I was sitting in what Laura called detention, writing lines, in her make-believe classroom. And I had just let my stool scrape over the wooden floor, making a dreadful sound, not unlike fingernails scratching on a blackboard. Instantly, I knew I had done wrong. I had violated one of Laura's—Miss Smith's—school rules.

She put her book down with a thud, walked over to me, grim-faced, and smashed the tawse onto the desk in front of me. “Steffi, you naughty girl! You were warned to not make a noise, yet you disobeyed me. Worse still, I could see your knickers. Keep those knees together, for goodness' sake. Girls at this school do not display their underwear to all and sundry. I'm awarding you three more strokes of the tawse as it seems you pay no attention to my words, only to my deeds.”

So, again, I had to stand up and submit to her leather strap, all three strokes again administered on the tender palm of my writing hand.

I was then told to sit down, and I continued writing. Mistakes were building up, but I was always careful to cross through any line with an error and rewrite it beneath. Not being told the rules, it was all I could do. By now, I had written a hundred and fifty lines, excluding those crossed through. I guessed I had been writing for at least two hours.

Without warning, Laura announced, “Pen down, girl, and stand up. Hands on head!”

I did so, not certain what was happening. However, as I'm sure Laura expected, placing my hands on my head pulled up my short skirt, revealing the hem of my white slip and the tops of my stockings.

“Steffi! You've already been told off about flaunting your underwear. What would the boys think if they saw that? You're at a school where modesty is expected from our girls. I will not put up with this behaviour. Step forward and turn around.”

Quickly, I positioned myself as instructed. The next moment, Laura lifted the back of my skirt and delivered two almighty blows across the back of my thighs using the tawse. My thin stockings did nothing to reduce the sting, and I struggled not to scream out.

“Adjust your clothing, you naughty girl.” I did so, as she continued. “You now have a ten-minute toilet break, Steffi. I know you're on your period, so you need to change your tampon. Take this. It's intended for girls with a heavy flow.”

Period? Tampon? Heavy flow? What was she talking about? She handed me a paper bag and I went through to the bathroom. Looking in the bag I saw there was another butt plug, which was longer and wider than the one I had in. I had no choice but to swap them over.

What I quickly discovered was that I had made a stupid mistake getting dressed. I had put the suspender belt over the top of my knickers, which stopped me from pulling my panties all the way down. I had to waste valuable time reordering my clothes so that the suspender belt was under my knickers.

I really didn't think the replacement plug would fit, despite applying loads of lubricant, but, after some difficulty, I got it clamped in. Fully dressed, I made my way back to the classroom. This plug was rubbing against my prostate gland, creating strange sensations. “Why are you walking in that silly way, Steffi? And why have you taken eleven minutes when I gave you only a ten-minute break?”

“Sorry, Miss Smith. It's... er... it's this... er... tampon. It's making me walk strange. And I don't have my watch, Miss Smith, so I didn't know I was late. Sorry, Miss Smith.”

“I don't want excuses, and don't try to be clever with me, Steffi. Even you should be able to count up to six hundred in seconds.” Laura picked up my lines, all seven pages.

“These are disgraceful, Steffi! You know the rules. If you make a mistake, you cross that page through and start again. There is not a single page here that doesn't contain an error! And look at this ink blot! I'm ripping them all up, and then you can restart from line number one.”

I felt crestfallen, watching Laura tear my work up. On the other hand, what she referred to as the “usual rules” were revealing themselves—Laura expected each page to be error free. Crossing out a line with a mistake and rewriting it underneath was not acceptable.

“Stop day dreaming, you silly girl! What are you waiting for? Start writing! Do you think I have nothing better to do today than supervise you. This detention does not finish until you have completed the requisite number of lines to the requisite standard.”

Whilst the standard was becoming clearer, I had no clue as to the “requisite number of lines”. It was demoralising and demotivating to have to start again. I found myself wishing that she would give me six of the best and we had done with it.

oooOOooo

I continued writing, doing my utmost not to make mistakes. The concentration I was having to use was more intense than anything I had to do when working in the library on my history research.

And then Laura moved from the sofa to a bar stool, just a couple of feet in front of my desk. I thought little of it and remained focussed on my lines. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I became aware that she had repositioned herself. Her academic gown was gaping open, and, if I wished to, I could look directly up the short skirt she was wearing.

Obviously, I resisted this temptation. I understood what her game was—she was enticing me into a trap. She sat passively reading her book, making it look so she was totally absorbed in its contents. Except that slowly, imperceptibly slowly, her knees began to part.

It was starting to affect my concentration. Instead of thinking about each letter I put on the paper, my brain was yelling, “Don't look up!!”. I was focussing more on not looking up than on writing.

Inevitably, I made a mistake on a line towards the bottom of a page. Instinctively, I glanced up to emit a sigh of anguish. And I instantly realised that I could see her pussy. She was not wearing panties!

For a few seconds, I remained mesmerised, like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. I had taken the bait!

“Steffi, you depraved girl! What do you think you are doing? Stand up, you rascal!”

I did so. “This school does not tolerate sexual perversion. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't send you to the headmistress to be caned? Go on, give me one reason?”

“I'm sorry, Miss Smith. I don't know what overcame me. I was distracted.”

“What would your mother say if you were expelled for sexual deviancy? For engaging in unnatural sexual practices?”

“She... she'd be disappointed in me, Miss Smith.”

“Disappointed?? Only disappointed? I'm sure she would be mortified, Steffi, bringing shame on her good name! Come here, and get over my knees. Now, girl!”

My penis was twitching at the prospect of a spanking. She hitched her skirt up and patted her thighs. Obediently, I lay over them, feet and hands dangling in midair because of the high stool that Laura was sitting on.

Laura wasted no time pulling up my skirt and slip and yanking down my knickers. And then the spanking began, with blows landing on alternate buttocks, and occasionally slapping into my butt plug, pushing it in deeper before it eased its way out again. Repeatedly, the plug massaged my prostate, and I was praying this would not cause leakage.

But the eroticism I was experiencing diminished as the burning sensation built up. My penis gave up while she continued to pummel my bottom. Eventually, she had had enough, but long after I had had enough, and I was told to adjust my clothing and return to my line writing.

She, for her part, remained sat on the stool, her skirt still pulled up revealing most of her thighs. Worse still, her legs remained slightly apart. Concentrating on my handwriting got no easier. My wrist was suffering fatigue, and I longed to be given another rest, even if it were only ten minutes. But relief was a long time coming.

After an age, she called a halt. “Show me your lines, Steffi.”

I passed her just a single sheet, leaving to one side the wad of pages that were incomplete because each contained a mistake.

“What?!” she screeched. “You've been here all morning, and this is all you've written. I've never come across such a lazy girl in all my teaching career.”

“Sorry, Miss Smith, but...”

“Did I ask you to speak?”

“Er..., no, Miss Smith.”

“Then don't!” She looked at her watch. “Lucky for you, it's my lunch break. You may also enjoy a thirty-minute lunch and comfort break and change your tampon again.”

Enjoy was not a word I would have used, as she passed me another bag. I took it into the bathroom and, as I was expecting, it held another butt plug, longer and wider than the one I had in. I wondered how many more she had squirreled away. Writing more complete, error-free pages was becoming imperative if the plugs were going to get progressively bigger.

Somehow, I swapped the butt plugs and returned to the classroom. Standing on my desk was a glass of water, two slices of dry bread and an apple that had seen better days. I saw that Laura was eating a large cheese and pickle sandwich and a juicy pear while sipping a coke, but I knew better than to point out the disparity between her lunch and mine.

“Stay standing up to eat your lunch, Steffi,” she ordered.

oooOOooo

After consuming what I had been given, I remained standing, wondering if I should be counting to eighteen hundred in seconds. But it was at that moment that the doorbell rang.

I looked at Laura, and she looked back at me. “Well? Aren't you going to answer it?” she asked.

“What?! I can't, not... not dressed like this, Miss... er... Miss Smith!”

The doorbell was rung for a second time. “You are smartly dressed in the official uniform of this school so have no reason to feel embarrassed. Answer the door, Steffi. I won't tell you again. Now!” To reinforce her point, she smashed the tawse down on my desk, sending my papers flying across the room.

“Yes, Miss Smith. Sorry.”

My face red with embarrassment, and the butt plug stimulating my prostate, I waddled uncomfortably to the front door, just as the bell rang for a third time. Without looking through the spyhole, I opened up.

It was Dave the postman, a good-looking man in his forties who always fancied himself when talking to Laura and was someone who enjoyed a bit of banter. He knew I dressed “eccentrically”, as he put it, which he attributed to me being a student, but he had never seen me dressed like this.

He looked me up and down, unable to conceal his glee. “Oh, my giddy aunt. Who the hell are you? Has Laura booted Steve out and got herself an attractive girlfriend?” His face bore an expression of jovial bewilderment and excitement. I could tell he couldn't wait to get back to the sorting office to tell his mates what he'd seen.

“You know who I am, Dave!” I replied, sighing.

“Do I? I'm not so sure now. Is your mummy at home?”

“I'm... er... we're... er... er...we're rehearsing, Dave,” I replied, unconvincingly.

“Rehearsing?! Pull the other one. I wondered why you were growing your hair long, now I know. Love the hair slide, by the way.”

“It's... it's a play we're putting on.”

“Oh! Where do I buy tickets? I can't wait to see it!” I could tell he was teasing, but I was anxious to close the discussion down and shut the door.

“Sorry, you can't, Dave—it's a private function.”

“Yeah, I bet it is! Just the two actors and no audience, I bet—wink, wink!”

“Look! I'm very busy, Dave. Have you got something for us?”

He looked at the label on the package in his hands. “Yes, a parcel for Miss Laura Smith. Shall I put it on the floor, so you have to bend over to pick it up?”

“No, Dave, just give it me?”

“I wouldn't mind giving it to you if you were to bend over... Oh! You mean the parcel. Sorry, Miss!” He was enjoying himself at my expense, but he passed me the package.

“See you, Miss!” he called, as he walked away, chortling, leaving me feeling humiliated. I was sure that every time we met in the future, he would call me “Miss”.

oooOOooo

I walked back into the “classroom”, where I found Laura looking impatient. “What took you so long, Steffi? It was a simple enough errand I sent you on.”

“Sorry, Miss Smith,” I replied, putting her parcel down.

“Stop wasting my time and get on with your lines.”

I had been expecting to receive the tawse again, so I suppressed a sigh of relief, and I restarted my writing. I made what I thought was a good start, but halfway through the first page the ink ran out in my fountain pen. “Er... excuse me, Miss Smith, but I've run out of ink.”

Laura stared at me as if I were an imbecile. “Well, put a new cartridge in, you silly girl.”

“But... but I don't see one, Miss.”

A look of exasperation crossed her face. “For heaven's sake, Steffi. You must know that a rule for detentions is that girls bring spare ink cartridges. Stand up and put your right arm out—again.”

Another three swipes of the tawse were delivered to my upturned palm. “Here's a cartridge, Steffi. Next time, remember to bring your own.”

“Yes, Miss Smith,” I replied.

My hand was now stinging again, making writing difficult. Moreover, Laura had resumed her position on the high stool, directly in front of me. It took enormous willpower not to sneak a peep up her skirt as her knees were only a foot or so in front of me and slightly apart.

Laura waited until I had nearly finished the page, without a single error, before asking, “What do you think you're doing, Steffi?”

“Sorry, what do you mean, Miss Smith?”

“You started the page with royal blue ink and now you're using a darker shade of blue. Do you really think that is the standard of work that this school expects?”

There was only one acceptable answer. “No, Miss Smith, I'll start the page again.” She shook her head in apparent despair.

And so my detention went on, Laura finding any excuse to criticise and tawse me. As she had warned me, she might be playacting, but I wouldn't be. This was a real trauma for me. She seemed prepared to sit reading her book all day long, and into the evening, if necessary, whilst somehow I had to produce the requisite number of lines to the requisite standard.

Eventually, she told me to stop writing. “Show me your work, Steffi.”

I handed her four pages which I considered to be error free. It amounted to one hundred and twenty lines, not many more than I had been forced to write for Phoebe, yet Laura's exacting standards had meant they had taken me most of the day.

“Hmm... these will just about do, but I do expect better next time,” she concluded, damning me with faint praise. “Your detention is over.”

“Thank you, Miss Smith,” I gasped with relief.

oooOOooo

It took a few minutes for me to snap out of the make-believe world Laura had created and return to reality. Except it wasn't reality because I was incongruously dressed as a schoolgirl. She smiled at me. “Did you enjoy that, muffin? I did. We'll have to do this again some time.”

“It was hard work, Miss, but I deserved it.”

“I think you need a reward, poppet, so follow me.”

She led the way into the bedroom, kicked off her shoes, slipped off her academic gown, and removed her mortar board. Looking sensuously at me, she pulled off her top, confirming she had no bra on, and then pulled down her skirt. She was now stark naked, save for a thin gold chain around her neck carrying a small key.

Her nipples were hardened, her breasts were slightly enlarged, and her pupils were dilated. She was very aroused, and I was also becoming turned on.

“Aren't you going to join me, sweetheart?” she asked. “I want you inside me. Properly inside me.”

I couldn't comprehend what she had said. I must have misheard. Nonetheless, I wasted no time stripping off until all I was wearing was my chastity device and the butt plug. Already, my penis was doing its utmost to engorge but was meeting firm resistance from the cage. It struggled even more when I saw that Phoebe had removed the chain from around her neck.

Seconds later, she was undoing my padlock, and soon my penis was standing rigidly to attention. I can't recall ever experiencing such a powerful erection—so strong it was almost painful.

Laura reached into her bedside drawer and removed a condom. “Keep the plug in, but put this on, sweetheart, and then ravish me. Anything and everything is allowed.”

She lay back invitingly on the bed, her legs apart. With my fingers shaking in anticipation, I struggled to roll on the condom. She smiled sweetly at my dilemma, but eventually it was securely in position. I wanted nothing more than to jump on top of her and take her, but I knew she deserved better.

Therefore, I started with my mouth, eating her out in the way that she so loved and had been accustomed to. She was dripping wet, just as I thought she would be. As I continued to excite her using my tongue and lips, with a free hand I caressed a breast and fondled a nipple. Soon she was moaning, wriggling and squirming and in almost record time she experienced multiple waves of a powerful orgasm. Keeping in contact was like riding a bucking bronco. And my butt plug moved in unison, further driving my arousal.

As she came down from the final crescendo, she gasped, “Get on top of me, my lover, and have your wicked way! I will lie back and think of England and Empire,” she declared in theatrical style. And then, more down to earth, she screamed, “Fuck me, Stevie, fuck the life out of me!”

I did! I mounted her, taking my weight on my forearms. Reaching down, she guided my manhood to her womanhood and soon I was inside her. I began thrusting, working carefully to ensure that my pleasure would last as long as possible.

She would have none of it, and she began lunging, taking me closer and closer to the point of no return, her vaginal muscles squeezing my organ. Meanwhile, our lips had met, and her tongue had squeezed into my mouth. Two people were becoming one. Then, my passions running high, I reached the moment where I could not turn back. My penis began spurting, powerfully pumping semen into the tightly fitting condom.

I was experiencing something that I never expected to experience—I was having penetrative sex with my girlfriend, my lover. As my penis pulsated, so Laura experienced another shuddering climax. For a few seconds—it seemed like a lifetime—we writhed together.

And then it was over, except that our tongues were still entwined. Slowly, and breathlessly, we both recovered from our lovemaking. Then reality descended. “You'd best withdraw before you leak, poppet,” she gasped.

I slowly pulled out, holding the condom lest it slip off. “You need to tie a knot in it and then put it in a plastic bag in the freezer. You can have it as a treat another day. Take a shower and then I'll lock you up again. You may remove the plug.” My few minutes of bliss were over, at least for now, and I was back under her control in a female-led relationship, but with no regrets.