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Schoolgirl Domme Ch. 01

By: Codlingsby



All characters are over 18.

Chapter 1

It began on Facebook. Well, what story doesn't nowadays? I was looking through people's updates and I paused over a friend's photo of a trip to the zoo with her boyfriend. Some of her other Facebook friends had left appreciative messages and it was one of those that caught my eye. Not the message, which just said "Gorgeous!" (which indeed the photo was): the name. Belinda Stokes. I knew it was her, even without the little avatar photo of her, which proved it beyond doubt. It was her all right. Belinda. I felt a tingling going through my whole body. Suddenly I was back there, back at school in those mad last weeks of the summer term before we all left. The time I had tried so hard to shut out of my mind but had never quite managed to. The time I always went back to in my daydreams and my fantasies. Belinda. Fran. Those two boys – what were their names? Martin? Simon? The white shirt. The boots. That party – and what happened afterwards. And the school uniforms. Oh yes, those school uniforms. Even after twelve years, I hadn't forgotten those school uniforms and the effect they'd had on me. On all of us.

I paused and thought hard. Let's be sensible here. I was in a stable job, Head of Year in a large London comprehensive, between relationships but quite happy on my own for the moment. Certainly not looking for any sort of complication. And now this had come up. I don't usually believe in premonitions but I knew – I knew – I was asking for trouble if I made contact with Belinda. And it would be so easy to do – a couple of clicks and I'd have revealed myself. Of course, I could just add my own message to Harriet's photo and Belinda would see it and realise it was me and then she could make contact with me if she liked. That way I could let her know I was around and leave it to her to choose whether or not to make contact. If things went wrong it would be her fault, not mine. Then I realised that she must have seen messages from me to Harriet before, yet she hadn't made contact. Or maybe she had only just joined Facebook, or only just Friended Harriet – after all, I hadn't seen any messages from her before. Or maybe – and I stopped. This was ridiculous. I was worrying myself silly like some lovesick teenager trying to work out what it means when her boyfriend doesn't ring.

I came off Facebook and did some online work for a while, but I couldn't shake her out of my head. Belinda. Still around, and suddenly back in my life. Well, she would be if I wanted her to be, that much I did know. And, I realised, I did want her. Back in my life. I could handle it, I told myself, I knew I could handle it. Yeah, right. So, with a feeling of inevitability, like going to the headteacher to own up to something, I went back onto Facebook, found Belinda's message to Harriet, clicked on her name, went to her Wall and sent a Friendship request. There's a space where you can write a message to go with the request, but I didn't write anything. There was no need. 

*  *  *

"Louise! Hi! Great to hear from you! We must meet up!" ran Belinda's reply: she'd accepted my Friendship request of course. And, being Belinda, she gave a day and time. She didn't ask or offer: she just told me where to be and when. I think she just assumed I'd be free, or that I'd make myself free for her. Just like at school. And so it was that the following Saturday I was walking to the tube to go and meet her for coffee in a café in Notting Hill. She would live in the fashionable part, of course: I had to come across London from decidedly unfashionable Hammersmith. 

It was one of those bright November mornings when you can sit outside as long as you keep your coat on, and it was one of those very chic cafes with tables where you can. In fact, it looked as if it had somehow escaped from Paris. She was already there, of course; I even wondered if she had deliberately got there early so as to gain the upper hand from the start. Probably. She was very elegantly dressed: expensive camel coat with a matching polo neck jumper and black trousers and boots. Simple but devastatingly effective. I felt very dowdy next to her. She already had a coffee and she ordered me one as I sat down – needless to say a waiter was on hand the second she needed one. 

We didn't talk about it. We quite definitely didn't talk about it. We talked about everything else. About what we had been doing over the past twelve years – university, teacher training and two teaching jobs in my case; some sort of high-flying business role in hers (it all sounded rather vague but glamorous. As I would have expected). We talked about London. We even talked a bit about politics, I remember. She was genuinely interested in my work and in how the government's education policies were affecting it. She hadn't changed at all, though I don't think people do really: not just in their looks but in their relationships. I was actually quite a confident, go-getting character at work but here I fell instantly back into the subservient follower role I had played under her devastatingly powerful lead at school. I couldn't quite decide if I liked it or not: I rather thought I did.

And then something strange happened.

I think I noticed them first. A married couple, I assumed, in their fifties I would guess, walking along arm in arm and off to do the shopping or go to the estate agent or whatever else happily married couples do in Notting Hill on a bright Saturday in November. They wore sensible coats and scarves against the morning chill. I hardly registered them but then they stopped and the man looked over at us. Or rather at Belinda. She hadn't noticed them yet and she stopped mid-sentence, wondering what I was looking at. The man was walking over to her, very deliberately. And as he drew level, he sank to his knees. Not one knee: both knees. I was so taken aback I didn't know quite what to say; Belinda too looked a bit startled for a moment but then she recovered. He was kneeling in front of her, his head bowed; one or two people had obviously noticed and were watching to see what would happen. I glanced at his wife. She was watching it all, quite impassively. That was when I knew.

Belinda placed her hand on his head and leaned forward to say something in his ear. She seemed very kind. He smiled, said something that looked like "Thank you" – but it wasn't just that, was it? – got up onto his feet, turned round, walked over to his wife, and they linked arms and walked off as if nothing had happened. I looked at Belinda, though I knew what she was going to say.

"One of my regulars. Wasn't that sweet of him?"

"What did you say to him?"

"I said I was very touched by his loyalty and he could go freely back to his wife."

"And what did he say?"

"You know what he said."

"He said 'Thank you, Mistress', didn't he?"

"Yes, he did."

I looked at her. I should have known this. "So you still do it? You carried on?"

"As a domme? Yes, I carried on. It's a funny thing: men like to say dominatrix – I think it gets them excited – but I find it a bit of a mouthful. I prefer domme. Yes, I still do it. Are you surprised? I bet you're not. It's all right, I'm not one of those lifestyle ones you read about. You do read about them, don't you?"

"I have".

"Of course you have. No, that's not for me. Too much of a good thing: I think I'd get bored with it. I do it on the side, at weekends, sometimes on a Friday night. I do genuinely work for a finance company, Louise. You can look me up."

"Do you see her too? The wife? She seemed to understand what was going on."

"Actually no, I don't. I know about her, of course – he's been coming to me for the past three years – but I've never met her before."

"But she knows, doesn't she? She must do."

"Oh yes, she knows. The wives always do, I find. Their husbands never realise that. Isn't that strange? It wouldn't surprise me if I heard from her soon. I've known it happen."

"As a client, you mean?"

"Possibly. More likely as an ally."

She smiled and poured herself some more coffee. I sighed. I was in this conversation now: no pretending otherwise. Might as well carry on.

"So what do you have? A dungeon?"

"Oh heavens no. I told you: I don't do this for a living. There are plenty of people who can offer you that. I meet them sometimes at parties. No, I see people in my flat. A few toys, a few implements: that's all you need really. That and a good website. I have a very good web designer."

"Another regular?"

"They're the best."

"I bet you have a schoolroom too."

She laughed. "Well, of course I have a schoolroom! It's just a couple of desks and an old blackboard, mind: nothing elaborate. But I'll tell you what else I have – I've got my old uniform. Why don't you come and see?"

"I can't. I'm meeting someone for lunch."

"It doesn't have to be today. How about Friday? Come and have supper. I'll show you around and you can see what you make of it. I might even have a client."

"I don't know..."

"Oh come on. You know you want to."

I shot her a look. That phrase. I hadn't forgotten that phrase and what it led to. Neither had she.

"And there's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Not Fran?"

"No, not Fran. She moved on. She's in Canada now. We're in touch. She's on Facebook – you should contact her. No: someone else. Oh do come – you'll like it. There's nothing to be afraid of, I promise."

So I said yes. Of course. As Belinda said, I knew I wanted to.

*  *  * 

No, I didn't spend the whole of the week that followed all keyed up thinking about the Friday night. I had a busy week at school with plenty of marking to do in the evenings. It wasn't until the Thursday night that I really had time to stop and think about it. Part of me couldn't quite believe it was all real: Belinda had seemed perfectly normal and pleasant on Saturday. Was the domineering schoolgirl Belinda still there underneath it all? It was hard to believe, and yet I had seen her client kneeling in front of her in the street. Oh yes, now I thought about it, I could see the old Belinda underneath the new one. I gathered up my papers and put them away in my bag ready for the morning and went upstairs to the bedroom. I opened my wardrobe and rummaged through the clothes on hangers. There it was. There it all was. My old navy blue school blazer on a hanger with my old school skirt underneath it. And my old school tie draped on top. I took them all out and laid them out on the bed, looking down at them thoughtfully. Then I knew what I had to do. 

I turned back to the wardrobe and looked out a smart white blouse – a rather smarter cut than the ones we had when I was at school, but it would do. I took my clothes off and changed into the school uniform. The blazer still fitted, the skirt was a bit on the tight side but it felt all the better for it. I tried tucking the blouse in, but it wasn't really designed for it, so I let it hang outside the skirt for the more modern look. Then I knotted the striped school tie loosely round my neck and looked at myself in the mirror. I gasped. There, looking back at me, though I said it myself, was a very sexy and rather bratty schoolgirl. I tied my hair back in a ponytail, the way I used to wear it and moved closer to the mirror. I loosened my tie a bit more and pulled it further down, opening the neck of my blouse a bit further. God, that looked good. And then, for the first time in years, I did what I used to do when I was a teenager, still exploring my own sexual feelings: I leant forward and kissed my own reflection in the mirror, imagining I was kissing another schoolgirl, deeply, our tongues touching. That did the trick. I stepped back from the mirror and looked at myself again. I bent my legs slightly and lifted up my school skirt. I watched my reflection defiantly as I slipped a hand inside my knickers and began to stroke myself. I could see the wanton look that came over my face as I watched myself in the mirror. I ran my fingers over my cunt and played with my clit. I could see the dirty look come over my face as I stared at my reflection. I loved this: how could I have forgotten how good it felt? And I knew then that I wanted to be a schoolgirl again, for Belinda. More than anything in the world I wanted to be her schoolgirl. Her dirty and devoted schoolgirl slut – as I had been once before.

*  *  *

Looking back, I realise things must have been growing for some time, but the point I always thought of as the start of things was one specific English lesson on one particular day. We'd both had our eighteenth birthdays: everyone in the group had, in fact. We were in the sixth form and in our very last couple of weeks of school and we ruled the world: in just over a week's time we would leave school, sit our A levels, get our results and go on to whatever life held next, and the world had better look out. 

As is so often the way, I had no notion of anything being about to happen when I went into the English lesson on the afternoon of the Friday of the second last week. But the moment I stepped into the room my heart nearly stopped. Fran, our English teacher – Miss Cornish officially, but she was younger and we were all on first-name terms – was sitting on her desk at the front of the room, as she often did. But it was what she was wearing that took my breath away. She was in a large, white man's shirt, with a thick black belt round her waist, and a pair of black leggings. I've always had a big thing for white shirts and blouses and I think a man's shirt is one of the sexiest thing a girl can wear, but that outfit was the sexiest thing I think I had ever seen anyone wear outside a porn mag or a wild party. Certainly the sexiest outfit I had ever seen at the school. My eyes must have been out on stalks because I was hardly listening to what she was saying – it was about Charlotte Bronte, I think – I just sat gazing at her. Dreaming of kissing her neck, licking her sweet tits, putting my head between her thighs and licking her gorgeous cunt... 

Someone nudged me and I sat up with a start, thinking maybe it was her. But it was Belinda, sitting next to me. She was slipping something into my hand. A note. Well, we were still schoolgirls. I surreptitiously opened it and spread it flat on my notepad. I still have it. It said:

You want her, don't you? You can have her. My place tonight, 6.00. Wear your uniform. B

I stared at Belinda, not quite believing what I had read. What did she mean, I could have her? And had my feelings been that obvious? And what was all this about going to her flat tonight?

"Louise?"

"Mmm?"

Fran was looking straight at me. She'd asked me something, but I didn't know what. I just saw her in her big white shirt and felt myself getting wet just looking at her.

I didn't learn much literature in that lesson.

*   *  *

I remember running home that evening. I dumped my things and ran upstairs to shower and change into a clean blouse. I put my tie back on: I was going to leave it loose and then I changed my mind. No, I'd go smart. All the sexier if I got loosened up later. So I tied my tie up properly, all the way to the top, and put on a pair of hold-up stockings. Without my skirt, as I looked at myself in the mirror – why, I'd willingly fuck any girl who looked like that. But I slipped my skirt on – it hugged my bum nice and tightly – and headed downstairs for a quick bite to eat before heading back out again. My mum was surprised to see me still in my uniform – I couldn't tell if she realised I'd actually changed into it – but I mumbled something about a party at Belinda's and headed back to the bus stop.

Belinda lived in a very smart flat in a small private estate. The architect had won an award for it, I remember: big windows, lots of greenery – you get the idea. My heart was racing with excitement as I ran up the steps and rang her doorbell. Belinda came to the door. She was in uniform too – tie loose, no blazer and, as I realised after a moment, in black leather boots. This was going to be an interesting evening, I thought as she let me in. She looked me over and straightened my tie. 

"Good girl: you look great. Come in and say hello to Fran."

She led me into the sitting room, where I saw Fran sitting on a sofa with a glass of wine. She got up when I came in – "Hi, Louise" – and I gulped. It was a very simple thing but it knocked the breath out of me. She was still wearing that sexy white shirt, but now she had turned the collar up. Only one person knew how sexy I find that – Belinda. And that meant Belinda had told Fran. Which meant it had been done for me.

Belinda poured me a glass of wine and I sat down in one of the armchairs. No, we didn't all immediately tear our clothes off and leap onto each other. We talked about school and then about music and then about theatre and it was all very civilised and restrained, as Belinda kept our glasses filled and served us with peanuts to make us thirsty and drink more. And I remember wondering how you set about turning a pleasant chat into a lesbian orgy when Belinda suddenly announced she needed the loo and we should feel free to look at anything we cared to while she was out. I didn't understand what she meant, but Fran did. "I think she means these", she said, moving a couple of newspapers to reveal a small pile of porn mags on the coffee table. "Don't worry", she said, tossing a couple of them over to me, "there's nothing to be embarrassed about." My eyes were wide open – rather like the girls in the mags – because these weren't copies of Mayfair or Fiesta: these were hardcore Swedish magazines: one was called Color Climax, I remember, and the other – I couldn't help smiling at the not-exactly-subtle name – was called New Cunts. "Where did she get them?" I wondered, as I leafed through the pages.

If you haven't tried it, then believe me – there is nothing, absolutely nothing, as sexually exciting as looking at porn with someone else. Most of the pictures were too close-up for me, more like a gynaecology textbook than anything sexy, but I liked the pictures at the beginning of the sets, showing the people fully or partially clothed, beginning to show their tits and their (I suppose) new cunts. But the real turn-on wasn't so much the pictures themselves: it was just sitting there openly looking through them with Fran – the sense of being complicit with a teacher in looking at hardcore porn was more of a thrill than I can describe.

"Wow. Look at that!" said Fran, holding up a picture of two girls joined by a double dildo. "Wouldn't you just love to do that?"

I stared at her and gulped. Because of course I would. But I could only dream of it.

And then Belinda came back in. And there was something about the way she did it that made me turn and look. She had changed. She was still in her school shirt and tie, but she had taken off her skirt and now had a belt tied round her waist. And she was holding a riding crop. I stared, open-mouthed – not just because I loved the outfit, but because she had obviously planned all this, obviously done this before. What was going on here? Part of me felt nervous, fearful even, thinking I ought to make my excuses and just get out of there. But a much bigger part of me wanted to stay there. Wanted to stay there for ever.

Belinda didn't say anything. She just looked at Fran and Fran, registering the look, put the magazine down without a word and stood up. She walked past Belinda over to the wall. Belinda was watching her and I turned to watch too. I was about to say something but Belinda made a quick movement with her hand to tell me to stay quiet. Fran had her back to us and was taking off her shoes and slipping out of her leggings. She folded them neatly and left them by the wall.

"And the knickers." Belinda spoke with a sort of quiet firmness, anger even, that was alarming – but exciting too. And sure enough, Fran slipped her knickers off as Belinda had told her to. I had to keep reminding myself – this was our teacher doing this, taking orders from one of her pupils. Kneeling down and stripping off and – and what? 


Schoolgirl Domme Ch. 01



"Take a moment and then crawl to me," Belinda instructed her.

Fran was kneeling again, still facing the wall. She seemed to be composing herself. And as I watched, I could see the change come over her. She was breathing deeply, like an athlete or a gymnast psyching herself up before an event. Then she stood up, very calmly, and looked Belinda in the eye. Belinda met her gaze and Fran nodded – a sort of sign of understanding and consent. She got down on all fours and crawled across the room to where Belinda was standing. Then she sat up on her heels, like a dog.

"Tell Louise who and what you are."

Fran looked me in the eye, quite matter-of-fact, as if this were the most normal thing in the world, and said, "My name is Trixie. I am Belinda's personal slave. Her slut, her bitch and her whore. I am her cunt slave to do with as she wishes. I am her three-holed whore, and my body is entirely hers. I am her property. I have signed an agreement giving Belinda, my Mistress, complete control over me. I will service her every need, I will fulfil her every wish. I accept her control and her punishment. If I commit a fault, I must be disciplined and punished severely. I am her teacher slave and always will be. This is what I am and this is what I am very happy to be."

I just stared – I was lost here, I didn't know what to do or where to look. It was both horrifying – this was my teacher, for heaven's sake – and also the most sexy, erotic, exciting thing I had ever heard anyone say. And then, quite unexpectedly – 

SLAP!!

Belinda has slapped Fran's – Trixie's? – face. 

"What did you call me, you slut?"

"I'm sorry Mistress. I called you Belinda. I should have said Mistress Belinda."

"Too right you should. I'm going to punish you for that."

"Yes, please do, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress."

And she stood up, pulled up her shirt to expose her bum (I just stared – I was looking at my English teacher's bum) and bent over one of the chairs, gripping its arms. Belinda walked over to her and paused. I looked at her face; she was sneering with contempt.

"You really are a pathetic fucking slut. What are you?"

"I'm a pathetic fucking slut, Mistress."

"What are you?"

"I'm a pathetic fucking slut, Mistress!"

SLAP!!

Belinda slapped Fran's – Trixie's – rump hard with her hand.

"Thank you, Mistress! Slap me again please!"

So she did. Hard slaps on each buttock in turn. And with each slap Belinda uttered an insult – "You whore!" – SLAP!! – "You cunt!" – SLAP!! – "You cocksucking twat!" – SLAP!! And with each slap Trixie – I was thinking of her as Trixie now – responded: "Thank you, Mistress! Yes, I'm a whore!" "Oh, THANK you, Mistress. Yes, I'm a cunt!" "Thank you, Mistress! Yes, I'm a cocksucking twat!"

I watched, fascinated. Seeing my teacher humiliated and spanked by a schoolgirl in this way was one of the most powerful turn-ons I had ever known. And then Belinda picked up the riding crop.

"Right, you fucking teacher slut, I'm going to teach you to respect me."

And she suddenly whipped the riding crop across Trixie's bum. Trixie bucked and gave a yelp, and then stammered, "Oh, thank you, Mistress. Thank you so much." Belinda did it a second time. Again, Trixie bucked and this time her head sank onto the chair. Again she stammered out her thanks. And a third time Belinda whipped the riding crop across Trixie's bum, which was now looking very red and shiny. Trixie's head was buried in the chair now and she moved a hand towards her bum but Belinda firmly batted it away. And Trixie looked up and spoke out clearly: "Thank you, Mistress, for whipping your fucking stupid, filthy fucking teacher whore."

And then Belinda held the riding crop out to me.

"Do you want to have a go?"

Panic. I didn't know what to do.

"It's quite easy. Just stand here and whip it across the bitch's bum."

"I don't want to hurt her."

"Don't worry about that. The bitch loves it. Don't you, bitch?"

And Trixie – or was it Fran? – looked up at me, her eyes full of yearning, and nodded. So I stood up and took the riding crop.

The first blow didn't really work. I was too timid and hit her too lightly. Still worried about hurting her. The second one was a bit firmer but still too feeble.

"You're getting the idea," Belinda encouraged me. "Now, really crack this one."

WHACK!!

Trixie cried out – "Wowww!!" I was so surprised: like having a go at a shooting stall at a funfair and unexpectedly hitting the bullseye. And then I knew that I loved it.

Belinda spoke in a firm voice of authority. "Do it again."

I did. Trixie was now crying out with pain.

"Again!"

I whipped her. Tears were coming to Trixie's face and she gripped the chair hard. And – what was that I was feeling?

"Again!"

I aimed a sharp painful cut across her bum cheeks. The crop was beginning to leave a mark across her bum now. And now I knew what I was feeling. I was enjoying this. I looked down at my English teacher's bare arse and I knew I too was sneering with contempt.

"Give the bitch one more. And make it good. And you – push your fat arse up further."

God, I loved this. Seeing that fucking whore in her beautiful white shirt thrusting her arse up towards me for me to whip it. I could have spent all night doing this. I laid the crop across her arse carefully, tapping it a few times to build up the tension. I took aim at where I wanted to hit – across the widest part of her arse, where her bum cheeks bulged into a perfect rounded peach shape. I lifted the crop high, back across my left shoulder and snapped it down hard. There was a loud crack and Trixie screamed. She fell forward onto the chair, gulping the air, and I heard a sob. She was crying. Her hands were gripped into tight fists and her whole body squirmed. "Oh my God", I thought, "I've hurt her badly. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

But Belinda looked at me with a look of surprised respect in her eye. "Well done", she said, and she obviously meant it. She turned to Trixie, who was still gulping down her sobs. "What do you say to Louise, who has punished you so well?"

And to my surprise – my amazement – Trixie looked up at me, put up her arms, took my head in her hands, and kissed me. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, darling, so much." And she kissed me again.

Then Belinda's voice spoke, very clear and cool: "Why don't you thank Louise properly?"

Trixie looked me directly in the eye, and I saw a mischievous glint. "Oh yes, Mistress."

"Take your skirt off, Louise. Then sit down."

There was no mistaking the tone of Belinda's voice. She was giving me orders too. And I obeyed her. I had no question in my mind. Looking straight at Trixie I unzipped my skirt, let it fall to the floor and stepped out of it. Trixie licked her lips. I sat down and Trixie started crawling across the floor towards me, slowly, like a cat. When she reached me, her head went down and I realised she was kissing my shoes. Kissing them, giving them little licks. Then she started kissing my ankles. I looked down at her. This was my English teacher, for heaven's sake, and she was lying at my feet, kissing my shoes. It was the horniest thing I had ever seen in my life: I began to tremble with pleasure.

"Keep still!" Belinda's voice was firm. I gripped the sofa cushions to keep my feelings in check as I felt Trixie's mouth on my legs, kissing my calves, licking my stockings, right leg, left leg, licking all the way up them. Now she was at my thighs, parting my legs and coming between them. I looked down at her hair, at the top of her head, and then a tingle ran through my body as I felt her tongue at the top of my thighs, directly on the bare flesh. She was kissing my thighs – I felt a surge of pleasure like an electric charge sent through my whole body. I gripped her head, as she kissed one leg, then the other, inching ever closer to my knickers, to my cunt. I felt her fingers inside my knickers – black and lacy (no, not school regulation) – moving them to one side. And then her tongue was among my pubes, licking my cunt lips. I gasped. I had always dreamed of this. Again I looked down at my teacher. "You're my teacher," I gasped. "You're licking my cunt?" She pulled away for a moment and looked at me, a triumphant smile on her lips. "I'm your fucking teacher whore," she said, "And I'm licking your lovely, fucking schoolgirl cunt. And I love it!" And she buried her face in my cunt, nuzzling her way between my thighs, easing my legs wide open. Her tongue was lapping between my cunt lips now, and I could feel how wet I was becoming. She was pressing her face into my cunt, washing her face in my juices. Her tongue was inside me now, French kissing my cunt. I was in heaven. "That is fucking amazing! Fuck me, Trixie, you fucking teacher cunt licker! Lick my fucking cunt you fucking slut! You gorgeous fucking teacher whore!!"

And then her tongue licked my clit and I nearly screamed with pleasure. She was flicking it with her tongue, running her tongue over it, sucking it into her mouth. I was melting into her, my juices were running freely and I felt my head would explode – I was about to cum more than I ever had or ever would in my life.

"I am cumming you gorgeous fucking twat twiddler! You dyke! You gorgeous lesbian cunt!"

And then Belinda's voice rapped out sharply!

"That's enough! Pull away from her now! She's not allowed to cum yet."

And Trixie stopped. I just stared. My chest was heaving, I had to cum, I had to. I moved my hand to my cunt to bring myself off – 

"Leave that! Wait your turn!"

And I was so surprised, I did as I was old. I sat a moment, clearing my head, getting my breath back, until the moment had passed, I breathed more steadily, the need to cum had subsided. Trixie crawled back across the floor to sit at Belinda's feet. "Good girl," said Belinda, as if Trixie were a dog that had performed a new trick. Which, perhaps, she was.

"Now, Louise, it's time for you to drive Trixie mad, just as she's just driven you."

"You want me to lick her?"

"Not yet. I'll show you what I want you to do. Stand up."

I stood up.

"Now look at you," said Belinda. "Did you ever see such a sexy schoolgirl? Nice clean blouse, smart tie, gorgeous stockings. No skirt. Quite shameless, isn't she?"

Trixie looked straight at me and nodded. "Yes, Mistress, she is. A shameless schoolgirl slut."

"Now, Louise, do exactly as I say. Put your finger in your mouth."

"What?"

"Do it."

I put my finger in my mouth. Almost instinctively, I bent one leg, so I looked – and felt – like a sexy schoolgirl who knew exactly what effect she was having on her teacher.

"Good. Now, take the ponytail out and rough your hair up a bit."

So I did. It felt such a cliché, but it worked. I felt sexier than I had ever felt in my life.

"Very good. Fuck, but you are good looking, Louise. I could fuck you myself – in fact, I probably will. Would you like that?"

I hadn't actually thought in terms of fucking Belinda – I hadn't even thought in terms of fancying her. But I knew I loved the idea of her fucking me in my uniform like this. "Oh yes," I said, "I would love that."

"Good. Now loosen your tie."

I undid my top button and loosened my tie. I knew how fucking sexy I felt now – I felt like sweet sex on legs. And Trixie often thought the same: her eyes were out on stalks and I swear she was purring like a cat. She was obviously finding it hard to sit still and watch as I did my act.

"Loosen it more. And undo two more buttons."

I loosened my tie so it hung down more like a loose scarf than a tie. And I undid two more buttons of my school blouse.

"Pull your shirt open so we can see your tits."

I parted the front, pulled my tie to one side and pushed my tits out. I was wearing a black bra that gave a good cleavage.

"Stay like that. Do not take your shirt or tie off. Understand?"

"I understand. What about my bra?"

"Keep it on for the moment. You are such a fucking slut, you know, Louise."

God, I loved her calling me that. I felt a warm glow going through my whole body.

"Oh God, yes," I said. "I am a slut. I love being a slut. A sexy fucking schoolgirl slut."

"Right," said Belinda, "now for the finishing touch. Turn your collar up."

I was in heaven. I even think I closed my eyes for a moment. It was what I dreamed of, what I practised in front of the mirror, the way I always dressed when I fantasised and practised kissing my reflection: school shirt, loose tie, upturned collar. I reached up and turned up my collar.

It looked as if Trixie was having the same reaction. She looked up at Belinda, imploringly. "Please, Mistress? Please? Please? Pleeease?"

"Very well. Go on, then."

I didn't even see her move. Suddenly Trixie was on top of me, her tongue half way down my throat, and I was French kissing her back as if my whole life depended on it. She was all over me, gripping me to her, her hand on my tits and then in my knickers. I felt her tongue licking my nipples – delicious. Now she was French kissing me again and I was kissing her back. Oh yes, I was kissing her. I wanted to kiss her for ever. Now her fingers were inside me, she was rubbing my cunt furiously, desperately. Her fingers had found my clit. I braced my legs as I felt my whole body on fire. She pulled away from my mouth and hissed in my ear, "Cum, you fucking little schoolgirl whore. I've got my fingers in your twat, you little slut." It was gorgeous to hear that dirty language coming from my teacher's mouth. 

"I'm cumming, I'm fucking well cumming."

"Cum, you whore." I loved her.

"I am a whore. I'm a fucking slut and I'm cummmmming!"

I think I just grunted and a spasm ran through my whole body. I felt myself stagger backwards and I fell onto the sofa.

"God, Louise, you are one gorgeous fucking slut. You know that?"

I looked up at Trixie – at my teacher, I had to keep reminding myself – and grinned. Yes, I was a slut, and I didn't want to be anything else.

"Do you want to make me cum?" she asked.

I nodded. "Oh yes!"

She turned back to Belinda. "May she, Mistress? May she make your teacher slave cum?"

Belinda looked straight at me and sneered. "Do it, you slut." It was like a slap in the face. And I loved it.

Trixie pulled my head towards her cunt. "Lick me, slut. Lick me out."

I had never done this before, and I wasn't even quite sure what to do. Her cunt lips were wet and I took a tentative lick – and immediately choked on a hair in my mouth. I got rid of that and moved in again, licking more confidently now. She was groaning, her hand gripping my head. Then I found her clit and started licking that, little licks, flicking it with my tongue. I felt her begin to shudder. "Oh yessss!" she was saying, "Lick me. Eat me. Drink me!"

And I was drinking her. Her juices were all over my face, and still I licked her, faster now, and bigger licks, just as she had licked me. Suddenly she shouted out in a low, almost grunting voice, "I. Am. Cumming. You. Brilliant. Schoolgirl. Whore." Her whole body shook and she let go of my head. I looked up at her, smiling, and she bent down and kissed me again. "Thank you, darling. God, you're good."

"I'm impressed, Louise", said Belinda, from across the room: "very impressed. Now, I think there's just one more thing you can do for my slave. Here."

And she came over and handed me a surgical glove. I looked at it, puzzled.

"Put it on."

I put it on, still wondering what I was to do.

"Now finger fuck her arse."

Trixie almost exploded next to me. "Oh yes, Louise, please please please please please please finger fuck my arse. Please, darling, please, I'm begging you – stick your finger right up my fucking arse."

"Right. OK."

Belinda spoke again, firmly. "Trixie, you whore, lie down and stick your big arse in the air. She's got a big arse, hasn't she?"

I looked at it. Yes, I suppose she had.

"Oh yes, Mistress. I've got a fat arse. It needs to be spanked, Mistress, and it needs to be fucked. My arse is yours, Mistress, my fucking arse is yours."

"Good," said Belinda. "So Louise is going to fuck it with her finger. All right, Louise?"

I nodded. Trixie was pulling her bum cheeks apart from me as I slid my finger into her bum hole. Hard to say how it felt to me – tight but slippery and rather knobbly sums it up best – but Trixie almost erupted with pleasure. "Oh fuck, that is so good! That is so fucking good! Thank you, Louise! Thank you for finger fucking your teacher! Your teacher wants your fingers up her fucking arse every fucking day!" She was groaning and squirming in a sort of agony of joy. I think I was just interested to see the effect as much s I was turned on. So I slid a second finger in and she almost collapsed. She was trembling now and could hardly speak, the feelings running through her body were so intense.

Which, of course, made me wonder what it would feel like to have the same thing done to me.

I drew my fingers out in the end, of course, and Trixie sat panting like a sprinter after a race. But the evening wasn't over yet. Belinda just clicked her fingers and Trixie obediently crawled over and sat at her feet.

"You two make a good pair," said Belinda. "I think I'll use you again." Then she turned to Trixie, nuzzling her face as if she were a dog. "You love fucking girls in school uniform, don't you, you slut? Yes you do! Yes you do!"

"Yes, Mistress. I love it. It turns me on so much!"

"And you, Louise, you've been aching to fuck your teacher for months. Don't deny it – I've seen you."

"Yes," I said, "I have."

"Good. Well, now's your chance. Slut! Fetch the snake!"

For a moment I thought she meant a real snake, which alarmed me – I can't stand them – but Trixie crawled over to a drawer (even then it didn't escape me that she obviously knew her way round this flat) and came back with a sort of long pink sausage in her mouth. It was floppy – it hung down on either side of her mouth. It took me a moment to register what it was, and when I did I confess I laughed. I'd seen pictures of these things – in fact Belinda and I had laughed ourselves silly over them when we looked through a sex aids magazine. It was a double-ended dildo – or a double dong as we had called it, giggling uncontrollably. But Trixie didn't pause when I laughed – she presented the dildo to Belinda like a good dog and then crawled over to me.

"You'd better take your knickers off", she said to me as she reached me. And I did, as Belinda brought the dildo over. Trixie and I sat opposite each other on the sofa – which was large enough for it, luckily – and Belinda stood over us, with the dildo in her hand.

"Start wanking, both of you," she commanded. Trixie and I looked each other in the eye as we both started to touch our cunts. Though in fact we were both so wet the dildo would have no trouble going in.

"Right. Teacher slut first." And Belinda slid one end into Trixie's open cunt. Trixie gave a little gasp and caught her breath. Then she looked at me again.

"Now, schoolgirl whore." And Belinda slid it inside me. I closed my eyes. It filled my cunt. It felt warm and long and – just – good. Then Trixie began to rock her body, fucking herself with her end of the dildo. I began to do the same, in rhythm with her. And soon we were both gasping as the dildo fucked us both at the same time. Faster and faster we rocked, as if we pushing it from one cunt to the other. I looked at Trixie – her eyes were wide with excitement. And I knew – she was fucking me. My English teacher was fucking me. I felt I would die from pleasure.

You probably want me to say we both shuddered to an ecstatic climax together, but that only happens in erotic fiction: sorry. I came first – I was less experienced and didn't know how to hold it in. Trixie kept it going much longer – I was beginning to feel a bit sore in fact – until eventually, with a great grunt and a cry of "Fuck!!" she came too. We lay back on the sofa, getting our breath back, and then Trixie slipped it out of her cunt and eased it out of mine. We sat up together and Trixie took the dildo, still wet with her juices, and slipped her end of it into her mouth. And I took my end into my mouth, sucking on the pretend cock and licking up my own cunt juices. With my gorgeous sexy English teacher next to me, doing exactly the same, it was sheer heaven.




Schoolgirl Domme Ch. 01



All in all, it had been an unexpected evening. But the weirdest bit – and, looking back, I still find it strange – was yet to come. Because when we finally finished licking the dildo, Belinda suddenly announced in her more normal, bright voice, "Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm dying for a cup of tea. How about you? Louise? Fran?"

And Belinda – yes, Belinda – went into the kitchen and made a big pot of tea and some rather good ham sandwiches. No, she didn't order Trixie in there to do it on her knees or in handcuffs: she was acting the normal hostess again. That's what was so strange. And clearly 'Trixie' had gone; Fran was back.

It was surreal. The porn mags were still on the coffee table, the double dildo and the surgical glove were on the floor, I was still in my school shirt and tie, with my tits hanging out of my black bra, yet here we were drinking tea and talking about what was on telly last night. Finally I could take it no more: I looked at them both and said, "Stop! Now: explain."

"It's quite simple," said Fran. "I'm a sexual submissive, as you may possibly have noticed."

I said I thought I had picked up one or two clues.

"And I'm dominant," said Belinda. "Opposites attract. That's all."

"But how did you find each other? Not at school, surely?"

"No," said Fran. "It was in a club I sometimes go to. A fetish club. A few weeks ago I was there with some friends and I suddenly caught sight of Belinda. I nearly died of embarrassment, but since I was tied to a St Andrew's Cross at the time, having my nipples whipped by a friend of mine with a flogger, there wasn't much I could do except hope she wouldn't notice me. Which seemed unlikely."

"She caught my eye," said Belinda, "and the look in her eye, it was as if she was saying, 'Hey, this is me. I can't help how I am. Get over it.'"

"Which is pretty much how I did feel," Fran confirmed. "When we'd finished with the cross I went over to Belinda and we just talked normally. Belinda said she was more of a domme, and we both agreed it would be great to meet up and see how we got on."

"Weren't you afraid of being found out? You could have been sacked."

"We kept it absolutely discreet", said Fran. "No-one else was to know."

"Except me? Why did you choose me?"

"I just knew," said Belinda. "I knew it would be all right and I knew you were right for it. Believe me, a domme always knows."

I think I blushed. I certainly felt as if I did.

"OK. How do we play things at school?" I asked. "There's still a week left."

"Good point," Belinda agreed. "Fran – white shirt or blouse every day, agreed?"

She nodded. "Agreed. I'll need to buy a couple of new ones. I can do that tomorrow."

"Since Louise is in with us now, and she really likes them, you'll need to wear something round your neck every day too. Ties, scarves, chokers – you decide. But every day, without fail. OK?"

"OK. I've got some nice ones."

"Good."

"But what about school?" I asked. "What do we do? We can't just carry on as normal, surely?"

"Why not?" said Fran, rather surprised at my question. "Belinda and I have been doing it for the past three months."

"Three months?" I gasped. "You've been doing this for three months?"

"It's a question of demarcation lines," Belinda explained. "Friday and Saturday nights we do this, either here or at Fran's. Sunday's off because I'm either working in the pub or I've got work to do – "

"And I've got marking and preparation," Fran pointed out.

"And nothing during the week. There's no point in jeopardising my A levels."

"So what about me? Where do I fit in?"

"Tomorrow," said Belinda, "You come here. We'll have another session. I have some plans for you." I felt a shiver through my body when she said that. "Then it's back to normal for the last week of school. Friday is the leavers' do. We'll both be at that but Fran will be on duty all night, so we'll have to find our own amusement that night. Then on Saturday we're all going to a party."

"A party?"

"A friend of mine. It's his eighteenth. It's all right: he lives in Wimbledon: there'll be no-one there who knows us. After that, we'll need to sort something out for the exam period and see how it pans out afterwards."

"You've got it all very worked out", I said.

"I'm a domme," she replied. "We tend to be well organised."

Fran got up. "I must be making tracks. Listen, darling, can we make it eleven instead of ten tomorrow? That will give me time to get to the shops and buy a couple of blouses. I can bring them, if you like."

"Oh yes, do. Eleven's fine."

I looked blank. Belinda explained.

"Fran's giving me some extra tuition on Jane Eyre. You can come if you like."

"Only don't tell anyone," Fran added. "I'm not really supposed to do it for a pupil."

It seemed to me there was a lot more she wasn't strictly supposed to be doing for a pupil than giving tuition on Jane Eyre, but I just smiled and said I would look in. I could do with some help too.

We started to clear up. We all took a shower – strangely enough, there wasn't as much kissing and cuddling there as you might imagine, just a few fond hugs between Belinda and Fran. I got dressed and headed for the door and turned round to wait for Fran. But there was one last moment of that unforgettable evening still to witness.

As Fran walked towards the door, Belinda said, quietly but firmly, "Trixie, wait."

Fran stopped and stood quite still, not even turning her head. Slowly and deliberately, Belinda walked round her and stood in front of her. She was holding something behind her back, and from where I was standing I could see what it was. It was a large black leather collar. I watched, fascinated, as Belinda held it up high above her head. Fran – no, Trixie – looked up at it, yearning.

"Do you want this?" Belinda, asked.

Trixie looked her in the eye.

"Yes please, Mistress."

"Then you shall have it. This is your slave collar. Wear it with pride."

And Belinda fixed the collar round Trixie's neck. "Thank you, Mistress," Trixie whispered. Then she and Belinda kissed, long and slow. I waited politely, until Belinda let Fran go. Fran was still wearing Trixie's collar as she made her way out to her car and offered me a lift home. 



Schoolgirl Domme Ch. 02



I did go back the next morning. And it was strange. Belinda's mum opened the door, friendly as she always was, and showed me into the sitting room where Fran and Belinda were sitting. Belinda had a pad on her knees and was taking notes while Fran talked about Jane Eyre. Nothing unusual about the scene except that Belinda was sitting exactly where Fran – Trixie – and I had fucked each other senseless with a double-ended dildo only a few hours earlier.

"Can I get you a tea or a coffee, Louise?" Belinda's mum asked. I sat down on the sofa next to Belinda and her mum brought in a tray of mugs and a plate of biscuits. Then she went into the kitchen and I took everything in. The room looked different in daylight, but then most rooms do. Fran looked bright and cheerful. She was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, I noticed, with an orange scarf tied tightly round her neck with a big knot at the side. Very attractive, but I could just see the leather collar she was wearing underneath it. She looked at me and met my gaze: for just a fraction of a second she seemed to be acknowledging that I Knew but warning me not to say anything.

So we settled to talking about Charlotte Bronte's use of imagery and different readings of the mad Mrs Rochester in the attic and for a time I found I could forget everything that had happened. Even Fran's clothes came just to be a rather smart outfit she had chosen to wear. Then Belinda's mum came in to offer us refills and I found myself wondering: what, if anything, did she know about what Belinda and the rest of us had got up to? Belinda and Fran had been having sex for three months and they had obviously done it here a few times – Fran clearly knew her way round the flat, even where the sex toys were kept. Surely Belinda's mum must know? And where had she been so conveniently last night, but was obviously back again nice and early this morning? Was she going to be conveniently out tonight as well? Or maybe she genuinely didn't know what Belinda was up to. Young people always tend to think they invented sex in all its forms and it just seemed impossible to me that Mrs Stokes could have any idea of what her daughter was into. I found myself admiring Belinda's ingenuity in keeping it from her mother – until I dropped my pen. It had fallen into the magazine rack next to the sofa where I was sitting, and as I picked it up I noticed them: there, next to the Radio Times and Good Housekeeping, were the porn mags, Color Climax and New Cunts. There was no attempt to hide them. Belinda's mum must have seen them, must know about them. It suddenly hit me – what if they actually were hers? Surely not...

I found myself looking again at Mrs Stokes. She was in her forties, I suppose, a good looking woman, with dark hair in a bob and wearing a sweatshirt and jeans that rather suited her. I knew she and Belinda's dad were divorced; what exactly was the relationship between her and her daughter? Enough: I had to concentrate on Charlotte Bronte. Mrs Stokes would keep: she didn't have A levels to pass.

*  *  *

It was getting late. I was still sitting on my bed, thinking back to all that had happened that crazy summer. How did I feel about it now, twelve years on? I smiled. It had turned my world upside down, no question, but God, it had been good. I wouldn't have changed any of it – not for the world. I went back to the mirror. Why did I find the sight of myself in school uniform such a turn on? I always had done, even when I wore it for real. I undid the skirt and let it fall down my legs, just as I had done that night for Trixie. Fuck, but that looked good. A schoolgirl showing her knickers and her stockings. Oh yes, I would fuck her, that girl in the mirror, no question. Well, OK, if I was going to have a sexy time on my own tonight, ready for what tomorrow night would bring, then I'd do it properly.

First I switched on my laptop. My own one, not the one issued by the school. While it was warming up, I looked out my dildo. I sat at the computer, switched my dildo on to the lowest level of vibrating and ran it gently over my cunt. Mmmm – that's always lovely. Then I looked up the sort of porn I always like – gay porn. I loved it. I loved to see those twinks – I was only ever really interested in them, not the older guys – sucking each others' cocks. They seemed to do it more gently and more expertly than the women you see, who always seem to twist the cock with their hands, as if they need to screw it into place in their mouths. Of course, I look out the sites which show them in their school uniforms – lovely white shirts and ties so beautifully loose. But best of all is when you see the boys kissing ... fuck me, that looks good. 

I went onto a gay porn search engine and found a site that looked promising: Horny Twink College. Soon I was feeling deliciously horny and turned my dildo up a level. Oh yes – that was very good. Too good, maybe – I was wanting to cum. But I didn't want that just yet. Right. Time for the best bit. I stood up and slipped off my blazer – no need to ruin that. I slipped off my stockings and knickers. Still in my white shirt and my school tie I paused in front of the mirror. I slipped the dildo inside my cunt – it felt wonderful. I wanted to do it now. I went into the bathroom, stepped into the shower, closed the door behind me, and savoured the delicious moment as you stand in shirt and tie under the shower head. The feeling as the jet of water hits you is one of the most intensely erotic sensations I know. I couldn't wait any longer. Feeling deliciously naughty I put my hand to the shower and switched it on. And this slutty, filthy schoolgirl in her school shirt and tie was delightfully, sexily and so erotically soaked.

*  *  *

Of course the evening came in the end. After the tutorial in the morning I'd stayed in town, had lunch in a café and mooched around the shops, trying to keep my mind off the evening. Eventually it was time to go home and get ready. I knew I needed to wear my uniform again, but this time I somehow didn't want to travel in it. So I disguised it: wore a denim jacket over my white blouse and kept my blazer, skirt and tie in a bag. Maybe I had a sense of what was going to happen tonight and felt the need to approach it with caution. I was nervous going up the stairs to Belinda's flat, afraid of what she would say. But when she opened the door she was in sweatshirt and jeans, just like her mother that morning. 

"I'm sorry", I said, before she could say anything: "I didn't have time to change. Can I change here?"

"Hi. Come on in", she said. "Fran's not here yet. Take your time. Do you want a shower first?"

"I just need to get changed. I've got everything here."

"OK. You can change in my bedroom. I'll need to get changed too."

I knew where her bedroom was. As I made my way down the short corridor, I noticed a door open. It was another bedroom – her mother's presumably. I hardly noticed it out of the corner of my eye, but something made me stop and look in. The bedroom was a bit of a mess, to be honest – why did I think only teenagers' bedrooms get messy? – but what caught my eye was something laid out on the bed. It was a black leather corset. It looked as if it had been bought in a sex shop. It probably had.

Mrs Stokes, eh? Well well...

I went into Belinda's bedroom and got changed. I put the tie on, loosely this time so I looked like a naughty schoolgirl right from the start. I slipped off my jeans and took out my sports skirt – I'd brought it because it was much shorter than the normal school skirt and showed off more thigh. I already had my hold-up stockings on, so the overall effect was of just the sort of schoolgirl slut I wanted to be. Belinda came in.

"Oh yes," she said, looking me over, "just right. Totally fuckable. Louise, you are one horny slut, you know? Come here: I want to kiss you." She gave me a lingering kiss on the lips, then pulled away. "I need to get changed now. You go and wait in the sitting room. Do you mind letting Fran in when she comes? Help yourself to the wine."

I was being ushered out of the room: she obviously had a surprise she wanted to spring on us. As I closed the door behind me, I noticed Belinda getting something out of her wardrobe and I waited to see what it was. A black leather corset. The same one? As I went back to the sitting room I glanced in at Mrs Stokes's room. No: the other corset was still there. Like mother, like daughter, eh? I was surprised and actually rather shocked at Mrs Stokes.

I went through to the sitting room and poured myself a glass of wine, feeling a bit awkward, like when you arrive too early at a fancy dress party and aren't too sure you've got the right day. I picked up the porn mags and started leafing through them, just to put me in the mood, but I'd hardly started when the doorbell rang and I got up to open it. It was Fran.

"Hi, Louise."

"Fran –" I gasped. She looked absolutely gorgeous in a very stylish white shirt and black waistcoat combination with her leather collar round her neck, clearly visible this time. I was so taken with her outfit that I just stared for a moment.

"Can I come in?" she asked, smiling.

"Sorry. Yes, of course. Belinda's just getting ready," I managed, when speech came back. "You look amazing."

"You look pretty good yourself." And she came up to me, put her finger playfully on the end of my nose and gave me a kiss. I kissed her back.

"Would you like a glass of wine?"

"I'd love one."

I poured her a glass and we sat down. It was impossible not to notice the mags open on the coffee table. She picked one and glanced at it, then put it down and looked at me.

"You came back, then?"

"Yes, I came back."

"I was a bit worried in case last night was a bit too much for you. All at once."

"No need to worry," I said, entirely truthfully: "It was amazing. I loved every minute of if."

"You're quite sure?" Fran was obviously concerned for me.

"Quite sure." Then I paused. "There's just one thing. Do you mind if I ask?"

"Go ahead."

"The spanking. I've never actually seen it before."

"You didn't just see it, Louise. You did it."

"I know. And – and, I liked it."

"That's good. There's nothing to be ashamed or worried about, believe me."

"But I don't really understand it. Doesn't it hurt?"

"You bet it hurts. That's the idea."

"So why do you like it?"

"Well -" Fran was obviously giving her answer some thought. "Firstly, I find pain sexy. Not all of it, of course, but some pain I find very erotic. Pain to my bum for example. I hurts like hell when it's happening –"

"When you're being spanked?" I said, to make sure. But really because I wanted to say the word.

"Yes, when I'm being spanked. But at the same time, the humiliation is very arousing. And after a while, my bum sort of glows and this gorgeous warm feeling runs through my whole body."

"So it turns you on?"

"Oh yes. Weren't you turned on when you were spanking me last night?"

"Yes, I was. But I thought that was because of you being a teacher. It's a very sexy situation, isn't it, a student spanking her teacher?"

"Louise, it's one of the sexiest situations there is. Up there with finger fucking your teacher's arse and fucking her with a double-ended dildo."

I smiled. "Yes, I guess it is."

"Do you want to try it tonight? Being spanked?"

"I don't know. I didn't think I could. If I enjoyed spanking you, I mean."

"Of course you can. Louise, all of us have a dominant side and a submissive side. Some people have them more or less in balance, others – me, for instance – are very obviously tilted to one side or the other. It doesn't mean I can't be dominant, of course –"

"You're pretty dominant at school."

"Am I? That's good to know. But in sex, I mean, I can be dominant if need be. Do you know, when Belinda and I started, I used to spank her. But I've always known that what I crave is to submit, to surrender completely to someone who will take charge of me. And allowing someone to spank you is the ultimate surrender."

"Don't you mind surrendering? Giving yourself up like that?"

"Mind? Darling, it's the ultimate release. It's like a liberation. I hand myself and all my worries, all my failings, to someone else. I'm not being silly – I feel more free when I'm serving Belinda as her slave than in any other part of my life."

"Why do you take a different name?"

"It's just something we developed. When I become Belinda's slave, when I go into the zone, it's as if –"

"You become a different person?"

"Not quite. It's more that part of me that's usually hidden or repressed comes to the fore and takes over. And we call her Trixie."

The she looked me in the eye and asked, "Would you like to be spanked tonight?"

I didn't know what to say.

"I'll do it if you like. I'll be gentle. If it will make it easier for you."

"Won't it hurt?"

"Oh yes. It has to hurt, otherwise it's not a spanking, it's just a game, pretending to spank. A spanking has to hurt. But it doesn't have to hurt immediately. We can build up to it. And if it's really too much for you or it's not what you want, we can have a safe word. You choose one. Anything you like: marshmallow, wheelbarrow, Victoria Station – it's best not to have anything sexual, to avoid confusion. You say the word and it means you're coming out of role, you're not happy and you want it to stop. And I'll stop."

" I see."

"But only if you want to."

I thought for a moment, and then I said it:

"Yes, I think I do want to. I think I want to very much."

And then Belinda came into the room. 

Another heart-stopping outfit: I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take. She was in equestrian gear, white shirt, jodhpurs and boots – needless to say, Belinda went horse riding – but she had her black leather corset on over the top. And her riding crop in her hand. We both looked up at her, speechless.

But because I had seen her corset it did briefly occur to me to wonder how she had managed to tie it up at the back on her own.

She was in role from the start. Without a word she walked slowly into the room, holding us both with her eye. She looked at Fran, stopped and raised her eyebrows just a fraction. Maybe Fran hesitated or maybe she wasn't quick enough for Belinda's liking, but Belinda suddenly whacked the riding crop against her boot. Fran stood up, guiltily. I just sat and watched, my heart in my mouth. I had never seen Belinda so strong, so masterful – so scary. She walked towards Fran and put her riding crop under Fran's chin, lifting it up as if she was a guard and Fran was her prisoner. Still she didn't speak, and Fran looked too frightened to say anything. Then, still acting like a guard, Belinda reached for a chain that was hanging from her belt and attached it to the collar round Fran's neck. It was a moment of ownership; Belinda was claiming Fran as her property, like a dog. Belinda turned her back and walked back across the room; Fran had to follow. Suddenly Belinda whipped round, whacked her riding crop against her boot again and barked out, "Kneel, you fucking slut!"

Fran collapsed completely to her knees, like a building being demolished. And as she knelt there, I saw again the signs as Trixie emerged from within her and took her place. It was Trixie who now spoke.

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Lick my boots, you whore."

And Trixie lay herself flat on the floor, opened her mouth and began to lick Belinda's riding boots. Licking first the left boot, then the right. Long licks, as if she was licking an ice cream. She closed her eyes, as if she was in ecstasy. She was licking up each boot now. Every now and again Belinda pulled roughly on the chain; Trixie kept licking. I watched, fascinated. I felt such a mixture of feelings: I was awed by Belinda's power, still rather shocked by Fran's – yes, Fran's – complete subjection to her, and so strongly drawn to Trixie. I found Trixie's adoration of Belinda – because that's what it was – both sexy and enviable. I knew I wanted it: I wanted to give myself completely, utterly, just as Trixie was doing.

It must have been obvious in my face, because Belinda spoke to me. "What about you, you fucking schoolgirl slut? You want to do it too?"

I was too taken aback at the way Belinda spoke to me to reply. I just shook my head and shrank back into the sofa.

"Oh yes, you do," she said, sneering.

"No. Honestly, I don't."

"Get on your knees, you slut, crawl over here and lick my boots."

"Honestly, Belinda – "

"DO IT!!"

And I did. I slid off the sofa and crawled over the floor to her feet and lay there, next to Trixie.

"Lick them, you fucking slut."

I looked up at Belinda, my face pleading with her not to do this to me. And she said the words, smiling, almost kindly:

"You know you want to."

That was it. I did want to. I desperately wanted to. I wanted to lick her boots and kiss her feet and do anything else she told me to. I wanted to worship her. And now she was allowing me to. Those words were my moment of surrender. From that moment on, I was Belinda's slave: I would surrender my will to her totally, do anything she told me, humiliate myself for her. As long as she let me do this. I leaned my head forward and licked her boot.

Yes, boot leather has a taste. No, it is not nice. No, I did not learn to like it. I hated it. I wanted to spit it out at every lick. I would rather have kissed her boots than lick them. But that would have been too easy. There was no surrender, so subservience in that. It had to be this way. I had to lick them. So I did. Both of them. All the way round each and right up to the top.

She didn't ask us to lick the soles. Keep that for the lifestyle dommes or for erotic fiction: we were all friends here and Belinda was bonding us to her. As I now realise. There was no need to overdo it.

Eventually she told us to stop. And Trixie spoke.

"Please, Mistress."

"Did you speak, whore?"

"Yes, Mistress."

SLAP!! Belinda slapped Trixie's cheek.

"Well, don't speak without permission."

"I'm sorry, Mistress. Thank you for punishing me, Mistress. I require discipline from you Mistress."

"Too right you do, Teacher Whore. I'm going to spank you so hard you won't sit down at school for a week."

"Thank you, Mistress. It is what your slave needs and craves."

Belinda relented. "What were you going to say, anyway?"

"I was going to say, Mistress – with your permission – "

"I just gave it, didn't I?" SLAP!!

"Thank you, Mistress. I am sorry I am such a worthless fucking slut, Mistress. I was going to say that Louise here, before you came in, expressed a desire to be spanked. I took the liberty of saying that I could spank her first, to get her into the feel of it. If that meets with your approval, of course, Mistress."

"Spank Louise, eh? Well, well. Come here, you schoolgirl slut."

I had been listening with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. Talking with Fran about being spanked had been quite exciting – I really liked saying the word "spank" – but now it was going to happen for real. Would Belinda feel bound by Fran's assurances? Or would she take over herself? I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"So you want to be spanked, do you, slut?"

"Yes – er – Mistress?"

It seemed so strange calling my friend "Mistress". We sat in class together, for heaven's sake.

"You know, I think I want you to call me Miss. All right?"

"Yes, Miss." Now Belinda was like my teacher and I was her schoolgirl. I smiled: this was perfect.

"Yes, you look the sort of nasty little brat who needs to be spanked. Are you a nasty little brat?"

"Yes, Miss."

"What are you?"

"I'm a nasty fucking little brat and I need to be spanked, Miss. Please spank me."

God, I loved saying those words.

"Oh, I'll spank you all right. But I think we'll start as Trixie suggests. Trixie, sit on the sofa. Louise, lay yourself over her lap."




Schoolgirl Domme Ch. 02



I've sometimes read on spanking sites how erotic it feels to lie across someone's lap. Something about the contact between crotches, especially if it's a woman lying across a man's lap, but also the feeling of humiliation, of being treated like a naughty child. Believe me: it's all true. I felt all of those things as I lay down across Trixie's lap – though, in fact, I felt more as if I were lying across Fran's. As if my teacher were going to spank me for real.

My hands were on the floor and I looked straight ahead. To my surprise, I found I was looking straight at my own reflection – there was a full-length mirror next to the door to the kitchen that I somehow had never noticed in all the times I had been here. It meant I could see my position and the look on my face. And I could watch as Fran – to me, at this moment she was definitely Fran – in her gorgeous elegant outfit, lifted my skirt and pulled my knickers down.

There is nothing – absolutely nothing – to compare with the erotic feeling of exposure and vulnerability that comes when someone else pulls your knickers down. She left them half way down my legs. Had she slid them off completely, it would have been preparing for sex, making me more daring – "Schoolgirl uniform and no knickers", ready for a fuck. But pulling them half way down my legs and leaving them there made it clear: I was a bratty schoolgirl and I was going to be spanked. 

It started very gently. Fran just caressed my bum, running her hand over it and giving it the occasional pat. Then the pats got a bit harder, but it was still more like something in play than any sort of discipline. I was feeling reassured, getting used to it, getting to like it. I looked in the mirror. I loved the sight of me in shirt and tie, just like a naughty schoolgirl. It was exactly what I wanted to be. Fran looked so beautifully elegant, with a serious expression on her face: she was my teacher, in the fantasy as well as for real, and she was spanking me. I had dreamed of this. Suddenly she gave my bum a sharp slap. Instinctively I gave a little cry – of surprise as much as anything. I saw Fran's lip curl in the mirror.

"Shut up, you fucking slut."

I loved hearing her say that. And then she slapped me again. This time I was ready for it – tensed my bum and gritted my teeth.

She slapped again – much harder this time. And again. Now she was spanking me properly, one spank on each of my bum cheeks in turn. I felt more helpless, more trapped. I started to writhe in her lap, and the spanks started to get really hard. I felt my bum stinging and I tried to turn away from her hand, twisting as much as I dared. But she held me firm and gave a sharp rap to the backs of my legs. 

"Stay still, you little bitch."

It was hurting now. And I wasn't enjoying it. She was looking down at me furiously – fuck, but that looked sexy – spanking me properly, to make it hurt. Now I felt like a naughty schoolgirl all right – a naughty schoolgirl who had been found out. Suddenly her hand reached out and grabbed my hair by the pony tail. She pulled my head back and spoke in my ear:

"I think you ought to be thanking me, you little bitch. Don't you? What do you say?"

"Thank you, Miss. Thank you for spanking me."

"That's better. And what are you?"

"I'm a little bitch, Miss. I'm a fucking schoolgirl whore. Please spank me. Please spank me more. Don't stop."

"Oh, I'll take care of that."

I froze. That was Belinda's voice.

"Stand up!"

I stood up, still with my knickers half way down my legs, feeling close to tears now, my bum hurt so much. But I wasn't going to give in. I wanted this – I knew I wanted it – and I was going to go through with it. Belinda took Fran's – or maybe now it was Trixie's – place on the sofa.

"Kneel over there, slut." That was to Trixie. She crossed the room and knelt in the corner to watch. Then I lay across Belinda's lap. I was surrendering to her: I was giving myself up into my schoolfriend's power. It felt much scarier. Immediately she pulled me by my hair and hissed in my ear, "You will count the strokes out loud after each one, and you will say 'Thank you, Miss' as well. Understand?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Right."

And in the mirror I saw her pick up a ruler. And I saw something else as well. I couldn't make it out clearly: it was as if a shadow had moved somehow in the mirror. But there wasn't time to think about it – WHACK!! Belinda had started with the ruler. I gasped and managed to say "One. Thank you, Miss."

WHACK!! 

"Two. Thank you, Miss."

They were sharp blows. They didn't break the skin, but I felt my bum was on fire. I wanted to cry, I could feel tears welling in my eyes, but I was determined not to give in, not in front of Belinda. I was clenching my fists, screwing my face up, determined to weather the pain, to see it through to the end. I would not give in. Three. Thank you, Miss. Four. Only four, for God's sake. I wouldn't get through this. Five. Thank you, Miss. Just get through it, just get through it. Six. OK, we're past the half way point. Seven – fuck, that hurt. Eight. "Thank – you – Miss". I could just about say the words. Did I mean them? No time to think – just say them. Nine. "Thank – you – Miss." And one more. The pain shot through my body: I thought I would scream. I gave a sort of grunt, my head fell forward, and I managed to blurt out, "Ten. Thank. You. Miss."

And Belinda relaxed. That was it. I'd survived.

"Good thing it's not the cane, eh? Right, get up and go and stand in the corner. DON'T pull your knickers up, unless you want twenty more."

I shuffled over to the corner and stood there, facing the wall. Such confused emotions and feelings. Part of me felt humiliated, ashamed, asking myself what the hell I was doing there – why had I let them do this to me? I could just pull my knickers up and go home. Couldn't I? So why didn't I? But as I stood there, getting my breath back, seething with indignation, the burning in my bum was beginning to change. It became a different sort of fire, a wonderful fiery feeling that ran through my whole body. It was like an orgasm, the most amazing orgasm, only it was lasting much longer. My whole body was on fire, a sexy fire: I felt wonderful: I was so horny, I was alive with lust. I wanted every type of sex there is, I wanted to throw myself into it, to wallow in it. I had to tell them, I wanted to share this with them: they were right about spanking, it was wonderful, quite wonderful, I loved it, and I turned round – and stopped. For a moment I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. Trixie – she was definitely Trixie now – was on her knees in front of Belinda and Belinda was gripping her head, apparently forcing her into her crotch. Then I realised what was happening. Belinda was wearing a strap-on dildo and Trixie, our English teacher, was sucking it.

This was so heavenly, I couldn't take much more. I pulled off those stupid knickers – I wasn't a naughty schoolgirl now, I was a whore – and I knelt next to Trixie.

"Oh yes, Miss. Let me, please! Please!"

And I grabbed it out of Trixie's mouth and took the dildo into mine. It was only plastic, but that didn't matter: to me it was Belinda's cock and I was going to suck it dry. I licked it furiously, covered it with my saliva. I was eating it, taking all of I into my hungry mouth. I was desperate for that cock. I wanted to worship it. Eventually I took it out, just to get my breath, looked up at Belinda and said, "Please, Miss, please fuck me with it. Please!"

Slap!

For a moment I didn't know what had happened. Then I realised – Belinda had slapped my face.

"Don't be greedy, you little slut. This cock is for my teacher."

"Oh, thank you, Mistress!" – Trixie sounded delighted next to me.

"Get on your back, you teacher slut," Belinda barked. "I'm going to fuck you like a man."

And she did. I watched, loving the sight of my teacher lying back with her legs open and Belinda, her pupil, lying between her legs, easing that dildo into her cunt, and fucking her. Trixie's legs buckled as Belinda thrust faster and faster into her.

"Yes, Mistress! Yes! Fuck your teacher! Fuck her! Your teacher slut is cumming, Mistress!!"

"What are you?"

"I'm your teacher slut! Your teacher whore!"

"Say it again!"

"I'm your teacher slut! Your fucking teacher whore!"

And she came, with a great grunt and a gasp.

After which we all took a breather. I couldn't quite believe this, but Belinda switched the telly on because she wanted to catch the news. In fact, if I remember rightly, Fran was particularly worried about the weather forecast because she was meeting friends the next day for a picnic. Once again, we were all sitting round, dressed for sex, smelling of sex, covered in sex, but doing something totally ordinary. 

Weird, or what?

And then, ironically just when a film was starting that I really would have liked to watch, Belinda switched the telly off, looked at me, and announced, "Right, you little schoolgirl whore, I think it's time I fucked you properly. Don't you?"

And Trixie said, with a relish that sent a thrilling shiver through my body: "Yes, Mistress. It's time the little bitch felt your cock up her."

Belinda stood over me and grabbed my face roughly in her hand, looking down at me, her face twisted with scorn.

"Look at that. The bitch is all excited."

And she slapped my face.

"She's on heat, Mistress," said Trixie, coming over to look down at me. 

"That's it," said Belinda, with a sneer, "she's a dog. She's a fucking dog. A real bitch. What are you?"

I loved it. I looked Belinda straight in the eye. "I'm a dog. I'm a bitch. I'm your fucking bitch, Miss."

"Get on all fours then."

And I fell onto my hands and knees. Again, I found I was in front of the full-length mirror, and again I had the odd sensation of a shadow moving in it somewhere.

"Right," said Belinda, "this bitch needs to be fucked like the dog she is." And she knelt behind me and I felt her fingers feeling my cunt lips. "God, this bitch is wet! She is gagging for it. Aren't you, bitch?" I could see Belinda leaning forward as she said it, and I looked straight at my reflection and said: "Yes, Miss, I am gagging for it. I want you to fuck me like the dirty bitch dog I am. Please Miss, take my dog cunt and fuck it hard. I'm your dog: please treat me like one."

And suddenly she forced her strap-on right into my cunt. I gasped and nearly fell forward. She slapped my bum.

"Hold still, you fucking bitch!"

She fucked me. Her dildo filled my cunt, slowly at first, so I could savour it. Then she grabbed by pony tail and began to thrust in and out, so I started bucking – more like a horse than a dog – but then she was in her riding gear. She began to spank my bum as she fucked me, faster and faster now. I was gasping, crying out, "Thank you, Miss! Fuck me, Miss! Harder, Miss – pleeeease!" I hardly knew where I was any more: all I knew was what I could see in the mirror – a horny bitch in schoolgirl uniform, being fucked by an absolute goddess. I felt I wanted it to last for ever.

It didn't. It never does. Though Belinda hadn't finished with me yet.

"Here, Trixie, you teacher cunt. Finger fuck her arse."

I nearly passed out. Without being told, I stuck my bum in the air and waited. I could see Trixie taking up her position behind me, still in her beautifully smart white shirt and black waistcoat. Belinda was standing behind her holding her leash. Trixie was putting on a disposable glove, and then she took a pot of gel, I felt something cold and gooey on my arsehole. Ugh. But then very quickly I felt Trixie's finger exploring inside me. 

How do I describe how it feels to have your gorgeous English teacher fingering your arse? When it's what you have dreamt of and fantasised about for months? From the moment you set eyes on her? When the pleasure is so intense you squirm because your whole body is on fire? When you feel a second finger, and then (my God!) a third, and you want to scream out loud because it feels so wonderful? When you feel you want her to go on fingering you for ever, because you never want it to stop? When the pleasure is so intense, so unbearable, that tears begin to stream down your face? When you are reduced to begging her on your knees, to promise always to do it, for the rest of your life?

Because that's how it was for me.

When Trixie finally took her fingers out, I turned back to her and took her face in my hands. I couldn't speak. I just kissed her. I kissed her all over her face, and I kissed her lips, I couldn't stop.

Until Belinda cracked her riding crop against her boot.

"Enough!"

Then I stopped. And we both knelt before her, side by side. And I felt for Trixie's hand with mine, and she took it. And I knew we were equal now, both enslaved by Belinda. And I knew it was what I wanted. What would make me completely, totally happy.

She looked down at us both. "What a pair of fucking sluts I have here. A slut teacher -" and she grabbed Trixie's face and slapped it – "and a filthy schoolgirl slut. What am I to do with you both, I wonder?"

I gulped and spoke.

"Please, Miss?"

"Did you speak, you little shit?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Did I give you permission?"

"No, Miss."

"What are you, then?"

"I'm a little shit, Miss."

"Yes, you are. Well, go on, then. Say what you have to say."

I kept my eyes down as I spoke: "If you please, Miss, I have something to ask of you."

"Ask of me? I want you to beg."

"I do beg you. Please, Miss, I want to serve you. I want to be your slave. I want to be your whore. I want to do whatever you tell me to do, whenever you tell me. I want to submit to you completely. Utterly. Totally." And I added: "I want you to own me."

She looked at me. "Well, well. We have got a servile little slut here, haven't we? Let me see what I've got."

And she walked over to a drawer and took something out. My eyes widened as I realised what it was: a large leather collar, just like Trixie's. My heart was racing – I think I was even making a little mewing sound: I wanted that collar more than anything else in the world. I wanted to feel it round my neck, to know that Belinda owned me, that I was her slave, her property, that I had submitted to her completely. She was bringing it over to me, holding it above me, as if she was holding a treat over a puppy. I felt just like a puppy as I gazed up at that collar, that collar that would make me hers for ever.

And then she took it away.

"No, I don't think you're quite ready for it. Not yet."

And she put it back in the drawer.



Schoolgirl Domme Ch. 03



Ah well, back to reality. The Friday was a busy day with lots of unexpected problems to deal with – easily the best way to take my mind off the evening ahead. But as the end of the school day approached, I knew I would not be able to stay on and deal with the emails I really ought to look at before I went home: I was too excited to concentrate. A sort of dull ache descended and enveloped my whole body: I was sick with excitement and anticipation.

I had it all planned; I took every stage calmly and methodically. I drove home, parked the car, went up to the flat, made myself a cup of tea and forced myself to have something to eat: just some cereal and toast. I didn't know if I'd get anything to eat at Belinda's, though I didn't doubt there'd be something to drink, and I wanted to be able to stay in control; I didn't want to be left weak and vulnerable just for want of a snack.

Then I had a shower. I washed off all the work and worry of the day and stepped out clean, fresh and ready to face Belinda. After that was the moment of truth: what I was going to wear.

I had decided to prepare two lots of clothing: what I would wear to go to Belinda's (and, let's face it, might very well wear for the whole evening), and a change of clothing should things go the way I hoped – oh yes, I hoped – they would. It occurred to me that some women would normally deal with this by popping a couple of condoms in their handbag; I would need something a bit bigger. Still wearing my towel, I got out a small holdall. Then I got down my old school blazer, skirt and tie from the wardrobe. I ran over everything one more time in my mind: the underwear I would be wearing, and probably the shoes too. Or should I wear boots? Shoes. No, boots. Yes, definitely boots. Why shouldn't I feel sexy too? And the white shirt, of course. The one I had worn in the shower the night before was in the washing basket; I had a very nice clean one to put on now. 

I packed the schoolgirl uniform things into the holdall and started to get dressed. Black bra and panties, black hold-up stockings. I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror: very nice, though I say it myself. Am I putting on a bit round the waist? Maybe? Does it show? No, I look fine. I'm a woman of thirty: I look fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Right.

Next: hair. Brushed, combed – looking good. Make-up: mm, yes – face, eyes, lips. Look at that, Belinda – you're not the only one who can look sophisticated.

Next I put on the shirt and a pair of tight jeans. Checked again in the mirror: I was definitely looking good. Then the boots: I'd decided on boots for this evening rather than shoes. They gave me more confidence. And they looked gorgeous. This was all going well.

Next a black jacket – the old jacket and jeans combo never fails. Yes – it looked good. And then the final touch. I opened a drawer and took out a silk scarf. Black – the best colour. I tied it fairly loosely round my neck. Then I looked at the effect in the mirror. Hey, sister, if I was meeting that girl, I would kneel down and eat her pussy. I looked that good.

I chose my best coat, picked up the holdall and my handbag and headed for the door. And stopped. And looked back. Paused. Yes? No? And decided: Yes. I went to my drawers, took it out and put it in the bag with the uniform.

Then I went down to the Tube.

*    *    *



The week that followed was hell. I couldn't compartmentalise the way Belinda could: she sailed through the week as if nothing whatever had happened. She was her usual self – friendly, cheerful, a bit lacking in confidence, even. Fran went back to being Fran, our friendly, easy-going English teacher. Only the white blouses and the scarves – and one wonderful day a tie – gave anything away, and even then, only to Belinda and me. I sometimes caught her exchanging looks with Belinda and felt left out – were they seeing each other during the week? Were Belinda's demarcation lines not quite as firm as she said?  I was tortured by doubt. Looking back, I have no doubt – of course they were seeing each other. But at the time, I couldn't know because I didn't want to know. I wasn't even sure which of them I was jealous of – I just didn't want to be excluded: I wanted to be there with them.

And so we reached Friday, our very last day of school ever, a day of shrieks and hugs and swearing never to lose touch, ever and all the rest that goes with a school full of over-emotional teenage girls. And the Leavers' Party in the evening. Dear God I want to forget that. In case you're wondering – no, it definitely did not turn into some sexual free-for-all. For one thing, no boys were allowed, so everyone was planning to move on to a club afterwards. It was held in the school hall, with warm wine and plain crisps left out on metal-legged school canteen tables with white paper table cloths draped over them cross-ways, so you could still see the boring institutional yellow table top underneath. Everyone was dressed up in party dresses and standing round talking very fast and bursting out in hysterical laughter at almost anything anyone said. Our teachers were mingling with us all, including Fran, but I knew she was on duty that night, and therefore off-limits. She smiled at me whenever I caught her eye, but she didn't come over to chat: maybe she thought it would be too artificial, and maybe it would have been, but I wish she had tried. To make it worse, Belinda seemed to be off-limits too. At least, she was to me. She was the centre of attention, and everyone was throwing their arms around her, and she didn't seem to have a moment for me. I didn't want to believe she was avoiding me, but that's how it looked. I hoped she would notice me, notice how I was looking and feeling, I hoped she would stop and realise she'd been neglecting me, I hoped – and suddenly she was right by me. She was on her way to the loo. "Hi," she said, "you OK?" And she went past me.

I felt wretched. What had I done? Why were they being like this? Why were they ignoring me? Why couldn't they see what they were doing? I turned and ran out into the car park. I wanted to cry, but even tears wouldn't come. I just felt wretched and confused – I just didn't understand.

"Hello Louise. Is Belinda in there?"

It was Belinda's mum. 

"She's in there," I said, making my voice sound as bright and normal as I could, and not succeeding. "I think she's just in the loo."

"That's no good. She'll be in there for ages, gossiping. She forgot her handbag when she went out and she'll need it for later. Are you going clubbing with them?"

"No."

She seemed surprised.

"Oh." She looked at me more closely. "Louise, are you all right?"

And that's when the tears flowed.

She took me home. Her home, I mean, not mine. She took me to her car, went in to give Belinda her handbag, then drove me back to the flat. She said if I wasn't going clubbing with the others, then I should still have a drink to celebrate the end of school. The situation was new and interesting, and I started to perk up a bit. Maybe I liked the idea of winning one over on Belinda by going to her flat with her mother. Maybe I had an idea of what was going to happen. Maybe – but more likely not.

"You'll have to excuse the mess," Mrs Stokes said as we came in. It didn't seem particularly messy to me, but there were a few cups and plates around, as if they'd had dinner in front of the telly and hadn't cleared up. "I'll just clear these things and then we can have a drink."

She picked up the cups and plates and headed into the kitchen. I sat down on an armchair and realised I'd sat on something. I felt behind and pulled it out – it was the strap-on dildo. I stared at it in horror and was still holding it when Mrs Stokes came through.

"Oh, that thing," she said. "I'm always telling Belinda not to leave it lying around. And I bet she hasn't cleaned it. It's so unhygienic." And she came over, took it from me, and took it into the kitchen. Fascinated, I followed. She was wiping it with a wet-wipe tissue. 

"There's no need to be embarrassed," she said, still wiping it and without looking up at me: "Belinda and I have no secrets from each other. Or that, at any rate," she said, putting the dildo down and looking up at me, "is what she thinks."

This was amazing. Did this mean Mrs Stokes knew? I couldn't quite bring myself to ask directly, so I said, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she said, "that I know about Fran, I know about Trixie, and I know about you."

I froze.

"It's all right, Louise, I'm very happy for you."

"Wh – what do you know?"

"Stay there," she said. "Give me a minute." And she went out of the kitchen. There was a brief pause, and then I heard her call from the sitting room, "Now go over near the door."

I walked back across the kitchen and, just before the door, I fell back with surprise. Mrs Stokes was standing in front of me, topless. What? How? Where? She wasn't in the room, yet – 

"Now come in here. It's all right: don't be shy."

I felt I was in a dream. What was going on here? I went through to the living room. There was Mrs Stokes, in her jeans and boots and her gorgeous big breasts – my eyes went wide when I saw those – standing in front of that mirror I'd noticed, her hands on her hips. I gulped: the sight was so unexpected, and so fucking sexy. But why? What was she doing? And then at last, feeling very slow and foolish, I understood. Of course. It was a two-way mirror.

"You see? I was in the kitchen, watching it all."

I blushed with shame.

"You saw it?"

"Hey, don't worry. I loved every minute of it. There's nothing to worry about. In fact, it looked wonderful. When Belinda was fucking you -" it felt so strange to hear her say the word – "I felt a massive urge to come out here and join in."

"Belinda knew you were watching?"

"Of course she knew. Who do you think tied her corset up at the back?"

I was thrown. I didn't know what to think. The idea of having been watched....

"Belinda likes to be watched. Some people do, you know. And I like watching. It's very sexy – much better than porn. And, of course, watching from the kitchen means I can make myself a nice cup of tea."

"What about Fran? Er – Trixie?"

"We kept it from her at first. Then Belinda decided to tell her."

"And? How did she take it?"

Mrs Stokes gave me a rather saucy smile. "She loved it," she said.

So everyone had been in on it except me. They'd all known I was being watched – Oh my God, was I being filmed? My alarm must have registered in my face.

"It's all right, Louise. Some people like to watch and some people like being watched, that's all."

"You're not going to do anything with it, are you? You're not going to tell anyone? Show anyone?"

"There's nothing to worry about. I saw my daughter having the most amazing lesbian sex with her teacher and her best friend, and I got off on it. In fact, I loved every minute of it. And the way you took that spanking... Did you enjoy it?"

I managed a smile. "Yes. Yes, I loved it."

"Would you like me to spank you?"

"Would you? Please? I love it. I need it."

"Oh I'll do more than that for you, Louise. If you'll let me. Those lazy girls haven't tied you up yet, and I've got such a lovely ball-gag that would look just right in that gorgeous mouth of yours. Come here, you."

She came over to me, her gorgeous breasts pressing against mine, and she gently wiped a strand of hair back from my face. And suddenly, without a word, I fell on her tits and sucked them. I took her right breast and filled my mouth with it. I sucked it, licked it, ran it across my face, flicked her nipple with my tongue, kissed it – worshipped it. I put my face between her breasts, I hugged her to press them onto me, I wanted to dive into them, lose myself in them, sink into them.

"Ssh, ssh," she soothed. "Take it slowly. They're all yours."

I looked up at her.

"Really?"

"Yes, dear," she said, "Really."

"Mrs Stokes?"

"No, dear. My name is Marion."

"Marion? Could I ask something?"

"Ask away."

"Marion, would you fuck me? With the strap-on?"

"I thought you'd never ask. I'll just go and put it on. And I'll get the gag and some handcuffs as well. I don't suppose you've tried bondage? I thought not. You'll love it. And while we're at it, let's turn these lights down a bit, shall we?"

I thought she would go into the kitchen, but she disappeared towards her bedroom. A few moments later, she came through. She was in black stockings and knickers and she wore a large strap-on – much larger than Belinda's, I noticed – which stuck out in front of her. But what I feasted my eyes on was the large white man's shirt she wore unbuttoned on top.

"I put it on for you. I know how much you like them," she said, softly.

"It's beautiful," I said. "It's too beautiful."

I fell to my knees, trembling. It was all too much for me.

"Here, Louise," said Marion, folding me to her gorgeous breasts. Instinctively I started sucking them. I wanted to be hers, only hers.

"Marion," I said, "I want to worship you. I want to kiss your gorgeous tits for ever."

"You like my tits, don't you?"

"They're beautiful. I never want to let go of them."

"You don't have to. I'm going to fuck you, and I'm going to own you, Louise. You're going to be my little schoolgirl. My schoolgirl lover. My schoolgirl whore. Would you like that?"

"Oh yes, mummy! Thank you, mummy." And I kissed her breasts, all over them, adoring them, worshipping them.

"That's good. That's very good. Now suck my cock, like a good little whore."

"I'll be a good whore for you, mummy. I'll be a fucking schoolgirl whore for you, mummy."

She stood up and I knelt in front of her, kissing her cock, gently, almost reverently at first, then gradually licking it, all the way along, like an ice lolly, until I felt ready, and opened my mouth and sucked it in. She held my head and moved her hips into me, and I gave in to her – I closed my eyes and let my mouth be fucked by this gorgeous woman. She could fuck my mouth or any part of me for as long as she liked. I was hers – I knew it now. I was hers and I never wanted to be anyone else's.

"That's it, you little cocksucker. You little bitch. Suck my gorgeous cock, you fucking lovely little whore."

Next thing I knew I was back on all fours and Marion was sliding that amazing dildo into my cunt. I closed my eyes as I felt it slide deep into me, Marion's hands firmly on my hips, guiding it in. I started to rock slowly, easing it further into me, fucking myself with it. We got faster, I was shouting out, telling her I was cumming, I was her girl, I was her schoolgirl, I was her slut, and I was cumming – 

And that was when Belinda came home.

It's just possible you won't find any guidance in etiquette and self-help books on what to do when your best friend comes home to find you being fucked doggy-style on the living room carpet by her mother. To fill in this scandalous gap in the literature, let me say that gasping out your best friend's name, which is what I did, is natural but not particularly helpful. And should your mind start running through possible explanations you could give, which is what mine did, forget it. There's only one explanation – the real one.

However, it helps enormously if, instead of storming from the room in disgust, your best friend reacts as Belinda did, not with shock but with genuine surprise, as if this was an interesting and unexpected development she hadn't thought of but wasn't necessarily opposed to. I remember thinking that she reminded me of the way Miss Pringle, our maths teacher, reacted when someone came up with an unexpected but still valid solution to a problem. Oh. I see. Yes. Yes, that could work.

But the most unexpected reaction came from Marion. Without losing pace, without even pausing, just as if she were rolling pastry or scrubbing a stubborn bit of dried food from a saucepan, she just said, "There you are. If I'd known you were going to be back so soon, I wouldn't have worried about your handbag."

We did stop then, though. Marion withdrew her dildo from my cunt and then held it up to my mouth and I licked it, tentatively at first, aware of the situation, but then more deliberately, licking all the way along it, loving the taste of my cunt juices. And loving that Belinda was watching me do it. Maybe there was something in this voyeur thing after all.

"Right," said Marion, standing up: "Things to do."

Belinda was still looking completely surprised, as we all sat up in the armchairs and sofa. I had no idea what to say – this was between them. I was expecting tension, but there wasn't any. Just a sort of recognised need to say something about what was going on. 

"I'll just give this a clean and then I'll make us all some coffee," Marion announced. Still in her white shirt and underwear she took off the strap-on, cleaned it with a wet-wipe tissue – she was clearly very hot on sexual hygiene – and put it on the coffee table. Then she went into the kitchen to make us all coffee. The sight of her carrying it in still in her shirt and stockings, deliberately bending down so that her amazing bum was level with my face, just added to the turmoil inside me.

"Mother!" said Belinda, crossly.

"Louise doesn't mind, do you, dear?"

I didn't say anything. I just leaned forward and licked her bum. She closed her eyes, put her hand round to my head and pressed my face into her bum crack. I nuzzled my face between her bum cheeks and kissed her cunt through her black knickers.

"Oh, good grief."

That was Belinda. Fair enough. So we stopped and sat up on the chairs for coffee.

Apparently the clubbing scene hadn't gone well: Belinda had gone with Fran, but Fran was nervous about being too obvious in front of so many of her (now) ex-pupils, and then two boys had started chatting them both up and wouldn't go away, and in the end she and Fran had decided to call it a night and had gone home. To their own homes. I felt relieved: it didn't sound as if I had missed much.

"So how did this start?" asked Belinda, looking at me. "You can't have been here five minutes." But Marion answered for me:

"It started ages ago."

I looked at her in surprise.

"Did it?"

"Yes, dear. On my side at least. I knew months ago that I fancied you. And, even while you three were playing around in here, deep down Louise fancied me. You know that now, don't you, Louise?"

Did I? I had noticed Marion, it's true. I knew she was good looking and that she dressed young and attractively. But if I'm honest, I hadn't taken it any further. I just didn't realise I could.

"Well," as long as you're not going to start behaving like my mother, this does resolve one issue," said Belinda, with decision. "Threesomes may be fun in the bedroom, but they never work in reality."

That was true. 

"Well, Louise," Marion asked, "how do you feel about it?"

I gathered my thoughts, and then knew what to say. I put my mug down on the coffee table, stood up, went over to Marion and knelt at her feet. I could feel the atmosphere change: they put their cups down too and Belinda leant forward, listening. I kept my eyes downwards to start with, then looked up and met Marion's gaze. She was looking straight into my eyes, with a look of such love and affection I nearly hugged her.

"I want to be your slave, Marion. I want to be your slut, your whore, your bitch. I want to be dirty for you. I want you to fuck me in every hole: my cunt, my arse, my mouth: they are all yours, to do with as you please. I want to be your three-holed fuck doll. I want to dress in my school uniform for you and be your schoolgirl whore. I want to lick your boots and suck your dildo. I want to take it in my mouth, and in my cunt and in my arse. I want to lose myself in your cunt and wash my face in your juices. I want to worship your glorious, your magnificent tits. But, most of all, I want to serve you. I want to be your sex slave, your plaything, your toy, your little girl slave. I want to submit to your desires, your needs, your discipline and your lust. I want you to punish me, to spank me, to fuck me, to tie me up, to do whatever you want with me and whatever you think I need. I have complete trust in you and I submit myself to you. Absolutely."




Schoolgirl Domme Ch. 03



"Well," said Marion, as I knelt submissively before her. "That was very nicely put, Louise. Thank you. I would like that very much indeed." She patted my cheek and kissed me. "Now stay there, you little whore."

She hadn't called me that before. I felt a thrill of excitement as she got up and went over the room to the drawers. I knew now what was in the drawer she opened.

"I think she's ready for this now, don't you, Belinda?"

"Oh yes, mum. This bitch is ready for it now. No question."

It was the collar. My eyes must have lit up with excitement. And Marion was carrying a chain too, to attach to it. She came over and held it out to me.

"Kiss it," she said. "And when you kiss it, you accept that you are my slave, my whore. That I am your mistress and you will obey me. You accept that you are my dog."

I closed my eyes. I was in raptures. I leaned forward and kissed the collar. Then Marion came round behind me and put it round my neck, fastening it just tight enough for me to be aware of it, to keep my head up for her. I felt a flood of relief running through my body. I couldn't have Fran because she belonged to Belinda, and Belinda only wanted one slave. But now I was Marion's. Her slave. Her bitch. Her dog. I bent down and kissed her boot.

"Thank you," I said. Then something occurred to me and I looked up at her.

"What should I call you? Just Marion?"

"I think you'll know what to call me," she said.

I nodded. I did know.

"Yes, mummy."

"And now, you little cunt," she announced, "Belinda and I are going to teach you how to be spanked properly. With my belt."

*    *    *

It hurt. Make no mistake about it – it hurt more than anything I had ever experienced in my life. Marion only gave me three strokes - she was careful and she knew I was new to spanking – and she warned me it would hurt, and she was right. It was searing, burning pain that shot through my whole body, as if I'd been electrocuted. It felt as if my bum was on fire and I was gasping by the time she laid her belt down. But I took it. I had made my decision and I was happy with it. I would undergo this from her and anything else she cared to subject me to. And as the burning subsided, I felt again the warm erotic glow throbbing in every part of my body. I felt alive with lust.

"Look at her, mum. The fucking bitch is loving it."

I looked at Belinda, my eyes alight, telling her she was right.

"Well," Marion remarked, "I think we should give her something to love, don't you? Louise, dear, take your dress off, and your knickers. Bring the chair from the kitchen, would you, Belinda?"

The chair from the kitchen?

It was an ordinary wooden kitchen chair. I half expected to see a dildo attached to it or something, but it was quite normal. Belinda placed it in the middle of the room, then looked at me.

"Get up, you slut. Sit on this."

So I did.

Then, very methodically, just as if she were performing some quite ordinary task, Belinda went to that drawer and took out some objects I couldn't quite make out. When she came towards me I saw they were a pair of shackles and a pair of handcuffs.

I had always dreamed of bondage but never thought I would ever experience it. Now I was going to find out.

Belinda cuffed my hands behind the chairback and attached my ankles to the legs. Tied to the chair, my legs open, I felt helpless, completely at their mercy. They could do what they liked to me and there was nothing I could do. I was their plaything, their fuck toy. You want to know how it felt? It felt delicious.

Belinda stood in front of me.

"So, you want to fuck my mother, do you? What are you?"

I looked at her.

"I'm a slut."

She slapped my face hard.

"What are you?"

"I'm a slut. A fucking slut."

She slapped again.

"What are you?"

"I'm a whore. A cheap whore. A schoolgirl whore."

She slapped again.

"What are you?"

I thought quickly. Should I repeat the words or find new ones?

"I'm a cheap fucking slut. A dirty, filthy whore. A slave. A pile of shit."

She slapped again.

She put her face close to mine and grabbed hold of it in her hand.

"What. Are. You?"

I knew.

"I'm a motherfucker. A cocksucker and a motherfucker."

And then Marion spoke.

"And now tell me what you are."

"Oh that's easy, Marion. I'm your bitch. Your little schoolgirl bitch. I'm your whore. Your fuck doll."

"And who am I, dear?"

I looked up at her.

"You're my mummy."

"Good. Well, dear, I think it's time mummy fucked you. Don't you?"

"Please, mummy, please fuck me."

Marion did try to fuck me on the chair, but the angle wasn't right. So they got me off the chair and trussed me up on the ground, my hands still cuffed behind me and chained now to my ankles. 

"Shall I gag the bitch?"

"No, dear. I want to hear her."

So I lay there, trussed up like a turkey, as Marion slid her great thick dildo into my cunt. The feeling of powerlessness, so that I could hardly even move, was unbelievably sexy. I just shut my eyes and murmured, "Thank you, mummy. Thank you for fucking me. Thank you." She thrust into me faster. Faster. She wanted to make me cum. And I would cum for her. I would do anything for her.

"I'm cumming, mummy! Your bitch girl is cumming!"

I felt it explode inside me. My whole body erupted against the chains holding me down. I fell onto my side, shivering in ecstasy.

"Well, well," I heard Belinda say, "I do believe the little bitch has cum."

They left me in my chains. I lay on the floor, getting used to my new position: I was an object now, a slave. They didn't have to untie me: they would do so when they chose, not when I asked. I had no control at all: I was completely theirs. And, for the first time in ages, I was completely happy.

*    *    *

The train had reached Ladbroke Grove. I got out.



Schoolgirl Domme Ch. 04



I still had three quarters of an hour to kill. Something told me it would be better to arrive at Belinda's bang on time. I saw a café that looked all right and went in.

It was the usual early evening crowd. Mostly people on their way home from work, one man on his own ordering something to eat, a group of foreign students visiting London. I bought a cup of tea and sat down by the window. I needed something to distract my mind so I went and took down one of the newspapers they provided for customers. The good ones had gone so I made do with a tabloid. I can't even remember which one. I sat idly turning the pages, hardly glancing at what was on them.

But I took one thing in. Someone was looking at me.

I glanced across at her. Her eyes looked down quickly, as if she'd been caught staring at me. I'd briefly registered her as I came in: she reminded me of someone, though I couldn't place it. A cascade of blonde curls (could they be real?) and a rather flashy scarf wrapped over her coat. She had a bit too much make-up, to be honest, but she had a very pretty face. Very pretty. She looked – well, she looked a bit trashy, to be honest. I even wondered vaguely if she was a tart grabbing a bite to eat before the night shift. Then I noticed what she was reading: The Times. Well that put me and my tabloid in my place. I smiled ruefully at my own prejudice – why should I assume girls like her wouldn't read a serious newspaper? I had probably got her entirely wrong.

I looked back at my paper but I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she was sending a text. Then she got the reply and her smile suggested she was happy with it. She finished her cup, gathered her paper, and left.

I looked at my watch. Still another fifteen minutes before I needed to go. I picked up the bag and checked inside: the school blazer, skirt and tie were all in there. And I was wearing the white shirt.

Excitement gripped me. My pulse was racing. But I was determined not to back out. Not after what happened back then.

*  *  *

I could still remember – it would difficult to forget – how Belinda told me. I was still tied up on the living room carpet, my wrists handcuffed, my ankles shackled, a ball gag in my mouth and – oh heaven! – a butt plug up my arse. Belinda and Marion were having a glass of wine in front of the telly – I remember telling myself that not being allowed to watch television was one of the things I would need to get used to now – when Belinda suddenly said, "Mum, those boys – the ones who wouldn't leave Fran and me alone tonight. I've invited them to the party tomorrow night. They're coming here first and then we'll all go together on the tube."

"That sounds nice, dear. 

"Could I have your slut for the evening?"

"Oh. I was hoping to start work on her arse. But if you insist."

"I'll bring her back. Don't worry."

"Well, since it's you."

So the next evening we all gathered at Belinda's and got dressed for the school uniform party. Fran and I wore standard School Disco outfits: white shirts open to show some cleavage, ties knotted well down our fronts, short skirts and fishnet stockings. I felt a brief pang of regret when I saw Fran dressed as a gorgeous sexy schoolgirl, but I told myself this too was one of the things I would have to get used to. Belinda was still getting changed when the doorbell rang and Marion opened it to the two boys.

They were very nice. I don't know why I should sound surprised: maybe from the way Belinda had talked about them not leaving her alone the previous night I had imagined them larger and more obnoxious. They were both quite slightly built and they seemed a bit nervous. They didn't really know anyone except having met Belinda and Fran the night before, and it didn't sound as if that had gone particularly well. They wouldn't know anyone at all at the party, though that was true of Fran and me too. I got the impression each had only come because the other one did: perhaps it was a dare.

Poor boys. School uniform parties do everything for girls and very little for boys. Girls can dress as sexy schoolgirl vamps in outfits that bear little resemblance to what they would actually wear to school. Boys, on the other hand, wear pretty much what they wear to school. Like Belinda and me these two had left school now, but in their uniforms – blazers, ties, slightly loose collars – they looked as if they had just come from the last lesson of the day.

They introduced themselves. Simon had floppy blonde hair, which hung over one eye in the fashion of the day; Martin had darker hair and wore it shorter and more sensibly. We introduced ourselves – I noticed that Fran used her real name but didn't say she was a teacher. We all sat down and made small talk, and then Belinda came in.

She'd upstaged all of us. Of course. She wore her white school blouse with her collar up, undone to the waist over a black t-shirt. Her school tie was tied round her waist, like a belt. She had put on a short black leather skirt, fishnet stockings and a pair of high black boots. She was in charge that night, and she knew it.

"Everyone ready?" she asked.

"I just need to go to the loo," I said.

I slipped into the corridor. I wanted to see Marion. She was there.

"You look good enough to eat, you sexy bitch."

"So do you."

We kissed, a deep lingering kiss. I ran my tongue along her lips; she shuddered. Her hand went to my cunt. I felt her fingers pressing against my clit. With her other hand she put a finger in my mouth for me to suck.

"What are you?"

"I'm your lesbian schoolgirl slut, mummy."

"And what's mummy going to do when you get home?"

"Mummy's going to fuck me like the whore I am."

"Good girl. Until then, you are Belinda's slave. Understand? You obey her as you would me."

"Yes, mummy."

"There's my good little girl. Have a good time, then."

And we all set off.

The tube was fun. Everyone was looking at our sexy school uniforms. To my surprise, it was Fran who played up to it most obviously, catching people's eye deliberately, playing with her tie, even undoing one of the buttons of her shirt. Belinda stayed as normal as if she was a morning commuter on her way to work. It added to the mood of excitement as we got to Wimbledon and found the address.

It was a big house and the party was just getting going when we arrived. Everyone was in school uniform: for me it was heaven. We met David, the boy whose birthday it was. Apparently he and Belinda had known each other since they were little. He didn't at all mind us coming to his party, especially as we'd brought bottles. And especially as we were dressed as we were.

It was actually a really good party. Good music, which had everyone dancing, plenty of wine and David's parents had prepared a rather fine hot buffet. We danced and got to know the boys. They were still a bit shy, but Fran and I talked with them – Belinda knew some of David's friends and had left us on our own for a while – and then we all had a couple of dances. They loosened their ties a bit more – oh, delicious – and we even all had a slow dance, which had somehow got into the mix a bit too early in the evening. It still felt a bit early when I realised Belinda was saying good night to David and collecting us.

"I was just getting into it," Fran grumbled.

I had an inkling of what was coming next and stayed quiet. I think the boys did too: they seemed quiet and nervous.

"Come on: we're going back to the flat," Belinda announced. "The evening has hardly started."

She was right there.

Back home (home? It was beginning to feel like it) we climbed the stairs with a sort of suppressed excitement, as if we couldn't quite believe this was going to happen. As soon as the door opened, though, I knew it would.

Marion had turned the lights down and there was music playing softly in the background. And as we came into the room I saw – and so did the boys – that she had left the porn mags open on the coffee table and a couple of dildos: thick ones, shaped like cocks. Very thoughtful of her.

The boys were wide-eyed: I don't suppose they knew such things existed and were wondering what on earth they'd got themselves into. I glanced towards the mirror. Marion would be there, watching.

"First things first. Trixie – get us all drinks."

The boys looked lost. Who was Trixie? Fran – well, Trixie – brought over a bottle of wine and five glasses. Martin and Simon were looking through the porn mags and trying to look as if their interest was purely academic. It didn't work.

"Next," Belinda announced and snapped her fingers at Trixie and me. We looked at each other and both stood up. She pointed at the floor and together we both knelt. I stole a glance at Trixie; she smiled at me. The idea of being a slave alongside Fran, my teacher, was just bliss. Belinda had gone to the drawer and taken out our collars. Fran obediently lowered her head to allow Belinda to put it on her, then I did the same. The boys just stared, open-mouthed. Belinda turned to them.

"These two sluts are both my personal sex slaves. They will do whatever I tell them to. Just for the moment, you two can sit back and enjoy the show."

She changed the music and put on some Donna Summer.

"Right, you two, let's see you dance."

Trixie's eyes lit up. We started to move together to the music, writhing round each other, Trixie pressing her cunt into my leg as I ran my hand over her firm tits. Now she was licking my neck, long big slurps and tickling my ear with her tongue. I moved my hands onto her bum and drew her close to me. She put her arms around my neck, I pulled her towards me with her tie. Now we were kissing, deeply, her cunt thrusting into me. She moved behind me, pressing her cunt into my bum, as if she was fucking my arse. Her hands were on my tits, and my hands were on top of hers. I looked at the boys. They were staring, transfixed.

Now Trixie had me bent over and was play-spanking me, looking all the time at the boys. Their erections were obvious, pressing up inside their trousers. And now Belinda moved in and handed us both a dildo to play with. I took my lead from Trixie: she obviously knew what to do. She pulled away from me and danced in front of the boys, her legs apart, licking all along the dildo. I joined her, licking my dildo as if it was an ice cream. Trixie was sucking hers, taking it right into her mouth; I sucked mine, slobbering over it, wetting it. Then Trixie took the dildo from my mouth and licked it herself. We linked arms and sucked each other's dildos.

Then Belinda came over and whispered in our ears, "Sit on the chairs, knickers off, and play with yourselves. But do not, repeat not, cum."

We nodded, bent down and slipped our knickers off, and then sat in the arm chairs, facing the boys with our legs open wide. They could see our cunts clearly. Trixie was playing with hers, opening it for them, licking her dildo and sliding it inside. I opened my cunt and slipped a finger inside. Then another. And another. I looked Martin straight in the eye and slowly winked. He gulped and started to stand up.

"Sit down." It was Belinda's voice, quite but firm. He sat down.

"Both of you, get your cocks out. Take your trousers and underpants off. Let's see how hard you both really are.

They couldn't do it fast enough. Martin stood up, Simon pulled his trousers off sitting down.

Belinda sighed. "And your socks."

They both had a lot to learn.

Trixie and I were still fingering our cunts, but we watched as the boys stripped to just their shirts and school ties. Most men do not have monster cocks that will split a girl in two, and Martin and Simon were no exception. Actually, I thought they were well shaped and a perfectly good size. I looked at Martin again and slowly licked my lips. I had three fingers inside me now, and I felt like a cheap, schoolgirl whore. I saw his cock jerking in response and for the first time I felt the power that my sex gave me over someone else. It was wonderful. I could make him cum without even touching him. 

Well, I could have done if Belinda hadn't been there.

"You are not to cum till I say so," she told them. Don't wank, just sit and stroke your cocks gently. OK?"

They nodded and did as she said, sitting looking at us both, trying so hard to keep their cocks under control.

"Look at those cocks, girls. Don't they look good?"

"Mmm yes," agreed Trixie.

"Wouldn't you like to suck them?"

"Oh yes, Miss!" That was me.

"I should think so. They're gorgeous cocks, aren't they? Beautiful cocks. You boys can be very proud of your cocks."

They smiled, sheepishly. And then she added:

"Don't just look at your own: look at each others'."

They stopped stroking their own cocks for a moment and looked at each others'. They glanced at each other and gave a brief giggle. But they didn't try to move away.

"They're good, aren't they? Martin, what do you think of Simon's cock?"

"It's all right, I suppose."

"All right? It's gorgeous. It's long and firm and throbbing. Isn't it beautiful? Don't you want to touch it?"

He looked at her in alarm.

"Of course you do. Go on. Touch it. It won't hurt you. Feel how gorgeous it is. Go on - " and once again she said Those Words "- you know you want to."

Martin gulped and stretched out his hand to Simon's cock. Simon took his hand and guided it on.

"That's it. Now, why don't you stroke Simon's cock for him?"

He did. Slowly at first, then faster. Simon was looking at him, breathing more quickly, getting excited.

"That's good," said Belinda: "that's very good. Now, just lean forward and give it a kiss."

I expected him to say something, to protest, but he didn't. He just leant down and kissed Simon's cock. Once. Twice. A third time. Then his tongue came out and he began to give it little licks. Simon was looking down at him, holding Martin's head down. Now Martin was licking all along the cock. He was loving it. Simon was getting excited. He pulled Martin up and made a lunge for his cock, licking it hungrily and then taking it in his mouth. I was so fascinated – so turned on – I stopped playing with my cunt and just watched.

Then Simon sat up, looking Martin in the eyes. Suddenly he grabbed Martin's tie and pulled him against him. Next moment they were kissing. Kissing deeply, holding each other close, their hands clutching their backs. They were kissing passionately now, Simon kissing all over Martin's face, and then French kissing him again. They broke off: they were smiling, as if they were doing something deliciously naughty that no-one knew about. Simon pushed Martin back down to his cock. This time Martin knelt on the floor and parted Simon's knees. Simon was beginning to buck his hips as Martin sucked, then licked, all along, with a sort of flourish of his tongue at the head. Then they were kissing again, falling onto the floor in an embrace, their legs round each other, smiling and laughing like lovers in a daisy field. 

"Well, girls," Belinda said, with a note of amusement in her voice, "we'd better see to ourselves."

My memory is a bit hazy about what followed. I remember that Marion came through and that I ran to her and we kissed. Fran looked rather surprised; maybe Belinda had forgotten to tell her. Martin and Simon went into a glorious sixty-nine near the sofa, and the rest of us ended up in a daisy chain. I remember I was licking Marion's cunt, and I'm pretty sure she was licking Fran's (Trixie's? I was past caring now), so I think it must have Belinda licking mine. Yes, I'm sure it was.

And I remember how at one point the three couples were all fucking in three different ways in different parts of the room. We gave Simon and Martin the dildos and lots of lube to use on each other; we didn't think they should go for full anal on their first outing, though to judge from the screams of joy Simon let out as Martin fucked his arse with the dildo, it wouldn't be long till they did. I noticed that Martin knelt up behind Simon and positioned the dildo as if it was his cock. And those two gorgeous boys kept their shirts ties on through the whole thing. 

Mind you, so did we. While Martin was fucking – well, dildoing – Simon, Belinda had Trixie on the floor and was fucking her from behind with her strap on. But I reckoned I was the luckiest of all in that room. Marion was fucking me on my back, like a man, with her strap-on – and it was bigger than Belinda's.

Three couples, all fucking, all in school uniform – my dreams don't come much better than this. And we all did cum too – I remember.

And I remember how it ended too.

It was very early the next morning. I had slept with Marion in her bed and I woke up with a start. She was lying next to me, still fast asleep. I looked at the clock: it was 7.00. I stared at the ceiling for a moment, then looked at Marion. I smiled, leaned over, and planted a quiet kiss on her forehead. Then I slipped out of bed. I found my clothes – my ordinary clothes – and put the school uniform into a bag. I looked in on Belinda and Fran – they were sleeping naked in her bed, Fran cuddled up under Belinda's arm. I picked my way through the dildos and glasses and all the rest of the detritus of last night. Simon and Martin were sleeping on a mattress on the floor under a duvet. They were both naked and Martin had his arm over Simon.

I went into the kitchen, took a sheet from a notepad and wrote a short note for Marion. I was going to leave it on the work surface, but then I had a better idea. I found some Blu-Tak and stuck it to the two-way mirror. It seemed appropriate.

I walked through to the door, turned and looked at the room, and silently said my goodbyes. Then I left, closed the door quietly behind me, and went down the stairs and out of the building as quickly as I could. I walked quickly. The only people about were one or two people walking their dogs. I headed to the tube and took the first train, not knowing quite where to get out. In the end I decided on Leicester Square. It was central and would suit what I wanted to do. From there I walked down to Charing Cross and to the Embankment. On the Embankment I reached into my bag, took out my phone and threw it into the river. Now they couldn't phone me. I would need to close my email address somehow. And I would need to go away. Very soon. This had to end, and I was ending it. The note had said "Thank you. It has to be this way. Louise." I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come.

*  *  *

Time had passed. I needed to make a move or I would be late. Hurriedly, I picked up my bag and headed down the road. Damn Facebook. Why can't it leave the past alone? Why can't I move on? Why did she have to come back? Why would I always give in to her? Why?

Why? Because you're not free of her. And you never will be.

I was in front of her block of flats now. I went up and rang the bell.

I heard movement inside. She was coming to the door. It was her.

"Hi! You found it! Come on in!"

She was in fetish schoolmistress gear. Smart white blouse, under-bra corset over it, pencil skirt, and a little mortar board on top that should have looked silly but didn't.

We weren't in role yet. 

"I'll show you round."

It was very smart: a flat like this in this part of London – she must be doing very well for herself.

"Excuse the gear. I've got someone with me."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No, of course not. Don't be silly. I told you I had someone I wanted you to meet. She's just getting changed."

Kitchen. Living room (very spacious). Bedroom (untidy – nothing kinky: sorry).

"And here –" she said, with an air of mystery, as she opened the last door.

At first it seemed a normal room, quite light and airy. But then you notice two school desks and chairs in the middle of the room, and a blackboard on its easel, and a teacher's desk and chair. And the canes. And a tawse. Then, behind me I saw a St Andrew's cross, and a sort of black padded bench, even a rather cramped cage. And very neatly arranged around the room were dildos and spankers and some other implements I didn't recognise and didn't really want to ask about.




Schoolgirl Domme Ch. 04



"As I said," Belinda explained, "I don't do it for a living. It's a weekend thing. A hobby. And this is where I do it."

"You've got a client with you now?"

"Yes. Someone you might possibly remember."

"You said it's not Fran."

"No. And it's not mum either, before you ask."

The moment had come. No avoiding it.

"How did –"

"It's all right. She understood."

"Did she?"

"In fact, she said you were right. Bad timing: you about to go off to university. About to start a new life. She's well. She got married a couple of years ago. So now I have two mothers. Isn't that strange?"

I wanted to ask more – so much more – but there were footsteps in the corridor: the client was ready.

"Bear with me. I have to get into role."

There was a timid knock on the door. Belinda sat at the teacher's desk. Deliberately taking her time, she arranged a couple of things on it and then said:

"Come in."

The door opened and a schoolgirl came in, looking nervous and standing with her leg bent. I just stared.

It was her. The girl from the café. She was dressed in school uniform now, very tarty, with her tie loose and her skirt too short. I had thought she reminded me of someone, but who? And how had she known me?

Belinda spoke, in her stern schoolmistress voice.

"This is my friend Louise. She will be joining us this evening." I shot Belinda a glance: would I now? "Tell her your name."

The girl looked at me. Once again I thought how very pretty she was. Quite beautiful really. In fact, I wouldn't mind...

She had just the sort of breathy little girl's voice I would have guessed. And just the sort that turns me on, damn her. "My name is Cindy. And I am Mistress Belinda's personal schoolgirl slut. Please feel free to beat me, spank me, or fuck me in any way you choose."

"Good slut. And now tell Louise who you were."

To my surprise, she lifted her skirt, pulled her panties to one side (red satin with a black lace trim. Someone had been to the Sex Shop). I was looking at a cock.

"I used to be called Simon," she said, "when we first met. But now I'm Cindy and I belong to Mistress Belinda."

Of course.

Without knowing what I was doing, I fell to my knees and kissed her cock. Licked it. Then I stood up and picked up my bag. I took all the school uniform items out of it and laid them on the school desks. Finally I took out the last item, the one I nearly didn't bring. I handed it to Belinda. I shook my hair out of the way as she put my slave collar round my neck. Then I knelt at her feet.

"You know what, Cindy?" I said: "So do I."

THE END