Subject: EMMA AT SCHOOL Episode 11 - Getting
From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Rosewood)
Date: Sun, 21 Jul 1996 03:27:00 UTC
Emma has been at Katherine Parr School for three and a half weeks.... Two weeks after the action-packed two days which had seen Emma (and Deborah) caned in public and the start of Emma's fagging for Richard, Emma was lying in her study on her front (she'd got into the face-down habit during that short and hectic period) waiting for Deborah to return from Mme Jospin's.
This was Deborah's third rendezvous with the French teacher and Emma looked forward to hearing about it. After the first assignation, on the morning of Emma's bathtime session with Richard, Deborah had come back in floods of tears and had thrown her arms about her friend's neck, whining through her tears about being spanked not once, but twice.
What had happened (and Emma found her consoling role hard to maintain as her lover recounted the morning's events) was this. Deborah had turned up outside Mme Jospin's study in Pankhurst House at eight-twenty-five, five minutes early, and knocked on the heavy blue door....
Deborah turned the handle and walked into the room to find Mme Jospin sitting at her oak desk with a half- smile on her face.
"No, no, Deborah," she tutted softly. "The arrangement was that you would come dressed as you were yesterday. You go back out into the corridor, please. You may leave your skirt and panties on the table outside the door and then knock again when you're ready."
Mme Jospin knew a little about psychology and didn't wait for Deborah's retort. She simply lowered her gaze to her morning paper and left Deborah standing there just inside the door with her mouth open. As a gentle encouragement, the teacher added: "Come on please, I don't have all day." Biting her lips, the girl turned around and walked back out the way she came in. At that time in the morning, there were plenty of people around and Deborah was faced with the prospect of stripping there as they passed her. She waited for a few moments and then, just as she felt the tears pricking at her eyes, the corridor suddenly cleared. In a flash, Deborah had her panties off and had dropped her skirt on top of them on the table. Mercifully, when she knocked again on the door, Mme Jospin called her straight back in.
"Good," she said when she looked up from her paper to see Deborah's pussy on display. "What have you brought me?"
"Um... the presentation I was supposed to do yesterday... on the impressionists."
"Oui, madame. Er... les impressionists sont...."
Once into her subject Deborah was able to forget, to some degree, her partial nakedness. Even so, she'd had little time to prepare and she knew as she watched the teacher's face that it was far from being a perfect presentation.
It was all over very quickly and she watched Mme Jospin rise slowly from her seat.
"Eh bien," she began, reverting then to her heavily accented English. "Not very bad..." she said thoughtfully, "but not, I think, particularly good either. Do you recall the arrangements for the final part of our meeting?"
"Er... yes," Deborah said softly. "You said you would put me over your knee and then spank me depending on how good... or bad... my presentation was."
"Yes. Well then, you had better come here then."
Mme Jospin had pulled up an armless chair and sat down and Deborah, trace-like, moved to her side and allowed the older woman to guide her into the stipulated position.
"I have never been happy with the requirement that you girls are to keep your knickers in place when punished in the class-room. I am a great believer in the bare bottom."
As she spoke, she ran a surprisingly tender hand over the girl's upturned rump. She continued to caress Deborah as she continued:
"You, young lady, are one of those girls who I have always considered would benefit most from being properly punished. I am very pleased, therefore, to have the opportunity to test my thesis. I will, of course, include in your weekly punishment an additional element to reflect your behaviour in my class. You understand?"
That short word marked the unleashing of the most painful hand-spanking Deborah had experienced for a very long time. She wondered, as she yelped and kicked and screeched, why someone like Mme Jospin would ever bother with a paddle or other implement when she could smack this hard. Deborah's cries rattled in the tiny room as the teacher's hand spurred the youngster on, the Frenchwoman's long-nursed frustration finally finding a release in the sweetly curved, and prettily reddened, buttocks of her pupil.
Twenty-five minutes after entering the room for the first time, Deborah turned the handle again and stumbled out, rubbing her sore bottom and paying little heed (as her mind had temporarily been distracted) to the possibility of bumping, bare-bottomed, into someone in the corridor outside.
However, Deborah was rudely reminded of her predicament once she had shut the door as, leaning carelessly against the wall a little way down the corridor, was one of the lower-sixth boys. Hurriedly, Deborah reached out towards the table and closed her hand on thin air. There was no skirt, no panties with which to cover herself. There was nothing in sight except a slyly grinning seventeen year old boy.
"Looking for something?" he asked.
"Where are they?" Deborah snarled, her burning bottom stoking her courage. "Oh dear, if you're going to talk to me like that I don't think I'll feel like helping," the boy retorted, turning on his heel and walking off down the corridor.
Deborah was left with a choice between saving her pride or regaining her clothes, and she followed the departing figure at a trot.
"Hey, look, I just want my clothes back," she called, trying not to sound as angry as she felt.
"Good." The boy stopped and turned to face her. "What's it worth?"
"What do you mean?"
"I would have thought that was obvious. A fuck would me nice."
Deborah's look of horror was genuine enough. "You fucking joke!" she spat. "I'd rather walk though the school like this."
"Again," the boy added, unhelpfully. "Oh well. Seeing as you aren't feeling too friendly, I'll let you have your clothes back if you admit how naughty you are."
"You tell me you're a naughty girl who needs her bottom spanked. I oblige."
She was about to swear at him again, but decided instead to just get the business over with.
"I'm a very naughty girl," she sneered.
She glared at him. "And I need to have my bottom spanked."
"Your bare bottom, is that?" the boy asked innocently.
"Now put it together and say it nicely," the boy requested with a smug smile which Deborah wanted very badly to hit with something heavy.
"I've been a very naughty girl and... and I need to have my bare bottom spanked," she said finally.
"I see," the boy said. "Well, you had better come with me then," he continued, taking her hand and leading her down the corridor towards the girls' toilets and pulling her into a cubicle with him. He reached down towards her pussy.
"You touch my cunt and I'll fucking kill you!" she whispered. The menace in her voice stopped him and, grunting with displeasure, he pulled her instead across his knee and set about spanking her. Having been caned the day before and soundly spanked by the French teacher so very recently, Deborah was easily broken and to the boy's delight she started to cry. The advantage of this was that he stopped his smacking more quickly than he had planned to and quite soon had told her to stand up again. From under his shirt he pulled Deborah's garments and handed them to her with pathetic embarrassment.
"Er... I'm sorry..." he began.
"Oh, just fuck off, jerk!" the girl replied, stepping into her knickers and refusing to look at him. He stood there stupidly for a few seconds and then pulled back the cubicle lock and left. Only once she'd heard the outer door close did Deborah finally sit down on the toilet seat and begin to sob violently.
She knew it was wrong but Emma, when Deborah had told her what had happened, had been turned on by her lover's retelling of the encounter. She wanted to do the boy serious damage, and part of her felt sick... but there was no avoiding the fact that, between her legs, she was getting hot and slippery.
She knew better than to let on and just held her friend tightly, promising revenge. She even managed to stop herself from slipping an unseen hand between her legs. The thought of that boy going off afterwards to have a wank over the memory of abusing her girlfriend lent her the sense of perspective she needed....
Now, given the events of the intervening weeks, Emma felt a little less guilty as she slid her right arm beneath her body and lifted her bottom a little way into the air to let her fingers get past her skirt and panties and into her wetness.
She remembered, only hours after she had told Richard of what had happened, how the same boy, snivelling now, had been dragged into the study the two girls shared and held tightly in front of Deborah.... "Is this him?" Richard asked.
Deborah couldn't look at his face for a few seconds. Then she met his pleading eyes and simply answered: "Yes."
"Good. Now, what do you say, scumbag?"
The boy looked scared and Emma was amazed at how little his frightened whimpering affected her friend.
"Please...." he began. Deborah stepped up to him and hit him, once, hard across the face.
"My friends have things to do," she told him coldly. "They don't want their time wasted. Or they tend to get upset," she added as an afterthought.
"I... I've been very naughty and... and I should have my bare bottom spanked."
Deborah looked up at Richard with a half-smile and then back down at the boy before her. "Hmm... now try this: I'm a shitty little semi-rapist and I fully deserve to get the fuck kicked out of me."
"No... please..." he began, but Deborah intervened once again with a smart slap across the face. His left cheek was bright red now.
"I'm a shit... shitty semi...." He looked at her with tears in his eyes but Deborah's gaze was uncompromising.
"I'm a shitty semi-rapist and I fully deserve to get the fuck kicked out of me," he blurted finally, recognising the futility of his protest.
"I agree," Deborah told him. "Now, strip."
Richard and the other sixth-former with him stood back and hovered while the seventeen year old pulled his clothes off, whimpering steadily. When he finally stood naked, Emma saw a look of determination in her lover's eyes which told both of how hard she was having to work to keep herself going, and how much she wanted to humiliate the boy in front of her. "Hold him again, please," she said.
Then, once the boys arms had been securely pinned behind him, Deborah dropped to her knees in front of him.
"And to think you wanted to fuck me!" she exclaimed with mockery littering her voice. "With that! Does it become visible when you're hard?" The boy, unsurprisingly, didn't answer. However, Deborah decided her question was not rhetorical.
"Well? Does it get bigger?"
"Yes," her prisoner murmured.
"How much bigger does it get? How long?"
The boy's face now became almost wild with colour as she jabbed at his flaccid cock with a single finger.
"I... I don't know..." he stammered.
"You don't know! I thought all boys measured their dicks. Richard, you know how long yours is, don't you?"
"Check it every night," he replied with a grin.
"Yes, of course," Deborah muttered. "Oh well, never mind. Emma, could you bring me those rubber gloves and a ruler please?"
"What... what are you going to do?" the boy garnered the strength to ask.
"Measure you," Deborah told him, snapping on the thick washing-up gloves. "Have to wear these," she explained, "or else I'd have to touch your rancid penis, you see. And I don't know where it's been."
Deborah closed her eyes. This was the hardest part, but she was resolute. She felt the bile rise in her stomach as she inched her rubber-clad hands towards his cock, but all she could see was the image of him pulling her half-naked body across his lap and pressing his hand between her legs. Her eyes snapped open as she met resistance and she found his cock nestling between her well-protected fingers. Suddenly, at this ridiculous sight, she felt in control once more and began, very slowly, to rub his cock up and down.
"Not much action," she called out after a few seconds. "Is it cold in here or something?"
"Seems pretty warm to me," Richard told her helpfully. "I've been as hard as a rock for ages."
Emma wondered, with horror, whether Richard was planning to rape the boy afterwards, but then realised (feeling a little guilty at her initial thought) that he was just taunting the boy in the most efficient way. Everybody knew he was gay, and most boys at school seemed to hold the comical idea that he therefore wanted to sleep with them all. The abuser-turned-victim was crying steadily now and his tears fell on his cock and helped to lubricate the sticky abrasion of rubber on flesh. Despite his fear he was hardening now and Deborah began waving Emma over to bring the ruler.
"Let's see," Deborah mumbled, fitting the ruler against the base of the boy's half-hard prick. "Er... five inches. That's rather small, isn't it boys?"
"Pretty pathetic," Richard agreed.
The boy could hardly argue that he wasn't fully hard yet and just stood there and allowed himself to be humiliated. Deborah was far from finished, though.
"OK, now strap him down and let's see if we can thrash some better manners into him," she said loudly.
Emma watched while the other three worked, pushing the boy forward over Deborah's desk and tying him there with a gag in his mouth. They armed themselves with belts and lined up behind him, Deborah stroking his pale, unmarked bottom with her gloved hand.
"I do hope you see the necessity of our mini-correction programme," she said, lifting her arm.
The belt slashed down across the boy's rump, his scream trapped by the handkerchief stuffed between his teeth. Emma watched the welting rise as, again and again, her lover whacked him hard across the buttocks.
After about ten, she began to tire and gave up her place to Richard who set about continuing the beating with his usual vigour. As he brought the belt down, Emma couldn't help but see herself on the receiving end, panty- less and draped across his knee as he whipped her. She felt a tremor between her legs at the thought and wondered again at her peculiar experience in the bathroom that very morning.
After a while, Richard ceded to his friend, a boy Emma didn't recognise, who concluded the belting with equal rigour, the younger boy's buttocks now pressed her hand a little harder on her clitoris now, remembering. They had left the boy there for nearly two hours while the four of them chatted. Only afterwards was Emma able to get the sexual release she needed from Deborah's searching fingers.
The role of Deborah's fingers in Emma's life now was remarkable. They acted as an instrument of both pleasure and pain, often mixing both functions together. Since her initial agreement to allow her lover to spank her up to four times a week for three months, she had agreed to greater subservience. She was now to submit to Deborah's will at all times and without limits. She was to remain enslaved in this way indefinitely and, although she could terminate the arrangement without notice, she would then be responsible for terminating her friendship at the same time. She would continue to have Deborah as a friend only if she continued to have her as a mistress.
The spankings had not increased greatly since the change in their contract. Most days Deborah would chose to chastise her in some way, sometimes lightly with her hand and over her knee, sometimes tied down and with a heavier implement. Emma always cried, but she never complained. She had given herself up entirely to her lover.
The sexual demands put on her were more varied. She knew that Deborah was still experimenting and found that she could manipulate her in certain ways. For example if Deborah offered her to a friend to spank or use sexually, Emma found that by appearing pleased and aroused by the arrangement she could fill her lover's eyes with doubt. On the one occasion since the incident at St Stephen's that Deborah had brought a boy to the study and told Emma to strip, Emma had done her bidding with such coyness in her face and then spread her legs with such apparent eagerness that Deborah had turned her back to prevent either Emma or the boy from seeing her distress. She hadn't intended to let the boy fuck Emma, of course, as she treasured her virginity too highly. However, neither had she planned to screw him herself. But when she watched them sucking and fingering each other, and saw the feigned pleasure on Emma's face, she pulled the boy away, sat him down and lowered herself onto him, while Emma tried not to giggle at her mistress's possessiveness.
Deborah was less upset when she watched Emma making love to other girls, even though, paradoxically, these encounters were actually much more pleasurable for Emma. She loved the softness of other girls' bodies, the way her fingers could push their way into every crease and crack. She loved the taste of pussy on her tongue and could subordinate most of her lovers once she had her head between her legs. Afterwards, even as she obeyed their demands to bend over and submit to their spanking, the way they had yielded to her touch maintained her.
Richard, of course, was another source of discipline although, since their first meeting, there had been no sexual contact between them. Though she was disdainful towards most of the boys at school, she liked and respected Richard and tried her best to please him. She took on more duties than he had intended giving her (though, true to his word, he did not allow her to bathe him again) and carried them out well, though not necessarily faultlessly. And faultless was how Richard had told her she would have to execute them if punishment was not to follow.
Richard had grown fond of his "baby-dyke" as he called her and the two of them spent a lot of time discussing gay politics and fringe theatre. He was knowledgable and witty and she liked to listen to him. He, for his part, enjoyed having such a willing audience and, he admitted to himself with a wry smile, he did enjoy carrying out his duty, that of spanking Emma when she failed to match the highest standards.
Emma would stand straight while Richard inspected her work and he would then ask her how well she thought she'd performed. If he considered it acceptable, but she did not, he spanked her anyway. If she thought it faultless and he disagreed, he gave her double. This meant that she found herself across his knee more often than not, her knickers on the floor and Richard's hand falling with harsh regularity upon her bare skin. Few girls, Emma reflected, could be as experienced in the realm of corporal punishment as her and yet she had been spanked for the very first time only a few weeks ago.
She looked up at the calendar on the wall, two fingers of her right hand moving slowly and deeply inside her all the time. Thursday 19 May 1994 - only a month ago she had still been a pupil at the local high school where discipline comprised of detentions and letters home which went straight in the bin. Her mother and father had never laid a hand on her or her sister. Yet her life, it had to be said, was going to pot. She was involved with a boyfriend who wanted only to take her virginity and her mock GSCE results predicted a string of failures.
Now the whisper of her cotton knickers being slipped down her legs was a sound which resonated in her brain like cannon-fire. The call to bend over had the familiarity and rapport of gun-fire. The sharp pain as her bare bottom was assaulted with hand, brush, paddle, cane or strap was a constant accompaniment to her daily life. Yet now too she had a girlfriend who, despite their unconventional relationship, she loved passionately and deeply, and her teachers were telling her to expect good results in the exams at the end of term.
She recalled, as she did almost daily, her father's first foray into parental discipline as he pulled her half-naked body across his lap and smiled. Who would have thought that so much could change in such a short time?