“Boy, Kim, you sure got fucked up this time,” Hoyt laughed.
Meanwhile, Marcy Neidler entered the Head’s office. As she ran through the front door to the building, she glanced at her wrist and saw that she had forgotten to put her watch back on. Oh well, she thought, I’m already late, what the hell?
She paused at the brass trimmed oak door, pushed back her long, dark brown hair and carefully knocked three times. To her surprise, the door immediately swung open and Mistress Burns, a senior mistress who served as secretary and councilor to both Mistress Wright and Head Master Boswick, stood in front of her.
“Well, Marcy, come on in. You look like you’ve been living in a barn,” Burns said loud enough for The Head to hear.
Mistress Wright, standing with her back to the door, said, “Come right in Neidler, come right in, Marcy.” The greeting was far too casual, too nice, too smooth. Neidler knew she was in deep trouble.
Stepping into the office, Marcy came to attention and looked straight ahead. The Head was standing at her large picture window as she always did when she was unhappy, studying the icy Vermont landscape outside and slapping her riding crop quietly against the seam of her tight leather riding breeches.
“You know why you are here, so let’s get it over with,” intoned Wright gravely. “Strip and go downstairs to post three. You know the drill. Wait there,” the Head Mistress snapped without turning around, without looking at Marcy.
Marcy noticed that her hands were shaking as she removed her jacket and the fitted gray shirt under it. The shaking made it difficult for her to undo the three hooks on her bra and she immediately felt the cold air of the office as she pulled off her polished black boots, knee high stockings and cotton socks under them, then the riding breeches, and finally the black, nylon bikini panties. She then stood again at attention, uttered a soft “of course. Thank you, Ma’am,” and then turned, walked rapidly to the stone stairs at the side of the office and slowly descended the cold, marble steps, feeling the worn and near freezing stone surfaces under her feet as she mentally counted the steps.
The staircase wound downward for a total of one hundred and one steps, down 50 steps past a small wooden landing for the first basement and wine cellar, then down 51 more steps until she stood on the cold slate flooring of the sub basement, an area that had been built as a secret hideaway by the original Vermont owners nearly three centuries before. The lighting was dim electric bulbs behind metal gratings in the ceiling and the walls. The effect was grim. The walls were stone, each one carved to fit exactly into the other around it without need for mortar. The slate flooring was just as it had been in the late seventeen hundreds and the surrounding gloom of the large cellar was fittingly tuned to the universally unpleasant events that frequently took place there. Marcy walked nervously to the far wall where three different wooden posts stood about 15 feet apart and set well away from the walls. She slowly moved to the post on the far right and shuddered as she touched its ancient scared surface. Above her head, a five foot long yard arm of identical dark and heavy wood formed a lopsided “T” and extended outward from the front of the post. This extension had metal rings attached to it at several places. There were also holes bored through the arm and these too were well worn and scarred.
At the end of the post, dangling from a short length of steel chain a foot or more above Marcy’s head, were a pair of heavy metal manacles, the cuffs open and hanging almost exactly an arm’s length away. At the foot of the post were a similar set of steel cuffs, attached by a short chain to the base of the post by a steel ring that surrounded the entire post. The design and the marks on the post indicated that this ring could slide up and down the post; from the floor to the top where the extending arm would stop it. Tears running down her cheeks, Marcy Neidler bent easily at the waist and locked the cold shackles on her thin ankles, then slid her bound feet forward until the shackles held her tightly and she was unable to move any further. Then, taking a deep breath, she reached her arms over her head and barely touched the hanging manacles. She stretched carefully and grasped one cuff, fitting it around her right wrist and then snapping it closed. The sound of the cuff locking seemed impossibly loud in the silent room. Putting her weight on the bound right arm, Marcy stretched again and slid her left wrist into the other cuff and with the already cuffed right hand, snapped the left cuff closed and locked. Relaxing a bit, she let her body weight hang from the suspended manacles and felt her feet lift slightly off the stone floor. The position was one she knew well, for she had placed students and staff on this and other nearby posts many times. But she had never been in this spot before and had never felt the strain on her shoulders, wrists and ankles as the post creaked slightly taking her one hundred and fifteen pounds easily on its century old design. Looking around the dimly lit room, March saw the steamer trunk on the side of the first post, its metal bands polished carefully by students assigned to clean and maintain the room.
“Oh shit,” she said to herself. “Now I am really in it!”
It was only then that Marcy remembered that she had made another terrible mistake. Whatever it was that The Head was punishing her for would be amplified by the fact that Marcy had neglected to properly gag herself before going to the post. Getting a steel brank/gag combination that fit her out of the trunk was impossible now. She was stretched on the post, her chained hands high above her head, linked to the end of the extension arm and her feet tightly chained to the base of the post. Knowing The Head’s obsession for perfection, Marcy shivered again as she contemplated what would happen to her here in the deep hole of an ancient cellar. In good time, the Head or one of her minions would descend the 101 stone stairs to attend to Marcy and award her whatever the penalties might be for whatever transgression she might have carried out. Marcy knew that Wright was aware of everything that went on in the school. She and her weird partner, Boswick had spies everywhere. They had made deals to defer or mitigate punishment to students and staff alike in order to gain their cooperation and no one in the school was immune from ratting on anyone else if it meant getting out of situations like the one Marcy now found herself in. Whatever she had done and been caught at, she was going to pay even more dearly now that she had missed one of the punishment keys: the key instruction in preparing a student or staff member for discipline was that they were to exhibit knowledge and understanding of all preparations. One of these was that the victim was to be securely gagged and the trunk across the room held an assortment of toys and tools to accomplish this objective, as well as many others that might be needed to enhance the punishment and improve the demeanor of the “guest” in the cellar.
“Oh God,” Marcy muttered again, with only the ancient posts, the chains and the cold cellar walls to hear her. “I am not going to like this.” Then the lights went out.
Chapter Eighteen
One Good Whipping Deserves Another
In the dark mustiness of the old cellar, Marcy hung from the post, her self-bound wrists and ankles aching almost immediately from the tight, wide cuffs. Her feet were no longer resting on the stone floor and it was only the tips of her toes that now touched the floor at all. The ring around the post had slid upward, a few inches away from the floor and, as it had been designed for, the post and extension arrangement caused the girl’s body to swing outward as the chain from the extension moved outward on its track, away from the post. Marcy knew this would happen because it was yet another of those unique disciplinary devices at the school that Boswick and the Head Mistress created.
This adaptation of the ancient hanging gibbet had some modern modifications to it and Marcy was now being treated to the functions of the device. When she attached her wrists to the manacles above her head, the increased tension caused by her weight had activated the device that moved the chain further out on the extension arm, pulling the supported body up and outward. At the same time, the sliding ring on the post moved up the post, pulling the chained ankles with it. The motion was slow and without a
ny noticeable sound, but Marcy knew that as it continued she would eventually be slung well above the floor with her feet several feet up on the post and her arms pulled outward to the end of the overhead extension arm. Her weight was almost entirely on her wrists and ankles and she was slung like a hammock between the overhead extension arm and the post. There was no way for her to change her position and movements tended to allow the sliding ring to move further up the post, then slide back down a bit. Marcy tried to look up to see her straining hands, but the effort was too much as her head was wedged between her extended arms and her chin was pressed to her chest. In the total darkness, she could not see them, but she felt her weighty breasts hanging outward from her chest, the nipples hardened from the self-induced suspension and the cold. The weight of her breasts created something of a downward force, pulling her chest towards the floor and, as she well knew, creating a perfect target for whatever weapon or torment that The Head would use on her.
She had undergone an extensive flogging of her fine, double D cup breasts twice before, once at the hand of The Head and another time in retribution for a prank she has played on another staff member. The victim of the prank had not been amused at Marcy’s short sheeting of her bed and went directly to Mistress Wright, complaining that after a double shift in the training ring, she was entitled to an unencumbered bed and a joke-free evening, free from the stupid, juvenile games of her associates. The Head rewarded her with six strong blows on her wide ass from her favorite riding crop. Three for being dumb enough to come whining about a silly prank and three more for not knowing how to get even with the culprit, who was Marcy, as The Head had known from the start. Then, to make sure everyone knew her intolerance for dumb fun and games, The Head arranged for a public beating of Marcy Neidler with a cat-o-nine-tails on the tits, the twelve blows strung out over three hours at the rate of four an hour, or one every fifteen minutes. Marcy was hung naked by her taped and bandage-protected wrists with heavy leather cuffs attached to a chain suspended from an overhead beam in the dining hall.
As she was being strung up, The Head asked her if, as an accommodation to her pride, she would prefer to be gagged so as not to embarrass herself, as she surely would be, when the terrible knotted cat tentacles struck over the three hours. Foolishly thinking that the woman was truly considerate of Marcy’s welfare, she agreed to be gagged, barely catching the tiny smirk on her boss’s face as she nodded and walked away, telling Karen Walker, the offended victim of the prank that she could chose Marcy’s gag. Karen had smiled and gone to the cabinet at the side of the room and extracted a complex gag harness; one that was seldom used because of its known cruelty and difficult attachment. With nearly an hour to go before the dinner hour, Karen proceeded to install the brutal gag system on Marcy’s head and face as she hung there, her feet still on the floor, but more or less immobilized. Karen enlisted another instructor to help and they first bound Marcy’s feet and secured them to a floor-mounted steel ring, then roped her legs above and below the knees with braided leather cords to enhance the girl’s discomfort.
The gag harness essentially has four elements: the head harness, the mouth-filling gag, the collar and the nose/tongue immobilizer. So, the attachment of the device had to follow a distinct, prescribed procedure: First, the victim’s tongue was attached to the shackle connected to the bolt that pierced her tongue. Since literally everyone in the school had tongue piercings, this was no problem. A thin chain from the bolt shackle hung out of the victim’s mouth while the main portion of the gag was fitted. This was a molded rubber plug fitted with what looked like a safety mouthpiece that a football player or boxer would wear. The center of the mouthpiece was the fat rubber plug that filled the oral cavity and the mouthpiece itself allowed the teeth to descend around the plug. The rubber gag had a hollow center and the tongue was pulled through the hole, using the chain on the tongue bolt. While Karen and her accomplice were fitting the gag, experimenting with various mouth-filling sizes and type of plugs, The Head herself had stopped by. She walked over to Marcy, grabbed the tightly bound ponytail that hung from the crown of her head and pulled the head back so that Marcy was staring up at her stretched arms, the chain from her tongue dangling from her open mouth. The Head then seized the tongue chain in the other hand and pulled the ponytail and the tongue chain simultaneously, causing Marcy to howl from the pain and struggle against her bonds.
“Well, Neidler,” The Head remarked, releasing both the ponytail and tongue, “you are in for an interesting evening, to be sure. Come see me tomorrow after they let you down and we’ll discuss the values of pranks and penalties. Have fun tonight, my dear Neidler. I hope this will teach you something about jokes.
Head Mistress Wright went on her way and Karen and company went back to their gagging of Marcy. They found a fat rubber plug in their voluminous stash and pulled Marcy’s already aching tongue through the donut hole in the plug, jamming the rubber mass into Marcy’s mouth with her jaws pried wide. Once inside, the plug held her tongue snugly in its contracting grip and her teeth settled partly into the intended outer portions of the mouthpiece. Marcy gurgled as the thing filled her mouth, breathing noisily through her nose and trying to slow her racing heart as the two other women punishers adjusted the head harness. The first part of the harness was a simple leather headband that went around Marcy’s head, covering her forehead, reaching around above her ears and being buckled at the back of her head. This band with its numerous attachments provided the base for the rest of the straps. From the front, a single strap led down the forehead towards the nose, then split into two narrow bands that passed on either side of the nose, meeting at the side of the mouth and holding a rubber-covered clamp/bit that engaged the outer edge of the gag plug and held in pressed firmly in the mouth. The bit functioned as a normal harness bit, extending out from the sides of the mouth, pushing the cheeks back. The split straps were left hanging from their attachment fitting on each side of the mouth while the wide, thickly padded collar was secured around Marcy’s neck, its many D rings and connecting points located at various locations on its circumference. Then the split straps from the bit were roughly pulled down Marcy’s cheeks, crossed under her chin and led under her jaw, then, after being pulled taunt, secured to two rings at the back of the collar.
On top of her skull, leading from the side of the headband, two wider straps were fitted over the crown of Marcy’s head and tightened so that the band and rest of the harness didn’t slide lower, out of position, on her head. Then another wide length of black leather was brought from the band down, just in front of her ears, under Marcy’s chin, snugged tight and buckled. As this was done, it forced her jaws closed around the plug and jammed her teeth even tighter into the mouthpiece grooves. A separate gag strap with a hole in the center was fitted across the front of Marcy’s face, engaging the plug and bit, allowing the tongue chain to go through the hole and slipping through slots in the vertical straps at the side of her face, then again tightened without mercy behind her head. This action forced the gag plug deeper into Marcy’s stuffed mouth and drove the metal bit further back, pulling her cheeks roughly backward against the opposite force of the chin strap that was forcing her mouth closed. This dual pressure was a major function of the harness. The victim’s jaws were being forced closed by the chin straps while the mouth was forced open by the plug and the backward tension of the gag strap.
The two punishers, seeing that time was running out for their agony-inducing mouth work, went to the last stage of the process and installed a U shaped clamp shackle into Marcy’s nasal septum. This was a simple little metal shackle that had an adjustable screw fitting on the ends of the U. These had a small flat pad at the end, looking a bit like the nose pads on eyeglasses, but smaller. The screws were tightened with the pads fitting into each nostril, slowly squeezing the septum as they were closed. As the screw clamps engaged the septum, the center of the nose, they held the shackle, which functioned as a nose ring without the piercing, in place.
The screw clamps had set tiny screws as well, so that once the clamping screws and pads were in place and tightened, the set screws were engaged with a small jewelers’ screw driver to make sure the clamp screws didn’t come loose. This septum shackle functioned as a highly efficient nose ring. Any pressure on it brought instant pain and tears.
Finally, the chain from Marcy’s tongue was fed up and through the septum shackle and locked there with a small padlock. By crossing her eyes, Marcy could just see the lock. Her extended tongue told her the rest of the pain story. Any tug, and pull, any involuntary effort to pull her tongue back brought pain to both parts of her tormented face. The nose ring hurt just being in place. The tongue chain, holding her poor pierced tongue so far outside her mouth, caused constant discomfort. Swallowing was difficult and she had to concentrate on relearning the swallow reflex to ease her dry throat, already constricted by the tight collar.
Looking at Marcy’s now harness-distorted face, her two tormentors realized that there was little skin to be seen. Her hair, gathered at the top of her head into the tightly bound ponytail, cascaded down over the harness. Her crying eyes stared out from among an array of straps. Her entire lower face was a mass of black leather straps, with one under her chin holding her jaws clamped shut and the gag strap jamming the rubber plug and bit back into her head. Her poor little tongue stuck out through the hole in the gag strap, bound tightly to her nose ring, the shackle clamp welded to her punished nasal septum. The harness was punishment enough, Marcy thought. The anticipated and dreaded beating of her breasts was entirely another matter.
However, the dinner bell soon rang and the school’s entire population, except for those engaged in punishment and other entertainment in the cellars and barns, filed in and stood until The Head took her seat. As the meal progressed and Marcy suffered, few of the student body even dared to cast more than quick glimpses at her hanging, naked, harnessed, bound figure. A few more of the assembly silently relished the thoughts of watching the tall instructor have her arrogant and marvelous tits whipped from the hour of 1900 until 2200 that night. Staff members openly stared at Marcy, perhaps putting themselves mentally in her unfortunate position. At the school, there was always the possibility that anyone could end up as she was, guilty or not from any of a thousand possible infractions.
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