The Last Sashay

They took their pound of flesh for as long as they dared, then let her go, gave her a rest, then gave her a quick once over all again. Their fun finally over they left Camille alone, squatting and curled into a ball in the corner, crying and begging them to not hurt her any more. They stood over her, intimidating and threatening, while she sobbed in grief. Sadici laughed. "Poor little girl," he said. "You think you have it bad right now? You have no idea what you're in for."

"Let's go," Rico said, and they reattached themselves to her and brought her down to their boss.

Camille was a mess when they brought her in. Her shirt was out of her skirt, her skirt was turned part way around, her bra was off her breasts, her face was streaked with makeup and tears, and she was still sobbing quietly though once they'd brought her out of the stairwell she'd tried to pull herself together, at least a little bit. She knew she would soon be under the protection of Mr. Hartley, and whatever punishment he was going to inflict on her at least it wouldn't involve the type of degradation she'd just experienced at the hands of these out of control sadists. At least Mr. Hartley is fair she thought.

Mr. Hartley was shocked when he saw her; once again he was sorry he'd let Mr. Punire have so much control without oversight, and Mr. Punire when he saw Camille was not pleased either; he gave Rico and Sadici a stern and disapproving look, he let them know they'd gone too far. Feeling up was one thing, that they were allowed, but torture, however mild, was not. They doubted they'd get a chance alone with Camille again, but they knew that Mr. Punire needed their participation and would not be able to exclude them.

"Are you alright Camille," Mr. Hartley asked?

"Camille!" Mr. Punire stated in a booming and commanding voice before she could answer, startling her and grabbing her attention as he intended. "Mr. Hartley is no longer in charge. You have broken serious rules, and the headmaster, according to the laws and regulations of the state and school district, has given to me the authority to administer your punishment. As such you will address me, not Mr. Hartley, and you will inquire, request, entreat, beg, and otherwise communicate with me and me alone unless I give you permission. Is that understood?"

"What are you going to do to me," Camille said, hyperventilating, frightened, and with a squeak?

"Untie her," Mr. Punire said to his assistants. "And sit outside until I call you."

"Yes sir," each said in turn, and they released her from their grips.

Mr. Punire waited for Rico and Sadici to leave; he was quite disgusted with them. He was angry with them not only because of the liberties they had taken, but also because their behavior disrupted the clear path he had set for Camille's handling. By his ethics she was now entitled to some reprieve, not a lot, but something, and though he didn't mind diminishing the treatment she would receive for her transgressions, he didn't like having his plans derailed.

"It's okay child," he said to Camille. "You'll be alright now. Straighten yourself. You can go to the bathroom," he pointed to the bathroom door in the corner of the large room and he handed her her purse. "Wash up, fix your makeup, you're a very pretty girl. When you come out I'll ask you some questions, and I'll tell you what's going to happen."

Mr. Punire and Mr. Hartley shook their heads, and Mr. Hartley made more tea which they sat and drank as Camille went to gather herself, to the extent she could. Camille stayed in the bathroom as long as she dared, and when she came out her clothes were in order, and she had washed and fixed her makeup and she did look very pretty.

Mr. Punire told her to sit, and poured her a cup of tea. "You're going to be punished," he said. It's going to hurt, and there is no way you can avoid it and nothing you can do about it."

"Camille looked at Mr. Hartley."

"He can't help you Camille. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice.

"Yes Mr. Punire, or yes sir," Mr. Punire instructed. "You must always address me politely, and with respect, and if you do, and if you do everything I say, I will treat you politely and with respect and you will get through this with a minimum of difficulty and discomfort."

"Yes Mr. Punire," she said, "I understand."

"Are you wearing your panties today?"

"Yes sir. I won't do that anymore," meaning she wouldn't be going around half naked as she had the day she'd shown herself to Mr. Hartley.

"Good girl. Yes, that would be wise."

"Are you menstruating," he asked?

A small sob escaped her throat, and she looked down, and said, again in her small voice, "No sir."

Mr. Punire could see that Camille was not wearing panty hose, had on white sox and low healed shoes that would be easy to remove, and that her hair was neatly in a ponytail. All that would make it easier on him, and on her. He could see she was wearing a bra, which he would want removed, but that could wait.

"I'm going to whip you."

"Oh no," she said whimpering, "please don't do that Mr. Punire. Please, I beg you, I won't be, I won't be, I won't be..." She was trying to say she won't be bad any more, that she'd be a good girl from now on, but the thought of being whipped was just too much to bear and she couldn't get out the words.

Mr. Punire put his hand on her shoulder as she began to cry again. She'd seen whippings, of some of the boys, and of one girl, administered in these most serious cases in public by another strange man, and the contorted and unbelievably horrifying reaction by the victims to the violence of the lash. To imagine herself in their places... it was beyond comprehension, except she knew that she soon would be. She remembered watching Suzy get it, sixteen hard strokes, and Suzy's wild writhing, her display of everything between her legs not caring that she spread herself wide open and everyone could see way up inside; Suzy not giving a damn about any of that, it was obvious all she cared about was relieving the pain and getting through it. Camille remembered how she had gone home that night and masturbated wildly, and continuously, coming a million times it seemed, remembering Suzy and her display. Shit she thought, it will be every girl and boy in school jerking off to me tonight.

"It's okay," Mr. Punire continued in a calm and reassuring voice. You'll get through it all right, and I swear to you no harm will come of it. I've been doing this a long time, and I know how it should be done right. You'll be very sore for a day or two, that's why we do it on a Friday. You'll feel pretty much normal in a week or so."

"Where are you going to hit me?"

"I have not decided that yet, but wherever it is, I'll do no harm."

"Is there anything I can do so you'll make it easier on me?"

"If you cooperate, and do everything I tell you, willingly and without complaining, I'll make it as easy on you as I can."

"Thank you Mr. Punire."

"I'm going to prepare you now, and then take you to the assembly."

"Oh, please, does it have to be in public? Can't we do it here? Please Mr. Punier?"

"It will be done in public, in front of your peers; that's the proscribed punishment for what you've done, to make an example of you, and it can't be helped."

Camille was scared to death, she could barely breathe, and Mr. Punire reassurance was scarce comfort, but she took from it what she could; she'd reached the point where she was resigned to her fate.

Mr. Punire was quite taken with Camille; she was startlingly cute, and sexy in a young girl way, and she was polite, well mannered, and intelligent. Really quite a nice girl, and quite unlike most of those he had run up against. He also tired of the interference of his assistants, and tired of the interference of Mr. Hartley who was clearly relishing Mr. Punire's control of Camille, and near drooling to see her stripped naked and handled. Mr. Punire relished all that himself, he was well aware of his feelings as they melded with his professional work, and he was well aware that he didn't want to share Camille, who was too precious, as he thought of her, to be mistreated. Mr. Hartley was not going to like it, but Mr. Punire had the authority, and he decided Mr. Hartley would have to go. He knew his decision was partly objective, and partly a rationalization, but to what degree each he didn't give a damn. "You can leave now," he said to Mr. Hartley. Get your assembly settled and wait for me there."

"I'd like to stay for awhile; then I'll get things ready upstairs, if you don't mind."

"I do mind," Mr. Punire said quite bluntly. "I have work to do and I want to do it alone. Leave me be!"

Mr. Hartley was furious, jealous, and frustrated. He considered never using Mr. Punire's services in the future, getting someone else instead, someone more malleable, but he knew that would not be to his advantage. There were procedures other than the simple public whipping of a girl that he needed an accredited expert for, specifically the demonstration and selection of new equipment which occurred every other year as mandated by the board of disciplinary authority. At these the headmaster could not be excluded, and at these Mr. Punire had not even a near equal. Mr. Hartley was angry, but swallowed his pride and decided to take what he could from the assembly and carry on from there. He left in a huff, which was not lost on Camille who was secretly pleased. She didn't like Mr. Hartley; Mr. Punire she was growing to respect, and was even beginning to think was pretty nice.

"Come child. Lie over here and I'll undress you."

At the words undress you Camille realized she was still aroused. She'd been masturbating herself in math without being fully aware of it, then Rico and Sadici had molested her, and though they'd been rough and sadistic they also touched every inch of her body and stimulated her as much as they could. Now being ordered to lie down, and the thought of Mr. Punire undressing her brought a hot flash to her young twat and a rapid increase in her flow of slippery secretion.

Chapter 6. Camille's Preparation

Mr. Punire laid Camille, face down, on a padded table covered with white terry cloth that wrapped around its sides and fastened underneath. The table was narrow so that Mr. Punire would be able to reach all of her without walking around, it was low so he could bend over and lean his weight on Camille to hold her still if necessary, and it was bent in the middle so her buttocks would be raised and presented for his necessities.

"Up you go," Mr. Punire said; he helped Camille slide up and over so her buttocks were positioned as he wanted them. He placed her face within a round padded cushion, and adjusted it so it supported her chin and forehead but allowed her to breathe. Bent over, Camille's skirt had ridden up her thighs, and though that's all that was showing, her legs were relaxed and parted suggestively; she made quite a delicious sight he thought. Her thought was that lying this way was really quite comfortable.

Mr. Punire took a set of silicone straps attached to the underside of the table near Camille's shoulders, and he drew then up and over her, crossing them in an X between her shoulder blades, and attaching them to fasteners on either side of her neck and pulling tight. He fastened her wrists as well. Camille's shoulders and upper back, and her hands were now strapped to the table; her upper body and arms immobilized.

"You don't have to tie me," she said. "I'll cooperate."

He didn't answer, but he lifted her head and brushed hair from in front of her face, and placed her back into the pillow, then unceremoniously Mr. Punire slid his hands under her skirt, slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down her legs and off her feet. It gave her a jolt, a sharply sexual thrill; no man had ever done that before, bared her between her legs. She had her skirt on, but felt naked and vulnerable, especially fastened as she was. Her legs momentarily closed, but that wasn't what she wanted and she opened them again and adjusted her pubic mound so it was pressing comfortably onto the padded surface on which she lay. Oh God I'm horny, she thought. She lifted her head and watched him fold her panties neatly and place them on a table near her purse.

Mr. Punire went about his business with the efficiency and precision that comes from the familiarity of a task frequently performed. From Camille's hips on down, the table supporting her legs could be folded away, and Mr. Punire did so, and her legs followed the table down until her feet touched the floor; then he removed her skirt. This is embarrassing she thought, and then she realized what she must look like, aroused, and she knew he wouldn't fail to notice. She imagined the view of herself from the rear, her vulva swollen with longing; her clitoris, probably still hidden inside its little red riding hood, her pet name for its sheath, peaking its way between her lips. Likewise she could picture her little labia peaking out, and if he spread her legs he'd see the glisten of wetness. She knew she wasn't fully aroused, but she knew she looked a sight, and fully expected he would enjoy it.

He bent each leg at the hip and gently guided each knee outward, positioning it so it curved below and around a smooth peg, and then he raised each foot and placed it on a support fastened at the ankle. He adjusted the tilt of the table slightly, lowering her head. Camille was now effectively positioned as if she were on hands and knees, with her buttocks raised, and her legs spread enough so that she wasn't displayed vulgarly, but neither could she hide her feminine charms, nor prevent Mr. Punire's hands from examining her as he wished. She was fastened: shoulders, hands and feet; and though she could move her knees, and spread her legs if she wished, the pegs behind her knees extended outward so she would not be able to dismount them.

He unfolded a lightweight blanket and shook it out, and covered Camille, as it was cool in the room, and he wanted her to be comfortable so she would relax. He pushed the blanket between her legs, she involuntarily pulled away, but he held the cup of his hand against her while he pushed down gently on her sacrum until she lowered and fit herself to his palm and fingers. He rewarded her with a stimulating squeeze; "good girl," he said.

He went to the head of the table. Camille raised her head - she couldn't lift more than that from her restraints. I'm going to give you an enema he said.

"No," she protested. "No, don't, I don't need that. I don't have to go."

"You said you'd cooperate. No complaining. I advise you to keep that in mind."

"Yes Mr. Punire, I'm sorry Mr. Punire sir, but please, I've never had an enema before."

"Well you're going to have one now."

"Oh shit," Camille lamented out loud, she just couldn't help herself.

"Shit is the operative word, and once you start receiving your punishment you may not be able to hold it in. It really makes a mess; very embarrassing."

"Not compared to being whipped in front of the whole school I wouldn't say."

"Embarrassing for me, and it's not going to happen, and if you relax it won't hurt, at least not much" he said with a chuckle.

"Ohh," she moaned in distress. "Why ever did I think to dis' old Mr. Hartley?"

She watched Mr. Punire as he prepared her enema. He took a plastic bag filled with solution, and opened a plug on one end and poured a vial of a second liquid into it and shook it well, and then hung it on a hook on a pole with wheels, the kind nurses used to hold an IV drip. He attached a valve and tube to the bottom of the bag, and attached the enema probe to the end of the tube. He held it up where she could see it, and he waggled it back and forth in front of her with a cock of his head, raised eyebrow, and a knowing smile.

"Ohh," she moaned again. "Please go easy."

"That's 'Please go easy Mr. Punire sir.'"

"Yes Mr. Punire sir. I'm sorry Mr. Punire sir. Please Mr. Punire sir."

"Mr. Punire walked to Camille's rear and removed the blanket. She tried to turn to watch him but her head couldn't turn that far, but she heard him open a package of lubricant, and she certainly felt when he spread it on her anus, with a gentle but insistent rubbing, and a poking in with the tip of his finger. Her anus was so sensitive, his finger so demanding, she tried to pull away again but he wrapped his left arm around her hips and held her while he lubricate. He took quite a long time she thought, long enough that she realized he was playing with her, and the sensations of his finger painting the slippery goo all over and into her sensitive tissue, and the fact that he wasn't hurting her, at least not yet, caused her anxiety to fade and she became quite further aroused. Mr. Punire was completely aware of what he was doing, and the extent of the effect it was having on cute little Camille, and when he was satisfied with her progress he picked up the enema nozzle and in one smooth movement slipped it into her and all the way up.

"Ahhh," she squealed, "ahhh, ahhh it hurts," though he knew it didn't really hurt. He knew it was only the unfamiliar feeling of having a foreign object inserted in her rectum, and the fear that it might really hurt that scared her, and he gave it a further poke up, and a good movement side to side to wring another satisfying squeal from poor little Camille.

"Easy girl," he said. "Breathe deeply, relax, nice and easy," and he reached up under her shirt and unhooked her bra, and pulled the bra straps to the side, and proceeded to stroke his warm hands up and down her back, occasionally stroking along the sides of her breasts and down to her waist. And then he pushed the probe up in her quick and hard and painfully to remind her this was not going to be all pleasure, and who was in control.

He liked to do it in quarters, and when he thought she was ready he opened the nozzle and watched the bag as he let in twenty-five percent of his solution. Camille started squirming, back arching upward, pelvis forward, back arching down, pelvis back, trying futilely within the confines of her bound feet, shoulders and knees to shed the feeling of her bowels flooding with the liquid Mr. Punire was metering into her. He loved her motions, the lewd quasi-fucking of the beast in her tail, and her hyperventilated panting and squeals of distress.

"Easy girl," he said again, stroking and calming her, "good girl, my nice good girl, you're doing well, just try to relax."

"I can't, I can't," she asserted.

"Talk to me Camille, tell me about yourself. Where do you come from?"

"From Vancouver," she managed to blurt out. "I was brought up in Vancouver."

"One of your grandparents was Chinese perhaps? Mr. Hartley mentioned an Asian grandparent."

"Malaysian, my grandfather was Malaysian. Oh can you take it out, please Mr. Punire?"

"Ahh, Malaysia. Yes, I've been there; certified with the cane in Malaysia, place of the world's greatest experts of that particular form. And his wife, your grandmother?"

"Scottish Irish."

"On your mother's side?"

"Yes, my mother's."

"She must have been a beautiful woman. I can see her in you."

"I don't like this. You're putting too much in me... Mr. Punire sir" she quickly added."

He grabbed the end of the nozzle protruding from Camille's anus and gave it a shove. "No, no," she said. " Please don't do that."

Mr. Punire opened the nozzle and started another twenty-five percent.

"Ohhh," Camille groaned. "I've got to go."

"You'll just have to hold it," he said as he shut the nozzle at the halfway point. "I'm sure it's not that bad yet."

"It is. It is... Mr. Punire," she questioned?"

"Yes dear."

"What's your real name?"