Daredevils of St Trinian's Ch. 04

CHAPTER 4

SATURDAY JUNE 2ND

DARE PROPOSED BY JESSICA CONNOR

PERFORMED BY RACHEL de CHARTERIS

On Saturday the students returned after half term. The teachers were turned out plus the prefects. Rebecca was impersonating a virgin; dressed in crisply ironed white blouse, tightly knotted striped tie, blazer and near regulation grey skirt. Unusually she also wore black tights and knickers.

For two reasons. Most of the men who brought their little princesses back to school were pigs and would attempt to touch up the more nubile prefects. The caning had painfully bruised Rebecca's glutes and the blood had moved slowly downwards under the force of gravity. Her skin was a rather sickly yellow as far down as the back of her knees.

The ensemble was topped off by a perfectly placed straw boater. The ipad clutched tightly against her chest added to the illusion.

Rebecca was supervising the new prefects. After Whitsun half term the upper sixth girls just did a couple of weeks revision followed by their A-levels and had no official duties. The next year's prefects had the half term to settle in to their new roles. Their ability to dress as harlots was fully formed. Rebecca had to ask more than one to squeal a bit more quietly as a burly hand slipped under her skirt.

"Only give him thirty seconds." Headmistress commanded, standing just behind Rebecca. "They can pay like anyone else if they want more. Rebecca here knows the rates."

Several girls sniggered. Rebecca blushed but stared down several ugly bastards.

As lunch approached three quarters of the girls were accounted for. Rebecca looked at the late list and noted that she had seen quite a few pass by with her own eyes. She smiled at the lack of organisation. Tradition was important. Rebecca singled out a nervous looking ginger prefect with large glasses.

"Lydia, isn't it?" for some reason reacquiring her Glasgow accent. "The little shits should be sitting down for lunch. I would go in and tick off the ones who you girls missed. I'm done and I'm off for a run."

Lydia gulped. "OK, Bex. What about the ones who really are missing?"

"Don't worry, hen. We always lose a few. Just print off a list and give it to the bursar. It's her problem."

Rebecca grabbed a sandwich and hurried to her room. Her crotch was far too hot. She stripped and put on a long, bright yellow racer back vest and trainers. The vest was long enough to leave dog walkers speculating what might be underneath. Rebecca had no need of bras.

It was a kilometre to the river which was strictly out of bounds. There was a faint path through some woods that had been created by generations of young feet and was periodically enlarged using one of the school's petrol-powered brush cutters. The path led to a sandstone platform which was the only safe way in for a long way up and down stream. The river was as black as ink and ran fast and deep. It had rained overnight and the river was in full spate. Rebecca could just hear the roar as it exited the gorge upstream.

Rebecca removed her shoes and tied her vest to a branch overhanging the water. Once in the river it was impossible to see the exit point unless it was marked. If missed, the next chance to get out was at Little Dykebush in the Wylde golf club. There a meander formed a small reed bed by the 12th green. Rebeca prided herself on her river craft and only got washed up on the golf course as a consequence of a dare. In all only a dozen or so girls got to the golf course in a week; more at a weekend. It was a house rule never to swim alone. A rule which Rebecca frequently broke. Nobody would punish her. Swimsuits were forbidden.

Once at the golf course it was necessary to get back to school before they acted upon the inevitable complaint from the golf club secretary. This entailed wading through some mud and a knackering, naked, barefoot run through the golf course, up their gravel drive and along two roads. Then the school wall had to be scaled, followed by a drain pipe to one of the shower rooms, where the girls could claim to be a bit icky due to their period. If caught by the Trunchpoll, punishment was instant; six of the best on the bare bum or the soles of bleeding feet. Punishment was no deterrent at all.

The sight of up to six wet water nymphs emerging from the river caused many a bogey on the twelfth. Apart from the odd unfortunate heart attack, a matronly foursome occasionally attempted a citizen's arrest which was rarely repeated. If they ever played again. The younger players and the surprisingly large number of LGBTQ members generally dropped everything and applauded. Frequent offers of towels or a lift somewhere were met with most unladylike language. Any attempt to touch one of the girls severely affected a player's handicap.

The Feast of St Trinian varied but was most commonly a Saturday or Sunday in March. The eponymous patron saint of mayhem might have stopped in Little Dykebush in the Wylde sometime between 1069 and 1521. St Trinian's Hole was thought to lie somewhere under the first tee at the golf club and every year a pilgrimage was made. It was called the Mass Trespass.

This was a rite of passage for the lower fourth who had to organise and execute a race from the bathing stone to the golf course and back to the school. The competitors were called fillies and came from the lower sixth. Participation was voluntary and required a fair degree of fitness, reckless bravery and indifference to pain. Each filly had a number placed in two locations between neck and knee; usually breast and buttock. Each younger girl was given two numbers and was responsible for getting those two fillies back to school. Preferably alive.

Usually at least thirty older girls took part and set out downstream silently in groups of five, every ten seconds. A lot of the senior members of the golf club liked to tee off early.

The younger girls would make their way, dressed entirely in black to the club under the cover of darkness and lay down a decent amount of artificial fog.

Timing was everything and ideally the first golf party would be a little way down the first fairway and the second ready to tee off when a herd of pale, wet mares would emerge from the mist, teeth drawn back and breath like engine smoke. The only sound would be their heavy breathing. Most golfers froze or collapsed. This was not helped when the silent mares transformed into screaming banshees.

The scream was the cue for the commandoes of the lower fourth to deploy their diversions which were invariably loud, bright and smelly. Within five minutes the girls would have vanished leaving chaos and bewildered adults and some overfed guard dogs. The roads back to the school would have been closed and any police foolish enough to turn up persuaded to stay in their cars.

Every so often there was a new broom at the golf club or Police HQ who was determined to stamp out this malarkey. "They are just little girls," was said frequently. Extra officers and/ or security guards were drafted in at great expense. No security firm within six neighbouring counties would go within five kilometres of St Trinian's and any who might, would only supply unmarried staff or illegals. These were known as golden years and it was a great privilege to have attended a Golden Trespass. The lower fourth intelligence system was legendary and they would know what was occurring weeks in advance and up their game accordingly. Reputations were made on one side and lost on the other. Happy school memories to last a lifetime and flashbacks to last as long.

Rebecca slid into the icy cold water and was immediately grabbed by the current. This was of no concern and she was soon powering upstream. The biggest risk, especially when the water was high was flotsam; mainly branches and dead animals. They were often nearly submerged and it was safest to swim water polo style with the head out of the water, even though this was not that efficient. A large rock marked the end of the gorge and there Rebecca turned around. Swimming further on into the gorge was delightful but even Rebecca was not reckless enough to do so alone.

Swimming back took no time at all. Rebecca had to outpace the current both to manoeuvre and avoid being hit from behind. She saw her vest and grabbing the branch swung effortlessly out of the water. She gave her short mane a shake, dried her feet on the bottom of the vest (she hated running in wet shoes), put the vest on and set off back to the school at a clip. The vest clung to her strong wet body obscenely and shocked a few walkers.

Emily was lying on Rebecca's bed only wearing come to bed eyes. Her pert buttocks were raised and glowing in sunbeams coming through the window.

"Where have you been?" Emily snapped.

Rebecca smiled and threw the wet vest at Emily. "Nice to see you too, Em. I've missed you. Great tan. Been somewhere hot.

"No, I haven't," said Emily, getting to her feet. In her right hand she held a strap-on. It was Rebecca's harness but the black dildo was huge and definitely alien.

"The tan is from mum's sunbed," Emily huffed as she attached the harness to Rebecca's pelvis. "I haven't had sex for a week. I am practically a virgin. Now stick me with that bad boy, you bad girl."

"Wait a minute, "Rebecca asserted. "I need a kiss and you might need some lube on that."

Emily gave Rebecca a rather laboured kiss and was soon doggy on the bed. Lube was unnecessary. Her lips were huge and bright red and sap was running down the inside of her thighs. Rebecca slowly slid the giant dong in until her pubic bone pressed against Emily's perineum.

"Fuck, that feels good," Emily bellowed. Emily had none of Rebecca's scruples about noisy sex.. The door opened a tiny bit and Rebecca heard giggling.

A small voice said to another. "It's OK. Em and Bex are playing horsey. Don't worry Bex, we're so fucking noisy we can barely hear you. We've hung one of the new prefects out of the window. She's screaming more than Emily. I hope she's enjoying it as much."

Then the door shut and Rebecca turned her attention back to her errant lover. They had not made proper love for ages and Rebecca felt like a sex robot. Unrequited love was one thing but it was another thing when the object of that love wanted you to fuck them all the time.

Rebecca really did enjoy giving sexual pleasure and knew that she was good at it. She stopped for a moment and Emily violently impaled herself on the plastic penis. Grabbing Emily's hips hard, Rebecca resumed her thrusting, sensing how fast and deep Emily wanted it but not giving her quite that much. Rebecca was strong as an ox but not much more than Emily and she knew that she could not hold Emily completely still when she was rampant. She could, however make Emily feel controlled and frustrated. As Emily's counter thrusting got stronger and Rebecca drank in the way her muscles contracted under her golden now very sweaty skin, Rebecca gently synchronised her pelvis with Emily's so that the penetration was lessened.

"You fucking bitch," Emily spat. "Or rather you half fucking bitch. That dildo is a mould of a real black man's cock. And it hurts my cervix. I want you to pretend that you are a black man and I am your white ho. Stretch my tiny white pussy daddy. Ruin me for any white man."

Emily's porn star voice was rubbish and made Rebecca both laugh and lose her rhythm.

Rebecca slipped into a prim Edinburgh accent.

"Role play is one thing Miss Emily but I prefer to discuss it before hand and I didn't realise that you were a racist."

"I'm not," protested Emily. "I love cock. Black men have huge ones."

"That's stereotyping," Miss Jean Brodie continued, then decided it was a conversation for another day.

Somewhat reluctantly, Rebecca lifted Emily up a few centimetres so changing her angle of attack. Rebecca let go of Emily's hips and let the gymnast perform freestyle on the dildo. Emily rode it faster and then rersuming, Rebecca rode her faster still. Emily was by now screaming obscenities and Rebecca knew that she was on the edge. Rebecca put her fore and middle fingers in her mouth and then rammed the wet digits forcefully up Emily's arse. Unfortunately, there was fudge in the box but there was no need to pack it as Emily came hard and fell off the dildo, flat onto the bed. Rebeca quickly wiped the shit off her fingers, removed the harness and laid gently down on her sweaty friend. Rebecca ran her clean hand through Emily's silky blonde hair and breathed gently on her neck.

"Mm, that's nice Bex. Why can't you have a sex change? I've never met a man who understands my body like you do. That huffing is getting me wet again; not that I had actually dried out. Lie on your back and I'll tell you about my week."

"I am your white ho," Rebecca though to herself. But a willing one.

Emily lowered her pussy on to Rebecca's face and Rebecca set about licking and drinking. Giving Emily ling turned her on awfully. Emily was facing away from Rebecca's pelvis so did not notice Rebecca starting to masturbate. Emily was often quite talkative when Rebecca was eating her out.

"So. Mummy was an absolute bitch. I was virtually held under house arrest. In fairness, I did get a lot of revision done. And a good tan as you can see. She has a new boyfriend. She was showing what a strict mother she is. He's a fat, hairy Russian called Igor, believe it or not. He imports and exports misery as far as I can tell. Dripping with money but not class. Dirty bastard watched me do a nude yoga session but refused to bang me.

"Emily," he said. "I have fuck many Russian gymnasts who look just like you and bend in same directions. I immune to your crude Lolita tactics. That annoys me so much. He even admitted that he had not read the book and did not know that it was written by a Russian.

"I got one mouthful of spunk all week. Dom came around for lunch with his new girlfriend. She's cute but vacuous."

Rebecca asked a lot of questions and somehow Emily could hear her through her vagina.

Emily continued.

"Just as well Dom comes so quickly. Sad for his girlfriend. We were disturbed before he could finger me. No, Bex. A blow job is not sex."

Dominic was Emily's older brother and had deflowered Emily. He had been wracked with guilt but Emily had promised to keep quiet if he told his mates that she was a horny slut. The rest was history.

"Ooh, Bex. I'm going to come. Yes, yes yes."

Emily grabbed Rebecca's hair and pulled hard and filled Rebecca's mouth with squirt. She did not however stop grinding her pussy into Rebecca's mouth. Three orgasms had become Emily's normal demand.

Emily continued.

"I discovered a new term. Women who have sex with women. Oh, of course you've heard of it. Silly me. Makes me feel less lez. You are totally screwed up, Bex but you are a beautiful person. You need a girlfriend. I know who."

Rebecca tried to lift Emily off to interrogate her further. Emily grabbed an ear and pulled hard. Rebecca relented and Emily groaned as she drenched Rebecca's face with pussy cream.

"Bex," said Emily quietly. "I love you. All will be revealed shortly. I want you to be happy. I am going to touch your junk. Gently. Stop me if you don't like it."

Emily leaned back and slowly ran her hand down Rebeca's now sweaty abdomen. The muscles contracted and Rebecca's back arched. Emily gently cupped Rebecca's fupa which was not technically her junk. The skin was silky and the underlying fat beautifully soft. Emily's index finger slid between Rebecca's fat outer lips and found her woman's core. She was surprised by Rebecca's abundant wetness. Moving up, Emily found Rebecca's clitoris and strummed it poorly but energetically. The girls came almost together, backs arched, thigh muscles bulging and lightly endowed chests heaving. Rebecca's hearty scream was muffled by Emily's muffin.

Disentwined, Rebecca said, trying not to sniff her fingers. "Shower."

"OK," Emily chirred.

A long cold shower followed with excellent kissing. Emily, despite being turned on again washed away her cream and enjoyed Rebecca's slick muscular body. And Rebecca's tongue; almost as good in her mouth as between her legs.

Still wet, the girls squeezed on to Rebecca's bed for a little post-coital spoon. Rebecca jumped up suddenly.

"Shit," she exclaimed and ran to the lower fourth dorm.

Said lower fourth were re enacting the Battle of Cannae. The din was immense. The younger girls costumes were imaginative. Rebecca guessed that the Marvel characters were Roman and the Pokemons Carthaginian. As Rebecca surveyed the room a well-aimed lacrosse ball struck what passed for Rebeca's left breast. She could not guess who had launched the missile. All the windows were open and Rebecca noted the taut rope tied to a radiator and leading out of the open window.

Rebecca pushed her way through the melee of thrashing hockey sticks until she reached the window. She looked out and a naked redhead was hanging about ten metres from the ground on which lay all her clothes. She was hogtied and could not have been comfortable.

Rebecca started to pull on the rope, not bothering to ask for help. Suddenly there was silence and a small voice said.

"Dare you."

Rebecca froze. How easy it would be to pitch her out the window. She could grab the rope but it might not hold two girls' weight. Rebecca tried to remember what it was like in the lower fourth. Would she throw a prefect out of a window? Possibly. No, probably. Nobody had ever died during a dare and Rebecca had visions of being the first.

She was almost relieved by the sudden pain in her anus.

"The same small voice said triumphantly, "Told you we mended her bum hole."

Another voice objected.

"And you said that you made her a spare one."

Rebecca soon had the unfortunate copper headed prefect on the floor and was undoing the ropes. She had nasty rope burns. The fourth formers stood silently doing their Village of the Damned thing.

The girl got shakily to her feet. It was Lydia, the anxious prefect from the morning. She had beautiful porcelain skin and emerald eyes. Rebecca checked that her shoulders were intact and gave her a little hug. For a prim shy girl, Lydia unleashed an impressive tirade of obscenities towards the lower fourth who stared back menacingly.

One stepped forward and announced solemnly.

"Lydia Price. You were dared to enter our dormitory alone, unarmed, four eyed and ginger on a Saturday afternoon, and tell us to shut the fuck up. We have yet to formally score you but that was epic. We apologise on Bex's behalf for her tardiness. She was re-enacting the story of Sodom and Gomorrah with Em. We really like you."

She handed the furiously blushing Lydia her glasses.

"Let's leave while we can," Rebecca commanded grabbing Lydia's hand. "Don't run. They can smell fear."

The crowd parted and reformed behind the two older girls. A shiver ran up and down both their spines.

A familiar little voice said.

"Dare you."

Rebecca and Lydia almost made it to the door before they shrieked and stumbled as cattle prods were jabbed at their Achilles tendons.

From midday on the day after Friday, Sluturday was observed in the prefects' common room. It lasted for thirty-six hours. It generally started slowly due to hangovers. Dress was lingerie, although this was not strictly enforced. The cis girls generally dressed as prostitutes, the gay girls preferred sporty undies and no make-up, the goths wore variable amounts of black and the foreign girls took diabolical liberties with traditional dress that would have resulted in stoning back home. The geeks were allowed to choose what they liked as long as they didn't judge and they largely didn't. The two gender fluid people dressed fluidly. The God Squad defiantly covered up and prayed loudly for the harlots they were forced to be educated with.