Mrs. Forecastle

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2020 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.

Mrs. Forecastle

(***, F/fx32, Severe, nc whipping)

Morning showers at a girls' school. (Approximately 496 words. Originally published 2009-10.)

Mrs. Forecastle made a game out of showering. At six sharp the bell rang. Covers flew and nude girls raced for the showers. There were thirty-two students and only eight shower-heads, hence Mrs. Forecastle's monitoring, lest there be disorder.

She took them in groups of eight. A precise five minutes was allotted for each group. The four groups of showers took twenty minutes. That left ten for dressing, making the bed, and inspection, for breakfast was served at six-thirty. Tardiness merited flogging, so the girls were motivated.

There were several motivations to be first to shower. First, there was only enough lukewarm water for the first two groups; the others had to endure a spray of ice. Second, finishing first meant more time to dress and tidy up, reducing the chance of a failed inspection. Finally, Mrs. Forecastle added her own incentive: Groups 2, 3, and 4 were given licks with her switch (three each for the last group).

The switch was really a long dog whip: a leather-wrapped whalebone core of twenty inches followed by a thin leather tail of twenty-four. The woman could hold the tail in her grip and use the crop portion of the switch like a short cane, or she could use the tail to flick or lash at protruding flesh from several feet away.

While the girls showered, Mrs. Forecastle amused herself by flicking her whip at exposed chubby bottoms and thighs, encouraging them to be thorough yet quick. These stings did no permanent damage, barely leaving a mark, yet they were maddeningly fierce, especially when the flesh was wet.

If a girl made too much fuss over a little flick she was likely to draw the woman's ire and then forced to stand perfectly still while various body parts were tormented. The breasts were Mrs. Forecastle's favorite. Was there anything more awful for a girl than to take a stinging cut to the left nipple and stand in the streaming water, teeth gritted, hands clenched at her sides, and patiently offer her right breast for the same treatment?

There was: cuts to the cunt were infinitely worse, the tail flicking into the seam between the legs and producing waves of mind-boggling agony. Fortunately cunt-whippings were relatively rare.

Once the shower was competed the group would scamper off to dress and the next batch of girls would jog in and take some initial switch strokes for being slow to rise. Within each group there was always someone Mrs. Forecastle selected for particular attention, trying to generate an excuse for extended punishment. If a girl's bottom bore recent cane marks, Mrs. Forecastle worked those swollen lines, whipping the purple welts to make her squeal.

No girl escaped at least a tickle; girls in the last group suffered the worst, often running behind and meriting punishment for failing inspection.

It was a cruel system to some, but worked well, and was certainly keen motivation not to oversleep!

The End