From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Rosewood)
Date: Sun, 21 Jul 1996 01:16:53 UTC
Subject: EMMA AT SCHOOL Episode 8 - For all the world to see
Well chastened, the two girls shuffled out of the housemaster's part of the building and into the main study corridor. There were plenty of other girls about, preparing themselves for lessons, and each either stood and stared at the two (Deborah's pussy and striped behind on full display, of course) or ran over to question them.
Emma, as always happened on these occasions, was obliged to lower her panties and lift her skirt to show her house-mates the record of her beating. But she was, at least, allowed to do so in the privacy of her study. Deborah, on the other hand, had no choice but to display her blazing marks to everyone within eyesight.
The long walk across the school precinct from their house to the classrooms was terrible. Word spread about Deborah's humiliating attire more quickly than the girls could walk and the quadrangle was certainly more crowded than was usual at that time of day.
Everyone knew that her appearance was part of a punishment as it was not uncommon for girls to receive instructions to dress in a particular way following certain types of rule-infringements. One of Deborah's friends had recently had to spend an entire day dressed only in bra and panties for repeatedly flouting the school's regulations about underwear (including, on one infamous occasion, omitting it altogether. Another girl, a few months before, had had to sit through all her morning lessons bare-breasted as a punishment for showing too much cleavage for her housemistress' taste. In both cases, as the rules required, the girls had previously had to accept a spanking or beating of some sort - each had had a bare bottom caning. No one, however, could remember a case in recent years (although their were plenty of stories around) of any girl having to display her naked pussy and bottom for all the world to see.
Worst of all for Deborah were the badly hidden (or in some cases quite open) giggles, pleased smiles and knowing looks of those girls who, for one reason or another, did not like Deborah and were pleased to see her getting what they thought of as her comeuppance.
The most brazen of them would even come up to her, feigning sympathy, and ask about her offence and punishment, refusing to be put off by Deborah's monosyllabic replies:
"Really.. how many? ... Six? ... On the bare, I suppose... yes, of course... it must have been excruciatingly painful... I'm sure it was... and you still have? ... Another six... a house public! Oh you poor thing... and this too... how embarrassing for you... and all those lecherous boys around too... Well, we all feel for you, darling... keep smiling..."
Deborah only just held herself back from doing something excruciatingly painful to her tormentors but, in the circumstances, thought better of it. She just kept her head down, trying to avoid meeting the eyes of those following her awkward progress through the school grounds, until she got to class.
Fortunately the first lesson, maths, comprised a test and she was able to keep her mind off her predicament to some extent once she'd run the gauntlet of stares on entering the classroom. However, having found the test fairly easy, she was left with ten minutes at the end of the period to sit (or "to fidget around restlessly" might be more accurate) on her seat and contemplate the horror that was undoubtedly to come.
As soon as she walked into the gym, she could tell that Mr Denby was planning to make the most of her predicament. He loudly reminded her in front of everyone, as if she would need reminding, that she was to strip completely for the lesson and then sent her to fetch the boys once the girls were changed.
As it was primarily a girls' school, there were no special facilities for the sexes to change separately, so the boys used Mr Denby's office, waiting there to be called once the girls had finished. Mr Denby, however, stayed with the girls and pretended not to ogle them as they dressed.
Deborah knocked on the door but no answer came, forcing her to open it and, trying to conceal her nakedness behind the door, call the boys out. They left the room sniggering madly and it was not hard to deduce about what. The whole class then gathered in the centre of the large gym.
"Right. Gymnastics today isn't it?" Mr Deny announced. "Let's pair you up... er, you two... and you and Sally go together... and Deborah with Martin..."
"No!" Deborah shouted, Mr Denby whirling on her.
More timidly, Deborah asked if she could change partners. Mr Denby's response was characteristic.
"You can do as you're told or feel my paddle across your dainty little cheeks," he snarled. Mr Denby, however much he was disliked, was certainly a genuine sportsman and a spanking from his paddle was worth any number of most other teachers'. Martin was one of Deborah's least favourite classmates. He was far from unattractive, but he had a reputation as a lech and a user, and had hurt many of Deborah's friends. She knew that Mr Denby had paired them on purpose, but decided that a paddling was an even less attractive option. Fuming and embarrassed, she walked over to where Martin was sitting with a very broad grin and glared at him. "Right. Let's begin. We were doing sequences, weren't we?"
The class mumbled an affirmation.
"Hmmm. All asleep, I see. Very well, an exercise to warm us up. Let's see.... Standing start. Backward roll to crouch, arms pointing straight ahead. Forward roll into straddle, then push up into a headstand with splits. Bring the legs slowly together and then forward roll out... and nice clean finish. Er..." his eyes surveyed the room: "Sally, demonstrate for us please."
Everyone looked at Sally, in whose eyes water began to collect. It wasn't that she was not a capable gymnast. On the contrary, she was one of the best in the class. It was just that she had forgotten to put her gym shorts into the wash that week and was therefore wearing a skirt. The movements described by the teacher, although not difficult, would nonetheless mean her skirt tumbling round her shoulders as she executed the required headstand. Her panties would be on display to everyone, and doing the splits in that upside down position would be even more revealing. Mr Denby anticipated both the girl's discomfort and her coming protest.
"Come on, girl," he said. "It wasn't me who forgot to bring their shorts. Demonstrate please."
It was obvious to everyone that Mr Denby had chosen Sally to demonstrate specifically because of her dress. It was therefore equally clear that, having turned down her appeal, if Sally didn't do as she was told a paddling would await. And that, of course, would also involve her knickers being put on display. On balance, she decided to perform the sequence. Forgetting the reason for her embarrassment as best as she could, Sally followed the routine with panache, not stinting on the splits either! She was a believer in doing everything to the best of her abilities even if, as on this occasion, this meant showing her classmates the odd pubic hair. Most of the girls in the class felt sympathy for Sally, but they were all thinking of Deborah. She would be exposing herself far more explicitly than Sally, and there was zero chance of Mr Denby altering the sequence for her.
Having commented, generally favourably, on Sally's performance, Mr Denby set all the pupils off to try the routine in their pairs. Martin volunteered to go first and Deborah readily agreed. As he carried out the series of moves, Deborah surprised herself with how much attention she was paying him. He was good looking (in a rugby-club kind of way) with large muscles and very little fat. His dark hair stood up from his head like the bristles of a brush and Deborah wondered at how a great-looking boy like this could end up becoming such a shit.
Deborah stood by idly as Martin rolled up and down the mat with expert precision. She had no reason even to step in and help him with his balance. It was a perfectly executed routine - and being a voluble creature she told him so, much to his delight.
Deborah spent the next couple of minutes, which Martin spent preening and congratulating himself, willing the ground to open and swallow her up. But it didn't and soon it was her turn. The initial rolls caused no problem, but once in a straddle position she found the idea (rather than the act) of raising herself to a headstand with her legs still wide apart impossible to so much as contemplate.
"Come on, Deborah," Martin said, not unkindly. "If you don't have a go he'll only paddle you. And it will be on the bare too, won't it?" Classroom paddlings by teachers were supposedly never administered on the bare bottom, but in her current position Deborah would obviously lose that protection. She placed her hands flat on the mat and then started to push up, her legs straight and splayed out, trying not to consider Martin's view.
Martin, on the other hand, was watching intently as Deborah's pussy lips slowly drew apart while she was opening her legs and then while the girl swung up into a vertical position.
She was pleased to have almost completed the move, but then, suddenly, she felt faint and Martin sensed that she was ready to drop. He knew that this could cause damage and he needed to soften her fall so he reached out instinctively as she toppled, one hand grabbing an arm and the other, without intent, going between her legs and taking most of her weight as she fell.
"You filthy fucking pervert," she exploded. "Get your shitty hands off me!"
Martin didn't respond, but just looked hurt until Mr Denby spoke.
"I don't believe I've ever heard such language directed from one pupil to another in class."
Then he spoke directly to Martin:
"Now I am not, or course, making a suggestion," he began. "But if you were to take her and her foul mouth into my office and put her over your knee who could blame you."
"No!" Deborah shouted again. "You can't!"
"No," he agreed. "Perhaps not. Maybe you should just get up over the vaulting horse while I fetch the paddle?"
Martin could tell that this was not an alternative that Deborah fancied and took the opportunity to grasp her hand firmly and lead her, unresisting, towards Mr Denby's office. When they got there, he sat down on a stool and told her to stand in front of her.
Deborah felt that she was attractive. People often told her so. Yet being looked at so pointedly unnerved her. Martin let his eyes take their time in moving over her naked body. He imagined touching her as he appraised her. How he'd run his fingers through her thick blonde hair. How he'd gently caress her neck, enjoying the feel of her smooth, deeply tanned skin. The girl's breasts were nicely proportioned and held their shape well without a bra, her nipples standing out sharply. He imagined the soft, coolness as each breast yielded to his warm hands before moving down... down over her tight stomach and towards the fine haze of hair which marked Deborah out as a "true" blonde.
Deborah's pubic hair, being not only fair but also fine, left the region between her thighs rather unprotected. She had her legs together now, of course, but he remembered her sweet pussy well from her "headstand with splits". He recalled the moist inner lips nestling in an open pink hideaway, the passage to her feminine secrets appearing as a tiny slit. "Turn around," Martin told her.
She didn't think of answering back but just did as she was told. After all, just about everyone had seen her unclothed today, so what was the point in arguing over trifles.
Deborah was slim, with the beginnings of a nicely curved adult body. Her legs were long and tapered neatly to her rather beautiful ankles. Her bottom drew attention to itself even when unmarked as Deborah's hips were seductively wide.
Martin had, like everyone else, seen the purpling welts left by Mr Lindon's cane but only now had he had time to inspect them in close up. They were, he decided, gorgeous and set off the background of young, rounded buttocks very well. Girls should be caned more often he thought absent-mindedly. And that reminded him of something.
For Deborah, things were going from bad to worse. She had been already been thinking of the same incident which had now sprung into Martin's mind: back only a month or two ago, when Deborah had reported Martin for selling cigarettes to twelve and thirteen year olds. He'd been caned himself for that and had been looking for revenge ever since. However, having told her to face him once more, his next words surprised her.
"I want you to know something," he began. "I know you don't approve of me, that there are lots of things about me which you despise, but this is the truth. Whatever I've done, I've never sexually abused anyone... Yes, OK," he said in response to the challenge he could see forming on Deborah's lips, "I know you and your feminist friends consider patting a girl on the bum abuse.... What I'm saying is that I would never have touched you between the legs on purpose; I really was trying to help."
His tone of voice, and the mere fact that Martin was bothering to tell her this and didn't just start smacking her straight away suggested to her that he was telling the truth and she began to feel guilty about what she had said.
"It's true," he said, hoping for a response. This time he got one.
"I know it's true," she told him. "I'm sorry for what I called you."
"Thanks," Martin breathed a sigh of relief. "So now what?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know." He had a glint in his eye. "Do you deserve to be put over my knee?"
Deborah's bottom was still stinging like mad from the morning's ordeal, but then she guessed that a hand- spanking would make little difference to the overall pain level. She knew too that her outburst would have dented Martin's reputation still further and felt her guilt increasing.
"How many?" she asked quietly, seeing Martin's handsome face light up in a smile.
"Something conservative..." he suggested. "Say fifteen?"
Deborah thought for a moment and then said with a tiny smile of resignation:
"Oh, God. Go on then."
Martin pulled her closer to him and happily turned her over his knee. Her bottom's cane marks looked even angrier up so close and under the fluorescent light, and he wondered whether he shouldn't let her off. Yet she had agreed to her spanking and was therefore prepared to accept it. Once Deborah's bare bottom was neatly presented, her scarred cheeks ready to receive yet more chastisement, Martin placed one large hand on her tender skin and said to her:
"You know, you don't have to go through with this...."
"It's OK, Martin," she said firmly. "I've said I'll take it, so I will." At those encouraging words, Martin lifted his hand up high and began to spank her soundly. The noise drifted into the gym, each smack echoed by a cry of pain from Deborah.
SMACK! WHACK! SLAP! The blows rained down and Deborah was surprised at how much a simple hand- spanking could do when delivered on top of a recent caning. She heard her voice begging for mercy as Martin spanked her, but she knew he wouldn't stop - not until he was finished. It seemed to be going on for ever, yet Deborah knew Martin was only just past half-way through.
SMACK! "Ouch!" SPLAT! "Nooh!" WHACK "Yeeeowll!"
Never rule out simple bare-bottomed hand-spanking as a form of punishment, she thought. This was hell....
Finally, Martin spanked her quivering and sore bottom two last times and the ordeal was over. He told her to stand up.
"Now," Martin said, his words unplanned this time. "You say you feel guilty about what you said. Could you prove it?"
"What do you mean? I thought I'd already done that," she complained, rubbing her sore behind.
"Let me kiss you."
"Yeah, you know, my lips against yours, that sort of thing." Deborah looked more closely at him. There was no doubt that he was an attractive boy and in her current vulnerable state she felt kind of drawn to him, like a spider's prey. One kiss would be OK, wouldn't it?
"OK," she said quietly.
Martin took her face in one hand and pulled it down to his level, kissing her tenderly on the lips. Then he kissed her again, harder and more passionately now, and was delighted to feel Deborah's tongue responding to his own. This second kiss went on for a long time and Deborah found herself engrossed. So much so, that when he stood up and bent down to kiss her neck and a number of other sensual spots she didn't protest, but just murmured with pleasure. His lips traced a delicate path over each breast, pausing to envelop and suck gently on her nipples. He knelt down before her and kissed her thighs, his face only inches from her sex; then he spun her round and used his hands to gently convey his next request.
As pressure was applied tenderly, Deborah responded by first spreading her feet further and further apart. Then, when he was satisfied, he tapped her shoulders and she bent forwards, as if she was to be beaten again. He didn't strike her though. Instead, he did what she had been both dreading and hoping for: he knelt behind her, firmly grasped her thighs and found her pussy with his mouth.
Deborah managed to forget, for that moment at least, how much she supposedly hated this boy, and instead wallowed in the wonderful sensations as her vulva was sucked on, her clitoris lightly bitten and her climax gently coaxed.
Even then, when Martin's mouth left her, it was only a temporary desertion. Straight away, he was back, his mouth this time ranging over her still bare bottom and kissing and soothing the pain. His tongue followed each of the ridges in turn, cooling momentarily the still throbbing pain there. Then he did something that Deborah had always hoped to experience but didn't think she would ever be able to ask for. He licked along the groove between her cheeks and then stopped when he reached her anus. His tongue flicked out and prodded and sucked at this tiny hole and, at the same time, his fingers found her pussy again, bringing her to yet another orgasm. As Deborah became more and more aroused, the boy behind her sped his tongue in small circles around and around the tiny pink hole, and gradually coaxed her on towards a third peak.
All in all it was delicious and when, after taking a minute or two to let their flushed faces return to their normal colours, they returned to the gym, Deborah was able to almost forget about her enforced immodesty. Her black and white image of Martin was no longer sufficient. Sure, he'd taken advantage her situation to enjoy her body (although only the spanking was forced - she had needed little persuasion to allow him access to the rest of her). But he could have spanked a good deal harder. He could have done so without first discussing the punishment or its justification. He could have slipped a hand between her thighs when she was still over his knee and when she had little way of protecting himself. He could also, of course, have fucked her. Having roused her so much already with his oral stimulation of her secrets, Deborah knew she would have let him - if only to regret it afterwards. But, in fact, he concentrated on giving her pleasure; something in which he had been extremely successful. She still thought of him as a sexist, lecherous, rugby-playing (and annoyingly attractive) shit. But that opinion was no longer one she could just hold unquestioningly. Her mind, as well as her warm, wet pussy, told her there were contradictions in her judgement that she hadn't noticed before. She wondered if, perhaps, it was anything to do with this post-feminism stuff her older sister kept on going on about. The lesson seemed to come to an end quickly. Despite Mr Denby continuing to instruct the class in tasks which he knew would force Deborah into revealing postures, she remained infuriatingly serene and even refused to give him any plausible reason for putting her over the vaulting horse for a paddling.
French was next with Mme Jospin, a middle-aged native of "la belle France" with a no-nonsense approach to teaching.
"Bonjour la classe," she intoned.
"Bonjour Madame Jospin," the children chanted back, feeling as they always did as if they were back in primary school.
"Bien. Asseyez-vous. Aujord-hui, nous ecouterions de..." She looked down at her notes and continued: "... de Deborah, n'est pas?"
"Me?" Deborah gasped, her mouth remaining wide-open.
"En Francais, s'il vous plait!"
"Si, toi. Viens!"
Deborah stumbled out towards the front of the class, a chorus of sniggering accompanying her to the front.
"Bon. Et ton sujet, c'est... quoi?"
"Er... c'est... c'est.... Mon sujet est...."
She'd forgotten. She didn't even remember once in the classroom! As part of their course, each pupil had to give a prepared talk, in French, on a topic of their choice. Deborah, one of those children who always leaves things to the last minute, had planned to scribble down her notes before afternoon lessons. However, Mr Lindon had been seeing to her bare bottom with the cane at that time, and French had been the last thing on her mind. She tried to think of a way to begin. She'd chosen French Impressionists and it was a subject she knew a lot about... but without preparing the words...
"I... I'm sorry, Mmme...."
"En Francais! Francais!" the teacher barked.
"Oui, Madame. Um... je suis desole, mais... mais j'ai oublie mon devoir." Deborah kept her eyes downcast, but realised how angry her teacher was when she reverted to English.
"You've forgotten your homework? Just like that?"
"You realise that you are supposed to be taking your GCSE French exam in just over twelve months time?"
"And that your presentation will be a vital part of that exam?"
"And that this will be your last opportunity to practise this aspect of the course?"
"I see. So, what do you propose. Am I supposed to organise an additional session for you so that you can practise, once you've decided you're ready to offer us all the benefit of your work?"
"Really? So, instead I shall have to explain to your housemaster and your parents why you have done so badly in this part of the exam? Why I have taught you so badly? Hmm?"
"You have wasted too much of this lesson already. I will arrange something with you afterwards. For now, bend over my desk. I'll deal with your forgetfulness once I have everyone working."
Deborah had seen many of her friends beaten by Mme Jospin. She was a firm believer in corporal punishment, although she considered the school unnecessarily cautious in not allowing children to be paddled on their bare bottoms in class. Deborah's semi-nakedness would, for once, allow her to deliver what she considered a proper punishment.
Deborah knew that twelve strokes with the paddle on the bare bottom was the maximum sentence for missing an assignment. She knew equally that Mme Jospin would not consider administering less that the maximum. As she bent down over the side of the teacher's desk, she wondered whether the paddle would seem harder today than usual, reinforcing her earlier caning, or whether, due to the constant pain she was experiencing from that prior punishment anyway, the paddling would appear to sting a little less. She didn't have to wait long. Soon all Deborah's classmates were writing out a French translation and Mme Jospin was rummaging in her drawer for the paddle. Deborah hated French translation; yet she wished she were doing it now!
It took Mme Jospin very little time to locate the paddle. It was rarely far from the top of the pile of odds and ends in the desk drawer and she turned it over once or twice in her hands so that Deborah could remind herself of its look... and feel. Very few of Deborah's friends had never tasted the hard leather paddle and only its application on her naked skin would be new to her. It was almost in recompense for the fact that classroom teachers had (with rare exceptions) to spank through underwear that they were allowed to choose their own paddles, within a framework of dimensions and weight set down by the governors. Most chose wood. Mme Jospin swore by tough leather. WHACK! "Ouuchh!
Deborah had hardly noticed the teacher getting into position and was unprepared for the first stroke as it slammed into her upturned bottom. It certainly hurt. It definitely hurt more than usual, but whether that was solely the result of her lack of panties or because of the caning she had already received, she couldn't tell.
The teacher started to walk round the class and mark the books now. In this one respect she paddled differently to all the other teachers. She would look at her watch as she began and divide the number of minutes remaining of the lesson by the number of strokes left. Then she would carefully time each whack so that the whole of the rest of the lesson consisted, for the offender, of nothing but a sound paddling.
Deborah tried to think of other things each time the teacher walked up behind her to deliver another painful stroke. Much of the time, to her surprise a little, she thought about Emma, the cute new girl with whom she had forged such a warm, and sexually exciting, relationship. Having another girl give her permission to spank her whenever she wanted to, to take pleasure in her body as she wished to, was one of the most wonderful things she had ever experienced. She loved telling Emma that she'd been naughty and that she wanted her over her knee. She adored lifting her skirt and slowly tugging her panties down to her thighs. She relished the feel of her naked buttocks under her fingers. And, above all, she revelled in the sound of Emma's cries of pain and the crack of skin upon skin as she spanked her.
It didn't strike Deborah that thinking about spanking in order to take her mind off being spanked would appear illogical to most people. It seemed to be working for her. She wasn't sure how many times Mme Jospin had paddled her, but the clock told her there were only six minutes of the lesson left. SMACK! "Ooooh!"
Deborah closed her eyes again and conjured her lover up, this time offering her pussy to her mistress. She was wonderful to make love to. Emma would do anything Deborah asked her to. She knew that there was no sexual act Emma would refuse her, although there might me several (like the rimming she got from Martin) that she would be too embarrassed to ask for. THWACK! "Nooooh!"
That one was harder, Deborah thought, her bottom blazing yet again as she wiggled it from side to side to try to get a little air to pass over the skin in an attempt to cool the heat. Only one or two now, surely.
How could a woman of fifty-something spank so hard, she wondered to herself. She pondered whether Emma was noticing any increase in the pain of her spankings now that Deborah was getting so much practice. If she was still talking to her following her caning....
"Class dismissed," Mme Jospin said then, almost as the last blow fell. "Deborah, you stay put please."
The girl did as she was told, only rising and facing the teacher once everyone had left. For some reason, with everyone else gone, she now felt her nakedness much more acutely.
"You are sometimes a very silly girl, aren't you?" the teacher admonished her.
"Well, I don't want you to fail. Every Thursday morning you will come to my flat at eight-thirty and you will bring a mini-presentation. There is a price to pay for this extra tuition, however. You will deliver each one dressed, or should I say undressed, as you are today. After your presentation, I shall put you over my knee and, depending on how good or bad it was, I will spank you accordingly. Is this clear?"
"Yes, miss," Deborah replied, pleased that she wasn't going to miss out on that part of her course, but not so pleased at having to submit to a weekly bare-bottom spanking from Mme Jospin.
There were no further incidents before prep and Emma and Deborah were both called out of their studies twenty minutes before the end by their house captain.
"I wanted to run over a few details of this evening's event," she told them, as if they were about to run a race rather than receive a public caning. "After that, I suggest you go and shower and generally make yourselves look presentable. You need to be in my study at nine sharp. OK?"
"Yes, Amanda," both girls replied.
"Fine. Now, call will be taken beforehand, so everyone will be out there in the hall. There will be two punishment horses as well, so that you can be caned together. We will wait in here until after call, and then march down the corridor following Mr Lindon: you two first, then me. Clear so far?"
"Now, you undress in here first, so you'll be naked. That won't be a very new experience for you," she smiled at Deborah. "When we get to the hall, you will each stand next to a punishment horse facing the rest of the house while Mr Lindon explains why he is caning you. Then he and I will each tie one of you down ready for the cane. I'm afraid it's a slightly longer and thicker one he uses for house publics. It won't sting that much more, but the bruises will last a bit longer. After the caning, you'll both have to stay tied down for fifteen minutes. Then, if you wish, you may go straight to bed. Any questions?"
Emma and Deborah shook their head together.
"Good. Go and get yourselves ready."
"Ready?" Deborah exclaimed once they were upstairs in the changing rooms.
"How can you get ready for this?!"
She looked at Emma, who was slowly getting unchanged and spoke softly to her.
"I'm really sorry about this," she said. "I know it was my fault."
"No," Emma responded firmly. "I chose this relationship with you and everything that comes with it. If you're going to be caned, I want to be with you," she added, slipping her panties to the floor.
"Why? I mean, I'm really glad you don't hate me, but I don't understand." Emma looked at her puzzled face and breathed deeply.
"Because... because I've fallen in love with you," she said simply, walking off towards the showers and stepping underneath the hot spray.
Deborah followed, still looking perplexed, and just stood watching her lover as she began to soap herself. Then, after a minute or two, Emma looked at Deborah with a little impatience before taking her hand and pulling her into the shower with her and guiding her friend's hand between her legs. In seconds, the two girls were locked together on the floor of the shower cubicle, their minds for the first time since lunch fully trained on something other than their imminent public punishment.