The Trials of Pauline Ch. 02

2. College of Correction

When younger, her father had often spanked Polly's bottom playfully if she had been naughty. It never really hurt, but she pretended it did. The spread of warmth from the slapping had filtered into her groin, giving Polly a curious thrill. She began to look forward to these little spanking sessions. It was a game, really. A sort of love-game they both enjoyed.

If her mother was the instigator of the beating, her father would be expected to beat her more heavily whilst her mother watched, spurring him on. The sexual excitement this created in her fluttering belly pleased Polly. She came to associate the delicious thrill in her groin with the spanking. It was some form of revenge on her mother.

As Polly grew older, her father would bend her over, pressed down on the table, face turned towards him. Her skirt was lifted to reveal her satin knickers trimmed with lace, with a loose gusset. Standing at her side he would spank her swelling cheeks with a slipper. The flesh of her vulva could just be seen in the open leg of her knickers, tufts of her fine blonde curls glittering with her moisture.

Her face was on a level with his hips which pressed against the edge of the table, and she placed her face against the flies of his coarse trousers. The sight of her genitals aroused him; she felt it swelling up against her face. His secret - the ultimate forbidden fruit - was hidden behind the front of those trousers. It was only a game. But Polly could feel it. She longed to touch it, to fondle it.

Half asleep, first thing in a morning, Polly would often fantasise about those times, whilst quietly rubbing herself. Her father was away from home such a lot, but summer time was best, when her father would be wearing thin cotton shorts. His legs heavily tanned. She remembered the musky smell of him, feeling the excitement stirring in his shorts as he spanked the knicker-clad cheeks of her bottom. He stole furtive glances at her half-concealed vulva, protected by a downy blonde nest of curls. The heaviness of his breathing confirmed his arousal, and the shaft throbbing against her face.

If, as sometimes happened, she couldn't contain herself and wet her knickers during the spanking, he ordered her to remove the soaking garment and gave her five smacks on the bare skin of her cheeks as punishment. When she got older Polly deliberately wet herself during the spanking, so that he would smack the bare skin with the slipper. During it, she would press her face hard against his groin, pushing her pursed lips against the heavy stiffness hidden there, inhaling the special fragrance of his sex. Sweet ripples of joy filled her belly.

A combination of the smacks, the jerking phallus, its special smell, would be enough to spark off minor orgasms in her. Sometimes, in her room, Polly would use a candle, kept specially for the purpose, to release the heightened excitement of her loins started by her father.

Polly had enjoyed masturbation ever since she had explored her body following a spanking. She had found the seat of her thrill. It became a regular pastime for her, particularly in the early morning, with sunlight streaming through the net curtains. She would half close her eyes and recall a fantasy, whilst concentrating on that feeling of sheer delight she got from manipulating her little pearl. Whilst one hand continued to arouse her vulva, the other stroked her firm, round breasts, teasing the stiff thimble-like brown nipple, surrounded by a large circle of lightly puckered areola.

With eyes closed, her head thrown back, she licked her dry lips. Her thoughts moved swiftly into her next fantasy. She was watching her father's penis thrusting regularly into her mother's private passage. She had actually seen this happen when secretly spying on them having sex. When her father was home from his travels, she would sometimes creep into their bedroom. If they were still asleep, she would hide in their huge wardrobe to spy on them through the partly open doors.

Her father would wake and sit up flaunting a stiff penis in front of her mother. She would take it into her mouth and suck it like a lollipop, or at other times he might just throw the covers back and push it between her widely spread legs and pump it in and out. Polly was jealous of her mother. Herself wanted to be the one to put her father's penis in her mouth and give him pleasure. She would surely do it better than her mother. But she never had the chance!

Once, after being caught by them, she was punished. Remembering that occasion always increased Polly's exhilaration. Her mother was very angry, she recalled. She made Polly lay face down on the side of the bed. Shaking with rage, making her full breasts wobble obscenely beneath her thin nightdress, her mother gave her father one of his slippers.

'Punish her hard! Give no mercy. The filthy hussy! The bitch!'

And her father swung the slipper ferociously. It was painful, but pride forbade her to cry out. Then she noticed through the dressing mirror, her father's thick, heavy penis, now horizontal, swinging from side to side with each stoke. The forbidden fruit! It looked beautiful with its half retracted foreskin. She gazed at it with desire, desperate to eat it.

'Don't stop,' Polly thought. 'Let me watch that fascinating tube of flesh.' As an act of defiance of her mother, she jutted her bottom out and parted her thighs slightly. This gave her father a better view of her soft, blonde covered vulva, challenging him to penetrate it. With satisfaction she watched the beautiful penis throb and fill. She knew he was aroused. Whilst he punished her with his slipper she imagined his shaft sliding effortlessly in and out of her, feeding her desire, kindling the orgasm growing inside her.

She couldn't remember when the realisation dawned on her that, in spite of her being the one to be punished, she was the real master of the situation. Hers was the body to be lusted after, admired and desired by all who saw it. She enjoyed being punished for the feeling of supremacy it gave her over her master. Punishment became a fascination to take control her life. That experience was the reason for her mother insisted on Polly being sent to a house of correction for young ladies; a finishing school, to beat discipline and respect into her.

On this morning, the candle wasn't necessary to bring about her breath-taking orgasm. Her loins stirred and tensed. She focussed her mind on the growing turmoil throughout her nervous system. Weak muscular spasms jolted her limbs. Tension mounted in her legs and thighs. He breathing became unsteady. Polly was now gasping and squirming with the tautness growing in her muscles. The whole of her loins were shaking, desperate for relief. Her trembling legs were straining to reach that ecstatic moment when the tension snaps. It was blissful agony. She desperately wanted her orgasm, yet hoping that the sensation torturing her body would go on forever. It was sheer bliss.

At the height of the orgastic moment fleeting images of the young men in the barn at her school, the spankings and the sex games they all indulged in. With all the sexual adventures Polly had gone through, it was remarkable that she was still a virgin. In the technical sense! It gave her a certain satisfaction to know that no man had yet penetrated her soft mystery. Only the dumb candle and Miss Armitage's dildos knew her inner secrets.

'Oh, God! Yes! Yes, yes, yes!!'

And her morning orgasm slammed into the pit of her stomach, washing over her in an enormous wave of agony. The need to cry out loud in her orgasms was stifled in her youth to avoid discovery. Restraining the need increased the thrill as her whole body jerked and jolted until the frustration was all gone and sweet peace overcame her body.

Polly relaxed. Where was he now, she wondered?

'Please come back to me daddy!' she whispered to herself with a long sigh.

Although Polly had been christened Pauline, she had always been called Polly, except by her father. She thought that curious; he always called her Pauline. Her college days were the first time she had been away from home for any length of time and the newness of college life had unsettled her.

She was put in a small dormitory of six girls supervised by Miss Armitage, the drama teacher in the college who had a small study-bedroom at the end of the dormitory. It was a strict religious college with a Principal who ran a severe regime, aided by Father Emmanuel, the visiting preacher and religious instructor to the girls. It was made clear to parents at the first interview that firm discipline was imposed on the girls with corporal punishment for the smallest infringement of the rules of the college.

Indeed, that was the main reason for the majority of the young ladies being there. Slippering or strapping on the covered bottom was administered by the dormitory mistress. More serious offenses were penalised by the Principal and the visiting clergy. Birching and caning on the bare female buttocks was their usual punishment. Sister Angelica and Father Emmanuel had the reputation for cruel punishment.

All the parents agreed to such behaviour and signed forms to accept the terms. For four terms, there would be no escape for unruly girls. During that time, they would be taught deportment and style; sophistication and social graces. They would be finished in every way, giving them the ability to mix in the best of company, to handle all situations with aplomb and social skills. Polly would soon learn that all was not that they would be taught. The college was not what it appeared to be on the surface.

The college buildings were secluded in their own extensive grounds. The accommodation was comfortable, if a bit spartan. A well furnished gymnasium and swimming pool were available as well as the usual hockey pitch. In summer, the place was quiet and warm. Insects could be heard amongst the shrubs and plants. There were two gardeners whose job was to keep the grounds trim and free of weeds. Being young men, they were the object of much giggling speculation among the boarders. This was particularly so in summer when the men worked without shirts, showing off tanned chests, muscles rippling as they worked. The young ladies' imaginations worked overtime, wetting their panties I the process.

Polly's dormitory mistress was kind and helpful. Miss Armitage was a short, dumpy figure, though smartly dressed in two piece tweed, with a white blouse under. A quiet woman in her late twenties, with intense brown eyes hidden behind unflattering horn-rimmed spectacles, she stood erect, head held high. She cut a proud figure. Under severe provocation, though, Miss Armitage could turn from a mild mannered, softly spoken lady to a disciplinarian with brutal strength. Polly had already been made aware of Miss Armitage's volatile reputation by other girls.

'My rules are simple,' Miss Armitage told the newcomers on their first evening in college. 'If you break the rules of the school I shall punish you according to the seriousness of the offence. On the other hand, if I break the rules myself, you can punish me. Punishment means the use of a slipper or ruler from me. But the cane or whip on your bottom from the Principal. Which instrument is used will depend on the offence being punished. And my own mood at the time.'

'Thank you Miss Armitage,' came the chorus. Polly's insides melted at the thought of such punishment. It was with a mixture of fear and excitement that Polly faced her first term at the college.

Most of the young ladies, having been brought up in strict religious households, even at eighteen were ignorant about sexual matters other than their own personal secrets. Matters of sex were discouraged in them. They were taught that such thoughts were wicked. Any sign of them emerging would be ruthlessly thrashed away. Their minds, however, young and eager for knowledge, were teaming with curiosity about the male anatomy.

In spite of the taboo, sex was the topic most frequently discussed, usually in delirious whispers to avoid discovery by the teachers. None of the girls thought the subject wicked enough for them to confess them to the Principal after daily prayers, or to ask for punishment!

On her first day, Polly befriended a small ginger haired girl called Rita who occupied the next bed. Although of slight build, with narrow hips, she was very pretty, pale skinned with hazel eyes. Rita was a quiet, reserved young lady, the epitome of innocence. Polly found her to be shy and quietly spoken, but was soon to discover that appearances can be misleading.

They soon began exchanging confidences about sex. The shy Rita showed a remarkable gift for sexual fantasy, surprising Polly by her crudeness. They often speculated, in breathless giggles, about the male genitals, using furtively drawn sketches to illustrate them. Rita confided to Polly that she had seen a penis, but not close up. Her first sighting was seeing, through a crack in the door, her sister put her boyfriend's penis into her mouth.

In her innocence, she thought at first that her sister was blowing it up until it was all swollen hard, like a sausage. Then he let the air out by pushing it between her sister's thighs and pumping it, because when he took it out again all the air had gone out of it. When women are having babies, Rita believed, it was the air pumped into them that made their bellies swollen. Polly smiled to herself at such youthful innocence!

She whispered to Rita that she had watched her father and mother having sex. Rita was shocked! She never thought parents did that sort of thing! With a sense of disbelief, Rita listened as Polly detailed their activities.

It came out that both young women had grown up to experience the feel of slipper and cane on their bottoms as punishment for wrong doings.

The second Saturday morning gave the two girls a chance of their first encounter with the gardeners. Strolling side by side through the grounds, giggling, whispering carnal thoughts to each other, they heard the sound of a motor mower beyond the shrubs. It was a hot day. Even so, they were dressed in the school uniform with black stockings, pleated slip, white blouse or shirt with black tie, and a dark jacket. Sensible shoes covered their feet and straw hats, circled with broad blue ribbon, were pinned to their hair. It made them look younger than their eighteen years.

'It's the gardeners,' whispered Rita. 'Let's take a look.'

Creeping into the bushes, they peered into the secluded glade beyond which was the croquet lawn. Sure enough, one of the young men, stripped to the waist, wearing only flimsy shorts, was guiding a motor mower over the turf. His tanned body flexed as he steered the machine round the end of the lawn, returning towards the watching girls. Their eyes were glued to the bulge in his tight shorts, fantasising on what lay beneath that flimsy barrier.

'What do you think it's like?' Rita whispered. 'I'll bet it hard and huge.'

Suddenly, Polly heard a twig crack behind them. Before she could turn, without any warning, the two girls were gripped from behind.

'Gotcha!'

Polly gave a short scream before a hand was pushed roughly over her mouth. They were man-handled into the clearing, struggling to escape.

'Look what we have here.' The voice was deep and coarse. The grass cutting machine stopped as the youth looked across at the helpless young women.

'Spying, they were,' another voice explained. The gardener put his mower into idle, wiped his hands down his shorts looking at them keenly.

'What were you spying for?'

'Nothing!' Polly stammered.

'They were interested in your cock,' the other laughed.

The tall youth smiled pleasantly. He had short blonde hair and blue eyes. His face was smooth and tanned.

'Would you like to see it?'

Polly and Rita exchanged blushing glances. They said nothing. Then, to their surprise, the youth unbuttoned his shorts, allowing them to fall to the ground. Wearing nothing under them, Polly and Rita stared at the large, pale cock, entranced by the sudden disclosure of the youth's hidden charms. Any thought of embarrassment was swamped by their fascination.

They watched, spellbound with disbelief and awe, dry-mouthed, as the half filled tube stiffened up, swaying from side to side like a cobra, waiting to strike. It heaved itself out of the light patch of blonde curly hair at its base with a succession of jerks, until it stood upright, thick and rigid, quivering with pride, and pressing stiffly against the youth's belly.

'Take a good look, ladies,' the youth taunted, wrapping his fist round it. Drawing back the foreskin. 'One day you'll feel it stuck inside you.'

'Why not today? Now?' It was the hoarse voice.

'Nah! If Fagin finds out, he'll murder you.'

Polly and Rita were trembling with apprehension. A tingling excitement spread in Polly's groin in spite of her fear. Or perhaps because of it. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the handsome rod of stiff flesh. She wanted to handle it, but was too scared. It looked so powerful - so demanding.

The man with the hoarse voice opened his shorts to display his own hard cock. It had an sharp bend, reaching upwards, as though searching for a willing female to dip in - or even not so willing. Taking it in his hand, he gave it several jerks, pulling the foreskin back and forth to the astonishment of the ladies.

'Pin them down on the grass,' the gardener ordered, moving away to the side.

Polly felt a kick in the crook of her knees, forcing her to stumble forward onto the grass. Her head was pushed hard onto the turf. The feel of cold metal on both sides of her neck made Polly's heart stop! A two pronged hoop was driven into the grass on either side of her neck, pinning her head to the ground. She couldn't move!

Her ankles were grasped, legs pulled straight and parted. These, too, were pinned to the turf with croquet hoops. Managing to turn her head to one side, she was face to face with Rita, who was similarly pinned down.

Their task complete, the three youths stood over the powerless ladies, breathing hard with the exertion. Polly could not see any of them. Only the sounds gave a clue as to their actions.

'Now what?'

'We're going to beat them. Teach them a lesson they don't get in school.'

'Let's fuck 'em first.'

'No! You heard Bill. We need to tell Fagin, first.'

Polly wondered who could possibly be called by that strange name. But the young man's next words worried her.

'There's a besom brush in the cart. Let's beat them to teach them a lesson.'

Polly's heart sank. Then she felt her slip being pulled up to her waist to reveal her bottom, clad in navy-blue knickers. Hands grasped the elastic of her knickers, the gusset already damp with anticipation, dragging them down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rita being subjected to the same indignity. They tried to prevent it by wriggling and twisting their bodies, but it was no use. The smooth flesh of their youthful buttocks were revealed in all their pale glory.

'Gosh!' came a hoarse whisper above them.

'Hey! There's two brushes here.' The call came from a little distance away.

'Bring them both.' It was the gardener's voice.

'Hey! Let's have a feel of 'em first.' It was the one with the hoarse voice who spoke, his words filled with eagerness. Polly imagined she could feel his eyes boring into the beautiful hillocks of female flesh. He could, she knew, see their youthful genitals between the crack, sprinkled with hair.

They could not see the young man playing with his own stiff prick, slowly jerking it, standing between Polly's splayed legs.

'Control yourself.'

'That's not easy with two helpless young bums staring you in the face.' his jerking got brisker.