 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 31 – St Agatha's School for Wayward Girls
She awoke lying on her side, her hand trapped between her thighs, in front of Mr Campbell who was kneeling next to her. She still wore the clamps, panties and vice. Mr Campbell was gently touching her shoulder calling her name quietly.
"What happened?" She asked.
"You fainted, just now. You screamed and then just slowly toppled over sideways."
"How long?"
"Just now, couldn't have been more than a second or two. Are you alright?" He asked with a touch of concern in his voice.
"I'm more than alright. I was floating… somewhere nice. That was… amazing."
"As long as you are alright." He rose back to his feet and offered Charlotte his hand. She accepted it, and winced as she rose to her feet and the bristles recommenced their assault on her splayed sex.
She couldn't believe it. She'd just brought herself to orgasm by masturbating in the punishment panties. She'd had orgasms before; she wasn't so sheltered not to know about them. Any teen over twelve these days had access to magazines targeted specifically at their age group that talked about those things. Nevertheless she'd never had one so powerful and all consuming as the one she'd just had. If she had any remaining doubts about the roots of her sexuality they were well and truly swept away now.
Even now she still felt the ebbing throb in her thighs. If formed a lasting radiance, supplanting the constant pain and irritation caused by her panties and the vice.
Mr Campbell was again sitting back his leather couch. Gone was the pitiless manner that had heavily contributed to her plunging over the edge. Still lust burnt in him though, clear for Charlotte to see, but the uncontrollable fire that had raged earlier was now tempered with concern at Charlotte's fainting.
Whilst she still sat contently floating in her slowly receding enchantment Mr Campbell broke the silence that lay over the room like a heavy blanket: "You had further demands Charlotte? You mentioned something about how you're dressed earlier."
Pulling her mind back to the task of her demands proved difficult. It was so easy just to stay floating in the afterglow of bliss. Slowly her thoughts began to reassemble themselves after being shattered into tiny fragments during her ordeal.
"I want a say in how I'm dressed. Look, I know you want me to look a certain way sometimes; and when you want me to I'll dress like that. But when I'm home alone, or if you ever take me out, don't you think that I should have some clothing that's just a little bit more normal?"
His immediate reaction to her demand was one of scorn: "Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves. When you first arrived I told you that I intended you to become a lady and that necessitated starting from scratch, hence your clothes. Now you think that after a week you've somehow grown out of needing the clothes as a constant reminder?"
"I didn't say all the time Mr Campbell. I just thought that if you wanted to take me out to dinner or something that it might prove to be a little confronting for you. Traipsing through brothel's and sex-shops dressed like that is one thing, it's another thing to have your fellow diners rushing to call the cops."
"But you weren't talking about just going out Charlotte. You also mentioned when you're home alone. No. Definitely not. Under this roof you will wear what I say you'll wear, whether you want to or not."
He stopped for a second, seemingly phrasing his next words carefully.
"I can however see some merit in what you say. So here's my counter proposal. You wear my dresses whenever you are at home."
Charlotte's shoulders slumped in disappointment.
"But you will be allowed to purchase some more appropriate clothing for any public outings we may have… That doesn't include however your trips to see Lisa. They will still be subject to you wearing 'appropriate' clothing. I'll arrange a time where you can go and purchase what it is you are after, but there are some restrictions."
"Like?" she asked hopefully.
"I have a few colleagues who specialise in women's clothing, I will compile their catalogues together and eliminate those items of clothing and styles I perceive as being inappropriate. You can then choose out a modest wardrobe from the rest. Is that satisfactory?"
"What's 'inappropriate' mean?"
"No pants, no jeans, no sneakers. If I decided to take you out in public you will be dressed like a lady, not some teenage sloth. Deal?"
"I guess so. But you haven't mentioned the price, isn't there one?"
"Oh, there's a price alright. But for now it's your bedtime. Come along. I'll tuck you in."
He stood up, but not before grabbing some things from his suitcase and pocketing them. Charlotte waddled after him toward her bedroom, trying desperately to limit the excesses of the bristles and clamps as much as possible. His pace however made it difficult to keep up with him without encountering further grinding pain.
Finally they arrived back in her room. Once in her room – HER room now, she noted happily – she sat down on the bed. Her blue sheep-patterned sleeper pyjamas had been set out for her.
Mr Campbell crouched in front of her and began unscrewing the wing nuts on the breast vice. Each turn providing relief to her squeezed and punished breasts. Blood slowly began circulating properly again, causing much discomfort for her. Finally the two pieces of dowel stood far enough apart to pull her breasts out. This Mr Campbell did delicately. Once freed, he kissed each of her nipples delicately. He then inspected the four angry red and black wheals at the top and bottom of her beautiful globes where the vice had viciously cut into the flesh.
Charlotte looked at the marks realising that four long-thin livid bruises were likely to result in the morning. That concerned her; she didn't like to think of her modest yet perfect breasts been marked. Still, that was the price she paid for the explosive heavenly orgasm she had experienced. On reflection she thought, it was a small price to pay.
Mr Campbell now began unbuckling her shoes and followed up by gently removing her socks and stockings. Each touch he made on her was soft and delicate. As if each gentle touch was an apology for the brutal treatment he had meted out to her before. She sat back contented; enjoying having someone else undress her. She felt like royalty, or a princess.
She stood up now to allow him to remove her panties when he grasped her hands. "No, not yet. Here. Hands out."
He produced from his pocket what looked like a small white bag. Confused and curious she looked on as he manipulated her hand into a fist and slipped the bag over her hand. He then threaded a small strap through a series of loops around the tiny bags rim and padlocked it shut around her wrist. Her hand was now trapped within the bag. It fit so snugly that her fingers and thumb were unable to move at all.
"What are you doing?"
"This is the rest of the price for having your own clothes." He spoke slowly as he grasped her other hand and pushed it into another identical little bag.
While securing this one around her bunched fist he explained.
"With your hands trapped inside these mittens you will be unable to use your fingers or thumbs. Ordinarily that wouldn't cause you too much of a problem, particularly if you were about to go to sleep."
He secured the other bag around her wrist and finished delivering his speech: "I say ordinarily because tonight isn't going to be ordinary. You see my little pumpkin, without the use of your fingers and thumbs, you are going to be entirely unable to take off your pretty pyjamas here."
Charlotte was stumped: why would she want to take off her pyjamas anyway? Her heart started to race, he was doing it again. Pushing her off balance, confusing her, surprising her at the most unexpected moments. What did he mean?
So she asked: "Why would I want to take my pyjamas off?"
He brandished her blue sleeper before her: "Because you're going to put them on now."
"But you haven't yet taken off…" Now the realisation hit her. He'd deliberately avoided taking off her panties and clamps before when she'd stood up. He was going to put her to bed with them still on, underneath her sleeper. With her fingers and thumbs unusable she would never be able to manipulate the buttons that sealed her in the sleeper, let alone undo the clamps and pull her panties down.
"Oh please Mr Campbell. Please, I've been good. I've been so good. I did everything you asked. You can't do this, please."
With her hands clenched into useless balls encased in the mittens she implored him not to imprison her like this. She put her bunched fists together in a semblance of praying, begging to him. In response he grasped her by the shoulders and stared straight into her eyes, whilst displaying the blue sleeper before her.
"Charlotte, I know you've been good. But sometimes, just sometimes, I like being bad." He let those words seep in. "Now sit on the bed so I can put your pyjamas on."
"No, please. I don't need the new clothes; I'll go out in public dressed however you want. Please, I don't want to pay the price now." She beseeched him.
"Oh, but Charlotte my dear, it's not as simple as that. Remember your earlier promise, what you promised me in return for being rid of Madeline." He paused, letting her cast her mind back. "You promised me one hour of your time every night… every night. Including tonight. That hour starts now and as per your promise, you will do whatever I want you to do. Right now, what I want you to do is to sit on the end of your bed and help me put your pyjamas on."
"But I've spent all evening with you! Surely that counts as the hour for today?" She was frantic to avoid being trapped in the sleeper while wearing her panties. She'd already suffered enough for one day; she couldn't bear the thought of another minute wearing the scraping spiky panties.
"That time, as you will remember, was for you to present your demands. You've done that and as you suggested, we've arrived at a set of new 'mutually agreeable' rules. You have your safe word, your trips to see Lisa, no more Madeline, the privacy of your own room. Even an allowance for heavens sake!
"I get my hour. My one-hour every evening where you are mine entirely. That hour will start as soon as you put your pyjamas on for me, and not a moment before." He still held her by the shoulders, displaying the pyjamas in front of her.
She thought rapidly, trying to find a way to reason with him, to convince him to do something else. Anything else except trap her inside the pyjamas where the bristles sitting next to her already punished flesh would continue their villainous task.
"Please Mr Campbell, when you made me wear them last time the clamps stretched me and left little indents pressed into me. What if they do something more permanent? I don't want my cunny ruined…" Deliberately she used that word, that demeaning childish word for her privates, in the hope that her apparent infantile subservience to him would thaw his icy resolve. Yet he casually brushed her pleading aside.
"Rubbish Charlotte, you'd be surprised how pliant young flesh is. Don't worry about that. Now stop making excuses and help me get you into your pyjamas."
Pleading had failed. Reasoning had failed. Now she had only one recourse left. One thing she could do to escape the punitive fate awaiting her.
She could say her safe word.
Only three uses of the word did she have, and to waste the first one only hours after being granted it seemed extreme. She had no idea what else might happen to her. Other worse things might occur and she might wish at that time that she had an extra word up her sleeve to rescue her.
She also knew that earlier tonight she'd experienced something magical and mind blowing at his hands. She didn't want that to simply stop and never happen again because she was sent home after using her safe word too many times. No, she would save it for another time.
She sat on the bed and lifted up her foot for Mr Campbell.
He knelt down and fed her foot into the enclosed toe of the blue sleeper. He repeated the process with her other foot and then pulled the flannel pyjamas up her legs and over her waist and hips, concealing the frilled punishment panties, the white straps and clamps from view. He had her feed her hands into the arms of the pyjamas and then buttoned her up at the back, sealing her into the garment as effectively as if it were made of steel and locked with a key.
She stood at the end of the bed and watched him as he fluffed up her pillows. She was even more surprised when unlocked one of the drawers in her duchess and pulled out extra pillows for her bed.
"What are you doing?"
"Well, my hour's not up yet, not by any stretch of the imagination. So I thought we'd watch a movie together. Would you like that?"
"I suppose so. What movie?" She asked cautiously.
"Well, I noticed that the bag you brought home has a few DVD's in it. I thought we'd watch one of those." Smiling wryly he indicated the bag Charlotte had brought back from the sex shop containing her magazines and DVD's.
She hadn't revealed the contents of the bag to him, but she was under no illusions that he knew exactly what was in it.
Only minutes ago she had thought this evening's festivities were over. Now she realised that they had quite some time to go before she could finally get to sleep, if she ever did while wearing these panties. The concept of suffering at least another hour of his twisted torments and surprises left her nervous, and yet secretly anticipating what might occur.
Unable to help him organise the room (having no effective use of her hands due to the mittens), she sat on her bed and leaned back into the pillows. Mr Campbell flitted about the room, moving her new television into a position where it could be viewed from the bed, collecting the sex shop bag and turning the lights down.
Finally, while Charlotte sat back, struggling not to move for fear of triggering more scraping in her crotch, she examined her mittens. The straps that secured them to her wrists were sufficiently tight to prevent her from pulling them over her wrists. There was no escaping them, particularly as she lacked any fingers to attack them with. She was trapped.
Mr Campbell now turned on the DVD and the television with their remotes. He opened a DVD case, Charlotte couldn't tell which one, and placed a disc in the machine. Closing the tray he came and sat down on the bed next to Charlotte. He took off his shoes and swung his legs up onto the mattress. With remote in hand he pressed play on the remote in his hand and lay back next to Charlotte.
The usual FBI warning came and went while Charlotte considered the situation.
She'd never had a "date" before. As such she'd never encountered awkward yawns in the cinema followed up with her partner attempting to put an arm around her. There'd been no truth and dare games in the middle of the night with boys. She was entirely unaware of what to do with Mr Campbell sitting right next to her. As her bed was a single, the two of them were only just able to lay side by side on the bed. She felt awkward, unsure of what to do.
So she just sat still, keeping herself sitting upright and with as modest a distance between them as was possible on the narrow bed.
He'd chosen "St Agatha's School for Wayward Girls." A cheesy music track backed the credits as various actors and actresses faces were presented in still motion shots with their names displayed. They all had names like Lisa Luscious or Belle Rogers.
"Come here Charlotte, I don't bite." Mr Campbell gently told her. He indicated she should cuddle up to him. She awkwardly followed his instructions, ducking under his arm and placing her head on his shoulder. He followed up by wrapping his arm around her whilst his other hand came to rest on her thigh.
The scene opened with a pair of girls dressed in very skimpy school uniforms standing with their hands behind their backs. Both had their chins tucked into their chests, looking guilty. They were in a stern looking mahogany walled room. The camera panned around the room, revealing that the room was a type of office, bookshelves containing leather bound tomes dominated one wall, oil paintings the other. The screen zoomed in to focus on a cane hanging from the wall.
"Well, I guess this isn't Disney Charlotte. What have you bought home with you?" His hand was now making small circles on her thigh. Rubbing over the leather strap that sat underneath her pyjamas. Each gentle movement over the strap caused a slight thrumming in the springs stretching her apart; she bit the inside of her cheek in an effort to avoid their far-from-subtle effects.
A man now entered the office and the two schoolgirls looked up. He was dressed in a terrible parody of a headmaster's costume, a long black academic cape flowing out behind him, a ridiculous square hat on his head. And now the dialogue began.
Apparently the two girls had been misbehaving in class, they were to be punished, and given the vast number of their previous transgressions the Headmaster was going to cane them both. In a shocking display of the most dreadful acting Charlotte had ever seen, the two schoolgirls pretended to be horrified. The headmaster then made much drama out of retrieving the cane from the wall and ordered one of the girls to spread her legs, bend over and touch her toes.
The hand of Mr Campbell continued its circular stroking of Charlotte's thigh.
The first girl bent over and gripped her calf muscles; Charlotte was impressed by the actress's flexibility, as she bent herself almost directly in half. The Headmaster moved behind her and flicked her tragically short mini skirt up over her rump revealing a scant white g-string beneath.
Standing back he took a few practice swings with the thin piece of cane. It made ominous swishing sounds as it hissed through the air. Finally the headmaster brought the swishy thin cane smacking into the first girls bottom. A scream emanated from the girl and Charlotte noticed that a thin red welt rose almost immediately on the girl's pert bottom.
The circular motion of Mr Campbell's hands picked up pace. "Not Disney at all is it?"
"No…" She replied, embarrassed that he was watching her movie with him. She had brought these to watch by herself, not with him as an audience.
Mr Campbell's free hand, the one not occupied with her thigh, moved onto her breast and she flinched slightly. He began massaging it slowly and delicately while the headmaster on the television continued thrashing the over-aged schoolgirl. The butterflies, never far away when in Mr Campbell's presence, began fluttering their wings again.
The girl on the television was now springing up each time the cane fell, unable to remain disciplined enough to stay bent over whilst clinging to her legs. The Headmaster chided her, demanding she stay bent over. She argued with him, begged for him to stop.
"Part your thighs Charlotte." Mr Campbell whispered in her ear.
His breath in her ear and on the nape of her neck sent shivers down her spine. Slowly she opened her thighs, wincing slightly as the clamps and bristles rearranged themselves once more.
The first girl being caned was now hollering constantly. The camera conducted a range of close-ups on her twisted face as the cane fell relentlessly on her bottom. Tears seeped from her eyes. Her hair clung to her wet cheeks.
Mr Campbell's hand moved up her leg, away from the leather strap encasing her thigh and toward her brutalised core. His other hand continued massaging her poor bruised and battered breast, which still ached from the tight vice.
The first girl was told to get up and stand in the corner with her hands on her head whilst the headmaster now began lecturing the second girl.
"Does this movie excite you my little pet?" He whispered again in her ear. More shivers.
"Yes… kind of."
His hand now reached her crotch and lightly he stroked his fingers across the crotch of her pyjamas, delicately pressing the hard bristles into her vulnerable open flesh. She winced, tears of her own sprung up in the corner of her eyes. Yet she kept her thighs spread: eager for him to touch her there, despite the punishment panties and pyjama's standing between his hand and her skin.
The second girl's underpants were slightly fuller, covering her entire bottom. Nevertheless the headmaster on the DVD had this girl bend over as he had with the first and began delivering stinging blows to her bottom. This schoolgirl was slightly less verbose than her predecessor, whimpering rather than screaming.
Mr Campbell's hand continued gently petting Charlottes suffering vagina. He pressed down just hard enough to keep her attention firmly on the effects of the bristles, but not hard enough to evoke the same sort response that Charlotte had given herself earlier.
The DVD was having an effect on her as well, she wished she were one of those girls being caned, unable to escape the wrath of the headmaster. Despite the poor acting and the ordinary looking set, Charlotte's imagination filled in the blanks. The squeals coming out of the girls thrilled her; she imagined what noises she'd make in the same situation. Would she be able to stay bent over? What would a cane feel like pounding relentlessly onto her buttocks?
The camera panned across the room to focus in on the first girl's bottom. Her skirt, tucked into her waistband, revealed her scarred buttocks. Ugly raised red welts stood up from her white flesh.
Charlotte had been spanked, she'd been strapped, but she'd never been caned. Her father had mentioned that he'd had the cane at his school, but behaviour management and anger counselling had long made the cane redundant at her school. The worst she'd ever received at school was a lunchtime detention. Now, as she sat watching these porn actresses pretending to be schoolgirls receiving a solid caning she wished that corporal discipline had been a feature at her school.
The scene closed with the second girl being instructed to join the first in the corner. She pulled down her panties to reveal a bottom even more red and angry than the first girl's. The camera zoomed in closer and closer until the screen was a sea of red marks and then slowly unfocussed before fading into black.
Mr Campbell shifted slightly, adjusting his pants, before resettling back to gently massaging Charlotte's breast and rubbing his fingers lightly up and down Charlotte's crotch. She looked down at his lap and saw a noticeable bulge evident. Slightly embarrassed she looked away, back toward the DVD where a new scene was unfolding.
Night had descended at St Agatha's and four girls, including the two from the earlier scene, were sneaking out of their dorms into the school's garden. Whispering loudly, they snuck to a 6-foot high ivy covered wall before helping each other clamber over it. The camera made sure it caught a glimpse of each girl's bottom and panties as they swung themselves over the fence and out of the school grounds. Two cars of boys, (well they were supposed to be boys, the lettered high school jackets gave that away, unfortunately two of them looked at least thirty with their bushy moustaches) waited for the truant boarding school girls. A conversation ensued indicating that they were going off to "the lake" to "make out".
The plot now well and truly dealt with, the scene switched to the interior of one of the cars. One of the girls, this one a peroxide blonde, had already taken her top off and unzipped her partner's jeans. She held his incredibly long rod in one hand and alternately licked it from end to end and stared cheesily into the camera, smacking her lips as if she were supping on some exotic delicacy.
Charlotte looked down at Mr Campbell's crotch, wondering if his was as big as the one currently on the DVD, it didn't look like it from the size of the bulge in his pants. He noticed her downward glance and pressed slightly harder down on her panties, eliciting a tiny squeal from her lips.
"And what exactly are you looking at my darling?" He asked lasciviously.
"Nothing Mr Campbell. I'm just watching the movie." She returned her attention back to the screen, trying in vain to ignore the ministrations of his fingers.
The peroxide blonde's head was now bobbing up and down on the end of her partner's prong. Her partner groaned intermittently. Charlotte annoyingly noticed that occasionally when he groaned his lips didn't move. At other times when his mouth was wide open, not a sound could be heard except for the constant slurping noise made as the girl bobbed up and down.
'Well, it's not Francis Ford Coppola or Steven Spielberg': she thought to herself. Nonetheless, the opening scene had certainly provoked her interest and she was prepared to make allowances.
The groans coming from the man ('boy' she corrected herself) on the DVD began intensifying and the blonde now removed her mouth from him, held the base of his long shaft with one hand and began pumping it quickly with the other. She flicked her tongue out from time to time to lick the end and stared up toward his contorted face, looking for some sort of signal.
Suddenly the groan erupted, and so did he. The blonde did her best to catch his essence in her mouth, but mostly failed with half of it ending up on her nose, cheeks and lips. Not that this concerned her however - she sluttily licked her lips, savouring every stringy thread of the liquid and rolling it over her tongue.
The camera now cut to outside. One of the girls who had been in the headmaster's office, the one who had worn the g-string, was lying by a lakeside. Charlotte supposed the lighting was supposed to resemble moonlight, but whoever was in charge of it was clearly between jobs and for good reason. G-string girl was lying beneath one of the men who actually almost pulled off looking like a high school boy. Some heavy petting was occurring, with her skirt pulled up to her waist and his hand cupping one of her oversized breasts.
Charlotte reflected that her breasts were much smaller than G-string girls. Then again, from what she'd gathered so far, everything in porn was much bigger than it was in real life. She looked down at Mr Campbell's crotch for further confirmation of her theory.
Noting her third glance he surreptitiously lifted his hand from her breast and brought it to his pants. Frightened Charlotte hastily looked away back toward the DVD. He was going to take it out! What was she supposed to do? Conflicting thoughts and emotions began stampeding through her mind as she tried desperately to ignore the sound of his zipper's teeth peeling apart by focusing on the television.
Charlotte didn't register the conversation that was occurring between g-string girl and her partner; she was too worried about what Mr Campbell was doing. G-string girl was now on her hands and knees and her boy knelt behind her. He'd discarded his jeans, but strangely not his socks. His thing was hard and pointing toward g-string girl's opening. As he entered her, Mr Campbell pressed down sharply on Charlotte's crotch.
A half scream, half squeal burst from Charlotte: "Please Mr Campbell, please, that hurts…"
"I know it hurts my pet, I like it when you hurt." She looked him in the eyes and saw the lustful truth of his words. Down below, she noticed his manhood straining behind a pair of satin boxer shorts, trying to poke through the open fly of his silk pants.
Butterflies began to take over again. G-string girl was being nailed from behind – hard. Her partner was spanking her bottom every second stroke and her breasts swayed forward and back in motion with their movements. Mr Campbell's hand was eliciting protests of pain from her core, but she still felt herself becoming more and more excited.
And there he was, waiting to be released. Waiting for her.
She thought back to Betsy-Jo's, to her session watching Lisa with her John. She thought of the previous scene, where peroxide girl had done her thing. She wondered if she could do what Lisa and peroxide girl did. What would it taste like? Would it be hard or soft in her mouth?
She didn't know, but the butterflies roared inside her when she decided to find out. She pulled herself up off Mr Campbell's chest and sidled down the bed. Taking her mittened hands she tried to undo the single button keeping him trapped in his pants. Her white bagged hands however couldn't get any grip whatsoever on the slippery satin of his shorts.
In the back of her mind she realised that if it was so hard to undo one large simple button right in front of her face, she could never manage the five of so small intricate buttons running down her back. He was right – she'd never escape her pyjamas and the panties until he decided she should.
He tapped her on one flannelette covered thigh and then grasped her leg. Pulling her around so that while her hands and face sat in his lap, her bottom was adequately available to his prying hands. He recommenced his fondling of her damp and agonised love hole through the pyjamas and panties.
Now she grasped the satin between both fists and used her teeth. She could feel his hardness rubbing against her cheek as she struggled to manipulate the button open with a combination of her clumsy mittens, her lips and her teeth.
Pop.
Shit! She'd broken the button. It fell away into the depths of his pants, but immediately he sprang out of the confines of the boxer shorts.
It stood tall, clean and veiny. She'd seen photos before; she'd even seen her father once or twice accidentally. The slow kid with 'special needs' at school had had a tendency to take his out whenever he felt like it. But she'd never seen one this close, real and erect.
It smelt musky and in a strange way, alluring. She tried to remember what Lisa had done. She'd held it around 'there' – well Charlotte couldn't really manage that right now, so instead she put her two mittened fists on either side of it, grasping it clumsily between her hands. She moved them slowly up and down. Mr Campbell groaned. At least he groaned when his mouth was open, no dubbing problems here Charlotte joked to herself.
His fingers dug sharply into her, driving one set of the bristles straight into her unprotected hole - she screamed. Fresh tears sprung up in her eyes and rolled down her face.
"That's it Charlotte, yes – tell me how much that hurts..."
She kept moving her fists up and down, struggling to keep her mind on the task at hand while coping with the extraordinary pain in her crotch. He relented somewhat, relieving the pressure slightly and moved his focus back toward her vulnerable clitoris. Thankfully, that hurt slightly less than grinding the bristles into her spreadeagled hole.
Now she considered the object before her. She tried to remember what Lisa had done, how she'd run her tongue stud up and down and then sort of enveloped it in her mouth. Charlotte lent a bit further forward and tried an experimental peck. She pursed her lips together and placed them delicately on the end.
Yech! It was wet! She pulled back to find a string of sticky clear fluid coming from the end of it. It was on her lips, she was about to wipe her mouth with her sleeve when she thought better of it. Lisa hadn't wiped her mouth - neither should she - it might not be… polite. So she tested the taste of the stuff that had clung to her lips, it tasted a little salty but wasn't terribly unpleasant.
'Okay, let's try that again.' She thought to herself.
Still rubbing her fists up and down the sides of the stiff member she returned her lips to its end. Now expecting the tiny bit of fluid, she kissed the tip gently. Mr Campbell moaned slightly, his hands relieved a little more pressure on her tormented bud.
Hesitantly she opened her lips a little more and tried licking the end with her tongue. Her tongue wiped away the last of his fluid and replaced it with some of her own saliva. He tasted funny, but far from repulsive.
Mr Campbell's moaned a bit louder this time – clearly she was doing something right - so she opened her mouth a little wider and took the whole end into her mouth while running her tongue under the big vein at the bottom of it. It felt big inside her mouth, big and warm. Her tongue darted around it in a circular motion, eliciting further moans from him as he lay back carelessly caressing her punished vagina.
The two of them now completely ignored the DVD. Mr Campbell sat back on the bed, his eyes closed and his suit pant's fly open while he gripped the sheets with one hand and used the other to continuously rub Charlotte's crotch.
She lay on the bed in her blue flannelette sleeper with her hair still in pigtails. Her head pointed toward the television while her mouth was enveloped around his penis. Her hands, trapped inside the little white mittens, made fists on either side of him, awkwardly pumping up and down. Further down the bed, her torso was twisted about through ninety degrees and her thighs were slightly parted while Mr Campbell's hand rubbed over her pyjama-clad mound.
Charlotte was focussed entirely on the part of him inside her mouth, but tugging at the back of her mind was the constant pain being caused by the infernal panties and the constant tugging stress caused by the clamps and springs pulling her labia apart. Her entire vagina ached, from her pulsing throbbing labia entrapped by the clamps, to the sharp pains being constantly ground into her exposed dripping hole and the stabbing abrasive bristles on her clitoris.
"More..." Mr Campbell moaned from above her. Charlotte moved her mittened hands away from his shaft and tried to push more of him into her mouth. Keeping her teeth away from him proved more difficult than she thought, particularly as it went further into her mouth.
Suddenly she went too far, it was like sticking her finger down her throat. Quickly she pulled herself away, but had forethought enough to move her hands back onto him. Gagging and coughing she struggled to breathe properly for a few moments. Lisa hadn't done that; there must be a trick to it. She smiled slightly to herself as she imagined exactly how she was going to bring that up in conversation next time she saw the stylish Goth.
Breathing properly again she returned her mouth and tongue to his penis. Having learnt the hard way just exactly how much she could take of him in her mouth; she tried to avoid a repeat performance by focusing on the top half and pumping her mittened fists up and down around his base.
Charlotte's interruption had done little to quench Mr Campbell's salaciousness, his head lolled back, deep moans rose from his relaxed body. Nevertheless he continued to maul her crotch, one minute driving the bristles into the depths of her inner membranes, the next focussing on her tender and aching clitoris. The most difficult thing for her was not flinching as each newly inflicted pain occurred, particularly as she had begun supplementing the sensations by pushing forward into his hand with her pelvis. With him in her hands and mouth and his fingers brushing against her womanhood she pushed herself closer and closer to the edge.
He beat her to the edge. Her mouth, her clumsy hands and her tongue mixed together with the knowledge that each of his touches caused her intense pain. He went over the edge, emitting a loud explosive groan. She felt it happen, felt him bulge in size for a moment and then suddenly felt hot squirts of a salty sticky liquid hit the roof of her mouth.
His hands fell away from her crotch, his penis throbbed in time with his heart beat but already began showing signs of shrinking back to its hibernating state.
Damn him, she was so close, why had he stopped, she thought. She also wondered what to do with the mouthful of his essence currently rolling about in her mouth. Carefully she rolled over, away from him and looked over the edge of the bed. He'd left one of her frilly socks lying next to the bed, quickly checking to make sure he couldn't see what she was doing – he was lying back in post-orgasmic bliss – she picked the sock up and spat the contents of her mouth into it. She'd pop it in the laundry chute after he left.
Frustratingly close to her own blissful escape she rolled back over to him and leaned her head on his chest. He looked down at her with an honest, carefree smile on his face.
"You didn't need to do that honey, but thankyou." She didn't know how to respond to that, she had her own needs at the moment.
"Mr Campbell?"
"Yes pet?"
She looked into his relieved eyes and asked as nicely as she could: "Can you… can you… could you touch me again please?"
He patted her on the shoulder, indicating she should raise her head off him. She complied and lay back on the bed, trying her hardest to look sexy, her thighs alluring parted she waiting for him to finish the job.
Instead he picked up his shoes and stood. "Sorry honey, you'll have to improvise. I need to sleep. Goodnight." He flung her a cheeky grin with a hint of evil thrown in for good measure.
"I can't! Not with my hands like this! Please?" But it was for no good. He stopped briefly to remove the batteries from the remotes and walked out of her room, locking the door behind her and leaving her frustrated on the bed, still in her pyjamas, clamps and panties.
The DVD still ran, she'd missed a fair bit of the movie but now found herself drawn back to watching it in her frustrated state.
The four girls who had escaped the compound were now lying in four beds all next to each other in a row. Actually lying wasn't quite right. Each girl wore wrist and ankle restraints and nothing else. The restraints had all been locked to the bed head so that each girl's knees were pulled up next to their heads, their bottoms and naked vaginas openly presented to whomever required access.
The headmaster lectured the group on the dangers of truancy and carousing with boys. He pronounced upon the first two girls a sentence. These were the two girls who hadn't been in his office in the first scene and they were each to receive thirty stripes with the cane on their bottoms.
Charlotte watched on, unable to turn the television off without the use of her fingers. She burned, she needed release and so she pushed one of her mittens down toward her crotch and experimentally tried to touch herself. Deprived of the delicate finesse her fingers usually provided her, she crunched a broad area of the evil bristles into her all over - rapidly she pulled her hand away and hissed in pain. She'd have to find some other way to manipulate herself if she wanted to get off.
The cane rose and fell in succession on each girl's bottom; Charlotte closed her eyes and listened to the pleading and screams of each girl. She was so hot and she couldn't do a thing about it. Gently she tried her fist again, trying to use just the corner of one knuckle to provide sufficient stimulus, but clumsily she couldn't get the angle right and to top it off her wrist began aching from being put in such a strange twisted-up position.
Finally she clambered off her bed, ignoring the screams of pain emitting from down below as the clamps stretched and strained on her labia. She fetched a remote from the floor and returned to the bed. Putting the remote between her ungainly mittens she started using the end of the remote to try and stimulate herself. That worked only slightly better, but still she lacked the ability to push just the right small section of bristles into the very right spot. The remote was too big. After a while she discarded that as well.
The Headmaster had dealt with the first two girls, leaving them sobbing on their beds, their legs still hooked to the bed heads and their red striped buttocks highly visible to the viewer. Now he pronounced sentence on the last two girls. They were to be whipped instead of caned - the cane was deemed insufficient for their crimes. He produced a two-foot long whip with multiple braided leather strands. It looked brutal to Charlotte. He now told the remaining girls that due to their repeated misbehaviours they were to be whipped. They squealed and begged for mercy, each of them in turn looking at the devilish whip.
He ignored their complaints and waited patiently for them to be silent. Slowly he moved to the first of the remaining girls. He stood with the whip raised above her and then calmly announced that not only were they to be whipped, but they were to be whipped on their pussies.
Both girls screamed anew and Charlotte felt her butterflies surge and swell within her, demanding she do something to relieve herself. As the first stinging blow fell and an inhuman scream of intense pain squalled out of the speakers of the television Charlotte dropped her mittened hand back to her crotch to try and address her desires.
Her inept attempts merely caused her incessant pain with very little sexual satisfaction and in the end she ceased her pointless efforts. Instead, while the whip rose and fell on the defenceless shaven pussies of the schoolgirls, Charlotte struggled to turn off the television. However she found that it had no on-off switch. It was operated entirely by the remote and Mr Campbell had removed its batteries. She followed the power lead to a panel in the wall, which ordinarily would have been easy to open for her, had she had fingers to use. Behind the panel she knew was the power switch, yet tonight she would be unable to reach it.
Instead she found herself unable to turn the television off, unable to pleasure herself and unable to remove her pyjamas and the taunting, punishing panties and clamps beneath.
Miserable, sexually frustrated, and constantly tormented Charlotte put herself to bed, hoping to get some sleep.
|
|
|