Introduction

 

I live in seclusion now. Privacy is essential for my work in Photo-Bondage. My photos are genuine and they depict nude girls in strict restraint and suffering, stark realism. My posing girls are captives and they scream because they are in actual pain. They struggle to escape because their horror is authentic, their welts so very real. Yes, my pretties endure severe punishments. And that's why my photos are so prized by collectors.

I gained much of my experience when I was Headmaster of Easton Academy for Girls. In many respects, certainly in outward appearance, Easton was a fortress of academics, surrounded by deep forests and a high, stone wall, a half an hour's automobile drive to the nearest village. The old buildings were ivy-covered, the walkways shaded, the hallways quiet and serene. Our girls wore uniforms, forest-green, pleated skirts that came to just below their rumps, gray knee socks and brown Oxford shoes. Their blouses were white and they were allowed to wear nothing underneath. They were permitted panties, but these were regulation, very small and of snug cotton. To see these young pretties walking about the campus in their uniforms, books in hand, one would never guess that they could be subjected to the most severe punishments should they step out of line.

Once a girl entered Easton, she was no longer living in pampered luxury, no longer showing off at shopping malls and bikini-beaches, no jet vacations, no expensive sports cars. Easton Academy for Girls was an island of discipline in the modern world of false luxury. We were strict with the spoiled little brats who were sent to us, strict in the truest sense of the word.

Some of these girls were fooled by my mature years, my gray-white hair, my thick spectacles. Their first impression of me was that I was a paternal figure, a man of great years who would guide them gently. Yes, I sometimes guided with a gentle hand, but I was also a strict and demanding taskmaster. And many a girl learned this while she was stark naked and enduring a severe flogging.

It was during my second year of administration that I began to feel as if I'd made real headway with Easton's discipline program. Our girls knew, even before they entered our gates, that they would be expected to toe the line, to respect their elders and to expect harsh punishment should they fail to do so!

Thelle was still employed as Head Proctor and her disciplinary technique continued to be excellent. She was a confirmed lesbian and Easton's girls feared such a large, sturdy woman. She enjoyed her work and was quick to flog an unruly posterior. Ever-eager to get her hands on feminine teen-flesh, the woman constantly invented punishments that not only pained her victims but degraded them as well, an important part of a young girl's discipline.

I believe that if a girl is forced to writhe in naked shame before her superiors, she learns the lessons of humility even as her flesh suffers its welts.

Thelle had an entire team of female proctors helping her to enforce this discipline. I'd handpicked each one of these women. They were all at least middle-aged and they believed in harsh discipline for young girls. They wore gray uniforms with opaque stockings and sturdy, functional shoes, an odd contrast to the teen-girls who were forced to cringe nude before them, the young baby dolls who had no choice but to accept their floggings. Each proctor, including Thelle, carried a short lash-strap hooked to one of her belt loops. They would use these lash-straps at a moment's notice. If a student needed it, they would bare her rump and flog it right then and there, and it didn't matter how many other people might be present. The girl received her due, one way or the other!

But our girls feared far more than mere schoolgirl thrashings. Our academy had a reputation for turning out the most socially acceptable young ladies in the land and the people who sent their daughters to us knew how we accomplished that end. We punished our girls until they were able to hold their heads high in any company and that's all their parents really wanted. Our girls feared expulsion above all else. We used torture-punishment as a means to orderly living and it produced the desired results, well behaved young ladies, ready to take their place in polite society. The stone rooms below the old chapel building echoed often with girlish screams.

Boyle joined me at this point in my career. He oversaw many of the activities in the underground rooms, doling out punishments and keeping watch over girls being held there. He would later become my trusted assistant and colleague when I went into the field of Photo-Bondage. He, too, inspired fear in the rich little brats behind Easton's walls. He was a huge man with tremendous strength, his head shaved, one eye peering outward, one shoulder lower than the other. And he was a natural at subjugating young girls.

Yes, our girls learned and they learned well. We stripped them to the bare and shaved them, flogged their tender teen-flesh and tortured them to obedience.

Book I - Part I

 

One morning, during the first term of that second year, I was returning to my office after a brisk morning walk. I'd been over to the wide, grassy playing fields, observing one of the Physical Culture classes in session. The girls had been engaged in calisthenics and catch-and-toss games, a scene of youthful frolic, all of them in tiny, white gymnasium costumes, though the weather was quite chill, a bit of frost on the ground. Our Physical Culture instructress, Miss Nina Faber, forced her girls to perform in almost no clothing. The gymnasium costumes were mere tunics that barely covered the rump and the girls were allowed to wear nothing beneath these costumes. They performed all gymnasium routines in bare feet, indoors and out, in both warm weather and cold, even in the snow. Additionally, Miss Faber forced each and every girl to do a daily body-shave, including the pubic mound.

When I'd walked by the playing fields that morning, I'd observed a Physical Culture class in session, half-naked teens scampering about in the frosty grass, their feet pinkish and chilled, tunics flipping up around bare rumps. Several of these students were new to Easton and I began looking forward to beating their rumps should they prove unruly, perhaps even inserting my penis into them as a means of discipline.

Just as I reached the ivy-covered building where my office was located, Thelle approached, reminding me that a new girl named Carissa was scheduled for punishment that morning.

I'd had my eye on this one. She was a delicate, sandy-haired beauty with well-formed breasts and bottom. "Where is she now?" I asked.

"Boyle and I have her down in the cellars and we've already stripped her bare and locked her into the upright animal cage," she said. "She's a feisty thing, put up quite a struggle."

"She won't be so feisty when the morning's out," I said as we set off toward the old chapel and the stone rooms below.

Striding across the campus walkways with Thelle, under the low-hanging trees with their brilliant, autumn leaves, my pulse quickened at the thought of meting out punishment and this feeling grew stronger when we entered the door at the back of the chapel. This door opened to a long staircase of stone that led down into a labyrinth of underground, torture chambers and there was a nude, teenage girl down there, locked in a cage and awaiting her fate.

As we entered the deep, gloomy chambers, I found that I was in just the right frame of mind for administering a corrective treatment. That's when Thelle reminded me that there was also a girl named Shari down there and she was serving out a Three and Three. A Three and Three was a punishment where the offending girl was taken to the cellars three mornings in succession, stripped of her clothing, and suspended at the end of chain for three hours, only her toes touching the floor.

When I entered the main chamber, I could see Shari at one side of the room, dangling by her wrists at the end of a chain. I walked over to counsel her. Her wrists were fastened together in leather beltings, the beltings secured to a heavy, iron hook at the end of the thick chain.

The girl was stretching her toes, trying desperately to find footing, to keep balance, but that was impossible. Only the very tips of those toes could touch the floor. Her hair was a light brown color and swinging free and her breasts and bottom-globes were smallish and rounded. She looked at me through wide, fearful eyes. After all, I was her headmaster, the man in charge of her life at Easton and she a mere teenager, nude and helpless. These ancient chambers inspired her fear as well. The walls and ornate columns were cracked and fissured, the air dank. Hideous gargoyles festooned with spiders' webs stared down at her, their tongues protruding as they silently laughed at her plight.

I stepped up to the girl and ran a hand down her torso. She trembled beneath my touch, but she couldn't escape me.

I asked Thelle what day of punishment this girl was in.

"This is her second day," she said. "She's due for one more session tomorrow."

Shari gave her body a wag. "I've done nothing wrong," she pleaded. "Make her let me down from here, Mr. Raspett."

"You were inattentive in class," Thelle sneered at her. "You'll take your punishment, Missy."

The girl had contradicted one of her superiors and she'd have to pay a price. "This girl will learn to keep her opinions to herself," I said to Thelle. "Put a nipple-clamp on her left breast."

Grinning widely, Thelle went to a wooden table and returned with an iron nipple-clamp.

"What are you doing to me?" the girl said timorously when Thelle began fastening the torture device to the left nipple.

"We're teaching you a much-needed lesson, girl," I said to her. "In the future, you won't be so quick to question your corrective treatments."

Thelle fastened the clamp tightly. The nipple swelled within the iron, squeezing itself outward and turning purple.

"No! Please take it off!" Shari shrieked.

But we were already walking away. We had other matters to attend to. A caged girl was due for serious punishment.

To reach the place where Carissa was being held, we had to walk through a narrow tunnel. The tunnel opened out into a grotto-like room with ceilings supported by arched columns, the arches being fixed and blended into the ceiling itself. And in the center of this room stood the upright cage. This particular cage was rounded, perhaps three feet across, but, for any girl unfortunate to be locked into it, there wasn't quite enough room to stand up straight.

Carissa was in this cage, stark naked, her body bent at the shoulders. She gripped the bars and stared at us through widening eyes as we approached. Boyle was nearby, ready to assist in the punishment.

"This girl has been insubordinate to her Latin instructor twice," Thelle said when we stopped in front of the cage. "On her first offense, we took her out into the hallway and gave her bare rump a sound thrashing. But now she's been at it again. She needs something far stronger than a mere beating."

"I wasn't insubordinate, Sir," Carissa said to me, her eyes beseeching me for mercy. "My parents are paying for me to attend Easton for its academic program, not for this."

"Your parents are paying us to groom you into a proper young lady," I told her sternly, "and they know full well the methods we employ to achieve that end. You'll give me no more of your insolence or it will go all the harder on you."

I considered the method of punishment as I drank in the sight of her bare body. There were so many choices in these chambers, the torture wheel, the ladder, the punishment platform, just to name a few. But I wanted something all-inclusive for this pretty nympha. And then I looked to one side of this room and saw the contraption that fitted my purposes perfectly.

"Take her from the cage and oil her from head to toe," I said to Thelle and Boyle. "This girl will ride the Abraser. And she will be leather-flogged and roasted in the process."

After Boyle unlocked the cage door and swung it open, the ancient hinges creaking in the gloom, the two of them hauled Carissa out and began pulling her toward the Abraser. The girl held back, bare feet skittering on cold stone, but they simply dragged her by the wrists, taking her to the large and ominous machine across the room.

Standing her next to the Abraser, they began oiling her nude body, a process I often employed with Easton students as it served several purposes. First off, I felt it sometimes enhanced the pain of a leather flogging. Secondly, the victim had to submit to the indignity of having her superiors grope her entire body, including the most intimate areas of her anatomy. The pussy, inside and out, was always thoroughly oiled.

When they had done with the oiling, they cinched Carissa's hands out in front of her with belt of leather, drawing it tight enough to make the girl wince.

And then they hoisted her up onto the Abraser. She struggled, feet kicking, but it was of no use. She would be punished.

The Abraser was a long, wooden cylinder mounted between two posts on a well-greased axle. It could be turned by a crank-handle at one of the posts. The slightest touch would set it spinning. A suspension chain with an iron hook at its end hung above it. But the most interesting and useful feature was the large piece of leather sheathing that was fixed to the cylinder at just the place where the victim sat. The sheathing was tightly wound and covered with dozens of hard, leather spikes. When the cylinder was turned, the spikes would gnaw and chew at the pubic flesh of the girl riding the Abraser.

Once Carissa was sitting on the cylinder, one leg on each side as if she were riding a horse, they raised her hands above her head and padlocked the belt around her wrists to the hook in the suspension chain. Her pubis was directly on the spiked sheathing, her toes perhaps two feet from the floor, a picture of youthful nudity and helplessness.

"How do those spikes make your slutty pussy feel?" Thelle smirked.

"They're awful and you know it," the girl gasped. She was looking up at her hands, astonished at what we'd done with her.

"Give the cylinder a few turns," I said to Thelle. "This spoiled little brat is going to learn that we don't tolerate insolence."

Eyes ablaze with pleasure, Thelle spun the crank-handle. The cylinder began spinning, the spikes rotating and biting deep into Carissa's oiled pubic flesh, the tips of the spikes grinding at her clitoris!

"Yaaa!" the girl shrieked, tugging at her fastenings and bouncing at the cylinder. "What are you doing to me?"

I explained to her that she was simply receiving punishment for her inattentiveness in class. Boyle got a low trough of coals going. They became well lit, reddening, soon to be ready to use in a punishment roasting.

Thelle was now further readying the girl. She crossed Carissa's ankles and belted them tightly together. The bare toes strained toward the floor, taut and pointed. And, just as Thelle finished the belting, the girl began swinging her feet frantically back and forth.

"Beat those feet to ready them for torture," I said to Thelle, "and give her a body-flogging as well."

As Thelle selected an instrument of flagellation from a rack on the wall, I heard the far off sound of Shari moaning, the moans becoming quick shrieks. The clamp was taking its toll on her nipple. She would be ready for my demands when I returned to her.

With a short whip of braided leather, Thelle beat Carissa's nude feet, turning the soles crimson. And then she began body-flogging the girl, the shoulders and back, the rear end, the breasts and thighs.

Carissa could no longer remain unmoved. She screamed. Her wrists and ankles fought their bonds. Her pussy writhed at the cylinder. She was oiled and strained, muscles knotted beneath tender skin, breasts heaving high, her glowing flesh a sharp contrast to the heavy stone walls and dark shadows of these murky chambers.

The coals were ready. The real punishment would now begin.

When Thelle finished the flogging, Boyle slid the trough directly beneath Carissa's punished feet. In shimmering waves, the heat rose, enveloping the girl's lower body. Immediately, her skin broke out in a light coating of perspiration that mixed in with the oil and ran over the flesh in tiny rivulets.

"The crank," I said to Thelle, "turn the crank. Punish her pussy!"

Smiling broadly now, Thelle turned the crank-handle slowly, the spikes grinding into the pubic flesh as the coals blazed.

Boyle stood by my side and we watched this classic enactment of a young girl in suffering. Carissa was screaming and struggling, but this was to no avail. We, her superiors, her elders, had her where she belonged. We were in charge and she was nothing more than a naked teenager riding the Abraser.

Carissa's bottom was jouncing on the cylinder as the spikes tormented the most tender part of her body. "Lively little rump on this one," Boyle chuckled as we viewed the girl's antics.

I agreed and asked if I might prevail on him to give said rump an anal punishment fucking after the Abraser ride was finished with.

"Yes, but let me calm it down a bit," he said as he picked up the braided whip.

Thelle was turning the crank-handle ever faster, increasing the speed at which the spikes worked into both the inner and outer pubis of our captive. Now Boyle added to the torture by snapping the whip at the rounded, unprotected rump.

The girl was now in the throes of pure agony, flogged and roasted, bound and helpless on the rotating cylinder, leather spikes tormenting her pussy.

And then the spikes drove the girl's sex-fluids from her oiled crevice, her creams leaking out onto the spikes even as she endured this many-faceted punishment. And her expression told me that she was about to be propelled through forced orgasms.

"Turn the crank still faster," I said. "Beat that insolent bottom. She's learning now!"

Carissa orgasmed all over the Abraser her juices trickling through the very spikes that tormented her pubis, her screams echoing through the dim chambers as Boyle thrashed her hind end raw.

"Aaaaa!" she cried out as she was overwhelmed by her orgasms.

Carissa sagged in the wrist bindings. We had tamed her, at least for the present. But I was already looking forward to having her make yet another journey into these rooms of stone, of fastening her up to another pain-machine.

Boyle released her from the bindings and lifted her down from the Abraser. But her freedom was short-lived. Immediately, he hauled her to a thick, granite column and stood her facing it, He then fixed her wrists into two chains with manacles at their ends that hung down from the column. Again, she was helpless.

It was time to attend to the saucy Miss Shari. As Thelle and I departed the grotto where the Abraser stood, I looked backward to see that Boyle was removing his gnarled cock from his trousers and aiming it at Carissa's rear end. He was about to give her an anal punishment fucking, taking no thought for her comfort, concentrating only on gratifying his lust. His member was swollen. Carissa's suffering had aroused his desire.

Even as we entered the main chamber and approached the girl serving a Three and Three, I could hear Carissa's screams.

But Shari needed my attention now. Thelle stayed several feet behind while I spoke closely to the dangling girl. Her clamped nipple was throbbing, dull purple in color and she was biting her lip.

"Would you like me to remove that nipple-clamp, girl?" I asked gently, placing a hand paternally on her shoulder.

"Yes, Sir," she gasped out. "Oh ... please take it off."

"Very well, but you must do something for me in return," I said, still being gentle with her.

My looks and demeanor often put Easton's girls off their guard. Due to my age, my hair was white and I wore thick spectacles and could be kindly in manner.

"Anything, Mr. Raspett. I'll do anything!"

"Then you will report to my private quarters at nine this evening, and you will spend the entire night there," I told. "I will keep you in a bed and you will be nude for sex until the morning."

"But, Sir, I ... I couldn't," she stammered. "I mean ... I've never ... No man has ever..."

"It's your choice, but if you can't come to my quarters, you will have clamps on both nipples tomorrow as you finish your Three and Three," I said brusquely as I grabbed her shaven pubis. "And I'll have the proctors fix one here as well. Your puss lips will be squeezed together for the entire three hours and your rump will be beaten with a leather strap. Would you like that?"

"No, Sir," she blurted out. "I'll be there. I'll come to your quarters. Don't let them fasten more of these horrid things to me. Don't let them beat me. Please!"

"That's a good girl," I said. "I'll be expecting you. You're going to enjoy having a penis in you. You'll see."

Feeling charitable, I removed the nipple-clamp before I left and she thanked me profusely.

For the time being, my work in the dungeons was done.