Chapter 243 - part (3) of (4)

 Chapter 243 – part (3) of (4)

Capital Punishments

 

This time when he awoke, he was lying on the floor. He glanced up at the clock, and was shocked to see it was 10.16am. “Now I understand why you need six hour sessions, Sari,” he said as she stood sternly, holding a French flogger in one hand and a book in the other. Oops….since it was The Theory and Practice of Advanced Face-Sitting. “Indeed,” she agreed, “although obviously there’s no refund for lost time….” hard as nails, but then pretty prostitutes probably needed to be, “….you did say something about offering anal attention?” He nodded, and she stepped over him, enabling some Staring At Seats.

“Nice arse,” he muttered….Thwapp “….UGHHH….” he moaned as the seven strands of sheer suffering strafed his shaft and scrotum, “….I’m so sorry, I can’t think where I picked up such a shockingly sexist sentiment….Thwapp “….UGHHH,” he added at a second strike. “Which was for Sarcasm….” she said, kneeling with her hiney only inches away from his face, “….hold it hard. But be a good girl and don’t try to touch twat with tongue. You should still be flattered, since I don’t normally accept any anal attention, either.” He fondled her fetching fanny, and spread both buttocks. “Uhhh….” she moaned as he nuzzled her naughtiness with his nose….THWAPP “….UGHHH….I didn’t lick it,” he assured her, as she wiggled her waist.

 

Clearly, she’d enjoyed the experience, even so. “Uhhh….Uhhh,” she moaned as he attended anus. “Does your intended enjoy this deviance, Davina….Uhhh?” she asked. “Not particularly,” he replied, “though her half-Sister does….and I apply it regularly.” He was hard-pressed not add a Sexist Smack, but it would mean meeting her martinet again. “Really….Uhhh?” she asked. “Yes,” he confirmed, “for the past year, we’ve often enjoyed a regular Bi-some threesome….and she’s to be one of my ménage….” there was a short silence, interposed with many more moans, “….she was once in a dorm at school known as The Six Arses Licked. I visited it often, so you’ll appreciate having had plenty of practice.”

 

The waist wiggled again, and it seemed she would competently cum. “UHHH….UHHH,” she moaned, “damn your desirably distended dick, Davina….UHHH….” THWAPP “….UGHHH….” THWAPP “….UGHHH,” he gasped, “….I’m cumming….YESS.” Some cunt cream shot out, and hit his cheek. Patiently, he waited until her breathing had settled down. “Again,” she ordered imperiously, as he started another labour of love. His tongue would have been dry, however he’d been able to supplement saliva with some of her own excesses. “Thank you, Davina,” she said weakly, “I need some recovery time too, so you may make a closer acquaintance with my adorable arse. What’s the longest time you’ve been face-sat?” He considered the question. “About an hour,” he replied. “Fine,” she said, “let’s try it out.” She shimmied backwards until she was astride his face. “Mmmmffff,” he moaned, as she shifted slightly so he could still breathe….just, down in the darkness under her derrière. Was this delicious degradation a pinnacle of pleasure….despite the obvious oxymoron?

 

Time dilated, his pulse was pounding and he felt almost delirious. Every few minutes, she’d either whacked his willy or smitten his scrotum. “I’ve finished the book, Davina,” her voice wafted down to him from afar, “so now it’s time to say the fond goodbye.” She shifted again, and now his nose was completely covered. “Mmmmffff….” he moaned, unable to move since she’d pinned his arms with her ankles, “…..Mmmmffff….” he could feel his face reddening, “….MMMMFFFF….MMMMFFFF.” What a way to go….as all thought ceased.

 

Eventually he awoke again, still lying on the floor. At least he’d survived, and it hadn’t been third time unlucky. Odd….since there was some sort of whirring sound from the far corner of the room. “UHHH….AHHH,” he heard as he glanced around. Finally he focused on a floozy being fucked on her front, in the Doggy Position. The noise was from one of Wodin Tiberius Thring’s patent electromechanical machines. The lovely Lady was lying on a bondage bench in the almost altogether, apart from a pair of high heels, arse in the air. Clearly, this was Lady Alicia Harborne….and it must therefore be after 11am. Another glance at the clock indicated this was the case.

 

“Welcome back again, Davina,” the Happy Hooker called out, “get yourself over here, since this slut is seeking some sucking. I know you’re not desperately fond of fellatio for the fellas, but we’ll use a strap-on dildo if you really don’t fancy your phallus used as a sex object.” Slowly, he struggled to his feet, listening to more moans, “Being what’s called a Cunt Casanova,” he said, “means always giving the lovely Lady what she wants….” and never minding their own deviant desires, “….so I’m happy to help….” he strutted across the room, and offered out his organ, “….Uhh….Uhh,” he moaned accordingly. She stared up at him with curiously vacant eyes.

 

Then it became obvious she was about to climax….almost certainly again, so he pulled back. “YESS…. AHHH….YESS….YESS….UHHH,” she shouted, “….spank the slut some more for such sin.” SMACKK SMACKK “….Oww….more, Ma’am….MORE.” The Goth girl grinned….SMACKK SMACKK “….Oww….” she gasped, “….UHHH….YESS….AHHH….YESS.” Then Scary Sari took out a plastic bag from her carryall, which she slipped over her head, and tied it tight. “NO….NO….” she shouted, almost certainly with some more subaudition, “…..UHHHK….UHHHK….YESS.” She threshed wildly, and there was a sudden silence as she fainted and fell forward flat.

 

At once, the professional prostitute removed the bag, and added it to the débris in the wastepaper basket. “One must be VERY careful with suffocation, Davina,” she said, “obviously I don’t want to lose any clients the hard way.” Indeed not….as she unscrewed the phallus from the poking pole. “Which Thrings Thing was it?” he enquired, “just as a matter of interest?” She smiled. “It was The Last Gasp,” she replied, “clearly you’ve some knowledge of the product?” He nodded. “The Professor’s a firm friend of mine,” he replied, absently. “I’ve two items for your use when copulating her cute cunt at the close,” she continued, “being StrictCream, and some relatively new stuff called Particularly Painful Penis Punishment Powder. Have you heard of either….in your evident extensive experience?” He shivered slightly.

 

“The Gel from Hell,” he agreed, “plus P5….and yes, I’ve used both. I also know the makers….shall we say intimately well?” She shrugged. “I won’t ask how,” she said, “but at least you’re aware of the agonies about to befall you both. I promised you considerable crying and cumming, and do my best to deliver. I’ve assured her how you’re a known quantity, so protection in poking’s not necessary. However, as she told you over the phone, she fancies a formal flogging first. You can be her second strict Schoolmistress….” she rummaged around in her carryall, “….since I played the part for her yesterday evening. Here’s my black cape and mortarboard.” He put them on, and collected a cane.

 

“Ohh,” he heard from the bondage bench, and it appeared she was back with them. “Stand up….guilty girl….” he said, switching into the mindset of a Mistress, “….hands held on head….” she arose, and for the first time he saw she was also wearing metal boobs bands. They were in the style of heavy-duty handcuffs, and clearly hurt, “…..a warm welcome to the Soviet School….” he recalled the nickname she’d used, so this sounded suitably severe, “….specializing in suggilation for sinful sluts….which means struck until striped….” she shivered, “….we’ll commence your caning career with what’s known as a SAYM T’GO, or Start-As-You-Mean-To-Go-On beating of four strokes. It’s utterly undeserved, simply to show some Superiority. Bend over, and we’ll begin. Miss Davina will dish the derrière discipline, whilst Miss Sari demonstrates Schadenfreude.” She instantly assumed the Position, as he flexed the cane between his fingers. “Oo..er, yes, Mesdames,” she muttered.

 

Swishhhhthwackkkkk    Swishhhhthwackkkkk

“Oooh..HOOH….TWO, thank you, MA’AM,” she gasped. “It seems you’ve learned the Rhyming Responses, guilty girl,” he said sternly, “which will stand you in good stead.”

 

Swishhhhthwackkkkk    Swishhhhthwackkkkk

“Yeooww..WOWW….FOUR, thank you, MA’AM,” she gasped, “thank you for thrashing me, I know I need it.” Or was this want it? “Perhaps a couple more cuts, Miss Davina,” said the Goth girl, gratingly, “since she’s been Staring At Skirts….and Seats. These Bi Babes are all the same, thinking they can get away with it.”

 

Swishhhhthwackkkkk    Swishhhhthwackkkkk

“Yikes..YIKES….SIX, thank you, MA’AM,” she gasped, “I’m sorry for such sin.” So what next? “Perhaps some taps with the tawse too?” he mused, “what would be the best way to administer the agonies, Miss Sari?” His colleague in crime licked her lips. “Stand up, guilty girl,” she said, “Miss Davina can have you over a barrel….so to speak.” Literally, it appeared, as there was one such in a corner. It had been sawn off slightly, so stood flat on the floor. The professional prostitute pulled it forward and glanced upwards, clearly judging angles for her own reasons. “It’s called the Barrel Of Fun,” she said wryly, “although not necessarily so. We’ll have you in the Backbreaker Submission Position.” It was inversion, in incredible inferiority, although normally over a knee. She balanced backwards, her head and legs dangling down loose. “Ohh….ohh,” she gasped as her wrists and ankles were shackled wide.

 

“Please begin, Miss Davina,” she said, handing him a tawse, “give her what-for….before what-ho. She’s a pussy pain pervert, as you must have realized, which will probably cum quickly from cunnie punnie.” Clearly, she knew her client’s persuasions, and perversions….Crackk “….Ahhh….” Crackk “….Ahhh,” she gasped as he tapped her tied tits….Crackk “….UGHHH….” Crackk “….UGHHH….harder….UHHH….” always happy to help….CRACKK “….URGHHH….” CRACKK “….URGHHH….OMG I’m cumming….YESS….YESS….YESS.” He could see her chest heaving. “I’ll do it all again, Miss Sari,” he said, “although for punishment purposes, we’re clearly wasting our time.” Crackk “….Ahhh….” Crackk “….Ahhh….” CRACKK “….URGHHH….” CRACKK “….URGHHH….I’m cumming again….YESS….YESS.” Quod erat demonstrandum, or Thus It Had Been Proved.

 

“She should feel some phallus, Miss Davina,” said Scary Sari, rummaging around again inside her carryall, “and you can help….since you’ve become hard again. Kindly apply some StricktCream and P5 in the appropriate places, whilst I attach a Rope Of Rack And Ruin. This time it’ll take two pulleys. Fortunately I was able to sort out the preliminaries whilst you were both….well otherwise occupied.” She handed him two jars, and he unscrewed each of them. “Ohh….” she moaned as he smeared the slit liberally with The Gel from Hell. It would take a little time for the terrible torment to take effect. He watched whilst the Goth girl tied one end of the elasticised cord to the short length of chain between both boobs. From there it travelled upwards and across the ceiling. Then it was down again a few feet in front of the barrel. He smeared his shaft all over, and dipped it inside the second. It felt similar to coffee grounds….as apparently one of the main ingredients.

 

Finally he closed both jars and stood silently in front of the free end. He’d an inkling of what was afoot, so spread his legs, waiting for the worst. “Ohh….” he gasped as she burrowed beneath his bum and took hold of his testicles, “….ahhh,” he added as she placed a bowline around his balls, so the Rope was roughly right. “I think you have the idea,” she said, “each step towards the slit increases your scrotum’s stretching….and similar suffering for the slut.” FLASHH “….Ahhh,” he gasped taking two steps, “Ahhhhh.” Already he could feel discomfort from the cream, and from now on it would only get worse….Thwackk “….OWW….” Thwackk “….OWW.” he gasped as something suddenly strafed his shoulders. He glanced around, and saw a second scourge. This one was eleven lengths of lovely long leather, each knotted nastily at irregular intervals. He’d seen a similar specimen before, as used by the Reverend Carmen Jones.

 

The Parish Priest had once whipped him well, and he was confidently expecting some of the same from his dearest Aunt Marge at the Pennance Reformatory. “Put your back into it,” she ordered, “or I will, one way or another.” Oops….since he could also see she’d put on a strap-on dildo. “You didn’t want any anal,” she said sternly, “so don’t tempt me with your tush.” He took another tentative step forward. “AHHH,” he gasped. Now he was only inches away from the pussy prize, which was already shivering from the StricktCream. “Ahhh….Ahhh….the pain….the pain,” she moaned, although it had hardly started. “Poke her,” she ordered, “don’t delay your distended dick, Miss Davina.” He gritted his teeth, and parted her pussy….Thwackk “….OWW….AHHH,” he gasped as his penis passed her labial lips….FLASHH “….AYEEEEE.”

 

She railed against the shackles, an action which achieved nothing. “UHHH….me cunt,” she shouted, “it stings….EEEE….it scrapes.” THWACKK “….OWWW,” he gasped. “Only a further five inches forward in fucking fun,” she said, “such a shame it’s similarly suffering. Anyway, it’s time her mammaries met my martinet….and now she can suck MY shaft in submission.” She strutted around, as he concentrated on cunt….Thwapp, “….OWW….” Thwapp “….OWW,” she gasped His stretched scrotum would be worse when fully fucked, so he’d pull back after each stroke of the screw. “AYEEEEE….AHHH,” he shouted, “AYEEEEE….EEEE,” she repeated, “OMG….the pussy pain….EEEE….I’m a gone girl….YESS….YESS….YESS….MMMM….MMMM.”

 

Clearly the dildo had done the dirty deed. “Don’t stop, Miss Davina,” she said silkily, “hump her hard. The quicker you can cum, the sooner your scrotum ceases its suffering.” So much he’d sussed. “AHHH….AYEEEEE,” he gasped in pure penile pain, “me balls….AHHH....me prick….huhh….huhh….” it was no good, he was crying. One final fling for the fuck, as he held her quivering thighs, “….AHHH….AYEEEEE….AHHH….AYEEEEE….” not before time, he felt himself falling over the edge, “….YESS….YESS….YESS.” He spurted seven times into the cute cunt called Lady Alicia Ariadne Anouska Helen Harborne.

 

Then he retreated several steps backwards with real relief, even as the professional prostitute appeared beside him. “Ohh,” he moaned as she released the Rope Of Rack And Ruin. She winked once, and let the lovely Lady loose. “Ohh….ohh,” she moaned in her turn, jack-knifing up over the barrel, and rubbing her wrists. Clearly she too had been crying convincingly, since her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Here’s a tissue each,” she said, handing them over, “although as Shagger’s well aware, the cream’s insoluble. The powder inside the pussy will mean painful poking for a couple of days, until it works its way out.” Oops. “Oww….Oww,” he gasped, attempting to scrape some off his soft shaft, without much success. “Oww….Oww,” she echoed, stroking her slit similarly, before both soiled items joined the other detritus.      

 

“I’m afraid we’re done for the day, kiddies,” she said, stacking several suspect items into her carryall, “since it’s noon.” He glanced at the clock, and so it was. “Thank you for all your kind and also unkind assistance, Ma’am….” he said, handing her the boobs bra and high heels. Then he started to dress in his Smart suit, “….it’s been a wonderful session….” having almost been strangled, hanged and suffocated, “….ably assisted by Licia.” The Happy Hooker winked once. “My pleasure, both of you,” she said, “anytime you’re in London, give me a call. I do similar spouse sessions, but not very often, so this has been a type of treat. Here’s my Calling Card, Shagger….” she passed it to him, and zipped the carryall closed, “auf wieder sehen….I hope….” she strutted towards the door, “….I’ve left the key in the lock.” Which was as well, since he’d totally forgotten about it. Then he examined the Card, carefully.

 

capital punishments with Scary Sari

specialist snuff stuff

balls beating, cunnie punnie

tits tweaked, posteriors punished

0800 167269 (six hour sessions)

 

“Where are you off to now, Licia?” he asked, conversationally. “I’m headed home….” she replied, likewise beginning a return to respectability in a grey business suit. He’d not seen it before, having been unconscious at the time of her arrival, “….on the 12:30 from LondoN PaddingtoN….fortunately only a few minutes’ walk.” He smiled widely. “Snap,” he said, “since it’ll be my train, too. Shall we travel together?” She nodded. “It’ll give me some conversation on a long journey,” she said, “I presume you ARE travelling First Class?” What else….since second would never be the same. “Yes,” he confirmed, “do you want to spruce yourself up a bit? I must make a quick phone call, and advise my arrival time.”

 

She nodded and headed for the bathroom. He strode to the bedside cabinet, and dialled 9 for an outside line, followed by a freephone number….0800 AKTB4U. Then he heard ringing tone. “Cell House Holidays,” said a vixen’s voice he knew very well. “Hello, Sammy,” he said, “or perhaps Pats? This is Shagger, and you should be expecting me today. I’m on the 12:30 from the Smoke….whenever it arrives.” There was a short silence. “It’s Sammy, David,” said his former fagmistress, “we’ll both meet you in Ray’s car.” He pursed his lips. “I suppose there’s a terribly good reason why he can’t do so?” he asked. “Yes,” she confirmed, “he’ll be hanging around here all evening….if you take my meaning?”

 

Most likely from a wall. “I’ll look forward to later….” he said instead, as AAAHH emerged from the bathroom, “….sorry, must dash.” He replaced the receiver. “At least I look more like a lovely Lady,” she said, “rather than a screwed slut. Shall we go, as time’s short? Fortunately our train usually leaves from platform 8, which in an open one and easily reached.” Quickly, he combed his hair, and closed his attaché case. “It’s as well we both travel light,” he said, opening the door and removing the key. She stepped through, and he followed her along the corridor to the lift. Luck was with them, and it was at their floor. He pressed the call button, and they entered at once. She selected G for Ground, and they waited until the doors opened a second time. They continued to the Reception desk and he handed over the key. “Your bill’s ready, Sir,” said Cyril Weeden, “if you could kindly sign? The recent phone call was free, but there are four meals on the company account.” He picked up a pen….Peter Purvis.

 

“Thank you, Sir,” he said, “I hope you were satisfied with your stay….so to speak?” Very fucking funny. “Yes, thanks,” he replied evenly, “with four floozies, in fact….” he paused, “….William Shanks can’t have checked out yet, since his suit and overnight bag are still in Salon 306.” Seaweed nodded. “I suppose he’s still with Lady Brusch, Sir,” he said, “when I took them breakfast, he was all set for naked waiter service….drat it, since I lost a large tip. However, it was more than made up by your generosity….although your Caning For Cunt still stings slightly. I think he’s made a big hit with her….or rather the other way around, having seen his striped shoulders. Anyway, I’ll transfer his stuff up to her Flat.”

 

So another good time was had by all. “Thank you, and goodbye, Cyril,” he said, taking his pretty partner’s hand, “until next time.” Which wouldn’t be for quite a while. “The same to you, Sir,” he replied, and they continued quickly out of the hotel. Then it was along SUSPECT STREET until they finally turned into PRAED STREET, and with it the main-line terminus. It was only a seconds later when they reached PlatforM 8. As always he saw the huge advertisement hoarding for The Burdizzo Babes now in its twelfth year. “I suggest we head straight for the restaurant car, Shagger,” she said, “since they should be serving lunch. It’s often restricted to First Class on this route, which obviously isn’t a problem.” He nodded. “Yes,” he said succinctly.

 

 

It would be a new and novel experience to enjoy the experience of full dining. He’d not considered it before, on the relatively few occasions he’d used main line expresses without being stuck in steerage. He glanced up at a clock which read 12.29pm, so they’d cut it fine. Quickly they continued along the platform, and finally found the correct carriage. They boarded, even as the station staff started to blow whistles….PEEEEP. Then they were safely inside, and able to select some seats. “Ahhh,” they both gasped in unison, sitting down opposite each other at a table for two. Seconds later they were away, and accelerating out of the terminus.

 

 

Almost immediately, they passed the famous unofficial trackside mural. “far away is close at hand in images of elsewhere,” she mused, “it’s really rather prophetic and profound. Does anyone know the artist?” He shook his head. “Apparently it’s anonymous,” he replied, “although colloquially called The Master of Paddington.” For fairly obvious reasons. “Since you weren’t exactly able to introduce yourself,” she said, “perhaps you might do so now?” He rummaged inside a pocket. “My Calling Card, Mademoiselle,” he said, handing it over.

 

David Shagton

Group Special Services Compliance Advisor

Vaillance Holdings PLC

1000, Park Lane, Mayfair, London W1D 1VH

01 -  MAY 6969 (69 lines)

 

“Impressive,” she replied, “which does explain your nickname….David….” he interrupted, “Please call me Shagger,” he said, “like almost everyone else.” Apart from such notable exceptions as Samantha Fuck Me Harder Terrier, “….I simply couldn’t work out how it purported to Peter Purvis. I noted he’d registered as The DJ Locker, Fish Street, Plymouth. Presumably it’s an allusion to Davy Jones, and decidedly droll. But at least daddy will be relieved I’ve been screwed by a stud of substance….” nice to know, “….although I don’t quite understand how you’re gainfully employed, yet still about to attend University?” He shrugged. “It’s simply a sinecure,” he explained, “since the Chairman is my Patron….Sir Digby Vaillance.”

 

He wouldn’t bother with the shady side of the deal….a monthly spanking and stick session in another No Tell Hotel. “So do you….well, cum here often?” she asked wryly, using the well-worn witticism. “No,” he replied, “but if you’re talking about sordid screwing sessions in the capital, this is my second such. Alas, my four fucked floozies will be from feast to famine for the foreseeable future….my apologies, I mean lovely Ladies.” Until his guest reward….whenever it might be? “How so?” she asked, clearly unoffended. “Wine, Sir?” asked JameS CricK, proffering a menu, and he gestured towards her. She could decide, since he wouldn’t understand any of it, anyway. “A bottle of house white, please,” she said, waving it away, “if it’s all right with you?” He nodded, now knowing how to handle such a situation in future, and the waiter made a neat note.

 

“Tickets please….?” asked the Conductress as she too approached, and they handed them over, “….I’m doing diners first, since we’ve no available space for second class passengers….” as Alicia had indicated, “….interesting, Sir. A three point open First return to and from LetchhamptoN TowN, via LondoN PaddingtoN and PennancE RoaD. Such circulars are rare at the best of times.” He grinned. “They took time to issue it,” he agreed, “apparently it’s the three single legs added together and then divided in half.” LouisE YarN nodded. “Indeed so, Sir,” she agreed, “and obviously you’re presently on the centre section. We should pull into PennancE RoaD at about half past eight this evening.” With twelve hours to a day, surely the railways should have caught up with dozenal arithmetic….and a twendy hour clock? It would finally mean the removal of so many previous problems, since eighdeen hours really would be 8pm. Minutes could be trickier, but time would tell….so to speak.

 

“Might you once have been called Louisiana Ma’am?” he enquired politely as she inspected his pretty partner’s ticket. “Quite correct, Sir,” she said, returning it with a smile, “so you’re on your way back to LiskearD, Madam. It’s the first stop after PlymoutH NortH RoaD, at around half past six. Enjoy your journeys….and meals.” She handed hers over, and passed onto the next table. “Well done,” said AAAHH, “you were telling me your troubles with twat?” He shrugged. “I’m headed for a Reformatory,” he explained, “which are places where it’s possible to deal with Dominant dolts. Should the worst happen, and daddy weds you with one, simply send your spouse there for some sexual suffering. You’ll find the results are absolutely astonishing….and you’re allowed to check up personally on progress.” Then the wine waiter appeared again, uncorked the bottle and poured a taster.

 

He took a sip, and it tasted fairly foul, as always. “Fine,” he said heartily as two glasses were poured, “were you once known as Jiminy Cricket?” He nodded wryly and departed. “Well done….and Cheers….” she said, “….Bottoms Up,” he replied, “which was the official toast at my school.” She sniggered softly. “Which was where?” she asked. “St Stricktlands,” he replied. “Presumably it’s….well, strict?” she probed, “given so many subbie swishing sentiments from you and Wanker Boy Will at On-Stage Stooge?”

Now the menus were handed out to everyone by FranciS CaseY. “Efficacy, Licia,” he said wittily, “and this is my treat.” She shook her head. “Nonsense,” she replied, “I’ll pay….unless you suffer from the sin of macho male pride?” He shrugged. “No….and thank you,” he said, “I’ll be pleased to accept.” She closed hers, clearly having decided on the options, and he did the same. “St Sticks is the caning centre of the known universe,” he explained, “where the sinful scholars are swished soundly for anything and everything.” She shivered slightly. “I wish I’d attended,” she said wistfully, “unless it’s only for bad boys?”

 

He smiled. “Nope,” he agreed, “it’s always been open to guilty girls….right from when it opened, nearly ninety years ago. However there IS a new system, modestly called Shagger’s Schoolday Sojourns, which are to cater for people in your position. It’s on Arrival Afternoons, and you have an overnight stay in dorm. Then there’s lessons the following morning, and you role-play throughout as a member of the lower 6^th form. They’re called pupils In The Pink, being the year colour uniform. As I’m now an august alumnus….” Sometime Scholar, “….it wouldn’t be with me for your fearsome fagmaster, but I can suggest someone suitable. He’s the Honourable Anthony Giles Harwood Fontesque-Smythe, son of Viscount Standish….” probably the two peers would know of each other? “….but Phoney Tony’s a firm friend, and next term he’ll be a prefect. I’m afraid he IS a Dominant dolt, but radiates an olde-worlde courtesy and charm….” he’d ignore all the other epithets, “….if you’re interested, the school’s freephone number is 0800 217691.”

 

He watched whilst she wrote herself a naughty Note, and slipped it into her handbag. Then FranciS CaseY returned to take their orders. “I’ll have the prawns, ham hock and fruit salad,” she said, “and were you Efficacy at school?” He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am,” he admitted.  “For me, Francis,” he said, “it’s the soup and the roast chicken with all the trimmings, then apple strudel. I’m honestly not sure where my next meal will be coming from.” Actually he did….and most likely it would be in a bowl outside a kennel? “Thank you Madam, and Sir,” he said before moving to the next table. “Well done….again,” she muttered.

 

“But what about YOUR schools?” he enquired, “were you never given some stick for your sins?” She shook her head. “Not until I was fourteen….more’s the pity,” she replied, “Daddy originally sent me to a so-called progressive, which didn’t believe in posterior punishment….” an inferior educational establishment, as Iain Terrence Hayter would have put it. “Daddy did dish derrière discipline when I was young,” she said, “and took his belt to me….” he interrupted, “….so definitely a belted earl,” he said wittily, “….very good,” she agreed, “the Earl of Liskeard….” Ohh, “….alas it only gave me a taste for tanning….” she grimaced, “….and the tawse, with which you hit me earlier. Alas he stopped when he saw how much I was enjoying it. So I was sent to the Crown Commonwealth Collegiate, Princetown….” which explained its nickname, taken from CCCP….the Cyrillic version of USSR, “….advertising a century of service, for daughters of the nobility, gentry and those in peril on the seas. It’s also adjacent to the famous Dartmoor jail. For fun and frolics we gave fearful frustration for the poor prisoners. We’d amble around in the street with the Tart’s Trademark….” a rolled-up skirt, “….with which they could see and stroke at from the cells. It was best during the summer months when we were doing cross-country runs, and they were on chain gangs in the moors….similar to the ancient movie Cool Hand Luke….” as indeed was done with Ditches, or D-Days each summer Saturday at The Styx, “….although at my Mother’s insistence, after O-Levels I attended the Oaks and Pines finishing school in Montreaux. It was certainly suitably strict….” she stopped for a second, obviously revisiting the rattan again, and then her eyes cleared, “….whose motto ought to have been Conjugation, Subjugation, and Objurgation.” He grinned. “The latter being to chide or upbraid vehemently,” he said, “which I suppose simply rekindled your naughty needs?”

 

She nodded as the starters arrived, and they began to eat. “I understand you’re an heiress, Licia,” he said, “but surely can’t take the title when daddy….err….dies?” She smiled. “It’s one of the rarities which CAN pass along the distaff side,” she said, “as the first Earl only had daughters. Fortunately, King Henry VIII had some sympathy.” Having sampled some six Wives, with only limited success at a male heir. “We still don’t see eye to eye in sex,” she continued, “since daddy’s definitely a Dominant dolt, and worse still, vitriolic vanilla….” Oh, dear, “….which annoys Mummy no end. She’s never minded being a convenient cunt for coitus, since she’s a serial slut. But she similarly seeks spanking, and like me she’s a Bi Babe. However there aren’t any good Dominatrices in our rural climes, so we commute to the capital whenever the….well, urge takes us, and need a thoroughly therapeutic thrashing….” she mopped her mouth, “….did YOUR dad do discipline?” He shook his head. “Never,” he replied, when he’d finished his soup, “since he’s a serious subbie who leans ’levendy ’leven....or 143 to 1 in old money. But my Mother caned me continually, competently and comprehensively.”

 

Their empties were whisked away by JameS CricK and replaced by hot dinner plates. “So when’s the wedding?” she asked. “It’s the last Saturday in august,” he replied, “and it’ll be a Dominatrix do. I’ll be the one to love honour and obey. All the studs will be starkers, including me. I’ll be given a Wedlock to wear on my willy instead of a ring on my finger, the same as all married males. Afterwards, I’ll be led along the aisle on a leash….whilst whipped by the Bridesmaids, who’ll be dressed as Burdizzo Babes.” She shivered, as their main meal arrived. “It all sounds superb,” she said, as the vegetables were served, “….would you be bothered if I attended? I promise to sit quietly at the back, and not annoy anyone.”

 

He doubted his Missus would mind. “It’ll be outside St Eſſtrickts Parish Church at three o’clock,” he said, “which is actually located in the school’s grounds. The second and third letters are the obsolete long S. It’ll be well attended, since it’s a time of Summer School….alas only open to previous prefects….” he pursed his lips in thought, “….however the Pennance Reformatory is another matter. As I said, its principal purpose is the management of mere males, but they’re taking gaolbirds this year….spelled the old-fashioned way with a G. They’re serious subbie sluts….ones which also enjoy tool teasing.” Her eyes lit. “It sounds straight up my street, Shagger,” she said, “do tell me more.”