This is the finale of a four part story, start reading the first part here.
When it finally happened, Penny came more intensely than she could ever remember.
Perhaps it was her helplessness, hands tied behind, her legs spread open, her bare wet slit at the mercy of her headmistress’s skillful fingers. Perhaps it was having reached an almost eruptive level of excitement, a state of frenzy stoked by successive inspections, spankings and humiliations. Perhaps it was the heat of the ginger, and the thick nozzle that had stretched open her hot sore bottom hole, and filled her insides with gushes of warm water. Maybe it was all of these factors, coupled with the revelation that she’d just been put in charge of administering the very same punishments she had just endured.
As Penny got close, squirming on her hot squishy rubber cushion, she felt increasingly like she was sitting on a time bomb. She could almost see the little red numbers of the countdown timer when she closed her eyes.
10… 9… 8…
Penny tried to squeeze her legs together, but the ties beneath her knees kept them spread open. She was powerless to prevent her Mistress from fiddling with the detonator, rubbing her clit in firm tight circles.
7… 6… 5…
Penny found her jeopardy thrillingly exciting, she struggled, desperately trying to free her wrists from the ties at the back of the stool. Her frantic urge to escape flooded her body with an intoxicating adrenaline rush, part dread, part dizzying euphoria.
Only near the end did Penny accept the reality of her plight. Escape was impossible, and the explosion was inevitable. She felt her body suddenly relax, as if all her muscles had been abruptly disconnected.
The moment of detonation wasn’t just the familiar surge of pleasure in her groin, but an eruption deep in her cunt, the blast racing away in every direction, convulsing every muscle in her legs as it sped toward her tingling toes.
Simultaneously the sensation sped upwards, reaching her solar plexus, making it resonate, as if her whole body had been transformed into an enormous bell. Penny could feel her insides tremble, as if the water that filled her had made her a better conductor of her own erotic electricity. The shockwave hurtled through her chest, causing her heart to thunder and her lungs to empty in short ragged gasps. The surge seemed to flash through her neck, before bouncing off the inside of her skull, making every hair on her scalp sizzle, before ricocheting back down her spine, completing the circuit when it ploughed into her clit, setting Penny’s entire body alight.
She had never experienced an orgasm quite like it.
Miss Hastings looked on with quiet satisfaction as Penny bucked wildly on the enema cushion. Her new procedure had been a stunning success, a uniquely different Sit-Down Dance. Not that most naughty girls who found themselves on the cushion would be granted the privilege of climaxing on it, of course. No, they’d be taken to the brink and left there, stewing in their own frustration and embarrassment. Their time bomb disarmed just before it blew.
The headmistress waited until Penny had stopped shaking, then released the ties that had bound her hands and legs. After replacing the little step beneath Penny’s quivering feet, she helped her to stand, encouraging her to clutch the near-empty rubber cushion under her bottom as she rose, then guiding her towards the door of the room’s toilet cubicle. Before closing the door, Penny was left with instructions to clean herself up, and tidy up the room.
Because Miss Hastings had an appointment to keep.
Headmistress Hastings arrived at the door to her office to find Alice waiting for her. Her pupil was sitting casually on one the wooden benches, one leg folded, dreamily staring at the far wall. Alice was amusing herself by imagining how she’d redecorate the place. By the time her headmistress appeared, Alice had decided what this little waiting room really needed was a wall mural.
Why not have a row of young ladies, Alice thought, painted life-sized so they looked like they were kneeling on the benches, each facing the wall with their skirts raised and their panties down. Maybe some could be painted with spanked pink cheeks, those who’d already been summoned into the headmistress’s office for a good hard whacking. Others might be waiting their turn, their bottoms already bared in expectation, trembling in anticipation for the moment when the door was opened, and their name was finally called.
Alice smiled as she visualised it. Oh yes! A mural would be so much better than these drab cream walls. So much more atmospheric. She could imagine a lone girl fidgeting nervously on these cold hard benches, sitting among these figures, her heart racing and slit moistening, unable to tear her eyes away her own fate, depicted in paint on the wall in front of her. All it needed was a bit of imagination, a bit of renegade spirit. Alice’s philosophy was that boring things didn’t have to stay that way, they were only dull because no-one had yet summoned the courage to create something more exciting.
Alice was still day-dreaming when footsteps approached.
“Oh hello Miss!”
Miss Hastings felt her brow crinkle at Alice’s chirpy welcome. This little space was intended to intimidate, she couldn’t remember anyone sitting here ever greeting her with a cheerful smile before.
“Good afternoon, Alice.” she replied stiffly, “Do come in.”
Alice followed her scowling headmistress inside, almost prancing, hopping from foot to foot with light jaunty steps. Ahead, Miss Hastings stalked across the room slowly, taking her seat behind the large intimidating desk like a curtain dropping on a stage. To her surprise, Alice veered off to collect a high-backed chair from the side of the room.
Without asking for permission, Alice lifted the chair and irreverently placed it in front of her headmistress’s desk. Nor did she wait for her elder’s assent before she sat down. Had a visitor entered the room now, and seen Alice sitting bolt-upright in her immaculately presented shirt, tie and school blazer, they’d be forgiven for thinking they’d interrupted a job interview.
Miss Hastings could only raise an eyebrow at her pupil’s audacity. Well, she thought. two could play at that game. Her plan was to immediately unsettle Alice by confronting her with what she’d learned this afternoon through the confessions of her friends.
“Well Alice…” she began assertively, “I’ve had a little chat with your friends. They’ve each had their bottoms smacked, and had their tongues loosened by a sit-down dance…”
Alice smirked, that must have been fun. Her only regret was that she hadn’t been around to witness it.
Miss H paused for effect, then said slowly and triumphantly:
“… and they have told me everything.”
“Oh! Everything?” replied Alice, with a shocked expression that was executed well enough to appear convincing. It even drew a sly smile from her headmistress.
“I know all about the Red Stripe Gang. What you get up to. Everything!”
“Even the Slide?” asks Alice quizzically.
“Ah, not everything then!” Alice observed cockily.
The headmistress’s frown deepened, sensing Alice was trying to bluff her, to hide a truth still undiscovered.
“I know all about the chairs you girls use for panty-pulling, the spankings and the bottom inspections. And that you masturbate each other afterwards…”
“Actually, Barbara, afterwards we tend to use our tongues.”
The headmistress was more taken aback by Alice’s use of her first name than her brazen admission of oral pleasuring. After all, she had to admit that they were all young adults now, and technically there was nothing in the school rulebook against licking your classmate’s pussy in the privacy of your own bedroom. Though some might argue that the rules dated from more genteel times, and had failed to keep pace with with contemporary sexual mores.
Alice noticed the older woman’s hesitancy, and pressed her point further, determined to retain the moral high ground.
“Come on, Barbara. Has this place really become so draconian? Last I checked ‘Having Fun’ wasn’t against school rules.”
The lack of a response just emboldened Alice more, so she went on the offensive, seizing the opportunity to tease her headmistress.
“Did spanking my friends’ bare bottoms get you soaking wet, Miss?”
Miss Hastings felt her jaw drop at Alice’s impertinence, but held her tongue.
“Would you like to relieve yourself Miss? I’ll stay here if you want to pop to the little girls’ room. Or I can stay and watch if you like.”
Alice looked pointedly at the dildo still standing proudly on the desk. Pulling off her own sodden panties and riding that big thick rubbery shaft was, Barbara had to admit, an alluring proposition. But she regained her composure, determined to complete her investigations and get to the bottom of this little mystery. Both figuratively and literally.
“You’re taking the discovery of your most intimate secrets very calmly, Alice. Why?”
“Because, Miss, you’ll never understand the Red Stripe Gang. You could spank our bottoms every day until we leave this school and still not be any closer to what it means.”
“Oh Really?” The headmistress was tempted to take Alice up on her challenge.
“You’ll never know, because even now, you still don’t know the right questions to ask…”
And with that statement, Alice leant forward, holding her headmistress’s gaze comfortably, as if she was about to tell her the time.
“Look, here’s what I’ll do… I’m going to walk out of this office, and you’re going to have a long deep think about what you’ve learned over the last 24 hours. There is a question, a single truly consequential question – and when you work it out, I promise I will answer it, absolutely honestly.”
The two stared across the table for a moment, before Alice concluded.
“And I’ll give you a hint: that question isn’t ‘What is the Red Stripe Gang?’ or anything so trite.”
Alice didn’t wait for an answer, or even say goodbye. As her headmistress pondered what she’d said, Alice simply rose from her chair, lifted it back to where she’d taken it, and walked out of her office unchallenged.
Alice was, at heart, a submissive young lady, but that didn’t make her weak and timid. It just meant Alice enjoyed handing over erotic control to those who could be strict with her. She enjoyed putting herself in the hands of a skilled director. So as Alice closed the office door behind her, she knew exactly what she wanted, and it was time to see if Miss Hastings could work it out.
It was a shame though, thought Alice, as she walked down the corridor and back towards her room. If only I’d stuck around a bit longer, I might at least have got my bottom smacked. Maybe even an inspection too.
Her regret was only exacerbated when her friends told her later about their rides upon their headmistress’s knee. And Alice was almost green with envy when Penny told her about her time upon the enema cushion.
* * 8 * *
Two weeks had passed.
And now the four girls had been summoned to their headmistress’s office, after hours, for what they’d been told would be a most important conversation. Keen to avoid any of Alice’s show-boating, Miss Hastings sat authoritatively on the sofa, and had the girls kneel on the floor in front of her. The message was clear, she was in charge and would not be tolerating any impudence.
“As we agreed, Alice, I have a question to ask you. And you promised to answer truthfully.”
Alice nodded solemnly.
It had taken Miss Hastings a fortnight to come up with an answer to Alice’s riddle. What was the question? She’d soon realised it couldn’t be something facile, like do you girls like getting together to lick each others’ cunts. The answer to that was blindingly obvious.
For a while, she thought it might be “How many Red Stripe Gangs are there in the school?” But that too, she eventually dismissed. What did it really matter if there were? That was just her inner busybody, wanting to know what went on behind every locked door.
No, it couldn’t be that, because that answer had no consequences. And that was the key. The more she thought, about it, the more she realised the answer to the question wouldn’t be a fact – it would have to be an answer that would change things.
The answer would have to involve acquiescence.
Or, an act of submission.
That’s when she realised what the question really was. The moment all the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. And so now, with the four girls assembled, Miss Hastings was ready to test her hypothesis.
Barbara had realised that Alice had really been laying her a challenge all along – and that once she’d arrived at a question, the final challenge would be asking it.
Sometimes achieving what you want requires going out on a limb, making yourself vulnerable, and revealing the nature of your desires. Because once asked, a question could not be unasked. But the consequences of some questions are worth the risk.
So Barbara drew a deep breath, and accepted the challenge of Alice’s gaze. She had a question to pose.
“Will you submit completely to me, as the new leader of the Red Stripe Gang?”
Alice smiled, and paused. She did love to tease.
Barbara beamed with relief, then asked the same question to each of the other girls in turn. Amid giggles, each agreed to submit to her.
It seemed the Red Stripe Gang had just elected its new leader.
“Well, girls…” Barbara began, “since I’m charge now, I think we’ll start with a thorough bottom inspection for each of you.”
The quartet exchanged glances of surprise among each other, they hadn’t realised their new Mistress would seek to impose her authority so immediately.
She pointed to Penny, who happened to be kneeling closest, and beckoned.
Penny complied quickly, rising from her knees and taking a couple of steps forward until she was beside the lap of her sitting headmistress, whose hands reached to her waist, rapidly unbuttoning her skirt, and letting it drift to the floor. Her panties soon followed, whisked unceremoniously down her legs, until they were gathered around her ankles.
Penny felt her wrist being grasped, then tugged. She lurched forward towards the floor, and in an instant had been put over Miss Hastings’ lap like a silly little girl. It had taken mere seconds for her new Mistress to bare her bottom. It felt awesome to be deal with so ruthlessly.
Barbara began the inspection with six loud, stinging smacks, which she found always helped ensure her subject’s cooperation. She scrutinised Penny’s buttocks first, just the faint pink patches she’d just inflicted on her pale cheeks, no evidence of any harder recent spankings. And when she looked in between, there wasn’t any sign of marks from panty-pullings either.
“I’ll be checking you all regularly.” she explained to the group, “So no more of your naughty little games. From now on, I’ll be the one deciding your punishments.”
The girls nodded their agreement, somewhat apprehensively.
She parted Penny’s buttocks further, holding them apart with both hands so her friends kneeling on the floor could see too. There was the pretty crinkled smudge of her bottom hole, and the glistening pink puffy folds of her slit. This inspection wasn’t to admonish Penny for her wetness, of course, more a chance for Barbara to confirm that this was what each girl really wanted – really, really, wanted. The kind of want that made a cunt swell and drip with a delicious musky goo.
Penny clearly wanted it. So she got another dozen smacks, cooing as she arched her back. She seemed almost disappointed when she was told to rise and sent to stand with her nose against the wall.
In time, the other girls followed. Each relieved of their skirts and underwear, each found to be just as aroused as Penny. Eventually all four stood facing the wall, bottoms tingling, whilst their headmistress prepared one last surprise. Behind them, their Mistress unbuttoned her own skirt; she wasn’t even wearing any knickers underneath.
Barbara opened a wall cabinet, and took out a long thick cane. Unremarkable but for the curve at one end, not a classic crook handle, but a subtle bend that was tipped with what looked like a pointed rubber bung. A cane with a butt plug on the end.
She squeezed some lube into her palm and smothered it onto the plug with her fingertips, before manoeuvring the cane between her legs. She placed a hand just beneath her buttocks, and guided the stick until she could feel the wet slippy tip against her own bottom hole.
Then Barbara pushed the base of the plug upward, mewing with satisfaction as it suddenly intruded deep inside her. Now she could feel the cool shaft of the cane between her slit, and a solid pleasurable pressure against her clit. Before the girls had even arrived she’d filled her vagina with her favourite Kegel ball. Now both holes felt satisfyingly full. The cane extended out from between her legs, protruding beyond her shaven mound like comically thin strap-on dildo. She was certain the girls would find it no laughing matter.
“Come here, Penny.”
Penny shuffled away from the wall, her mouth falling open in surprise as she saw her headmistress’s bare crotch, and the long cane that now protruded from between her legs. She’d never seen her headmistress undressed before, and her remarkable new appearance suggested a radically new relationship now existed between them. No longer teacher and pupils, but Mistress and subs.
“Bend over the desk, young lady.”
Penny lowered herself until she could feel the cool hard wood of the desk pressed against her. Meanwhile, Barbara edged into position, standing perpendicular to her target, so the length of her cane was snug beneath Penny’s bare buttocks, just above the tops of her thighs.
“Now girls, you can all turn around and watch. You’ll be next.”
Barbara could see the look of surprise, amusement, and then delight on the trio’s faces, as they drank in the sight of her own nakedness, and the implications of the cane that rested against Penny’s lovely bottom. She remained silence, letting the girls’ attention linger, and contemplate the inevitable. It didn’t take long before furrows appeared on their brows, as each fought the urge to drop her hands from the top of her head, and rub away the infuriating tingle that was smouldering below their waists.
She made one last adjustment of her position, twisting her hips so the cane was pushed firmly against Penny’s bum. Then Barbara reached down to the free end of the cane, clenching her upper thighs as she pulled the rod away from Penny’s cheeks, feeling the cane tug her own labia open as it bent. For a moment, she could sense the accumulated tension of the curved cane straining against her fingers…
… then she let go, letting the cane spring back and whack against poor Penny’s bottom.
Penny winced as a fiery line seared across her backside.
Whereas Barbara felt the impact of the whack between her own legs, as a sudden quake that trembled against her slit, before being transmitted via the plug deep into her bottom. It felt amazing. Decorum and decency had prevented her from using this technique on unruly pupils, but it was by far her favourite way to cane.
When she was a girl, Barbara had a pretty terracotta pot in her bedroom. It was the home of a sprawling plant with long stems and big glossy green leaves. In time it grew so big that it began to collapse under its own weight, so Daddy had brought her some garden canes to help prop it up.
In one of those quirks of fate that end having life-changing ramifications, the pot eventually became too heavy for her to move, meaning her plant began to grow in one direction, leaning towards her window. Two of the canes held the plant upright, but the third proved redundant, and for months sat idly in the pot, protruding from the soil like a landmark stake. Unnecessary, and overlooked.
Unseen, that was, until young Barbara had begun reading Oliver Twist at school. She had found herself simultaneously horrified and fascinated by poor Oliver’s cruel treatment. Caned! On the bottom! What a perfectly horrid experience that would be!
And yet, somewhere in her receptive mind, seeds had been planted. She’d go to bed, staring at the silhouette of that one redundant cane, a straight black slash through the moonlight beyond. And Barbara would find herself wondering: what did it feel like to cane someone? Was it mean to inflict pain, even if you had the best intentions?
Inevitably, one day when she was alone in the house, Barbara’s curiosity got the better of her. She had extracted the cane from its pot, tentatively, like young Arthur withdrawing the sword from the stone. Then, she wielded it; experimentally at first, swiping it through the air, just to hear its faint whooshing swish.
For reasons she couldn’t entirely explain, Barbara found swinging the cane unexpectedly exciting. She imagined she’d been put in charge, a governess dressed like Mary Poppins in front of a room of unruly urchins. Misbehaviour had consequences, she warned her imaginary audience – smacked bottom consequences.
The very thought of smacking someone’s bottom made her tummy flip. Even more mysteriously, it also made the region between her legs tingle. The forbidden place, that she was supposed to keep secret, the intimate anatomy that was rapidly changing as she became a young woman.
Barbara had idly put the cane between her legs, absent-mindedly trying to rub away the growing tingles. To her surprise, it felt surprisingly good, she especially enjoyed how it dragged against her panties, its solid firmness against her delicate, tender areas. It wasn’t long before she discovered how pleasurable it was to hold the cane between her legs and clench her thighs, as if she was a witch, riding the world’s smallest, thinnest broomstick.
Her next major discovery was discovering the pleasurable effects of twanging the cane, delighting in how the vibrations seemed to be conducted into her most sensitive places. As if it was a kind of tuning fork, but for people ring. It wasn’t long before she was imagining her own spanking fantasies, placing a cushion on upright on the seat of a chair, pretending it was some naughty boy or girl.
Sometimes she’d fulfil her duty, by swinging her cane, bringing it down from high behind her back with a merciless thwack. But even more enjoyable was clasping the cane between her legs, and bending it back before releasing. Then when it twanged forward, the resulting impact spread delightfully squirmy sensations through her loins.
Over the years, Barbara had refined her caning technique with a succession of willing girlfriends. It seemed the perfect way to cane, a sore pink bum for them, and a throbbing wet cunt for her.
It was as if the female anatomy was explicitly designed for it, the long sensitive groove between the legs, the lips that parted, the clitoris so perfectly placed, just above where the cane would be. And the tight little hole of the bottom, the ideal site to anchor the other end of the stick, and transmit its vibrations deep inside her. Her body was a sign, proof that ladies were innately superior, that they were the ones meant to give canings. It was a undeniable, a natural law.
She still had the house-plant, it sat beside her bed in the same chunky terracotta pot, its big glossy green leaves, now somewhat frayed with age, sheltering her as she slept. The original canes had broken and crumbled, but she’d replaced them, with sanded rattan of the highest quality. Their crooked handles peeping out from between its foliage. The perfect surprise for kinky visitors, who’d playfully bend over the bed, admitting their naughtiness, only to suddenly feel a cane tapping their bottom. The other end – well that would be between Barbara’s legs, of course.
As Penny moaned and squirmed, Barbara was pulling the cane backwards again, further this time. She held eye contact with Alice as the rod bent beneath her fingers, and maintained the gaze as she let go, and whilst the pleasurable shudders of another whack radiated through her crotch.
Whilst behind her own inscrutable eyes, Alice was kicking herself, thinking: why didn’t I ever think of that?
Barbara let her gaze roam between the waiting trio as she continued to cane Penny. One of the many delightful benefits her approach was the ability to look elsewhere as the whacks landed. Especially if others were watching, lined up, panties off and waiting their turn. She could look into their eyes and see them sparkle with trepidation and expectation, or admire the glistening sheen of excitement on their pretty bare slits.
She had been surprised to discover that every girl Barbara had ever spanked had been aroused by watching the comeuppance of those who were punished first. Before she’d ever disciplined anyone, she’d expected the dominant emotion to be dread, or sympathy, or even resentment. But the fact of the matter was, watching spankings was exciting. Witnessing whackings made girls wet. Perhaps it was feminine empathy, instinctively feeling every smack on their own backsides. Knowing their own spanking was inevitable, and they’d soon been getting a sore bottom of their own.
This means of caning was much less exhausting. Barbara considered a good caning to be a couple of dozen strokes at the very least, and that could be very tiring on the arms if several needed to be punished. But this way, she didn’t need to lift her arm or aim, just continue to pull the cane backwards. It also meant each whack tended to land on exactly the same spot, leading to the formation of a narrow red band of stripes where the recipient would sit, just beneath the curve of her cheeks.
After her thirtieth stroke, Penny was finally allowed to rise from the desk, and teetered back to join her friends on wobbly legs. Addison took her place, a trickle of her own excitement already running down the inside of her thigh as she bent over the table for what she had coming.
By the time it was Lola’s turn, Barbara had reached a delightfully floaty state of arousal. She’d established a steady rhythm now, tugging the cane back every 10 seconds, riding out the subsequent shudders, then repeating the stroke. Meanwhile Penny and Addison stood in line with their hands on their heads, their striped bottoms stinging, the frustration of denial evident on their faces.
“Such naughty girls!” she teased. “So desperate to come. I going to have to get you all some chastity belts!”
Barbara could see the girls squirming as each brought to mind their own notion of a chastity belt. She couldn’t help wondering what each was imagining: medieval cold metal bands, or Shibari ropework? Or maybe Victorian era paddled girdles? Or a leather belt pulled tight against the crotch? Or maybe one of those little gilded cages that kept fingers off the clit?
She gave Lola a dozen more whacks as she imagined the possibilities herself. Yes, this wilful little quartet would benefit from the discipline that enforced chastity entailed. No more rubbing themselves to sleep at night. New rules would now apply, no masturbating without her permission. And no climaxing without getting a smacked bottom first. Oh yes, Barbara liked the sound of that.
“You’re next Alice. Get undressed, I shall cane you naked.”
Alice removed her remaining clothes, folding them neatly as she could with her trembling hands. She hadn’t realised how hard and tender her nipples felt until her unclipped bra brushed against them as it fell. Alice had experienced far too many spankings to count, but couldn’t ever remember being this excited. Their new Mistress seemed to know how to play with their minds, how to exploit their desires and postpone their pleasures. Undeniably, she was in control now, and the girls loved it.
“Bend over Alice! Legs wide apart, girl. Show your friends how much you enjoyed watching their whackings.”
Alice obeyed readily, spreading her thighs, hoping that her Mistress might deign to put her palm in between, and mercifully stroke away some of her throbbing ache. But she received no such special treatment, her Mistress simply stepped back into position, and Alice felt the cool hard shaft of the cane against her bottom. Then it disappeared, only to return a moment later, accompanied by a fiery stripe.
Unbeknownst to the girls, before each stroke their Mistress was clenching the Kegel ball she’d surreptitiously inserted. She had discovered that the ball helped make her more aware of the little tremors, as if amplifying them, able to turn her vagina into some kind of receiver, tuned to the very frequency of the caning. It made her able to pick up delightfully pleasurable transmissions.
Alice had only received six whacks, before Barbara abruptly stopped.
“You can stand up now Alice, and take a step away from the desk.”
Alice was confused, but did as she was told.
“Now, Penny… you can lower your hands and come over here. Sit down on the edge of the desk, just in front of Alice. That’s it. Grasp the edge. Now, legs wide apart, please.”
Penny obeyed her instructions, wincing as her sore stripes came into contact with the unforgiving cold hardness of the tabletop. But she could see Alice’s face illuminate with delight when she spread her legs to reveal her swollen pink slit.
“Now Alice, bend over and place your tongue where Penny needs it.”
Alice leaned forward into her friend’s welcoming lap, her eager tongue travelling up Penny’s slit, until she could feel her little bump with its tip. No longer supported by the desk, she brought her hands up, wrapping them around Penny’s hips to steady herself.
Their Mistress issued no further instructions, but her intentions seemed obvious. She stepped forward, placing the cane against Alice’s bottom once more, and resumed her whacking. Penny felt a gust of hot breath blow across her cunt after every stroke, the sudden exhalation momentarily interrupting her friend’s licking. Already incredibly horny, she could feel herself getting close. Alice’s clever tongue knew just where to lick.
Oh yes. Just there. Just like that. Oh Alice! I’m…
Penny climaxed as their Mistress continued Alice’s relentless whacking, convulsing deliriously as her friend gasped into her lap.
Addison was the next to take Penny’s place on the desk, and the benefit of Alice’s tongue on her cunt. Alice knew her own spanking ordeal wouldn’t end until she’d made all her friends come, and so was very motivated to stimulate her friend’s clit meticulously, until she reduced her to a quivering heap.
Then it was long-legged Lola’s turn to sit on her stripes and open her thighs. Alice lapped eagerly, her nostrils smeared with the scent of her friends’ excitement, her tongue varnished with their accumulated saltiness. Lola didn’t even try to hold back, and climaxed quickly, noisily and messily; all over Alice’s mouth.
That left only two to be satisfied, the new leader of the Red Stripe Gang, and her predecessor. Barbara contemplated dismissing the girls, and pleasuring herself to orgasm in private, but that seemed to go against what she’d begun to understand as the spirit of the gang. This wasn’t a detention group after all, but a collective of mutual satisfaction.
Barbara paused her whacking to inspect Alice’s bottom, who’d taken her spanking with admirable stoicism, despite all the angry pink stripes she’d received. And she’d done such a good job with her tongue, she deserved to be rewarded.
“Good girl, Alice!” she commended warmly.
Out of sight, between Lola’s trembling thighs, Alice winced, and smiled.
Barbara walked back to the sofa, sitting down with the cane still protruding from her legs.
“Girls, come here. Kneel in front of me.”
The four shuffled into place, their caned bottoms too sore to sit on their haunches, they hovered just above their heels instead.
Barbara relished the display of obedience, motivated not by a fear of punishment, but from a submissive desire to please. This would be the basis of the new contract between them, she would provide the intoxicating essence of authority, and reward her new acolytes with a heady mix of pain and pleasure.
“Girls. Let us play…” she said simply.
Barbara led by example, cupping her crotch with her right hand and massaging her mound. Her weaker hand stroked the shaft of the cane, in a crude parody of a man masturbating. From time to time she’d twang the rod to enjoy its vibrations, simultaneously clenching against the Kegel ball deep inside, and relishing the effects of her naughty little secret.
The girls followed her lead, cupping their palms over their own sticky slits, before stroking and rubbing their neediest places. Alice, being most in need, wanked most hurriedly and explicitly, inserting two fingers of one hand into her vagina, whilst rubbing her clit vigorously with another.
Meanwhile Queen Barbara the Benevolent watched from her throne as her subjects performed for her. As they fiddled eagerly, Her Majesty stroked her sceptre regally, savouring the little tremors it sent beneath her. When she wanted more, she could discreetly apply more pressure to her clit, massaging it against the slick hard surface of the rod.
She was getting closer, and closer. She liked to imagine herself as a fairytale Queen. What a munificent monarch she’d make, known across the kingdoms as scrupulously strict, but just and fair. Any miscreants who found themselves in her dungeons, or – if they were especially privileged – her private punishment boudoir, would certainly have deserved their fate. Throughout the realm hushed voices would talk reverently and affectionately of Queen Baba the Bottom Smacker.
Her Majesty closed her eyes serenely, and as her devoted subjects serenaded her with their little gasping cries… she let it happen…
* * 9 * *
A fortnight later, the four founding members of the Red Stripe Gang assembled after class in the cherrywood elegance of the Punishment Room. But the space felt different now, no longer a dread enclosure, somewhere to be sent and be dealt with, but their very own secret den.
The friends had undressed as soon as they’d arrived, hanging their uniforms neatly on the hooks on the wall. Now they were kneeling in a line with their bottoms up and noses pressed to the fine panelled floor. Legs splayed and hands behind to hold their bum cheeks wide open. Soon their Mistress would arrive, and find each of them presented for a thorough bottom inspection.
The girls had shared knowing glances, then each had put her head down to wait in silence, to be alone with her own thoughts. Waiting like this was a kind of erotic meditation. An aspect of their sexuality they were only beginning to appreciate. Normally, when they were horny, they’d reach down and satisfy themselves. If they were desperate, it might only take a minute. But this position forced them to wait, to be patient, to let their minds fill with the shame of being utterly exposed.
Willing holding themselves open for inspection challenged everything they’d been told. They could hear the echoes of parental voices. That good girls didn’t show themselves. That their intimate places were dirty, and must be concealed. That their sexual nature should only ever to revealed in private, and even then to just one earnest partner, preferably one they’d married first. Even if they didn’t really believe them, somehow these rules were strongly ingrained into their psyches. That’s what made violating them so thrilling, what made playing like this so transformative.
In the distance. Alice heard footsteps. She had shaved herself smooth this morning, and her exposed skin felt exquisitely sensitive. As the clopping became louder, Alice pushed her bottom as high as she could, tugging her buttocks apart, hoping to impress her new Mistress with her show of subservience.
As the footsteps reached their crescendo, Alice felt a wet drop dribble down her thigh.
Mistress Barbara was absolutely delighted to open the thick mahogany door, and see a row of four pretty little bottoms lined up for her approval, each cheek taut and round by virtue of the kneeling position. In between, the smudge of each bottom hole seemed to stare back, as if winking alluringly.
Locking the door behind her, she unbuttoned her own skirt, hanging it on an empty hook beside the girls’ uniforms. She was wearing a black tailored jacket that just about covered her waist. Flirtatiously, she dragged her hands across her hips, letting the two halves of the jacket fall open, revealing a tantalising glimpse of what lay beneath to the watching girls. A slender figure, an impressively flat tummy. A black satin bra, with matching suspenders – but no panties, the thin garter belt straps framing her smooth bare mound.
She began her inspections immediately, kneeling first beside Addison, and taking her time to scrutinise the region between her open cheeks. It wasn’t that she was looking for anything surprising, what else would she find, other than a tight little puckered hole and glistening folds?
Inspections were acts of devotion, where the one being examined knew she was, for a few intoxicating minutes, the absolute and intimate focus of their Mistress’s attention. Inspections were about being admired, and being appreciated.
Addison cooed contentedly as the fingertip of her Mistress stroked between her legs, spreading her folds and exposing her vagina, massaging her wetness along the length of her slit. The inspection concluded with a slow, hard spanking, a dozen smacks delivered to the underside of her bottom and the tops of her thighs by Barbara’s open palm.
She moved between the girls, ensuring each got the same treatment. By the time she was finished, all four were soaking wet. She left them in position for a moment, and fetched a small box from the shelf near the cane rack.
“You can stand up now, girls. I have a special treat for you…”
She handed the box to Alice, who instinctively shook it slightly. It was light, made of something like balsa wood, tied up with a thin pink ribbon. Whatever was inside it didn’t rattle. Alice faced her friends so they could see too, and plucked the bow open, letting it fall to the ground as she opened the lid.
Inside, were what looked at first glance like leather belts. At her Mistress’s instigation, Alice plucked one out. On closer inspection, it was actually two short lengths of rope, wrapped in soft leather cover. One rope was circular, and the other rope was perpendicular to it, running across its diameter – one end was fixed, stitched into the circumference, the other was loose, running through an eyelet. On the leather a name had been embossed: LOLA.
It looks like a reinforced leather g-string, thought Alice. Feeling herself go squirmy as she imagined it between her legs.
“I’ve had new some rope girdles made.” Their Mistress explained.
“You might not be aware that originally, girls who were sent to the punishment bench wore crotch ropes. Back then, of course, girls wore bloomers, so there was no such thing as panty-pulling. Instead, naughty girls wore these little girdles.”
“I see you’ve got Lola’s rope – you’ll remember I had you all measured. Each girdle has been made to fit your waist perfectly. Come here, Lola, I’ll put yours on first.”
Barbara took the girdle from Alice, and knelt beside Lola, encouraging her to step into it. Then she pulled it up to her waist, so the fixed end of the crotch rope was positioned against her bare mound. She ensured the inner cord passed between her splayed labia and tugged the loose end at the back to ensure was tight against the crevice of her buttocks.
Her choice of a luxurious (and expensive) soft leather to cover the ropes was her own act of benevolence. The original ropes were a coarse scratchy hemp, that would leave the naughty girls who rode them sore between the legs for days.
One of the old headmistress diaries that Barbara had found had candidly described masturbation as a privilege reserved for only the best-behaved girls. Naughty ones got the cane, and were seated on their stripes, then the bench fell and the cruel ropes were pulled tight between their legs. This would leave unfortunate miscreants too sore to play with themselves for several days. The softer ropes would be more forgiving, sitters would still dance as the rope inexorably rubbed, and it would inflict a nice pink stripe, but wouldn’t stay sore for long.
She escorted Lola to the bench, sitting her down, and fixing the loose end of the rope to the bar behind her. Then she put Lola’s hands behind her back and bound them by slipping a tennis sweatband over both wrists.
“Now… who’s next?”
The Red Stripe Gang sat in a row on the punishment bench, hands bound, feet dangling high above the floor. Each was naked apart from the cord girdle around their waists, and each was already aching with expectation.
Straight-faced, Alice smiled to herself. She could feel her clit swollen and throbbing, tight against her meticulously positioned crotch-rope.
It had all gone perfectly to plan. Months ago she’d sat on this very bench, and written her essay in the hope of being discovered. Alice had given her headmistress the whiff of a conspiracy that she suspected would be irresistible. And once the existence of their little gang was uncovered, Alice knew her headmistress wouldn’t be able to resist investigating deeper into the puzzle.
And it had to be a puzzle; Alice knew she couldn’t just walk into her headmistress’s office and say: “Hey! We’re four girls with a secret kinky group – wanna join in?”
No, seduction was about tempting and tantalising. Steadily revealing a bigger mystery. Establishing a desire, and letting others want it.
Alice understood that only once her headmistress had followed the trail by her own volition, and learned for herself that the gang weren’t just a cabal of horny schoolgirls, but fellow kinky young women deserving of her company – only then would she want to take charge.
In the early days of the gang, they’d all had fun role-playing an ersatz headmistress. But now, really what they all longed for was a proper authority figure, someone to whom they could all genuinely submit. Now the Red Stripe Gang had a new leader, and there’d be no more furtive meetings in Alice and Penny’s dorm.
Their new leader would ensure they were well spanked, and then suspended by their crotch ropes until the stripe between their legs was nice and sore. Then perhaps she’d watch as they took it in turns to kneel and soothe each other’s discomfort with their eager tongues. Who knew what other naughty games might be in store? She was looking forward to putting herself at the mercy of her new Mistress’s inventively kinky mind.
Besides, they wouldn’t be at school forever, and after they left, it would be good to stay in touch. Pardon the pun.
The other girls didn’t know that Alice had written the essay, that she’d laid the trail that led to their exposure, it was more erotic that way, to think their clandestine activities had been stumbled upon. Alice would keep that little secret to herself.
What a naughty girl I am, thought Alice. She tested the bonds that bound her wrists, and squirmed against the cord that ran between her slit. She felt like a prisoner, caught and condemned. She knew she deserved to be thoroughly punished. In truth, she could barely wait.
Mistress Barbara had hung up her jacket, and now made her final preparations in just her bra and stockings. She’d configured the punishment bench for a long, slow drop, so the girls would spent as much time as possible squirming against their crotch ropes. By the end they’d be vertically upright, toes just above the floor, suspended by the girdles at their waists, dancing like puppets.
Her hand hovered over the bench’s release lever.
What was the gang’s founding principle again? Oh yes, Mistress got to watch the girls dance as she came. She’d already prepared a chair of her own from where she’d watch, with a big thick dildo stuck to the seat. It would give the girls something nice to watch as they dangled, their own clits aching desperately. She intended to enjoy this.
And then she pulled the lever, and the bench began its slow slump downward.
She stepped backwards, and onto her seat, feeling the thick slick tip of the dildo nudge between her lips, then sat upon it with as much decorum as she could manage.
She watched her girls wriggle and writhe, then kick delightfully as the bench tilted relentlessly, ever steeper and steeper.
Enjoy your dance girls. Feel the cord tighten, slipping ever deeper into your slit. Have you realised yet? Your anatomy was made for this torment. Clitoris, vagina, perineum, anus – all in a line, perfectly positioned so each can be simultaneously stimulated by a thin rubbing rope. Four different sensations at once. Frustration. Intrusion. Burning. Degradation. And the more you wiggle, the hotter it gets.
Are you getting close? Naughty.
Six of the Best for the first one who comes, I think. And then you can sit on your stripes on the enema cushion.
As the girls struggled and moaned, their Mistress slid ever further onto her thick protrusion, stretching her, until it had completely filled her.
Soon all were squirming on their seats.
Carried away by their sit-down dance.
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