"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.