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Chapter 7
“I drive a blue Fiat. Tomorrow I will park across the street. I have brown hair and I will be wearing a white and black polka dot skirt suit. I will leave my leather briefcase ‘accidentally on purpose’ on the roof of the car, cross the street and then ‘realise’ I’ve left my case behind…”
Christine watched a brunette in a polka dot suit cross the road against a blustery head wind. Both hands were trying in vain to stop her skirt blowing up about her waist. The strong wind whipped about her hair and jacket, her clothes billowing and cracking in the cold winter wind. Suddenly she stopped in the middle of the street, turned back toward her car and walked back to retrieve the leather briefcase she’d left on the roof of the blue car. She’d been so preoccupied with preventing a Marilyn Munroe moment that she’d forgotten her briefcase – or so it would seem to any onlookers who weren’t aware of the subtle message behind the act of leaving the case behind.
The steel door to her cell opened with a loud click and Christine dropped to the floor. She had been hanging from the bars of her little window to witness the masquerade outside.
But now she sighed loudly. A new day loomed, a day that would likely be filled with rape, torture and humiliation, but at least it had started with Sophie’s story checking out. The faceless woman on the little radio bud in her ear now had a face and it appeared as though she came and went of her own volition. Hope bloomed. If Sophie could survive three years suffering the types of repulsive acts she’d described, then Christine cope with her lot too.
Christine joined Pain in the common room where the blonde was already jiggling a key in the steel door to the cell that held School. The door opened revealing School and half a dozen blackboards. School – unfettered and still in the cheerleading outfit she’d worn since yesterday – looked about with a look of pure satisfaction on her face.
“Just a second more,” she requested as her left hand cradled her right. With an awkward, shaky and spidery script she finished the last line on the sixth blackboard and then straightened her back for a long stretch. From left to right, top to bottom, all six black boards had been filled with the line: “I will keep on writing lines until I beg to have my cunt caned.
“I will keep on writing lines until I beg to have my cunt caned.
“I will keep on writing lines until I beg to have my cunt caned.”
And so on, from the first perfectly printed line to the final wobbly, scrawl: “I will keep on writing lines until I beg to have my cunt caned.”
Six blackboards – all full – and as such School would avoid the monstrous strapping that had been promised her if she’d failed to finish her lines.
“Wow.” Christine uttered in awe at School’s unlikely achievement. When Mister Black had issued the challenge everyone had seriously doubted that School could finish in time; but she had.
School stood before the last blackboard alternately shaking and massaging her hand. “It’s only a matter of time,” she said almost to herself, but loud enough for both the other girls to hear her.
“Are you going to be okay?” Christine asked naively.
“I’ll have to be, I don’t have any other choice do I?” The redhead snapped back, short of temper.
“Sorry, I meant–“
“No. Look, I’m sorry.” School retracted. “I’m just tired and my hand’s sore. And I’m not exactly looking forward to this,” she waved at the blackboard. “Every time I write it, I think about it, I imagine it. I wonder whether I’ll get ten, or twenty strokes. I wonder who will administer it, Mistress Red who strikes hard and holds, or Mister White who’ll be light, whippy and repetitive, Mister Green–“
“Stop it,” Pain interrupted, “you’re just making it worse.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” School snipped back.
“Well then why don’t you just stop it? Think of something else!”
“Like what? The type of cane they’ll use and whether they’ll break the skin or not?
“SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!” Christine surprised herself by shouting at the two other girls. “Stop it. Stop fighting amongst yourselves!” She looked from one to the other with the firmest look she could muster. “This isn’t achieving anything. And I don’t know about the two of you, but I have to get ready for inspection. Who’s having the first shower?”
---
Clean and dirty: such a contradiction. In her mind she knew she was perfectly clean... on the outside. Every part of her body had been soaped, scrubbed and scoured. A razor had eliminated every wisp of hair from her body, her no-no hole had been douched and her bottom thoroughly cleaned with several quarts of soapy enema.
She looked clean. Her hair gleamed, tied in pigtails with pink satin ribbons. Her pink satin and silk dress was perfectly clean and pressed. The childish outfit resembled a more mature baby doll except for the fact that it had an outlandish set of petticoats and puffy elasticised sleeves. The dress’s waist bow tied over her slight breasts and below those the skirts cascaded and ballooned with a multitude of pink chiffon petticoats. The white lacy hem of the dress stopped at the base of her pert bottom and as such it fully revealed the frilly pink plastic pants that enclosed her bulky diaper. From there her naked and pale white thighs turned to knees and then down to her socks and shoes which were perfectly clean. The black patent leather of her mary jane shoes were polished to mirrored perfection. The white frilled ankle socks – bleached and spotless.
And yet she felt dirty. In spite of her pristine appearance Christine knew that underneath she was unclean. Standing in line awaiting inspection she felt like a piece of meat: spoiled meat. Corrupt and soiled. Her innocence forever destroyed by the horrific acts she’d endured and witnessed in this place.
She remembered the morning’s exchange between Pain and School, where School had kept imagining impending punishments and could think of nothing else. Christine sympathised. She too couldn’t help but remember events of recent days. No matter how hard she tried to think of other things she couldn’t stop remembering. In particular: the sodomy.
Her bottom throbbed at the memory of Mr White’s cock filling her burning anus with his stumpy cock, or of herself impaling her bottom on the rocking horse. She shuddered as she imagined herself being filled again… back there in that most shameful of places.
She remembered Mister Black screaming at her, telling her never to put anything in her “no-no hole” and: “the only fuck hole in your body we’re concerned with is your delicate little arsehole.” She remembered his face as he’d screamed: contorted, evil and terrible.
Her bottom throbbed and an involuntary tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered the filthy feeling of her anus being stretched, filled and defiled. Her stomach churned.
She shook her head, and tried to think of other things while she waited. She looked over at Pain. The blonde had her back to Christine as she leaned up against the wall to take pressure off her tortured feet.
“Samantha”, Christine remembered to herself, “her real name is Samantha. But I shouldn’t even think of her like that for fear saying it out loud accidentally.
“Pain, her name is Pain.
“Pain wears white.
“Pain likes pain. Pain has started hurting herself to get off,” she shook her head at such an inappropriate thought.
“Pain’s shoes are hurting her,” this was safer territory, “Poor girl, in those terrible panties, bra and shoes.” She looked at the shoes in question, the high heeled pumps with ankle straps. “Too bad about the hard bumps inside because otherwise they really are very pretty shoes,” she deliberately kept up this stream of consciousness, deliberately trying to avoid thinking about her own bottom filled with cock, desperately trying to drown out any other horrific memories and thoughts: “Nice shoes, nicely seamed stockings, straight up the back of her legs, nice thighs, I really like the way they softly touch each other, nice round thighs–“
She stopped cold.
She spun away from looking at Pain. Don’t’ look there. Anywhere but there.
“The table, look at the table. There’s the key to the cell, and the carton of milk that I had with my breakfast. And the loaf of bread that we have to break apart with our fingers because the Masters won’t let us use knives.
“You were looking at her, weren’t you?” Christine accused herself.
“No.”
“Now you’re lying to yourself. You were looking at Pain and you were lusting after her.”
“Not!”
“Yes you were, you looked at her thighs and liked the way that they touch each other, just below her crotch, then you wanted to look further up, where there’s a little gap, a little triangle of light formed by her two thighs and her…”
“No! Shut up!”
“Yes you did, you know you did. Go on, look again, you know you want to...”
Christine looked slowly back, Pain still leant against the wall, favouring one foot over the other, one meaty thigh slightly in front of the other, brushing up against its mate, the soft flesh squishing slightly together before the smallest gap could be seen between her thighs and crotch. The skin-tight latex panties clearly outlined where her tortured mound lay distressed by the bristled inner surface of her panties.
“You filthy lezzie,” she chided herself, “look at you, looking at a girl like that,” She looked away again in embarrassment and fear.
“She kissed you and now you’re becoming one of them, like the other two, filthy fornicators! Sinners!”
“Shut Up!” she squealed at the other voice in her mind, “It’s not like that!”
“Yes it is, look at her, go on! LOOK at her!”
She looked back again, and this time Pain had turned back and saw Christine looking across. For a split second Christine looked at Pain, or more accurately, at Pain’s crotch and soft round thighs, and then she looked up quickly. She’d been caught! Her gaze met Pain’s eyes just long enough to see that Pain knew exactly what Christine had been looking at. Christine turned away rapidly and immediately felt the burning shame of humiliation wash over her.
“She saw!
“No, it wasn’t like that,” she tried to rationalise, “I was just looking and I noticed she has nice legs. That’s all. There’s nothing wrong with admiring another woman’s body.”
“True,”
“And that’s all it was. Admiration.”
“Then why is your hole wet?”
The horrific realisation hit her that she was wet. Wet between her legs. Wet from looking at Pain.
“No.”
“Yes. You’re a filthy little lezzie, just like the others. You’re going to burn in Hell!”
“No I am not!”
“You are repulsive! Gross! Abhorent! Foul and detestable! You are repugnant before God!”
“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” She screamed at herself. The cacophony of her internal monologue had consumed all of her attention to the point that she barely noticed Mistress Red’s entrance.
“Morning sluts!” Mistress Red’s voice echoed throughout the room. “Well, first things first, let’s have a look at you all and see whether School finished her lines or not. Personally, I hope not.”
Christine’s warring voices declared a ceasefire as Mistress Red approached the line. Starting with School she looked the girl over from top to bottom. School was attired in a Japanese schoolgirl uniform with sailor suit style yoked collar, a short pleated mini skirt and knee-high puffy white socks with black leather slip-ons. Her fiery red hair clashed violently with the navy and white uniform.
Mistress Red’s harpy like talons hauled up School’s mini skirt and began circling and patting School’s crotch. “Did you learn anything last night my precious little toy?”
“Yes Mistress,” School uttered while Mistress Red licked her lips lasciviously in front of School’s face. The older woman’s tongue lolled suggestively over her wrinkled lips, her lengthy and sharp finger nails dug lightly into School’s girl flesh.
“So,” Mistress Red breathed, “What will you do?” She asked, stressing and dwelling on the word ‘what’.
“Write lines Mistress,”
“Until?”
“Until I beg to have my cunt caned Mistress,”
“Yes…” Mistress Red’s finger nails gouged a little deeper through the cotton panties into the folds of School’s labia, “Yes, you will won’t you. How is your hand?” She asked insincerely.
“Sore Mistress,” School answered, biting her lip as the woman’s manicured acrylic fingernails dug uncomfortably into her clitoris and labia.
“Do you want to beg yet?”
“No Mistress,” School answered meekly.
“You will, and then I will cane your cunt. Are you looking forward to it School slut?”
“No Mistress.”
“That’s a shame, because I am looking forward to it very much. So much so that I am going to keep an eye on you personally all day today. I want to be there to hear you beg for me to cane this sweet little fleshy mound between your legs. To make it swell up. Make it hard and red. Welt it up so badly that it’ll swell shut. Line stroke after stroke; one upon the other until your horrid hole seeps blood onto my cane. Mmm, doesn’t that sound ever so tasty my little slut?”
“No Mistress.”
“What! You disagree with me?” Mistress Red’s hand left School’s crotch, and a single scarlet painted fingernail prodded the soft flesh under School’s chin, bringing School eye to eye with the older woman.
“Do you disagree with me?” Mistress Red asked again.
“No Mistress.”
“So you do think that caning your sweet little cunt sounds like a tasty idea?”
“No Mistress,”
“Then you do disagree – ”
“Yes Mistress,” School changed her story as the fingernail under her chin dug sharply into the soft flesh.
“What do you disagree with then?”
“That caning me sounds like a good idea.”
“I didn’t say a good idea slut. I said a tasty idea.”
“Yes Mistress.”
“Then we agree?”
“Mistress?” School looked confused.
“That caning your cunt until it welts closed is a tasty idea.”
“I didn’t say that!” School said fearfully.
“Oh! You didn’t?” Mistress Red took a long hard look into School’s fearful eyes. “Did you finish your lines?” The dominatrix took a new angle of attack, turning away temporarily.
“Yes Mistress,” School responded, a look of slight relief evident on her face as the conversation moved into a less cryptic mode.
“Hmmm…” The dominatrix spun about on her heel and walked toward the cell door, School remained where she was. “Come here!” Mistress Red scowled across the room. School quickly crossed the floor and entered the cell where Christine could just see the middle aged sadist standing in front of the last blackboard.
“Read this out loud.” Mistress Red ordered School.
“I will write lines – ”
“STOP. I said to read it out loud, not to tell me what you think it says.” The dominatrix pushed past School and pointed straight at Christine, “You. Come here.”
Christine swallowed anxiously and crossed the floor to the cell door. She looked down at the ground, trying to avoid Mistress Red’s gaze. She looked straight at the tied shoe laces on the dominatrix’s strict and proper-looking oxford heels and grey stockings. “Lolita, can you read that?” She pointed at one of the lines two-thirds of the way down the board. Christine could read the line – barely and only because she knew what the line said from its previous and repeated iterations – but she saw that in this instance School’s writing had deteriorated as the night had progressed and as her hand had cramped more and more.
Christine wondered what to do, should she say she could read the line? Or not? What should she do? What response was expected? The one that would get School in the most trouble of course. But that would likely incur School’s anger, and the redhead had already shown a spiteful temper. Christine didn’t need to be watching her own back for the other girls. Coping with the Masters and Mistress Red was bad enough.
Luckily she was saved making any decision.
“But how silly of me. Babies can’t read, can they?” Mistress Red said condescendingly. “You can’t read can you Lolita?”
Christine looked straight down at Mistress Red’s shoes again, but a sharp finger nail quickly gouged under her chin and pushed her eyes up to meet Mistress Red’s.
“Can you read Lolita slut?”
“Yes Mistress.”
“Really? I don’t think so. I think you’re lying to me. Little girls can’t read. I think you’re trying to impress your Granny by pretending to read things that only big girls can read. Here, let me show you.” Mistress Red took Christine’s hand in hers and stepped toward the Blackboard. Christine – at first – failed to follow, but a quick squeeze of her hand, with acrylic fingernails digging into the flesh of her palm, quickly convinced Christine to step forward.
“This says, ‘I… will… keep… on… writing… lines… until… I… beg… to… have… my… cunt… caned…’ now that word there is a word that little girls shouldn’t use. It’s a grown up word for your private parts.”
“Yes Mistress,” Christine answered reluctantly after Mistress Red had made Christine’s finger underline each word in turn, sounding out each syllable carefully.
“So you shouldn’t ever say that particular naughty word. Ever. Do you understand, or does Granny have to get cross? What word should you use instead of that nasty word?”
Christine blushed immediately, “No-no hole?” she answered shamefully.
“Now let’s try again, and this time you say the words with Granny.”
Mistress Red sounded out the words one at a time getting Christine to repeat them back, but when she got to the penultimate word she replaced it with “no-no hole”.
“‘I… will… keep… on… writing… lines… until… I… beg… to… have… my… no-no hole… caned…’ Now little Lolita, caning is something that only happens to bad girls, are you a bad girl?”
“No Mistress.” Christine said quietly.
“And caning bad girls on their ‘no-no holes’ is the very worst sort of caning that a bad girl can expect. It hurts very very much and Granny hopes she never has to do it to my little girl. Now are you a good girl?”
“Yes Mistress,” Christine said fearfully, unsure of what answer to give.
“Good girl. Now let me have a proper look at you.” She released Christine’s hand and commenced inspecting her carefully. She checked the tying of her pink waist bow and the shine on her shoes. She brushed a few wayward strands of hair away from the nape of her neck where they had escaped the short pigtails that sprouted straight out of Christine’s head. Finally she patted Christine’s thickly padded bottom, clearly enjoying the crinkly sounds and feel of the plastic pants under her fingers.
“Are you wet?” Mistress Red asked suddenly.
Christine’s mind – already in a heightened state of tension as a result of the inspection – went into overdrive. “Oh my God, she knows! How was I betrayed?
“Now look at what you’ve done, this is what comes from lusting after another woman, you slut, you unnatural beast! You deserve everything that’s about to happen, its God’s will!
“Wait! Wait a moment,” her rational mind punched back quickly, “Get a grip, she means the diaper, she’s asking whether you’ve wet yourself, she can’t tell through what’s happened through that thick cloth, she’d have to have x-ray vision… how could she possibly know your secret place is slick because you... Just take a deep breath, you are wet, but from pissing yourself, not from that other thing.”
“Yes Mistress,” she said out loud. “I couldn’t help it.” hoping that Mistress Red would take the blush crossing her face for embarrassment caused by her involuntary incontinence and not for the real reason.
“Call me Granny,” she patted Christine’s hand lightly. “And if you’re a good little girl for Granny we’ll change your diapy in just a widdle minute. Granny will finish talking to the big girls first. Go and play in your corner little Lolita.” Mistress Red said kindly and patted Christine again on her padded bottom.
Christine was torn in three or four emotional directions at once. Her inner demons were still screaming at her for having enjoyed looking at Pain. They accused her of all sorts of repulsiveness; but at the same time she felt profound relief that she’d escaped any punishment at Mistress Red’s hands. She still remembered the enormous strap that Mistress Red had wielded with such brutality on her first day in the house, the terrible slap in the face that she’d landed on Christine within a moment, the way she’d pounced with such violence and speed. The older woman was fast, vicious and unrelenting.
But now she felt sick to the pit of her stomach at the thought of having her diaper changed by Mistress Red. “Granny’s” kind words stood in stark contrast to Mistress Red’s normally harsh nature and Christine’s quickly developing cynicism guessed that this new persona was just a front for some new diabolical form of sadism. And finally she felt cascading waves of humiliation wash over her. Every condescending word from the older woman’s lips had served to remind Christine of her role. Now she was being told she couldn’t read, that she wasn’t a ‘big girl’, she was being given new and infantile names for various parts of her body and irrationally she had even began to feel as though she had no place in the ‘adult’ world around her. Fundamentally Christine knew that this was just another tactic to reinforce her humiliation, but nevertheless she couldn’t help but feel: relegated… reduced? She stretched to put a word to her feelings but couldn’t.
Slowly she shuffled off to a corner. With each step her plastic pants crinkled and her petticoats rustled. Finally she sat in a corner and looked back at the other three women. Mistress Red quickly reverted to her dominatrix mode as she called Pain across to the blackboard.
“Read this.” She said harshly to the blonde.
“I can’t Mistress.”
“Why not?”
“It’s illegible Mistress.” Pain answered truthfully. School flashed a look of anger toward Pain.
“I disagree with you slut. It’s partially readable. I can make out the words “write lines” and “beg to have my”, but I can’t read the rest. Why did you lie?” Mistress Red asked harshly, “Did you want to get your friend in trouble?”
“No Mistress. You asked me if I could read the whole sentence and I said I couldn’t.”
“Liar!” Mistress Red stated loudly and took a step in toward Pain. “I told you to read it and you pretended that you couldn’t read any of it. I can only assume that you wanted to see School punished. Isn’t that right?”
“No Mistress, I couldn’t read the whole sentence–”
“Shut up! You’re a lying slut, and I’ll teach you not to lie again. A notch on the bra for the day will surely teach you a lesson.”
Pain’s chin touched her chest, her head bent and eyes downcast.
“And since it was your friend that you tried to get in trouble, she can do the honours.” Mistress Red looked at School, who still looked affronted from Pain’s failed attempt to read her lines. “Tighten her bra a notch.” She directed.
“Yes Mistress.” School answered. Christine could almost detect a hint of satisfaction in School’s voice and now Christine was especially grateful for not having dropped School in trouble for miswriting her lines. The redhead clearly had a vengeful streak running through her.
School gripped the ties behind Pain’s bra and Christine watched as the girl in the Japanese schoolgirl uniform pulled the ties that tightened the nooses in Pain’s bra. Christine sat behind the pair, and as such she couldn’t see Pain’s reaction, but she did hear a sharp intake of breath. School finished tightening the rig – including the net of cords that tightened the bristle and spike encased cups around Pain’s newly constricted breasts – and then Christine thought she head the slightest hint of a sob from the blonde.
Mistress Red stepped forward and inspected School’s work. In the process she slowly spun Pain through 360 degrees which gave Christine the opportunity to see that the punishment bra had only been tightened an inch or so; nowhere near the extremes that Mister Black had imposed on the girl a couple of days ago. Nevertheless Pain’s pendulous breasts appeared slightly distended and Christine could only guess at how they must feel with stiff scrubbing brush bristles rasping over her tit flesh and spikes gouging her nipples. Suddenly Christine remembered that Mister Black had taken sandpaper to Pain’s breasts only the day before and she gulped while dramatically re-estimating the agony that the tightened bra must be imparting on Pain’s already scoured and scraped breasts.
“Good. Any more misbehaviour and it gets tightened again, do you understand?”
“Yes Mistress,” Pain answered carefully.
“Now; this still doesn’t mean you’ve escaped.” Mistress Red turned her attention back to School. “Can you read that line?” She asked once more.
“No Mistress.”
“Why not.”
“It’s too messy to read Mistress.”
“Correct. And what were your instructions last night when you drew the short straw?”
“Fill all six boards with lines Mistress.”
“And did Mister Black tell you that they had to be clear and legible.”
“He said–“
“Did he tell you that they had to be clear and legible?” Mistress Red asked School coldly. Her voice, although calm, sent chills down the spine of everyone else in the room.
“Yes Mistress,” School answered quickly, cowering before the terrible woman in her brown tweed suit.
She began to pace in front of the blackboards, Pain and Christine looked on fearfully while School cowered on her knees.
“We even ruled lines for you so that you could keep them neat. You had plenty of chalk. You had all night to finish a measly six boards worth of lines. We even wrote the first one nice and clearly for you. And this is what we get?
“Can you read this one?” She pointed at another line, this one on the fifth board.
“No Mistress,” School answered.
“This one?” Another messy line.
“No Mistress.”
“This one, or this one. Here, here and here. And another here. Can you read them?”
“No Mistress, but–”
“I didn’t ask for excuses. I asked a simple question. Can you read them properly?”
“No Mistress.”
Mistress Red stopped in front of School and towered over her. “You know the penalty: the strap.” She let the word sink in. “Five straps per infringement. That’s the rule isn’t it?”
“Yes Mistress.” School answered tearfully, probably imagining what the heinous two foot long leather strap would do to her barely recovering posterior.
“I see nine lines that can’t be read. That’s forty-five strokes. Delicious. Pull down your pants and bend over, show me your bottom!” Mistress Red ordered.
School stood timidly and pulled her cotton panties down to her knees, she flicked the pleated mini skirt up and bent over to expose her bottom. Christine had an oblique view, but nevertheless she could see that School’s bottom had barely had an opportunity to recover from its last severe beating. She was black and blue, but at least the skin was intact. The last time Christine had seen School’s bottom it had been covered in gauze and seeping blood. At least it had recovered somewhat since then. But forty five strokes! Christine couldn’t imagine the damage the enormous strap would do to the poor girl.
“Oh dear.” Mistress Red’s fingers prodded the bruised flesh. “This looks like it needs a bit longer. Doesn’t it slut?”
“Yes Mistress.” School answered with a twinge as Mistress Red poked an index finger into a particularly dark bruise.
“I am in a good mood today slut. I am feeling full of a kindness of spirit and so I will make a deal with you. If you give in today, if you beg me – not one of the Masters, not Mister Green or Black or White – if you give in to me and beg me to cane your cunt, I will translate these forty-five strokes of the strap into a bare extra ten with the cane. Ten extra strokes on top of what we’d intended to give you. Just an extra ten. And they won’t be going on your poor bottom, which as we see is already very very badly bruised. Instead they will be going on this pristine flesh.” Two talon like fingers grazed either side of School’s cotton-clad slit. “Ten tiny little strokes. Or forty-five great big belting blows with my prison strap. Now you don’t have to tell me now. Just beg me before the day is over. Do you understand?”
“Yes Mistress.” School gulped.
“But if you don’t… well then I will tie you over that table out there and land forty five of the hardest blows that I have ever had the privilege to deliver. And when you faint after the first one – because I promise you that you will – I’ll rouse you with smelling salts and thrash you again. And again. And again. I will turn that bottom of yours into raw desiccated flesh. I promise you that it will be the most terrible thrashing you have ever encountered.”
A light in School’s eyes extinguished and at that point everyone in the room new that School was beaten and that it was now only a matter of time.
---
Christine’s stomach churned. Her heart palpitated. Her blood felt as though it were about to explode out of her veins at any moment in a high pressure fountain of crimson.
She couldn’t cope.
She couldn’t cope with everything happening to her and around her. It was just too much.
Mistress Red’s inspection had finished with an announcement that the girls were invited to dinner. All four sadists would attend and the girls would provide the “entertainment”. Mistress Red’s lip had curled in a cruel grin as she delivered the news.
Christine didn’t like the sound of “dinner” and a quick glance at Pain (swallowing anxiously), and School (even more horrified than she had been moments before) did little to settle Christine’s frazzled nerves.
“You,” Mistress Red prodded her finger firmly at Pain’s chest evoking a squeal as a plastic spike gouged a nipple beneath the white latex, “Clean the silverware. You,” this time she indicated School, “Back to your lines.” The two girls quickly scuttled out of the cell and down the stairs toward the playroom.
Christine looked up as Mistress Red approached slowly, the stout heels of her austere shoes clicking loudly on the cold hard floor of the cell. But the evil grin melted, the older woman’s cheeks blossomed, her eye’s brightened. “Come here little one, come and give Granny a big hug.” She held out her arms, the palms of her hands rotated toward the sky, inviting Christine to embrace her.
Christine reacted in the only way possible, she complied. What else could she do?
Mistress Red’s arms embraced the younger (and shorter) Christine and no sooner had the hug begun than Mistress Red pulled Christine’s head between her breasts.
As her head lay nestled between Mistress Red’s ageing breasts, Christine tried to get a handle on her rampant emotions and thoughts. Too many things coursed through her. Above all she felt revulsion and embarrassment at being caught ogling Pain. She knew the other girl had seen her, and she dreaded their eventual encounter. How would she explain? What would Pain say? Would she ignore the incident? Would Christine have some awkward questions to answer?
And more importantly, how did she actually feel about the fact she’d caught herself admiring the other girl? The bible taught her that such things were wrong… very wrong. But so many other things that happened here were so very contrary to the Lord’s word. How could she work out what was right and wrong? She had no pastor to seek guidance from. No source of authority to rely on. No one to talk to except Pain herself, and she was beginning to think that her friendship with the blonde wasn’t such a good idea after all. In short, Christine was very confused.
Overlaying all of these random thought strands was a feeling of terribly anxiety. For School who had all but given in to having her private parts caned. At what this evening’s dinner might herald. Last – but far from least – she wondered and dreaded what travails she would encounter in the next few minutes with her head between Mistress Red’s breasts.
The Dominatrix’s hand now brushed errant hairs from the nape of her neck. She gently stroked Christine’s cheek, and then her hand fell down the younger girls flank and finally settled on her bottom; patting her crinkly plastic pants.
“You’re wet aren’t you bubby?” Mistress Red cooed lightly in Christine’s ear. Christine shuddered.
“Yes,” she paused momentarily, hating herself even more, “…Granny.”
“Well let’s get you all fixed up then, come along, let’s go and change you.” Christine let herself be led into her own bedroom where Mistress Red pushed Christine down onto her bed and then pulled her feet up and around onto the mattress. Christine laid back meekly, fearing what might happen to her but afraid to resist, afraid to incur Mistress Red’s terrible temper.
Her plastic pants were pulled down about her ankles to reveal her thick cloth diaper. She’d only worn it for an hour or so and so it wasn’t too wet. Just enough to have begun to become uncomfortable. Mistress Red pulled the pins holding the terry cloth about Christine’s waist and then folded the material back to reveal the damp patch between her legs.
Mistress Red shook her head disapprovingly, “Naughty little girl aren’t you? If you can’t control yourself, we’ll just have to keep on putting you in diapers, just like a little baby. Are you a baby Little Lolita?”
Christine shuddered. There was no clear answer to the question. Should she agree, or not?
“No?” she suggested hesitantly.
“Well what’s this?” Mistress Red thrust the soiled cloth beneath Christine’s nose, and she retched, barely staving off a vomit.
“Urine Mistress,” she answered quickly, eager to escape the murky stench of her own stale piss.
Mistress Red’s hand flashed out, her sharp fingernails pinching, then twisting Christine’s ear, Christine had little option but to follow Mistress Red’s fingernails as they pulled her over the older woman’s knee. Christine squirmed as Mistress Red locked her legs over and below Christine’s knees, and pushed the girl’s head down with one free hand, effectively pinning Christine face down and over Mistress Red’s lap. Her other hand flashed down, spanking Christine firmly on her pale white bottom. Sharply, firmly, repeatedly, the dour older woman lashed Christine’s pouting bottom until it began to glow red.
“Granny. You will call me Granny. And you don’t use words like ‘urine’, you say ‘wee wee’, you don’t go to the ‘toilet’, you beg to use the potty. You don’t have a ‘vagina’, it’s your ‘no-no hole’, and what am I currently spanking?” She asked as her hand rapidly slapped Christine’s increasingly flushed and sore bottom.
“Miss Bum Bum!” Christine answered quickly, eager to avoid any more of the hard, firm spanks. Mistress Red’s hand was hard, and her action was firm. Christine shuddered with each blow, and each blow sent a wave of pain running through her.
“Good!” Mistress Red finished. With the chastisement finished Mistress Red quickly reverted to her kindly mother-figure persona. Christine tentatively left her lap and resumed her position meekly on the bed, legs lifted up to help with changing, her bottom blushing red with several red hand prints slowly fading into the alabaster white skin.
All throughout the remainder of the process Mistress Red cooed and talked kindly to Christine as though she were a small child. Christine swallowed her pride and gave in to the sadist’s pantomime. She lifted her hips when the clean diaper was ready, she put her feet through the frilly leg holes of the pink plastic pants and even smoothed her flouncy skirts after Mistress Red had finished.
“Now come downstairs little one while Granny keeps an eye on that naughty School slut.” Mistress Red suggested as she patted Christine’s newly diapered bottom.
---
“I will write lines until I beg to have my cunt caned.” School’s hand was twisted in a contorted mimicry of a normal human hand. With only a few minutes respite the girl had been forced to write lines almost continuously for a day and a half. The repetitious nature of this simple torture was reaching its inevitable conclusion.
“to have my cunt caned. I will write…” Her left hand held her right, her face twisted in pain as she forced her constantly cramping fingers to hold onto the chalk and write each line. Over and over and over again, until the board was filled. Then she would dust it all off the board and start over again.
“beg to have my cunt…” From time to time she would stop only to have Mistress Red ask sternly whether School had anything to ask. School would immediately resume writing.
Her writing was nearly completely illegible now. Her once flowing script had become spidery scrawl. It resembled Arabic or bird-scratchings as opposed to English. From time-to-time Mistress Red would make her rewrite a particularly illegible line. But still School kept on.
She cried at one point. She simply stopped writing and began to cry until Mistress Red threatened to add even more strokes to her eventual punishment.
Every time School stopped, Mistress Red gave her the opportunity to beg. Each time School found some new reservoir of effort and continued writing.
“…I will beg to have my cunt caned.” She wore through piece after piece of chalk. As her fingers became more and more crippled she began to break her chalk regularly. Then Mistress Red threatened to add an extra stroke for each piece of chalk that was broken and suddenly School found new levels of dexterity.
Pain watched the proceedings from a table at which she polished the silver for the evening’s dinner. Her bra had been tightened another two notches after Mistress Red had discovered blemishes on several of the pieces of silverware that Pain had already cleaned. Consequently Pain was now intently focussed on each and every spoon, fork and knife. She squinted over every tiny indent, sworl and feature of the overly ornate pieces. All the while she struggled to keep her own salty tears off the newly shining cutlery.
Her breasts bulged obscenely and underneath the shiny white latex her sandpapered titflesh was purple and swollen. Stiff nylon bristles scoured her already ultra sensitive breasts and the sharp plastic spikes installed over her aureole thrust deeply into the purple and drum taut fatty bags.
“…write lines until I beg…”
And on a lustrous brown leather couch before the blackboard Mistress Red lay propped up on some cushions. Her hawkish eyes watched School’s every tortured letter. She chided School every time she stopped. She tallied up extra strokes for breaking chalk, for stopping for too long, for poor writing. Anything and everything she could think of attracted additional blows. Christine had counted eleven extras on top of the ten that Mistress Red had negotiated earlier.
More than anyone else, Christine wished that School would give in. Her bottom ached. It ached in time with the pounding of her heart.
She been spanked twice more, and finally Mistress Red had lost all patience and produced a stout hickory hairbrush. A couple of blows with the smooth side of the hard and unrelenting hairbrush had crushed any remaining defiance in Christine.
Consequently Christine lay on the couch as well. Her hands folded in her lap. Her legs gathered up on the couch and she lay with her head on Mistress Red’s chest and with an aged wrinkly nipple between her lips.
The older woman demanded that she suck on her teats like a baby. This was the order that Christine had last disobeyed and the order that had resulted in Christine being spanked with the hairbrush.
The horror had started when Mistress Red had unbuttoned her blouse to reveal a maternity bra. She’d pulled Christine down onto her chest and fed a wrinkled and saggy boob out of the bra’s flap. Christine had freaked.
Now however, with her bottom still stinging and tears still fresh on her cheeks, Christine sucked on the foul rubbery flesh. Even more grotesque: the fact that Mistress Red’s nipples – most likely the victim of side effects from some post-menopausal hormone treatment – were hairy. Short stiff black hairs emerged from her aureole and no amount of sucking or saliva softened them.
“I will keep on writing lines…”
“Keep on sucking little Lolita, the milk will come soon.” Mistress Red said soothingly.
“…until I beg to have my…”
Pain looked up from her polishing as she heard a snap and a piece of white chalk fall to the floor where it further split into three smaller pieces on the hard stone floor of the play room.
“And another for the chalk.” Mistress Red looked up from gazing down the young and supple lips that engulfed and sucked on her aged and haggard tit. “That makes twelve more by my count.”
“Mistress.” School faced Mistress Red.
Everyone in the room stopped. They knew what was coming.
“I beg you to cane me.”
The nipple was pulled out of Christine’s mouth. Mistress Red pushed Christine off and stood to her feet. Without bothering to put her sagging tit back in the maternity bra she stepped toward School.
“Say it again, and this time: ask properly.” Mistress Red demanded.
“I would like you to cane me Mistress.”
“No.” The stern and older woman said firmly. “Use the words.”
School shuddered: “I beg you to cane my cunt Mistress.”
“That’s better.”
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