Chapter Seven

Sophie was roused by a cacophony of sound - the chatter of female voices, people hurrying up and down the corridor, a bell ringing somewhere. After ten minutes or so the noise died down and everything was soon quiet once more. Then the door of the linen closet was unlocked and swung open and Sophie was hauled to her feet and half dragged down the hall by the same ‘matron’ she had encountered in the night. She was taken to an office where Joel Edwards was seated behind a leather-topped desk, casually lounging in a black leather chair drinking coffee. He gazed long and hard at the silent trembling Sophie with a wry half-smile playing on his lips.

“So, how are you this morning ... Sophie, isn’t it? You look cold. Probably hungry, too, I expect. And I know you are scared, I can see the open fear in your face. Don’t be. If you are compliant, obedient and willing to please then I shall allow you to bathe, eat and dress. I will give you a warm bed to sleep in, in a room of your own. There’s an attic bedroom free. And I will allow you one day’s hiatus - you need not start your duties until tomorrow. What do you say?”

“What ... what duties?” Sophie inquired in a quiet and timid voice.

“What duties, Master,” he corrected her. “As you will undoubtedly have gathered from your little ... adventure last night, I run a very special sort of ‘school’ here, under the guise of a retreat. A school for adults - for women who wish to play at being naughty schoolgirls, for the mature dominatrix who wishes to play at matron, nurse or headmistress and men who wish to play at headmaster so they can enjoy the thrill of spanking, caning and fucking wannabe ‘schoolgirls’. It’s a very successful enterprise - I charge very high fees for the services and facilities on offer here at Avalon House. You’re probably wondering where you come into all this. Well, a few of the male clients often wish to go much further than those women who are here willingly would wish or allow. They are after all paying guests here to fulfil their own fantasies. Most want little more than a kinky spanking over a man’s knee or perhaps a touch of the cane or ruler in front of their ‘classmates’. I need to be able to provide a pretty submissive ‘schoolgirl’ slave for those masters who wish to truly torture and abuse. And that, little Sophie, is why I have acquired you. Now, as I have said, if you submit willingly and obediently to your fate then you will be allowed certain privileges and kindnesses - a room of your own, albeit a sparse and simple one, regular meals in the kitchen and use of a bathroom. Otherwise, you will be soundly beaten to within an inch of your life and returned to Rabanne’s clinic. What is your decision?”

He gazed at Sophie with a granite expression, flexing a thin bamboo cane and clearly demanding an immediate answer to which there would be an immediate response.

Sophie stared back at him with wide frightened eyes that brimmed with tears. What choice did she really have? Rabanne had taken her freedom, her rights, her dignity, and all quite legally it seemed. What option was left to her now other than obedience? At least here there was the promise, the hope, of some residue of consideration. Joel, she was certain, for all his faults, would be a far safer master than Rabanne, Avalon House a far safer prison than Hanley Clinic or Rabanne’s horrendous ‘dairy’. With resignation she signalled her compliance with a single nod.

“A wise decision,” Joel smiled, putting aside the ominous cane. “I’ll show you to your room. Come, follow.”

“Please, do you know anything about my friend Natasha?” she enquired hesitantly as she followed Joel along a maze of corridors and flights of narrow back stairs to the attics at the very top of the old house. “Dr Rabanne won’t tell me ...”

“Natasha?” Joel mused. “Oh yes, one of the nurses - rather masculine, brunette, about thirty? I can tell you that she protested so much it took both Vic and Gary to hold her down when I buggered her tight dyke ass. And that she screamed like a banshee when Omar branded her with a red-hot poker across her bum cheeks. She was sold to some foreigner, I think. This is your room, and there’s a bathroom next door.”

The room had a sloping ceiling and one small barred window. The floorboards were bare of carpet, but there was a rug beside the single divan bed, which was made up with clean sheets and warm blankets. There was a small chest of drawers against one wall but nothing else - the room was indeed Spartan. Next-door was another small attic room with sloping ceiling and barred window just the same, with a toilet, a sink, and a shower.

“I had hoped you’d let me use a bath tub,” Sophie ventured tentatively. “I ache so much. I wanted to soak a while.”

“The little bitch you’re replacing drowned herself in the tub. It was extremely selfish and very inconvenient. I had to get Rabanne to arrange for the disposal of the body, which of course was very problematic. So I had the tub removed and the shower installed instead. The other bathtubs are downstairs in rather plush bathrooms for the use of the guests only, not the likes of you. Be grateful for this much. And from now on you will speak only with permission and remember to call me Master. Forget again and it will mean a very severe punishment. Do you understand?”

“I ... yes, Master,” Sophie replied in a small voice.

Left alone, Sophie drank several glasses of tap water at the sink before taking a long shower. Afterwards, back in her small room, she looked through the chest of drawers hoping to find something to wear. The top drawer contained old magazines, paperback books and a pack of cards; the second clean hand and bath towels, sample-sized toiletries and some make-up; the third and fourth a selection of clothes. Sophie found a pleated navy skirt and a loose tee-shirt that just about stretched over her breasts; she put those on and then curled up on the bed. Although she felt exhausted, her mind was far too full of activity to allow the compassion of sleep. She was relieved to be away from Rabanne at least, considering Joel a slightly softer option. She was glad to know that Natasha was alive and also out of Rabanne’s clutches: she prayed for her lover’s sake that her new master was a far less dangerous man than the perverted doctor. How could such a nightmarish fate have befallen them both?

Some time later a kitchen maid came with a tray of lunch. Sophie tucked in hungrily, grateful for the generous portion of fish, chips, and peas and the cup of coffee. Afterwards she passed the time flicking through the magazines, though somewhat distractedly, still musing on her doom. She wondered about what exactly would be expected of her the following day, just what she was going to have to endure - hopefully nothing worse than she had undergone already. Right now she felt restless and bored, caged in this small room with nothing to do but read backdated magazines and brood. She looked out of the tiny window onto the courtyard below, with its small kitchen garden, flower tubs and ornamental pump and wished she could at least sit outside in the sunshine for a while. Was she brave enough to ask Joel? No, she wasn’t - such a request would undoubtedly invite at best mockery and at worst a punishment! But she simply couldn’t stay confined in this attic space brooding and moping for the rest of the day, getting herself more and more fretful and morose.

“What do you want? You were supposed to stay in your room,” Joel looked more than irritated when he saw it was Sophie who had knocked at his office door. “You cannot be allowed to simply roam about the place, you know. I shall have to keep your door locked in future.”

“Please don’t. I’m sorry to bother you, I only wanted to ask you a favour ... Master.” His face softened a little and he gave a wry smile.

“Ask it then, but I warn you that I am very unlikely to grant it. I am pretty sure that any request you have to make will prove to be something quite out of the question.”

“I wanted to ask if I might start my duties today, if it’s possible.” Sophie wondered at being able to pluck up such courage; she had thought all her reserves depleted after all she had recently experienced. Joel looked at her long and hard with a furrowed brow, as though trying to fathom her out. At last he asked “Why?”

“Because I’ll go mad if I have to sit up there alone in that room for hour after hour worrying and stressing over what I have to face tomorrow. If this is my fate then I would rather face it head on as soon as possible.”

“Well, well, this is a surprise,” Joel smiled.

“You do understand, don’t you? And it is possible, isn’t it? Please, Sir.”

“Yes, I understand - I understand that you are so lonely and scared that even being fucked and abused by strangers is a better option than being alone with your fears right now. And yes, it’s possible.” He paused to glance at his wristwatch. “Matron will be in her office at the moment. Go and report to her. It’s the third door down the hall.”

Sophie’s courage almost failed her as she hesitated outside the room before knocking. Eventually she tapped at the door and went in when instructed. Matron - fifty-something, portly, austere, with a silvery chignon, and wearing a smart uniform - was standing by a large leather-topped desk holding a rattan. Leaning over the desk was a young woman in her early twenties in a school uniform, her skirt raised, her white knickers down around her ankles and her cheeks covered in raised red ridges.

“You’re dismissed, Sanders,” Matron snapped and the young woman hurriedly rearranged her clothing and fled. She turned to Sophie. “I suppose Master Joel sent you?”

“Yes, he did,” Sophie muttered nervously.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Matron corrected her. “Look on that rail over there for a uniform, though I doubt if there’s anything that will fit you - you’re about to burst out of that tee-shirt. You’re not going to make a very convincing schoolgirl with such huge tits but they’ll certainly please some of the master’s friends.”

Sophie found a white shirt, striped tie, grey pinafore dress, white ankle socks, prim navy knickers and black patent T-bar shoes and changed into them. The shirt and pinafore did indeed strain tightly over her breasts. Matron scrutinised her with a critical eye and, after putting her hair into a ponytail, announced her ready.

“You can join the girls in the biology class with Master Jeffrey. It’s the very last door at the end of the hall. Then it’s history with Mistress Margaret. When that class is dismissed come back to me.”

Sophie made her way down the hall and listened for a moment or so at the door before entering the room. It was a proper classroom set-up, with the ‘girls’ seated at rows of wooden desks, Master Jeffrey at the head of the room behind a leather-topped desk and a large blackboard on the wall behind him. He scowled fiercely at Sophie.

“Why are you so late for class?” he demanded. Sophie did not know what to answer and simply stood there in silence, gazing down at her shiny black shoes nervously.

“I see. We’re insolent as well as tardy,” the tall wiry Master Jeffrey almost growled. “Come and lean over the desk.” Sophie obeyed dumbly. Jeffrey lifted her pinafore and pulled down her navy knickers to her knees. He took up a wooden ruler from the desk and brought it down sharply across her rounded cheeks; she squealed at the smart. Several more swipes followed and then he paused and told her,

“You are supposed to count, young lady. I shall commence the punishment again.”

Sophie yelped out the number of each strike - there were fifty in all. Then Master Jeffrey ordered her to stand on a wooden stool in a corner of the room with her hands on her head and continued with his ‘lesson’. He delighted in describing a variety of sexual practices to his ‘pupils’ in graphic detail under the pretext of a human biology lesson. The lesson was illustrated with an array of pornographic photographs. There were practical illustrations as well - one ‘student’, Amanda, was ordered to stand up in front of the class and masturbate whilst another, Lara, was told to demonstrate the use of a large rubber dildo. Lara at first refused (though Sophie could tell from the young woman’s demeanour that she was playing the part, deliberately courting punishment) and so Master Jeffrey spanked her soundly over his lap until she conceded. He observed both girls with a leering expression as they performed for him and their classmates until the two of them climaxed noisily seconds apart and then they were ordered back to their seats.

“Tanya!” Jeffrey called out the name of one girl and she obediently stood. “Can you tell me what a man does to woman when he wants intercourse without protection yet avoiding unwanted pregnancy?”

“He shags her bum, sir,” Tanya replied with a smirk.

“Rather crudely put, Tanya, but correct. He has anal intercourse with her. Sophie, come here. You can help me to demonstrate for the class.”

Blushing scarlet Sophie stepped down from the stool and went apprehensively to Master Jeffrey. “Take off your knickers and lean over the desk again. This end, so the girls can see clearly. Part your legs a little.” She obediently did as instructed. Jeffrey removed his own trousers and boxers and stood close behind her, stroked his penis a few times to bring it to attention and then thrust the erection into her tight rear hole. He rode her very slowly at first, the exhibitionist in him wanting the performance to last as long as possible for his audience, gliding gently in and out of her, pulling out as far as he dared without withdrawing altogether and then thrusting back in; but as his arousal grew he began to thrust harder and faster until eventually he was slamming into her brutally. Sophie gripped the edge of the desk and braced herself against the savage fucking, her body stiff and unresponsive. At last Jeffrey exploded into her, filling her with his hot sticky sex-cream. He withdrew at once, wiped his now semi-erect member on her knickers and then dressed.

“Stay as you are,” he ordered when Sophie went to stand up again. He turned to his ‘class’ of ‘pupils’. “You, girl - Nina, yes? Some men are unfortunately impotent - unable to achieve an erection and therefore incapable of sexual intercourse. Suggest some alternative ways in which such a man might enjoy sexual activity with a woman.”

“He could use a dildo or vibrator up her. Or fist fuck her,” Nina suggested. Sophie was glad she had her face buried in her folded arms on the desk and could not see the other women’s faces. “He could suck her cunt, too and use her tits.”

“Vagina and breasts or mammary glands, Nina. Please use the correct formal language in class or I shall have to punish you,” Jeffrey reprimanded her. “Fisting her is a very good suggestion. For those of you who do not fully understand exactly what that is I shall demonstrate.”

Sophie tensed at once. She felt his flesh brush against her thighs and then his fingers probing her labia. He slipped two fingers in at first and worked her a while to make her wet and open to him; then he eased in another finger, worked her a while longer and then pushed in his whole hand. He thrust his arm into her, right up to his elbow and she could feel him painfully punching against her uterus. She screamed out in pain and terror and then sobbed pitifully, aghast that such a thing should happen before spectators and angry at not being able to bear it with fortitude. It was too agonising and humiliating an experience even to allow her the slight recompense of an orgasm. Eventually, just as Sophie began to wonder if she might actually pass out, Jeffrey withdrew his arm. He took a pack of wet-wipes from the desk drawer and used a couple to wipe his arm clean before returning his attention to his class.

“Nina, you suggested oral sex. Would you like to demonstrate for the class, please?”

Enthusiasm and pleasure obvious in her expression, Nina obediently rose from her seat and approached the desk where Sophie lay spent and breathless. She knelt down on the floor between the girl’s spread legs and buried her face against her intimacy. She was tentative at first, flicking gently with her tongue at the swollen labia lips and the adorned red bud. Then she sucked strongly, causing Sophie to gasp a little and began slurping up the girl’s copious sex juices and gorging earnestly. Then Nina suddenly sank her teeth savagely into her lips, causing excruciating pain.

“Thank you, Nina,” Master Jeffrey put a stop to the activity and Nina returned to her seat, grinning. “That’s all there’s time for today, girls. Don’t forget your homework - I want you all to masturbate at bedtime and tell me tomorrow what your personal physical reaction is to such stimulation. Make your way quietly to your next class now, please.”

Sophie slowly clambered from the desk, put her knickers back on and, stiff and aching, followed the other girls along the hall to another classroom.

Mistress Margaret was seated behind the desk but stood when the girls filed in and took their seats. She was tall and willowy, in her late forties but still strikingly attractive, with olive skin, auburn hair and slightly almond-shaped brown eyes. Her black robe swathed a curvaceous figure.

“You, girl!” she called to Sophie. “You’re new. Are you Sophie?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sophie replied meekly.

“I was expecting you tomorrow. I’m told you’re a troublemaker and need special discipline. You will take a seat right at the front where I can keep an eye on you.” Sophie took the desk indicated and Mistress Margaret turned to her own desk to take registration. She opened up a large black book and read the list aloud, ticking off the names as each girl obediently responded with a polite ‘present, Ma’am’. After the register had been taken, Mistress Margaret sat for a few long seconds in ominous silence regarding the fidgeting anticipatory young women before her. At last she addressed them.

“I’m afraid that I am bitterly disappointed with your recent work and behaviour and after much deliberation have decided that I have no choice but to inflict serious punishment upon you today,” she told them. “Each girl will receive ten strokes of the cane to the bare bottom and three strokes to each palm. Come up here one at a time, beginning with you, Sophie. And as I have been warned that you are a firebrand you will receive fifteen extra strokes to demonstrate that I shall tolerate no disobedience or waywardness.”

Yet again, she leant forward over a desk, her face pressed against the cool leather. Yet again her pinafore was raised and her navy knickers pulled down to below her reddened cheeks. Mistress Margaret stroked her gently for a few moments, the slender warm hand tantalisingly threatening as it strolled over her flesh.

“I see you have had to be punished already,” Mistress Margaret commented in a sleek voice. “You really are a very badly behaved bitch, aren’t you?”

When Sophie remained silent, a sudden open-palmed slap stung her right globe.

“Ouch! Yes, Ma’am,” Sophie responded obediently to the physical prompt. Mistress Margaret then selected a particularly stiff looking rattan cane from a bundle in an umbrella stand behind the desk and with no further to-do brought it down sharply across the waiting target. Swipe followed swipe in a swift assault and Sophie cried out at each blow, her flesh becoming ruby red and burning. When the twenty-five strokes had been summarily and brutally administered, Mistress Margaret pulled up her knickers and ordered her to stand up again and hold out both hands palm upwards. She duly meted out six rapid whacks across both hands and tears spilled down Sophie’s pale cheeks unrepressed. Sent back to her desk, she blew on her tender palms then held her hands tightly under her armpits in an effort to suppress the pain, shifting awkwardly in her chair because of her inflamed rear. She watched as each girl in turn went up to receive her similar though lighter punishment and saw from the light in their eyes and their glowing faces when they returned to their desks that they had gained pleasure from the pain and humiliation of the castigation and wondered how that could be.

“Now that all punishments have been dispensed, we shall commence our lesson,” Mistress Margaret said when the last girl returned to her seat with a mixture of tears and stars in her brimming eyes. “Today we are looking at crime and punishment in the middle ages. You will find the appropriate text book in your desks and the relevant chapter is on page 119.” There was the clatter of desk lids and the rustling of pages. Sophie stared down at the horrific illustration on the page, a naked young girl hung by her wrists from the bough of an oak being flogged by half a dozen men with birch sticks, her lithe body distorted in excruciating agony. “The birch was an implement of punishment very commonly used in the middle ages for many minor crimes - such as men failing to wear a woollen hat on a Sunday or missing archery practice or women showing their hair or displaying disrespect to their immediate male superior, be that their father, brother or husband depending on their status. I have a birch here which you may each look at and try out.”

Margaret took the birch rod from the umbrella stand with the canes. “You can see that it is simply a collection of long pliant birch twigs fastened together. Birch was chosen because it is so supple and whippy. Sophie, come up here and undress.” Anticipatory fear rising like bitter bile at the realisation of what was about to happen to her, Sophie reluctantly did as ordered. She soon stood naked and trembling. “Stand facing the wall with your hands on your head,” Margaret instructed and she did so. She felt the thin bendy twigs brushing gently against her flesh, up and down her back between shoulders and curves, tantalising, almost sensual. And then they suddenly flayed against her brutally and she screamed out in shock and pain as her flesh discoloured and burned. Two more lashes followed suit, savagely hard blows and Sophie put her hands out against the wall to steady herself, feeling her knees buckle.

“Please,” Sophie sobbed. “For God’s sake, please ...”

“Silence!” Margaret snapped. “This is not a chastisement, merely a demonstration. If you insist upon disruption then I shall be forced to show you just what a horrific punishment I can truly inflict with such a simple weapon. Remain in position whilst your classmates practice the use of the birch for themselves. Three strokes each, please, girls.”

Sophie braced herself against the onslaught of blows. Some were fairly light, other agonisingly severe, striking her shoulders, back, bottom and thighs. She sobbed pitifully and felt sick and wobbly but forced herself to remain standing, terrified of what Mistress Margaret might do to her if she surrendered to the desire to merely curl up on the floor in a ball and weep. But once the last stroke had been administered and each girl had returned to her place, that’s exactly what she did. Mistress Margaret ignored her and turned to the class.

“This afternoon we shall be studying in the grounds, where you will practice the use of the stocks and the ducking stool. Now quietly put your books away and go in an orderly fashion to the hall for lunch. If any girl runs in the corridor, she shall be sent to the headmaster for castigation. Off you go now.” The clatter of desk lids once more, hustle and bustle, chatter, the door slamming shut. Alone once again.