[Christian]

SCHOOL DISCO

I didn’t really want to go. It wasn’t by accident that I hadn’t kept in touch with the other people from our year; I just hadn’t been that interested in most of them. And then I’d gone to college, and met other people who were more my type, so I wasn’t short of friends. Mel was the only one I’d stayed in contact with. However much later friends may be better suited to you, some of the ones you have when you’re a bit younger have a special place in your heart; you’ve been through so much together, shared so many formative experiences. Mel was like that. I’d had my first cigarette with her, been to the first parties together; we’d both comforted each other when we’d been sick after drinking too much, and we’d both cried on each other’s shoulders when we’d been having boy troubles.
We’d been inseparable at school, and while I suppose I was the quiet one, Mel was brasher, more confident and sociable. It was only natural then that she’d been looking at one of those online sites that helps old friends get together again. Apparently a few of the girls from our year had been trying to arrange a reunion – not through the school, just an informal one – and they’d been using the site to recruit people. Mel thought it was a great idea, and told me about it one evening when I was round at her flat.
‘Just think! You’ll be able to see what everyone’s been doing, catch up on all the goss.’
I must have grimaced, because she squealed and bounded over to me, turning on all her powers of persuasion. ‘You’ll love it! Look – ‘ she unfolded a sheet that she’d printed out, with the details of the reunion on it ‘ – everyone’s got to wear school uniforms. And there’ll be a disco and everything, free wine, beer …’
‘I never liked school discos,’ I pouted.
Mel pulled a long face, then pinched my arm, just under the shoulder. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport. I never liked school discos,’ she moaned, mocking me. ‘That’s because you never tried. Come on, I need you there. Moral support.’ She got up and started to rearrange her hair in the mirror. ‘Besides, I want to see what the boys are up to.’
I hadn’t really thought about that. I had been a bit shy with boys at school, and even though I’d snogged a few of them, I hadn’t gone all the way. Not until my gap year. It wasn’t that I hadn’t liked them, just that the time had never seemed right. In fact I felt slightly self-conscious about the way I’d been stand-offish at school, and maybe this would be a good opportunity to make up for lost time.
My eyes met Mel’s in the mirror. ‘OK,’ I nodded. She gave a little scream, clapped her hands and turned round to hug me.

The invitation had said strict school uniform, and Mel and I didn’t want to be the ones to let the side down. I hadn’t grown much since school, and I’d managed to borrow some of the clothes from my younger sister, who was at the same school. Mel still had her own clothes from school, but she’d fleshed out a little since, her tits and bum swelling out to some pretty impressive curves, so her outfit was especially tight. The skirts were pleated anyway, so that wasn’t a problem, but her tits were almost bursting out of her top. When I pointed it out, she just grinned cheekily.
Well, if she didn’t mind wandering around London like that, I didn’t either. But we got a lot of attention on the tube, and I caught one man trying to look up my skirt. I think he did the same to Mel, but I could have sworn she, rather than ignore him, slumped further down on the seat and parted her knees slightly, so that he could see her knickers. I didn’t say anything to her about it, then or afterwards, but I did look at her while she was doing it. She was staring straight at him, biting her lip.
When we got to the venue, which was in Islington, we knew we’d done the right thing wearing our outfits. A girl I barely remembered was on the door, kitted out in full uniform, and was stopping anyone who was wearing casual clothes. An argument was in full flow when we arrived. It looked like John Duffy and Cathy Bell had arrived together, just wearing jeans and sweatshirts. The girl on the door was telling them they had to change, but that it wasn’t too late, they had some school uniforms there. John and Cathy stepped aside for a second, and I saw him whisper something to her, and she nodded.
‘OK, we’ll change,’ he said resignedly. The girl on the door smiled, and ushered them in.
Mel and I followed, although we didn’t go into the changing rooms. Instead we walked straight through to the main room. They’d gone to some effort. It wasn’t huge, but everyone would fit in easily, and it looked exactly like a school disco. There was a PA at the far end of the room, with some appalling pop song blaring out. It was flanked by two sets of lights – the oldest, cheapest kind, with red, green and yellow lights flashing like some demented traffic warning – and there was bunting hanging down from the ceiling and balloons in the corners.
The walls were lined with orange plastic chairs, which instantly brought back memories of awkward moments waiting to be asked to dance. The wall by the door had one table covered in plates of sandwiches, all tuna mayonnaise and cheese and tomato in true school style, party-sized sausages, bowls of salad, surrounded by smaller bowls of salad cream and thousand-island dressing, and a few other plates of food. On another table stood plastic cups of white and red wine. There was also a keg of beer, and I could see under the table more cartons of wine, another couple of kegs and some containers full of plastic cups.
Mel and I helped ourselves to some wine. There were a few people there by now, huddled in small groups, but before going over to say hi I wanted just to look at everyone. There were more girls than boys, and the boys had made less of an effort than the girls. They were just wearing dark trousers, shirts and ties, and some of them had V-necked sweaters. Apart from the inept, oversized knots in their ties, they looked like they could have stepped out of any half-formal social engagement.
Not so the girls. A couple of them had really gone to town, putting their hair in pigtails and wearing shorter, flouncier skirts than we’d have been able to do at school. And one of them had already undone the first few buttons of her shirt, showing off an ample creamy expanse of tit. I recognised Becky; she’d always liked showing off. She saw me looking, and beckoned for me to go over. I sighed inwardly, drained my wine, took another full cup off the table and joined the throng.
But just as I was about to start talking to her, I noticed that her wide eyes were fixed on the entrance. The hubbub of conversation died down, to be replaced by a chorus of catcalls and wolf-whistles. I turned around, confused.
And then I saw it too. The couple we’d seen in casual clothes on their way in – John and Cathy – had changed into school clothes, but they weren’t quite like what everyone else was wearing. Cathy was dressed for hockey, or one of the other games I’d studiously avoided playing in my school days. She was squeezed into a tight white T-shirt that left nothing to the imagination; at least she was wearing a bra, but it must have been thin, and she must have been cold or something, as her nipples were poking straight out. She was in a battered pair of plimsolls, and had white socks pulled all the way up to the knee.
But the worst of it was the skirt. It was tiny, and you could tell that she’d spent some time trying to tug it down so that it covered her, but if she pulled it down at the front it rode up at the back, and vice versa. She looked like she was about to cry, and quickly moved over to the drinks table to grab a cup of wine. But this just exposed her behind to us, and we all stared at her full bottom cheeks, the curves clearly visible under her hemline. We could even see a flash of white from the back of her knickers, but she must have felt us watching, as she abruptly tugged the back of the skirt down and turned to face us, her cheeks blazing.
It was difficult to know whether the jeers were reserved more for her outfit or for John’s. While the other boys looked like the young adults they were, he had been dressed like some oversized schoolboy, in a scruffy blazer, a stained tie and a creased shirt. Worse still, he was wearing a pair of shorts. He managed a brave grin, but I could tell he was upset. Then another boy, one of his old friends, moved over to him and ruffled his hair. John smiled ruefully as he was led away to join their group.
I noticed that they hadn’t come in alone. There was another girl standing by the entrance, a malicious smile on her cold face. She was wearing a prefect’s badge, and holding a long wooden ruler. It was Alison Hayes, of course. She’d been a prefect at school, too, and she’d never been popular. I remembered that she’d bullied a few of the other girls when they’d been younger; lots of girls had been bullies for a while and had grown out of it, but she never had, and the way she’d done it meant that it had been hard to forgive. And she’d been a bad fighter, too, pulling hair hard, using her long fingernails to leave bright red weals on her victims’ skin, and sometimes even biting. I’d never had any close dealings with her, thank god, but I knew girls who had. I’d heard other stories too, about what she’d used to make some of the other girls do. She had a real cheek, turning up here with her prefect’s badge on. And what on earth was she doing holding a ruler?

A couple of hours later, I was having a great time. Mel had been right: it had been good to catch up with people, and everyone was downing the wine at a furious rate. The food had hardly been touched. I’d even managed to find a small bottle of whisky in the kitchen near the loos, and I’d had a couple of quick nips, which had gone down a treat. The music sounded hilarious now, even if I couldn’t work out if its mixture of 80s hits – they’d already played both ‘Lovecats’ and ‘Wishing Well’ twice – was ironic or not. Nobody cared. They were just happy bopping around. Well, most of them were, anyway. A few had already taken to the dark corners for a snog, and I was sure that Dave Hewitt had his hand in Becky’s knickers.
I’d danced with a couple of the boys myself, but there weren’t any I really liked, and I hadn’t snogged any of them – not yet. I thought I’d missed my chance when the PA suddenly went dead. A few people carried on dancing, or swaying rather, but even they stopped when the lights went on. We all turned to look at the entrance. And there the three of them were. I knew who they were instantly. Three of the prefects from our year – Alison, Vicky and Paula – all looking grim-faced and angry. Of course, it had been Vicky on the door; I hadn’t recognised her properly. But I hadn’t seen Paula yet that evening; I supposed she’d been behind the scenes. In fact I hadn’t given much thought at all to who’d set up the whole event, but now the penny dropped. They had.
They’d all been in the same group together: unpopular, clannish, and a little scary. Alison was slightly built, with dark hair and a pinched face. Vicky was a giant by contrast, a six-foot blonde who was strong enough to be a serious menace both on the hockey pitch and off it. Paula was the only one you would have called pretty, in a snub-nosed, rich kind of way, but she also behaved like such a bitch that this had never stood her in good stead with most of the other girls. As prefects they had been merciless, and took to their tasks with a bit too much relish, especially when they were administering discipline. Of course, they’d had to tell teachers if anything deserved a proper punishment, but they’d been allowed to punish minor infractions themselves – if a girl’s room wasn’t tidy, say, or if she hadn’t finished her meal. These earned a rap on the knuckles with their rulers.
But I remembered the other stories, about what they’d done when they’d caught girls smoking. They were meant to tell the teachers then, but I’d heard that they’d let some girls off. Well, almost. The girls had had to pull their knickers down and take a few strokes on the bare bottom instead. The same thing happened if they caught girls rubbing themselves – or, worse still, each other. I don’t think there were any strict rules and regulations over that kind of thing at school; everyone did it, touched themselves, I mean, and as for the other, the school probably wanted to pretend it didn’t happen.
But I heard that they’d threatened to send one girl they’d found doing it to herself with a candle to the matron, to report her for being a pervert. Apparently she’d agreed to take the ruler on her bare bum rather than be reported. I’d hardly been able to believe it was true, even though some of the girls swore to it; I couldn’t see what the prefects would have got out of it. But I couldn’t get the image out of my mind now.
It was silly, really. We were all grown up now, and still somehow the sight of these three prefects cowed everyone, evidently even the boys, into feeling like naughty teenagers again. It was partly the look of fury on their faces, partly the rulers they all carried, like a mark of authority, and partly their badges themselves. Still, someone giggled. But none of the prefects were smiling. Vicky stepped forwards.
‘OK, then. Who’s been drinking the whisky?’ Nobody answered, as she glared around the room. ‘Come on, own up.’ Still nobody spoke. Then Paula piped up.
‘We’ve locked the bathroom. Nobody will be able to go until the person who’s been drinking the whisky owns up.’
At this there were gasps of disbelief and indignation, followed by a low murmuring. There was no way I was going to own up to it, though. The three of them looked evil, standing there tapping their rulers on their thighs. Then the murmur died down, and in the silence that followed it became apparent that this new instruction was going to affect one of us much more than the others.
Cathy was hopping from one foot to the other, her hands tugging at the front of her skirt and her eyes glittering. Someone started to giggle nervously then stopped abruptly. I could see that Cathy was on the verge of tears.
‘Please … I have to go,’ she pleaded, but received only a slight shake of the head from Alison in reply. Then, evidently horrified to make the admission, she said, ‘But I’m bursting! I’ll – have an accident if you don’t let me go.’ Her cheeks reddened, and she looked down at the floor, her lower lip trembling. Still none of the prefects relented. Then John stepped forwards.
‘Look, what is this? Let her go to the loo.’ He reached towards Vicky, as though to take her by the arm and move her away from the doorway, but she was too fast for him, and whipped the ruler across the back of his hand. He yelped and pulled his hand back, to stand rubbing it, looking for all the world like a penitent schoolboy. All that was missing was a cap. Paula grabbed him by the wrist and led him through the entrance into one of the other rooms, presumably for his own punishment. After that, nobody dared interfere.
I was sure the girls would have mercy on Cathy; it could have happened to any of us, although I remembered that she’d had a few problems with holding it in when we were at school. Still, I didn’t think they’d let it go that far. But they did.
Everyone watched it, too. Hardly anyone had moved since the prefects had made their demands, but now all heads turned as Cathy started to sob, and a trickle of liquid made its way down her leg, gathering slowly into a pool by her feet. The trickle turned into a stream, and then she was weeping openly as it all came out. One of the other girls snorted in disgust. I flushed as I watched her, feeling that it was all my fault; if only I’d owned up then this would never have happened to her. But it was too late now – they had a victim, and they weren’t about to let her go.
‘Disgusting!’ Vicky scoffed, and held up the front of Cathy’s skimpy skirt for everyone to see. Her knickers were soaked right through, and we all stared at the darkness at the centre, the wet curls and the dark crease of her sex clearly visible through the translucent material.
‘Take them off,’ she ordered. Cathy, still sobbing, bent over and pulled them down, stumbling slightly as she took first one then the other leg out. It was embarrassing to watch – we should really have given her her privacy – but I could see that at least two of the boys had distinct bulges at the front of their trousers as she exposed herself, and compassion wasn’t the only emotion showing on some of the girls’ faces. She’d trimmed it really nicely, so that there was a small square of bush at the top, but the lips themselves were hairless and shiny with wetness.
‘Can I – can I go and wash now?’ Cathy’s eyes were cast to the ground, staring down into the pool that was still spreading around her feet.
‘No. You’ll stand there until somebody owns up. Then you can clean yourself up, and – ‘ Vicky’s nose wrinkled as she looked at it ‘ – get rid of that mess.’
That was too much for me. The smell of the pee was quite strong now, and the game had gone far enough. I stepped forwards.
‘Listen, this is stupid. It was me that drank the whisky, and I hardly had any of it. I’m sorry you’ve got so upset, but that’s no excuse for what you’ve been doing. This is meant to be a party, for Christ’s sake!’
Vicky and Alison exchanged glances then beckoned for me to join them. Nervous now, I walked across to join them, stepping gingerly around the pool of pee. Vicky took my upper arm, gripping it painfully hard, and turned me to face the others as Alison spoke.
‘You have a choice of two punishments. Clean up that girl’s mess – and that means all of it – or take twelve strokes with the ruler.’
‘What the fuck do you mean?’ I tried to wriggle out of Vicky’s grip, but she was too strong. I stared at my audience. ‘Come on, help me! There’s only two of them here!’ But nobody moved. I looked at Becky, imploring her silently to come to my aid, but there was a strange gleam in her eye.
‘So what’s it to be? Cleaning or the ruler?’ Vicky’s fingers tightened as she prompted me. I wasn’t about to clean up Cathy’s pee, especially not ‘all of it’; that sounded a bit sinister. I’d never had the ruler when I’d been at school, but was sure it couldn’t hurt that much. Not that I’d been a goody two-shoes; just that I hadn’t been caught doing anything wrong. I decided to go for that, and mumbled out my decision.
‘Speak up!’
‘I’ll take the ruler.’
‘I’ll take the ruler - ?’ I knew what the bitch wanted me to say, and knew also that if I didn’t play along it would just be worse for me.
‘I’ll take the ruler, please.’ I looked up, half-expecting Alison and Vicky to be smirking as I said this, but they just looked angry; but then, when I looked at Becky, fully expecting my friend’s sympathy, I was horrified to see an open expression of excitement on her face. And then I was turned around, Vicky tugging on my arm until I was facing the entrance.
‘Go and get a chair.’ Vicky gave me a push. I could have run then, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. It was almost as though I wanted to see what would happen next; how bad the whole situation would get. So I fetched a chair, and carried it back to the prefects.
‘No – ‘ and here Alison allowed herself a prim, curt smile ‘ – facing the door.’
I turned it around, and was then pushed over the back of it, forced into position so that I had to grab the sides of the seat to keep my balance. Then I felt the back of my skirt being pulled up and tucked into the waistband, and my knickers being pulled down. I whirled round, trying to protect myself with my hand, not wanting them all to see my naked bum out on display. It was the wrong thing to do. I felt a sharp pain in my hand, and a glancing blow to my bottom cheek, then Vicky was beside me, forcing my hand back down on to the seat and hissing into my ear. ‘Do that again, you cow, and we’ll double your marks.’ And with that she left me.
I braced myself for the blow, clenching my cheeks as Alison touched them with the ruler. But when she didn’t hit them this time it gave me a false sense of security, so that when it did come I was caught unawares. The pain sent white light splintering behind my eyes. I shot up, yowling, my hands instinctively going back to rub the burning mark – it felt huge, like I’d been branded – but on cue Vicky was there, pulling my hands away and pushing my head down.
I was sure that the second wouldn’t be as bad as the first. I was wrong. The pain of the first had sensitised me to the point where it seemed that I was aware of everything – even the air pushed in front of the ruler as Alison brought it down again, viciously hard, turning it slightly so that an edge caught just in the swollen red area left by the first blow. Unable to move back, I started to sob, my breath catching in my throat as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, hoping somehow to spread the pain. It didn’t work.
And I didn’t get used to it, either. The third was even worse than the first two, which had at least been on my bum. This one was just under the cheeks, the lower half of the ruler catching my upper thighs, and the middle dangerously close to my pussy lips. It was too much for me. I turned, sobbing, and begged them to stop, even as Vicky clutched my wrist and started to threaten me again.
‘I’ll clean it up! I’ll clean it up!’ I could barely get the words out, and paused to wipe my eyes and get some semblance of dignity back into my voice. ‘I’ll clean up all her pee.’
For a second there was the glimmer of a smile in Alison’s eyes, then she nodded to Vicky, who strode off through the entrance. I made to pull up my knickers, but Alison stopped me.
‘You can take those off.’ Meek after my beating, I complied and stepped through them, then tried to tug my skirt down so that it hid everything I was showing. The material felt horribly rough on my ridged welts. I turned to the others, hoping to catch a wince of sympathy on someone’s face, but if anything there was an air of anticipation, of excitement, as though this were vastly entertaining and they couldn’t wait to see what came next.
When Vicky returned with a sponge and a bucket full of water, I was almost relieved. I’d thought for a second they might want me to … but no, even they weren’t going to stoop so low. I took the bucket silently and moved over to Cathy, who seemed to look slightly less wan now that someone else was sharing her misery. I grimaced at her, happy at least that I was out of the reach of that wretched ruler, and knelt on the floor to start mopping up the yellow pool. I was uncomfortably aware that in this position my skirt was riding up over my bum, and that they could all see my pussy, so I tried to keep my knees close together, so it wouldn’t look too bad. But to keep my balance as I mopped, my knees automatically spread a little, and it didn’t take long before I’d given up trying to hide myself. Anyway, the cool air felt wonderful on my poor bum.
I’d soon finished on the pool under Cathy’s feet, and started to clean her legs. I wasn’t too sure what I’d do when I got to her pussy – probably just mop it a bit with the sponge, then leave it for her to sort out later. But when I brought the sponge towards it I found that wasn’t what Vicky and Alison had in mind at all.
‘No. Not like that,’ said Alison firmly. I turned to face her, puzzled. She beckoned for me to put the sponge in the bucket. ‘Lick it clean.’
‘What?’ The idea was preposterous. I’d never licked a girl before, and I wasn’t about to start in front of an audience. Alison’s eyes narrowed.
‘You’ll be taking extra strokes with the ruler, then, for wasting our time.’ She turned away from me and nodded to Vicky, who started to move towards me, flexing her hands.
‘No – wait!’ I couldn’t face the ruler again. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, licking Cathy a little. It wasn’t like I didn’t know her, and it wouldn’t be painful. I turned to her and tried to smile. She looked uneasy, as though she were about to start crying again.
‘We’ll put her on a table, so that you can get at her more easily,’ Alison decided, and Vicky duly led her to one of the food tables, then cleared away a few plates of sandwiches with one sweep of her meaty hand. Cathy sat down, her head hung low and her knees pressed firmly together. Vicky took hold of each knee and wrenched them apart, hard.
There was a gasp. Everyone had seen it. There was a tiny ball piercing nestled at the top of her pussy, through the clitoral hood. You couldn’t miss it – she’d shaved the sides of her slit, which was now swollen and open, the inner lips pouting, and the white gleam of the metal ball stood out in stark contrast to the wet pinkness of her crease. I could see her shoulders shudder as she started to cry silently, her secret exposed.
Suddenly I wanted to make her feel better; to get it over with, so that she could put some clothes back on, so that she wasn’t exposed any longer, so that she could return to some semblance of normality. So I walked over and knelt between her legs, putting my hands under her thighs and muttering to her soothingly. And then I leaned forwards and started to lick.
I’d never tasted pee before, but Cathy’s didn’t taste too strong. After the initial shock it was fine, and I cleaned both sides of her pussy before testing the crease with my tongue.
There the skin was softer and slicker, and I could taste something different mixed in with the pee, something sweeter and thicker. I dug my tongue deeper into her hole, experimentally, and found a well of the juice, which seemed to flow more readily as I licked. She was juicing up under my tongue.
A queasy wave of desire swept through me: a desire to comfort and please; a sense of revulsion at what I was doing; and an arousal I hadn’t felt before, dark, dirty and forbidden. And of the three feelings, the arousal was by far the strongest. I started to lap long strokes along the length of her slit, teasing her clit out from its studded hood, sucking on it and nibbling it. I ignored the giggles behind me, pretending not to hear when someone whispered ‘Slut’ loudly enough for me to hear.
I just concentrated on Cathy, the way her thighs tightened around my head, her moans growing more forceful; the way she started to grind her pelvis into my face, smearing my nose and cheeks with her juice. She squealed when I lifted her thighs and moved down, trailing her juices with my tongue down to her tight bottom hole, which I circled a couple of times before darting my tongue in, tasting its hot sourness. And then I worked on her clit again, rubbing my tongue hard over it then sucking it into my mouth and holding it there while I strummed the tip of my tongue against it.
That did it. She came with a scream, clenching her legs hard around my head and bucking her oily hole against my face. It was only when she relaxed her legs and let my face fall backwards that the full realisation of what I’d done hit me. The room was quiet, the only sounds Cathy’s panting and the ringing in my ears from where she’d clamped my head with her thighs. My face was wet, and with a reflex of embarrassment I put up my forearm to wipe Cathy’s juices away. I was covered in it. My cheeks crimson, and not daring to look at the others, I ran for the bathroom. The prefects let me through – I think even they realised enough was enough by now.
There I tried to take stock of what had happened. It seemed unreal, the kind of thing I’d never even fantasised about – as though it hadn’t been me doing it. But I couldn’t deny that I’d enjoyed it; that I had my own dampness between my legs. I stared at my shiny face in the mirror, then started to wash off the juices. Then the temptation sneaked into my head of touching myself here, where there was nobody else to see. I locked myself into one of the cubicles then rested my wealed bum on the cool seat and hiked up the front of my skirt.
I hadn’t realised how wet it was. The lips were swollen and puffy, and there was a slow trickle of juice running from the end of my crease down towards my bottom hole. I sighed and smeared the juices along the length of it, circling my hard clit. And then I heard it.
There were squeals and groans coming from next door – the kitchen, if I’d worked the geography out OK. It was the unmistakable sound of sex, and it was much louder than it should have been: these walls were thick. I turned around and looked up, and then I saw why. There was an air vent above the cistern, which had had its grille ripped out. It must lead directly into the kitchen. My curiosity piqued, I stood on the seat and craned my head into the vent, trying to see what was going on.
When I managed to make it out, I almost fell off the seat. I could see Paula, naked from the waist down and her shirt unbuttoned, bouncing herself up and down on a meaty cock. I couldn’t see the man at first, but his hands were all over her tits, squeezing the ample flesh and tweaking the nipples. Her eyes were closed and there was a flush of red across the top of her chest. She was rubbing herself, too, grunting in time with the thrusts as she slapped her clit then stroked his cock as it plunged in and out of her. And then I saw who the man was. John.
I sat down abruptly. I couldn’t believe it. I’d thought she was taking him off to be punished. And hadn’t he arrived with Cathy? First they’d made her wet herself, and now – this? My reverie was broken when there was a loud rap on the door.
‘What are you doing in there?’ I recognised Mel’s voice, and unlocked the door, all thoughts of my own pleasure temporarily gone. She stared at me, and the look on her face momentarily brought back all the shame of what had happened in the other room, then she repeated the question.
‘You have to see this,’ I told her, pulling her into the cubicle and pointing to the vent. She climbed on the seat and peered through, then gasped in delight.
She turned to me. ‘The dirty bitch!’ she whispered, then looked through the vent again.
‘Mel!’ I hissed, tugging on her leg. She looked down again, pouting. ‘We can’t let them get away with this. We have to do something.’
She climbed down from the seat and met my gaze steadily. ‘What do you have in mind?’

I hadn’t been sure whether Cathy should know what had happened with her boyfriend, but Mel had insisted that it would make the plan work that bit better. When we went back in, things were starting to get back to normal. People were dancing and drinking again, and if there was a more charged atmosphere, that was only to be expected. I watched as Mel moved around the room, spreading the word, and watched also as Vicky and Alison chatted by the food tables, their guard down, confident that they were in control here.
Eventually Paula and John came back in, separately of course. Both looked a little flushed, and Paula joined the other prefects while John wandered over to Cathy. At first she turned her back on him, and I watched him make placatory hand gestures. Then she faced him, and I saw the look of fury on her face. John took a step back, but she grabbed his upper arm and spoke to him. I saw him glance wildly around, taking in the piss-soaked knickers hanging on a chair, and the bucket in the corner. Then he was nodding, and tried to put his hands on her shoulders. She squirmed free, vengeance burning in her eyes.
Whatever Mel had been telling everyone, it was working. We all started to move towards the food tables, slowly, so that the prefects wouldn’t realise what was going on. I did see Vicky look up with a confused expression on her bovine face, but by then it was too late. Mel seized the moment and gave us our cue.
‘Food fight!’
And we were all over the prefects, at least three of us to each of them, pushing their heads down into the plates of sandwiches, pouring salad dressing into their hair and tearing at their clothes. They were all fighting furiously, but now our fear had gone and we knew we outnumbered them. Their rulers were the first things to be taken away from them, and if Mel hadn’t stepped in, years of bottled-up hatred on the parts of almost everyone there would have made the whole thing descend into a nasty free-for-all.
But she’d explained the plan to everyone, and we all stuck to it – near enough. First up was Vicky, who was held down by two of the boys as we pulled up her skirt and pulled down her knickers, ignoring her kicks and screams. I’d seen the funnel in the kitchen earlier, while I’d been drinking the whisky, and the idea for how to use it had popped into my head while I’d been talking to Mel.
We had to grease Vicky’s bum first, so that it would fit in, but there was plenty of butter on the sandwiches, so we just smeared a couple of slices around her bottom hole, which opened and contracted rhythmically as she bucked in an attempt to get away. Then we pushed the end of the funnel in, and were rewarded with a high-pitched squeal as we did so. I glanced at the others, Alison and Paula, and was gratified to see an expression of pure terror on their faces.
‘We’re going to fill you up with thousand island dressing, and you’re going to hold it in while you take twelve strokes with the ruler. If you let any of it spill out, we start the twelve strokes again.’ Mel toyed with the funnel as she explained Vicky’s predicament to her. Vicky’s response was to thrash around furiously, cursing all of us in inventively colourful invective.
Mel caught my eye and nodded towards Cathy’s soiled knickers. I turned to fetch them, and as I walked back, all thoughts of my own humiliation evaporated now in the desire for revenge, I saw Mel untying one of the boy’s ties. She took the knickers from me, and rubbed them against Vicky’s face, but the prefect wouldn’t open her mouth, closing her eyes and wrinkling her nose in disgust, until Mel pinched her nose closed. After another brief struggle she opened her mouth to take in a deep breath of air, and Mel seized the opportunity to shove the knickers in, then quickly wound the tie round Vicky’s head to keep it there.
‘That’ll shut her up,’ Mel muttered as she moved over to the table to pick up one of the rulers. Vicky’s eyes, wide with terror, darted around the room. I could see trickles from the pee-soaked knickers running down her chin. Mel offered the ruler to Cathy, who shook her head, her eyes glancing towards Paula. Mel smiled, and turned to the group.
‘Anyone want to give it a go? Twelve strokes, and more if she doesn’t keep the dressing in.’ She said it almost casually, as though she was offering the chance to play a game of backgammon rather than take revenge on this woman, who I knew had made so many of the girls’ lives there a misery. At first nobody moved, then one girl stepped forwards. I remembered her – short, slightly dumpy and bespectacled, her name was Jane. No, Jean, that was it, but I remembered that Vicky had started calling her Plain Jane at school, and the name had stuck. I hadn’t really known her then, but I did know that I’d never seen her looking as determined as this.
Mel nodded and handed her the ruler, then turned back to the food tables and picked up the bowl of thousand-island dressing. Vicky started to buck and writhe again, making a high-pitched whining noise against the makeshift gag, and the boys holding her took a firmer grip. All eyes were on the funnel as Mel started to tip the bowl, slowly filling it with dressing. At first nothing happened, then with a glug a bubble rose to the top of the funnel, a muffled sob came from Vicky and the level of the dressing went down. Jubilant at the success of her scheme, Mel poured more of the dressing into the funnel, filling it. The level sank, slowly, until it was all gone.
‘I’m taking the funnel out now, Vicky,’ Mel said airily, before twisting it out. I could see Vicky’s bottom cheeks clenching, trying to hold in the dressing, but a tiny trickle of it had already escaped and was pooling around the top of her slit. Mel nodded to Jean. ‘She’s all yours now.’
Jaw fixed in grim determination, Jean moved into position, and started to stroke the ruler across Vicky’s raised cheeks. She teased the prefect, using all the techniques that had been used against her years before, lifting the ruler up as if about to strike, then lowering it gently again before suddenly, without any warning, delivering the first blow full across both cheeks.
Vicky whined like a terrified pig, her whole body tensing in the aftermath of the blow, which had left a scarlet mark across the whiteness of her bottom. Jean then laid down a flurry of strokes, Vicky’s feet kicking up and down as a bright red criss-cross covered her cheeks.
Then she paused, running the end of the ruler across the marks she’d already made, now raised welts, and moving it down into Vicky’s crease, parting the lips and putting her on full display. She was wet. There was no denying it, and there were giggles and exclamations from the audience. Then someone piped up, ‘Look, she’s enjoying it!’ and Vicky momentarily lost control. The shock of being exposed must have been too much for her, and she sobbed as her bumhole loosened then contracted again, sending another trickle of dressing down into her slit.
Mel sighed. ‘Looks like we’ll have to start all over again, doesn’t it?’ Vicky gave a muffled squeal and started to thrash around again, but was calmed with a tap to her bottom with the ruler. ‘This time, we can all count together, then Vicky’ll know how long she has to go.’
Jean smirked, raised the ruler, and laid it right over the last mark she’d made. ‘One,’ everyone chanted in unison. Vicky’s bum was now a mess of red marks from the first few blows she’d taken, and I could tell that Jean was trying to target the most bruised areas. She set up a regular rhythm, everyone chanting along in time, until she reached eight. Then she paused, and I could see Vicky tense up then relax.
Then Jean struck another blow, right under the bottom cheeks, grazing the tops of the thighs. Vicky bucked, but managed to keep control of her bumhole, and Jean followed through with a quick succession of strikes on the same area, Vicky’s scarlet cheeks jumping with each blow. She’d stopped whining now, but her eyes were shut tight and her cheeks were streaked with tears. Finally Jean finished, with a final blow across one cheek delivered full force, the end of the ruler just catching the edge of Vicky’s crease. This got another muffled shriek out of Vicky, and Jean stepped back, smiling smugly.
Mel nodded to the boys. ‘You can let her go now.’ Vicky slumped for a second without their support, then straightened and ran out of the room towards the bathroom, one hand to her red bum and the other clawing at the gag in her mouth.
Everyone’s attention turned to Paula and Alison. Mel looked at Cathy, who leaned towards her and whispered something in her ear. Mel grinned and nodded, and announced, ‘We’re taking these two to the toilet.’ Mel and Cathy led, followed by a couple of the boys frogmarching the two remaining prefects, then the rest of us tagged along behind.
One of the cubicles was locked, with Vicky in it, and Jean kicked it open. I was standing next to her, so I could see what was going on before Vicky managed to push the door closed with her foot; she was sitting on the toilet, her skirt rucked up around her waist, crying softly to herself, as I’d expected. But she was also rubbing herself, her fingers stroking and pinching her swollen clit, her eyes closed and her legs splayed to give herself better access. She hadn’t wasted any time.
When Jean kicked the door open, I’m not sure who was more shocked, Vicky or us. It was the last thing we’d expected to see, and when Vicky muttered, ‘Fuck off,’ and pushed the door closed again, we didn’t interfere. Besides, I wanted to see what Cathy had in store for the other two girls.
The far cubicle was crowded, with John holding Paula’s head down as she knelt over the bowl, and Mel and Cathy holding Alison behind her. The others must have worked out what was going to happen, as a low chant started up: ‘Bogwash, bogwash, bogwash.’ But Cathy evidently didn’t think Paula was ready just yet. Just like Vicky, Paula’s skirt was hiked up and her knickers pulled down, getting a wolf whistle from some of the boys. Her slit was still open and greasy from where she’d been fucked by John, and there was a mixture of boy and girl juices matting her thatch. Cathy moved alongside and started to talk to her.
‘Like a big, fat cock, do we?’
Paula struggled and started to babble, unable to hide the note of fear in her voice. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Cathy. We’d had a bit too much to drink, and it went a bit far, I know. And John – ‘ With that Cathy nodded to John, who pushed Paula’s head down into the bowl and held her there while he flushed the toilet. I’d never had this done to me at school, but I knew it had happened to a few of the other girls – and that the prefects had done it to one or two of them. It looked so degrading, seeing her head stuffed down there, her bare bum out for all to see, her arsehole twitching and her feet kicking away as she was held under. Then it was over, and she was brought back up, coughing and spluttering. There were more wolf whistles when her head came up, a few strands of soggy pink toilet paper hanging off her hair and face.
‘Now piss,’ Cathy told her, motioning to Mel to push Alison forwards, so that her face was held right next to Paula’s hole.
‘But I can’t! I’m not ready,’ Paula protested.
‘I’m sure you can force some out for us.’
‘I can’t do it!’ wailed Paula.
‘You’ll just have to try harder,’ Cathy hissed.
Then Paula sobbed, and a few drops of pee dripped down her slit. Alison instinctively pulled back, and Mel pushed her forwards again, so her face was almost touching Paula’s rear. Then the drops became a trickle, and the trickle became a stream as Paula relaxed, letting it jet out into Alison’s face. Alison tried to pull back again, mouth open in protest as she realised what was going to happen, only to have it filled with Paula’s hot pee. She gagged, choking, and inadvertently swallowed most of what was in her mouth, then spat, suddenly in tears, and shrieked, ‘You fucking bitches! I can’t believe you’re doing this!
But Mel and Cathy were merciless. Mel pushed her face back to where the last of Paula’s pee was dribbling out, and Cathy told her what to do.
‘Clean it up.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘But – ‘
‘With your tongue.’
‘You can’t make me do that! I won’t.’
‘You’re not going to leave until you do it.’ And with that Cathy nodded to Mel, who pushed Alison’s face against Paula’s slit, rubbing it in the mess and holding it there until she started to lick. At first she took only tentative dabs with her tongue, then Mel squashed her face in again as Cathy told her to hurry up.
‘We’ll be here all day if you do it like that! Go on, give her a proper lick. And make sure you don’t miss any of it.’
Suppressing a shudder, Alison, her eyes screwed shut, started to lick up and down the sides of Paula’s slit, cleaning away not only the pee but also John’s come and Paula’s girl grease. When she started to lick along the slit itself, Paula quivered, and her bottom hole tightened. Alison paused for a second, sniffing, then carried on, giving long, slow licks up and down the length of the crease.
‘And inside, go on, clean her out inside,’ prompted Cathy, and Alison stuck her tongue into Paula’s hole, lapping at her juices, her face already slick and greasy with them. With Mel’s hand at the back of her head, she wasn’t going to stop now until she was told to.
I glanced around to see how everyone was taking it. A few of the boys had their hands in their pants, stroking themselves, and Becky and Dave Hewitt, standing at the back of the group, had gone a step further, with him fingering her openly under her short skirt, and her hand rubbing his stiff cock, already out of his trousers. A couple of the other girls were touching themselves too, either toying with their nipples or with their hands in their knickers, furtively rubbing away. But nobody minded – everyone’s attention was on what Alison was doing to Paula.
Paula had started to twitch now, and grind her hips in a lewd circle on to Alison’s face. Her breathing had quickened, and she started to moan faster and faster, until Cathy pulled Alison away. There were groans of disbelief.
‘Come on, I’m sure that’s enough. She’s bound to be clean now,’ Cathy chided Alison. John released Paula, who turned back to stare at Cathy, a confused mixture of desire, shame and disappointment on her face. Alison wore a similar expression, and seemed meek now, her spirit broken, so much so that Mel simply took her by the hand to lead her back through to the main room. Most of us followed, but I could see that the cubicle that Vicky had been using was empty now – she must have left. Becky and Dave Hewitt stayed in the toilets too, Becky squatting in front of him, one hand in her pants as she played with his balls with the other, slurping on his fat cock. The last thing I saw there was Paula, sobbing, trying to gather her clothes together.
On the way back to the main room I popped into the kitchen to finish off the whisky that had caused so much trouble – as far as I was concerned I deserved it, and it wasn’t like the prefects were in any position to complain. When I rejoined everyone, I found that Alison was lying spread-eagled on one of the tables, gagged, with her hands and knees pinned down and her skirt up around her waist, showing her slit, open and glistening in the light. Mel was facing the crowd. ‘I don’t think we’ve finished with Alison yet, not by a long shot. Any ideas on what to do with her next?’
One of the boys piped up. ‘How about some of us stand around and jerk off over her face then send her out into the street with come dripping off her chin?’
Mel smiled. ‘No, the little slut would probably enjoy that,’ she said, reaching back to pinch one of Alison’s nipples. She was rewarded with a muffled squeal.
‘How about I – we beat her with a ruler?’ This came from Jean, whose brief experience wielding power had clearly left her hungry for more. But Mel shook her head.
‘Why don’t we stuff her full of food? Not to eat, you know – up her hole.’ I turned to see who’d come up with this, and saw that Becky and Dave had come back from the toilets. Becky wore a dreamy expression that seemed at odds with her outrageous suggestion. ‘You know, see what we can get inside her.’
A wide grin spread over Mel’s face. ‘Excellent. Why don’t we all put something inside Alison – nothing too big, as it’ll spoil it for anyone coming after you, so no cucumbers. But a drumstick is OK.’ That got a few laughs.
And so we all took turns. Becky went first, stuffing a scotch egg in as far as it would go, Alison bucking in a desperate but futile attempt to get free. Some people put something small in, like a cherry tomato, while others took Mel at her word and used a drumstick. Some of the boys took their time over it, rubbing whatever they were going to use up and down Alison’s slit before sliding it in. Cathy stopped one boy who was trying to stick a cocktail sausage up Alison’s bum, telling him that that hole was being saved for something special.
When it came to my turn I realised that almost everyone else had been, and that her slit was already stuffed, so I just took a squeezy bottle of salad dressing and left a thick line of it around the opening to her hole, much to the amusement of the others; she’d already had her slit soaked in vinaigrette, which must have stung if the twitching that accompanied it was anything to go by. Finally everyone had been, the last few improvising on what food was left, balling up bits of sandwich to add to the swollen mess already there. Bits of food had already started to fall out, slimy with Alison’s juices and pulp from the cherry tomatoes, which had been crushed under the pressure.
Cathy motioned to the boys and girls holding Alison down to flip her over, then picked up the funnel, greased the end again and slid it down into Alison’s bumhole.
‘And now for the grand finale,’ she announced. ‘Let’s see how much wine Alison can take.’
A few people started clapping and cheering, as Mel took a carton of wine and held the tap over the mouth of the funnel. It filled quickly, and we all watched it drain down into Alison, the occasional bubble rising as her toes curled at the uncomfortable sensation.
Mel filled her up a few more times, occasionally shifting the funnel if progress was slow, until she was satisfied by how much her victim had taken. I knew it was a fair amount of wine, and that Alison would get drunk fast on it. Mel moved round to undo Alison’s gag, and the first thing she did was giggle, proving me right. But her bottom hole was starting to twitch and spasm, leaking out trickles of wine each time.
‘Hold it in, now, there’s a good girl. We don’t want to have an accident, do we?’ Mel cautioned her as she helped her off the table. Alison, unsteady on her feet, smoothed down her skirt, then made a quick dart for the toilet. Mel grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back.
‘Oh, no, you don’t. You’re going this way.’ She beckoned to a few of the boys to help her, and they moved over to take her arms and hold her firmly, frogmarching her towards the exit with Mel leading. As soon as Alison realised what was going to happen to her she panicked, screaming then babbling in fear, trying to persuade Mel not to do it.
‘Please don’t – I’ll do anything, you can have my money, my jewellery, just don’t – ‘
But by this time they were by the door. Cathy opened it, and we could see out into the street. The pubs must have just closed, if the groups of young men and women staggering around were anything to go by. Alison was a picture of terror now, her eyes huge and cheeks streaked with mascara. ‘I’m begging you, please help – ‘ she implored us, but it was too late. She was shoved out on to the pavement, alone in the London night with one hole stuffed full of food and the other full of wine, and the door was slammed shut behind her. The last thing I saw of her was a trickle of red liquid running down her thigh.
Mel turned back to us, a huge, wicked smile breaking out on her lips.