by Peter Birch
“I want to see you done,” he sighed, now stroking himself with such furious speed that the motion of his hand was making her bottom jiggle. “I want to see you done by that mad old hag of a Matron, spanked on your bare bottom—and not just you, Tiffs, all your friends too, one after another, girlie little butts spanked one after another, all of you, knickers off and spanked bare … spanked so hard …”
His voice broke to a grunt as he started to come, his fingers now clawed into the soft flesh of one hot, round cheek, spreading her cleft as his cum came again, soiling her cheeks and her slit, pooling in the little brown dimple between. Guilt and doubt hit him the instant he was past the first exquisite peak, but that didn’t stop him finishing off … or from considering just how much his friends would be prepared to pay in order to witness a scene like the one he’d just imagined.
♦♦♦♦
Peter sat at the desk in his dormitory bedsit, his mathematics prep piled neatly to one side, complete and correct, the sheet of paper in front of him covered in scribbles and neatly formed little boxes linked one to another by arrows. For the previous hour, he had been attempting to work out how he could set up a group scene which his friends could be invited to watch, for a price. So far, he didn’t feel he’d had much success.
It was practical, although the risks were high. Having the girls paraded for the inspection of their virginity seemed likely to be too complicated, but a punishment spanking was at least feasible. The stumbling block was costs. With the exception of Hunter Rackman and one or two others, none of his friends could be expected to go above ten shillings unless they had plenty of warning and he laid on something really spectacular. Perhaps a dozen could be relied on to keep their mouths shut afterwards, at least until the end of the year when they’d all be leaving and it would no longer matter. It was hard to see how he could achieve an income of much above five pounds, ten at a pinch, which looked healthy until the overheads were taken into consideration.
Tiffany was game, as always, and she was confident that she could persuade at least four of her friends to accept spankings in a good cause, as long as they were paid enough. Therein lay the problem. The girls at St. Monica’s came from wealthy, respectable families and were not going to be persuaded to let their knickers down for a few pennies, let alone have their bottoms smacked when they knew boys were watching. It was also essential to have pretty, shapely girls; and pretty, shapely girls tended to be vain and therefore expensive. Tiffany had jokingly suggested the idea to her friend Charlotte, a petite, bouncy blonde with a rounded bottom and breasts like a pair of fat little peaches. Charlotte had giggled, considered the idea for a moment, then come back with a figure of five pounds. Even if four pretty girls could be talked down to a couple of pounds apiece, that still left little or no margin. They’d also need two girls who could pass as junior nuns to do the spanking, while there were sure to be other costs. At best they would come away with a few shillings each, which scarcely seemed worthwhile, however exciting the idea.
Never one to be easily dissuaded, Peter spent a moment trying to convince himself to go ahead with the idea anyway, but his mind kept coming back to Charlotte and her casual (but prohibitive) quote of five pounds. He’d only seen her on the hockey field, with her gloriously formed bouncy bottom bulging out the seat of her bottle green gym knickersiv as she played, and the thought of seeing her with those same knickers pulled right down to bare her bottom for a spanking was enough to leave his cock so hard it ached. It was no surprise that she set such a high value on herself, yet Tiffany felt she was likely to be the cheapest of the four willing girls.
Tiffany’s best friend, Alice Shelley, could be relied upon to join in. With her pale hair and winsome, delicate figure she was sure to be popular, but she was going to expect her fair share. Christine, smaller still but with a poisonous reputation and a stockbroker father, apparently wouldn’t do it unless she got more money than anybody else. Yet her perfect, haughty face made the idea of watching her get spanked too good to resist. Then there was Emerald Feldkirch, an American girl who seemed to be made of sun, ripe wheat and all things wholesome but, according to Tiffany, was always the first out of her clothes if things got naughty.
Among the other girls he knew by sight only one really stood out: Ayanna, an Indian girl rumored to be a princess and blessed with a slender figure, a perfect little bottom on long, coltish legs and hair that fell to her ankles when loose. She was always a favorite on the hockey field, particularly as her gym knickers tended to ride up terribly, leaving her scrumptious, nut brown bottom almost entirely exposed, the fabric pulling taut against her pussy and leaving little to the imagination. But it was her air of grave, subconscious superiority that really appealed. To see her spanked would be bliss, although Tiffany had been adamant that she was unavailable.
The thought was painfully arousing and Peter shut his eyes, trying to banish the images of the five or more beautiful girls undergoing the humiliating spanking regime he and Tiffany had devised. As a fantasy, it would have been powerful. But to know that it was possible actually hurt, and he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed even harder as he struggled to persuade himself that it was both too expensive and too risky.
“Bugger!” he swore, pushing his chair back from the desk just as the door opened.
“No talking during prep,” Ben Thompson informed him, “and definitely no swearing.”
“Dry up, Thompson,” Peter responded, although his friend was already smiling and obviously didn’t mean it. “Just because you’re a prefect3 doesn’t mean you can boss me around.”
“Yes it does,” Ben answered. “But never mind that. When do we get to watch Tiff’s again?”
“Soon,” Peter promised.
“How about a striptease this time?” Ben went on eagerly. “Nice and slow, right down to the bare.”
“That could be arranged,” Peter admitted. His friend’s near-desperate tone caused such pride and satisfaction to well up inside him that he’d continued speaking without thinking about what he was saying. “How about some of the other Senior St. Monica’s girls too?”
“Other girls?” Ben asked in awe. “Stripping? Hey, you’re pulling my leg. Tiffs is your girlfriend, but nobody …”
“Not stripping,” Peter admitted, hastily pulling back in the face of Ben’s disbelief. “Getting spanked.”
“What’s the deal with you and spanking?” Ben asked.
“Nothing,” Peter lied. “That’s just what’s happening. Some of the girls are going to be spanked, as a punishment.”
“What, and we can watch?” Ben demanded, more awestruck than ever.
“Maybe, if things work out,” Peter went on, telling himself that there was no harm in outlining his idea, and that he could always claim the girls had been pardoned if the group spanking proved impossible to organize.
“How?” Ben queried. “I mean, they’re not just going to let us into St. Monica’s when some girls are getting it, are they?”
“Of course not, but there’s going to be a spanking, six girls, and for the right money I might be able to arrange a viewing.”
“How?” Ben repeated.
Peter had no idea and tapped the side of his nose to suggest mysterious influences, but the look of disbelief on Ben’s face was close to scorn and Peter found himself making the effort to persuade his friend.
“I know it’s going to happen, because Tiffs told me so. She’s one of the girls getting it, and her friend Alice, you know, with the long blonde hair, and Charlotte Mayfield, and three others, including the Indian princess. They’re going to get it all at once, lined up and waiting. Knickers down, bottoms up, pussies out. Spanked over the knee by the nuns, then lined up again, against the wall with their hands on their heads and all red behind.”
Ben’s mouth had fallen open, but closed abruptly to become a knowing grin.
“Yeah, right! Good o
ne, Finch, but I’m not buying.”
“I’m serious,” Peter went on. “They got caught smoking and the nuns are out to make an example of them. The only hard bit is getting to watch. If you don’t believe me, ask Tiffs.”
Doubt still showed in Ben’s face, but he gave a thoughtful nod before he spoke again.
“How would we get in?”
“That’s my business,” Peter replied, once again tapping the side of his nose, “and that’s why it’s not going to come cheap.”
“How much?”
“Two quidv.”
“That’s more than I get for the whole term!”
“Maybe a quid, for you, but it’s worth it. You saw Tiffs get it for fun, but she’s game. Imagine Alice, looking all shy and sorry for herself as her knickers are taken down, then over some old bitch of a nun’s knee with everything showing, her fanny, even her asshole. And what about Charlotte? I bet she’ll howl. And that stuck up bitch Christine Arlington, and there’s an American girl too, a real beauty, and the princess. Think of the fury of a spanked princess, with nothing but air between us and her naked little virgin fanny …”
“Alright, alright, a quid,” Ben promised. “I can borrow it from Richards or Hunter, I reckon. When does it happen? And it’s got to be safe, Finch, I’m not getting kicked out.”
“It’ll be safe, if it happens,” Peter answered coolly, now thoroughly pleased with himself. “I’ll let you know.”
Ben withdrew to ring the bell that marked the end of prep, leaving Peter to sit back in his chair with his hands behind his head. Ben’s mixture of awe and disbelief made him feel good, and he knew his other friends would react the same way. After spanking Tiffany in front of them, nobody would call his bluff. Yet he also felt deeply frustrated, both for the dirty images crowding his mind and the seeming impossibility of making his scheme a reality. His cock was rock hard in his pants and it would have been the work of a moment to bring himself to orgasm, but masturbation seemed an admission of defeat.
With prep over there was an hour of association time before he prepared for bed. So he went downstairs, hoping that a game of ping-pong or some interesting television program would distract him. The strategy failed, with the ping-pong table already occupied, while the James Bond film projected in the common room contained enough bikini clad loveliness to ensure that his need grew stronger rather than weaker. By the time the bell rang for the seniors to go upstairs he felt as if he would burst at any instant, yet masturbation still seemed an insipid riposte. His heart was racing as he lay staring up into the darkness, with the college now quiet but for the toll of the chapel bell as it marked out the quarter hours.
Three miles away, St. Monica’s lay under the same bright, gibbous moon that made silver rims along the curtains of his bedsit. Tiffany would be in bed, just as he was, perhaps asleep, perhaps awake and thoughtful, perhaps with her nightie pulled up over her breasts and her fingers busy between her legs as she thought of him. She’d as good as offered him her virginity if he had the courage to break in. So perhaps she’d be imagining how it would be to wake to the feel of his body as he climbed in beside her, her shock giving way to excitement and submission as he explored her body, her thighs slowly drifting wide until she was ready to accept him into her virgin heat.
The thought made his cock ache with need and he tried to turn his mind back to the more practical matter of getting Tiffany and her friends spanked. But the thought of Alice opened up a new possibility that Tiffany might not be alone in her bed. He knew that her room was in an upper passage with just four neighbors, all senior girls like herself. One was Alice and, while nothing had been admitted beyond a few sessions of kissing practice, he was fairly sure the two girls had at very least explored each other’s bodies. Perhaps they were together now, cuddled into each other’s arms, fingers moving over nubile breasts and perky bottoms with as much embarrassment as excitement, their lips coming into play as their arousal increased, mouths put to stiff pink nipples to lick and suck before they finally gave in to their need and went head to toe with their faces between each other’s thighs.
Peter gave a hollow groan, his hand already stealing to his cock, only to withdraw. Muttering under his breath, he threw the covers back, walked to the window and jerked the curtains aside. The quad lay pale and still in the moonlight, with the buildings opposite creating a silhouette against a sky ragged with cloud. The confinements of school, which he’d found increasingly hard to bear as he came to maturity, suddenly seemed intolerable, a captivity as irksome as it was ridiculous.
“I’m eighteen years old,” he sighed, “and I’m cooped up as if I was in the nursery. The hell with it, they can do what they like to me. I’m going out.”
He took just moments to dress, pulling on his darkest clothes before slipping into the corridor and downstairs. It was far from the first time he’d ventured outside after dark, and the route he followed to get clear of the school grounds was familiar. Still, he remained cautious, skulking from shadow to shadow and repeatedly pausing to listen until he had reached the comparative safety of the river path.
There was no doubt in his mind as to where he was going—St. Monica’s—but he had little idea what to do once he got there. It was all very well Tiffany encouraging him to break in, but the convent kept their charges under a far tighter rein than Broadfields, despite their claims of providing a progressive education. A high brick wall, punctuated with spiked, wrought iron gates, surrounded the accommodation and teaching buildings, and the wall itself was topped with broken glass. The front gate was not even worth investigating, on the main road and in full view of the buildings of Junior St. Monica’s should any of the nuns chance to look out. It was locked at eight o’clock each evening, sealing Tiffany and some three hundred other girls away from temptation.
He’d only gone a few hundred yards when he stopped, telling himself that the trip was far too risky, only to decide that at the very least he had to reach the convent and scout out the lay of the land. Gathering his courage, he thought first of his Uncle Charles, a commando during the war, then of Tiffany, warm and eager in her bed, her cunt wet and ready for his cock. Neither ever had to know of his expedition, but the thought of their scorn and disappointment if he turned back was enough to make him push on.
Following a tiny lane and the familiar railway cutting, Peter reached the bank overlooking the playing fields just as the bells signaled midnight. He felt no less nervous than when he had come to peep at the girls from the woods, with every night-time sound magnified and invested with unseen fears, emotions that grew sharper as he stepped out onto the moonlit playing fields. For all his cultivated rationality, his imagination peopled the shadows with huge, vindictive nuns determined to protect their precious charges, and worse, especially where the chapel pushed out to one side and the pale light showed the angular shapes of gravestones.
The buildings were dark but for a few pallid rectangles, most on the upper floors, which suggested the possibility of catching sight of girls in a state of undress, a thought that gave him fresh courage. There was an athletic pavilion nearby, a low wooden building with its back to the woods, allowing him to keep in shelter for a little longer. As he reached it, he reflected that it would be the perfect place to stage his group spanking, perhaps on a quiet evening when anybody coming across the playing fields would be seen in plenty of time to allow him and his friends to melt unseen into the woods. The back door had even been left open and he peered briefly inside, drawing in the scent of wood polish and girlish exertion, before returning outside to check the voyeuristic possibilities of a line of high, algae encrusted windows at the back. They proved ideal, with the bank allowing him to stand in moderate comfort and look down into the changing area, and he was grinning as he moved on.
With no choice but to cross the open fields, he ducked low and ran, imagining the angry cry of some prowling nun with every step until he had reached the she
lter of the wall. Nothing happened, but the wall rose a good two feet above his head and was as well defended as the one at the front; and the single iron gate which offered access to the convent was chained securely shut. Getting in was clearly going to be difficult and dangerous, finding Tiffany would be harder still. Feeling somewhat foolish, he tried to tell himself that the trip had been worthwhile both as a reconnaissance and an act of defiance, but the figure of his Uncle Charles rose up in his mind once more, chiding him for his cowardice and telling him to think out his strategy.
High above him the upper part of the convent was a muddle of roofs, gables and leaded flats. He knew that Tiffany’s window looked out over the playing fields from the top floor. He could count eight that might be the one, all dark, two rows of three and a pair, but if she had three neighbors it surely had to be one of the pair. To think of her beyond the window gave him fresh determination. Looking around, there seemed to be two possible ways in. The graveyard wall was low and looked easy to climb. But, while the chapel beyond was sure to have several doors, they seemed likely to be locked. In the opposite direction a long, low building thrust out from the wall—clearly an addition after the convent had first been built. If he could get onto the roof it might be possible to cross the main wall, but a row of windows showed pale with light. He moved closer, keeping to the shadow of the high wall, slow, and slower still as he caught a strange, irregular thumping, then a voice, soft and feminine, singing a psalm. Curiosity overcame his caution and as he reached the first of the windows he peered within.
