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From: bonkgirl <bonkgirl@NO-SPAMyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Diary Entry: 2003.06.04 - End Of Week One (F/f, teen, spank, wordy, no sex)
Date: Thu,  5 Jun 2003 09:10:04 -0400
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=========================================================
Hello,

The story you are about to read is a work of fiction. Certain elements
are loosely based on real people and real events however they've been
embellished for dramatic effect and all names of people, places and
other identifying details have been changed. This and many of the
stories I write contain themes of non-consensual sex and forced
submission along with blackmail and other activities which are illegal
in real life. Please note that the real events surrounding everything
written by me were all entirely legal and all people participating did
so within the framework of "safe, sane and consensual" as defined
within the BDSM scene to which I belonged when the events took place.
I hope you enjoy my tales. All feedback may be addressed either to
alt.sex.stories.d or by email to bonkgirl@[NO-SPAM]yahoo.com

Adrianna

PS: The group mentioned in in the story is my Yahoo storywriting group
of which a few ASSM readers are already members. The address for
joining if you're interested can be found at the end of the story. A
few typos and other errors have been corrected for anybody who might
have already seen this story posted in my group.

=========================================================

Diary Entry: 2003.06.04 - End Of Week One

I realize diaries are generally considered to be accounts of things
recorded for posterity more or less as they happen, and to some extent
this will be true for my diary entries made here. However, I'm aware
that many people reading this might think, based on what has been
posted in the past week since the group began, that a day in my life
is one great whirl of hedonistic, thrilling adventures. Alas, nothing
could be further than the truth. I won't bore you with the dull,
everyday things that happen unless there's some way to relate them
back to something that you'll enjoy reading. I'm sure nobody wants to
see entries that read like shopping lists and are twice as boring.

Interesting events in life seem to go in cycles with long intervening
periods of nothingness where one has time to look back and reflect.
Being a person that finds a lot of pleasure in daydreaming gives me
plenty to do in these times, like now, when nothing much seems to be
happening.

Have you ever found yourself looking back and seeing your life as like
a parallel to everything else? Maybe like one of those small dirt
roads which runs alongside railroad tracks in the country. Sometimes
they stretch for miles and while there might be glimpses of more
interesting sights on the other side of the tracks, crossing over can
only be done at junctions when they appear along the route.

Often these junctions appear suddenly, without flashing warning
signals or anything to slow the rapid crossing you make and before you
know it you're speeding along on the other side of the tracks. I know
what you're thinking. You're thinking 'for heaven's sake! Get to the
point!'

Okay, well I'll try and explain it like this. This may take a while so
you might like to make yourself comfortable before reading any more.

When I was in high school, and it was an exclusive girl's school I'm
talking about and not some liberal minded public school, the strict
formalities and rituals of everything were every bit like those people
who never went to one of these school might imagine or hear in
anecdotes. There were rules for everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, and
the enforcement of them was harsh and often unjust.

It's been a bit over twenty years since I finished school so I can't
say things are still the same, but when I was there most of the rules
- the dress and behavior codes in particular - were enforced, not by
the teachers but by "Prefects" who were appointed from the ranks of
the senior year girls by the Headmistress. They were a law unto
themselves.

Now, being a diligent young student and certainly not a rebellious
teenager by any definition, you might think I sailed through my final
year at school without any trouble whatsoever. Wrong. I committed that
greatest sin of all in a private school: I admitted I had no interest
in sport.

It wasn't that I was inactive or anything, I was. Like every young
girl my age at the time who was being groomed to become "a lady" I had
private tuition in tennis, though I never developed any playing
skills, and swimming lessons which I eventually gave up when it became
clear the only way to become a proficient swimmer was to put my head
under the water. I might have even had lessons in horse riding if I
hadn't been so terrified of being around horses. It was the "team
sports" that I found objectionable and I made the mistake of admitting
that in front of a school Prefect. I've never been one of those
competitive types of people and for me the concept of wasting weekday
afternoons and entire Saturdays running around with a group of girls,
most of whom I had nothing in common with anyway, just seemed
incredibly pointless.

I no longer remember the exact details of the transgression because it
wasn't immediately brought to my attention when I it was said to have
happened. All I remember is this. I was in the school library at the
time, as I often was during my lunch hour, and a small delegate of
Prefects approached me and  handed me a "Red Slip". These were small
docket-like notices, written in duplicate in a small carbon copy book,
and issued much the same way as a parking infringement notice might be
issued. They were the most feared pieces of paper in the school and
more than one girl I knew withdrew from school rather than face the
consequences of having received one. Actually, I think both girls I'm
thinking of were on second offence notices which was tantamount to
being suspended from school - a punishment that could be prescribed by
the Prefect body but which had to be ratified by the Headmistress.
Suspensions were usually rubber-stamped by the Headmistress.

On receipt of a Red Slip girls were directed to present themselves to
the next convened meeting of the student Prefect body, usually held on
a Friday afternoon immediately after school. For me this meant I only
had a few hours to dread the appointment as it was already a Friday
when I was served with the notice, but some girls had an agonizing
week of waiting. You must remember I had no idea at this stage what it
was I was supposed to have done. The Red Slip didn't ever make any
mention of anything except that you were required to attend and if you
didn't, the matter would be referred to the Headmistress which
immediately meant the consequences would be dire if you failed to
attend. Naturally, having never before this been in trouble at all, I
had no idea what to expect at the meeting. None of my friends had ever
been in trouble either and of the girls I knew of who had been, none
would speak of the experience. I think it really was a case of 'you
don't want to know.'

I presented myself promptly at the time specified on the Red Slip. The
Prefects, all of whom were borders at the school (day students like me
were excluded from the Prefect selection process), convened their
meetings in the recreation room of their dormitory building. It wasn't
a very large room and it was windowless which added to the overall
gloominess. It's austere, wood paneled walls were adorned with
portraits of the sombre faced women who established the school  in the
late nineteenth century and but for a polished chrome and glass trophy
cabinet - the only decor concession to the modern age - I felt like I
was in another world. Another time period even.

I'd been ushered into the room by a girl who I remembered had herself
been "Red Slipped" the previous week. She didn't speak except to give
me directions, telling me I was to stand immediately in front of a
large, ornate mahogany desk which had three antique, buttoned leather
chairs neatly positioned on the other side of it. The carpet of the
area on which I was to stand was almost threadbare from years of girls
who'd been, like me, told to stand there. I stood where I was told,
nervously patting down my skirt and dusting my blazer with my hands to
ensure there wasn't so much as a speck of dust on the sleeves or
shoulders. The girl who had escorted me into the room disappeared back
out of the room, the door was gently closed behind me, and I was left
standing there alone to silently contemplate the situation.

I must have stood there for, I don't know how long. At least twenty
minutes but maybe thirty. Anxiety turned to impatience and impatience
turned to annoyance at being kept waiting like that but, as always, I
kept still and silent, obediently waiting just as I'd been instructed
to wait. When a door behind the desk in front of me finally opened, I
fought back my instinctive nature to smile and acknowledge the
entrance of the three Prefects who in turn sat in the chairs, settling
themselves comfortably as yet more Prefects filed into the room after
them. The junior Prefects each gave me a disdainful look as they
passed me to take their seats in the less ornate brown leather
Chesterfields scattered around the room behind me. The room
immediately took on the air of a courtroom and I still distinctly
remember the peculiar feeling that came over me when I realized it
wasn't so much a meeting as a trial and it was me in the dock.

The charge I was facing still elluded me, probably more so even after
it was read out to me. It was read by the Prefect sitting to my left
at the table. She read it in a monotone, slowly and deliberately
speaking every word with the clarity that only comes from a private
girl's school education. I listened carefully to every word, trying to
comprehend what she was saying. She opened with a statement I still
remember. It is as if it's been etched indelibly on my mind: "Adrianna
has no school spirit."

I had started to shake my head, not to deny the charge, but because
she may as well have been speaking another language for all the sense
it made. For a start, I couldn't remember reading anywhere that this
lack of so-called school spirit was against any school rule. I'd never
heard such a ridiculous thing and I would have burst out laughing if
the situation hadn't called for the utmost propriorty. She went on to
detail the charge, reading from beginning to end of the short
paragraph without looking up once until after she'd intoned the final
few words: "...is not a member of a single sporting club within the
school."

It made no sense whatsoever.

"Adrianna has no school spirit."

The declaration repeating the charge against me came from the girl who
until this point had sat in the middle of the other two, listening to
what was being read out but gazing off, I think, at the trophy
cabinet. When she made the statement she and the other two girls gave
me one of those pointed, serious looks that only girls can give each
other.

I desperately wanted to say something in my own defense but I didn't
know where to begin. Not that I really could have said anything at
that point even if I knew what to say. The rules about addressing
Prefects were strict at the most casual of times and this certainly
wasn't one of those times. So I just stood there doing everything I
could to reconcile in my mind everything that was happening.

There was a long silence with me standing there, now rigidly tense
with a knotty dread which had taken hold in the pit of my stomach, and
with the three Prefects, all sitting relaxed and just staring at me.
The Head Prefect in the middle eventually  broke her gaze on me,
leaned forward,  clasped her fingers together on the desk and rocked
forward onto her elbows. There was an implicit expression of power in
her action. At my school, to put one's elbows on a desk was the
equivilent of a person in a managerial position in an office putting
their feet on the desk. It just wasn't done except by the most
powerful girls in school. To this day I remember her name - Couture -
and she was in that enviable position of being the most powerful girl
in school.

It's a paradox that things like "justice" and "values" were taught in
classes at my school and yet there, right there at that moment when
both these ephemeral things were needed, I was witnessing none of them
in practice. I had expected to be allowed to say a few words in my own
defense but it became apparent I was not going to be given that
opportunity. Couture, who I recall displayed the hint of a smirk when
she said it, said "now read out the punishment."

The girl with the monotone voice slowly read from her prepared sheet.
I could hear the hushed titter of some girls sitting behind me when
the word "nude" was mentioned and some more when the room was informed
I was to receive twenty strokes of "the cane", to be applied to my
bare backside by the two girls sitting either side of Couture.

Now, you're probably thinking that something like this would never
happen in reality, but I assure you it did happen and I've since
learned it not only happened at my school but was common practice
everywhere in schools such as the one I attended. It wasn't just a
punishment. It was the continuation of a tradition which had gone on
for years, if not centuries. Institutionalized and ritualized.

I knew better than to get myself into deeper trouble by speaking out
against my punishment. I should add that I was given this option but
it was put to me in a way that either I accept the punishment exactly
as prescribed or I be sent immediately to the Headmistress with
another Red Slip informing her of the Prefect's decision to suspend me
from school. This I knew would be the worse of two evils as I'd never
be able to explain myself or the reasons for my exclusion from school
to my parents, who I feared even more than the schol Headmistress.

The borders at school, which as I've already mentioned included every
Prefect present, were rumored to share beds with each other at night
and do all sorts of things that an innocent girl like me (yes, I was
completely naive and innocent back then) didn't completely understand
but intuitively knew weren't supposed to be done between two girls.
That was something I always remember about the borders at school. They
always seemed far more sexually advanced than a girl like me whose
parents didn't even allow to go on dates with boys until I was
nineteen and in my first year at university. So you can imagine my
fear of removing all my clothes in front of a room full of these types
of girls.

I still get a tingle when I think back to the way I undressed. Nervous
and shaking like the proverbial leaf, I slowly removed every item of
my school uniform, folding things neatly and making a small pile of
them on the floor beside my feet. As I was undressing the two girls
whose sombre duty it was to cane me selected their implements from a
cupboard behind the desk; a cupboard I couldn't help but notice was
filled with all manner of bizzare paraphenalia that looked like it
belonged in a museum. In the medieval inquisition exhibit at the
museum!

Couture remained in her seat, now leaning back in it and relaxing as
she watched me step forward to bend over and place my hands on the
edge of the desk. I couldn't look as the other two Prefects took their
positions behind me and awaited their command from Couture to begin
punishing me. I had expected something like a sign or a "begin" from
Couture but instead she informed me that it was custom before a caning
for the wrongdoer to accept a few "warm up" hits before the real
discipline began. It felt like a trap to me. I was given the option of
bypassing the warm up and going straight to the punishment part
although there was also the implied threat that if I went this route
the two girls caning me would feel more inclined to cane me harder
than they might if they were allowed this preliminary ritual.
Reluctantly because I knew I had no choice, I agreed.

Now, this is where I recall things started getting really strange. I
flinched each time I heard the whistling sound of the canes wizzing
through the air; a high pitched sound abruptly cut short by a light
sounding slap when the cane struck my backside. To my astomishment,
even though I had steeled myself for something really painful the
blows, despite the sounds being made, were actually feather soft. A
small sting, perhaps, but nothing at all like I was expecting.

This continued for, I don't know how long. Stroke after stroke falling
with a gentle and rhythmic sound on my behind. Of course, if one
strike was to land where another had just fallen, I'd tense up and
feel a slightly hotter burning sensation, but on the whole I found it
quite pleasant. Almost like a massage.

I remained leaning on the desk, keeping my eyes fixed on a spot on the
desk for a while before eventually realizing I wasn't looking at
anything at all anymore and had my eyes closed. It was a surreal
moment, lost in a world of giddy emotions which I'd never previously
experienced. Couture had been saying something to me before it
actually registered but I remember her saying something like "see,
this is what team work is all about" referring of course to the
concerted efforts of the two girls caning me.

But this feeling of sublime bliss was short lived. Couture's soft
spoken but commanding tone broke into my thoughts and she announced it
was time for the punishment to begin. She may have even winked at me,
which I thought was a clear sign she knew she'd enjoy what was about
to happen as much as I'd been secretly enjoying what had been
happening to that point.

I could tell from the sound of the canes whistling through the air
that the strikes would sting, and sting they did but still not as much
as I could have predicted. After each I was expected to loudly count
its number, something I remember feeling more embarrassed about doing
than any other part of my punishment. By the time I got to ten I could
really feel the burning sting of every blow. I guess I must have
endured it and counted the full twenty strokes, but I really don't
remember much past eleven or twelve. My head was somewhere else
entirely by that stage and even though I twisted and squirmed after
each biting strike my bottom, as if possessed with a mind of its own,
continued to remain propped back and ready for more. I do however
still remember "that look" in Couture's magnetic green eyes. A hungry,
satisfied look as she watched me taking my punishment. 

I began this little tale by talking about roads that cross back and
forth across railroad lines and you might be wondering what any of
this had to do with the story I've just told. That metaphorical road I
spoke of recently crossed the tracks and took me face to face with
somebody else who has that very same look I saw all those years ago in
Couture's eyes. It's a look I never realized I'd ever be so excited to
see again...

END

bookgirl

http://groups.yahoo.com/basement_captivity

--
ser-en-dip-i-ty (n) The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by
accident.

"Serendip is not reached by plotting a course for it. Instead you must
set out in good faith and lose your bearings serendipitously" - from
The Sinbad Saga

http://profiles.yahoo.com/bonkgirl

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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