The Last Sashay

Chapter 1. Mr. Punire

"Good to see you again Mr. Punire. Has it been two years already?"

"Two years less a day, according to my calendar. Schools I always do Fridays, and for an old customer like you, always the Friday before spring break."

"Still doing a lot of traveling?"

"Not so much any more; there aren't too many places where I can learn something truly new, or instruct someone truly deserving. I was in Saudi Arabia two months ago. I did a stint at a harem inherited by a young man whose father recently died. The father was an old friend, and had the right attitude, and raised his son well; the son follows in his dad's footsteps. I'm honored that the old man had the son call me for training. There are so many brutes out there he might have wound up with if his father hadn't left instructions; not many young men appreciate the artistry of The Form anymore."

"Were you able to learn as well as teach?"

"I did. The older Saudi was an artist in his own right; always working on new tools, techniques, and psychology; he was a very thoughtful and careful man. He knew how to use the hammer if he had to, he could castigate fiercely, but always in measured doses. I've never known him to get carried away, or do permanent damage, and others have told me the same. I learned more than a few things from him over the years, and the son showed me his father's last improvements."

"And they both learned from you, I'm sure."

"So, Mr. Hartley, what have you got for me to participate in today?"

"Take over really; you'll do a far better job than I ever could, and teach the little tart a lesson she'll never forget... and give the boys a good thrill at the same time."

"The little tart? That's not the kind of language I'm used to from you Mr. Hartley."

"Quite right, I'm getting carried away, and I do like the girl really a lot. She's a good girl, she's among the highest grade-earners in the school; very smart, and precocious, which is what got her into trouble. I'm almost sorry to have to punish her."

"But?"

"But she's a couple of months away from leaving my tutelage, she's never had a serious whipping in the four years I've known her, and she's growing up too fast. She's smart, pretty, and just come into her own if you know what I mean."

"Just discovered her influence so to speak?"

"Just discovered what to do with men, putting it bluntly, I mean not really what to do, I'm quite certain of that, but she's an incurable flirt and tease. I saw her lift the side of her skirt to her hip, and show herself to a group of boys in the hallway. She didn't show herself all the way, but she made it clear she had no panties on."

"A flirt and a tease, maybe, but incurable, of that we shall see; but why 'the little tart?'"

"When I caught her at it, and threatened her with suspension, she was completely unrepentant; she mocked me in front of a crowd of her friends, she mimicked my voice, and when I told her she was an inch away from getting a licking she called me a dirty old man, and told me she knew where I really wanted to lick her, and then she turned around and raised her skirt and showed me her buttocks. Quite nice they were too, full and round, and with very womanly thighs framing that dark grotto down below, but she kept her legs closed - she seems to want to reserve that view for another day."

"That day may be fast approaching. You say we're set for ten o'clock."

"Ten o'clock, yes, I've scheduled an all school assembly though the kids don't yet know for what purpose."

"Keep them guessing. And do we have Miss..."

"Camille. Camille Yvette Dupree."

"French clearly."

"French father, Scottish Irish mother, and a grandfather from the Orient I believe. As beautiful a mutt as I've ever seen - I do love the mixing of the races."

"And do we have this real beauty in detention yet?"

"No, she has no idea what's waiting for her."

"None of them do when I come around. Shall we pick her up now?"

"The youngsters are just arriving, yes, I'd say this would be a good time, but it may prove difficult. I don't think she'll go willingly."

"I have my two assistants, they're very experienced. Let's let her get situated; then we'll have them drag her out of her first class. She'll have no idea who they are. It will certainly get her attention."

"Everyone's attention no doubt."

Chapter 2. Camille

Camille was in her twelfth grade of schooling, had just turned eighteen, and was readying to go off to college. She was a bit of a late bloomer, and her budding sexuality had only recently burst forth into full grace. Perhaps because she was late, compared to a lot of the other girls, she'd let it get the best of her. She was a good girl, as the headmaster had noted, in most respects, but the force of her new found feelings overwhelmed her senses, and her sense. Everything felt so lusciously liquid she thought, and she went through the school day spending more than a little time crossing her legs and squeezing them tight about her swelling pudenda, and bounced her steps so her new found curves would bounce along with them, and stretching those lovely curves out toward every man and boy who wanted a look, which was all of them.

In class she was merciless. He skirts were demure, just high enough to show a little skin above her pretty knees, but she always helped her hem ride up her legs, perhaps with a little scratch between her thighs, pretending all the time not to notice the effect it was having on her male teachers.

But though she was out of control in these small ways, she was a nice person, at least most of the time: gregarious, friendly, and usually kind, except when she wanted to play the bitch as she did with Mr. Hartley; and her smile which she displayed so unselfconsciously would melt the heart of any man.

Yes, on some level Mr. Hartley was sorry to have to punish this fine and lovely girl, especially as severely as he knew she was going to be, but he was a stickler for the rules, and mooning and mimicking and mocking the headmaster was an offense that could not be let slide.

Too bad Camille he thought, but you brought this on yourself, and then he thought how delicious it would be to see what Mr. Punire would do to her. He didn't know the details; in these matters, Mr. Punire was not given to premature disclosure, in fact if you asked him he'd say he didn't know himself what he was going to do; but he was a man of much experience and imagination. Never would he inflict punishment on any girl if she didn't deserve it, according to the rules, though Mr. Hartley might if he thought he could get away with it. In Camille's case however, the punishment that fit the crime was far beyond that allowed by the class of Mr. Hartley's license.

Mr. Punire, if not Mr. Hartley, was a by the book disciplinarian, but they both were men, and what they were allowed, no, rather, commanded to do by law, and the rules and regulations set down by the state and the district board of school supervisors, neither would shy away from. They enjoyed their work, this part of it in particular, the disciplining of young girls. Mr. Hartley was reasonably good at it, but Mr. Punire was a master.

Camille sat in math class, in the first row, her skirt just a few inches above her knees at the moment, but one hand rested firmly in her lap, and she moved it every time her Mr. B her math teacher looked her way. She was moderately aroused, and blissfully unaware of the fate awaiting her.

Chapter 3. The Assistants

Mr. Punire walked to the door of the headmaster's office and called in his two assistants. Mr. Hartley didn't like the look of them; he knew Camille wouldn't either. Mr. Punire didn't introduce the men; they were tools of his trade, not persons to be dignified. The men didn't care about recognition anyway; they were sullen and brutish, though not unintelligent, and Mr. Punierre knew sadistic; they were only there to enjoy the debasement of whatever unlucky female fell into their clutches, and to make a living doing so. Mr. Hartley wondered why Mr. Punire used such men, it seemed unlike him; it seemed as if these men might not be able to be controlled, and he knew Mr. Punire was not one to give up control. Mr. Hartley wondered if he had made a mistake handing his cute little Camille over to these monsters.

"They'll be alright," Mr. Punire said, reading the headmasters thoughts. "They've been with me a long time."

Turning to his men Mr. Punire said, "Set my equipment up in the lower level room I showed you when we came in, then come back here." Mr. Punire turned to the headmaster. "I took the liberty of showing them the facilities; I assumed it would be the same as last time."

"Quite alright; you know your way around, and you know you're always welcome. While we wait I'll make some tea."

"I would appreciate that."

Mr. Punire and the headmaster drank tea and discussed their mutual interests, and Mr. Punire looked over Camille's school and medical records. He believed it was critical, for the physical and psychological well being of the girls and women that came within his dominion, to learn all he could about them. He asked specific questions of the headmaster, and obtained what information he needed to conduct the business at hand, and they signed the necessary papers as required by law.

"Shall we go downstairs," Mr. Punier asked?

"Yes, by all means."

Mr. Punire and Mr. Hartley proceeded downstairs to the room that was being set up for Camille's preparation for punishment, and subsequent to it, her recovery. Upon arriving the headmaster began to examine, with interest, the equipment and supplies that the assistants had arranged in accordance with Mr. Punire's standards.

"I see some changes," Mr. Hartley commented.

"The technology of discipline advances with everything else. There are some marvelous new materials. You may note one of them in the hold-downs: strap material is now made of silicone, and can be tailored to a large range of strength, stretch, and dimension, and it has a very smooth surface. The trend today is away from force and brutality, and toward maximizing control and minimizing injury. I've been on all the committees, I'm continuously working with the manufacturers, and I've been instrumental in moving in this direction for a long time. Now I seem to have the support I need, primarily from the younger men, who agree with me, and we've finally wrested power from the old guard."

"Many a woman and girl will be thankful for your efforts."

Mr. Punire gave a snort. "I don't think they'll ever be thankful for what I do, though if they're going to be punished anyway, they'd be well advised to hope for the protections of my methods, but I'm not in the business to make their treatment any less painful."

"Mr. Coletnik is right with you in that regard."

"Yes, you stick with him. He's one of my supporters in committee, my counterpart on the boy's side. You won't find a better man for dealing with young males. For the girls of course, you like to do it yourself."

"Well, yes, except in a case like Camille, where she needs a serious correction, more than what I'm authorized to administer; and frankly, with her my heart just isn't in it."

"I understand, I've had my favorites too, and it is hard to do one's duty in cases like these."

"It is," said Mr. Mr. Hartley, truly regretting needing to do what needed to be done to Camille, except for the licentious thrill he'd get from hearing her screams and begging, and seeing her writing under the lash which he was fully looking forward to. If only I could fuck her afterward, he thought wistfully. Oh well, life is full of regrets.

Rico and Sadici were standing waiting for instructions. Mr. Punire turned to them and said, "Room 237, Camille Dupree. Face the class, first row just to the left of the teacher's desk, first seat." He showed them a picture of Camille that he'd borrowed from Camille's school file. "Show the teacher the pass. Get her."

Chapter 4. Camille Is Taken

Camille was tapping her cheek with the end of a pencil, concentrating hard, working out a problem using the law of cosines, and she'd become unaware of what she was doing with her other hand, which had worked its way between her legs. As she furrowed her brow, and worried her lip, she was also clenching her thighs and rhythmically pressing her fingers firmly into her vulva. This time it was just a nervous habit, not an intentional tease, and though she was not conscious of what she was doing it was not lost on Mr. Seever, her teacher of advanced algebra. Just as she came to realize the method needed to solve the day's pop quiz, Rico and Sadici opened the door to the classroom and walked in.

Neither of Mr. Punierre's assistants looked at Camille, they didn't want to warn her that she was going to be the object of their attention, but as Rico, the more senior of the two, and the one in charge, showed Mr. Seever the transportation pass, Sadici positioned himself not far from Camille in her seat.

"What's this," Mr. Seever asked, his tone of voice indicating his annoyance at this interruption by strangers?

The whole class stopped what they were doing; Camille too had frozen, though her hand still gripped herself firmly.

"We have a transportation pass," Rico said.

A transportation pass was a provision of disciplinary regulation, and was required of any person transporting a student for punishment. In past times many a student had gone on the run upon being singled out for discipline, and occasionally one got hurt in the process, and lawsuits had been problematic. A person transporting a student for punishment had to be trained and certified, and the transportation pass documented that the headmaster took responsibility, and that he certified that those carrying this license met requirements. 'We have a transportation pass' were the magic words that indicated someone was going to get it, and get it good, and excitement built. Who was it going to be? Usually the headmaster himself, Mr. Hartley came to transport any student who was being sought under a transportation pass; who were these scary looking men?

Mr. Seever looked up and at Camille, her mouth opened, and her eyes grew wide with dread. She'd had no thought at all that it might be her, she'd never been punished except once as a freshman, and that had been but a reprimand and a warning, and warranted a mild couple of swats with a paddle; more embarrassing than painful, but enough that she'd headed the warning ever since... until last week that is. Oh no, she thought. Oh no, it can't be me, please don't let it be me... but even as she said it to herself she knew it was her they'd come for; and who were they? She turned wildly in fright looking for a way out.

If it had been Mr. Hartley, perhaps she wouldn't have lost her head, and would have gone reluctantly but willingly; but it was absolutely unimaginable, not a possibility within her ken, that she'd be forcibly taken and handled under a transportation pass by the likes of these, these two, big, unknown... unknown... she was searching wildly through her vocabulary for the right word... gorillas is what she finally came up with. They're horrible. Let me out of here she thought, and she turned to run.

Being taken to one like Mr. Punire, by men like his assistants, was an experience that a girl might have but once in a lifetime. There were few repeaters, but the likes of the assistants did this every day; Camille had no more chance than a mouse under the paws of a cat, and Sadici turned before she'd taken even her first step and grabbed her upper arm with his left hand, and ran his fingers into her head of hair and clenched his fist to a hank in an unbreakable grip.

"Ow, your hurting me," Camille shrieked, but Sadici paid no attention, and with his dual fisted clench pulled her from her desk into the aisle, and up to the front of the room, where Rico similarly grabbed her other arm with one hand, and got a good grip on her clothing with his other.

It's critical in the early stages of a transportation to get hold of a student and get her away from people, furniture, implements she could grab, anything she might use to hurt someone, or on which she might hurt herself. Many a girl in a frantic effort to escape will bang into furniture, or trip and fall, and bruise herself, and Mr. Punire would be furiously angry if a girl were bruised because of incompetence in initial stage control, and Rico and Sadici knew very well not to be the cause of Mr. Punire's anger.

The second step in transportation control was to distance one's self from the victim, which is what the assistants thought of the girls as, though Mr. Punire would never use a term like that. Girls kicked, or bit, and though the assistants were hardened to their task, and wore protective cups, there was plenty of chance for injury if they were not quick. In a well-practiced move Rico and Sadici simultaneously changed their grips to Camille's wrists, and each of them slid a looped strap over one of her hands, and they pulled the loops tight. The straps were attached to their own wrists as well, and they now separated, pulling Camille's arms out straight so she was strung taught between them, with her arms raised; they were far enough from her so she couldn't kick. Rico loved this stage, the first moments of abduction when all the fear, entrapment, and subjugation first came to fore, and a girl was stretched tight between them wriggling and thrashing and crying, with her breasts thrust out high and taught.

Camille did start to cry, and plead, not with Rico and Sadici which she instinctively knew would be futile, but with Mr. Seever, thrusting her body toward him, subconsciously offering herself to him, begging him not to let them take her. "Please Mr. Seever," she wailed, "please, I want to go home," she said, reverting from the woman she thought she'd finally become, to the child still within her.

Mr. Seever could do nothing, it was out of his hands, and to interfere with transportation would cost him his job, and likely his career. "I'm sorry," he mouthed, and he really was, though only a little. It didn't escape him that Camille being taken probably had everything to do with the ten o'clock assembly, and that he might finally get to see her the way he'd for so many months fantasized seeing her, which was in a state of at least partial undress, and the less partial the better. He suddenly got a furious erection, and quickly sat behind his desk and adjusted himself, though Rico caught him at it and they gave each other a knowing smile.

Sadici picked up Camille's purse and backpack, and Rico and Sadici half marched, half dragged Camille out of class stretched between them, her crying and still beseeching Mr. Seever even as they turned the corner and pulled her down the hall.

Chapter 5. The Victim is Delivered

They could have taken the elevator, but they liked the stairs. They dragged her into the stairwell and to the landing down one flight; then they had their fun. It was strictly illegal for a transporter to molest a girl in his charge, but it was the only time a transporter would have a girl solely under his control, and it was one of the perks to which a blind eye was usually turned; even Mr. Punire was willing, within strictly set limits, to allow it.

Rico and Sadici shed the loops from around their wrists, Sadici put his hand over Camille's mouth, and both men attacked her. They reached under her skirt, grabbing and squeezed her vulva, squeezing gently and stimulating her, then hard and hurting, always remaining aware that bruising would not be tolerated. They never stayed too long in any one spot so as not to desensitize her skin, and they were not allowed to penetrate her, nor even go within her panties. What they were allowed to do was tickle, poke, stroke, grab, even slap and pinch within limits, kiss, lick; anything to make her howl and shriek, and jerk trying to escape the relentless swarm of the manhandling they inflicted on the poor girl. They got her crying again, this time good and hard in pleading sobs, interspersed with tortured squeals: they had searched and found her to be terribly ticklish under her arms, when having fingers dug into her sides, into the front of her legs just above her knees, being poked in the ribs, and scratched along the sides of her breasts.