The Academy

by Arabella Knight

  Looking down onto his desk he counted the seven dossiers which would mean his intervention into the private crises of seven notable families. And certain doom for seven, nubile, headstrong young girls. More business for Porteous. More clients for the Academy.

  On the screen, in a freeze frame, Clarissa’s tear-stained face was caught in a timeless moment of anguished shame as a blonde girl cracked a table tennis bat down across her exposed buttocks. That blonde, Porteous mused. Surely? Why of course. The Gordon-George bitch. The Right Honourable Lady Miranda Davinia Gordon-George. Swallowing his third eclair he fished out a pigskin wallet. Unearthing Miranda’s hastily scribbled SOS note to her Aunt Emma, he placed it down on the smooth leather surface of his desk and flattened the creases out. He would send the note, with a covering letter, to Mrs Boydd-Black in the evening post. That should certainly make things hot for the Right Honourable’s little bottom, he chuckled grimly. He would make sure that the punishment was carefully recorded, like all the punishments at the Academy, on video tape.

  He must send that marvellous Miss Eaddes a bonus. She really was becoming most adept with that video equipment he had installed. Excellent results. And such a profitable sideline, selling these videos of the girls being chastised. No simulations. This was all too clearly for real. No cheating lipstick made those faint pink stripes across those naked, glowing bottoms. Without question, they were the tell-tale marks of canes kissing and straps swiping. And those thin squeals. As genuine as the sparkling tears were salt.

  He giggled, rubbed his fat hands and bit into another eclair before pressing the play button. Another pleasurable and profitable afternoon the evil genius smiled, greedily wolfing his eclair. Seven more for the Academy, grossing many thousands of pounds for him as its anonymous Director. And better still, a chance to have that blonde bitch whipped to order. What was her name? Ah yes. Miranda. Always treating him like some sort of species of slug. How he was going to relish seeing her having her arse reddened. Just like this quite excellent video, which he would copy and distribute among his select network throughout the City. And, he sighed blissfully, a delicious tea of eclairs.

  On screen, Clarissa squealed as her Chair and Quarter Exercise continued inexorably. Porteous narrowed his eyes. A perfect touch, insisting that the penitents kissed the bat. He had been right to overrule Mrs Boydd-Black on that matter. A perfect touch. Clarissa, her bottom large and round, her spine dipped, hissed her torment as the cruel bat sliced through the air and cracked sharply across her scalded cheeks. The video captured every stroke, every sob, lovingly and intimately in a range of carefully selected shots. Yes. Miss Eaddes was becoming quite expert. And, thought Porteous, these eclairs were simply quite delicious. As his tongue sank into the soft sweetness, Clarissa threshed and yelped once more…

  The frosty glint of Mrs Boydd-Black’s pince-nez sparkled in the red glow of the early setting November sun. A lilac mist was gathering beyond the elms, bringing with it the chill of an autumn dusk. The glint was replaced by two orange orbs as she raised up a pair of field glasses to her narrowing eyes. The field glasses caught and reflected the setting sun as it sent its dying shafts almost horizontally through the stark elm trees. The hand that held them shivered as a sudden memory flickered through her mind.

  The headmistress shuddered deliciously as those exquisite moments in the darkened gym returned to her. Who had found her there? Who had approached her, so tenderly? So understandingly? Who had touched her, then pleasured her, so effectively, so efficiently?

  Her nightly little indulgence with Miss Eaddes — who left her and returned an hour or so later to diligently undo those sweet, tormenting knots — had become something so much more rich, more resonant last night. But under whose hands had she melted into such sweet paroxysms of liquid delight? Who?

  The question haunted the headmistress. She shook it away, trying to concentrate hard on the magnified images brought to her by her field glasses. Out in the grounds, in the shadows of the elms, the dark, lengthening shadows, Jane was disciplining her three charges. Through her study window, an original mullioned glass of historical importance, the headmistress could savour details of the four girls in sharp detail.

  Jolly good, mused Mrs Boydd-Black, her lips pursed appreciatively. Jane, a paddle-like wooden butter pat from the old dairy clasped in her right hand, was rigorously supervising and, when necessary, chastising, the three greenbands in her care. She had just ordered them to cease running on the spot, hands on heads, taut bosoms protesting as they joggled within the cotton vests, and was now getting them to leap-frog over one another. As each girl vaulted over the back and rounded buttocks of the girl in front, the raised butter pat would come down swiftly and sharply across the crisp cotton shorts that strained and stretched across taut, plump buttocks.

  Jane was proving to be very accomplished with her little wooden paddle. Despite the afternoon chill of the November sunset, her three girls must be feeling very warm indeed. The headmistress continued to watch as the rigorous workout proceeded and was suddenly struck by an idea. She would, she decided, instruct both Jane and Miranda to hold a cross-country race at the end of the week. Each team of three greenbands would compete along a carefully selected, punishing route within the grounds of the Academy and the winning team would earn their captain a number of merit points together with the promise of keeping the highly prized blueband. Yes. A jolly good idea, she smiled. That would certainly put a little pep into the disciplining of the new girls. Disciplining… Mrs Boydd-Black’s mind surrendered once more to the memories of the haunting sweetness of last night in the gym.

  Jane closed the study door and looked at Miranda triumphantly.

  ‘My little lot will win. I’ve already had them in training. Put them through their paces. That blueband is as good as on my arm. Hard luck, old thing.’

  Miranda grinned.

  ‘Don’t be too sure. There’s still time for me to get my angels into shape.’

  ‘You’re too soft with them. Especially Susie.’

  Miranda flashed a look of troubled resentment at Jane. The taunt rankled. Jane laughed softly.

  ‘Yes you are. You’ve got some peaches there, mind you. Susie. And Clare. I wish I had Clare’s arse all to myself to control. Ooh. Lovely. But at least I’ve got my three up on their toes. They’ll win. You’ll see.’

  Miranda frowned. Perhaps Jane was right. Maybe she had been a little bit too indulgent with her three greenbands. She left the study and sought out Jaya to discuss it with her. Jaya was a loyal friend. She would know what to do.

  Jaya listened carefully, then shrugged.

  ‘If they are to win the race for you they must be properly prepared. In two ways,’ she observed.

  ‘Two ways?’ Miranda queried.

  ‘They must run with fear in their minds and love in their hearts.’

  Miranda could not conceal her puzzlement.

  ‘Fear of your displeasure must spur them on,’ Jaya explained. ‘Just as loyalty and devotion to you must speed them towards the winning line.’

  ‘One or the other, yes. But both?’ Miranda said in a dubious tone.

  ‘Yes. It is possible. Believe me. Let me come down to the gym with you and help you to prepare them for the race.’

  Down in the gym Miranda and Jaya stood together, heads closed in whispered conference, as Susie, Clare and Zoe stripped off into goosepimpling nakedness. Susie stood, legs slightly parted. Her eyes were dreamy. At her pubic delta, stray fingers absent-mindedly plucked at her wispy duckling down hair.

  Clare, whose bottom both invited and demanded punishment, stared warily at the two senior girls. Only Jaya, she noticed, was holding an instrument of punishment — a loose length of four-ply, waxed and knotted rope — in her hands. The rope made Clare’s cheeks clench in fearful expectation. Spiders of fear spun their silken webs over the taut skin of her swelling buttocks.

  The rope appeared to be stiff and potent with the promise of pain, yet supple and lithe as it w
as tested in the empty air with a casual flick. As it snapped, the three naked girls eyed it in mutual dismay. Working to a pre-determined plan, Miranda took up her position at one end of the gym while Jaya stood, feet slightly apart, at the other wall. The waxed rope dangled from her hand, gently brushing against the swell of her dusky thigh.

  The cross-country race to be held in four days time, and its importance to Miranda, was announced. Zoe, Clare and Susie looked at one another. Before they could comment or speculate, Jaya sternly instructed them each to take up a medicine ball. One by one, the naked girls bent down to clasp the soft heavy leather spheres to their squashed breasts. Susie staggered slightly under the weight.

  ‘Zoe first. Then you, Clare. Then Susie. Run to me first then down to Miranda. We want to see what sort of shape you’re in. Go.’

  Zoe gripped the medicine ball and held the awkward weight tightly to her own soft, warm spheres of heavy flesh. Her breasts bulged as her elbows angled sharply. Her knuckles whitened as her hands gripped the weight between them. She scampered bare-footed towards where Jaya waited, waxed rope swaying idly at her thigh.

  ‘Touch the wall,’ commanded Jaya.

  Approaching the white-washed brick wall, Zoe stretched her arms outwards and upwards, pressing the heavy ball against the wall. As she did so, legs splayed, spine arched, Jaya flicked the waxed rope across the perfectly rounded naked buttocks. Zoe squealed as the lash sliced her curved cheeks.

  ‘Move,’ came Jaya’s curt command.

  Zoe’s bare feet pattered down the length of the polished wooden floor. Reaching the far wall, she stretched up to press the ball against the gaunt brickwork, Miranda swept her hand down between the panting girl’s parted thighs, brushing her fingertips delicately along the velvety labial crease. Zoe mewed with sheer delight. Her submissive sigh of pleasure was almost instantly drowned by the crack of the lash — and immediate squeak of pain torn from Clare’s parted lips — as Jaya licked the length of cruel cord across the beautiful bottom. Clare skipped down the length of the gym, her rounded rump bearing a scarlet stripe which betrayed its submission to the tormenting rope.

  Miranda was waiting for Clare, and as the full, recently whipped bottom spread itself before her when Clare raised up her medicine ball, Miranda bent down and kissed it, dragging her wet tongue across the red stripe emblazoned on its convex curves by Jaya’s waxed rope.

  At the other end of the gym, Susie’s pert buttocks juddered as Jaya played the rope across them. She yelped, struggled to maintain her hold on the medicine ball and scampered down to where Miranda stood. As Susie strained to thrust the heavy ball up against the wall, Miranda slipped her arms around the waist of the quivering girl and gently squeezed her loose breasts, pinching the exposed nipples in a thrilling tweak with her questing finger and thumb. Susie, her bottom still scalding from Jaya’s crisp lash, hissed her pleasure and surprise at Miranda’s tender touch.

  The three naked girls were commanded to complete ten full laps. Each time they raced down to Jaya, their bottoms were greeted and punished by a stinging swipe of the supple rope. Each time they reached Miranda, punishment was replaced with pleasure as their soft nakedness surrendered to her probing fingers and tongue, dragging lips and fluttering caresses. Between pleasure and pain, ecstasy and anguish, the glistening girls romped, shuddering at the lash and shivering with pleasure as they alternated between the dusky punisher and the blonde who proffered delight.

  Panting and perspiring, Zoe yelped as the rope hugged her rounded buttocks for the tenth tormenting time. Her bare feet, white toes curled, skipped down along the polished wooden floor for her tenth appointment with pleasure. Miranda received her with expansive arms which embraced her, crushing the soft bosom into her own starched white vest and cupping her scalded buttocks tenderly.

  Miranda drew her hands around the supple hips of the breathless girl and eased them down between the opening thighs. Zoe dropped her medicine ball. It fell with a dull thud. Miranda joined her hands together, as if in prayer, palms pressed tightly, and rubbed them slowly along the curved flesh of Zoe’s wet warmth. The naked girl moaned and buckled at the knees, almost fainting away into the exhilarating, trance-like swoon of submission. The searching hands rubbed her inner fleshfolds more vigorously. Moments later, Zoe orgasmed with a soft scream torn from her quivering, passion-contorted mouth. The bright neon light burned red and gold in the ink blackness of her tightly closed eyes.

  Miranda stepped back, leaving her charge crumpled in spent ecstasy on the floor at her feet. A harsh cry split the air as Clare’s beautiful bottom shuddered under the kiss of her tenth lash. The reddening rump joggled provocatively as Clare bounded down towards Miranda, completing her tenth punishing lap. Miranda took Clare from behind as the sweating girl strained upwards to touch the wall. The punished bottom grew full and round as Clare stretched up on her toes. Sinking swiftly to her knees, Miranda clasped her arms around Clare’s wide, glistening hips and sank her cool face into the hot flesh of the ravished buttocks.

  Soon lips and tongue were working furiously against the swell of the plump, satin smooth cheeks, and Clare cried out with mounting pleasure as Miranda focused her entire energy and imagination onto the soft bottom she was mouthing wolfishly. With a velvety fold of flesh sucked deeply into her wet mouth, Miranda closed her teeth and took Clare up to — and then immediately over — the brink of self-possession. Still fixed between Miranda’s firm, white teeth, she threshed in her hot, wet orgasm.

  Susie whimpered as Jaya dealt her a tenth stinging swipe. She dropped the heavy medicine ball. Stooping to retrieve it, her little bottom received an extra taste of the length of waxed rope. She squealed in surprised pain and scampered down towards where she knew Miranda would be waiting with hands and lips to soothe and heal and proffer tender, loving care.

  Miranda took the heavy medicine ball from Susie’s exhausted arms and tossed it aside, taking the petite girl and encompassing her pale nakedness in a warm embrace. Miranda’s glossy, thick tongue flickered across Susie’s parched lips, them probed searchingly between them, taming and subduing Susie’s own aroused tongue. As Miranda drank deeply from Susie’s open-mouthed, sticky sweetness, the frantic greenband struggled to inch her fingers down between her loosening thighs. The dominant blonde redband who held her so fiercely stayed the gesture, quelling Susie’s wandering fingers and replacing them in the wet shadows behind the pubic fringe with her own. Soon Susie was mewing like a seagull winging in a gale, her tone one of plaintive surrender and sweet suffering, as waves of hot liquid delight drenched her, breaking her small body under their fierce force.

  Miranda and Jaya sat in the cool darkness of Jaya’s dormitory. The honey of excitement oozed from Miranda’s clamped thighs, its sweet odour penetrating the oppressive darkness. They reviewed their evening’s training session clinically.

  It had, they felt, been successful and so they resolved to repeat it, twice a day, until the crosscountry race at the end of the week. The psychology of the plan Jaya had evolved was perfect. The three girls were compelled between the extreme polarities of the pleasure and the pain principles, veering wildly between the totem erected to Eros and the dark altar of de Sade. It had already been firmly established in their muscles and in their minds that Miranda proffered pleasure and Jaya promised them pain. On the day of the actual race, both would be waiting for them at the finishing line, to reward the fleet of foot and chastise the sluggish and tardy. Miranda kissed Jaya lingeringly and smoothed the stubble of her closely cropped hair. She thanked her for all her help and sound advice.

  ‘As soon as you make blueband, you are within reach of the door out of here. You will make it to goldband, in time. Then comes your freedom,’ Jaya murmured softly, knowing how deeply the proud, independent blonde had suffered.

  Miranda silenced Jaya’s soft lips with another tender kiss, burning to tell the dark beauty of her hastily scribbled SOS which would soon bring Aunt Emma to her rescue. But she thought it wiser not to do
so. Let it be a complete surprise. Once free, she would return for Jaya. Be her saviour and secure her release. Miranda was determined.

  ‘Where are you going now? To see Emily?’ Jaya teased gently.

  ‘No,’ Miranda shook her head. ‘I think I’ve left my armband down in the gym.’

  She lied. She knew she had left her redband down in the gym. On purpose.

  Miranda crouched down in the recess behind the pile of prickly matting. She had no idea of the time, having no watch or access to any clock, but she felt that the moment must come soon, was imminent when the gym door would swing open and both Miss Eaddes and the headmistress would enter in silence for their nightly ritual. The minutes ticked by. Silence.

  In the solitude of the gym, Miranda conjured up the evening’s events, summoning the images of Jaya playing the length of sinuous waxed rope across the bare bottoms as she encouraged the naked girls with successive strokes of increasing severity. How Zoe’s breasts, so fulsome and gorgeous in their shiny splendour, had joggled and bounced as she had struggled to run under the weight of the heavy ball. How Clare’s rounded bottom had swayed so sinuously along with her glistening hips and thighs as her long legs pattered across the polished wooden floor. Such a delicious bottom, so exactly perfect for the attentions of a caressing hand and searching teeth and tongue. Miranda shivered with pleasure as she remembered how her cool saliva had silvered the rubicund buttocks.

  And Susie. How Susie had willingly received Miranda’s slim fingers in between, and then up inside, her opening thighs. Little Susie. Sticky little Susie. So pert. So docile, now she had been thoroughly tamed…

  The door creaked. The neon light spluttered into a blaze of vibrant white life. Miranda ducked as Miss Eaddes entered the gym first, dressed in a tautly bound, black silk kimono. The thin, shining silk hugged every curve and swelling roundness of her svelte body as it clung like a second skin to her lithe form. A brilliant red sash drew it tightly to her slender waist.