Jane’s primitive cunning was alerted to the maths tutor’s train of thought.
‘Miranda said that you were an ugly old bitch,’ Jane blurted out, as if reluctant to say the words.
‘Then she smashed your present.’
The effect was calculated, the result devastating. A careful deceit. Miss Eaddes flushed crimson and dragged Miranda down onto her knees.
‘Jane,’ she gasped, barely in control of herself. ‘I want you to take one of those canes and punish Miranda severely. She must be taught, as swiftly and as painfully as possible, that bullying is not tolerated here at the Academy. Her days of gilded privilege are over.’
Miss Eaddes, like Jane, resented Miranda’s cachet of aristocratic elegance and well-bred poise and self-assurance. The charge, verdict and sentence, however, remained totally transparent to both Miranda and Jane. Mere wounded vanity lay behind Miss Eaddes judicial measures.
‘Shorts down, girl. At once,’ rasped the furious maths tutor.
Miranda knew that Jane had won. Had outwitted and outmanoeuvred her. To protest would only enrage and enflame the maths tutor all the more. She knelt down on all fours, then pressed her forehead into the cold lino, her naked bottom shivering in fearful anticipation as her shorts hugged her knees tightly, binding them together and making all movement impossible.
Jane, breasts still spilling freely from the rent in her vest, took up a supple cane and fingered the yellow length of bamboo with malice in her dark heart and triumph in her sparkling eyes. Miranda’s stomach muscles contracted with fear as she heard Jane thrum the air with the cane.
‘I want this to be a very special punishment, Jane. Do not stripe her bottom too quickly. Pace yourself. Allow for a deliberate pause between each stroke. You young things do not seem to know how to deliver an effective thrashing. It is an acquired skill. I will supervise you carefully. Grip the cane more firmly girl. That’s better. No, leave your thumb where it was. Good. Step back a little. Right. Commence.’
The final command was delivered in a squeak of sexual arousal, the tone a thin falsetto of anger and excitement.
Swish. The bottom, bare and offered up to the cane, shuddered as the bamboo whipped across its double domes of creamy flesh.
‘Stripe her well,’ urged the maths tutor. ‘Do your duty.’
Miranda dipped her belly and arched her taut spine, catlike, as the surge of scarlet pain swept along her punished body. Swish. Swish. The strokes swiped at her bare bottom relentlessly, remorselessly. For a brief moment of misery, Miranda glimpsed the awful truth of eternity. Swish. Swish. Hypnotically, inexorably, the chastisement continued. Pain, pain, pain without end. Little tongues of flame errupted across her creamy cheeks, scorching the taut sheen of smooth skin.
‘Firmer,’ commanded Miss Eaddes, now down on all fours herself, her face only inches away from Miranda’s jerking bottom. ‘Harder.’ The maths tutor’s eyes burned like coals. Her words of command were harsher and more brutal than any obscenity Miranda had ever heard.
Down in the cool, dark womb of the gym, Miranda crouched painfully in the recess. Jane’s cane had been brutal.
Mrs Boydd-Black would be in dire need of some comfort tonight. She had passed through turbulent, difficult times, Miranda reflected. The pressure from Porteous. Then there was the disappointment of discovering Miranda’s letter. The breach of trust, the disloyalty of it all. And Jane, ruining the tradition of the Chair and Exercise, breaking the ritual and utterly destroying the ceremonious spell cast by the formal punishment held so dear by the headmistress.
Yes. Difficult days, Miranda concluded. Days of distress for her headmistress who deserved delightful nights. The door to the gym swung open. Miss Eaddes, as usual, led the way. They kissed and clasped each other straight away, melting in an embrace of fierce tenderness.
Miranda noticed immediately that tonight Mrs Boydd-Black was completely nude beneath her white towelling robe. The robe was removed by the brisk, efficient maths tutor and the utterly naked head-mistress submitted herself to be arraigned and arranged at the wall bars. Miranda’s eyes sparkled as she gazed at the splendid figure of the shapely woman stretched out and spreadeagled before her against the wall of the gym. The lightly muscled arms, milky and sinewy, slender and strong. The hint of power in the gleaming shoulders. The narrow waist, the slender yet full hips, the rounded thighs, svelte and tapering, supple and smooth. And the bottom. The large, full and softly fleshed buttocks. The cheeks heavy and swollen with potent promise. Tantalising. Adorable. Kissable, biteable, spankable. Yet a somewhat regal bottom. Serene, splendid and superb. Not a minx’s rump or a Rubensesque glory. A bottom to be appreciated, savoured and, yes, honoured. Knelt before, even. Certainly embraced and revered. A round, white bottom of perfect proportions. A bottom to constrict the throat and thicken the tongue with admiration and desire. A bottom before which the quickening heart must bow and worship — prior to the rendering and receiving of exquisite pleasures.
Miss Eaddes left the gym, leaving the light on as she departed. Moments later, satisfied that it was safe to do so, Miranda cautiously made her soft, stealthy approach. Reaching her quarry, panther like, she stretched out her arm and gently trailed her fingertips down the captive white spine before her, sweeping them out over the swelling cusp of the curved rump.
‘Do not be gentle with me tonight,’ the husky voice of Mrs Boydd-Black whispered.
Miranda’s heart hammered as she grazed her belly against the broad buttocks. So be it. Bending down closely against the warm, naked flesh of her captive prey, the huntress gave the hunted the customary signal. Three lingering kisses on each buttock. She both sensed and actually felt the taut body in her thrall slacken in a swoon of recognition and delight. Easing down her shorts, and then stepping slowly out of them, Miranda clasped her arms around the warm, white waist of the spreadeagled, naked woman and thrust her pubic delta against the soft cheeks of the joggling bottom. The headmistress gasped as the pubic fuzz rasped against her sheen of silky flesh.
The satin buttocks buckled and collapsed slightly under the pressure of Miranda’s pelvic bone as they yielded their warmth up to her insistent, primal force. The sapling ensnaring the seasoned beech, the slender shoot of mistletoe clinging to the fruit-laden bough.
Up on her white, flexed toes, Miranda slowly, slowly sank back down onto her heels, dragging her pubic fringe down, down, down across the silken, shivering moons. Mrs Boydd-Black moaned as Miranda’s soft white belly eclipsed the buttocks beneath. Up on her toes once more, Miranda again sank slowly, slowly down, down, down, dragging her labial flesh folds against the rippling buttocks. And again. And again. Clasping the soft waist tightly with one encircling arm, and the softer bosom with an even tighter embracing arm, Miranda repeated the intimacy eight, ten, fifteen times, her own breasts squashed into the warmth of the broad back, her lips, parted and wet, dragging down across the shoulders and spine.
Then, with increasing tempo and intensely concentrated fervour, the hips that covered the passive rump beneath them gyrated slightly, then with a more pronounced sweep. Miranda’s labia silvered a tell-tale trail of weeping joy to mark their circular presence and passing. Suddenly, as if gripped by a higher force, as if obeying an unquestionable command, the blonde pupil increased the pressure and tempo of her thrusts with which she sweetly tormented her headmistress.
Both wept openly from their throbbing orifices, the sticky silver dripping like raindrops from a spider’s web. Mrs Boydd-Black shivered and shuddered and groaned with delight. Faster and faster, faster and faster, until her oozing, parted labial lips were skimming up and down the pillows of taut flesh beneath them, Miranda straddled, pleasured and dominated the buttocks with complete sovereign mastery. As her own quicksilver spilled down the slopes of the dominated buttocks, and was smeared into the pliant cheeks, Mrs Boydd-Black seemed to collapse into a sweet swoon of utter surrender. A loose-limbed, soft-spined total submission to the fierce joy. Miranda’s fingers sought and found
the yearning breasts and pinched the erect, straining nipples.
‘Yes,’ the pleasurably punished headmistress screamed aloud. ‘Yes. Harder. Harder. Hold me. Hurt me. Hurt me… please,’ she moaned.
Miranda grasped both swollen breasts and squeezed, ravishing their pulpy firmness, jerking her hips savagely from side to side as she climaxed herself against the soft, sticky buttocks. The body beneath her buckled and spasmed as it too was first paralysed, then galvanised in its own shattering orgasm. Welded together, skin kissing skin, bonded tightly by their freely flowing lust juices, the younger girl collapsed into the firmer flesh of the older woman. Spring melting into summer. The nascent bud suffused into the open rose.
Suddenly the headmistress turned, her hands and feet completely free from their supposed bondage. They had never been tied. It was a honey trap, in which the curious headmistress was determined to ensnare the bee that browsed on her nectar and stung so sweetly.
‘Miranda. It is you. I hoped… I wanted… I am so glad…’ she crooned, clasping her nocturnal visitor to her warm bosom. Miranda gasped in alarm. She was stunned, completely shaken. The firm arms swept around her and crushed her closely, possessively, triumphantly. Miranda gazed up out from her dizzy confusion. Mrs Boydd-Black gazed down with tenderness.
‘Oh my dear, dear Miranda. What on earth am I to do with you?’
Bolting out of the gym, ignoring the imploring cries from her headmistress to return, Miranda ran down the silent passageways and along the deserted corridors. But where to go? She instinctively knew that Jaya would comfort her. Miranda ran to her friend’s dormitory.
It was empty. Miranda slumped down onto the empty bed in the still, dark room. Long, lonely minutes ticked by. Where was she?
Soft sounds approached. Rustling and stifled, giggling whispers. Jaya shushed somebody sternly. She in turn was shushed. By a man. Miranda’s heart thumped. It was a man’s voice.
The fact registered like a flash of lightning in Miranda’s brain. A man. And they were about to enter the dormitory. She dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed, shivering as her limbs kissed the cold lino. Just in time. The door opened softly and she saw four feet enter. Two were Jaya’s dainty white-stockinged feet, two were clad in soft, supple pigskin. Italian cut. Very, very expensive. Miranda’s eyes grew wide with wonder.
‘Close the door. Quietly,’ whispered Jaya. ‘Oh, Hazim. It is wonderful to see you.’
‘I have come for you. I love you. Marry me if you will. Either way, I am taking you away from this place tonight.’
‘You gave me such a fright. I nearly screamed.’
Hazim sealed Jaya’s babbling lips with a slow, lingering kiss.
‘How did you find me?’
‘Later. I will explain everything to you later. But I must know. Tell me. This marriage arranged between us. Our parents are old-fashioned, and they mean well. But come to me only if you wish it. I love you, but your father never let me tell you. Then you disappeared. I have not slept. I have been like a madman.’
‘You… you love me?’
‘Did you not know?’
Silence ruled supreme. Miranda knew that kisses had replaced the fervent words.
‘Hazim’ Jaya squealed, thrilled.
‘Forget those parents of ours. Marry me, have many sons for me, go to your university and read law…’ Hazim murmured against her soft throat.
Jaya nestled happily into his strong, broad chest.
‘I knew nothing of this hell they put you in, I swear.’
‘Hazim, Hazim,’ she wept happily.
They sat down together on the edge of the bed. Miranda ducked instinctively.
‘I am frightened,’ Jaya announced suddenly.
‘Do not be afraid. I came undetected. We will leave just the same. I have a car waiting…’
‘No. Not that. I am safe with you. It is… it is that I may not… please you.’ Her voice was barely audible.
‘Please me?’ he repeated, genuinely baffled.
‘I want to. Very much. To please you. But I have not known a man, in that way…’
‘I hoped it would be so,’ Hazim replied huskily.
Bet you did, Miranda thought to herself as she shivered beneath them.
‘But I have… I have known the pleasures of… there are no men here at all, only…’ Her voice died away.
‘You have found pleasure with the girls here?’ he asked swiftly, his voice charged with excited curiosity.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her tone frank and honest.
‘Do not worry. Our marriage will be fine. Trust me. Promise me that you will trust me?’ he implored.
‘Yes, I promise,’ she murmured silkily.
Furtive rustlings and soft silence ensued. Miranda heard flesh rasp against flesh. The bed sagged beneath their combined weight. Oh God, Miranda thought. He’s going to have her here and now. Jaya moaned as feverish hands fumbled over her swelling curves.
‘Er, excuse me,’ Miranda said sheepishly.
‘What the… ?’ snarled Hazim, leaping up from the bed, tucking in his shirt tails and smoothing back his glossy hair.
‘Come out, Miranda,’ Jaya giggled.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to.’ Miranda shrugged as she emerged from beneath the bed.
‘Just in time, perhaps,’ Jaya smiled, pulling down her tight vest over her bare bosoms. Her shorts — Miranda smiled secretively as she noticed them — had been dragged back on in haste. Back to front.
‘Just in time,’ Jaya echoed, wistfully. ‘Hazim,’ she spoke softly.
‘Yes?’ he replied in a voice thickened with frustrated lust.
‘Our marriage will be fine. Of that I am quite certain.’
‘Darling,’ he replied, huskily.
‘We must take Miranda with us. She is a true friend,’ Jaya urged.
Hazim drew back the curtain and turned to peruse the sight of the young blonde’s splendid curves in the moonlight.
‘Yes,’ he said, approvingly.
Twelve minutes later, the shivering girls clambered into the soft, warm leather seats of Hazim’s Mercedes. His hands drummed the stitched yellow leather of the steering wheel. He looked over his shoulder.
‘If I had known about that uniform I would have brought something warm for you to wear, Jaya. Here, drink this.’ He passed back a thermos of hot coffee.
Liar, Miranda grinned to herself. Hazim was a sensualist. Jaya would be seeing more of her thin vest and tight shorts. Theirs was destined to be a climactic relationship, the endless hours crowded with frank pleasures and the celebration of honest lust.
‘Did all the girls wear uniforms?’ he asked curiously.
Miranda groaned. Jaya giggled.
‘Just drive,’ they chorused, snuggling into each other for warmth.
‘London?’ queried Hazim, looking up into his mirror.
‘Yes, please,’ Miranda nodded. ‘I have an appointment with a solicitor.’
Hazim looked at her directly. Their eyes met.
‘So have I,’ he smiled, mirthlessly.
Miranda stirred, opened her eyes and looked around her at the unfamiliar luxury of Hazim’s Holland Park flat. The rich Regency furnishings puzzled her sleepy brain. Then she suddenly remembered, and the puzzle was solved.
The long drive in the warm Mercedes. Jaya’s soft limbs and body heat. The dirty orange glow as London had loomed up through the tinted wind-screen. The busy inner city streets still shining with traffic at the dead of night.
Christmas was coming. The shops were garish in silver and golden displays. Police vans had tinsel wrapped around their stubby aerials.
She remembered the scratch supper of caviar and champagne. Hazim wandering into her shower in case she needed some shower gel. How solicitous. His eyes had widened like a child’s as he caught a glimpse of her sparkling limbs. How they had narrowed with vexation as Jaya had called him away. Miranda giggled.
Bed. On a sofa for her. Long hours of sleeplessness, the l
onely hours between midnight and dawn. Pensive hours. Far from savouring her sudden liberation she felt a pang of loss. She nourished the pang with sweet memories. Four times during her lonely wakefulness she had caught the cries of carnal joy from Hazim’s master bedroom.
The first two had been the deeper grunts and groans of male satisfaction. Jaya was getting it hot and strong, she reflected. Good and hard. Then, after a long silence, Jaya’s thin wail of wanton delight had ripped the air as though it were taut silk. Miranda had risen up on one elbow, thrilling to the sounds of her friend’s ecstasy. She stroked her left nipple, dragging it up to a fierce peak of pleasure. She tried to picture Jaya. Was she face down, hugging her pillow, or were the lovers pressed belly to belly, the dusky legs of the beautiful young Asian wrapped around her saviour’s thighs, her heels drumming his firm buttocks? Or had Jaya found the courage to go on top, sinking down slowly to be speared exquisitely while the raw male between her glistening thighs snapped and sucked at her loosely swinging breasts?
Miranda curled up under the heavy duvet. The cool silk caressed her lovingly. Fired by images of the lovers next door, she fingered her hot wetness with relentless fervour. Joy flickered into the flames of delight, and her delight melted into molten pleasure.
The fourth scream from the master bedroom was more a series of cries of enmeshed joy. Intertwined, the low carnal grunts of satisfaction and the high squeals of ecstasy, like the male and female bodies from which they were torn. Even by the time the dying cries faded away, Miranda’s back was arched as, belly thrust up, her inner thighs flooded with her own spillage of excitation. After her orgasm, she slept like a puppy.
Breakfast, which Miranda prepared and brought in on a tray, was a silent though not a solemn affair. Hazim and Jaya sat up, naked and unselfconscious, in their rumpled bed of pleasure. Hazim munched toast hungrily, Jaya nibbled an apple, a secretive smile playing on her warm, generous lips. As Miranda sat and watched them she felt assured that the marriage would be a good one. Placing her coffee cup down on the bedside table, she reached over and kissed Jaya gently.
The Academy Page 21
