Sarah Jackson sighed as she parked her car in her usual parking spot behind the office of the Warwick Times. “Oh well, another day another dollar,” she thought, grabbing her travel cup full of coffee and walking into reception. So far, being a journalist wasn’t what she had expected at all. Far from writing damning exposes about the government or revealing the sordid secrets of some minor local celebrity, to date she had covered three school events, a case of rubbish bins going missing, and a piece about a very wet day standing outside the local community centre on election day.
“Hardly hard-hitting journalism”, she thought as she sat at her desk. At 29, Sarah expected to be more together than this. After going back to university to study English and journalism, she had taken the job at the local paper expecting to be immediately writing top-notch pieces. As her boss kept telling her, “You have to start at the bottom Sarah,” a comment which was usually followed by a lecherous grin and a less than subtle glance at her bum. Sarah was a keen runner, so she was in good shape and when she chose to look her best she was quite attractive. Today however, she wore jeans and a t-shirt, and her shoulder-length dark hair hung loose with a clip to keep it out of her eyes.
Sipping her coffee, she opened her emails to see what jobs were available to her this week. Scanning down the list, she saw the same old list of tedious events she could cover. A school sports day… a charity cake sale… “Hang on, this sounds interesting…” she murmured. An email from a local girl called Alice complaining about the treatment of attendees at a nearby finishing academy called ‘Martinique House Academy’. The academy had been established some years earlier by Madame Martinique herself and was intended as a school to prepare young women for career life after finishing university. The average age of the young women that attended was between 22 and 27 and as rule it was only attended by the wealthy as the cost per term was said to be extortionate. For many the high cost was seen as an investment, as most Martinique alumni went on to have very successful careers with many sitting on the boards of blue-chip companies.
Sarah sipped her coffee and read through the email that Alice had sent to her. In general, Alice was happy with life at the Academy, however Madame Martinique had a very strict policy about the girls in her care going out in the evening. Despite the fact that the pupils were effectively young adults, there was a curfew of 10.00pm and the girls were forbidden from undertaking ‘relations’ with any men or women during term time. This was to ensure the mind was focussed on the academic tasks at hand, apparently.
“So far, so boring,” thought Sarah, then she got to the final paragraph and sat up intently. Alice in her email began to describe what happened to the girls that broke curfew. “It goes beyond corporal punishment,” wrote Alice, “The punishments are incredibly painful and humiliating. Please come, you must see it to believe it. People must know what goes on here at the Martinique Academy. Signed, Alice.”
“At last, something meaty,” thought Sarah. She grabbed her coat and what remained of her coffee and set off to uncover what was actually going on at the world-renowned Martinique House Academy.
Later that morning, Sarah stood in front of the pair of imposing oak double doors that were the main entrance to the Academy. Above the doors was written “Nullum Dolorem Neque Quaestum,” which after a quick google translate Sarah learnt meant ‘no pain, no gain.’
“Interesting choice of motto,” she thought as she reached up and banged the heavy knocker on the door a couple of times. After a moment, she was greeted by a worried looking blonde woman.
“Would you be Alice?” asked Sarah.
“Yes,” Alice answered quickly, she had a nervous disposition and looked around wildly. “We must be quick before Madame arrives! I have to tell you the truth of what she does here.” Sarah quickly reached for her Dictaphone. “Go on,” she encouraged.
“You know about the curfew? Well, if we break it, we get the paddle. And that’s not the worst part! If we are found to be having sex or anything like that, she whips us across our…”
“Alice!” interrupted a strong, loud voice. A lady’s voice – a voice used to being obeyed immediately.
“Alice, at least let our guest enter the building before you start babbling at them. Well get to it girl! I’m sure Miss Haversham has some use for you in the stables. Go on!” Striding towards her was the intimidating presence of Madame Martinique. Almost 6 ft in her gleaming boots and wearing a long, teal-green fur-lined coat over a white satin shirt, she was every inch the Madame of this place. Other girls lined the corridor behind her, all with the same cowed look that Alice had when Sarah first arrived.
As Alice scurried off as Madame Martinique took Sarah by the arm and guided her through to what could only be described as the main hall. The walls were dark wood, and the ceilings high and illuminated by two ornate chandeliers. The walls were decorated with a mixture of pictures of past students and teachers, and several trophies.
“Miss Jackson, please don’t mind Alice,” said Madame Martinique smoothly. “She does get quite fanciful at times. Yes, I am aware of the email she sent and the reason for your visit. After some time with us you will see we are nothing like as nefarious as Alice would have you believe.”
“Lydia!” Madame gestured to a tall blonde girl standing attentively nearby. Sarah, Lydia is our prefect, or ‘head girl’ if you prefer. Lydia, please show Miss Jackson all of our facilities. Nothing is to be left out of your tour.” Madame Martinique raised an eyebrow as Lydia nodded submissively and gestured for Sarah to follow her down a narrow corridor that led from the main hall. Once they had walked around a couple of corners and were well out of earshot of the main hall, Lydia turned and grasped Sarah’s arm.
“Quickly, before she comes to find us,” whispered Lydia. “I have to show you what goes on here. Everything Alice said is true, follow me.” Lydia led Sarah down another long corridor lined with an assortment of hockey sticks and other sporting paraphernalia. “This place is like a maze,” thought Sarah. Eventually, Lydia stopped by a small steel door.
“We have doubled back on ourselves, this room is very close to the main hall so we must be quiet,” said Lydia in a hushed tone. Putting a finger to her lips to reiterate the need for quiet, Lydia pushed open the door and Sarah followed her into the small room behind. With a dull clank, the door closed behind them.
In the centre of the room was a broad, sturdy-looking and well-worn wooden chair. It was clearly old, and the legs were battered and scuffed from obvious use. It had a high back and padded headrest, and stout arms attached to the back of the chair. It was devoid of any real decoration, and had clearly been designed with function in mind instead of form. After a moment, it struck Sarah what was so odd about the chair. Leather straps hung from the arms, legs and various other parts of the chair. And also…
“It’s missing a seat!” exclaimed Sarah, putting a hand to her mouth as she realised how loudly she had spoken. Looking at the chair again, a large U-shape had been cut smoothly from the seat of the chair. There was a small section left at the back to perch on, but the front was completely open.
“It’s all true,” said Lydia quietly. “Everything Alice told you, and more. If Madame finds out we’ve had sex while out with our partners, we are tied to this chair and she whips our… pussies.” Sarah was stunned. Corporal punishment hadn’t been allowed in schools for years in England. The fact that this practice seemed to be taking place today was, well, alarming to say the least.
Lydia gestured to the chair. “Please, sit in it. You can get an idea of what it’s like for some of us. Though not the full experience of course!” she laughed, and motioned to the chair again. Sarah rested her bum against the back of the seat and pushed her legs out the to side so she could see the gap in the chair between her legs. “This must be quite the experience,” said Sarah. “I can’t condone it, but I imagine just the sight of this chair is a very effective deterrent.”
“Oh it is, it is!” Lydia whined. “Try it with the straps, you need to feel what it’s like. For your article…” Sarah thought for a moment, and nodded in agreement. With some black and white photos of this chair and a well-written article based on her actually being strapped to the thing, this could be the breakthrough piece she needed to finally launch her as a serious journalist.
“Place your forearms on the armrests please Miss Jackson,” urged Lydia. Sarah did as instructed, and Lydia buckled thick leather straps around Sarah’s wrists. Lydia continued with more straps around Sarah’s forearms near her elbows.
“How many straps are there?” asked Sarah. She had dabbled with some light bondage with her boyfriend and always liked being tied up, but never had she been so firmly bound to anything like this.
“Just a few more up here,” said Lydia, panting mildly at the exertion of pulling on the straps. Two more went around her biceps, and then one ran across her tummy, holding her spine firmly against the back of the chair.
“There,” said Lydia. “Now for your legs.” Lydia pushed Sarah’s left leg to the very edge of the chair, so her knee was resting against the arm of the chair. Three more straps were buckled around Sarah’s thigh, ankle, and just below the knee.
“Just the other leg and we’re done,” Lydia assured her, and she repeated the process on Sarah’s right leg. Sarah was now completely bonded to the chair. Her arms were held rigidly in place to the chair by the straps, and her legs were pulled apart and wide open. She could see how the chair’s victims would feel very exposed with that big space between her bound and spread legs.
Sarah was about to say that she understood now and had everything she needed for the article, when Lydia leapt forward and pushed a sponge ball into Sarah’s mouth. Before Sarah could react and spit it out, Lydia reached into her pocket and pulled out a thick roll of medical tape and began wrapping it securely around Sarah’s head. After three winds to make certain Sarah was thoroughly gagged and silenced, she stepped back and admired her handiwork.
“You dumb bitch,” spat Lydia. “I can’t believe how easy that was, and how you fell for the whole meek schoolgirl act.” Sarah tried to speak – to tell her to release her, but the tape and sponge made for a very effective gag.
“We are onto a good thing at this Academy. Sure, we have to put up with the Madame’s little quirks, but once we get out of here we are set up for life. A letter of recommendation from here gets us in anywhere. We can’t have you writing a piece in the paper and getting this place closed down.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she continued. Sarah could only glare at her with suppressed rage and a growing sense of alarm at what Lydia was planning.
“Another one of the girls here is due a punishment this afternoon. She is called Annette, and you are going to take her place. Madame Martinique is going to be whipping your pussy instead, however, unbeknown to her.”
“Oh, I almost forgot something.” Lydia reached into her other pocket and pulled out a leather hood. “Madame Martinique thinks she can protect our anonymity by having the girls she whips wear this hood. Of course, we all know who is getting punished.” Sarah’s world went dark as the hood was pulled over her head and Lydia began to pull the laces tight. “Of course,” she said calmly as she worked, “usually the girls aren’t gagged under the hoods, but we can’t have you shouting out and ruining the performance now, can we?”
After the hood was snugly laced up, Sarah felt the brief feeling of claustrophobia pass and found she could breathe easily through her nose. There were obviously some air holes to breathe through. As Sarah focused on her breathing, she felt the cool touch of metal just inside the ankle of her jeans, followed by a snipping sound. The metallic feel ran up her thigh as Lydia began to cut away her jeans.
“Did I forget to mention the punishment is administered naked?” said Lydia with a mocking voice. “Let’s see what we’re working with here.” Sarah could do nothing as Lydia proceeded to cut away her jeans. Her t-shirt soon followed, as did her bra and panties. Lydia however left her socks and Converse on. Methodically, Lydia then proceeded to tighten up each buckle to allow for the fact her subject was now naked.
Sarah couldn’t believe what had transpired in the last ten minutes. She had gone from thinking about the scoop she was about to write that would make her a name in the field, to being hooded, gagged and strapped naked to a whipping chair. And worse was yet to come…
“I’m going to see if Madame Martinique is ready for you now. Annette’s punishment was due this afternoon after you had finished snooping around. I’m going to tell her you’ve left happy and you’re going to write a puff piece about the Academy. Then the show will begin.”
Sarah heard the door close and shouted ineffectively into the gag. She tried to wriggle and get loose, but Lydia had retightened all the buckles after she cut Sarah’s clothes away and there was no give to be found. All she could do was sit and await her fate.
After what seemed like a few minutes, Sarah heard the door open and the sound of several pairs of feet entered the room. She felt the seat tip back, and clearly the seat was on wheels at the back as she was rolled out of the room.
“Not long now bitch,” Lydia whispered in her ear. “Remember, only I know you’re not really Annette. I can put a stop to the session early if you promise not to say what goes on here. Do you promise?” Sarah nodded vigorously; she couldn’t believe this was actually going to happen.
“Do you promise?” she asked again, this time squeezing Sarah’s right nipple hard as she did so. Sarah grunted and nodded again, more enthusiastically this time. She heard the other girls pushing the chair sniggering, they were obviously in on this too. Sarah jumped as two fingers began to rub her pussy lips.
“This is a balm we make in chemistry,” Lydia explained. “It has a little menthol in it to warm you up a bit, and the lubrication this provides should help make this a little more pleasurable for you. Some sluts even get off on this, getting their clits whipped.” Again, more sniggering followed Lydia’s last comment, and Sarah could only remain still and bear the humiliation.
Before long, Sarah felt cool air on her and she assumed she was now in the great hall. She felt the chair come to a stop, and then the chair was tipped backwards so she was lying on the floor. Had she been able to see, she would be looking directly at the chandeliers on the ceiling.
“Thank you, Lydia. As always, you are an exemplary student. You have missed a strap however, please attach the strap around … Annette’s neck so she is fully secured.”
“Yes Madame,” said Lydia, the meek persona resumed as she did Madame’s bidding. She pulled the strap around Sarah’s neck, not tight enough to restrict breathing but enough that held Sarah’s head to the headrest.
“Now the platform please Lydia.” Sarah heard a whirring noise of a motor and she felt herself rising from floor level.
“Enough,” said Madame Martinique. Based on where Sarah judged Madame’s voice to be, she was now at roughly waist height above the ground. She suddenly felt very conscious of her nakedness, and the fact that her legs were spread wide open for the world to see. She was at least glad that she had shaved and trimmed her bush the night before. The balm was also starting to work its magic, and her lips were beginning to feel warm and tingly. Under different circumstances, Sarah would dearly have loved to put her fingers down there and begin touching herself. “What’s in that balm?” she wondered.
Madame Martinique began to speak, obviously addressing the assembled classes of the Academy. Sarah had no idea how many people were watching her now, splayed open as she was, but she guessed that the Academy had at least two hundred attendees, teachers and staff.
“Annette here has yet again breached our most sacred school rules. She has broken curfew yet again and stayed out doing goodness knows what with that girlfriend of hers. And this was after last month, when Annette found herself exactly where you again see her now, after all that business with Tommy the gardener.”
“Annette, as you seem so bent on ignoring the rules of our beloved institution, I can see I will have to increase the level of your punishment today. We also have an additional punishment that we have reserved for someone such as yourself who continues to break the rules and behave in a fashion not becoming of a lady of this Academy.”
Sarah wanted to shout out to Madame Martinique, to tell her there was a mistake and she wasn’t Annette, but all that came out from behind the gag was an unintelligible murmur. She doubted that the other people in attendance were close enough to hear her even if she could make a sound from behind her gag.
“Very well Annette, let us begin. As usual, I will apply a minimum of ten blows. After that, I will continue as I see fit based on the severity of your rule breaking. As is the custom, I will stop once you ask me to stop by saying “Enough Madame,” in a loud, clear voice. The more you can withstand, the less detention time you will have to sit through this term. Do you understand Annette?”
The reality of the situation hit Sarah like an ice bucket. Madame Martinique was going to whip her most sensitive area until she asked Madame to stop, which of course she could not as she was thoroughly gagged behind her hood. Although she could not see it, Lydia was grinning broadly with her friends. Sarah began to struggle against her bonds again, making muffled grunts as she did so.
“Now, now Annette,” the Madame admonished. No sense in struggling now. You knew the punishment when you carried out the crime. Now, are you ready to begin?”
Sarah stilled and nodded slowly, resigned now to what was to come.
“Then let us begin,” proclaimed Madame Martinique. Sarah jolted in surprise and also not a fair amount of pain as she felt what she assumed was a leather paddle strike her cunt. After the initial sting, the blow faded into a warm feeling. After a few seconds, the paddle landed again. And again, and again. After each strike, the warm feeling grew into a heat, and the pain grew in severity. As more and more blows landed, each time striking her exposed pussy, the sting gave way to the pain until it was all there was. She pulled against her restraints, long ago having lost count of the number of times her poor pussy had been struck with the paddle. She shouted pointlessly into her gag, willing for the beating to end.
Eventually, Madame Martiniwue set the paddle to one side. Sarah breathed heavily through her nose, taking stock of how she felt. The pain once again gave way to warmth, and she could feel the benefit now of the balm on her lips. She had been spanked by her boyfriend, but never there or like that. What came as a surprise to Sarah was that the warmth gave way to longing. She found that she was actually enjoying the feelings within her, her clit aching to be touched again even if it was by the paddle. She let out a moan and began to slowly gyrate her hips as she realised just how horny the whipping had made her.
“Look at how she behaves after her whipping!” exclaimed Madame Martinique. “Even after her whipping she has still clearly not learnt her lesson. Bring in the machine!”
“The what now?” thought Sarah through the haze of her mind. All she could focus on right now were the feelings of desire in her belly, and how she longed to be touched. She knew if she could just get a hand free it would take moments to get herself off… Sarah did not hear the scraping of the machine being dragged into the hall, or the sound of the bolts attaching it to the floor, so engrossed as she was in the cravings she felt. Madame Martinique again spoke to the room.
“What you see here is a punishment we have held back, as until now only Annette has broken the rules flagrantly enough to warrant the use of such a device. This is a whipping machine, as you can see there is a wheel there driven by an electric motor. Attached to the wheel are two leather straps. As the wheel spins, the straps will repeatedly whip Annette’s wicked slit for longer and with more precision than my poor old arms can manage.” The assembled people in the room gave a quiet laugh at this comment, Madame Martinique was far from being an old lady and more than strong enough for this task.
“Start the machine!” shouted Madame Martinique.
Sarah heard the whir of the motor firing into life, and immediately felt the first lash of the strap, closely followed by the second, and then a gap before the straps came around again. Although the straps did not land with as much force as the paddle had, the blows were much faster than the paddling she had endured. Each strike was quick – a fast and biting lick over her already sore cunt, and the accuracy! The strap hit the same place on every hit. She tried to move her hips to make it so she wasn’t being whipped on the same spot each time, but the chair held her firmly in place.
The other problem was her treacherous clit. The straps hit it with unerring accuracy every time, and the horniness she had felt before was coming back with a vengeance. She could feel her bud throbbing now, aflame from the balm and the constant ‘thwack, thwack’ of the leather across her lips. She could feel the wave of her orgasm building in her tummy, and helpless under the clockwork ministrations of the machine lashing her cunt, she came. Sarah writhed in agony and pleasure as her orgasm washed over her, her breathing behind her hood quickened and she moaned into her gag.
Sarah was aware of a sound; it was the motor whirring faster. “Madame must have cranked up the speed,” thought Sarah, “I can’t take much more of this… Oh no…” the faster lashes of the wheel meant the pain of each strike was actually less, but the speed… oh yes, just there…… Sarah came even harder as the constant leather-licking continued relentlessly. She stretched her limbs stiff against another orgasm as it wracked her body. Unbelievably she could feel her next orgasm coming almost before the last one had faded away. She had never felt like this before, the feeling of pain, pleasure and helplessness all wrapped up and focussed purely within her being. Sarah’s awareness now was floating, all she knew was the feeling between her legs, the rhythmic strikes, the next orgasm. Had she not been strapped to the chair she would have fallen.
“Enough!” shouted Madame Martinique, and the motor slowed and became silent. Sarah sagged against her bindings breathing deeply through the hood, lost in a haze of her own bliss.
“I hope this served as a lesson to you all,” said Madame Martinique. “Breaches of the rules will not be tolerated! This is what awaits you if you do. And especially you Sarah, uh, Annette. I hope this is the final time we see you here.”
“She knew!” Sarah realised, “that bitch knew the whole time! When I get out of here I’ll…”
“Lydia,” the Madame’s voice cut across Sarah’s thoughts. “Release Annette and see that she gets back to her dorm with no issues please. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Sarah heard the shuffling of feet and the susurrus of voices leaving the hall, followed by silence. Suddenly she jumped as she felt a cool hand stroking her clit. Despite herself, she moaned at the touch on her already oversensitive pussy.
“Wow, that was some session,” whispered Lydia. Who knew you would get so turned on getting your cunt whipped like that? You must have cum at least five times! Even when the real Annette is on the chair she only gets off once or twice, and she’s one seriously kinky girl.”
“Just us her now though, my friends and I…… and we aren’t done with you yet I’m afraid. Trish! Go and fetch me three riding crops, one for each of you, and go by my room and fetch my strapon.”
Sarah began to fight against her bonds again, but to no avail. Her energy was low after her whipping and the leather bindings were as strong and unforgiving as ever. “Mmmph!” she cried into her gag, desperate to be released now. She had never been with a girl, and a strapon was something she had only seen pictures of. Once more, Lydia rubbed more balm onto her pussy, massaging it into her folds, and then after applying some liberally to her own fingers she began to rub the balm liberally inside Sarah’s cunt.
“Trust me,” Lydia purred, “if you liked the whipping you will definitely enjoy this. Ah, Trish is back.” Sarah heard the sound of buckling, evidently Lydia putting the strapon dildo on herself.
“Ok, you three take a crop each. Two of you hit her tits with them, one of you – Trish, you whip her clit again. Let’s make sure she has a night to remember”
Sarah felt several sensations all at once. The crops began to land on her nipples and breasts, and another struck her pulsing clit. None of the girls with the crops were going too hard, they had all been in the chair and been through this from Lydia afterwards. This was about sensation, making sure the bound subject was as stimulated as possible. Only when Sarah began to moan and move her hips with what little range of movement she had, did Lydia slowly and inexorably push the tip of the dildo into her.
Sarah moaned at the feeling. Lydia kept pushing, pushing until the full length of the dildo was buried inside her. Then she pulled out and thrust into her, and again – harder this time. The balm was clearly a lubricant of some sort, and Sarah was already wet as hell from the attention her pussy had already received.
Lydia quickened her pace, and the girls with the crops followed her lead. As Lydia drove into her, so did the crops land on her breasts and clit. As Lydia withdrew, again the crops fell. They were all obviously well practiced at this and knew the drill. The constant sensations in her tits and pussy became all Sarah could feel, and she came hard on the dildo as it pushed into her again and again.
“Once more with feeling!” puffed Lydia, “she can give us one more, what do you think?” Sarah was pretty sure she couldn’t, she had never had this many orgasms in one session before, but as Lydia predicted she came again, panting through her gag and grunting as a final wave of orgasms overtook her body.
Dreamily, Sarah realised the assault on her body had stopped. She felt the chair being lowered and wheeled somewhere. She blinked at the light as the hood was removed, and the tape gag was removed. A straw touched her lips, and thirstily Sarah drank deeply the cool water offered. She felt her fingers twitch as the straps binding her were released and she was aware that she was being carried, somewhere soft. A bed perhaps? A hand stroked her hair and she was aware of warmth around her. Feeling safe and with a glow from the orgasms she had been given, Sarah fell asleep.
She awoke with a start in her car. Her empty coffee cup was still there, but she was now wearing a maroon tracksuit top and bottoms with the Martinique Academy logo on them. Looking around she saw a paper bag on the seat next to her. In it was an almond croissant and a carton of orange juice. There was also a note addressed to her.
“Breakfast – you earnt it! Love, ‘L’ xxx”
Casting aside the note, she realised she was ravenous and ate the makeshift breakfast. Looking at the time she realised if she was quick, she could get home and change ready for work if she hurried. She would decide what to do about the events of the previous day after work.
Sarah was quiet in the office that day, her mind kept drifting back to the events of the night before. She was desperate to get home and play with her vibrator… The irritating buzz of her phone ringing pulled her back to reality. Languidly she reached over and answered.
“Miss Jackson? This is Madame Martinique. Although you may call me Francine if you wish. We would like to offer you a job, Miss Jackson. We are in need of an ‘officer of communications’ to handle our media, as we have recently learned that the press are interested in my little Academy. We offer board and lodgings on site, but of course you will also be subject to all the rules and the … penalties of all who attend the Academy. Do you accept, Miss Jackson?”
Sarah looked around the office, and at the list of boring tasks in her email inbox. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Yes, Madame Martinique.”