by Peter Birch
“They did howl!”
“I mean really howl, and we only got to see three, and it was a fix. That means you owe us, and if they’re dirty enough to agree to get it bare in front of a load of boys, then they’re dirty enough for a little extracurricular.”
“Yeah,” Mawby agreed.
“Yeah,” Tinknell added, “and if we don’t get any, you get thumped.”
Peter drew in his breath, struggling for an answer, but before he could decide on what to say, two faces appeared in the doorway beyond Mawby—Stephen Richards and Hunter Rackman. Neither measured up to Tinknell or Mawby in sheer bulk, but both were tall and strong, while Hunter’s reputation for dirty, vicious fighting was enough to make the largest of opponents think twice. Peter rallied, speaking first to his friends, then to the others.
“It’s alright, boys. They were just leaving. Look, you idiots, if you want sex with a girl you have to sweet talk her, seduce her, you know, make her want it too. That or you have to pay for it. I can’t do what you’re asking, even if I wanted to, so just fuck off.”
Tinknell’s face had begun to go dark with anger and he’d bunched one massive fist, only to turn away.
“We’re not done,” he threatened as the three made for the door.
Peter stood at the landing window in the top passage of Grove House, looking out over the woods and fields. Five days had passed since the Great St. Monica’s Spanking Show and still nothing had happened. He was growing increasingly restless and desperate to see Tiffany. The two expeditions he’d made to the old railway cutting had proved fruitless, while approaching the playing fields through the woods had been more frustrating still. She’d been there, playing hockey in her white blouse and the barely-there shorts that displayed every contour and lovely bulge to perfection, but there had been too many nuns around for him to dare an approach.
The only news of any kind had come via Ben Thompson’s sister when their parents took the two of them out at the weekend, and that was a mixed blessing. It turned out that Thompson’s sister was close friends with Katie Vale, who’d told her about the spanking. This meant that the secret was spreading through St. Monica’s, but so far had not reached the nuns. Ben had also learned that the spanking hadn’t really been a punishment, but Peter had refused to back down, insisting that the show, regardless of its inception, had been well worth the money. His friends had backed him up and the thirty pounds remained carefully hidden in his room, all his, save for what he owed to Tiffany and Vicky Trent. One way or another, he had to get into St. Monica’s to see Tiffany, and with the end of term fast approaching it looked as if another nocturnal expedition was the only option.
“Finch?” Daniel Stewart asked as he came up the stairs behind Peter. “What are you doing in Top Corridor?”
“Staring out of the window,” Peter stated flatly. “Any news? Did Porter say anything at the school prefects’ meeting?”
“No. He was ragging4 us about litter. We’re safe. Nobody can say anything without giving the game away, girls or boys.”
“That’s what I keep trying to tell myself, but I’ve got to see Tiffs.”
Daniel was about to reply but went quiet as Gardiner appeared on the stairs, throwing Peter a malicious and oddly triumphant sidelong glance as he passed. Worried for his money, Peter hurried down to his bedsit. There was no sign that his hiding place had been disturbed, but he’d definitely had a visitor and almost certainly Gardiner. On his bed lay the crushed and desiccated corpse of a rat and beside it was a note made of letters cut and pasted from a newspaper—“We get what we want, or Porter gets a letter”.
“How are you going to prove it, idiots,” Peter muttered to himself, but a sick feeling had begun to well up in his stomach.
Gardiner, Tinknell and Mawby were certainly capable of sending an anonymous letter to the Headmaster, and such an outrageous claim would surely be investigated. Rev. Porter would go to St. Monica’s to talk to the Mother Superior, who in turn would talk to the girls. Peter was sure Tiffany could handle interrogation, and most of the others, except perhaps Alice and Katie. But other girls now knew, making it ever more likely that it would all be uncovered. Disaster would follow, and yet what his three schoolmates were asking was impossible. Clearly Tiffany needed to be warned, making a visit all the more urgent.
Evening prep seemed to last forever, and the recreation period longer still, but finally Broadfields had grown dark and quiet, allowing Peter to steal downstairs and out into the moonlit night. Following the familiar route down to the river and up the valley, he twice stopped at unexpected sounds, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck as he stood listening to the night, once thinking he could hear distant laughter. Always he pushed on, chiding himself for night fears and before long he was once more where the woods gave way to St. Monica’s playing fields, faced with the challenge of breaking into the convent for a second time.
As before, it took a moment of reflection on his Uncle Charles’ heroics before he found the courage to slip on his nun’s outfit and make for the convent. Luck seemed to be on his side, at least at first. Nobody was in the laundry, but he’d soon gotten a window open and climbed inside to where the passages and stairways were empty and silent. In just minutes he was at Tiffany’s door, but when he pushed it open he found her bed lying empty under pale moonlight streaming in between half open curtains.
His first thought was that she’d merely gone to the bathroom, but a minute passed, and a second with no sound but the occasional creak of a bedspring and, once, a gentle sigh from the room opposite. Peering close, he read the label on the door, Shelley, A., making him wonder if Tiffany was with her friend and, if so, what they might be up to. Half excited, half guilty, he eased the door open, his eyes growing wide as he took in the dimly lit scene within.
On a bed just off to the side were two girls on top of each other, stark naked, their bodies pale in the low light, Charlotte’s bouncy bottom spread to Alice’s face, both licking eagerly between the other’s thighs, their cunts wet with juice and each other’s saliva. Neither had noticed the open door, and for a long moment Peter feasted his eyes on the spectacle, watching in ever greater fascination and arousal as Alice’s tongue flicked over the folds of Charlotte’s cunt, then moved higher. Charlotte giggled as her friend’s tongue touched her anus and twisted her head around to chide Alice for being so dirty, then froze as she saw Peter, her mischievous expression switching to guilt and horror.
“Um … I’m not a nun,” he ventured, unsure what the polite thing to say would be in the circumstances. “It’s me, Peter Finch. Uh … do you know where Tiffs is?”
Alice had seen him too and with that the girls came to life, twisting around and burrowing in under the covers, even their heads concealed as Charlotte answered him, her voice painfully embarrassed.
“She’s with Vicky, at the top of the next staircase. Now go away.”
“Of course, sorry,” Peter replied and withdrew.
His heart was hammering in his chest and his cock was rock hard, while the image of the pretty, delicate Alice with her tongue extended to lick her friend’s bottom burnt in his brain. More urgent to get to Tiffany than ever and praying that Vicky’s presence wouldn’t be a problem, he quickly made his way down one stairway and up the next, eventually reaching a tiny landing with a single door marked Trent, V. – Head Girl. He could hear the girls talking within, their voices hushed and excited. Deciding against a tactful knock, he eased the door open, to find Tiffany and Vicky seated side by side on the bed. They still had their nighties on, but their faces were scarcely less horror struck than those of Alice and Charlotte. Tiffany recovered first.
“Peter! I thought you were a penguin!”
“I’m not,” he assured her. “Only dressed as one.”
“If you ever, ever do that again I am going to kill you,” Vicky promised.
“Fair enough,” Peter agreed.
“Sorry about that, but I had to come and it’s the best way to get in. Maybe this will make up for the shock?”
He’d reached in under his habit to extract fifteen one pound notes from his trouser pocket. She accepted them eagerly and hid them away beneath her mattress as Peter bent to kiss Tiffany. Her response was as warm and yielding as ever, to his great relief after what had happened at the pavilion. But when he let his hand stray to the curve of one pert breast, Vicky gave a dismissive cough.
“You can do that later, you dirty little boy. What I want to know is, how come there were so many of you at the pavilion? We said seven and there must have been … well, fifteen if you’ve paid me fairly.”
“Eighteen,” Peter told her. “Nineteen if you count me. There were some freeloaders. Sorry about that. It all got a bit out of hand, unfortunately. What about at your end? Are we safe?”
“Safe enough,” Vicky assured him. “It’s got out around the girls a bit, but nobody’s going to tell the penguins. How can they prove it anyway? I’d just deny it and they’d be the ones who ended up in trouble.”
“Good,” Peter sighed. “It was a great show. You were ace. I’m only sorry you didn’t get to finish. Oh, and how did the competition work?”
“I changed that,” Vicky told him as he and Tiffany cuddled up together on the bed. “I couldn’t think of a way to make it a competition without giving the game away, but it was a real spanking.”
“I gathered that. The fuss Emerald made! Did you just punish them then? Hannah Thompson said that wasn’t allowed.”
“It’s not, but they know I like to spank, and they are the prettiest girls, so they weren’t at all surprised. You see, as Head Girl I get to recommend who ought to be made a prefect, so I said I wouldn’t put anybody’s name forward unless they took a spanking. That got Emerald and Christine’s attention. Plus, it was Emerald who I caught smoking, so she had the most to lose.”
“I told Lottie,” Tiffany put in, “and she even knew you’d be watching. Then we talked Alice into it too. They really quite like having their bottoms smacked.”
“Oh … fair enough. They told me how to get here, by the way. I walked in on them at rather an embarrassing moment, I’m afraid. And what about Katie?”
“She was smoking with Emerald, so she knew she was in for a spanking.”
“But what did you tell them about me and the others?”
“I blamed it on you,” Vicky continued casually. “I said Tiffs told you about the spanking and you brought your friends along to watch, but without telling her. They still think it was for real, Christine, Emerald and Katie anyway. It’s you they’re angry with, and Tiffs. She got it from both of them, over their knees with hairbrushes and a handle up her bum to finish her off, but …”
She stopped at a sound from beyond the door. Tiffany rolled beneath the bed as Peter threw himself behind the curtains to stand stock still against the window as a knock sounded, firm but very gentle. Sure that a nun would have been more assertive and probably spoken too, Peter relaxed a little but stayed where he was as Vicky spoke.
“Who’s that? Come in, silly … Ayanna?”
Vicky was clearly surprised by the identity of her visitor, as was Peter. Peering cautiously out from a crack in the drapes, he saw the Indian girl making her way into the room. She was in pajamas of pale blue silk, loose on her slender figure save where her small, pointed breasts and little round bottom pushed out the fabric, while her hair hung to her ankles in a curtain of midnight black. Her face showed a reserved, haughty expression, but the corner of her mouth twitched oddly, as if in extreme embarrassment and she seemed unable to speak.
“What’s the matter?” Vicky asked. “Come out from under the bed will you, Tiffs?”
Tiffany emerged, to swap shy smiles with Ayanna, who now seemed more hesitant than ever. Peter stayed as he was, not daring to move so much as a muscle but with a decent view of the room. Finally Ayanna found her voice.
“I … I want to be a prefect, Vicky.”
“You could have come to see me during the day to ask that,” Vicky responded.
Ayanna lifted her chin, proud and determined but now shaking visibly as she went on, her voice oddly formal and also defiant, as if she were addressing a mob.
“I understand from Emerald Feldkirch and Christine Arlington that in order for you to put our names forward you feel the need to … to punish us first … to spank us … on our bottoms.”
For an instant Vicky merely looked surprised, then amused, but when she replied her voice was cool and even.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“May I ask why?” Ayanna demanded. “It seems a very undignified test.”
“That’s the whole point,” Vicky continued blithely. “I don’t want anybody who’s going to get above herself, and the way I see it, anybody who’s too stuck up to take a spanking isn’t fit to have authority over other girls.”
“I already understand this lesson,” Ayanna answered. “To rule well, one must understand what it is to be humble.”
“Exactly,” Vicky agreed. “So if you want me to put your name forward, I want you over my knee. I can’t make any exceptions, I’m afraid, not after I’ve done Emerald and Christine.”
Ayanna swallowed hard, then spoke again.
“I do not ask to be made an exception. I would like to be spanked on my bottom.”
Vicky’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but she had quickly made a lap, speaking again as she patted one leg.
“Okay then, drop your pjs and we’ll soon have you done. But I warn you, it will be a proper spanking.”
“I cannot accept that,” Ayanna answered. “You may spank me, but only gently, and over the seat of my pajamas. Tiffany will stand witness.”
“Chrissie and Emerald took it bare,” Tiffany pointed out, her voice softly seductive. “You should too.”
“I am a rani,” Ayanna replied, “and the daughter of a maharajah. I should not really be spanked at all, let alone naked.”
“You don’t have to be naked,” Tiffany put in. “Just bare bottom.”
“I will still uncover what should not be seen save by my husband,” Ayanna insisted. “You must spank me, but on the seat of my pajamas, as I would be spanked in India.”
“Well,” Vicky said, “here in England girls are spanked on their bare bottoms. Take it or leave it.”
“You may use your hairbrush,” Ayanna offered, her nose now lifted high in the air, “to make my spanking more painful, but I do not go naked!”
“Oh yes you do,” Vicky answered, and before Ayanna could react, her pajama bottoms had been whipped down, baring her to Peter’s delighted gaze.
Another instant and Ayanna had been turned across Vicky’s knee with her little brown bottom stuck high in the air and the lips of her cunt peeping out invitingly between her thighs. The spanking began without further ceremony, Ayanna squealing with indignation as her cheeks bounced and spread, showing off all the soft and secret places she had but a moment before been pledging to a husband, with Tiffany giggling and Vicky chiding all the while.
“Princess you may be, but once you’re over my knee with your bottom bare you’re no better than any other little brat, are you? You squeal just the same and you kick just the same, and what a surprise, your little pussy’s all wet!”
Ayanna had given a gasp of pure, unbridled outrage as Vicky’s finger snuck between her thighs to test the state of her cunt. With her secret out, Ayanna lost some of her defiance, now sobbing over Vicky’s lap as the spanking continued. Neither was there any doubt of the Indian girl’s involuntary response, with the rich, feminine scent of her cunt thick in the air and the slick honey glistening between her legs, so much so that she’d plainly been soaking wet even before she arrived.
Vicky continued to spank, now grinning, while Tiffany began to tease, counting out the smacks a
s they landed across Ayanna’s wriggling cheeks—ten, and twenty, and thirty—with the spanked girl’s sobs growing ever more bitter, the syrup from her cunt now so copious that it spattered the tucks of her cheeks and her inner thighs, running from her slit onto Vicky’s leg with every swat.
“Admit it, Ayanna,” Vicky urged when Tiffany had counted out fifty smacks to Ayanna’s flushed bottom. “You like it, don’t you? Come on, tell me, then stick your bottom up and let’s have some fun.”
Still clinging to the last vestiges of her pride despite her blazing bottom and sopping wet cunt, Ayanna said something in a language Peter didn’t recognize. Vicky merely laughed and continued to spank, pausing occasionally to rub at Ayanna’s cunt or tickle her bottom, until finally the Indian girl broke, lifting her bottom and cocking her thighs wide to offer herself to Vicky.
“That’s my girl,” Vicky said happily. “There, doesn’t that feel nice? Doesn’t that feel right, over my knee with your bottom all bare and hot? Now come on, stick it right up high.” This time there was no resistance. Ayanna’s hips came up, spreading her bottom wide, advertising the opening between her cheeks, her wet cunt wide and puffy between her open thighs. Vicky continued to spank, but more gently now, and with ever more attention to Ayanna’s cunt, until at last she spoke to Tiffany.
“You bring her off. I’ll do the spanking.”
Tiffany complied immediately, extending one knuckle to rub in the wetness of Ayanna’s slit as the spanking carried on, firm and even across the little brown buttocks. Peter watched, still frozen and very sure his emergence from behind the curtain would not be welcome, for all that Vicky obviously realized he was watching and seemed to be enjoying making an exhibition of Ayanna’s naked rear and helpless arousal.
So was Tiffany, leaning closer to deliberately spread Ayanna’s pussy lips wide, showing off the wet, bright pink inside and the taut arc of flesh that sealed her vagina. Vicky gave a sharp tut as she saw Tiffany’s crass display of their subject. The sound was half-mocking and half-chiding, but Vicky continued to spank the wriggling girl, until at last their rude treatment had its intended effect and Ayanna came, crying out in ecstasy and squirming her bottom and cunt against her tormentors’ hands as they brought her to orgasm.
