‘Look,’ said Miranda, proudly tapping her redband — as though it were a priceless Cartier.
Jaya smiled, unconsciously fingering her own gold band. Clarissa, a blueband, pouted.
‘All that sucking up is paying off, it would seem. First, you have sweet Emily eating out of your hands…’
‘If not actually eating you out,’ said Jane, dangerously.
‘And now ma’am herself is promoting you up to redband.’
‘I’ve got three sprogs to sort out. So have you, Jane. And whoever does the best job gets to be a blueband.’
‘I’ll soon lick them into shape,’ Jane remarked, coolly.
‘Better stick to simple discipline, if I were you,’ Clarissa said, chortling.
A pillow fight, as friendly as it was frantic, erupted. Jaya did not participate, merely remaining aloof while shaking her head and tut-tutting in her detached way. In the maelstrom of writhing limbs and soft, contorted bodies, Jane somehow ended up at the bottom of a heap which also involved a breathless Clarissa and an aroused Miranda.
At nineteen, but looking younger, Jane was slightly taller than her friends. But much more heavily breasted. Her tight vest was never quite able to conceal the delightful, burgeoning bosom that often threatened to burst through the stretched cotton sheath. Her generous bust, a beautifully rounded 38 inches, a C-cup when last intimately measured by a severe Swedish dressmaker in Wimpole Street, aroused affectionate regard, spiteful resentment and darker passions in equal proportion amongst all who knew her. Clarissa found her face happily pillowed in Jane’s soft valley, resting between the gentle mountain slopes.
‘Hold her down,’ she cried to Miranda.
Jane threshed like a gaffed pike but it was a useless, futile struggle. Quick as a cat’s paw, Miranda had gripped the pinioned girl’s wrists in one hand and then pulled up the white vest with the other. Extricating herself a little from the mixture of assorted limbs, she lay out at fully stretched length alongside Jane, clamping the hips of the struggling girl between her own scissored thighs.
‘Mmm,’ purred Clarissa, easing herself up to sit astride the helpless, spread-eagled Jane, whose naked, satin, gleaming pillows of swollen, ripe flesh joggled softly.
‘What was all that talk about licking things into shape,’ said Miranda, giggling.
‘Bloody beasts,’ squealed Jane, clearly enjoying every minute of her present predicament together with the promise held by her immediate future under Clarissa’s soft, warm thighs.
‘I’ll teach you the meaning of a good licking,’ Clarissa threatened in tones of pure velvet.
Slowly, with consummate self-control, she lowered her head, inch by breathtaking inch until she sank her face over the vulnerable left breast. She parted wide, then closed, her sweet, sticky lips over the dormant pink nipple. It responded at once to her warm flesh, stiffening and peaking with a delicious ache. Jane moaned a drunken, lust-dizzy groan. Taking the darkening nipple up between her firm, expert lips, Clarissa commenced to suck deeply.
Jaya shook her head in disbelief, but feasted on the scene with clouded, opaque eyes that narrowed with avid curiosity. Soon, Clarissa’s tiny white teeth replaced her full red lips around the tingling, throbbing nipple. Jane screamed softly but lay perfectly still in a posture of utter submission. A trickle of wet silver glistened down onto the nipple as Clarissa’s mouth worked busily. Tongue tip having punished the captured nipple for several timeless moments, Clarissa’s mouth withdrew, leaving it stiff, erect and almost trebled in size.
‘Wait,’ squealed Miranda. ‘Get her shorts off. Let’s see if she passes the Whore of Babylon test.’
‘What test is that?’ cried Jaya, now wide-eyed as Clarissa pulled the tight, white shorts down to Jane’s threshing ankles. The taut cotton became enmeshed in her struggling feet, taming and subduing them completely.
‘Nope. She’s still dry,’ said Miranda, holding up her dry index finger whose length she had just dragged between Jane’s thighs. ‘Try the other one.’
Jaya shook her head, mildly shocked but secretly thrilled as Clarissa bent down once more, her soft buttocks grinding into Jane’s splayed thighs. Obeying Miranda’s command, she took up the nipple of the right breast between her lips, sucked fiercely, then encircled it with her tiny perfect teeth. Once more the stubby pink tongue did sterling service, eliciting several squeals of sweet torment from the pinioned, helpless victim.
‘Slightly sticky,’ triumphed Miranda, holding aloft the glistening finger she had just extracted from Jane’s moistening thighs. ‘Give the bitch the full treatment.’
Clarissa, who by this time had taken the full breast into her mouth and was almost gagging on its fulsomeness, drew back her head and applied a searching finger-thumb pincer to the left nipple, working it furiously. Freeing her hand from beneath the soft weight of Jane’s heavy buttocks, she repeated the divine torture to the left nipple. Jane’s squealing threatened to draw down the wrath — and instant chastisement — of any staff member within reasonable earshot.
‘Gag her,’ Clarissa ordered, laughing.
Jaya threw her hands out wide, arms akimbo. Miranda looked up impatiently.
‘Use her shorts. Quick.’
The svelte Asian girl was galvanised into action. Entering fully into the orgy of delicious naughtiness, she scooped up the loose white shorts and silenced Jane’s cries into muffled whimperings. Jane’s eyes bulged as, now gagged and helpless, she wriggled and writhed within the merciless thrall of her loving tormentors. Clarissa, concentrating hard, massaged both breasts vigorously, cupping and squashing the beautiful mounds of pliant, supple flesh.
‘There she blows,’ cried Miranda exultantly, extracting a wet finger from the depths of the happy victim’s liquid thighs. ‘Jane, you are, without doubt, the Whore of Babylon!’
‘This is very naughty business. How you say? Disgrace. Tre`s mauvais.’ It was the clipped, heavily accented voice of Madame Nina. She had slipped into Jane’s dormitory unobserved by the frolicsome girls. ‘Shorts down at once, Clarissa. Et vous, Miranda. Give to me your bare bottom. Alors. Quelle infa^me! All of you. Face down across the bed.’
Beneath the comic accent, the tone was one of brooding severity. French or English did not matter. Punishment spoke in universal tones.
Flushed and panting, the three girls obeyed with alacrity. Three gorgeous, mouth-watering bottoms appeared, naked and passive, as the girls lay belly down, lengthways across the single bed.
‘Jaya. It is the moment for you to prove you have, how do you say it, won your spurs. The right to wear a goldband. The bande d’or carries responsibilities. Take my strap. Ten strokes each.’
‘Oh, Madame. I do not —’ Jaya murmured.
‘Do it, girl. No, no, no. Don’t stand there. Get up to the bed. Closer. That’s better. Begin.’
The ox hide strap was nineteen inches long. Jaya’s dark burnished hand covered the first five inches of it as her fingers tightened their grip. This left fourteen inches of the supple leather, some three inches wide, to punish the waiting buttocks. Jaya, flexing the strap, planted her white-stockinged feet comfortably apart and curled her toes expectantly. She approached her task conscientiously and with a sense of curiosity kindled with a flicker of mounting excitement.
Jane had the largest bottom. The fully rounded cheeks wobbled slightly under the impact of the first four carefully aimed strokes. Snap. Snap. Crack. Snap. The length of leather whizzed through the air with a crisp hiss each time before splatting down to flatten and squash the curved surfaces of both meaty globes. After seven severe swipes, Jaya paused, panting slightly as she inspected her handiwork. Then she turned her attention, along with the potent strap, to Miranda’s twin golden, rounded domes. Firmer and trimmer, the flesh seemed tighter under the silken sheath of taut skin.
Crack. Crack. The leather sang its stinging song. The passive buttocks clenched and shuddered responsively as she applied the broad strap with a shy eagerness. Red marks appeared almos
t immediately on the softly moulded, perfectly symmetrical curves after each treacherous Judas kiss. Crack. Splat. The sixth and seventh strokes snapped out aloud in the massive silence of the dormitory. Again, Jaya paused after administering the first seven lashes, noting how the pale golden flesh soon burned deeply with the reddening blush of shame.
‘Bien,’ commented Madame Nina appreciatively, inclining her head sideways slightly. ‘You must try to get the strokes right across both cheeks of the bare bottom, n’est-ce pas? Maximum punishment for minimum effort. Make each blow with the little strap count, girl. That is, how you say it… the ideal to strive for.’
‘Oui, bien su^r, Madame,’ Jaya replied in faultless French. Clarissa’s small bottom was a veritable peach. Even the dark velvet shadowed cleft was tempting to the eye, fingers and mouth. The superbly moulded creamy cheeks demanded to be addressed by hand, cane or strap. It was a bottom born, and destined, for the pleasures of punishment, like lips that deserve to be kissed, and nipples that yearn to be licked and sucked. As nectar attracts the browsing bee, Clarissa’s derriere demanded discipline.
Jaya took a short pace to the side of the bed and planted the strap straight down across the broadest curved quarters of the bunched cheeks. Crack. Snap. Thwack. Crack. Jaya thrilled as both buttocks shivered, reddened and slowly glowed. She suddenly decided to give Clarissa her full ten strokes all in one sharp, searing staccato of lashes. The punished beauty’s protesting heels drummed mutely in the empty air. Two shrill squeals were snatched from her parted, red lips.
Returning her concentrated focus to deliver the concluding three swipes to Jane, Jaya flexed her aching arm. Madame Nina noticed the flagging gesture.
‘Courage, ma brave fille. Carry on. Three apiece. Three more for each naughty little bottom,’ she urged.
Jane clenched the bedclothes into which her soft breasts were buried. Crack. The leather lashed the utterly exposed, defenceless buttocks, flattening their convex swell under its impact. Crack. A scorching swipe which left her creamy cheeks ablaze as they blushed from cherry pink to lustrous scarlet. Crack. The last stroke snapped down with venomous accuracy, scalding the juddering hillocks of naked flesh with a blast of livid fire.
‘Give me that. Bien. I will give the final three strokes to Miranda. Your arm is tired with the fatigue, I think. N’est-ce pas?’
Jaya had hoped for the chance to let Miranda off lightly, in gratitude for all her kindness. Miranda had been hoping for something like that too. She groaned inwardly when she realised that Madame Nina was going to intervene. The petite French mistress with the chignon of lambent auburn hair took the leather strap, snapped it twice in the empty air and then approached the bed with a soft, menacing padding of feet on lino, sending a tingle straight up Miranda’s naked spine. Her tightly bloused breasts bulged and her full cleavage yawned invitingly as she bent down over Miranda’s bare bottom and swung the length of harsh leather down.
Snap. Thwack. Crack. The three fierce strokes swept the golden domes of tender flesh with scalding flames of brutal fire. Miranda yelped like a puppy in the vortex of surprised pain.
‘And let there be no more of the, how you say, ‘‘horse’s play’’, n’est-ce pas? Behave yourselves, girls. You know the penalty full well if you do not. It is harsh. Such naughtiness will be dealt with. Toujours la punition.’
Rolling up the leather strap between her capable, strong white fingers, Madame Nina strode out of the dormitory with a toss of her auburn chignon as swiftly and as silently as she had entered.
The three girls on the bed rose up slowly, in subdued silence. In continuing silence, they ruefully examined each other’s bottoms, gleefully thumbing the scarlet weals. Jane comforted Clarissa with soothing strokes of her cool palms. Jaya gingerly swept her trembling fingertips across the heavy swell of Miranda’s hot globes, her touch as timorous as that of a butterfly alighting on a sun-ripened rose. Miranda closed her eyes, keenly savouring the gentle, tender care. A full three minutes later, she opened them. Jaya was standing against the wall, shorts off, legs splayed lewdly apart, her thighs wide awake to her fluttering fingers.
‘Look at her,’ Miranda hissed, her eyes stretched with wonder. Jaya, head tossed back and eyes mere slits of fierce concentration, was fingering her silvery wetness slowly, lingeringly.
‘Sh. Don’t interrupt her. Let her be,’ Jane cautioned. ‘I feel a bit like that myself.’
Clarissa moaned, her left hand now buried up to her wrist between her pulsing thighs. Miranda, inflamed by the scenes before her, sniffed the fragrance of the group excitement that hung in the heavy air like a perfumed miasma. Jaya groaned in sweet distress, clearly approaching the heights of her self-generated ecstasy. Jane, frantically fingering herself, echoed the deep, velvety groan. Clarissa tapped Miranda’s warm, naked shoulder with her sticky fingers, by now webbed with her own wetness.
‘Swops?’ she pleaded in a tone of urgent, shy pleading.
Miranda nodded gleefully. They squatted closer together, thighs brushing, buttocks plumply splayed and squashed down on their heels. Inquisitively, they dipped their fingers into each other’s hot wetness, probing with feverish delight. Jane opened her eyes.
‘Hey, that’s not fair. Look, Jaya. They’re frigging each other off.’
Jaya opened her eyes, which were bleary as though she were drunk, and staggered over to Jane. Kneeling down, she silently took Jane’s hand and placed the pale, thin glistening fingers down between her own plump, dark-skinned thighs. In a simple, graceful gesture, her brown fingers sought out Jane’s milky softness. Silently, the idea spread like a flickering flame between them all, the unspoken urge communicating itself mutely. Lust does not need the gift of tongues, just consenting silence.
Jane took the initative, shuffling inwards to form a closer circle. She reached down and covered Jaya’s pleasuring hand with her own, and slipped her free hand in between Clarissa’s pouting labia. Clarissa echoed both the posture and the gesture, forcing Jane’s fingers in deeper with her left hand, and commencing to pleasure Miranda with her right. Miranda secured Clarissa and stretched out to finger Jaya’s sticky flesh. The four naked, sweating girls, now with faces almost touching, leaned into their tight circle of forbidden joy. Each carefully controlled and guided the welcome intrusion of fingers between splayed thighs while working busily at the nearby wetness their other hand had breached. Soon, surrendering to the shuddering delight, they were merely ciphers, fused links in a ring of liquid lust.
The intense silence was broken only by their rasping breathing and the slippery sounds of flesh exciting wet flesh. Jane, who had the lowest boiling point, bubbled over from her threatening simmer into a foaming surge. A shrill squeal signalled her imploding climax. Her spine arched and her thighs shuddered. Clarissa followed quickly afterwards, mewing responsively as the high waves of pleasure crashed down and broke over her, triggering off Miranda, who spilled her hot quicksilver and hooted like a faraway owl on a foggy night. A haunting, shivering hymn of pleasure.
Then Jaya came. Her three companions did not realise it but the strict truth of the matter was that Jaya had never climaxed before. Ever. Cultural restrictions and personal inhibitions had up to that moment prevented Jaya from exploring herself beyond some furtive nipple play, botton fondling and timid pussy rubbing. Her clitoris and its potent delights were as unknown to her up till then as the atmosphere on Jupiter. It was her first full, reverberating orgasm.
She held on to Miranda firmly as, belly tight and mouth slack with the tension of her climax, she screamed softly, hot tears of sheer joy blistering her sallow, plump little cheeks. Miranda placed her hands on Jaya’s breasts and squeezed. Jaya convulsed into a threshing frenzy, her naked buttocks squirming in her own pool of wetness. Miranda slowly pushed the glistening Asian beauty backwards until she lay supine on the cold, hard lino. Her mouth sought and found the dusky-thighed beauty’s inner sweetness. Jaya screamed a responsive, thrilling squeal and clamped her honey-dark limbs in shiveri
ng ecstasy.
Later, they collapsed into each other in a panting heap of spent lust. And later still, when the dormitory was deserted, the only tell-tale trace of the intimacies that had taken place there were four, tiny distinct pools of slippery wetness shimmering on the cold lino. Into one of these puddles of delicious quicksilver, Mrs Boydd-Black dipped her finger and, raising it up fastidiously just beneath her nostrils, sniffed. She smiled a grim, knowing smile.
Miranda decided to bring her three reception greenbands down to the gym in the converted cellars that evening. An hour or two in that cool, remote room with the polished wooden floor and walls covered in climbing bars would, she reflected, be ideal for breaking them in. She knew that she must stamp her absolute authority and total will on them if she were to be successful in managing their induction period.
The forlorn trio, Susie, Zoe and Clare, who had been consigned into Miranda’s stern care and controlling tutelage, had been led blindfold from the large blue Volvo estate car that delivered them to the Academy that afternoon. Showered, suppered and spanked, they had been stripped of their school uniforms — white blouse, green tie, green jumper and black mini-skirt, pale green ankle socks — and ordered into the regulation white vests, tight shorts and little socks.
Mrs Boydd-Black, the odour of the other four girls’ wetness still stabbing her memory, had supervised the initial reception vigorously. Now these stood, chastened and subdued, under the harsh neon lighting of the windowless gym. Miranda promptly ordered them to kneel, with their hands on their heads. They looked quite a tough proposition. To establish her dominance, she decided to be very, very firm.
The Academy Page 12
