I only asked her about the riding crop for a joke, but she skipped off so happily to fetch it that it was only right that I should use it on her. Talking about the book seemed much more interesting when punctuated with flagellation.

I had her lie back on the desk, and hook her elbows around her legs, firmly hugging her knees to her chest. If she kept her feet up, it would mean that I would have a firm, stretched bottom at which to aim. I let the tip of the crop drift over her skin, and she shivered happily.

Life's full of happy coincidences. If Miss Gonzales hadn't had her lethal addiction to margaritas, we would never have got together. And if I hadn't wanted to talk to her about the book, I would have asked her to bend over the table for her cropping, which is nice enough I suppose, but somehow less intimate than the pretzel position she was holding.

"Any idea what else is in the book?" I asked, then brought the crop down hard onto her left cheek.

She yelped, and panted for a few seconds, then replied as though it was a normal conversation. "Probably stuff about the girls, or their parents maybe. It could have stuff about the other staff members, you know? You sure you want Dhyanna reading all your guilty secrets?"

I gave her a few practice swings while she talked, then hammered the crop on the right cheek when she finished. She wailed like a police siren for ten full seconds after this one, and her toes wiggled cutely. "S-s-s," she said, and then stopped herself. I didn't know if she wanted me to stop, or wanted a sandwich. She would get neither. A second later I slapped another blow an inch away from the previous one, still in the centre of her asscheek but ominously closer to her asshole.

"I have no guilty secrets," I said. It was true. Through a combination of drink, carelessness and Miss Gonzales' teeth on my member when I least expected it, I had told her each and every filthy thing that I could. Girls like a bastard, you know? So any opportunity to appear a bit more like Jack Nicholson was not to be passed up. Not sure if Jack Nicholson ever pissed the words "Anarchy Now" on the wall of the town hall on the way home from the pub, though.

I put the tip of the crop a half-inch into Miss Gonzales' pussy, just to see how wet she was. There was always the remote chance that she didn't actually like being beaten on the ass so hard that the bruises lasted for days. The tip slid in happily, and she quivered at the sensation of the leather inside her. I pushed it in a little further, and left it inside her as I walked around to her head. She knew, without me telling, that I did not want her to let the crop fall from her cunt, and the effort on her pretty face as she bore down upon it was adorable.

"Must be the girls then," I said. "They're the ones with the secrets. I can't imagine that any of them were as shameful as you though, in your Dallas Cowb-"

"Don't even say that word," she snarled. Although I was the one in charge, I knew that she was serious. I stopped talking, and let my fingers run through her dark hair, sifting the tension away from her temples. It worked. Her eyes closed dreamily and she drawled with a vowel-heavy voice. "Wella whadda ya thin' sa dirdiest lil secret?"

"What do I think is the dirtiest little secret?" I enunciated. "I'm not sure. They all seem so prim to me, most of the time. Well, some of the time. Alright, never. Every time they have a sex education class, I always hide behind your desk so that they can't try out their ideas on me."

I wasn't joking. You would too - their last lesson was on circumcision, after all. I later heard that Suchaminx had gone to the canteen to get a suitable blunt knife, and Cariad had a stapler ready in case things went wrong. I shuddered at the memory.

I left Miss Gonzales' head and wandered back down to her rear. The crop was shaking, but it was still in place, and I eased it out of her pussy as delicately as I could. She cooed a polite "Oo!" at me as I did so, and smiled warmly.

"Let's play a game," I said, as the inspiration hit me. Miss Gonzales groaned. She never seemed to like my games. "I can't remember who it was - possibly Aristotle, who said that the first thing that comes to your mind is often the right thing. Hmm. Maybe it was Freud, either him or Adam Sandler. I'm going to give you a name and hit you hard with this crop, and before you do your young song and dance routine about how much it hurts, I want you to tell me what you think their secret is. Understand?"

"I think that's an excellent idea," said a figure at the door. It was Dhyanna, holding the journal to her bosom, cuddling it gently. "Because I know all the secrets of Slothlands."

"Th-then why don't we just ask you?" asked the naked woman on the table.

"Where's the sport in that?" I asked.

Dhyanna, bless her, nodded. "Indeed! I mean, it's no fun if I just blurt out the answers before you have a chance to see if Ted's experiment works, is it?"

"D-don't you need a blindfold?" Miss Gonzales asked me.

"Of course not, silly girl," I cackled. "My problem was with my sister seeing me naked. I have no problem with her seeing you naked."

"Nor do I," Dhyanna drooled, her chest heaving behind the journal. "So, my dear Marie, are you ready to answer Ted's questions?"

Poor Miss Gonzales. She nodded, murmured a quiet 'yes', then hugged her knees tighter to her chest.