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The Third Present
While the three mothers stood by puzzled and Nancy was collecting her wits, Maggie removed the wrapping from her present and opened the long rectangular box. Dr O’Brien cleared her throat to make obvious to the group of four mothers and two servants that a portentous statement was forth coming. “Ms Maggie Fletcher, I cannot say to you how proud I am of what you have accomplished. This marks the first meeting of the first Disciplinary Circle of the First Form. You are at the forefront of establishing a new form of education that will bring women finally into the 21st century. Behold the mark of my confidence and the emblem of your authority.” As Maggie lifted out of the long thin wooden box a long slender riding whip, Agnes continued. “This is a custom riding whip. Including the handle and wrist strap it is almost a meter long. It has a core of fiberglass over woven with the thinnest of leather braid and covered in black silk. Unlike the shorter riding crops which have a leather flap on the end, this riding whip has a silk tassel. Let all those who you supervise and guide recognize it for what it is. It is the finest creation of an arcane tradition.” This presentation drew ooohs and aaahs from the assembled ladies including the invariably silent maids. And the clenching of more than one pussy and bowel as the women imagined what it would feel like to have the glistening slim rod applied to their more tender parts. Agnes concluded, “Now Maggie, get on with it.”
Maggie explained the next phase of Nancy’s punishment. Mrs Wilson’s splayed legged position made it obvious what the target would be, her perineum and the inner aspects of her thighs. But Maggie made clear what she wanted done. Each of the three muses would deliver seven blows with the tawse: two the right thigh, two to the left thigh and then three to the center. The work order would be, Kathy first, then Mary and finally Anne. The last four lashes would be delivered by Maggie herself. It went without saying where those would go and with what implement they would be delivered.
By this point Nancy had recovered from her shock and looked around her. So many memories were coming back. Memories of the times when she had been in this situation before. Back when she was just a pubescent adolescent. Back when she was in Malta. Back just a few years ago just before Andy died. As the blows started to slowly rain down, she was not as much acutely aware of the pain. The pain would sharply and periodically sear through her consciousness but her mind was being overwhelmed by the memories.
Nancy dreamed of the first time Anthony tied her to the table in the secret play house and beat her pussy with his belt. The time he made her lie on her back and hold her legs up and apart while he squeezed her genitals with a surgical clamp. The time she was bound with her labia majora pierced and stretched open while he stubbed out smoldering cigarettes on her vaginal mucosa.
Nancy was brought back to reality when Kathy gave her three rapid fire blows to her labia with the tawse. The blows to that most sensitive spot were so hard that for a moment Nancy couldn’t even draw a breath let alone scream. Then there was a moment of rest as another woman came to the punishing position and Nancy went back to her reveries.
Nancy dreamed of the time Anthony bound her into a ‘hog tie’ and hoisted her up with a chain hoist. Nancy hung there, almost four feet off the ground with agony ripping through her twisted shoulders, hips, elbows, knees, wrists and ankles. She was suspended there with her head hanging down, her pubescent breast buds dangling, and her pubes obscenely exposed. And her sister Angela took a candle and played its flame up onto the nipples, labia and mons veneris. OOOH the agony of it.
As Mary struck Nancy’s mons veneris and labia with the tawse the dark haired beauty howled. Nancy screamed, “Don’t burn me. Please Angie don’t burn me. Oh please not the flame.” The three muses looked at each other. Perhaps Nancy had gone insane with the pain. Only Agnes O’Brien had a hunch of what was going on in Mrs Wilson’s head. Agnes looked at Anne Arundel and commanded “Proceed”.
Nancy dreamed of Andy. Everybody blamed her for his death. Nobody really knew what went on in their marriage. Think about a fifty year old successful businessman, recently widowed, childless, marrying a nineteen year old girl right out of a convent school. He accepted her Roman Catholicism. She accepted his sexual demands. She ripened into motherhood with large breasts, full hips and a developing sexual appetite. He aged into his late fifties with its diabetes and hypertension and hypercholesterolemia. And so the sex became kinkier and soon enough Nancy began to undergo the BDSM rituals that he demanded. The canings, the bondage and the pussy whippings were bad but Nancy could stand battered labia. Like that brown haired Arundel bitch who is beating her now. She is no big deal. Then came the maids, sent up from families that had served her family’s estate for centuries. Then there were Andy’s business associates who stopped by for weekend long business parties. Finally, Andy suffered that massive heart attack, just about the time he started eying the ripening charms of Laura, Nancy’s eldest daughter, thirteen at the time.
This time Nancy’s screams shook everybody up. Maggie jumped back at least three feet. Those four hits to Nancy’s pussy with her new whip were hard. But Maggie never anticipated such a violent reaction. But Dr O’Brien knew what to do. She went up and whispered in Mrs Wilson’s ear and the lady became quiet.
Fear and the Female Breast
Having regained her composure after being startled, Maggie bid the three muses to loosen Nancy’s ropes. Then she had them kneel in front of her in a row and clasp their hands behind their heads. What was coming was fairly obvious but all three of the ladies hoped that their hunches were wrong. Ms Fletcher then addressed her mommies. “What you have just seen is a pretty good pussy whipping. Twenty five lashes to a mature woman’s inner thighs and genitals. She has bruises and her labia are bleeding. But I’ll bet that none of you were really scared during Nancy’s punishment. Maybe a little bit aroused. But it didn’t scare the pee out of you. Now I am going to say some things to you that will probably bring some fear into you. This whip is a pretty scary weapon. When forcefully used it can cut flesh with every stroke. But after the things you have seen tonight, I suspect that any one of you would obey my command to bend over, hold your ankles and prepare for an arse whipping. But I am not asking you to bend over. You knell there and your breasts are exposed. And with you in that position and I standing here with this whip in my hand, I’ll bet you are growing fearful.”
“Why is it that women fear having their breasts beaten so much? We don’t particularly fear having our arses whupped. We dislike the pain but we don’t fear it. In fact some experts suggest that a major difference between men and women is that men have broad shoulders and women have broad fatty butts. We were made to have our backsides pounded. How about our pussies. They get pounded by men all the time from the time our cherry is popped until our last orgasm. And talk about pain. Nothing that I will do to your pussy will match the pain you endured in childbirth. No the breast is different. It is the most visible sign and symbol of our sexuality. We become women when we start bleeding but we are not recognized as women until our tits grow. Remember how inadequate you felt in early adolescence when you looked at the girls with big tits in the locker room. They took the longest time to change and they stuck their boobs out for all to see whereas you covered them up as quickly as possible. And once you had boobies what preoccupied you about them? The knowledge that some day they will sag. The reality that they will get flat and hang like dugs. Sagging and deflating, that’s what drives the brassiere business. What you fear the most is damage to your most public display of your sexuality.”
“Now you, kneel there, submissive to me. And I am going to beat your breasts. Not a terrible beating, just five lashes each. And if I am nice, I won’t hit too hard. If I like you I will leave marks but I will not tear the skin. If you are good I won’t cut your nipples and watch the blood run down your belly.”
Maggie stood in front of Kathy and commanded her to look the teacher in the eyes, “You sniveling blonde bitch, are you afraid.” Kathy gulped and had to admit that she was. Then Maggie began to hit her. First she struck a couple of times from the left, hitting the tops of Kathy’s breasts. Then she moved to the right and struck down from that side. Lastly, Maggie went back to her left and hit Kathy right across the nipples. True to her word red marks but no blood appeared. Maggie said to Kathy “See, my charge, I showed you mercy. I did not cut you. This time your breasts did not bleed.” Maggie lifted the front of her skirt and petticoat to reveal pantiless clean shaven crotch. “Now kiss my pubes.” Shaking, Kathy complied twisting and turning and placing a loud buss on the shaven mons. Maggie moved on down to Mary and repeated the mantra. Again five times she struck the red-headed woman’s breasts with the last blow landing squarely across the nipples. And Mary, grateful that her boobs were not torn, paid submission to the teacher by lifting her skirts and kissing her pubes.
Then, it was brown-haired Anne’s turn. She was shaking badly by the time that Maggie stood in front of her. Anne had her eyes tightly closed, dreading what was coming. The first time Maggie hit her breasts with the whip she yelped and grabbed her breasts with her hands, rocking back and forth. Anne cried and wailed, “Please don’t hurt my boobies. Please, please don’t beat my breasts.” Maggie’s left hand took Anne by the chin and raised her head up so that the teacher could look her in the eyes. “What do we have here, a bad girl? And what did I say about bad girls. You need to get ten lashes. And maybe I should do more than leave little red marks. Now listen girl. Put your hands back where they belong or I will have you strung up by your wrists and whip the skin off your titties.” Anne sobbed but complied. And Maggie gave her three solid blows from one side and then three solid blows from the other. The six strokes to the tops of Anne’s breasts almost immediately raised wheals and soon enough bluish purple bruise was spreading under the skin as tiny blood vessels were broken. Fortunately for Anne, Maggie had not struck hard enough to cut the skin. And the number of blows was few enough that lash did not fall upon lash, tearing into already swollen tissue. The last four blows Maggie aimed at the nipples. She took her time and precisely aimed each blow. Although not as forceful as the blows that came down from above on the tops of her titties, the nipple shots all landed on the same spots. The left nipple was badly bruised but the right one was cut. Soon enough, several drops of blood oozed out. Maggie took the tip of her whip and toyed with blood, smearing it over the areola. Then she bade Anne to suck the blood off the proffered whip tip. Once Anne had complied, Maggie made the weeping woman kiss her mons. Completely humiliated, the women were allowed to rise to their feet and drop their hands from in back of their heads. The ladies rubbed and comforted their sore breasts.
A Real Breast Beating
Everybody in the room that could count past ten, was at this point, cognizant that Nancy Wilson still had twenty five lashes coming to her. And after the sadistic introduction that Maggie gave the girls to torturing tits, all the women pretty well suspected what was next on the evening’s agenda. Nancy was highly likely to be in for a walloping tit whipping.
Coming back to consciousness and finding herself restrained only by her padded handcuffs, Mrs Wilson sat up, only to witness the final stages of Anne Arundel’s breast beating. As Nancy shook her head back and forth to clear the cobwebs, memories of her breast beatings in this very room came flooding in. Yes, there it still was. The pulley through which Andy used to thread the line that ran from her wrist restraints over to the cleat on the far wall where the line was fastened. Holding her up. Suspending her. Stretched out taught, breasts jutting out, utterly exposed. After Andy died she never gave the pulley and the cleat another thought. She never took them down. She thought those types of things were out of her life forever.
Nancy was not the only one in the room with an eye for detail. Agnes did not have all of her attention focused on the fun that Maggie was having with Anne. She noticed Nancy’s revival. Dr O’Brien followed Nancy’s eyes around the room. From Anne’s breasts being whipped to the bit of metal hanging from a ceiling joist above to the cleat on the fall wall and back to Anne’s breasts. When Agnes took another look at the flash of metal on the open ceiling of the laundry room she recognized it as a block, also known as a pulley. Things immediately clicked in Agnes’ head. There were some things she knew about Nancy’s married life but she was smart enough not to presume too much. And tied wrists, overhead pulleys and cleats could be connected by a line. Dr. O’Brien wondered if the Wilsons had ever played BDSM games. Maybe Nancy had been spanked since the days back in Malta. Agnes had never asked Nancy about domestic spanking.
And so soon enough, Mrs Wilson was strung up by her wrists. A rope was tied to her leather padded hand cuffs, up through the pulley and down to the cleat. She was not dangling with her feet unable to touch the floor. She was not even on tippy toes but she was certainly held taut with her large breasts jutting out. Nancy could swing a little from side to side but it was impossible for her breasts to escape from the blows that Maggie was about to rain upon them. Dr. O’Brien just hoped that Ms Fletcher could curb her excitement and not hurry the whipping along. Nice and slow would work the magic. Fortunately, Maggie was becoming sensitive to Agnes’ body language and there would be long intervals in between the lashes that would tear into Nancy’s boobs.
Mrs Wilson was in agony. Despite the leather coverings, the hand cuffs cut into Nancy’s wrists. Although she was not off the ground, she was definitely in suspension and it was only by getting up on her toes that she could take some of the strain off her wrists. Never could she take all of the cutting tension away. That meant that she could not concentrate on swiveling about so as to minimize the amount of time her breasts were attractive targets. And this bitch Fletcher was a patient bitch. Maggie was biding her time so as to strike when Nancy’s breasts were most fully exposed. That whip was like a snake. It did not need the lengthy windup that a truly vicious stroke of the cane required. A tawse or a strap moved slowly because of air resistance. That whip just struck. Oh God and did it sting and cut. Andy never did like the whip. He was British through and through. Once he got through the over the knee and slap the arse phase, it was always the tawse or the cane. Every once in a while, for variety, he would use a hairbrush on her behind. For the titties it was always a light cane. It would leave some ugly bruises but Andy never liked to hit her tits hard. This lady was different. Nancy could see that Maggie was fairly well endowed herself. And she suspected that the young woman had been on the receiving end of a breast beating or two. She took her time, aimed her blows well and hit hard. Twenty-five lashes was going to take a long time and do some nasty damage. Nancy tried hard to get into her head space as she had done during her pussy whipping. But the merciful oblivion wouldn’t come. Neither would the sexual arousal that often accompanied the BDSM that she and Andy engaged in. There was nothing but the damned pain. That and the horror of watching cuts being opened up in the skin on the tops of her breasts. Worst of all, Maggie had not yet even begun to whip Nancy’s nipples. Mrs Wilson was petrified at the prospect of having her nipples torn open.
Maggie was happy at the way that the whipping was going. She was finally truly in command and she was going to make this arrogant woman suffer. Concentrating on keeping her excitement down and keeping the pace of the whipping slow, Maggie carefully aimed each blow. She waited until Mrs Wilson stopped wiggling. As a result the last five inches of the nearly meter long whip almost always landed exactly where desired. Half way through the twenty-five lashes, there were half a dozen nasty cuts on the upper globes of each of Nancy’s breasts. The cuts were deep enough so that blood was not simply oozing but was actually welling up. Maggie stopped the action and searched out the vinegar brine. She sponged off the cuts in Nancy’s tits and applied the astringent with a moistened cloth. Mrs. Wilson howled in agony but the bleeding greatly diminished. Well, thought Maggie to herself, twelve lashes to go, time to start on the nipples. The young woman focused all of her attention on hitting one nipple perfectly. Then she waited until Mrs Wilson stopped howling and ceased to thrash. Then Maggie concentrated on hitting the other nipple perfectly. She was extremely proud of herself and smiled broadly. Occasionally she caught glimpses of the other women in the room. The three muses had their arms crossed over their chests horrified by the way in which Mrs Wilson’s titties were being torn to shreds. They were probably also imagining their boobs being ripped in the same fashion. The maid and the cook just stood there stoically. And Maggie Fletcher slowly and methodically worked her way through twelve lashes to Mrs. Wilson’s teats.
Agnes watched as the drama came to an end. Maggie had taken half an hour to administer twenty-five lashes to Nancy’s breasts and it was now approaching eleven o’clock. Although they were thoroughly lacerated, Maggie’s time and attention to staunching the bleeding meant that blood was not spattered all over the laundry room. Later Agnes would talk with Maggie about how well she did for it was truly a magnificent whipping. Certainly it was the equal of the best she had ever seen back in the convent. And those nuns had decades to hone their techniques. She watched as Maggie applied the vinegar brine to Mrs. Wilson’s breasts one last time. Maggie then French-kissed the suspension-bound woman while kneading her buttocks with both hands. Nancy struggled for a bit and then returned the kiss, grinding her pelvis into that of the young teacher. Ah well, thought Dr O’Brien, it is going to be quite a year for the girls of the First Form and their mommies. If even one of the other three teachers worked out as well as Maggie this would be the most exciting year of Agnes’ life.
Putting Everyone to Bed
Maggie indicated that Kathy should undo the line from the cleat on the wall. As Mrs Wilson was lowered, the tension in the room palpably lessened. Next, Agnes took a key on a chain from around her neck and handed it to Kathy who unfastened the cuffs from Nancy’s wrists. At first, Nancy’s legs were unable to support her and it was necessary for Mary and Anne to help her into one of the metal folding chairs in the room. Maggie told the four mothers that they could now put their robes back on. The three muses quickly retrieved them and covered their nakedness. They had to help Nancy up and assist her in getting into her robe. However, they could see that she was recovering minute by minute. The maid went and got a glass of neet brandy for Mrs Wilson. The lady downed the cup with amazing rapidity. The three muses looked to be none the worse for their chastisement. It was a safe assumption that by Monday they would all be hale and hearty, although Anne might well have visible marks for the better part of a week. They were almost ready to be dispatched upstairs to bed. Nancy had a longer way to go.
But before of these things happened Agnes had one more task to do. She went over and drew the three muses around her saying softly “Dreamtime Kathy. Dreamtime Mary. Dreamtime Anne. Tonight you are permitted to climax as often as you are aroused. You have until the sun rises. Awake and off you go.” The three mothers started giggling and sped out of the room and up the stairs. As they left the basement and entered the hallway who did they bump into but Drs Ritchie and Waters. The two men were casually dressed in jeans and buttoned-down oxford cloth blue shirts. They corralled the three giggling women and herded them up the stairs to the master bedroom suite dominated by the king sized canopied bed. In short order three satin robes were shed. The men had their clothes virtually ripped from them. The three women had been denied any form of orgasm for several weeks. They had been progressively aroused by the nakedness and beatings going on all evening long. Now finally their libidos had been released and they were going to make the most of it. Soon Steve and Dave were flat on their backs as Kathy and Mary sucked and wanked them to hardness before mounting them. Anne of the badly bruised breasts quickly searched the night stand adjacent to the bed, discovering Nancy’s extensive collection of sex toys. She turned on two vibrating dildos and inserted one into her pussy and one up her ass before she started to suck on Kathy’s nipples as the blond bounced up and down on David’s dick. It would be a long time until dawn.
Nancy’s Gets to Switch
Agnes took the cook and the maid over to where Nancy was sitting. She knew that the two young women had been programmed for orgasm denial in the same way that their mistress had been. In a low voice she released the three women from their climax prohibition until the rising of the sun.
Mrs Wilson hauled herself stiffly to her feet. She wrapped her robe about herself gingerly. Some of the cuts on her backside and her breasts were already seeping through the thin satin of the white dressing gown. Nancy walked over to Maggie and quietly asked a favor of her. Maggie nodded and handed over the whip. Agnes motioned to Maggie to gather her things and come with her. As they left the room the maid and the cook began to quickly remove their clothing. First dropping their crinoline petticoats and then removing their aprons and brief uniforms. Somehow neither Agnes nor Maggie were surprised to see that neither young woman was wearing panties. By the time the headmistress and the teacher exited the room, the cook had fastened the handcuffs to the wrists of the maid and was attaching the line to the cuffs. Mrs Wilson was already taking practice cuts with the whip. It would obviously be a long night down in the basement laundry room.
The Ride Back
Stunned by the events of the evening, Maggie was silent during the ride back to St. Margaret’s. Agnes slowly and quietly told Maggie what a great job she had down and how proud she was of her. She told Maggie that it was not her lot in life to have had children but she could not be prouder if Maggie was her own daughter.
Agnes told Maggie of her plans for the school. How the other First Formers would be molded just like this group. Next week the 2nd and 3rd Disciplinary Circles of Section A would have their first meetings. She, Agnes would handle the 3rd Circle and Maggie could handle the 2nd. Those meetings would probably be a little milder than the first meeting of the 1st Circle. The 1st Circle was special just like Section A was special. They were the Three Muses and the Queen of the Night. But one could never predict what would happen. The 1st Circle would meet on their own at Anne Arundel’s house. It would be a dull session. Most of the girls if not all of the girls would have no more than one demerit. It was possible that several would have none. And the next time they met, there would be no relief from climax prohibition for the Muses and the Queen. We will let the tension build until just before the start of school. Maybe we should let them stew until after the first week of classes.
And Maggie would have to help Agnes with the other First Form teachers, Kris, Betty and Monica. There were myriad administrative details to be attended to. There were always too many administrative details to attend to. Agnes thought that Kris would do fine and Betty would be OK but she was definitely worried about Monica. Monica might need a lot of help.
When they got to the Faculty dormitory wing and Maggie was about to go off to her room, Maggie took her hand and led her to the Headmistress’ digs. Agnes sat Maggie down and put a glass of Jameson in her hand polluted by only a single ice cube. And later that night she taught Maggie ways of making love that the young woman had never dreamed of. They were soft and tender ways of making love that men knew nothing about at all. There were things that fingers and tongues could do that peckers could never think of. Although both were exhausted it was only as the first light of the coming dawn brightened the Eastern sky that, twined in each others arms they fell asleep.
Managing the Disciplinary Database
The first thing that Agnes did when she got into her office on Saturday was to turn on her computer. She clicked on the ADA icon and entered her password. The first thing that popped up on the Automated Disciplinary Administration system was the most recent status report.
Status as of 17 July
First Form Section A Disciplinary Circle 1
Disciplinary Record
Age SmT HC MS Home DC School Detentions
MTD Cum MTD Cum MTD Cum MTD Cum
Arundel, Anne 33 En Br D 50 50
Arundel, Frances 13 En Br S 25p 25p
Horrigan, Kathy 28 En Bl S 30 30
Horrigan, Katie 13 En Bl S 15 15
O’Neil, Mary 31 En Rd S 40 40
O’Neil, Diane 13 En Rd S 20 20
Wilson, Nancy 36 M Bk W 100P 100P
Wilson, Laura 15 En Bk S
Wilson, Linda 13 M Bk S 50P 50P
SmT, SomatoType; Ec, Ectomorph; En, Endomorph; M, Mesomorph; O, Obese
HC, Hair Color; Bk, Black; Bl, Blonde; Bn, Brown; Rd, Red
MS, Marital Status; D, Divorced; S, Never legally married; W, Husband deceased.
Oh yes, Maggie was such a good girl. The first thing she had done when she got in this morning was to feed the Demerit Records that the mothers had filled out and turned in last night into the OCR scanner. ADA had done the rest. Agnes did spot checks of some of the individual and family files. Yes, the data had already been posted there. It was a very good weekend. It would be a very good year.
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