The Headmaster had his office on the third floor of the school; a capacious set of rooms with a full window in each that overlooked the inner courtyard which the girls routinely passed through on their way to and from their classes. It’s important to picture these windows: coated with years of grime that drifted [...] . . . → Read More: The Bicycle (Conclusion)
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Brittany bent restrained across the top of the Bicyle: her feet in the stirrups, her drawers opened in back, her buttocks bared and protruding completely from behind the back of the saddle and — for the moment — over empty space. A wide leather belt held her around her waist; two other straps held her [...] . . . → Read More: The Bicycle (Part 4)  “The English Vice,” by Ian Gibson, provides a scholarly overview of chastisement in Victorian England. Sadly, the book disappoints — at least if you’re a connoisseur of the correction of errant young females rather than the regular brutal flagellations of public school boys, convicts and the like. Schoolgirl thrashings — titillating though they may be [...] . . . → Read More: Interlude … The Headmaster stared unhappily at bared behind of the girl standing in the corner. The new girl, the unexpectedly early visitor; well, he’d known the peephole was there, in fact he’d been the one who’d seen to the rumors of its presence. So in some sense he’d only himself to blame for the discovery of [...] . . . → Read More: The Bicycle (Part 3) The chest was surprisingly light; even so, Brittany found it impossible to move quietly. Whether or not the resulting sounds carried to the other room she didn’t know; still, even the thought of being heard — unlikely as it was over the screams and the noise of the machine as it operated — filled her [...] . . . → Read More: The Bicycle (Part 2) Since it lacked two wheels it was not strictly a bicycle. Everyone knew this, including the headmaster — who had constructed it after all — but, even with that knowledge, the term “bicycle” stuck. Or rather, The Bicycle, in capital letters, always whispered from one girl to another in hushed tones. “He says I have [...] . . . → Read More: The Bicycle The room’s been emptied of all its contents; the cabinets that stand at its dark periphery have been closed and locked, all that remains is a wooden chair and, facing it from the middle of the cavernous space, an old-fashioned commode, heavy wood with a cold thick marble seat above the large enameled bowl that [...] . . . → Read More: The Schoolgirl: A Very Soapy Enema, A Commode, A Straightforward Test Of Obedience I often wonder to myself how few words it takes to craft an image of sufficient power to arouse and terrify. While I most often practice this art of conjury by phone as part and parcel of preparing someone for discipline or release (as I choose), I thought it would be worthwhile to see how [...] . . . → Read More: To The Basement Room Of The Reformatory, Where Punishment Enemas and Sodomy Are Performed To her intense humiliation she was made to bend over one of the schooldesks to wait for her mistress. Bending, her bottom stuck up and pointing towards the door while the tutor finished grading the lessons of his pupils. Wondering if the tutor was looking at her, bent that way, waiting for correction; or if [...] . . . → Read More: Victoriana The first correction had been awarded for failing to recall the name of the parson at Sunday tea. The earlier parts of the serving had been done to perfection, but at desert, as she made her way around the table, dispensing the blancmange to each of the seated guests, she had frozen at the sight [...] . . . → Read More: Victoriana |
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