First Interlude

"One of the problems with being over seventy," he said, ruefully, "is that the caning arm gets weaker. Hence, I'm glad to see that young Terrence has already done a good job on that naughty little bottom of yours. Saves me a lot of hard work." He was referring, she knew, to Dr Iain Terrence Hayter, the current Headmaster at St Stricktlands, and who had, indeed, caned her only a short while previously.

She lowered her eyes. "Yes, Sir," she replied, "but how did you know that?"

He grinned, smugly. "Because he told me so, my dear," he replied. "He phoned me a little while back to tell me that a very attractive young alumina of....err....mine had just intimated to him that she was going to drive home nude, following a good hard punishment caning. I knew that Thor was on duty in the area this evening, and the opportunity seemed far too good to pass up." Silence. "So, my dear," he said, "now, you can answer a few questions for me." He held the flogger teasingly across her tits. Then he drew back, smiling. "What is your name?" he asked.

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"Uh," she gasped with the sudden sear of pain from both tits. Oh, he was good, she thought. He knew perfectly well that, for some strange reason, it was so much more, well, erotic, when both tits were flogged together. Perhaps, she thought, the same principle as with caning, where the simultaneous stimulation of the nerve endings on each buttock produced an effect that was somehow much more pleasurable than if each cheek was struck in isolation? Then she shook her head, defiantly. Wodin Thring simply beamed at her. "I was so hoping that you wouldn't say anything just yet, my dear. A little light tit flogging never hurt anyone much....well, not permanently, anyhow."

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"Uhh," she gasped, louder this time. Silence. "You get an extra stroke each time you fail to answer the question correctly," he said, coldly.

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"Uhhhhhhh," she gasped, but shook her head again. Wodin Thring smiled.

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"Ahhhhhhhhhh.....no more, Sir," she gasped, "Please, Sir....my name is Helen, Sir." This reply didn't impress Professor Thring overly much. He simply shrugged, and started on her tits again almost immediately.

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"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh....ohhhh....Sir," she moaned. "Please, Sir, it's Helen Whapshott, Sir," she added, giving her maiden name, the one which he might remember her by most easily.

He stopped, and peered at her. "Of course," he said quietly, "I should have remembered. You....and your sister Margaret, the famous inventor of the Knackerpants. One of the many, many, wonderful inventions to come out of St Stricktlands School to keep naughty boys firmly in their place." His eyes narrowed. "So, Whapshott," he went on, "tell me exactly why were you at the school just now?" He ran the flogger up and down her tits, and evidently decided that they were sufficiently red for his purposes. Then he looked down speculatively at the rest of her body, paying special attention, she thought, to the area in between her legs. She shuddered in the anticipation of some nice punishment where it hurt girls best. He sighed, and then took hold of her left leg. Slowly, he lifted it up, and then shackled it onto the third vertical leg of the torture table frame. Then her right leg followed with the fourth.

She wriggled, without any success. Her legs were now spread, and her cunt suddenly felt very vulnerable. "No....anything but that," she said, weakly, knowing full well where the next blows were going to land. He smiled, knowingly. It was obvious, she thought, that the translation for her last statement was, roughly, 'Yes, please, Sir, flog my naughty little cunt for me, I know it deserves it.' The blows started again.

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"Uhh," she gasped. It felt so good, getting it down there. Cunt punishment always did turn her on, and with alarming speed. She recalled some of the occasions that she and the other girls in her lower 6th form dorm had played, as they called it, cunnie punnie, for what seemed like hours on end. Dorm 6L, she remembered it was, and known widely, if not wholly accurately, as The Six Lesbians. She certainly wasn't a lesbian, however, although she had to agree that a couple of the other girls in the dorm had been exactly that. They'd used a variety implements on each other, her own favourite being a soft leather belt. Oh, the feel of that leather belt was like, well, all sorts of things, really. She remembered how she, and all the other girls had finally gone to sleep on those occasions very happy indeed after fingering themselves, or each other, furiously in the darkness as they orgasmed again and again in delightful pussy pain.

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"Uhhhhh," she said, again, her head arching back now in pain and pleasure

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"Ohhhhhhh," she gasped. She had to bite her tongue not to cry out, 'more, more, flog me more.'

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"Ahhhhhhhhhhh....ahhhhh....yes...." she shouted.

Wodin Thring smiled. "Oh dear me," he said, "I can see that we have a challenge, here. A very naughty little girl who thinks that she enjoys some cunnie punnie. I think the leather tawse is required." She shivered. OMG, she thought, the tawse....not the tawse. Her heart thumped wildly. Yes, please, her mind said to her brain, please, yes, the tawse. Her eyes followed his walk back to the wall, and watched him choose a very wicked looking leather tawse, one which it seemed from its overall appearance had seen a whole lot of action over the years. Idly she wondered how many cunts in total it had punished. Hundreds, probably. Her own cunt was, she could feel, already starting to get damp again, as she knew it would.

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"Ahhhh," she gasped, in real pain, this time. The tawse was much heavier than the flogger. He wasn't flogging her hard, but holding the tawse around a foot away from her body to start the stroke. And he was only using the end half, too. However, even that was quite hard enough, since her cunt was of course already quite sore. How much of this punishment did she want, her mind asked itself? More, it replied, give me quite a lot more. Really, she asked of herself? Really more, her mind replied. Good cunnie punnie was something one couldn't get every day of the week, it was something to be savoured

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"Ohhhhhh....ohhhhhh," she gasped.

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OMG, she thought, the pain, the pain. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh....f....." she dared not say fuck to him. She remembered suddenly how she'd said fuck to him once day in his study when she was, 'explaining herself,' to him during a particularly hard caning for the crime of having accumulated three detentions in one term. He'd promptly awarded her a full gross of Lines entitled, 'I must not use the word fuck when I am being caned.' Of course, she'd promptly fallen into the usual trap of failing the complete the Lines in time, and the uncompleted lines, sixty, she remembered it was, had then been doubled. Once again she'd failed to complete them by the following day, and the end result was, inevitably, another caning, followed, of course, by another detention, which in itself had meant two further canings. And all for saying one naughty little word.

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"Uhhhhhhhhhhh," that was enough, she thought. No more. "Please, Sir," she cried out, "I was just being caned by The Headmaster."

Another nod. Another pause. Then, "And now, Helen, your home telephone number please?"

She looked at him, aghast. Surely he wasn't going to embarrass her in real life? "I'm not telling you, Sir," she said.

Professor Thring shook his head. "Actually, it's everything of my business. However you will tell me first and then afterwards, I will tell you why. Maybe." He started work on her cunt again.

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She gritted her teeth in the pain. Not, she knew, that it would do any good. She knew perfectly well that she'd have to tell him what he wanted to know sooner or later, and probably sooner rather than later. Cunnie Punnie was cumulative, like any other punishment, and her cunt was already pretty sore

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"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh," she gasped, shivering. All right, she told herself, why not tell him? What harm was there?

She told him her telephone number. "Very good, Helen," he said, "and now your home address, if you would be so kind?"

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"Aeeeeeeeeeeeeee," she moaned, writhing in pain. She gritted her teeth. She knew the end was near.

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"Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....ahhhhhhh," she shouted, "no more, Sir."

He shook his head. "You know what you have to do, my dear," he replied.

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"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....uhhhhhh....uhhhhh," she moaned. Her resolve was gone. She told him her address immediately.

"Thank you, my dear," he replied. "Of course," he grinned at her suddenly, "Terrence was kind enough to provide all that information for me earlier over the phone, but....well....it's so much more fun, don't you think, to do it this way?" She glowered up at him, suddenly seething, but was, of course totally powerless to do anything about it. He smiled again. "That concludes the interrogation for today. Wasn't too painful, was it?" he asked, mildly.

"You have no idea how sore my cunt is right now, Sir," she replied, ruefully.

He grinned down at her. "Not having a....err....rather choice cunt like yours," he replied, "I can honestly confirm that I don't have any idea. However," he continued, "I can also tell you that it's not half as sore as it's going to be very shortly." She shivered, suddenly. What the fuck was he planning to use on her now, she wondered?

He walked down the dungeon, and returned, this time pulling a machine behind him. She couldn't clearly see what it looked like, since it was just out of her field of vision. She half expected him to release her at that point, but only half. Somehow she was hoping for more of....well, she wasn't sure quite what she was hoping for, but she was hoping for it anyway. Her legs were still spread outwards and upwards, and her cunt was still hopefully on offer. He busied himself around her with another couple of machines which looked to be, from what little she could see of them, rather like spinning tops. He stared into her eyes for a long second. She knew that he could clearly see fear in them, the abject fear of the unknown. Which, of course, she thought, sourly, undoubtedly he enjoyed in all his, well, subjects.

"I'd like to introduce you to some of Thring's Things, my dear," he said, finally. "The machines at your sides are fairly straightforward. They're simply tit whippers. They each carry have rotating tease whips which simply serve to ensure that your tits stay nice and sensitive throughout the course of the....err....treatment. However, this handsome machine here...." he patted it with his hand, "....well, this is simply to determine if you are a sex slut." He looked at her, and slapped her face, hard. She reeled slightly at the sudden shock, not that she could reel very far, of course. Her vision wavered. "I suspect that you are just that," he said, quietly.

Now she found her voice. "No, Sir," she said, loudly, in righteous indignation, "I am NOT a sex slut." She knew perfectly well, of course, that a sex slut was the one thing which she really and truly was, however, she thought, a girl had to put up some token amount of respectability, didn't she? Even if she was spread out temptingly on a torture table in a dungeon at the time.

He sighed. "That's what they all say, my dear," he replied. She realized that he was speaking again, "....rarely more than once, despite the substantial numbers of requests I receive for a repeat session." He grinned. "Strangely enough, virtually all of the girls turn out to be sex sluts. But we shall see." He gestured towards the machine. "What we have here is simply an electromechanical fucking machine," he said, quietly. He paused significantly, and added, "but complete with a wide variety of punishment penises of my own manufacture, especially made for sex sluts." He wheeled the machine into her field of vision as he spoke. It was, indeed, quite clearly a fucking machine. The long member complete with a wicked looking phallus at it end made its purpose more than clear.

She stared at the fucking machine with mock horror. A part of her mind told her that with near certainty she would enjoy every minute of it. "Your face tells a picture, my dear," he said. "You may possibly recollect a rather entertaining movie from the 1960's, entitled, 'Barbarella.' And like 99% of all men who ever watched that movie, I too very much enjoyed seeing the rather lovely Jane Fonda being put into The Pleasure Machine, as it was then called. The precise lurid details of this....err....machine were never made explicitly clear on screen." He sighed, wistfully, in evident fond memory of, she thought, Jane Fonda. "Movies were really quite innocent in those far-off days, you understand," he went on, "but judging by Jane Fonda's facial expressions of obvious orgasmic ecstasy, we can safely assume that it was fucking her cunt for her. This machine of course does the same. In addition to the basic principle, I have developed a very extensive range of what are known as Thrings Things to use as attachments." She shivered in anticipation. "So, my dear," he said, "let's see now...which Thing should we use for your naughty little cunt tonight? The Invader, perhaps? Or maybe the Probe? The Interrogator....no....we've done that." He furrowed his brow. Then he smiled, nastily. "Ah, I have it," he said, "The Tormentor. That will be perfect for you, I assure you. It's especially good for use on a cunt which is already both wet and sore." Helen Shagton shuddered and closed her eyes. Her heart thumped. She knew that she was almost begging him to start the fucking machine off.

There were, she could see, a wide selection of Thrings Things clipped ready and available for use on the side of the fucking machine. He selected the one which was obviously The Tormentor and held it up for her to see and savour. It was, she could see, ridged, and along its length were what appeared to be small metal pins which probably weren't actually sharp, but certainly would make a point when they were fucking a defenceless cunt. Slowly, he screwed it in into place along the fucking machine's main shaft, so that the shaft could then screw her cunt.

She had, she knew, always had a secret desire to be fucked by a such a machine. There was something cold, unfeeling, unyielding and yet completely fascinating about the idea of a machine penetrating your most personal place, especially when you were bound tight and totally at its mercy. Now he moved the machine into position. Gently he inserted the Thing into her offered cunt. "Uhhhhhhhh," was all she could bring herself to say.

He smiled. "Wet already, my dear?" he asked, and then replied to his own rhetorical question, "I'm almost tempted to say that proves the point already. Quod Erat Demonstrandum², of course, but I suppose you still have to have your fun. Now," he said, "I'm going to set the machine going, and then leave you to it. An hour should do it. I have all sorts of work to do. I shall return in one hour, and then we shall see if you're willing to confess whether or not you're a sex slut." He looked at her, smiled, and then added, mildly, "Oh, but the way, my dear, the machine is set to tease." With that, he walked out of the dungeon. She was totally helpless, bound, and, what was more, fucked.

The machine started to operate. The two side machines started up first, the rotating tease whips whirring. Her tits were lashed slowly but intensely. Her nipples became hard almost at once. Then the fucking machine started. The Thing fucked her, very gently at first. The Tormentor certainly was a punishment penis, she considered, since the semi-sharp points would have brought tears to her eyes had she not been so wet that her natural lubrication eased the worst effects.

The machine slowly speeded up. The tit whipping increased. Now began to become sexually stimulated. She clenched all her muscles against it, trying not to allow her feelings to take over, but to no avail. The fucking machine had been designed well, and would overcome any resistance. After five minutes she could stand it no longer, and was all set to cum ecstatically, when suddenly all fell silent. She opened her eyes. Nothing. Had the bloody thing blown a fuse? A long minute went by. Then, ever so slowly, the machines started again. Now she understood. It was just as he had said, the fucking machine had been set only to tease. It wouldn't allow her to cum. She cried out with frustration. "Fuck....fuck...." she shouted, and the machine duly obliged. But only so far. Each cycle started and stopped. Her body was shining with perspiration. Her cunt, and her tits, felt as though they were all on fire. Every sinew in her body raged for sexual release, without success. Now she just wanted the phallus inside her to cum her cunt for her, and she didn't care in the slightest who or what it belonged to. She was indeed a sex slut of the first order.

Exactly one hour and an eternity later, Professor Wodin Thring appeared in the dungeon again. He smiled down at her. The machines were now silent. She was shivering all over in a state of extreme mental and physical exhaustion, having been totally on the edge of an incredible orgasm for at least the previous ten minutes, and heaven knows how many cycles later. She opened her eyes. He raised his eyebrows. "Well, my dear?" he asked, mildly.

She could hardly speak. It took her three attempts to say anything at all. "Please, Sir," she replied, with considerable difficulty, "I'm a sex slut." Then, with her cunt screaming for sexual satisfaction, she shrieked at him wildly, "Fuck me, punish me, but....please Sir....let me CUM." Slowly, he withdrew the Thing from her cunt and then equally slowly considered her.

He smiled down at her. "I suppose you're going to tell me you'd like a Thing to finish you off, now?" he asked, mildly.

She simply nodded her head with enthusiasm in reply. He grinned down at her, teasingly. "Perhaps you'd like to beg for it, then, my dear?" he asked, casually.

Helen Shagton was too far-gone to care one way or the other about the indignity of having to beg for a cum. Her body just wanted to be pushed over the edge. Suddenly, she had a sneaking sympathy for males. If this was what they had to go through all the time then maybe it explained a lot about men's sexuality and their sexual needs. She tried to speak. She failed. She tried a second time, "Please, Sir," she said, "I have to cum, Sir. Please, mercy, Sir....have mercy on me." She ended with half a sob.

He shrugged, and examined the selection of Things. Finally he decided. "You realise this is but a small selection of the total number of Things available, but I think The Humbler here will do you just fine," he said, holding up the Thing for her to see. She squinted up at it, and gulped. It was an eight inch long silver penis, ridged in all the right places. "By the way," he added, "it's electrified." She shivered again. He smiled. "That should help to make your eventual orgasms that much more....well, memorable."