The Last Sashay

"I don't blame you Mr. Punire. I understand that you punish, and try to protect me at the same time, but I'm hurting so bad, why can't you stop she asked rhetorically? But before he could respond she said, quietly so only he could hear, "it's Mr. Hartley, isn't it?"

"Yes dear. It's Mr. Hartley. If it were up to me you'd be done."

"Ohh, ohhh" she moaned, "ohh please, can't you pretend to hit me. He'll never know."

"But I'll know," he said, and he placed the heal of his hand on her mons, and his middle finger along the length of the line of the split of her labia.

Camille's physical arousal had vanished upon the onset of her whipping, but her mind was swirling with sexual excess. Many of her fantasies involved displaying herself, much as she did to the boys, and then to Mr. Hartley in the hallway the day she got in trouble, and her most exciting fantasies were to be displayed against her will to men she feared and loathed. Her public display to the likes of the men and boys of the first ten rows made her dizzy with lust; her fantasy had come true. As Mr. Punire's finger rested in the cleft of her widely spread vulva, his long middle digit at rest from her clitoris to the hot wet opening of her vagina, not moving, or was it, yes, it was, but merely the slightest change of pressure, unnoticeable but that it rested on the most sensitive of Camille's tissues; it was the tiniest tease, and her membranes again began to swell, and her feminine liquid again to secrete. He patted her down there, gently, repeatedly, insistently; he was fond of that caress, and then he began to stroke his finger up and down the length of her, and she couldn't help but rise and moan and rub in concert with his ministrations. He pretended to lean again and whisper in her ear, but he kissed her instead, once and then again, and she responded with a call of wild abandon that nearly broke his heart.

Mr. Puire played her, the sensitivities of her body, and the depths of the consciousness of her burgeoning womanhood. The audience watched and listened, spellbound by the scene before them: Mr. Punire stimulating her; she bound, stretched, spread, presented; and Camille, eyes closed, in a far off world of pleasure and excitement the likes of which her pubescence mind never imagined might exist.

He judged the halfway mark to be attained, and he went to his bucket and took the single tailed mini from his collection, and ran its supple thong through his fingers feeling for any discontinuity; it was perfect. He looked to Mr. Hartley who nodded his assent, and he looked to Camille, who opened her eyes to see him standing over her with that final instrument of her torture in his grip.

Mr. Hartley stood, Mr. Punire waited for him to come nearby to watch Camille, up close and personal, taunting her. "The double X," Mr. Hartley said, reminding Mr. Punire of the agreement they had reached.

"Yes," Mr. Punire nodded, "but as we agreed."

Mr. Hartley nodded in return.

Camille watched their interaction, and then as Mr. Punire raised the single tailed whip she shut her eyes tight and tensed every muscle in her body in preparation for the strike that would ensue on this virgin sacrificed to the rule of law and the lust and egos of the men who created it. "Relax," he said, "quickly now," and he waited as she forced herself to do so, and then he struck.

It was a crack and scream as had never been heard in that school or district before or since. His aim was perfect, his form the poetry of his profession, his inspiration the love of this divine creature that had captured his soul; and his strike took her to a parallel universe where only white light and searing fire existed in the heavens and hells of her reality and her illusions. She screamed and screamed and twisted in her bonds, and the mark upon her was at once bright red and would soon be turning blue, though not a cell of skin was broken on the surface.

What he'd done was more than enough; more than enough to satisfy the requirements of any sane man and Mr. Hartley knew it. Mr. Punire looked at him, and Mr. Hartley, still within the spell of Camille's agony and screams, turned and walked away. He didn't leave the stage, but stood by the wall in indication that Mr. Punire should proceed as he judged right.

A proper double X would be four lashes, two from either side, two centered on the clitoris, and two on the vaginal opening. It is a punishment that is allowed, but under the circumstances, at the far limit of severity, much farther in the opinion of Mr. Punire than should ever be allowed to be perpetrated on one as young and immature as the likes of Camille; one that should only be allowed in prison if at all. The compromise reached was a double X, but neither on the clitoris nor the vagina, but between the two where lesser harm might be done. Still, four lashes on the vulva would take a terrible toll, and Mr. Punire forged his own path on a lesser course, though one that still would satisfy the technicalities of their agreement. It took all his skill, all he'd learned and practiced over decades of education and practice, skills that were perhaps secret to him alone, he'd certainly never shared them, and the single stroke he placed on the hyper-aroused mound of Camille's lust was the culmination of all his experience. He summed it up in one simple phrase: Maximum pain, minimum damage.

The pain part was the key to Camille's survival, not because of what it did to her, but because of what Mr. Hartley would believe was done to her. Mr. Punire was now free to finish as he wished, and he quickly lashed three more times across her vulva in accordance with the men's agreement. He was not one to break an agreement, but now he could administer it as he wished, and though Camille certainly felt them dreadfully, they were but fleabites to that first of the final strokes.

"Quickly," he said to Rico and Sadici who knew what to do, and jumped into action. Sadici untied Camille and Rico crushed an ice pack to get its chemicals to mix and freeze. Mr. Punire grabbed it from his hands and thrust it between Camille's legs, put her hands on it to hold it in place, and closed her thighs.

"Keep the ice pack on" he said to Camille, "ten minutes on, two or three minutes off. You'll be alright in a few hours." Camille looked up at him, tear streaked and woozy from her ordeal; she nodded but he could see she wasn't right; she was turning pale.

"Tilt her up, quickly," he shouted to the assistants, and they tilted the table so Camille's head would be below her body. "Tilt her more," Mr. Punire shouted, and they swung the table so Camille was at a precipitous angle, almost sliding off, Sadici holding her up.

Mr. Punire grabbed a washrag from his kit and a bottle of water and wet the rag and folded it quickly, and put it on Camille's forehead, wrapping around it around her temples.

Oh God, I'm passing out she thought, but then they tilted her down, and put the cool washcloth on her head. She was surprised how effective it was, she felt herself coming back instead of drifting further into unconsciousness. She never could have taken three more strokes Mr. Punire thought, not three real ones.

Chapter 9. The Final Sashay

They closed the curtains, it was near eleven o'clock, and the school assembly was put to a close. Mr. Hartley went back to his office, his fun was over, and Mr. Punire sat with Camille for the first hour while she recovered. Rico and Sadici disassembled the whipping frame and took its parts and the bucket of whips to their van.

By noon the ice had numbed the pain between her legs and kept the swelling down, and the bruise on her buttocks from the buggy whip looked not too severe, nor the others on her legs. She was recovering nicely, her color looked good, and she was chatting with Mr. Punire, and even had some words with Rico, though she wanted nothing to do with Sadici, which was fine by him.

"Take her downstairs. Give her a new ice pack. I've got some calls I've got to make, I'll be back in half an hour." Mr. Punire left, and Rico and Sadici each took one of Camille's arms around their shoulders to help her walk. They'd given her water and a protein shake, she was young and would recover quickly, but she was still quite weak. "Wait a minute she said, and she hobbled over and picked up her harem pants, lying discarded stage left. "I suffered for these, I want them, and she started to put them on, but Sadici took them from her and stuck them in his pocket. They took her arms again and guided Camille, still half naked, down a back stairway leading from the auditorium to the lower levels of the building. Camille didn't notice Sadici pick up the single tailed miniwhip at the last moment.

As soon as they entered the secluded stairwell Camille got that sinking feeling; this was all too familiar. She hoped she was imagining it, she hoped it wasn't happen, but when Sadici brought out the whip, and began waving it, tauntingly, rhythmically, menacingly before her, her terror surged, and with all her strength she tried franticly to pull herself from their grip and run.

"I've been looking at those sweet titties of yours all day," he said. "But no, you're just not old enough, are you, to have your tender little nipples whipped, aren't you 'my poor Camille,'" he mocked.

"No, I mean yes, Mr. Punire won't let you, you'll get in trouble, please, I've had enough." She turned to Rico, "please Rico, don't let him do it, you'll get in trouble."

"That's Mr. Rico, sir, to you 'my little Camille'." He mocked her too.

"Not my breasts, please, they hurt already."

"Not my breasts," Rico mimicked, "they hurt already," he said in an imitation of a young girl's voice. "Do it now" he said to Sadici, and he grabbed Camille, got himself in a crouch leaning against the wall, trapped Camille's legs between his own, and pulled her gauzy shirt up over her head and behind her neck, and he crossed her wrists and Sadici used the harem pants to bind her.

"No," she began to scream, but Rico held his hand firmly over her mouth as Sadici raised the single tailed mini and started on her still maturing mammaries. His aim wasn't too bad either, and he slashed each breasts on each of it's four sides, forehand then backhand: Right top, left top, then he waited... Right outside, left outside, wait for her screams to subside... left inside, right inside, wait again... and a nasty slashing upper cut to her left breast, then her right, and when she thought he was finally done he let loose with two more cuts, to just the tips, those hormonally swollen areolas, those mini breasts from whose prominence her tiny pink nipples budded, and Sadici, with all his frustration and sadism coming to fore slashed the whip and pulled it back, once for each nipple, snapping the tip of the whip on the tip of Camille's young breasts and wrenching from her a couple of shrieking screams that ranked with the best he'd ever induced.

"That's enough," Rico said, and they untied her and gave her the ice pack again. "Better put it on your nips," Rico said, and he took her shirt and pulled it back down and stuck the ice pack under it and put her hands on top. Camille was still nested into Rico's lap; she could feel his erection fit into the cleft of her backside. Rico had Sadici pass him Camille's pants and he slipped one foot, then the other into them, and Sadici pulled her up by her arms and Rico pulled the pants up and tied them at the waist. "Thank you for a wonderful evening," he said, and they took her to the preparation room and let her be.

Mr. Punire came back and Camille showed him her breasts and complained bitterly. "You're responsible," she said, "for my safety and welfare. And look what happened," she said, sticking her breasts out at him.

Mr. Punire had no idea she'd read the book of regulations, he thought she'd guessed about his responsibility, but she was right, he was responsible, and if she were to make a complaint he would be in a lot of trouble. Rico and Sadici were counting on that, that Mr. Punire couldn't sanction them without risking his own position. He was furious, but under the circumstances he wasn't willing to make wrong right.

"Get out," he said to his men. "Wait by the van until I'm ready for you."

Mr. Punire turned to Camille. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right, I didn't protect you as I should have."

"Well I'm hurting and you're a prick," she said, her breasts were really hurting badly and she was angry, "and unless you start being really nice to me, not this phony 'my poor little Camille' crap, I'm going to stick it to you."

"Don't push it girl. I don't take kindly to ultimatums; you push too far and I may say damn the consequences and take you over my knee."

"Yeah, well fuck you, but I get your point. How about a truce? The way I feel it's hard for me to accept that you did anything nice for me, but I know you did, and I appreciate it."

"Okay, a truce. Let me look at your breasts."

Camille gave him a dirty look, but she took her shirt off, put a pillow down for her head, and lay on her back on the table.

Mr. Punire inspected the damage. "Ice is still the best thing, but Sadici nearly broke the skin in a couple of places. If you let me I'll put some lotion on you, or you could do it yourself if you prefer."

"Since we have a truce I'll let you do the honors, and it is an honor, and don't forget it; and they really really hurt so really really go easy; not easy like upstairs"

"Yes Camille."

"That's Ms. Camille to you, Mr. Punire."

"Not Ms. Dupree?"

"Not Mr. Salvatore?"

"How do you know my name," he asked, very much surprised?

"It's what we girls do; find out about people we like." In the beginning of the book of rules and regulations she had seen a list of contributors and current members of the board of directors, and Salvatore was the only Italian name she saw; she guessed it was him. "Mr. Salvatore Donato," she added for good measure.

"You are something," he said, and he poured a generous dollop of lotion into his hand and most gingerly began touching his warm palm covered with cream to her bruised nipples.

"Oh shit that feels good," she said, her nipples rising to his touch. His penis began rising as well, and he adjusted himself discretely, which Camille pretended not to notice. He continued spreading lotion on her nipples, then on her breasts, and her hands once again found their way to her crotch, and once again she started moaning, and she started rhythmically raising her pelvis to her hands as he ministered to her.

"You've got a nice touch," she said, "can you do my back?"

Camille turned over and glanced at the clock, it was two thirty-five, just about enough time she thought.

Mr. Punire untied the drawstring and pulled the harem pants down her legs and off her feet. Camille was completely naked for the first time that day, and his erection hardened precipitously. He spread lotion over the buggy-whip lash, and all down the length of her legs, and she moaned and writhed seductively all the while; he had no idea if she knew the effect she was having on him.

"Do you want me to do between your legs too," he asked?

"Oh yes," she said enthusiastically, and she opened her legs to facilitate.

"He lotioned her inner thighs, approaching her vulva, but not touching, teasing her mercilessly, and she loved every minute of it, and then he touched his finger to her vagina and she squealed that delightful trilling sound he'd come to love so much. He gently put it in her, slowly, slowly, as far as he could reach, and he worked it around, firmly but gently, and then he put two fingers in, and she put her hands beneath her and masturbated her clitoris while wildly humping his fingers; her juices flowing copiously out of her and coating his hand.

She stopped just when he thought she was about to come, she was way past the halfway point, she took his hand and pulled his fingers out of her; she glanced again at the clock. "Do you have a condom," she asked?

"A condom? A condom. I don't know," he said, meaning he didn't know if it was a good idea, meaning he knew it wasn't a good idea, completely forbidden, and yet there had been cases, quite a few in fact where men of his stature were forgiven, due to 'extenuating circumstances' as they were euphemistically called. And there she was in front of him, wet and ready, asking for it, clearly seducing him, not the other way round; and who's to know anyway. "Yes, I believe I do" he said, his erection raging, hard as a bar of iron, hotter than a blast furnace, throbbing with each beat of his heart." Mr. Punire went and got a condom, and as he was passing she reached her arm round his hips and brought him to her, and through his pants she kissed his penis, up and down the length of it, then grabbed the tip of it between her teeth.

"Ahhh," he gasped, "not so hard," but she held him on that line between pleasure and pain, and just a little past that line, letting him know that at least right then she was master.

He gasped with relief when she let him go? "Where'd you learn that," he asked?

"I made it up," Camille answered. "Did you like it?"

"Ahh... yes and no," he said. She understood.

"Mr. Punire, Mr. Salvatore? Could you do something for me, I mean besides fucking by brains out?"

"Anything my dear."

"Is my punishment over now, I mean, officially? I dying," she spread her legs seductively to make clear what she meant, "but I feel weird about you being my authority. I mean I know you're way older than I am, and we're not equals, but I don't want you to own me any more like you do when you punish a girl. Can I be officially released before we do it?"

"Easily done," he said, "just a slip of the pen," and Mr. Punire went and got the multipart transportation form and signed, timed, and dated it and gave Camille her copy, and she slid it under her chest as he walked behind her, pulled off his pants, rolled on the condom, lowered the bottom half of the hinged table, spread her legs, and placed the tip of his stallion's penis to the hot and hungry entrance of her adolescent vagina."

"Go easy she said, I'm a virgin... though I've had things up inside me," she added, which explained what he found, or rather didn't find with his digital manipulation.

"Okay dear, nice and slow; easy does it."

"Thank you Mr. Punire," she turned her head toward him, "and could you hold off coming until I've had at least two orgasms," and she gave him a wink?

"I was intending to," he said, though he was so pumped with lust he wasn't really intending to at all. What he was intending to do was punish her some more, by stuffing her tight little young girl cunt with his man size prick, and making her yell for mercy while he pumped her full of a bucket of semen, at least metaphorically, given the need to not get her pregnant. But now that she'd brought it up he'd show her who was in control; he could hold off coming for as long as he wanted, all day and night if necessary. He'd make her come so many times she'd beg him to get himself off.

Camille looked at the clock again. "Do it now," she begged in her best girl's sweet pleading soprano. "Put it in, please, put it in," and she raised her rear and spread her legs wider. Her display was unambiguous, and he did what she asked, slowly as promised, but unrelentingly, until his pubic bone pushed hard into the softness of her buttocks. He held it there, and then he slid himself out, again with excruciating slowness, and back in all the way.

Camille was breathing hard; she'd been way close to the edge during his massage, and way way close to the edge when he had his fingers in her, with her own fingers worrying her engorged clit. "Oh God," she said, "oh, oh, oh" she screamed, and she started her first orgasm, fucking herself on his penis as he kept himself still and made her do all the work, and then she rose to another series of spasms when he reached around and pinched her bruised nipples, which also got a shriek, and she swung around and tried to give him an elbow in the face but he caught her arm, and then he took her other arm and pinned her down as he fucked her, the spasms of her orgasm continued unabated. That's number one he thought.