"Come along girl," Annabelle heard her new governess, a certain Miss Muriel Gray, order as the older woman's fingertip coaxed the young woman's panting body back into position over Muriel's lap on the sofa.
The young lady couldn't resist a sigh as the finger slid down under the swell of her pubic mound. Given she was already naked at her governesses behest, there really was little question of resistance. In fact compliance was certainly the order of the day:
"Oooh -- oooh."
Then another spank landed on the young woman's bare backside, but not too hard this time, despite the loud report. The girl moaned.
"There's a good girl."
Three quick spanks followed in swift succession. The pert young miss swivelled her bum-cheeks seeking in a vain attempt to swerve away to protect herself. The older woman's hands edged her back again.
Then Miss Muriel's palm stung her protégée once more. The spoilt, young girl squirmed and gasped. She snatched forward and away from the blow, but landed on the wicked fingers playing around her nubile sex.
And then, she pulled away from the intrusion, so that her already tender bum thrust itself backwards and collided with the next spank, jolting her forward again from pleasure to pain and back again in quick succession.
"Oooh -- ooh -- M-miss Muriel -- I..."
"Hush. That's a good girl."
Again our young heroine wriggled back from the toying digits. They were so insistent and so hard to escape and yet the tattered remains of her modesty required Annabelle to show some degree of restraint. There was little hope of that though, for, once more, Miss Muriel decided that delicious bottom was quite obviously pleading for another spank. And this was duly delivered.
"Ooow! Ooh!"
Slowly over the past six months the girl had learned lessons which her mama would never have taught her. The kneeling to say her prayers had been replaced by kneeling to lick out her governess's crotch, while Muriel platted the eighteen year old's hair. The brushing her teeth in the morning had been facilitated by nipple clamps that served as a convenient toothbrush holder while she rinsed her mouth.
Annabelle had previous become very proficient in the flower arranging and country dancing advocated by the elderly governess who had made way for the more modern techniques of Miss Gray. And Annabelle was now assuredly becoming similarly adept at arranging her limbs over her new governess's desk and spreading them well, so that Muriel could slowly sodomise her with a banana from the fruit bowl or, better still, one of the ebony dildos that she had brought back from a trip to Morocco.
And Annabelle now danced so well when bent across Miss Gray's desk and caned neatly across the backs of both thighs just above the level that her less than modest skirt would cover. Her dancing through the night as Miss Gray rode her face was second to none.
As for Annabelle's papa: well, although he had only an inkling of the full curriculum, he was most eager to share his knowledge of his child's instruction.
The recommendations from France, Italy and Spain had determined his initial choice given they were accompanied by the most interesting pictures of Miss Muriel's previous charges. And further interesting almost incestual imagery had followed over the subsequent six months. So, he had become rather more aware that Miss Muriel's classes included all sorts of the more interesting aspects of deportment.
And the training had been most successful over the summer as exemplified today. Annabelle had clearly begun to realise that if she squirmed back away from the fingers, then her young bum couldn't help but thrust itself out, all ripe and ready for the descending palm. And it was so unfair: the more she stuck it out, the harder her poor dear sit-upon got spanked.
The thing was not to stick it out. If Belle resisted the urge to slide backwards away from the naughty governess's fingers -- well, she still got spanked, but not so hard. True she would be spanked enough to make her wriggle; to squirm a bit and to make her even more squirmy, but, slowly, our star pupil caught on to that too.
Muriel's hand slapped her charge again: not too hard. The girl wriggled: not too much. The hand hovered: not too eagerly. And the bottom stopped squirming without too much delay. All in all, the sequence was quite balletic.
And yet with the next slap, the next less than virtuous spank, our trainee ballerina found that despite her attempts at horizontal over the knee entrechat, she was wriggling rather a lot!
"You don't seem to be able to hold still, girl," Muriel commented in a dry tone. "I have a mind to write to my dear friend Emma and her mama to tell them how my latest little house slut misbehaves all the time."
"You wouldn't!"
"I most certainly would. And I will send them the photographs of that rather large cucumber in your delightfully tight behind the other night."
"How shaming!"
"Not quite as shaming as you devouring the cucumber sandwiches with your family at luncheon today, without telling them of the recent excursion of the gourd."
"I couldn't."
"Never mind. I told your papa afterwards."
