Alice Ch. 01

Alice is an 18 year old girl studying at a 6th form college which is part of an all-girls boarding school. This story contains scenes of sex, violence and gunplay. If you are not comfortable with this: do not read on.

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Alice left registration, pushing open the door that lead outside and turned in the direction of her English class. She heard someone calling her name and turned around to see her tutor struggling to keep his laptop and folders under one arm. He looked like he was in a hurry.

"The headmaster would like to see you, Alice. Go to his office at the end of the day, ok?"

"Um, ok," she replied, confused for a moment. Before she thought to ask why the headmaster wanted to see her he had left, scurrying off towards the maths department. She spent the rest of the day wondering what it could be. Surely he would have said if it was something good, so it must be something bad. But what? She searched her memory for something, anything it might be. She couldn't think of anything she had done...

At first it seemed so far off that she wasn't worried, but like an exam or a blood test, it crept up on her and, before she knew it, last period was upon her. Palms sweaty, she shifted in her seat willing the bell not to ring... It did.

When she arrived at the headmaster's office his secretary told her to take a seat. She sat down, patting her skirt smooth, and swung her legs under the chair. Her foot tapped, she wrung her hands, and time slowly dragged on. She watched the second hand tick and listened to the secretary's typing. Just when she had almost resigned herself to waiting there forever, the handle creaked and the door pulled open. The headmaster leaned out and spotted her.

"Come in, Alice." Rising, she smoothed her skirt again and checked her blouse. The former was navy, with a criss-cross of lighter blues and the odd bit of white, giving it a plaid or tartan look. The latter was crisp white and simple, with the school shield sewn on the left breast. She also wore black, practical shoes with short heels, and white knee socks. She hated the knee socks. A red Alice band sat nestled in her thick, brown hair and she wore narrow, thick rimmed glasses with black frames. She straightened those too, and approached the door.

By the time she got inside he was already sitting behind his desk, watching her enter.

"Shut the door," he said, and she did, almost jumping as the bolt snapped into the frame. She turned to face him and crossed the large office to the front of his desk, aware of how loud the carpet crunching under her feet sounded in the silence. She stopped in front of him and paused.

He was still watching her. At the first hint her muscles gave of a movement to sit in the chair he said "Just stand there for me, Alice," so fast that she hadn't even really started to move. She stood, not really knowing what to do with her hands. She was intensely uncomfortable, and this very definitely was not a 'good' visit. She felt uneasy on her heels, small as they were. They wobbled on the carpet and she felt like she was standing on pedestals, on display before him. His eyes bored into her.

After a long moment he reached to his left and slowly unlocked a drawer, sliding it open. He took out a sheaf of papers and placed them on his desk, turning them around to face her.

"Tell me," he started, "what are these, Alice?" The type was small and his fingers were splayed across the top of the papers, holding them down. She bent to read. The page was covered in row after row of internet addresses, and she didn't read a single one. Words just leapt off the page at her. Slut. Fucking. Whore. Spanking. Bitches. Gagging. Submissive. Rape. Cock. Abuse. Whipping. Humiliation. Swallowing. Daddy...

Her heart fell through the floor. Her limbs felt numb and tingly.

"I..." she began.

"Did you use the school network to look at this... filth?" he asked. She wanted to say no, to deny it, to be shocked at the accusation. But the evidence was right in front of her, she could not lie. She mumbled instead, and bright red spread across her cheeks.

"What?" he snapped, stern.

"Yes, sir," a bit louder.

"Speak up, girl!"

"Yes, sir!" she pleaded, loud enough this time.

"Look at me, Alice."

She realised she was staring at her shoes, her hands folded in front of her. She wanted the ground to swallow her up, to turn and run, to hide in the corner and sob. She felt tears welling up, and blinked them away. Raising her gaze slowly, she dreaded the inevitable eye contact. When it happened she wanted to snap her head back down, but she couldn't.

"Do you think this is even remotely appropriate, Alice?"

"No," she mumbled, catching herself, "No, sir."

"No. It's not Alice. It's entirely inappropriate, completely unacceptable and, to be frank, quite sick."

"Yes, sir." Her cheeks grew even redder. But worse, her pussy throbbed with the humiliation, and she willed that throbbing to go away... It did not.

"What are we going to do about this then?"

She was about to say that she did not know, but then he would decide. "I won't do it ever again, sir," she tried, hopeful.

"I know you won't! I'm taking away your internet access for a start."

"No! Please, sir, you can't!" That was all there was to do in the evening, and how else would she get herself off with no internet?

"Don't presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, young lady. In your position, you're lucky I'm not informing your parents of this... depravity. I shall have to thrash some discipline into you I think."

Her tongue formed an N but she dare not say it.

He rose and went to an umbrella stand, pulling out a long, thick cane. He walked behind her and she wanted to turn and keep him in sight, but she was rooted to the spot, frightened of angering him. She kept her head fixed forward. When he spoke she could still smell his foul breath.

"Put your elbows on the desk," he said. She did as she was told, bending at the waist and shut her eyes against what was to come. She felt her skirt lifted, but never his hand. She didn't hear him swing, just the tremendous crack of the cane as it landed across her cheeks. She squeaked in pain, but kept her lips pressed firmly together. Another thwack and she screwed her eyes up tighter. Then a horrible realisation flashed into her mind.

She was wearing white cotton knickers... and, as much as she wanted not to be, as much as she hated herself for it... she was wet.

She pictured herself from behind, a dark spot growing around the opening of her cunt, in plain view of her headmaster. Distracted, the third blow caught her off guard and she let out a yelp. He did not relent, however, and continued to thrash her behind. In between strikes she felt the searing heat and every time she felt she could not take any more, another landed. She had been looking straight ahead, but now her head dropped and she found herself staring at the papers he had dropped on the desk. Those words leapt out at her again. Caning. Pussy. Slut. Fucked. She realised she wanted to be fucked. Just like this, right here with a red, stripy bottom. Across her headmaster's desk as his secretary typed outside the door.

She wasn't attracted to him, not in the slightest. But she wanted him to drop his cane and pull down her sopping wet panties and fuck her. She wanted to be used, she wanted her punishment to be being used. She wanted to scream "Fuck me!" but she bit her lip. And then it was over. Curiously she felt nothing. Then she stood up and the pain came flooding back. As she rose, her skirt fell back down but she thrust her hands under it to rub herself, wincing.

The headmaster placed the cane back in its stand and sat on the front of the desk. She realised she was crying.

"You're a mess, Alice, clean yourself up before you leave." He pulled a tissue from a box on his desk and handed it to her. She wiped at her eyes, still clutching her sore bottom with one hand.

"Alice, is... is that mascara?" She took the tissue away, that heart dropping feeling crashing back down onto her. Again, she wanted to deny it, but sure enough the tissue was smudged with black.

"Yes, sir..." she admitted, dejected. When he stood up she thought she was sure to get another caning, but instead he took out a pen and his personal organiser and started copying something out.

He handed her the notepaper when he was finished and said, "Clearly, Alice, your discipline issues are too much to handle here in school. I could cane you again, but I'm not sure what purpose that would serve. I could tell your parents..." The look of horror in her eyes must have been obvious. "But I think it would be better for both of us if we used... alternative punishment." She looked at the paper. "I want you to follow those instructions on Saturday, and report to my office on Monday afternoon. Do you understand?"

"But..." she scanned the paper. "But why, sir? What is this?"

"Because you are a disgusting, sick girl who cannot keep to school rules. Because you need correcting. It should be simple, Alice, just follow those instructions. You don't need to know what will happen when you get there. On your way out please tell my secretary that I will need my cane cleaned," and with that he sat down in his chair and gazed into his computer screen, ignoring her. She padded out and shut the door gently behind her. Walking up to the secretary she felt herself flush hot red.

"Um... the headmaster he...er, says his cane needs to be cleaned."

"Oh, um... thank you, dear," the secretary said, seeming a little confused as if she didn't understand. Alice turned and walked back to her dorm, rubbing her bum through her skirt, but glad at the cool air of the courtyard.

When she got back to her dorm, she collapsed onto her bed, yanking down her sopping panties and thrust her fingers into her cunt. Shutting her eyes tight she pounded herself furiously, biting her lip, desperately working for.... orgasm. It hit her like a blast wave, convulsing her body, she let out a silent scream through a wide open mouth. The walls were thin here. She arched her back, lifting herself up, her pussy clenching around her fingers. Then she fell back onto the bed and drew in a ragged gasp of breath. The bed underneath her was soaked, as was the back of her skirt. She couldn't say how long she lay there for, she might have dozed off, but when she woke up she towelled herself off and attempted to clean up the puddle on her mattress. It had already dried though. She threw her skirt in the hamper and pulled on some jeans, gritting her teeth as the denim scraped across her sore cheeks. Sitting on her bed, she wondered what to do now, and opened her laptop to see if her internet worked. Sure enough, the connection failed.

"Fuck," she breathed. Then she remembered the note. She'd dropped it next to the bed, and picked it up now, unfolding it to read. It told her to catch a bus to a village she had only vaguely heard of and from there to walk to a farmhouse and ring the bell. It told her to arrive at five o'clock, and to bring her school uniform and things to stay the night. She figured it was some kind of discipline camp weekend, and dreaded having to spend the night with a bunch of misbehaving brats. Given that she was supposed to arrive at five o'clock, it would probably involve some stupid night time activities like a midnight trek or orienteering or something. It was only Tuesday though, so she had to wait three days before she would find out.

The walk to the station took her twenty minutes, and town was as depressing as ever. It was all piss soaked corners and cracked concrete. The bus itself was hardly better with a mean faced driver, a few disapproving old people, a large mother with an unruly child, a pair of Polish girls who didn't stop talking, and some ridiculous looking chav with his slag of a girlfriend sitting at the back. The bus journey took forty five minutes and made her feel sick. The passengers that came and went were hardly an improvement. Run down urban streets gave way to suburbs, and then to that kind of semi-rural area you get where it's too close to civilization to be proper countryside. Eventually she was the last passenger left, and the bus came to a stop in the village the note had mentioned. She hopped off, thanking the driver, and checked the note to see which way to go.

Finding her bearings, she headed down a country lane; eventually turning onto a road sided by grass verges and unmortared stone walls. As she left the village behind the landscape became bleak; flat and inhabited only by a few dirty sheep. Barely a car passed. Eventually she saw a few buildings in the distance. Checking her phone, she'd been walking almost half an hour so should be about there by now. She turned up the drive through big open gates. The sign matched the note, and the farmhouse was the nearest of the buildings. It was made of the same grey stone that the field walls were made of, with a slate roof and a heavy oaken door. She pressed the buzzer.

A dog barked, and a few moments later a shadow fell across the little window at the top. The door swung open and a man greeted her.

"Alice," he said smiling. It wasn't a question, but not really a statement either.

"Yes, hi," she replied, a little wrong footed at being addressed by name.

"I'm Dan, do come in," he urged, stepping back.

She wiped her feet on the mat outside and stepped in. The house was deceptively large. The hall was long and wide with a very high ceiling of wooden beams and skylights. There was an upper level with handrails running all around. Coats hung on pegs and there were a couple of pairs of boots on a rack, along with shoes and trainers, and umbrellas in a stand. She thought of her caning...

As she kicked off her shoes, he asked "Can I get you anything? A drink?"

Realising she was quite thirsty, she answered "Um, some juice would be nice if you have any?"

"Sure."

As he walked into what looked like the kitchen she took a good look at him. He wore light blue jeans, a woolly, cream jumper with a roll neck. Light hair, neither tall nor short. Good looking in an unconventional sort of way and quietly oozing confidence. She hesitantly followed but before she got all the way in he was heading back out again, ushering her through a door into the living room. He handed her a glass of juice, and as he did she noticed the flash of his watch. It was silver in colour, with a blue and white face, but she saw the glint of diamonds around the bezel. It seemed Dan was not exactly struggling to get by. He beckoned her to sit on the sofa. It was white leather, like the other chairs, and the carpet matched his jumper. There was a fireplace, and a lot of wood. There were picture frames all over that she couldn't make out from here, artwork hung on the walls and there were a pair of guns over the hearth. Glass patio doors filled a whole wall opposite the seats, looking out onto more gravel driveway, an out building, and fields. It was light and modern inside, but you knew you were in the country at the same time. She suddenly realised how incredibly odd this was. Where were the girls? Why wasn't he wearing some brightly coloured tracksuit and quoting motivational slogans at her? Who the hell was this 'Dan'? Before she could ask what was going on he spoke first.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here and who the fuck I am," he chuckled, "Well, as I said, I'm Dan. Your headmaster told me you were having some problems at school and asked me to spend some time with you to see if we can't do something with you." He smiled.

"But... who are you?"

"I'm an acquaintance of your headmaster's, we met years back when we worked on some property together. He knows that I'm good at correcting people, at dealing with problems like yours, and he asked me to help."

"So, what happens now?"

"Well," he eased back in his chair, "I think you should start by telling me about these internet sites you've been visiting, Alice."

She opened and closed her mouth. "I... I don't really feel comfortable talking about that."

"Would it help if we were more formal, perhaps?"

"Sorry?"

"Well, call me 'sir' for instance."

"I'm sorry, I just don't think I want to talk about it."

"Don't want to talk about it, sir."

"Sir, sorry." If it were anyone else, she'd have whispered 'prick' under her breath, but she felt oddly compelled by this man.

"Alice, I know exactly what you've been looking at, I saw the addresses. It's nothing to be ashamed of, it's perfectly normal for a girl your age. I see it all the time. Trust me, you've got nothing to hide, nothing to be embarrassed about. Now, when did you first start looking at this sort of thing?"

She hesitated, and then relented. "Um... I guess, not long after I got the internet really. Maybe, when I was 10 or 11?"

"And have you always been interested in that kind of thing?"

"As long as I can remember..."

"What sort of thing is that? In your own words, I mean..."

"I..." She trailed off.

"Don't be embarrassed, Alice. It's fine."

"Um, things about being hit. Being used... sexually I mean. Serving... being... humiliated, punished. Rough things, like rough sex... and... rape..."

"Abusive things?"

"Yes. Like, domestic abuse and stuff. Those charity ads always... turned me on a bit..."

"Being hit; like being spanked?"

"Yes."

"Caned?"

She paused. "Yes."

"Punched?"

She hesitated again. "Yes."

"I see. So, is this purely fantasy?"

"Yes."

"But you were caned the other day?"

"Yes, but..."

"And you enjoyed it. Didn't you?"

She blushed. She'd hoped her headmaster hadn't noticed how wet she had been. "I did. Sir." He smiled again.

"But that's it, you haven't experienced anything else?"

"No, sir."

"So you're a virgin?"

"Er, yes. Sir." It was still odd calling someone 'sir' outside of school.

"No boys?"

"No. Sir. I... there was a boy from town I kissed once. Well, a couple of times. But he was a twat; they're all twats in town. There aren't any other boys, it's an all-girls school."

"I understand. That must be hard for you."

"I suppose, it gets kind of boring."

"Kind of frustrating."

"Yes."

"Do you not want that?"

She blinked. "Sorry?"

"Your juice, sweetheart, your juice."

"Oh, sorry. Yes, thank you, sir." She sipped from the tall glass.

There was a bark and Dan's dog trotted in, tongue lolling. It was a Dalmatian, very fit looking. He rubbed its head and leant forward to pet it, scratching it behind the ears and said, "This is Mud. I call him that because it's the only thing he seems to contribute to this house." Alice smiled at that. Mud opened his mouth and looked like he was grinning, then crossed the room to her. She stroked him and he seemed happy about it.

"He's lovely," she said.

"Thank you. So tell me, these... feelings you have. Do you feel guilty about them?"

"I used to but... not really." She rubbed the top of Mud's head. "Like, with liking those adverts and stuff, I used to think there must be something wrong with me. But I got over it I suppose, so not now. They're kind of embarrassing though." She blushed again.

"In your... thoughts, this theme of control, of use... is it always a purely sexual thing? Or is it... deeper than that?" Mud seemed to see something interesting outside and padded off, leaving them alone.

"I think so. I guess, I like to please, be controlled, do as I'm told and stuff..."

"Like to?"

"Want to." He looked at her funny. "Sir." She realised what she'd said, so naturally, so easily. There was a long silence.

"Tell me what happened on Tuesday."

As she answered, he shifted to the edge of his seat, leaning forward. "Um, well I got told to go see the headmaster. So I did, in the afternoon. And he made me wait, and then I got called in and he showed me the... er, the websites. The names I mean. Then he... he said some things, and then he, well, he caned me."