

 

He shrugged. “It’s somewhere in the holdall,” he said, rummaging around inside, “here it is.” He held it high, and handed it over. “Mmmm….” she said, running her fingers along it….knobbed nastily at irregular intervals all along its lovely length, “….So-Sorry-Sir-Ma’am-Malacca-models were made for mere males….especially during judicial discipline….” Oops, “….lie down, with your neat little bottom protruding over the pillow. It’s simply Asking for the cane….” so another two dollars, “….it’s pretty plain we weren’t the first floozies to flog your fetching fanny today.” He nodded. “I was also birched bare over the Block,” he confirmed, his penis pulsing. “SUCH a sinful stud,” she said without sympathy, “so it’s Six For Sex, staccato style in threes….” he wiggled his waist, “….with one more for Incitement….” she grinned, “….don’t worry….we’ll be putting all your posterior punishments onto our brand-new Private beat sheets.” He wouldn’t be worrying.

 

SWISHHHHTHWACKKKK    SWISHHHHTHWACKKKK    SWISHHHHTHWACKKKK

“YEEEE..HEEEE..EEEEE….THREE, so sorry, MA’AM,” he yelped. Second and subsequent strikes still stung much more, since they struck the same spot. But like the Birching Block, they all arrived straight downwards….which with the Whangee weapon were worse. His only consolations would be copulation with a cute cunt, and how this wasn’t all après-sexe.      

 

SWISHHHHTHWACKKKK    SWISHHHHTHWACKKKK    SWISHHHHTHWACKKKK

“YEOWWWW..WOWWW..OWWW….SIX, so sorry, MA’AM,” he gasped. “You deserved them in any event,” she said, “for Straying Up Skirts on the stairs….” but as invited? “….and now, an extra-special stinger. The coup de grâce….for a Cocky Little Blighter.” Fair comment.

 

SWISHHHHHHHHTHWACKKKKK

“YEZZZZ….SEVEN….so sorry, MA’AM,” he gasped, his arse an absolute agony, “thank you for thrashing me so thoroughly, I know I needed it….ohh….ohh,” he added as she stroked his stripes softly and fondled his fanny….for free, naturally enough. “Shift yourself, Shagger,” she said as she shed her clothes, folding them neatly to the floor. Slowly he stood up, and she took his place. “You gave Mitches bed bondage this morning,” she said, holding up her arms and spreading her legs, “so I want some of the same. I really rather relish rape, and I see you’ve some naughty knickers hanging handily. So perhaps Panty Pervert Pete could be persuaded to do the dishonours….the same as I once read in The Letchhampton Leader?” Oops. “It WAS completely consensual,” he confirmed, “and Jewel’s a spunk slut.” Julia Peterson, one of his many Mistresses….and someone else he should surely screw before September? “Me too….Peter,” she said, “so let your willy do its worst.”

 

He shackled her wrists, and ironed her ankles. Then he took The Pirate’s panties, and placed them over his nose. “Uhhh,” he moaned, inhaling her choice cunt scent. With his head swimming slightly, he took a tawse from the holdall. “Slits which screw should be suitably sore,” he growled, knowing her predilections towards pussy pain perversion. “NO….mercy, Sir,” she shouted, the same as his senior fag earlier, as she too struggled against the shackles. “No mercy it is,” he said, as always….Crackk “….UGHHH….” Crackk “….UGHHH,” she moaned, “uhhh….strop it, I like it,” With pleasure….Crackk “….UGHHH….” Crackk “….UGHHH….” Crackk “….UGHHH….” Crackk “….UGHHH….could I have some more coffee, Sir….huhh….up the cunt, I mean….huhh….the same as Mitches mentioned.” He shrugged. “Don’t go away,” he said, padding quickly out of the room and bounding down the stairs, two at a time. Then it was into the kitchen for some honey, together with the abandoned cafetière from the dining room.

 

Back in his bedroom, he smeared some sticky stuff onto his straining shaft. “OHHH,” she moaned as he did the same to her sore slit. “Another time we’ll have honey on the hiney,” he said, “since it makes for a sweet seat….” all very witty, he hoped? “UHHH,” she moaned as he licked her labial lips, “….Mmmm….a tasty twat.” She shivered in sexual stress. “Damn you,” she shouted, “do it some more….UHHH….UHHH….I’m almost there….” he stopped instantly, “….BASTARD,” she shrieked, struggling harder with no effect at all. He smeared his shaft, and then covered it completely with coffee grounds. “Here cums Panty Pervert Pete,” he said, slipping the pair over his head, “Mitches mentioned she was done with a dildo head harness, but you’re the sinful slut savouring seven inches of circumcised sin….AHHH,” he gasped as his penis poked pussy, “I know it’s nasty….AHHH….but also kind of nice….AHHH.” Jane Fonda would have approved, as her head arched back with pure pain….plus pleasure. “AHHH….AHHH,” she echoed, “hump me HARDER….AHHH….and be sure to spunk my face….AHHH….it’s so horrendously humbling, Peter….AHHH.”

 

All too soon, he could feel himself falling over the edge, and withdrew. “OHH….OHH….OHH,” he moaned, spurting some semen into her hair, and all over her cheeks. Then he diddled her fancy with a finger, “UHHH…..UHHH….YESS….YESS,” she moaned in obvious orgasm, even as her eyes fluttered closed, and she fainted. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and probably wouldn’t be the last. There was nothing to be done, and ordinarily she’d be right as rain in a few minutes. Alas at this time of night she’d probably stay sound asleep. He recalled how his former Geography teacher Hyacinth Plinth had copulated with him whilst he was completely comatose. However he wasn’t about to fuck a floozy whilst she was well away, which WOULD be reminiscent of rape. So he released all her shackles, and eased out the somewhat soiled pillow. Then he tidied her twat with a tissue, and gently covered her with the bedclothes. His own orgasm had been successfully ruined, and he was still horribly horny. His eyes fell on WANKER! and what better way to deal with the difficulty?

 

He knelt, and opened it at the centre spread. There were the lovely Ladies leering at the losers, along the lines of: We Know You’re A Worthless Wanker, So Stroke Your Shaft. “UHHH….AHHH….” he moaned, as he sniffed the naughty knickers, and the grounds goaded his sensitive shaft, “….fuck your cute cunt, Kelly….AHHH….fuck your fancy, Fonda….UHHH….” he took another deep breath, “….bonk you, Barbarella….AHHH….I’m a pathetic panty pervert which can’t get cunt….AHHH….UHHH….UHHH….AHHH….YESS….YESS.” He spurted strongly into his hand, whilst his world wavered. Then he took another tissue and wiped off his worst excesses, before padding into the bathroom. He flushed it away tidily, before washing his willy. Now he returned to his room, listening to sounds of sin and suffering from his parents’ bedroom. “AHHH….AHHH….me balls….BITCHES….AYEEEEE,” he heard his father shouting, so it seemed Mitches And Ritches were up to their old tricks again. Doubtless it would all end well….following all types of terrible testicular torments. But until today they’d BOTH been paid-up members of The Six Knackerers, so what else ought one expect?

 

Quietly, he closed the door and replaced the naughty knicks into pride of place over the picture. Then he switched off the light and climbed into bed. He hadn’t a different date for the morning, so she could sleep soundly without being booted out at 3am….changeover time. Then they could screw again, only he’d be sure to cum competently into her cute cunt. Hopefully her slit would be satisfied, at least for a while? With luck, there’d be more deviant damsels delighted to do David’s distended dick. At least it would all take his mind off worrying about impending A-Level results. Slowly, he slept.

 To be continued……

 

shared stick secrets

Chapter 241 - part (3) of (4)

 Departure Day (Year LXXXIX)

 

Several minutes later she was back, carrying a handbag….and a French flogger. “Walkies….” she said, untying the leash, “….what name would you wish for the part of pet?” A no-brainer. “Please, Ma’am,” he muttered as he followed her to the sidewalk, “I’m Davydog for the duration.” THWACKK “….Ahhh,” he gasped as the seven strands of sheer suffering struck his shoulders squarely. “Faster,” she hissed, “I’m escorting you to № 69, for two of my firm friends, the Misses Ebenella Yvonne Edith Scranthorpe and Hawthorn Agnes Guillam….” really? THWACKK “….Ahhh,” he repeated, “….both known after their initials….” which didn’t sound terribly promising, either, “….don’t dawdle, Davydog. You’ve only paid for an hour and will want your money’s worth.” THWACKK “….Ahhh.”

 

 Desperately he crawled faster, and then suddenly she started to cross the street. “Oww….Oww….Oww,” he gasped over the irregular cobbles. They reached № 69, and again it was only a tiny frontage. She rang the bell, whilst he waited for the worst. The door opened straight into a lounge, with no hallway and….fuck, they were two fetching floozies, maybe in their mid twenties? “Eyes and Hag role-play with the Trinians togs,” she said as he was pulled inside on his leash, none too gently. Evidently this was so as he inspected them obliquely, taking care not to be noticed Staring At Skirts. Both were rolled up, with what was known as the Tart’s Trademark. Naughty knicks were unlikely, and if either bent down at all, he’d soon be Shopped for Staring At Seats. As for the rest, they were the proverbial Disgrace to the uniform. Both ties were loose, blouses with buttons undone, and much makeup.

 

He followed them into a small back room. One wall was completely covered with instruments of coercion and correction, the same as studies at The Styx. It was devoid of furniture apart from one important item. “Do you know what this is, Peter?” asked his escort. “Yes, Ma’am,” he muttered, “bad boys are best birched bare over the Block.” There were three sniggers. “Kneel on the lower step,” she ordered, “confess your considerable crimes, and explain to these innocent young Ladies what you do about your animal urges.” Hell….this would be horribly humbling, exactly as he enjoyed it most. “Please….Mesdemoiselles,” he said, “I’m the scourge of saintly schoolgirls in public parks. I have nineteen counts of indecent exposure, and a further forty four felonies of sex-pest telephone calls to be taken into consideration. I enjoy wanking worthlessly with wanton wicked wenches watching….” SLAPP “….Ahh,” he gasped as one of the so-called schoolgirls slapped his face. “I expect he also sniffs knickers, Yvy….” she said, “….the closest he gets to pussy,” added the other. “Indeed,” said his escort, “since this is the famous Panty Pervert Pete.” There were two gasps. “We saw his picture in the Tanningtowne Tymen, Horty,” said Eyes, “SUCH a shocking sinner.”

 

Then they shimmied up their skirts slightly, with a tantalizing tool tease, exactly as he’d expected. “You’ve sixty seconds to stroke your straining shaft….” said Eyes, “….focus on fuck us….” what wit, “….but stop, should you start to spurt,” added Hag as he took himself in hand. “Uhhh….uhhh,” he moaned, looking into their eyes. Their scornful stares seemed so squirmingly and sordidly scrumptious, “I want cunt….uhhh,” he confirmed, “I can’t get cunt….uhhh….lasses just laugh at me….uhhh….I Lech Longingly Like A Loser….uhhh….so I wank worthlessly with pussy porn….uhhh….after pur….uhhh….chasing panties by post….uhhh….complete with cunt scent….uhhh….as you said….uhhh….I’m a pitiable pathetic panty per….uhhh….vert….” SLAPP “….ahhh….” SLAPP “….Ahhh,” he added at two more slaps. “Time’s UP….” said Eyes, “….and you go down for derrière discipline,” added Hag, with the old-fashioned phrase.

 

 An interesting idiom, sometimes sounded when seniors were swished. It rather related to previous generations of punished posteriors. He bent over the Block with his hands flat on the floor. “Six strokes for starters, in threes….” said his escort, as she set down her crop, and removed a birch from the wall, “….for Stroking At Slits. Think yourself lucky you’re having a quantity dis-cunt….two twats for the price of one.” SWISHHCRACKKK “….Oww….” SWISHHCRACKKK “….Oww….” SWISHHCRACKKK “….Oww..Whacko! MA’AM,” SWISHHCRACKKK “….Oww….” SWISHHCRACKKK “….Oww….” SWISHHCRACKKK “….Oww..Whacko! MA’AM,” he gasped. “Three more for Staring At Slits,” she said….SWISHHCRACKKK “….Oww….” SWISHHCRACKKK “….Oww….” SWISHHCRACKKK “….Oww..Whacko! MA’AM.” He spread his legs even as his shaft strained, knowing his nuts would be next. “We’ll conclude with a cut to the crotch,” she announced, as she took a tawse, “for Being Bothered By Beating.” Crackk “….URGHHH,” he moaned as she tapped his testicles, in best Tanningtown Templar tradition.

 

 Then he felt his ankles ironed. “Arise,” she ordered, as he did so, aware something else had already arisen. “Seven inches of circumcised sin,” she said slyly, “something I shall sample shortly….” she handed Hag a thirdy new pound note, “….thank you for your time, lovely Ladies. Let’s go, Peter….” she took a pair of stout handcuffs from her handbag, and applied them at his front, “….you can walk this time….but not run.” They each mouthed him a kiss. “UGHHH….UGHHH….BEEP BEEP….UGHHH….UGHHH….BEEP BEEP,” he moaned as they each made him their balls bulb boy. “My thanks too….uhhh….Mesdemoiselles,” he muttered as he followed them out of the room. “It’s been a business doing pleasure with you….Peter,” said Eyes, wittily, “….we’re always available, should you seek the school scene,” added Hag. Something of which he wasn’t exactly short.

 

 Then it was through the lounge, and back out of the house. The street was deserted….completely covered with custard….what wit? “You’ve already enjoyed two delicious damsels’ disdain and disgust for dicks….” she said as they continued along TERTIARY TERRACE. At least it was quicker, now he didn’t have to do Davydog, “….and I shall now escort you to our corner shop. Peter Purvis can purchase a porn periodical….one dear to his dick….” oo..er, yes MA’AM, “….you’re an avid reader of WANKER! I assume?” He nodded, his penis pulsing in the hopes of having another huge helping of horrendous humiliation. “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, “especially after I Feel the shame of taking your favourite magazine to the checkout Lady….” she sniggered….THWACKK “….ahhh.” Several minutes later, they reached their destination.

 

Newby Newsagents

 

He pushed open the door, and stood aside to let her pass first. “Thank you, Peter,” she said as she entered what was clearly a small convenience store. “They keep the sordid stuff on the top shelf by the till,” she confirmed, “so it’s not simply stolen. Obviously it DOES mean having to ask for what you want….which will make matters much worse.” He padded across the shop with her….oops, since the cashier was simply stacked. He could only see her top half, however her upstairs assets were considerable….and he wasn’t even a boobs boy. She wore a short black crop top with a polo-neck collar, and given the clear outline of two naughty nipples, a brassière was unlikely. According to her name-badge, she was Barbara. “Good morning, Sarah,” she said, “I presume you’re presenting me with another prospective pervert purchaser of porn….?” she stood haughtily, hands held on hips, “….state your sin, sonny.”

 

He took a deep breath. “P..Please….Miss,” he stammered, “I’d like a copy of WANKER!” She smiled, somehow scornfully and scrumptiously. “Why am I not surprised….?” she mused, as she took it down from its shelf, and placed it onto the counter, “….three new-pounds, please. Though why you want it’s another matter, since surely you’ll be screwing Sarah shortly….” which wasn’t the point, however his Hostess happily handed over an NP3 note, “….thanks.” He picked it up with both hands, since he was still handcuffed. “We’re done, Peter,” she confirmed, as they both turned to go. “A neat little bottom,” called out Barbara, “simply Asking for any amount of agonies….” so another two dollars for his mythical collection, of when it was complimented, “….give it a little something from me.” THWACKK “….Ahhh,” he gasped as his escort obliged. Then he followed her of the shop, and closed the door. “The shop’s also known as Nubile News….” she said as this time they crossed the cobbles, “….for fairly obvious reasons.” Myfanwy Smith had once mentioned how it had an alternative name, but hadn’t disclosed it. This had been prior to his poke with Ball Busta Bertha. “Who’s the beautiful Bimbo with the….well, big prospects, Ma’am….? THWACKK “….Ahhh….I mean the innocent young Lady in the shop.”

 

She smiled, “Her first name you already know,” she said, “with a surname of Boolean….as in algebra. Can you guess her nick?” Easy-peasy. “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, “I’d say Babs Boobs….” THWACKK “….Ahhh….but I’ve basically become a convincing comiconomenclaturist….” SLAPP “….Oww,” he gasped. “As indeed I overheard you telling another customer at the Stern Maiden,” she said wryly, “when you were once….well, Waitressing. You claimed it was a collector of funny names….” she paused, “….she subsequently told her darling daughters and naughty nephews how she should invite you to spend a day at the seaside….and swish them all soundly. Did you ever do so?” He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, “together with some sea and sun….although no sex.” She sniggered softly. “So you failed to find a fuck?” she asked, teasingly. “Not at all, Ma’am,” he replied, “since I returned with offers from five floozies. They’ll have to stay on my to-do list for a while, until I’m at Slappham Sands again.” Which was unlikely to be for quite a while….unless he’d failed his A-Levels? She stared at him with degree level doubt, although it too was totally true.    

 

Then they reached № 10….uh..huh, since they weren’t stopping, but continued a few feet further to № 12. Oops….as she beckoned him towards the coarse, rope-covered whipping post. He’d seen it sited in one corner of the patio on his previous visit. “Give me your porn purchase, and Arms UP,” she ordered. He did so, as she hooked his handcuffs high, and padlocked them onto a peg. There were several such, presumably to cater for a variety of vapulation victims? Then she likewise locked his ankle irons to the post. The front door opened, and Agnes Rosemary Shufflebotham emerged. She was wearing a black business suit, otherwise identical to his Hostess. “Hello again….Peter,” she said, “Sarah’s requested the use of my Post for a few minutes….” Ohh, “….although today, I’m only an appreciative audience, rather than the actual applier of agony….” thirdy new pounds’ worth, he suspected? “….your seat says you’ve already been a bad boy.” Not half. “Yes, Ma’am,” he muttered, “with some Staring and Stroking At Slits, at № 69.”

 

She giggled girlishly. “Those two Trinians Tarts are terrors with their teasing twats,” she agreed amiably, “however you’ve further flogging to follow, before fucking my firm friend’s fancy.” Indeed, he agreed. “Please, Ma’am,” he said to his escort, “might it count as some sort of Sex Thrashing for screwing your slit. Even though it’s pre-paid pussy poking, my psyche still says I should still suffer for such sin.” As indeed the Parish Priest had been at such pious pains to point out, earlier.” His escort took off her jacket, and rolled up a sleeve. “Six stinging strokes straight across your shoulders should suffice,” she said, sternly, “although I always appreciate it when a stud states he should pay painfully for his penile pleasure.” THWACKK “….Ahhh….” THWACKK “….Ahhh….” THWACKK “….Ahhh….” THWACKK “….Ahhh….”  THWACKK “….Ahhh….” THWACKK “….Ahhh….uhhh….uhhh,” he added, humping himself hard on the hemp….THWACKKKK “….AHHHH,” he shouted at an especially savage stroke. “No humping, Peter,” she ordered, “except me….which you can do imminently, so stand on tiptoes.” He did so, and she released the handcuffs, followed by his ankles. “Thanks, Agnes,” she said, handing over another thirdy new pound note. Not a bad rate of pay, for what was only a few minutes’ work.

 

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he muttered as he followed his escort onto her own patio. “Screw you soon….Shagger,” said Ball Busta Bertha with a wide wink, before retreating back into her house. “Did you suffer her Scrotum Smasher?” she asked as he padded inside. “Yes, Ma’am,” he confirmed, “although I’m rather relieved it wasn’t totally terminal to the testicles.” As he’d expected, the layout of her house was similar to the two others he’d sampled on the street. He looked around the lounge, which at first sight seemed quite conventional. “As a disciplinary Domme….” she said as she shed her skirt, and folded it to the floor, “….I prefer putting punters over the Poking Pouffé….” she pointed towards it, “….are you happy to be screwed in the Superior style….” he nodded, “….my panties ARE purchasable, should you seek a memento of our meeting….” or mating, as she shimmied them down, and suddenly he was Staring At Slits again, “….over you go, in the Backbreaker Submission Position. It’s inversion, in incredible inferiority.” He knelt. “AHH….” he gasped, backing himself up, and his sore shoulders scraped across the angles, “….AHH,” he added as they were followed by his equally sore seat. “Arms backwards onto the floor,” she ordered, “so your hands are well out of harm’s way. I don’t want them taking liberties with my tantalizing tits.” She thrust them out as him as she spoke, so clearly this was also a tease.

 

Then she stood astride him, and stared down similarly scornfully. “First of all,” she said, “you can be my balls bulb boy.” She took hold of his testicles. “UGHHH….UGHHH….BEEP BEEP,” he gasped, stitching the required smile. “When did you last fuck a floozy’s fancy for free, Peter?” she asked, mockingly, “last month….year….or is it sometime never?” He smiled slightly. “Yesterday evening, Ma’am,” he replied respectfully, “except it was six sluts….” SLAPP “….Ahhh….I mean innocent young Ladies.” She pursed her lips. “I’m not sure I believe you….or all the stuff about Slappham,” she said, as she stroked his straining shaft against her slit. “UHHH….honestly, Ma’am,” he asserted, “since it was The Shagger….UHHH….. S♀ciety….UHHH….my own Cute Cunt Club….” SLAPP “….Ahhh….so sorry….UHHH….again.” She shrugged. “Hopefully, I’ll manage to make mine more memorable,” she said, “quality coitus, if not quantity cunt.”

 

Needless to say, she didn’t rate any slap for the Vulgarity. As always, this was only for villains….especially ones which wanted to violate a vivacious vixen’s vulva. With the best will in the world, he couldn’t count her as virtuous. “I shall flog your front whilst we fuck,” she announced, “but we won’t worry with protection, since Sir Digby Vaillance vouches for you.” Damn’ indecent of him. “UHHH….” he moaned as she poked his pulsing penis into her pussy….THWACKK “….AHHH….UHHH….” slowly, his shaft slithered inside her slit until she was fully fucked. “My labial lips must have been more lubricated than I’d thought, Peter….uhhh,” she said as she started to hump him gently, “so obviously my orifice has been enjoying the erotic exigencies of escorting as well….uhhh….I suppose you’ll be telling me you know what the Big Word means?” He nodded. “Yes….UHHH….Ma’am,” he gasped, “exigence is exacting or demanding….” THWACKK “….Ahhh,” he added. “Nobody likes a clever….uhhh….dick,” she said, “did you study English….uhhh….at school?”

 

Desperately he attempted to avert the mental mire which was his memory at the moment. “UHHH….yes, Ma’am,” he replied, “but….UHHH….not at A-Level….UHHH….I have a book entitled….UHHH….Grahame’s Guide to Grandiloquisms….UHHH….which details a large number….UHHH….of such specimens….UHHH….please Ma’am….UHHH….I’d be hon…UHHH’d if you could cum….UHHH….since I’m only a phallus for your fancy’s per….UHHH….sonal pleasure….UHHH.” She shivered. “Very considerate, Shagger….uhhh,” she replied suddenly reverting to his own name, “there’s precious few punt…uhhh’s who take the tack of worrying with the lovely Lady’s naughty needs….uhhh….especially when the pussy’s pre-paid….UHHH….OMG….UHHH….I’m cumming….” THWACKK “….AHHH….” THWACKK “….AHHH….” he gasped as more blows rained down, “….YESS….YESS….YESS….” she stopped screwing for a long second, and smiled, “….now it’s your tool’s turn, so spurt soundly, Shagger.”

 

He gritted his teeth, and thought of his Missus rather than England. “UHHH….UHHH….MA’AM,” he moaned, “hit me HARDER….UHHH….” THWACKKK  “…..AHHH….UHHH….” THWACKKK “….AHHH….UHHH….I’m falling over the edge….UHHH….UHHH….YESS….YESS.” She stopped screwing as he spurted several times inside the slit which was Strict Sarah. He could see her staring down into his eyes with a slight smile….and an expression of a good job well done.

 

“Uhhh….” he moaned as she lifted herself off, and his soft shaft slipped out, “….ohh….ohh,” he added as she unlocked his handcuffs and ankle irons. Gratefully, he keeled over and slowly stood, even as she offered him a tissue. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he said, rubbing his wrists ruefully before accepting it and tidying his tool. He glanced up at the wall clock, which read 12.59pm. Punctuality was always paramount to professional prostitutes, since time was their meal ticket. “When’s the wedding, Shagger?” she asked. “It’s at the end of august, Ma’am,” he replied. “I saw your spouse-to-be settled for my services,” she said, “so she’s sensible….and I suppose screwing all sorts of studs similarly. It’s always helpful to have hubby’s Happy Hookers on the housekeeping. It means marriage needn’t be monotonous monogamy, and stops sex becoming stale….although you’ve suggested no shortage of slit.”

 

She winked once, “Ohh,” he gasped, as unexpectedly she stroked his cheek with her free hand, and her touch was 1000V. “I’ll get dressed in DV 1, Ma’am….” he continued, as he saw her holding WANKER! “….on the way to the railway station….” he followed her to the front door….SMACKK “….Oww,” he gasped, “SUCH a shockingly sinful stud,” she said, “but it WAS kind of you to have me cum, and it’s a pity more punters don’t do so. I suppose you’ll be telling me next how you offer out oral appreciation?” He nodded neatly. “Most certainly, Ma’am,” he confirmed, “although in your profession, I appreciate it’s unlikely you’d wish to utilize my expertise.” She rolled her eyes. “Try me,” she said huskily, spreading her legs.

 

He knelt, leaning forward towards the fancy he’d just fucked. “UHHH,” she moaned as he tongued twat. In the circumstances, the long licks would hardly be needed, “OHH,” she added as he separated her labial lips. “UHHH,” she moaned he delved deep and diddled her clit before sucking it into his mouth. “UHHH….UHHH….bite me, you bastard….” so unbelievably, yet another pussy pain pervert, “….AYEEEEE….” SLAPP “…..AHHH….” SLAPP “….AHHH,” he gasped as she struck his cheeks with the porn periodical, “….YESS….YESS.” Slowly he stood, and she stuck it under his arm. “Thank you, Shagger….huhh,” she huffed, “it does go some way towards restoring one’s faith in fellas….huhh….I too shall say screw you soon….huhh….even though I’m aware the likelihood’s low.”

 

She mouthed him a kiss, as he padded away across the tiny frontage to where Alf The Elf was waiting respectfully with the Rolls’ rear door held open. “Ahhh….Ahhh,” he gasped as the seat reminded him of his raw rear and some sore shoulders. Quickly it closed, and seemingly seconds later they were away again along TERTIARY TERRACE. Then it was past NEWBY NEWSAGENTS, and onto the main road towards the town centre. “Madam’s made the purchase of your train ticket, Sir….” said the chauffeur, as David buttoned his shirt and tied his tie, “….she put you First Class, on the assumption you’d be wanting to play the well-heeled corporate executive. You’ll find it in your wallet….less a quantity of cash to pay for HER ticket, too. She stated what was yours was hers….or would be shortly, since it was a sort of Start-As-You-Mean-To-Go-On.” Very reasonable, as he added his jacket. “Ahhh….ahhh,” he gasped as he shimmied up his trousers, and the hem scraped all across an aching arse.

 

There were several sets of road works, and they were making poor time….even as he completed his socks and shoes. “You’ll find a spare copy of Country and Castle in the pocket, Sir,” said the chauffeur, “in case you wish to be more discreet on your train journey.” A facility he’d provided once before. “Thank you, Alfred….” he replied, as he extracted it and slipped it over his porn periodical, “….ever-efficient as always. The traffic was worse through the town centre, and finally they reached their destination. “Until August, Alfred,” he said, stepping out of DV 1 and striding across the station forecourt. Inside the building, he checked the departure board. It was nearly 2pm, and he’d missed the 1:20pm by a wide margin. No matter….since the later 2:20pm train at platform 2 was the express. It would actually arrive earlier, as he’d once found out the hard way, not calling at every pillar and post. So he’d a few minutes in hand, and might as well waste a while loitering at Station News & Magazines.

 

Idly, he cast his eyes over the top shelf, which contained all sorts of cellophane sealed sin. Obviously the proprietors weren’t happy having possible perverts which weren’t purchasers. But one caught his eye, and under the clear wrapping he saw issue 1 of CFnm….so it was obviously a new porn periodical. He’d HAVE to buy it, since Clothed Female naked male was one of his favourite filthy fantasies. As indeed he’d been paying and playing for the past hour. “Three new-pounds please, Sir,” said Tyler Morley, with a knowing wink. He handed over a NP3 note to Marley Tiles, as she’d probably been known, and strode from the stall, “Huhh….huhh,” he huffed, ascending the footbridge….so chalk up another for Ava Frasch. The Head of PT had continually claimed he was out of condition, and perhaps rightly so.

 

Several minutes later, the train pulled in, and he scanned the carriages. He selected a First Class one, boarded it and strode along the corridor until he found an otherwise empty compartment. This he entered, bagged the facing window seat, and put the magazines onto the overhead rack. “Ahhh….” he gasped, sitting down, “….ahhh,” he added as he sat back. It was obviously going to be a long and painful journey, and the train started away. He watched whilst the platforms of TanningtowN JunctioN slid past, for what might well be the last time? After all, his parents might well drive him to Summer School. “Tickets please, Sir?” asked the Conductor cordially, as he stood by the door.

 

He handed it over, noting the name-badge was MartiN MitteN. Presumably it had been Marmite at school? “One First Class single to LetchhamptoN TowN Sir,” he said, “don’t you like it here….?” ha bloody ha, and not the first time he’d been treated with the well-worn witticism, “….we’re due in at half past five. Have a nice day, Sir.” He slid the door shut and left him to his own devices….or deviances. It was time for some rest and recuperation, and to let the train take the strain. The miles marched, he felt himself becoming drowsy, and closed his eyes.

 

Suddenly, he felt the train slowing to an abrupt halt. He peered out of the window and was able to confirm they’d magically arrived at LetchamptoN TowN. Automatically he arose, and cast his eyes around, looking for luggage. Belatedly, memory confirmed how his had travelled independently….apart from two magazines on the luggage rack. Country and Castle  they could keep, since if nothing else the cleaners could enjoy reading it in the carriage sidings. He rolled up WANKER! and CFnm so their suspect status wouldn’t immediately become known. Then he left the compartment, ambled along the corridor and disembarked onto the platform.

 

There was no further ticket check at the barrier, so he was able to step straight onto the concourse. He glanced around to see whether there was any sign of Flower Power, however there was none. Apparently the florist was gone for good, and there was a better living to be made as Miss Thrash. To be fair, flogging fannies was probably a more profitable proposition for June Misselthrush than standing around all day on a draughty station whilst….well, flogging flowers. Now he headed straight towards the taxi rank. In times past it would have been the bus stop, but thanks to the power of patronage, he was now able to enjoy personal transport. He strode towards the long line of waiting taxis….and Piecework was in fourth place. “Hello, Wok,” he said, however the young macho male held up his hand. “Wotcha, Shagger,” he replied, “I’m so sorry, but rules is rules….and the paying punters have to take whoever’s in pole position.”

 

A problem easily addressed. The first in line was already booking a fare from an elderly Lady, so he strode up to the second. “Where to, guv’nor?” the driver asked. “Here,” he said, “just drive around the rank.” The driver stared at him with some suspicion. “Wot?” he asked. “I don’t need to travel,” he replied, “start the meter if you want….but here’s six new-pounds for your trouble….” he handed over an NP6 note, “….you can keep the change.” The driver tugged his forelock. “Thanks, guv,” he said, “you’re a real toff.” He started away, and seconds later was replaced by the taxi from third place. “Same again, guv’nor?” he asked, clearly having heard the previous conversation. “Yes, please,” he replied, handing over another NP6 note. He too sped away, and was replaced by a grinning Wok Peace. “I’m impressed,” he said, “it must rate as the most expensive mileage I’ve ever seen.”

 

He opened the passenger door, and gritted his teeth. “Ahhh….ahhh,” he gasped as he sat down. “Is it the old war wound again, Shagger….?” he asked as they started out of the station, “….where to?” They turned onto the HIGH STREET, “It’s home, James,” he said, “to № 8 ACACIA AVENUE on the Alphabet estate….” he paused, “….and yes….since my seat and shoulders are still somewhat sore, by kind courtesy of Strict Sarah. It was seven strands of serious suffering from a French flogger, together with taking the Tanningtown tawse to tush and testicles, and by being birched bare over the Block.”

 

There was a short silence, as they reached the last of the shops, and started into suburbia. “Did you fuck her fancy, at the end of all the….well, fun foreplay?” asked the taxi driver. “Yes,” he confirmed, “I haven’t a habit of humping Happy Hookers, however my Patron was paying….” he pursed his lips, “….on a tangentially related topic, might I make a couple of advance bookings with you?” The other nodded. “Certainly, Shagger,” he replied, “especially if they’re somewhat shady and suspect.” Which made matters much easier. “My philandering father and I will be visiting Leopard-skin Lucy and Mad Madam Min one evening fairly soon,” he explained, “who, as you may be aware, both live in ALSATIAN ALLEY on the Really Rough estate. It’s actually to do dinner, rather than anything untoward….but you as you know, the best laid plans can go to pieces when put into practice? So I’d like to leave you with thirdy new pounds, to cover two local trips within Lechhampton, date and time unspecified. Most likely it’ll simply be a return ride from my home to SENSATIONALLY and back, but I can’t be sure….” he paused again, “….there’s always the possibility either or both of us will be in the altogether. Are you happy with passengers Driving Dubiously Dressed?”

 

 

There was a neat nod. “No problem, Shagger,” he said encouragingly, “since it sometimes happens, for any number of reasons. But I told you before….discretion’s my watchword.” As indeed he’d once said, “….just ask Central Despatch to allocate the fares to me, as being priority prepaid….” there was a short pause, “….I’d REALLY like to thank you for the Adult Detention Class from a few weeks ago. You were kind enough to seat me between Jacks And Sacks The Knacks. As you know, they wrote each other naughty Notes….” yes….since he’d read them out, “….claiming I was an athletic-looking macho male with nice nuts, an adorable arse….and suggesting a Bi-some threesome in the evening. I’m happy to say we duly did so, at Pantiles on THE FOSSE WAY ….” Panties, and THE FESSE WAY, as they were known, “….with some superb screws from two seriously sinful sluts. I was also able to enjoy watching them at work in the sixty nine Position. I’m aware it’s one frequently fancied by favourite and firm female friends, with a little light Lesbian leaning….” indeed, “….but one I’d never witnessed before. Utterly unbelievable….from two so-called respectable married Ladies….” as was so often the case….and their darling daughters were no different, “….their worse halves were both out enjoying themselves at the Class Caning Club.

 

Alas Michael Murphy turned up whilst I was screwing his spouse on the settee….” Oops, “….I’d thought I was in real trouble….” he winked once, “….but he said Shagger sometimes substituted for his sinful son….” the one which he didn’t actually have, “….and maybe I might do the same? Naturally I was happy to have him hit my hiney hard, with what he called In Loco Parentis….” In Place Of A Parent, “….rather than punching my nose. So after I’d spunked the slut, we adjourned to their so-called Bargain Basement….” what wit, “….where they’ve bought a Birching Block. Apparently he often brings back big bad boys for beating. I’d wondered whether he was a gay guy, but it seems not….except for some light leftwards leanings, I suppose. Anyway I was birched bare, with the wanton wicked Witches watching the whacks….” certainly a scenario which was familiar, “….they told me I deserved the discipline in any event, since it would effectively be a Sex Thrashing. Their combined cunt currencies were a dozen….except the big bastard added another six for Spying At Slits….” thou too, Brutus, “….it was worse when I spunked again, since he successfully swished some semen on stroke sixteen….” his chest heaved, and he braked suddenly, obviously well away on Planet Pain….or Pleasure, “….and do you know what they did to me next….?” he’d a fair idea, “….they put me inside a patent electromechanical Knackering Machine called Ten:PM:GMT….” ten Punishment Methods of Genital Mechanical Torments, “….one of the most terrifying experiences of my life….” he grinned, “….apart perhaps from The Mean Machine….” he’d say Aye to each, “….I honestly thought my gonads were goners when it came to the mystery tenth torment.

 

Even now it gives me the willies thinking about it. But it was certainly a date with a difference, and my very first Bi-some threesome. I was seriously shaky when I eventually emerged at about….well, ten o’clock, as it happens….” very apt, “….so I drove home uncomfortably, and retired with a really raw rear, empty and exhausted. The following day I needed a cushion for work….” not for the first time, “….anyway, none of it would have happened without your kind offices, so I reckon this ride ought to be a freebie.” He shook his head. “A gracious offer, Wok,” he replied as they pulled into ACACIA AVENUE, “but we all have to eat….” he laid the magazine onto his lap and took out his wallet, “….here’s six new pounds for today, take the rest as a tip….and also the thirdy as agreed.” They turned around outside № 8 and parked. “Thanks, Shagger,” he said as he accepted the notes, “but what’s with WANKER! and CFnm? Why in the world would you want them? You of all studs aren’t short of suitable slit.” He smiled sweetly. “I was obliged to buy it earlier, as accompanied by my enviable escort….” he explained, rolling up the magazines again, and opening the door, “….thanks in advance, for next time.” Wok Peace waved from the window. “I’m looking forward,” he said, “since despite your assurances, it still sounds sinful….” he paused, “….my best swishes to the luscious Lynda, and tell her I’d love to lash and lay her.” He watched whilst the taxi drove away.

 

Home at last….as he strode up the garden path, and around to the back of the house. He did now have a front door key, but old habits die hard. Seconds later, he stepped inside the kitchen, which was another hive of activity. “Hello….Sir….” said his dad, bending down over the oven in a fetching fashion. The salutation was since he was wearing only his pretty pink Unisex slave apron, together with matching high heels, “….we’re going for a roast chicken platter, with all the trimmings….” he paused, “….we made good time, despite our Slight Snack….” the in-joke shared between his parents, “….at The Stern Master. Lynda loved it, as you might expect. She was swished soundly by Jules, with extra whacks for Soliciting. She asked whether he would raise his fig-leaf apron attire and show his shaft….and then for his phone number, if he fancied a fuck. He declined, perhaps out of professional pride, but possibly worried about what the boss would say.”

 

Him….in other words, but it sounded just like her. “Is she still here, dad?” he asked, “and what about Mum?” His father started on some fruit salad. “Yes….and no, Sir,” he replied, “she’s showering….” so any time in the next hour? “….since she’s headed for the RFC….” the Letchhampton Rugby Football Club, “….to source some studs….” maybe she might even meet Piecework, should his shift finish soon? “….however your Mother’s gone to DAHLIA DRIVE. Apparently it’s a Bi-some threesome with Dai and Jeanette, and she’s staying there overnight. It means I can copulate with Mitches And Ritches The Bitches in our bedroom….” as indeed he’d hoped, when they’d discussed their deviances a few days previously, “….our guests should be here for seven o’clock. Should you need a suitable shower, by all means evict Lyn. She’s been in there for over an hour….” his point precisely, “….I hope everything went well in Tanningtown.”

 

He nodded. “Yes, dad,” he replied, “it did….and I’ve arranged for a taxi to take us to Mad Madam Min’s, and back here afterwards….whenever it is.” His philandering father smiled. “We’re set for Monday evening,” he said, “with a two hour slot starting at five, after which she has a booking. Lucy has too….” really? “….apparently one of her former quality clients….” it was always good to be wanted, “….I’ve explained we’ll be bringing everything ready-cooked, and just needing warming.” Fair enough….but he WAS a professional chef, in addition to all his other attributes. “Thanks again, dad,” he said, “I’ll go and sort myself out.” 

 

 

teasing tits tanning

held, hiney hit

Chapter 241 - part (2) of (4)

 Departure Day (Year LXXXIX)

 The always unanswerable catch-all charge, of which no fag could ever be innocent….SNAPP as he snapped his fingers, and Karen Eis hurried towards him. “Take the honey and the cafetière across to the bed,” he ordered, “liberally apply the former to the dildo, and then add some coffee grounds. It’s a trick I once learned at the hands of The Dreadful Griffin, and it’ll make it much more memorable for Mitches.” Her eyes shone. “I’ll say, Sir,” she said, “it’s nasty….but it’s sort of nice, isn’t it.”

 

He grinned. “Which is similar to what Barbarella said when she was put into the Pleasure Machine,” he agreed, “but first I’ll administer your Farewell Foursome, so bend over again. Afterwards I’ll clear Kelly’s sheet, and then you can both go for some well-earned breakfast….” she assumed the Position, this time with her legs spread wide, “….which by rights should really be one more whack, for Incitement. However rest assured I shall be fantasizing fondly about our forthcoming fuck next February.”    

 

Swishhhthwackkkkk   Swishhhthwackkkkk    

“Yezz..YEZZ….SEVEN, thank you, SIR,” she gasped. OMG….her slit seemed so screwable.

Swishhhthwackkkkk   Swishhhthwackkkkk    

“Yikes..YIKES….NINE….a nasty nine, thank you SIR,” she gasped. “I know I needed it, and look forward too to next year, Sir.” His penis was pulsing proudly, and not at all professionally. “For the Pirate,” he said instead, “it’ll be a Beastly Bakers beating. As she kindly confirmed during my dream, she spent most of Year LXXXVIII telling me how she should be sent successively out of my study with a suitably stinging and sore seat, so I’m only fulfilling her flogging fantasies. Get her over here, return her shoes, and tell her to finish the washing up.”

 

She stood slowly, and with difficulty he resisted the terrible temptation to touch twat. He took several sorrowful sips of coffee whilst she padded away. “AYEEEEE….UHHH….HEEE,” he heard from the bed, “BITCH….EEEE….UHHH….HEEE….OMG….my coffee covered cunt’s cumming….YESS….YESS….YESS.” He watched whilst Karen Eis took the head harness again, and then his junior fag padded towards him. “I’m really ready and randy for the rattan, Sir,” she said as she bent down to be beaten.

 

Swishhhthwackkkkk   Swishhhthwackkkkk    Swishhhthwackkkkk   Swishhhthwackkkkkk    

“Owww..WOWW..OWWW..WOWW….FOUR, thank you, SIR,” she gasped. “BITCH,” he heard again, “HEEE….UHHH….the coarseness on the cunt….YESS….YESS….YESS.”

Swishhhthwackkkkk   Swishhhthwackkkkk    Swishhhthwackkkkk   Swishhhthwackkkkkk

“Yi..HI..YI..HI….EIGHT….a straight eight, thank you SIR….” she gasped with the second of the Hurting Hellos, “….Whacko! Sir.” The wonderful word used by canees the world over, meaning Please Hit My Hiney Hard.

SWISHHHTHWACKK  SWISHHHTHWACKK  SWISHHHTHWACKK SWISHHHTHWACKK

“Yeouchh..OUCH..OUCH..OUCH….TWELVE….a dozen due, thank you, SIR,” she gasped. “It’s just the coup de grâce, Kelly….” colloquially called the Cut Of Grace, “….a real sizzler to remember me by….until later in February, when I shall finally be pleased to relieve you of your virginity.” After about a further fortnight of frustration, in fact.   

SWISHHHTHWACKKKKK

“YIKES….ONEDEEN….wonderful, thank you, SIR,” she gasped, “thank you for such a thorough thrashing. I know I was always Asking for it, and I deserved all your deliciously decisive derrière discipline. I’m honoured to have been your junior fag for Year LXXXIX, Sir....” she paused, “….as a small token of my esteem, perhaps Panty Pervert Pete would accept the gift of my naughty knickers as a suitable sniffing souvenir.” He nodded. “Thank you, Kelly,” he said, “it’s unlikely anyone will Shop you for being Improperly Attired before assembly. But I strongly suggest you resist the urge of trying to travel home without them. The Monitors on duty in the main entrance hall are always on the lookout for a bit of bravado.”

 

She nodded, wryly. “I’ll put on a spare pair, Sir,” she said, “when I return to dorm, to finish packing….” she paused, “….a quid pro quo might be the Slit Stretcher, for Year XC.” A Reciprocal Exchange. “We’ll retrieve it from Mitches,” he said, “and you may take it with you, with the head harness. I’ve spent many a happy hour in dorm 5H, so I’m sure you and the further five felonesses will live up to the aspirations of your predecessors in title.” They both padded across to the bed, where Mitchell Mary Murphy was still lying in bondage. She was shivering all over, clearly in the throws of another orgasmic excess. “Ohh….ohh,” she moaned as he removed the first two clips, on opposite sides of her labial lips.

 

He gestured towards Karen Eis. “You may each do three,” he said. “Ohh….ohh….ohh….” moaned 3M, “….ohh….ohh….ohh,” she added as Kelly Morgan completed the job. “Thank you for this, Sir,” she said, “and Mitches….should you fancy a repeat session whilst playing In The Pink next year, The Humblers will be happy to help.” He waved them away. “Sort yourselves out,” he said, “finish the washing up, and you know what to do with all the residual fresh food?” She nodded. “Yes, Sir,” she said, “take it down to The Canteen.” Got it in one.

 

They both started to dress, with The Pirate pointedly failing to put on her brown panties. “Ahh,” gasped The Ice Maiden as the hem of hers scraped across an obviously aching arse. “Ohh….ohh….ohh….ohh,” his senior fag repeated as he released her wrist shackles and ankle irons. Slowly, she sat up and rubbed her wrists ruefully. “Perhaps a shower, Sir,” she suggested, “so you could soap my slit.” There were two sniffs. “I’d respectfully say someone’s angling for some action, Sir,” said his former junior fag. “Not at all,” said 3M, “since it’s simply too sore….no thanks to you two terrors.” He took her hand. “Let’s go,” he said, “and screw you next Spring, sluts.”

 

There were two sniggers. “Screw you soon, Sir,” they said in unison as they entered the shower room and he closed the door. He took off his tie, and turned on the tap. They both entered the cubicle, and he soaped them both down. “Uhhh,” she moaned as he touched her twat, “The slit’s so sodding sensitive….Shagger….” she’d abandoned the salutation now they were equals, “….and such a shame we can’t screw. Kiss me, or I won’t make you my balls bulb boy.” An offer he couldn’t refuse. “Mmmm,” he moaned, “UGHHH….UGHHH….BEEP BEEP….MMMM….” he added as he took the testicle twist. Several celestial cymbals sounded, even as his scrotum was stretched soundly, “…..MMMM….MMMM….MMMM….MMMM….MMMM.” But what else would one expect from a paid-up member of dorm 6K?

 

“I’m still your stretch slave,” he said as soon as they separated, “but you can do dad’s distended dick this evening, imagining it’s mine if you must.” Then he held the hose with one hand, and shifted the shower setting to the strongest jet with the other. “Separate your slit again,” he urged, “and we’ll see whether we can clean your cunt. Unlike Stricktcream, plus Particularly Painful Penis Punishment Powder, the honey should dissolve fairly easily.” She duly did so, and he knelt down. “UHHH,” she moaned as her fancy was firmly flushed, “I really enjoyed the pussy pain and pleasure….UHHH….I did consider failing to pack the P5 and Stricktcream too….UHHH….but decided not to push my luck….UHHH….I’m cumming again with Wasting Water….YESS….YESS….YESS.”

 

He stood slowly, and replaced the head on its hook. Then they embraced all over again under the deliciously hot water. Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder….one which wasn’t the shower. “Hello, young lovers,” said a vixen’s voice.” He turned his head to see Brenda Smith standing there. “Morning, Bren,” he replied, “I’m just assisting my former senior fag.” She too sniffed. “So I see,” she said, “I was going to ask whether you’d finished with my spare hair drier, for me to pack it. I suppose the answer is No?” He nodded. “Please, Ma’am,” muttered Mitches, “I’ll drop it into your study in a few minutes’ time.” Which would work well. “What time is our transport of delight, Davy?” she asked. “Ten o’clock,” he replied, “outside the main entrance hall. Hopefully it will all annoy several scholars….” SMACKK “….bad boy. Don’t dally, since it’s well after eight….” Oops, “….and Mitches needs to fit in some food before final assembly.”

 

She pointedly handed him a black towel, and he stepped out of the shower. “I’ll meet you on the Level 3 landing in a few minutes, Bren,” he confirmed as she wiggled out of the room. Quickly, he dried himself down, and combed his hair. “You’d best not linger much longer either, Mitches,” he said, turning off the tap, “this is for your own good.” What wonderful words, normally heard before a hiney was hit hard. “Spoilsport, Shagger….” she said, as he handed her a second black towel, “….swish you soon….” SMACKK “….Oww,” he gasped as she smacked his seat. Then he took his tie, and padded out into the main study.

 

His pile of basic black clothes was still by the door where he’d dropped it, æons ago. He’d stripped starkers for the lovely Lisa in Lesson 6, his very last class except for Summer School, and hadn’t needed it since then. He put on his white shirt, retied his tie, and added his black jacket. The naccatape he’d leave in place, since as stated on the packet, it enabled exhibitionist’s parts pushed to prominence without actual exposure. Then it was his long trousers, socks and shoes. He collected his cane, finally a presentable prefect. Stepping out of the study, he could hear the hair dryer, so Mitches wouldn’t be many minutes behind him. Then it was along the gloomy corridor, listening to sounds of sustained swishing from study 23. Probably, Gomez Oslo was still having his beat sheet cleared. But Go Slow always been in regular receipt of the rattan from Hugh Island.

 

His prefect peer was a Dominant dolt, hailing from dorm 6Y….The six reas♂ns why y♂u’re f♂r it. The felon’s flogging finally faded as he reached the Level 6 landing, and started down the empty echoing stone steps. Inevitably they were promptly replaced by more discipline from a different direction. “About bloody time too,” said his Missus as he reached the Level 3 landing. He put his arm around her waist. “Lower….” she said as they went their way, “….lower still.” He fondled her fetching fanny….and she too handled his hiney.

 

Seconds later, they arrived at Level 2, in time to meet William Shanks arriving from his corridor. He was likewise locked with Louise Roccella-Roland. “Rocky was my Senior Swap this morning, Shagger,” he explained as they continued downstairs, “and after I’d applied her Farewell Foursome, we were able to share a….well, shower….” and some semen, he suspected? “….we’ve arranged to meet up over the holidays, too.” So things seemed to be somewhat serious? “Talking of which, Will,” he said as they reached the base, and started into the first of the long, dark cold corridors, “there’s our matinee performance at On-Stage Stooge to consider. My Patron has kindly agreed to foot the bill for your guest membership, and the hotel room cost will disappear on corporate expenses. So you only have to fund the train fare.”

 

Iron Will appeared impressed. “Thanks, Shagger,” he said, “presumably it’ll be a twin?” He shook his head. “Yes,” he confirmed, “although it’s most unlikely we’ll be sharing it together, as either you or I will be playing away. The venue will be The Regal Rooms, at № 7 SUSPECT STREET, Paddington. The reservation will be under Vaillance Holdings PLC. Shall we say tomorrow week, and we’ll meet there sometime during the afternoon? I’m suggesting we set our sins for six o’clock, since the Club shouldn’t be too busy.” Rock’n’Roll stared at him for a long second. “Perhaps you might indicate what you’ll be doing….well, on stage, Sir,” she suggested, still careful not to make it quite a caneable Question. “You tell her, Will,” he urged, “which won’t be my fault if she’s duly disgusted at our deviance and depravity.”

 

William Shanks smiled, “Panty Pervert Pete and Wanker Boy Will are proposing to perform plenty of peremptory and painful public punishments on each other’s rears, Rocky,” he explained, “with some suitably starkers swishings, except for headwear. It’ll be erotic exposure of our errant erections at an appreciative audience of wanton wicked wenches and Witches. Having recently been confirmed as an incorrigible exhibitionist of the worst kind, I’m looking forward to it all immensely.”

 

He hadn’t mentioned the possible pussy for poking when they returned to the No Tell hotel….not yet, anyway. “You can wear my naughty knicks over your nose, Sir,” she said knowingly, “and at least you’ll be….well, keeping me in mind….” she stopped for a second and shimmied them off, before handing them to him, “….I hope neither of you Superior Sirs, nor Ma’am will mind me being Improperly Attired for a short while….” there were three shakes of as many heads, “….but since you’ve your heart set on exposure, the same as Sir, I’m happy to help. I’m sure there are plenty of public places in Manchester where it might be managed. I’ll sit somewhere on a park bench, and you can sneak up on me, with the Worthless Wanker wear….” basically a birthday suit, “….I’ll examine your eight inches of erotic entertainment, whilst you stroke starkers, either surreptitiously or shamelessly….” she sniggered, “….and put in a good word, if it all goes wrong.”

 

It seemed they were definitely destined to do well together. Then they reached the main assembly hall, and stepped through the double doors. Inside, they chose three of the black seats reserved for the prefects. They were the only ones without really rough raised ridges. He glanced up at the wall clock, and saw it was 8.48am, so they’d timed it well.

 

A couple of minutes later, The Reverend Carmen Jones stood up. “Good morning everyone,” she said in her ecclesiastical voice, “I’ve a long sermon this morning….” damnation….well, maybe not, “….so our hymn will be the first verse only of № 269. Shagger can sing his alternative lyrics if he wishes….but not TOO loudly, please. I’m afraid they’re not fit for public consumption by the youngest years.” Uh..huh….the ones he’d written specially for her. The piano started, played today by Captain Carlie Greystone, wearing as always her British army uniform. Had it been Amen Carmen or her who’d chosen it? Possibly the latter, since it had originally been The Battle Hymn of the Republic. One thing Khaki Carlie really enjoyed was marching in a militaristic manner.

 

“Mine eyes hath seen the glory which is Carmen Jones’s cunt….” his Missus giggled girlishly, whilst on his second side Iron Will winked once, “….She takes her naughty knickers down, to show off at the front….She punishes for leching and it’s balls which bear the brunt….How I so want her hole….” now it was the chorus, “….Glory, glory, hallelujah, Carmen hit me with the ruler….Next the cane, and then the riding crop….And fine-a-lee the whip.” As they sat down, there was a rousing round of applause from the ranks of the prefects.

 

“Thank you so much, Shagger,” said the Parish Priest wryly, “for such sweet sentiments….” he spotted a sly sideways smile, which was surely, ‘how about pleasing my pussy?’ which was her № 3 Look, “….in a way, it’s a pity we couldn’t have had the other two verses….” true, “….detailing another two parts of my anatomy….” mild mirth from all around him, “….but as always it does demonstrate the difficulty with sexual sins….”  she bared her teeth, whilst her eyes flashed fire. ‘I’m going to castrate you,’ said her № 2 Look. He closed his ears, letting memory meander.

 

Somehow it was 9.06am, as he glanced up at the clock, “….which will do for today….” she paused, “….apart from mentioning the amorous activities of two felons who should be ashamed of their substantial sexual excesses. Stand up….Shagger and Wanker Boy Will….” they arose, “….both of whom, I have it on good authority….” presumably they’d been Shopped by Lady Joyce D’Aragon? “….managed to equal Leg It’s record of doing an entire dorm of deviant damsels yesterday evening at a single sitting….” so to speak, “….not forgetting a subsequent spurt in the shower room. So let’s all give them a big hand, and I’m sure the previous prefect Christopher Leggett would also approve.”

 

There was a thunderous round of applause from all around the hall. She sat down, and he finally spotted her № 1 Look as she pouted her lovely lips, ‘It was only a little kick in the crotch,’ seemed to be the suggestion. Then The Headmaster stood up to speak. “Thank you, Reverend,” he said with his usual dreadfully dull and disinterested delivery, “being Departure Day, everyone except the prefects should by now have received their Farewell Foursome in full. Any scholar who has been omitted is invited to attend my study, when I will be happy to dispel the deficiency….” with the rattan on the rear, “….I am afraid there a great many felons who are required to Explain themselves, especially those sinful souls on Daily Detention…..

 

….But as always the good news is the slate will now be wiped clean. I will not be reading out the full list, since they know who they are. It only remains for me to wish our departing prefects every success with their impending A-Level results….” which he wasn’t looking forward to receiving, “….and to hope they have obtained sufficiently good grades to achieve their intended places at University….” his point precisely, “….to welcome back those of them attending Summer School. Also to everyone else next Autumn after a relaxing holiday, when it will be Year XC. As an advance notification, there will be the start of a new Naccarim league. It will be along the lines mentioned by Shagger in his recent Deposition entitled On: Felon Flogging Fridays at five. As you will be aware, this term we were able to enjoy a Challenge match with our Sister School, St Templars in Tanningtown. However we now do indeed have a new entry, being St Bodlians, in Rugby….” he paused, with a slight smile,

 

“….all the bad boys wear bowlers at St Bowlers….” very witty for him, at this early hour, “….even whilst being birched and beaten, basically bare over the Block….” Ouch, “….up until now, it has been a single sex school. However they will be having their first intake of sinful sluts in September….who will wear the same style….” he paused, “….enjoy the holidays, be good, and if you are unable to achieve this worthy aim, be careful….all rise.” He strode off the Podium, clearly headed back to his study for an arduous swishing session. They waited until their row started to move, and headed in silence towards the double doors. Talking wasn’t precisely prohibited for prefects, however its punishment had been caned into them during their younger years. “I’ll wait for Rocky,” said William Shanks with sudden shyness after they’d left the assembly hall. “Au revoir, Will,” he said, taking his Missus’ hand. Until We Meet Again was absolutely apt.

 

 

Then they retraced their steps to the Prefects’ Study wing entrance hall, and started back up the stone steps. “Do you know who’s having your study….huhh….Bren?” he asked. “No, whistle it to me,” she replied impishly, “but I’m sure Sue Sweet will ensure Sexy Sammy’s….” or more accurately his Mother’s, “….Riding Bench for Expert Equestriennes will have another good careful owner….well, lessee for Year XC.” He could always check with the School Secretary, were he so minded….as could she. “Until ten, Davy,” she said, mouthing him a kiss, as they reached the Level 3 landing. Once again she wiggled away, this time into the gloomy corridor. Was he really going to marry such a divine creature, he asked himself whilst continuing his climb. Two years previously he’d been a wanker boy of the worst kind. He’d every doubt about ever achieving a girlfriend, let alone an Open-Wife. “Huhh….huhh….huhh,” he huffed, reaching Level 4. Clearly, he was back in bad shape.

 

David Shagton

Quis illum sceleratum fuisse putavisset

 

Who Would Have Thought He Was A Scoundrel, he translated for the last time, opening the door and stepping inside. He put his remaining cane in the holdall, and sealed it shut. The next job was to sort out some screed for his successor He sat down at his table, picked up his clip board, and took an empty beat sheet. Its reverse would work well, in the same fashion as had The Ice Maiden earlier.

 

To Whom It May Concern

Unless this study’s being used for Summer School, here are some words of welcome and wisdom for my successor. I’ve had a full year of fucking floozies’ fancies, and it should be the same for you. The study location’s the worst one in the wing….as you’ve found out. But on the assumption you’re a Cunt Casanova with a Key, it’s not all bad news. I’ve left an assortment of last July’s porn periodicals in the bedside cabinet (second drawer down) for your penile pleasure. Please accept my very best swishes for Year XC.

David Shagton, previous prefect.

 

Then he pinned it to the wall in a similar spot to where he’d once found the missive from James Grimm. It was next to his Model Caning Rules, which might as well stay in place. But how was the previous prefect doing at the University of Belfast? He strode to the bed, and removed the pillow punishment points of pain. This he folded carefully, before stepping into the shower room and brushing his teeth. Then he packed all the remaining toiletries inside the pillow, returned to the main study, and stowed it into a suitcase. Uh..huh….there were The Pirate’s panties, which he packed for use at home. So with the holdall and cases ready by the door for his father’s later collection, he was all set….but his bed beckoned. He glanced at the wall clock, which read 9.29am. Perhaps a brief fordy winks would be welcome? He lay down and gratefully closed his eyes.

 

Big Ben was suddenly striking….oops, it was 10am, and time he wasn’t here. He arose, and hurried out of the room, leaving the door wide open. Quickly he continued along the gloomy corridor, and seconds later started down the otherwise empty echoing stone steps. The sound was from his own passage, rather than a swishing somewhere, and the school was strangely silent. He reached the base, and started similarly into the long, dark cold corridors. Several minutes later he reached the main entrance hall, which was still a hive of activity with waiting suitcases and scholars. In his mind’s eyes he suddenly saw his younger self on his original Autumn Arrival Afternoon. He’d missed his station, ended up at SlapphaM-on-SeA, and been very late. It had resulted in his very first formal flogging at his new school, and Grim Jim had comprehensively caned him for the crime.

 

He’d had an appreciative audience in The Pirate and The Ice Maiden….and in those heady days he hadn’t been an incorrigible exhibitionist. The prefect had said how he’d a hunch he’d do well at The Styx….and retrospectively he’d been proved right. “So where’s your school cap, bad boy?” he heard a Departure Monitor asking one of The Yellow Perils. “Please, Sir,” was the reply, “I must have forgotten to put it on, Sir.” A painful mistake. “Your name and dorm?” asked Hugh And I, “then bare your bottom. You may wish to stand on the train.” Quite so. “Please Sir,” he replied, to his appreciative audience, “it’s Constantinople, Murgatroyd of dorm 2Z, Sir.” Presumably this would be Constant Murk of The Zigzags? However, with such a name, he’d do well as a future Headmaster.

 

He shook his head to clear it, and strode through the double doors. There was the Rolls Royce, parked in pride of place. Alfred Health opened a rear door, and saluted him smartly. “Your good Lady’s already arrived, Sir,” he said, “and her luggage is safely stowed in the trunk.” So everything was organized. “I might have known this little luxury was for sodding Shagger,” snarled Matthew Conran, suddenly at his elbow, “since some of us peasants still have to hoof it to the station.” He started on his weary way, clearly seething. “I once told you it’s who, rather than what you know, Matthew,” he called out, “chin up.” He climbed inside, and the door closed. “We’re good to go, Alfred,” he said to Alf The Elf as he took the driver’s seat, “be careful not to crowd any of the scholars on the carriage drive….with one exception. I won’t mind much if you drive a bit too close to Rat Conman.” The chauffeur nodded neatly as they started away over the graded gravel turning-circle. “I understand, Sir,” he said, “I shall be a road hog….and he can be a hedgehog.” Very droll….BEEEEP went the car horn, seconds later. Arms and suitcases flailing, his prefect peer jumped out of the path of the approaching Rolls Royce. Alas, the only place available to go was down into the deep drainage ditch. “BASTARD,” he heard him shout, gesticulating wildly with two fingers.

 

“Your only problem will be if he’s attending Summer School during our week, Davy,” she mused, “and as a previous prefect….in which case you’ll be BAD trouble….” Oops….he really hadn’t thought it through, “….but on another tropic, I do hope your timekeeping will be better on our Big day.” So did he. “I’m afraid I’m still fairly fragile from my orgy of excess, Bren,” he said as they accelerated away, “Alfred….do you have the address for my….well, business luncheon?” There was a neat nod. “Yes, Sir,” he said, “it’s № 10 TERTIARY TERRACE, Tanningtown.” Uh..huh. “So next door to Ball Busta Bertha, Davy,” his Missus mused, “who’s at № 12, if I recall rightly.” Quite so. “I believe you’ve already been asked to take us from the ceremony to Bindery House, Alfred....” he said as they approached the main entrance gates, and passed beneath the imposing wrought-iron arches.

 

Then they were accelerating smoothly away on the B1469, but in the opposite direction to the stream of scholars slumming it to the station, “….but can you kindly collect my beautiful bride-to-be beforehand? It should be from the main entrance hall at about a quarter to three, for the short journey to St Eſſtrickts Parish Church?” Alfred Heath nodded again. “Certainly, Sir,” he confirmed. “The next thing for you, Davy,” she said, “is to strip starkers. I doubt you’ll be wanting to wear anything for Strict Sarah, and anyway I know how much you enjoy Driving Dubiously Dressed.” The somewhat suspect practice was basically being bare below the belt, but alternatively in the altogether.

 

Slowly, he shimmied out of all his clothes, and folded them neatly onto a spare seat. “Whilst we have a few moments to ourselves, Bren,” he said, “I’ve accumulated a number of teachers who’ve asked to be invited to the wedding. As we’ve agreed it’ll be an outdoor service, there’s essentially no limit to the congregation.” She took pen and paper from her pocket. “Fire away, Davy,” she said, “and I’ll pass their names to Mum.” Traditionally, the Bride’s parents issued invitations. “There’s several such,” he said, “although I daresay you’ve more. But I have Big Dick, the lovely Lisa, The Dragon Lady, The Interrogator and Stinks for starters.” He watched her write down Richard Merryweather, Lisa McFee-Sven-Sless, Lady Joyce D’Aragon,  Terrence Hayter, Harold Sphinx. “If you think of any others, phone them through to me at home,” she said, “but now I strongly suggest you use the opportunity for another hour’s sleep. I’ll wake you when we reach Tanningtown.” Gratefully, he slumped against her soft smooth body, and closed his eyes.

 

Seconds later it seemed, she nudged his knackers. “We’re almost here, Davy,” she said, as he saw Newby Newsagents. Sure enough the car turned into the cobbles of TERTIARY TERRACE. The Rolls glid to a halt outside № 10. “Do we need to settle up with the slut….err….lovely Lady?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied, “it’s a gross, and Digger gave me plenty of cash yesterday. After any amount of humbling and humiliation for foreplay, Peter Purvis will probably have public punishment.” Deftly, she extracted his wallet. “In which case,” she said, “you should certainly stay starkers….” she emerged from the car, and he followed, “….Alfred can take me to TanningtowN JunctioN whilst you’re otherwise occupied. He’ll be back here in an hour. Enjoy your….well, business luncheon….Mmmm,” she moaned as he kissed her in CFnm style.

 

He suspected TOUCHERY TERRACE was the type of street where people weren’t worried too much about exhibitionism. The town too had its own tradition of tanners making their way starkers to SECKE SQUARE. He recalled the lengthy legend inscribed upon the foundation stone of St Templars School. It included an epistle whereby On one Saturday each monthe of term time they wyll be dryven naykyde et aſhamede in bondage through the ſtreeten of Tanningtowne. They wyll ſhow their ſinful ſelven et bare bodeyen to the wyckede wenchen et wytchen on the hyghwayen et bywayen. SMACKK “….Oww,” he said as she smacked his seat. “It’s nicely noon, Davy,” she said, and sure enough he could just hear Tanningtown Tom striking.

 

Together, they proceeded up the tiny front garden to the terraced house, and he rang the bell. There was a short silence before his enviable escort opened the door. The more mature Madam was dressed in her Tanningtown standard grey leather business suit. “Good afternoon….” she said politely, “….and to you too, Ma’am,” said his Missus, “my Open-hubby-to-be is booked for a bonking….” she counted out six NP30: notes, “….I understand your tribute is normally two gross, but you’ve graciously agreed to hump him at half price….?” there was a neat nod, “….although I’ve added an extra sixdy new pounds. It’s in order to arrange an appreciative audience….” she certainly had his number, and anyway the noble knight was paying, “….perhaps whilst he’s whipped well….?” she patted his posterior, patronizingly, “….enjoy everything, my love.”

 

Then she retreated back to the Roller, and stepped inside. Alf The Elf did likewise, and they watched whilst DV 1 drove away. “Remind me what the initials stand for….Mr Purvis?” she asked rhetorically, although surely she must know perfectly well? “Please, Ma’am,” he muttered wittily, “it’s Darth Vader….” SLAPP “….Ahh….” SLAPP “….Ahh,” he gasped as she slapped his cheeks. “Very fucking funny,” she growled, “as an allusion to the Star Wars movies, but I suppose quite witty in its way. Anyway, get down on your knees, where you belong….dog,” he did so, and she applied a pink collar and leash, which she tied to the wall, “….I’ve a couple of quick phone calls to make, so don’t go away.” Ha bloody ha.