Melody Smith's Schooldays

Melody Smith's Schooldays

by Eve Adorer

Chapter 22 – Closure

For dating inappropriately, I had been given 'six-of-the-best' with the cane on my bare bummy. You can therefore surely imagine the fear that gripped my belly when I realised it was inevitable I would have to go back to the academy: back, that is, after running away from that very school that very morning earlier.

Mummy had met me at the station. It was completely unplanned. She had come up to Scotland for a business meeting I had no foreknowledge she was due to attend. Coincidence. I had been a temporary refugee from the bullying I was experiencing from Sasha. I had gone to the train station because it, or at least platform three on it, was familiar to me. It was where I had first arrived to enter St Catherine's, and the location I had hitherto associated with the happiness of going home to London. Such happiness compared with once more having to face Sasha!

Mummy was so annoyed when she learned I had run away from school. She was furious! She told me, in no uncertain terms, that I would thoroughly deserve it if I were to be caned again when Miss Pringle found out, and that she, mummy, had half a mind to cane me herself. I had never ever known mummy so angry.

Of course I tried to explain. We went over to one of the seats on the platform, she was pulling on my hand so hard to drag me over to it, that I almost tumbled over, being only just balanced on my tip-top tiptoes as I was in my balletic shoes.

She made me stand. She sat down and put her briefcase and overnight baggage under the seat whilst she held both my pretty hands by my fingertips in hers, with me standing, as if by making me stand on my lovely legs on the tips of my toes in my tiptoeing shoes would make me give more honest answers.

"I want the truth from you young lady: do you understand? How could you run away from St Catherine's? What possible justification could any girl have for running away from an institution recognised world-wide to be of the very highest academic standing and with an impeccable record for post-school attainment among its former pupils. And how could you, Melody, how could you in particular run away when you are doing so incredibly well there?!"

Mummy was going on and on and giving me no chance to answer. Indeed, everything she said by way of composing her interrogation of me, was pre-loaded with the assumption I was in the wrong.

But the more she went on at me, the more determined I became to tell her the absolute and total truth about how I had been forced to become the School Slag at St Catherine's and fully and totally what being the School Slag meant and had particularly meant for me.

And when, at oh so long last, when she let me get a word in edgeways, I gave her the unvarnished truth, even down to the fine details of how I was treated, and how girls were allowed to sleep with me. I even told her about how I had to keep my naughty shaved nude, and how I wore a ring on my finger with a snake depicted upon it; the 'S' the snake formed, being 'S' for 'Slag'.

There was silence from mummy as she listened to me. I had had to talk quietly of course, because we were in a public place with trains pulling in and out and would-be passengers and now-be ex-passengers scurrying hither and yon around us.

"Is that the truth? Is what you have just told me the whole and unvarnished truth darling? Mummy asked at long last, after a pause in which I was pretty sure the shock of what I had told her had finally gone right deep down wholly home in her mind.

"Yes mummy. I'm afraid it is" I answered, with pretty tears of relief almost starting, that mummy had listened and believed me and could see that my running away from school in face of all I had had to endure, was long since past justified.

I watched her think it over. I urged a bright gold stray short strand of my down-to-the-back-of-my-shapely-calves-length hair off my lovely freckle-dappled cheek, by blowing a sweet scented zephyr with my ruby lips puckered as if to kiss, and oh that a prospective kiss from me should be so wasted! Someone should have been arrested and imprisoned for life for having let my kiss go!

I shifted my 120 pounds of pure girl from being majored on one supremely shapely leg, to my other and equally surdreamly shapely leg, smiling sadly at mummy, awaiting the outcome of my appeal to her reason, even as I stood a wet-dream in full season.

Then, as my sweet heart, the sweet heart of a sweetheart, sweetly pounded, mummy at long last asked quietly and calmly: "If you have been telling me the truth darling, then where is the ring?"

In instinctive reflex, I looked at my wedding ring finger, knowing I would see nothing on it. There was no ring.

Of course there was no ring. I had not wanted to be arrested for theft. I was not going to run away from the academy wearing a five-hundred-year-old solid gold ring worth, goodness knows, probably squillions! I had left it in my desk in the classroom I had been in before I had made my way out of the school. I was pretty sure it would be found. I was not going to wiggle off school premises, intentionally forever, with a guaranteed gaol sentence around my dainty finger.

"You've been lying to me young lady, haven't you?" mummy challenged in an audible whisper of resigned frustration.

For support of my case, I looked desperately exasperatedly around at the passengers, who had been attracted to the extremely attractive micro-miniskirted schoolgirl with the gorgeous figure, lovely long hair, and amazingly shapely legs, who was evidently lost in a significant private discussion with her mother.

They, the passers-by, were pretending not to be trying to hear what was being said even whilst their ears fought to pick up the odd words among the overriding overwhelming noise in the station, and their brains to subsequently assemble what was overheard in sense and context.

"If you haven't been lying to me Melody, then where is the ring?" mummy enquired gently, with a hint of despair for me in her tone of voice.

"I left it at the academy so they would not think I had stolen it." I answered, completely truthfully.

"You left it at the academy" mummy whispered, not really making a question from how she intoned what she said, but beginning to make it sound, yet once more, as if she did not believe me.

"Yes mummy" I answered, with all the sincere honesty I was capable of, telling the absolute truth as I did so.

"How very convenient", mummy sighed.

"Mummy please. What do you mean?" I begged, as even more girls and women gathered around mother and daughter, mummy and me, clearly having a mounting toward major falling out.

"How am I to believe you Melody? The one concrete item of proof that your fantasy, for that is what all that……. that complete and utter rubbish you were rambling on and on about just now amounts to……..For goodness sake, you are seventeen now! How can…….How could……….Why would ……..Just how could you for one second expect me to believe……..You are such a dreamer…………!"

And at that mummy caught tighter hold of my hands, then my left elbow, and dragged me from standing on my lovely legs, till she had me across her knee with my rear proudly prominent in the air.

"Mummy!" I pleaded, just before mummy slid my micro-miniskirt the infinitesimal distance it needed to be slid to be slid right off my deep-dimple-sided firm-soft bare bummy, and began smacking my bare bummy as hard as she could.

"Mummy!" "Mummy!" "Mummy!" "Mummy!" I squealed as she swatted my bummy-bare with echoing slap after ricocheting slap, time after time, with all the fury of an outraged parent finding her daughter out as a fantasist and a liar.

Mummy slapped both my smackybumps as hard as she could over and over and over till I was howling with the pain, helplessly kicking my lovely legs, and my poor bummy was red as rage, and tears rolled down my lovely freckled innocent face, as the women and girls gathered around us, cheered mummy on to smack my delicious bare bummy harder and harder more.

"These young girls these days, they have no respect", I heard opined as my posterior was being profoundly soundly pounded whilst I squawked and wailed with the pain and the degradation.

"Serve's the little madam right for being so cheeky!" said another woman, obviously oblivious to the apt description of the perfect pert beauty of my rear-end, that her damnation of me contained by way of double-entendre.

Mummy's forceful slaps rebounded the resilient compound of my deliciously delightful derriere as she slapped my soft gentle skin turning it and me thus, as red at my rear as I fear were the cheeks of my face, as tears streamed from my eyes from the indignity and the injustice and the genuine pain of being so harshly publicly spanked.

Mummy slapped and slapped and slapped my naughty little bottom, that wicked part of my amour-arousing anatomy that did so much to entice and excite and invite and invoke and provoke the other girls as it wiggled and undulated and swayed and swung more naturally than nature, as I merely deigned to wiggle-walk.

Mummy slapped my bummy harder and harder, till she had given me the rosy cheeks that are legendarily the delights of the English rose, though more usually the metaphor applies only to the cheeks of her lovely face, and not, as in my clear case now, to a fourfold delight, glowing with flushed innocent loveliness fore and aft, with appealing apple red flush in cheery cherry red face cheeks (were I not sobbing my heart out) and my cheeky nether cheeks too.

It, my public humiliation, the total degradation of having my bare pretty bummy repeatedly smacked in public on the platform of a busy railway station, only stopped when a police-girl came up to see what was going on, why a cheering jeering crowd had gathered: and ordered mummy to take me somewhere private if she wanted to continue to smack my bottom, as she had no doubt I thoroughly deserved.

At this, mummy let me rise from her knee. She then grasped both her bags from under the platform seat in one hand, and my lovely right hand in her other, and dragged me, me with my skirt still pulled up, its hem caught in my waist belt, my skirt still pulled up off my ruby red rosy beaten bottom, which reverberated with my every sexy tiptoed step, my every sexy tiptoed step posing my exposed deep-dimple-sided smacky-smacked, flame-red naughty-girl's radiantly-red-reddened punished bummy, as she dragged me out of the station to a cab rank to the endlessly echoing cheers and jeers and wolf-whistles of the girls and women who had watched my bum being spanked on the station platform.

"St Catherine's Academy for Girls, please driver" mummy instructed the redheaded girl driving the taxi, as I sat and sobbed with pain and injured pride beside mummy on the red leather of the rear seat, my red seat seated on an equally red seat.

……………

It had hurt like nothing had ever hurt before. I don't mean the indignity of my being spanked on the platform of the train station now.

"Are you alright sweetheart: you were looking very pale just now?"

This was from a slightly older girl, perhaps nineteen or twenty, as she sat opposite me on the train. She was a brunette with gorgeous soulful brown eyes that poured forth gentle kindness and obvious attraction to my charms.

She was lovely. Her face conveyed precisely her character. She was as beautiful within as without, and she was therefore twofoldly, within and without, decidedly not without beauty without and throughout.

I sensed this girl was attracted to me and wanted to, as they say in England, 'chat me up', as we travelled together toward Scotland, and I back toward St Catherine's Academy for Girls.

"You hair looks lovely, what shampoo do you use?" she asked addressing me about the glistening glory that poured from my crown to caress the seat of my princessly presence: the seat on the train I profoundly anointed with the regal royalty of my 120 pounds of stunning natural girlness.

It was a terribly limp opening line, obviously the first thing that had come into her head.

I watched her chocolate-dark eyes follow the full flow of fabulous leg I was perforce of course showing in my micro-miniskirt, in my school's winter uniform. I could see her pupils expand and the grow of the glow of gentle desire in her sweet face.

I too looked along the captivatingly curving line of her long dark stockinged legs, one stunning leg crossed thigh over thigh of the other, and loved what I saw.

She was dressed in a sort of business suite. It was dark blue. White blouse. Skirt, mini-skirt that is, and jacket were dark blue. Not so dark as to be near black. The black was in the vertical stripes, the pinstripes, and her stockings of course. Dark blue suited her dark hair and dark eyes. She was well suited, and well suited by what she wore.

'Tinkle'

She tried again to engage me in conversation.

"What is that that looks a bit like…….well lightening, you know, like in the sky when there's a storm…….I mean on your badge, the badge on your school blazer?" she asked pointing a pretty, well-manicured, long fingernailed forefinger toward that part of my school uniform that was voluminously belled out by my belle bells, my bountiful bosom.

"It's a whip" I answered openly honestly, "A cat o' nine tails in fact. A whip and a cart wheel."

"Oh!" how horrible, I saw her say but heard her purr as if a cat stroked, as perhaps the thought of cat strokes on naked kitten me stoked her pussy fire.

"What school do you go to then?"

We then fell into easy conversation in which I told her about St Catherine's Academy and she me about how she had just won the 'Businessgirl of the Year' award from the Scottish trade department, for the brilliance with which she had negotiated an export order for a specialist form of personal computer her company: yes she owned the company and she was only twenty: had developed.

'Tinkle'

I saw her panties as her conversation grew more enthusiastic and more animated and more relaxed.

'Animated' she certainly was. She used her long long fingers and her long long limpidly lovely hands to express herself, touching her mid-chin, forefinger on her pouting lips, circling the air, chopping the ether before her into equal portions as a pretty silver bracelet she wore caught the daylight sparkling, circling the globe before my eyes, wagging a forefinger foretelling and retelling warning events, counting four and five and nine with very pretty digits aloft oft, she conducted the world in the sweet symphony of life and love with her adorable hands.

And I saw her panties.

I saw her panties. She was wearing stockings. I saw her panties as she crossed and recrossed her legs. As her conversation grew more enthusiastic and more animated I saw her white soft silk panties, as she full-well knew I would and as she full-well intended I oft should.

Lorraine.

Her name was Lorraine.

'Tinkle'

Lorraine was English and from near R*****, my home town. She had gone to the state school I had left to go to St Cath's when daddy and mummy had won the state lottery with the ticket I had brought and given them. Though, with her being three years older than myself, I had either not met or never noticed, let alone known her, at my original school. 'Small world' was the inevitable applicable cliché supplied and appropriately applied.

The carriage we were in emptied as we sped north, still in England, but headed for Scotland, but we heeded it not as we were left alone, all bar a few, as our eyes smouldered melted and merged, and we became one girl, a unisexual hermaphrodite, both sexes not, but and bar the one that mattered as our irises explored and adored. And, melting, we knew unsaid unthought unconsciously, we had sown loves seeds: two Eves whose becoming eyes had the fruit on the tree of knowledge become. It all came down to the eyes and our eyes never left our eyes, as we talked unconcernedly inconsequentially eyes melted and merged, so Lorraine saw through mine and I through hers the desire that was growing and knowing.

'Tinkle'

Making the excuse "You have a loose hair my love" with the sweetest musically soft tone of her contralto voice, a tone as melodic as my name, Lorraine reached her fingers to my face as I bent willingly thrillingly forward: and she bolted her electricity through my spine, as she caressed my cheek with gentle trusting lusting loving longing, and I turned my head to feather kiss her fingertips.

Now Loraine, praying preying paying lip-service-to-love, leaning right forward almost out of her seat me kissed. Lorraine kissed me full on my innocent's lips, and I pulled away swiftly shyly, suddenly realising how far this had gone.

I paused for breath, the beat of my heart fit to beat the breath from my body, taking my eyes off hers for but one milli-millisecond, and then turned to look serenely surrenderingly up at where she, she looking back playing the mature woman to my poor little lost and mystified schoolgirl, gazed gently and longingly lovingly back at me.

'Tinkle'

"I'm just going to pop to the ladies" Lorraine announced for public consumption, as she, without looking back at me, confirmed what I fully knew without need of word or signal open or hidden, that I was to follow her to that secreted possibility of sacred sacrifice, girl and girl, girl with girl, girl from girl, girl to girl, girl-girl: girl.

I composed myself as best I could as I watched Loraine's alluring luring rear disappear down the aisle between the seats.

Then I rose to follow, a rose on her road, musically melodic as Melody my name, as I swung my bummy, and my titties jiggled while I, tiptoeing my steps down that same aisle, following to rally and dally in a dalliance, whiling a while with my wild wiles.

'Tinkle'

The lightest tap on the door of the lavatory saw it open and found Loraine's arms surround around me as her mouth surrendered mine and I succumbed, eyes closed and blind anyway to other than heaven's guiding angels, moulding into one with her, melting to her full-on passion.

Her hands were soon in my blouse, and she silently instructed me to off my school blazer, so she could feel fully to fulfilment the fullness of my fulsome bosom and thrib-throbbing nipples as I longed upon longing for her to do.

My buttons undone I was undone, as one of Lorraine's supremely expressive hands was soon cupping the conspicuous poundage of one of my girl-confirmatory pendulous appendages, and drawing an exciting erecting thumb over its press-stud central eruption, corrupting this willing schoolgirl by taunting and tormenting her tremendously timid tremulously tumultuous nipples, so that they strained and pleasure hurt, as they swelled and throbbed and peaked and peeked, perkily punctuating my sighs.

'Tinkle' 'Tinkle' 'Tinkle'

My sighs and my thighs rhymed in time as Lorraine's hand caressed the long road to my bummy, enjoying the enduring soft smooth muscularity of my lovely lower limbs, adoring their strength and roundness and smoothness and massiveness, and their shapely promise leading pleasingly inexorably onward to the adored doors adorning adjoining reigning empress expressly expressively between my twin queens: my legs.

My legs lesser, but as noble as my empress as they crossed and squeezed to tease a 'not yet my darling' to my loveress as her love would have its fulfilment in feeling filling and fuelling my slit, sucrose sweet sweating and wantonly waiting, wanting Lorraine's lovely hands to pay homage to 'her', the 'she' that ruled empress over me, the empress of the empire of succulent queen schoolgirl that I was: 'she', my girl, the palace and parliament the senate and representatives: indeed the congress of me: she with whom all other girls desired congress, she that was the ultimate me, the me that was me, my me, she whom I must obey: my dream, my gateway, my gift, the giver to my honoured amoured guests, she for whom they sought my 'yeses', the 'yeses' my strong squeezing thighs were now easing to provide: my empress: my girlest part.

We were so carried away with the pleasure of our mutual and combined girlness, that we had not even troubled, or rather had forgotten to lock the door of the bathroom we were expending our mutual passion within. We were totally but completely totally oblivious to anything else in the world other than girl and girl, so lost in ourselves as one girl in two, that even eternity was more than endless.

I made no flinch and withdrew no inch as in the close clinch Lorraine found the smooth rotundity of my bare bummy, and I heard her gasp at the realisation I was fielded to feel and now yielded unshielded by panties I wore not, so as to leave me always open to access to the entry of my heavenly empress.

Of course I knew the course this might take and the cause for this course to cease a mistake.

'Tinkle' 'Tinkle' 'Tinkle' 'Tinkle' 'Tinkle' 'Tinkle' 'Tinkle' 'Tinkle' 'Tinkle'

"Oh my god!" Lorraine, suddenly still, silently whisper-gasped.

In an instant she had let me go and, in an instant more, fled back to her seat.

Her precious fingers, the long animated orchestral conductress' fingers I longed to animal my body, just as they were loving, just as they had loved my nipples to distraction, had found their lusting longing way to my naughty.

I could see the look on Lorraine's face as she fled. It was a look I would never forget and never see again from her.

This lovely girl had gone back to where we had sat, and sat momentarily hoping I would follow her back to where we had sat together, and yet hoping never to see me again.

So much was this so that, she had grasped the situation along with grabbing all her belongings, before flying in a flurry of flowing black-stockinged legs to the furthest carriage she could find to get away from me, to get right away from me.

'Tinkle'

Tears ran down my face.

'Tinkle'

I sobbed, still resident in the lavatory of the train, but now alone, as I straightened my clothing.

'Tinkle'

It had served the purpose intended.

'Tinkle'

I had not been experimenting; my pure passion has been full guiltless girl.

'Tinkle'

Had it been a field test it could not have worked better.

'Tinkle'

I straightened my blouse and my skirt, touching momentarily lightly on the little closed sleigh-bell that had been fixed, by a gold ring through it, to my clitoris after my clitoris had been stretched and pulled out of my love-lips and pierced through to expose it constantly to air. This I must suffer, as so also must I, that my lower lips, my love-lips, the lips of my slit, my slot, my split, the petals of my purse, had been completely and very tightly ringed together: I had had still then only recently, till then only recently, had my slit completely ringed closed.

'Tinkle'

………….

Daddy had held my legs apart.

I jingled with my little between-legs bell and my multiple lip-rings as I wiggled in my tiptoe shoes onto platform three of the train station from which I must now face walking back to my school. My every very step now bought a musical tinkle from the tormenting sleigh-bell that tugged at my taunting tassel, my little nub pulled to pulsate outside my lower lips, driven through with a golden ring to hold it out of me, to torture me and tell me constantly that I was a naughty girl with a little bell to tinkle so as to warn other girls from shipwrecking for sure on my adorable shores.

Mummy had ringed me.

Two weeks since, when she had spanked me after our row on the same platform of the same station my loving golden hair adorned schoolgirl innocence now graced, mummy had taken me immediately after in a cab straight to the school to confront the headmistress with 'the story', the truth in fact, I had told my mummy.

Mummy did not believe me and sought Miss Pringle's confirmation that the spanking she, my mummy, had given me was as justified as she was sure, she said, or was she, that it was.

"Mummy! It hurts! Mummy, oh please please mummy, stop mummy, stop oh stop!!! Mummy it hurts, it hurts!!"

Mummy had had to phone ahead to postpone her meeting saying that she had to go to her daughter's school to talk to her daughter's headmistress.

Miss Pringle: when confronted: Miss Pringle when told mummy's version, accurate enough in most details, of the role I alleged for the School Slag at St Catherine's Academy for Girls, my role in the school I attended and Miss Pringle ruled over with a rod of iron, had listened attentively.

Miss Pringle had listened attentively, as mummy and I sat before her. She had run her eyes over my legs several times as mummy told her my tale, but she had listened fully attentively, mummy's anxious voice winning-out with Miss Pringle over the distracting attraction of my legs, if only just.

Grandmamma had said it was for the best.

"We've been endlessly anxious about little Melody since we discovered this morning that she had run away for whatever reason" Miss Pringle averred.

"It surpasses mere pleasure to see that she is back safe sound, and I very much hope, completely unharmed by her adventures"

"Of course, I organised a search as soon as we knew she had flown………".

"As for the tale she has told you………."

"Well, let me put it this way, Mrs Smith, 'Sonata', if I am not being too familiar…."

"……..Sonata, this year's school prize for imaginative prose was to be your daughter's……Need I say more?"

"Mummy! It hurts! Mummy!! Oh please please mummy, stop mummy, stop oh stop!!! Mummy it hurts, it hurts, it hurts!!"

Miss Pringle had gone on to work her way around to the conclusion, that mummy suddenly began to see as if it were a brilliant psychological insight, that there had to be concern that a girl in her teenage years might, through being isolated from her parents for just too long at a private school so far from the parental home, be drifting away from, and thus risking a permanent rift with her mother and father, her foundation of stability, and thus the most critical relationship in a young girl's life.

Daddy had held my legs apart.

Miss Pringle's soothing authoritative near monotone, allowing of no disrupting interruption, had proposed that mummy take me home, and spend a fortnight with me to heal any rift so that a more rounded and relaxed and happier Melody could return to the academy two weeks hence, than the obviously distressed little girl, whose imagination was clearly running riot, sitting before her now.

Using the telephone on Miss Pringle's desk, as Miss Pringle stroked my lustrous luscious hair, mummy had phoned her employer to explain why she had had to cancel her meeting altogether, and take me home to R*****; or at least a close facsimile of that now just established truth.

I had left in school uniform and the tiptoe shoes I wore, for the longest most silent mummy-and-daughter rail ride there has probably ever been.

Grandmamma had said it was for the best.

As soon as we got home. It was the next day in fact. As soon as we got home, I had wiggle-totty-trotted on my incredibly tiptoe stretched and torsioned sexy legs into daddy's lovely loving waiting arms.

"Daddy! Daddy!! "Daddy!!!" I all but screamed in my joy at feeling his sweet tobacco scented moustache brushing the silkenly soft contrast of my extremely supremely feminine freckled features, as I kicked up one leg, big toe pointed skyward shaping my calf superbly erotically, to lean myself closer to him and have his strength take full responsibility for my one-legged tip-top-tiptoed balance in the world, as I unfurled and then flung-furled my slim arms tight but not quite right-around him.

"Hello sweetheart!" was all he had to say, as he reciprocated my embrace, for me to close my eyes and feel my threatening tears dry in the strong arms of my handsome daddy: my daddy, my dashing and daring darling hero daddy.

Mummy had ringed me.

It had been very quiet at home. It was my first night home in that reconciliation fortnight. Grandmamma had been there too, and she was usually such a chatterbox. It was as if they were waiting for something.

I kissed daddy and mummy goodnight, and then grandmamma; and then daddy again, because I loved to kiss my daddy, my daddy whom I adored.

I wondered if there had been a major falling out between mummy and daddy. If there had been, I cared not what it was about, I knew not what it was about: all I knew for sure, was that whatever it had been about, daddy had been right.

They had surprised me in my bedroom. Mummy daddy and grandmamma had found me naked in my bedroom undressing for a shower and then my bed. That had been their plan, though I did not know it.

Daddy pushed me gently back supine on my bed. Grandmamma lay across my trunk to hold me down. Daddy got hold of my ankles to hold my legs apart.

"It's for the best sweetheart. Mummy and I would not do it if it were not for the best" I heard his lovely baritone near choke with pent up emotion.

Mummy had begun to feel with her fingers in at the top of my slit.

"Mummy?!" I shock-cry-queried tremulously querulously as my honey had began to flow within my naughty.

"Mummy?!" I questioned in astonished pleasure that mummy seemed to be setting out to arouse me.

When she had hold of my clitoris though, oh god how it had hurt as she pulled it and pushed what I knew from pointed pricking pain must be a needle through it, and I felt it pulled out of me and exposed. My petty perpendicular pendulum was purposely pulled out and held out of my slot, by having the needle pushed through near its base, and now mummy was attaching something as I screamed, another needle it seemed, or so I thought from the pointedly pricking pain again, it must be another needle through it the same, though In fact it was fifty-one of rings to come, or one of fifty-one.

"Mummy! It hurts! Mummy, oh please please mummy, stop mummy, stop oh stop!!! Mummy it hurts, it hurts!!"

'Tinkle'

Mummy had fitted a ring, a special ring with a ''ting-a-ling''. Mummy had fitted a little sealed bell, a little tinkling sleigh-bell, completing the ring through my poor little clitoris making a 'ting-a-ling' tinkle even as I breathed, whilst she pulled back out the initial holding needle, which was all but almost as painful as when she had pushed it through.

I was stunned to a silent scream at the nightmare dream of what came next, as daddy held my legs apart. As daddy held my legs apart, mummy was preparing another ring, one of fifty, as daddy held my legs apart. As daddy held my legs apart, mummy readied the first of fifty more rings I was to be ringed with.

"It's for the best sweetheart. Mummy and I would not do it if it were not for the best" daddy moan-intoned like a mantra as mummy straightened her eye-glasses and bent over me, and I felt the sharp end of the first of what were to be my fifty rings, the self sealing rings that were to hold my girl-lips closed: "Mummy! It hurts! Mummy, oh please please mummy, stop mummy, stop oh stop!!! Mummy it hurts, it hurts!!"

Mummy worked the gold ring, the first and fiftieth with forty-nine to come, open-ended to begin with, through my super-sensitive lips, before squeezing it, with pincer pinching tool thereafter, so that the point that had bloodied me, entered an answering scabbard, and the non-return notch in ring point, and answering knick in scabbard, would click internally for eternity together, and the ring, now closed in full circle, could then be rotated through my pierced flesh, so as to seal and conceal the meeting mating scabbard, and met mated point therein, internally within me, intentionally eternally.

And so I had screamed and shouted held helpless, daddy holding my legs apart, whilst mummy had ringed me so as to sew me closed, so and sew, sew and so, slow so, oh so slow sew, sew painfully, so painful, carefully, slowly, working the gold rings through my lips and clipping them closed to seal up and sew up my mischievous mistress, my naked naughty, to sew me up, to sew my naughty closed, to sew my lips tightly tight together forever, to stop me being naughty she supposed, justice just as grandmamma had proposed.

I was bloodied as fifty of the wicked gold rings were worked through my mating girl-lips, each ring meeting within me as it was rotated through my raw sore flesh, so that the joint did not show, the rings and thus my love-lips sealed closed, with a serenely pretty tintinnabulatary tinkling 'ting-a-ling' increasing as the rings numbered one to fifty glistening gold were pushed through me.

As they released me I tinkled as I cried, and grandmamma had bathed my soreness and rawness, and placed soft cool cotton wool, ointment augmented cotton wool, where I must heal, where I had been sealed and concealed by my gold rings fifty, and the fifty-one bell in my clitoris pulled out of me as well.

Grandmamma had said it was for the best.

Daddy had held my legs apart.

Mummy had ringed me.

"Mummy! It hurts! Mummy, oh please please mummy, stop mummy, stop oh stop!!! Mummy it hurts, it hurts!! Mummy! Mummy!! Mummy!!! Oh! Mummy!! Oh mummy please mummy stop! Oh it hurts mummy. Oh please mummy. Mummy! Oh please mummy!! Oh!! NO! NO! NO!!!! Oh mummy. Mummy. It hurts me mummy. Oh please mummy. Please please stop mummy. Oh mummy! MUMMY!!!! It hurts its hurts me mummy………."

And yet as grandmamma held me down by lying across my chest, and daddy held my legs parted, the gold rings, the fifty gold rings, had been slowly worked through my super-sensitive slit's flesh, as my mummy, as surely as slowly, and as slowly as surely, slowly and surely sewed me closed.

'Tinkle' 'Tinkle' 'Tinkle'

……………

The wind-chime 'ting-a-ling; ting-a-ling; ting-a-ling-a-ling' from my ringed naughty and the 'tinkle' of the pretty bell with which my clit was pierced, I had had the rest of my fortnight at home to get used to. I had of course to get used to them: I had no choice; I had been ringed to seal me up forever.

But if mummy daddy and grandmamma had intended what they had done to their daughter and granddaughter to stop her ever again feeling sexy and experiencing arousal, they had monumentally failed.

The jingle as I ran in my fitness training was music to my pretty ears as my naughty was amused by the fifty rings that jingled and jangled into and off each other as I jogged, with my pulled out clitoris athrob, and its little bell ringing out my pleasurable hell as I was the belle of the ball having a ball being balled by my bell of hell.

I was still girl.

I took a deep breath as I wiggled and tinkled my pantyless way from the station to the school, back now after the two-week break that was supposed to have revived me and fitted me for survival of the bullying by the new head-girl, Sasha: and my dreadful blues started all over again.

I had determined to go straight back into the prefecture and keep myself as quiet away, and quite away from all that went on there, as far as, and insofar as I could.

It was a ridiculous idea of course, as I would have to strip completely naked to wait on the prefects and the head-girl as soon as they came back from classes. The thought of how they would mock me when they saw my rings and my little bell horrified me.

And so my mind told me I must go forward, whilst also saying I must run away once again, even as every step of my stretched-long gorgeous legs slinked me nearer to the purgatory that school had been made for me.

Hell arrived sooner than soon too.

I wiggled through the school gate, struggling with my suitcases, only for two lovely girls from the younger class groups, only too eager eagerly to please me by taking my cases for me, in seeking the reward of my gorgeous soft shy smile, took my luggage, even as I noticed a cab waiting, and a stunningly sensational brown-eyed brunette putting her trunk in its trunk. It was Jo of course: it was my bewitching Josephine.

I paused. She saw me and trotted light as day, over to me, her wonderful face wreathed in a smile: "Melody! Melody! Oh, how lovely! I did so hope I would see you before I left" she breathed, breathing the very breath of life, my love to me as she was.

"Left?" I asked limply dumbly, as if I had forgotten.

"Silly girl" came the sweet response, followed by the brush of the sweetest lips I had ever known on my lips, on my face now, not my lips as I longed, as they brushed my blush, as Jo bid me farewell forever, with a perfectly perfunctory perfumed popped pout peck.

Jo popped my cheek with no more than a whisper of a whisper of a peck, and I had to watch as she entered the cab, and blew me her loving final kiss as she mouthed, all bar silently: "Bye angel. Please look after yourself my love!" and was gone forever, as I did not yet know, but forever it might have been, and might as well have been, for all the tears that welled in my lovely blue eyes as I watched her flight……….

………I was not going to cry!

……...I was NOT going to cry!

I drew a deep breath and began to wiggle my way to the prefecture.

At long last I was back, but there was something unfamiliar about the familiarity of my side-room, the room I occupied as the School Slag.

Obviously, that was my thought, obviously it was being used as some kind of overspill. Someone was using my room until I returned.

But then again, I did not recognise the personal belongings that were scattered around, more than somewhat untidily, even by comparison with my more than somewhat relaxed, if not downright lax, standards.

They must have appointed Jo's replacement. I knew all the prefects. Goodness knows I knew them intimately. Whoever was in my room, was none of them, but must now be one of them, and must be the one of them made one of them by Josephine leaving: that made sense.

I first looked in my bags to find my razor, though heaven knows how I was to shave my naughty of the soft blonde stubble I had grown as my rings healed, or rather my body healed with the rings in me.

Then, I gave up on that thought, and began to tidy the room.

I had begun to tidy the room, when Nulinda wondered in.

Oh god how lovely that little Asian-Indian ingénue looked, as she floated in as if walking on air, my dream of my dream of a dream, her straight eternity-black-raven-dark hair falling below her bummy. She was wearing white tiptoeing shoes, completely heelless tip-top-big-toe-tip-top-topping-pirouette-shoes that stretched her perfect, perfectly pretty, slim brown legs aloft so high they stretched her just shy of the sky.

She wore a sari. She wore a saffron, gold-trimmed sari, completely transparent, therefore through which her every girl-confirmatory perfection that could be desired, could be admired. This girl, only just sixteen, gave the fiction 'angel' inadequacy, for being too far from fitting the description that her depiction here requires. And she was shaven between her thighs. Her sweet tight virgin schoolgirls naughty little naughty was shaven nude.

At first, I didn't notice the hint.

Nulinda floated straight over to me and planted the sweetest of sensitive sensually sensational soft virginal innocent kisses, virtually on the very spot of my freckled cheek anointed by my farewell from my beloved Josephine, and breathed a smiling almost silently scented: "Hello!" that set my pulse and my heart and my breath chasing racing, as my face showed my temperature had soared with the discovery of how this sensation of creation had matured.

At first, I didn't notice the glint.

"I hope you don't mind," Nulinda swooningly disarmingly shyly sweetly smiled.

How could I possibly mind a wonder of heaven such as she, using my room while I had been away? What greater honour could there be, than the knowledge this saried sapphire had slept between my sheets, other than the joy, oh girl the joy, of being warmed by her in that very same bed?

At first, I didn't notice the gold.

I had just about readied to make answer to the deeply-dark-brown-eyed devastating devastator Nulinda now was, when a head came around the door of the side-room, and a voice, the voice of Sasha, the head-girl, sneered: "What in hell are you doing here Smith? Get out! Get back to your dorm! Get to hell out of here right now, if you know what's good for you!!"

It was then and only then that I saw the snaked 'S' bearing gold ring ringing Nulinda's slender left hand's slim dainty wedding-ring finger.

Nulinda had supplanted me.

I had been replaced.

I had been dethroned.

I had been dismissed.

Nulinda was newly now the School Slag.

Nulinda was newly now the School Slag in place of me.

………….

Need I relate the tears with which I soaked my lonely pillow in the common senior girls' dorm that night?

Ousted from my throne, and thrown down among my peers, a mere peer now, and no more more than a peer, though still peerless. I had lost my Jo, and Lorraine's reaction on the train showed how, with the fifty rings sealing me from the stealing of, by stealing into, my naughty, my naughty had been made chaste, by force perforce, to be no longer chased by other girls as I had longed for for so long.

The height of my misery was at its depth.

The depth of my misery was at its height.

My blues were black and black not blue enough for me, as I silenced my sobs, robbed of my love, my love-hole ringed and robbed from me too, my whole love of life as lost as Jo, or did I mean Deneel, or did I mean Angela, or did I mean Lorraine, the lost single love of my life………

…Somehow I made it through the days.

I busy-bee-buried myself in work. Highly intelligent, it was with ease I caught up and exceeded the degree to which I trailed my studies through my enforced inattention and absences.

The cruelty visited upon me by Sasha, once she became head-girl, had seen me apparently fall far behind my classmates. My order to strip totally naked and serve the prefects all evening had been my biggest burden. I had had no time to do my after-school-day studies and preparation for the next day. Even after I had slaved for them all evening, one of the prefects would take me to my bed and then take me physically for her pleasure.

Yet with Nulinda they were so different. It was only a little later I learned that Sasha had taken Miss Pringle's name in vain, and had in fact no authority to bully me as she had; at least, certainly not Miss Pringle's writ, and that was the only writ that mattered at St Catherine's.

I know, and can understand, that you will be curious about two rather delicate matters relating to the fifty rings I now wore. To put it bluntly, you will, quite rightly, wish me to tell you about how I could possible use the bathroom.

Well, of course, my lips, my love-lips, were ringed together from top to bottom of their length to prevent them being accessed, but that did not seal me closed altogether.

It is very embarrassing to have to tell you about this, but I realise you would make me do it whether I want to or not, if you had your way.

I hope you will be happy if I only say that I could in fact use the bathroom just as ever. No. Well. Yes. I could use the bathroom much as before, but it would be unpleasantly messy, with my wee-wee hissing in all directions. It would also be quite musical, as my rings would tinkle as I tinkled my pee.

Please forgive me for not telling you about my monthly cycle and the rings. Suffice it to say that that my period bleeds were very unpleasant indeed.

For a girl such as I, so used now to a fully rounded love-life, a girl who had been happily almost nymphomaniacal in the pursuit of physical fulfilment, the biggest and hardest change for me to cope with, once I had been ousted from being the School Slag, was the expectation of complete celibacy.

I have written before of the degree of emphasis St Catherine's Academy for Girls put, and still puts, on the solo act. Any girl caught being naughty with herself could be, and invariably was, severely punished. I myself had had my naughty whipped when accused and found guilty without any possibility of appeal, even though I had in not in fact touched myself.

So, not only was any form of self-deliverance, quite rightly, completely and absolutely totally forbidden me, but I was also now, being once more, as I had never in fact experienced before at St Cath's, just an ordinary schoolgirl, completely banned from any 'untoward activity' with other girls at the school.

That was the whole reason a School Slag was appointed of course. Any girl seeking relief could apply to stroke the Slag, and the Slag must give her that girl's wishes if so ordered by a prefect or the teaching staff. I must therefore now take my turn with Nulinda, if indeed I could ever get a turn. I was a very highly sexed girl, and found abstinence purgatory.

I also missed, and how I missed, the chance to be a show-off. I was always a shy girl, but not without a touch of exhibitionism that, because it had been forced upon me, had found fulfilment in the daring way in which I had been made to dress when I had been the Slag. I now missed being the centre of attention, the wolf-whistles and the compliments.

Of course, I was still the same decidedly exceptionally attractive schoolgirl of evident high intellect: but, a superbly full filled and thus fulfilled white blouse with no brassiere to control what full filled it, and a micro-miniskirt hinting at my beautiful smooth bottom boldening out my white school-issue knickers, the pouched crutch of which, shaped out by my purse, the crutch which could be seen as I stood and walked and naturally unselfconsciously wiggled along, and blonde hair long down to my shapely calves, and legs an eon long in white, virgin-white, knee-socks, and completely bare long strong thighs, and a lightly freckled face with peach soft complexion, spellbinding light-blue eyes, and an adorably innocent constant shy smile, are not that sexy are they?

My previous role as School Slag had not been forgotten of course. Indeed some of the girls thought I would be 'an easy lay'. They conveniently forgot that I had no further obligations now I was no longer the School Slag, and that any hint of sexual activity, even just a meaningful smile for example, was absolutely totally and utterly forbidden me now, as much as it was them.

Within the first week, so desperately did I feel the need now I was without physical love, I applied to Tania, the friendliest to me of the prefects, for a chance with Nulinda, and was turned down flat on the spot.

I got the impression that all the prefects were frightened of the head-girl, Sasha. The impression grew as near as it ever would to confirmation, when two more applications from me were refused, even when I knew that other girls, three other girls, had been granted the pleasure of Nulinda's beautiful body.

Eventually I masturbated.

I just could not stand being without physical relief any longer. I knew I risked a whipping if I were found out, but I could not go on without love making, and so I masturbated, pressing hard on my love mound, longing to get a finger in myself, but prevented by my multiple rings. I came massively in split seconds, having to bite my pillow in case I screamed with pleasure and the other girls in the dorm reported me in consequence.

At least I didn't masturbate.

I didn't masturbate: not really. I had a heavy cum dreaming of masturbation, and was woken by the tinkling of the bell on my clitoris, as my clitoris throbbed. Oh how I breathed a sigh of relief that the noise of my little bell had been smothered by the duvet and had woken none of the other girls!

The more I longed for another dream to relieve me though, the more I became sure it would never happen again.

I tried not to think sexy thoughts. Then I tried not to think sexy thoughts. And either way, I remained in a desert of dire desire with a fire aflame claiming my every waking hour.

Then Nulinda would wiggle into class. She would be dressed so as to attract our lust. She, we knew, had no panties on. She, we knew was not allowed to wear panties. We knew too that her supremely firm conical titties were completely uncontained unrestrained or uncontrolled by a brassiere. And we knew, oh god we knew, that her very tight virgin naughty was shaven completely nude. And she would be in a skirt so short that all her gorgeous legs were on display even up to the crease were her legs melted like dreams into her tight little bummy. And her face and her hair and her eyes and her smile: she was a dream on legs, to ease us and please us, and oh how my eyes longed as she lowered herself in her seat in class and I watched her skirt rise and rise and rise…………

I now knew the other side of the fence. I knew how I had excited love and lust when I had been the School Slag. I knew it the more from observing the effect that the bombshell Nulinda caused, and even more by the effect her stunning desirability had on me, now that I was 'just one of the girls'.

And then, seemingly out of the blue, came the touch………….

It was very subtle: so subtle I doubted what my heart seemed to tell me must be true.

When she passed me, Nulinda would catch my hand. She would just touch my hand as she wiggled by. Was she teasing me? Was she taunting me now she had taken my place?

Then one day we were at the back of the class watching a demonstration of first-aid skills. Miss Hai was giving the kiss of life to a blow-up doll, a doll made for the purpose of demonstrating mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and all we girls were giggling and wishing, and how, that we were the doll.

We, Nulinda and I, were side-by side at the back of the class. She, Nulinda, had purposely positioned herself next to me. We were watching a demonstration of first-aid skills when Nulinda quite purposely gently took my hand and held it.

I was so surprised shocked and pleased, and my head shot around to look and see her face.

But she must, of course, be subtle, and let go my hand continuing herself to look straight forward. But she touched my hand again a little later when she was again sure it would not attract attention; or rather nobody's attention bar mine.

Then, a week later, and several more accidental-on-purpose brushes against me by the stunning Nulinda, came a slip of paper.

We were alone walking toward each other in one of the academy's corridors. My heart was thumping as she came toward me. Her touches had obsessed me for days. What could they mean? Oh please let them mean what I longed for them to mean. Please heaven don't break my heart!

We were alone walking toward each other in one of the academy's corridors. My heart was thumping fit to leap out of my mouth. Nulinda did not seem to look at me in any special way. She just breathed an adorably lovely natural friendly: "Hi Melody" as she brushed past and pushed a sliver, a slip, a folded slip of paper in my hand. She purposely pushed a slip of paper in my hand!

I could not wait. How could I be expected to wait? What would it say? What would that slip of paper say?

Of course I must walk on as if nothing had happened. For Nulinda's sake even more than mine, I must pretend nothing had occurred. Only in one of the lavatories cubicles could I read what was written: what a vile place to have to use to read that causing my blood to pound in my temples almost putting me at risk of fainting.

'All fingers and thumbs' is a silly saying. As I struggled to unfold that tiny slip of paper I was all thumbs and thumbs, I had no supple fingers. I was so nervous and excited I was almost hyperventilating. And suddenly there it was:

"I love you!"

How I wish I could have kept it, but I had to destroy it if I was not to get Nulinda beaten for unlawful fraternising, against the rules she, poor darling, my darling, my darling darling must obey, as the now new, new now School Slag.

All this was, of course, entirely schoolgirlish.

But of course it was entirely schoolgirlish: Nulinda and I were just schoolgirls!

Of course I answered.

One day, just two days later in fact, we were at the back of the class listening to the six-monthly safety talk on fire-fighting, including how to use an extinguisher properly, when I found my eagerly awaited and seemingly forever impossible to arrive opportunity, and took hold of Nulinda's wonderfully pretty hand and held it, watching her blush and hang her lovely head overwhelmed by joy as I did so.

…………..

I put the wine back on the hypermarket shelf.

What was I thinking of?!

Another wolf-whistle, this from a very pretty luxuriously red-haired housewife, greets me. I turn and smile. She hurries shyly up and asks for an autograph and a chance to kiss me on the cheek.

Paying the price of the fame I enjoy so much now, I oblige with: "All my love, Melody!" on the, and in the book she hands me, and lovingly laughingly decline the kiss, as I sweep a stray of my ankle-length-long golden glistening glittering blonde hair back over my shoulder.

My fifty gold rings 'ting-a-ling-a-ling', and my little clitty bell goes a constant 'tinkle', as I dream along the hypermarket aisles with my trolley.

I wear fifty-two rings nowadays.

Another wolf-whistle scythes the air. Is it for me, or for the girl with me? Is it for the girl alongside me, eclipsing the sun with her smile, or for us both as a pair?

We both smile shyly, deeply in love as we are: she with me and I with her, the girl who gave me my fifty-second ring: the gold ring on my wedding ring finger.

I had put the wine back on the hypermarket shelf.

What had I been thinking of?!

I wear fifty-two rings nowadays.

I had put the wine back on the hypermarket shelf as Nulinda had come back alongside me, putting bunches of white grapes in the trolley, and we had wiggle-walked along together sharing the pushing of our abundantly overloaded wheeled-basket, with me 'tinkle tinkle tinkle tinkling' the melody of a Melody from my fifty rings and the ting-a-ling on my nodding, tortured, teasing, ding-a-ling.

I had put the wine back on the hypermarket shelf.

What had I been thinking of?!

I wear fifty-two rings nowadays.

My fifty-second is a gold band on my wedding-ring finger.

I had put the wine back on the hypermarket shelf.

What had I been thinking of?!

Nulinda and I only ever drink my wine…………

THE END