The Headmistress’ office was a classic wooden paneled affair. Lovely desk, tall arched windows with stained glass on the top. The walls were lined with several cupboards hiding mysterious things, and elegantly framed photographs from past classes and events. It was warmly lit yet oddly colder today. Abigail Ferguson stood in front of the desk and waited. She had been waiting for almost ten minutes. She was, of course, early for the post-dismissal meeting; punctuality was something Headmistress Swan insisted on, and a strong habit of hers from her days at school on Shetland. Her five foot three fit and busty frame was adorned with the official green jumper for the Hatley School complete with crest. It should have afforded sufficient warmth. No, the chill that the twenty-four-year-old first year teacher felt was from within.
Abigail was half-way through her first year at Hatley on Trent and felt she had fit in quite nicely. A brilliant student at Uni in Edinburgh and then Oxford after for her Masters made her an ideal candidate to replace the retiring Literature teacher here at the all-boys school. From day one she had enjoyed her time. The staff were social and supportive, the Headmistress was stern yet fair, and the boys, well…they adored her. Her striking ginger curls combined with her striking green eyes, made her a perfect teacher fantasy for raging hormones.
“It comes with the territory,” Sandra Greystone, her mentor and Sciences teacher had told her during her orientation days last July. “They will stare and make jokes and may even a pass, the sixth forms for certain, but they know who is in charge.”
And that was Headmistress Marta Swan.
The formidable woman stood a stunning six foot one. And with her trademark heels she towered over the entire staff and most of the students. She had stern yet elegant features and a dirty blonde hairstyle that hinted at her Nordic heritage. At fifty-seven she looked forty. Her eyes told any observer she was not to be trifled with.
It was a Friday in early October. The leaves were well on their way and the boiler had been stoked. A lovely blue sky hinting at earlier sunsets, was a normally comforting view. So why was Abigail so nervous? The note had been delivered by Mr. Carson, the administrating secretary and Headmistress’ right hand. It simply said, “Office, 5 pm.”
Abigail looked at the stately mantle clock that was at least one hundred-years-old and saw it was now five past. To the relief of her butterflies and sweaty palms the door to Headmistress’ rooms opened and she strode in, perfect black suit and skirt ensemble impeccably non-wrinkled, black hose and heels completing the look. She sat in her large leather chair and checked a file she was carrying. After a pause Abigail sensed was a powerplay she looked up and said, “Oh sit, please, Ferguson.” Abigail nodded and took the green upholstered chair and sat on the front with excellent posture.
“I imagine you are a bit anxious to know why I sent for you. I apologize for the mystery.”
“Oh, no problem at all Ma’rm.” Abigail’s Shetland brogue almost cracked from nerves.
Headmistress looked up and raised her eyebrows. “You are an excellent instructor, Ferguson.” Abigail went to respond but a long-fingered hand with red nails halted her. “You have fit in well here and I hope that you feel at home. It is with that in mind that I brought you here to consider furthering your duties.” She opened the file on her desk and put on half glasses to read it. “This is a paper copy, I loathe those tablets, of an aptitude and personality battery you filled out last Spring during the candidate search. I am sure you have done these before?” She looked up. It was time to respond.
“Aye, Ma’rm. At University and other places.”
Headmistress smiled subtly. “I enjoy your Shetland charm, my dear, but I would prefer you say ‘yes.’ We are in England after all.”
Abigail blushed a bit. She had never been called out for that. “Certainly. My apologies.”
“No need for that. Just make a note and carry on, hm? On your profile we were able to assess your abilities to problem solve and pivot, your leadership qualities, your team attributes, and your willingness to submit to authority. You scored high marks on all. Especially the last.”
Abigail blushed again at the flattery. “Thank you, Ma’rm. I was being honest.”
Headmistress watched the pink color spread across the young woman’s cheeks, neck, and her exposed collar bone, and she had to stifle a sigh. “It is this last item I called you here to discuss.”
Abigail nodded then caught up short when she realized she had no idea which item it was. Blood filled her ears, and she had a moment of fear dance across her eyes.
Headmistress caught it and smiled slightly. I have her! She stood and Abigail refocused as the headmistress continued. “There are many legacies here at Hatley. These storied portraits and group photos attest to a long history of excellence. However, if you look to this wall, you will see that all of the previous headmasters here were just that, masters. I am the first headmistress, Something I am very proud to say out loud without ego inflation.” She gave a rare self-deprecating smile that Abigail found endearing.
Perfect. Emotional connection to a superior, Headmistress noted internally. “You also may have noticed that up until the year 2012 there had actually never been any female instructors. Just cooks and chamber maids.”
Abigail was looking at the photos and noted the addition of one then two then six women in the staff pictures as the years progressed. She hadn’t noticed Headmistress stepping up behind her until she spoke again. Her voice made Abigail jump ever so slightly.
“You are part of a new legacy, my dear.” The voice was lower, less informative, more instructive. “You and the other young women on staff must strive to be the best you can. To work diligently for the school and the boys and of course to serve the staff and the community. We need you to do this for us, for the school, womenkind, truthfully. Do you understand, Ferguson?” She looked down and saw the fine creature squirming slightly. There was a small bead of sweat that hung on her neck then softly traveled down the woman’s lovely cleavage.
Abigail Ferguson was finding that with her superior so close her heart was beating faster. The room had grown a bit warmer, and she instinctively adjusted the collar on her white blouse. “Oh no, I think I am being sacked!” She misconstrued. She suddenly wished she had not worn the jumper to the meeting.
“I believe so, yes Headmistress. We have a responsibility to lead.”
“And to serve.”
“Yes, and that as well…” She cleared her throat and wished she had a glass of water. “Ma’rm.” She noticed her posture had slumped, so she sat up erect again and Headmistress was delighted to see her push out her lovely bosom.
The headmistress walked over to the wall opposite the windows to an old cupboard. “Inside this cupboard are artifacts of the legacy being forged here. It is a vibrant world of discipline mated with progress. It is one of struggle, certainly, but also of…reward.” She reached for something. “It is a world that we as the women of this community need to make our life’s work. Do you not agree?”
Abigail looked over and was taken by the strong and forceful gaze of Marta Swan. Her brown eyes seemed to burn right into Abigail’s soul. She felt this deep need to want to make this tall commander woman proud, to do the right thing, to accept the challenge of legacy. She took a breath and said softly, “I do.”
Headmistress Swan stood taller, if that were possible, and stood arms akimbo. “I cannot hear you, Ferguson,”
“I – I do…Ma’rm. Aye.” As soon as she said it, she saw disappointment on Headmistress’ face, and she felt her stomach twinge. “Oh, so sorry, Ma’rm. Yes. Yes, I do.” Headmistress nodded with the faintest up turn of her lips. Abigail’s insides were strangely in turmoil. She was feeling something deep inside her. Something strange and unexpected. Why was she putting so much emotional reaction into a spirit rouser akin to a commencement address?
Headmistress stepped away from the cupboard and was holding something brown. A long wooden paddle slightly smaller than a cricket bat was perfectly, almost elegantly, balanced in her right hand. It was made of dark stained wood and had gold script on it that said “Hatley Staff Only.” A small leather strap was wrapped around her wrist.
Do you know what this is for? It is a disciplinary tool from days past. It was used regularly to cause physical…discomfort in students who misbehaved. Perhaps you may have seen it used in your own youth.”
Abigail’s eyebrows raised as she remembered her father telling of such things in his youth in Glasgow. But she herself had never seen such usage except in film and television. She wondered why Headmistress had taken it out of the cupboard. It made her suddenly quite nervous. She held her posture however and tried to remain attentive. “No Ma’rm, but me Da spoke of it some. He was a bit of a terror I suppose.” She smiled and laughed slightly.
“I am sure. Let us hope such things are not hereditary, shall we?” She gently slapped her left palm with the paddle and although it was not loud it still made a disturbing sound. “I keep this around as a reminder of consequence. As you can see it has been marked as staff only. Can you tell me why?”
Abigail’s heart was taking on Usain Bolt. She had no idea what the right answer was, and she froze with fear of letting her superior down. Headmistress let the dangling fish off the hook.
“The legacy, Abigail, the legacy. If we as the female staff of this fine hall of learning cannot be upright and disciplined in our comportment, then we need to be brought in line. To be instructed.”
She was right in front of Abigail now. The young teacher was staring at the paddle, her breath coming as soft open-mouthed pants. Was she about to be spanked? The thought made her buttocks flinch. She also just realized Headmistress had called her Abigail…!
“Do you think you need discipline…Abigail?” The last was spoken almost as a whisper. It sent a chill down Abigail’s spine and sent arousal to her breasts. Her nipples suddenly desired attention. She had had some sexual encounters with women before. She and her best mate got drunk on a Spanish holiday and spent the night naked and sweating. The memory made her cross her legs. A sudden need was rising, and she was frightened by its sudden urgency.
“I do not know if I do,” she replied with honesty. She looked down with a shame that was palatable.
“Mistress!”
Abigail’s face looked up. The woman was just a foot away. She could smell a mild perfume and… oh my, arousal? “Pardon m-m-me?”
“‘I do not know, Mistress.‘ Address me with respect.”
“Of course, I apologize, Headmistress.”
“Just Mistress now. At least when you are serving me. You want to serve me do you not?” Mistress was at her side now. Looking down at Abigail’s lovely bosom. She could feel her own arousal seeping out into her black panties. She could not wait to see this delightful ginger sucking them clean. Time to strike.
She took Abigail’s chin in hand and turned her to look over and up. Mistress was leaning over, and Abigail saw that her blouse was unbuttoned some. She was wearing a black corset that made her breasts look – “Look up here. Do. You. Want. To. Serve?”
Abigail was almost out of breath she was so aroused, her senses wide open. “I do. Please how may I serve, Mistress?” Where did that come from? Ah, from one of the porn videos she and her ex, Daniel watched the weekend at the cottage last summer.
Mistress smiled and leaned in closer gripping Abigail’s chin tighter. Then the maddest thing of the day so far happened. The woman kissed her. Open mouth, her tongue swirling about inside and out. And what was even madder was Abigail did not stop her. In fact, she reciprocated! And it was glorious. As quickly as it had started it stopped, and Abigail was left panting and very confused. Mistress dropped her chin with a discomforting flick and stood tall.
“You are ready. Stand up.” Unlike the seduction thus far the voice had zero comfort in it. Abigail, confused, nerves alight, heart racing, slowly rose. She was a bit dizzy. “Faster!” The command made her suddenly straight. Her posture perfect, her glorious buttocks clenched and her bust jutting forward. “First lesson in becoming a disciplined servant. Perform the command immediately. Am I clear?”
“Yes. Mistress.” Abigail was losing her mind. Her breasts were heaving, and her nipples were actually hurting rubbing on her bra cup. Her legs were a bit shaky and her vulva – fuck that, her pussy was wet and heated. She tried to stay still, her hands behind her back looking forward and not directly at this amazing woman next to her. So close…
“Remove your jumper and blouse. Lay then in the chair.”
Abigail hesitated,
“NOW!”
She needed no further instruction. As if being controlled remotely her hands worked with precision and speed. The jumper was up and off, and the buttons undone in succession. She lay the garments on the chair and stood still again, her firm, green-encased B cup breasts heaving.
“Better.” Mistress was by her left side now. She ran her index finger across Abigail’s shoulder and the young woman shivered. As Mistress traced the underside of each breast slowly Abigail felt the flat of the forgotten paddle push against her bum and she flinched.
Still, my pet. Stay still. Do you like how Mistress plays with your lovely bosom? You do have a lovely bosom. And you are wearing the school colors! How devoted.” Mistress cupped Abigail’s left breast and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
Abigail sighed then moaned, her posture sagging in the pleasure of the moment. Then THWACK! the paddle hit her thankfully fully clad left cheek. The blow made her falter for a moment, and she cried out.
The pain was instantaneous. Oh my! This is…she did not know what this was. But she knew she could not say “no” to it. She stood back up and looked forward. “Sorry, Mistress for not standing properly.”
“And for not saying ‘thank you,'” Mistress snapped and another blow hit the right cheek. Mistress Marta knew just the right amount to use on a new servant. Years of practice and dozens of young things she had trained had taught her a thing or two.
The pain was hot searing and exquisite.”Mmmff, thank…pshhhh…thank you, Mistress.”
Mistress was now in front of her new toy. She was inches away from her face and Abigail saw a fearsome fire in her brown eyes. It was intoxicating to look into. She wanted to kiss again. Kiss, a woman, her superior. And Mistress obliged. While their mouths were engaged, Mistress reached up and undid Abigail’s hair. It fell in ginger curls about her now naked shoulders. Wait, what happened to her bra? Abigail separated and opened her eyes and saw Mistress had it in her hands.
Practiced hands did not need to be watched as Mistress deftly unfastened Abigail’s trousers, her gaze never leaving the gorgeous green eyes in front of her. They were wide with a perfect balance of fear and liberation. Mistress yanked and the garment fell to the floor in a pool. Abigail’s French-cut matching green panties clung to her bum and her wet pussy. Please, please take them off Abigail begged internally. Mistress saw the dilemma run across Abigail’s reddening face.
“Do you have something to say? You may speak.”
“I..I… want you, that is would you be so kind as to – ” The older taller woman laughed.
“Kind? Oh no, never. Get it out!”
“Please remove my knickers, Mistress, I am on fire!”
The woman was already gripping the smaller sides of the offending lingerie and with a practiced twist pulled and tore the flimsy fabric They dug into Abigail’s labia in the doing of it and she cried out in pain. Mistress held them up to the younger woman’s face.
“So wet and so sticky. Can you smell your tartness?” The young teacher could smell it and she flushed darker with embarrassment.
The cold of the autumn dissipated and despite being in only her shoes Abigail was on fire. A thin layer of sweat was forming over her entirety. And it felt wondrous.
“Move forward and angle yourself over my desk.” Mistress had stepped aside. Abigail followed the order without speaking and was soon leaning, her wonderful young breasts swinging slightly. She stiffened a wee bit in anticipation. She was surprised to find she was excited for the next blows. Mistress made her wait. Instead, long fingers were sliding up Abigail’s fit thighs. They moved over her buttocks scratching in a fine pain.
“Your arousal is pungent, My Toy.” Abigail felt a finger insert in her pussy and she moaned in ecstasy. Her body shook and her head fell forward forming a curtain of ginger curls. She whimpered as Mistress moved her finger, no fingers now, three. She was circling around the inside of Abigail’s tightness and the feeling was heavenly for both of them. Then the feeling ended as Mistress pulled away. Abigail whimpered slightly and lifted her head. The sound of smacking lips reached her.
“Just as expected. Excellent bold flavor of youth. You have a delectable fanny, My Toy.”
Abigail was pleased Mistress was pleased. “Thank you, Mistress. Will you please do more?”
The answer was a whoosh of air and the shot-like slap of wood on skin. The hit was solidly on the meat of her left cheek, and she screamed out in sudden pain. She faltered, her arms shaking but resumed her lean.
“Do not ask for anything unless instructed.” Another whoosh and a blow landed on the right. The scream was smaller and the stumble a wee bit less. The pain was now accompanied by a growing heat in her cheeks. And it felt oddly comforting. The pain had rooted in her core and was exactly what she wanted, no, needed.
Another on the left. Smack! Then the right in turn, Smack! Then two more to each.
Abigail gripped tighter her hair now matting on her sweaty face. Her ankles were shuddering about to give way, but she held firm.
“That is a sufficient start. Stand tall again.”
Abigail did so and saw that Mistress was at the cupboard again. What device would she be subjected to next? She waited with her hands behind her, the unknowing making her heart skip and a mini orgasm pop off within. She did not understand these knew feelings and she did not care to. They were spectacular and precise, and she craved more.
Mistress stood to Abigail’s right and took her breast in her hand. Abigail sighed at the contact.
“I surmised you enjoy having your nipples touched.” She rolled the pink and brown protrusion through her fingers.
A sudden sharp pain hit Abigail and she instinctively pulled back only to feel a hard tug. She looked down and saw a gold clamp on her reddening nipple. Its teeth dug in. Attached was a jewelry chain and at the other end…
“Turn to me.” Abigail did so, her breath static puffs through her nose. She stood tall again and shook in anticipation as the second set of teeth bit her left nipple. Discipline, she told herself. The new pain offered an alchemic emotional spike that spun her inside. Such a bizarre new language her body was learning.
Mistress held up a small badge. “Look closely.” Abigail did through wet, half-lidded eyes and saw the school crest engraved and “Property of…” above it. She watched as Mistress hooked it on the middle of the chain and released. It dropped hard and yanked the perfect nipples with it.
“OHH It burns so!”
Mistress stood tall snapping, “Do you no longer want to serve?!”
Abigail stood tall again. The tug on her nipples was excruciating in its intensity. “MMMffff…No Mistress. I want to seeervvve.”
“You are a Toy. Say ‘This toy wishes to bring pleasure.'”
Abigail nodded and repeated, “This toy wishes to Ah bring pleasure, Mistress.”
“High Marks, My Toy,” Mistress headed to her desk and picked up her phone, still used for intra-school communications. Who was she calling. “Yes, come in.”
Abigail was suddenly out of the new world and horrifyingly thrust back into the previous. She looked at the door in panic and saw it opening. She went to grab her clothes and stopped short.
“No! Stand up! NOW!” She did so. Tears forming. This would be the end of her…
A familiar male voice sounded. “Yes, Mistress?” It was Mr. Carson the school’s administrative secretary.
“Yes Carson, I am taking her down. Gather her things and take them to the changing room for after. And warm some balm. She will need it. Toy, come.” She headed back through the door to her rooms and Abigail followed, shame consuming her. She could not make eye contact with Carson and was a bit shocked when the older man slapped her sore ass.
He whispered as Abigail hurried out. “I will have you later.”
Mistress walked the corridor with a fierce sway and opened a side door. A draft met Abigail’s skin and danced shivers all round. She now saw it was steps leading down. Mistress went through. “Keep Up, Toy!” Abigail hurried after not wanting to disappoint. As she started down the stone steps the cool air increased. Abigail’s bum was numbing from both the cold and fear.
Mistress stopped at the bottom in front of a large door.
“Mistress, what is this place?” Abigail asked with her arms now surrounding her very chilled and clamped tits. Her chain was pulled up some and there was relief. The fire in her pussy had long since been doused by the chill and the trepidation.
Mistress smiled with a wee bit of menace. She playfully tapped her palm with the paddle during the next. “Behind this door you will be challenged, disciplined, punished and rewarded. Those who have gone before you have come out better for it. It is a place of trust and truth.”
On the last she grabbed Abigail’s wrists and yanked them down revealing her bouncing clamped bosom. Abigail put her arms behind her, the nipple chain pulling fast. She winced as sensations cascaded down the ginger woman’s nakedness.
“Teats so hard and cold. Poor things. Follow me and do not speak until instructed.” Mistress took hold of the badge on the chain and stepped toward the door dragging Abigail painfully along. It swung in with a loud creak. Warmth poured out and Abigail was happy to feel it.
What Abigail saw took her breath.
The room was as large and square. The walls were stone, and the floor was covered in thick woven rugs. On every wall there were hooks and rings embedded in the stones. Throughout the room there were large devices. Wood, leather and metal contraptions designed to hold people in nearly every position imagined. Around her were the other five female staff in various states of restraint and/or sex act.
Abigail stood in stunned silence. Mistress dropped her badge. Every woman was wearing the same apparatus. Dorene the Maths instructor was attached to a wooden cross like device, spread like an X. Her tall lithe body was being flogged by Professor Fike. He was clad in just boots and a green vest. Dora was crying out in obvious pain and was counting. Abigail wondered how many more she would receive. She also wondered if she herself would be engaged by Professor Fike. It made her warming vagina weep some more especially when she noticed the man had a large bobbing erection.
Her best friend, Jennifer the art instructor, was literally hanging in midair. The groundsman, Bennet, was fucking her hard with quick firm strokes, pulling her back by ropes around her full-bodied waist. The bindings were straining her cuffed hands, and she was red and sweaty. Yet she appeared to be reveling in the pain with cries of, “Yes, thank you sir. Fuck this servant please. Fuck me!”
There was so much more to take in, but Abigail’s view was filled by the large form of Mistress. Excepting now she was magically dressed differently, or rather had removed her suit. Before Abigail was a black clad goddess. The corset she had spied earlier was her only piece of clothing left besides her black heels. Her amazing breasts spilled over its top, her brown nipples delectably exposed. She had on long black gloves and a green collar. Abigail wanted to stare at her forever.
“What are your impressions, Toy? You may answer.”
Abigail was silently transfixed now by Miss Tomlin, the nighttime chambermaid. Wrist and ankle cuffs were attached to hooks in the floor that spread her arms and legs but allowed her to be on all fours. The twenty-year old Caribbean woman’s dark cone like nipples pointed straight down and were purple and puffing from her chain and badge. In front of her on a green chair was the Vicar who led Sunday services. He was naked but for his collar and was receiving what appeared to be the best oral sex of his life. She was bobbing quickly on an impressive erection as saliva poured from her mouth. Every third or fourth downstroke the Vicar would push her ebony head down and hold her while she gagged. “Heavenly my child. “he grunted.
A hard paddle on Abigail’s left cheek brought her back to Mistress Marta. “Answer me!”
Abigail’s eyes were half closed; the wonderful, sweet pain was rushing through her whole body. She had nearly forgotten the question and was on the verge of orgasm, a hard body filling orgasm! This day, this room, this woman all made her swoon. “I think it is bloody marvelous, Mistress. It feels like…home!”
Marta Swan was loving how quickly this one had fallen. The new recruits often took three sessions to succumb. Miss Ferguson had scored higher in service on the assessment than any recruit thus far. And the reasons were manifesting before her. The woman’s clamped nipples were hard and swollen, her skin was flushed and shone with a soft sweat. As Mistress stroked her pussy, she felt Abigail’s arousal was about to conflagrate. In fact, it had the feel of a recently orgasmed orifice.
“Come with me.” Mistress grabbed Abigail’s chain badge and yanked her to the left. A few feet in front of them Mrs. Barker the older cook was being spit roasted by the Phys Ed and Chemistry instructors. She was apparently loving the fact that there was a large brown dildo up her bum as well. Mistress stopped at a padded raised bench and pushed Abigail back. She laid herself down on her back, her legs dangling off the edge were soon in the grip of mistress.
‘”Lift your feet” Abigail obliged and Mistress wrapped a rope around her legs essentially locking her legs open and immobile. A second set of hands was taking her arms and securing them to the other end. Abigail looked up and saw it was Briana, the other Lit teacher who liked to bully Abigail in the most childish of ways. She had a look of cruel triumph on her face.
“Hello Little Fergie!”
“Behave!” barked Mistress. Briana hung her head and Abigail saw she did not have a chain but rather a necklace with a charm that said “Slave.”
Mistress caught her looking. “This one has issues we are trying to drive out and condition. She has been relegated to Slave. We use her as an assistant and only when all other holes are occupied will she be pleasured. Is that not right, Slave?”
Briana stood upright; head focused on the floor. “Yes Mistress. I am a useless tart only good for serving.”
Abigail was humored. If she hadn’t been so aroused, she may have laughed. She now realized that Briana had secured her arms, so she was now immobile. Her arousal went onto another level.
Mistress stepped forward and put out her hand. Briana handed her a pink phallic vibration device. Without losing eye contact Mistress put it to the entrance of Abigail’s wet opening and rotated sliding it in. Abigail tossed her head back in pure pleasure as a powerful orgasm ripped through her, every nerve alight and sparking off. It lasted for a good twenty seconds, banging around her in aggressive waves. Sparks and colors exploded in a kaleidoscopic frenzy.
Abigail was searching for life saving air, her mouth gasping like a beached fish. Her back had arched, and her red furred vulva was leaking in excess. When she landed, she breathed in a rich and deep smell. She opened her eyes to see a wet brownish pussy inches from her face, and it looked…remarkable. An actual drop of fluids landed on Abigail’s cheek.
“Get to work, my Toy. Time to serve.”
Mistress lowered down and Abigail attacked her with a fervor never felt before. All of the pains and aches fading into pure joy at the taste of her beloved Mistress.
Mistress groaned, “Welcome to the real Hatley School.”
Abigail responded in muffled tones, “Thank you Mistress,” as the vibrator buzzed on.
