Melody Smith's Schooldays

Melody Smith's Schooldays

by Eve Adorer

Chapter 21 – Escapades

Oft in years not so very long ago, had my lovely granny threatened: "I'll tan your hide so that you won't be able to sit down for a week my girl!" when, tomboyishly, I had scratched my knees climbing her orchard trees. I was so assured that she never meant it that I did not take the slightest notice. Besides, as proof positive it was all talk, most often it was being said as she lovingly smoothed ointment on the graze from my latest skateboarding tumble or the like, and as she kissed my cheek to dry my later childhood tears in my later childhood years.

The pain from my caning took more than a week to ease. For the first two days after it, I could indeed not sit down. Those first two days were spent lying face downward, naked, in a bed in the academy's sickbay. I spent the whole week following my punishment in the sickbay. Throughout that whole week, I continued to learn 'the lesson' that the cane had driven into my impertinently pert petulant posterior with such unpitying force, not least when I had need to urinate or defecate; both and either of those functions being extremely painful from the whipping on my anus and within my secret slot.

The pain in my body was at least equalled if not exceeded by the pain in my young mind. Mummy had betrayed me. You may think that it had been my daddy that had let me down. Looking back from now as I write this, he was equally culpable; but to my young mind at the time, anything daddy did was forgivable and anything mummy did was traitorous.

As I lay on my tummy recovering, I found balm for my stripes in working over in my mind how much I hated mummy. "How much do I hate thee? Let me count the ways…..". At the time I thought I knew a million ways and could have listed them sequentially by strength of supposed justification, or even alphabetically, had anyone asked, so much did my hatred stew in my mind. I was, of course, just being a teenage girl. I can see that fact now.

My hatred for mummy fermented into a mathematical formula, the solution to which was my swearing to myself that I would never ever talk to her again! It seems so silly now. It was more than a little silly then, since I was more of the year at a distant boarding school than at home with her. That being so, my resolution was hardly likely to be tested, except in the sense of it needing to meet the challenge of still being in place when end of term time called on me to go to my parental home.

I suppose I was covering a little for a lot of loneliness. My daddy had wanted me beaten and deflowered to make me grow up. For the present though, I was not letting go of my childish aspects: my unquestioning unquenchable adoration of daddy still being paramount among them, even if he had slipped a little down the pinnacle.

My geographical and now emotional distance from my parents threw me in on myself and on my school companions. Even before my thrashing, I had appreciated the particular friendships I had with Josephine, Tania, Sasha, Mary, and Geraldine. The beating on my bare bummy in the presence of my parents drove me into the need of the comfort that only happiness in the love and companionship of close schoolgirl friendships can deliver.

All of these girls, except Geraldine of course, had been naughty with me. They had all had me and enjoyed me. The love and schoolgirl companionship I am talking of here is more whole and more holy than just sex alone. The physical lovemaking was a component, a lovely manifestation, a completion: the gilt on the gold with no guilt to be told or tolled.

It was now as natural, as perfectly natural, for me to spend an evening being kissed and cuddled by Sasha or Jo, as it was for us to talk, or to study in the dorm. Even Geraldine, shy lovely Geraldine, would sit for hours holding my hand and adoring me with her eyes. There was no border between sex and any other component in my life. As I went around the dorm, a prefect would take gentle hold of my hand, and turn me and kiss me. Afterwards, she might just praise my loveliness or lead me to bed. It was as natural and flowing as a river. There was no fanfare of trumpets. The prefects had privileges and I was one of their privileges.

All of the girls I name, and many another would come and see me in the sickbay. Even the head-girl came to see me. She even allowed me to stay lying on my tummy, rather than rising to curtsy to her as, properly speaking, I was obliged to.

She came, she said, to say goodbye. Her place at H****** University had been confirmed, and she was to spend a short break at home before flying out to the USA to take up her scholarship. She was being funded by a bursary from the academy.

She particularly thanked me for my help with her mathematics. We shook hands, and that was the last I saw of her. Of course, now that she is in Scottish politics, her face is in the newspapers and on TV, when there is an election in the offing not least. However, that departure at St Cath's is still the last occasion on which I saw her in person.

I should have been jealous but I was pleased for her. I'm not talking about the head-girl now. I mean Geraldine. On my third day in the sickbay she announced to me that she was in love. I should see her, she opined. I was to imagine her as like Miss Kimi Hai, the Japanese arts and crafts tutor, but prettier by far. I tried to imagine any girl prettier than the dainty Japanese angel Miss Hai, and failed totally.

Me Si, was her name. Geraldine spoke it as if Me Si were Belgian chocolate wrapped in gold leaf with a multi-faceted diamond decoratively atop. For some time in the revelation of her rapture, I assumed that Me Si was a fellow pupil. It was only when Geraldine spoke of her teaching gym, ballet, and deportment, that I realised a long outstanding vacancy on the tutorial staff had been filled. Me Si was from South Korea. To hear Geraldine, you would have thought she was from Shangri-La itself. South Korea was further away and yet maybe a little closer at hand, and Me Si had in fact only hailed from there.

All we girls at St Catherine's Academy took ballet and deportment lessons. Ever since I had joined the school, those lessons had had to be taken by Miss Pringle, the headmistress herself. I had at first assumed that that was an economy measure. Later I learned that it was because they could not find a teacher of the calibre they desired. Even now, Me Si, a former prima ballerina who had ruined an ankle, was something of a compromise. She was on trial.

……………

Why nobody told me I do not know. When I was allowed to go back to the prefects' dormitory, I found out that a new head-girl had been appointed, but nobody, not one among the girls who came to visit me in the sickbay, at even hinted at it. It was Sasha. The new head-girl was Sasha.

I was so pleased for Sasha. She deserved it. She was quite the brightest pupil in the school even, though I say so myself, putting my brains into comparative shadow. She was just seventeen, my age. I had, of course, known her from almost my first day at the school. I felt so pleased when I learned of her promotion. I felt so happy knowing that we were friends, and that the newly relaxed atmosphere in the prefecture, where I, as School Slag, was quartered on notionally lesser terms than the appointed prefects, was going to continue under Sasha's head-girlship.

It had been Sasha who had made me cum to deeply sexy stories. The one about me being girlnapped and suited up in transparent plastic, so that hornets could sting me in my honeypot was the one I had since cum to twice in my wet dreams. But the one about me being breast-crucified was not far behind in its continuing arousal factor.

I could not have been more wrong. My assumption about the continuance of the relaxed friendliness in the prefecture was proven wrong on my first meeting Sasha after learning of her appointment: indeed at one and the same time as my first meeting with Sasha after my caning.

On my return to the dorm after my week in the sickbay, I entered during the school day to find only Sasha there. I immediately walked up to her smiling to give her a kiss on the cheek as the only prize I could give her for her attainment, when she stopped me in my fragrant flow: "Haven't we forgotten something Smith?" she asked quietly.

I thought she was joking, and, giggling musically as I did so, renewed my move to embrace her.

"Remember your place Smith!" Sasha barked.

I was taken completely and utterly aback.

I instantly, as if by reflex, drew away, curtsied deeply, and hung my soft-gold-hair-crowned head submissively.

"That's better Smith. Let us not forget ourselves from hereon in. Do I make myself fully understood?" she challenged in a firm manner I had never known her adopt before toward anyone, least of all myself.

"Yes Sas….., er. I mean yes head-girl" I answered with my head lowered further still, curtsying down near the ground, with one superb leg stretched with tiptoe miles behind, the second time.

"I feel that it is long since overdue that we bring some of the old standards back into the academy" Sasha opined, as if thinking out loud whilst meaning what she said to be taken as an unquestionable directive.

"We might as well start with you Smith. You're getting very lax and too friendly by far with my prefects. I will not have it. You will learn your place. Until further notice from me, you will strip yourself completely naked and stay naked at all times whilst you are in this dorm. Apart from your shoes, you will go naked henceforth and wait upon us naked, from the end of the school day, dressing only for the dinner interval, and undressing completely immediately afterwards. Do you understand?"

"Yes head-girl", I curtsied, head on chest

"I also require you to provide essential services for us. We will so direct as and when such offices are called for. And you will provide such as I and my fellow prefects call for from you, without question", Sasha concluded.

"Yes head-girl", I curtsied once more, this time so low I almost fell over, which would have been comic were what I was being told not so cold.

I felt tears starting in my eyes as I rose, and tried to win Sasha with my most appealing look.

"Don't be insolent Smith. I will let you off this time, but don't try that sort of thing on me ever again", Sasha sneered. "What's more, for what you have just tried, I'll add to your directives, that from henceforth, you will talk to nobody in this dormitory ever again, unless they give you prior permission to speak."

I curtsied once more, silently but for the rustle of my school uniform skirt.

I then obediently, blonde haloed head down, wiggled to my room to strip completely naked, and began to cry with my shock as soon as I closed the door behind me.

My loneliness began as I stripped till I wore nothing at all bar my beauty and my black balletic tiptoe-tip-topping heelless shoes. I adorned the world superbly. It was unavoidable that I would adorn the world, I was a very curvy girl.

I realise now that I was a goddess-given opportunity for Sasha to act out in reality the fantasies that her fertile mind had bedded me with. As head-girl, Sasha had the power to order I be encased in the transparent plastic armour of her imagination if she so wished. It had only been a story before, but reality was close at hand were Sasha so to demand.

I slinked thus garbed and ungarbed back into the prefecture where all the prefects had now gathered at the end of the last day from which I had been excused lessons as I recovered from my caning. I stood quietly, submissively, with my head lowered to avoid my friends addressing me, as the head-girl, Sasha, was still there and she had forbidden me speak unless after preceding permission.

"Wow you look so sexy Melody!" Mary exuded to try and cheer me up.

"That will be enough of that, thank you Mary", Sasha instantly ordered.

"Sorry head-girl" Mary responded in reflex reflecting hardly hidden astonishment in her intonation, whilst looking around at her fellow prefects for support for a more rebellious response: support that was conspicuous by its copious absence.

As if spotting the brief flash in Mary's eye, Sasha called the attention of the prefects to herself for an announcement.

"I hope nobody thinks that in talking to Mary as I did just now, I was overstepping the mark", she began.

"No head-girl" came the mumbled answer of the multitude with "yes" not hidden too far beneath its superficial veneer.

"Good" Sasha responded. "I realise that this is only my first full day as head-girl. And I do not want to make the habit of making announcements, but I will have obedience."

There was silence.

"Miss Pringle has appointed me with an express directive to restore standards in the school. She was not alone in noticing the laxness that crept in toward the end of the time in office of our previous head-girl. She is, as I am too, of the decided opinion that that laxness centred upon one institution and the current holder of that time honoured office. I am, of course, talking about the School Slag."

"Smith is not a prefect, nor can she ever be one. She is the School Slag. As such she is a dustbin for the moral laxness than is inevitable given our more animal drives. Yet, of late, she has been treated as if she were an equal."

"I am not going to say that this must stop. I am going to say, and I say it right now, that this WILL stop"

"I do not intend ever to repeat that statement, because I do not expect it ever to be challenged".

Sasha paused for effect and to check that even the last molecule of rebellion had drowned in the sea of surrender.

"I am finding Smith's attitude entirely tiresome. I have therefore decided to re-introduce some of the duties that have, in the past ten years or so I'm informed, been detrimentally dropped from the Slag's curriculum."

"Henceforth, out of school hours here in the prefecture, Smith will wait upon our command. Her schoolwork will be secondary. It will be for her to fathom how she will fit it into her time. It is of no concern of mine or yours how she does so, or even if she does so at all, successfully or otherwise."

"Smith will not speak unless she is given prior permission. At all times whilst I am in the prefecture, the only one empowered to give that permission will be me and me alone."

"I have also issued you with a diary and pencil to carry with you or keep close at hand. In this you will score Smith out of ten each day, for the efficiency and effectiveness with which she performs her duties, regardless of whom it is that appoints those duties."

"At the end of the month, I will add up and average the scores, and for each point below ten-out-of-ten Smith manages to obtain, she will receive from me, the appointed number of lashes of the strap on her bare bottom.

One point lower than ten will earn one stroke. Thereafter, the punishment for each point doubles at each interval lower. So for two points lower than ten, Smith will get four lashes, for three points lower than ten, twelve lashes, and for four points lower than ten, thirty-two lashes, and so on".

"If this does not deliver an efficient and obedient School Slag, then I will reduce the interval between punishments to one week, and even to day-by-day if I have to. It seems to me to be the only way Smith is ever likely to learn".

"And I expect absolute honesty from you as prefects when marking her efforts. There are other girls in the school willing to be prefects. I hope I do not have to lose any of you from my charge simply from dishonesty concerning the mere calculation of the strength of corrective treatment needed for an erring Slag".

Sasha did not wait for any confirmatory acknowledgement of her express orders. She merely turned to me and, I curtsied, my lovely breasts dipping swooping swinging and swaying as I lowered my bare body when she looked over my way.

"Smith. For starters, I have decided that henceforth I myself, and all my prefects, will have their soiled panties hand-washed. You are aware of where the laundry baskets are. You will use the facilities in your own room to wash our panties. All prefects' panties will be washed dried and ironed by you from now onwards. Furthermore, you will not despoil our clothing by including among it any of your own. How you take care of your own laundry needs is entirely your look out. You are banned henceforth from using the school facilities for your laundry. Now get on with it."

I curtsied low, and obediently wiggled on my completely curve-carved calved legs to bend at waist straight-curvy-legged straight over the laundry basket and flash erotic thigh, bold bummy bare, titillating titty, and nude shaven tight-lipped naughty slot, as I began my duties.

I was frightened. This was something new. I had thought the regime of the previous head-girl, and her horrible companion, Marion, was awful, but it now looked likely to be seen as a time of joy and laughter compared with what had just been announced for me by Sasha.

I was hopeless at the domestic chores I was under direction to perform. Mummy had always done everything for me at home.

I had only the smallest washbasin in my room. To avoid mixing my own clothing, and because of the comparative quantity of it, I would have to wash my own clothing in the shower, using my washbasin dedicatedly for the tiny panties the girls wore.

For a week I suffered this silently. I was allowed no rest. As soon as I returned to the prefecture, I stripped naked to my heelless balletic shoes and began washing or ironing, or wiggling about fetching and carrying food and drinks for the girls.

Between whiles I was made to stand around on my balletically beautiful legs for my next demeaning instruction. All the prefects used me as their waitress, skivvy, slave all but. I even had to clean the prefects' room, make their beds, scrub out their showers and their lavatory bowls. And, at the end of each and every day she was there, Sasha would order me to run her bath water, and have me undress her and bathe her.

It was so humiliating and so exhausting. I had no time for myself, or my studies. Furthermore, I was not exempted from my orders to keep fit, and must do my runs and my swims and my aerobics, to keep my beautiful body beautiful. And nor was I excluded from the requirement to be the bed companion of whoever might choose me, or be chosen by lot to have me.

Every morning now, when back from my run and after my shower, I was to put on school uniform and, thereafter, stand beside Sasha's bed till she might choose to awake, and then help her bathe, and dress her.

Even after only a week of this blisteringly burdensome regime, my schoolwork had got all but irretrievably behind. I had no time for myself, and such very little time as I had left from chores, was finding me so exhausted that I was almost falling asleep.

Another week of this drudgery and slavery went by in parallel with another week of my extreme loneliness. And yet a third week of the same and the same.

It was in that third week that I met Me Si, the newly appointed gym, ballet and deportment teacher.

Actually, that is not strictly true. I had ballet and deportment lessons three times per week, but I was to meet Me Si, who took those lessons, in a particular way during the second lesson in the third week of Sasha's regime.

Let me tell you now, that Me Si was every bit and a lot more besides, as pretty as Geraldine had told me she was. She was not a petite pretty doll. She did not have the face of an angel. She was not straight raven-haired with the biggest brownest eyes you could die for, and a mouth with broad upper lip to kiss which you could only sigh for. She was all of these combined. She was so pretty she blew your mind. This little Korean doll was a dream come true. She was a vision on earth.

Me Si was completely compellingly pretty. Me Si was on trial as a teacher. And Me Si was failing her trial.

Some teachers have it and some do not. It is not as if St Catherine's Academy was lax in that regard. Perhaps it was because there were too many strictures and too much strictness, that emotional pubescent girls such as we were, needed to find a safety valve through which to blow-off their pent-up spirit, their fire and, let us be honest, the last vestiges of their childishness.

Silent attention was expected of us all in class. We were required to sit upright in our chairs with out knees pressed together and with our hands on the desk, and pay full attention to our lecturers.

That was why, in part that is, I was an outlet. I was allowed, as the School Slag, to give full unfettered let to my spirit and my femininity. Dressed in my hyper-high hemlined school uniform skirt, my unparalleled parallel legs could talk for me as I wiggle-walked showing their incredible unquestionable wonder to the world, all gracious curve and swerve and verve, the legs of a girl with the strength of a woman, being horny and sexy on behalf of her classmates who were comparatively repressed and suppressed by the system for the greater part.

Whilst their lovely breasts were contained reined-in and reigned over by the copious confining cups of brassieres, mine were free as wild horses to balloon my blouse and arouse as they floated and flowed, a part of me and so independent also from me and from each other, like alike unlike twins, sharing their identity and disputing their territory as they wobbled and waggled enticingly spicily, kittens fighting under a bed-sheet as I juddered and joddered them rhythmically behind my blouse with my dainty steps.

My luxuriant blonde hair now full flowed from my crown to my completely captivating curved calves a curtain of gold rain let loose to pour in profuse shimmering showering glimmering gold, decorously dropping down past and drowning my derriere, to curl copiously at tail tip, multi-way swishing and swaying silently sirenly as I swanly swept slide-gliding grace to the fore completely made to adore.

At my every step my daring darling derriere swung from side to side with no attempt to hide that she was girl and I girl to a T, and a tease, and to please, and to praise, and to raise the horny in the dead, as my tiptoed tread swung my bummy to entice and invite and excite, ire and desire and fire, and put the whirl in any girl heeding my skirts undulated twitching switching swishing swirl.

Despite that I was now a girl-woman newly ripped to ripeness by the cane's tip, my face and my eyes told and tolled innocence: freckles to the fore, a mouth to adore, tiny ears that would miss no wolf-whistle or "wow" as my angelic features duly fascinated my fellow females, my light-blue lanterns the windows on my sexual sexy soul as, forbidden the solo act, I must seduce and seek satiation in satisfying, and satisfaction by seduction.

And new-woman-girl between my thriving heart-throb thighs was my prize openly closed on parade as I made my way a maid made woman by whip, still a girl in her tiptoed trip, smiling vertically between her legs, tight-infolded-incurling-lipped, to be openly praised for being tight-closed, and to have her pride pried-open and unfolded as prey in the night fight to take her to delight at the demand, hot or cold, that she do as she be told and hand her slot to be sucked and fucked like a slut's.

I was girl.

I was by now lonely girl. For so long could any girl withstand the loneliness of longing to be able to talk to her fellow felines, and I had been forbidden to speak without permission.

I had suffered physical punishment, but the forbidding of my talking without licence so do to, was an emotional torture more formidable and crushing of my spirit than even the swipe; smite; spite; strikes; of the cane on my soft smooth gentle skin.

I tried to make up for the loss of companionship this forced upon me, by my passion in bed, and by my actions in class, where my giggle was now the longest and loudest, even though it was less genuine more forced planned and actressed than its natural before.

I wanted: I longed to win friends I was becoming so very lonely.

I was bedded every single night and my body still surrendered to the pleasure it both gave and received from the lovemaking it was created for by our goddess. But loveless love was all I had. It was my relief. For the while I was being passionately stroked I was in heaven, but how I longed for a meaningful kiss rather than being used like a love-doll or a whore.

Even Geraldine, now she had overcome her shyness, just used me, and had me lick her red-curl-haired lower lips without any compassion for me. And the new head-girl, Sasha was a sadist. If Sasha had been able to match reality with her stories and dress me in transparent plastic armour to make me a robotic slave, or even to nail me to a pole by my tits, as per her other favourite story, I swear that she would have done so.

As it was, I can only be grateful that reality put its limits on Sasha's behaviour with me. As it was also, she thought nothing of taunting me continuously for my low status as the School Slag, a status that had risen till her appointment as head-girl and her consequent subsequent insistent lowering of it and me with it.

For her love-making, Sasha would make me sit in a bath full of cold water for hours from midnight till the early ticks and tocks of the morning when she might, just might, choose to rape me by holding my head under the water by my throat as she savaged my slit with my frozen body fighting and my leggy legs kicking and flicking water in a halo of hello to hell as their luscious power threshed up a shower with their helplessly hopelessly decoratively pedal-kicking, like swan's wings but with greater grace and gorgeousness, threshing and bicycling the air in fearsome fight at the fright and fear of my drowning. Then she would order me to mop up the mess she considered that I alone had made in her bathroom, using my soaking-wet hair as the only aid to my slavery as she salivated over by servile succulence, or returned to her warm dry bed leaving me shivering and quivering and goose-pimpled in my teeth chattering deep chill.

On other occasions I would enter her bedroom naked as was my command to be now at all times in the prefecture, only to find two fourteen-year-old girls from the lower forms there, whom Sasha delighted in giving authority to beat me. To my deep and everlasting shame, she would even hold me so they could slap my face to my disgrace to make me cry, then she would sigh as they smacked and smacked my bare bummy till I howled, disastrously degraded, with my horny honey voraciously volcanoing lava from my insatiable love-hole.

To see me wiggling in my tiptoed shoes around the school with black-eyes and facial bruises from being beaten-up at Sasha's command was now commonplace, as was the consequent contempt in which the younger girls, who now knew they could have me at their whim, only having to get a cursory nod from Sasha, held me in.

And yet I still longed for the love and respect of my fellow-girls and tried to win them over by my misbehaviour in class, where my giggle was now the longest and loudest, even though it was less genuine more forced planned and actressed than its natural before.

Poor Miss Me Si: "Miss Sigh" as the girls who lusted after her called her. She just could not keep discipline in her lessons. We girls, so repressed by the strength and fearsome fire of the other teachers had early latched on to poor Miss Me Si's shyness and girlish vulnerability.

It happened like this. I was practicing my deportment. I was in the school uniform with white blouse twice bulged boldly out by my torpedoic gentle bosom and my grey pleated skirt pleasingly hemmed at one-and a-half-inches below the base of my bummy, my long golden fleece flouncing at my calves, as I wiggled a straight white line, rotating my irresistible hips as my bummy hemispheres rose and fell like bountiful bells, summoning the faithful to worship at my church with its unalterable unutterably urging altar between the inspiring spires my legs formed, wrapping rapidly across each other as I put one tiptoe-toed foot in front, directly in front of the other, no affront to heaven as I essayed my dainty step with a heavy book flat atop my head that I must balance head and book and look solely forward a forward girl beyond word to worship as I weaved my fragrantly flagrantly secret scented girl-musk secreting way to learn the lesson of how a girl must walk her way to heaven by being unleavened heaven in her walk.

My musk was strong in the warmth of the room, the gymnasium smelt my womanly warmth with my having no panties to hinder the rise of the spice from between my thighs. I was washed and I was clean but my musk was serene and keen to sensitive girls' noses aroused and with nostrils atwitch at my girl-sent girl-scent.

I was wiggle walking the line with the grace of a ballet dancer or a geisha having just taken my turn at the tiptoe table tennis that the sweaty Sasha and Tania were enjoying and enduring. They were not as used to being tip-top-toed in heelless balletic shoes as I, and to make them dash hither and yon in tiptoe chase of the table-tennis ball at opposing ends of the table-tennis table, was considered perfect introduction of their shapely legs to the strain and balance constraints of ideal female deportment: it would get their legs fit to be fitted with six and seven-inch stiletto heels, as the academy insisted these were the very lowest heights of heel for a girl to wear to rise in business post school.

I saw nothing of the incident. I felt so sorry for Me Si when I heard the kafuffle and turned to see that Sasha and Tania had sneaked up behind this poor innocent new young teacher, reached up her skirt and pulled her panties down to her knees.

It was just a schoolgirl prank but its proportion was disproportionate to the youthful shoots this poor girl, risen from poverty in Seoul via university in the USA to the highest of highly acclaimed St Catherine's Academy for Girls, had experienced of career ex Korea.

It dethroned her. She was lost in despair. She had had no control over the class before and was now as degraded as she was depantied. With the gentle teasing tug at each side of her pretty purple panties to pull them down to her pretty knees, Sasha and Tania had debagged poor Me Si and ended her lifelong longing to be a teacher, by failing her, by falling her panties to degrade her.

As Me Si struggled to pull her panties back up, I could see that she was fighting tears and the longing to run from the room. It was make or break for her as she thought. She was broken as a teacher and would never teach again, but as yet she thought she could save her day.

I was alone in not giggling. The girls laughed uproariously and pointed at the poiseless svelte ballerina, failed as a dancer and now failed as a teacher, as they mocked Me Si unmercifully whilst she struggled to restore her lost dignity along with her lowered panties.

"You, here now!" Me Si choking tears pointed my way commandingly.

I was innocent of taunting her with my giggle, but I felt so sorry for her that I willingly obeyed, putting aside the book I bore on my head as part of my deportment walking, to lend poor Me Si some of the authority that getting me to do as she instructed would give her.

The rest of the class was silent now, not from newfound respect for Miss Me Si, but from curiosity.

"Get on table undo blouse" Me Si ordered me and I obeyed her, lifting myself on the table-tennis table with my extraordinarily erotic legs massive thighed as I knelt astride the table-tennis net, undoing the buttons of my blouse as my crowning glory dangled wildly widely down to the table top.

"I beat girl who make me trouble!" Me Si announced with tears almost audible in her tremulous croaking voice.

I stopped unbuttoning my blouse at that announcement, realising that she had singled me out even though I had neither said acted or reacted in any way to her detriment.

But Me Si was not going to listen to any protest I might make as to my innocence of her charge, as she came around behind me and pulled my opened blouse off my tremendously stupefyingly stupendous titties, pulling my blouse down my arms so that it trapped my arms helplessly as my bare titties swung like soundless bells, the bells of a belle, the bells of a church, the bells above my altar, my altar now squatted astride the table-tennis net.

My lovely firm soft bosom bells rose and fell and fell and rose with the rising panic in my breathing as I watched with horror, as Miss Me Si took hold of one of the table-tennis bats and without more ado slapped me extremely hard on my right titty with all her dainty might.

And to my agony she began to beat bat my titties, thrashing them hard into my chest or beating them upwards and downwards or acrosswards as I hollered with the pain till she skilfully or accidentally or intentionally or unintentionally sought and caught my nipples with swipes that caused them to recoil and regroup and engorge gorgeously so that I was having my poor bare titties bells thrashed and batted and battered from pillar to post and post to pillar with the heavy bat slap slaps flattening my breasts viciously hard so my nipples were smacked and smashed and their peaky points thrashed back from where and when they appointed to point higher still. And as my titties were smacked to stretch out upwards toward my chin, I screamed. My titty bells were slapped, alternatingly, up violently hard to teach me to be good: to be a good girl. I was being taught by having my breasts brutally battered. My eyes closed as my slot began to seep as I was degraded before the class by the fury of this lass who had lost her dignity and now more completely her temper as she wildly slapped my poor breasts as hard as she could to take out on my divine body her frustration, only to leave me frustrated as her victim violated had her bare breasts slapped upwards alternately gasping with the shock of the slap of the battering bat on her bare flesh and at the coincidental incidence of internal egress of eve's eden I was excreting excitingly excitedly, and my ever shocking to me surrender to being paddled pummelled and punished till she was exhausted and I was distinctly unextinguished with my distended nipples athrob pulsing like neon lights

Me Si dropped her bat and my titty spanking was over. She dropped her bat and ran out of the class and was never seen again as I struggled to hide my arousal from my pain and pull my blouse over my brutally bruised and abused titties once again.

………………

And as I fought to replace my clothing, my degradation was complete as the mockery of the class turned from the departing teacher, Miss Me Si, to giggle and point at me, as I shuffled to get myself off the table of my torture, with one pretty hand holding my still unbuttoned blouse as closed as it could be over the over-ample samples of supreme femininity that adorned my chest and were still spilling out of my unbuttons as I squeezed their soft fullness together by the action of my gathering my blouse as shut as one lovely little hand could manage.

My bosom bells swung and hung as I had to let go my grip on my unbuttoned blouse to get myself to ground on my tiptoed toes. I held up my pretty face proudly, but inside I was as battered and bruised as my breasts were batted and beaten. I was girl mind and body and the interconnectivity of my body betrayed me, as my nipples told of the pulsing of my clit within my slit and, shockingly, this only increased as I was mocked.

I did not want this to show. I did not want them to know. I hung my head in shame and gave a little girly fart to punctuate my state, as I blushed rose red whilst I put my breasts back within the light confines of my white shirt and buttoned my thus proudly belled-out swelled-out blouse to the slow handclap of my teasing tormentors.

"We can smell your honey! We can smell your honey! my classmates, led by Nulinda, chanted, as they pointed at and mocked me whilst the truth of what they chorused oozed from my love-lips.

Is it any wonder that I decided to run away from school?

Okay, so I was seventeen now and not some prima donnas fourteen-year-old. You can say that I was old enough to know better and that I was being childish and that I should have taken my punishment like a girl.

You would be right on all counts of course. But my state of mind was driven by my loneliness. I needed the love and companionship of my fellow girls, and being enforcedly silent unless allowed to speak, and so rarely allowed to talk in fact, I had thrived and fed on unreason to the extent that I was prepared to be extreme.

I had made up my mind to run away and run away I would.

Even to run away needed some thinking though. My morning runs took me, on trust, out of school bounds, but that was hardly the best time to make an escape dressed only in my running gear.

At least my morning runs gave me a sight of the city that now encroached upon the historically isolated academy. I could not run away in my running gear. How long would I last dressed only thus, before the chill of the October weather got to me?

Yet, if not my running gear, all I had to wear was school uniform. Dare I steal some panties so that I could keep my honeypot warm?

No: I did not want to be a thief. I had only had one pair of panties of my own at the school: the disgustingly sweaty-making nylon ones I could no longer bear to wear and had thrown away. I had access to the panties worn by the prefects and head-girl, since I had to hand-wash them all, but I was not going to be a thief and steal a pair.

It was a week after my breasts had been pummelled to punish me for something in which I had no involvement or blame. It was coming up to the time when the diaries the head-girl had handed out to her prefects, would be examined for the marks out of ten I had attained, for anything less than ten-out-of-ten in the averaging of which, I would be whipped.

Is it any wonder I ran away from school?

It was easier than I imagined for me to walk out. I had on full school uniform, white blouse, grey miniskirt just one-and-a-half-inches below my nude shaven cock-pit, black suspenders, black fishnet stockings, black heelless pirouette shoes, the candy-striped crimson and canary-yellow jacket, my crimson and canary yellow slant-striped necktie, and my canary-yellow beret.

It was ten in the morning. I had been excused from class to go to the bathroom, where I had hidden my jacket and beret in readiness, and now simply tiptoe-wiggle-walked my way out of a side-gate at the academy.

I suppose if I was seen, it was assumed I had had permission to visit a doctor or dentist in the town. Certainly, despite the high tension tingling of my nerves in expectation, I was not challenged as I graced my heaven sent heavenly scented heavenly centred way toward the city.

As I wiggled along, lost in thought and misery: "Allo darlin' you come out to play den?" called a rough tough looking girl down from up her ladder where she was cleaning office windows.

I was, as ever, only too pleased to be pleasing, and blushed as this girl called after the swinging and swaying bummy of the passing me: "You're a fuckin' cracker you are darlin'!!"

I raised my lovely golden haloed head to hello the world with pride in my beauty as this crude call pleased my between-thigh's brain and sparkled my enchanting electric-blue eyes. But the autumn chill was entering my bones, chilling my exposed bare thigh where my stocking tops stopped and my skirt hem was still some miles above, and I must needs find some warmth and shelter.

The shopping mall was open, and its humid heat hit me welcomingly as I circled, heaven on luscious legs, within its revolving door and entered its heart.

Having nowhere in particular to go, such was my inadequacy as a planner, I made for the escalator in order to be able to see around me as I rode up to the next floor, without flaw in my fulsome femininity.

I had turned a little-lot to look up-down behind me at what was on the lower floor as I rode a floor and arose, a rose in the world to adore. I was half up-down the escalators rise-ride and was turned, ignorant of my innocent display, as my honeypot smiled beneath my hem-high, hiding nought of my naughty naughty, spied and espied especially full-freely by a group of three girls below looking up from below, and easily up my skimpy skirt.

Of course I should have realised the view from below as I stood tiptoe curve-legged supreme, a dream to be seen, my simply sumptuous bummy dimple-sided from my tiptop-tiptoe stance hollowing my clinging mini-skirt, and my shining shaven purse-lipped-purse proudly patently impertinently proffered as proof positive of the pulchritudinous prize between my slightly parted thighs that proved beyond doubt that I was a girl.

A cheer from the three bellowing schoolgirls below helloing me, all girls from the local school, low calling with a lowing call after my 'canny cunny' as they would call it, told me of my forgotten under-skirt nudity.

The sight of my naked love-lips, lingeringly luscious tight infolded incurving virtually virginal though violently deflowered so recently, had made the day of these fifteen-year-olds 'wagging-off' school. Here was a new girl for them to feel if they could reel her, me that is, in. There was no debate that I was become theirs to fish for, and their wolf-whistles were their fishing lines to reel me in and net me for real, for a feel if they could seal the deal.

I was innocent and ignorant of their desires as I reached the top of the escalator and slowed my walk to let them catch me up. They were of my generation. I was two-years older than they, but they represented people of my age more-or-less, that I could talk to and thus end my loneliness.

At the top of the escalator, a charming mid-twenties housewifely girl came over to me first. She had been more immediately below me as we had ridden up the moving staircase: "De yer ken yer nay got yer knickers lassie?" she asked me rhetorically, in a strongly Scottish-accented stage whisper, having first beckoned me to one side.

I blushed as I curtsied to her and lied, saying I had not realised I had none on.

"Sure, it happens to us all somewhile" she conspiratorially sympathised.

"Aye, but it was a brau view! Fair made my dee yer southern smile did yer ken!!" she grinned knowingly over her shoulder as she went on her way having winked at me to praise my horny honeyness and dangerous desirability, centred on my sensationally sensuously scented crack, the crack she had coveted as it grinned at her from betwixt my bewitching legs as we rose toward heaven together, with the doors to the heaven she so wanted to enter between, between my rising riding high hiding, high thighs.

"Yer nay from the acad are yer?" came a fifteen-year-old's voice from behind me next.

I recognised a completely limp opening introduction, to worsen which would have been impossible. But, in full uniform obvious of St Catherine's Academy for Girls, plus the additional provocations of suspenders and black fishnet stockings, I turned and smiled sweetly at my would-be and wished for by me, companions.

"Yes" was my only response, as the three younger girls, absent-without-leave from their school also, caught up with and gathered around me.

"Sure she's bastard Anglish! Tell her to fack off back a ware she kem." said one of the three lagging a little behind the rest of the 'fishing party' I had not yet realised were out to hook me, and who themselves were yet to turn full huntress even though they were bowled over by my simply stupendous sexiness.

My one word in an English accent, and a southern English accent at that, had been picked up on by the third local Scot's schoolgirl with her curly red hair wildly soft and fresh and frisky and unkempt framing a ghostly-white gorgeous face with green eyes ashine divine.

"Wanna drenk?" the girl who had first called after me asked, ignoring the protest of the redhead.

"Yes please" I answered, realising I had no money.

These girls, even the reluctant one, now gathered around me and we walked over to an open-air, save enclosed in the mall, 'open-air mock' café, where the leading girl held a seat for me, to put under me as I sat.

This charming disarming obeisance in obedience to my overwhelming girlness won my rosebush blush of pride as my head shook aside the curtain of certain gold that rolled from my crown, and I smiled up a bewitching irresistible natural generous-mouth-lips-pouting-proud come-on-and-kiss-me-it's-what-I-was-made-for 'thank you' for the recognition of my fascinating femininity this little act and big fact bestowed, showed.

As the girl strangers looked at me, them to me strangers too, I felt no danger in using my pretty hands to part the heavenly way through my heavy wave of hair, so my winning stunning freckled features, and sunny innocent smile, shone fully openly, as my hair flowed behind the back of my chair to curl a train of glistening glistering gilt without guilt on the ground I hallowed and holied with my me.

My micro-miniskirt was ridden up full filled and fulfilled by my bumptious bummy. I felt the cool clamminess of the plastic chair on my hairless peerless unpantied fully depilated slit, as my skirt hem had disappeared from my rear when I lowered my body to seat. And so I crossed a monumentally magnificent thigh high over its magnetic twin, and my black fishnet stocking top was less top-stretched, by my exposed black suspender's suspender relaxing its grip and revealing more of my sensitive sensual sinfully soft smooth crème de la crème complexioned curvaceous bare thigh skin.

I was a little nervous, and my breathing heaved my handsome uncontained unconstrained straining bosom, opening and closing my school uniform jacket a little to indicate the way to the valley twixt my mountains with their unsettling petal-pink Everest's peaks.

I was full fresh flesh and blood, thriving and throbbing, breathing speaking and seeing, talking walking and hearing, animated and alive, unbelievably constituted in a condition known on this side of heaven at least, surely surprisingly, merely as 'girl'.

A bottle of chilled spring water was put at my right hand. I made no move. The girls were all sitting around me. I made no move. Then one of them stood and opened my bottle, and I thanked her for her observant service to my alarmingly disarming girly girl charm.

"Ye're knock-dead gorgeous yer ken!" I had immediately become the conversation. I had hoped to converse about girly matters, but I had become the conversation.

"Thank you" I smiled, blushing the while, genuinely pleased at the uninvited compliment.

My startling light-blue eyes flicked from side to side, and I sought to hide that I had wanted to hear, and not hear, this said, by taking a dainty self-conscious sip of my water straight from the plastic bottle.

The girls were silent too as they looked at the shine diamonded on my succulent lower lip by the water, but I felt their eyes running all over me and loving what they saw.

"Eh what's the use eh? We wanna drenk yer pretty winey."

"Excuse me?" I asked, ignorant of what the leading girl was asking of me, it being disguised from my understanding behind her strong local accent.

This seemed to put her off asking again. I smiled to show I was just not understanding, not just saying 'no'.

"I'm sorry. I was not being rude I promise you!" I sincered gorgeously with my full-on full-open full-blue full-shining eyes, and the lightest furrows in my unlined lightly slightly freckled brow.

"We wanna drenk yer pretty winey: yer 'wee-wee'. Ye're so feckin gorgeous, yer pess, yer 'wee-wee', can only be as gorgeous as yer are sweetheart" she whispered only as loudly as I and her two friends could hear.

I had been taking a sip of my drink as she said this. I suddenly gulped on my drink and spluttered in shock, and put a shapely pretty fingered gentle hand to my mouth and nose, so as not to spill from my heavenly lips any drips of the sip of water.

I managed to swallow, and to hide my surprise by lowering my eyes. These young girls wanted, really wanted what they wanted. They clearly fully appreciated girl and wanted to savour her, that is, my wine.

I felt a little moistness between my incredible legs at this homage to my supreme girlness.

I looked at the leading girl of the three, their spokesgirl, astonished at her boldness.

My eyes swung wide each side wildly in my head as I though about what they were asking for, and blushed with humility that they should wish to worship me so.

I quickly assessed the look in the eyes of the two other girls. They had maybe not had fully in thought what their self-appointed leader had in mind, at least not before, but they clearly had now.

"Ye're incredible yer know thet. You need a dammed gud feckin. Aye yer had it up yer? I min a mon. Aye yer had a mon up yer?"

I shook my gorgeous golden hair. No man had ever had me.

"Yer dunna nid a mon up yer. Ye're a lass' lass yer ken. Ah bit yer nivver hed a lass in yer neether".

My shy interrogative look and profuse suffuse red blush immediately told my questioner that I was no innocent of other girls.

"Hell. Who'da belived it eh!" my gentle teasing tormentress increduled, laughing.

"We're gonna tek yer in the a hidey-hole and drenk yer pretty pee. We wanna drenk yer lovely wee-wee. We wan yer te gi us yer gelden winey straight from yer cunny."

I gulped on my drink knowing now that it was the intended prelude to the interlude these lasses longed for.

They wanted to drink my wine. And why should they not? Miss Pringle had had me farmed for my pee when I had undergone the doggy bitch bondage at her home. I was girl and a girl's pee is the most copiously produced and most often expelled essence of her intimate femininity. A girl's wine can be consumed in separateness from her. It is a means of taking her within one.

"Okay" I said, blushing yet once more and yet more deeply with my gilded head lovingly lowered.

The glory of a girl's wine is proportionate with the incredibleness of her beauty. These girls saw in me a carafe containing supreme silken smooth savourable softness.

As 'Vin Femme' recorded in its January 2000 (centenary) issue :
"A mid to late teenage girl produces a young wine of course, but there need be nothing tentative about its fulsomeness. It will be fruity and fecund proud and impertinent. It will cheek the pallet but yet be faithful and not cheap or a cheat.

It will have the body of non-citrus fruit; full mellifluous and flowing in its high notes like a loving violin, rather than sorrowing like a viola. Its youthfulness will ensure it will never be unseasonably sharp. Even lack of fermentation does not detract from the fervent full favour of its flavour.

The girl who drinks only fresh spring-water will produce the finest wine. A purely vegetarian diet will assure and ensure the fullest fruitsome body.

Recent exercise will give it a tang and a scampering simpering tendency to a pleasing ochre, assuring an assertive aftertaste and a bon vivant nose to delight in. A lingering fragrant bouquet is to be expected and indeed savoured.

Recent exercise will also assure minimal salt and enwrap its peaceful but boastful forcefulness in the sweetness ensured from a lusting body, and thus charge it with powerful piquancy.

It is a perfect little wine, with a bossy substantiality and quiet assertiveness ranging to proud presumptuousness, commanding the sensitive pallet and commending the taste buds.

It will usually kiss the lips shyly; but it can be a tease. Where so, it is often pert and frolicsome in its teasingness. Furthermore, it can be challenging in its demand to please.

Rarely, but rewardingly, it can also be a little taut, or deploy a bucolic innocence.

Particularly rewarding if rolled over the tongue like the smoothest cognac, it can, alternatively, be mulled. It should otherwise be swallowed like the finest oysters straight from the fount, whence it will slide down the eager throat anointing the tonsils with the slither of its silken smoothness.

Like all young girls' white wine, it can be as well favoured chilled. But the hot direct torrential spring of a girl in her spring has heaven in its favour and pulsating power in its flavour. The white wine of a mid to late teenage girl, particularly the pure lesbian variety, and even more so that of the lesbian virgin, is definitely a wine to savour!"

"It's up te yer noo. We wanna drenk yer pretty pee if ye'll letus"

"Cen yer held it atween pees. I min cen yer pee in three lots so as we can all git a drenk o yer geld winey like?"

I blushed as I nodded assent to ability at bladder control.

The leader of the three came around the table and held the back of my chair to let me rise.

"I'll shew yer where yer can share yer wee-wee we us" she smiled.

"Yer jest so feckin gorgeous we gotta drenk ye" she said by way of explanation as I rose a blushing rose from my seat, the temporary throne of my princessdom.

I wiggled tiptoe-tip-topped ahead to a hidden run-down area of the mall where the shop windows were boarded-over and labelled with "To Let" signs. One of them had a door obviously a little ajar.

Looking around to see and assure we had not been spotted, my pretty little hand was gently taken and I was led within the abandoned shop to stand with my back, shoulder-blades to the back wall, and my pubic area thus thrust a little out, and the first girl knelt down between my parted legs, my skirt hem lifted off my majesty, and cupped her mouth over my slot with her hot tongue out long and concaved like a spoon, ready to catch any stray drops I dripped.

I was surprised at the speed with which I was able to deliver as I pissed spurts into her eager mouth. And, as she gulped my precious gold, she shook her pretty hands rotating them at her wrists and flexing her fingers held aloft to tell her friends just how glorious my wee-wee was.

After I had peed into her what I felt to be a third of my store, she rose and sang my praises out loud: "Oh god thet's gid. Yer nivver tassted the like. It's perfict. Ye'll nivver tasst anythin' as gid as thet no mitter ha long yer live. It's like feckin peaches. Oh god it's so sweet. Like peaches I tell yer. She's Anglish, feck her, bit she knows howter still her feckin' winey. She musta lived on fruit al her lif. It's like yer nivver new it ced be. It's so feckin fruity. Ye'll feckin cum drinkin' it I feckin tell yer! It's like peaches! It's no feckin' pee thet; it's feckin peaches! Oh god if I hed nay med a deal with yers I'd drenk it all mesell. I ain't nivver tassted nothing like it. It's like peaches I tell yer. She's a feckin peach and she pisses feckin peaches."

A second eager mouth was drinking my second pouring of fresh pee.

"Dunna let a drop go yer bitch or I'll feckin' kill ye" the first girl joked to her eagerly slurping companion.

Then the third girl took her turn of my emptying bladder.

As this girl, the redhead she, arose from kneeling between my handsome thighs licking stray droplets from her eager lips, I looked winsomely at the first girl.

"I think I have a drop more to come if you'd like it" I smiled.

"Are yer feckin' kiddin' 'if I'd feckin' like it'? Yer gotta be the sweetest I ivver tassted. Ye're a feckin honey and yer piss peaches yer dee"

As she knelt between my lovely legs I summoned the last drops from my bladder and her eager tongue licked the moistness from me as my peeing concluded.

"Ah feckin' hell, I'll nivver tasst winey like thit agin in my whole lif: nivver!! I ain't gonna drink anythin' like thet ivver agin. Oh god you piss feckin' peaches. Jest te think we mighta lit yer go on without tasstin yer pretty piss."

I pulled the hem of my skirt the not-very-far-down my thighs that it would and would not go. Two of the girls took my dainty little hands and kissed them to thank me for letting them drink my piss.

We all meandered out from the boarded-up shop back into the busy mall.

"Where yer ef te now then yer stunnin' gorgeous wee lassie eh?" asked the first girl as if I must have had a destination before I had met them.

I had hoped to stay with them. I was desperate for companionship. I knew that they too should have been at school. I had to let them think I had a purpose in my being out of school.

"I was going to the train station actually" I lied to keep up appearance of apparent purpose.

"Thet's a rough part o' toon. The lassies there'll pinch yer pretty wee botty if yer ne be so careful"

I blushed at this care for my welfare and at shame that I had lied and could not get myself to simply say 'please can I stay with you?' as I so longed to do. I even hoped they might just say they would come with me to the station. But they seemed to have some plan I was not going to be told of, let alone let in upon.

"Yer aff to the station and yer nay get any grips? Yer know: bags an' cases an' that?" the bold girl queried.

"Oh. No. I mean, I don't need my suitcases. I'm…….. I'm, I'm meeting someone there actually." I lied yet once more again.

"Who's the lucky lassie? Yer get a gelly whose kissin' yer and drenkin yer winey then"

I blushed deep rose red at this enquiry into whether I had a steady girlfriend.

"No!…….. I mean yes!…….. But I'm meeting my mummy actually. At the station I mean."

I had now completely white-lied my way into a departure from these girls.

As they went their way, and I my lonely mine, their leader called over: "Hey! And when yer see yer gellfriend tell her from me she's a feckin lucky lassie to hey a feckin dream like yer for her gel. Look after yesin you gorgeous gelly. Watch yon lassies at the station don't pinch yer pretty wee botty now! Just yer look after yesin angel!"

I tried to wiggle-walk with dignity and purpose, as if I had destiny. I had been out of school for two hours or was it three by now. I had run away from school and had nowhere to run to, let alone hide.

I wiggled my enticing exciting inviting way to the train station. I might as well. I had said I was going there. Perhaps the girls I had met would recall that fact. Perhaps they already had. Perhaps the wonder of my wine would cause then to come and find me so they could taste some more of my piss in due time.

Because, I suppose, because of its familiarity, I made my way to platform three where trains from my home town usually pulled in. I had no money and no spare clothes. I could go nowhere.

As I stood on the platform angelic delight to the sight, on the site of my arrival at the school just over a year since, a large middle-aged woman slowly sidled up close to me.

"You're wasting your time and mine, waiting for your girlfriend honey"

I tried to ignore her.

"Well, it ain't a boyfriend is it?" she continued, "You're from the academy. That's the St Catherine's uniform you've nearly got on your sexy little body. They're all lessies at the academy. They've got lesbianism top of the curriculum I hear told."

"Please go away" I entreated with my sweetest winning smile.

"What you need is a real woman!" she insisted, evidently offering her, in her mind, indispensable services.

I wiggled a little further along the platform and looked with flawless gorgeous wrinkled brow into the distant, even holding a lovely hand, salute-like, over my eyes to shelter them and see further toward the nothing in fact I was looking at, as if there were someone I would soon spot that I was waiting for.

"What you need is a damned good spanking", my unwanted companion, who had followed me, averred.

"I'd make you squeal. Bet you squeal like a stuck piglet when you cum."

"Please leave me alone!" I begged almost bursting into tears.

"Stuck up little bitch! I'd slap your bum if I were your headmistress!"

Then a hand, not her hand, but another woman's hand went up my rear skirt hem and pinched my bare bummy's taut right cheeky cheek as hard as it could, and I yelped and leapt with the shock and surprise at the invasion of my privacy and the cruel pinch that had bruised me.

Tears smarted in the corners of my eyes, as the two women, my taunter and my tormentor, laughed at my sexy little-girl's squeak and leap of sharp shock and sudden surprise at having her bare bum painfully pinched.

"That got her Gladys" mocked my original goader.

"She ain't got no knickers on neither" Gladys crowed in surprise to my original tormentor.

"Fucking dirty little slut! You ain't kidding me are you Glad?"

"No kiddin': no knickers and 'er in a skirt as short as that. She deserves what she gets if you ask me"

"So we better had give it to her then, eh Glad!?"

"On the count of three we grabs 'er and gives 'er the old what-for eh? She's fuckin' asking for it anyway, the dirty little cat!!"

They each grasped tight hold of one of my sweet little hands and smiled at me, to make it look to any closed-circuit security cameras that what was going on was from willing friendliness, but intending in fact to rip my arms up my back if I resisted their taking me somewhere to feel me.

They were going to drag me away and feel and caress me. They wanted to feel my youth. They could see how flawless my body was, and how incredible shapely I was. They intended to run their hands endlessly over every single part of me, turn by turn, to enjoy my youthful rigour and vigour, to feel and caress my smoothness, and assure themselves that the delight their eyes saw, indeed in reality had three warm pulsing pulsating dimensions and all of them beyond delightful.

"……one!….... two…… they began to count up to their intended taking of me to where they could caress me. I looked around wildly and desperately. I could not run in my tiptoe shoes and they knew it. It was part of their foreplay to tease and frighten their intended victim and I was frightened, very frightened. I spotted that a third and fourth woman waiting to grab me if I escaped the first two. I was being lined up for a group-feel. These women, complete evil strangers to me, intended to take turns to run their hands all over my silk smooth, milk smooth, taut tight young girl's body, stripping me naked even, of that I had not the slightest doubt.

A train began to pull in and I was never so pleased, in my young life, to see doors opening and strangers alighting as I knew I was being lined up to be stroked had the two tormenting women had their full way.

They had to let go my hands and only one now held just my dainty fingers, and those more gently, hoping to still grab me to strip and feel me, once these passengers, and potential saviours of me, had dispersed.

Then I spied mummy getting of the train.

I had no reason at all to know she would be there. I knew not why she should be in Scotland. But it was mummy getting off the train. It really was mummy getting of the train.

"Mummy!!" I screamed, and the two women let full go of me with muttered vile oaths questioning whether I was worth caressing in any case, and suggesting how I had best earn my living, as I totty-trotted in my tiptoe heelless shoes, heedless of the damnation and hatred I had heaped upon mummy in my mind after my caning, toward my mummy whose loving arms soon held me and squeezed me in warmth and tenderness.

"Melody! Sweetheart!? What ARE you doing here!? Why aren't you at school?" mummy gasped in her total surprise.

Mummy hugged me and in her sweet clumsiness caught up the rear hem of my skirt and held it around my waist so I was showing my super-smooth perfectly-soft flawlessly supremely creamy dreamy complexioned deep-dimple-sided firm young bottom, with a fresh sweet bruise where I had just been cheekily pinched on my right cheek, completely, demandingly, commandingly bare, to my would-be caressers.

I knew what I was showing and they were seeing. And, safe in mummy's protection and comforting arms as I now was, I turned and smiled shyly at them as they looked helplessly at the heaven they had just missed feeling.

Then, out of mummy's embrace, as I wiggled by them, holding mummy's hand my glorious gold hair flicking my incredible calves when I swung my hips, it was abundantly clear that my would-be ravishers were entirely right: I not only deserved, but also decidedly needed, a damned good spanking.