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……
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