Summer School – Year LXXXIX
Big Ben had since struck for 3.45pm when they arrived at the entrance hall, and started up the stone steps. At least they were easier on the ascent. “I considered being late on purpose, Davy,” he confessed, “since I really fancy further flogging from our fearsome fagmaster….”
“In disciplinary disposition,” he explained, “my dad leans ’levendy ’leven, sloping towards submission….or 143 to 1 in old money.” She smiled. “Were you ever flogged by your father?” she asked. “No,” he replied, “it was my Mum….who always dished David’s discipline.”
“….but which wouldn’t be fair on you.” They reached the Level 1 landing. “The unwritten rule would apply, dad….” he said as they continued.
“….Don’t Expect Fairness, Because There Isn’t Any,” she interjected.
“….but thanks for your consideration….huhh….huhh,” he huffed all over again. Then they reached Level 6, and strutted down the gloomy corridor. He noted at once how each study door bore a taped single sheet of paper, divulging the details of the temporary tenant. The permanent panels were empty, and would stay so until the autumn, thus everything from Year LXXXIX was now history.
“This is what I call the Cunt At Infinity, dad,” he remarked, “which is a mathematical construct of my own making. It represents a destination desperately desirable in the distance, but utterly unattainable.” There was slight smile. “Very droll, Davy,” he said, “one might similarly say the far horizons draw no closer, although I’ll admit I prefer your version.” Finally, they reached what must be study eighdeen, and examined the door.
Manitoba Hardcastle
Formatia trans sicere castigatio
“Can you help me with the Latin logo, dad?” he asked, “presumably you must know it?” There was a slight smile. “It’s Enter All Ye Who Seek Discipline,” he replied, “the same as he used in Year LXVII….” he shrugged, “….in we go, to face the music.” He opened the door as he spoke, and they stepped inside. It was in accordance….”
“….with fagging protocol,” she said sourly, “whereby fags don’t need to knock on their own prefect’s door. I’ve attended St Sticks for four years and been a junior fag for two of them, so this much I’ve learned, Shagger. I’ve often thought I spend half my time fagging.” He shrugged. “By the time you reach prefecthood,” he said, “you WILL have done so….for three years out of the six. With most scholars, it’s only a third. But I’ve no sympathy, since your time with me was at your specific request: to be sent out of my study with a suitably stinging and sore seat.” Oops….guilty as charged, m’lud. “Moving on?” she asked in strangled tones.
The previous prefect was standing at the study table, seemingly stern. “I was wondering whether Georgie Boy would be late on purpose?” he mused, “I’m well aware he was in one of The CP dorms….” whose members craved caning at all costs, “….I’m afraid you won’t be spending a great deal of time in my study this week, since I’ve already been asked for several swaps….” Oh, dear, “….including Rat Conman….” he shrugged, “….to tell you the truth, I don’t like him. But then, I never did care for anyone in the N series of dorms….” his point precisely, “…let’s have hands behind heads, in sinful schoolboy style….” they both complied, “I can see two Stiffie Salutes….which I understand is a new phrase referring to suitably straining shafts….” he paused, “….something else for which it seems Shagger was responsible?”
Presumably the query was intended for him? “Yes, Sir,” he said, “it originates from St Bodlians School in Rugby. I brought it to the attention of our august Headmaster at the close of the Summer Term just passed.” He wouldn’t amplify further, or it would be one whack for Impertinently Imparting Information. The prefect collected his cane, knobbed nastily at irregular intervals all along its lovely length. “This takes us back to the good old days, Georgie Boy,” he said, “with beatings before breakfast....and an acutely aching arse in the afternoon.” His philandering father nodded. “Yes, Sir,” he replied, “I’ve much missed your So-sorry-Sir-Ma’am-Malacca-model. Please be HARD with me….as I’m hard with you, Sir.” One of the several so-called Standard Subbie Swishing Sentiments. Very probably he knew them all? “You may go down for derrière discipline first,” he said with the fine old-fashioned phrase.
“It’s an interesting idiom,” he said, “sometimes spoken when seniors are swished. I reckoned it relates to previous generations of punished posteriors. I was right, since I heard it several times during the week.” This certainly seemed sound.
Bend over, bad boy,” he ordered, “for a Welcome Back Whacking, on the Once-A-Fag, Always-A-fag principle….” which made no material difference, “….it’s STILL a neat little bottom, always Asking for the cane….” doubtless if his dad had a dollar for every occasion it was complimented, he’d be very rich, “….high heels help hitting hineys, since the body’s balanced further forward, for an acuter angle of attack.”
“Something you’ve always said of sinful schoolgirls, Shagger,” she said. “Yes,” he agreed, “which is why there are so many porn publications featuring flogged floozies’ fannies.”
Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk
“Yippee..Yi..Yay..YEEEE,” he yelped, “FOUR, so sorry, SIR. I’ll be my pleasure to fag for you again.” Possibly also a penile one? “I suppose you’ll wish to be senior fag?” he asked. “No, Sir,” he replied, “It should be Davy, since as a professional chef, meals from me might be better if I’m just junior.” Their fearsome fagmaster smiled widely. “Fine,” he replied, “so another three for the Thrill Of A Thrashing, as I note it’s now called….” he paused, “….with more thanks to Shagger, it seems. It’s surprising how quickly one gets out of touch.”
Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk
“Yippee..Yay..YEZZ,” he gasped, “SEVEN, so sorry, SIR. Perhaps one more….to take us tidily up to a straight eight?” There was a wide smile. “One whack for a caneable Question,” he confirmed, “Impudence, in this instance….and I’ll hit hard.”
SWISHHHTHWACKKKKK
“YIKES,” he gasped, “EIGHT, so sorry SIR. Thank you for thrashing me, Sir….I know just how much I needed it….” as indeed he’d stated, “….please show me some Superiority, Sir.” He spread his legs. “Since this is Summer School,” said Manitoba Hardcastle, “things are done far more informally, and we won’t worry with an S7….”
“The Standard St Stricktlands School Study Scrotum Stretcher, Shagger,” she said, “and talking of which, I’m very grateful to Miffy Smiffy for HER Deposition last Summer. The suggestion of pretty prefects being issued with them, for use with fagswaps, was very much appreciated. Karen’s the same, being markedly more into knackering. You know The Knackies carried an unofficial designation for dorm 4K last year?” He nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “since they go for the gonads….as indeed I discovered during a Voluntary Victim night.” Now she recalled her favourite friend telling her about it the following morning, and how his scrotum had suffered substantially. “They took the title with them,” she said, “so now The Gopher Girls are The Knackerers of dorm 5K.”
“….you’ve signed my Sheet, so I’ll demand my dues.” AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH,” gasped his father, “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AYEEEEE….I am your stretch slave, SIR….huhh….and it seems you’ve stretched some semen, Sir.” Sure enough, there was a long line of liquid oozing off his organ. “Take a tissue from the table, Georgie Boy,” he said testily, “whilst I start on Shagger’s seat. How are you with high heels, and naked waiter service? I wouldn’t want you falling all over the floor.” No problem. “It’s not an issue, Sir….” he replied as his dad mopped up the mess, and disposed of the débris into the wastepaper basket, “….I’ve had extensive experience over the years.” His fearsome fagmaster nodded with obvious approval. “I’m sure we’ll get along excellently well together,” he said, “the same as your dad. So from now on, you can suffer the shame of reporting here whilst wearing your fagging uniform….” which he’d really rather enjoy, “….all right, so I’m wasting my time….” clearly his apparent mind reading abilities were working well, “….being almost impossible to embarrass an incorrigible exhibitionist. Bend over, bad boy, and we’ll begin.” Wheeewww….went the whippy Whangee weapon through the empty air, “….HOOO!,” he huffed even though no stroke had struck. “I assume an anticipation of the agonies, and an acutely aching arse?” he asked, wryly. “Yes, Sir,” he admitted, even as his penis pulsed.
“Another neat little bottom,” he opined, “it too is simply Asking for the cane….” so two dollars for HIS collection, “….with an existing stripe. Who hit your hiney hard….and why?” Easily addressed. “Please Sir,” he replied, “it was Matthew Conran, Sir. I failed an erection inspection earlier in the main entrance hall.” Which he’d do again. “He’s a complete cretin,” he confirmed, “and at least he won’t be attending Lancashire….” although where, if anywhere, was another matter? “….you’ll be swapped on Saturday morning, since he wanted you to wait all week….” studied sadism, “….he’s in study ten on Level 4, and I must mention to him it’s a Senior Swap. But now it’s your Same To Go beating….” or otherwise Start-As-You-Mean-To-Go-On, and almost an acronym, “….I’ve been looking forward to this ever since we first met, immediately after your University interview.”
Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk
“Yippee..Yi..Yay..YEEEE,” he yelped, “FOUR, so sorry, SIR. I too undertake to try and be a good fag for you, Sir.”
Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk Swishhhhthwackkkkk
“Yippee..Yi..YEZZ,” he gasped, “SEVEN, so sorry for such a sordid sight, Sir. Perhaps I should be knackered next.” He spoke it as a suggestion, rather than a caneable Question and spread his legs, temptingly. “AHHH,” he gasped, “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….” his dad stared down into his eyes with some sympathy, “….AHHH….AHHH….AYEEEEE….I submit, SIR.” His fearsome fagmaster shifted his hold. “A knackering for a nasty nine,” he agreed, “your signature, please.” A well-worn stapled sheaf was handed to him, plus pen.
St Stricktlands School Stretch Slave Sheet for: Manitoba Hardcastle
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.
“Inevitably it was an old one, with the name typed,” he explained, “since after Sue Sweet started as School Secretary, she’s written them by hand.” Something else she’d not known.
He turned it over and wrote David Shagton in the next available space on the third page. “AHHH....AHHH,” he gasped, “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AYEEEEE….I am your stretch slave….SIR.” Sure enough, he’d stretched some semen similarly, and he too took a tissue to it. “Stand up, Shagger,” he ordered, “then Georgie Boy can get going on my dinner. There’s a pretty pink frilly unisex slave apron in the kitchenette, which he can wear if he wishes.” There was a neat nod. “Thank you, Sir,” he said, “since this is my regular work wear….although I don’t usually bother with the bowtie.” The Hard Man stared at him. “Really?” he asked, “what do the Management have to say about an essentially starkers chef?” This time there was a wide smile. “Please, Sir,” he replied, “I’m one of the owners, so make the rules. All my Waitresses and waiters are allowed to spank and swish my seat whilst I’m working, since it makes me much more efficient.” Also, he enjoyed it all.
“Most interesting,” she said, “it’s a sight I’d like to see. Do you think I might get to offer my condiments to the chef?” What wit. “If he’s working this evening,” he replied, “we’ll certainly do so. But there’s no guarantees given at this stage.” Which was fair enough.
“There’ll be one whack on each of your beat sheets for delayed dinner….” he paused, “….make it four. I’m sure you’re aware of the reasons.” They nodded. “Yes, Sir,” they intoned.
“I’m not,” she said, “what have I missed.” He sniffed. “We both thought, ‘So whose sodding stupid fault was it?’ or words to the effect. Therefore it was a whack for the Vulgarity, the sentiment and the Question….in addition to the delay….” Ohh, “….anyway I cleaned out the shower for about twenty minutes. It’s my pet hate, something which I was sentenced often enough by Sexy Sammy. You’ll recall she did so in order to, ‘keep me humble,’ ….hump her captivating Celtic cunt. Then I was back into the main study, for Naked Waiter service.”
“Your soup, Sir,” he said, placing the bowl onto the table, and spilling it slightly. “Bend over,” he said, “one whack for such shoddy service. You can use the Rapid Responses each time your tush is tanned….”
“Which are rather rare,” she agreed, “no affirmations, salutations, or cut count.” He nodded.
“….simply rise and get going.” He bent over, nice and tight….SWISHHHTHWACKKK “….OWW,” he gasped, and then stepped stiffly away. His shaft was in the same situation.
“We finally finished at five past five,” he said, “and were dismissed for the day. Then we dressed, and headed out of his study. Inevitably, we were walking along the corridor in the classic canees’ gait of guilt….one which you know well?” She nodded. “Most certainly, Shagger,” she agreed, “Look At Me, I’ve Just Been Caned.” Somehow though, the dividing line between embarrassment and exhibitionism was very fine. “Then we continued downstairs for our own delayed dinners,” he said, “which was in itself a slight shock. I hadn’t been aware how Summer School could also include sometime Staff.”
Duty Canteen Supervisor
Alice Tetsworth
Good grief, it was Tits Worth, and he saw her standing just inside the double doors. “Shagger,” she said with obvious warmth, “and this must be your philandering father?” He nodded, “It’s Shagton, George, Ma’am,” he confirmed, “normally known as Georgie Boy, and one of The Six Canees.” She smiled widely. “Shall we say a traditional threesome tomorrow evening?” she suggested, “Fifi’s not here this week, so I’m using her study….or rather my own, since she took it over from me when I left….” study 5 on Level 1, “….see you at seven o’clock.” Screw, she meant. “Yes, Ma’am,” they replied in unison, joining what was alas a long line.
“I won’t sit with you, Davy,” he continued, “to not to cramp your style. But as for this evening’s erotic entertainment, we’ve an open invitation to The Six Milkers, anytime after dinner. It’s first….well, cum, first served. Presumably you’ve been there before?” He pursed his lips, rifling through memory. “I never did so during Year LXXXVIII, dad,” he replied, “but attended on occasion whilst a prefect. At H2O’s request, I once ferried the whole of dorm 6M to our restaurant in Stric one evening....” STR 1C, the school minibus, “….for them to visit the Coffee Service Suite.”
“Which is certainly something else I want to see, Shagger,” she said darkly. “All right,” he replied, “although you’re still too young to be given a go yourself.” So there it was again….age against her. Still, this too would pass eventually.
“We’ve several sufferings scheduled for this session, Davy,” he said, “but I won’t spoil the surprises. However tomorrow afternoon, I shall be screwed by my spouse….” really? “….as a Sunday Special. We’ve borrowed her old study....” Sexy Sammy’s, being Bren’s too….and this week as well. But who’d be obtaining its lease for Year XC?
“Study 17….I mean fifdeen on Level 3 is Very Nice,” she said. “Gotcha,” he said, “Verity Gneiss, Bren’s Bi-babe girlfriend, and this year’s Sex Slut Of St Stricktlands School.”
“….and we’ll use your Mother’s General Studies project….” the Riding Bench For Expert Equestriennes, “….you may be aware we did so during my proper period In The Pink, and got away with it. Since she was a pretty prefect, it counted as Obliging the lovely Lady. But this time, we’ll be caught in flagrante delicto by Thrasher Thring.” Or otherwise In The Act. “Which will please The Professor,” he said dryly, “since he once mentioned as much. Apparently he was mildly miffed at not beating you both with The Big One.” His dad winked once. “Quite so, Davy,” he agreed, “Terrence is away on holiday in America, so Father Wodin’s back in the hot seat….or rather ours, so to speak….” what wit, “….we’ll be flogged in front of the school on Monday morning.”
He smiled. “The Interrogator told me how he intended to visit Alcatraz,” he said, “and have a quiet word with one of the tour guides….or offer them a few dollars to look the other way for a few minutes. Apparently it’s one of his fiancée’s filthy fantasies to photograph him starkers in the cells. She’d be dressed in the prison Wardress wear, as some sort of Sadistic Screw.” His philandering father smiled sweetly. “It wouldn’t be an issue, Davy,” he said sagely, “since it’s quite a common request….” really? “….the going rate is, or at least was, thirty bucks for a secluded cell….or sixty, if one is wanted with watchers….like the Amsterdam Shop Windows in seedy street style….” Oo..er, yes MA’AM, “….your Mother and I enjoyed it immensely….” Oops, “….now you’re grown up, we’ll find the filthy photos.” Would he ever plumb the depths of his dad’s deviances. But might he and his Missus do the same?
“Finally we collected all our food,” he said, “and I headed away. I spotted Relay at the far end of the room, with one space free on his table. The others were wearing pink Short Shirts.”
“Hello, Ray,” he said warmly, “may I join you? How’s the second-best man’s speech going?” His firm friend smiled. “Very well, thanks….and surely, Shagger,” he replied, “I’ve got some good grandiloquisms going.” He set down his tray. “Ohh….” he gasped as his raw rear reminded him of its recent rattan, “….the really rough raised ridges don’t get any easier.” Three faces stared at him in sympathy. “These sodding Short Shirts don’t help hurting hineys either,” said one, “being worse with a bared beaten bottom.” As he’d found out often enough the hard way. “We’ve all been substantially slave stretched,” said his firm friend, “and doubtless you’ll be the same….” he paused, “….guys….this is David Shagton, one of the latest in our illustrious line. Shagger, meet my former fearsome fagmasters….George Crossland and Christopher Leggett. Both hail from The Six Wankers….The George Cross in Year LXXXIII, and Leg It in Year LXXXVI. We’ve a full house in dorm 6W, with everyone Cunt Casanovas for week 5.”
He shook hands with them both. “I’m honoured to meet you,” he said, “and understand Chris was kind enough to make my Missus immediately after her sixteenth birthday?” The other nodded. “Ray did remind me,” said a seductive bass register rumble, “and I noted at the time how she had Conscious Cunt Contraction Control, or would with practice….uh..huh….we’ve another Stretchess.” A pupil-with-pussy In The Pink sauntered up to the table. “I’ll give you merry hell, Leg It,” she said, sniffily, “posting your incredibly long list of cunt conquests up on the main school notice board on Departure day. It included our couple of copulations….you complete cad. But at least you signed my Sheet whilst we were wrestling in your study. She slammed it onto the table, and he saw she was Meredith Heller….Valerie’s twin, from the Six Bi Babes of dorm 6B.
“You’ll recall Valhalla was Sexy Sammy’s frightful fagmistress in Year LXXXVII….” she pursed her lips, “….but Merry Hell was the same for Grizzle Guts….” as Dominetta Grizelda Gutteridge was once known, “….so I can see Summer School’s a small world.” He nodded. “Domme did say as such,” he agreed, “anyway, Leg It stood up and she stretched his scrotum substantially. Then she smiled and turned towards us.
“I never got The George Cross….so to speak,” she said wittily, “although I was once one of The Balls Busters of dorm 4B. It was owing to the dratted No-Knackering-Outside-Your-Year rule. Would you care to correct it, now?” He shrugged, and stood similarly.
“So his nuts were knackered,” he confirmed, “her Sheet signed and his scrotum similarly stretched. Next she did Relay, and then she stared at me speculatively.”
“I don’t know your name, bad boy,” she said, “do you claim to be a Cunt Casanova?” He nodded, politely. “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, standing, “David Shagton, or Shagger at your….well, service….” SLAPP “….Oww….I’m so sorry for such shocking sexism, Ma’am.”
“Needless to say,” he said, “MY nuts were knackered….for another nasty nine. I signed away my pride, and was stretched. Finally, she ambled away, and I was able to start my cold soup.”
“It’s the price of fame, Shagger,” said Leg It….or infamy. “You ARE a living legend, Chris,” he said, “with an unsurpassed sexual stamina. At the close of Year LXXXIX, I was able to replicate your feat of screwing six slits at a single sitting. Though to help the show along, I’ll admit to using one of Dr Manley Madison’s prescription pills. Even so, I had penile problems with the stroke under the showers for the seventh spunking. Fortunately my leetle Vrench Vancy was able to assist, and the sight of slit was sufficient stimulus.” There were three sniggers. “It’s nice to know I’m still remembered at all, Shagger,” he said, “since it’s only been two years. Already I belong in the history books….no offence, George.” The other smiled. “None taken, Chris,” he said, amiably, “however it does demonstrate the usefulness of Summer School. We can share memories with all manner of sometime scholars, in addition to revisiting the rattan….oh, dear….we’ve another Stretchess.”
“Which it was,” he said, “a seriously sinful slut called Jilly Firkin-Hyatt, once one of The Six Sets ♀f High Heels in dorm 6H….” he paused, “….do feel free to show me the Tart’s Trademark, which you wear so well.” She smiled sweetly, shifting her skirt to reveal several extra inches of thigh. “Hopefully it’ll be my destination in Year XCI,” she said, “however I was one of The Hazards in dorm 1H for Year LXXXV. I’ll agree she was jolly fucking hot….so to speak.” Maybe not TOO much more leg, or he’d have them in the ditch?
“After we’d finished dinner,” he continued, “we left all the subbies to decide who’d be Last Out. The Canteen Monitor might have been in for a long wait, since I saw several such specimens toying with their food. But there’d be many mealtimes during the week, and they could all take turns at tanning. The two detainees duly disappeared in the direction of the Teaching wings. Ray and I repaired to The Six Wankers, whereupon I met up with another former felon.”
“This is Samuel Yeo,” said Relay, “one of Jolly Fuckin’ Hot’s peers. Yosemite Sam was Leg It’s fearsome fagmaster in Year LXXXVI. Meet David Shagton….whose bed E is still adorned with a memorial from Year LXXXVIII….” he gestured towards the wall, “….like so many Cunt Casanovas, me included, he was pretty unpopular with his dearest dorm mates.”
The Shagger Suite
Increasingly infrequent occupancy during term of tenancy
“Did you ever suffer a session with the Boot Boys, Sam?” he asked. The other grimaced, and stroked his scrotum slightly. “Several times, Shagger,” he replied in strangled tones, “it’s an occupational hazard. But it seems you’ve achieved an amount of immortality.” He shrugged. “Only whilst the notice lasts,” he said, “as the new occupants next term may tear it down. But my other little legacies should linger longer….the Natty New Seats Of Learning, and also Shagger’s Schoolday Sojourns….” two faces registered surprise, “….when an Interloper can officially visit St Sticks, normally on Arrival Afternoon. They spend one night in their dorm of choice, and attend lessons the following morning. It’s an excellent idea for those unfortunates who didn’t attend a strict school….and yet deeply desired derrière discipline.”
“I returned next door to dorm 6X,” he said, “and spent a highly happy hour watching some of Winkler’s AV Records. Several of them spoke to my seriously sinful psyche….and Wanker Boy Will’s, it appeared. We all especially enjoyed Pervert in the Park with him role-playing sex pest. He crept up to a bench, where the two lovely Ladies were sitting chatting. With the Worthless Wanker wear, one strokes starkers….” basically a birthday suit, “….either surreptitiously or shamelessly. Afterwards, Iron Will confessed how he’d recently done something similarly sordid with his girlfriend Louise Roccella-Roland. I was aware how Rocky had suggested as such on Departure Day just passed….at a public place in Manchester, where he lives. At least nobody had ended up arrested for indecent exposure. It was almost seven o’clock, so I decamped downstairs to dorm 6M. Five beds were already occupied by various voluntary victims, so I was under the wire by a whisker. I took off my bowtie and high heels, which were duly defenestrated. Then I was trussed like a turkey by two teachers playing In The Pink….which was a second surprise. I lay face down along a pillow whilst they applied Quatrecuffs….a combined collar, handcuffs and balls band connected by chain-link leash. It was set short, so my neck was forced upwards. Then they turned me over, with my head lolling off the end of the pillow. But the testicular torments were simply secondary suffering, in order to present a perpendicular penis….the same as in Sexy Sammy’s study.” Lovely.
“Such appendages are absolutely apt for agony,” she said wittily. “True,” he agreed, “but now you’re one of The Babes In Blue, I suppose you’ve since been sentenced to some sessions in The Box Room….” Oops, “….with its system of Horrid Handicaps and Erotic Encouragements….” for tits torment. Her heart thumped as she held her chest, with many memories of the mammaries, “….evidently a Yes. I suspect you’re a sinful slut which enjoys sliding down the ropes in The Gymnasium during PT….?” again guilty, “….and talking of twat torment, there’s the Slit Stretcher, which I left with you on Departure Day. Has it seen service over the past two terms?” She cradled her crotch, “Uhhh….yes, SIR,” she breathed, “we’ve humbled several sluts….and then poking pussies with a dorm dildo.” Including some pretty prefects playing In The Pink. “But returning to the sorry saga,” he continued, “it started with a time of tickle torment.”
“I understand you’re Shagger….” said a seemingly strict soul, and brandishing a dildo with what seemed malevolent intent, “….since Olivia’s stated you’re her sinful son. My name’s Michaela Melksham of Year LXVI, which you may recall is hers….” he did, “….when captain, I was known as Make The Milk….” Oh, dear, “….and I’ll touch your tool with what was once one of our dorm dildos….and OW’s favourite forms of fetish. Obviously I shan’t tickle TOO terminally, since there are a further five floozies to follow in my footsteps.” He cringed quietly as she knelt between his legs, with an especially evil expression. “Uhhh….uhhh,” he moaned as his primary pleasure point was pleasured.
“She took me to the edge,” he confirmed, “which was what it was all about. Inevitably after several minutes I started to shed some semen, whereupon she stopped. I was a shivering wreck after twenty minutes of such terrible torment. I’d heard a crone cackling from somewhere down the dorm. The voice had sounded horribly familiar, although it wasn’t one of The Six Milkers. I was well aware whatever was responsible would eventually work its wicked way to me. Abruptly she kissed me, as indeed did all the others with their charges. Then they arose essentially in unison, as apparently it was time for a changeover. Next it was my turn to take tool torment from Joan Jones.”
“Hello again, Shagger,” she said, “I’m sorry you won’t be able to avail yourself of Tight Twat’s tight twat on this occasion….nor mine.” He smiled. “I’ve just been watching Pervert in the Park, Ma’am,” he said, “so saw you both showing your slits slightly, whilst Winkler wanked worthlessly. Presumably your worse half also enjoys stroking at such sin?” Jayjay grinned. “Yes,” she replied, “only he was behind the lens at the time….” Ohh, “….but the following week we repeated it all, with Winkler as cameraman and hubby as the Pervert. Anyway, it’s time for tool torment, since I’ve a Wartenberg Pinwheel for your pain and pleasure….” she seated herself comfortably, “….off we go.” He gritted his teeth, and thought of England.
“Æons later, it seemed,” he said, “and after someone else had suffered at the hands of the crone, she finally finished. By then I’d worked out what it was, however I too won’t spoil the surprise. After another quick kiss, it was Beverley Dolores Simone Milker’s turn.”
“Good evening, Shagger,” she said, “as you know, I never attended St Sticks as a scholar, but Summer School was simply too good an opportunity to be in dorm 6M for a week. So I’m notionally from your Year LXXXVIII….” the youngest possible, “….I hope you enjoy having the Shaft Stretcher….” did he have a choice? “….none at all….” so HER course in clairvoyance had been worth every new-pound, “….shall we say a Sunday Special, at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon?” He nodded.
“So my straining shaft was stretched substantially,” he said, “with more male milk masturbated. You’ll understand all my agonies were entirely without any orgasm….the dorm’s raison d’être. Then it was Tight Twat’s turn.”
“Hello, handsome,” said Tyler Watson, “you do seem to be somewhat hot and bothered….” ha bloody ha, “….Jayjay and I both hail from Year LXXIII, so we managed to miss your Mother….” as indeed she’d said in The Milking Shed, “as you can see, I’ve a pair of the Gonads Gloves….” she flexed her fingers in front of his face, and his penis pulsed, “….I can see you’re looking forward to feeling them already.” All right….which he was. “AHHH….UHHH,” he moaned again and again as the short spikes stimulated his shaft.
“Phew….” he said, having narrowly avoided an overtaking oncoming car on the wrong side of the road, “….and fifthly, it was my dearest Mama….” he pursed his lips, “….did you catch the registration….?” she hadn’t, having been in fear of her life for several seconds, “….it was N1 XOF….?” which meant? “….Paula Nixhof, sometime School Secretary, my driving Instructress and actually one of The George Cross’ prefect peers. I’ve enjoyed pulling the knicks off Pull Her Knicks Off, but she and cars don’t get on well….” he shrugged, “….then my Mother appeared, also playing In The Pink. In the best torturers’ tradition, she showed me my forthcoming fate. She arranged a tripod with three withered arms….the third carrying a camera. Then she connected a crocodile clip to my columella nasi….the slip of sensitive skin next to the nostrils. You recall the lettering style used by Zappo?” She nodded.
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