Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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SSC: The Price for Fun
(****, F/fff, Intense, caning)
Schoolgirls pay for their escapades. (Approximately 486 words. Originally published 2000-06.)
"Shhh," whispered Donna. She peered through the bushes into the quad. "It's clear."
The three girls emerged and in the darkness, trotted across the edge of the quad and through the side entrance. They huddled on the landing, Donna peeking around the corner. "Clear."
Down the corridor, into the stairwell. Creeping up the stairs, they were as silent as ice melting.
"Clear," Donna said at the third floor landing.
A moment later, she entered her room with a deep sigh of relief.
And froze. "Oh crap," she muttered.
Nicollette bounded in behind her and stopped. "Shit."
Tara came up last. "What's going -- oh, fuck!"
Mrs. Donnelly, the headmistress, was sitting on Donna's bed. In her hand was a stout leather-soled slipper. On the bed beside her was a small wooden paddle.
"GOOD evening, girls," she said with a gentle smile. The irony of her comment was not missed by the students. It had _been_ a good evening, a _great_ evening in fact. But now it was time to pay the price for their fun.
The warm-up spanking wasn't bad, at least in terms of pain. All the girls handled it well. But it was the knowledge that the spanking was just the beginning that bothered the girls.
"Remove your skirts," commanded Donnelly, and before each girl's slippering she yanked the girl's knickers up so tightly the bare cheeks bulged out between the narrow strip of cloth in the crack. Each received two dozen whacks to each bumcheek.
The headmistress repeated the dose with the small paddle.
When not being spanked, the girls were required to stand facing the wall, palms flat against it, legs spread, red bum out, listening to the spanking and waiting for their own. They could hear but not see, and that made it much worse, for not seeing, their minds wanted to believe it wasn't real. They clung frantically to any hope, no matter how desperate.
But it was real. Their burning backsides told them that. Three chastised girls stood in a row, heads bowed, as the headmistress scolded them.
"Follow me," she announced. "Leave your knickers behind."
Naked from the waist down, their white blouses trailing over the tops of their scarlet bottoms, the girls trotted down corridor after corridor. Doors opened softly behind them and giggling faces peeked out, fingers pointing at the bouncing crimson bums.
In her office, the headmistress retrieved the dreaded cane. This was her longest, the senior cane, and just seeing it brought tears to the red eyes of the girls.
"Please let it be six! Please let it be six!" prayed Donna.
Her prayers went unanswered, for as big girls, each received a full dozen of the best, their mature bottoms a patchwork of red tramlines.
Later, in bed, the girls slept nude, without covers, on their bellies.
Such is the price of fun.