Seven

The reality of Edna was very different from the fantasy, and I was feeling pretty glum as I set off on foot towards Foxson the next morning. Katie at least could be counted on to be understanding, even if my confession wasn't going to do much for my role as her dominant, self-controlled partner. Facing Edna was an appalling prospect, though, and worse because I would almost certainly have to ask to speak to her in front of her fellow scouts, who would probably have been told all about me.

It took a lot of courage simply to keep walking, but as I entered the main gate of Foxson I stopped in my tracks. There, resting against a post at one end of the college bike shed, was my bicycle. At first I thought I had to be mistaken, and that it was just another one of the same make and colour, but closer inspection proved that it really was mine. Even the chain was with it, complete with padlock but sawn through.

The only feasible explanation seemed to be that it had been found and that Edna had brought it back to Foxson because she didn't know which college I was at. Nothing else fitted, but there was no sign of her, nor of any of the other scouts. There was a single porter on duty who made me wait for ages before he would condescend to speak to me and seemed to resent answering a simple question and taking a note for Edna to say I would be in Katie's room. This left me angry as well as puzzled as I made my way up.

It was still a few minutes before eight, so I knocked gently and let myself in, meaning to wake Katie with a kiss if she was still asleep. She was, but she was not alone. Beside her a round head stuck up above the covers and beneath the duvet was the outline of a rounded hip, features immediately recognisable as those of the Owl. As I stood there staring the facts slipped slowly into place. The Owl was in league with Tierney, intimately. She had been in Bicester, and had pinched my bike to order so that I'd have to go back in the minibus. Then she'd ridden it back herself, come to Foxson and seduced my girlfriend while I was being fucked silly by Tierney and his friends.

My temper snapped. One hard wrench and the covers were off the bed, revealing Katie in her nightie and the Owl in panties and top. Another hard wrench and the Owl's panties were down, exposing her fat white bottom to the light streaming in through Katie's curtains. She gave a squeak of surprise and tried to turn around, but I was ready for that and grabbed her arm, twisting it up behind her back even as I laid into her bottom, spanking her with every ounce of my strength. Katie jerked upright, her mouth wide in astonishment as she saw me.

'Isabelle! What—'

'Believe me, she has this coming to her!' I snapped back, still spanking the struggling, wailing Owl.

'We only shared a bed!' Katie exclaimed. 'Isabelle, stop it!'

The Owl was howling her head off, while her big round bottom cheeks were already flushed a rich pink, but it was the alarm in Katie's voice that brought me to my senses. I stopped, but I kept my grip on Amy Jane's wrist.

'It's nothing to do with you sleeping together,' I said. 'Go on, Amy Jane, tell Katie what you've done.'

The Owl's answer was incoherent, but just to hear her squeaky, piping voice brought my anger back to the boil. I laid in again, spanking her as hard as I could across both fat bum cheeks, only to stop again at the sound of another – horribly familiar – voice.

'Why, you dirty little bitches!'

I twisted around to find Edna standing in the doorway, her great brown hands on her gigantic hips, her dark moon face set in an expression of astonishment and outrage. Before I could react she had slammed the door and I had been thrust hard down on the bed, falling across Katie and the Owl so that I was bottom up as Edna's massive fist closed on the scruff of my neck.

'So you like a bit of spanking, do you, you filthy stuck-up little whores!' she screamed. 'I'll show you, I will. I'll show you what a real spanking is like, you dirty, filthy—'

She broke off, too furious even to speak properly, and now it was my turn to squeal in shock and helpless outrage as my skirt was hauled high to show off the seat of my tights and the panties beneath, only for it all to be jerked down in one brutal wrench. Now my bottom was bare. Edna hit me, her hand landing across my bum cheeks to jam me down on top of the Owl who was struggling frantically underneath me, her own hot bare cheeks rubbing against my tummy as she squirmed. Katie was screaming and batting at Edna's arms, which only served to enrage the big woman even more and ensure that my spanking was delivered with a force far beyond anything I had ever suffered before. When it suddenly stopped my first sensation was relief, then a sick feeling as I caught a new voice, male and full of authority.

'What in God's name is going on here? Catherine? Mrs Jellaby?'

Edna had let go of my neck, and I jerked up my panties and tights as she began to babble an explanation that was half apology and half righteous indignation.

'. . . Right here, all three of them in the same bed, it's not right,' she finished as I finally managed to find my feet.

The man standing in the doorway was of medium height, lean, grey-haired and very, very angry. He was also familiar to me as Dr Smith, a member of the history faculty and Dean of Foxson College.

The four of us stood in a line in front of Dr Smith's desk, myself, Katie, the Owl and Edna. I felt sick to my stomach, I couldn't control my blushes or my shaking, and I was on the verge of tears. Katie and the Owl were both crying, but Edna's homely features were set in an obstinate scowl. Dr Smith's anger had faded to exasperation, but there was little or no sympathy in his voice as he spoke.

'I wish to know precisely what happened,' he demanded, 'from each of you. Mrs Jellaby?'

'I'm a union member, you need to know that,' Edna answered him without the least hesitation, 'and if I lost my temper, sir, then I say it ain't surprising. It's a disgrace, it is, the way students carry on nowadays, sharing their rooms, and girls too. I try not to say anything, but three girls together in bed, and playing their dirty games, that's too much, and I know what that Isabelle is like, because just on Saturday night she did something you would not like to hear about, and—'

'Mrs Jellaby, please.' Dr Smith interrupted the flow of words, during which I'd been growing ever more embarrassed, although I wouldn't have thought it possible. 'Now, you say you caught Miss West in bed with Miss Colraine and Miss Moffat?'

'I did,' Edna confirmed.

'Very well,' he said. 'I appreciate you might feel that this was improper, but—'

'Improper!?' Edna snapped. 'They were playing their dirty little games, they were, right there on the bed, spanking games. Isabelle, she was spanking Miss Moffat's bottom, she was, and if there's one thing I can't abide it's people who think that kind of thing is good for kicks, and I'm sorry if maybe I lost my temper, but that Isabelle—'

'Excuse me,' I put in before she could make some even worse revelation about my behaviour. 'I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding here.'

Edna would have carried on, but Dr Smith raised a hand and she went quiet, glaring at me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and began to speak.

'I didn't spend the night at Foxson, although I admit I sometimes do. Katie . . . Catherine West and I are lovers, and so when I came to visit her this morning and found Amy Jane . . . Miss Moffat in her bed I . . . I rather lost my temper. Then Mrs Jellaby came in and seems to have got the wrong idea, but I don't want to make an issue of what happened. In fact, I'd like to apologise to her for my behaviour, and to the rest of you.'

I stopped, unable to go on for the lump in my throat. My tears had started to come, and before I could stop myself I'd broken down, sobbing. Dr Smith drew a long sigh.

'Miss Moffat?' he asked.

'I . . . I came to see Katie yesterday,' Amy Jane stammered, 'and we went to the bar, and I didn't think I was safe to bicycle back to college, so I stayed. We didn't . . . we didn't, you know what, Isabelle, I promise, I really promise!'

She'd turned to me as she spoke, her voice breaking with emotion. Dr Smith shook his head and rested his face in one hand.

'That's true,' Katie confirmed. 'It was just a misunderstanding.'

There was a long silence before Dr Smith spoke again, and when he did it was brisk and stern.

'Very well. So long as neither Miss Moffat nor Miss Colraine wish to take this matter further I feel that it should be dealt with internally, at least insofar as that may be possible. However, I feel that I should make certain points clear. Foxson is a modern forward-looking college and we pride ourselves on our tolerant, liberal attitude. We realise that a proportion of our students will be homosexual, and we feel that it would be wrong to discriminate against those students. I am fully aware that you, Catherine, have been in a lesbian relationship with Miss Colraine for a . . .'

He carried on for some time, with both Katie and I growing gradually pinker and the Owl looking as if she was about to burst. But the final humiliation was reserved for the end.

'. . . Your choice of action in what you imagined was revenge for Miss Moffat's behaviour suggests an unhealthy obsession with corporal punishment as it pertains to the erotic, which is something I am not prepared to tolerate here at Foxson. In short, if the three of you wish to spank each other kindly do it elsewhere.'

My face was on fire by now and Katie's was the colour of beetroot, while Edna had begun to look smug. The Owl appeared to have passed beyond the ability to react.

'My decision is as follows,' Dr Smith continued. 'Mrs Jellaby, however moral you may feel your actions to have been I think you should be thankful that Miss Colraine does not intend to press charges for assault. You will therefore receive a written warning. Catherine, MissMoffat, while I feel that youmay have been foolish you clearly had only passive involvement with events and so I do not propose to take further action.Miss Colraine, on the other hand, has acted abominably and I find myself obliged to pass thematter on to the authorities at your own college. You are at St George's, I believe?'

'Yes,' I confirmed.

'And the Dean of Arts there is Dr Duncan Appledore, is it not?'

'Yes,' I repeated, and for all my overwhelming chagrin I was struggling to stop the corners of my mouth twitching up into a smile.

'I shall telephone him immediately,' Dr Smith finished. 'You may go.'

We went, hurrying from his study and downstairs in a state of embarrassed silence. Edna turned away without even bothering to thank me for not trying to make life more difficult for her, which I could very well have done, but I was in no mood to make an issue of it. Everybody seemed to be looking at us, and we couldn't get out of the building fast enough.

We'd reached the bicycle shed before the Owl finally spoke up, her voice thick with self-pity and recrimination.

'That hurt, Isabelle. And I didn't do anything with Katie.'

'I'm sorry,' I told her grudgingly. 'But . . . but what do you expect?'

'Well, not that!' she replied.

'And why not?' I demanded, my temper flaring up again. 'I'm sure you've got your reasons, but I am your friend and you could have come to me.'

'But I didn't do anything!'

'I'm not talking about spending the night here, Amy Jane, as you perfectly well know. I don't mind what you did or didn't do with Katie. In fact, I hope you had a really good time together. But I do care about you spying on me and telling Stan Tierney about everything I do, and—'

'Who's Stan Tierney?'

'Oh come on, Amy Jane, there's no point in lying now. If you don't know Tierney, how did my bike get there?'

I pointed at the bike, expecting at least a flicker of guilt. The Owl shrugged, looking completely blank. I was on the edge of losing my temper again, but Katie had put a consoling hand on my shoulder and I managed to bite back my anger before I could say too much. If the Owl wasn't prepared to admit to what she'd done there was nothing I could do about it, bike or no bike. But I was determined to have one last try.

'My bike was stolen on Saturday night, in Bicester,' I explained. 'Because my bike was stolen I had to come back to Oxford in a minibus, which is why . . .'

I trailed off, realising that I could hardly admit to what had happened in the minibus.

'I've never even been to Bicester,' the Owl told me. 'And I couldn't have brought your bike here anyway, because I came on my own.'

She sounded as if she was about to start crying, and as she walked over to place a hand on the saddle of the old yellow bicycle she rode a terrible weight of guilt began to grow inside me.

'Oh,' I said. 'But then . . .'

At that moment a porter emerged from the lodge, not the man I'd spoken to before but the one who was usually on duty when I came to visit Katie.

'You got your bike, then?' he asked, gesturing to it.

'Yes, thank you,' I answered. 'But who brought it?'

'Mr Jellaby, Edna's hubby,' he told me. 'Some bloke called Osman found it, he said, chained up where you'd left it.'

'No, it wasn't,' I retorted. But a seed of doubt had already begun to grow in my mind. 'Um . . . thank you, anyway.'

The porter gave me a friendly nod and went back into the lodge, leaving me wondering if I had really been so drunk, and so silly, that I'd gone to the wrong lamp-post. It didn't seem likely, especially as Osman and his friends had gone out to look for it, but perhaps a car had been in the way? In any event I now had it, and I'd just falsely accused the Owl.

'I'm sorry, Amy Jane,' I said.

'I have to go,' Katie put in. 'Let's talk again when we're not so upset.'

I nodded, kissed her and went to get my bike. My emotions were more confused than ever, and I was astonished at myself for losing my temper so badly. I knew why, though: what Amy Jane had done, or what I thought she'd done, had forced me to come face to face with something inside myself that I'd been trying very hard to bury, and in the minibus I had let it out with a vengeance. Now it looked as if she might be innocent after all, which made me feel awful.She fell into step with me as we left Foxson, both of us wheeling our bikes. I didn't know what to say, and just riding off seemed impossibly rude. In the end she spoke first.

'Your club isn't really anything to do with James Malcolm Rymer, is it?'

We were well clear of the gates of Foxson, walking between rows of red-brick houses with nobody in hearing range, but her question wasn't at all what I'd been expecting. I had no idea what to say, because if she was in league with Tierney she presumably knew anyway, and if she wasn't and I admitted it I'd be lining myself up for another punishment from the Rattaners. As a car passed us I found myself glancing guiltily at the driver, half expecting it to be Eliza or Sarah. The Owl spoke again.

'It's some sort of private lesbian society, isn't it?'

'What makes you think that?' I asked, trying to sound surprised and failing miserably.

'For a start you hardly know anything about him,' she responded, 'and all the members are women, and I know you and Katie are a couple in an open relationship, and Portia Anson-Jones was on the UOLS stall at the Freshers' Fair. You can tell me, Isabelle.'

The Owl sounded hurt, as no doubt she felt she had every right to be. I bit my lip, not wanting to lie but very sure that I shouldn't admit to the sort of things we got up to at Rattaners parties. I decided to compromise.

'You're right, in a way,' I admitted. 'We keep it secret because we don't feel we fit in at UOLS, and you know what student politics are like.'

'But isn't Portia the treasurer of UOLS?'

'Exactly.'

'I don't understand.'

'We're . . . we're just rather old-fashioned. Yes, old-fashioned.'

'That sounds fun. Do you dress up?'

'Yes, sometimes.'

The Owl didn't answer, and we continued to walk. Slowly I began to feel that I might have got away with it, or at least not dug myself any deeper into the ground, until she spoke again.

'Would you mind if I came along? I wouldn't be any trouble, I promise.'

'It . . . it's not really suitable,' I said hastily. 'Why would you want to come, anyway? Wouldn't you feel uncomfortable?'

'OK,' she said, 'I understand. You don't want me there.'

Her voice had begun to break towards tears, making me feel even worse.

'It's not that!' I promised her. 'It's just that the society wouldn't suit you. We . . . we play games and things, sexual games, and everybody has to join in, because spectators make us feel awkward . . .'

I'd said far too much, and my voice trailed off. I was desperately searching my mind for some way to put her off without hurting her. She had stopped, and so did I.

'Wouldn't it be better to find somebody to go out with?' I suggested. 'A man, I mean. There are lots of very attractive men in your college.'

'Do you think anybody would want me?' Amy Jane demanded as a tear began to form in one huge brown eye. 'I look like a bloody owl!'

'I wouldn't say that,' I lied, having done so several hundred times. 'Actually, I think you're pretty.'

'No, you don't,' she sniffed. 'You think I'm short and fat and frumpy. You wouldn't want me, would you? Katie spent all night with me and we didn't do a thing!'

'Come on, Amy Jane,' I protested. 'It's just that it would have been wrong for her to do that. You're not a lesbian.'

'I'm not anything!' she protested. 'I've never had sex, never! You smacking my bottom was the only vaguely sexual thing that anybody's ever done to me! I wouldn't mind what you did, I wouldn't even mind joining in. I just want somebody to like me.'

'I like you.'

'Not like that – properly!'

Amy Jane burst into tears, bawling her eyes out as her body shook with powerful sobs. There was a huge lump in my own throat, and I was horribly ashamed of my own behaviour. I put my arms around her as best I could with her bicycle between us, leaving my own to clatter to the pavement.

'Don't cry, please,' I urged. 'Look, um . . . it's not even that simple. I'd have to propose you to the society, and two of the others would have to . . . to interview you. But, Amy Jane, you do need to actually enjoy sex with other women!'

'I might,' she snivelled.

I held on to her, genuinely wanting to give her some comfort, although my head was full of visions of Portia or Jasmine giving her a playful spanking and Amy Jane running straight to the university authorities with tales of perversion and sexual abuse. Eventually I would have to tell her that if she wanted to join the Rattaners she have to accept being spanked, but with her crying her eyes out against my chest it didn't seem a good time to bring up the subject. Besides, I was the one who needed spanking, both for my appalling behaviour and for my stupidity.

Nor was that all. Having finally managed to drop Amy Jane off at Newman I started back towards St George's with my head full of conflicting emotions and the most inappropriate thought imaginable trying to force itself to the front of my mind. Edna Jellaby had spanked me, panties down and bare bottom, the way it ought to be done, and she had spanked me to teach me a lesson, as a genuine punishment. It was immensely arousing.

I knew full well what I'd end up doing if I went back to my room, but to avoid St George's meant avoiding Duncan, who would undoubtedly want to speak to me. He was going to be genuinely angry as well, although at least I didn't have to worry about being hauled up in front of the disciplinary committee and rusticated or even sent down. With luck he'd simply lecture me and then use the situation as an excuse to put me across his knee, to which he'd be very welcome.

When I got to college there was a note in my pigeonhole asking me to come and see him at two o'clock, more than four hours away. The wait was agony, with my feelings swinging wildly between genuine worry for what he might say and arousal at the thought of the predicament I'd put myself in, along with a jumble of other worries about Katie, the Owl, Tierney, Edna and a dozen more. By the time the college bells struck half past one I could wait no longer.

I went to Duncan's room, only to find that he wasn't there at all. I was forced to stand outside like a naughty schoolgirl waiting for admission to the headmistress's study, an image both terrifying and appealing. When he finally rolled up he took one look at me and laughed, which had me pushing my lower lip out in sulky resentment.

'You look quite the picture, Isabelle,' he chuckled, opening the door. 'Come in. Now, what's all this that old Peter Smith has been telling me?'

'It's all rather complicated,' I told him. 'But, basically, I lost my temper with Amy Jane, the girl we call the Owl. I spanked her.'

'Ah ha. And she is a candidate for the Rattaners, this Amy Jane?'

'No! Yes . . . in a sense. That's half the problem . . . well, part of it, anyway. As far as I know she's completely innocent, but she says she wants to join. You know who I mean, don't you? The small, rather round girl you've seen me around college with occasionally.'

'Absolutely, and your description of her as an owl is certainly apt, if rather unkind. Peter tells me you caught her in bed with Katie, which sounds less than entirely innocent, but I don't see why you were angry. I've always understood that you and Katie have an open relationship?'

'Yes. That wasn't why I spanked the Owl . . . Amy Jane . . . and I don't think she did anything with Katie.'

'So she's not even a lesbian? Not that it excuses your conduct. Good God, Isabelle, do you have any idea what the consequences would be if what we do became public knowledge? First you indulge yourselves in spanking games in the Bodleian Library, and now this!'

'I know . . . sorry. Anyway, this woman, Edna Jellaby, who's a scout at Foxson, came in and thought we were . . . were having spanking sex, so she did me – to teach me a lesson, she said.'

'A college scout spanked you? And is she a candidate for the Rattaners?'

'No, far from it, but you see . . . actually I'd rather not explain, if you don't mind, but I realise I shouldn't have done it . . .'

'I'm sorry, Isabelle, but I'm afraid you're going to have to explain. So, first you chose to spank some entirely innocent first-year, and while you were doing this a college scout entered the room and began to spank you in reprisal, as a genuine punishment rather than for pleasure? She must have had some reason to do so, surely? College scouts are not normally in the habit of spanking students, after all.'

'Yes, in a sense,' I admitted miserably, and realised that I was going to have to tell him everything. 'The thing is . . . is that last Saturday I was playing for a pub darts team in Bicester . . .'

'A pub darts team in Bicester? This has something to do with Mr Tierney and the Red Ox, doesn't it?'

'Yes. Sorry.'

'Do go on.'

'He was there, and so was Edna Jellaby, who's in the team as well. They got me drunk . . . no, I got myself drunk, mainly because my bike had been stolen so I had to go back in the minibus, and . . . and Tierney took advantage of me . . . sort of . . . not at all really, but I ended up being very silly, and doing things . . . and Edna didn't like it at all so I suggested she spank me, several times. Then she caught me with Katie and the Owl, and I think she wanted to teach me what a real spanking is like. That's all.'

Duncan was staring at me, apparently struck dumb by the enormity of my behaviour, which seemed a little unfair after all the Rattaners parties he'd attended.

'You know how it is,' I said weakly.

'I'm not at all sure that I do,' he replied, shaking his head. 'It is one thing to enjoy one's sexuality, Isabelle, and I trust that nobody could justifiably call me a prude, but there is such a thing as discretion. Oh dear, oh dear, what is to be done with you?'

Again he shook his head, as if in despair, but this time he turned to look out of the window, contemplating my fate. I waited a full minute before speaking.

'Couldn't you just spank me?'

'I could,' Duncan replied, 'and I am certainly tempted, if only to assuage my feelings. However, I cannot help but think that to do so would be somewhat akin to punishing a car thief by giving him the latest model from Mercedes-Benz. No, when it comes to your personal discipline I shall leave the matter to Eliza, who understands these things so much better than I.'

'Eliza? Surely it would be better not to tell Eliza?'

'On the contrary. This is not a matter that can simply be swept under the carpet, Isabelle. The incident occurred in Katie's room at Foxson, did it not?'

'The curtains were shut. Are you sure you don't want to spank me?'

'How many people do you suppose know about it?' Duncan demanded, ignoring my question.

'Nobody actually saw – at least, not when I was spanking the Owl, or when Edna did me, because she shut the door, but I suppose it was rather noisy, and there were a few people behind Dr Smith when he came in, and . . . look, Duncan, I really do think that a bare-bottom spanking would do me the world of good . . . oh, and speaking of bare-bottom, I was bare for Edna, and so was the Owl for me. A lot of people saw us go to Dr Smith's study.'

'Exactly. People who have since dispersed to laboratories, libraries, lecture theatres, tutorial groups and so on right across Oxford, each and every one of them with an excellent titbit of gossip to pass on. By this evening everybody from the Chancellor to the local dustmen will know, and doubtless the story will have been suitably embellished along the way. We can only pray that the tabloid press doesn't find out, although as they have no lurid pictures to go with the story I don't suppose they'd be all that interested. No, it is a serious matter, which must be discussed promptly, and discreetly, which would certainly make a change. Honestly, Isabelle, I really am appalled by your foolishness, and—'

Duncan broke off, shaking his head in exasperation. Then he spoke again.

'Actually, I am going to spank you. Come here.'

My stomach lurched at his words, delivered in such a commanding tone that it never even occurred to me to disobey – besides which I'd never needed it so badly. Duncan went to his settee and sat down, allowing me to drape myself across his lap. My skirt was pulled up and my tights and panties taken down for the second time that day, and for the second time not for the enjoyment of seeing my bare bottom – but for purely practical purposes, to humiliate me and ensure that my spanking really hurt. I was already sobbing, with the tears starting in my eyes even before he'd laid the first hard smack across my cheeks. But he'd only given me six when he stopped.

'It's just too noisy,' he said, 'and so are you. But there must be something . . .'

His voice trailed off. Then he suddenly hauled me up, keeping a firm hold of my hand. Without the least idea of what was going on, I allowed myself to be frogmarched into his bathroom.

'Bend over the bath,' he instructed. 'Or, if you prefer, the toilet.'

I chose the bath, bending into it with my bottom stuck out over the edge. My cheeks stung a little from the earlier slaps, and I felt off-balance emotionally. On the far side of the bath was a large wooden-handled bath brush, ideal for application to naughty girls' bottoms. I winced.

'I . . . I'll try not to be noisy,' I promised. 'But itmight be best to make me take my knickers in my mouth.'

'I am not planning to spank you,' Duncan stated, opening his medicine cupboard.

'No?' I queried, surprised, and thought of what else could be done to bare-bottom girls. 'You're not going to fuck me, are you? Because . . .'

I trailed off, feeling distinctly aggrieved at the idea of being casually fucked. It was a bit much of him to simply assume that because I didn't mind a spanking he had access to my pussy.

'Hang on a minute,' I said. 'Duncan, I don't—'

'Do you agree that you deserve to be punished?' he demanded.

'Well . . . yes,' I admitted. 'I feel I ought to be spanked, but . . .'

'Spanking is noisy,' he reminded me. 'Impractically so. Now, hold your bottom cheeks apart. I am going to sodomise you.'

'What!? Duncan! I . . . but I don't want to be sodomised! OK, you can fuck me, but not up my bottom, please? That's hardly fair!'

Despite my words, which I believed I meant, I had reached back to spread my bum cheeks, just as I'd been told to do. Duncan had selected a tube of cream from the cupboard, some product intended for the relief of haemorrhoids.

'Are you sure that's the right thing to use?' I asked in alarm as he squeezed out a long white worm of the substance onto one finger. 'And really, I'm not at all sure you should be sodomising your students, and—'

'It is designed for application to the anus,' he pointed out, interrupting me, 'and no doubt will serve very well to lubricate yours.'

'Yes, but—'

I broke off with a gasp as Duncan wiped the cold haemorrhoid cream onto my bottom-hole. Then I gulped as a finger was pushed up my rectum. He had put his other hand to his crotch, massaging his cock through his trousers, but I still couldn't believe he was simply going to bugger me while I was bent over the bath, and without so much as a may-I? Yet I kept my bum cheeks spread as he lubricated my bottom. I was panting slightly as my anus slowly grew loose, not particularly happy about what he was about to do but unable to think of any good reason why he shouldn't. After all, I wasn't supposed to like it.

'If you wouldn't mind?' he asked. 'Take me in your mouth.'

Duncan had flopped his cock out, and I obeyed his instruction, turning a little to open wide and let him feed it in, all the while with his finger working my bumhole gradually more open. His cock was thick, heavy in my mouth even when flaccid, and as I began to suck I was telling myself that it was best to relax and let him get my anus properly open, and that there was no point in protesting when I was going to be buggered anyway.

'More cream, perhaps,' he remarked, and squeezed out a second worm, this time directly between my cheeks so that he could work it into my already slippery anus with the finger he'd already got dirty.

Duncan's cock had began to grow in my mouth, stiffening gradually to the motion of my lips and tongue, a strange sensation that I'm sure I'll never get fully used to. I gasped as a second finger was eased into my bottom, but I already felt juicy and slack, if not sufficiently to accommodate the fat penis swelling in my mouth.

'I do not intend to hurt you, Isabelle,' he said, now slightly breathless. 'But am I right to expect that sodomising a girl can make an effective punishment?'

'Yes, it can, believe me!' I told him as he pulled his now-rigid cock from my mouth.

Duncan was right. Even if it didn't hurt, the idea of being made to take a man's cock up my bottom was unspeakably humiliating, especially after being bent over a bath and having my anus lubricated with haemorrhoid cream. It was hard to imagine a more disrespectful way to treat a dominant woman – the only trouble being that after being passed around for spanking and then surrendering myself to Tierney and his cronies it wasn't at all easy to think of myself as a dominant woman. I was more like an eager little slut. Even so, being bent over the bath and fucked up my bottom was a pretty humiliating prospect.

'Keep your cheeks open,' Duncan ordered as he finally eased his fingers from my bumhole. 'Well open.'

I gave a single dumb nod and pulled my bottom cheeks apart wider still, stretching my now gaping anus wide to his view. He reached into the medicine cupboard once more, this time to pull out an old-fashioned gentleman's shaving brush with a rounded ivory handle that looked uncomfortably suitable for ramming up a girl's bottom-hole to keep it open. Obviously it was going up mine.

'You'll need to have this in you for a while,' he told me, and pushed the cold hard end against my anus.

My ring spread, accommodating the brush handle quite easily and leaving me with a tuft of badger hair sticking out from my gaping bottom hole. Duncan sat down on the toilet, puffing as he masturbated, with his eyes fixed on my penetrated anus and distinctly juicy pussy, then flicking to my face. I knew that my expression would be full of consternation at the prospect of being buggered, because I felt thoroughly put upon, but that didn't seem to bother him. What he was going to do to me might be intended as a punishment but it was obviously one he was going to enjoy dishing out.

Duncan's cock-shaft was finally hard, and he was pulling vigorously at it. His prick was still glossy with my spit, while his heavy balls were bouncing and squashing against his trousers with every tug. I forced a smile, realising that I really was going to be buggered as he stood up with his erection in his hand. He was still masturbating as he pulled the shaving brush from my bottom-hole and placed it carefully in the sink. I stayed open as it came out, my anus squashy and wet as his helmet touched between my cheeks, plugging my rectal ring.

'Do you have to do this?' I asked apprehensively as my bottom-hole began to spread out around his helmet. 'Really?'

'Your question,' he grunted, 'rather presupposes my answer.'

Duncan pushed. I gasped as my anal sphincter gave way and then his cock was up my bum, or at least its head was. I could feel it in my bottom-hole, bigger than the handle of the shaving brush and also warm, stretching me wide. I was now officially being sodom-ised. Not that Duncan had finished, not by a long way. I was still holding my cheeks open, allowing him to see what he was doing as he fed himself in up my anal hole. The sensation had me panting in no time, unable to control my breathing as the bloated, urgent sensation in my rectum grew. But that feeling was merely physical, and was as nothing compared with my emotions.

I had a man's cock up my bottom. My anus had been penetrated and my rectum filled with six inches or more of fat, hard penis. It was unbearably humiliating, and I was soon sobbing with reaction. It was a punishment, there was no doubt about it, to have my panties pulled down and my bottom stuffed with cock by my own tutor, about the only male authority figure I had. He was the man to do it, to sodomise me in fair retribution for my behaviour, to make me show my bumhole and put his cock inside it, to bugger me hard and make me thoroughly sorry for what I'd done.

'There,' he said. 'Now I am fully in you.'

He was: his balls were pressed to the mouth of my empty cunt, my bum cheeks spread against the front of his thighs and the mass of his belly. I braced myself, holding on to the bath so that he could push up me properly, my feet set wide and my hands clutching the far side. Slow, heavy tears were trickling down my face as he began to move his thick, stiff shaft in my rectum, long, easy thrusts that felt so deep that it seemed his cock would soon be poking out of my mouth. I hung my head, not to hide my weeping, but in abject surrender, and as the spittle began to run from my open mouth I didn't even bother to suck it back up.

I knew that Duncan never hurried, and as my rectal ring pulled gently in and out against his erection I let my mind drift to what I'd done, and what was being done to me in order to make up for my behaviour. It was completely appropriate, a punishment to fit the crime, and I was soon wishing that Amy Jane had been there to watch Duncan work his penis in my hole and see the tears trickling down my cheeks, Edna too, and Eliza, so that they could have taken turns spanking my naughty bottom before I was sodomised in front of them.

That thought stayed in my head, and in a few short moments my awful shame and consternation had begun to give way to pleasure. I bit my lip, knowing that it would be the final surrender if I masturbated while I was being buggered to punish me. But I couldn't stop myself. My hand went back and I found my cunt, touching my empty pussy-hole, then the taut ring of my anus to feel it pull and push against Duncan's shaft, an overwhelmingly dirty sensation.

I started to rub, sobbing with emotion as I masturbated and thinking of how I should really have been dealt with, smacked hard by Amy Jane and Edna, Katie too, and then Eliza. They'd have taken my panties down, and would have made me pull them up again between spankings, except after Eliza had done me when they'd be left down so that Duncan could grease my bottom-hole and sodomise me in front of all four of them. After that I'd be sent up to bed with my hands tied behind my back as I had been before, to cry my eyes out into my pillow while the spunk leaked from my buggered bottom-hole.

My anus began to tighten around Duncan's cock-shaft, contracting hard as my orgasm rose up. My pussy constricted too, blowing out air in a long rasping fanny fart that sent a last shudder of embarrassment through me – and then I was coming. I bit my lip, desperate to stop myself screaming. This seemed to bottle up the power of my climax inside me, bringing my orgasm up to a painful intensity until at last it burst. Duncan clapped a hand over my mouth as the scream broke from my lips, muffling the noise, but only partially.

He grunted and I assumed he'd come through the contractions of my anus, bringing my pleasure up to a second peak at the thought of having a man ejaculate up my bottom as part of a punishment. His hand locked tighter on my mouth as a second scream rose up in my throat, but this time he managed to keep me quiet and his hand stayed firmly in place as I came down slowly from my orgasm. Only when I was completely finished did I realise that his grunt had not been ecstasy but annoyance, and that he was panting for breath.

'I have to sit down,' he gasped, and I felt his cock start to pull away from my bottom hole.

I turned around in concern as Duncan pulled out. His hands were shaking and he was red in the face, but his cock was still hard, rearing up above his balls in the opening of his flies, sticky and glistening. I shrugged and smiled, more concerned for him than for myself even though my legs felt weak and my bumhole wouldn't close.

'Must you always be so noisy?' he managed to mutter, shaking his head as he sat down on the toilet seat.

'Sorry,' I replied, 'but I expect I'll be walking around like a pregnant duck for the next few days – if that's any consolation.'

Duncan managed a grin and leant back against the cistern. Then he spoke again.

'I did actually intend that to be a punishment.'

'It was,' I assured him, 'and I feel much better for it. But if you don't think that was enough, how about this?'

As I spoke I got down on my knees in front of the toilet, so that his cock was rearing up in front of my face. I hesitated, but then nodded to myself. It was best to get it over and done with, I thought, and before common sense could get the better of me I'd taken his slippery cock in my mouth, determined to suck until he came. Then I would swallow.