St Hilda’s College was a substantial Edwardian property situated on the edge of town and set in several acres of mature grounds and gardens. It had been a family residence until after the Second War when the combined effects of swingeing Labour Government taxation of the upper middle classes plus the virtual impossibility of getting and keeping domestic help had forced its sale. After one or two uncertain years it had taken on its present incarnation: a finishing college for girls.
Such establishments are perhaps more rare nowadays than a generation or two ago but they are still in surprisingly strong demand. From girls’ parents rather than girls themselves. Parents in the unfortunate position of seeing Deborah or Melanie or whoever with little of tangible value for their time at school. Nothing with which to get them into a proper university or college certainly. So what are Deborah or Melanie to do: work in Woolworths? It is a heart-rending thought (we are of course talking of middle-class parents here).
But if not that then what else? What else which springs to the minds of girls’ mothers of course — has it not indeed been there all the time? — is marriage. To a young man of excellent demeanour and prospects. Well a place like St Hilda’s College can teach a girl the skills with which to snare such a catch. Give her the poise and a smattering of culture (art, music, history perhaps) plus also a proper ladylike reserve when it is called for. (A young lady seeking the proper sort of mate does not, for instance, open her legs on her first date and allow free access to her intimate person. Even if her intimate person is hot and eager for action.)
Yes St Hilda’s teaches these skills and has an excellent name for it. Teaches Deborah and Melanie. And Diane and Elaine. Diane Shelby and Elaine Timpson. Who are just starting at St Hilda’s, along with a number of other new girls, on this Sunday in early September. It is a lovely sunny afternoon and St Hilda’s with its immaculate lawns and resplendent herbaceous borders is looking especially seductive. Diana and Elaine, though, are not particularly seduced by it. They are 17 and 18 respectively, both ash-blonde, both lovely looking girls. St Hilda’s may look very attractive and may seem to Mrs Shelby and Mrs Timpson an ideal place for their daughters to spend the next nine months but Diane and Elaine do not see it that way. For one thing there is going to be a complete absence of young males for the next month at least
They had been vaguely aware of this restriction already but now Miss Maskell who is to be their tutor has at this first interview in her study confirmed it. Miss Maskell BA is not old, only late twenties probably, tall and elegant and attractive-looking. And it seems prepared to be friendly. You can call me Jane when we’re off duty,’ she has said while pouring out tea in her Spode china.
But Miss Maskell was also quick to stress that particular rule. Young men. Any men in fact.
‘For the first month at least we must be concentrating very much on the work. Therefore no male distractions. Certainly no visits from boyfriends and also no passes out.’ Miss Maskell’s friendly smile. But I’m sure it won’t be a problem. We can certainly get by without male company for a few weeks, can’t we girls?’
‘No we bloody can’t,’ Diane says with spirit as soon as they are out of Miss Maskell’s hearing. (Which incidentally is the sort of language St Hilda’s does not want to hear.)
They are in the little twin-bedded room which has been assigned to them. This at least is something on the bright side for Diane and Elaine have been close friends at school and they could have been split up. Someone had even mentioned the dread prospect of dormitories. But no, there is this quite acceptable room for the two of them with a very pleasant view of the rear of St Hilda’s grounds. The room is OK. Miss Maskell seems not too bad. But no males.
Diane puts her arms round Elaine. ‘I’ll go mad, Lainey. Won’t you? Not getting it at all.’
Elaine is a little taller than Diane and also a little heavier built. Junoesque one would say, very soft and curvy: a lovely figure. Though of course Diane’s figure is lovely too. Elaine sighs and puts her own arms round her friend. They have both started doing it. Screwing. Not promiscuously of course, not just anyone who asks them, but with their boyfriends. And people do say that once you’ve started and then you don’t have it — well, you can get a bit desperate.
‘We’ll just have to put up with it,’ she says. ‘Try and think of other things. But what about poor Bob and Steve. What are they going to do?’
Diane gives a harsh little laugh. ‘Well if they feel too bad they’ll just have to have a good wank, won’t they.’ (Which of course is certainly not the sort of language St Hilda’s wants to hear.) ‘But what about us. I think I’ll go mad if I don’t get it well, now and then. A month! I couldn’t go for a month. I mean I’ve got used to it now.’
Elaine does not wish to admit to this sort of desperation. Like a cat on heat as it were. Although she will certainly miss it. Steve’s urgent thing, big and stiff, sliding into her. They will just have to think of something else.
She laughs softly. ‘Maybe they’ve got cold showers here.’
Diane snorts. Cold showers are certainly not an acceptable answer to her problems. Holding Elaine’s soft and yielding body has anyway got Diane a little bit aroused. She could really do with a quick one with Bob. But if not Bob… there is lovely Elaine. She strokes Elaine’s soft bottom. Elaine doesn’t like doing it with her, Diane, even though they are very best friends. Elaine thinks it’s wrong. But Elaine can be persuaded, against her feelings of wrong-doing, and in fact can get really turned on by it.
‘Don’t.’ Nervously pushing Diane’s hand away. Elaine can guess what she may have in mind.
Diane’s hand refuses to be pushed away. It goes in underneath the softly swelling cheeks. ‘Yes. We’ve got half an hour before we’ve got to go down. We can lock the door. Yes, lovely Lainey.’
‘No!’ Elaine squeals. Diane’s hand is at the front now. Up Elaine’s skirt and at the tight crotch of her brief knickers. Rubbing her pussy. No, they really can’t. Not when they’ve only been here an hour. And anyway it’s wrong. Elaine doesn’t want to do it any more. Although at the same time it is clear that in their coming nun-like existence without Bob and Steve that is going to be very difficult. Elaine is trying to push Diane’s hand away but the hand at her pussy through the thin silk knickers is already getting her aroused. Moist.
‘No…ooo…!’ she breathes again. But then Diane’s hot mouth is on hers and it is difficult to struggle. Diane backs her up against the wall. Her hand is now grabbing at Elaine’s knickers. Grabbing them down. Breaking her mouth away for breath Elaine makes a gurgling sound. Her knickers are sliding down. Diane is getting down. Kneeling on the carpet. Pushing Elaine’s knees apart. Both of them have unfortunately forgotten that the door is not locked…
It abruptly bursts open. As Diane with Elaine’s skirt pushed up and her knickers down is busily engaged. Her blonde head can be seen but her face is buried between Elaine’s lovely thighs. This is the scene which meets Jane Maskell as she unsuspectingly enters.
Fifteen minutes later. In something of a state of shock still, Diane and Elaine stand before Miss Maskell in her tutorial room. Jane Maskell had merely intended to check that everything was alright. Instead… She was almost speechless. But not quite.
The two girls were ordered to present themselves here. Changed out of the things they had arrived in into St Hilda’s-approved outfits. Elaine is in a pale blue blouse with dark St Hilda’s tie, Diane has on a similar ivory-coloured blouse with the tie. Both are wearing short navy-blue skirts with white knee-socks. Schoolgirl-type white knee-socks at St Hilda’s signify that a girl is on a charge for some misdemeanour or other; otherwise the daytime wear is high heels and dark nylons with a suspender belt. Diane and Elaine of course are on a charge for gross misbehaviour.
‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’ Miss Maskell asks, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. Standing at the side of her lectern she has put on her long black academic gown over her blouse and skirt. The friendly and informal tea session in her study seems a long way away.
The two of them can only shake their heads. Even Diane who usually has an answer has none now. She still can’t get those dreadful few minutes out of her head. Elaine suddenly with a frightened yelp pushing at Diane’s head. But Elaine had been making sounds — mewling groans — and her yelp did not at once register as anything. Then…
Miss Maskell’s face is flushed — as she too has the scene crystal-clear in her mind. ‘I am not surprised you have nothing to say. There is nothing to say, is there?’
A pause. ‘Except that you will both be very severely punished. The cane. Which I hope will teach the two of you that girls at St Hilda’s… do not… engage in that sort of activity.’
Diane and Elaine looking straight ahead are both wondering if they have heard correctly. The cane! They can’t be caned, can they?
‘Is that clear? I shall cane you both.
You will take your knickers down and I shall cane your bare bottoms.’
Yes they have heard correctly. It is an unbelievable, impossible thought. The cane… on their bare bottoms. Diane stutters, ‘Pl…Please Miss… Maskell… No!’
But protests, stuttered or not, are going to get nowhere. Miss Maskell asks if Diane would like her parents to be told. Would she rather have that… or take a caning? It is of course a choice which is no choice at all.
‘Very well. We shall deal with you first Diane. As you were the… ah… active partner. Get your knickers down. Elaine can have the pleasure of watching. Of seeing how you take it. Before she has her own turn.’
Yes it is clear that Miss Maskell is going to cane them. And impossible as it may seem on their bare backsides. Miss Maskell has gone over to a cupboard. Is taking out a wicked-looking cane.
Diane desperately finds her tongue. ‘Please Miss. I was… we were… feeling bad. Because we… won’t be seeing our boyfriends. I… we don’t do that sort of thing. Normally. Not ever…’
‘Get them down. At once! Get them right off. I intend to teach you that you won’t wish to. Not while you’re here at St Hilda’s at least.’
Faced with Miss Maskell’s intense eyes — and the cane quivering in her hand — Diane can only comply. Hands up under the short skirt to the tight white knickers she was given by Matron. Pulling them down. This is really awful. But there is nothing she can do. If she told her parents this vicious bitch Maskell would simply tell them why.
The vicious bitch is insisting she takes the knickers right off. And then bend over the bureau.
‘And I want you watching this, Elaine. Watching every second of it. Got that?’
Oh how unbearably sick-making. For both of them. Diane now bent face-down over the bureau and the little navy skirt pushed up round her waist Her lovely rounded bottom quite bare. Her bottom and also… a glimpse of her pussy as well peeping from below the undersides of the thrust-out cheeks. It is sickening for Elaine to have to look… but she has to. It is sickening also of course for Diane to have to display herself like this. It is all quite sickening… But the real business has not yet begun…
Oh Sweet Jesus! Diane’s banshee-like yell as the cane slices wickedly in. Her stricken bottom, sliced squarely across the fullest fat, gives a convulsive jerk. With all considerations of modesty forgotten in her desperation, Diane’s legs slide wide apart to afford both the hard-eyed tutor and awestruck Elaine a very full view of Diane’s sex. The blonde bush with the central split momentarily wide, displaying all. Elaine gulps.
This one cuts in across Diane’s flank, producing another frenzied yell. Diane’s legs come together… and then jerk apart again. Elaine, feeling sweat now pricking her skin, tells herself: I’ll keep my legs together. However bad… I’ll keep my legs together.
The dreadful cane has sliced in again. And again. There are bright red stripes now across the soft pale flesh. Diane holding desperately onto the bureau top. Her bottom and thighs twisting and writhing. Sometimes her legs are together. And sometimes not. It makes Elaine feel quite faint to watch but she has to. This dreadful spectacle of Diane. With also the dreadful thought that in minutes… it will be herself over that bureau. She feels faint. She also feels… as if she might possibly wet her knickers at any moment.
The caning continues. How many strokes? Elaine doesn’t want to identify a number — because presumably it will be the same number for herself. And it seems an awful lot. An impossibly large number. Just look at poor Diane’s bottom…
Miss Maskell finally considers she has done justice to her task — and to Diane’s traumatised rear. ‘That will do then. You can stand up now. Stand aside. We will give Elaine hers.’
Poor Diane! It seems she can hardly stand. As if her legs are made of rubber. And her face… It is red and tear-stained. Red like her bottom. Those really awful looking stripes which at least are now hidden by the skirt as she hobbles away. Hands dabbing pathetically at her wet face. It is too much. Elaine is sure she is going to faint. Or the other: wet her pants. Or both…
‘Come on Elaine. Don’t hang about please. Let’s see how you take a good caning. Better than Diane perhaps? Less noise and fuss? Come on here, let’s see.’
‘That bloody bitch! That bloody sadistic bitch!’
Diane speaking with evident feeling: and indeed she and Elaine are still feeling the dreadful canings, their bottoms are still tingling. Although something like half-an-hour has elapsed since that mind-boggling action in Miss Maskell’s room. The girls are back in their own room now, sitting gingerly on their beds. Miss Maskell said she will be considering moving them to different rooms ‘except that I don’t suppose any other girls will wish to share with you two.’ Miss Maskell has anyway taken the key and also told them that she or Matron may look in to check on them ‘at any moment.’ It is supper time now but Diane and Elaine are not to have any supper. Instead they are shortly to go, separately, to see Mr Singley, the principal.
Girls at St Hilda’s are always sent to see Mr Singley after a caning. Caning is not all that frequent — not necessarily because girls do not commit caneable offences but because they are usually careful not to be found out. But when there is a caning Mr Singley wants to know about it; wants to see the caned girl as soon afterwards as possible and certainly the same day.
Elaine looks at Diane and makes a face. There is nothing really to say. She could remind Diane that she had tried to stop her, told her to stop, it was too dangerous. But there is no point in that. It is done. They have had their horrendous canings (Elaine’s performance over the bureau was quite as desperate as Diane’s). And it is not finished. There is now Mr Singley.
‘He… He’s going to want to know all the details I suppose,’ Elaine says haltingly. ‘Mr Singley. If she hasn’t told him already. Oh Christ.’
‘Look I’m really sorry, Lainey. I know it’s all my fault. I should have locked that bloody door.’
At this precise moment there is a discreet knock at the bloody door. It opens. It is matron, Mrs Mulveny. She smiles. Does she know? Presumably. ‘Diane Shelby, Mr Singley will see you now.’
Mrs Mulveny, a pleasant-looking woman of forty or so, grins again. ‘You… ah… have to have your knickers off. When it’s for this; a caning I mean. OK? Right away.’
She goes out, closing the door. ‘Bloody Christ!’ Diane says.
A tremulous little knock. Maybe if she knocks very quietly he won’t hear and then she can go away… That is stupid of course, it would only get her into greater trouble. Anyway Mr Singley had heard. ‘Come in.’ A confident male voice.
He is sitting at his desk. Hubert Singley MA. Diane has already met Mr Singley when she came for an interview earlier. Fiftyish, glasses and grey hair, ordinary looking. Diane is feeling more than a little sick: caused by the awareness of no knickers under her skirt; caused also by the awareness of those red stripes on her bottom. They are still there; she asked Elaine to look.
‘Ah Diane. Yes. Close the door and come here please.’
Her heart jumping about like a wild creature as she goes round to stand at Mr Singley’s side. Mr Singley gazing up at her. Diane meets the searching grey eyes and looks away.
‘Yes Miss Maskell has told me of course. It is our rule here. When a girl has to be caned.’
Her face is bright red, she can feel it. There is nothing to say.
‘Turn round please. And lift your skirt. Up round your waist I assume you’ve got your knickers off. Mrs Mulveny told you that.’
‘Y…Yessir.’ Oh Christ Having to show him her bare burn. But then she guessed. Why else would they have to take their knickers off.
Making herself do it. Turning to present her bottom. Sliding the little skirt up. This is dreadful. As bad in its way as the caning. As bad as being caught with her face between Elaine’s legs…
Hubert Singley eyes the nubile nude rear. Pale flesh with the red-going-to-purple stripes. Reaching his hand out. To take hold. A little gasp from Diane. The flesh is hot in his hand.
‘Hurt did it, young lady?’
‘Yessir,’ gasped out. This is awful. Mr Singley has hold of her bare bum. Her hot and caned bare bum.
‘Yes. But it has to of course. For a serious breach of the rules. You can understand that. What you… were doing… You’re keen on that, are you?’
‘No! No Sir!’ Mr Singley’s hand is still at her bare bottom. Cupping one hot cheek, his fingers in the cleft.
‘N… No Sir. It was just… just my boyfriend. Our boyfriends. That we… we won’t be seeing them…’ Diane’s voice is stuttery. She’s not going to start crying, is she?
‘Your boyfriends. Yes.’ Hubert Singley shifts his position in his seat but keeps hold of Diane’s bottom. ‘Do you… ah… do it, Diane? With your boyfriend. Intercourse I mean. The full thing. Have full intercourse. Regular intercourse.’
‘Yes Sir. Pr…pretty regular. I… well, we started. So…’
‘And you’re going to miss it of course? Miss the intercourse. That regular sexual intercourse. With your boyfriend. How… ah… often, Diane? Have you been engaging in it? Every day perhaps? Or the nights, the evenings. I suppose that’s the time when a girl does it. And does your mother know? And approve?’
All these questions. Mr Singley wanted to know all the details. Which Diane of course would rather not divulge, thank you very much. Not these most intimate and personal details of a girl’s private life. But Mr Singley is very persistent and also, in the context of perhaps otherwise being assumed to have an unnatural interest in her own sex, in Elaine, well, it might be as well. To say. Admit. That she does it quite a lot. Only with Bob of course but quite a bit. Well, most evenings. Or did. Before being sent here to St Hilda’s.
‘Most evenings!’ Hubert Singley lets the thought expand in his head like a beautiful flower unfolding. Shifting in his seat again. Something has similarly expanded in the front of his trousers. Like an exotic and turgid fruit. Most evenings! What a hot little number!
‘And Elaine… does she also… do it most evenings?’
‘Uh… well… Ooooh!’ Mr Singley’s hand has slipped down from the fullest swell of Diane’s bottom-cheeks. In under the undercurve. His fingers invading. So that it is difficult to concentrate on what Elaine does. Elaine who does it quite a bit also but maybe not quite as much as Diane.
‘Ooooh! Please…’ Diane stumbling forward. Into the unyielding edge of Mr Singley’s desk.
‘Just keep still now. I need to investigate. Keep still and… open your legs a little. I mean… well yes I can see if you’ve been doing it that regularly. Yes you may well fear a sudden complete cessation. Here within our cloistering walls. Oh yes. And… does your mother know, Diane?’
‘No. No please…’
No both to the question (Diane’s mother does not know, Diane has specifically assured her mother that she doesn’t do it) and to Mr Singley’s invading hand. Which is now right there. At Diane’s very headquarters. His hand at her hot puss. She quivers. Gasping for air.
‘Just keep steady… No need… to get excited…’ Mr Singley is getting to his feet. But still with his hand there. His fiendish fingers. What… is Mr Singley… doing?
‘Don’t worry. No one’s going to know. Not that business in your room. Nor about your boyfriend. I daresay if your mother found out… But she won’t.’
‘No!’ Diane yelps. Because Mr Singley… It is not his hand now. It is something else. It can’t be but it is. Nosing in there. In between Diane’s legs from behind. ‘No… ooo!’
‘Yes. Keep calm.’ Mr Singley is pushing her down. Front-down over his desk. And at the same time… ‘You need it. I can see that. Once a girl’s got used to it. Miss Maskell may not properly understand these things. But… ah…’
‘Oooooohh!’ Diane shudders. Because Mr Singley is in there. Up in her. His entrance made easy by the fact that Diane has unfortunately become all wet and ready. Due to Mr Singley’s fiendish hand of course, a girl can’t help these things, can’t help responding. It is impossible to believe this. But Mr Singley is doing it. Doing her.
Walking back in a daze to their room. Diane’s knees wobbly, like after the caning. It is a bit like the caning. The same sort of shock to the system. Walking rubbery-legged and in a daze, unable to believe it still. Mr Singley couldn’t have. Not done that. Done it. Could she have dreamt it?
‘Well, what happened?’ Elaine’s voice urgent as Diane goes in and flops on her bed. Shaking her head.
‘What happened?’ Elaine has of course to go now. Mrs Mulveny has told her to go as soon as Diane gets back. Elaine has her knickers off ready.
Diane shakes her head again. Finding words. ‘It’s… OK. Nothing… really.’
‘Are you sure?’ Elaine with that feeling again that she’s going to wet her pants. Except that she hasn’t got any on. They are off for Mr Singley. Oh Christ ‘He didn’t… give you another caning?’
‘No. Oh no.’ Could Mr Singley have really done it? He did, she knows he did. ‘No, not a caning.’
‘Nothing. You… you’ll see.’
Wailing ‘Oh Christ!’ Elaine goes out. He won’t, will he? Do it to Elaine? Jesus! Diane rolls over on her bed.
Elaine won’t say. Diane doesn’t know if he did or not. Elaine came back a bit shaky, and embarrassed. But she wouldn’t say, in spite of Diane’s insistent demands. And without knowing Diane doesn’t want to say either. To tell Elaine. But finally, when they are in bed, she does. Whispering it across in the darkness.
They are in their own two beds of course. Certainly not daring to get in together in the circumstances. Miss Maskell has said there could be a night-time check, herself or matron. They have at least had something to eat, Mrs Mulveny bringing in a snack later. ‘Compliments of Mr Singley,’ she said with a grin. Diane wondered at the grin. Mrs Mulveny couldn’t know, could she? About in Mr Singley’s office. No of course not, she was grinning because they’d been caned.
Whispering it across. ‘Elaine. I’ll tell you what really happened. In Mr Singley’s office.’ Because she can’t keep it to herself any more. Whispering out the words. Elaine won’t believe her. Or says she won’t. Elaine could have had the same but won’t admit it and therefore is pretending she can’t believe it.
‘Elaine!’ Diane’s voice low but urgent. ‘Did you get it too? The same. Come on, tell me.’
‘No. And I don’t believe you.’
Elaine doesn’t believe Diane. Mr Singley wouldn’t do that. Would he? He certainly didn’t do it to her. What Mr Singley did was feel Elaine up. Well, more than just a routine feeling up. Making her come in fact. With his hand. Elaine hasn’t wanted to tell Diane because, well, it is embarrassing. Coming on Mr Singley’s hand like that. Well it’s not something to shout about. Maybe he did the same to Diane and she wants to make something more of it. Pretend that Mr Singley actually did it. The whole thing. Diane has done this before: at school claiming the PE Master did it but then later admitting she made it up.
‘He did,’ Diane hisses in the dark. ‘Really. And I bet he did it to you too. Come on tell me.’
Elaine says to shut up, she has to sleep.
They are not out of the woods in the morning because Miss Maskell is not finished with them. Perhaps she is a sadist as Diane says. She comes in to them before breakfast ‘I trust the two of you haven’t got up to anything in the night?’
Then says they are to continue to wear the knee-socks because they are still on a charge from their behaviour yesterday.
Miss Maskell is going to give them another caning, after breakfast when she has a free period. Also, she says, Mr Singley wants to see Elaine again later in the morning.
None of this sounds at all pleasant. Another caning! And for Elaine also Mr Singley again!
Miss Maskell goes out. ‘Bitch!’ Diane hisses after the door is closed. And then ‘Lucky you!’ to Elaine.
‘I suppose he’s going to do it to you. If he hasn’t already, he’s keen to have a taste of beautiful Elaine. If he has already, well, he just wants a second go!’
Elaine squeals. Diane is putting her on. Elaine is pretty sure she is. But maybe not 100 per cent sure. It is just possible that he could have done it to Diane — and then perhaps when she herself went in was not recovered and ready to want to do it again. Not right away. It does take men a little while to recover. Or so Elaine understands. If that is so… Mr Singley would certainly be ready this morning. He is only seeing her. Well, not Diane at least Oh Christ!
But Elaine doesn’t really believe this. And anyway there is that other dreadful thing. The cane again, from Miss Maskell. The cane is anyway worse. Isn’t it?
Miss Maskell wants them in only their vests. Take everything off and then stand at attention side by side between their beds. Miss Maskell eyeing them: these two new and lovely blondes in only their tight white vests which extend not much further than their waists. Eyeing the swell of their boobs, their nipples, under the tight cotton: Elaine’s especially which are a thrusting 37 inches at least And below their waists the nude flesh. With their silky blonde bushes.
Elaine catches Miss Maskell’s eye and quickly looks away. But not before she has seen a certain look. A look of hot desire: the desire to cane… and maybe also something else. That thing that Diane was doing which they are being caned for. Is it possible?
‘You first this time, Elaine. Let’s get that fat bottom hotted up shall we? Bend yourself over the bed.’
Elaine shivers. Feeling faint again. Miss Maskell intends to hurt her, Elaine can guess that. The pleasure of hurting her. Slicing that dreadful cane into her ripe bottom. Elaine wants to beg for mercy. Get down and grovel at Miss Maskell’s feet. But it wouldn’t do any good. Maybe the tutor would like it — but she will still cane her. It is the caning she wants. And something else…?
Elaine’s desperate cry part stifled in the bed cover. The first searing cane cut feels worse than anything yesterday. If that is possible. Her poor bottom feels as if it has been cut in two.
Another just as bad. Diane, watching, bites her lip. The two angry stripes now on Elaine’s quivering bottom. Then a third. She feels slightly sick. Knowing that in minutes it will be herself…
‘Get your knees up!’ Miss Maskell barks. ‘Higher!’
Elaine, sweating, grunts with her efforts. Running on the spot, high knee action. In just her vest still. For Miss Maskell who is sitting on Diane’s bed. Diane is gone, sent out by Miss Maskell in gym kit to run round the grounds for half an hour. Following her caning of course.
Miss Maskell getting to her feet. Elaine has been running hard for several minutes and is red in the face, gasping for breath.
Miss Maskell laughs. ‘You’re soft, Elaine. Soft and a bit fat. Aren’t you?’ Her hand flicks across Elaine’s jutting boobs in the thin vest
‘You need some good work-outs. I should have you doing this all day. And every day. Maybe I will. Now tell me about last night. What did you and dear Diane get up to?’
Elaine, getting her breath back, gasps, ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing Miss Maskell.’ Jane Maskell squeezes one of Elaine’s ripe nipples. ‘That’s more respectful, isn’t it? And I don’t believe you. I know you were both in one bed. Going down on each other. Or whatever. Weren’t you?’
‘No… Miss Maskell.’
Miss Maskell laughs. ‘Don’t lie to me, Elaine. I don’t like girls who lie to me. I can be very hard on a girl — or on the other hand quite pleasant. Do you know that?’
‘Yes Miss Maskell.’
‘Yes Elaine. I expect you do.’ Jane Maskell’s hand slides down. To Elaine’s pussy. ‘Mmm. You’re wet here. Why is that: perspiration? Or something else? Open your legs a little.’
‘Y… Yes Miss.’
Elaine shuddering. Miss Maskell’s fingers are in her. ‘You’re a hot number, aren’t you Elaine? This is what gets that Diane so excited, eh? What you’ve got here. I bet you could come in two seconds flat with a little bit of… massage here…’
‘Please…’ Elaine writhing on Miss Maskell’s fingers working in her cunt.
‘Get on the bed, young lady. On your back. And lift your legs up.’
Oh Christ! Oh Jesus Christ! Elaine doesn’t want this. Not at all. Not Miss Maskell. Who has just been caning her (and Diane) for this very thing. Elaine’s head its reeling and rocking. It is all too much. That awful caning. And later this morning there is Mr Singley. Who Diane says is going to screw her. That is all too much. But now this as well. Miss Maskell.
Miss Maskell who unlike Diane has taken the sensible precaution of locking the door…