Subject: EMMA AT SCHOOL Episode 10 - Fagging
From: an674112@anon.penet.fi (Rosewood)
Date: Sun, 21 Jul 1996 02:04:11 UTC


Episode 10 - Fagging

Emma, following yesterday's public caning, has turned up late for Richard - the sixth former she is going to be fagging for. He has taken her to a bathroom in the boys' section of the house and told her to strip....

[The writing style in this episode seems to change drastically part way through for some reason. Any similarity to Helen Zahavi is unintentional, but I think it's there... no one gets raped or murdered though.... ]

Slowly, realising that demure obedience was more likely to be of use to her than refusal, Emma began to peel her clothes off. Although she had been naked before the whole house only the evening before (and Richard had been there of course), and although Deborah had made her disrobe in front of complete strangers as part of the incident that led to their joint caning, stripping in front of just one boy was different. Shyly she slipped her bra from her arms, her nipples standing out prettily in their light brown pools. Having dropped her skirt to the floor to leave her standing only in her panties she finally paused, a look of nervous hopelessness on her face. Richard crooked his finger and she walked up to him, looking him in the eyes and hoping he would not use his authority over her too terribly.

"Why do you still have your panties on?" he asked softly, slipping two fingers from each hand inside the elastic waistband of her sole remaining covering.

"I... don't know..." she answered meekly.

"Late... disobedient..." Richard listed her apparent failings as he slowly drew Emma's knickers down over her thighs, the abrasive movement of cotton over her still raw bottom making her grimace. "Do you not think I'd be failing in my duty as your mentor if I didn't spank you soundly?" he asked as he dropped the panties round her ankles and revealed her complete nakedness.

"I... I suppose so," she began. "But..."

"I know," Richard interrupted gently, putting a finger to her lips to silence her. "You're still sore from last night aren't you?"

Emma nodded and allowed Richard to spin her round so that he could inspect her scarred bottom. She felt his fingers tracing the lines left by the housemaster's cane and closed her eyes against the unwelcome reminder of that terrible pain. When his fingers left her skin, he turned her back to him.

"I know how painful these marks must still be," Richard began and Emma allowed her hopes to rise prematurely. "However, they will remain painful for some time and you can't be expecting to avoid all punishment for the next fortnight, can you?"

"No, I guess not."

"Well..." As Richard spoke he drew Emma towards him by the hand and guided her over his lap from his left. She found the position unusual as no left-hander had spanked her yet, but she realised that it was a position which would soon become familiar. "I think it would be a mistake if I were not to spank you for your lateness and mild disobedience. It would set a poor precedent. However, I will take account of the caning you received yesterday and shall spank you rather less harshly than you can expect in future."

And, with that, Richard lifted his hand and began to smack Emma's bare, and purply-striped, bottom. Emma always cried when she was spanked. She found that her tears helped to wash away the feeling of guilt for whatever it was that she had done and helped her to give herself more completely to the person punishing her. On this occasion, however, she could not have held her tears back had she wanted to. The repeated falling of Richard's heavy hand on her youthful flesh, coming so soon as it did after her bare bottom caning, caused her the most terrible pain. It awakened all the anguish of the previous evening, the raised welts which decorated her cheeks coming eagerly back to life as if Mr Lindon was in the room with her and alternating his strokes with Richard's hand spanking.

Richard was a believer in corporal punishment. Like most pupils at the school, having gone through the system, he recognised the positive effect that regular spankings had on the naughtiest children and was eager to play his part in the education of the younger generations.

"She's a very sweet girl," Amanda had told him. "But she has a wilful streak and is not used to discipline. Don't go soft on her, let her bottom feel your hand regularly."

"Do you... do you mean her bare bottom?" Richard had asked.

"Richard, you know as well as I do that fags are only supposed to be spanked through their knickers. You realise that I couldn't advise you to do otherwise. However," and Amanda had winked at him, "it is my opinion that IF you were allowed to spank fags on their bare bottoms, then Emma would benefit greatly from you taking her panties down before you put her over your knee."

Then, as if to make sure that her meaning had not been lost on him, she added, "And I think an occasional spanking with a hairbrush or slipper would be very valuable in establishing your relationship properly - IF that were allowed!"

Her words came back to him now as he continued to deliver slap after slap to Emma's upturned bottom, reflecting that without Amanda's encouragement he would have found taking his fag in hand in this way almost impossible. After thirty smacks or so, Richard stopped and told Emma to get up and face him, noting with satisfaction her red eyes and tear-stained face. "Can I ask you a question?"

The girl in front of him didn't look as if she was about to say something sassy, but rather as if she had a genuine query and Richard told her to go ahead.

"Well..." Emma began uncertainly, "do you enjoy this?"

"Do I enjoy what?"

"You know, making me take my clothes off, seeing me naked and... and spanking my bare bottom?"

"Oh, I see..." Richard looked thoughtful. "Well, that's not as simple a question to answer as you might think."

"Why not. Isn't it just ‘yes' or ‘no'?"

"I don't think so. OK, listen... I'm gay."

Emma looked at him quizzically. She didn't have a problem with sexuality. Not since rumours had started circulating at her primary school that one of her favourite teachers was gay. She had spent a lot of time that term defending him to her friends. She didn't actually KNOW anyone who was gay though.

"Doesn't that make it easier?" she asked eventually. "Doesn't that mean you don't like girls?"

"Don't like girls?" he repeated, surprised.

"Not ‘don't like', like as friends..." she meandered, searching for the words. "I mean ‘don't like' like nudie girls in magazines and stuff."

"Oh, I see," Richard answered, smiling at the girl's language. "Well, let me give you an example. I like looking at Paul Klee's paintings and..."

"Who?" "It doesn't matter who... Van Gough's ‘Sunflowers' then. You know that one?"

"Of course," Emma frowned. She had the distinct feeling that she was being teased, but she couldn't work out how.

"OK. So I like looking at Van Gough's ‘Sunflowers', but I wouldn't want to go to bed with it."

"You mean with them?"

"What? No - the painting!"

"That's as clear as mud!" Emma said sarcastically.

"Oh, alright. Look, I think you're very pretty," he explained, looking her over. She was about as far from his ‘type' (bronzed, muscular - and far too often straight!) as you could get, yet her curves gave him a warm and peaceful feeling. "You've got a cute body and a lovely smile - you shouldn't expect me to say ‘Yuk!' just because I'm gay."

"But... I don't turn you on?"

"Right. You'd need a few more muscles... and a couple of other changes," he added, looking pointedly at her breasts and making her flush.

"So you sort of enjoy it?" she asked.

"Yeah. But it's slightly more complicated than that. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘power is the greatest aphrodisiac'?"

"I think so. Aphrodisiacs are things that make you horny, right?"

"Right," Richard affirmed. "Well, and I'm trying to be completely honest with you, the fact that I CAN tell you to strip - and that I CAN put you over my knee and spank you is a bit of a turn on. The same as when I was your age and prefects told me to pull my trousers and pants down for a spanking, I'd get a bit aroused sometimes - not because I fancied the person doing it, not because I wanted to be spanked, but just because of the situation. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes," she admitted. Her pussy was warm as she spoke - talking about sex always made her damp. She started giggling. "It must have been a bit more embarrassing for you though!"

Richard smiled. "Yes, it was sometimes," he admitted, recalling the hoots of delight of senior girls who discovered an erection in his underwear when they came to spank him.

"Did you ever like girls... you know, that way. I mean, have you always been gay?"

"Well, I'm not sure really. I've had relationships with girls, but they weren't terribly successful. I'm not sure whether I was just doing it because I thought it was the right thing to do, or what."

"Did you ever sleep with a girl?" Emma asked, dropping her voice.

"Just once," he answered quietly. "Though I don't know why we're whispering."

"Who?" Emma's eyes lit up with the excitement of the question and Richard couldn't deny her.

"It's just between you and me, right? It was our revered house captain, Amanda."

"Really!" Emma exclaimed. "And didn't you enjoy it?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that. But the earth didn't move... it was OK, but I think it helped me realise it wasn't really right for me."

"Wow," Emma sighed. "What a brilliant story."

"Is it?" Richard was smiling at her again, his eyes dancing in that teasing way again.

"I think so," Emma pouted. "Anyway, do you want me to go now?"

"No. I still want you to prove that you can do as you're told without questioning me."

"I can. I promise," Emma said eagerly.

"OK then. I'd like you to bathe me, please."

Emma opened her mouth and then closed it again. It wasn't that she wanted to protest; she liked Richard and she had already decided that she'd try her best to do what he told her. But she had questions. What exactly did he want? She decided not to ask, but just to start. He could always tell her if he wanted something done differently.

Emma turned the taps on the bath, pouring a little Body Shop bath oil under the gushing water, and then stood in front of Richard, hesitating just a little.

"Stand up please, Richard," she said.

He stood and Emma took a deep breath before starting to undo his shirt buttons one by one. Soon his shirt was lying on top of the pile of her own clothes and she was kneeling in front of him and unbuttoning his fly, tugging his trousers down briskly. She got him to sit while she slipped his trousers from his ankles and did away with his shoes and socks. And then she asked him to stand again.

Emma had never exposed any of her boyfriends' cocks. The first she had seen had been when Deborah had offered herself up to the boys at St Stephen's and that whole scene was blurred in her memory.

So as she knelt before Richard and calmly pulled his boxer shorts down his thighs, her heart was pumping furiously and her eyes were open wide. Slowly, Richard's cock came into view. It wasn't hard and Emma couldn't help feeling slighted by that, even though she knew that she was being silly. In fact, Richard was feeling quite aroused after talking about such intimate things with this younger girl and his manhood was quite swollen. Emma, however, lacked the necessary experience to recognise the fact. She badly wanted to look closer, to touch the peach-coloured sausage shape, to examine the spongy texture. But she knew she could not. Instead she spoke, conjuring her most businesslike tone:

"Now, into the bath with you. Lie down and have a soak."

As she spoke, Emma tested the water temperature and allowed a final surge of cold to mingle with the soapy contents of the bath. Then she stood back and watched as Richard stepped over the edge and lowered himself with a contented sigh into the bubbles.

She watched him as, eyes closed, he wallowed in the slippery warmth of the water, and then directed him to stand so that she could wash him properly. A bottle of lemon scented shower gel sat invitingly on the side and Emma squeezed a large puddle into one hand. Then, without looking to the naked boy for approval, she stepped into the bath to join him.

Richard's face registered appreciative consent at her action and she smiled at him briefly before placing her hands on his chest and beginning to move her palms over his skin. He was hard beneath her fingers. Emma realised that, in her few relationships with boys, she had always been touched - never the one to touch. Clammy hands had sought out her breasts with impatient clumsiness. Juvenile fingers had trampled her yielding flesh in search of her blossoming nipples, crept hopefully over a cool thigh on an eager upward voyage. Her fingers were never invited to explore - not unless she were willing to grasp the quivering pressure inside the swelling jeans. Which she never was.

So the hardness of him, the sinewy resistance of him to her fingers as they skated over his torso, as they followed the ridges of muscle, was a startling revelation. Emma was used to the soft, downiness of Deborah's supple body with its curves and its hollows, and its twin mounds of soft fleshy breast. This was more different than she had imagined. The firm boy-ness of him was a new pleasure and she trailed along his arms, and down over his stomach with wonder in her eyes.

She turned the boy around. With an almost clinical air she extended her survey. She spread soapy lemoniness over his back and over the broad sloping shoulders. She covered his tight buttocks with a cleansing film and smiled at their perfection with the smile not of a lover, but of a forensic scientist with a wonder for the beauty of human form. Richard closed his eyes at the first touch and didn't open them again. He tried to imagine the hands of a favourite fantasy lover caressing him, but was haunted instead by the image of his limp and lifeless body on a butcher's slab as it was prodded and pinched to size it up, to judge its fitness for the Sunday dinner table.

"Turn around. Face me."

He turned and faced and obeyed, commanded now by his own servant.

"Would you like me to wash your hair?"


"Good," she said. Good that there should be no further delay, no more reason to put off the final examination. Torso, arms and legs all clean and polished to a muscled shine, buttocks carefully soaped and rinsed down to a downy sparkle. Every crevice and every protuberance gelled and rubbed and buffed. Every one... except one.

Emma knew his eyes were open, knew her gaze was not a secret glimpse. But she stared at his remaining unwashed excess with quiet, careful sloth and pressed him into patience. She alighted with her eyes on the darkest part, on the very tip and made her way along from there. She inspected every tiny detail of his droopy tube and, when the shadowed places beckoned her, she reached out with her slippery fingers and lifted and moved and turned and pulled.

She slipped her fingers underneath the crinkly sack with his double bulge and giggled as the roundness within rolled shyly off her fingertips. Emma liked this part of him, she decided. This cock-y bit was fun, a firmly, wormly toy for her to play with in the bath. She oozed a glob or two from the bottle on the side, the one with two yellow orbs upon the label which made her giggle now at the appropriation of the innocent that her exploration was teaching her.

She smeared him with her gooey, lemon paws. The fleshy, clamminess of him gave way to her slippery, slimy, citrus-y fingers and she followed him with her slender digits. She ran her fingers right along his floppy, cocky length and back again. She held him in her hand and slipped along him once again and felt him twitch. She felt him jump and tremble in her dragging, fagging hand and she smiled.

"What are you doing, Emma?"

"I'm washing your willy," she said. Soaping away merrily as he swelled beneath her touch.

"Don't you think you've finished now?" he asked, a tremor in his voice.

"Well, you see," she answered thoughtfully as her fingers grasped him more tightly and slithered along him more quickly. "Each time I think I've finished, it seems there's a little more to do. A little bit reveals itself which wasn't there before and so I have to go back. And back. And back."

And as her words repeated themselves, her fingers did the same, sharing with her bright brown eyes the delicious hardening of his softness. Richard closed his eyes. He could reach out and slap her helpfully away from her diversion. Remind her with a fingermark or two across her cheeky cheek that she was here to service him in an altogether more polite and decent manner. He could spin her round and tip her down and redden-up her plump and tender rump with his hard and manly hand. But his hard and manly manliness was becoming quite absorbed and he just closed his eyes and stood there with the water getting cooler and his penis getting hotter and a young and naked girl playing with him as if she were playing with a precious Christmas gift.

Emma wasn't finished yet. She hadn't savoured all there was to savour. She lifted a handful of water from the bath and rinsed the bubbly sheath from Richard's cock until it stood up moist and pink. And then she carefully fitted her moister, pinker lips around the bulgy tip and slipped him into her mouth. Emma, the girl who never touched, who would let the boys inside her knickers if they asked her very nicely but who would never stray between their spindly legs, opened up her greedy mouth and felt him slide along her tongue and fill her up with prick until he reached the limit of her. And then she slipped him out again. And in. And out. And as she ate him up she heard him groan and moan and suck the steamy air into his lungs in stutters.

And when she'd had enough she spat him out again and let her fingers take over from her lips and carry on the game. She listened to his gaspy, raspy breath and thought about how very strange today was becoming.

"You know," she said at last, as she pulled and pushed and slithered finger over cock. "You know, I think I might be a lesbian."

"Wh... why?"

"Well, I've been thinking about what you were saying before and about..." She didn't have a word for what she was doing and she looked at the tiling on the wall for a moment. "About... this... and I keep thinking to myself: ‘Well, Emma, this is quite fun. This rubbing and sucking and stiffening is quite fun. It makes my titties tingle and it makes me wet and slippery between my thighs. But most of all, it makes we want to find my room-mate... my friend... my lover... and to pull her head down to my pussy and to feel her tongue inside me and her hands on my bottom and to push my pussy into her face until I come. That's what it makes me want to do. Most of all.'"

"You mean... you're sl... sleeping with Deb... Deborah," Richard gurgled.

"Sleeping with... fucking with... pussy-licking with Deborah. Yes, that's what I mean."

And that was when he came. As Emma calmly explicated her lustful, love-full friendship in words she'd never used before, his creamy, salty cum spewed from his upright cock. Hot, fresh, spermy fluids splashed on Emma's breasts and on her face. They trickled and dribbled down her tummy and her cheeks and over her mouth. She smiled and licked her tongue over her newly-salted lips and leaned forwards to kiss the purple, throbbing tip of his quickly wilting stiffness. And then she sat back in the water, amid the sticky strands of manly juice and looked up at him with the face of a girl who's just learned a little more about the world, a little bit more about herself, than she expected.

Richard looked down at Emma. He looked down with a slightly lop-sided smile which admitted to a power he had not suspected earlier in the day. "Well," he said. "I guess it will be fun to have a baby-dyke around the place. But I think I'd better keep my baby-dyke out of the bath in future."

"If you like," Emma replied. "Although I probably won't feel the urge to play the same game twice."

"All the same," Richard asserted. "And I think, perhaps, it would be best if I were to turn you upside down and spank you once again. Just to put you in your place."

Emma pouted at him. "That's not fair. I haven't disobeyed you or questioned your instructions. A spanking would be quite, quite unfair."

"Yes, of course. You're right. Of course."

But Richard, being only human, decided that he'd rather spank her anyway. Being only human, he sat down on the white and cooling bath-edge and pulled the slippery girl, protesting loudly all the while, back across his knee. And lifted up his hand.