Boarding

"It's to stick in my cunt, Miss."

"How did that feel?"

"Just dirty."

"Good. Because, young lady, I promise you I willnotbe expecting you to lick anything called 'pussy' when I'm through. Take my briefcase to your room and my cane to the bathroom, and then run us a nice hot bath. Lots of bending and straightening please, Abigail, you're wearing them because I like to watch them swing."

Abigail did as she was told. She stripped off the remainder of her clothes at the top of the stairs on Miss Kavanaugh's orders. Miss Kavanaugh followed her everywhere, supervising her actions and studying the infuriatingly arousing play of that chain on her nipples. She instructed Abigail to load the bath up with oils and bubbles; Abigail must have noticed that Miss liked silk, she wanted to feel the water heavy and silky on her body. When it was full, Miss Kavanaugh had Abigail stand beside it, toes pressed right to the panel.

"Feet right apart now, young lady, spread those legs like the slutty little trollop you imagine being. Lean forward and put your hands on the wall. Do not move until I come back."

Abigail stood as she had been posed, weight thrown forward onto her arms and face in the thick scented steam rising from the water. The side of the bath pressed against her shins and stopped her leaning smoothly forward in the classic position, instead she was bent sharply at the hips. She felt entirely exposed and available between her legs, vulnerable to anything whatsoever Miss Kavanaugh cared to do. Heat rose around her and made her face sweat.

When she returned, Miss Kavanaugh gave the chain a light tap with the end of her cane to set it swinging. The tugging on her nipples made Abigail grunt.

"None of that please, Abigail, I'm already aware you can't control yourself. Pay careful attention to what I'm about to say: this is not punishment, this is focussing your attention. Pain comes before questions, not after. If I have to repeat a question, I have to repeat the pain ..."

Miss Kavanaugh cut the cane across her backside.

"... Is that understood?"

Abigail choked back the sob and forced herself to speak clearly.

"Yes Miss Kavanaugh."

Perhaps Abi would have stood back and realised: that there was not room in this crowded place to swing the cane anything like as hard as before; that Miss Kavanaugh had chosen it that way. But Abi was entirely absent; there was only naughty, dirty Abigail and the wise stern Mistress who would use beating and bathing to purify her of all those grubby solitary experiments before initiating her into something entirely different and more profound. So, in Abigail's mind, each restrained stroke that fell before each question was more than she could stand; and yet somehow she did stand them.

"What's it for, Abigail?"

"Stick in my cunt Miss."

"Why?"

"Sorry Miss."

"Not an answer. Why?"

"Can't help myself Miss."

"Nonsense; personal responsibility remember. Why?"

No more individual stripes in Abigail's steam-fuddled mind, just an amorphous mass of stinging fire that overwhelmed her.

"Because I'm dirty."

"Still not an answer. Why?"

"I'm sorry."

"WhyAbigail?"

"Because I want sex! Because my cunt's hungry and needs something to work on when I come!"

"Good girl. Step into the bath for me please."

It was the way she had been ordered to run it, near to the edge of bearable. She flesh of her calves seemed to shrink from the heat as she stepped in, her legs went bright red instantly. Miss Kavanaugh had her get on hands and knees, she flinched from the heat on her tender breasts, but at least the water took a little off the weight of that chain. Miss Kavanaugh took a couple of jugfuls from the bath and mixed them with cold in the sink, then poured the warm oily mixture slowly over Abigail's back. It ran down her arms, around her neck, onto her face; Miss Kavanaugh poured warm soothing water everywhere except directly onto the fresh welts across her bottom.

The bathwater itself stopped hurting her, the muscles that had shrunk from it relaxed until she felt weak and floppy. Heat and steam filled the air she was breathing and made her light-headed. Sweat dripped freely from her face: heat, perfumed humidity, endorphins from her caning – everything mixed inside her and made her float on top of the thick water as if she was weightless. She felt Miss Kavanaugh rubbing the sponge over her back as a vague distant fuzziness. Miss Kavanaugh's arm went gently under her and helped her stand.

"Come on sweet, time to get out now."

She stumbled out and leant against Miss Kavanaugh, faint and woozy; entirely under her control. Miss Kavanaugh led her gently with one arm round her shoulders. Somewhere far away from her body her mind was trying to think through the fact that Miss Kavanaugh was not dragging her with that chain on her nipples: was she relieved about that, or disappointed?

Into the bedroom in a hazy state: noticing dreamily that everything except the bottom sheet had been stripped from the bed, and then towels laid over that. Heavy black cuffs were attached at each side of the head with leather straps. Miss Kavanaugh slipped a suede-lined blindfold over Abigail's face. She had been obedient before; but something about the blindfold made her feel entirely passive, a thing to be posed and played with.

Even without seeing, she knew the room well enough to understand that Miss Kavanaugh had her lay down with her head at the foot of the bed. Stripped of pillows as it was, that could make no difference, yet it made her feel even more disorientated.

When Miss Kavanaugh told her to clasp her hands above her head she obeyed without question. She felt her wrists cuffed together, her elbows gently but forcefully bent down and the cuffs secured to the bedstead. A pause; the sound of Miss Kavanaugh's steps soft on the carpet; again the grip gentle but forceful as first one ankle and then the other were spread, stretched and cuffed in place. She was on her back, entirely helpless and bound, a tightly-strapped Y advertising the complete exposure at its centre.

"You're not a very good host, Abigail. Your toy collection doesn't seem to include anything in my size."

"I'm sorry Miss."

"Unless you're a rather adventurous and truly nasty girl, it doesn't seem to include anything suitable for the other place either. Would you like me to try one of them, dear, or is anal stimulation not your thing?"

"No, don't do that. Don't!"

"I think I must have misheard. Was that an instruction?"

She found herself swimming back into some sort of consciousness. She spoke very slowly, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

"No Miss. You can put anything you want in my bottom, Miss. Whenever you want to."

"Not just yet, Abigail dear. Let's concentrate on first principles for the moment, shall we?"

She felt Miss Kavanaugh's hand there, softly pulling it apart; heard the voice tell her to be entirely silent or else ... Very slowly – far too slowly to either give Abigail pleasure or make her feel Miss Kavanaugh was taking any for herself – she felt her own dildo pushed inside.

Pressure on the bed as Miss Kavanaugh sat beside her, voice quiet in her ear.

"Early yet, sweet: not even ten on Saturday morning. Maybe we can go shopping this afternoon; find something fun for that one. You do know we won't be saying 'bottom' if and when we do, don't you?"

In that moment, Abigail or Abi – whichever or both of them that was splayed helpless across the bed – came entirely back to reality and realised that the time had, indeed, come to play by the big girls' rules now.

"Yes Miss."

"Splendid. Clamps off now, get a little blood back into those poor little nips of yours. I'm going to have a bath, and I'd rather not be disturbed. I could gag you, I think you might find that rewarding but it really isn't very safe all on your own. Alright, Abigail: if you shout out 'mother' nice and loud, Miss will come and untie you and make it all better; if you say anything else whatsoever, Miss will bring her cane in and whack the insides of your thighs until you do scream 'mother'. Understood? Gags are for little girls, sweet, if you want to play with the grownups you can be responsible for any noises you make. I asked if you understood me."

"Understood Miss."

The pain of Miss Kavanaugh pinching her nipple made her back arch, made her realise how little movement the cuffs allowed her hips.

"Obviously not. Try again, do you understand?"

Abigail nodded her head without speaking.

"That's better. Alright now, you just lie here for a while and experience your body as a sexual thing for me. No movement, dear, no vibration or pumping or any of that unsubtle childish nonsense. Experience and understand its capacity for both suffering and pleasure. Try to make that silly little girl's mind imagine what Miss is going to do with you when she's ready. One last thing, ..."

Pressure changing on the mattress under Abigail, an awareness of presence either side of her.

"... when I want pleasure I will take it. For the moment I want subordination and nothing more."

Abigail felt hot, thick arousal lowered onto her face; felt hair wiry on her cheeks. She kissed, once. She slipped her tongue inside and stroked as softly as she could. She heard a soft sigh far above, then felt the weight leave the mattress. She heard soft footsteps leaving the room.

The last traces of bathwater evaporated from her heat-tender skin and left it covered with a thin silky sheen that seemed to magnify all sensation; her nipples throbbed endlessly. Miss Kavanaugh must have opened the window slightly because the faintest of breezes kissed across her body and made it tingle even more. Everything: the tension and sensitivity, the fact she was on her back; all of it made her caned backside hurt unbearably. That in turn drew all her attention down between her legs, to what was being pressed against that pain. Her ... What Miss Kavanaugh would call her cunt tensed and pulsed on the motionless bulk inside it without giving her any release.

At length noises drifted into the room which made her understand that only a silly dirty little girl like Abigail needed to feel any embarrassment or awkwardness over indulging herself in the bath. Abigail – nor even Abi – had never felt anything like this: to lie here bound, naked and helpless, face marked with the taste and scent of how much that helplessness aroused another person; to be forced to lie in the darkness and listen to that other person using thoughts of you as she made herself come. It was so intensely wrong and deviant; so liberating in its abandonment of everything polite and shy. She wasn't going to be so coy about her arse when Miss came back, was she?

Her clitoris was desperate beyond her ability to cope. Anything to have it touched, even properly teased without coming; anything but this. If Miss Kavanaugh would stroke it; would even free her own hand and let her humiliate herself as Miss Kavanaugh laughed at her weakness and called her filthy names. Miss Kavanaugh, it would seem, was expert at drawing her own pleasure out over a very long time indeed. If only she might be as slow on Abigail's body as her own. Could there possibly be anything so awful that she wouldn't gladly do it in return for something like that. For anything at all ... Most of all, for that absurdly implausible picture of Miss Kavanaugh's delicately pointed tongue dipping its tip to Abigail's infuriating need.

The gentle draft from the window eventually became cold on her taut skin and made her shiver; her limbs began to cramp. Miss Kavanaugh's footsteps got out of the bath and went to her bedroom to listen to something very slow and mournful. Eventually, inevitably, Abigail's nose began to itch. She was, she was entirely sure, slowly going quite mad.

She did not make a sound.

"Hello down there."

It made her jump; made the cuffs yank at her hips – she had no idea she was not alone, she had heard no footsteps at all.

"Miss?"

"Hush, sweet, haven't told you to talk yet. I'll go and get the cane if you do it again ..."

She obviously couldn't reply to that, yet felt she must acknowledge it in some way. Helpless nod of her head.

"... Been watching you for some time. Those really are not little girl's tits, sweetie. You know you are almost a very attractive woman, if only it wasn't for that absurd bald little pussy of yours. Really need to grow some hair, stop denying that sexual womanly cunt and pretending you're a safe little girl. Miss doesnotapprove of shaving. Never going to stroke it nicely for you as long as it looks like that. Don't talk back, dear, not unless you want more pain than I think you can handle."

The voice had been drifting slowly down towards her feet. There was a pause, and then she jerked in shock as she felt the tongue touch her ankle just above the cuff. It traced slowly up towards the top of her thigh, infinitely teasing; until Abigail shuddered at the first brush of Miss Kavanaugh's stray hair against her distended lips, and Miss Kavanaugh drew her head away. She walked slowly round the bed, footsteps soft but clear once again, and repeated the whole tantalising thing on the other side. Miss Kavanaugh's hand closed over her mouth and she wallowed in the explosive luxury of groaning deeply into it as Miss Kavanaugh drew the dildo ever so slowly and wonderfully from her. She lay panting in the darkness and wished desperately for something more vigorous to fill the gaping emptiness.

"Please ..."

She tensed against the coming pain as Miss Kavanaugh's hand stroked towards her nipple, but pain didn't come. Instead there was firm pressure kneading her breast; for the first time a touch that was sexual rather than disciplinary. Abigail heard herself babbling.

"Please, please Miss. No ..."

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Play with the grownups please. Please let me ..."

"OK. It's OK, just calm down. Hush now, husssh ..."

The hand moved up to her face and stroked her as soothingly as the tone of the words in her ear: slow, soothing, and commanding.

"... Miss is going to fuck you now, Abigail. Going to use you every way she knows how. Is that what you want?"

The stroking and the voice both stopped. For a moment she was alone again as she struggled for an answer. Innocence and need jumbled together in her throat and formed a dam that stopped her speaking. Please, Miss don't do that to me? Please, Miss fill my cunt and sit on my face again? Please, Miss ...

A slight pause and the hand was back on her face, but different to before: smoother, cooler, the scent of leather in her nostrils. Fingers pressed on her cheek and she opened her mouth to feel them push inside. Ever since she had climbed those stairs, Miss Kavanaugh's voice had been a constant: formal, calm and level. Now it was a little deeper and far colder.

"Suck. I still expect some respect from you, Abigail, don't stop calling me 'Miss'. Do you understand that?"

She tried to nod. Miss Kavanaugh pinched her cheek between gloved finger inside and gloved thumb outside. Her mouth was filled with the taste of leather and the feeling of being invaded by something impersonal. She managed to mumble a 'yesh Mish' around it.

Weight moving on the bed, a hand unbuckling her left ankle.

"That's sufficient, I think. Let's have a look at you ..."

Blinding light, making her screw up her eyes. Slowly the white-out resolved itself into comprehensible shapes. She felt she might choke when she saw it. Miss Kavanaugh's body looked even more appealing out of silk than in it, if Abigail had been able to rip her shoulders out in order to get her mouth to those small breasts, it would have been worthwhile. She was perched demurely on one knee at the edge of the bed; as demurely as any woman can who is wearing nothing but a strap-on harness, a black academic gown and a pair of wrist-length black kid gloves ...

... and a smile. Her eyes sparkled and her nose twitched against the lightly-freckled beauty of her face. Just for a moment her voice went back to that deep but reassuring drip of honey it had been in the pub.

"Alright, young woman, answer my question now please."

Miss Kavanaugh hooked her hand behind Abigail's left knee and pulled her free leg up and outward as she climbed across the bed. Abigail felt the dam breaking.

"I want you riding my cunt because I'm your dirty little whore. Please, Miss. I need you to fuck me. Fuck me hard ..."

She felt weight upon her; and a gloved hand resting across her eyes in ownership; and she felt Miss Kavanaugh give her exactly what she needed.

Abi lay back in her deckchair and inhaled a deep lungful of Marlboro smoke. Somewhere, deep behind the smoke and the wine and a very fine meal out here in the dusky garden, she was sure she could still feel and taste the scent that Miss Kavanaugh had put on her face earlier in the afternoon.

"Can I ask you a personal question, Abi? No games for a moment. Would you mind?"

She turned and looked towards the other chair. Miss Kava- ... Was it really something with a V in it? She was smoking another of those slim brown things of hers; it looked just faintly enough like a thin cheroot to make Abi giggle inside: The Woman With No Name.

"Of course."

"Did you enjoy it at the time?"

"Not really."

Please let that be it, please don't ask 'why' again.

"Neither did I. Ever go back?"

"No."

"Don't. I went to an open day once, which was bloody silly of me: turn up without a child of your own in tow and everyone looks at you as if you're a prowling weirdo. I went looking for the spot where me and ... You know, that quiet corner where you go. All gone; they built a soulless bloody language lab on the site of my first fumblings. I was so pissed off I didn't even think of the 'cunning linguist' joke until the next day."

That was unsettling, a little bit of the personal slipping out thanks to the wine and fags. Whoever she was, she was pleasant enough company, and her taste in music was seductive; she really wasexceptionallygood at sex. A shame in some ways that they had both agreed from the outset that this was not going to become a relationship, or even a regular 'thing'.

But realistically, thought Abi, probably not a wise idea; she might be fun for a few days but over any longer than that would be awkward. This – whatever you did call whatever this was – was not a little fun she had from time to time as relaxation, was it? This was who she was; it would be 'lifestyle' or whatever they called it. She was fairly sure that shaggy pubes business was sincere and would be enforced, for a start, and that wasn't Abi's scene at all. It felt OK against Abi's face a couple of times, but she wouldn't want it on herself. No, all things considered ...

Just for the moment though, that was an entirely different matter.

"What will we do tomorrow?"

"We've got five hours of today left first. I think you've had enough caning."

Abi shifted uncomfortably on the extra cushion she had placed on the deckchair.

"For a lifetime."

"No more of that, don't forget Miss has a duty of care. I think any further infractions will result in open-handed over-the-knee spanking."

The idea almost made her choke on her cigarette. Skirt up and over Miss Kavanaugh's knee was going to involve so much more than proper little slaps on the outside, wasn't it?

"Whatever you say, Miss."

The woman stubbed out her cigarette, slowly removed gloves and sunglasses and put them in her jacket pocket. She reached over and took the Marlboro from Abi's hand.

"I'm quite losing patience at the number of disgusting habits I need to beat out of you, young lady. Go inside and remove your knickers, I'll be along to discipline you in a few minutes."