Emma At School - Part 2

(MF, S&M, spank, bond)

by Rosewood

(an674112@anon.penet.fi)

Emma At School Chapter 5 - Meeting the locals

"How much further... where are we going?" Emma complained.

"Will you stop it!" her friend replied. Then, grinning, she added, "Or I'll spank you!"

Emma made a face. She had agreed to allow Deborah to spank her up to four times a week for the next three months and knew that Deborah found it a great turn on - and that she enjoyed spanking her bare bottom outdoors. It was also true, of course, that Emma got amazingly turned on when her lover spanked her.

"Here!" Deborah was whispering now. "Look - through there!"

Emma followed her friend's pointing finger through the hedge to a huge brick building. It looked, Emma thought, like a school.

"It's a school," Deborah told her, adding: "A boys' school."

"What!" Emma almost shrieked her response.

"Shhhh! You'll get us caught!"

"I'm not going in there," Emma muttered, shaking her head.

"Do you know the way back?"

"No."

"Then it looks like you're coming with me. Come on."

With that, Deborah took her friend's hand and pulled her across the lawn and in through a small back door. Emma had to admit that Deborah seemed to know what she was doing; she obviously came here a lot.

They slipped through the corridors, avoiding meeting anyone until Deborah pulled at a study door and bundled herself and her friend inside.

"Hey! Debs!"

A tall, good-looking boy jumped to his feet and came over to kiss Deborah on the lips, Emma feeling a twinge of jealousy. He looked about seventeen. "And who's this beauty?" he asked, Emma blushing at the flattery despite its corniness.

"This is my new best friend, Emma," Deborah said proudly.

"Good to meet you, Emma. Now..."

As the boy continued to talk, Emma looked around the room. Well-decorated, good posters, good taste in music. She had to admit to feeling quite excited being here and being in the presence of boys after several weeks locked up in an almost all-girl environment. As she gazed around, she suddenly noticed something odd under a table, although it took a few seconds for her to realise that the "something" was another boy, his face buried in a book. Emma felt annoyed that he had not even acknowledged the girls' presence, but returned her attention to Deborah and the first boy instead.

"OK. Look, I've got to go and play soccer for an hour or two. Will you two hang around?"

Deborah didn't even look to Emma for an answer.

"Of course," she said with a flashing smile.

"Great. Alright, see you later Emma. Bye."

"So what are we supposed to do for two hours while he's away?" Emma asked.

"I don't know. Just hang out. What's your problem?"

Emma knew that protesting her jealousy would not have any useful effect and, instead, threw herself onto a tatty, blue couch against one wall.

Deborah was about to follow her when she saw a glint on the floor. Intrigued, she stooped to pick up the tiny object and then froze as a sharp voice cried out.

"Stop! Don't move!"

It was the boy under the table and Deborah held herself deadly still, expecting news of a wasp or some other danger.

"What... what is it?" she asked under her breath.

"Oh," the boy replied calmly. "It's the view of your knickers under your skirt!"

"You bastard!" Deborah exploded, standing up and turning on him. "What do you...."

But the boy interrupted her and something in his voice told her to stop shouting and, rather, to listen.

"I thought I said don't move," he spat. "Now I suggest you get back into that brazen pose and wait for my next instruction."

"Why should I?" Deborah asked with a snarl.

"Because I know damn well that if I report you for being here when you're supposed to be at school you'll get your housemaster's cane across that pretty bottom of yours - and, compared to that, the spanking I'm planning to give you will be fairly mild!"

Deborah stared at the boy with her mouth open. Emma felt her stomach turn over and then looked at her friend who was giving away her thoughts by inaction. It was true, of course. A caning was the minimum punishment for being caught in a boys' school and Emma had seen the marks left by Mr Lindon's cane on Deborah's fair cheeks before. It was almost impossible to believe, but Emma knew that her friend was about to yield her bottom to a spanking from this precocious youth.

Slowly, Deborah turned her back on the boy and bent down once more. Her skirt was terribly short and Emma usually liked her to wear it for precisely the reason that today it had caused her trouble. She knew very well the view that the boy was getting from behind her lover - her white cotton panties, swollen by her youthful pussy, only partly covering her pale bottom cheeks.

The boy got up and walked towards the girl he was commanding. Almost nonchalantly he flipped the remains of her skirt over her back and then stroked her cotton-clad bum with his fingers.

"My name's David, by the way," he said. Emma felt a surge of anger rising in her as Deborah held her position under the intrusive touch.

"You said you'd spank her, not rub your grubby fingers all over her!"

The boy swung round to face her, his expression unruffled.

"Oh," he said, his fingers moving between Deborah's thighs now. "You can talk!"

Fixing Emma with his eyes, he slid a finger of each hand into the waistband of Deborah's panties and slipped them down easily to her thighs before beginning to fondle her now bared buttocks once more.

"Well," he continued. "I suggest that you save your breath and get your own knickers off. 'Cos you're next!"

Emma blushed despite herself. "I'm not doing any such thing!" she muttered. "I'd rather get the cane."

As she spoke, she saw his fingers straying once more between Deborah's thighs and this time they clearly found the slippery entrance to the girl's vagina. What horrified her more than this, though, was the words Deborah spoke (with a slight gasp) as he did so.

"You wouldn't rather get the cane," she told her friend. "And I'm not getting it to save your modesty. So you can either get undressed and let David spank you like a good little girl, or so help me I'll gladly assist him in ripping your clothes off you by force!"

"Debbie! No! You wouldn't! You..." Emma wept, her mind in a spin, before David silenced her with a look and a step towards her.

"You heard your friend," he said. "Now strip! Everything off!"

Deborah's short speech had punctured her fighting spirit and she realised that she would be on a one-person losing side if she tried to resist further. Tearfully and slowly, she began to undress.

"I'm glad you've persuaded your... friend to see sense," David said pleasantly to Deborah, making clear his understanding of the relationship between the two girls. "Now, twelve swats each with a wet flannel. Come on, girl," he said sharply to Emma. "Get them off now!"

As David walked over to the washbasin in the study and proceeded to thoroughly dampen a large, heavyweight purple flannel, Emma removed her bra to leave her sitting in nothing but her knickers. Lacking Deborah's support, and fearing an increase in the level of her punishment, she then began to slide this last, skimpy garment from her, dropping it to the floor and sitting naked on the couch.

David turned, holding the flannel which he had rolled up loosely and looked straight at her.

"Sit on the side of the couch facing me," he demanded. "Legs wide apart."

"No, I ...." Emma began, only to see David turn away from her in disgust at her continued disobedience. He didn't look at her as he delivered the next short monologue.

"You still have a lot to learn, don't you? Deborah, pull your panties all the way down to the floor please. Right down... good girl. Now, stand with your feet apart... wider... a little more, I want to see your sweet little cunt lips. Beautiful - just perfect. Now put your left hand between your legs and rub your clit. Yes... a bit faster... keep going. Great... I want you to keep going with your left hand... and stroke your pussy with your right hand... yes... spread your lips a bit more. Now, two fingers inside you... right up inside your cunt... further... yeah...and slide them in and our... keep going... don't stop until you come...don't stop...."

Emma watched, horrified and totally gripped, as her friend carried out each perverted command without protest and as she gradually became genuinely aroused. All the time that Deborah was wanking herself, Emma could see David stroking his evident hardness through his trousers. Then as Deborah's breathing betrayed, through the signs Emma knew so well, the nearness of her orgasm, Emma turned towards her lover and watched her coming "to order" for this stranger.

David turned to Emma now.

"I don't expect you to have the obedience of Deborah. But I do expect you to carry out simple commands!"

Looking at the floor, Emma slowly slid her feet off the side of the couch and parted her thighs, displaying her open sex to this boy she'd known for less than an hour. David smiled and thanked her politely, telling her to maintain that position while he punished Deborah. Then he moved back behind the other girl and lifted the flannel above his head.

WHACK!

Emma could tell by the sound of the crack of wet flannelette against bare skin that the blow was very painful. Deborah's scream only helped to reinforce this knowledge. For the third time, Emma was made to sit and watch while her best friend was beaten, only this time she knew that when the punishment was over - she would be next.

She willed the spanking to proceed more slowly. She even, to her shame, wished for her friend to receive additional whacks - anything to defer the onset of her own chastisement any little way into the future.

Yet, after twelve smart lashes had been delivered to Deborah's upward-pointed and bare bottom, David turned once more to Emma. He didn't speak unkindly... but then, in a position of such power, why should he bother.

"Roll over onto your tummy so that you're bent over the side of the couch. That's better... you're learning."

She was learning. She was learning that in the twisted world into which her parents had thrust her, the rules of the outside world simply did not apply. She had learned the central lesson intended by her mother and father: that every action has a consequence. In the case of her new life, that every misdemeanour, however slight, resulted in her bottom being spanked.

But many other strange new dynamics were created in this world. Your best friend and lover could demand the right to punish you too. She could demand that you expose yourself to strangers - even to strange men! She could demand that you bare your bottom for their correction too. It even seemed that males in general were accorded the right, in general, to spank the bare bottom of females in general, though in this case, of course, it was blackmail that made it necessary for her and Deborah to submit.

That was as far as her thoughts could wander, for they were interrupted rudely - painfully - by the first flash of the flannel across her bare buttocks.

Emma felt the heavy sting of the flannel and heard the sound of her own involuntary screech of pain almost simultaneously. The wetness of the flannel assisted it in bolstering its power and, although it lacked the blistering aftershock of Amanda's strap, the initial touch was every bit as nasty.

"Yeeooowl!" She shrieked again as the second stroke landed, seeking out a new area to set burning. Part of the flannel's advantage, David noticed, over other implements he'd tried was that it both covered a large area, like a hand or paddle, but yet the "tail" of the flannel delivered the concentrated force of a strap or cane

As Emma buckled under the following blows, she wondered whether David's experience of being the spanker (for he undoubtedly did have experience!) was of punishing boys or girls. She knew he was too young to be a prefect: he was probably no older than her and that compounded the humiliation which was brought by every...

THWACK!

"Oouuchh!"

As David neared the half-way point he began to aim his blows more carefully. He swept the sixth across the crease between buttock and leg, catching Emma's exposed vulva lightly as a happy coincidence. Then he moved down a little further to her thighs, using the "whiplash" property of the flannel to best advantage: when beating the left thigh, for instance, the tail of the flannel snakes round to lash cruelly at the inner thigh and he knew from experience how painful that could be.

CRACK!

"Noooooh!"

It was true that David was not unfamiliar with being on the imparting end of corporal punishment, and that he had some experience of spanking girls. However, Emma's worst imaginings - that girls at Katherine Parr were expected to bare their bottoms on demand to the boys of St Stephen's - were wide of the mark. In fact, the staff at both schools were genuinely concerned that their punishment regimes did not contribute to sexist power dynamics and would have been greatly disturbed by the goings on in Mark's study that afternoon.

THWACK!

"Arrrrh! Please stop... please... Ouuuchh!"

David's spanking of girls happened at home where he was expected to attend to the discipline of his two younger sisters, Katy and Sophia. The girls were twins and, at thirteen, two years David's junior. Their parents, as strong believers in corporal punishment and the need for children to respect their elders, would leave David in charge when they went out and were very happy for him to bare the girls' bottoms for a spanking if he deemed it necessary. Which he often did. In fact, now that the girls' bodies were developing at least as quickly, if not more rapidly, than his he was extremely careful not to allow a single misdemeanour go unpunished.

There were evenings where he spent more time with a naked sister over his knee than without. But, although he relished this duty, and although he enjoyed tracking the changes in the girls' young breasts and pussies, and although he denied them the modesty of having their bottoms bared once over his knee but rather always pulled their knickers down as they stood before him, he had never ordered them to sit or stand with their legs open or attempted to touch their maturing bodies other than to smack their bottoms soundly.

This aspect of his spanking of Deborah and Emma was new, as was his choice of position though not implement: his parents dictated that he should hand-spank his sisters while they bent over his knee and this was therefore a welcome variation

WHACK!

"Yeeooow!"

Not that he hadn't spanked boys as well. Although he was, indeed, too young to be a prefect at St Stephen's, David had also gone to the attached boys' prep school and had been school captain there. Unlike the secondary school which, like Katherine Parr, allowed all senior pupils some rights to deliver punishments to the younger children, St Stephen's Prep gave the right to spank to the school captain only - a privilege which David had made great use of. Indeed, it was during that year that he had discovered the means of chastisement he was to beneficially employing on Emma at that very moment.

SHRRRACKK!

"Oooooooooh!"

And now, or course, as a junior pupil at St Stephen's public school (in England, remember, this means a private school) David's repertoire of spanking techniques was being rapidly swollen by being on the receiving end on a very regular basis.

David looked down at the lovely red-stained buttocks before him, the sweet virgin slit nestling delightfully between the open thighs and smiled. Just one more. He stroked the flannel smoothly over the upturned and quivering cheeks, leaving a trail of water droplets, and then lifted it one last time to lash the girl as hard as he could across her already well-punished bottom.

David smiled again as the loud cry of pain echoed around the small room, knowing that the girls' cries sounded little different to those of young boys and would therefore not be considered remarkable by passers-by. Then he ran his hand lightly over Emma's bare bottom and told her she could stand up and turn around.

Emma gladly did so and watched David though her tears as he walked back over to where Deborah retained her position - bent over with her thighs spread - and stood behind her. With growing disbelief, Emma watched him as he unbuttoned his trousers and tore open a small packet he had picked up from the desk. She couldn't see his cock as he was standing behind Deborah, but Emma knew that he was fitting a condom onto his erection and simply watched and waited until David, with no further preparation, took hold of her friend's hips and pushed himself inside her.

She stood there, mouth open, as her lover held her position while the boy began to fuck her. She looked on with horror as Deborah started to breathe heavily and to push back on the cock filling her pussy, her eyes closed and her mind obviously oblivious to the effect the sight was having on Emma.

Even worse, Emma found her own pussy moistening as she watched Deborah near her climax and then cry out as the waves of ecstasy washed over her, building up her backward thrusts again after they had subsided to meet David's approaching orgasm. Finally, Emma allowed her hand to stray, unseen, to her own clitoris as her friend and lover, Deborah, came again, this time more loudly and simultaneously with the boy standing behind her and fucking her. Emma's own climax surprised her in its suddenness and intensity and she collapsed, weeping, onto the couch.

David, after enjoying the sensation of feeling his erection subside inside Deborah's pussy, withdrew and then, leaving the girl still bent over, dressed himself and left the room. Deborah stood up slowly and pulled her panties up while Emma just stared at her.

"What are you going to do?" Emma spat at last.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think. About him?"

"What do you expect me to do?"

Emma felt tears pricking at her eyes again and was angry with herself for not repressing them. "What is wrong with you. After what he did... he raped you!"

Deborah looked as though she was going to walk out of the room. Then, suddenly, she laughed.

"Raped me?" she repeated. "I told him to fuck me to teach you a lesson, you idiot. You've behaved like a silly bitch this afternoon - possessive and pathetic. You don't own me!"

"To teach me a lesson?" Emma couldn't believe that Deborah had really wanted that boy to screw her.

"And you'll be learning another lesson when we get home," Deborah continued, straightening her skirt. "Over my knee."

"What! You don't seriously think I'm going to...." she ran our of words and simply got up and started to collect her clothes. She hardly noticed as Deborah left the room and certainly didn't care. She looked up with more concern however when, seconds later, she returned - this time with two boys behind her. Emma tried to cover herself, but knew that these two now had also seen her nakedness. And then she noticed for the first time the heavy wooden ruler in Deborah's hand.

"Paul, Andy, this is my friend Emma. She's being a naughty, stubborn girl and I'm going to need your help with her."

Emma At School Chapter 6 - Lessons out of school

"Deborah! What are you doing?"

"I'm afraid you need to be taught a lesson. And as the person you've appointed to train you, it falls to me to do the teaching!"

Emma could see trouble and realised that fighting her way out was not an option.

"Look, Debbie. I'm sorry - really. I was just jealous - please tell them to go away. You can do what you like to me!"

"And you can be certain that I will," Deborah retorted with an ironic smile. "However, there are other things you need to learn about and the boys will be able to help me in this."

Emma was about to continue her pleading, but Deborah held up her hand. "No more! I'm not prepared to negotiate. I want you bent over with your legs straight and your hands on the couch. Now!"

Deborah's tone permitted no discussion. Emma, flushing hotly as she was ordered around in the nude before two more strange boys, turned around and displayed her already red behind.

"What do you think, boys?" Deborah asked.

"Very nice," a voice replied.

"But we can still improve the view, can't we?" Deborah said softly.

"Spread your legs please, Emma."

"No... please... I...."

"Young lady, you will do as you're... TOLD!" As she spoke, Deborah covered the space between herself and Emma in three brisk strides. Then, on the word "told", she landed a furious blow with the ruler on the naked girl's left inner thigh to emphasise the point.

Tears coming to her eyes, and words now bitten on, Emma moved her feet apart until her pink pussy lips opened up and pouted, glistening, at an enthralled audience. Deborah slipped her fingers into the silky wetness and allowed Emma to forget the horrible situation for a moment as she abandoned herself to her friend's skillful fingers. Then she was brought rudely back to reality.

"Now boys," Deborah's voice was saying. "Come and introduce yourselves."

Deborah's fingers left her for a moment and were shortly replaced by a less gentle hand. With no preliminaries, two thick fingers slid themselves deep inside her in a single thrust.

"I'm Andy," a voice said.

Fortunately, Emma was so wet by now that their passage was easy and Emma couldn't hold back a gasp of pleasure as her pussy was so quickly filled and even found herself pushing back on the intruding hand as its fingers slid in and out of her before retiring.

"And I'm Paul."

These fingers were gentler, more tender. Instead of the rush to enter her which typified most teenaged boys, Paul's fingertips explored her folds carefully, finding her clitoris quickly and coaxing a low moan of pleasure from her lips as he traced tiny circles over it. She guessed that this was the taller of the two boys, the shy looking one with the cute brown eyes and gave herself up to his light caresses, parting her thighs a little wider and feeling a distant orgasm creeping closer.

Too soon, though, the fingers left her and their delicious touch was replaced by a very different sensual caress - that of the ruler. Emma guessed, rightly, that it was Deborah's hand wielding the short piece of wood as it cracked repeatedly across her bare bottom and thighs. She was certain that either of the boys, and especially Paul, would have difficulty (at least at first) in spanking her so severely.

Soon she was crying out loudly under the blows, desperately trying to hold her pose to avoid shaming herself before the boys. Again and again Deborah laid red stripes across her lover's rounded buttocks, determined to break the girl completely right from the start.

To her credit, it took a long time for Emma to buckle totally. She took over thirty-five strokes, delivered with full force, before falling forwards onto the couch in a quivering, weeping mess. Still Deborah continued to flog the crumpled girl, now shouting at her as well, until she was no longer even able to flinch at each blow but just lay there on her face and took her mistress' punishment.

When Deborah had finished, she stood over Emma's prostrate body sobbing with exertion and released anger. Emma's bottom and thighs were a web of red marks and she lay almost motionless, her every thought wiped from her mind by the terrible pain of the spanking.

"Now, let's see if we can deal with this jealousy of yours shall we?" Deborah reached under her mini-skirt and slipped her panties down to the floor, walking over to the couch and sitting down with one foot on the floor and the other on the far side of Emma's head so that her own pussy was spread as wide as her friend's and, her skirt useless in this position, equally on display. Emma's eyes, her head turned in that direction, were only inches from that pink slit she knew so well.

"You!" she turned to Andy and almost shouted at him too. "Take off your trousers and pants and come over here!"

Despite the rudeness of the command, the boy did as he was told in the expectation of something good to come. His cock sprung from his pants as he pulled them down and Deborah smiled hungrily at him as he ambled over. She got Andy to kneel between her wide open thighs and then, as Emma looked on, opened a condom packet and took the thin rubber sheath out. Emma had only ever seen condoms when they were being filled up with air or water and had only ever seen erections in magazines. So when Deborah began to unroll the condom along the length of Andy's rigid prick, Emma watched in fascination, her eyes staying on the long, thick, rubber covered organ as Deborah manoeuvred the boy closer.

Then Deborah spoke directly to Emma. "This is my pussy," she said, rubbing her fingers along her slit, "I will choose what I do with it, not you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Emma mumbled, watching Andy's hardness edging forward until it nuzzled Deborah's pussy lips.

"My pussy is not owned by you. It's owned by me. And if, for example, I want to have a nice thick cock inside it, then I'll have one. Understand?"

"Yes."

Andy was now beginning to get impatient at having to wait while Deborah continued to tell her friend off, and was also not too happy about being used simply as a teaching aid. So he decided to take the initiative. He reached round to grasp Deborah's bottom with both hands and thrust hard, entering a surprised girl with a loud grunt.

From her position, Emma had the clearest view possible of the thick, dark headed cock slamming up into her friend's pussy over and over again as Andy fucked her in the same basic way that he had previously fingered Emma. In and out, in and out with no real technique but, and this was his hidden secret, with incredible stamina. He never slowed down. He never appeared to be getting close to a climax from which he had to pull back. He never showed any signs of tiredness. He just drove deep into Deborah's pussy with a searing rhythm which, after twenty minutes of solid fucking, had brought the girl to orgasm no less than five times, Emma having to look on (in close up) as this boy pleasured her girlfriend.

Finally, when Deborah's head had started to loll from side to side from sexual exhaustion, and nearly half an hour after he had first pile-driven his erection between her labia and inside her, Andy came himself, groaning loudly as he filled the condom with his juices. Carefully, the boy withdrew and Emma watched as his creamy cum oozed from the used sheath.

Deborah kept her eyes closed for a few moments, regaining her breath and then opened them to address Emma.

"So, you understand so far. Now, perhaps you could tell me who your pussy belongs to?"

If Emma had not already had her natural resistance soundly thrashed of her, she would have given then answer that she knew Deborah did not want to hear. In the circumstances, however, she answered: "To you, Deborah."

"To me. That's right - to me. I decide who gets to see it, who gets to touch it, who gets to taste it. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Deborah."

"Paul. Do you like the taste of pussy. Virgin pussy, I might add."

Emma felt herself getting wetter at the words, but hoped it didn't show.

"Why yes, it so happens that I love the taste of pussy. Although I'm not sure whether I've ever tasted virgin pussy before."

This was the boy Emma had thought looked shy. If he was, he hid his shyness well.

Deborah carried on: "Well, while I'm chatting to Emma, you just go ahead and have a good lick and tell me what you think."

Then she turned once more to Emma: "So we'll have no more of your 'I'm not doing this, that, or the other' shit, girl! If I tell you to pull off your knickers and spread your legs in the middle of Oxford Street, you'll do it. I hope you understand that."

"Yes, Deborah, I... Oh, God... ohhh!"

As she spoke, Paul, having knelt between her thighs, lowered his head and began to lick tentatively at her enraged clitoris, running his tongue every now and then along the full length of her slit. The feeling was amazing. No boyfriend of hers had every offered to do this to her - and, she admitted to herself, she probably would have said no if they had. But what an amazing sensation. Now his tongue was starting to push inside her vagina...

It didn't take long, in the heightened atmosphere, for Paul to bring the girl under his lips and tongue to orgasm and Deborah intervened once he had. She sat on the side of the couch and picked up a banana from the side.

"Do you like bananas?" she asked Emma pleasantly.

"Oh yes," the other girl replied innocently. "I love them."

"Good."

Deborah sat next to her friend quietly peeling the fruit until the top half of its length was left white and unsheathed. Emma had a sudden uneasy feeling which grew rapidly as Deborah got off the couch and took Paul's place between the girl's legs.

Emma knew that nothing she could say or do would change anything now. Indeed, although she would never have admitted this to anyone, when she felt the first brush of the banana's soft tip against her pink vulva, she found herself willing Deborah to enter her with it - to slide it hard up inside her.

Deborah was never one for speed in such matters though. Slowly, she eased the fat fruit up into the other girl's greedy pussy, filling her completely with the white flesh.

Then she began to fuck her friend with it. Emma groaned with pleasure as the banana slid easily in and out of her pussy, Deborah setting up an easy rhythm and calling the boys in to help. Their hands and mouths were soon hard at work so that it seemed to Emma that every inch of her body was being stroked, caressed or kissed. The sensation was incredible. She had never felt anything like this before and she never wanted it to stop. The trio took her up and over mountains of pleasure, each peak a climax of intensity she had never imagined. She could hear the three changing places so that she never knew who was holding the banana (which was remaining in amazingly good condition) or whose fingers or tongues were toying with her clitoris or playing with her tits.

And then, very suddenly, it stopped. There was a sudden flurry and the banana was pulled sharply from her. She shouted out loudly in disappointment:

"Hey, what's going...." but was (thankfully) interrupted by a deep male voice.

"And you! Stand up quickly!"

Emma jumped to her feet, spinning round to see a middle-aged man with a black gown and a very angry face.

"My name," he explained, making no reference to Emma's nakedness, "is Mr Sternly. I'm the housemaster here and you..."

He looked at them all through narrowed eyes.

"You are all in a great deal of trouble. I won't ask what was going on because, to be frank, I really don't want to hear all the sordid details. Boys, go and wait outside my study. You will each receive twelve strokes of the cane on the bare behind. I will be recommending to the girls' housemaster that they get the same. Go!"

The boys scuttled wordlessly from the room, leaving Emma and Deborah to face the terrifying Mr Sternly alone.

"Is there any reason why I should not inform your housemaster of this incident. Were you being forced to do anything against your wishes?"

Emma didn't even hear the question. She was totally preoccupied by the thought of taking a caning on the bare bottom from Mr Lindon. She had seen the effects on Deborah of just six strokes and was certain she couldn't take twelve.

"No, Sir. We're really sorry, Sir," Deborah was saying.

"I should think so. You've humiliated yourselves - and embarrassed me with your... your disgraceful display of... strumpettry."

He looked straight at Emma.

"What would your mother say, young lady. Hey?" he snapped.

Emma tried to answer, but found herself able only to answer with a flood of tears.

"Don't bawl, you silly thing. That's just a refusal to face up to your responsibility for your actions. Stop it, I say! Very well, I'll give you something to cry about!"

And with that, he pulled the naked girl towards him with one hand, placed his left foot on a chair and hauled her, still weeping, up and over his knee - her feet and hands dangling in mid-air. Three times in swift succession he brought his large, heavy hand down on her upturned bare bottom, greatly amplifying the girl's wailing.

"I will not have little girls who think they're big women coming round to my house and making an exhibition of themselves with my boys!" he barked, delivering another ten severe smacks to her cheeks to the rhythm of his words.

"Right, get yourself dressed," he said with disgust, almost dropping her to the floor. Then to Deborah: "No, not you. You can have a reminder to take with you as well. Come on."

Deborah hesitated for a fraction of a second and was rewarded with another verbal barrage.

"Now, young hussy, over my knee. Or I'll take the cane to you myself!"

Deborah knew, of course, that this man, not being a teacher at her school, had no jurisdiction to cane her - or even to spank her. Yet she knew, too, that this kind of fact rarely got in the way of anything and allowed herself to be pulled unceremoniously over the tall man's muscled thigh. Brusquely he flipped her skirt up, finding her naked beneath.

"Do you usually walk around without panties on?" he asked, accompanied by the first salvo of five smacks.

"No, Sir!" she responded in the kind of voice privates use when answering their sergeant majors.

"Should I suggest to your housemaster that you be barred from wearing panties for one month, perhaps?" Again, five blistering smacks.

"No, sir!"

"Mmph!" he grunted, lifting his hand and delivering a further three before letting the girl off to find her discarded knickers.

Then he looked at them both with a terrible stare. "If I catch you in my house just once more," he lectured them. "It won't be a few smacks on the bottom, I promise you that! Follow me."

Mr Sternly led the two tearful girls though the study corridors (where boys were whispering excitedly to one another, swapping versions of what might have happened) and into his own quarters. They passed Paul and Andy, both too concerned about their own fates to bother thinking twice about them, and followed the housemaster into his study where he picked up the phone.

Emma heard him outlining the afternoon's happening and then tried to piece together the rest of the conversation from her one-sided evidence.

"Yes, I'm afraid so... yes... of course... well, twelve strokes on the bare... I think so... good, that's the fairest thing... yes... yes I'll send them straight away - they should be with you in, say, twenty-five minutes. Good, what shall I... straight to your study? Fine. Yes... that's OK, I'm sorry too. And I think four young people will be pretty sorry before the day is out!"

Emma At School Chapter 7 - Paying the penalty

Neither girl said a word on the long walk back. Emma was unable to get the image of herself bent over that terrible punishment horse with her bottom bared for the cane. She couldn't control her tears which, every time she thought she had stemmed the flow, would begin to run down her cheeks again. Deborah's thoughts were, as usual, more practical:

"Have I gone too far?" she asked herself. "What if Emma tells Mr Lindon what really happened?"

The possible consequences didn't bear thinking about... and, she realised, she was perhaps even more worried of losing Emma as a friend - and lover. Despite all her bluster, she had grown very fond of the new girl. Had she finally gone over the top with this afternoon's performance?

The short walk back to school appeared to last forever. And yet, it also seemed as if no time had passed before they found themselves facing a very angry and determined looking Mr Lindon across his desk.

"Do you have any idea," he thundered, "how much damage can be done to a school's reputation by this kind of scandalous behaviour?"

It was clearly a rhetorical question as the words kept on coming: "You have embarrassed Mr Sternly and caused him a great deal of extra work. You have also put me in a very humiliating position. This is a respected public school. Girls of fifteen do NOT play depraved sexual games with boys from local schools... with ANY boys for that matter! What on earth got into you?"

This time the housemaster paused for an answer and Deborah quickly replied: "We're both really sorry, sir, we..."

"SORRY??!" He hurled the syllables across the desk like a spear. "What good is that going to do? And what on earth are you wearing?"

Deborah realised that Mr Lindon's eye had fallen on her skirt which she hadn't dared to change in case a description of her clothing had been passed on by Mr Sternly.

"What, my skirt, sir?"

"SKIRT! You don't seriously expect me to call that... that ribbon round your waist a skirt?"

There was a long pause.

"Well?"

"I don't know, sir. I realise it isn't regulation."

"That has got to be the greatest understatement of the year. Take it off... now! Put it straight in the bin."

Deborah turned and unclipped the skirt, walking slowly over to the bin as she unwrapped it and stopping short at Mr Lindon's next outburst.

"And what do you call those? Don't we have regulations about underwear any more?"

Deborah realised he was talking about her panties. A lot of girls she knew wore similar skimpy panties and it was generally overlooked, yet they were undoubtedly against the rules.

"Yes, sir," she answered, turning her head.

"Very well. We'll have those in the bin as well then, please."

"Yes, sir," Deborah confirmed, peeling the tiny knickers down her legs and dropping them, with her horribly expensive mini, in the bin. Naked from the waist down now, she turned round with a heavy blush to face the housemaster. Although she had been given bare-bottomed spankings and other punishments by him on a number of occasions, she had never had to conduct a conversation with him with her pussy on display.

"Right, let's get on," Mr Lindon asserted in a business-like tone. "Firstly, I have a question for you, Emma. Mr Sternly got the impression that you were not involved in this... incident.. entirely of your own free will. Obviously, if this is true then I shall not punish you with anything like the severity due otherwise. Well?"

Deborah felt her heart sinking as she waited for Emma's reply. Would the nightmare never end?

"No, Mr Lindon," Emma answered quietly. "Mr Sternly was mistaken. I was just as involved as the others. I know it was wrong and I expect to be punished for it. I'm sorry, sir."

Mr Lindon's face showed the first hint of compassion of the afternoon. He looked thoughtful.

"I admire your honesty," he said at last. "It is an admirable quality. However, you clearly recognise that your honesty cannot lessen the penalty for your behaviour. I very much regret being in this position with you so new to the school, but there it is."

Then he turned back to Deborah and spoke as fiercely as ever: "It may not appear so, but you have been very lucky today. I had to flog you only a matter of days ago and here you are before me again. If it weren't for your companion I would have no compunction at all in sending you to the headmaster to be birched. As it is, with Emma being new here, I feel I should attend to your punishments myself."

Deborah breathed a massive sigh of relief. What was to come was going to be bad, she knew, but to escape a birching so narrowly. The birch was hardly ever used any more, maybe once every two years or so. The last girl to get it was in sick bay for three days afterwards unable to get up and the marks lasted for months! "Whatever the punishment," she thought. "I can take it now."

Mr Lindon was sill speaking, and was now coming to the sentence.

"So. Both of you will receive twelve full strokes of the cane across your bare bottoms, six now... and six at call this evening."

Emma gasped out loud. A house public! She was going to be beaten in front of the whole house. Stripped naked, tied down and caned! In front of everyone - even the two boys in the house. She felt herself growing faint and reached out to the table to steady herself.

"And you, Deborah. You will have an additional punishment. What lessons do you have this afternoon?"

In the summer months, because of the late sunset, afternoon lessons didn't begin until after four and then went on until supper. This was followed by prep until nine. And then call.

"Er... maths, PE and French, sir."

"Perfect. In view of your unladylike flirtation with exhibitionism and your inability to wear the correct uniform, you will spend the afternoon and evening dressed EXACTLY as you are now. I will also request of Mr Denby that you take part in PE as normal, but nude."

"Noooooh!"

Deborah had never shouted at Mr Lindon before, but this terrible statement had rendered her temporarily unable to control herself. The housemaster moved quickly and decisively. He was around the desk with strap in hand before Deborah closed her mouth and, almost before she realised what was happening, he had pulled her forwards, thrust her face down over the desk, and laid three fresh stripes across her bare cheeks.

"Don't you dare..."

Emma could see that Mr Lindon was purple in the face.

"Don't you dare shout at me you impudent tramp or I'll deliver you to the birching tower myself. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Deborah whimpered.

"I'm glad to hear it," Mr Lindon said, calmer now and letting the girl stand up and rub her injured bottom. "Now, do I assume you accept the punishment I have outlined, or do you wish to take the other option?"

No way was she being birched by choice! But to spend the whole afternoon naked from waist to ankle. In front of all the teachers and the other children. And to have to do PE in the nude! She hated PE anyway, and that sadistic Mr Denby. She was in no doubt that he would relish the opportunity to make this particular lesson more awful than ever!

"Very well. Let's begin. Emma, put your panties on that chair and then face the wall, holding your skirt right up around your waist. Deborah, I shall attend to you first."

Emma did as she was told silently, hearing the sound of the punishment horse being pulled out into the centre of the room but scared to look. Once her panties were off she walked slowly over to the wall, pressing her nose up against it and then lifting her skirt to her waist as she'd been told. She took one last peek at the scene behind her and saw Mr Lindon arranging her friend's body for her caning.

"That's it Emma," the housemaster said as he strapped Deborah to the horse. "Just lift your skirt a little higher for me so I can see the whole of your bottom. Very good. It looks as if you've had quite a hard spanking recently."

"Yes, sir," Emma replied.

"Well, it's a pity it wasn't enough to persuade you to stay out of trouble, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr Lindon grunted to himself. Less than two weeks here and already in to have her bare backside caned. He hoped this wasn't going to become a habit. Although.... He checked himself quickly; he backed the school's corporal punishment regime to the hilt, but in some ways his wasn't an easy job. Temptation at every corner.

He looked over to where his newest pupil was standing with her skirt hiked up round her midriff, her youthful bottom already a delightful red hue. Was it necessary to have girls who were waiting for punishment against the wall with their bottoms bared? Well, it certainly helped to focus their minds on what was to come, and it was one of the traditions of the school, but it was hard not to enjoy the sight.... And then there was the punishment horse design. Of course, positioning a girl so that her legs were spread wide apart had some very straightforward advantages: it ensured a nice wide target and it enhanced the girl's humiliation.... But, and Mr Lindon turned his head back to the girl strapped to the horse before him, it would take a very special heterosexual male not to find the sight of a teenaged girl's open pussy just a little arousing. Or even a lot... Deborah was one of those girls who oozed sexuality, and the teacher had noticed when he caned her last time that she actually became visibly wet during the preparation and administration of her punishment.

The housemaster had an erection now and turned his back on the girls to fetch the cane from his desk. He paused for a moment and then lifted the familiar rod, smiled grimly and took the five steps required to place him behind Deborah.

Emma heard very little during these few minutes and just kept her face to the wall. And waited. She pictured her lover strapped to the horse, just like the first time she'd seen her on the day she arrived at Katherine Parr. She easily conjured up a vision of Deborah's firm buttocks and her sweet sex nestling between her thighs and then, just as easily, Mr Lindon standing behind her with the cane raised. Somehow it was easy to imagine the scene when she knew if she turned around she be looking right at it.

SWISHHHH! The sound seemed so familiar, even though it was only the second time she had heard it. The fizzing sound of the long flight, much longer than seemed possible, seemed to sear right through to her heart - and she still had time to remember, "This is going to happen to me!"

Emma closed her eyes tightly and heard the terrible crack as the cane bit into her friend's unprotected cheeks, leaving, she knew, a heavy red welt. Then, as Mr Lindon prepared to strike again, she began to weep. Tears streamed down her face as though she were standing out in the rain, her body heaved with her sobs. Behind her, Deborah's caning was continuing at Mr Lindon's unhurried pace. But Emma was hardly aware of it now, she was too busy anticipating her own fate.

"OK, Emma. Your turn now!"

It couldn't be, could it? Deborah's punishment was already over? Emma turned round in time to see Deborah, her bottom marked even worse than last time, climbing stiffly off the horse to make room for her. As if in a trance she walked over to it, keeping her skirt up round her waist, and knelt on the two soft green pads at the base of the horse. She didn't move for a while, still not quite believing what was happening. Mr Lindon came over and gave her something to bite on before gently easing her over the largest pad and placing her hands on the two smallest ones on the far side of the contraption. It seemed like a replay of the day's earlier events, bent over to have her bare bottom chastised, and with her sex spread open in front of a man she hardly knew.

As Mr Lindon knelt down behind her to strap her legs in place, Emma felt a surge of heat through her pussy brought about by the simple proximity of this man to her parted thighs. Amazed to find her pussy displaying such a complete lack of loyalty, she closed her eyes then, and waited.

Standing against the wall, just as Emma had earlier, was Deborah. Indeed, part of the reason for her closing her eyes was so that she didn't have to stare at her friend's bare bottom, latticed as it with the proof of her punishment. Soon her bottom would look like that!

Emma heard a faint whistling sound, but not the thwack of wood against skin. The moment the cane touched her bare bottom, all her senses collapsed into one sensation - pain.

It felt like fire roaring through her body. Every nerve ending set ablaze furiously by the insistent caress of the rod. She desperately wanted to scream, but the gag prevented her and it seemed as though her wail of agony was trapped inside her and screeching round her mind along with the agony of the stroke itself.

Just one. She'd had only had one stroke. She vowed never, ever to get into trouble again, forgetting that it was Deborah who had directed the incident which had led to her caning. How could she take five more, not to mention another six tonight.

Mr Lindon watched the girl's squirming with sympathy. It was always tempting to go easy on a girl receiving her first caning, yet he knew that her marks would be carefully inspected by the other pupils afterwards and that lesser marks could lead to a doubled humiliation. Not only would the girl have had to endure a still painful bare-bottom caning, but her friends would be taunting her for not having even been beaten properly.

"No," he thought," if anything, a girl's first caning should be the hardest. After all, the idea is to persuade her that she doesn't want to return for a second."

With that in mind, and noting with pride the angry welts which were rising right in the centre of each cheek, completely overshadowing the marks left by Deborah's spanking of her with the ruler, Mr Lindon raised the cane again.

The second stoke was perhaps an inch and a half below the first, and this time Emma heard the awesome sound of the rattan cutting across her. Her body jolted visibly and again the impossibility of crying out made her suffering still worse.

The burning sensation didn't stop after the blow had landed, each of the two sites visited already continued to blaze - their intensity dropping only very slowly. Emma knew that she would still be feeling not just a dull glow (as she had after her recent strapping over Amanda's knee) but acute pain for a long time to come.

She recalled that until two weeks ago, she had never even been spanked before. She remembered her outrage when her father had pulled her panties down to draw her over his lap for the first time and how she had screeched as he spanked her bare bottom with his hand. That seemed like the distant past now.

She wondered how things would change at home now. She knew that, according to the school rules, her parents would have been told of this caning and tried to gauge how they might react.

"They will probably be celebrating," she thought. She remembered her father's vow to bare her bottom as often as necessary while she continued to live under his roof and speculated about the kind of punishment she might now expect at home. Once they knew more detail about the kind of chastisement employed by the school, she guessed that her father was unlikely to be satisfied with hand-spankings for all occasions. She could quite easily envisage going home at half-term (pupils were not allowed home, even for weekends, during their first term at the school) to find that he'd equipped himself with a whole range of punishment implements with which to attend to her naked backside.

Mr Lindon was leaving good long gaps "for reflection" between the blows. The third stroke was more painful still, right at the top of Emma's bottom where there was less fleshy padding and the girl felt as if she were being branded with a red-hot poker rather than caned.

She looked up to see, through her tears, Deborah's bottom in front of her. Her welts had really come up now, still a fiery red but with hits of purple at the edges. That was how she must look. She shuddered.

Number five found the spot between the marks left by the first two blows. If there were a competition for caning accuracy, Mr Lindon conjectured, he might do exceedingly well. As he paused before continuing, he let his mind conjure up the delightful picture of a great sporting arena with rows and rows of punishment horses, each one with a girl and teacher standing beside it.

On a signal from the judges, each teacher would pull down the girl's panties, strap her to the horse and then lift up her skirt. Then the crowd would cheer as a hundred cute young bottoms were simultaneously caned.

Smiling broadly at the image, he decided to act mercifully and deliver the remaining two strokes more rapidly and bring the girl's ordeal to an end. He laid one stroke just above the crease between buttocks and legs, Emma writhing under the cane as her vulva took part of the blow between her open thighs.

Then, to complete the six, he chose the one last unmarked area, between middle and top, and caned the girl one last time with maximum force. Mr Lindon left Emma where she was for a minute or two before gently unfastening the straps binding her legs and wrists to the horse and helping her to her feet.

"Good girl," he said quietly in her ear. "You've taken your first caning very well. Keep your skirt right up please so that I can see how effective the rod has been. That's right. I just hope that it has as pronounced effect on your behaviour as it has on your bottom."

"It will," Emma snuffled. "I promise."

"I'm very glad to hear it," Mr Lindon told her. "Now I want you to go and stand next to Deborah and the two of you can spend a few minutes reflecting on your misbehaviour and the penalty for it."

Sitting back behind his desk, the housemaster found his hand straying to the front of his trousers as he surveyed his handiwork. Guiltily he stroked his hardening cock through the coarse material, his eyes roving over the girls' prettily decorated bottoms. After a minute or two, his conscience roaring at him, he stopped touching himself and spoke loudly.

"Very well girls, you may go. Emma, you may dress yourself but Deborah, you are to stay as you are. I don't want to hear from anyone that you have either changed into a longer shirt or skipped lessons. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Deborah had indeed been planning to change her top as the one she was wearing barely came down to her navel. Now she was stuck in it and she would have no way at all of protecting her well-beaten bottom, or her young pussy, from the eyes of others.

"Right. It's time for class. You'd better get your books and be off."

Emma At School Chapter 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 offense 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.

"What, girl?!"

More timidly, Deborah asked if she could change partners. Mr Denby's response was characteristic.

"You can do as your 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 him.

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 forever, 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."

"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 of 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 judgment 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!"

"Er... moi?"

"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?"

"Yes, miss."

"You realise that you are supposed to be taking your GCSE French exam in just over twelve months time?"

"Yes, miss."

"And that your presentation will be a vital part of that exam?"

"Yes, miss."

"And that this will be your last opportunity to practise this aspect of the course?"

"Yes, miss."

"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?"

"No, miss."

"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?"

"No, miss."

"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.

CRACK! "Yeoow!"

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.

CRACK! "Yeoowll!"

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....

WHACK! "Whhahh!"

"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.

"Yes, miss."

"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?"

Deborah nodded.

"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.