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From: Grim Williams <grim_williams@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Governor (Part 7) MF caution
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Date: Wed, 15 Aug 2007 20:10:01 -0400
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<1st attachment, "=?utf-8?q?Governor=207.txt?=" begin>

This is a fictional story depicting images of consensual
rape and torture. Don't read if these are likely to offend,
or if you are not an adult.

The Governor

By Grim Williams

email:   grim_williams a yahoo . com

Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

Chapter Seven : "Tuscany Hills"




I must tell you about Lucy Caldwell, Howard's girlfriend,
and then we can put some flesh on the bones, and some
clothes on the flesh.

Okay, maybe not so much of the latter. We'll leave her
standing coquettishly naked for a moment, a little
embarrassed and coy because we're looking at her body, but
it's a good one, 5 feet 10 in height, and she's skinny with
nice tits, 34 inches of them, and look at her mound, covered
in hair, plump and neat.

You like it? Of course you do.

You want it? You bet you do.

Now, take a look at her skin. It's a rich, dark shade of
burgundy because her mother is Italian and the likeness is
inherited. Despite Lucy never having visited the Tuscany
hills or having walked barefoot in the corn fields, Lucy
retains her mother's Mediterranean aroma. Touch her neck or
her butt or the back of her hands and you feel the magic of
Lucca, its olive groves and the Chianti vineyards and the
long lines of Cypress that alternate with well tended
woodland; you feel its narrow streets so vividly that you
can wander along them and admire the old medieval walls and
the basilica form churches and the arcaded facades and
campaniles. Smell Lucy's bosom, and you smell the fragrance
of oregano mixed with thyme, of bougainvillea laden terraces
and lavender in bloom. Listen to Lucy's voice and you hear
ancient church bells peeling from remote mountain villages,
bouncing along sun drenched valleys and blending with
gurgling streams to form an Italian Opera to rival Puccini.

Okay. So let's dress her. Don't panic. We'll remove her togs
soon enough to return to our panoramic landscape, but for
now, we need to discuss her childhood.

In many ways, at age nine, Lucy was like other girls. All
right, she had a fiery Italian temperament and a kick like a
wild donkey, but her likes and dislikes, insecurities and
hang-ups were no different to most girls of her age. At age
eleven, she went to school, had plaits in her hair, dirty
fingernails, and an impossible younger brother named Daniel.
She teased him to distraction because of his miniscule cock,
and that's not a wise, because brothers get older and
stronger, and they have memories like elephants, and at age
fifteen, Daniel was getting his revenge.

By now, his cock was the size of a rhinoceros and he had
triceps to match, and he didn't hide his long cock or his
muscular physique, not from Lucy, because he was proud of
it, and not from the girls at his school because he wanted
to cork them.

That didn't change Lucy at all, because she was a consummate
tease. She loved taunting Daniel and she did it
instinctively, frustrating him without comprehending the
strength of the emotions she stirred.

It was done through the turn of her jaw, the flick of her
hair, the hint of her perfume. It was done in the arch of
her back, the lift of her bosom or the curve of her calf.
She would walk around the kitchen and tease him on so many
levels and in so many ways that it couldn't last forever,
and it didn't. At age sixteen, she got her comeuppance with
the enforced removal of her panties behind the bike sheds.

It came about due to an adolescent prank that misfired, the
kind of insignificant lark that besets a young girl who
mocks boys.

Lucy was in conversation with three of her classmates when
Daniel passed by, and Lucy should have been mindful,
deferential and cautious, especially given that Daniel
wasn't little any more, but tall and strong and perfectly
able to haul her to the bike sheds and do with her as he
wanted.

But she ridiculed his lack of a girlfriend and suggested to
her friends that they ask him out for a date: all three of
them. It wasn't subtle. It was done cruelly, naively, and
when the friends sidled up to Daniel and told him he was
"fit", when they turned on the sex and got him warmed up,
they gave away far too many clues. It was a stupid, juvenile
act, and didn't take long for Daniel to work out.

No one spoke to him directly, but he knew his sister from
old, and he recognised her handicraft, her style, and so he
chased after her and he pinned her to his lap. He lifted her
skirt and he readied himself to give her a spanking, urged
on by all, boys and girls alike.

He hadn't intended it to be much, just a few slaps, a joke.
He wanted to humiliate Lucy as she'd humiliated him. It was
a game, but when Daniel lifted Lucy's skirt and looked at
her ass, he discovered that she was wearing a pair of saucy
red ephemera of a sexy, crotchless variety, and Daniel was
gob smacked.

Lucy never wore underwear like this because she was a noble
hypocrite, a pious snooty-nosed bastard. She attended Church
on Sundays and said her prayers, and she didn't do immoral
things like hang out with horny boys or wear the wrong kind
of panties. She dressed conservatively in long unflattering
skirts and high buttoned blouses. Her shoes were flat and
functional and she kept herself to herself, and while she
exuded plenty of sexual energy and crude talk, it was never
by way of an invitation, or so she maintained.

So when Daniel dragged her unceremoniously to the bike sheds
and hauled up her skirt and found the wisp of forbidden
pleasure, it begged a type of poetic justice to rival iambic
pentameter.

Everyone was adamant that Lucy was a hypocrite and that she
only had herself to blame. She was only pretending to be
religious and they urged Daniel to spank her for the sin of
immodesty.

"Take them off! Pull them down!" they chanted in song - and
this was Lucy's fellow female class mates as well as
Daniel's friends - and Daniel sat motionless, captivated;
because Lucy's panties were preposterously unfit for the
purpose of covering her backside. They was too small, too
loose, too Italian in design, and Daniel stared at her
quivering moons and her brown fit buttocks and the folds of
her pussy and he could see through a narrow hole where there
should have been a gusset, and through this hole he could
make out her clit.

His cock grew hard and thick and it pressed against Lucy's
stomach, and suddenly she was wriggling and moaning and
trying to escape, but his cock was a knife digging into her
belly and neither of them could ignore it. There she was -
his sister - lying on his lap, pinned by his hand but
wriggling about, and suddenly without warning, he could take
it no more and he was cumming in his pants. Oh God. Suddenly
his dick was spurting and spraying and Lucy was pressed
against his trousers and her thigh was sticky with cum.

What was he to do?

The problem for Daniel was that the boys were clamouring and
screaming and yelling and telling him to do things, but he
couldn't because he'd cum and he was embarrassed and Lucy
was his sister, and his feelings were meant to be platonic,
and instead of wriggling, she was breathing heavily and
otherwise motionless, knowing that he'd cum and awaiting his
next move. What should he do? He waited; he thought; and all
at once, it came to him.

He would do as the crowd wanted. He would cover his own
embarrassment with Lucy's, and so unhurriedly, he hauled
down her panties and he removed them, which diverted
people's attention from him. And having removed them, there
was only one thing to be done now. He placed his hand on her
ass and he slapped it, and then again, until he found a
rhythm that suited the moment. The first slap made Lucy
squeal, which was okay, because it helped clear Daniel's
mind, and so he did it again, hitting Lucy repeatedly until
the squeals turned into the beat of music and her cheeks
flushed red and she was crying and bouncing on his lap for
what seemed to Daniel like a very different reason: the
saucy strumpet!

He kept hitting. He hit Lucy on both sides. He hit low,
where the skin became sensitive and merged with Lucy's
pussy. He did it over and over because he couldn't stop
doing it and because he didn't want it to end and because he
was enjoying it so much.

He hit her where it was uncomfortable and the boys giggled
and they took pictures on their cell phones, and Lucy
screamed and sobbed and she begged that he stop, but he hit
her again and again, and soon, it was her turn to be
worried.

She blushed a brilliant pink and she groaned and she
squeezed her thighs into his lap, because she was about to
cum and it was exploding inside of her; and what could she
do? She felt it, and so did he, and so at the moment of
impact, as the pretty feelings surged through her being and
reached up towards him and wrapped their arms around his
neck and jumped to their crescendo, Daniel pushed her from
his lap and Lucy fell with her legs splayed open and she was
sprawling in the air. The boys looked and leered and laughed
at her sex box because it was fluttering in front of them
uselessly, and Daniel used the distraction to twist away
with his sister's panties clasped to his groin. He moved
furiously, rolling to his feet and taking the silk as his
camouflage, and before any of the boys had registered it,
he'd hurried off and he'd escaped to the rest room.

Lucy saw him leave even as she lay sobbing on the broken
concrete, an incomplete eerie excitement radiating from her
painful backside and another from her sex box, and a group
of boys crowded around her and looked between her legs and
pointed to the fact that she was pink and wet.

She was full of shameful and misunderstood emotions. She
straightened her skirt and covered her sex, but still they
leered and looked at her, and so finally she ran to the
girl's rest room and hid there and reordered her mind.

There she was, in one bathroom, sitting awkwardly and
painfully on the toilet pan; and Daniel was in the other
cleaning himself up. Lucy couldn't hear him. She couldn't
see him. But she knew he was close by. They were together
and yet apart, while from outside, Lucy heard the chorus of
bouncy excitement and nervous chatter from her brother's
friends.

They were out there, all of them, waiting for her to come
out.

Lucy heard a round of applause and loud voices and jokes,
which suggested to her that Daniel had finished cleaning
himself up and had come out; but she remained tied to her
cubicle, and although she could hear the constant barrage of
noise outside, no one came in to see her. No one comforted
her. No one wanted to know how she was. The boys kept to
their huddles outside and the girls continued their
adolescent gossip. The teachers remained in their ivory
towers and festered in blissful ignorance; and Lucy was left
to rediscover her modesty and her reputation in the best way
she could.

Nothing happened quickly. It was the lunch break and time
dragged. She wasn't feeling better. Her finger was in her
pussy and she was touching her clit, but she did it for
comfort and not for relief. It wasn't to finish what Daniel
had started - that's what she told herself. It was because
she was down in the dumps and miserable. And then the bell
rang and she realised that if she'd stayed in the bathroom
too long, and if she stayed much longer she would invite the
unwelcome attention of the teachers. They would ask too many
awkward questions. So a much shaken Lucy came out of the
bathroom, and she emerged to find a crowd of boys waiting
for her outside.

She pushed them away, struggling and fighting them, ignoring
their wandering hands and their crude childish chatter. She
held down the hem of her skirt because she was minus her
panties and the boys were trying to flip up her skirt at the
back, and several girls jealous of the attention were trying
to tear open her blouse.

She begged them to leave her, both the girls and the boys,
but the girls teased her and the boys jostled and harried
and followed her to her next lesson. They poked her where
they shouldn't and they asked whether her ass was hurting
and could they rub ointment on it, and could they see it,
and all they wanted to do was to repeat what Daniel had done
- although they daren't - but they threatened to do it
unless Lucy rewarded them with a favour.

Like an idiot, Lucy rose to the bait and asked what favour
they meant and naturally they told her. They had the grace
to seem embarrassed but the demands remained the same. "A
striptease," they chortled. "You'll go to the library and
you can dance for us, Luc. You were hypocritical with your
panties so you can take off your uniform. Not just a bit of
it, but all of it, and we'll check that you're wearing the
right school uniform."

Lucy told them what to do and where to go but they'd smelt
blood and now her reputation was in tatters, and so they
took no notice. Again, she told them to get lost, and again
they ignored her, and so it was a relief when she got to her
next lesson, where her teacher was Mr Andrews, and although
he was waiting impatiently, he took no notice as Lucy
hurtled in, and she sat down at the back gathering her
thoughts.

Maybe he knew... Maybe he'd been told...

The others leered at her and suggested that matters were yet
to be resolved, and then Lucy saw that her brother was
playing in the sports field outside.

Oh Jesus. He'd gone there deliberately. He'd placed himself
where he could see her. But why? What was he up to? What was
he planning?

It seemed that he was playing ball with a large number of
boys, some of whom had been with him behind the bike sheds,
and some of whom hadn't. They were laughing and having a
good time, and Daniel seemed to be looking through the
window and not playing ball at all.

He'd changed his clothes and he was now wearing a red
sport's shirt and white football shorts. Lucy didn't know
where they'd come from, because they weren't his and she'd
never seen them before, but even as she opened her school
bag and took out her French text books, she knew that
Daniel's cock had dug into her belly and he'd cum. She
remembered his unexpected spasms and the jerky convulsions
and her sudden realization that he was going to do it, and
he had, and afterwards, there had been the stickiness on her
thigh and the smell of his cum, and even as she listened to
Mr Andrews explaining that she was to complete two exercises
in French comprehension from her textbook, she couldn't let
that memory go.

A striptease; that's what the boy had said on her way to
this lesson. A striptease in the school library.

She opened her text book and looked down at the pages of
closely formed French that was her lesson; the pages that
she was supposed to be reading and she tried to understand
what was said. Why the school library?

What was special about that?

God. It was contentious to admit, but her pussy was wet and
she was imagining herself surrounded by books and performing
a sexy striptease for the boys. It wasn't how she expected
to be. She should be disgusted and appalled and yet she was
anything but.

A striptease.

Her mind kept drifting back to when Little Dan, her cute
little brother, had pinned her to his lap. His hand had been
hard, uncompromising and firm, making her wriggle, and then
she'd felt his cock hammering her stomach through her
clothes, and then there had been those long violent spasms.
Jesus.

How remarkable! She and Daniel had had sex in public; at
school; well, of a kind. What would her mother say? Her
father?

A striptease in the school library.

God.

She swallowed nervously, wanting to do it but hesitant,
quivering, and already she could feel Daniel's lust strobing
her chest and piercing her clothes.

The others were there in the library: looking, and her mouth
was terrifyingly dry and her hands were frozen to her side.
"Please, Dan. This isn't good. We should talk..."

As he looked lasciviously at her skirt he could see through
it to her stockings and her panties, and then through these
to her pussy, and her pussy began to tingle, and she felt
like he was drawing her relentlessly into his spell.

"No need to talk," he was saying, and he was leading her
forward and her breasts were on strings. They were tied to
her nipples and he was pulling on those strings and
manoeuvring her like she was a weak minded puppet. He owned
her and he was making her rise to her feet and then he
pulled her to the front of the class by those strings.

She was sure that he would touch her... and them... her
tits... He was pulling her into his grasp. He was leading
her to the front of the classroom and he could only be that
for one reason, so that everyone could see her more clearly.
Her tits and nipples were being stretched as he tugged
them...

He opened a bag and he withdrew a hairbrush and makeup.
"Pretty yourself up," he said softly. "Put on some perfume
and brush your hair. I'll find something for you to wear."

As she obediently brushed her hair, he pulled a slinky dress
from the bottom of the bag he'd been holding and he held up
the dress, stretching it and letting the whole class see how
transparent it was. "How would you like Lucy to do her
striptease from this?" he asked them. "Would you prefer
that, or would you prefer her to do it from her school
uniform?"

His vote was for the school uniform because it had long been
his fantasy to watch a girl stripping from her school
uniform, and although he'd seen videos of professional girls
doing it at the strip clubs, that was nothing to the real
thing, and so he listened to what the others had to say but
ignored it.

"The girls at the clubs," he said, imagining Lucy standing
with a lollypop in her mouth and swaying seductively. "They
show men their pink. That's the phrase they use in those
places. I'd like you to show me your pink, Lucy; to open
your legs and show me your womb. I fancy getting some
pictures like that. Do you know what I mean?"

It was his fantasy, another fantasy, to see his sister
dressed as a St Trinian's schoolgirl: lots of makeup; tie,
gymslip and ribbons in her pig tails.

The time was right. The question was asked. What could she
say?

Lucy stood rooted to the spot, her shoulders pinned sweatily
to the blackboard, and Daniel smiled at her sweetly,
imagining her with her legs wide open, holding her lips to
him in the way he'd described.

Lucy imagined it too and it was a nightmare to her. She
couldn't. She wouldn't. Her brother was sitting on a stool
and he was leaning forward towards her: staring at her pink
flesh.

"No! I mean..."

She caught her breath and reddened because she felt that he
could see her nipples and they were exploding through her
clothes. "God. You've got the wrong end of the stick, Dan...
I'm not doing it... I can't! I've never done it."

He stepped towards her and his tongue seeming to be licking
at her teats, and she groaned, for her nipples were tender
that she couldn't endure him licking her there. "I'll help
you," he insisted, stepping closer, and he touched her olive
coloured neck and his finger trailed across her shoulders
and into her blouse and she groaned a second time at the
contact. What was he doing?

His fingers moved towards her breast. "You'll dance for me
and get naked and show everyone your pink," he whispered.
"I'd like that, Lucy, and Mr Andrews would like it too. So
would everyone. We'd like it a lot."

Lucy stuttered and blushed because Little Daniel was
touching inside her blouse, kneading her shoulders, and she
could hear the numbness of her response. "I can't... Dan.
You're my kid brother. You don't know what you're asking..."

It was so weak!

"I want you to dance," he repeated, and his finger darted
inside her bra, pushing towards her nipple. "You'll do it
because I ask you and because it will forestall any
trouble."

She gasped again, and he smirked, and he was unbuttoning her
blouse.

"It's your own fault, Lucy. You've only got yourself to
blame for this mess. You tried to embarrass me. You sent
those girls, and you weren't wearing the right panties, and
so you must be punished."

Oh God! What was he doing? Her heart was thumping and she
couldn't believe it - what he was doing. She couldn't allow
it, not here in the middle of the classroom while everyone
was looking at her, cheering and applauding and egging him
on. Her fingers clawed at the blackboard as if there were a
magical escape route hidden there somewhere and she was
searching to find it.

She couldn't allow this...

But he was looking at her face, her bust, and his fingers
were unbuttoning her buttons, first one, then two, then
another; and suddenly her entire top was open.

He was going to strip her. Her kid brother was going to do
it, Little Danny, right here in her French class with her
teacher looking on while he did nothing to help her....

She drew in her breath and bit her lip. "Not here," she
complained. "I'm supposed to be doing it in the library.
That's what they said!"

Oh God. He was fondling her shoulders and daring her to
allow it, and when she did, he went further. He took one
quizzical look at her bra, sizing it up, and then, he pulled
a breast from it and let it hang between them: naked,
exposed and in view of the class, and when he knew that she
couldn't endure the embarrassment of that any longer, he
scooped out the other one from its cup and let it stand
there naked in front of them both.

Lucy heard the raucous shouts and the jeers from the
classmates: the horrible catcalls. They were saying that it
didn't matter that she wasn't in the library, and that she
could dance in the library later on if she wanted. She could
dance wherever she wanted... "I can't bear it..." she begged
Daniel, closing her eyes. "Please. If you care for me and
for our parents, for their reputations, stop it and get away
from all this!"

"You'll undress and show us your pink," Daniel instructed,
ignoring her pleas and crushing her against the blackboard
and kissing her mouth, his arms grabbing her wrists and
pinning them to her sides. "You'll do it because unless you
do, I'll beat you. I'll whip you where it hurts until you
cum, and you'll scream and the noise will be audible to the
rest of the school. Is that what you want, darling sister?"

She was light headed, too frightened to argue, and yet
somehow she was buzzing with an inner excitement. She was
aroused: turned on, the kind of arousal that remains fixed
in the memory until the last dying breath eases past one's
dry grey lips.

"Is that what you want?" he repeated sternly. "Do you want
to show us your pink?"

Lucy swallowed breathlessly; feeling a rumbling earthquake
building within her belly, and it was growing and stretching
inside of her.

"No," she murmured weakly, shaking her head.

"No?" he queried, kissing her passionately and forcing her
to accept his tongue. He seemed to know and understand her.
"Are you sure about that? Lucy?"

"Oh God!" she cried, her hands clenching into fists and her
hips swaying uncontrollably. "I'll show you my pink! I will.
I'll do it. I want it! I do. I want to be naked and to show
you!"

"And? What else, Lucy?"

"I'll show Mr Andrews my pink! I'll show everyone that wants
to see me. I'll sit after school by the bike sheds, my legs
open, and I'll show them my pink. I'll go up to Lodes Wold
and I'll stand by the gates and I'll show the soldiers my
pink."

"And what then?" he asked, looking at her breasts and
caressing them with his eyes, but not touching her - God.
She was in such need. She wanted his hands to be rolling her
tits between his fingers and squeezing the flesh. Her
breasts were aching for it, to be owned, to be mastered, to
be touched. "What will you do then?"

She gasped, fighting an impending orgasm, mindless of
everything apart from the weight of his body pressing
against hers. She couldn't hold this beast much longer. It
was too much: too large, too dominant and overwhelming. It
was tearing right through her, grabbing and twisting at her
gut: and he was very consciously doing this terrible thing
and opening her mind. "I don't know... tell me... what will
I do then?" she stammered, and somehow, something somewhere
was punching at her solar plexus; it was pummelling into the
side of her, into her back, into everywhere at the same
time, and she was bruised, beaten; she felt crushed, but
still the orgasmic sensations kept growing deep within her
groin.

"Oh God! Oh my dear, dear God!" she cried, her head tilting
back and her mouth falling open. She was on fire, burning,
and so vitally, horribly aroused. This was it, the end. It
was hurrying towards her at a terrible breakneck speed and
she was ready with her arms open to accept its embrace.
"Tell me what I must do," she begged, weakening at the
knees, and so he told her.

"Hold your pussy lips so I can see you inside," he hissed.
"Spread them and when everyone's had a good look at you, get
down on your knees, unzip my trousers and suck my cock and
take it to the back of your throat. Mr Andrews will want to
take pictures of you and you can finger your pussy while he
does so. You'll suck me until I cum, won't you, my dear
Lucy?"

She nodded anxiously, and her breathing broke into heavy
nervous gasps, because in her mind she could visualize
herself on her knees with her brother's cock in her mouth
and the swelling of it visible as a lump protruding through
her cheeks. "Everyone will look at my pussy," she sobbed,
shutting her eyes to keep out the humiliating terror.
"They'll look at my pink and they'll think I'm a slut."

She was writhing at the swell of an orgasm, rubbing her tits
against his chest and lowering her belly in an attempt to
impale herself upon his cock. Her hands closed into fists
and her hips swayed and undulated with each new wave of
heavenly arousal.

It was embarrassing that so many should see it but it came
from years of pent-up frustration and it had all been
released, wave of it after wave, and when she'd finally
finished cumming, Daniel took her by the hand and helped her
onto Mr Andrew's desk as if were a perfectly regular thing
for her to do. There were chairs and desks and red faced
boys in front of her, and Mr Andrews to the side, and while
she recovered her breath, Daniel placed a portable CD player
onto the desk and he selected the first track. Then he
looked up at her, expectant and impatient.

"If you're not naked by the end of the second track," he
told her. "You'll receive twenty strokes of the whip, laid
on as heavily as I can lay them. Is that clear, my big
sister?"

She swallowed weakly and looked to Mr Andrews for help. He
was supposed to be her teacher and her saviour, but he did
nothing to help her.

"Twenty strokes of the whip! Is that clear, Lucy?"

Lucy didn't know what to do. She just stood there on the
desk, absorbing the attention and the ferocity of the boys'
gaze. They were looking at her shoes, her stockings, her
pleated skirt and her half-opened plain school blouse: and
her jacket and her school tie.

And still Mr Andrews did nothing. Oh God. She hesitated and
tried to resist but then she started to sway. She had no
idea what to do, but she did something. Seeing the hard,
calculating expression on Mr Andrew's face, she knew that
the choice was to do that or be punished. Mr Andrews wasn't
going to help her. He wasn't her savior. And so she began.

The moves didn't matter and they weren't coordinated, but
someone was taking pictures and it was supposed to be the
library, and it wasn't, and she was shaking: terrified.

She could run, she thought... there was still time... to run
out through the door as fast as she could. Even as she
unfastened the last of her buttons of her blouse she could
see herself fleeing down the street clutching her pleated
skirt and her stockings and Daniel in pursuit. He would
catch her, of course, and throw her across his knee and
administer his twenty strokes laid on as heavily as he could
lay them... and she would writhe on his lap and rub herself
until she was panting and spent and in passion and pain...

The camera clicked, and she opened her blouse, her hand
strategically placed across her belly. She pouted and
extricated herself from her blouse and threw it away; doing
so just as the first track came to its close.

There was no escape now.

She was down to her bra and panties, and she was open and
vulnerable but trusting them and not knowing why.

She unfastened her bra and swung it over her head, hearing
the whirring of a shutter and being driven to greater highs
of excitement.

She teased them with her sodden wet panties, pulling them
off and prancing about, quite naked apart from the red marks
bruising her ass.

She did a third track as her finale, feeling free and
abandoned, and in this, she sat on Daniel's lap and rubbed
him sensuously with her body until she felt the volcanic
explosion inside his trousers, and she gripped him and
kissed him with equal ferocity.

She'd done it. After all the anticipation, she'd taken off
her clothes and exposed herself naked to a man, her brother;
but also her teacher and everyone in her class...

God Almighty!

It was perfect.

She sat distracted at the back of her classroom, inattentive
to her French comprehension.

Perfect. She liked that Mr Andrews was there, for he was a
red-blooded man with manly desires, and he would reprimand
her, for sure.

That idea was excruciating and yet delightful. It turned
Lucy on, because for a teacher, Mr Andrews was rugged,
fanciable and everybody knew that he owned a big cock.

Lucy bit her lip and imagined the scene. She imagined that
Mr Andrews was bending a twelve inch rule between his hands
and he was pushing her across his desk and pinning her to
the cold wood. Her tits were smashed against its hard
surface and his hand was holding her down, and from behind
her, all the boys were cheering and hooting because they
could see her bare ass.

Mr Andrews kicked at her feet and Lucy squirmed
uncomfortably. Mr Andrews had a wooden rule in his hand, and
he was going to beat her pussy for inappropriate school
dress and she was determined that she wasn't going to cry.

Oh God.

She could feel herself juicing up and she tried to protect
herself by moving her butt, twisting it away from the blows,
but she couldn't. None of these movements prevented Mr
Andrews gaining access to her puffy mound, and a proud glow
permeated her groin.

She was convinced that this couldn't be happening but she
was hoping that it was.

Oh Jesus.

The boys were staring at her open purse, and Mr Andrews was
looking at it too as he aimed his rule, and suddenly he hit
her. He hit her hard and he made her cry, and she sobbed.
She screamed, and he hit her again. He hit her squarely
across the pussy lips and her clit and he kept hitting her
there, blow after blow.

Oh God. It was painful. It was horrible. It was beautiful; a
magical, crazy Nirvana land, and afterwards, when he'd
finished, she rubbed her groin against the wood, and he made
her stay there while he invited the boys to inspect her red
weals and her bruises.

Imagine it!

These were Lucy's thoughts as she sat alone in her classroom
in her long dour skirt and her high buttoned blouse, ignored
by her class mates and energetically writing an exercise of
uninteresting French futility.

She wasn't a popular girl and she hadn't a boyfriend. She
was a prim, prudish individual, interested in nothing but
talking to God and singing in the choir, and yet, inside,
she was addicted to sex. Her religion and her appearance
were inherited from her parents and they compelled her to
attend Church, and she endured it for the singing and the
choir, but in truth, this wasn't the real Lucy.

The real Lucy was elsewhere. The real Lucy was hidden in the
Chianti vineyards and the long lines of Cypress that
alternate with well tended woodland. The real Lucy had
breasts that smelt of the fragrance of oregano mixed with
thyme, of bougainvillea laden terraces and lavender in
bloom. The real Lucy had a cunt that was attractive to the
bees, the foxes and the slow moving butterflies. The real
Lucy was a sexual enigma, a tragic heroine in the style of
Puccini, and nobody had as yet broken her code.

**

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