George's Story

This story contains graphic descriptions of consensual and non-consensual corporal punishment and descriptions of hand-spanking and caning. Additionally, there is reference made to marital abuse which, in the period in which this story Is set was less remarked on than it is today. If any of this offends you, you may prefer to stop reading.

This is a retelling of my story Silence is Golden from the perspective of George Walker, one of the protagonists, and reveals more detail and background to this story and follows it into the future. Ideally, Silence is Golden is better read before this one.

This account may differ slightly from that of Simone, We are both recalling events that happened many years ago, and some events stick in the mind of one person and not another or are remembered differently.

Although the setting of this story is within a school, all the participants are adults over the age of eighteen years. None of the characters depicted are real, and any similarity to real places or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Please comment and score. Any constructive criticism, positive or negative, is welcome. Far too few folk comment or score.

As always, any errors in editing are mine and mine alone, and I apologise for them in advance.

As I sometimes do, I have included endnotes which both explain the background to this story and some of the colloquial English terms which I have used, and non-British readers may not understand. If you do not wish to read them, then please don't.

George's Story

George's Story

This is an account of what happened in my last year at boarding school, and what followed because of it. It would never have been written, if my wife, Simone, had not suggested that it should be. She told me that it might be of interest to those amongst you with an interest in corporal punishment that happened in a world that no longer exists. This of course, was not her only motive. When my story starts, my wife was a young teacher at the school and was just a few years older than me. She was deeply embroiled in the events I will describe, some of which were the most exciting of our young lives. Now she can both relive that time and learn a little more about it.

GW Liverpool,1994

***

I first saw the future Mrs Simone Walker at the first assembly of the Autumn term of my last year at school. She was standing on the stage with the other members of the teaching staff and was asked to step forward by the headmaster so that he could introduce the new French teacher to the assembled boys.

I saw a tall, slim, young woman, conservatively dressed, in a black pencil dress, white blouse, and black gown. She was incredibly pretty with shoulder-length black hair, brown eyes, and ruby lips, and just for a moment, I wondered if there was a new contender for the title of the most attractive woman in the school.

Up until then, that honour had belonged to Matron who was noteworthy by her absence. Although she was not standing on the stage behind Mr James, the Headmaster, he valued her opinion, and she had his ear.

Matron, whose name was Rose Lavington, was an enigmatic figure. She had turned up at the school several years previously, ostensibly from some girls' school where she had breached the rules. It had not taken her long to find herself a new home and niche. She was a tall, attractive, middle-aged, Scots woman, soft-spoken with a sympathetic air and, around the school, only ever a wore a dark blue nurse's uniform which hid her curvy, feminine figure. She lived alone in a small cottage in the school grounds and, predictably, all sorts of rumours flew, regarding her sexuality.

The most persistent rumour was that she had a hidden side and had more than a passing interest in corporal punishment. In those days, caning was a common punishment. Most teachers or prefects took no pleasure from it and caned over trousers or gym shorts. It was said, with no evidence, that Matron's dismissal from her previous employment followed the unsanctioned caning of a girl on the bare bottom, and that a few years earlier, she had done the same thing to a sixth form student at our school.

There was something else. Whenever the headmaster administered a severe caning to an unclothed bum, he asked Matron to attend, supposedly on medical grounds, but the victims, without exception, spoke of her enjoyment at seeing them suffer.

Despite this, or perhaps in retrospect, because of it, I madly fancied Matron. Now, she had a rival, although as I studied Mademoiselle Simone Corbin, I decided Matron was maybe still a little more desirable.

As I stood in assembly that Monday morning, I would bever have dreamed that one day I would end up marrying one of them and receiving a hand job from the other. I was nineteen in a month, and they were both considerably older than me, with jobs they were not likely to want to risk.

Whilst I spent time fantasising about Matron, and anticipated Simone Corbin would soon join her in my dreams, I was already fucking one of the school cleaning ladies. Her name was Mrs Blodwyn Llewellyn, a thirty-year-old big-titted and big-arsed Welsh woman with a voracious sexual appetite and an absentee husband.

***

I had not set out to fuck Blodwyn; it just happened. In the Easter term, the previous year, I was alone in my study bedroom. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I should have been on a cross-country run, but I had twisted my ankle playing rugby the previous Saturday and had been excused sports that week.

I was studying and had been reading Le Rouge et le Noir and had found it to be a bit of a trudge. So, as many young people do when they are bored or at a loose end when they are alone, I decided to have a wank. Very soon, I was naked on the bed with my erect prick in my hand.

I didn't lock the door. My room was high in the eaves of the house, and I believed the house was empty with the masters and boys all involved in sport. It was a mistake, because suddenly the door opened, and Blodwyn Llewellyn appeared.

At first, I didn't notice her, distracted as I was by the pleasure in my prick. I had shut my eyes, and when I opened them again, she was standing by the door watching me. I was both shocked and embarrassed and uselessly tried to cover myself up with both hands.

"I didn't hear you. What do you want? " I blurted out.

She wasn't fazed.

"I came to empty the wastepaper bin. This room is always empty on a Wednesday afternoon."

I had recovered my wits.

"Not today, obviously."

She ignored my sarcasm.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Eighteen."

"A young man with needs, I see."

She paused.

"Would you like help with that?"

I stared at her, and then I nodded. She turned back to the door and opened ii wide.

"The stairs creak. We'll hear anybody coming, long before they reach the door. The house is empty anyway."

For the first time I studied her closely. She was a short, plump woman with a large arse and tits, and was wearing a shapeless, light-blue cleaner's dress. She was undeniably very pretty, with her black hair tied up in a bun and huge, innocent brown eyes with long, dark eyelashes, a soft nose, and full red lips.

She turned away from the door, crossed to where a wooden Windsor chair sat at my desk, picked it up, and placed it next to my bed. Then, she settled her ample bottom onto it. I had still not moved my hands away from my groin, and now she reminded me of it.

"You can take your hands away, George. I've seen a few cocks in my time, and you have nothing to be ashamed of."

Exposed to view, and under her gaze, my prick began to grow again, and very soon it was standing to attention. She reached out and held the shaft between her thumb and fingers, and I trembled in anticipation. She smiled.

"You have a lovely cock; long and cut. I'm sure we'll both enjoy this more than a solitary wank."

Then, she introduced me to the slow hand job. Holding it firmly, she gripped my shaft below my bulbous tip and slowly moved it up and down, before she repeated the movement,....... time and time again. She watched me closely as she jerked me, her eyes flitting back and forth between my face and prick, and she smiled gently as she worked.

My prick. already hard when she started, was soon like iron. Under her touch, my nob-end, originally round and pink, was now a shiny, deep-purple mushroom.

I groaned, strained, and tried to raise my prick into her hand, but she was having none of it. She placed her left hand flat on my belly with her thumb and forefinger each side of the base of my prick. and held me down.

"Next time, I'll tie you down," she whispered.

On and on she went, prolonging the almost unbearable pleasure, until she finally relented. Maybe she felt sorry for me, or maybe she remembered she still had work to do. I'm sure, after knowing her, that she was not bored.

Up until then, she had said very little, but now she began to talk, and her hand began to move more quickly.

"Have you ever used your cock properly, George? Have you ever stuck it up a woman's cunt? You'd like to wouldn't you? Would you like to put in me? Would you like to fuck my cunt?"

She released my prick from her grip, stopped talking, leaned forward, and dribbled a long stream of spit onto my nob. Moments later, I felt her hand close around my freshly lubricated prick, and she spoke.

"Would you like a blow job," George? and her hand slid up and down my shaft.

I moaned.

"I didn't hear you," and her hand moved faster.

"Oh, yes," I croaked.

Her hand was now a blur.

"First you'll have to fuck me. then I'll suck your dick."

Her dirty talk and hands were too much for me. I felt myself begin to swell and pulse, and then I came, pumping long streams of sticky, white sperm ln arcs into the air, and groaning loudly as I did.

The force of my ejaculation surprised even Blodwyn, who had to lean back quickly to avoid her dress being splashed.

She laughed.

"Sperm on my dress might be a little awkward."

"Then she became more serious, That was fun, but I have work to do. When can you leave the school for a couple of hours without anyone noticing? "

"Saturday afternoon. I'll still be unfit to play sports."

She looked at me questioningly.

"I have a twisted ankle."

"Saturday is good. I'll be alone. No chance of us being disturbed. Do you Know Gibbet Lane?"

"Yes, "

"My house is the one all alone on the left at the bottom of the lane.....Don't be seen, George."

"I'll come through the fields to the back door. I'll be careful."

"I'm on the pill; You don't have to risk buying johnnie's."

"Before you go, how do you know my name, and what do I call you."

"You can call me Wyn, when we are alone, and everybody knows George Walker, the paragon of virtue."

***

Just after two on Saturday afternoon, I walked down the school driveway towards the road that led to the village, and a little way down, where the driveway was out of sight of the school, I sneaked through the bushes into a farmer's field which ran adjacent to the school. On the far side, there was a little-used footpath which, after a half-mile walk, brought me to a second field directly behind Wyns home. I walked slowly so as not to hurt my ankle, which was now healing nicely.

When I arrived at the old farm worker's cottage, I knocked on the back door, and Wyn let me in. I found myself in a small, old-fashioned kitchen with a wood-fired stove and a small, single sink.

"How much time have you got?" she asked.

" I won't be missed before six."

"That's plenty of time. Take off your shoes and follow me."

We passed through a small dining room into the hallway, where I left my coat, and up a flight of stairs. At the top of the top of the stairs there was a bathroom and two small bedrooms, and she led me into one of these.

The room was small, with barely enough room for an old, iron bedstead, a wooden chair, a bedside table, and a wardrobe. There was a small window in the far wall, overlooking the field at the back of the house. The room was surprisingly warm. An electric bar-heater sat in the corner of the room, glowing bright red.

Wyn crossed the room and switched the fire off at the wall, then turned, took off the bathrobe that she was wearing, and got, naked, into bed. A single, white-cotton sheet lay on the bed, and she pulled it up to her neck and lay looking up at me.

"Don't keep me waiting any longer, George."

Hurriedly, I stripped, discarding my clothes on the chair. Soon I stood naked by the bed.

I knew that I looked good. Back then, I was young and fit with a slim, athletic build, a six-pack, and broad shoulders. At that moment I also has a hard-on. A good six inches of erect penis was pointing directly at her.

***

As I moved towards the bed, Wyn lifted the sheet, and invited me to lie next to her, and I got my first glimpse of one massive boob, a pale white cylinder of flesh with a long, pink nipple, before I slipped in beside her, and she threw the sheet back over me.

She turned to me and kissed me voraciously, and I kissed her back,

"Kiss my tits," I heard her whisper urgently, and she threw the sheet to the floor, revealing her naked body.

She had huge, long, saggy boobs, a fat tummy, and thick, fleshy thighs, between which, her black, hairy muff was on display. I clamped my lips around each nipple in turn, and then I felt her hand close gently around my cock and she began to slowly wank me.

That afternoon, It was not just about my pleasure, and soon she guided my hand between her legs and showed me how, and where, to rub. At first, I was unsure, a little frightened even, but Wyn's obvious excitement and mews of pleasure soon convinced me that I was doing something right. Then, as I rubbed, she opened her legs wide and bent her knees, I felt her body stiffen and quiver, and she released my cock.

"Faster, Faster"! She groaned, and as my fingers moved quickly on her clitoris she spoke again.

"Oh fuck. Oh, fuck! OH, FUCCKK!!!"

My first experience of a female orgasm had taken me by surprise, and now I was both keen and inquisitive to see another, Understandably, Wyn felt the same way, and shortly she took me in hand, guided me inside, and for the first time I felt the warm, tight grip of pussy.

My cock was like a ramrod, and what I lacked in experience, I made up for in enthusiasm. I started to thrust myself vigorously into her and did not slow or stop. Despite my lack of finesse, It did not take long before Wyn starting screaming again, and for the first time in my life, a woman climaxed on the end of my dick, and I watched her mouth form a perfect O as her eyes rolled in her head. Moments later, I came inside of her.

***

A short time later, she knelt on all fours on the bed and I moved behind her. That was when I got my first view of her buttocks, a huge, round mass of pale-white, dimpled flesh, and I was shocked to see something else. Traversing her cheeks, were over a dozen parallel bruises in various shades of blue and purple, telltale signs of s recent, severe caning,

"Fuck! Who did this?" I asked.

"My husband. He's miles away by now, so don't ask. We'll talk later. For now, I need fucking."

I slid into her. Her cunt was soaking wet but gripped me tightly. Once inside. I paused and placed my hands flat against her haunches.

"Hard," she whispered urgently." Fuck me hard. Fuck me like a whore."

She got her wish. Our coupling was animalistic, each one of us using the other to satisfy our lust and need. She moaned incessantly as I pounded her, driving myself deep inside of her and pushing her forward with every stroke, The bed rattled and my balls slapped rhythmically against her, and then she began to talk.

"Fuck me hard! Fuck me hard!

Fuck my cunt! Fuck my cunt! Fuck my fucking cunt!

I want it! I want it! Oh, how I want it!

Give it to me! Give it to me! GIVE IT TO ME!!!!

OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Her orgasm was long and noisy and violent. Her body stiffened and shook, her vaginal muscles tightened and relaxed around me, and her hands gripped wildly and aimlessly at the sheet on which she was kneeling. Simultaneously, I shortened my strokes, and groaning loudly, I emptied my balls in blissful spurts, high inside of her,

***

Later, we talked, and Wyn lit a cigarette. She offered me one, but I declined.

"I didn't know you were married," I said.

"It's not important. Would it have stopped you fucking me if you had known?"

"No, but I might have worried about being caught."

"No fear of that. He's a merchant seaman and works for Blue Funnel Line. He left for Liverpool yesterday and sailed for the Far East this morning. I won't see him for at least nine months, and maybe a year."

It's the perfect marriage. I only see the cunt for a few weeks a year and can fuck who I want when he's gone. The only time I don't get it regularly is when he's home. I don't sleep with him anymore, ever since he gave me the clap. He probably picked it up from a slag in Tokyo or Bangkok. I don't know what he may give me, so its hands off."

I must have looked alarmed.

"Don't worry, a trip to the clap clinic cured me.."

"When did he beat you?"

"On Thursday afternoon he found my contraceptive pills. It was stupid really, because I left them where he could see them. He was in a foul mood and looking for an excuse. That evening, after he came back from the pub. he told me to strip. kneel on this bed, and he caned me. Fourteen strokes. He told me it was for being unfaithful."

"Why did you let him?"

"It was that or his belt or fists used indiscriminately. I knew that if he caned me, he'd only hit my bum."

"Why do you put up with him? You could leave him."

"Where would I go if I left? Our marriage is a convenient arrangement. He gets a housekeeper to look after him when he's home and to maintain his house when he's away. I get a home to live in and have my job, and have to take a beating once a year, or so."

She smiled.

"And I can fuck anyone I want. I've told him if he ever so much as TRIES to fuck me again, I'll kill him, and he believes me. He doesn't care. When he's home he screws Lucy Harper from the village. I used to fuck her husband, before he ran off with the barmaid from The Plough."

***

"Can you turn over?" I asked. "I want to take another look."

She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray by the bed and rolled onto her stomach. The centre of both bum cheeks was covered by a mass of blue and crimson welts, and I turned and kissed each flabby globe in turn.

I knew the pain the cane could deliver. I had experienced it myself om several occasions.

"It must have hurt," I said.

"Like hell."

She turned back onto her back and looked at me.

"I hate it when he's caning me, but afterwards I'm as hot as hell and always have to wank when he's finished with me, and I'm extra horny for days afterwards."

"Like today," I remarked.

"Just like today," and she leaned forward and held my cock, which slowly began to stiffen in her hand.

"How long before you can go around again?" she asked.

"Ten minutes."

"Fuck, you're a treasure. Time for another cigarette."

***

She rose from the bed and walked to the wardrobe by the wall, then opened it wide. There was a tall mirror attached to the inside of the door.

"Bill likes me to watch him caning me. Today I'll watch you fuck me."

She came back to bed, and I watched her big arse jiggle as she walked around the end of the bed, knelt, and offered her cunt to me.

"I don't need any foreplay. I'm still wet."

I knelt behind her, positioned my nob between her fleshy lips, and pushed. She was still well lubricated, and I moved inside with little resistance, and immediately started to thrust the full length of my penis deep inside of her. Now, as I fucked her, I watched my prick slide in and out, her massive buttocks wobble, and in the mirror, her heavy torpedo tits swung back and forth as each powerful stroke drove her body forward. She moaned in pleasure, and I pounded harder.