2. College of Correction
When younger, her father had often spanked Polly's bottom playfully if she had been naughty. It never really hurt, but she pretended it did. The spread of warmth from the slapping had filtered into her groin, giving Polly a curious thrill. She began to look forward to these little spanking sessions. It was a game, really. A sort of love-game they both enjoyed.
If her mother was the instigator of the beating, her father would be expected to beat her more heavily whilst her mother watched, spurring him on. The sexual excitement this created in her fluttering belly pleased Polly. She came to associate the delicious thrill in her groin with the spanking. It was some form of revenge on her mother.
As Polly grew older, her father would bend her over, pressed down on the table, face turned towards him. Her skirt was lifted to reveal her satin knickers trimmed with lace, with a loose gusset. Standing at her side he would spank her swelling cheeks with a slipper. The flesh of her vulva could just be seen in the open leg of her knickers, tufts of her fine blonde curls glittering with her moisture.
Her face was on a level with his hips which pressed against the edge of the table, and she placed her face against the flies of his coarse trousers. The sight of her genitals aroused him; she felt it swelling up against her face. His secret - the ultimate forbidden fruit - was hidden behind the front of those trousers. It was only a game. But Polly could feel it. She longed to touch it, to fondle it.
Half asleep, first thing in a morning, Polly would often fantasise about those times, whilst quietly rubbing herself. Her father was away from home such a lot, but summer time was best, when her father would be wearing thin cotton shorts. His legs heavily tanned. She remembered the musky smell of him, feeling the excitement stirring in his shorts as he spanked the knicker-clad cheeks of her bottom. He stole furtive glances at her half-concealed vulva, protected by a downy blonde nest of curls. The heaviness of his breathing confirmed his arousal, and the shaft throbbing against her face.
If, as sometimes happened, she couldn't contain herself and wet her knickers during the spanking, he ordered her to remove the soaking garment and gave her five smacks on the bare skin of her cheeks as punishment. When she got older Polly deliberately wet herself during the spanking, so that he would smack the bare skin with the slipper. During it, she would press her face hard against his groin, pushing her pursed lips against the heavy stiffness hidden there, inhaling the special fragrance of his sex. Sweet ripples of joy filled her belly.
A combination of the smacks, the jerking phallus, its special smell, would be enough to spark off minor orgasms in her. Sometimes, in her room, Polly would use a candle, kept specially for the purpose, to release the heightened excitement of her loins started by her father.
Polly had enjoyed masturbation ever since she had explored her body following a spanking. She had found the seat of her thrill. It became a regular pastime for her, particularly in the early morning, with sunlight streaming through the net curtains. She would half close her eyes and recall a fantasy, whilst concentrating on that feeling of sheer delight she got from manipulating her little pearl. Whilst one hand continued to arouse her vulva, the other stroked her firm, round breasts, teasing the stiff thimble-like brown nipple, surrounded by a large circle of lightly puckered areola.
With eyes closed, her head thrown back, she licked her dry lips. Her thoughts moved swiftly into her next fantasy. She was watching her father's penis thrusting regularly into her mother's private passage. She had actually seen this happen when secretly spying on them having sex. When her father was home from his travels, she would sometimes creep into their bedroom. If they were still asleep, she would hide in their huge wardrobe to spy on them through the partly open doors.
Her father would wake and sit up flaunting a stiff penis in front of her mother. She would take it into her mouth and suck it like a lollipop, or at other times he might just throw the covers back and push it between her widely spread legs and pump it in and out. Polly was jealous of her mother. Herself wanted to be the one to put her father's penis in her mouth and give him pleasure. She would surely do it better than her mother. But she never had the chance!
Once, after being caught by them, she was punished. Remembering that occasion always increased Polly's exhilaration. Her mother was very angry, she recalled. She made Polly lay face down on the side of the bed. Shaking with rage, making her full breasts wobble obscenely beneath her thin nightdress, her mother gave her father one of his slippers.
'Punish her hard! Give no mercy. The filthy hussy! The bitch!'
And her father swung the slipper ferociously. It was painful, but pride forbade her to cry out. Then she noticed through the dressing mirror, her father's thick, heavy penis, now horizontal, swinging from side to side with each stoke. The forbidden fruit! It looked beautiful with its half retracted foreskin. She gazed at it with desire, desperate to eat it.
'Don't stop,' Polly thought. 'Let me watch that fascinating tube of flesh.' As an act of defiance of her mother, she jutted her bottom out and parted her thighs slightly. This gave her father a better view of her soft, blonde covered vulva, challenging him to penetrate it. With satisfaction she watched the beautiful penis throb and fill. She knew he was aroused. Whilst he punished her with his slipper she imagined his shaft sliding effortlessly in and out of her, feeding her desire, kindling the orgasm growing inside her.
She couldn't remember when the realisation dawned on her that, in spite of her being the one to be punished, she was the real master of the situation. Hers was the body to be lusted after, admired and desired by all who saw it. She enjoyed being punished for the feeling of supremacy it gave her over her master. Punishment became a fascination to take control her life. That experience was the reason for her mother insisted on Polly being sent to a house of correction for young ladies; a finishing school, to beat discipline and respect into her.
On this morning, the candle wasn't necessary to bring about her breath-taking orgasm. Her loins stirred and tensed. She focussed her mind on the growing turmoil throughout her nervous system. Weak muscular spasms jolted her limbs. Tension mounted in her legs and thighs. He breathing became unsteady. Polly was now gasping and squirming with the tautness growing in her muscles. The whole of her loins were shaking, desperate for relief. Her trembling legs were straining to reach that ecstatic moment when the tension snaps. It was blissful agony. She desperately wanted her orgasm, yet hoping that the sensation torturing her body would go on forever. It was sheer bliss.
At the height of the orgastic moment fleeting images of the young men in the barn at her school, the spankings and the sex games they all indulged in. With all the sexual adventures Polly had gone through, it was remarkable that she was still a virgin. In the technical sense! It gave her a certain satisfaction to know that no man had yet penetrated her soft mystery. Only the dumb candle and Miss Armitage's dildos knew her inner secrets.
'Oh, God! Yes! Yes, yes, yes!!'
And her morning orgasm slammed into the pit of her stomach, washing over her in an enormous wave of agony. The need to cry out loud in her orgasms was stifled in her youth to avoid discovery. Restraining the need increased the thrill as her whole body jerked and jolted until the frustration was all gone and sweet peace overcame her body.
Polly relaxed. Where was he now, she wondered?
'Please come back to me daddy!' she whispered to herself with a long sigh.
Although Polly had been christened Pauline, she had always been called Polly, except by her father. She thought that curious; he always called her Pauline. Her college days were the first time she had been away from home for any length of time and the newness of college life had unsettled her.
She was put in a small dormitory of six girls supervised by Miss Armitage, the drama teacher in the college who had a small study-bedroom at the end of the dormitory. It was a strict religious college with a Principal who ran a severe regime, aided by Father Emmanuel, the visiting preacher and religious instructor to the girls. It was made clear to parents at the first interview that firm discipline was imposed on the girls with corporal punishment for the smallest infringement of the rules of the college.
Indeed, that was the main reason for the majority of the young ladies being there. Slippering or strapping on the covered bottom was administered by the dormitory mistress. More serious offenses were penalised by the Principal and the visiting clergy. Birching and caning on the bare female buttocks was their usual punishment. Sister Angelica and Father Emmanuel had the reputation for cruel punishment.
