Boarding

"... Come along Abigail, time for school."

Abigail took the suitcase and led Miss Kavanaugh into the kitchen; Miss Kavanaugh herself carried her laptop bag and a bulging, rather ancient soft leather briefcase.

"Well then Abigail, looks as if it's just you and me in the place over the holidays, doesn't it? I don't imagine you expect me to do the housework; never mind, it's all a learning experience, isn't it? Oh dear; I seem to have left my cane in the car. Run and fetch it would you, there's a sweetie."

"Yes Miss"

She was already halfway to the door when Miss Kavanaugh called out.

"Abigail, before we go any further: that coat is decidedly non-uniform ..."

She stopped dead. Double-take through the window to confirm what she already knew, the car was barely far enough up the drive to clear the pavement. She had told what felt like the truth when she was asked that time, she was in no way ashamed of what she thought of as her 'sexuality'. There had been visitors over the years: she didn't worry if the neighbours saw them cuddling together in the garden; she felt no embarrassment about kissing on the doorstep; it did not make her squirm and hide if she or they were loud enough in their pleasures to be overheard. There was more to sexuality than women though, there was the other thing that she did not wish to advertise. Walking the length of her drive to that other woman's car, thirty-two going on fifteen in a school uniform, would be difficult to explain. To be spotted that way as she walked back clinging to three feet of whippy willow would be entirely mortifying.

"... If you go out in public in that state, expect consequences."

She pulled the coat tight and went out to the car. When she returned it was obvious that Miss Kavanaugh understand exactly, because she had gone through into the living room and shut the curtains. A little obvious perhaps at five in the evening, but preferable to the alternatives. She had also found time to take off her jacket and replace it with that black gown.

"A little over-dressed for the holidays, but you seem to be forgetting your place so I feel it might be necessary. Question for you, Abigail dear; should Miss discipline you as and when required, or should we set aside a particular time each morning and evening and save them up?"

"As and when, please Miss."

"You're sure about that? Constant fear rather than slowly building anticipation and terror?"

"Please Miss."

Miss Kavanaugh waited as she went into the hall and hung up her coat, then came back and stood with her eyes lowered and apologised for being out of uniform. Miss Kavanaugh decreed two strokes from the cane as a suitable punishment. Abigail's hands went behind her to raise her skirt.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"Sorry Miss, I thought you wanted to cane me."

"Stand up straight, Abigail: elbows bent, hands out with your palms up. I'm shocked, Abigail, not to mention a little disgusted. One might almost think you wanted to expose your bottom to me."

"I'm sorry Miss, I thought ..."

"I'm not at all sure I want to knowwhatis going on in that filthy little mind of yours, young lady. You are right-handed, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mi- ... Owww!"

Miss Kavanaugh hadn't caned her left palm with the force she had used earlier on her bottom, but the pain was more than enough. It made her snatch her hand away and clench it. The voice was close and quiet in her ear.

"I know it's just a game, sweet, but I've got to teach you something after all; and this is what I know best. Dominant hand is often a little more sensitive, understand that? You didn't like the first one; the second one will be worse. Stand up nice and straight now, hold out your hand and be a good strong girl for me. Less whining this time as well, if you don't mind."

She held out her hand and tried not to shudder. Miss Kavanaugh laid the cane gently along her palm and let her feel its presence, told her once again that it was going to hurt; and only then caned her. She blinked and chewed on her lip and somehow kept silent. Both her hands were stinging to the fingertips. Miss Kavanaugh told her it was about time she gave some thought to preparing dinner.

Whilst it was cooking, she showed Miss Kavanaugh upstairs. For some absurd reason it had not occurred to Abigail in advance, but of course Miss Kavanaugh got the main bedroom – Abi's room – and she ended up with the second spare. Miss Kavanaugh obviously approved of the bed in that room, a double with an old iron frame. Abigail was allowed to retrieve the virginal nightdress she had already laid out, but nothing else.

They ate with the somewhat stilted conversation demanded by their roles, then sat in the living room for a couple of hours. Miss Kavanaugh refused to allow television; she inspected the book Abigail tried to read, pronounced it unsuitable and replaced it with one of those novels that Abi kept on show to impress but had never got round to reading. Miss Kavanaugh sat across the room on the sofa, delved into her briefcase and retrieved some papers to mark. Abigail stole a glance and realised that Miss Kavanaugh was making careful notes on her own handwritten confession of depravity. She retreated into her book, when she next peeked she realised Miss Kavanaugh had finished the notes and was calmly looking at her instead.

Perhaps to you it sounds a little tame and bland. Perhaps you would rather be at teacher's feet in a leather hood, or sitting in that chair with knees akimbo and knickers round your ankles. But this was Abi's fetish. She could imagine nothing more intensely erotic than that calm presence; the mind she knew was remembering and imagining what the eyes could not see. She felt entirely sexualised in her costume of knowing innocence: vulnerable and helpless in Miss Kavanaugh's implied power. There was, for the moment, no Abi at all. She was entirely Abigail.

"Nine o'clock, Abigail. I think perhaps it's time you went to bed. Would you please make us some cocoa before you go up."

She left her own on the kitchen table and took Miss Kavanaugh's through into the living room. Miss Kavanaugh thanked her, polite and formal as ever.

"Leave the book down here; lights out and door open if you please. Before you go, Abigail. Is there anything at all you wish to say to me?"

"Miss?"

"About the other day, perhaps? ..."

"I don't ..."

"... Not a very impressive performance, young lady. Weak, in fact."

For a moment she was genuinely lost. What hadn't she done? She'd taken it, she'd thanked Miss Kavanaugh for giving it; she had very pointedlynotbeen instructed to provide any other services, and so what ...

... But of course. She hadn't taken it, had she? Not all of it.

"Please Miss, would you ..."

"No, dear. Not like that. Try again."

She looked around. If only they were in the dining room with its perfectly proportioned table. The backs of the living room chairs were just a little too high. Abigail knelt beside the armchair and eased her knickers down her thighs as Miss Kavanaugh watched wordlessly.

"Thank you for being kind enough to stop when I couldn't take any more, Miss. May I please have the rest now?"

"Good girl, I'm glad to see you've remembered after all."

Miss Kavanaugh went into the hall to collect her cane. When she came back, Abigail raised the back of her skirt, bent across the arm of the chair and politely asked once more to be beaten. Two more strokes, just as hard as the previous ones. They shocked and stung her. Miss Kavanaugh told her to make herself decent and stand up. No touching this time, no hand on her fresh stripes or between her legs. Only the voice very calm and quiet close at her ear as she stood.

"Is it necessary for me to give you the lecture, Abigail?"

"No Miss."

"I should hope not. Nasty habit, young lady; especially accompanied by the sort of deviant thoughts you are likely to have. Off you go."

Abi had never quite had a properly ... What was the term? She got a little confused with all the initials and acronyms; had never been absolutely which set covered her particular tastes. Whichever it was, she had never quite got there in her relationships; the closest she had come was a woman who enjoyed restraining her and doing subtle indirect things with vibrations for ages, until Abi felt she was losing her mind and offered the most atrocious services in return for being allowed to come. This was a similar feeling, although Miss Kavanaugh had not touched her at all except for those cane strokes. Nonetheless she had felt the constant tease of hanging just short of truly sexual stimulation for five hours now, with every indication that it would go on for as long as it took her to break. She was quite certain that she would get a great deal of shameful reward from whatever happened after she broke, but then again the tease was so very good on its own. Perhaps just a little longer ...

Abigail lay on her side and tried to sleep: tried to ignore the soft light through the door from the stairs; tried to ignore the pain behind as it faded from distinct stripes into a diffused aching tingle that warmed its way through her body to merge with the more insistent ache in front. She clenched her legs and pressed her palm through her nightdress against the mound, and told herself that didn't really count.

Quiet sounds wafted up the stairs as Miss Kavanaugh made free with Abi's hi-fi. Not Abi's music though, something she must have bought with her. Something entrancing and weirdly arousing: breathy, druggy dream-pop so unlike the classical tune in her study. Slowly strumming guitar and a sensual little-girl-lost voice that teased Abigail with its disturbing sexuality. Like a stoned teenager staggering upright in the middle of the party to do her Billie Holiday impersonation. Was that how Miss Kavanaugh saw her? Was it how she wanted her to? Somehow, despite the pain in her backside and the need in her groin, the voice carried her off to sleep at a far earlier hour than she was used to.

She came to blearily when Miss Kavanaugh switched the light on just after eleven, almost forgetting where she was and who she was supposed to be. Miss Kavanaugh pulled the sheets back, then ran her hand lightly over Abigail's nightdress. The cloth had become caught between Abigail's thighs as she slept, Miss Kavanaugh's hand stopped when it met the slight warm dampness there.

"What's this?"

"I'm not ..."

"Out of bed, Abigail, and take it off."

She pulled the nightdress over her head to stand quite naked in front of the clothed woman. To her surprise there was neither touching nor looking, simply that uncomfortable instant stretching for ever as Miss Kavanaugh's cold pretty eyes looked into her own. At a gesture from Miss Kavanaugh, Abigail got back into bed and lay on her back. The eyes held her as she felt the mattress move when Miss Kavanaugh sat on the edge; felt the hand between her legs with no hint of tease or preparation, slipping contemptuously into her so open and available pussy; felt it a minute later rest warm and sticky-wet on her cheek. No reaction at all in those eyes as she had gasped at the casual invasion; no reaction either when Miss Kavanaugh slapped her once hard across her face. And then, still without a further word, Miss Kavanaugh switched off the light on her way out, and Abigail was left naked and shivering to pull the sheets back over herself.

Somehow she managed to keep her hands off herself all night, and eventually she fell asleep again. A little before six o'clock came dawn, and distant birdsong; and Miss Kavanaugh standing at the end of her bed looking ferocious in silk.

Abigail pulled the covers protectively up to her neck, felt bleary and early morningish; until Miss Kavanaugh came into focus. Her chestnut plait was a little dishevelled from sleep, she was wearing a red and gold silk robe that reached to her knees and should really have been wrapped and belted. Underneath were hints of something in silk and lace that shimmered down Miss Kavanaugh's small breasts and erect nipples like a frozen waterfall.

"Stop staring at my body, you disgusting child, and bring me a cup of tea in bed. I amnotan early bird, Abigail, I caution you not to irritate me at this time of day. English breakfast, lemon, one sugar."

"I'm not sure if there's any lemon, Miss."

"Tea, no milk, one sugar; one stroke of the cane across your bottom for every cup I go without lemon. Before you ask, no you cannot have your nightdress back to go to the kitchen. Don't keep me waiting."

Abigail went downstairs and made tea naked. She wasn't used to any of this: she wasn't used to being dragged out of bed to skivvy before the milkmen had been; she wasn't used to that ludicrous scramble across the kitchen bent double to pull the blinds that were left open overnight; she wasn't used to the casual contempt from her ... Her what? 'Visitors' had been lovers, that had been waking in the same bed: waking to soft and lazy in each others' arms, or perhaps to hot and sexy from the start. This was unprecedented; not to mention just plain weird; not to mention extraordinarily arousing. Quite obviously the latter in fact.

She managed to find a fresh lemon to slice, then took the tea upstairs. Miss Kavanaugh sat up and drank it while Abigail stood straight at the side of the bed, hands clasped behind her as instructed; and Miss Kavanaugh effected not to notice the blatant sight and scent of Abigail's reaction to being treated as a maid. With one thing and another, the long night and the turmoil between her legs, Abigail's attention was drawn ever more painfully to her bladder. Eventually she asked to go, just like the naughty girl she was. Miss Kavanaugh gave her a stern lecture about not touching anything she shouldn't, laid down a strict time limit, and when she came back insisted on inspecting her hands just to be sure.

"I'm sure a nasty dirty thing like you would rather I watched, but as I said before, I'm not good with mornings."

"No thank you Miss, I'd far rather you didn't."

"Probably best for you to hold it in during the day then. You have forfeited the right to privacy, young lady. Put your uniform on and make us breakfast. We'll be eating in the dining room, I won't have slovenliness for the most important meal of the day."

One thing that Abi and Miss Kavanaugh appeared to share was a feeling that the weekend was only the weekend if it started with a full English on Saturday morning. Abi honestly wasn't sure what Abigail's feelings were on the matter. She reflected on it as she was halving tomatoes: Abigail is notme. She's not who I was seventeen years ago; she's certainly not who I wish I actually had been at the time. She's just a ... A laugh? A character in amateur dramatics? A thought experiment? How utterly fascinating she is, that I can entirely become her at the snap of another person's fingers. She carried the jug of orange juice through to the dining room where Miss Kavanaugh was now fully dressed and waiting patiently; and suddenly Abi crashed out of her fantasy world ...

... Sitting tidily at Miss Kavanaugh's elbow, like a cracker at Christmas dinner, was the large dildo from the dressing table drawer. That was a gross and abusive invasion of privacy; that was just completely fucking unacceptable behaviour; that was ... Really something she should have mentioned during that long email correspondence on rules, wasn't it?

"Breakfast please, Abigail, we can discuss this later."

Abigail slowly reasserted herself as she ate in silence with her stomach somersaulting every time she looked down the table. Miss Kavanaugh, it seemed, was quite intent on enjoying her breakfast. She poured herself the last of the orange juice and watched Abigail clearing the plates.

"Hands thoroughly washed, please, we don't want your uniform getting greasy, do we now? When you've done that you can fetch me an ashtray."

Abigail set the ashtray on the table as Miss Kavanaugh slowly fitted a long brown cigarette to a longer holder, and lit up with a card book-match.

"So, what's it to be? Spanked little botty and Saturday morning detention, or do you want to play with the grownups now?"

Here she was, at long last, at the point she had always dreamed of. Except her dreams had always been about compulsion, and now she was being given the choice. How much dirtier that was, how hard it was for Abigail to ask for it.

"Please, Miss Kavanaugh, don't spank me."

She distinctly saw the cigarette flare as Miss Kavanaugh's breath sucked in; felt the eyes on her.

"Strip to your waist, Abigail. And ask me that again, if you would."

She loosened her tie, and then undid the top two buttons of her blouse before dropping her eyes and pulling the tie completely away.

"Please, Miss Kavanaugh, don't hurt me."

The voice had been deep from the beginning, but she noticed it thicken a little as it spoke while she undressed.

"Playing with the grownups, Abigail, means exactly what it says. This isn't smoking behind the bike sheds and running home to Mummy; this is taking something on and following it through. Time to be strong and brave, young lady ..."

She had been naked last night and first thing this morning, but that had not seemed a matter of any interest to Miss Kavanaugh. The only aspect of Abigail's nudity that seemed to arouse even curiosity was when she presented her backside to the cane. Now she darted a quick glance up and realised Miss Kavanaugh was carefully studying her breasts.

"... Very pleasant, but I think they could be a little harder, don't you. Thumb and forefinger, Abigail, I'm sure you know how."

Abigail rolled and pulled her nipples as Miss Kavanaugh took deep breaths on her cigarette and small sips at her orange. When the cigarette was finished she pulled a short length of chain from her pocket and tossed it down the table to land in front of Abigail. Abigail stared at it.

"Miss?"

"Come along now. I'm sure your entirely inappropriate familiarity with sex toys extends to nipple clamps, Abigail. You're exactly the sort of girl who relishes the feel of them. Those aren't from your nasty little stash of contraband, by the way. They're mine, and I can promise you yours are very far from the first tits they've ever been on. Nice and tight for me, we don't want them popping off the first time I hit you ..."

Abigail picked them up and tightened the tweezers over her nipples in acute embarrassment as Miss Kavanaugh watched.

"... Stand up straight, shoulders back. Let's have good posture, shall we? What's it for, Abigail?"

She felt her voice deserting her. She coughed to clear her throat. Abi would have said, by now Abi would have been angry and swearing back; but none of Abi's words sounded right in Abigail's mind. Abigail had her dark shameful secrets, but she surely couldn't talk like that out loud. Abigail could only mumble in her embarrassment and humiliation.

"Please myself, Miss ... Touch my vagina when I ..."

"I really don't think that's what you call it when you play with it, Abigail."

"My pussy, Miss. Sorry, Miss, I know that's wrong."

"It certainly is, not to mention childish. For God's sake, girl, if you're going to wrap yourself round a woman's toys then use a grown woman's word to describe your cunt."

It shocked her. It sounded meant rather than play-acted. She had thought she understood where this was going. And suddenly Miss Kavanaugh was looking at her as if it was more than a game; as if she should be scared for real.

Abi, of course, knew one essential truth as well as you do, reader dear: the really good sex fantasies – the truly hot ones – do not quite run to the end of the story. They only get as far as your face sweaty against the pillow and your thighs clamped around your hand at that oh so special moment when ... And then you lose interest until it's time to start from the beginning next time. So Abi's mind was clear enough about the shameful pulling down of cotton undies, and the caning and casual dismissive gropes that accompanied it. And yes she knew about the implausibly convenient lack of a modesty screen on the headmistress' desk when she went to her knees and crawled underneath. But there were other things so rewarding to her imagination that she had never been able to explore them fully that way. And now Abigail was there, and even if Miss Kavanaugh did allow her to come, it would hardly end at that. She stepped off from the soft sandy bottom of familiar fantasy and let the current carry her further.