Departure Day (Year LXXXIX)
The always unanswerable catch-all charge, of which no fag could ever be innocent….SNAPP as he snapped his fingers, and Karen Eis hurried towards him. “Take the honey and the cafetière across to the bed,” he ordered, “liberally apply the former to the dildo, and then add some coffee grounds. It’s a trick I once learned at the hands of The Dreadful Griffin, and it’ll make it much more memorable for Mitches.” Her eyes shone. “I’ll say, Sir,” she said, “it’s nasty….but it’s sort of nice, isn’t it.”
He grinned. “Which is similar to what Barbarella said when she was put into the Pleasure Machine,” he agreed, “but first I’ll administer your Farewell Foursome, so bend over again. Afterwards I’ll clear Kelly’s sheet, and then you can both go for some well-earned breakfast….” she assumed the Position, this time with her legs spread wide, “….which by rights should really be one more whack, for Incitement. However rest assured I shall be fantasizing fondly about our forthcoming fuck next February.”
Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk
“Yezz..YEZZ….SEVEN, thank you, SIR,” she gasped. OMG….her slit seemed so screwable.
Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk
“Yikes..YIKES….NINE….a nasty nine, thank you SIR,” she gasped. “I know I needed it, and look forward too to next year, Sir.” His penis was pulsing proudly, and not at all professionally. “For the Pirate,” he said instead, “it’ll be a Beastly Bakers beating. As she kindly confirmed during my dream, she spent most of Year LXXXVIII telling me how she should be sent successively out of my study with a suitably stinging and sore seat, so I’m only fulfilling her flogging fantasies. Get her over here, return her shoes, and tell her to finish the washing up.”
She stood slowly, and with difficulty he resisted the terrible temptation to touch twat. He took several sorrowful sips of coffee whilst she padded away. “AYEEEEE….UHHH….HEEE,” he heard from the bed, “BITCH….EEEE….UHHH….HEEE….OMG….my coffee covered cunt’s cumming….YESS….YESS….YESS.” He watched whilst Karen Eis took the head harness again, and then his junior fag padded towards him. “I’m really ready and randy for the rattan, Sir,” she said as she bent down to be beaten.
Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkkk
“Owww..WOWW..OWWW..WOWW….FOUR, thank you, SIR,” she gasped. “BITCH,” he heard again, “HEEE….UHHH….the coarseness on the cunt….YESS….YESS….YESS.”
Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkkk
“Yi..HI..YI..HI….EIGHT….a straight eight, thank you SIR….” she gasped with the second of the Hurting Hellos, “….Whacko! Sir.” The wonderful word used by canees the world over, meaning Please Hit My Hiney Hard.
SWISHHHTHWACKK SWISHHHTHWACKK SWISHHHTHWACKK SWISHHHTHWACKK
“Yeouchh..OUCH..OUCH..OUCH….TWELVE….a dozen due, thank you, SIR,” she gasped. “It’s just the coup de grâce, Kelly….” colloquially called the Cut Of Grace, “….a real sizzler to remember me by….until later in February, when I shall finally be pleased to relieve you of your virginity.” After about a further fortnight of frustration, in fact.
SWISHHHTHWACKKKKK
“YIKES….ONEDEEN….wonderful, thank you, SIR,” she gasped, “thank you for such a thorough thrashing. I know I was always Asking for it, and I deserved all your deliciously decisive derrière discipline. I’m honoured to have been your junior fag for Year LXXXIX, Sir....” she paused, “….as a small token of my esteem, perhaps Panty Pervert Pete would accept the gift of my naughty knickers as a suitable sniffing souvenir.” He nodded. “Thank you, Kelly,” he said, “it’s unlikely anyone will Shop you for being Improperly Attired before assembly. But I strongly suggest you resist the urge of trying to travel home without them. The Monitors on duty in the main entrance hall are always on the lookout for a bit of bravado.”
She nodded, wryly. “I’ll put on a spare pair, Sir,” she said, “when I return to dorm, to finish packing….” she paused, “….a quid pro quo might be the Slit Stretcher, for Year XC.” A Reciprocal Exchange. “We’ll retrieve it from Mitches,” he said, “and you may take it with you, with the head harness. I’ve spent many a happy hour in dorm 5H, so I’m sure you and the further five felonesses will live up to the aspirations of your predecessors in title.” They both padded across to the bed, where Mitchell Mary Murphy was still lying in bondage. She was shivering all over, clearly in the throws of another orgasmic excess. “Ohh….ohh,” she moaned as he removed the first two clips, on opposite sides of her labial lips.
He gestured towards Karen Eis. “You may each do three,” he said. “Ohh….ohh….ohh….” moaned 3M, “….ohh….ohh….ohh,” she added as Kelly Morgan completed the job. “Thank you for this, Sir,” she said, “and Mitches….should you fancy a repeat session whilst playing In The Pink next year, The Humblers will be happy to help.” He waved them away. “Sort yourselves out,” he said, “finish the washing up, and you know what to do with all the residual fresh food?” She nodded. “Yes, Sir,” she said, “take it down to The Canteen.” Got it in one.
They both started to dress, with The Pirate pointedly failing to put on her brown panties. “Ahh,” gasped The Ice Maiden as the hem of hers scraped across an obviously aching arse. “Ohh….ohh….ohh….ohh,” his senior fag repeated as he released her wrist shackles and ankle irons. Slowly, she sat up and rubbed her wrists ruefully. “Perhaps a shower, Sir,” she suggested, “so you could soap my slit.” There were two sniffs. “I’d respectfully say someone’s angling for some action, Sir,” said his former junior fag. “Not at all,” said 3M, “since it’s simply too sore….no thanks to you two terrors.” He took her hand. “Let’s go,” he said, “and screw you next Spring, sluts.”
There were two sniggers. “Screw you soon, Sir,” they said in unison as they entered the shower room and he closed the door. He took off his tie, and turned on the tap. They both entered the cubicle, and he soaped them both down. “Uhhh,” she moaned as he touched her twat, “The slit’s so sodding sensitive….Shagger….” she’d abandoned the salutation now they were equals, “….and such a shame we can’t screw. Kiss me, or I won’t make you my balls bulb boy.” An offer he couldn’t refuse. “Mmmm,” he moaned, “UGHHH….UGHHH….BEEP BEEP….MMMM….” he added as he took the testicle twist. Several celestial cymbals sounded, even as his scrotum was stretched soundly, “…..MMMM….MMMM….MMMM….MMMM….MMMM.” But what else would one expect from a paid-up member of dorm 6K?
“I’m still your stretch slave,” he said as soon as they separated, “but you can do dad’s distended dick this evening, imagining it’s mine if you must.” Then he held the hose with one hand, and shifted the shower setting to the strongest jet with the other. “Separate your slit again,” he urged, “and we’ll see whether we can clean your cunt. Unlike Stricktcream, plus Particularly Painful Penis Punishment Powder, the honey should dissolve fairly easily.” She duly did so, and he knelt down. “UHHH,” she moaned as her fancy was firmly flushed, “I really enjoyed the pussy pain and pleasure….UHHH….I did consider failing to pack the P5 and Stricktcream too….UHHH….but decided not to push my luck….UHHH….I’m cumming again with Wasting Water….YESS….YESS….YESS.”
He stood slowly, and replaced the head on its hook. Then they embraced all over again under the deliciously hot water. Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder….one which wasn’t the shower. “Hello, young lovers,” said a vixen’s voice.” He turned his head to see Brenda Smith standing there. “Morning, Bren,” he replied, “I’m just assisting my former senior fag.” She too sniffed. “So I see,” she said, “I was going to ask whether you’d finished with my spare hair drier, for me to pack it. I suppose the answer is No?” He nodded. “Please, Ma’am,” muttered Mitches, “I’ll drop it into your study in a few minutes’ time.” Which would work well. “What time is our transport of delight, Davy?” she asked. “Ten o’clock,” he replied, “outside the main entrance hall. Hopefully it will all annoy several scholars….” SMACKK “….bad boy. Don’t dally, since it’s well after eight….” Oops, “….and Mitches needs to fit in some food before final assembly.”
She pointedly handed him a black towel, and he stepped out of the shower. “I’ll meet you on the Level 3 landing in a few minutes, Bren,” he confirmed as she wiggled out of the room. Quickly, he dried himself down, and combed his hair. “You’d best not linger much longer either, Mitches,” he said, turning off the tap, “this is for your own good.” What wonderful words, normally heard before a hiney was hit hard. “Spoilsport, Shagger….” she said, as he handed her a second black towel, “….swish you soon….” SMACKK “….Oww,” he gasped as she smacked his seat. Then he took his tie, and padded out into the main study.
His pile of basic black clothes was still by the door where he’d dropped it, æons ago. He’d stripped starkers for the lovely Lisa in Lesson 6, his very last class except for Summer School, and hadn’t needed it since then. He put on his white shirt, retied his tie, and added his black jacket. The naccatape he’d leave in place, since as stated on the packet, it enabled exhibitionist’s parts pushed to prominence without actual exposure. Then it was his long trousers, socks and shoes. He collected his cane, finally a presentable prefect. Stepping out of the study, he could hear the hair dryer, so Mitches wouldn’t be many minutes behind him. Then it was along the gloomy corridor, listening to sounds of sustained swishing from study 23. Probably, Gomez Oslo was still having his beat sheet cleared. But Go Slow always been in regular receipt of the rattan from Hugh Island.
His prefect peer was a Dominant dolt, hailing from dorm 6Y….The six reas♂ns why y♂u’re f♂r it. The felon’s flogging finally faded as he reached the Level 6 landing, and started down the empty echoing stone steps. Inevitably they were promptly replaced by more discipline from a different direction. “About bloody time too,” said his Missus as he reached the Level 3 landing. He put his arm around her waist. “Lower….” she said as they went their way, “….lower still.” He fondled her fetching fanny….and she too handled his hiney.
Seconds later, they arrived at Level 2, in time to meet William Shanks arriving from his corridor. He was likewise locked with Louise Roccella-Roland. “Rocky was my Senior Swap this morning, Shagger,” he explained as they continued downstairs, “and after I’d applied her Farewell Foursome, we were able to share a….well, shower….” and some semen, he suspected? “….we’ve arranged to meet up over the holidays, too.” So things seemed to be somewhat serious? “Talking of which, Will,” he said as they reached the base, and started into the first of the long, dark cold corridors, “there’s our matinee performance at On-Stage Stooge to consider. My Patron has kindly agreed to foot the bill for your guest membership, and the hotel room cost will disappear on corporate expenses. So you only have to fund the train fare.”
Iron Will appeared impressed. “Thanks, Shagger,” he said, “presumably it’ll be a twin?” He shook his head. “Yes,” he confirmed, “although it’s most unlikely we’ll be sharing it together, as either you or I will be playing away. The venue will be The Regal Rooms, at № 7 SUSPECT STREET, Paddington. The reservation will be under Vaillance Holdings PLC. Shall we say tomorrow week, and we’ll meet there sometime during the afternoon? I’m suggesting we set our sins for six o’clock, since the Club shouldn’t be too busy.” Rock’n’Roll stared at him for a long second. “Perhaps you might indicate what you’ll be doing….well, on stage, Sir,” she suggested, still careful not to make it quite a caneable Question. “You tell her, Will,” he urged, “which won’t be my fault if she’s duly disgusted at our deviance and depravity.”
William Shanks smiled, “Panty Pervert Pete and Wanker Boy Will are proposing to perform plenty of peremptory and painful public punishments on each other’s rears, Rocky,” he explained, “with some suitably starkers swishings, except for headwear. It’ll be erotic exposure of our errant erections at an appreciative audience of wanton wicked wenches and Witches. Having recently been confirmed as an incorrigible exhibitionist of the worst kind, I’m looking forward to it all immensely.”
He hadn’t mentioned the possible pussy for poking when they returned to the No Tell hotel….not yet, anyway. “You can wear my naughty knicks over your nose, Sir,” she said knowingly, “and at least you’ll be….well, keeping me in mind….” she stopped for a second and shimmied them off, before handing them to him, “….I hope neither of you Superior Sirs, nor Ma’am will mind me being Improperly Attired for a short while….” there were three shakes of as many heads, “….but since you’ve your heart set on exposure, the same as Sir, I’m happy to help. I’m sure there are plenty of public places in Manchester where it might be managed. I’ll sit somewhere on a park bench, and you can sneak up on me, with the Worthless Wanker wear….” basically a birthday suit, “….I’ll examine your eight inches of erotic entertainment, whilst you stroke starkers, either surreptitiously or shamelessly….” she sniggered, “….and put in a good word, if it all goes wrong.”
It seemed they were definitely destined to do well together. Then they reached the main assembly hall, and stepped through the double doors. Inside, they chose three of the black seats reserved for the prefects. They were the only ones without really rough raised ridges. He glanced up at the wall clock, and saw it was 8.48am, so they’d timed it well.
A couple of minutes later, The Reverend Carmen Jones stood up. “Good morning everyone,” she said in her ecclesiastical voice, “I’ve a long sermon this morning….” damnation….well, maybe not, “….so our hymn will be the first verse only of № 269. Shagger can sing his alternative lyrics if he wishes….but not TOO loudly, please. I’m afraid they’re not fit for public consumption by the youngest years.” Uh..huh….the ones he’d written specially for her. The piano started, played today by Captain Carlie Greystone, wearing as always her British army uniform. Had it been Amen Carmen or her who’d chosen it? Possibly the latter, since it had originally been The Battle Hymn of the Republic. One thing Khaki Carlie really enjoyed was marching in a militaristic manner.
“Mine eyes hath seen the glory which is Carmen Jones’s cunt….” his Missus giggled girlishly, whilst on his second side Iron Will winked once, “….She takes her naughty knickers down, to show off at the front….She punishes for leching and it’s balls which bear the brunt….How I so want her hole….” now it was the chorus, “….Glory, glory, hallelujah, Carmen hit me with the ruler….Next the cane, and then the riding crop….And fine-a-lee the whip.” As they sat down, there was a rousing round of applause from the ranks of the prefects.
“Thank you so much, Shagger,” said the Parish Priest wryly, “for such sweet sentiments….” he spotted a sly sideways smile, which was surely, ‘how about pleasing my pussy?’ which was her № 3 Look, “….in a way, it’s a pity we couldn’t have had the other two verses….” true, “….detailing another two parts of my anatomy….” mild mirth from all around him, “….but as always it does demonstrate the difficulty with sexual sins….” she bared her teeth, whilst her eyes flashed fire. ‘I’m going to castrate you,’ said her № 2 Look. He closed his ears, letting memory meander.
Somehow it was 9.06am, as he glanced up at the clock, “….which will do for today….” she paused, “….apart from mentioning the amorous activities of two felons who should be ashamed of their substantial sexual excesses. Stand up….Shagger and Wanker Boy Will….” they arose, “….both of whom, I have it on good authority….” presumably they’d been Shopped by Lady Joyce D’Aragon? “….managed to equal Leg It’s record of doing an entire dorm of deviant damsels yesterday evening at a single sitting….” so to speak, “….not forgetting a subsequent spurt in the shower room. So let’s all give them a big hand, and I’m sure the previous prefect Christopher Leggett would also approve.”
There was a thunderous round of applause from all around the hall. She sat down, and he finally spotted her № 1 Look as she pouted her lovely lips, ‘It was only a little kick in the crotch,’ seemed to be the suggestion. Then The Headmaster stood up to speak. “Thank you, Reverend,” he said with his usual dreadfully dull and disinterested delivery, “being Departure Day, everyone except the prefects should by now have received their Farewell Foursome in full. Any scholar who has been omitted is invited to attend my study, when I will be happy to dispel the deficiency….” with the rattan on the rear, “….I am afraid there a great many felons who are required to Explain themselves, especially those sinful souls on Daily Detention…..
….But as always the good news is the slate will now be wiped clean. I will not be reading out the full list, since they know who they are. It only remains for me to wish our departing prefects every success with their impending A-Level results….” which he wasn’t looking forward to receiving, “….and to hope they have obtained sufficiently good grades to achieve their intended places at University….” his point precisely, “….to welcome back those of them attending Summer School. Also to everyone else next Autumn after a relaxing holiday, when it will be Year XC. As an advance notification, there will be the start of a new Naccarim league. It will be along the lines mentioned by Shagger in his recent Deposition entitled On: Felon Flogging Fridays at five. As you will be aware, this term we were able to enjoy a Challenge match with our Sister School, St Templars in Tanningtown. However we now do indeed have a new entry, being St Bodlians, in Rugby….” he paused, with a slight smile,
“….all the bad boys wear bowlers at St Bowlers….” very witty for him, at this early hour, “….even whilst being birched and beaten, basically bare over the Block….” Ouch, “….up until now, it has been a single sex school. However they will be having their first intake of sinful sluts in September….who will wear the same style….” he paused, “….enjoy the holidays, be good, and if you are unable to achieve this worthy aim, be careful….all rise.” He strode off the Podium, clearly headed back to his study for an arduous swishing session. They waited until their row started to move, and headed in silence towards the double doors. Talking wasn’t precisely prohibited for prefects, however its punishment had been caned into them during their younger years. “I’ll wait for Rocky,” said William Shanks with sudden shyness after they’d left the assembly hall. “Au revoir, Will,” he said, taking his Missus’ hand. Until We Meet Again was absolutely apt.
Then they retraced their steps to the Prefects’ Study wing entrance hall, and started back up the stone steps. “Do you know who’s having your study….huhh….Bren?” he asked. “No, whistle it to me,” she replied impishly, “but I’m sure Sue Sweet will ensure Sexy Sammy’s….” or more accurately his Mother’s, “….Riding Bench for Expert Equestriennes will have another good careful owner….well, lessee for Year XC.” He could always check with the School Secretary, were he so minded….as could she. “Until ten, Davy,” she said, mouthing him a kiss, as they reached the Level 3 landing. Once again she wiggled away, this time into the gloomy corridor. Was he really going to marry such a divine creature, he asked himself whilst continuing his climb. Two years previously he’d been a wanker boy of the worst kind. He’d every doubt about ever achieving a girlfriend, let alone an Open-Wife. “Huhh….huhh….huhh,” he huffed, reaching Level 4. Clearly, he was back in bad shape.
David Shagton
Quis illum sceleratum fuisse putavisset
Who Would Have Thought He Was A Scoundrel, he translated for the last time, opening the door and stepping inside. He put his remaining cane in the holdall, and sealed it shut. The next job was to sort out some screed for his successor He sat down at his table, picked up his clip board, and took an empty beat sheet. Its reverse would work well, in the same fashion as had The Ice Maiden earlier.
To Whom It May Concern
Unless this study’s being used for Summer School, here are some words of welcome and wisdom for my successor. I’ve had a full year of fucking floozies’ fancies, and it should be the same for you. The study location’s the worst one in the wing….as you’ve found out. But on the assumption you’re a Cunt Casanova with a Key, it’s not all bad news. I’ve left an assortment of last July’s porn periodicals in the bedside cabinet (second drawer down) for your penile pleasure. Please accept my very best swishes for Year XC.
David Shagton, previous prefect.
Then he pinned it to the wall in a similar spot to where he’d once found the missive from James Grimm. It was next to his Model Caning Rules, which might as well stay in place. But how was the previous prefect doing at the University of Belfast? He strode to the bed, and removed the pillow punishment points of pain. This he folded carefully, before stepping into the shower room and brushing his teeth. Then he packed all the remaining toiletries inside the pillow, returned to the main study, and stowed it into a suitcase. Uh..huh….there were The Pirate’s panties, which he packed for use at home. So with the holdall and cases ready by the door for his father’s later collection, he was all set….but his bed beckoned. He glanced at the wall clock, which read 9.29am. Perhaps a brief fordy winks would be welcome? He lay down and gratefully closed his eyes.
Big Ben was suddenly striking….oops, it was 10am, and time he wasn’t here. He arose, and hurried out of the room, leaving the door wide open. Quickly he continued along the gloomy corridor, and seconds later started down the otherwise empty echoing stone steps. The sound was from his own passage, rather than a swishing somewhere, and the school was strangely silent. He reached the base, and started similarly into the long, dark cold corridors. Several minutes later he reached the main entrance hall, which was still a hive of activity with waiting suitcases and scholars. In his mind’s eyes he suddenly saw his younger self on his original Autumn Arrival Afternoon. He’d missed his station, ended up at SlapphaM-on-SeA, and been very late. It had resulted in his very first formal flogging at his new school, and Grim Jim had comprehensively caned him for the crime.
He’d had an appreciative audience in The Pirate and The Ice Maiden….and in those heady days he hadn’t been an incorrigible exhibitionist. The prefect had said how he’d a hunch he’d do well at The Styx….and retrospectively he’d been proved right. “So where’s your school cap, bad boy?” he heard a Departure Monitor asking one of The Yellow Perils. “Please, Sir,” was the reply, “I must have forgotten to put it on, Sir.” A painful mistake. “Your name and dorm?” asked Hugh And I, “then bare your bottom. You may wish to stand on the train.” Quite so. “Please Sir,” he replied, to his appreciative audience, “it’s Constantinople, Murgatroyd of dorm 2Z, Sir.” Presumably this would be Constant Murk of The Zigzags? However, with such a name, he’d do well as a future Headmaster.
He shook his head to clear it, and strode through the double doors. There was the Rolls Royce, parked in pride of place. Alfred Health opened a rear door, and saluted him smartly. “Your good Lady’s already arrived, Sir,” he said, “and her luggage is safely stowed in the trunk.” So everything was organized. “I might have known this little luxury was for sodding Shagger,” snarled Matthew Conran, suddenly at his elbow, “since some of us peasants still have to hoof it to the station.” He started on his weary way, clearly seething. “I once told you it’s who, rather than what you know, Matthew,” he called out, “chin up.” He climbed inside, and the door closed. “We’re good to go, Alfred,” he said to Alf The Elf as he took the driver’s seat, “be careful not to crowd any of the scholars on the carriage drive….with one exception. I won’t mind much if you drive a bit too close to Rat Conman.” The chauffeur nodded neatly as they started away over the graded gravel turning-circle. “I understand, Sir,” he said, “I shall be a road hog….and he can be a hedgehog.” Very droll….BEEEEP went the car horn, seconds later. Arms and suitcases flailing, his prefect peer jumped out of the path of the approaching Rolls Royce. Alas, the only place available to go was down into the deep drainage ditch. “BASTARD,” he heard him shout, gesticulating wildly with two fingers.
“Your only problem will be if he’s attending Summer School during our week, Davy,” she mused, “and as a previous prefect….in which case you’ll be BAD trouble….” Oops….he really hadn’t thought it through, “….but on another tropic, I do hope your timekeeping will be better on our Big day.” So did he. “I’m afraid I’m still fairly fragile from my orgy of excess, Bren,” he said as they accelerated away, “Alfred….do you have the address for my….well, business luncheon?” There was a neat nod. “Yes, Sir,” he said, “it’s № 10 TERTIARY TERRACE, Tanningtown.” Uh..huh. “So next door to Ball Busta Bertha, Davy,” his Missus mused, “who’s at № 12, if I recall rightly.” Quite so. “I believe you’ve already been asked to take us from the ceremony to Bindery House, Alfred....” he said as they approached the main entrance gates, and passed beneath the imposing wrought-iron arches.
Then they were accelerating smoothly away on the B1469, but in the opposite direction to the stream of scholars slumming it to the station, “….but can you kindly collect my beautiful bride-to-be beforehand? It should be from the main entrance hall at about a quarter to three, for the short journey to St Eſſtrickts Parish Church?” Alfred Heath nodded again. “Certainly, Sir,” he confirmed. “The next thing for you, Davy,” she said, “is to strip starkers. I doubt you’ll be wanting to wear anything for Strict Sarah, and anyway I know how much you enjoy Driving Dubiously Dressed.” The somewhat suspect practice was basically being bare below the belt, but alternatively in the altogether.
Slowly, he shimmied out of all his clothes, and folded them neatly onto a spare seat. “Whilst we have a few moments to ourselves, Bren,” he said, “I’ve accumulated a number of teachers who’ve asked to be invited to the wedding. As we’ve agreed it’ll be an outdoor service, there’s essentially no limit to the congregation.” She took pen and paper from her pocket. “Fire away, Davy,” she said, “and I’ll pass their names to Mum.” Traditionally, the Bride’s parents issued invitations. “There’s several such,” he said, “although I daresay you’ve more. But I have Big Dick, the lovely Lisa, The Dragon Lady, The Interrogator and Stinks for starters.” He watched her write down Richard Merryweather, Lisa McFee-Sven-Sless, Lady Joyce D’Aragon, Terrence Hayter, Harold Sphinx. “If you think of any others, phone them through to me at home,” she said, “but now I strongly suggest you use the opportunity for another hour’s sleep. I’ll wake you when we reach Tanningtown.” Gratefully, he slumped against her soft smooth body, and closed his eyes.
Seconds later it seemed, she nudged his knackers. “We’re almost here, Davy,” she said, as he saw Newby Newsagents. Sure enough the car turned into the cobbles of TERTIARY TERRACE. The Rolls glid to a halt outside № 10. “Do we need to settle up with the slut….err….lovely Lady?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied, “it’s a gross, and Digger gave me plenty of cash yesterday. After any amount of humbling and humiliation for foreplay, Peter Purvis will probably have public punishment.” Deftly, she extracted his wallet. “In which case,” she said, “you should certainly stay starkers….” she emerged from the car, and he followed, “….Alfred can take me to TanningtowN JunctioN whilst you’re otherwise occupied. He’ll be back here in an hour. Enjoy your….well, business luncheon….Mmmm,” she moaned as he kissed her in CFnm style.
He suspected TOUCHERY TERRACE was the type of street where people weren’t worried too much about exhibitionism. The town too had its own tradition of tanners making their way starkers to SECKE SQUARE. He recalled the lengthy legend inscribed upon the foundation stone of St Templars School. It included an epistle whereby On one Saturday each monthe of term time they wyll be dryven naykyde et aſhamede in bondage through the ſtreeten of Tanningtowne. They wyll ſhow their ſinful ſelven et bare bodeyen to the wyckede wenchen et wytchen on the hyghwayen et bywayen. SMACKK “….Oww,” he said as she smacked his seat. “It’s nicely noon, Davy,” she said, and sure enough he could just hear Tanningtown Tom striking.
Together, they proceeded up the tiny front garden to the terraced house, and he rang the bell. There was a short silence before his enviable escort opened the door. The more mature Madam was dressed in her Tanningtown standard grey leather business suit. “Good afternoon….” she said politely, “….and to you too, Ma’am,” said his Missus, “my Open-hubby-to-be is booked for a bonking….” she counted out six NP30: notes, “….I understand your tribute is normally two gross, but you’ve graciously agreed to hump him at half price….?” there was a neat nod, “….although I’ve added an extra sixdy new pounds. It’s in order to arrange an appreciative audience….” she certainly had his number, and anyway the noble knight was paying, “….perhaps whilst he’s whipped well….?” she patted his posterior, patronizingly, “….enjoy everything, my love.”
Then she retreated back to the Roller, and stepped inside. Alf The Elf did likewise, and they watched whilst DV 1 drove away. “Remind me what the initials stand for….Mr Purvis?” she asked rhetorically, although surely she must know perfectly well? “Please, Ma’am,” he muttered wittily, “it’s Darth Vader….” SLAPP “….Ahh….” SLAPP “….Ahh,” he gasped as she slapped his cheeks. “Very fucking funny,” she growled, “as an allusion to the Star Wars movies, but I suppose quite witty in its way. Anyway, get down on your knees, where you belong….dog,” he did so, and she applied a pink collar and leash, which she tied to the wall, “….I’ve a couple of quick phone calls to make, so don’t go away.” Ha bloody ha.
