Wednesday, 31 March 2010

All Things Nice

Story from Schoolgirl Spanking Vol.1 Issue 1.

All Things Nice
by Claire Short

Every woman has a Summer: a period when the sun shines every day, all the songs in the charts seem to have been written especially for her and she knows for the first time the magic and power she possesses simply because she is alive and female.

Sonia recently had her Summer. She shared it with Lorraine and Annette at their exclusive South-coast boarding school.

Once their sixteenth birthdays were reached, they launched themselves on a wild exploration of the opportunities suddenly presented.

Lorraine quickly developed a taste for men from the lower strata of society. She craved the touch of calloused hands, rippled with pleasure at the sound of dropped consonants and elongated vowels and an illegal occupation made her drool. Had she been less sophisticated, all kinds of unflattering epithets would have been hurled at this girl and her natural curiosity would have been open to abuse. As it was, she was treated with respect because of her unadulterated Anglo-Saxon colouring and her precise speech. She was a toff and they were rough trade and both parties loved the arrangement.

Annette was less free with her favours, preferring the gentle gradual flowering of intimacy with the ex-military gentleman who ran the town's exclusive second-hand bookstore. He boasted that he could procure any volume a client might require and over the years this had built into steady demand for some rather esoteric adult literature. When the shades were drawn at the end of the day's trading, Annette's thighs opened for him, her unashamed lust begging to be satiated with the gift of his experience.

And Sonia? Sonia roamed the back streets of the sleepy town, noticing the sleazier activities of its residents and visitors. She watched men dialling numbers left in 'phone booths; she stationed herself opposite doorways belonging to "Monique, Model, First Floor" and she tailed newly-formed couples making their way to rooms rented by the hour with unwashed sheets on the waiting beds.

One day she was approached by a foreign executive who demonstrated the reclining leather upholstery of his hired car in a deserted country lane. The encounter was lucrative rather than satisfactory, but it proved as addictive as any of the snorting, shooting or smoking activities they had been warned about at school.

Three girls taking their different routes into womanhood, united by season. A disused outbuilding was made into a den furnished with oddments from their dormitory. They lazed on cushions and pillows, using the one upright chair as a table for their cans of drink and the radio permanently tuned to the local pop station. It was cosy and the atmosphere lent itself to intimate confessions. Girls who grew up together have few secrets and even fewer inhibitions and their anecdotes led on more than one occasion to re-enactments of the tricks their lovers had taught them.

Of course, it could only be a matter of time before they were discovered.

* * *

Alison Gray was just completing her probationary year as a teacher of History and Computer Science and needed somewhere quiet to write her end of term reports. She didn't know about the outbuildings, but once she spotted it on the other side of the copse, she went to investigate and a broken window gave her a clear view of her pupils.

To say she was shocked would not be wholly accurate. Being only in her early twenties and having attended a similar school herself just a few years previously, she knew what went on. She realised, though, that her status as a teacher meant she had to deal with the situation responsibly.

The girls were completely caught up in their tales, overlapping and interrupting one another as they demonstrated the way a garment had been removed or a limb caressed. Girls growing up in close proximity are not shy with one another and they eyed and touched one another without embarrassment. Their uniforms were dischevelled and their faces flushed as their descriptions became more graphic.

Sonia lay with her legs spread wide, revealing the lacy tops of her hold-up stockings. Not exactly regulation wear, but not directly forbidden, the shiny black sheaths exactly matched the gossamer lace panties that did, most definitely, contravene the rules. Her tie was askew and the buttons on her crisp cotton shirt were undone to expose the black lacy bra that was in any case clearly visible through the white fabric. Her pleated skirt was rucked around her waist, allowing her hand to slowly caress the small band of exposed flesh between stocking tops and pants. Despite her carefully curled hair and make-up, her eyes and mouth retained the innocence of youth – a heady mixture that ensured her popularity when she went on the prowling trips around town.

Lorraine was propped up with her back to the wall. Her legs and feet were bare and the sleeves of her neat blouse were rolled above her elbows. A natural sun-worshipper, she had taken care to acquire a slow mellow tan that set off her blue eyes and long blonde hair. Her tie was discarded and she had the top few buttons of her blouse open to reveal the start of her pleasing cleavage. The epitome of the English Rose, wholesome and inviting.

And then there was Annette. Slightly plumper than her playmates, less well-formed, her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders and her eyes shone with laughter. Her white knee socks were neatly in place and even her black shoes were laced correctly. Of the three, she was the most conventional "Schoolgirl", although the things she was saying scarcely matched her image.

'I just felt there should have been a bit more,' she was complaining. 'I mean, it's good, honestly it is,' (none of them would ever admit to any experience being less than "good" and ideally it should be "incredible" or even "divine") 'but it's like I'm there and it's perfect and intense and it just goes away and then he's looking at me all expectantly and I don't know what to say.' Lorraine cooed sympathetically and they both looked at Sonia for the wisdom her wider experience accorded her.

She paused in her silent self-exploration and rolled languidly on to her tummy. As though seeking to aid her concentration before speaking, she licked slowly along Annette's upper leg, her tongue gently probing at the fleecy fabric of the traditional navy knickers.

'I don't think men realise what it's like for girls. They mistake the beginning for the whole thing,' she opined sagely, using a finger to pull aside the soft material and gently massage the moist fleshy folds beneath. Annette moaned deliriously and they all recognised the beginning of her pleasure. She lay back and reached up to squeeze Lorraine's neat breasts, gradually manipulating the buttons of her blouse and releasing the clasp at the front of her sensible white brassiere. Lorraine bent forward, letting the nipples tease Annette's pouting lips.

None of them heard the approach of Alison Gray; Miss Gray who taught them History and Computer Studies and belonged to the world of over-the-hill adults. With their eyes closed in private passions, they did not see her coming closer, her face a mixture of surprise, intrigue and worry, unsure of how to act. If she went for support, the girls would possibly be gone by the time she returned. If she confronted them, they might become abusive (and they did, after all, outnumber her). She gazed down at the orgy in progress, trying to decide what to do.

Annette's white socks settled on to Sonia's shoulders as her lover knelt and performed her ministrations with pleasure and without haste, Lorraine was fingering herself in time with the licking and sucking bestowed upon the pale nipples by Annette. Sonia's bottom was high in the air as she bent to her task, her rumpled skirt forming a dark halo around her nether regions.

Silently, Alison Gray removed the soft leather pump from her right foot and brought its sole down sharply on the lace-bedecked posterior. There was no immediate response from her victim, so she swung her arm in a wide arc and delivered a second blow, lower this time, on the naked skin above the stocking top of Sonia's left leg.

Sonia had absorbed the impact of the first slap before she realised that it was nothing to do with the current activity. By the time she had been struck again she was aware of somebody else being with the group who shouldn't be there. Her right thigh had been assaulted before she could disengage her mouth from its loving labours and respond.

Three voices were raised in simultaneous protest; Alison Gray began a tirade about loose morals and indecent behaviour; Sonia protested at the physical assault being meted out to her body and Annette howled with rage as Sonia's attentions suddenly ceased. Before Lorraine could add her own complaint she looked up and saw the pretty young teacher scowling down at them.

'Stand up all of you,' she raged. 'What do you think you are doing? I'm taking you directly to Dr Winters office.' Suddenly she felt unable to deal with the situation herself and it seemed sufficiently grave to warrant the intervention of the Head. Annette and Lorraine were dumbstruck, but desperation made Sonia bold and she stepped forward to face the teacher.

'Please don't report us, Miss Gray,' she begged. 'We'll be expelled and we're all planning to stay on next year. It would ruin everything. It was just fun, it won't happen again. We're sorry.' The strong light from the doorway behind the teacher made it difficult to read the expression on her face. 'Look, we'll do anything you say. Detentions, lines, wash your car...'

'Quiet!' Alison Gray barked. She wanted time to think. She was reluctant to go to the Head if for no other reason than that she was embarrassed to think of having to describe what she had witnessed. On the other hand, she couldn't let the girls get away with it. She looked steadily at each of them speaking slowly and deliberately.

'Right, I'm sure you realise how silly you have been. But you must also see that I cannot simply ignore what I saw. You deserve a harsh punishment, but I can see that expulsion – which would be the only option open to Dr Winters – could ruin your education careers.' She paused. 'The only alternative I am prepared to entertain is that I deal with you myself here and now and we say nothing more about it. There will be no negotiations, you will accept my punishment and today's activities will never be repeated.'

Sonia, Lorraine and Annette looked at each other, silently acknowledging that they had no choice and mumbled their assent.

'Wait here,' they were told and none of them even considered disobeying.

When Alison Gray returned she was carrying a bundle of long supple twigs gathered from the ground. She used the band that held her hair in place to tie them together and brandished the rude implement in front of the girls.

'You will each receive six strokes from this birch. It will be exceedingly painful and you will be marked for several days. This is your last chance to refuse this punishment and the alternative is an immediate interview with the Head – and you know what she will do.'

'I'll take your punishment,' Annette volunteered. She stepped forward and followed Miss Gray's instructions to bend over the chair back and rest her arms on the seat. She tucked her skirt into its waistband and waited with her legs straight and her buttocks thrust jauntily out.

The first blow landed on the thick fabric of her knickers, but even so its impact drew a long gasp of shock from her. The second one landed lower, partly grazing the naked flesh of her thighs and this time she uttered a deep throaty growl.

The third one cut low on the backs of her legs. Through the sharp pain she realised with horror that there was a good chance its marks would be visible below the hemline and began to sob with shame. Her tears brought a lump of pity to her teacher's throat, but the punishment had to be delivered in full.

A hand tugged at the waist of her sensible briefs, dragging them high and tight into the cleft between her bottom cheeks. Now the trajectory of the birch was foreshortened but its sibilant hiss was as loud as ever and its jagged nips bit into the ample flesh like a score of electric shocks. By now she was sobbing uncontrollably and was oblivious to the attack from the final two blows. Even when it was over, she remained in position until her friends guided her gently to the pile of cushions and helped her lie down on their welcoming softness.

'So, who is to be next?' the teacher asked with convincing sincerity.

'Me.' Lorraine felt she had to volunteer before her courage completely failed her. She could not trust herself to witness the flogging of her other friend and still be able to undergo her own chastisement.

She stepped forward and took up her position over the chairback. Alison Gray raised the uniform skirt and yanked down her prim white panties to her knees. Without prevarication the vicious twigs swept thought the air and bit deeply into the tender skin of the proffered rear.

Annette was too preoccupied with her own wounds to take any interest in her friend's sufferings, but Sonia watched with fascination as the prescribed six strokes were delivered.

Lorraine was determined not to cry out, but silent tears coursed down her pretty cheeks as the wicked wand punished her with merciless efficiency. When it was over she flopped mutely next to Annette, struggling to remain composed as Sonia stepped forward to be dealt with.

The teacher was feeling confident about her actions now. She knew the punishment she was meting out was effective and had no fears that her career would not be endangered by complaints from any of these girls. She ordered Sonia to remove her skirt completely, but to retain the rule-flouting flimsies. Three distinct pink marks were already evident from the spanks she had received from the teacher's shoe and the first swipe from the budded twigs spattered them with mauve flecks. The second brought Sonia to her toes and before she could sink back the third had her slumped over the chair, panting as though she had just completed a 100 metres sprint.

The areas between her briefs and stocking tops was a mass of light red tracery and purple dots and her skin twitched convulsively.

The fourth swipe made her scream aloud, feet drumming on the wooden floor, white knuckles grasping the edge of the seat.

The fifth tore the flimsy fabric of her panties, the rents in the wispy nylon highlighting the red hue they had half-concealed. Sonia's gyrations caused one of her stockings to roll down and by the time the final blow fell, she had lost all vestiges of dignity and howled without restraint.

Alison Gray left, saying nothing.

In their hideaway the three miscreants huddled together like a litter of newborn puppies, gentle fingers trying to sooth the heat from one another's scorched buttocks but only succeeding in exacerbating the pain. They had no energy to talk, but knew they shared common worries of repurcussions. Would Miss Gray really let the matter rest?

Eventually they made themselves as presentable as possible and returned to school. Apart from a few sidelong glances from the History Mistress there were no further references to that fateful day.

And, in time, the memory of the pain faded and blended into other more pleasant recollections of music and sex and new powers that came their way that Summer.


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