‘Not a good start this morning. Bend over.’
The naughty schoolgirl shrugged the leather strap of her satchel down from her left shoulder, faced the teacher’s desk and, bending over, touched the black sandals with splayed fingers. Mandy raised the lid of her oak desk. It squeaked softly. The bending schoolgirl shivered pleasurably. Withdrawing the eighteen-inch cane, Mandy lowered the lid of the desk.
‘Panties,’ she prompted, tap-tapping the sweep of her thigh.
The Pentax clicked as the blue knickers were peeled away from the peach-cheeks. Rowena snapped another shot of the poignant white socks all but buried in the blue serge of the panties snuggling the ankles.
‘We do not speak to common boys,’ Mandy said briskly, swishing the cane across the upturned buttocks. Her pupil suppressed a squeal. ‘We do not come to school late,’ she continued, whipping the cheeks once more with the supple bamboo. ‘And we certainly do not wear lipstick.’ The cane sliced down across the bare bottom for a third time, bringing the pigtailed schoolgirl up on her toes in anguish. The Pentax snapped the three pink stripes as they darkened into crimson against the creamy cheeks.
‘No. Remain bending,’ Mandy instructed, pressing the girl’s neck down dominantly, and controlling her with the cane. ‘Have you done your homework?’
The penitent remained silent.
‘Well? Or am I to take your silence as an admission of your guilt?’ Mandy whispered suavely, bringing to life once more the almost forgotten sarcastic cadences of her own former history mistress.
The schoolgirl shuffled anxiously, squeezing her thighs together.
‘Legs apart. Four strokes.’
The cane caressed the soft swell of the buttocks with intimate severity. Mandy counted out the strokes aloud, swishing the pert bottom accurately and ruthlessly. After dispensing the prescribed punishment, Mandy tapped the sore buttocks with her yellow bamboo cane. ‘Panties up. Go back to your desk. And wipe that lipstick off at once.’
Meekly, the whipped schoolgirl obeyed, stealing a shy glance at Mandy, adoration sparkling in her tear-dimmed green eyes.
The morning progressed satisfactorily. Mandy established and sustained a strict authority and a stern atmosphere in the classroom. After attempting some algebra, the schoolgirl’s fingertips grew inky as she struggled to construe Juvenal in translation. The Latin irregulars caused her much distress, as did the bark of the leather strap several times across her bare bottom.
Lunch was served, during which Rowena withdrew, leaving Mandy to dine from a schoolmistress portion of fried plaice served with boiled potatoes and peas. Imprisoned at her desk, her punished pupil silently munched her packed lunch of a cheese roll, salted crisps and a Mars bar.
Mandy daintily wiped her lips with a napkin. From the desk came the loud slurping sound as the schoolgirl sucked Ribena up through a straw. Mandy raised an eyebrow, silencing the sound.
GYM KIT. Mandy read the next cue card with a slightly puzzled frown. What rich possibilities lay within the potential of those two simple words?
Rowena returned, entering the classroom unobtrusively to occupy the shadows once more, her Pentax primed and eagerly poised, the lens erect and alert.
‘I have received a complaint from Miss Meadows,’ Mandy announced. ‘Girls are attending gym in items of kit other than those prescribed. I understand that one girl came in a silver leotard last week, for which she was soundly chastised. I have decided to hold a snap inspection. Stand up and step over to the wall.’
The wooden chair legs scraped the scrubbed boards as the blonde obeyed, rising from behind her desk and stepping across to the wall below the map of Scotland. She trailed her kit bag reluctantly, dragging it by the tightened drawstring.
‘Undress quickly and get changed into your gym kit. I will come and inspect you when I have completed marking your miserable history test.’
Minutes later, the chalk squawked across the blackboard as Mandy wrote up the correct answers. Reaching up to underline a date, her naked bosom pressed against the blackboard. Mandy gasped softly as her nipples kissed the dark wood, accidentally erasing the first and last O in Marco Polo.
‘Ready?’ Mandy rasped, brushing the chalk from her fingertips.
The schoolgirl was still struggling into her gym kit, hopping on one bare foot as she drew her tiny shorts up over her thighs.
‘Hurry up, girl,’ Mandy ordered, smiling a secret smile at the thought of the black pump she had earlier stolen from the gym bag and hidden in her desk.
‘I can’t find the other one,’ the schoolgirl wailed, her green eyes troubled with sorrow.
‘Search your bag properly.’
The bending blonde rummaged in vain, frantically fingering the corners of the kit bag for the missing pump.
‘You are not property attired for gym. Miss Meadows, quite correctly, is strict in her requirements. You have failed to meet them. Come here, girl.’
Limping in one pump, the reluctant blonde approached Mandy, who sat at her desk, her black gown wide open.
‘Give me that pump,’ Mandy ordered, pointing down at the covered foot. ‘It is quite useless as it is, but I’m sure I’ll find a purpose for it.’
She did, as Rowena’s Pentax recorded. Across Mandy’s black-stockinged thighs, bare bottomed and whimpering, the schoolgirl felt the blaze of the pump against her punished cheeks. Mandy grew sticky during the chastisement, thrilling to the way the spongelike mounds of naked flesh flattened beneath the sweep of the pump, flattened and wobbled, as if soaking up the pain. Nine strokes later, Mandy dragged the ribbed sole of the pump across the crown of each reddened buttock. Her tongue was thick, her throat dry. She battled against an overwhelming urge to kiss the hot hottom, lick it slowly then bury her face into its swollen warmth. No. Not that. Not yet. It would break the spell that bound the submissive to the dominant, the punished to the punisher. Tossing the pump aside, she suggested tea.
Breaktime brought a cup of strong, brown tea and biscuits for the teacher and a glass of milk for the pupil. Mandy gave the schoolgirl two biscuits from her plate but warned her sternly not to make crumbs. After their break, as the rooks slowly returned from their day to circle above the elms, Mandy set the last lesson of the day.
‘I want you to write an essay for me.’
After dictating the title and the length required, Mandy sat at her desk, solemnly filling out the punishment book. The brass nib of her pen flashed orange and gold in the late-afternoon sunshine as she dipped it into the inkwell, tapped the surplus ink off and returned it to the pages of the calfskin-bound volume. The white pages were scored across with thin red lines. Mandy appreciated the sweet irony of the pages echoing the very punishments they recorded: red lines against a pale cream surface. So very much like a whipped bottom. Completing the entry of all the punishments administered that day in the Schoolroom, Mandy signed and dated it. Calling to the schoolgirl, who sat, head bowed at her essay, Mandy instructed her to read and countersign the punishments.
‘Aloud,’ the teacher interrupted sternly, forcing the silent lips to return to the top of the page and, humiliatingly, announce the sufferings of the day.
‘Where do I sign?’ lisped the penitent, pressing her uniformed body closely into the teacher she adored. ‘Here?’
‘No. Leave a space. The day is not yet over.’
Shivering at these words, and at their delicious threat, the pigtailed schoolgirl signed the punishment book, blotted it carefully and padded back across the scrubbed pine floor to her desk.
Mandy peeked at the final cue card. Caught cheating, was all it suggested. Mandy put her mind to the challenge, anxious to make it a memorable session for the submissive. All she had to work with was the folio of erotic prints secreted in the schoolgirl’s desk. But how to bring it into play?
Rising from her desk on the podium, she stepped down and trod the pine floor, circling the girl at her desk with quiet menace. Mandy let her loose black gown part and flap open, exposing her delicious bosom to
the chalkdust and sunbeams. Her pink nipples stiffened and rose, thickening with pleasure. From her desk, the schoolgirl stole a furtive peep. Her hand trembled, blotting her essay atrociously. Rowena, plucking at her black stretchy bodystocking where it bit into her cleft, studied the map of Scotland, her Pentax pointing down at the floor, the eye of the lens dull with indifference.
The schoolgirl creaked in her chair as she shifted her weight from one punished cheek on to the other.
‘I will be deducting marks for poor presentation,’ Mandy intoned, ‘and indeed for poor punctuation. But I will deal with any spelling mistakes severely. Most severely.’
The schoolgirl’s pen continued to scratch busily across her page. Rowena silently calculated the distance from Perth to Oban. The rooks fluttered down from the sky into the elms.
Moments later, the lid of the desk squeaked.
Mandy pounced. ‘Cheating? What have we here? A dictionary,’ she thundered, confiscating the small book. ‘And what else have you in that desk that should not be there?’
The schoolgirl paled. Mandy prised up the lid of the desk and unearthed the folio she knew to be there.
‘That’s not mine –’
‘So, what have we here?’ Mandy whispered, ignoring the stammering denials. ‘Danish maidens espied bathing,’ Mandy read, perusing the gold lettering of the title page. ‘A folio of vintage cameos,’ she continued in a tone of studied disgust, ‘depicting the wicked frolics of three naughty maidens and their subsequent chastisement by the governess who discovers their naked antics.’
Rowena turned from the map of Scotland, her fingers tightening around the Pentax.
‘I approve of your appetite for knowledge, girl,’ Mandy purred, ‘but I certainly do not approve of the diet with which you feed it. Stand up this instant.’
The blonde pigtails bounced, as did her ripe breasts imprisoned within the schoolgirl uniform blouse, as the pupil pushed her chair back with a jerk of her bottom and stood up against her desk.
‘Skirt up, knickers down,’ Mandy instructed crisply.
In the gathering shadows of dusk, the snoutlike lens of the Pentax flickered up with interest. Rowena checked the lightmeter and steadied the camera, dropping down on one knee to get a low-angle shot of the bared buttocks.
The schoolgirl bowed her head, her pigtails cascading down over her shoulders. With splayed fingers, she steadied herself at her desk – bare bottomed and apprehensive.
‘Legs back a little, I think,’ Mandy mused. ‘Now bend over. No, more. Give me your naughty bottom, you wicked little wretch.’
As her instructions were obeyed, Mandy slipped the folio down on to the desk, beneath the troubled gaze of the wide, green eyes of the schoolgirl.
‘You find the contents of this forbidden album fascinating, no doubt. Perhaps you would be good enough to share your keen interest with me, hmm? Tell me exactly what you see as I turn the pages, girl.’
Mandy flipped over the purple vellum binding, opening the album to reveal the first of ten sepia prints.
‘Well?’ Mandy demanded, tapping the print impatiently with her index finger. ‘I’m waiting.’
‘It is a picture of a young woman. A young woman disrobing. You can see her bottom,’ came the lisping reply.
Smack. Mandy spanked the curved, up-thrust cheeks of the bending girl. Flipping over the next page, she ordered the spanked girl to continue.
Almost drowned out by the whirring of the Pentax, the schoolgirl lisped a husky description, explaining how the naked bather was now thigh-deep in the pool, the waters lapping at the swell of her wide, white buttocks.
Again, the spanking hand swept down across the naked bottom, cracking sharply against the peach-cheeks and reddening them instantly with a second stamp of pain. The Pentax clicked its greedy fill, capturing the exact moment when the palm seared the soft cheeks: the knuckled fingers gripping the desktop, the bounce of the schoolgirl’s breasts in the bondage of the tight blouse, the flounce of the pigtails as the girl jerked in anguish.
‘Next page.’
The inquisition, stammered response and attendant punishment continued slowly and methodically. As the pages of the album were turned, the tearful schoolgirl described each sepia print in detail, her voice growing more excited by the minute. She described the nude bather splashing her breasts with the icy water, the arrival and undressing of a second bather, then a third. Exact details were demanded. How the breasts differed in size and shape. How one bottom was heavily fleshed, the second apple-buttocked, the third a mouthwatering peach. Mandy arrived at the sixth print. The spanked girl, her voice a tense whisper, described how wet breasts were cupped and squeezed, bottoms caressed, parted thighs explored by inquisitive fingers. Mandy scalded the reddening buttocks of the bending schoolgirl with three severe spanks and turned over to page seven. It showed the arrival of an angry governess.
‘Continue.’
The girl described the governess, detailing the tall, forbidding beauty buttoned up tightly in shining black bombazine. The severe bun of hair, the cruel mouth, the gloved hands. In the gloved right hand, the schoolgirl whispered – her voice taut with arousal – was a dog whip.
‘They are being ordered out of the pool. The whip is pointing to the reedbank.’
‘And?’ Mandy spanked her again.
‘You can see their bottoms.’
‘Continue.’ Mandy spanked again.
Mandy was told how the first naked young female was already up on the mossy lawn, shivering and shielding her bosom, exposing her exquisite delta below. The second nude, water dripping from her spilling breasts, was scrambling up the bank. The third was staring in fear at the dog whip.
‘They are afraid. The governess is so angry.’
Again, the pupil’s hot bottom joggled beneath the teacher’s spanking palm.
‘And here?’ Mandy demanded, revealing the tenth and final sepia print.
The spanked schoolgirl gasped. Gazing down, she saw the three naked bathers, arranged thigh to thigh, bending. Their bottoms faced the camera, each pair of cheeks already adorned with the imprint of the dog whip, each pair of cheeks sporting several stripes. Above the whipped buttocks, the gloved hand of the governess gripped the supple lash.
Mandy stepped back a pace as, grunting thickly, her pupil collapsed down over the desk, thrusting her buttocks up and crushing her bosom into the front edge of her desk. Mandy – and Rowena behind her whirring Pentax – saw the schoolgirl’s spanked cheeks spasm and dimple as they were clenched in orgasm: mewing softly, the pupil ground her hot slit into the sepia print and came.
Mandy allowed the orgasm to run its violent course to a softly screamed climax, then gathered up both pigtails, wrapped them around her wrist, and peeled the spent blonde pupil away from her desk.
‘Just look at what you’ve done to that print. The print of those three naughty girls being whipped. You’ve ruined it. You’ve smeared it with your sticky juices, you wicked little wretch. This,’ Mandy whispered fiercely, ‘I fear, means a very special punishment. One that I cannot possibly enter into the punishment book but one which –’ she tugged at the pigtails, turning the green eyes around to gaze into her stern blue stare ‘– will be a lesson your bare bottom is never, ever going to forget.’
‘Come in.’
Mandy, showered and suppered, entered Erica’s lair. It was spartanly furnished with clinical chrome and black leather. No velvet, damask or chintz softened the harsh tone. Austerity was the keynote, severity the achievement.
‘Your debriefing. Rowena’s first rush of prints are out. Let us examine your first day’s work. Together. Closely.’
Erica was eating a late supper of celery stalks and Stilton. She napkined her lips fastidiously and wiped her fingers.
‘Not bad, not bad at all,’ she murmured, leafing through the glossy blow-ups. ‘But look. Here. Your first mistake. Flip the hem of the skirt up with the tip of the cane. It is a more dominant approach. And here,’ Erica continu
ed, worrying a stray sliver of celery with her tongue tip, ‘another mistake. The panties of the punished should always be drawn down to a restricting band at the knees. It bunches the buttocks beautifully and hobbles the victim, rendering her more helpless. Understand?’
Mandy, mesmerised momentarily by the blow-ups laid out before her, blinked and nodded.
‘Now here,’ Erica murmured, pausing to suck at a tooth, ‘you should have touched the bottom with your hand.’
Mandy gazed down across the cropped blonde’s shoulder to see.
‘Count the stripes which you have just administered. Count them aloud, and use your fingertip. The touch of flesh upon flesh, at this stage of the domination and discipline, is yearned for by the submissive. But be careful of any display of tenderness. It is too soon for that. A dominant touch to the whipped cheeks will suffice.’
‘I understand,’ Mandy whispered.
‘Now this, this was excellent.’
Mandy preened herself.
‘Excellent.’ Erica had discovered the gym-kit sequence. The Pentax had captured everything: including a big close-up of the anxious schoolgirl scrabbling for the missing pump, her teeth biting down pensively into her lower lip. ‘Quite inspired,’ Erica enthused, nodding approvingly. ‘We’ll make an angel of you yet. Hiding the pump and using the other one for punishment. A neat touch. Yes, I like that.’
Mandy felt a surge of pride welling up inside her. The next shots showed the schoolgirl accepting a biscuit and dipping it into her milk. Erica thoroughly approved, saying it was an authentic gesture between teacher and pupil, but one that sustained the power balance between the dominatrix and her charge.
The inquisition, punishment and subsequent climax over – and into – the album of erotic prints captured by the Pentax were studied carefully. Erica pronounced her verdict.
‘Magnificent,’ she sighed, lingering over a huge close-up of the spanked cheeks frozen in their spasm of orgasm. ‘The mistress will be pleased.’
The mistress. Mandy felt a flash of anger wipe out her glow of triumphant pride. She detested the very sound of the word.
The Mistress of Sternwood Grange Page 13