{ASSTR 32} Jankers and Spankers

{Big Billie} (spank F/F, sex F/F)

A Sally Trubshawe Henderson Story

Part 1: A Challenge from Ireland

As the Dean of Discipline, and later the Headmistress, of a select girls’ boarding school in the southern counties of England, I used to administer disciplinary spankings, and I developed a tariff of the appropriate number of slaps to give malefactors of different ages and school years.

Young girls of 11 to 12 in their first year usually received 4 slaps. Girls aged from 12 to 13 in year two got six slaps. Third formers, aged from 13 to 14, took either six or eight slaps depending on how much pussy hair they displayed when they went to bathe naked in the communal showers. Fourth form and fifth form girls, aged from 14 to 16, all received a standard number of eight slaps.

There was, however, an amusing anomaly. The school required girls who did not reach an acceptable standard in their ‘O’ level examinations to repeat their fifth year in form 5C. If they were successful in this second attempt at their examinations they could proceed to the sixth form at the age of 17, gain their ‘A’ levels at the age of 19 and go on to university. If, however, they performed badly in their repeat examination the school had no option but to ask them to leave and to suffer the loss of their fees.

It was therefore in the interests of both the girls and the school that this repeat year was successfully completed and to expedite this the Headmistress appointed me form mistress of 5C shortly after I arrived at the school; and she also urged me to take all necessary measures to ensure that 5C girls were academically successful.

Now 5C was one of our larger forms. This was because our own girls were joined by girls from other schools which did not allow a repeat of the ‘O’ level year. The result was usually a class of about 30 young ladies aged 16 or 17, some of them lazy, some of them not particularly academically gifted, some of them with various personal or family problems, and nearly all of them resentful. To keep this diverse group of lively young ladies under control firm disciplinary measures were required.

Accordingly the standard punishment for 5C malefactors was 12 of the best with the plimsoll administered across skimpy, tightly stretched gym knickers after PT (Physical Training). Moreover, these were big, nubile, strapping lasses with meaty bums and hairy pussies. I enjoyed spanking them and I slapped them significantly sharper than I slapped the younger girls.

This was a sexy scenario. In the summer of their fifth year all the girls made a first attempt at ‘O’ levels. Some of them performed satisfactorily and proceeded to the sixth form where they were exempt from my slapping regime. Others performed poorly, were kept down in the fifth form as members of 5C, and got their bottoms slapped. As you can imagine the sixth formers were usually highly amused at the predicament of the 5C girls. Oh yes! As I have mentioned before a spanking is all very amusing when someone else is on the receiving end. It is only when you feel it across your own bum that you fail to see the funny side. And if the spanking is a full 12 of the best laid on smartly with vim and vigour it is all the funnier.

The girls in 5C, of course, saw things differently. They were now taking 50 per cent more slaps than they had ever taken before and they did not like it. They were also getting slapped harder than they had ever been slapped before and they did not like that either. Even worse, some of their old classmates were now prefects and had the much coveted right to enter the names of 5C girls in the punishment book and send them for discipline. And, worst of all, the gymnasium had a public gallery where sixth formers could watch as 5C girls got their bums smacked. Indeed, some spectators even took opera glasses and binoculars to get a better view!

But as well as discipline I also gave the girls of 5C support and advice. I tried my best to get them out of the predicament they were in and to help them to proceed to successful educational careers. I delivered frequent classroom pep talks and I held regular one-to-one tutorials with every girl in 5C.

Not every girl in 5C was there because she was lazy or of limited ability. Indeed, some girls in 5C were highly academic and intelligent and later went off to top universities and distinguished careers. But sometimes there were personal issues such as a rebellious spirit or family difficulties that caused them to underachieve.

Now like many teachers I absolutely hate to see students squander their chances of a good education and fail the reach their full potential. Bright, lazy girls, for example, really get my goat, especially when they are also uncooperative and obstreperous. For such girls I developed a system of intense personal tuition and training; this incorporated Saturday morning sessions in the gym that I referred to as “Fatigues” but that were known among the girls as “Jankers and Spankers.” Let me give you an example.

In 1968 we had a girl in 5C called Dorothy McDonagh who had been ejected from her school in Ireland by a fiercely academic and intellectual order of nuns. When I tested her, however, she notched up some most impressive scores for English, mathematics and foreign languages. So I wrote to the nuns to ask them why, at the end of her fifth year, Dorothy had been asked to leave. The Headmistress wrote back to say that the girl had a wild and rebellious spirit and that they could do nothing with her. (I already knew that Dorothy’s grandfather had died a hero’s death, killed by a British bullet in the shoot-out at Dublin’s Central Post Office during the Easter Rising of 1916.)

Well, I like feisty ladies despite (or, perhaps, because of) the disciplinary challenges that they present, and over the first few weeks of the autumn term I took quite a shine to Dorothy. She was edgy, awkward to handle, and sometimes stridently and irritatingly insistent on her rights. But, hey, what’s that among friends! Dorothy put nothing like enough effort into her work but when she actually condescended to produce some it was almost always excellent. So OK, I thought, I am going to get you through these ‘O’ levels, Miss McDonagh, whether you like it or not!

Then, shortly after the start of term, Dorothy was referred to me by Miss Reynolds, her English teacher, for failing to complete work assignments and I booked her in for Fatigues.

Fatigues always used to kick off with a tutorial session in my room at 6 a.m. sharp on Saturday mornings. At 6.07 a.m. there was a knock on my door; Dorothy had arrived.

“Good morning, Miss McDonagh,” I said brightly. “You are seven minutes late. You will pay for that when we start our session in the gym. But first let us discuss your academic progress and your referral to me by Miss Reynolds.”

I then sat Dorothy down opposite to me and, as we both reclined in comfortable armchairs, we spent more than half an hour talking about her case. As I had anticipated, she had a number of issues. Her family was affluent; they lived in a large eighteenth century house in one of Dublin’s Georgian quarters and her father was a top lawyer in the Republic of Ireland. She herself had always had the ambition to become a barrister but there were very few women in her country that had made it to the Bar and she had given up all hope of ever getting there. This, plus a resentment that her parents had sent her away from home at the age of eleven to a private boarding school in a rural setting between Cork and Limerick, had thrown her off the rails. The nuns were strict and scary, and at first she had spent every night in bed crying. But then she had learnt to cope, and gradually, as a teenager, a fierce flame of anger and rebellion had welled up inside her which not even the stern discipline of her teachers could completely quell.

At first Dorothy’s manner was resentful and obstreperous and I had to coax information out of her. But when she saw that I was listening, intently and sympathetically, to what she had to say, she relaxed and became more open and cooperative—chatty, even. Soon we were engaging each other with deep, long, intimate eye contact as I tried to look past Dorothy’s eyes and into her soul. Meanwhile, I was intrigued not only by my pupil’s demeanour and mannerisms, but also with her physical beauty; because by the age of 17, dear readers, Dorothy McDonagh had blossomed into an utterly stunning, drop dead gorgeous piece of Eve’s flesh. At that time one of the top glamour ladies wowing the cinema-going males was Elizabeth Taylor; and if you have ever seen her starring in any 1950s films you will know why. Well Dorothy reminded me strongly of the youthful Elizabeth Taylor. She was taller, but her figure, her face and her colouration were similar and she had the same beautiful deep blue eyes. In summary, like Elizabeth Taylor, Dorothy McDonagh was a gorgeous blue-eyed brunette with a beautiful face and a superb, pulchritude-packed physique; not unnaturally our close physical proximity, our increasingly intimate discussions, and our long, intense eye contact fired up my Sapphic desires and I felt a sharp physical attraction to this troubled but beautiful young lady.

When Dorothy had finished her story I had my say. I told her that, in my view, she was being unduly pessimistic about her preferred career. The times were changing, I said, in an unacknowledged reference to the famous Bob Dylan lyrics, and if she really wanted to be a barrister in the Republic of Ireland she should show more determination and fighting spirit. That was her dream so I would recommend, as a first step, a Law degree at a top Irish academy, preferably Trinity College, Dublin. If she got her ‘O’ levels out of the way, and worked hard at an appropriate study programme at Advanced level, it was my opinion that she was in with a good chance of success. She was also, I added, being unfair to her parents. They had almost certainly sent her away to a top Ladies’ Academy in Ireland not because they did not love her but because they wanted the best for her. She could thank her lucky stars, I added, that after she had been expelled by the nuns her father had not packed her off to a finishing school in Switzerland where her only instruction would have been how to capitalise on her youth and beauty by bagging a rich husband.

My final point was that, as her form mistress, I had no intention either of letting Dorothy squander her considerable intellectual and academic talents without putting up a fight or of failing to support her in her preferred life choices; she wanted to enter the law and, whether she liked it or not, I was going to strain every muscle, nerve and tendon in my body to ensure that she did precisely that. I might well fail because my disciplinary regime was less strict than that of the Irish nuns; but I still intended to give it my best shot, starting right now.

“Very well, Miss McDonagh,” I concluded. “Please go straight to the gymnasium and strip for action. I shall be there in five minutes, and I expect to find you changed into you gym kit and awaiting my instructions.”

At which Dorothy biffed off.

Part 2: Dorothy’s Jankers

Five minutes later I entered the gym changing rooms and, as I always did, I locked the doors behind me. (We rarely got cases of theft, but some girls found it hilariously funny to hide someone else’s knickers or engage in similar mischief.)

When I arrived Dorothy was still getting changed.

“Too slow, young lady! Come here! Face the wall!”

Crack! Crack! Crack!

“That’s for tardiness!”

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

“And that’s for the seven minutes you were late for our interview!”

I did not bend Dorothy over, but I did raise her skirt and slap her on her knickers as she stood with her bottom towards me. And I curled my gym slipper under her bum cheeks and slapped her on her meaty undercarriage, where her bum curved around to her pussy crack. The ten slaps were not vicious, but they were just hard enough to be sharp and disciplinary rather than playful and it was clear that Dorothy felt them; she remained silent but when she turned to face me I could see from her expression that she was not amused.

As soon as Dorothy had changed I ordered her into the gym.

“Right, girl, running on the spot please. Knees up! Higher! Higher! No, not good enough!”

Slap!

Once more I wrapped my slipper around the meat of Dorothy’s seat and a satisfying crack rang out as it hit home.

“That’s better! Now keep that up for three minutes, until I tell you to stop.”

Soon, despite the chilliness of the autumn morning, beads of sweat began to form on my victim’s forehead.

“Now climb the rope, please, and put your hand flat on the ceiling when you get to the top. Do that three times! Come on! Faster!”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

As Dorothy rose into the air up the rope her succulent bum, tightly encased in a thin, skimpy pair of gym knickers that were slightly too small for her, presented a tempting target and I gave it another three sharp flicks with the slipper, then three more on her second ascent and three on her third.

“Give me three forward rolls on the gym mat and then three backward rolls. Repeat that three times. Now give me twelve press ups. Come on, girl, press up!”

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

Dorothy’s attempts to press upwards were not helped by the weight of my slipper coming down right onto the meaty part of her rump every time that she straightened her arms. At the end of the exercise she collapsed onto the mat exhausted.

“OK. Three minute time out. Take a rest.

And so it went on for more than an hour: circuit training conducted at a brisk and hectic pace with the constant spur of my pump across her rump to keep Dorothy’s mind on the task at hand. I did not slap her all that hard; my spanks mimicked the flicks with a riding crop administered by a horsewoman across the flanks of her steed and they were meant to sting, humiliate and infuriate rather than to really hurt the recipient.

The session in the gym started at about 6.50 a.m. and finished around 8.05. By that time Dorothy’s face was almost as red as her bottom and the sweat was dripping from her brow.

“Now, into the changing rooms! Come on, girl. Quick about it!”

And I delivered another three admonitory swats to Dorothy’s shapely rump. This projected her rapidly out of the gym and soon she was standing before me near the entrance to the showers.

Part 3: Dorothy’s Spankers

When I had Dorothy alone with me in the changing rooms I stood close to her and attracted her attention with intimate eye contact.

“Now, Miss McDonagh,” I said, quietly but firmly, “to complete the discipline, and to prepare you for your shower, please take off all of your clothing.”

I fully expected that this salacious request would be met with dissention and rebellion but, to my surprise, it was not. Dorothy, without demur, stripped off stark naked in front of me; and she did it slowly and deliberately, trying as hard as she could to titillate me.

And on wow, dear reader, but was Dorothy’s raunchy striptease effective! She knew exactly how to inflame my Sapphic passions by jiggling her breasts, turning away from me, wiggling her bottom, and so on; she competed her act by standing firmly and defiantly, legs akimbo, and catching me in the eye, her faced wreathed in a triumphant, come-on smile.

I was shaken, palpitating wildly and deeply shocked at the stunning beauty of this gorgeous teenaged temptress. At first I stared obsessively into Dorothy’s lovely, deep blue eyes, looking her straight in the face. But then my attention was distracted by her bodily beauty and I allowed my gaze to drift downwards over her firm, voluptuous breasts, her tapered midriff, her belly button and loins, and her well-proportioned, meaty thighs. Then my attention was caught by the thick clump of raven black pussy hair that sprouted luxuriantly from the enticing triangle formed by the tops of the thighs and the lower tummy; and, through that hair, thick as it was, I could just about discern two plump pussy lips, pouting ever so slightly open to display, between their serrated edges, two coral pink inner labia.

As I leered obsessively at my pupil’s pudenda I was abruptly reminded of the dangers that face any teacher who loses control of the disciplinary agenda. Dorothy could see that she had me rattled and off my guard, and she was quick to exploit my weakness. She quickly stepped forward two paces, slipped her arms around my waist, pulled me towards her and kissed me roughly and passionately on the mouth. Then, when that kiss was over, and while I was still in a catatonic state and a myriad conflicting emotions were swelling in my bosom, she kissed me again.

This second kiss was gentler and more intimate, and, despite my fears and misgivings, I found myself returning it rather than fighting it off. It was Dorothy who was naked, but her saucy, insolent assault had also caught me, metaphorically speaking, with my knickers down and my seductress took full advantage. She began to work her tongue between my teeth and into my mouth; soon our embrace had escalated into a wet, passionate, French kiss and our tongues were locked in a delicious duel.

Then, however, Dorothy went too far. With her left hand she tweaked at my right nipple and, at the same time, she brought her right hand up and stroked me between my legs and onto my vulva.

The tweak and the stroke were both gentle and they were applied not skin to skin but over my track suit; even so, the spell was broken. I pulled away from our embrace and with the flat of my right hand I administered a sharp slap to Dorothy’s left cheek.

“You voluptuous young minx!” I cried out angrily. “I’ll make you sting for that; I’ll make you tingle for your insolence!”

But Dorothy could see that she had won. She had got to me, and she knew it.

“I bet you will,” she said triumphantly. “Well, go on then. Give it your best shot!”

“Miss McDonagh,” I replied, trying my best to recover my composure and to return to the official order of service, “Your session on fatigues will be completed in the usual way. I am going to spank you; you will take the standard tariff for a girl of your age, namely twelve of the best with the slipper; and to punish you for your lascivious insubordination as well as for your lack of effort in your English studies I will make sure that you feel them. Please face that bench, straighten your legs and touch your toes.”

Oh wow! This was the really sexy bit. Dorothy, still smirking victoriously, obediently turned towards the bench and bent over as instructed. This gave me a sudden and stunning eyeful of her most intimate parts, this time observed from the rear, and the sight made me catch my breath in lustful wonder. Dorothy was a beautifully willowy and supple girl and, with straightened legs, she still touched her toes with ease. The effort of stretching downwards, however, tightened the muscles in her calves and the tendons in her thighs; and Dorothy had a pair of the shapeliest calves and two of the most nubile and tempting thighs that I have ever seen. Then, on the top insides of the thighs, where they rose to meet the pussy, two enticing little dimpled hollows rippled and quivered between taut, stretched tendons; and, nestled between those hollows, I found myself leering again at the two meaty enticing labial lips with their pink inner linings and at the thick black clump of wiry pussy hair that sprouted luxuriously from those lips in indelicate and saucy profusion. Dorothy’s upper rump had been turned to a fetching shade of pink by my preparatory slaps and tail flicks while the epicentre of my sexy assault, namely the meaty bits to either side of the perineum between the bum hole and the pussy, were a deeper shade of red. Ouch! I was beginning to find this little game distinctly over-exciting!

“Now, Dorothy, please read out the text on this card that I am placing on the bench.”

Yes. It was “Dorothy” now rather than “Miss McDonagh” since after this spanking had been inflicted I wanted to forge a friendlier and more cooperative relationship between us.

“Good, Better, Best

Never Let It Rest

Till Your Good is Better

And Your Better Best.”

“Well done, Dorothy. Now study this card. And I removed the first card and replaced it with this one:

(Slap) Good (Slap) Better (Slap) Best

(Slap) Never (Slap) Let It (Slap) Rest

(Slap) ‘Till Your (Slap) Good Is (Slap) Better

(Slap) And Your (Slap) Better (Slap) Best

“I am going to give you a total of 12 slaps. After each slap please read out the text between that slap and the next one. Now let’s rehearse that.”

And I gave Dorothy’s bum another sharp flick to which she correctly responded:

“Good”

Flick!

“Better”

Flick!

“Best”

And so on, until Dorothy’s bum had been flicked a total of twelve times.

“Not bad, but your responses were too slow. Let’s try again.”

Flick!!

“Good”

And so on, only this time I flicked Dorothy’s bum a little bit harder than during Rehearsal 1.

“Not bad, again, but now your responses are not loud enough. Please speak clearly, distinctly, and at a good volume. Now, let’s run through the rehearsal a third time.”

Flick!!!

“Good”

And so on, with Dorothy’s bum getting flicked just that little bit harder still.

“That seems OK. Now brace yourself. Here comes the spanking proper, but first, please wait; there will be a slight delay while I gird up my loins to deliver it.”

I wanted to get my head straight before I undertook the important duty of enforcing cooperative, serious, diligent and studious behaviour onto this rebellious, cocky, casual and nonchalant teenaged madam since, if my discipline was effective, it could have benevolent, life changing consequences for Dorothy. “This will sting, my girl,” I thought to myself, “but it is for your own good!”

Except, of course, that it wasn’t entirely. By now I was so sexually stimulated by the gorgeous naked lady bending over before me that I throbbed and ached with desire. I have always enjoyed administering disciplinary spankings especially when, as in this case, they had strong kinky and sensuous overtones. I knew that I would get a strong sexual buzz from slapping Dorothy’s bottom and I knew that this was wrong.

But, more insidiously than that, I knew that I was about to slap Dorothy’s bottom in anger, and I knew that I was about to slap it very hard. Dorothy would be taking not only the punishment that she deserved but also an unjust surcharge inflicted out of personal pique; and that too was not right.

Dorothy had really shaken me with those two kisses, especially the second one, the really lengthy French kiss that I had returned to her with passionate fervour. I shouldn’t have done that, and I knew I shouldn’t. To give way to the sensual and luxurious lusts of the moment was weak, naïve and unprofessional. I would have thoroughly deserved it if Miss Pargeter, the Headmistress, had slippered my bare bottom for me, and slippered it hard. I was mortified and vexed at my lapse and I intended to make Dorothy pay for it.

And make her pay for it I did. In my anger, vexation, embarrassment and spite I spanked her hard; and Dorothy had a bare bum to add extra bite and edge to my slipper. As they traditionally do, the first three slaps landed right onto the plumpest and meatiest part of the bum, just above the thighs. I pulled my arm back as far as it would go and then brought in round in a fast, wide arc.

CRACK!

Oh wow! She really felt that one! The slap hit home like the explosion from the barrel of a rifle, and the report echoed loud around the changing rooms. Dorothy’s shapely callipygian buttocks wobbled and quivered and her thick, black, wiry, backwardly sprouting clump of pussy hair was scattered every which way. After the sharp impact the pump rebounded from off its target like bouncing rubber to reveal an indented lily white stripe that, over the next few seconds, blushed to crimson pink. Ouch! That one really bit into her arse! Dorothy let out a low, urgent grunt but otherwise restricted herself to the required response, which was prompt, loud, crisp and clear.

“Good.”

I waited for the target area across the back of my victim’s cunt to turn as red as it was going to get, and for the tingling to reach its height. Then I gave Dorothy another one, slightly harder, delivered to exactly the same piece of arse, across the back of the perineum between bum hole and cunt, right where the buttock meat was at its plumpest and most succulent.

CRACK!!

For a second time, pussy hairs flew and wobble, sting, tingle went Dorothy’s shapely, womanly rump.

“Better.”

Prompt, crisp, loud and clear, Dorothy articulated the second part of the old Victorian schoolroom adage.

I paused again to allow the initial sharp sting from the slap to be supplemented by the sharp tingling that is, for the recipient, such an infuriating after effect of a spank from a gym slipper. Then, drawing back my arm again, I inflicted slap number three, and it was the hardest so far.

CRACK!!!

Dorothy’s butt end cried “Spanko” for a third time; then she made her response

“Best.”

And so it went on until Dorothy had taken her twelve of the best. I gave them to her hard: three across the back of the perineum, six delivered at random elsewhere across the bum, and a final three particularly sharp and spiteful ones where the first three had landed, across the plump buttock meat between the pussy and the bum hole.

I spanked Dorothy very hard. I was afraid she might break down or burst into tears but I need not have worried. Like a true heroine she bravely stayed in position, took her swats, and shouted out the required responses loud and clear:

“Never …Let It …Rest

Till Your …Good Is …Better

And Your …Better …Best.”

By the end of Dorothy’s ordeal I was in a state of high sexual erythrism and catatonic shock. The situation was so sexy and kinky that it blew my mind. I found the injustice of it all a real turn on. I was not merely inflicting just and reasonable punishment as a responsible teacher and mentor. I was slapping this young lady’s arse harder than it should have been slapped because she had annoyed me. I wanted to get my own back on her. I was miffed and angry. I wanted revenge and I used my official position and the power and authority that I had over her to get it. At first it made me feel guilty but as soon as my trusty slipper started to crack against bare arse my opinion changed. Yes, I thought, I have caught this young lady with her knickers down, bare and bending, presenting her shapely and succulent rear end perfectly positioned to take the pump. I will take advantage of the situation! I will give it to her! I am a proud, haughty lady, wilful and capricious, and I like my own way! And you know what, dear reader? The arbitrary and dictatorial discipline that I dished out to Dorothy really turned me on!

All good things come to an end, and Dorothy’s punishment was soon over.

“OK,” I said. “That’s all—for now.”

Part 4: In the Showers

Dorothy stood up, turned around, and stood, stark naked, in front of me. I could see at once that her spirit was undaunted by her ordeal. Her arms hung loosely at her side and she did not, like most girls, rub her bottom to massage away the sting. She looked straight at me. Her expression was radiant and her eyes were shining. She looked relieved that her spanking was over but also sexually stimulated because she had been spanked.

Yet again I found my gaze wandering all over the sumptuous nude body of this beautiful Irish girl. Wow but she was gorgeous! How, I mused, could Dorothy take a spanking like that and still be so proud, defiant and unabashed? And how could she still look so beautiful after such a slapping? I had rudely ruffled her tail feathers for her. Her punishment was meant to embarrass, demean and humiliate; but it had failed and at the end of it she was confident, poised and radiant.

Then the truth hit me. This Irish girl epitomised the beautiful country from which she came. I could no more subdue her spirit than centuries of British oppression could subdue the spirit of her countrymen. Like them, like Ireland, she was proud and free, and I did not want her any other way. The school’s disciplinary regime made it almost certain that I would be spanking Dorothy’s bottom again; and I would enjoy doing it! But I no longer wanted to subdue her and bring her to heel. I just wanted to help her and to be her friend.

As these thoughts ran through my mind I raised my eyes from Dorothy’s tempting thighs, loins and breasts and gazed once more into her stunning, deep blue eyes. Soon my heart was all aflutter and I was palpitating wildly. Dorothy, sensing that I was again vulnerable to her advances, stepped up to me once more. She gently slipped her arms around my waist and pulled me towards her. I felt her firm, nubile breasts and thighs pushing into me.

“Thank you,” she said. “I deserved that.”

Then she resumed that soft, delicate French kiss that I had broken off so abruptly when it was first given. This time, however, I did not break it off. It was accompanied by an increasingly intimate embrace and it lasted for a long time.

“Just you wait, my girl! I’ll make you tingle for that the next time I catch you bending.”

“I bet you will!” And Dorothy kissed me again.

“You know, you really are a scheming, lascivious minx, aren’t you? I believe you have done this before.”

“Yes. I was very naughty when I was with the nuns. They caught me at it once and I and my girlfriend were savagely beaten. I received many savage beatings from them. They are far more brutal than you; in fact, you are not brutal at all.”

“I’m sorry,” I said sympathetically.

“Well kiss it better, then,” replied Dorothy, and she resumed our tongue tennis for the fourth time.

Eventually Dorothy went for her shower and I stripped off and followed her, eagerly ogling the red pump marks across her bare bum as I did so.

It was a long time before we emerged from those showers, and by the time we did we had both been very naughty. Our lovemaking slowly escalated from naked kisses and caresses to intimate body soaping and indecent gropes, tweaks and tickles. Soon both of my nipples were hard and erect as Dorothy skilfully worked on them with long, deft, sensitive fingers. Then my lover gently kissed the lips of my face while working a finger between the lips of my pussy. Next, when her finger had aroused my clitoris to bone hard erection and my pussy to hot sticky wetness, Dorothy fell to her knees and gently insinuated her tongue into the intimate inner crevices of my unshaven haven.

At first I was a passive recipient of Dorothy’s advances. I was flustered and embarrassed by the temptations so invitingly dangled before me and ashamed and fearful of the possible professional consequences. “Oh, you naughty girl,” I exclaimed helplessly. “I should bend you over here and now and give you another twelve of the best.”

“Yes, you should,” replied Dorothy. “But you are not going to, are you?”

“No,” I answered resignedly, “I’m not.” And, as she knelt at my feet, I lovingly ran my fingers through my paramour’s beautiful wet, jet black hair as I sank to the ground to join her. We lay there together on the wet tiled floor with the hot water cascading over our nude bodies and resumed our intimate, naked kissing and cuddling.

By now I had thrown my initial caution to the winds. I was returning Dorothy’s advances with passionate enthusiasm and the next time she moved her mouth to my cunt lips I moved my mouth to hers. Soon we were intimately embracing each other in a delicious soixante-neuf: two tongues invaded two hot, wet pussies and four hands rubbed, squeezed and slapped at four bare buttocks, four naked upper legs and four nude inner thighs.

Dorothy was a skilful lover; my first orgasm came before hers and it was fierce and violent. Soon I was writhing around on the tiled floor of the communal showers as I screamed out ecstatically and ejected copious quantities of love juice into her face, where it mingled with the hot water from the shower nozzles before it was washed away.

I myself also had previous experience and no little skill in the jousts of Sappho. Soon my pert, darting tongue had stiffened Dorothy’s clitoris and brought her to hot, wet, sticky orgasm. I briefly felt the emissions on my nose and chin, and I tasted their wet saltiness in my mouth. Then they, too, were washed away by the hot water.

I do not know exactly how many times we brought each other off in those showers, but it was enough to satiate our sexual passions, at least for the time being. After we came out of our soixante-neuf we lay there gently kissing and cuddling. Then, eventually, we rose to our feet and, still kissing and cuddling, we at last merged from the showers and I turned off the water.

That day Dorothy and I became lovers; we have remained lovers, as opportunities have presented themselves, for over forty years; and we will remain lovers until we are separated by the grave.

Part 5: Breakfast at Sally’s, and Afterwards

When we were both dried and dressed I unlocked the changing room doors. Then we left the changing rooms, I locked the doors again from the outside, and we went off to my room for breakfast. This was a slow, leisurely affair. It lasted for several hours and it escalated into brunch. It was mid-afternoon before Dorothy and I finally parted company, and by then we had firm plans in place to ensure the success of her studies.

Far more important than the plans, however, was Dorothy’s attitude, which had undergone a sea change. I have learnt during my long career as a teacher that exhortations, criticisms, threats and punishments are not in themselves enough. If you want to get the best out of students you need to win over their hearts and minds. The way to do that is to offer them your friendship and to give them your time; and you can only do that successfully if you like doing it and if you do not begrudge the effort that it takes. In other words, to be a really good teacher you need to put in the effort and you need to like kids.

Well, I had spent the time and I had made the commitment with Dorothy. This was something that, for all their brutal and cruel punishments of her, the nuns had never done. A few years later Dorothy won a Scholarship to read Law at Trinity College, Dublin. Later, like her father before her, Dorothy became one of the Irish Republic’s most famed and distinguished lawyers. A few years ago she was invited back by the nuns to give the speech and to present the prizes at their annual Speech Day. Thus, as is said more profoundly and more spiritually about our Lord in the New Testament: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the corner stone.”