Summer School – Year LXXXIX
Kelly Morgan stood immediately outside the double doors of the main entrance hall at St Stricktlands School. The clock tower known as Big Ben had just struck for 6.30pm. Life was grand….always assuming one were a guilty girl. Today was her sixteenth birthday, which had been a LONG time coming. Then she respelled the final word with a U, as there was one gift she was expecting for St Valentines Day….David Shagton’s shaft. Mentally, she reappraised the missive she’d made during January.
Shagger – I write on behalf of myself and The Ice Maiden. We hope you and your Missus are doing well.
Although it was only about six months since they’d left school, she remembered learning in History all about Harold Wilson. The British Premier of old had famously stated how a week was a long time in politics. She’d heard Shagger had married Missus, as expected. She’d have loved to attend the wedding, but apparently it had been an adults only affair. Bloody typical….and her perennial problem. All those deliciously deviant deeds, from which she always seemed to be excluded for no good reason than of age. Shagger and their former fagmistress Samantha Terrier had managed much mischief during Year LXXXVIII. Rarely had she seen any of the seriously sordid stuff.
It had been the same the following year when he’d been the prefect, and worked his wicked way through an ever-increasing amount of fuckable floozies. She’d inspected his Cute Cunt Calendar at frequent intervals, and been shocked at the sheer scale of screws. Pretty prefects….well, such sluts were standard. But it was also lots of lovely Lady teachers and several administrative Staff too. Then he’d started a system of separate sessions for evenings and mornings….like Brenda Smith. Still, all this was past. Today was her very own age of consent, and she’d be doing so to everything possible. Bondage….face sitting….testicular torments….cunnie punnie….mmmm. With some reluctance, she cleared her brain from its racy ramblings and returned to her letter.
We hope you and Relay will remember your promises made, when you graciously agreed to do the dishonours for us at the appropriate times, with conjugal calls to the Styx.
Her favourite friend Karen Eis had indeed been fucked for the first time in February. She’d reckoned on being Relayed first….and Shaggered second, as a traditional threesome. She’d correctly claimed a slit of such stature should command two Cunt Casanovas craving coitus. So The Ice Maiden was duly done and….well, dicked, but she was still stuck on the shelf.
I am also delighted to remind you how you kindly assisted me with Caning Training. I shall therefore be able to provide you with Six For Sex, for the privilege of poking pussy.
She suspected Sexy Sammy charged a dozen due, but her pussy was particularly popular property. Then there was the teacher Lisa McFee-Sven-Sless, commonly called the cutest cunt at The Styx. By common consent it commanded a full two dozen. According to Shagger, Fuck Me Senseless was worth every whack….and he should know. She remembered how Shagger, in his final term of Year LXXXVIII, had spent increasingly little time in his own dormitory, preferring pretty prefects’ studies.
Her morning shower had been horrid, since dorms at The Styx offered only cold water….another nice little refinement which made it the school from hell. Even though at least it was supposed to be hot. Poking was prohibited between pupils, apart from prefects. But there was nothing in the rules which said you couldn’t take advantage of….well, offers from your Elders And Betters, once you were sixteen. So despite still only being one of The Babes In Blue, tools were her ticket to the lands of luxury….with hot water on tap. Shagger would provide her with a perfect pedigree.
We request your kind confirmation about still being in your Cute Cunt Calendar under Forward Fornication. I remain your most obedient, and very soon to be screwed, former junior fag, Kelly.
She felt she should be respectful to Shagger somewhere in the letter. There was this dratted sting-in-the-tale tradition at The Styx of Once-A-Fag, Always-A-Fag. Thus he could always administer the agonies onto an aching arse at any time they met. He’d been superlatively strict with her during Year LXXXIX. She remembered how much she’d wanted him to touch up her tush, and finger her fancy. But no, he’d always been the strictly professional fagmaster and….well, strict. But now, he’d have his nuts knackered AND she’d face-sit him. She knew how he enjoyed it….the Bush Telegraph had been explicit. She’d heard on the girls’ grapevine about how he’d had the previous prefect Amanda Holdall’s hiney for hours on end.
PS Now I’m sixteen, perhaps I might be privileged to finally see some wedding photos?
Since they were OPEN-married, he was absolutely allowed to screw around….as indeed he’d be doing again shortly. During his period In The Pink, he’d bedded a bevy of beauties known as The Magnificent Seven, and apparently maintained contact with most of them. Now she recalled her conversation with the School Secretary of a few days’ previously.
“I received a reply from Shagger yesterday….” said Susan Sweet, smiling over her horn-rimmed glasses. He’d once stated they were plain glass, worn simply for effect, “….he recalls his promise to….well, as you so delicately put it, do the dishonours. He and Relay will travel here one weekend in order to sort out Karen Eis….” she winked once, “….and hopefully me, too. Then it’ll be your turn a couple of weeks later….although you’ll simply be Shaggered. But you can use my Flat on both occasions, and I’ll play away.”
A rampant rampallion, Shagger had once described her. She’d checked it in the dictionary: a bold, forward and wanton Lady, one which romps. There’d be no shortage of studs, especially those who enjoyed plenty of punishment pain along the perilous path to poking pussy.
“What time is Shagger coming, Ma’am?” she asked. “Probably about ten o’clock….” there was a short silence, and she realized Sue Sweet was simply being rude, “….but if you meant, ‘what time is he arriving at the school?’ the answer is around twenty to seven, since his train is due at 6:25pm….” she blushed, “….off you go, and good luck with the fuck.” She hoped it wouldn’t make her too unpopular with her dorm mates….except the sun will rise in the west. Shagger had always been wildly unpopular in The Six Wankers for much the same reason of sheer jealousy. Still, there was nothing stopping the other sluts from sourcing their own screwing solutions. Alas, she could still see herself stripped starkers and stretched out on the dorm floor for the Cunt Claw. It wasn’t so much their index fingers forced up the fancy, but when they painfully pulled and parted her pubic hair.
Abruptly, her mental musings were terminated by some sort of sport car approaching at some speed along the carriage drive. Hadn’t The SS talked of a train, in which case shouldn’t he be hoofing it from the station? Her eyes followed its approach, and it was a four-seater open-top convertible. When it reached the graded gravel, she could see its personalized vehicle registration plate of PEN 1S. Her heart leaped, since Shagger was at the wheel. It stopped opposite the double doors and he emerged, holding a bunch of red roses. He was wearing what she knew to be called a Smart suit. It was extremely expensively tailored black pinstripe, bespoke Savile Row stuff. Then there was a suitably silky white shirt with black tie, plus matching black shiny shoes. Certainly he seemed every inch the Superior Sir. “Happy birthday, Kelly,” he said, presenting them to her, plus a small package, “with my best swishes.” What wonderful wit. “Oh….SIR,” she faltered, “you shouldn’t have.” He winked once. “Which,” he replied, “is what Ladies are always telling me….” very good….but poking was the point of the present proceedings, “….although there’s no necessity for any salutation.” Which would make matters easier. “Mmmm,” she moaned, holding him hard and kissing him, even as several celestial cymbals sounded. She’d wanted to do this for so long, right from his original Autumn Arrival Afternoon, way back in Year LXXXVIII. Then their tongues intertwined.
She was well aware how his had seen so much sin….with sluts’ seats and slits. So now hers had touched those tushes and twats too….second-hand. It was like the old song, ‘I danced with a man who danced with a girl who danced with the Prince of Wales.’ However, it was time she showed him some Superiority. Carefully, she brought up her right knee….WHUMPHH “….UGHHH,” he moaned as she kneed his nuts. “Karen’s kind compliments,” she said, “she says to remember her to you.” Slowly, he straightened. “I could hardly forget her….huhh,” he gasped, “since it’s only a fortnight from her….huhh….first fuck.”
Quite correct. “Yes,” she agreed, “she described David’s distended dick in detail.” He waved towards the car. “Shall we go?” he asked, “it’s about an hour’s drive to The Stern Maiden, and we can chat along the way. I’ll be generous and let you off all Questions and Disrespectful References.” So it was definitely to be a romantic dinner, like her favourite friend had enjoyed. “I was wondering how it would work,” she said as they climbed inside, “since this is Relay’s car. Obviously its plate is perfect for what was the self-professed purveyor of penis.” He smiled as they started away.
“We both drove here from Lancaster to melt The Ice Maiden,” he explained wittily, “and returned by train, leaving his car at the station….” Ohh, “….I’ll drive it back to the University on Sunday.” She pursed her lips. “I’d heard they didn’t allow undergraduates parking facilities on campus, Shagger,” she suggested. “It’s not a problem when one’s Patron is Chancellor,” he replied airily, “and a permit arrived readily….” he paused, “….although Ray’s also given him the same quid pro quo as me….” a Reciprocal Exchange, “….with a monthly spanking and swishing session in a No Tell hotel….something I’ll ask you to keep in confidence. Needless to say, The Terror Twins were similarly sold into slavery for screwing….” his ménage-à-trois, “….but since they’re such sluts, it’s hardly an imposition….” he paused, “….I’m covered on Ray’s insurance policy as a named driver.”
It appeared he’d fallen on his feet….or floozies? “How’s your ménage-à-cinq, Shagger?” she asked, sourly, “are their any problems with one of them actually being your wonderful wedded….well, very Open-Wife?” He shook his head. “We’re managing fine,” he replied, “and they all similarly session with Sir Digby Vaillance. He’s really very pleased with the way it’s turned out. Having a harem of humpable harlots is his idea of heaven….and mine too. As firm friends, Ray and I lend each other our lovely Ladies, so I’m still screwing Sammy and Pats’ pussies for periodic poking.” Nice work if you can get it….they slowed, reaching the main entrance gates, and passing beneath the wrought-iron arches. Then he stopped and turned onto the public highway. Very soon they passed by StricktlandS HalT, and also the entrance to Stern Hall. The wind whistled whilst he accelerated along the B1469, and she saw they’d reached 60mph. “I’d be fascinated to find out about Karen’s first fuck from the floozy’s perspective,” he said, “so spill the beans.” Fair enough.
It was the morning after the night before, and she’d been Relayed. But now she’d screw Shagger’s shaft. She’d been sleeping starkers with them both, and arose at the sound of Big Ben striking for 7am. “We’ll get going,” she said in her seductive soprano, nudging them both into awakening, “and it’s time to take tool….again. It seems his straining shaft is ready for action….and so am I….” she flexed her fingers, “….he’s a plums pain pervert, and I’m one of The Knackerers….” dorm 5K for Year XC, “….so he should spurt with some simultaneous sex and suffering. You both paid your deposits last year, so the balance owing is six strokes….” her cunt currency having been set at a dozen due, “….and Relay can also apply agonies.”
He collected a cane, even as Shagger rolled on top of her. “I’ve been wanting to do this to the dead-clever dark-haired damsel ever since Autumn arrival afternoon in Year LXXXVIII,” he admitted, priming his penis. Then she tickled his testicles and encouraged the scrotum to separate. “Ohh,” he moaned as she took both balls between finger and thumb. “Knacker my nuts whilst I fuck your fancy,” he urged, “Ahhh….Ahhh….UHHH,” he added as her pussy was penetrated. “UHHH,” she echoed….SWISHHHTHWACKKK “….One, thank you Sir….UHHH,” he gasped from stroke one of his Sex Thrashing.
“It seems you spunked her slit on six, Shagger,” she said, “nothing if not nice and tidy.” He smiled sweetly. “She’s always cultivated a crisp kind of snappy sexiness,” he confirmed, “and will make an excellent disciplinary Domme. Somehow I could see her as a teacher, too.” Quite correct. “Tell me about Summer School,” she urged, “since it’s always been shrouded in mystery. It’s your turn to dish the dirt….” if not discipline, “….on some of the deviant deeds done in the duration.”
He licked his lips. “It’s a sort of St Sticks for adults,” he explained, “where august alumni revisit the rattan. They can share stick with other generations….both my parents played In The Pink. I also met up with several other Sometime Scholars from yesteryear. So we’ll start on Arrival Afternoon. It was just after three o’clock on Saturday when my dad and I arrived, seven days before my wedding. My Mother had also attended the previous week, playing as prefect. She’d travelled by train, but we’d driven and put OHW 6M into the public park. The initials are her Maiden name of Olivia Helen Whapshott, and The Six Milkers. Then a swish sports car parked next to us….1 NNN.”
“Hello, Noah….” said his philandering father as they all emerged. His suitcase could stay until his honeymoon, however he’d have his pink bag. It would do for toiletries, and also any exercise books during the week. They all shook hands, “….good to meet with you again….” they knew each other, having both fagged for The Hard Man in Year LXVII, “….is this your first session of Summer School? I don’t recall you around previously….” NO NO NO nodded. “Yes, George,” he replied, as they started towards the main entrance hall, “I was convinced by the idea when I inveigled myself onto your son’s somewhat super Schoolboy Sojourn.” Nice to know, “….in which case, the first thing you should both know is the revised responses. As you’ll appreciate, everyone’s actually an adult, which means much more posterior punishment is promulgated. So when staccato strikes are used, which is almost always, it’s special sets of Wild West Words: Yippee..Yi..YO for three, and Yippee..Yi..Yay..YEEEE, for four….” he smiled, “….unless it’s been seven or eleven, in which case YEZZ.” Now they approached the double doors, and stepped inside. Uh..huh….as he saw one the Registration Monitors wearing an especially evil grin.
“Over here, Shagger….” called out Matt Conran, gesturing towards him, and they approached, “….on Departure Day, you waltzed away in a Roller, doing your infernal impersonation of Lord Muck….” Oops, “….not so cocky, are we?” He shook his head. “No, Sir,” he replied humbly, “I’m a much nicer person, now.” As indeed the mythical Hans Gruber had once claimed. He’d been a horrid henchman in the seriously sexist sixties spy spoof, Our Man Flint. But then the super-stud secret agent had a harem of four permanent playmates, so he was only following in Derek’s footsteps.
“I’ve had a word with your fearsome fagmaster,” he said, “for a swap at some stage. I shall enjoy taking you down, and putting you properly in your place….” but who WAS he? “….it’s Manitoba Hardcastle, Level 6 in study eighdeen….” pardon me? “....they’ve all been dozenalized….” so twenty in old money. But screw Sue Sweet, since he’d suspected she’d allocate him to someone on the last level, “….who says you’ve already met. Apparently he’s Dean of Psychology at Lancashire, where it seems you’re studying in September….damn your distended dick….” he paused, “….you must be Shagton, George, since the family resemblance is plain….and it’s The Hard Man for you too. Change into your Summer School uniform….” the Naked Waiter wear, “….before reporting for fagging. Sodding Shagger’s in dorm 6X, and daddy’s in dorm 6C, which I suppose were your choice….?” they both nodded, “….at least it means you’ve finally stopped using my old one as an inverse sin of pride, following your rustication in the Autumn Term of Year LXXXIX. You’ve no idea how irritating it was….” yes he did, since it was specifically in order to annoy the incumbents, “….you’d have done well in dorm 6X, when you were properly In The Pink….” so he’d been told often enough, “….and your lockers are №s 8Φ and 8┼ ….” eight dozen ten, and eleven, “….who’s this other sinful specimen? His face is familiar, although I can’t think why.” NO NO NO shrugged.
“Please, Sir,” he said, “It’s Nolan-Noakes, Noah, and I’m also expecting to be one of The Six X-hibiti♂nists. But I attended St Sticks rather more recently on the first of Shagger’s Schoolday Sojourns.” There was a slight smile. “Another exhibitionist,” he sniffed, “the same as sodding Shagger, so you’ll make good dorm mates. You’re fagging for Tibold Runt, Level 4 in study fourdeen….” he went white, so again this must be a known quantity? “….and locker № 90:….” nine dozen, next to theirs, “….now we’ll give sodding Shagger an erection inspection….so it’s Knackerpants down….” he lowered them, and his shaft strained skyward, “….a Stiffie Salute, it seems. Bend over for a beating, bad boy.” He dropped his bag and assumed the Position, aware of an appreciative audience.
Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk
“Yippee..Yi..YO,” he gasped, “thank you for swishing me so soon, Sir. I’m sorry for such a sordid sight.” There were several smiles. “Disappear, Shagger,” snarled the prefect, “and remember, I ain’t done with you yet. Just think of it as a first instalment.” Slowly he stood. “Ahhh….” he gasped as the hem of his Knackerpants abraded his arse, “….uhhh,” he added as the coarse velcro material interfered with his erection. Then he picked up his bag, and they continued out of the main entrance hall. “What was the cretin’s name, Shagger?” asked NO NO NO, “and apart from his dorm, which I’d hazard a guess at 6N, how have you annoyed him?” They started into the first of the long, dark cold corridors.
“He’s Matthew Conran,” he replied, “or rather Rat Conman, in accordance with the malicious malapropism. He was indeed once one of The Six Nasties. Amongst other things, he failed to get a good offer for Lancashire….whereas I did. Then he inadvertently insulted Sir Digby Vaillance. I was assisting our newest Governor with a fact-finding mission, whilst we were both playing In The Pink. After applying our Curfew Canings, he opined how the Chancellor was most likely a geriatric totally out-of-touch elderly idiot. Alas, all Admissions appeals go across his desk. Inevitably, this was deemed to be all my fault.” NO NO NO nodded. “It’s not good news for me either,” he said, “….as you’re aware, I had The Hard Man as junior fag whilst one of The Little X-pletives, but it was Tyrant three years later. He’s only 5’2” tall, so the surname suits. But he has a massive chip on his shoulder over his stature. He’s a Dominant dolt, having hailed from dorm 6Y as one of The Six Reas♂ns Y♂u’re F♂r It. I shall be in for a rough ride….” he shrugged, “….but at least it’s only a week, and not a Year Of Hell.”
“We reached the Dorm wings entrance hall,” he said, “and the Curfew Monitor’s desk, unoccupied at this early hour. I checked the Wankometer console and discovered it had been unplugged. So almost anyone had been ahead of me….” he glanced at her, “….enabling everyone in the Senior dorms wing to engage in the time-hallowed tradition of Lick-And-A-Promise….” she nodded, knowingly, “….anyway, we headed upstairs. I was huffing and puffing by the time we reached the Level 6 landing….so Have A Thrash was right. As you know, she’s continually claimed I’m out of condition. There was a parting of the ways, when dad and I agreed to meet back in a quarter of an hour. He continued clockwise along the quadrangle corridor to The Six Canees. By contrast, NO NO NO and I took a little lævorotatorial leaning, as Richard Merryweather would say….” counter-clockwise, “….and reached our destination on the fourth quadrant a couple of minutes later.”
Dorm 6X
The Six X-hibiti♂nists
They stepped inside to see four further felons had already arrived, and were inspecting the Wankometer with obvious distaste. All had high heels and clip-on bowties, whereas one also wore a Short Shirt. “Greetings, guys,” he said breezily, “presumably it’s only beds E and B left….?” there were four neat nods, “….had we a volunteer for captain, in bed A?” The middle-aged man with the Short Shirt raised his hand. “I’ve taken it on,” he replied, “by dint only of seniority. I’m John Nottout, normally known as Howzat….” what wit, “….from Year XLII….” good grief, the dark ages, “….I don’t know either of you two by sight, so could you introduce yourselves before we all….well, shake on it?”
Force It In cleared his throat. “I’ll do so for my firm friend, Sir,” he said, “since this will be his first foray into this dastardly dorm….” like Wanker Boy Will, he was once one of The Six Wankers, “….it’s David Shagton and William Shanks. We always shake shafts here, chaps….” Ohh, “….so show us your seven inches of circumcised sin, Shagger.” He could already see Iron Will’s….well, iron will with his eight inches of erotic enjoyment. Then he dropped his overnight bag onto bed E. Such as it was, he’d unpack presently. They folded their Knackerpants neatly, as the other adopted bed B. “I’m in bed D, Shagger,” said Wanker Boy Will, “so we’re neighbours again.” As indeed they’d been in dorm 6W.
“I’m Noah Nolan-Noakes, normally NO NO NO,” said his companion, “of Year LXX. I’m afraid there’s still three of you chaps I don’t know.” Not for long. “I’m Indiana Fawcett,” he confirmed, “from Year LXXXVII, and bed C. I rather relish rape, as Force It In implies….but only of the consensual kind. Greetings, Shagger….glad you’re on board. I rather recall the last occasion we met socially was on an Equestrienne Entertainment Evening, hosted by Have A Thrash. We did a Tug Of Balls together….so didn’t need a St Stickshake.” He remembered it well. “Hello again, Shagger,” said the final felon, “Tyler introduced us informally during Farmyard Fun and Frolics last term. I was on a wall in The Milking Shed….” yes, “….but heard you discussing our home-made AudioVisual Records. As you’d expect, a lot of them are all about exposure and exhibitionism. I’ve brought a batch, plus player, so we can watch them when we wish….perhaps this evening….” or tomorrow? “….and hello to Noah. I’m Gerald Winklebotham in bed F, from Year LXXIII….Winkler again for the week….
“Is he related to Winker….or rather Wanker Watson?” she asked, “one of The Wimps as was in dorm 1W. He who requested receipt of the rattan on his rear, and you gave him his first formal fanny flogging in front of your fags….” she giggled, “….afterwards I took him into the shower room, and showed him some slit. He Leched Longingly Like A Loser, stroked his straining shaft and gave himself a dry cum….” she paused, “….in reverse circumstances it probably wouldn’t have been allowed.” Though as always, the lovely Ladies were allowed a lot more latitude. “Yes,” he agreed, “they gave their son what was once his own nickname.”
….I took my Wife’s name on marriage….” he’d have done so, too, “….who’s reappraising her role as one of The Six Milkers.” Oo..er….yes, MA’AM. “I assume JayJay’s not with us?” he enquired. “No,” he replied, “you’ve missed him, since he had to work this week. However the other JayJay’s still here.” Their favourite friends….with John Jones also having been hooked up to the milking machinery, and Joan another émigrée from dorm 6M.
“So we spent several minutes shaking each others’ straining shafts,” he said, “which was incredibly erotic, as you may imagine. Then Noah and I made our Licks-And-Promises in front of the new dorm captain. He went first, and then it was my turn to take tool.”
He knelt in front of a pulsing penis. “Please, Sir,” he said, affording him his salutation, “I promise to be a good boy, and not bring the dorm into disrepute.” Although by any standards it was already pretty disreputable. Then he leaned forward towards the offered organ. “Uhhh….uhhh….” moaned John Nottout, “….thank you Shagguhhh, I appreciate it. Do stand….” he did so, “….I hope the money my company pays you each month will assist your University education….or at least beer, books and Bimbos….” pardon me? “….I’m Sales Director of Sex Spikes Ltd….” Ohh, “….and you earn a two per gross permanent commission on sodding Shagger’s natty new Seats of Learning….” several faces registered doubt, “….specially constructed rubber mats, featuring a fine matrix of short semi-sharp steel spikes, similar to our Pillow Punishment Points Of Pain.
I gave your dearest Aunt Marge the same deal as for Ava Frasch….” the former having handled his negotiations, “….with her GIM uniform….” Garments Inciting Misery, “….neither of which we’ve ever needed to advertise, since they sell so well in schools….” as indeed he’d signed up St Bowlers, “….don’t you ever check your bank statements….?” maybe he ought to do so? “….up until relatively recently the money went into your parents’ account. But then they advised me you’d opened with the NATIONAL PROVINCIAL BANK, so now we send it to you direct. You can pick out the payments easily enough, since they state Spikes as the reference. It’s in order not to offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities in banking circles….” he smiled suddenly, “….I’m looking forward for further frolics with Ava. We once completed coitus in our Company car park, when I had a thrash from Have A Thrash….” very good, “….and this week I’m hoping to be in one of her classes….” he paused again, “….has anyone else here humped her?”
Two hands were raised….his and Force It In, “….which is fair, as she was only appointed Head of PT in Year LXXXVIII. But she’s lean lithe and luscious, with a particular penchant for married men.” Including his dastardly dad. “Since you’re wearing a Short Shirt, Sir,” he said, “does it mean you’re doing a Detention this evening? Although I don’t quite understand how it could be possible….unless this is your second week?” The older man shook his head. “Undone Detentions at Summer School are carried forward,” he said sadly, “to whenever one attends next. This one dates from four years ago, and it’s been a sword of Damocles ever since. So I suggest you try not to be dished one next Friday.” He’d bear it in mind….although there was very little to be done about it. “The Shirts date from a relatively recent Deposition by my firm friend Harry Herbert Orwell, Sir….” and third cousin, “….however I apologise in advance for your hour of an aching arse. It’s for detainees to….well, get the point of their punishment….” he glanced up at the clock, and his time was up, “….I must away, since I promised to meet my philandering father five minutes ago. Doubtless we’ll have time to talk later….unless everyone’s social whirl meaning they’re frequenting floozies….” there were several grins, “….or maybe it might be at the Monitor’s desk, for Curfew Caning.”
“So I unpacked what little I’d brought, including my pink bag of books, which I’d need for most lessons. Out of hours, it would live in my locker….well, you how the system works….” she did indeed, “….I put on my pink clip-on bowtie and high-heeled shoes, and Howzatt handed over our timetables for the week. Then I left them to it, and returned rapidly to the Level 6 landing, where dad was waiting. I’d expected him to be upset, but it turned out he too had taken longer than expected. He’d met up with several seriously submissive scholars, including the legendary Gung Ho Fook, who was one of The Hard Man’s contemporaries in Year LXVI. But Oh Fuck’s claim to fame was being the inventor of the Disciplinary Darts Board for his General Studies project. It’s taken several years off my life….especially after your favourite friend gave our gonads a go the other week.”
She smiled. “Karen didn’t mention it,” she muttered, “so you can tell all during dinner.” How she’d succeeded in sourcing it was anyone’s guess. “Then there was John Cratchett of Year LXXII,” he continued, “I’d heard of him once before. My Mentor had mentioned caning him on the very day Sir Digby Vaillance saw The Styx for the first time. There were also a couple of….well, canees from Year LXXXVII. It was Xavier Atlee and Alfred Alpha, both of whom you may remember. Mister X and Alfalfa were both organizers of the same Equestrienne Entertainment Evening which I mentioned before. Aristotle Squamish was the fifth felon, with my dad making up the number. They wanted him to be captain, again on grounds of seniority but he declined, so Scratch It stepped up to the bar. Anyway, time was pressing, and we headed away to the Prefects’ Study wing. It took some time, negotiating all the empty echoing stone steps whilst wearing high heels. Finally we reached the base, and strutted into the long, dark cold corridors.”
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