‘Thank you,’ she panted.
‘Quite the fighter, isn’t she?’ Bobbie answered, and gave Myrtle a firm smack on her outthrust bottom. ‘That’s for the bruises on my legs, and this is for pinching Dada’s pig.’
Myrtle’s body jerked to a much harder smack, and her expression of pop-eyed fury became even more lurid. Stephanie laughed, reckless in her triumph, as she pulled one of the dinner trolleys from its place against the wall.
‘Help me up with her, Bobbie,’ she asked, taking hold of Myrtle’s shoulders.
‘What are you going to do?’ Bobbie asked, only for a broad grin to spread across her face as she realised. ‘I say, that’s rather clever, Stiffy. She’s your trophy, isn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ Stephanie said, ‘she is.’
Myrtle’s writhing grew more furious still at the news, while the expression on her face suggested that she was about to have apoplexy. Stephanie spoke again as they lowered Myrtle on to the trolley.
‘Do stop wriggling like that, or you’ll fall off and hurt yourself. Now … presentation. We must get it exactly right.’
‘You should serve her up like a stuffed pig,’ Bobbie suggested. ‘It would be appropriate.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Stephanie agreed. ‘Would you mind nipping into the kitchens for the biggest platter you can find, and perhaps a few vegetables? But first, could I trouble you for a stocking?’
‘My pleasure,’ Bobbie responded, and peeled the article off before leaving the room.
Stephanie used the stocking to tie her drawers into place in Myrtle’s mouth, which reduced the frantic girl’s protests to muffled grunting and the occasional snort.
‘Very pig-like,’ Stephanie commented. ‘Now let me see …’
Ignoring Myrtle’s continued efforts to make her feelings plain, Stephanie began to search the room for props. Lunch had been cleared away, but Mrs Tubbs had been putting fresh flowers out and had left a pair of scissors beside a vase of daffodils. Both had obvious uses.
The fury on Myrtle’s face turned to panic as Stephanie approached her, holding the scissors up and grinning as she snipped the long steel blades together. Feeling far too pleased with herself to bother about either propriety or the likely consequences of her actions, she began to cut Myrtle’s clothes off. It was a tricky job, made trickier by her victim’s refusal to keep still, and she repeatedly had to break off to smack Myrtle’s bottom. Nevertheless, by the time Bobbie returned she had removed Myrtle’s dress, leaving the floor littered with scraps of deep red silk.
‘Oh I say!’ Bobbie declared, blushing faintly at the sight of Myrtle’s bottom, which was covered only by a pair of fashionably brief drawers, into one side of which Stephanie had already slid the scissors. ‘Not starkers, surely, Stiffy?’
‘Starkers,’ Stephanie confirmed, and squeezed the scissors shut.
Myrtle’s drawers parted with a faint snap as the blades sliced through the silk. Already taut across her bottom and hips, they sprang apart, exposing her naked rear, the lips of her sex pouting between her thighs and the tight star of her anus blatantly displayed between her open cheeks. Stephanie laughed, indifferent to the demented tone in her own voice as she went on.
‘What a sight! And before you suggest I have any mercy, Bobbie, remember how she had me caned in front of the whole school. I want to get my own back, Bobbie, so don’t stop me.’
‘She does look frightfully rude,’ Bobbie said doubtfully.
‘Not as rude as she will when I’ve finished with her. Help me get her on to the platter, would you?’
Bobbie hesitated for only a moment before helping Stephanie lift Myrtle on to the platter. Now far beyond the point of no return, Stephanie set to work preparing Myrtle as if she were to be served at table. A few more snips of the scissors allowed the already ruined drawers to be removed, followed by the remaining stocking, and finally the brand-new Caresse Crosby brassière, which needed tugging out from where Myrtle’s breasts were squashed up against her legs. With Myrtle stark naked, Stephanie stepped back to consider.
‘What do you think, Bobbie?’ she asked. ‘Do you think I should leave her trotters bare, or put her shoes back on, the way chefs put those little paper tops on a rack of lamb?’
‘Shoes on, I think,’ Bobbie responded, now getting into the spirit of things, ‘and an apple in her mouth.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Stephanie agreed. ‘It would be unthinkable to serve a roast pig without an apple, but that must be the final touch. Now, if you would care to arrange the vegetables, I think we can improve the display of her bottom.’
Myrtle had twisted her head round at Stephanie’s words, her face full of consternation and then panic. From the long sideboard, Stephanie picked up a cruet set; pepper, salt, oil-and-vinegar-dressing and two types of mustard – one of them the brand that had been mixed with boot polish and applied to her anus before her caning in front of the Teigngrace assembly. She whistled to herself as she unscrewed the top of the pot, relaxing her lips from time to time to give a manic grin. Myrtle began to writhe again, so vigorously that Bobbie had to stop laying out potatoes and asparagus spears and hold her instead.
‘Thank you, Bobbie dear,’ Stephanie said, and dipped a finger into the mustard pot.
It came out thickly coated. The mustard was a satisfying dun brown and of the perfect texture for lubricating bottom holes. Stephanie opened Myrtle’s quivering cheeks to improve her access and applied the mustard between, wiping it over her victim’s now pulsing anus and then inserting a finger up to the second joint. Myrtle’s bottom hole was tight and warm, which felt rather nice, and brought home to Stephanie that she was beginning to be aroused. She ignored the sensation, extracting her finger and giving a tut of mock distaste when Myrtle farted as her bottom hole closed.
‘Disgusting!’ she said with a laugh, and planted a firm smack across Myrtle’s bottom.
Bobbie gave a doubtful smile and went back to arranging the vegetables, but Stephanie wasn’t finished. She took the largest and yellowest of the daffodils from a nearby vase and poked the stem into Myrtle’s now slippery anus, which opened obligingly to allow some six inches to be slid inside.
‘Perfect!’ Stephanie crowed. ‘Or nearly so. An apple, please, Bobbie, and if you would be kind enough to wheel her in, I expect the girls are getting impatient.’
Stephanie took the large red apple Bobbie had chosen from a bowl on the sideboard. It was wax, but that didn’t seem important, and as soon as the trolley was out in the main hall she began to undo the stocking she’d had knotted behind Myrtle’s head.
‘You have two choices,’ she said as it came loose. ‘The apple goes in your mouth or up your cunt.’
‘Oh I say, Stiffy!’ Bobbie protested.
‘I mean it,’ Stephanie insisted. ‘So you’d better behave, Myrtle. Right, let’s have those drawers out, shall we?’
‘You’re going to regret this!’ Myrtle spat as Stephanie’s drawers were pulled from her mouth.
‘Maybe,’ Stephanie admitted, ‘but not today. Now open wide, unless you’d prefer to explain all this to Freddie on your wedding night?’
‘Filthy beasts!’ Myrtle hissed, but her mouth opened.
Stephanie wedged the apple well in between Myrtle’s jaws, then pushed the door to the reading room wide and strode in, with Bobbie wheeling in the trolley behind her.
‘Ladies,’ said Stephanie, ‘allow me to present my trophy, Miss Myrtle Finch-Farmiloe, stuffed and trussed in the manner of a roast pig, which I am sure you will all agree is highly suitable.’
Her words met with absolute silence, every girl in the room staring dumbstruck at Myrtle’s naked body, with the daffodil in her bottom quivering gently in the air. The first to find her voice was Clementina.
‘Good God!’
‘Shall we vote?’ Stephanie said calmly and took her seat, although her feelings were so heightened that she could barely take in her surroundings beyond the bound and humiliated figure of her arch-riva
l on the serving trolley.
‘I, er … I move for a vote,’ Clementina said, rallying herself.
‘I object!’ one of Myrtle’s friends called out, stepping forward, only to find her way blocked by Bobbie.
‘We’ll do this properly,’ Bobbie insisted.
‘Absolutely,’ Clementina agreed. ‘What is the objection?’
‘What is the objection?’ the girl retorted. ‘Look what the little beast’s done to Myrtle!’
‘I seem to recall Myrtle doing similar things to Stephanie on a number of occasions,’ Clementina pointed out, to an immediate murmur of agreement. ‘Not quite so inventive, perhaps, but all the same. Objection overruled.’
‘The trophy has to be stolen, anyway,’ the girl persisted. ‘Myrtle’s been kidnapped, not stolen.’
‘That’s true,’ Clementina admitted. ‘Stiffy?’
Stephanie gave a thoughtful nod before replying.
‘Do you all agree that Myrtle’s own trophy counts?’
There was a chorus of agreement, and glances to where Singularis Porcus was snuffling at a bookshelf, apparently considering whether a richly bound collection of the works of Charles Dickens would make a worthwhile snack.
‘So you can steal a pig?’ Stephanie demanded.
‘Of course you can steal a pig!’ Myrtle’s friend answered. ‘That’s not –’
‘Well then,’ Stephanie interrupted, ‘I don’t see what the difficulty is. After all, anybody who’s ever met Myrtle knows that she’s a complete pig.’
Her remark was greeted by laughter, clapping and finally cheers. She sat back, smiling happily, sure she’d won even as Clementina called for a show of hands.
‘Those in favour of Miss Myrtle Finch-Farmiloe as secretary?’
Eleven hands were raised and Stephanie’s grin grew broader still. Clementina nodded and made an entry in the ledger book in front of her, then spoke again.
‘Those in favour of Miss Stephanie Truscott as secretary?’
Twenty-three hands were raised, and Stephanie shut her eyes in pure bliss, basking in her triumph and the adulation of her friends as they clustered around her, a spell broken only by a terrified squawk from Myrtle. She had been squirming a little before, perhaps in reaction to the hot mustard smeared on her bottom hole, but was now wriggling frantically, and with good reason. Singularis Porcus, tiring of Dickens, had decided to investigate the daffodil protruding from Myrtle’s anus. A single bite had removed the head, a second the greater part of the stem, and he now appeared to be considering the merits of hot mustard as a condiment for what remained. Myrtle clearly disapproved.
‘Get it off me!’ she wailed. ‘I’ll be nice to you, Stiffy, I promise, but get it off me! Get it off me!’
Her voice had risen to a scream and she had bitten clean through the wax apple that had been in her mouth, so Stephanie decided to take pity. Rising, she pulled a bunch of flowers from a vase and used it to distract the pig’s attention, then wheeled the trolley and Myrtle from the room, shutting the door behind her.
Never had she felt so supremely triumphant. Her head was singing with victory, and she was determined to take full advantage of the situation while she could. Wheeling Myrtle back into the dining room, she closed the door behind her, propped a chair beneath the handle and addressed her captive.
‘Wasn’t that kind of me?’ she asked. ‘And after you’d pinched my pig, you little rotter.’
‘That was fair,’ Myrtle said sulkily. ‘Now could you untie me, please?’
‘Presently,’ Stephanie promised, ‘but not until you’ve said thank you.’
‘What for?’ Myrtle demanded. ‘Look, Stephanie, if you –’
‘Now, now,’ Stephanie interrupted, ‘let’s not have any of that, shall we? You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you, and say thank you nicely, or I might have to find out if this cheeseboard makes a good paddle – not a rowing paddle, you understand, but a paddle for spanking naughty girls’ bottoms.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Myrtle spat as Stephanie picked up the large wooden cheeseboard by its handle. ‘Ow! All right, you would dare! Ow! You would, I said you would! Ow! Ow! Stephanie, that hurts! All right, you utter beast, thank you! Ow! Thank you, I said! Ow!’
‘That’s not what I meant by saying thank you,’ Stephanie replied, putting down the cheeseboard. ‘This is.’
She lifted the front of her dress, showing off her bare sex, just inches from her captive’s face.
‘Oh God!’ Myrtle groaned, staring horror-struck at Stephanie’s quim.
‘Think of all the times you’ve made me do it,’ Stephanie said.
‘But … but you enjoy it!’ Myrtle protested. ‘You like to be made to do that sort of thing!’
‘Maybe,’ Stephanie admitted. ‘Maybe you could too. Now lick!’
She moved closer, pushing her belly into Myrtle’s face.
‘Lick, you little beast!’ she demanded, and reached for the cheeseboard.
‘This isn’t fair!’ Myrtle whined. ‘Please, Stiffy, I said thank you. No, not the cheeseboard, it hurts awfully! Ow! No, Stiffy … Ow! Ow!’
She began to buck and wriggle as the heavy cheeseboard smacked down on her bottom, but her pain and distress only made Stephanie more determined, and more excited. Taking Myrtle firmly by the hair, she pushed her belly further towards her and began to spank her. The meaty slaps rang in the empty room.
‘Lick me, you little pig!’ she screamed, and her voice faded to a sigh as Myrtle gave in, extending her tongue to lap tentatively between Stephanie’s sex lips. ‘That’s right … just there. That’s not so bad, is it? Not so bad at all …’
Myrtle didn’t answer, but she seemed to have given in, licking obediently at Stephanie’s out-thrust quim. Dropping the cheeseboard, Stephanie pulled herself closer, still holding Myrtle by the hair and still spanking, but now with her hand and punctuating the smacks with caresses on the beaten girl’s hot bottom cheeks.
‘That’s nice,’ she sighed, ‘just like that. Now rub yourself while you do it, you little beast, or I’ll pee in your mouth.’
Myrtle gave a violent shiver at Stephanie’s words, but resisted, clenching her fists in her determination not to put her fingers to her sex, and to be seen not to do it.
‘I will,’ Stephanie warned. ‘I’ll pee in your mouth.’
She began to spank harder as she spoke, making Myrtle’s bottom cheeks bounce and quiver, and spread to show off the smeared mustard between, and the few inches of daffodil stem still protruding from her anus. Holding Myrtle’s head firmly in place, Stephanie slipped a hand between the warm red cheeks, to ease the stem free and replace it with her own finger. As she forced open the tight, slippery little ring, she was wishing she was a man so that she could sodomise Myrtle as she herself had been sodomised by Porker Porthwell. She could see Myrtle’s quim too, which was wet with juice and squeezing softly in involuntary excitement, but her fists remained obstinately clenched.
‘You may as well rub it,’ Stephanie pointed out.
Myrtle responded with an angry shake of her head, but continued to lick, sending little pulses of pleasure through Stephanie’s body. Unable to hold off any longer, Stephanie gave in to her pleasure, allowing her climax to rise as her eyes feasted on Myrtle’s bound and helpless body, her finger easing out of her enemy’s mustard-soiled anus, her cunt pressed hard forward. She cried out as the ecstasy hit her, cruel and triumphant, twisting her hand in Myrtle’s hair and sticking her finger as far as it would go, deep into the hot, mushy cavity of Myrtle’s rectum.
For all her delight in her revenge, it was only by biting hard on her lip that she managed to prevent herself crying out Myrtle’s name, along with a flood of apologies, as her orgasm began to fade. When at last she pulled away, her legs were shaking so badly that she had trouble standing, but she was still determined to make Myrtle break.
‘Now you,’ she demanded. ‘Do it, and for being so stubborn, you can suck my finger.’
Sh
e had pulled her finger out, brown and slippery with mustard and juices, and offered it to Myrtle, whose face was already soiled with Stephanie’s own cream. Myrtle gave a single, sharp shake of her head.
‘I’ll pee on you, Myrtle,’ Stephanie warned. ‘I had most of a bottle of claret at lunch, as you saw.’
Again Myrtle shook her head.
‘I mean it,’ Stephanie said, pulling Myrtle’s head back by the hair. ‘If I let go, it’ll go right in your face. Now rub off!’
Myrtle merely screwed her face up, obviously expecting it to be peed on at any moment.
‘You asked for this,’ Stephanie said, and let go.
Rich yellow piddle sprayed from Stephanie’s cunt, full in Myrtle’s face, splashing both of them and soiling the floor. At the same instant Myrtle’s fingers uncoiled, her mouth opened and she eagerly swallowed Stephanie’s pee as she masturbated herself. Stephanie burst out laughing, delighted by her conquest, indifferent to the hot piddle running down her legs and splashing over her dress. The sheer cruel joy she felt was almost as satisfying as an orgasm.
‘That’s the way!’ she crowed. ‘Drink it all up, you filthy little trollop! Drink up my pee-pee, Myrtle, drink it all up like the dirty little strumpet you are!’
She finished with a long peal of laughter, because as Myrtle swallowed she had started to come, her bottom cheeks squeezing and a long brown worm of mustard emerging from her anus as the muscular little ring went tight. At that instant somebody tried the door. Stephanie heard the scrape of the chair on the floor as it began to open, but she was in no mood to stop, and couldn’t have held back her pee if she’d wanted to.
‘Bugger off, will you!’ she yelled. ‘I’m pissing on my tart!’
The scraping noise stopped and Stephanie pulled herself close, holding her cunt to Myrtle’s open mouth as she let the last of her pee out and giggling as she watched it dribble from the sides and run down her legs into the wide yellow puddle in which she was now standing. Myrtle had finished coming, but that didn’t stop her from swallowing her final mouthful, and Stephanie realised that her triumph was complete.
Portrait of a Disciplinarian Page 21
