“Excellence in Education built on a Strong Moral Foundation and Enforced through Discipline
Of course Mr. & Mrs. Brasswell, your daughter Tamara will be a welcome addition here at the Livingston School. As I've explained, it is the aim of the administration and the instructors to provide an excellent education and to instill a moral compass our young ladies can depend on in their future endeavors; to achieve our goals we do enforce discipline, in their young minds and in their young bodies.
Our brochure states the goals of Livingston School; “Excellence in Education built on a Strong Moral Foundation and Enforced through Discipline.”
“Again as I've explained to you and as will be explained to Tamara, discipline a here at Livingston School involves corporal punishment. We do not use loss of privileges nor detentions, if a young lady violates our code of conduct; we spank. We employ only two forms of punishment, spanking or expulsion from the school. We are rarely forced to expel a student, that can create a stigma, both with the young lady's self-esteem and can also inhibit further educational opportunities. By that I mean many other upscale private institutions are aware of expectations here at the Livingston School; the feeling with administrators at many of these schools is, if Livingston can't handle this particular young lady we don't want her. In fact, troublesome girls are frequently referred by these schools, I receive two or three such requests yearly.”
“When can Tamara start school?” Asked Mrs. Brasswell.
“Please have her last school forward her educational records and ask her physician to forward her medical records. When these are received and reviewed we can have Tamara in. I mentioned the intake interview, along with that each of our new students receives a medical examination, if there are dietary restrictions or medications we will see that they are adhered to. We have on staff our own physician and two registered nurses to see to the medical needs of both our student body and our staff. If you will see to that those two items and sign this release, we'll be finished.”
The release the Brasswell's signed, the same release signed by every student's parents was acknowledgment that they were aware that the Livingston School employed corporal punishment and their permission.
After the Brasswells had departed he sat down. In spite of his words, Tamara Brasswell was exactly the kind of student he did not care for. Tamara was eleven years old, the product of Henry and Mary Beth Brasswell, Henry's trophy wife. Henry was a billionaire, he'd made his money in the eighty's dot com craze, founded a company, Goggle, no, not Google, Goggle; it was a subscription news service, motto “Your eye on the World;” for business leaders and governments: he had sold the company, Time Warner I believe, divorced his wife, married Mary Beth who was twenty years his junior and sired Tamara.
Like so many of the young ladies at Livingston her parents were remote, often traveling, away for months at a time. Her upbringing handled by nannies, governesses, tutors; paid employees. These girls virtually never lacked for anything materiel, yet also rarely received the parental love they so craved. The rebellion commonly manifested itself in the age group he thought of as the tweens. That period between nine and thirteen, the ages ten, eleven and twelve, double digits but not yet teens. Taking a first time student in at these ages usually presented a challenge. He much preferred his young ladies to be with him from age six when they began school to age eighteen when most would move on to universities.
He, the headmaster of the Livingston School for Young Ladies, was Alistair Brecton Coddington, Ph. D. He'd founded the school twenty years previously. Situated on one hundred acres it boasted a beautiful sand beach on the Caribbean, the buildings were low and tropical in design, stucco painted in pastel shades. Each student was assigned her own room with maid service. Most of the young misses at Livingston had never so much as picked up her own toys or clothes, household staff took care of such mundane tasks.
In fact the closest thing to home economics taught at Livingston was a class in household management; working the household budget, preparing shopping lists, hiring and firing of staff, party planning, appropriate seating arrangements, that sort of thing. Livingston's young charges were, bye and large, being groomed to be the wives of successful businessmen, diplomats and, of course royalty.
There was a stable at the back of the property for those who rode or desired to learn. English style, of course, was taught. Other competitive sports were volley ball and track for those so inclined. A physical education course was mandatory but the other sports were elective.
Dr. Coddington had founded his school in a tropical paradise for several reasons. On a personal note, he hated cold weather and the intrusiveness of the American government into an individual's life; and from an educator's standpoint he wanted the freedom to teach and discipline without government intervention. He had succeed in both efforts.
Now one of his more onerous tasks awaited. Dr. Coddington personally administered all punishments and waiting outside his office were two seven year olds; Mindy and Mandy, so alike they could have been sisters, cute little blonde English girls, they'd gotten into a food fight in the cafeteria, a definite violation of the rules. Neither had been punished before, this was their second year at the school, they'd been perfect little angels until today.
Still, the rules must be obeyed. He opened the door to his reception area and beckoned them; he led them through his office and through a door situated behind his desk. It was the punishment room. Two little girls, no doubt terrorized, food still stained their clothing. Like all the girls at Livingston they wore white blouses, tartan plaid skirts ending just above the knee, white knee socks and oxfords. That was the school uniform, undergarments were not supplied by the school, the uniforms were.
“Please stand against the wall with your hands at your sides,” he instructed.
“I'm disappointed in the two of you,” was the only admonishment they received.
Dr. Coddington sat on an armless chair in the middle of the room.
“Mindy, please come here and stand on my right side.”
“Each of you is going to receive a spanking, five whacks,” as he pulled her over his lap.
He flipped her skirt up displaying her little girl panties, cartoon characters imprinted on them and began.
Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, five rapid hand swats to her pantied posterior, she was sniveling when he set her back on the floor.
“Go stand against the wall, hands down; Mandy, please come here.”
Mandy approached slowly, she had just watch as Mindy had received her five swats, she knew what was coming. She wanted to beg, plead but she wouldn't, Mindy was watching, it would be too embarrassing. She was lifted over his lap, skirt raised, five swats and down.
“I don't expect to see either of you back here.”
In unison they replied, “No Dr. Coddington.”
He buzzed for his assistant Headmistress, she was always waiting outside his door when it was necessary to discipline students, she walked with them back to their rooms. If punishment was meted out the student did not return to class that day, they were left in their room to contemplate their actions and the consequences.
He heard Miss Barrington-Smythe, his very proper British assistant Headmistress warn them that, if they came back it would be on the bare, as she led them from the room.
He sat at his desk trying to get some of the mountainous paperwork out of the way but his mind drifted. Punishment was his sole responsibility, each session was recorded, hidden cameras, for his protection and potentially for his viewing pleasure. Not the youngsters, but some of the better endowed young ladies, the teens, were a pleasure to view at his leisure, in his quarters with a Scotch in hand.
Some of his sessions he enjoyed, girls who were repeated troublemakers, but this week that hadn't been the case.
Dr. Coddington had rules even for himself. When punishment was necessary it involved a minimum of five whacks and a maximum of twenty. The adolescents were hand spanked, over his lap. It was either panties up or on the bare, the number of strokes and how was determined by the severity of the infraction. The tweens also were paddled over his lap, same rules applied, panties up or down. The only difference was instead of his hand he used a ruler.
Thirteen was a monumental birthday for most of the girls; teenagers, at last, they were teenagers. Not all were so happy when the calendar rolled over, the troublesome ones knew a major change would be in place if they had to visit his punishment room, teenagers got the cane. Same rules, between five and twenty, on the panties or on the bare and Dr. Coddington could make the cane bite.
Spanking the little moppets was a necessary duty, he hoped they would not be back. But the afternoon before and later this afternoon were an agony to him.
The previous afternoon the housemother for one of the big girl buildings had brought Gretchen Schmidt to him. Gretchen had been a student at Livingston since she was six. Now seventeen she'd never once been to the punishment room. The housemother had related what had occurred. As she'd approached the room there was a scramble, girls running hither and yon, it was not Gretchen's room, rather one of our more troublesome girls, Amy Washburn. No one was in the room when she looked in then Gretchen had walked out of the bathroom, she had a spliff of ganja in her hand. Evidently she'd been smoking. He thanked the housemother for her diligence and released her to her duties.
“Gretchen, what is this about?” He asked.
Gretchen was a German girl, she was slightly chubby, attractive in a plain way with mousey brown hair and blue eyes that were accentuated by the thick lens of her glasses. She was one of the brightest students in the school but she had a shy and retiring personality. Plainly Amy had befriended her and plainly Amy had abandoned her.
“I'm so sorry Dr. Coddington, I'd never even seen marijuana before, I was experimenting, I guess trying to impress someone.”
She stopped, wouldn't name that someone.
“Gretchen, I can't overlook this infraction, drug usage is a violation of one of our most sacrosanct rules, the rules pertaining to drug and alcohol usage by the students, I'm afraid you need to come with me to the punishment room.”
As they walked Gretchen tried to plead her case.
“Dr. Coddington, please, anything else, I've never even been spanked before, please not the cane.”
Once in the room he took the time to explain.
“Gretchen, I'm sorry to have to do what I'm about to do and I'm disappointed and unhappy that you are here. In the eleven years you've been with us I've watched you grow. You really are a brilliant young woman and I expect great things from you in the future, but that brilliant mind of yours wasn't working too well this afternoon and now you must pay the penalty.
Normally marijuana usage would merit twenty on the bare but because of Gretchen's exemplary conduct over the years he'd decided to only give her ten, the first five on her panties the last five on the bare.
He led her to a table he used when administering the cane.
As he took his jacket off, rolled up his right sleeve and selected a cane from an assortment of spanking devices hanging on the wall he said, “Gretchen, please take off your glasses and bend over the table, chest down on the table top.”
Even as she bent Gretchen continued to plead, “Dr. Coddington, please not the cane, anything else, just please not the cane.”
She was already sobbing, Amy had told her what the cane was like, stinging, burning fire, red welts, sore bottom for several days. She continued to plead.
“I'm sorry Gretchen,” he said as he flipped her skirt up over her back.
In her terror Gretchen lost control, he watched as yellow fluid ran down the insides of her thighs, pooling around her feet. She was leaking urine through the gusset of her white cotton panties and out both leg holes, three streams merging on the floor to create one big puddle. But he was not deterred.
Wet panties or not, she would receive her caning.
He struck, the cane cracking as it struck the fabric, two, three, four, five. Powerful blows, stinging even through her underwear.
“Gretchen, lower your panties please.”
“I can't,” Gretchen wailed, “I can't.”
“Gretchen, either you will or I must, which will it be?”
Again she wailed, “I can't.”
He walked to the table, laid the cane on it and grasped the elastic band of her panties, pulling them down to her knees.
“Gretchen please keep your legs together, I wouldn't want to harm your womanhood.”
He well knew that before he was through Gretchen would be writhing in pain, he'd left her panties at her knees to serve as restraints so she'd not splay her legs, displaying all of her young virginal worldly goods to him.
He positioned himself on her left side, stepped back and swung.
Crack, the sound of bamboo on flesh, her knees buckled, the table held her up; Crack the flexible cane encircled her bottom raising an angry red welt; Crack, Gretchen was no longer wailing, sobs, plaintive sobs; Crack, she lay limply on the table, Crack, the final one. He hung the cane back on the wall. Gretchen hadn't moved.
He walked back, pulled her soaking panties up and rubbed her back.
“Gretchen, I really am sorry you made this necessary but, perhaps what I'm going to do now will be a favor. I always report punishment sessions to parents, I'm not going to do that with yours, I'm going to place it in my private folder, we can forget this ever happened. If you're not back in here before you graduate, no one but you, I and Miss Barrington-Smythe will need to know.”
He walked over to his spanking chair and buzzed for his assistant Headmistress.
“Please spend a few minutes with Gretchen when you get her back to her room, let her get settled down, let her know we care; she's traumatized and embarrassed, she wet herself, see that she gets a shower and fresh underclothing before you leave her.”
Dr. Coddington had two good friends among the staff; the only married couple on the campus. John and Iris Chin; John was Hong Kong Chinese, he was their Chinese language instructor, although they taught Mandarin, John was fluent in Cantonese along with several lesser dialects. Iris, she was Mainland Chinese, taught Oriental studies, the history of the Orient, so mysterious to Westerners; from paper to gun powder the Chinese were an advanced civilization far before Europeans shed their skin clothing.
Dr. Coddington loved and respected them. He was a frequent dinner guest, truly relishing Iris' Chinese delicacies and the scintillating conversations. They were also frequent guests at his home, he and Miss Barrington-Smythe as bridge partners against John and Iris. Not only were they his best friends on campus they were the only ones that knew and, in private, addressed him by his nickname. Alph, not Alf like the nickname for Alfred, no Alph, a play on his initials, Alistair Brecton Coddington, ABC, a college wag had dubbed him Alphabet, thus Alph. In their home or his, he was Alph to them.
This afternoon he would be involved in one of the most distasteful duties he'd ever encountered.
The morning had brought Iris to his office, she'd had an automobile accident. His concern was for her, was she injured, was John alright.
She assured him that John had accepted a ride from a colleague who had stopped at the scene. He was uninjured and so was she. To his dismay she confessed that she'd been speeding, had lost control and had crashed into one of the many statues on campus.
“Please Iris, don't tell me about this,” he'd asked her.
“Dr. Coddington, I understand, but I must tell, to do otherwise would be unfair to the school and to you. I realize that speeding and the destruction of property violates several of the school rules. I want to reimburse the school for the replacement of the monument and accept whatever punishment you deem to be appropriate.”
He was in a quandary, across from him sat one of his dearest friends. Iris Chin was thirty-eight and was, of course, Chinese, with straight Raven hair, eyes so dark they appeared black, a little bow mouth. She was small of stature, perhaps five feet it that; she couldn't weigh more that a hundred pounds. Her breasts were small, demurely hidden by her conservative dress. The only thing she couldn't conceal was her pert back side, it looked like two small melons shifting back and forth under her skirt as she walked.
Like the students, there were only two punishment options, all of the staff, instructors, house mothers, everyone functioned under the same set of rules. Punishment was either the cane or termination, there were no alternatives and Iris was confessing to a transgression that required punishment. He only hoped their friendship could stand the strain.
“Iris, I don't want to do this but you know the rules; please report here to my office after your last class, if you like I can give you a ride home afterward.”
They were back on a less formal basis now.
“Thanks Alph, I'd appreciate the ride, should I bring a pillow to sit on?” She asked in an almost teasing voice.
“You might want to do that,” he answered in the same tone.
The school security officer gave her a ride to her class room and would bring her back at four-thirty.
The fact that she was a friend made it worse but the fact it was Iris almost made it better, Alph was more than taken with her, if John weren't his friend he long ago would have made his desire for Iris known.
He decided she'd get six strokes, three on her panties, three on bare flesh, he went to check on his video equipment, this afternoon would be no time to suffer a mechanical breakdown, friend or not he wanted to capture Iris' spanking.
At four-twenty seven Iris arrived at his office. He opened the door and led her to the punishment room.
“Please put your hand bag there on the table,” he said as he removed his suit jacket and rolled up his right sleeve.
Hi selected the cane he would use and laid it on the table.
Iris was wearing a pencil skirt, not at all like the pleated skirts the students wore, it hugged her hips and fit tightly down to just above her knees.
“Please lift your skirt and lie with your chest on this table,” he asked, patting the surface.
Iris walked to it, rucked her skirt up above her hips and lay down.
As he did with the students he told Iris what she would receive.
“Iris, you'll receive six strokes, three on the seat of your panties and three on your bare bottom.”
He swung, there was the muted crack of bamboo on silk, two products of the Orient meeting on the bottom of an Oriental beauty. Thwack, thwack followed.
Iris had gasped with the first stroke and mewled with the second two.
“Please stay as you are Iris, “ he told her as he stepped behind her and lowered her panties.
He took them clear to the floor and asked her to step out. He lay her panties beside his jacket on the table. He wanted her unfettered, wanted her to splay her legs, wanted her striped bottom and her Jade Gate evident on his video recording.
He stepped aside, to her left and rested his cane on her succulent bottom, took it back and swung.
A resounding Crack, Iris slid forward on the table, her feet came off the floor, she flailed her legs, seeking footing, he watched, a slight smile of amusement at her antics.
Admiring the thin red stripe that marked her tight bottom, he allowed her a moment to regain her composure the he struck again, slightly lower.
Crack, again she was driven up onto the table, again he admired his work as she got set to take her final blow.
He took aim, the crease between buttocks and thigh, he knew it would sting terribly. He struck, with a resounding crack, cane met bare flesh exactly as he'd targeted it.
Iris pushed off on her left leg and flung her right leg up onto the table trying to escape the the stinging burn the cane had inflicted.
Alph just stared in amazement, Iris was wide open, one foot on the floor the other knee and leg were on the table, he could see the three red welts rising on her perfect little bottom, the tight ring of her dark anus and her slit, now open because of her posture. He could even smell her, a heady blend of scents, her womanhood and fear, the cane is a truly awesome tool for punishment, her fear was well founded, she definitely never wanted to be back on this table.
Alph helped her to stand and handed her her panties then turned his back, allowing her a scant amount of privacy as she tugged her panties up over her screaming flesh then smoothed her skirt down. There were tears in the corners of her eyes when she said,
“Please take me home now Alph.”
He took her arm and guided her to his car, opened the door and helped her in.
As he got in on the driver's side Iris lamented, “Now I wish I really had brought that pillow, I can't imagine taking the twenty that I know you occasionally hand out.”
“Iris, I take no pleasure in meting out punishments however, I firmly believe it is what permits us to take on some of the recalcitrant young ladies we have in attendance. Many, well really all of our students come from extremely wealthy families and, almost without exception they have been given anything and everything they've ever asked for, everything but love and affection. We here at Livingston offer love, people who care for our young ladies, affection for their hearts and discipline to help develop that all important moral compass, teach the difference between right and wrong and the consequences for wrong decisions and actions.”
“Alph, I guess you could say I'm now an expert on the consequences, I'll be standing in my classroom tomorrow, I don't think I'll want to sit.”
“Alph, please let this evening be our secret, I'm not going to tell John and I'd certainly appreciate it if you didn't mention it, it might be upsetting to him. I know I merited the caning, but please, can we keep it to ourselves?”
“Iris, he's sure to notice the marks on your bottom.”
“Oh pish, I'll tell him it's that time of the month, I'll sleep in a big old nightgown and I'll keep my panties on; he'll never know.”
“Good night Iris,” he said as he pulled into her driveway.
“Good night Alph, you're still on for dinner Friday evening aren't you, I'm fixing pot stickers.”
“You bet, I'll be here.”
Alph drove back to his office, he need to clean and polish the cane he'd used and he wanted to get his video.
As he polished the cane he admired his collection of punishment instruments; a selection of canes, some straight others with curved handles, resembling walking canes but much thinner, he had birch rods, various paddles, a whipping slipper even an original Scottish Lochgelly tawse once used in both the schools and the courts of Scotland, it was now nothing more that a collector's item, worth perhaps as much as one thousand US dollars, but illegal to employ in it's native land.
Alph picked up his video, turned out the lights and left for home, before morning's first light he'd be more familiar with Iris' special Oriental treasures than her gynecologist.
The balance of the week was uneventful, paperwork, staff meetings, planning sessions with department heads, the usual mundane tasks of management.
Saturday morning Alph decided he'd like to go riding, he hadn't been in some time, not since early summer, he drove to the stables. Several students were there, one was quite accomplished, she had a distinct chance to make the British equestrian team for the next Olympics. He stood and watched her, leaning on the rail of the show ring. He felt a presence beside him.
“Quite a seat wouldn't you say?” The inquisitor was a newly hired instructor, Constance Thornton. She held a Masters in advanced mathematics from the University of Chicago and Alph felt fortunate to have been able to recruit her. Few mathematicians choose to teach, financial opportunities abound for them; he rather suspected Miss Thornton would only be with them for several years then she'd pursue her doctorate and move into the business world. The hiring process had been accomplished by telephone and e-mail, he'd not met her until she'd appeared on campus. To say that Alph was surprised would be a gross understatement.
He'd expected a plain Jane of a woman, unstyled brown hair, sack cloth dresses, black framed glasses. That certainly did not describe Constance Thornton, she was, in the vernacular of the younger set, an absolute babe. Long honey blonde hair, sun streaked and now even more so under the tropical sun, framed an exquisite face made even more noteworthy by her doe like brown eyes. Her breasts pushed out her tops, whatever she wore, even covered by cloth Alph judged them to be magnificent, no doubt 36C cups, she had a small wasp like waist and flaring hips, her skirts, conservative at just above the knee could not conceal her long luscious legs; her students loved and admired her, she was fun at faculty functions with a quick wit and a wicked sense of humor, all in all Miss Thornton was nearly perfect; in fact the only blemish was not a shortcoming, quite the contrary, it was a, perhaps to blatant a display of her physical attributes, like the students the faculty members were expected to adhere to a certain dress code. Miss Thornton, flamboyant Miss Thornton seemed determined to flaunt the code. Alph had spoken to her on three separate occasions, on the fourth he had given her a written reprimand and had reminded her of the terms of her contract. Good mathematics instructors were nearly impossible to recruit, he didn't want to lose her but, still the rules of conduct were meant for everyone.
“Yes, quite a seat,” he replied.
She gave him a quirky little smile, “ Do you ride Dr. Coddington?” She asked.
“Yes, I was going to take out one of the stallions, and you?”
“Dr. Coddington, I'm an American girl, I really prefer Western, do you suppose they have a Western saddle, if so, and if you don't object I'd like to ride with you; perhaps you can check out my seat, too,” again, her twisted little smile.
Alph thought there was a great deal of innuendo in her statement, was she being flirtatious; he was fifty-two she was twenty-five; ridiculous, he thought.
He spoke to the gentleman that oversaw the stables; yes, somewhere around they did have a Western saddle, some of the American girls insisted; the pleasure riders with no desire to accomplish more that a leisurely trot and canter. Horses were saddled for both of them.
They rode side by side, walking then trotting their horses; they ventured out onto the steeplechase course, Alph rode splendidly, he took his horse over the hedge, Constance walked her's around it, his horse leapt the water hazard, again Constance turned her horse away and walked around.
They'd ridden together for over two hours, Alph had other things to do in the afternoon but it was still only around eleven, the sun was turning warmer, the gentle ocean breezes not quite so cooling when he halted his horse; Constance reined in beside him.
“Miss Thornton, I've had a thoroughly pleasant morning but I've some things I need to accomplish later, would you like to join me for lunch in the school cafeteria.”
“I'll join you on one condition, we race back to the stables, loser buys;” the students didn't pay for their meals but faculty and staff were charged a nominal amount.
“You're on, on your mark.” Alph was certain there would be no contest, he'd been riding for over forty years, he was an accomplished horseman and he'd watched as Miss Thornton had avoided the hazards; this would be no contest.
He was, of course correct, it was no contest. Constance Thornton didn't ride English, she didn't ride steeple chase courses, she was an American girl, raised in Texas, her riding experiences were flat out speed races on quarter horses or rodeo barrel racing in the girls events, speed, nothing but speed, with a shout of “GO” she kicked her mare in the ribs and off she went; hips raised, bent over her horses neck, her right hand slapping the mare's flank she exploded away from Alph.
He knew he was beaten, had she sandbagged him? He thought not, she'd simply been better at a straight away speed race than he was. He did take immense consolation though in the fact that was able to admire her seat, encased in Western style Wrangler jeans it was spectacular, absolutely awe inspiring, he thought, now this is exactly how he'd wished his math teachers had looked like instead of the prunes he'd endured.
She was laughing when he finally cantered up to the stable; her horse had already been led inside by one of the stable boys for a rub down and water.
“My treat Miss Thornton, you beat me fair and square,” Alph said.
“Oh yeah, I beat you but I'm not sure it was fair and square, once upon a time I was the number two rated female rider on the Texas rodeo circuit, I can't jump a horse worth a whit but on level ground I can be pretty tough to beat.”
“Well, I see it as fair and square, you issued the challenge, I answered, I was certain of victory; so Miss Thornton, I've not only had a lovely morning I've been given a lesson in humility. Additionally I might add, you do in fact have a lovely seat. Are you driving or would you like to ride with me, I owe you lunch.”
Constance had walked to the stable, a little morning exercise never hurt, she accepted the ride.
They enjoyed a pleasant lunch, out of doors, in the shade of a frangipani tree blending with the soft smells of hibiscus and red ginger they dined on a salad of Caribbean lobster washed down with mango nectar and lime juice.
Alph, he confessed to himself was completely taken with her. He looked at her, her big eyes, seeming to look into his soul, chocolate pools glistening as sun beams penetrated their artificial glade; she was wonderful, she was fantastic, she was desirable and she was one of his staff; he thanked her for a most pleasurable morning and for her company at lunch then he departed.
The ride to the town was nearly twenty miles, Alph went back to his house, showered and changed, more casual clothing, his appointment was not business related, he had a dinner date and a cabana reserved for the weekend, although his mind lingered on Miss Thornton's spectacular seat for several minutes he jerked it back to the present. Clarissa Barrington-Smythe, his assistant Headmistress would be meeting him in the lounge of the Caribbean Isle Resort for cocktails then they'd enjoy dinner, the room was reserved for their dessert. Alph and Rissy, Clarissa's nickname, had been lovers for fifteen or six teen years, both knew that the relationship would go no further but still, once every several months they got away and reveled in each others body.
Rissy was not a beautiful woman in the physical sense, at five nine she weighed one hundred fifty-two pounds, not beautiful but substantial, English, she'd grown up and been educated in a girls' school that had no qualms about the administration of corporal punishment, she complimented Alph perfectly. Her views on the education of young ladies, even his feeling that discipline was a necessary component of the educational process, mirrored his; and they were more than compatible sexually as they were about to demonstrate.
After dinner they'd walked along a dimly lit path, moths flitted in and out of the sparse light, they enjoyed the fragrance of the multitude of tropical flowers that surrounded them. Arriving at their little cottage their weekend tryst began.
“Rissy, you're beautiful,” he began.
“Oh fie Alph, I'm not beautiful, I have a mirror you know; but I am sexy, aren't I?”
Having already unbuttoned her blouse and lowered it off her shoulders, he was working on the hooks of her brassiere when he answered, “Yes Rissy, you're sexy, God I love your breasts.”
He'd just exposed her chest, his compliment was deserved; even at forty-one her breasts were firm, 36D cups, milky white, a spider web of blue veins, she had tan areolas and dusky pink nipples, Alph bent and paid homage, kissing each as he unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. Always primly dressed, Clarissa was wearing a silk slip; this, too followed the skirt.
Always Alph's favored moment, he admired her then knelt, took off her shoes and rolled down her panties. Rissy stood before him, legs slightly spread, a white garter belt supporting her ecru hosiery, he circled her hips with one arm, pulling her to him as his other hand opened her lower lips. Alph tasted her, her familiar scent, her well remembered flavor, he stood allowing Rissy to undress him..
Their approach to love making was almost ritualistic, always the same, he undressed her and worshiped at her womanhood then she undressed him.
Like Alph, Rissy had removed his shirt and lowered his slacks and underwear, she too, knelt before him, removed his shoes and stockings and took the other garments over his feet.
Naked he stood, already half erect in anticipation, from her subservient position she engulfed his penis in her mouth, between her soft hungry lips, she took him deeply into her throat, a little humming action, vibrations, then up and down, tongue twirling around his engorged shaft, tickling and teasing at the little eye then back down.
Clarissa Barrington-Smythe might not be beautiful in a conventional sense but she was a fellatrix of world class.
Alph was running his fingers through her fine chestnut hair, then gripped her head, holding her in place as he pumped her mouth. Explosively he climaxed, he released her head, allowing her to bob on him while his semen fountained into her. Rissy swallowed, keeping pace, catching each precious drop, she continued to suck until he was limp then stood and kissed him. He tasted himself, he didn't mind, she'd soon be doing the same thing. He led her to the bed, turned down the spread and top sheet and hugged her as he took them both down on the surface.
Always they began the same way, she providing gratification to him then he to her followed by intercourse in the missionary position. From there what followed followed, their ritual was complete.
Alph kissed Rissy, deeply and passionately, twirling tongues, his taste on her lips then down her neck to her breasts. She was swollen, her nipples tender, he took one into his mouth and gently sucked whilst his free hand kneaded and massaged the other, tracing circles around her nipple with the tip of his finger, tugging and lightly twisting while his tongue teased the other. He changed, traded lips for hand, he stimulated the other then kissed down.
Rissy had a tight tummy, she was a big woman but she was active, horseback riding, beach volleyball, swimming in both the fresh water pool and in the sea, she was taut. He kissed over her tautness, down to her mound.
Her mons veneris, like her head was chestnut, untrimmed chestnut curls, soft to his touch, and he kissed down, Rissy opened her legs just a little wider. He used his tongue, splitting her labium, laving down her vulva, tasting her more fully, she was as though touched by the tropics, a salty taste of mango nectar overlaid by her particular feminine flavor. Rissy was lubricating heavily adding to Alph's pleasure, he moved up, nibbling at her labia, tugging gently with his lips 'til he reached her treasure. Her clitoris, red, pulsing, its opaline tip almost quivering, he sucked it in, between his lips he lightly flicked it with his tongue then took it in completely. He nursed on her stem while his tongue worked its magic.
Rissy began to tremble, her first climax was always spectacular, tremors wracked her body as wave after wave of ecstasy flowed through her, swelling breasts, hardening nipples, rippling tummy, clutching vagina, she wailed, “Oh God Alph, oh, oh, oh,” as her precious fluid flowed from her. Alph was there, as she did for him, he drank her, her taste exquisite, her body animated, she squirmed under his ministrations.
As Rissy came down from her high he rose between her splayed legs then leaned forward and kissed her, her taste of her mingling with his taste, both shared. He guided the head of his penis to her opening and pressed in.
Hot, wet, still weeping her juices, he slid into her easily, six and one half inches encased in Rissy's body, he began to slowly pump her.
Both had their eyes open, she watching him as he filled her, he watching her, the almost whimsical smile playing across her face as she accepted him.
Alph moved forward and up, stroking more downward so that his cock contacted her clitoris with every stroke. As he slowly made love to her, Alph considered his relationship with Rissy. She'd been his first hire, had been with him the full twenty years. Early on, when she was young, she'd only been twenty-one when she'd come to the Livingston School, they'd had their disagreements, in fact, she was the first to experience the tender mercies of his cane. But only three times in the twenty years had that been necessary, none in the past ten years. The were compatible as co-workers and as lovers.
Picking up his speed and power Alph thrust deeply into her; Rissy voiced her appreciation, “Ungh, ungh, ungh,” little moans from driving thrusts, way up in her, he felt her tremble, he felt her cum, he shot, jet after jet, melding with her fluids, the primordial stew where life is created; but not today, not this time unless Rissy's IUD failed; and that wouldn't happen. He slowed, stroked until he was drained then lay beside her and held her, soft tender words, soft tender touches, post-coital expressions, words of admiration, words of love.
After a weekend filled with fun and frolic, Monday took them back to the school.
Dr. Coddington and Miss Barrington-Smythe had returned to their respective duties.
Onerous as it might be though, truly Alph did not view it as onerous, Tuesday afternoon brought Constance Thornton, she sat across his desk. Miss Thornton, in the vernacular, had finally screwed the pooch. Her attire was far outside dress deemed acceptable at the Livingston School. In one of her classes today, while facing the students, she'd thrown her arm back, gesticulating toward the chalk board. She was wearing a scoop necked top and she was sans bra, a breast had popped out of her blouse creating a scene in the classroom and uproarious laughter from the students.
In another setting Miss Thornton would have been quite glamorous, she was still wearing the same outfit from earlier, a pink scooped neck blouse, an apricot skirt that only came to mid thigh, white hose and white patent pumps; very attractive in a cocktail lounge, utterly outrageous for the mathematics instructor at Livingston.
“Miss Thornton,” Alph began, “I've spoken to you several times about acceptable attire, yet you seem intent on blatantly ignoring the rules.”
In fact, Alph had given her three verbal warnings, the forth had been written; she'd received the original, a copy was now contained in her personnel file.
“Miss Thornton, I'm very impressed with your teaching ability and the way you relate to your students; none the less, you've now created an issue that must be dealt with. The other instructors will know about your accident in the classroom; so, for the good of morale among the staff I'm going to ask you, would you care to resign or will you accept the cane?”
For the first time, Constance felt fear; not of the cane, she could accept the cane but she had put her employment in jeopardy, she wanted this job badly.
“How and how many Dr. Coddington?”
“Ten on the bare,” he replied.
“I accept the cane,” her voice was low, almost a breathless whisper.
He stood, took her hand and led her to the punishment room; she placed her hand bag on the table and waited for instructions as Alph selected his cane, removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeve.
Like with all incoming students and faculty, Alph was privy to a summary of health findings, he just this moment recalled a particular notation in Miss Thornton's records, the school physician had noted scar tissue on her right hip; his hypothesis was that at some previous time she'd been beaten, with either a whip or a belt, the scars resulted from the tip of the instrument being used biting into her flesh.
Although it hardly covers you, you may leave your blouse on if you choose, however, please remove your skirt and panties and we'll proceed.
Constance knew she'd be writhing before she'd taken the ten strokes, probably sweaty and disheveled, she removed her blouse, folded it and lay it on the table next to his jacket, then the apricot mini skirt fell to the floor, she bent, picked it up and folded it, and lay it atop her blouse, finally, slowly she drew her panties down, she stepped out of her pumps then stepped out of her panties, retrieved them and lay them with her other clothing. She stood facing the table, clad only in her white thigh high stockings.
“You may remove your hosiery if you like, Miss Thornton.”
She didn't reply, she simply lay across the table, ready to accept her punishment.
Alph positioned himself behind her and to the left, he whipped the cane several times, cutting the air with a swoosh, then patted her bottom, once, twice, and the cane was drawn back.
With a whippy swoosh and a thunderous Crack, American hickory met American feminine flesh, Constance gave a moan and pulled herself back up further onto the table.
Nine equally vicious blows followed in rapid succession, welts and bruising, red stripes, Miss Thornton's buttocks were crimson, she moaned,
“My bottom, please Dr. Coddington, my bottom, please, my bottom,” her voice was hoarse with arousal.
Alph didn't understand, the punishment was over, he went to help her stand, she brushed his hand away, repeating, “My bottom, please?”
She reached with both hands, a blistered cheek in each palm and opened herself.
“In my hand bag, there's a tube of lubricant, Please, Please, Dr. Coddington.”
What she was requesting was outside the norm, a relationship between faculty members was not unheard of, but the young woman wanted to be sodomized right there on the punishment table. Alph fought a short internal battle, carnal desire won. He reached into her hand bag and came out with a tube of KY Jelly.
Alph lubricated Constance then himself, she was still holding herself open, he pressed against her pink portal and slid up her velvet chute, she took him easily, only a slight moan as he pierced her.
“Pump me hard, please pump me and spank me while you do it.”
He acceded to the lady's wishes, he rode her hard, driving ratcheting thrusts, up deep into her belly while his right hand slapped her scarlet cheek, faster, harder, deeper, he penetrated her.
Both were grunting with every thrust; he from the effort and the pace, she from the pain, her anus and rectum were being ravaged, her bottom being spanked.
Constance grabbed the far side of the table with both hands, her body trembled, her anus spasmed as she climaxed under Alph's assault. Her contractions set him off, hot creamy cum, thick and ropy filled her, deep in her bowels he emptied himself, he slowly stroked out, flaccid, he withdrew from her.
She still lay on the table.
“Would you like to talk about it Constance,” he asked.
With dazed eyes she looked up at him, “I guess I should, shouldn't I; will you drive me home, fix me a drink then we can talk.”
Three gin and tonics into the conversation and the truth was out. Miss Thornton, Constance Anne Thornton's nickname was Cat, like Alph's a play on her three names, an acronym. She'd been raised in a loveless home, her mother terrified of her father and Cat ignored by both. Her father, Edgar Thornton was an eminently successful investment banker in Houston, Texas, quite rich by any standard but he was a heartless, soulless man.
At age twelve, to get his attention, Cat had started to act out; she succeeded in getting Edgar's attention, not the loving attention she craved but at least he acknowledged her.
Bent across the arm of the overstuffed chair in his den, she got his attention, twenty strokes with a belt, not the one that held up his pants, it was a narrow piece of leather that hung in his closet, there with only one purpose, the infliction of pain on female posteriors. It must have given him a rush, an arousal to whip, on the second occasion that he bent her over the chair, after he'd stopped hitting her he held her in place with one hand. She felt him spread her cheeks with the other hand then she felt a cold slickness as he rubbed something on her rosebud then she felt agony. He'd pierced her, twelve years old and being sodomized by her father. It continued until she left for college.
Alph asked why her mother hadn't intervened.
“Dr. Coddington she wasn't immune, the belt and the cock weren't only for me, she got the same treatment, we were both terrorized by him.”
Alph suggested she should contact the authorities, have him arrested, brought before the court to answer for his actions.
“Dr. Coddington, that's moot now, he died two years ago, brain aneurysm, coma then death. I was already out but I was thankful that my mother was now free of him.”
“Dr. Coddington,” she began.
“Please call me Alph when we're in a social setting.”
“Only if you'll call me Cat,” she smiled.
'Would you please take me to bed Alph, I want to be made love to.”
She led him to her bedroom. They undressed independently and met on the bedspread.
Cat wanted to cuddle, to feel loved if just for a night, to feel someone truly cared for, Cat Thornton; Alph held her.
She buried her face in his chest and gently sobbed, little mewling sounds; he stroked her pretty sun streaked hair, caressed her cheek, and stroked her back and sides, beautiful unblemished skin, soft as a baby, marred only by the hideous reminders of her father's cruelty, the scars on her right hip. He let her cry as he talked to her, soft words, loving words, “My poor, poor beautiful baby, get it out, cry it out. He's gone, you're safe now, go ahead and cry.”
Her deep brown doe's eyes were still teary when she rose in his arms.
“Thank you Alph,” she whispered as she rolled onto her back carrying him with her.
She opened and raised her shapely legs, waiting.
Cat didn't need foreplay, the cuddling was enough, she was liquid in arousal. In anticipation. Making love with a man who was strong enough to mete out discipline if she required it yet tender and gentle enough to soothe her troubled soul. She didn't doubt for a second, she'd be back across his table, she'd see to that, and she didn't doubt for a second that she'd be in his bed again, she'd see to that, too. In spite of the cause, Cat had acquired a visceral craving to be taken anally, Alph seemed to harbor the same inclinations, she wanted him back like that and frequently.
He entered her, long, languid leisurely strokes, deep into her then out, a slow methodical rhythm, mutually they climaxed, not violently, a gentle flood from both.
She went to sleep in his arms and she in hers.
Alph showered and shaved with Cat's razor, he dressed in the same clothing as the day before. No one would notice, he wore only Savile Row pinstripes. He kept fresh socks and underwear at his office, he'd change those. Well, no body would notice except, of course Miss Barrington-Smythe and he'd tell her. It wouldn't alter their relationship, they'd long before reconciled themselves to what they had; in the crude vernacular of America they were fuck buddies, she met his needs, he met hers; although in truth they were much more, they were colleagues and they were friends.
Miss Barrington-Smythe rushed into his office, his love life was not the reason for her urgency, one of the house mothers had come to her. There was a rumor circulating that Jill Dawson was luring the little girls, the six and seven year olds to her room. If that were true it would not bode well for the Livingston School. Jill Dawson was their only Canadian student, she was eighteen, she'd been with them since she was eleven and had been a continuing problem from almost day one.
Sexual experimentation was a fact of life at a girls school, there was no denying it and, really, there was no way of governing it. If the participants were age appropriate, teens with teens, the administration while not condoning it, turned a blind eye. But if an eighteen year old was exploiting the youngsters that was entirely another matter.
Miss Barrington-Smythe wanted permission to install a hidden camera in Jill's room. Alph granted permission, one of the maintenance men installed the camera, the lens centered on the bed while Jill was in her classes.
After five days of observation, Jill had provided some entertaining moments, it seemed she had a little vibrator, she masturbated before she showered or even urinated each morning when she awoke, when she got in from her classes and a final time before she turned out her light. There had been one liaison with seventeen year old, hungry mouths on lips, breasts and vaginas but, again, the blind eye, nothing blatantly inappropriate.
Alph was ready to have the camera removed when Miss Barrington-Smythe came to his office. She closed and locked the door, Alph looked at her, he thought she was physically sick.
“Oh Alph, it's bad, it couldn't be much worse, you must see this, oh God, I think I'm going to be sick.”
The Monarch of an oil rich Middle Eastern emirate was Abdul al Fukq, his oldest son and named successor, Ali al Fukq was the oil minister, Ali was one of the most generous supporters of Livingston, although it was not a Muslim school, it was non-sectarian, he'd sent four of his daughters to Livingston, his sons were educated in England.
Clarissa couldn't watch it again, she sat across the room, awaiting Alph's reaction.
There was no sound on the recording, the door opened and a girl entered, a young woman really, Jill Dawson and she was holding the hand of a little girl. The little girl seemed reluctant to enter the room but Jill pulled her along. Both were dressed in their school uniforms, white blouses, plaid pleated skirts, knee socks and oxfords.
The both were now facing the camera, Miss Barrington-Smythe was right, it could not have been worse. Any of the young ones, Mandy, Mindy, any of them it would be an atrocity but facing the screen, with her black hair, black eyes and dark complexion was six year old Adara al Fukq, granddaughter of Abdul al Fukq, youngest daughter of Ali al Fukq, Adara means virgin, Alph only prayed that she was still Adara when the recording ended; failure to produce a bloody sheet the morning after the wedding night could and would have severe consequences for a young Middle Eastern princess.
A blow to the stomach from Mike Tyson would not have shook him more. He wanted to turn it off but he had to watch.
Adara was trying to pull free of Jill's grasp but to no avail, Jill drug her to the bedside then sat on the bed and pulled the little girl over her lap. She flipped her little skirt up and spanked her, five fast hand spanks, first there was shock on Adara's face face then came the tears. While she cried, Jill pulled her panties down and off then spanked her again. She left the poor girl sobbing on the bed and went into her bathroom. When she returned Jill was naked, both of her hands were full. He could make out the box of tissues she carried in her right hand but her left was obscured. She set both objects on the night stand, he could then see what she'd brought and his stomach sank even lower, the other object was a small jar of Vaseline, she'd already removed the top.
He watched as Jill untied then removed Adara's oxfords then her socks. She unclasped her skirt and pulled it off then climbed on the bed and took the little girl onto her lap before unbuttoning her blouse and taking it from her shoulders.
She lifted a breast to Adara's mouth, encouraging her to suck, reluctantly she took the nipple, Jill let her suck, a little girl, not so far removed from her own mother's breast, Jill was smart and Jill was smooth, the soothing sound of her heartbeat, the satisfaction of a woman's nipple, Adara not only settled down, she held Jill's breast with two hands, contentedly nursing.
He watched, Jill dipped a finger into the Vaseline then massaged Adara's bottom before parting her cheeks and rubbing the grease on her. He watched as a finger slid into the young tender bottom. Adara stiffened on Jill's lap but again Jill soothed her, he could see her lips moving soundlessly.
Her finger was pumping the little girl then she rested her thumb against what would develop as Adara's clitoris, now just a small nub, she stroked her with her thumb while her finger continued to work.
To his utter amazement he watched as Adara's little body trembled then she smiled up at Jill, Jill smiled back. He didn’t think it possible for a six year old yet he'd just seen her have an orgasm. Jill was, no doubt telling her that, see didn't tell you I could now you need to make Jill feel good. She'd lifted Adara off her lap and positioned her so that her little face was at Jill's trimmed bush.
He couldn't watch any longer, he knew what would occur next, he didn't have the stomach to see it; he hit the remote, turning it off and looked across the room.
Alph was dazed, if this got back to the al Fukq family, the reputation of the school, built painstakingly over twenty years would be ruined.
“Alph, Dr. Coddington, what are we to do?” Miss Barrington-Smythe asked.
“Expulsion, immediate expulsion, I'll phone her parents, without names tell them what she's done and tell them to come get her immediately.”
“If I may Sir, I don't feel that's adequate punishment for what she's done. The potential psychological damage to Adara and, if the rumors are true which I suspect they are, there are other girls she's victimized.”
“Has anyone spoken to Adara?” He asked.
“Yes, her housemother, Adara denies anything happened, said she likes Jill, Jill makes her feel nice.”
“So what do you propose Clarissa?”
“Oh I totally agree with the expulsion, I see no alternative to that however I feel she merits the cane before she goes, bring her in this afternoon, call her parents afterward, arrange to have her picked up on Sunday, that will give her Thursday, Friday and Saturday to recover.”
“You really think it will be necessary that we wait until Sunday.”
Miss Clarissa Barrington-Smythe could be like a mother bear with cubs when it came to their youngest charges and she was in full Mamma Bear mode, “Dr. Coddington, I can assure you that Miss Jill Dawson will need three days; I wish to administer her caning myself.”
Alph wasn't going to stand in her way. Miss Barrington-Smythe only infrequently administered corporal punishment but when she did the young lady under the cane would pray that if she was ever on the table again it would be Dr. Coddington behind her.
She did not administer a caning in the traditional manner, she swung the cane backhanded and she had a backhand that would be the envy of Martina Navratilova, she also delivered her strokes from both sides, half off the young lady's right hip and half off her left, Miss Barrington-Smythe felt that spread the pain more evenly.
“Go ahead and make the arrangements Clarissa,” Alph told her.
Jill's housemother was aware of what Jill had done so Clarissa's call came as no surprise. Clarissa asked her to be at the office at four-thirty, she was to bring another of the housemothers, Jill's robe and slippers and an empty bag for Jill's clothes; she added that she was rather certain Jill would not feel like getting dressed after her session, in fact, the reason that she'd requested two housemothers was that she wasn't sure Jill would be able to walk without support. She told them to wait outside the punishment room, she'd let them in when they were needed.
Then Clarissa went to the punishment room to select the instrument she would use. She swished the birch rod, testing its flexibility, swung the hickory stick like she was a ninja swordsman, wished she could use the tawse and finally settled on the bamboo cane.
The cane, also called a clum is divided by nodes, the periodic dark bands on the clum, these are slightly raised, she felt they would leave wicked marks. No, for strength and flexibility the bamboo cane is the world wide choice, still employed in the courts of Singapore, they are a viscous deterrent to malefactors around the globe. This evening on a tropical Caribbean isle, an eighteen year old sexual predator would feel its bite. Her choice made she returned to her office to await Jill Dawson's arrival.
Miss Barrington-Smythe knew that Jill's final class ended at four-fifteen, she expected her at around four-thirty and she was at least prompt, at four-thirty one she walked in. All Jill had been told was to report to the office after class, she had no idea what it was about, probably a missed homework assignment or some such thing earning her a lecture and five on her panties.
Clarissa was in the reception area waiting when Jill came in.
“Come into my office please, close the door and have a seat,” she told the young lady.
Miss Barrington-Smythe took her desk chair, Jill was across from her.
Formally she began, “Miss Dawson, I've asked you here this afternoon to discuss a very grave matter. You are eighteen years of age, beyond the age of majority here on our little tropical isle. Society here is not so enlightened as Europe, America or even your Canada, they're nearly puritanical in their view of homosexuality, I personally and the School as a whole take a far more worldly view. Your little trysts with Amy Wadsworth as an example don't even raise eyebrows; Amy was the seventeen year old they'd recorded with Jill; but back to the laws and the mores of this island. Miss Dawson, again you are over the age of majority, should you do something here, under the jurisdiction of the island's courts you would face trial as an adult, do you understand the potential implications?”
And Jill was getting scared, her tummy flopped, “Yes Miss Barrington-Smythe, I understand.”
“Good Jill, very good. Dr. Coddington has delegated to me the handling of a most sensitive situation, I've asked you here this afternoon to assist me in making my decision, are we clear on that, you will help me decide how to handle this most distressing situation.”
With a deep breath, she felt like the air had left the room, almost a gasp, Jill replied, “Yes, I understand.”
“Miss Dawson, we know about you and Adara, we have a video recording from the moment you led her into your room until you dressed her and yourself and led her out, further, we have everything that occurred between, from the moment you spanked her to gain control until you forced her to perform orally on you, shall I go on?”
“You had cameras in my room?”
“For the good of the school and to catch a sexual predator, yes, we had cameras in your room, would you care to deny what we have on disk?”
Jill hung her head, she was just months from graduating, that was her first thought, “Are you going to expel me,” she whined.
“Miss Dawson, expulsion is a foregone conclusion, had that been the only issue Dr. Coddington would have already notified your parents. I asked him not to do so. They don't need to know why you were expelled, I will say it was a conduct issue, you may or may not tell them the reason, I'll leave that up to you. Quite frankly Miss Dawson when you are out of here I'll do everything within my power to never recall your name again, I believe you're despicable, a sexual predator of the worst ilk, preying on little girls, girls that will probably always bear a stigma, if only in their own minds; no, Miss Dawson, what you do once your off our island is of no never mind to me. But you're not off the island yet and that's what I need your help to decide.”
Jill Dawson, tough Jill Dawson had leaking eyes when she looked at then looked away from Miss Barrington-Smythe's withering gaze.
“You have options Miss Dawson, two and only two. I contact the local authorities, submit the video we have of you and Adara as evidence, allow an investigation that will, no doubt unearth other victims and allow you to be tried as an adult sexual predator. I believe a ten year sentence would be the minimum you would face but, with other victims and the unfortunate fact that your crime was homosexual in nature, the misogynists here could well double that. Twenty years on a beautiful tropical isle, viewed through barred windows. Consider that, Miss Dawson.”
Truthfully there was no chance that the school administration would contact the authorities, this was an episode that would never see the light of day; the damage to the school would be colossal should it ever be discovered, but Jill didn't know that.
“Or,” Jill asked.
“Twenty on the bare with the cane and, Miss Dawson, I really wish it could be fifty, but we have our rules, twenty is our maximum.”
“No, not Dr. Coddington, as I mentioned at the outset, you are my charge and my responsibility, I will administer your punishment.”
Jill was truly terrified now, the courts were not an option, she knew that if she was going to breathe free air for a long time the courts were not an option, she had to accept the cane.
“You're going to hurt me aren't you Miss Barrington-Smythe?”
“Jill I certainly hope so, what is your choice?”
Hardly audible, her voice already choked she tearfully replied, “The cane Miss Barrington-Smythe, the cane.”
“I thought you'd be sensible Miss Dawson, come with me, please.”
Jill slowly rose from the chair and shambled along behind.
“Over at the table, please disrobe completely, yes, even your shoes and socks, I want everything off, please fold and stack your clothing and set your shoes beside the other items.”
She complied all of her clothing, folded and stacked.
Behind her, unseen by Jill, Clarissa shed her clothing, when she administered punishment she wanted freedom of movement, she'd shed her blouse and skirt. No slip today, she wore only her brassiere, garter belt, panties and hosiery, her feet were shod in two inch heeled black shoes, matching the coloring of her lingerie and stockings.
Clarissa walked to the opposite side of the table, “Lie across the surface and put your arms out in front of you.”
Jill stretched, her arms thrust out in front like a diver preparing to cleave the water. Below the surface of the table two O-bolts were screwed in, Velcro restraints were affixed to both, Miss Barrington-Smythe secured Jill's wrists with the restraints then walked back around and positioned herself off Jill's left hip. Miss Barrington-Smythe was ambidextrous, she held the cane in her left hand, prepared to deliver a vicious backhand, she struck.
Low, in the crease between buttocks and thigh, hard wicked the cane flew, three in repetition, the same spot. Then the back of her thighs, three more, cutting, the whippy cane bending around her bared thighs, two more across her sit spots, then high on her back side, two violent blows.
Jill had gone from pleading and begging to sobbing, held down by the restraints she could only kick, she'd flailed with her legs then couldn't any longer. She lay on the table, her legs were wide open, any decorum, any chance at modesty gone. She was half way through and she was already beyond pain.
From the side of her tear filled eye she saw Miss Barrington-Smythe's hand on the table beside her head, then she felt her adrenalin fueled hot breath in her ear;
“You like a hot tongue in your sorry twat, feel mine.”
Alph wasn't in the room, this was Clarissa's, all Clarissa's; he would never have permitted what she did, twenty strokes, pantied or bare, that was the rule, that was the maximum; Clarissa added number twenty-one, the break, ten then one to be followed by ten more and the one struck,
“You like something hot on your twat Miss Dawson?” Clarissa whispered as she bent to Jill's ear.
Between her legs, along the slit that was her vulva Jill Dawson was struck, hard upswinging, hateful and violent, the tender tissue that comprised her womanhood was split and blood flowed, she dripped her precious fluid on the floor between her legs. Clarissa switched sides, switched hands and thrashed her, wicked backhand blows, one followed by a second, third, ten. She lay the cane on the table, dressed and walked out of the room, the housemothers took over.
Clarissa gave them one admonition, “I want her left face down on her bed, no one is to provide her even a scintilla of relief, if she wants something she can use her Vaseline, I know she has that. If someone chooses to take pity on her, to help her in any way then may assume they will be unemployed or they will be over the table and, keep in mind, the video equipment is still running in her room.”
She walked to Alph's office and opened the door, “Take me home please,” she asked.
That was why he was still here, still waiting, he knew Clarissa Barrington-Smythe better than he knew anyone else in the world, her adrenalin had flowed through her, energizing and invigorating her, he knew her well, he knew her panties were sopping, and he knew what she wanted, what she needed. He drove her home.