“Ah you see how sensitive she has become - but I guess that is how one becomes if one is never allowed relief. All this temptation and torment and never any release - can you just imagine how that would make one feel? The sheer frustration? Personally, I’d rather not find out - that’s what I have angel for.” Daphne Larkspear laughed mockingly, all the time drawing her finger back and forth, then letting her other fingers join in the fun, blatantly cupping the girl’s sex with her palm, her digits curling, caressing and exploring like the tentacles of some deranged sea anemone. The girl for her part was instantly driven into a paroxysm of writhing near-ecstasy, her eyes closing and her mouth slack with passion. The ex-teacher began to rub her palm back and forth over the girl’s genitals, more and more vigorously almost as if deliberately trying to give the girl the release she clearly craved.
The girl was whimpering now, clearly approaching her goal, her hips rocking to the rhythm of her mistress’s satin-skin hand. Yet at the same time Karen Lamberton-Marchment could see the girl’s brow furrowing more and more deeply as if the closer she was coming to her release the more stressed she was becoming also. Karen Lamberton-Marchment looked on as if hypnotised as, at a certain point, the girl’s mounting excitement appeared to plateau, as if for some reason despite Daphne Larkspear’s undoubtedly enthusiastic efforts the stimulation was not quite sufficient to take her over the edge. Daphne Larkspear looked back at her ex-pupil over one shoulder, smiling, her fingers still working away at their frustrating magic:
“What she needs of course, like most young women, is a little clitoral stimulation - and that is exactly what she isn’t getting. This little ‘teaser’ thingy in her knickers is designed to do just about everything else other than touch the clitoris and the little springy weighted probe thing in the centre is designed to stimulate the internal walls of the vagina but insufficiently to provide for a so-called ‘vaginal orgasm’. But just to be on the safe side there is a little rubber cap protecting her clitoris from stimulation and that clips on to a couple of silver wire piercings.” She drew her hand away, her fingers looking sticky, leaving the girl standing, gasping for breath, tears of frustration running down her face, her arms and upper torso still tightly enwrapped in the ‘restraint corset’ and her knickers lying on the floor around her ankles like a puddle of bottle green nylon and slick greyish PVC.
“Step out of your knickers please, Angel and stop that whimpering unless you want Mrs... sorry, Lady Lamberton-Marchment... Lady Marchment to see how I bend you over and cane your arse.” She stroked the girl’s cheek almost tenderly as she spoke, having straightened up, despite her authoritative tone.
“There, there, Angel; I know you’re all worked up but if you’re good, once we’ve been to the room that Lady Marchment has been kind enough to provide you with as a bedroom, got that corset off you and got you into what will be your normal indoor school uniform while you are staying here I might just let you have a little wank. Look! I’ll even pop out that little rubber clitoral hood thing for you; it only takes me a second or two to unclip it and off it comes, see?”
Daphne Larkspear dropped down on her haunches, her tweed skirt tight around her broad mature bottom. A couple of seconds later and she was back on her feet, a small black rubbery thimble-like object between her finger and thumb. “A nice little wank - that’s something to look forward to, eh? It will have to be under supervision of course, I’m sure that Lady Marchment will be fascinated to see how a frustrated little filly like you masturbates. And I appreciate that you have been having difficulties reaching orgasm for quite some time now but perhaps if you try hard, really, really hard, then perhaps this time you’ll make it, just this once.”
Once again Daphne Larkspear glanced back over her shoulder at her new employer, smiling with a sort of force sympathy: “Yes, the poor thing never seems to be able to quite get there, these days, even on the rare occasions that I allow her little privacy rather than have her do it under my instruction.” She gave little mock laugh as she continued. “Oh dear! You don’t think I might be the cause, do you Lady Marchment? It’s just that she seems to have become so repressed in that department since she’s been with me.
My, though; she used to go at it ‘hammer and tongs’ if one left her alone in those early days - I don’t think she realised that I could see and hear everything that was going on in her room. I had to have those security systems in place in case of break-ins of course; I imagine you have something similar in place here. Anyway, obviously one cannot have that sort of lewd behaviour going on behind closed doors; it’s deceitful, secretive. But then again I understand the needs of a young woman of her age. I thought that if I was to provide her with some sort of limited outlet - but one that was disciplined, under instruction and supervision, if you understand me - then she might be granted the occasional release from the lusts that seem to plague her while at the same time learning to be more decorous, more open about it.” Daphne Larkspear gave a sympathetic shrug, one that seemed far from sincere somehow, as she went on. “The trouble is I can’t help wondering if I haven’t ended up in inducing some sort of neurosis or something in her It seems to me that the harder she tries to bring herself off, the closer she gets to release, the more concerned she seems to become that she isn’t going to get there and the more stressed she becomes - I guess the whole thing becomes a vicious circle.” Once again she stroked the girl’s cheek in that motherly way of hers. “Still we must keep trying, eh, sweetie?”
“Yes Miss Daphne.” At the mention of all this girl had blanched, her face looking pained as much as humiliated her brow furrowing. The impression was almost one of dread, as if she dreaded the thought of as much as trying to bring herself release, even if given the privacy to do so and despite her obvious sexual frustration.
Daphne Larkspear smiled sweetly as she prepared to lead the girl away. “So we’ll just get you all kitted out like a good little schoolgirl and then we can come back here and you can kneel on that floor cushion over there in front of Lady Marchment and myself and we will see if you can manage it this time. I’ll even let you take off your school knickers rather than try to rub yourself through them, though of course the rest of your school uniform will have to stay on and I’ll expect you to kneel up keeping a good straight back throughout, holding up the front of your skirt with your other hand so we can keep an eye on what you’re up to.
I’ll tell you what; I just thought of a good idea. Perhaps it would help if I were to promise you six strokes of the cane in front of Lady Marchment if you don’t get there; it might help you stay focussed on those mental exercises I’ve given you to try and help you remain relaxed as you feel release coming. I think what we do is we’ll place the cane on the floor in front of you as a reminder of the importance in focusing on becoming more relaxed as you feel your orgasm building and we’ll let you have perhaps three attempts, with six of the best across your bottom after each failed attempt. We’ll give you plenty of time but we don’t have all day so I’ll be ringing that little bell of mine when time is running out just like at home, so you will have fair warning.
Perhaps Lady Marchment might be kind enough to give you one of your thrashings? I know you’re going to try your hardest but we both know that is unlikely you’ll make it on your first attempt. Or perhaps Lady Marchment might prefer her housekeeper to wield the cane while she looks on... Lady Marchment?”
For a second or two Karen Lamberton-Marchment was struck uncharacteristically speechless. She was still struggling with the concept of what Daphne Larkspear had clearly been doing to the girl. Whatever those ‘mental exercises’ Mrs Larkspear had mentioned were about she doubted very much that they had anything much to do with any beneficial effect on the poor girl. The principal seemed to be to associate as much psychological stress as possible with the act of masturbation, principally in so far as reaching culmination was concerned, in the guise of ‘helping’ her overcome the very barrier that t
his treatment was surely designed to create...
“Lady Marchment?”
“Oh, yes, yes. Of course I’ll cane her if you think it would help”
“So, shall I take her down to that room you showed me last time, the one you said you’d allocate as her bedroom... Lady Marchment?
“The basement room, you mean?”
“Yes, exactly! I know there was ample space up on the top floor, in that attic complex of yours, before you so imaginatively turned it over to ‘school activities’ and it’s true it would have been cheaper, not to mention more convenient, to have housed them up there close to their ‘classroom’. All the same, though, as I pointed out before; that dull sense of isolation that pervades down there in those basement rooms really is of a premium - it is something money can’t buy.: Well I guess enough money could, if one were building from scratch, but that feeling of detachment from reality just seems to ooze from the walls down there - especially if helped along by those... adjustments, I suggested. It is an amenity that certainly shouldn’t be wasted and it’s just a shame the ‘school room’ couldn’t have been set up down there as well - if only there had been a little more space.”
“Not to worry, Mrs... Daphne...” Karen Lamberton-Marchment had quite deliberately switched to using the woman’s first name. It was a calculated gambit that had to be balanced against the risk of letting a hint of uncertainty filter through, and that hesitant initial utterance of ‘Mrs’ had done just that - mentally she kicked herself. “I took your advice, and made the changes you suggested. It is the same room you saw before, set up exactly as you suggested - and Alice’s bedroom similarly. All Angel’s school uniform things are there, put away in the drawers ready and waiting - they arrived at the same time as Alice’s. In addition, Angel’s housemaid dress has arrived and I have had it put away temporarily in the cupboard at the foot of the bed. The key you will find on the side, on the shelf on the left as you enter, if you should want her to try it on.
“Ok, you get on Daphne...” That was better - far more confident. “...Yes you, get on, Daphne and we’ll reconvene in the lounge in... say... an hour from now. You will remember the way down to the basement, I’m sure, but if not my housekeeper will show you the way.
A little later, once we have all had time to settle down, I’ll fetch Alice up from her room and the two of them can meet face to face for the first time up in the school room. It should make for quite an entertainment, don’t you think, the two of them at their desks in their school uniforms? Alice looks a real picture in hers” Karen Lamberton-Marchment was laughing as she turned on her heel, a little more cruelly than she’d intended; she felt herself blush and dearly hoped her ex-teacher had not noted this tell-tale weakness.
CHAPTER 7
HEIRESS IN A SCHOOL DRESS
Alice gasped in surprise as the sturdy, heavy door creaked open. She was fairly sure she had never set foot in this room before, but even if she had it was doubtful she would have recognized it in the reinvigorated, rehabilitated form it had taken on under the guiding hand of her stepmother and her ex-schoolmistress accomplice.
Despite being mid-afternoon a light switch had to be flicked to ease the gloom - an old fashioned brass toggle fitting that reminded Alice of a sort of miniature jelly mould. Though there were a series of windows set high in the opposite wall, running spaced at regular intervals along its entire length, Alice immediately recognised that in addition to being fitted internally with bars these were covered in the same sort of opaque film as the window in her bedroom. Additional illumination was clearly required whatever the time of day, made necessary by the limited trickle of light passing through the misty white window glass and the lurking heavy-cast shadows caused by the latter being set so far back into the wall.
There was a short hesitation between the ancient dustily reluctant click of the switch and the dazzled flashes that came and went and then came again. A harsh bluish light staggered uncertainly, almost embarrassingly, into existence as if dubious about revealing too much at a go. A rapid series of sparse flashbulb snapshots of Spartan severity flitted before Alice’s appalled startled eyes before settling down to a consistent depiction of a sort of Victorian disciplinarian scholastic hell. A pair of long fluorescent strip lights, mounted side by side, ran longitudinally up the centre of the room, hanging overhead on chains from the high ceiling, the naked scrutinizing glare from their bare tubes somehow adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Another, much shorter, pair hung crosswise and perfectly perpendicular to the first above a raised dais at the far end.
This was a room set within a home, but it was not a homely room; this was a clinical, institutional space, a little piece of schoolroom Victoriana set aside from the world at large and wherein the sole visible nod to modernity was indeed to be found in the unforgiving glare of those strip lights and the beige Formica desktops. The irritating symmetrical crosshatch patterning of the latter had already caught her eye.
The two Formica-surfaced desks were in all other respects school desks of the traditional Victorian cast-iron framed dark-wood type, set low and possessed of integral bench-type seats with high straight backs. Each desk-seat combination, devoid of any scope for adjustment, seemed notably cramped, the bench seat far too narrow to have any hope of accommodating with any degree of comfort the spreading broad haunches of a modern teenage girl. Indeed the seat in each case seemed to consist of little more than a plank of no more than two an a half inches in width and positioned a little too far forward of the seat back to provide for sufficient support; it was not so much a seat as a perch.
The two school desks were identical and were set well apart, one at each side of the class room at about the midway point. Each desk was positioned just beyond a pupil’s arm’s reach of the corresponding side wall at which point the monotony of beige paintwork was broken by a narrow mirror. The latter silvery pane - affixed to the wall in some manner hidden from the eyes of the casual observer - was in each case of just sufficient dimensions to ensure a pupil’s inattentive sideward glance would be rewarded with a self-critical glimpse of the kind of self-image any self-respecting teenager would rather not be reminded of.
A raised dais dominated the centre of the end wall at the furthest point from the door and was mostly occupied by a large desk of the kind that one might expect given the general scenario and atmosphere, a suitably impressive high-backed chair set behind it and facing back down the room. To Alice’s astounded eyes it seemed somehow a stern desk, a dominating desk, as if possessing some sort of personality in its own right - this was a desk set for a teacher of a suitably matching harsh reputation and seeming to loom with ill intent over the two low-seated school desks set immediately before it. Behind this horror of mahogany, mounted directly on the wall, was a traditional dark-wood surround blackboard; a series of long, thin and wicked looking school canes hung to one side, dangling from a row of small brass hooks screwed into the wall by their leather wrist thongs..
To either side of the stage-like platform or dais - and extending from the floor to a point level with the top of the blackboard - were two mirrors, again affixed to the wall by some method not immediately apparent. A beady sharp-eyed glance to either side, if attending to the blackboard or to some other task entailing turning his or her - Alice could not at this stage know which with any certainty - back on the ‘class’ would be all it required to keep order and maintain supervision.
In addition - and to Alice’s further chagrin and ever-mounting sense of shame - Alice realised that every time she as much as looked up she would be faced, not only with those shaming reminders that she was now under the constant threat of corporal punishment - those canes, seemingly just waiting for her bottom to be presented for their kiss - but would also be confronted by her own reflection. She would be constantly reminded of how she looked, sitting there cowed, tamed and squeezed into that tiny, ridiculously cramped school desk, humiliatingly dr
essed from head to foot in the most shaming design of school uniform her stepmother’s devious, insightful, mind could have conceived of.
Alice couldn’t quite believe her eyes, nor disguise her dispirited dismay, despite her determination not to give her stepmother the satisfaction of seeing that she was indeed getting the measure of her. She had tried her best to have at least appeared to remain blasé in the face of her stepmothers introduction of school uniform for her - though it had been a struggle and secretly it had been a deeply demoralising development - but this was just too much; a step too far.
But just how far ‘this’ had yet to go young Alice was as yet blissfully unaware. Indeed there were very many more steps left for her to be led down before reaching and plumbing the depths of despairing degradation her stepmother and her accomplices - that woman’s ex-teacher, her tame doctor / psychologist friend and her housekeeper - had in mind between them. If she thought being put in school uniform and now confined to a schoolroom set up in what she had once considered her own home - one she fondly still believed she was set to inherit when she ‘came of age’ - was the pinnacle of shame, she was much mistaken.
Would our young Alice have been so quick to judge the magnitude of humiliation presently facing her when obliged to first take her seat in this ‘classroom’ of her stepmother’s devising had she been in possession of the full facts regarding that implacable woman’s intentions for her and her future? What if she had been made privy to her stepmother’s intention that from this point on, when not in one of the uniforms her stepmother and her ex-schoolteacher friend had dreamed up for her, she was to be placed in a longline punishment corset: a horror designed to constrict from armpits to knees, hobbling her stride, compressing her waist horribly and allowing for only the tiniest of meals and with no respite at all, not even in bed at night?
Alice Under Discipline, Part 1 Page 12
