2 comments/ 18899 views/ 7 favorites First Interlude By: tovesslithy 24 First Interlude Helen Shagton was forty-two years old. Despite this very adult age, she was nursing a very recently and well-caned bottom. She was just returning home by car. However, she had felt, as she so often did, that she really needed a good, hard, school caning style punishment herself. The Headmaster, had, naturally, been very happy to oblige her here. Many parents, she knew, often felt the same, and the beginning of term was always a convenient time to arrange for it. St Stricktlands School regarded this as a special service towards its alumni¹. She had just left the school buildings, and was already part way along the half mile of main carriage drive which led out of the grounds. She was wondering where she could stop, somewhere out of sight where she could safely remove all her clothes. She'd promised herself a nude drive home that evening. The idea of nude driving had always appealed to her, although, to be fair, she didn't indulge herself with that particular pleasure very often. There were just too many people around where she lived to make that a practical proposition, without the risk of....well, difficulties. A cunning plan popped itself into her brain. She remembered that The Dell lay-by wasn't that far away. The Dell itself was just inside the school grounds, but it also had a footpath which led out onto the main public highway. She reached the main entrance gates, and turned out of the school grounds towards Stricktlands Village. It wasn't that far by car to the lay-by, and she was there in a matter of seconds. She stopped her car in the darkness, and then switched out all the car lights. Now she could see almost nothing. St Stricktlands School was located in one of the very few remaining areas of really rural England, and there were no streetlights, indeed no lights of any description, for miles around. Her eyes gradually adjusted themselves to the moonlight. She smiled to herself. Certainly, she wasn't about to make use of the car's interior light. No, Ma'am, she thought, certainly not, indeed. Gently, she wriggled her wicked way out of her pleated skirt, gasping slightly at the movement of the material on her caned bottom, and then folded it neatly onto the passenger seat. The feel of the car seat up against her bare bottom felt deliciously naughty. Next, she lifted each leg in turn, a difficult feat owing to the presence of the steering wheel, and removed her shoes and socks. Then her top and bra followed. She giggled, girlishly, to herself. As she'd told Terrence Hayter, she wasn't wearing any knickers....in the certain anticipation of receiving a good, hard, therapeutic beating from him. Now she was totally nude. She was just about to drive away, for the enjoyment of a long distance, night-time nude drive home, when she tasted an even more daring idea. An even more risqué idea. Why not, she thought, simply walk down to The Dell in the dark....right now? It was, after all, several years since she had last been there. Just to see it....just for old time's sake, she thought to herself, lying cheerfully to herself. Heart pounding, she stepped out of the car, and locked it. Should she take the car key, she thought? She decided, no, for the simple reason that, being totally nude, she had nowhere to put it. Or, at least, she thought, nowhere printable, and, quite frankly, she wasn't about to put a car key up her cunt. She smiled to herself. Not this time, at least. She slipped the key neatly into the car's exhaust pipe. Up yours, she said, mentally, to the car. It was a cold, crystal clear, moonlit winter night, and she walked slowly along the narrow footpath, almost feeling her way, towards The Dell. Each step was almost an effort, and the grass was bitterly cold under her feet. The occasional twig and small branch cracked and broke noisily. Not, she thought, that it was likely that there was anyone around to hear. She thought, suddenly, that she must be totally insane to do this at all, and was half-minded to turn around and walk straight back to the car, but the sexual thrill was still in her. The thrill, that is, that originated from the good hard caning on her bare bottom only half an hour or so previously. She rubbed her bottom with both hands as she walked and as she thought about it. Oh, it was a really good caning, all right. Terrence Hayter really did know exactly how to treat a naughty Lady like her exactly as she deserved. It was such a shame, she thought, that her husband was constitutionally incapable for doing the same for her. She sighed. Georgie Boy was a wonderful husband, but he was simply submissive through and through. Finally, she reached her destination. The Dell was a small open clearing in the midst of dense woodland. It looked innocuous enough at first sight, picturesque, even, in the moonlight, however it had seen a lot of action over the years. There was a rope lined whipping post driven neatly into the ground in the middle of the clearing. Adjacent, a number of triangular wooden frames stood side by side, with shackles on each leg. She knew, from personal experience, just what it was like to be bent over, locked into one of those frames and whipped. She rubbed her cunt at the memory and shivered....a sort of shivery anticipation feeling which was partly memory and partly pleasure. She smiled to herself, and rubbed her cunt some more. Then, with a small sigh of pure pleasure, she turned, and headed back down the rough footpath back towards her car. Finally, she reached the public highway again. She approached her car, and bent down towards the exhaust pipe to reclaim her ignition key. She froze. It wasn't there. Legs quaking, heart pounding madly, she stood up, and froze a second time as a bright torchlight shone straight into her eyes. A male voice sounded, slowly and courteously, "A very good evening to you, Miss," it said, "I wonder if you could kindly tell me exactly what you are doing here, and why, and whether or not this is your car?" It was, she could just see, a young, fully uniformed country policeman, and he was holding a set of car keys in his hand. She could also just see that his police car was parked just a little way down the lay-by from hers. She tried very hard to think of something to say, something that would help her in this difficult situation, however she knew that all the evidence was stacked against her. Standing nude in the open countryside was not exactly a good starting base for convincing stories. She made a very bad attempt at a winning smile. "Yes, Officer," she said, or tried to say, so it was actually the second attempt which succeeded, "this is indeed my car. You see, I was....err....well....you see, I had a....err....call of nature." Full marks for invention, she thought to herself, although no marks for delivery. Every word sounded lame and unlikely. The policeman switched off his torch, and put it into his overcoat pocket. Then he twirled the car keys in his hand, and placed them into another pocket. They stood together for a long second in the bright moonlight. "I see, Miss," he said, finally, sounding exactly as if he certainly didn't see at all. "I wonder if you would be so kind as to stand a foot away from the car, face it, with your legs apart, and place both your arms on the roof for me, please?" Suddenly, she felt the urge to laugh. "You can't be intending to frisk me, Officer, surely," she replied, "there are, after all, only a very limited number of places in which I could be hiding anything." Then a part of her mind interjected, telling her that it was really a very nice idea indeed, and that really she'd love to be frisked by him. Standing with her legs apart in front of a young policeman whilst totally nude in the cold, open air would be, she decided, mind bogglingly sexy. She imagined him saying, 'I wonder if there's anything hidden in either of those two naughty places at all?' kneeling behind her, and then spreading her bum cheeks for her with his hands, saying, 'no....nothing inside there,' and the doing the same with her cunt lips. She complied, and then wiggled her bare bottom at him suggestively. Already she could feel her cunt, drat it, starting to get damp all over again. Please, she thought, please at least run your hands up and down my legs on the inside. The policeman stood behind her, and frisked her carefully, just as though she were fully clothed. Oh, it felt so good, especially when his hands gently frisked her tits. Then she could somehow sense his eyes inspecting her caned bottom. Oh if only he'd rub it for her. Please? She gave her bottom another hopeful wiggle. "It was certainly a pity, wasn't it, Miss?" he suggested. She was confused. "What was, Officer?" she asked in return. "Where you sat down on all those rough twigs for your, 'call of nature,' as I think you put it," he replied, "and ended up with all those nasty red marks in such a....a sensitive spot." Silence. The heavy irony in his voice was palpable. "The only other time I've seen marks like that," he continued, "was after seeing someone getting a good, hard, caning at school. But obviously that couldn't apply in your case, since you're certainly not of school age, Miss....are you?" She gulped. Obviously he didn't believe a word of her story. Obviously he could see perfectly well that she'd just been caned. "N....no, Officer," she replied, "I'm....err....well over school age, as you can see. But thank you for the compliment, anyway." Now, she thought, the question was, what did he intend to do about her? He sighed. "I'll just make a quick call, if you don't mind, Miss," he said, at length. He took what appeared to be an old fashioned walkie talkie from his overcoat, and turned away from her. "Hello, base," he said, finally, "Young Lady answering informant's description apprehended at The Dell, no clothes....instructions please?" The voice on the other end was firm, but with a definite hint of amusement. "Bring her down to the station, please, Thor," the voice replied, "I think that I will need to ask the Lady a few questions." Thor, she thought? Nobody could be called Thor, surely. Could they? He switched the device off, and turned back to her. He shrugged. "Arms down to your back, please, Miss," he said. Then he expertly attached a pair of stout, police handcuffs onto each wrist. She pulled on them, gingerly. There was no play in them at all. She normally enjoyed playing with handcuffs a lot, indeed she had several pairs of them at home, for, well, all sorts of useful purposes, but having them put on her for real by a real policeman was quite another matter. "If you'd like to accompany me, please, Miss?" he asked. She knew that she had no choice and no chance. "May I fetch my clothes, please?" she asked, in response. He answered without turning. "I'm sorry, Miss," he said, not sounding at all sorry, she thought, "but no." His tone sounded final. She shrugged, and followed him to the police car. He opened the passenger door for her, and she stepped inside, with a certain degree of difficulty since, of course, her arms were handcuffed behind her back. "I'm afraid that I can't quite manage the seatbelt by myself, Officer," she murmured, fetchingly, she hoped, "I err....wonder if you might....err....oblige me?" He looked at her strangely, reached forward, and took hold of the passenger door seatbelt. He stretched it out, and then pulled it down over her body. She gasped slightly as it caressed the area between her tits. OMG, she thought, it was just like being in bondage. She spread her legs automatically in the hopes that all sluts always have, that he might at least grope her a bit, 'down there.' Alas, he didn't. He merely clicked the seatbelt into place, and smiled down at her, "Anything to oblige a Lady, of course," he said, mildly. She shrugged. 'Anything,' obviously didn't include a free grope, she thought, dejectedly, and another opportunity wasted. At least, she considered, it was a whole lot warmer in the car. He closed the car door for her, walked around, opened the one on the other side, and sat down in the driver's seat. He leaned forward, and switched on the fan. She exhaled slightly. The sudden blast of hot air was at once welcome. Then he fastened his own seatbelt. Finally, he started up the engine, and they drove away in silence. The cold must, she thought, have temporarily deadened her faculties, because it was a few minutes before she became aware that they weren't going towards the nearby town, the one which she had been fully expecting them to be heading towards. In fact, it appeared that they were heading in the opposite direction, and towards the railway station. Like so many other English villages, the railway station at Stricktlands had not been built for the benefit of the villagers. It had originally been constructed for the benefit of the landed gentry then resident at Stricktlands Hall. Therefore, the station was some three miles away from the village which gave it its name, but was actually now quite handy for the school. He smiled at her. "As you can see," he said, "we're not heading into town. I was asked to take you to the station," he continued, "but nobody mentioned anything about it being the police station." Now she relaxed for the first time. "Who are you, Thor?" she asked, "and why are we going to the railway station anyway?" He smiled at her again, somewhat wolfishly, this time, she thought. "My name is indeed Thor," he said, "as you already correctly overhead, Miss. My full name is Thor Thring. I am taking you to see someone, and, in a little while, you are going to need to answer some....questions. You may, or may not, but probably will, enjoy the overall experience. And the safe word is rumplestiltskin, although I suspect that you won't need to use it, given a Lady of, well, your obvious experience....and persuasions." She tried all these statements in her brain, and came out with some very confused answers. Certainly the name Thring struck a chord somewhere, but she couldn't think quite where. And safe words? As she knew perfectly well, safe words were what you had for....well, role-play, of various naughty sorts. She breathed out slowly, "Do you mean this is all roleplay?" she asked, incredulously. He turned and winked at her delightedly. "The dividing line between reality and roleplay is occasionally narrow," he replied, "as I'm sure you know very well. Certainly I'm a real policeman, just as this is a real police car. But no, Miss, you are not going to the police station and you needn't be too concerned about getting into....err....any official trouble. None of this has ever happened, or will happen, so to speak....in real life, I mean." He paused. "Ah," he said, turning into the station forecourt, "we're almost here." They passed a faded notice, which she couldn't read fully because the car headlights only caught it for an instant, but she distinctly caught the word, 'Trespassers....' on it. Not encouraging, she thought. They drove another couple of hundred yards along a narrow driveway, and into what appeared to be a large, imposing, courtyard. He pointed towards a dark doorway with a single light above it. "That's where you need to go now, Miss," he said, "and it is unlocked. I shall, I expect," he said, mildly, "see you later." It was a clear dismissal. He reached down and released her seatbelt. She flinched as it whirred quickly back inside its drum. Then he leaned across her and opened the car door a little way for her. Now his head was inches away from hers. She gave him a quick peck on his cheek as it passed by. He turned his head towards her. Then she kissed him on his mouth. "Naughty girl," he said, and then she kissed him again. Now his right hand traced down her body, and this time he did grope her cunt for her. "Mmmmmmmm," she murmured, as he tickled her just where she enjoyed it most. They separated. "I look forward to....err....seeing you again, then, Thor," she said, hopefully, "and, preferably in the flesh, so to speak?" She hoped that she wasn't being too forward. He stroked her cheek. "I'm sure we can arrange something, at a later time," he replied. He winked at her as she stepped out of the car, and he closed the door behind her. The car turned round. There was a brief illumination from the car's headlights, and then it was gone. Suddenly, it was very quiet again in the moonlight. She sighed. There was, she thought, nothing to be done but to follow instructions. She walked, still nude, of course, towards the doorway that Thor Thring had indicated. It looked mediæval. Worse, it had heavy hasps and locks all over it. Whatever was waiting for her inside? There was no bell. A faded notice stated, worryingly, 'Burglars are warned that their safety cannot be guaranteed.' However, as Thor Thring had said, it was unlocked and slightly ajar. She pushed against it with her head, and it swung open, slowly and noisily. Inside, there was a long, narrow passage, lit with flaming torches. It was, she thought, seriously gothic. She had the impression she was the fly walking confidently towards the spider. Finally, the passage ended. She walked into a very large, torch-lit dungeon which looked exactly like a torture chamber. She shivered. It was exactly that, she thought, wildly to herself. Scanning quickly round the room she could see all manner of restraints and torture tables. Rows upon rows of delicious looking whips and canes adorned the walls. There were clamps and shackles as far as the eye could see. Stout metal bars guarded all the windows. And there was a man standing inside the dungeon, too. An elderly man, with brilliant white hair. A man she suddenly recognised from her past. "Thrasher Thring," she burst out. He smiled and bowed. "Professor Wodin Thring, at your service, my dear," he replied, courteously, "I believe you've already met my son Thor?" The man who was Professor Thring was, she knew, also the previous Headmaster at St Stricktlands School, having been retired for, oh, dear me, she thought, well over a decade. He was certainly her Headmaster when she had been at the school, although whether he could remember her was another matter entirely. "Welcome to Stern Hall, my dear," he said. "I see you obviously know me from your, well, perhaps dim and distant past, however you'll forgive me if I don't place you just yet? The memory, you know, isn't all it should be when you pass seventy." He paused. "However," he went on, "we've got plenty of time to become reacquainted, and no doubt you'll be able to tell me some of the things I've forgotten." He paused, significantly. "You will, I assure you, want to tell me of these things." There was a subtle emphasis on the word, 'will,' which she wasn't at all sure she liked the sound of. It was obviously going to be a role-play interrogation session. Then she thought about it a little more. She was gagging for it, really. She was already nude, handcuffed and helpless, and that was always an excellent place to start from. And she certainly wasn't going to make it easy on him or, for that matter, or, for that matter, she reflected inwardly, on herself. Wodin Thring gestured to her towards a large, black, torture table around six foot high and three foot wide. It looked, she thought, rather like an ordinary table upside down, since it had four vertical legs, each one complete, naturally, with various shackles, "This way, please, my dear," he said. She walked towards her fate with only the slightest of shrinking stomachs. Then she felt her handcuffs being unlocked behind her. She rubbed her wrists. "Only a very brief respite for your wrists, I'm afraid," he went on, "if you'd kindly place them upwards by the shackles," She lay on the table. All the shackles were made of heavy iron, and were all hinged open, ready and waiting for action. Her wrists were shackled, followed by her neck. Strict bondage, she thought to herself, oh, there was nothing to beat it. Her brain told her that there were several locations on her body which could be beaten, quite handily, right now. She turned her head and watched him walk slowly, to one of the walls, select a flogger and then walk back towards her. Gently, he ran the flogger down her front. She flinched, slightly, at its touch, and then gasped slightly as it gently caressed her cunt. First Interlude "One of the problems with being over seventy," he said, ruefully, "is that the caning arm gets weaker. Hence, I'm glad to see that young Terrence has already done a good job on that naughty little bottom of yours. Saves me a lot of hard work." He was referring, she knew, to Dr Iain Terrence Hayter, the current Headmaster at St Stricktlands, and who had, indeed, caned her only a short while previously. She lowered her eyes. "Yes, Sir," she replied, "but how did you know that?" He grinned, smugly. "Because he told me so, my dear," he replied. "He phoned me a little while back to tell me that a very attractive young alumina of....err....mine had just intimated to him that she was going to drive home nude, following a good hard punishment caning. I knew that Thor was on duty in the area this evening, and the opportunity seemed far too good to pass up." Silence. "So, my dear," he said, "now, you can answer a few questions for me." He held the flogger teasingly across her tits. Then he drew back, smiling. "What is your name?" he asked. Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk "Uh," she gasped with the sudden sear of pain from both tits. Oh, he was good, she thought. He knew perfectly well that, for some strange reason, it was so much more, well, erotic, when both tits were flogged together. Perhaps, she thought, the same principle as with caning, where the simultaneous stimulation of the nerve endings on each buttock produced an effect that was somehow much more pleasurable than if each cheek was struck in isolation? Then she shook her head, defiantly. Wodin Thring simply beamed at her. "I was so hoping that you wouldn't say anything just yet, my dear. A little light tit flogging never hurt anyone much....well, not permanently, anyhow." Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk "Uhh," she gasped, louder this time. Silence. "You get an extra stroke each time you fail to answer the question correctly," he said, coldly. Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk "Uhhhhhhh," she gasped, but shook her head again. Wodin Thring smiled. Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk "Ahhhhhhhhhh.....no more, Sir," she gasped, "Please, Sir....my name is Helen, Sir." This reply didn't impress Professor Thring overly much. He simply shrugged, and started on her tits again almost immediately. Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh....ohhhh....Sir," she moaned. "Please, Sir, it's Helen Whapshott, Sir," she added, giving her maiden name, the one which he might remember her by most easily. He stopped, and peered at her. "Of course," he said quietly, "I should have remembered. You....and your sister Margaret, the famous inventor of the Knackerpants. One of the many, many, wonderful inventions to come out of St Stricktlands School to keep naughty boys firmly in their place." His eyes narrowed. "So, Whapshott," he went on, "tell me exactly why were you at the school just now?" He ran the flogger up and down her tits, and evidently decided that they were sufficiently red for his purposes. Then he looked down speculatively at the rest of her body, paying special attention, she thought, to the area in between her legs. She shuddered in the anticipation of some nice punishment where it hurt girls best. He sighed, and then took hold of her left leg. Slowly, he lifted it up, and then shackled it onto the third vertical leg of the torture table frame. Then her right leg followed with the fourth. She wriggled, without any success. Her legs were now spread, and her cunt suddenly felt very vulnerable. "No....anything but that," she said, weakly, knowing full well where the next blows were going to land. He smiled, knowingly. It was obvious, she thought, that the translation for her last statement was, roughly, 'Yes, please, Sir, flog my naughty little cunt for me, I know it deserves it.' The blows started again. Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk "Uhh," she gasped. It felt so good, getting it down there. Cunt punishment always did turn her on, and with alarming speed. She recalled some of the occasions that she and the other girls in her lower 6th form dorm had played, as they called it, cunnie punnie, for what seemed like hours on end. Dorm 6L, she remembered it was, and known widely, if not wholly accurately, as The Six Lesbians. She certainly wasn't a lesbian, however, although she had to agree that a couple of the other girls in the dorm had been exactly that. They'd used a variety implements on each other, her own favourite being a soft leather belt. Oh, the feel of that leather belt was like, well, all sorts of things, really. She remembered how she, and all the other girls had finally gone to sleep on those occasions very happy indeed after fingering themselves, or each other, furiously in the darkness as they orgasmed again and again in delightful pussy pain. Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk "Uhhhhh," she said, again, her head arching back now in pain and pleasure Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk "Ohhhhhhh," she gasped. She had to bite her tongue not to cry out, 'more, more, flog me more.' Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Flickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk "Ahhhhhhhhhhh....ahhhhh....yes...." she shouted. Wodin Thring smiled. "Oh dear me," he said, "I can see that we have a challenge, here. A very naughty little girl who thinks that she enjoys some cunnie punnie. I think the leather tawse is required." She shivered. OMG, she thought, the tawse....not the tawse. Her heart thumped wildly. Yes, please, her mind said to her brain, please, yes, the tawse. Her eyes followed his walk back to the wall, and watched him choose a very wicked looking leather tawse, one which it seemed from its overall appearance had seen a whole lot of action over the years. Idly she wondered how many cunts in total it had punished. Hundreds, probably. Her own cunt was, she could feel, already starting to get damp again, as she knew it would. THWACKKKKKKKKK "Ahhhh," she gasped, in real pain, this time. The tawse was much heavier than the flogger. He wasn't flogging her hard, but holding the tawse around a foot away from her body to start the stroke. And he was only using the end half, too. However, even that was quite hard enough, since her cunt was of course already quite sore. How much of this punishment did she want, her mind asked itself? More, it replied, give me quite a lot more. Really, she asked of herself? Really more, her mind replied. Good cunnie punnie was something one couldn't get every day of the week, it was something to be savoured THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK "Ohhhhhh....ohhhhhh," she gasped. THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK OMG, she thought, the pain, the pain. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh....f....." she dared not say fuck to him. She remembered suddenly how she'd said fuck to him once day in his study when she was, 'explaining herself,' to him during a particularly hard caning for the crime of having accumulated three detentions in one term. He'd promptly awarded her a full gross of Lines entitled, 'I must not use the word fuck when I am being caned.' Of course, she'd promptly fallen into the usual trap of failing the complete the Lines in time, and the uncompleted lines, sixty, she remembered it was, had then been doubled. Once again she'd failed to complete them by the following day, and the end result was, inevitably, another caning, followed, of course, by another detention, which in itself had meant two further canings. And all for saying one naughty little word. THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK "Uhhhhhhhhhhh," that was enough, she thought. No more. "Please, Sir," she cried out, "I was just being caned by The Headmaster." Another nod. Another pause. Then, "And now, Helen, your home telephone number please?" She looked at him, aghast. Surely he wasn't going to embarrass her in real life? "I'm not telling you, Sir," she said. Professor Thring shook his head. "Actually, it's everything of my business. However you will tell me first and then afterwards, I will tell you why. Maybe." He started work on her cunt again. THWACKKKKKKKKK She gritted her teeth in the pain. Not, she knew, that it would do any good. She knew perfectly well that she'd have to tell him what he wanted to know sooner or later, and probably sooner rather than later. Cunnie Punnie was cumulative, like any other punishment, and her cunt was already pretty sore THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh," she gasped, shivering. All right, she told herself, why not tell him? What harm was there? She told him her telephone number. "Very good, Helen," he said, "and now your home address, if you would be so kind?" THWACKKKKKKKKK "Aeeeeeeeeeeeeee," she moaned, writhing in pain. She gritted her teeth. She knew the end was near. THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK "Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....ahhhhhhh," she shouted, "no more, Sir." He shook his head. "You know what you have to do, my dear," he replied. THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK THWACKKKKKKKKK "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....uhhhhhh....uhhhhh," she moaned. Her resolve was gone. She told him her address immediately. "Thank you, my dear," he replied. "Of course," he grinned at her suddenly, "Terrence was kind enough to provide all that information for me earlier over the phone, but....well....it's so much more fun, don't you think, to do it this way?" She glowered up at him, suddenly seething, but was, of course totally powerless to do anything about it. He smiled again. "That concludes the interrogation for today. Wasn't too painful, was it?" he asked, mildly. "You have no idea how sore my cunt is right now, Sir," she replied, ruefully. He grinned down at her. "Not having a....err....rather choice cunt like yours," he replied, "I can honestly confirm that I don't have any idea. However," he continued, "I can also tell you that it's not half as sore as it's going to be very shortly." She shivered, suddenly. What the fuck was he planning to use on her now, she wondered? He walked down the dungeon, and returned, this time pulling a machine behind him. She couldn't clearly see what it looked like, since it was just out of her field of vision. She half expected him to release her at that point, but only half. Somehow she was hoping for more of....well, she wasn't sure quite what she was hoping for, but she was hoping for it anyway. Her legs were still spread outwards and upwards, and her cunt was still hopefully on offer. He busied himself around her with another couple of machines which looked to be, from what little she could see of them, rather like spinning tops. He stared into her eyes for a long second. She knew that he could clearly see fear in them, the abject fear of the unknown. Which, of course, she thought, sourly, undoubtedly he enjoyed in all his, well, subjects. "I'd like to introduce you to some of Thring's Things, my dear," he said, finally. "The machines at your sides are fairly straightforward. They're simply tit whippers. They each carry have rotating tease whips which simply serve to ensure that your tits stay nice and sensitive throughout the course of the....err....treatment. However, this handsome machine here...." he patted it with his hand, "....well, this is simply to determine if you are a sex slut." He looked at her, and slapped her face, hard. She reeled slightly at the sudden shock, not that she could reel very far, of course. Her vision wavered. "I suspect that you are just that," he said, quietly. Now she found her voice. "No, Sir," she said, loudly, in righteous indignation, "I am NOT a sex slut." She knew perfectly well, of course, that a sex slut was the one thing which she really and truly was, however, she thought, a girl had to put up some token amount of respectability, didn't she? Even if she was spread out temptingly on a torture table in a dungeon at the time. He sighed. "That's what they all say, my dear," he replied. She realized that he was speaking again, "....rarely more than once, despite the substantial numbers of requests I receive for a repeat session." He grinned. "Strangely enough, virtually all of the girls turn out to be sex sluts. But we shall see." He gestured towards the machine. "What we have here is simply an electromechanical fucking machine," he said, quietly. He paused significantly, and added, "but complete with a wide variety of punishment penises of my own manufacture, especially made for sex sluts." He wheeled the machine into her field of vision as he spoke. It was, indeed, quite clearly a fucking machine. The long member complete with a wicked looking phallus at it end made its purpose more than clear. She stared at the fucking machine with mock horror. A part of her mind told her that with near certainty she would enjoy every minute of it. "Your face tells a picture, my dear," he said. "You may possibly recollect a rather entertaining movie from the 1960's, entitled, 'Barbarella.' And like 99% of all men who ever watched that movie, I too very much enjoyed seeing the rather lovely Jane Fonda being put into The Pleasure Machine, as it was then called. The precise lurid details of this....err....machine were never made explicitly clear on screen." He sighed, wistfully, in evident fond memory of, she thought, Jane Fonda. "Movies were really quite innocent in those far-off days, you understand," he went on, "but judging by Jane Fonda's facial expressions of obvious orgasmic ecstasy, we can safely assume that it was fucking her cunt for her. This machine of course does the same. In addition to the basic principle, I have developed a very extensive range of what are known as Thrings Things to use as attachments." She shivered in anticipation. "So, my dear," he said, "let's see now...which Thing should we use for your naughty little cunt tonight? The Invader, perhaps? Or maybe the Probe? The Interrogator....no....we've done that." He furrowed his brow. Then he smiled, nastily. "Ah, I have it," he said, "The Tormentor. That will be perfect for you, I assure you. It's especially good for use on a cunt which is already both wet and sore." Helen Shagton shuddered and closed her eyes. Her heart thumped. She knew that she was almost begging him to start the fucking machine off. There were, she could see, a wide selection of Thrings Things clipped ready and available for use on the side of the fucking machine. He selected the one which was obviously The Tormentor and held it up for her to see and savour. It was, she could see, ridged, and along its length were what appeared to be small metal pins which probably weren't actually sharp, but certainly would make a point when they were fucking a defenceless cunt. Slowly, he screwed it in into place along the fucking machine's main shaft, so that the shaft could then screw her cunt. She had, she knew, always had a secret desire to be fucked by a such a machine. There was something cold, unfeeling, unyielding and yet completely fascinating about the idea of a machine penetrating your most personal place, especially when you were bound tight and totally at its mercy. Now he moved the machine into position. Gently he inserted the Thing into her offered cunt. "Uhhhhhhhh," was all she could bring herself to say. He smiled. "Wet already, my dear?" he asked, and then replied to his own rhetorical question, "I'm almost tempted to say that proves the point already. Quod Erat Demonstrandum², of course, but I suppose you still have to have your fun. Now," he said, "I'm going to set the machine going, and then leave you to it. An hour should do it. I have all sorts of work to do. I shall return in one hour, and then we shall see if you're willing to confess whether or not you're a sex slut." He looked at her, smiled, and then added, mildly, "Oh, but the way, my dear, the machine is set to tease." With that, he walked out of the dungeon. She was totally helpless, bound, and, what was more, fucked. The machine started to operate. The two side machines started up first, the rotating tease whips whirring. Her tits were lashed slowly but intensely. Her nipples became hard almost at once. Then the fucking machine started. The Thing fucked her, very gently at first. The Tormentor certainly was a punishment penis, she considered, since the semi-sharp points would have brought tears to her eyes had she not been so wet that her natural lubrication eased the worst effects. The machine slowly speeded up. The tit whipping increased. Now began to become sexually stimulated. She clenched all her muscles against it, trying not to allow her feelings to take over, but to no avail. The fucking machine had been designed well, and would overcome any resistance. After five minutes she could stand it no longer, and was all set to cum ecstatically, when suddenly all fell silent. She opened her eyes. Nothing. Had the bloody thing blown a fuse? A long minute went by. Then, ever so slowly, the machines started again. Now she understood. It was just as he had said, the fucking machine had been set only to tease. It wouldn't allow her to cum. She cried out with frustration. "Fuck....fuck...." she shouted, and the machine duly obliged. But only so far. Each cycle started and stopped. Her body was shining with perspiration. Her cunt, and her tits, felt as though they were all on fire. Every sinew in her body raged for sexual release, without success. Now she just wanted the phallus inside her to cum her cunt for her, and she didn't care in the slightest who or what it belonged to. She was indeed a sex slut of the first order. Exactly one hour and an eternity later, Professor Wodin Thring appeared in the dungeon again. He smiled down at her. The machines were now silent. She was shivering all over in a state of extreme mental and physical exhaustion, having been totally on the edge of an incredible orgasm for at least the previous ten minutes, and heaven knows how many cycles later. She opened her eyes. He raised his eyebrows. "Well, my dear?" he asked, mildly. She could hardly speak. It took her three attempts to say anything at all. "Please, Sir," she replied, with considerable difficulty, "I'm a sex slut." Then, with her cunt screaming for sexual satisfaction, she shrieked at him wildly, "Fuck me, punish me, but....please Sir....let me CUM." Slowly, he withdrew the Thing from her cunt and then equally slowly considered her. He smiled down at her. "I suppose you're going to tell me you'd like a Thing to finish you off, now?" he asked, mildly. She simply nodded her head with enthusiasm in reply. He grinned down at her, teasingly. "Perhaps you'd like to beg for it, then, my dear?" he asked, casually. Helen Shagton was too far-gone to care one way or the other about the indignity of having to beg for a cum. Her body just wanted to be pushed over the edge. Suddenly, she had a sneaking sympathy for males. If this was what they had to go through all the time then maybe it explained a lot about men's sexuality and their sexual needs. She tried to speak. She failed. She tried a second time, "Please, Sir," she said, "I have to cum, Sir. Please, mercy, Sir....have mercy on me." She ended with half a sob. He shrugged, and examined the selection of Things. Finally he decided. "You realise this is but a small selection of the total number of Things available, but I think The Humbler here will do you just fine," he said, holding up the Thing for her to see. She squinted up at it, and gulped. It was an eight inch long silver penis, ridged in all the right places. "By the way," he added, "it's electrified." She shivered again. He smiled. "That should help to make your eventual orgasms that much more....well, memorable." First Interlude The process of bringing her to orgasm took less than a minute to complete. The exquisite fucking of the machine, plus the added electrical stimulation from The Humbler was unbelievable. She came, with an earth moving orgasm....the most intense that she had ever experienced in her life. It must, she reckoned, have lasted for a whole minute. Of course, the fucking machine still didn't stop there. It simply continued its work on her. So, seconds later, she experienced a second orgasm. Then a third.....a fourth....and a fifth. She didn't remember very much after that. It fucked her senseless. She vaguely felt Wodin Thring undoing all her shackles, and then he and someone else, presumably, she thought, vaguely, it must be Thor Thring, half carrying her, half dragging her, out of the dungeon, along a corridor, and then into some kind of prison cell. They let down gently onto the hard cell floor. The cell door was closed and locked. She didn't even try to make it to the bunk. She fell asleep on the cell floor almost immediately, in a state of utter mental and physical exhaustion. She was awoken hours later by sounds of distant movement plus the pleasing smell of toast. She fully opened her eyes, cautiously. Somehow she was lying, still nude, on the bunk bed, having, she imagined, been moved there at some point during the night. The cell was open, she noticed at once, and her clothes were all folded neatly on a table in front of her. A handwritten notice on the cell door said, 'shower left at the end of the corridor, breakfast room to the right.' Very slowly, she eased herself up off the bed. She rubbed her cunt, ruefully, and shivered at the touch. Oh, it was so sore, still. She walked, still nude, down the long corridor, and, sure enough, there was indeed a shower room there, labelled as such. She walked into the room, and saw that there was a very well appointed shower there. Bars of soap, shampoo, towels, and even hairbrushes and dryers were also all present. She stepped inside it, and turned on what was wonderfully hot water. After fifteen full minutes of soapy paradise, she gently towelled herself down, being very careful indeed on the three tender areas of her body. She tidied herself up, thoroughly brushed her hair, and was eventually able, she considered, to make herself look a little less like a sex slut, and a little more like a respectable housewife and mother again. Then she returned to her cell, carrying her towel over her shoulders. She smiled. She could, of course, have covered herself, but what would have been the point of that? Everyone in the building had already more than seen everything that she'd got, so it would have been a bit late to start worrying about maidenly modesty just now. She inspected the pile of clothes, and picked up the very top item. A pair of knickers, it was. She frowned. Odd, that, she thought, because she was suddenly certain that she hadn't been wearing any knickers for her journey to St Stricktlands the previous afternoon. She held them up and inspected them. Size 12, they were, indeed, her size, in fact. Wonderingly, she slowly put them on, and then equally slowly dressed herself with her remaining clothes. Then, feeling rather more respectable this time, she ventured outside again into the empty corridor. She walked along it towards the sound of voices, and then into another, much smaller, room. Thor Thring and Wodin Thring were both seated at a large table, obviously enjoying a very early breakfast. They both smiled up at her. Wodin Thring motioned her towards a spare place which was laid for a third person. She took it, sat down....and gasped as she felt once again the results of the sound caning that Terrence Hayter had applied to her bare bottom the previous evening. That was always the way of a really good punishment caning, of course, she reflected to herself. The punishment went on and on, well after its actual application. "A very good morning to you, my dear," said The Professor, "It's well nigh five o'clock in the morning, and time for you to leave....after some breakfast, if you wish? Now, you'll be pleased to learn that Thor and I have collected your car from The Dell, and it's parked outside. You should be able to get home, or to work....or whatever, just nicely." She frowned. "Thank you, both of you....err....gentlemen," she replied, "but how do I explain where I've been all last night?" The two Thrings grinned at each other. "You're not really here, you see, Helen," said Thor Thring, "because you've actually been staying overnight at St Stricktlands School. Your car had broken down, you understand? By the time it had been fixed, it was too late to leave, and so The Headmaster very kindly allowed you to stop over there for the night. In fact, Terrence telephoned your husband yesterday evening to say you were fine, and that you'd be back this morning. So you have never been here, you see, and as far as the wide world is concerned none of this ever happened." He winked at her, knowingly. "Except, of course," he said, "that you may want this as a little memento." He handed her a small cardboard carton. She accepted it, opened it and looked inside, wonderingly. Then she flushed. It was some form of video. Her jaw dropped in horror. "You didn't....I didn't...?" she asked, incredulously, and looked at them almost pleadingly. "Oh, but we did....and you did," Thor Thring replied. "However," he went on, "it is a somewhat précised version of events. The ceiling cameras only record your interrogation, of course, and the time when the Thing is actually....err...in operation, but they stop a minute after it does, whilst you're recovering...." And, she thought, in order for her body to just struggle back from the edge of cumming again, "....and that's normally just long enough to make a really good record of the....err....victim's severe sexual frustrations, of course...." Now Wodin Thring took up the narrative, "....and of course all the....err....considerable vulgarity which usually occurs each time the Things stop without allowing a cum." He paused. "Actually," he said, dryly, "I'm not at all sure that I know the meaning of some of those naughty words which you were using so fluently." Helen Shagton blushed and lowered her eyes. "What a wide vocabulary of swear words that was," he added, simply to reinforce the point. The two Thrings grinned at her, knowingly. Obviously, she thought, sourly, they had both already watched the video. "So there's about forty five minutes worth of....err....action," Thor Thring added, helpfully. "Also," The Professor went on, "we promise you faithfully that this tape is the only one in existence on the planet, and that we never, ever, take copies. This is yours, and yours alone, to do with what you will. You may enjoy the memories. But of course, do be extremely careful where you keep it. We can't be held responsible for any....err....difficulties which may arise, especially when we don't know anything about it in the first place." She nodded, slightly dumbfounded. "You understand, I'm sure," said Thor Thring, soothingly. Yes, she thought, she did indeed understand. If anyone else ever got to see the tape, then it was her own stupid fault, and that was an end to it. She made a mental resolve to ensure that it was kept in a very safe place. The resolve was undone, slightly, by the exhibitionist part of her mind which added, silently, 'except on the occasions when it might be, well, fun, to let someone else see it', She shivered. Oh, the humiliation which that would entail. She shivered again. Now she was almost certain that her original mental resolve would only last so far, and, that, sooner or later, someone would happen. She shrugged, mentally. She'd deal with that as and if and when that actual event occurred. The conversation turned towards old times, those times when strict Headmasters were real strict Headmasters, and strict Lady teachers were real strict Lady teachers. "By the way, Sir," she said, at length, "I was really rather taken with that....err....rather nice torture table of yours. Does it have a name at all?" Wodin Thring smiled. "Certainly it does, my dear," he replied, "it's called The Combination Lock, so named because it can be configured in a wide variety of different ways, to suit the....err....needs at all manner of bad boys and naughty girls." Then, "did you want one?" She nodded. "I think that George could do with some treatment in one of those." Wodin Thring smiled. "Your worse half, I presume....let me see now....that naughty little Georgie Boy?" he asked. She nodded. "He always did seem to really enjoy getting the cane from me....and from you, I think, during your time as prefect?" She nodded again. Her husband George really did enjoy getting the cane, and, what was more, still did, and not only from her, either. He knew a quite a number of well, strict Ladies, all of whom were very happy to deal with him as required. That was, after all, one of the benefits of an open marriage. Both he, and she, were able to play away from home in perfect harmony and happiness. "I will mail you a note of the manufacturer's name and address," he said, "in case you'd like to add a Combination Lock to your, well, obvious repertoire at a later date." She stood up slowly. Wodin Thring and Thor Thring did likewise, thoroughly politely and courteously. She shook Wodin Thring's hand, and warmly wished him well, "Please Sir," she asked shyly, "I do hope that you might....err....make an exception in my case, about....err, never doing a repeat session for me?" Wodin Thring smiled, widely, "A serious sex slut, indeed," he replied, "however, as a special service to my alumni, I do offer the....err....facility from time to time, so please contact me in advance when you next intend to visit the area, and feel the need....or need the feel." She flushed, slightly. "I'm....err....extremely grateful to you, Sir," she said, "that was a really choice experience, and one well worth of repetition." She shivered slightly. "Actually, many repetitions, Sir," she added, quietly. She knew already that her cunt craved more and more ill treatment from all manner of other assorted Things in due course. Wodin Thring made a slight bow. "Thor will escort your outside," he said, "so, for now, at least, my dear, au revoir." He bowed again. She walked with Thor Thring down the long corridors, all still lit with flaming torches. She wondered briefly how they were managed, surely he wouldn't have time to keep them all fuelled? Perhaps they were all run on natural gas, maybe? Who cared, anyway. They obviously all worked without any form of manual intervention, and that was the main issue. She smiled again. There was, of course, another possibility, one which involved whole teams of young female slaves replacing them at regular intervals, but, no, she'd seen no evidence of anyone else living at Stern Hall, and so that notion, tempting as it sounded, was probably versed in fiction rather than fact. Mind you, though, now that she thought about it, the idea of being a sex slave for him for a day or so did have its attractions. She'd have to ask him about it another time. Her imagination raced on and on. She emerged from Stern Hall in the breaking light of dawn, with The Interlude Tape firmly under one arm, and Thor Thring under the other. She desperately wanted to replay it to herself, but that pleasure would, she knew, have to wait until she returned home. She had really enjoyed the session, and the punishment, too, and for a night that never happened, it was certainly one to remember. She looked Thor Thring up and down in the cold light of day. Very handsome, he was, too. A really nice, young, man, she thought, happily, just her type, in fact. "I do hope that I shall be seeing some more of you," she said, encouragingly, and wiggled her tits at him in what she hoped was a fairly blatant, come-on style gesture. He smiled, slightly, as he looked at her tits. "And," he replied, politely, "I do hope that I shall be seeing some more of you, Helen?" She laughed, shortly. "Thor," she said, teasingly, "you couldn't possibly see any more of me. You've already seen everything that there is to be seen." He stroked her cheek. "Seen, yes," he replied, "but sampled, no...." She kissed him on his mouth, and hugged him hard. Finally, they broke apart. "....not no," she said, "but simply not yet. That pleasure is yet to cum, Thor, you bad boy, and you may spell that word any way you wish." Grinning, he smacked her bottom. "Bad girl," he said, and then went on, "and, talking of bad girls, I fear that we couldn't find any knickers last night at The Dell, and so we....err....found some for you." Ah, yes, she thought, suddenly recalling the spurious knickers. Well, that was one mystery solved, anyway. "No offence," she said, "in fact, none taken, if you see what I mean, and I'm talking about knickers there." She winked at him. He grinned again, and smacked her bottom again, this time feeling it afterwards. Now she nuzzled her tits hard up against his chest. "I did say to father that I thought that might be the case," he said, "especially as you were reporting to Terrence for a caning." She nodded. "Exactly right, Thor," she replied. "However," he went on, "we thought that you might appreciate some knickers this morning, in the cold light of day for your long journey home, and so I....err....measured you up in the cell last night." She stroked his cheek. "Dirty little boy," she replied, "for serious misbehaviour like that, I think a whole lot of very sound punishment is called for, don't you?" Now he kissed her again. "I'd like that," he said, "I do submissive myself on occasion, and I'd love you to really strict and stern with me." Another kiss. "My pleasure, bad boy," she replied. Then, "I suppose that Wodin has plenty of spare knickers handy for....err...occasions like this?" she asked, with heavy irony. He nodded. "Just so," he said, with perfect equanimity, "lots and them, and in all sizes." He looked at her. "Have you any idea of the mortality rate of missing, and torn, knickers at Stern Hall?" he asked, mildly. She shook her head. Daunting, it probably was. Hand in hand, they walked across the courtyard to her car. She tried the driver's side door. It opened for her. Now she could see that her car keys were already placed in the ignition. She sat down inside. Thor Thring closed the car door behind her. She wound down the window and firmly took hold of his balls. "Uhhhhhhhhhh," he said, at the sudden knackering. She let them go after a regulation count of three, "There's plenty more where that came from, Thor," she said, sternly, as she started up the car. Slowly, he straightened up. "Looking forward to it....to a whole lot more of that....Ma'am," he murmured, calling her Ma'am, as befitted a really strict Lady, for the first time instead of Miss. She waved to him as she turned the car around in the courtyard, and again as she drove away. She could see him waving back to her, a tall figure, with one hand rubbing his balls, until finally he was out of sight. She thought idly to herself that this time, at least, she would keep her clothes on for the remainder of the journey home. To be continued... * ¹ Former pupils ² QED - roughly, thus it has been proved. © Dave 2010.