textfiles/sex/EROTICA/V/valley.txt

                          "THE VALLEY"


     Wendy wasn't a bad girl - just a bit wild.

     She had always been a handful to her parents, but the firm,
loving had of her Daddy on her bare bottom (sometimes
supplemented by his supple leather belt) had kept her mostly on
the straight and narrow path.  But, her Daddy had died three
years ago when Wendy was just fourteen years old.  Since then,
her mother had tried to give Wendy the guidance that she sorely
needed, with only sporadic success.

     Now, just several weeks shy of her eighteenth birthday,
Wendy found herself in her first really serious trouble.  She had
been out with two of her closest friends, Judy and Sheila, just
hanging out at the local A&W in their home town of Boonesville,
when two handsome, rugged looking guys sat down with them and
started to flirt with them.  Wendy welcomed the attention and
flirted right back, while Judy joined in, in her own quiet
flirtatious way.  Sheila was too shy to say much and mostly just
sat there and blushed at the teasing by the guys.  Finally, the
two guys stood up and said, "Come on, let's go for a ride.  We've
got a fast, hot convertible outside and you girls would look just
great in it".  Wendy instantly agreed, as was her style - leap
first and look later.  Judy needed some prodding by Wendy, but
also agreed.  Sheila, to everyone's relief, begged off saying
that she had to be home soon and her father would come and pick
her up.  (After all, who needed a fifth wheel?)  So, Wendy and
Judy hopped in the bright red convertible - Wendy in front and
Judy in back - and off they went for a ride in the wooded hills
which surrounded Boonesville.

     They were having a terrific time, laughing and drinking
beer, throwing the empty cans the hapless cows which regarded
them with Larsonesque disdain.  All was right with the world. 
Wendy had just schooched over towards Dwayne, who was driving,
putting her arm around his shoulders while thinking that those
long sideburns were really quite sexy.  Then her life, as it then
was, came screeching to a halt with the wailing of the siren and
the flashing of the red, white and blue strobe lights of the
quickly approaching Buford County Sheriff's car.

     Wendy only learned the whole story at the police station
while she was waiting for her mother to come and bail her out. 
The bright red convertible was hot in more ways than one.  As it
turned out, Dwayne and Junior had stolen the car in neighbouring
Jackson county about two hours before they appeared at the A&W. 
Worse still, the car belonged to Erline Crosby, the wife of Boss
Crosby, the virtual dictator of Jackson County.  To top it off,
Mrs. Boss Crosby's money was missing from her wallet in the glove
compartment of the car and that money had been found on Wendy's
side of the front seat, down between the cushions.  Wendy stood
accused of stealing the money.  Added to this was a charge of
joyriding and one of resisting arrest.  (Wendy took exception to
being put in handcuffs by the sweating, pawing Sheriff.)  Judy
was only charged with joyriding, while the two guys faced a
string of charges.  They'd been around some it seems and were
"well known" to the police.  They also had several warrants out
for their arrest in various counties.  We can wipe the guys out
of our minds now as they were only the instruments of Wendy's
impending disaster.

     Wendy's trial was separate from the others as she was, when
the crimes had been committed, still a juvenile under Georgia
law.  The others were all eighteen years old or older and were
tried in adult court.  Wendy was given a free lawyer as her mama
was destitute.  (She had to put the deed to the house up as
collateral for Wendy's bail.)  The legal aid lawyer seemed more
interested in staring down Wendy's blouse or up her skirt then in
her protestations of innocence.  For him, this was an easy and
quick $500.00 with the possibility of a brief grope of his client
if he was lucky.  He wasn't and Wendy's rebuffs of him only added
to his desire to get this case over quickly and to move on to
greener pastures.  Eventually, he convinced Wendy that, as she
was a first-time offender and a juvenile, the court would go
easier on her if she admitted her guilt and asked for the mercy
of the court.  Her initial reluctance was overcome by her desire
to get it over with and to get away from this sleazy, dandruffed-
suited lawyer.  This was her second error in judgment.

     When she appeared in juvenile court, she pleaded guilty to
all three charges.  Then the judge, after accepting her pleas,
astounded her with his sentence.  After obligatory lecture, he
said to her, "Little Miss, you're headed off on the road to ruin,
but I think that there's hope for you if you get the right, firm
guidance you so apparently need.  I therefore sentence you to
nine months detention in the State Reformatory for Girls in
Valdosta."  Upon hearing these words, Wendy gave a shriek and
fainted dead away.  (She later learned that the judge was a
cousin of Boss Crosby.)

     She came too in the holding cell while her mother tearfully
peered through the bars.  After a brief goodbye, Wendy was
handcuffed and leg-shackled to two rough-looking teenage girls
and was loaded into the Sheriff Department's van for
transportation to the reform school.  She cried all the way to
Valdosta, greatly annoying the other two girls who promised her
that if she didn't stop snivelling, they'd help to make her stay
in "The Valley" (as it was know fondly by both staff and inmates)
on which she'd never forget.  It seems that they were regular
guests there.  Wendy tried, but got the hiccups which only made
it worse.

     While Wendy is on her way to "The Valley", perhaps we should
take a moment to describe our heroine in a bit more detail. 
Wendy is 5 feet, 3 inches tall, with shiny black hair cut fairly
short for that part of the U.S.  Her eyes, when she isn't crying,
are a sparkling, mischievous green (At the moment, they are a
blurry red.)  Her body can only be described as pert and compact. 
Her breasts are not too big and not too small, but just right -
and pert.  Her legs, while short, are well-proportioned, sleek
and nicely muscled (they are not pert).  Her bottom is her best
feature - she has been told many times, especially when she's
wearing her Boonesville High cheerleaders outfit.  It isn't just
pert (which it is), but well rounded with each buttock fully and
separately defined with dimples on each side and two dimples at
the top, just where her bottom cleft ends.  Her buttocks ride
high on her small body and, when she walks, they seem to have a
life and personality of their own.  Finally, her face.  When she
is happy (which she definitely isn't just now) she has a
beautiful smile which can light up a room and melt your heart. 
Her face somehow manages to be sweet and innocent while also
revealing a certain devilish lack of respect for authority.

     Back to Wendy, who is just now arriving at the main gate to
"The Valley".  After the van was waved into the compound, it
stopped at a building marked "Reception".  Wendy and her two new
friends were herded into a windowless room.  All three found it
difficult to walk with their hands and feet shackled to each
other.  Amazingly enough, the other two girls had finally fallen
silent, their cocky grins replaced by nervous ones - trying hard
to look casual, but only succeeding in looking like the teenage
girls that they were.  Somehow, their change in attitude only
served to heighten Wendy's anxiety.

     While their shackles were being undone, Wendy noticed that
there were three adults in the room - two women and a man.  The
man, Superintendent Kramer, began by announcing who he was
followed by a brief, tough guy talk on how they were in his
reformatory now and would play by his rules or suffer the
consequences which, he assured them would be swift, severe and
extremely painful.  He then introduced Chief Matron Faskin and
Guard Clarke and left the room

     Both women glared at the now quaking girls and, finally,
Chief Matron Faskin ordered, "strip naked, NOW!!"  Wendy jumped
at the harshness of her voice and opened her mouth to protest,
but, when she saw that the other two girls were already half-
naked, she, too, began to shed her clothes.

     Once they were all naked as babies, the Chief Matron snapped
on a pair of surgical latex gloves and approached Wendy and said,
"open your mouth".  Once Wendy had complied, The Chief Matron
probed in her mouth with her fingers, searching for contraband. 
She next ordered Wendy to raise her arms over her head and
inspected her underarms with her now wet, gloved fingers. 
Despite her terror, Wendy almost began to giggle as she was quite
ticklish.  Somehow she overcame the urge as the Chief Matron
lowered her sights and said to Wendy, "spread your legs good and
wide and do it quickly".  Horrified, Wendy did as she demanded. 
the Chief Matron inserted a finger into Wendy's bone-dry vagina
and probed vigourously around inside.  Wendy's gasp and whimper
were the only sounds in the room.  Finally, the intruding finger
was withdrawn and Wendy slumped a bit forgetting that there was
yet another hiding place to explore.  She was quickly reminded by
the Chief Matron's gruff voice saying, "turn around, bend over
and grab your ankles".  Oh, Lord, help me, thought Wendy, not
that.  Her hesitation was brusquely ended by a resounding smack
to her left buttock delivered by the Guard who had appeared out
of nowhere with a wicked-looking riding crop in her hand. 
Letting out a shriek, Wendy immediately turn, bent and grabbed
her ankles, wincing at the pain as the skin of her left bottom
cheek stretched and aggravated the already rising welt on that
quivering globe.  The Chief Matron rudely inserted her dry,
gloved finger into that most secret and tightly contracted
orifice which was now staring her right in her nasty face.  The
pain was breath-taking; Wendy had to struggle against her
instinct to close her legs and to stand up.  Instead, she
channelled her pain and humiliation - yes, and her grief at her
lost freedom - into her now continuous sobbing.  And, if you
listened very carefully, you could hear, under her almost
uncontrollable sobs and the noises being made by the Chief
Matron's gloved finger, Wendy choke out a whispered, "I'm sorry,
Daddy".

                               ...

     A couple of months had gone by and our Wendy was slowly
adjusting to her new life; she always had been adaptable.  She
had only been disciplined a couple of times for minor infractions
of the rules.  The days at "The Valley" were long and arduous. 
they were up at 0500, out in the fields working until 1700 with a
brief break for lunch in the fields.  Then, after dinner, an hour
for clean-up, a brief period to watch television and lights out
at 2100.  This routine was only broken on Sunday when, aside from
the mandatory church attendance at 0900, the day was hers to do
want she wanted.

     One of the ways by which Wendy survived her ordeal was to
use her fertile imagination to cut herself off from the harsh
reality around her.  she imagined a future life with a husband
and children, a small house near Boonesville and a little bit of
land for a garden.  And, while still, technically, a virgin, she
dreamed of her boyfriend Leroy (who had since forgiven her for
the brief "fling" with Dwyane), and what they used to do together
in the back seat of his old Chevy.  Of course, she saved those
type of memories for when she was alone (or as alone as she ever
got with three other girls sharing her room).  That was the best
that she could do as no girl was ever truly alone in "The
Valley".  Often, if she was sure by their regular breathing that
the other girls were asleep, she would accompany her reveries
with a long, slow and languorous session of masturbation.  These
sessions produced in her the only true peace she felt and the
subsequent release provided for her a profound and restful
night's sleep.  Little did she know that her night in May that
this, her only pleasure and release, was to prove to be the
source of her most severe punishment and of the most humiliating
episode of her short life.

     It was Wednesday night, May 17th to be precise. The day had
been one of those mid-May days in southern Georgia, when the
temperature had soared to 92 degrees and the humidity had come in
over the ocean many miles away carrying the smell of salt and
summer along with the moisture.  While the weather had, at first,
exhilarated the girls working in the fields, by mid-afternoon,
the sun and the heat had made everyone cranky and disputatious. 
By the end of the day, their thin cotton smocks had clung
stickily and, yes, provocatively to their young bodies.  Wendy
noticed that the Superintendent, Mr. Kramer, was hanging around
the fields a lot now that the days were hot.  His greedy pig-like
eyes, set in his fat jowly face, were watching the girls like a
cat watches a mouse.  He made her very nervous, giving her a
queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, especially when his
darting eyes settled on her pert little body.

     At the end of that May day, Wendy finally received a letter
from Leroy.  He wasn't much for writing and it had been three
weeks since she had heard from him.  In it her told her in his
halting, fractured syntax way about what he was doing and how he
and their friends missed her.  He closed by assuring her of his
fidelity (not exactly in those words) and of his affection for
her.  She had received the letter at mail-call at 1900 and, by
lights out, she had re-read it several times.  As the lights went
out and she settled on to her small narrow iron-framed bed, she
thought of Leroy.  She was on top of the covers and sheet as it
was still 78 degrees out and sticky - there were no fans in their
room, let alone air conditioning.  Despite the open, barred
window, it was too warm for even a sheet.  It was, as Neil
Diamond once said, "so hot you could hear yourself sweat".

     As she lay on her bed thinking of Leroy, she began to unroll
the film in her head which she had played so often - she and
Leroy in the back seat of the Chevy.  As the images danced and
squirmed on the backs of her now closed eyelids, she moved her
hand down to the hem of her simple, threadbare cotton nightgown,
lifted it up to her neck and, with her right hand, she began to
slowly stroke her mons as her legs parted.  Her left hand strayed
by rote to her right breast and her fingers caressed the now
hardening nipple.  She sighed and lost herself in the depths of
her own mounting pleasure, oblivious to the world around her.

     As her practised hands brought her to that delicious,
delicate point-of-no-return, just as she was making that usual,
yet unacknowledged, decision to accelerate her stroking and
quickly reach her climax or to hesitate a moment and let the
rising tide recede a bit and then to let the pressure between her
legs slowly build again, just at that crucial and most very
private moment, the windowed door was flung open, the lights
blazed on and a voice shouted out, "JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE
DOING THERE GIRL?!!"

     Wendy froze in mid-stroke like a cockroach on the floor. 
Her hands, now stopped, stayed where they were.  Her eyes flew
open, blinking frantically against the harsh fluorescent lights,
to see the Chief Matron and the Guard standing in the doorway. 
She was dimly aware that her upraised legs and widely spread
knees gave them a splendid view of her open and wet vagina. 
Finally, the rush of adrenalin caused by this rude intrusion
jolted her into motion.  She closed and lowered her legs, pulled
down her nightgown and pulled up the sheet, almost all in one
motion.  Trembling, she lay as still as roadkill awaiting her
fate as her excitement melted like a Georgia snowstorm.

     The Chief Matron and the Guard marched into the room and
stopped on either side of her Wendy's bed.  With a command of,
"you're coming with us", they each grabbed an arm, yanked her out
of bed and began dragging her out the door and down the hall.  So
swiftly did they act, that the other three girls had barely begun
to wake up and to wonder what was going on around them.

     Wendy, still a bit stunned, half-walk and was half-dragged
down the hall, her bare feet make a prescient slapping sound on
the hard tile floor.  Her legs were barely functional with their
hormone-induced relaxation.  She managed a weak protest saying,
"where are you taking me?" and was reward with a curt, "shut-up
you slut".

     Her question was answered as they pulled her through a
doorway which was labelled "SUPERINTENDENT".  She was surprised
to she that Superintendent Kramer was still behind his desk. 
"Well, what have we here", he oozed.  "It's Wendy, isn't it?", he
queried.  The fact that he knew her name made Wendy even more
anxious.  After all, there were almost 500 girls in "The Valley". 
The Chief Matron and the Guard quickly outlined what they had
witnessed, disgust (and,perhaps something else) dripping from
their words.  The Guard added her personal judgment of,
"pervert".  The Superintendent then had the Chief Matron go over,
again, slowly and in minute detail, what she had witnessed. 
Clearly the story intrigued him.  When the Chief Matron was
finished, he turned his attention to the trembling Wendy and
said, "well, girl, what do you have to say for yourself?". 
Wendy, blushing deeply was mute.  "Speak up, girl", he bellowed. 
"What caused you to perform such an abomination on yourself?". 
(The Superintendent was given to such language as he was also a
lay-preacher at the local Four-Square Gospel Tabernacle.)  Wendy
remained silent, which only seemed to provoke him further.

     "Well, girl", he said, "we're just gonna have to show you
what we do to young sluts and perverts like you at 'The Valley'. 
Part of our job here is to see that your are returned to society
as a decent, upright young lady."  He continued, "I think that we
need to teach you a lesson, a lesson that will come to mind each
time that the devil tempts you towards self-abuse."

     The Superintendent motioned to the Chief Matron and to the
Guard while saying to Wendy, "my girl, we need you jaybird naked
for this lesson".  Wendy's initial thought was to refuse, but,
before she could even react, her wrists were taken ahold of by
the Guard while the Chief Matron reached down and raised the hem
of her nightgown over her head.  Her wrists were briefly released
long enough to completely remove the piece of cloth and were
quickly grabbed again.  Wendy was mortified as well as terrified. 
Aside from her Daddy, when he spanked or strapped her, no man had
ever seen her completely naked before - not even Leroy.  Oh,
sure, he had touched her in her secret places and seen her bare
breasts, but no man had ever seen what the Superintendent now
saw.  Sensing her discomfort, he said, "Missy, don't fret about
me seeing you naked.  I'll see a lot more of you before the night
is over."

     The Superintendent came out from behind his desk and seated
himself on a straight-backed chair which was in the centre of the
office.  His obese bulk quickly enveloped the chair as it groaned
and swayed under his weight. "Bring her to me", he ordered as he
rolled up his sleeves.  Wendy was dragged to where he sat and
flung over his multi-layered lap, kicking and screaming all the
while.  Her terror had not overtaken her completely.  Resting a
hugh, caressing hand on her bare and quivering buttocks, he said
to the Guard, "I think it best if you hold her hands out in front
of her.  She looks like a struggler to me."

     After her hands were secured by the Guard, the
Superintendent began to squeeze and to stroke Wendy's bottom
cheeks as if to measure their resiliency and capacity for
punishment.  Wendy groaned and struggled,  Then the spanking
began.  Blow after blow rained down on her naked, defenceless
bottom.  He alternated his spanks from cheek to cheek, giving
each five blows in turn.  His hand was heavy, solid like a piece
of hard maple.  As he warmed to his task, he lectured Wendy about
the evils of self-abuse and of sex in general.  The rhythm of 
the blows never wavered.  Wendy's buttocks quickly turned from
pink to red to a mottled purple-blue as the smacks continually
struck her bouncing, jiggling bottom.  Her sobs turned to shrieks
and she struggled to withdraw her hand's from the grasp of the
Guard in order to protect her pain-wracked cheeks.  Her shapely
legs kicked and her hips bucked - all to no avail.  Just as she
thought that she could take no more without fainting, the blows
stopped and the Superintendent, while still kneading and stroking
her bruise and blazing bottom said, "well, Missy, the first part
of your punishment is over."  All Wendy could thing through her
pain was, 'the first part?!'".

     After several minutes of lying there hands still immobile,
bottom cheeks still being obscenely massaged, Wendy was allowed
to get up from that vast lap.  She soon learned what was next in
store for her.  Through her crying, she heard the Superintendent
say, "Chief Matron, please prepare Wendy for the first
strapping".  At those words, Wendy mindlessly bolted for the
door.  She knew that she was in the hands of truly evil people. 
She had no conscious idea of where'd she'd go - she was, after
all, in a reform school - but, still she tried.  The door, of
course was locked.

     Struggling, kicking and screaming all the while, the Chief
Matron and the Guard corralled Wendy and dragged her over to the
hugh wooden desk.  Wendy was bent over the front of the desk,
face down with her arms drawn out in front of her.  Her bottom
was draped over the front edge of the desk with her legs hanging
loosely down the front of the desk, not quite reaching the floor. 
"I think that you'd better secure her hands and legs", directed
the Superintendent.  "I think that she's still got a lot of fight
in her."  The Matron went and got two pair of handcuffs and two
pair of leg shackles from the closet. She secured Wendy's left
hand in a cuff and attached the other cuff to a desk drawer
handle.  She did the same with Wendy's right hand.  She then went
around to the front of the desk and used the leg shackles to
secure each of Wendy's ankles to the leg of the desk.  As she was
shackling her right leg to the right hand desk leg, Wendy,
realizing the true enormity of what was happening to her, uttered
a hoarse cry and made one final, totally futile, effort to
struggle free.  To no avail.  Her right leg was pulled inexorably
away from her left leg and the leg shackle was snapped to the
desk leg.  The end result was that Wendy's arms were stretched
widely apart in front of her as if she were crucified, with her
head hanging over the back of the desk.  Her legs, thighs and
buttocks were all held yawningly and obscenely wide open both to
the gaze of the others and to the caress of the strap.

     The strap was produced by the Superintendent and dangled
tauntingly in front of Wendy's tear-filled eyes.  "Take a good
look, Missy.  You'll soon be feeling the kiss of the leather." 
The strap was made of supple but thick leather, three inches
wide, eighteen inches long and one-eighth inch thick.  It was
well-oiled and secured to a wooden handle.  Wendy eyed it like a
rabbit eyes a cobra.  Moving out of Wendy's sight, he returned to
the front of the desk.

     CRACK!!!!  The first blow struck with swift ferocity,
landing across the fullest part of her pert, bare buttocks.  The
breath was momentarily sucked from Wendy's lungs, leaving her
unable to scream.  The pain was unlike anything that she had ever
experienced before.  Surely she would die.  Just as she was
catching enough of her breath to scream, the second stroke
snapped across her lower bottom cheeks wrapping itself around her
right hip.  Her incipient scream was cut short by the searing
pain.  Wendy jerked at her bonds like a fish on a hook, futilely
and hopelessly.   CRACK!!!!!  The third stroke landed primarily
across her left buttock with the end of the supple leather strap
curling wickedly into the cleft between her yawning bottom
halves, stopping just short of her cringing anus.  Once again,
her shrieks, which related to the last stroke, were cut short as
she struggled to breathe and to scream simultaneously.  The first
three strokes of the strap were, as improbably as it might seem,
clearly outlined on her already purple-blue bottom.  Where the
strap had struck virgin skin, the mark was even more clearly seen
with the centre of the stroke scarlet-red and the edges clearly
defined by their deep crimson colour.

     The strap struck again and again and again in a regular,
deadly rhythm moving up and down, back and forth.  The only
sounds in the room were the ferocious cracking, snapping of the
strap, the truncated screams from Wendy's near-hysterical mouth
and the panting of the Superintendent as he continued with his
exhausting labour of love.  These sounds were occasionally
interrupted by a complete silence as Wendy was rendered totally
breathless by the strap landing on her inner thighs or inside the
cleft of her bottom.  Wendy could be seen periodically to be
struggling to bring her legs together, the muscles in her thighs
and her calves straining against the steel, causing them to be
dramatically outlined against her gleaming skin.  From time-to-
time, her leg muscles twitched and jerked as if an electric
current were passing through them.  Her bottom cheeks, for their
part, were furiously clenching and unclenching while heaving from
side-to-side trying to escape the bite of the strap.  Again and
again and again, over and over and over, with no respite the
strap did its painful job.  After an eternity, just as Wendy was
near fainting from the searing pain and from being unable to draw
a full breath, the blows stopped.  Now, the only sounds in the
room were Wendy's tortured gasping for breath mixed with her
choked cries.

     Wendy's bottom and upper and inner thighs were painted a
solid deep crimson-purple, criss-crossed with dark, raised welts
from the edges of the strap.  She looked as if she were wearing a
particularly gaudy pair of Bermuda shorts.  Her inner thighs were
the same shade of crimson-purple, but with more vicious welts. 
The three employees moved away to a corner of the room,
conversing quietly about the staff picnic next weekend, leaving
Wendy's naked, distended body chained across the desk, still
totally exposed to their shameless view.  They murmured just out
of earshot of the slowly quieting Wendy.  After 15 minutes or so,
the three came over to Wendy, who cringed at the sight of them,
her thighs and buttocks trying to contract in protection, but
unable to do so.  Without a word, they opened the hasps of the
various shackles and assisted Wendy from the desk.  Her muscles
had cramped-up from their distention and from her struggles.  Her
thigh and buttock muscles were sore to the very bone from the
strokes of the strap.  She could hardly move.  They had to catch
her as she tried to stand, as her legs betrayed her.

     "Sit on this chair", said the Superintendent, indicating the
same hard, straight-backed chair where Wendy's ordeal had begun. 
Wendy sat, immediately jerking up again as her swollen buttocks
touched the hard wood.  "Sit", he screamed.  She did, feeling as
if her bottom were being held to an open flame.  "Girl", he
began, "your punishment is continuing now to your wicked,
offending hands.  Hold them out, palms up - NOW!"  Wendy was too
weary and too broken in spirit to disobey.  She stretched out her
aching arms and turned her palms upward.  "Chief Matron, Guard,
hold her arms, please."  They did as he asked.  The
Superintendent produced a short thin leather smacking strap,
again attached to a wooden handle.  He began to strap Wendy's
open palms and fingers.  "As I strap your wicked hands, think of
what they were doing just a short hour ago", said the
Superintendent.

     At first Wendy barely felt the strap.  But, as the strokes
continued, the sensations built, until her palms and fingers
began to sting as if they were having increasingly hot water
poured over them.  Soon, she saw that her hands were turning a
bright red and were swelling rapidly.  Soon the pain filtered
into her already pain-soaked brain and she began to cry out and
to try to withdraw her hands.  But, the grasp of the two women
was iron-clad.  Finally, the hand-strapping was at an end. 
Wendy's arms were released and they dropped leadenly to her
sides.  She tried to close her fingers, but found that they had
ceased to work.  They were tingling the same way that they did
when they had "fallen asleep" in the past and they blood starts
returning to them.  Wendy groaned and slumped in her chair, her
body quickly becoming a mass of screaming nerve endings.  If only
she could go to sleep.  Surprisingly, she almost did drift off a
bit, but she was quickly jerked back to reality by the voice of
the Superintendent.

     "Wendy, come back over to the desk -NOW!"  She slowly stood,
every muscle crying out.  Sobbing quietly, she shuffled over to
where the Superintendent waited by his desk and stopped in front
of him, eyes downcast, tears falling slowly from the tip of her
nose and chin.  "I want you to lie down lengthwise across my
desk, on your back.  Chief Matron, Guard, help her, please." 
Wendy, with their rough assistance, climbed up onto the desk. 
"Scoot down so that your bottom is at the edge of the desk - and
do it quickly."  Wendy complied, groaning as her nearly raw and
terribly swollen buttocks scraped across the hard wood of the
desk.  The Chief Matron and the Guard, as if they had done this
before, each took a wrist and snapped a leg restraint cuff on
each one.  They then secured each wrist to a desk leg.  Once
again, Wendy's arms were spread as far as they could be, down and
outwards towards the floor.  Her hands were almost numb by now. 
The Chief Matron and the Guard, again as if the actions were
well-practised, moved down the sides of the desk waiting for the
Superintendent's next command.

     The Superintendent moved up the desk so that Wendy could see
him and said to her, "Girlie, now for the final part of your
punishment.  This time the other offending part of your body will
feel the stinging kiss of the strap.  The same strap that just
punished your hands."  Wendy was confused.  What could he mean? 
Her confusion was swiftly clear-up as the Chief Matron and the
Guard each took ahold of an ankle and spread Wendy's legs outward
and backwards until she was in much the same position as she
would have been at the doctor's office, but even more distended. 
Her mind rebelled.  Surely, not there!

     She only noticed that the Superintendent had moved down
between her widely-stretched thighs when the first stroke of the
smacking-strap struck her squarely down the centre of her
distended vaginal lips.  The pain was instantaneous and
indescribable.  Her legs jerked and twisted against their captors
hold.  Again and again and again, the strap made its sinister
downward journey, striking Wendy's swelling, opening labia
majora.   As her outer lips opened under the influx of blood to
them, her labia minora and even her hidden, quivering clitoris
came under the kiss of the strap.  Indeed, even her cringing anus
received a couple of blows.  Her screams mounted to a continual
eerie keening.  A cold, clammy sweat was breaking out all over
her body which was now trembling uncontrollably. 

     Suddenly there was total silence.  Wendy had fainted,
removing her from her agony at last.

     Many minutes later, Wendy came too, still lying across the
desk, but unsecured in any way.  Her body was one large,
contiguous pain sensor, with her crotch a blazing conflagration. 
She groaned and looked to the side of the room.  Her tormentors
silently watched her.  "Well, Missy, how do you feel", asked the
Chief Matron.  "Are you still hot to abuse yourself."  Wendy
whispered, "No, Chief Matron, never again.  I promise."

     "Well", said the Superintendent, "after tonight, I hope not. 
But, there is one final part of your visit to my office.  This
part is to remind you of the reason that you're here tonight. 
Girlie, I want you to abuse yourself one final time, right here,
right now, in order to burn the lesson that you've learned
forever in your mind."

     Wendy sobbed broken-heartedly.  "No, I can't, please don't
make me do that!"  The Superintendent replied, "you have no
choice.  You can either begin to abuse yourself immediately and
continue until you cum, or we can go back to strapping your
privates until you agree.  Either way, you will do what I say. 
What is your decision?"

     Slowly, Wendy raised her leaden legs and placed her feet on
each corner of the desk.  She turned her tear-stained face away
from her eager audience and closed her eyes.  Sobbing as if her
heart would break, she moved her right hand to her vagina and
winced as her swollen fingers touched her equally swollen and
distended lips.  Her lips were as hot as a furnace.  Her left
hand found its usual place on her right nipple which was
unexpectedly erect.  She hesitated for a moment, mortified with
shame, terrified with fear.  "NOW!!!"  

     Wendy began the well-practised routine, slowly, but with
intimate knowledge of what she was doing.  She was surprised to
find that her inner vaginal lips were already partially opened
and that her clitoris was already beginning to emerge from its
hidden recess.  Wendy continued, beginning to partially forget
her terrible pain as her body began to respond to her familiar
touch.  Thoughts of Leroy began to crowd the pain into the
recesses of her conscious mind.  She continued to stroke herself,
more quickly now as her juices began to flow, soothing her strap-
inflamed lips and smoothing her fingers' journey.  Slowly, as her
swollen fingers slid up and down, and in and out of her vagina,
her thumb began its slow strumming of her now fully erect and
emerged clitoris.  As usual, her hips began to join in the slow
rhythmical motion of her hand, producing regular pelvic thrusts
up and down.  Each thrust caused her bottom cheeks to expand and
to contract, creating a small jolt of pain to mingle with the
increasing pleasure.  When her bare buttocks brushed against the
hard wood of the desk, a stronger surge of pain entered her
consciousness, causing her to rub her genitals more firmly as if
to counteract the higher level of pain.

     As Wendy slowly climbed towards the pinnacle, the world
around her receded, becoming dimmer and less real, allowing her
to forget her audience and to lose herself in her pain/pleasure -
for it was impossible to separate the two now.  She felt her
vaginal muscles begin to contract as she reached that same
delicious point at which she has been so rudely interrupted only
a couple of hours ago.  This time she was allowed to carry on
and, with one deep plunge of her fingers and one final strum of
her thumb, she achieved that "little death" of which the French
so fondly speak.  As her muscles spasmed, a long, low, throaty
moan escaped her mouth and she slipped into blessed oblivion.