Helen Shagton was forty-two years old. Despite this very adult age, she was nursing a very recently and well-caned bottom. She was just returning home by car. However, she had felt, as she so often did, that she really needed a good, hard, school caning style punishment herself. The Headmaster, had, naturally, been very happy to oblige her here. Many parents, she knew, often felt the same, and the beginning of term was always a convenient time to arrange for it. St Stricktlands School regarded this as a special service towards its alumni¹. She had just left the school buildings, and was already part way along the half mile of main carriage drive which led out of the grounds. She was wondering where she could stop, somewhere out of sight where she could safely remove all her clothes. She'd promised herself a nude drive home that evening. The idea of nude driving had always appealed to her, although, to be fair, she didn't indulge herself with that particular pleasure very often. There were just too many people around where she lived to make that a practical proposition, without the risk of....well, difficulties.
A cunning plan popped itself into her brain. She remembered that The Dell lay-by wasn't that far away. The Dell itself was just inside the school grounds, but it also had a footpath which led out onto the main public highway. She reached the main entrance gates, and turned out of the school grounds towards Stricktlands Village. It wasn't that far by car to the lay-by, and she was there in a matter of seconds. She stopped her car in the darkness, and then switched out all the car lights. Now she could see almost nothing. St Stricktlands School was located in one of the very few remaining areas of really rural England, and there were no streetlights, indeed no lights of any description, for miles around. Her eyes gradually adjusted themselves to the moonlight. She smiled to herself. Certainly, she wasn't about to make use of the car's interior light. No, Ma'am, she thought, certainly not, indeed. Gently, she wriggled her wicked way out of her pleated skirt, gasping slightly at the movement of the material on her caned bottom, and then folded it neatly onto the passenger seat. The feel of the car seat up against her bare bottom felt deliciously naughty. Next, she lifted each leg in turn, a difficult feat owing to the presence of the steering wheel, and removed her shoes and socks. Then her top and bra followed. She giggled, girlishly, to herself. As she'd told Terrence Hayter, she wasn't wearing any knickers....in the certain anticipation of receiving a good, hard, therapeutic beating from him. Now she was totally nude. She was just about to drive away, for the enjoyment of a long distance, night-time nude drive home, when she tasted an even more daring idea. An even more risqué idea. Why not, she thought, simply walk down to The Dell in the dark....right now? It was, after all, several years since she had last been there. Just to see it....just for old time's sake, she thought to herself, lying cheerfully to herself.
Heart pounding, she stepped out of the car, and locked it. Should she take the car key, she thought? She decided, no, for the simple reason that, being totally nude, she had nowhere to put it. Or, at least, she thought, nowhere printable, and, quite frankly, she wasn't about to put a car key up her cunt. She smiled to herself. Not this time, at least. She slipped the key neatly into the car's exhaust pipe. Up yours, she said, mentally, to the car.
It was a cold, crystal clear, moonlit winter night, and she walked slowly along the narrow footpath, almost feeling her way, towards The Dell. Each step was almost an effort, and the grass was bitterly cold under her feet. The occasional twig and small branch cracked and broke noisily. Not, she thought, that it was likely that there was anyone around to hear. She thought, suddenly, that she must be totally insane to do this at all, and was half-minded to turn around and walk straight back to the car, but the sexual thrill was still in her. The thrill, that is, that originated from the good hard caning on her bare bottom only half an hour or so previously. She rubbed her bottom with both hands as she walked and as she thought about it. Oh, it was a really good caning, all right. Terrence Hayter really did know exactly how to treat a naughty Lady like her exactly as she deserved. It was such a shame, she thought, that her husband was constitutionally incapable for doing the same for her. She sighed. Georgie Boy was a wonderful husband, but he was simply submissive through and through.
Finally, she reached her destination. The Dell was a small open clearing in the midst of dense woodland. It looked innocuous enough at first sight, picturesque, even, in the moonlight, however it had seen a lot of action over the years. There was a rope lined whipping post driven neatly into the ground in the middle of the clearing. Adjacent, a number of triangular wooden frames stood side by side, with shackles on each leg. She knew, from personal experience, just what it was like to be bent over, locked into one of those frames and whipped. She rubbed her cunt at the memory and shivered....a sort of shivery anticipation feeling which was partly memory and partly pleasure. She smiled to herself, and rubbed her cunt some more. Then, with a small sigh of pure pleasure, she turned, and headed back down the rough footpath back towards her car.
Finally, she reached the public highway again. She approached her car, and bent down towards the exhaust pipe to reclaim her ignition key. She froze. It wasn't there. Legs quaking, heart pounding madly, she stood up, and froze a second time as a bright torchlight shone straight into her eyes. A male voice sounded, slowly and courteously, "A very good evening to you, Miss," it said, "I wonder if you could kindly tell me exactly what you are doing here, and why, and whether or not this is your car?" It was, she could just see, a young, fully uniformed country policeman, and he was holding a set of car keys in his hand. She could also just see that his police car was parked just a little way down the lay-by from hers.
She tried very hard to think of something to say, something that would help her in this difficult situation, however she knew that all the evidence was stacked against her. Standing nude in the open countryside was not exactly a good starting base for convincing stories. She made a very bad attempt at a winning smile. "Yes, Officer," she said, or tried to say, so it was actually the second attempt which succeeded, "this is indeed my car. You see, I was....err....well....you see, I had a....err....call of nature." Full marks for invention, she thought to herself, although no marks for delivery. Every word sounded lame and unlikely.
The policeman switched off his torch, and put it into his overcoat pocket. Then he twirled the car keys in his hand, and placed them into another pocket. They stood together for a long second in the bright moonlight. "I see, Miss," he said, finally, sounding exactly as if he certainly didn't see at all. "I wonder if you would be so kind as to stand a foot away from the car, face it, with your legs apart, and place both your arms on the roof for me, please?"
Suddenly, she felt the urge to laugh. "You can't be intending to frisk me, Officer, surely," she replied, "there are, after all, only a very limited number of places in which I could be hiding anything." Then a part of her mind interjected, telling her that it was really a very nice idea indeed, and that really she'd love to be frisked by him. Standing with her legs apart in front of a young policeman whilst totally nude in the cold, open air would be, she decided, mind bogglingly sexy. She imagined him saying, 'I wonder if there's anything hidden in either of those two naughty places at all?' kneeling behind her, and then spreading her bum cheeks for her with his hands, saying, 'no....nothing inside there,' and the doing the same with her cunt lips. She complied, and then wiggled her bare bottom at him suggestively. Already she could feel her cunt, drat it, starting to get damp all over again. Please, she thought, please at least run your hands up and down my legs on the inside.
The policeman stood behind her, and frisked her carefully, just as though she were fully clothed. Oh, it felt so good, especially when his hands gently frisked her tits. Then she could somehow sense his eyes inspecting her caned bottom. Oh if only he'd rub it for her. Please? She gave her bottom another hopeful wiggle. "It was certainly a pity, wasn't it, Miss?" he suggested.
She was confused. "What was, Officer?" she asked in return. "Where you sat down on all those rough twigs for your, 'call of nature,' as I think you put it," he replied, "and ended up with all those nasty red marks in such a....a sensitive spot."
Silence. The heavy irony in his voice was palpable. "The only other time I've seen marks like that," he continued, "was after seeing someone getting a good, hard, caning at school. But obviously that couldn't apply in your case, since you're certainly not of school age, Miss....are you?"
She gulped. Obviously he didn't believe a word of her story. Obviously he could see perfectly well that she'd just been caned. "N....no, Officer," she replied, "I'm....err....well over school age, as you can see. But thank you for the compliment, anyway." Now, she thought, the question was, what did he intend to do about her?
He sighed. "I'll just make a quick call, if you don't mind, Miss," he said, at length. He took what appeared to be an old fashioned walkie talkie from his overcoat, and turned away from her. "Hello, base," he said, finally, "Young Lady answering informant's description apprehended at The Dell, no clothes....instructions please?" The voice on the other end was firm, but with a definite hint of amusement.
"Bring her down to the station, please, Thor," the voice replied, "I think that I will need to ask the Lady a few questions." Thor, she thought? Nobody could be called Thor, surely. Could they? He switched the device off, and turned back to her. He shrugged.
"Arms down to your back, please, Miss," he said. Then he expertly attached a pair of stout, police handcuffs onto each wrist. She pulled on them, gingerly. There was no play in them at all. She normally enjoyed playing with handcuffs a lot, indeed she had several pairs of them at home, for, well, all sorts of useful purposes, but having them put on her for real by a real policeman was quite another matter.
"If you'd like to accompany me, please, Miss?" he asked. She knew that she had no choice and no chance.
"May I fetch my clothes, please?" she asked, in response.
He answered without turning. "I'm sorry, Miss," he said, not sounding at all sorry, she thought, "but no." His tone sounded final. She shrugged, and followed him to the police car. He opened the passenger door for her, and she stepped inside, with a certain degree of difficulty since, of course, her arms were handcuffed behind her back.
"I'm afraid that I can't quite manage the seatbelt by myself, Officer," she murmured, fetchingly, she hoped, "I err....wonder if you might....err....oblige me?" He looked at her strangely, reached forward, and took hold of the passenger door seatbelt. He stretched it out, and then pulled it down over her body. She gasped slightly as it caressed the area between her tits. OMG, she thought, it was just like being in bondage. She spread her legs automatically in the hopes that all sluts always have, that he might at least grope her a bit, 'down there.' Alas, he didn't.
He merely clicked the seatbelt into place, and smiled down at her, "Anything to oblige a Lady, of course," he said, mildly. She shrugged. 'Anything,' obviously didn't include a free grope, she thought, dejectedly, and another opportunity wasted. At least, she considered, it was a whole lot warmer in the car. He closed the car door for her, walked around, opened the one on the other side, and sat down in the driver's seat. He leaned forward, and switched on the fan. She exhaled slightly. The sudden blast of hot air was at once welcome. Then he fastened his own seatbelt. Finally, he started up the engine, and they drove away in silence.
The cold must, she thought, have temporarily deadened her faculties, because it was a few minutes before she became aware that they weren't going towards the nearby town, the one which she had been fully expecting them to be heading towards. In fact, it appeared that they were heading in the opposite direction, and towards the railway station. Like so many other English villages, the railway station at Stricktlands had not been built for the benefit of the villagers. It had originally been constructed for the benefit of the landed gentry then resident at Stricktlands Hall. Therefore, the station was some three miles away from the village which gave it its name, but was actually now quite handy for the school. He smiled at her. "As you can see," he said, "we're not heading into town. I was asked to take you to the station," he continued, "but nobody mentioned anything about it being the police station."
Now she relaxed for the first time. "Who are you, Thor?" she asked, "and why are we going to the railway station anyway?" He smiled at her again, somewhat wolfishly, this time, she thought.
"My name is indeed Thor," he said, "as you already correctly overhead, Miss. My full name is Thor Thring. I am taking you to see someone, and, in a little while, you are going to need to answer some....questions. You may, or may not, but probably will, enjoy the overall experience. And the safe word is rumplestiltskin, although I suspect that you won't need to use it, given a Lady of, well, your obvious experience....and persuasions." She tried all these statements in her brain, and came out with some very confused answers. Certainly the name Thring struck a chord somewhere, but she couldn't think quite where. And safe words? As she knew perfectly well, safe words were what you had for....well, role-play, of various naughty sorts.
She breathed out slowly, "Do you mean this is all roleplay?" she asked, incredulously.
He turned and winked at her delightedly. "The dividing line between reality and roleplay is occasionally narrow," he replied, "as I'm sure you know very well. Certainly I'm a real policeman, just as this is a real police car. But no, Miss, you are not going to the police station and you needn't be too concerned about getting into....err....any official trouble. None of this has ever happened, or will happen, so to speak....in real life, I mean." He paused. "Ah," he said, turning into the station forecourt, "we're almost here." They passed a faded notice, which she couldn't read fully because the car headlights only caught it for an instant, but she distinctly caught the word, 'Trespassers....' on it. Not encouraging, she thought. They drove another couple of hundred yards along a narrow driveway, and into what appeared to be a large, imposing, courtyard. He pointed towards a dark doorway with a single light above it. "That's where you need to go now, Miss," he said, "and it is unlocked. I shall, I expect," he said, mildly, "see you later." It was a clear dismissal. He reached down and released her seatbelt. She flinched as it whirred quickly back inside its drum. Then he leaned across her and opened the car door a little way for her. Now his head was inches away from hers. She gave him a quick peck on his cheek as it passed by. He turned his head towards her. Then she kissed him on his mouth. "Naughty girl," he said, and then she kissed him again. Now his right hand traced down her body, and this time he did grope her cunt for her. "Mmmmmmmm," she murmured, as he tickled her just where she enjoyed it most.
They separated. "I look forward to....err....seeing you again, then, Thor," she said, hopefully, "and, preferably in the flesh, so to speak?" She hoped that she wasn't being too forward.
He stroked her cheek. "I'm sure we can arrange something, at a later time," he replied. He winked at her as she stepped out of the car, and he closed the door behind her. The car turned round. There was a brief illumination from the car's headlights, and then it was gone. Suddenly, it was very quiet again in the moonlight.
She sighed. There was, she thought, nothing to be done but to follow instructions. She walked, still nude, of course, towards the doorway that Thor Thring had indicated. It looked mediæval. Worse, it had heavy hasps and locks all over it. Whatever was waiting for her inside? There was no bell. A faded notice stated, worryingly, 'Burglars are warned that their safety cannot be guaranteed.' However, as Thor Thring had said, it was unlocked and slightly ajar. She pushed against it with her head, and it swung open, slowly and noisily. Inside, there was a long, narrow passage, lit with flaming torches. It was, she thought, seriously gothic. She had the impression she was the fly walking confidently towards the spider. Finally, the passage ended. She walked into a very large, torch-lit dungeon which looked exactly like a torture chamber. She shivered. It was exactly that, she thought, wildly to herself. Scanning quickly round the room she could see all manner of restraints and torture tables. Rows upon rows of delicious looking whips and canes adorned the walls. There were clamps and shackles as far as the eye could see. Stout metal bars guarded all the windows. And there was a man standing inside the dungeon, too. An elderly man, with brilliant white hair. A man she suddenly recognised from her past. "Thrasher Thring," she burst out.
He smiled and bowed. "Professor Wodin Thring, at your service, my dear," he replied, courteously, "I believe you've already met my son Thor?"
The man who was Professor Thring was, she knew, also the previous Headmaster at St Stricktlands School, having been retired for, oh, dear me, she thought, well over a decade. He was certainly her Headmaster when she had been at the school, although whether he could remember her was another matter entirely. "Welcome to Stern Hall, my dear," he said. "I see you obviously know me from your, well, perhaps dim and distant past, however you'll forgive me if I don't place you just yet? The memory, you know, isn't all it should be when you pass seventy." He paused. "However," he went on, "we've got plenty of time to become reacquainted, and no doubt you'll be able to tell me some of the things I've forgotten." He paused, significantly. "You will, I assure you, want to tell me of these things." There was a subtle emphasis on the word, 'will,' which she wasn't at all sure she liked the sound of. It was obviously going to be a role-play interrogation session. Then she thought about it a little more. She was gagging for it, really. She was already nude, handcuffed and helpless, and that was always an excellent place to start from. And she certainly wasn't going to make it easy on him or, for that matter, or, for that matter, she reflected inwardly, on herself.
Wodin Thring gestured to her towards a large, black, torture table around six foot high and three foot wide. It looked, she thought, rather like an ordinary table upside down, since it had four vertical legs, each one complete, naturally, with various shackles, "This way, please, my dear," he said. She walked towards her fate with only the slightest of shrinking stomachs. Then she felt her handcuffs being unlocked behind her. She rubbed her wrists. "Only a very brief respite for your wrists, I'm afraid," he went on, "if you'd kindly place them upwards by the shackles," She lay on the table. All the shackles were made of heavy iron, and were all hinged open, ready and waiting for action. Her wrists were shackled, followed by her neck. Strict bondage, she thought to herself, oh, there was nothing to beat it. Her brain told her that there were several locations on her body which could be beaten, quite handily, right now. She turned her head and watched him walk slowly, to one of the walls, select a flogger and then walk back towards her. Gently, he ran the flogger down her front. She flinched, slightly, at its touch, and then gasped slightly as it gently caressed her cunt.