Rule of Thumb Pt. 01

Remarkably, she and her partners had never been caught and even though her classmates had her pegged as a slut, no adults ever really seemed to catch on. No adults seemed able to imagine the strength of her exhibitionistic compulsions, or the lengths to which she would go to sate them. It helped that her family moved often in those years. Before the mean-spirited school yard taunts could percolate up to the attention of distracted parents, parents still in denial that their barely pubescent children might actually be doing something. Before having to confront those truths, she'd moved on.

Eventually though, she was caught when one of the boys took her into the garage at his house and they'd got busy in the family car. It had been dark in the garage and they were way past being watchful anyway. They'd never seen his father standing at the window. Her parents were informed and that had been awful: awkward conversations about "protecting her reputation" and "not rushing into adulthood." They'd moved again before long, and, wisely, they'd put her on the pill.

Claire had been held back by her parents before starting the first grade and so it was only a few months into the 8^th grade that she turned 14 in a new school. By this time, Claire had already turned into a young woman. Not long before, she'd been a willowy 5'6" but then her breasts had swollen considerably and her hips had widened. She had thick honey colored hair that grew to the middle of her back; generous lips with a "cupid's bow" upper lip; and smooth light skin that browned nicely during the summer months. She continued to wear mostly dresses and occasionally a skirt and top ensemble. Never shorts, jeans or leggings. She had a constant wetness between her legs and this made such clothing problematic. But she'd learned the lesson of discretion in that boy's garage and she intentionally kept her clothing quite modest relative to what all the other girls wore.

The junior high was situated next to the high school and she ended up befriending three older boys, Ted, Dave and Roger. Ted's mom was single and was reliably never home before 5:30 in the evening. Under Ted's guidance, the four of them entertained themselves for three years with nobody suspecting for a moment that little Miss "St. Claire" was anything but a dweeby tag along sister figure of the three guys. The truth was far more perverse than anybody could have ever imaged. In effect, though they didn't know what to call it, Claire felt owned by Ted and was devastated when he and the other two friends went away to college. Taking her cue from the original scheme, Claire ended up entertaining three other boy's, each with single mothers and closer to her own age. By winter of her Junior year, Claire turned 18 and all hell broke loose.

Kay Lester had simply wanted to get a run in before going home and now she had a big problem, though it was certainly also an intriguing one. Kay was the school nurse at Claire's high school. She'd seen a couple of kids: a guy and girl more to the point, enter a maintenance shed at the far, far end of the practice field. The shed was supposed to be locked and Kay knew she had to go check things out.

In the time it had taken her to jog over to the shed, the girl had been draped over a tackling pad, dress off, and the boy was balls deep in her cunt, fucking her vigorously from behind. Kay didn't really know who he was, but she was pretty sure the girl was in the US History class taught by Mr. Lester, her husband. The big problem was that, according to the boy's story, the girl - Claire Rickart was her name - was some kind of sexual deviant. He was claiming that Claire had been "given" to him a year ago by a Ted Danton who'd graduated last year. He was accusing Claire of being a "nympho," which somehow made it "her fault" they'd been having sex on school grounds. Kay's big problem was that Claire wasn't actually denying any of what the kid had said, which of course, was also what made her problem intriguing.

"So Claire, please help me out here. I told you what Alton said and you haven't said much. You're not really disagreeing with his story, but well, for instance, do you actually believe he 'owns' you?"

Claire looked guardedly as Ms. Lester. "What does it matter? We're two kids who got caught having sex. What does it matter what Alton says? Can't you just call our parents and suspend us, or whatever?"

"Well, that's not what I expected" thought Kay. "What an evasive answer."

"Well, here's the problem Claire. If I turn this over to Vice Principal Hendricks and that gutless snitch out there sticks to his story, your life is going to turn into a big shit pile real quick. His story is very lurid and it's going to get out. So, he's basically gonna walk, seeing as you're both of age, but meanwhile you're going to be labeled a teen "white slave" and perverted nympho. This could ruin your life, or at least the next couple years of it. Now if there's some kind of truth to this stuff, then maybe we can think about getting you some kind of... assistance. But before I start this shit pile rolling downhill on top of you Claire, I'd like to hear what you have to say."

Claire looked at the floor tiles and wondered how to respond to this surprisingly frank and quite probably accurate assessment of her predicament. She looked up at Ms. Lester and decided. Fuck it!

"No" Claire nearly spit, "I don't 'belong' to Alton. I really belong to Ted, but he's gone. Am I a nympho? I don't really know what that is. I was having sex with Ted, Ted Danton, and two other boys - we all were having sex with each other - since I was in the 8^th Grade. When they graduated last year, Ted, well, I guess you'd say Ted 'turned me over' to Alton and two other guys. And I'm not going to give you their names, OK? Any of them."

Claire looked up at her captor and took a big breath. "It's like this Ms. Lester. I need a lot of sex. I've never been raped. My parents didn't abuse me. I didn't see them fucking when I was three, or any weird twisted shit like that. But if I don't have sex... like every day or so, I start getting squirrely. And reckless. For four years Ted made sure I didn't get reckless." Claire paused. Her eyes grew moist but she didn't cry. She just whispered, to herself really, "I really miss Ted."

Kay slowly released the breath she's been holding, afraid to do anything that might shut down the young girl until she'd wound down. Softly she asked, "You said you really belong to Ted. What does that mean Claire?"

Claire smiled ruefully. "Why not?" she thought. It actually felt kind of good to say it all out loud. She had almost enough credits to graduate. She figured at worst she'd be expelled but she could do summer school somewhere else, because sure as hell, if this all came out, she wasn't coming back to this school. But the Bay Area was big and there were a lot of ways she could go forward. She'd didn't really think she'd done anything illegal - neither Ted nor the other boys had ever been more than three years older than she and there was no proof about anything they'd done anyway. And hell, despite what Ms. Lester was saying, none of what she'd actually been caught actually doing was more than a trespassing misdemeanor, though maybe there could be some public indecency bandied about. Still, she figured she was pretty much ­legally in the clear, despite what it all might sound like.

So, okay, let's lay it out for the nice woman, she decided. She looked at Kay. She didn't want to intentionally shock her, but she was sick to death of hiding the truth about herself from the world.

"Yes, I feel like I belong, well, I belonged to Ted. He 'got' me. And I know I did something special for him. He was pretty twisted but that was the point. Yeah, we fucked. We fucked a lot. I mean Ted and the two other boys? I took everything they could give me for four years and I could still have taken on more. Claire continued.

"But Ted controlled me. That was the really big thing we had. I had sex. I mean he made it so I could get all the sex I needed, but he made sure I had the sex he wanted me to have. And knowing I was doing what he wanted me to do... wow, I mean that was as important to me as the getting laid. I know it sounds like I must be crazy or something and crap, maybe I am. All I know is my life worked when I did what Ted told me to do. I'm almost a straight A student, or at least I was. Things have been slipping. I know. But I don't smoke or do drugs. I don't even drink at all. I just really like to fuck and I wanted to do whatever Ted told me to. Is that being a nympho?"

Kay sat stunned, thinking of Humphrey Bogart: "Of all the gin joints in all the world, you gotta walk into mine." Spirit was working overtime on this one. Of all the people that could have found Claire and Alton, she was the one it needed to be. But she had to talk to her husband before she did anything else.

"OK Claire. Let me ask you, do you think you can keep Alton from blabbing his mouth about this?"

"Wow" thought Claire. "This is not what I expected."

"There is like no chance he's going to say anything if you don't turn us in to Vice Principal Hendricks" she said. "I've been keeping this completely quiet since middle school and Alton's gone a year and a half. If you hadn't busted us, it was never going to come out because of any of us talking about it."

"OK, I want you back here after your last class tomorrow and we can talk some more. Now go straight home, OK? Don't do anything 'reckless.' Do you understand me Claire?"

"Yes" Claire nodded. She understood. And so, it seemed, did Ms. Lester, as crazy as that was.

"Husband?" Kay Lester was kneeling at Richard Lester's feet at his desk in his study. Her head was bowed. She wore only a very skimpy little apron, a small rectangle of black material with white lace, tied around her waist and not quite long enough to conceal her slit. She was very nervous. This was his study time. He was working on his dissertation and it was strictly forbidden to disturb him. But she couldn't wait. Her news was too important and frankly, too incredible to hold. She'd made her choice and would take the consequences.

Richard looked at his wife. Though a stranger would be unable to tell, he was very surprised, no, stunned that his wife had spoken to him.

"What is it dear? Are you OK?"

"Yes Sir, but I must speak with you about one of your students. Claire Rickart?"

Richard was non-plussed. What on earth could this be about? What about "St. Claire" could have prompted his wife to disturb him? How did she even know Ms. Rickart?

"Continue."

Kay took a deep breath and repeated verbatim what Claire had told her.

"God, what an unwelcome mess" he thought. But that was not fair. Who else could make anything other than a catastrophe of these events? It might be a mess and it might be unwelcome, but it was altogether right and proper that it should land in his lap. The Bay Area had a large BDSM community but he was reasonably confident that no other teachers in his school were remotely involved in it. And he had to agree with his wife's assessment: Ms. Rickart's immediate future could easily and needlessly be destroyed if he didn't involve himself in sorting out this... situation. There was literally nobody else that could salvage the thing.

"I will join you tomorrow and we'll speak with Ms. Rickart, together." He paused, looking at his wife speculatively. "You know of course this could have waited for dinner?" Kay nodded demurely but remained silent. "Hmph" he snorted. "Leave me now, as you know you should have to begin with. We'll address your misbehavior after we meet with Claire."

He watched appreciatively as Kay crawled to the door, as always, aroused by her subservience, by her grace... and by yesterday's cane marks on her ass that were starting to color up nicely. At the threshold, she tucked her hips under her torso and, lifting her weight onto her hands, deftly swiveled 180 degrees, hoisting her body out of the study so that now she was kneeling outside the doorway, facing him. Hands at her side, she rose, bowed at the hips, back arched, eyes downcast and grasped the door handle. There she paused briefly, attentive, in case he should wish a last word. When he remained silent, she acknowledged her dismissal by quietly uttering the word "Master" - as in the short form of, "by your leave, Master" - and quietly swung the door shut.

Kay Lester was an attractive, though not stunning 33-year-old woman with long red hair, lively green eyes, ample breasts, a ripe ass and very solid thighs. Richard was a very orderly 38-year-old man working on his doctorate in history. Although an historian and intellectual, he was by no means a retiring academician. No, his demeanor was decidedly virile. He carried a medium build on a 6'-1" frame topped with a full head of luxuriant, wavy walnut hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples. He was the Master of his Household and well respected in the kink community as an aficionado of protocol rituals and his training of submissives. He and Kay had dated three years before he'd proposed so there'd been no doubt of his predilections before she agreed to be his wife and slave. They'd been Man and wife for six years. At his direction she had enrolled in nursing school. After a rigorous couple first years, to their delight, she'd landed a part time nursing job at the high school where he taught history. This made their schedules entirely compatible and enabled Kay to prioritize her service to Richard as he demanded of her.

Domestic Discipline was a term frequently used to describe the principles that governed their relationship. Richard however, was uncomfortable with the restrictive and Christian implications implied by that handle. He simply felt that he and his wife danced more on the Bondage and Discipline side of the kinky community than the Sado/Masochistic. Well, at least He did. Richard was certainly not a sadist, but Kay was a profound masochist. Pain not only aroused Kay Lester, but over time, she'd come to need it to maintain her emotional equilibrium; it settled her. She found gratification in suffering pain so that others might feel pleasure. She particularly liked being taken by strangers. And of course, their arousal had its effect on her libido. However you worked it out, intense erotic pain made Kay Lester incredibly wet.

Once each week Richard bound Kay tightly and beat her soundly. He also caned her as needed through the remainder of the week, as needed, to maintain her emotional equilibrium. She was encouraged to request her supplemental beatings, but most often Richard simply deduced her need for pain from a host of subtle signs to which he'd become attuned. From Richard's perspective the canings were, of course, therapeutic for his wife and for that reason alone he found pleasure in the application of canes, crops and floggers to her pale flesh. Additionally though, the canings, and especially the binding of his wife to the bed, or to other pieces of furniture, was a ritual that reinforced to both Kay and to himself, that, as Master of the House, He possessed the right and the obligation to control her actions and to physically correct and adjust her behavior as he deemed appropriate.

It was her obligation within their marriage to submit to beatings at his discretion. It was in these precise ways that Richard obtained gratification from the beatings he administered. It was his rule that she always carry bruises as a visible sign of her subservient status in the marriage. Additionally, Kay wore discreet ankle and wrist chains fitted with "O" rings and a chain necklace, fitted with three ring at her throat and another as the back closure. Each chain was secured with flush mounted Allen screws making their removal significantly more onerous than regular jewelry. It was rare that the two of them engaged in more extreme forms of pain play. But Richard gave Kay to the attentions of his more sadistic friends on a routine basis and at monthly play parties they hosted. At the hands of these true sadists, she received the more severe beatings that she craved but which Richard took little pleasure in dispensing. He did however vastly appreciate her utterly submissive and sexually voracious condition upon being returned to him.

And there were numerous other ways Mr. Lester had her hurt and sexually serviced.

Richard sat musing about what his wife had brought to his attention. Ms. Rickart was obviously a very sexually active submissive young woman who'd somehow managed to keep her nature hidden from virtually the entire world while engaging is a very high-level Dominant/submissive lifestyle from a very early age. "No mean feat that" he thought to himself. If he could engineer a "soft landing" of this situation, she might escape the horrendous psychic scars that would likely result if she were to be labeled a psycho-sexual deviant. He hoped to bring her under the protection of the local BDSM community where she might come fully into her nature without having to overcome all the sordid misconceptions that attached to the social and sexual practices and conventions of the BDSM lifestyle. But to do that would entail substantial risk to his career, even if he would not actually be guilty of any crimes. Yes, it was a most unwelcome mess. He put aside the questions and returned to his studies. Time enough tomorrow to see what might be possible.

In her bedroom Claire was sitting on the floor scratching behind the ears of the Sheppard-and-who- knew-what mutt mix she'd been fostering the past week. Alton had called to check that she was OK but she was still pissed that he'd sold her out so thoroughly to save his skinny ass. On the other hand, it looked like she might yet escape disaster. In fact, she was feeling the tiniest bit hopeful that this all might somehow pull her from the thin gruel her life had become since Ted, Roger and Dan had left her.

CHAPTER 3: THE RULE OF THUMB

Mr. Lester introduces his class to some provocative anthropology.

"So class, I need you to hear this." Mr. Lester paused looking at each of his students, willing them to grant him their full attention and to focus on what he wanted them to comprehend. "I'm sure this stuff won't be on the AP exam, but I feel it's goes to the heart of what I find important about historical research. So, let's hop into our trusty "Way Back Machine" and go, well gee, not even too very far. Just a couple generations back.

"Now, when most of your grandparents were married, the preacher ended the ceremony with these words: 'I now pronounce you Man and wife.' And the Man of the House, your grandfather, he now actually had a legal right to beat your grandmother. Now by beat I mean he's only supposed to deliver a kind of exclamation point, just a little something - enough to grab her attention. That's the origin of the term "rule of thumb." He's not supposed to use a stick thicker than his thumb when her beats her." He paused, letting that remarkable statement sink in; saw, as always, that many of the students were now looking, not at him, but at their thumbs.

"He could beat her if he thought she'd spent too much money. If she hadn't cleaned the house properly. Had maybe looked a little too long at that good looking feller on the corner." The kids giggled nervously at his hayseed delivery. "Legally speaking, she was actually considered his "chattel," his property. The husband was legally responsible for her debts and behavior, so he had to have the authority to "spank" her if you will, to discipline her, if she didn't behave properly. We, and by 'we', I mean America and the Western democracies, we've come a really long way in a really short time. But here's the thing: it stops with us.