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Olivia Pt. 01

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I’m not sure which category this story fits into best: lesbian or BDSM. I have opted for lesbian because I have found other stories of a similar vein in that section. Comments and suggestions are welcome.

Olivia. A girl goes to finishing school.

Part One.

Olivia breaks the rules, deliberately.

Looking back on that first day of my year at my all-girls finishing school, The College, I couldn’t help but smile and be grateful to my mother who had recommended it to me. She had attended a similar school and she said that it was the happiest time of her youth and she believed I would enjoy the full range of experiences I would have there and benefit from them greatly, it would set me up for whatever life had to throw at me and I would probably make some friends for life. She had, she said, including the headmistress herself of The College, with whom she had studied at her finishing school less than twenty years ago.

‘She’s a great friend of mine, although you have only met her at your interview. I visit her quite regularly and spend an hour or two reminiscing about our times back then. However, darling, if you find you don’t like it, you don’t have to stay beyond the first term unless you want to. That will be your choice. I hope very much that you will, but the rules will be different to your old school, particularly the discipline. The wonderful thing is that you have already completed your formal education with good exam results so you won’t have the same level of pressure from lessons and tests.’ my mother reminded me.

She nodded to me and continued, ‘The head mistress, Miss Kent as she usually likes to be called, is very enthusiastic in the prospect of turning you into a young lady. Her methods invariably raise questions, and frequently eyebrows, but the polished graduates she turns out are proof that her methods work. So she claims and I agree with her. I have paid for the first full term and, as you know, you start next week. I will discuss your progress with you both at the end of term to decide on your continued attendance. As it is a boarding school, I won’t be able to see you until half term, Is that okay?’

I was all for it. I had enjoyed school and done well in my studies as well as many of the sports. I was just past my 18th birthday and quite happy to have this gap year before considering university and what to study there. Although a good student, I had also been a bit of a rebel and often got up to mischief with my school friends. My father had bailed out of our lives long ago but that wasn’t a financial problem for mum who was very successful in the stock market. She and I were very close and shared many secrets together.

‘That’s great, Mum. I’m really looking forward to it.’

I had liked the school grounds when we went for the interview with her friend, the headmistress, and the big old gothic main building which held some classrooms and staff quarters, while other classrooms and accommodation were set apart, modern buildings with nice bathrooms, dormitories and dining hall. It was all set in a small estate with playing fields, woods and some heathland. The College also had a stable for horses. The local village was about three miles away.

‘Altogether, I think it’s going to be fun.’ I added.

Miss Kent was the head mistress. In her mid to late thirties like my mum, with shoulder length jet black hair and an athletic 5’9″ figure. Although she smiled her welcome, her eyes held mine as I arrived and seemed to challenge me, as if I had done something wrong. I was introduced to the matron, also a tall woman of early middle age with a steely eye, a woman who clearly took no nonsense from anyone. She briskly let me to my dormitory and showed me my new home. Matron Riley stood close to me and I had to look up to see her face. Wow! She was even taller than seemed at first.

Some of the other girls were arriving, and as we were all new to the school, there was a meeting due at 5.00 that evening in the large reception room in the main building.

‘As you have all just arrived, you may wear your casual clothes this evening.’ Matron told us, glaring at some of the costumes a few of the girls were wearing. It was September and still hot, and skimpy tops with short shorts were quite popular it appeared.

There were eighteen new students for the year and we had three dormitories for six girls each. At the meeting, we were informed that as we did not know any of our colleagues, we would have a week to get to know each other and then we could choose to share the dorm with our selected friends. Hopefully everyone will find five friends they will be pleased to share with.

We were then instructed on the rules of The College, as Miss Kent called her school. No booze. No smoking. No excursions to the local village without permission. No boys. No bullying. She went on at some length about the things that we could and couldn’t do and then dropped the bombshell on us.

‘Your parents have all been made aware that I am a stickler for rules and they have all consented to place you in my care, kaçak iddaa under my authority. Girls who break rules will be disciplined. There will be no discussion on this, and anyone who thinks they can talk me out of any awarded punishment will quickly learn that they cannot. When punishment is awarded, it will be carried out, to the full, and there will be no exceptions. Do you all understand?’ Miss Kent glared at us. No smiles now.

A few mumbled whispers.

‘I said, do you all understand?’ she repeated.

‘Yes, headmistress.’ We all responded. We didn’t really. Not then, but it all became clearer as the weeks passed.

A week flashed by and I found five girls who appeared to have the same values as I did. A bit rebellious, interested in sport, adventurous and, if I say so myself, quite attractive. We moved into our own dorm and became a small clique, but as it happened, there wasn’t a single girl in the whole year that didn’t fit in. Part of the secret of success, it seemed, was Miss Kent’s ability to select the right students to fit into her regime.

All the talk of punishment was forgotten until one weekend a couple of weeks into the term when one of the girls in another dorm was caught smoking. Rumour spread fast that she was to report to Miss Kent that Saturday evening in her private quarters in the main house. We were all waiting anxiously for her to come back to her dorm to find out what had happened.

She entered our common room. Her face was a bit puffed and she looked like she had been crying. She was the same age as me, her birthday ten days after mine. She told the gathered crowd that as far as Miss Kent is concerned, smoking is a dreadful, horrible habit and any of her girls who insists on doing it will end up with a very sore arse. She had been forced to listen to a short, but stern, lecture on the topic before being commanded to place a chair in the centre of the room and to bend over it. Miss Kent had then showed her the instrument with which she was to be punished. A thick leather strap with three tongues at the end, about eighteen inches long. Miss Kent called it a tawse. She raised the skirt of the offending girl and gave her three hard strikes on her ass, first standing to the girl’s right, and then another three standing to her left ‘to balance things out’ she was told. No matter the cotton panties between skin and tawse, the pain was intense and the poor girl had howled and cried at every stroke she told us all, but Miss Kent spoke not a word during the punishment. Matron had stood by, witnessing her humiliation.

‘Let’s have a look. Can we see your ass?’ cried out one crass girl, but as soon as she said it, there was a general agreement and soon everyone wanted to see the result of those six strokes from the tawse.

Two of her dorm mates grabbed her arms, turned her round and bent her over a sofa while the rest of us crowded round to see better. One girl reached out, and to the mild protests of Jan, whose arse we were about to look at, she pulled the panties down to expose her reddened ass. The marks were very clear, and we could count the strikes, each one having left its print on the poor girl’s previously pristine ass. Now, it shone redly into the evening. We all cooed and aaahed and one cheeky soul stretched her hand out to hold Jan’s buttock.

‘It’s hot!’ she announced, and soon everyone was queuing up to lay their hand on Jan’s ass.

Me too. I found myself wanting to touch the girl. It was hot. Not just her ass but the situation. Why did I enjoy feeling the girls ass, I asked myself. It made me wonder how well I could take a beating like that. Jan had cried and she wasn’t ashamed to say so. I wondered if I too would cry if I were to be punished like that. I determined that I would try not to. I noticed too that my pussy was alight and rather in need of a rub. I slipped off to the toilet to do just that, imagining myself bending over that chair. What was happening to me?

Petra was next. One of my dorm mates and my best friend there. It was just the next day and there was an unannounced dorm inspection. Matron came in as we stood at the foot of our beds in the position we had been told to adopt when confronted with a member of staff for inspection; feet 24 inches apart and hands clasped behind our backs. It was an open dorm and we all had a trunk filled with our personal things at the foot of each bed. Ignoring the rest of us, Matron went straight to Petra’s trunk and demanded that she open it. Petra took her key and unlocked it, raising the lid. There, in full view, a bottle of sherry. How Matron knew was beyond us, but it was a fair catch. Denial wasn’t an option, although to give her her due, Petra did make some comment about how she couldn’t imagine how that got there.

‘Go now and report yourself to Miss Kent!’ she was told by Matron, glowering at her as she clutched the bottle. ‘And take this bottle with you as evidence of your transgression.’

Petra stifled a sob, took a deep breath and set off to suffer her fate. Matron followed without checking anybody else’s trunk, which was a good thing, because, albeit hidden kaçak bahis inside a jumper, my bottle of whisky would have been discovered without doubt. In their absence, my four other dorm mates breathed great sighs of relief. We all had at least one bottle of booze secreted away!

Forty minutes later, Petra returned, rubbing her backside and looking rather haggard. Of course, word had spread and the whole group of girls was waiting. She smiled bravely and good naturedly turned around and dropped her own knickers. We all stared in awe at the three clear imprints from the tawse on each buttock. Again, we all palmed her ass and felt the heat. Suddenly, I was feeling the heat in my pussy again. What is happening to me, I wondered again?

This ritual started occurring more and more frequently. Girl breaks the rules. Girl gets punished. Girls crowd round to see the results. Hands fondle the burning, beaten buns. But as more of us were punished, the novelty wore off and the ass shows tailed off, to make the pun. I found myself ever more curious, having lasted out unpunished so far this term. I would lie in bed at night, picturing myself bending over Miss Kent’s chair to be beaten. In an open dorm, with five horny eighteen-year-olds, a bit of quiet masturbation also lost its novelty for the others to observe from their beds. We all needed a degree of relief now and again. We didn’t necessarily have to explain what our thoughts were as we did it though. But now I needed to know what the punishment would feel like, instead of imagining. The need had built up slowly and could no longer be denied.

It was the whisky that brought me my first punishment. I can’t explain why, but I deliberately spilt some on my pillow one morning before going out for the day’s activities. I knew that Matron inspected the dorms every morning to make sure that we made our beds properly and kept everything tidy. I was summoned, first to see Matron, who marched me to my bed and demanded to know why it smelled like a distillery. What could I say? I mumbled something stupid and found myself opening my trunk, handing over the bottle and being dispatched to Miss Kent’s office.

‘Come.’ The imperious response to my knock on her door.

‘Explain yourself, girl. What are you doing holding a bottle of whisky in your hand? Is this a gift?’

She looked particularly stern this morning and I found myself rather in awe of her. Very dominant and in full control of herself and the situation. I expect she’s done this many times before.

‘I’m sorry, headmistress. Matron found this bottle in my trunk and she has sent me to you.’

‘But there was no dorm inspection due today. How did she find it?’ asked Miss Kent.

‘She smelled it on my pillow. I must have spilt some. She made me show her how it got there.’ I wasn’t doing a very good job of this and Miss Kent saw through my ruse immediately.

‘Olivia. You sweet child. I am quite certain that you were not drinking whisky this morning for your breakfast. I have been impressed with your conduct so far here at The College, but I simply do not believe your story. Would you like to try again?’ She looked at me with a smile that I could not interpret.

‘You are right, headmistress. I’m sorry. It’s just that so many girls have been punished in the past few weeks, and I haven’t, and, I’m sure you know that we all show each other the marks, or we did. I just needed to know how it feels. Some girls come back crying, and others don’t. I guess I just wanted to know about myself. I spilt the whisky deliberately so that you would punish me.’

She looked at me, drew a deep breath and stood up.

‘Stand up straight, Olivia, and place your hands behind your head. Feet apart, wider. Wider. Good.’ She approached me and took hold of my chin, tilting it so I was looking up at her. She was wearing high heels and stood several inches taller than me.

‘This is the punishment position, Olivia. You will adopt it whenever you appear before me for discipline. I have a feeling that after today, that might well be quite frequently.’

Really? She thinks I’m going to enjoy this?

‘Yes, headmistress.’ Was all I could think to say.

‘Also, when you report for discipline, you will not address me as headmistress. ‘Mistress’ is the word you will use. I am your Mistress. Are you with me so far, Olivia?’

‘Yes, Mistress. Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me yet. You may thank me for each of the six strokes of the tawse you about to receive. You will count the strokes aloud, thank me and request the next stroke.’ Now, fetch that chair and place it here where you are standing.’

It had arms and a back, but the back wasn’t very high. She then showed me the instrument of my punishment, making me feel the weight in my hands. A thick leather strap with three 9-inch tongues with tapered tips. When I was ordered to bend over the back and hold onto the arms, I found that my ass was in what must have been the perfect position for a beating. She raised my skirt and folded it up my back. My regulation cotton panties were on full view.

‘Does your mother discipline you, Olivia? illegal bahis Has she spanked you?’

‘Yes, Mistress. She has, but not very often. The last time was about six months ago.’

‘Well, perhaps she hasn’t been strict enough with you. You will find that I am much more demanding of good behaviour than she is. I know her well. Very well indeed. Perhaps you take after her, Olivia. We will find out soon enough. Now, request your punishment.’

‘Yes, Mistress. I was caught with a bottle of whisky and you have sentenced me to six strokes of the tawse. Please administer my punishment, Mistress.’ I was making it up as I went.

CRACKK! Heavy thud. Pain. Fire. Shock and surprise at how hard the stroke felt across my left buttock.

‘Aaagh! Oohhh! One, thank you, Mistress. Please give me another stroke.’ I wasn’t sure if I meant it, but the truth was that it wasn’t half as bad as I had been expecting.

Another stroke. Less protest. Thank you. More please.

CRACKK! Deep breath. No howl. ‘Three. Thank you, Mistress. Please give me another.’ Slightly less garrulous.

She shifted sides. Now right-handed, standing to my left.

‘Are you alright, Olivia? Is this what you were wanting?’ she asked gently

‘I’m fine, Mistress. Thank you. Please give me my deserved punishment.’

She did. It became clear that she is right-handed because these felt harder and better aimed. They certainly had me gasping but this wasn’t going to make me cry. Lining up for the final stroke.

CRACKKK! Oh, god, yes. I actually shouted it out. ‘YES!! Six, thank you, Mistress. Thank you so much.’ Deep breathing as I continued to hold my position.

‘You may rise, Olivia.’ And as I stood up, flicking my dress back into position, I looked over to her and we exchanged the strangest of smiles. Was mine one of pride? Was hers one of congratulation? Whatever, a spark of electricity seemed to pass between us.

‘You took your punishment extremely well, Olivia. I think you have surprised yourself, haven’t you? You tested yourself by engineering this and you have passed your own test. As I said before, I have a feeling you will be returning to see me frequently in the future.’

‘Well, Mistress, you may be right about that. Do you mind if I tell you that I think I am a bit sexually aroused right now. Is that normal?’

‘Indeed it is, Olivia. Some people react like that when they are subjected to discipline. It could come from many sources; submission to an authority figure, humiliation, the pain, the position, the level of helplessness. Some people become addicted to it; they want more and more. However, please do not insult me by making up reasons to be punished ever again. Leave it to me to find those reasons.’

She knew her stuff alright. Before she said that, I had been thinking how I could easily have taken more, and knew that she was right that I would be back again soon seeking… what? Harder punishment? Tougher challenge? I guess I’ll find out in time.

Miss Kent spoke again. ‘Every girl is subjected to the same conditions here, and now listen carefully to what will happen in future. If you are instructed to report for discipline again, and I think we both know you will be, you will not only receive the appropriate punishment for that offence, you will also receive a repeat of every previous punishment first. This means that if you are awarded six strokes of the tawse again, you will receive not just those six, but also another six like the ones you took just now. A third similar offense will bring the preliminary punishment to 12 strokes plus the newly awarded strokes.’

Oh, my, I thought. That could add up to something pretty challenging after a while.

‘I find this helps my girls to learn to behave themselves more and more, because there is no reset button for the duration of that term. Sensible girls know what is coming and do their best to avoid being in trouble. The end of next week is half term. Your mother will want to know how you are faring. Will you divulge your recent aberration in wanting to experience the tawse? It is up to you if you want her to know. Please note that I recognize that you are an adult now. I shall require you to sign an authorization contract with me if you wish to continue here at The College after half term, allowing me to continue administering discipline and punishment on you. Your mother knows this and you should discuss it with her. Think about that.’ And with that, I was dismissed.

Two days before half term Petra and I were sent for.

‘Matron advises me that you two were observed being intimate in the showers last night. Is this true?’ demanded Miss Kent.

Petra and I looked at each other, blushing furiously. It was true, after a fashion. We were showering together and I had noticed that Petra had very neatly trimmed pubic hair. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but as I looked at her pussy, I could see the lips were bare below clit level, and the remaining hair was very short, effectively covering nothing. I asked her if I could look at it more closely and got down on my knees in front of her so that I could get a better angle. Buggered if I know why I did it, but I reached out and stroked her hair, then her bald pussy lips. It was then that Matron had walked in, just as I was cupping Petra’s pussy in my hand.

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