I'm not sure which category this story fits into best: lesbian or BDSM. I have opted for lesbian because I have found other stories of a similar vein in that section. Comments and suggestions are welcome.
Olivia. A girl goes to finishing school.
Part One.
Olivia breaks the rules, deliberately.
Looking back on that first day of my year at my all-girls finishing school, The College, I couldn't help but smile and be grateful to my mother who had recommended it to me. She had attended a similar school and she said that it was the happiest time of her youth and she believed I would enjoy the full range of experiences I would have there and benefit from them greatly, it would set me up for whatever life had to throw at me and I would probably make some friends for life. She had, she said, including the headmistress herself of The College, with whom she had studied at her finishing school less than twenty years ago.
'She's a great friend of mine, although you have only met her at your interview. I visit her quite regularly and spend an hour or two reminiscing about our times back then. However, darling, if you find you don't like it, you don't have to stay beyond the first term unless you want to. That will be your choice. I hope very much that you will, but the rules will be different to your old school, particularly the discipline. The wonderful thing is that you have already completed your formal education with good exam results so you won't have the same level of pressure from lessons and tests.' my mother reminded me.
She nodded to me and continued, 'The head mistress, Miss Kent as she usually likes to be called, is very enthusiastic in the prospect of turning you into a young lady. Her methods invariably raise questions, and frequently eyebrows, but the polished graduates she turns out are proof that her methods work. So she claims and I agree with her. I have paid for the first full term and, as you know, you start next week. I will discuss your progress with you both at the end of term to decide on your continued attendance. As it is a boarding school, I won't be able to see you until half term, Is that okay?'
I was all for it. I had enjoyed school and done well in my studies as well as many of the sports. I was just past my 18
th
birthday and quite happy to have this gap year before considering university and what to study there. Although a good student, I had also been a bit of a rebel and often got up to mischief with my school friends. My father had bailed out of our lives long ago but that wasn't a financial problem for mum who was very successful in the stock market. She and I were very close and shared many secrets together.
'That's great, Mum. I'm really looking forward to it.'
I had liked the school grounds when we went for the interview with her friend, the headmistress, and the big old gothic main building which held some classrooms and staff quarters, while other classrooms and accommodation were set apart, modern buildings with nice bathrooms, dormitories and dining hall. It was all set in a small estate with playing fields, woods and some heathland. The College also had a stable for horses. The local village was about three miles away.
'Altogether, I think it's going to be fun.' I added.
Miss Kent was the head mistress. In her mid to late thirties like my mum, with shoulder length jet black hair and an athletic 5'9" figure. Although she smiled her welcome, her eyes held mine as I arrived and seemed to challenge me, as if I had done something wrong. I was introduced to the matron, also a tall woman of early middle age with a steely eye, a woman who clearly took no nonsense from anyone. She briskly let me to my dormitory and showed me my new home. Matron Riley stood close to me and I had to look up to see her face. Wow! She was even taller than seemed at first.
Some of the other girls were arriving, and as we were all new to the school, there was a meeting due at 5.00 that evening in the large reception room in the main building.
'As you have all just arrived, you may wear your casual clothes this evening.' Matron told us, glaring at some of the costumes a few of the girls were wearing. It was September and still hot, and skimpy tops with short shorts were quite popular it appeared.
There were eighteen new students for the year and we had three dormitories for six girls each. At the meeting, we were informed that as we did not know any of our colleagues, we would have a week to get to know each other and then we could choose to share the dorm with our selected friends. Hopefully everyone will find five friends they will be pleased to share with.
We were then instructed on the rules of The College, as Miss Kent called her school. No booze. No smoking. No excursions to the local village without permission. No boys. No bullying. She went on at some length about the things that we could and couldn't do and then dropped the bombshell on us.
'Your parents have all been made aware that I am a stickler for rules and they have all consented to place you in my care, under my authority. Girls who break rules will be disciplined. There will be no discussion on this, and anyone who thinks they can talk me out of any awarded punishment will quickly learn that they cannot. When punishment is awarded, it will be carried out, to the full, and there will be no exceptions. Do you all understand?' Miss Kent glared at us. No smiles now.
A few mumbled whispers.
'I said, do you all understand?' she repeated.
'Yes, headmistress.' We all responded. We didn't really. Not then, but it all became clearer as the weeks passed.
A week flashed by and I found five girls who appeared to have the same values as I did. A bit rebellious, interested in sport, adventurous and, if I say so myself, quite attractive. We moved into our own dorm and became a small clique, but as it happened, there wasn't a single girl in the whole year that didn't fit in. Part of the secret of success, it seemed, was Miss Kent's ability to select the right students to fit into her regime.
All the talk of punishment was forgotten until one weekend a couple of weeks into the term when one of the girls in another dorm was caught smoking. Rumour spread fast that she was to report to Miss Kent that Saturday evening in her private quarters in the main house. We were all waiting anxiously for her to come back to her dorm to find out what had happened.
She entered our common room. Her face was a bit puffed and she looked like she had been crying. She was the same age as me, her birthday ten days after mine. She told the gathered crowd that as far as Miss Kent is concerned, smoking is a dreadful, horrible habit and any of her girls who insists on doing it will end up with a very sore arse. She had been forced to listen to a short, but stern, lecture on the topic before being commanded to place a chair in the centre of the room and to bend over it. Miss Kent had then showed her the instrument with which she was to be punished. A thick leather strap with three tongues at the end, about eighteen inches long. Miss Kent called it a tawse. She raised the skirt of the offending girl and gave her three hard strikes on her ass, first standing to the girl's right, and then another three standing to her left 'to balance things out' she was told. No matter the cotton panties between skin and tawse, the pain was intense and the poor girl had howled and cried at every stroke she told us all, but Miss Kent spoke not a word during the punishment. Matron had stood by, witnessing her humiliation.
'Let's have a look. Can we see your ass?' cried out one crass girl, but as soon as she said it, there was a general agreement and soon everyone wanted to see the result of those six strokes from the tawse.
Two of her dorm mates grabbed her arms, turned her round and bent her over a sofa while the rest of us crowded round to see better. One girl reached out, and to the mild protests of Jan, whose arse we were about to look at, she pulled the panties down to expose her reddened ass. The marks were very clear, and we could count the strikes, each one having left its print on the poor girl's previously pristine ass. Now, it shone redly into the evening. We all cooed and aaahed and one cheeky soul stretched her hand out to hold Jan's buttock.
'It's hot!' she announced, and soon everyone was queuing up to lay their hand on Jan's ass.
Me too. I found myself wanting to touch the girl. It was hot. Not just her ass but the situation. Why did I enjoy feeling the girls ass, I asked myself. It made me wonder how well I could take a beating like that. Jan had cried and she wasn't ashamed to say so. I wondered if I too would cry if I were to be punished like that. I determined that I would try not to. I noticed too that my pussy was alight and rather in need of a rub. I slipped off to the toilet to do just that, imagining myself bending over that chair. What was happening to me?
Petra was next. One of my dorm mates and my best friend there. It was just the next day and there was an unannounced dorm inspection. Matron came in as we stood at the foot of our beds in the position we had been told to adopt when confronted with a member of staff for inspection; feet 24 inches apart and hands clasped behind our backs. It was an open dorm and we all had a trunk filled with our personal things at the foot of each bed. Ignoring the rest of us, Matron went straight to Petra's trunk and demanded that she open it. Petra took her key and unlocked it, raising the lid. There, in full view, a bottle of sherry. How Matron knew was beyond us, but it was a fair catch. Denial wasn't an option, although to give her her due, Petra did make some comment about how she couldn't imagine how that got there.
'Go now and report yourself to Miss Kent!' she was told by Matron, glowering at her as she clutched the bottle. 'And take this bottle with you as evidence of your transgression.'
Petra stifled a sob, took a deep breath and set off to suffer her fate. Matron followed without checking anybody else's trunk, which was a good thing, because, albeit hidden inside a jumper, my bottle of whisky would have been discovered without doubt. In their absence, my four other dorm mates breathed great sighs of relief. We all had at least one bottle of booze secreted away!
Forty minutes later, Petra returned, rubbing her backside and looking rather haggard. Of course, word had spread and the whole group of girls was waiting. She smiled bravely and good naturedly turned around and dropped her own knickers. We all stared in awe at the three clear imprints from the tawse on each buttock. Again, we all palmed her ass and felt the heat. Suddenly, I was feeling the heat in my pussy again. What is happening to me, I wondered again?
This ritual started occurring more and more frequently. Girl breaks the rules. Girl gets punished. Girls crowd round to see the results. Hands fondle the burning, beaten buns. But as more of us were punished, the novelty wore off and the ass shows tailed off, to make the pun. I found myself ever more curious, having lasted out unpunished so far this term. I would lie in bed at night, picturing myself bending over Miss Kent's chair to be beaten. In an open dorm, with five horny eighteen-year-olds, a bit of quiet masturbation also lost its novelty for the others to observe from their beds. We all needed a degree of relief now and again. We didn't necessarily have to explain what our thoughts were as we did it though. But now I needed to know what the punishment would feel like, instead of imagining. The need had built up slowly and could no longer be denied.
It was the whisky that brought me my first punishment. I can't explain why, but I deliberately spilt some on my pillow one morning before going out for the day's activities. I knew that Matron inspected the dorms every morning to make sure that we made our beds properly and kept everything tidy. I was summoned, first to see Matron, who marched me to my bed and demanded to know why it smelled like a distillery. What could I say? I mumbled something stupid and found myself opening my trunk, handing over the bottle and being dispatched to Miss Kent's office.
'Come.' The imperious response to my knock on her door.
'Explain yourself, girl. What are you doing holding a bottle of whisky in your hand? Is this a gift?'
She looked particularly stern this morning and I found myself rather in awe of her. Very dominant and in full control of herself and the situation. I expect she's done this many times before.
