"Jolly decent of you to track me down after all these years, Yvonne!" I announce, accepting the slice of cake, which you insist of forcing upon me.

"To be honest, I wasn't too sure I should accept your invitation to stay for a long weekend: I wondered if perhaps you'd grown to resent the naughty things I put you through as a girl, but it doesn't seem to have done you any harm after all, does it?"

You grin.

"Don't be daft, Hils," you reply, "I've so much to thank you for, and when Zoë insisted on bringing her cousin along for the week, I thought it might be the perfect opportunity to return the compliment. Plus I hoped you'd keep her occupied whilst I introduce sweet Zoë to the delights of submission (which I concede was the intention all along)!"

I nod graciously. I can live with being an afterthought if things turn out the way I hope.

"In fact, looking at how you've engineered this weekend so splendidly, I'm terrifically proud of you, you know. You haven't missed a trick, and it looks to me as if you could even teach me a thing or two!"

We giggle.

I add, "Yes, I'm really chuffed that you got in contact. It will be fun - just like the old days, eh?"

I was genuinely pleased to receive your call, and once we'd gossiped and caught up on all the events of the intervening years (and I had made up my mind that this wasn't some elaborate hoax), I cancelled everything and raced down here, to this charming cottage you're renting for the week.

I'm a lady of leisure now, of course, and so it was only a case of inventing a half-truth for my dear, devoted hubby, and, well, here I am! Ready to do my bit!

It's a bit disconcerting, looking at you, Yvonne, sitting opposite me, bare-breasted, emptying the teapot into our cups. You must be approaching thirty, but you've kept your trim figure. I can still see in you traces of the cute little girl I took to my bed for a cuddle, fifteen, no, getting on for twenty-odd years ago. You were one of my first young conquests, at the beginning of a long and satisfying stage of my life. But that's behind me now - I last went to bed with a girl a number of years ago, packing it all in when I met the Colonel and decided that it was more appropriate for a forty-something like me to live comfortably on his private income as a devoted wife rather than continue as a demure, impecunious spinster with an unusual sex life.

Yet this is so exciting, being here. I feel so very mischievous, returning to my old ways. Fancy putting such temptation in front of me, Yvonne!

And now, as I watch those two pretty little girls scampering about on the lawn in just their skimpy bikini briefs, I am already uncomfortably moist, and I feel the old tightness in my tummy. It's the summer of '76, the hottest for decades, and the cottage is so warm, despite our being in the midst of all these thick, shady trees. You've found a great place to rent here - very private.

All three of you have ditched your t-shirts. I think I'll keep my dress on for now: I'm perhaps a bit too old to cavort around the garden with my tits out.

The younger, fair-haired one is to be mine, you said: you've already told me how her cousin, the lovely, lanky twelve-year-old brunette, has been sharing your bed since last Christmas. And how you'd planned this short holiday to spend some time alone, to move the relationship on to the next exciting stage. I sip my tea, scrutinising the smaller girl more closely over the rim of the cup. Yes, she'll do very nicely, thank you, Yvonne.

Delicious. She looks rather like you did then, if a shade older. Girls do look older these days, I suppose. Or is it just that I'm well and truly middle-aged? Did you look at her and it reminded you of our time? You had long blonde plaits too, and when I removed the bands, your lovely hair fell over your skinny shoulders and down your back. I remember when I first undressed you, brushing a stray lock off your cute little breast and you smiling up adoringly as I left my hand cupped over it, rolling the hard pink nipple between my fingers.

You had a real crush on me when you were eleven, and I exploited it to the full.

It was easier in those days. Girls were more trusting and innocent, the powers-that-be either stupid or unconcerned. Not that anyone ever suspected me of anything at the boarding school. I was no bull dyke. No tweeds and thick shoes for me. In fact back in the late Fifties, I was a very popular dance partner for the young officers from the army camp nearby. Ever since then, randy subalterns have proved a convenient 'cover', although I occasionally have had to let one of the prettier ones fuck me, for appearance's sake. Quite an irony that I ended up marrying one.

I always find it amusing that nobody ever had a clue that for the best part of twenty years, in every school in which I served as domestic bursar, I had an endless string of little girls to satisfy my particular lusts and desires. I'll rephrase that. In the closed, gossipy world of girls' schools, I'm sure several of my young companions failed to keep the secret, but not once was the matter raised by a fellow member of staff.

You were neither the first nor the best, Yvonne, to be frank, although I'll not tell you that. But I probably do remember you most fondly. You had such an air of innocence and seemed delighted to do anything for me.

The little blonde comes in through the french doors. I can't help comparing her tits with yours that first time - she must be about eleven too, as she is just passing through the stage when the chubby little cones first take on a womanly profile: you were almost perfectly flat when I seduced you. I catch myself licking my lips as I look at her and hastily dab at the corner of my mouth, as if to brush away a crumb of Victoria sponge.

Like you, she has delightfully smooth and pale skin, which complements her twinkling green eyes. Yours are brown of course, and you could hardly take them off me that first night. As I lifted off your unbuttoned nightie and gently held you, those big, round eyes of yours stared up at me in awe. You would have done anything for me. And over the next two years, until you won that scholarship and went away to a bigger and better school, I did by level best to ensure you did so.

The blonde's name is Melanie, and thanks to the comprehensive notes you sent me last week, I knew enough about her to strike up an instant relationship over lunch. Good show, Yvonne!

She seems to enjoy my attention and is amazed that a lady like me should share quite so many of her interests and tastes. We've got on famously, and by mid-afternoon, she had passed the tickle test - at a cheeky remark, I held her briefly and tickled her waist and under her arms as we laughed together. She was utterly comfortable with it. No hang-ups about physical contact. Believe me, over time, I've worked out plenty of such tricks of the trade. One must never rush the seduction of a child, although clearly I'm going to have to break the rule this weekend, if I'm to succeed in getting young Melanie busy between my legs. You reckon she'll be easy prey - let's hope I taught you well enough to have got your assessment correct.

I hold out my arm, encouraging Melanie to plump in my lap.

So nice to have naked girlie up against my body again. That special mix of latent sexuality and naïve gawkiness.

She lets me post a morsel of sponge in her mouth and my fingers brush her lips softly to gather a spot of cream. I give her an ambiguously meaningful look as I place my fingertip deliberately in my own mouth, licking it thoroughly as my eyes hold hers. She looks away shyly. My pussy stirs!

You and I exchange knowing glances.

I take a risk.

Feeding the girl another piece of cake, I deliberately let a small piece fall, and to my delight, it drops on her left breast. Without delay, I lick it up, straight off her hot, salty skin, my tongue lingering momentarily longer than necessary.

"Mmmm, you taste nice and hot," I whisper into her ear.

She just smirks - it doesn't spook her, but I ease off, satisfied just to let her body rest against me for a few moments more. I squeeze her hand affectionately before she skips back into the secluded garden to join her pretty cousin.

You put down your cup and saucer and prompt me, "Hils! You cunning old sod! If she hadn't escaped, you'd have ripped her knickers off there and then!"

We laugh, and she continues, "So anyway, Hils, you were about to tell me all about your sordid past..."

Well, why not? It might get the juices flowing. I settle into story-telling mode.

"Apparently, according to some shrinks, abused children often become abusers themselves when they grow up. Perhaps you and I are living proof, Yvonne, although I would most certainly hesitate to use the word 'abuse' in our case - I believe we were simply helped to discover our innate sexuality early than most. I was a lot younger than you were, you know, when I was initiated, so to speak.

"I had been evacuated from London at the beginning of the war. I was only five, I suppose. I went to South Wales, and was looked after by a lovely lady called Mrs Parry. She was lively and sensuous, but very sad because her husband was posted missing (it turned out he was held as a POW throughout the war). She would comfort herself through masturbation: I was homesick and very young so she would often let me come into her bed. Night after night, I would lie pretending to be asleep, whilst she fumbled under her nightie, finding sleep only when she had exhausted herself. Of course, I didn't know what she was doing or why she was making those funny noises, but one night, I must have dozed off and in my sleep, rolled over close to her. I can vaguely remember waking up, and feeling her hand pressing my own into something warm and sticky. She put her hand over mine, and used my fingers on herself."

"She used your hand to masturbate with?" you ask.

"Oh yes. I had no idea what to do, but the next night, I snuggled up and put my hand between her legs and she smiled, and hugged me and we did it again. From then on, I played with her every night. We never spoke about it, I just let her show me what to do and I got on with it. I would drift off to sleep with the scent and taste of Mrs Parry fresh on my lips and fingers and in my nostrils.

"Well the Blitz ended and so I was sent back home and that was that. It was sad to leave her, but I was glad to be reunited with my family. Nothing else happened until I took my first job at the local girl's school - your old school, Yvonne. I was only sixteen, younger even than some of the pupils. I was responsible for the laundry. Day in, day out, surrounded by mountains of bedding and girl's underwear! A dubious pleasure, I might say, but working in the school aroused some very odd feelings inside me. And I couldn't understand why I wasn't as naturally keen to spend an evening down the Palais as were all my friends: being felt up in a slow dance by some clumsy youth wasn't my scene, as you'd say these days.

"It all became clear when I reached twenty, and was promoted to resident domestic bursar, which came with a tiny room and meals inclusive. This would have been in the late Fifties, not long before you entered School.

"As you know, Yvonne, girls were supposed to go to Matron, if they needed advice or medicine or whatever. Do you remember Matron? Lovely old dear, but so fierce! Well of course, several of the younger girls were rather daunted by her and although I wasn't supposed to, I would let them come to my room for a chat before Lights Out. Well, this became a regular thing, and increasingly often, some homesick First Former would need a hug and a kind word and a hanky to dry her tears, and well, to be blunt, it started to turn me on!

"As soon as a girl had crept back down to the dorm, I'd tear off my knickers and do myself furiously. It became an obsession. You remember what it was like for new girls - away from home, strange rules and customs, not to mention all those pubertal hormones. Little wonder then that I found myself the subject of many a schoolgirl crush. God, how I teased them: I was a real flirt! I would even make sure I was in my undies or just a towel when they knocked at my door. Young girls are very inventive and you'd be amazed at some of the ridiculous pretexts they'd come up with to spend some time alone with me!

"Eventually I could bear it no longer, and I actually kissed one properly, lips and tongues, and Yvonne, it was so good. You know, I can't actually remember her name. Isn't that terrible? Still, never mind, on with the story. It was innocuous stuff, snogging and petting, but at last I had sorted out in my own mind, what was my bag. Young girls. Pure and simple, as it were.

"I chose wisely: shy little girls who would be discreet, be it voluntarily or under fear of being found out - even a lowly domestic bursar was a figure of tremendous power and authority to a nervous young first-year boarder and it wasn't too hard to worry a young girl into a vow of silence. Later, I was a bit more devious, but I'll come to that."

Your eyebrow lifts.

"Yes, that's undeniably part of it, Yvonne, now I come to think about it: the authority thing - being addressed as 'Miss' by a girl in the throes of innocent passion. Don't you find that? What does Zoë call you, when you're at it with her?"

You tell me.

"Saucy!" I reply.

"Anyway where was I?

"Oh yes, preying on the First Years. Well, that satisfied me enough for a couple of years. I had no great expectations of life then. But I began to crave more. Something a bit more exciting. And that's where you came in, my dear. When you became my latest young conquest. I so remember the look on your pretty little face, the first time I took you to bed..."

I look up at you.

"What's this?" I smile, "Do I detect a faint blush of embarrassment after all these years?"

I touch your knee playfully. For an instant, our eyes exchanged some significant look: there is still a strong bond between us, and under other circumstances we might have gone a little farther. But given the presence only yards away of those two gorgeous little girls, I think both of us would much prefer to explore new ground with our young companions.

Sharing the same thought, we both stare out into the garden, where the cousins are cheerfully batting a swing ball around its post.

You turn to me and say, "I didn't mind at all when you spanked me, Hils. I thought it was what had to happen if I was to prove I loved you. To me, the more you ordered me about, the more I thought you would want me. So what happened when merely seducing we poor little girls wasn't enough?"

There is no sarcasm in your voice. I sense you too have been indulging in some retrospection.

I continue my tale.

"It was not long before you joined the School, Yvonne. Up until then, I'd been happy enough with a regular fondling and kissing, but over time I became more adventurous with my adoring girlies, taking them to bed for an hour on a Sunday afternoon, to make the most of those willing young mouths between my legs. I discovered, purely by accident, how nice it was to spank the girls first. One naughty little tinker was late for a Sunday tryst, and so I gave her a few playful taps on her bare behind. It added a whole new dimension.

"All day I'd go about my work, looking forward to holding down a little body across my knees, easing down those thick old blue knickers to expose a pair of firm, dimpled little buttocks, and watching them grow pink as I tanned them. It was so easy to find misdemeanours that required punishment and I was never harsh. It was all done in play and the sex afterwards got better and better.

"Do you remember Verna Bucknorth - she was a year above you? I had managed to get her excused from something or other (lacrosse I think) and had told her to meet me in the laundry store for a spot of hanky-panky. She didn't turn up and so after Prep that night, I sent for her. I was still cross and I told her to go to the attic, take off her nightie and wait outside my room. She was mortified - what if someone saw her? When I got up there, she was still dressed. Well that was it! I dragged her inside, stripped her and put her over a chair. I took my slipper to her and when she still refused to apologise, I used my hairbrush. No mucking around, I gave her a good hiding. She wailed and moaned and that just made me hit her harder. As soon as I finished, I made her kneel and say out loud all sorts of degrading things about herself whilst she held up my skirt and licked me. Boy, did that help! It was tough on the girl, perhaps, but I had never come so hard and long! Not surprisingly, she tried to keep out of my way for the rest of term, and so I went out of my way to find her and make her perform again. Any time, anywhere. Once I had her crouch under my desk for an entire morning, giving me a spot of dildo whenever I ordered. It was rather good fun when the Bursar dropped in. Quite hard to keep a straight face and concentrate with a thirteen-year-old's playful fingers up your snatch!

"Now I really had discovered something. No more Miss Nice Guy!

"By the time you came along, Yvonne, I was utterly into the whole domination thing. And I have to say, you were the perfect girl for it."

We again smile politely at each other, each searching our respective memories.

"Do you remember Founder's Day," I ask you, "when I coated a couple of marbles in linament and put them up you with a big sticking plaster across your fanny, and then made you go to Chapel without any knickers? And everyone was wondering where the smell was coming from? There you were shuffling about on the pew, and it was as much as I could do to stop laughing during the speeches?"

We both explode into giggles.

"I do, you bastard, it irritated like buggery! Oh yes," you add with a chuckle, "don't forget that time in the Boiler Room..."

"The Boiler Room!" I exclaim, "I'd forgotten that. The two us, naked in the Boiler Room one Exeat Weekend, covered in sweat and dust. I tied your arms behind your back..."

"And made me squat down on that beastly bit of broom handle covered in vaseline for hours!" you add.

"Whacking your sweet bum each time the cramp got too much and you stood up."

"Two inches, no more no less!" we chorus together and roar with laughter, recalling the instruction I gave her over and over again. I had even marked the handle, to indicate just how much I required her to insert into her fanny.

"And the foot of hosepipe," I sniggered, "afterwards. Shoved up the both of us? I lay there on that filthy floor, coated head to toe in muck, loving you dearly because you were bent over me with your hands still tied behind you, trying so desperately hard to fuck me because I said if you didn't make me come once more, I'd leave you tied up in front of the furnace all night.

"Oh happy days."

"And what about after I had left, what did you do for sex?" you ask directly.

"More of the same for a while," I muse, "much of the same things we did. Maybe a bit more restrained for a while: I was careful not to push my luck, easing out one girl from my affections, bringing on another. After you, I never let a relationship last for more than a single Term. For most girls, it was a one-off experience, a rite of passage, and it was easiest just to let them go. Some found other girls; others just grew up and moved on, I suppose.

"I always found new and exciting things to do with my girlies. It became a lot easier in many respects in the Swinging Sixties. And that was when I went through my dark phase. You don't want to hear about that do you?

You humour me by replying with a keen 'yes'.

"OK, well I won't bore you with the full story. Suffice to say, you had long since moved on. I of course had no problem subverting a succession of little girls after you, most of whom experienced the joys of being my submissive plaything. I started to take girls away camping and we had some fun and games in the woods! I helped coach the junior hockey team: secret mutual masturbation in the back of the bus and the chance to put a girl on her knees before me in new and dangerous places!

"But when I hit thirty, I had an early mid-life crisis. I quit my job at the school and moved in with the delicious Tabby, a twenty-year-old undiscovered singer with a rich Daddy, and I lived with her for well over a year. She was a great experimenter, and we did all the usual hippy things - smoked pot, bummed around Europe, joined in the odd love-in. Are you sure you really want to listen to this nonsense?

You nod.

"You're too kind, Yvonne. Well I'll cut to the chase. Through friends of friends, we drifted into a very different scene: S&M it's called. Oh, you know what that is do you? We got in deeper and deeper, bought the gear, the leather, the whips and all that.

"The funny thing is that although I enjoyed some of it, especially when Tabby was in the mood to be punished for days on end, I'm not what you would call a natural dominatrix," I confide, my tongue firmly in my cheek..

You laugh. I always loved your laugh, Yvonne.

"Something was missing: spontaneity, innocence, oh I don't know. When we inevitably split up, I felt lost and unfulfilled and so I found another domestic bursar's post and went back to the life I knew. Except I was more worldly-wise and I had a suitcase full of S&M gear! I expect you can imagine what happened. Only this time, I used a different tactic. I mentioned this was a dark phase? And I became rather underhand. I didn't bother trying to seduce the First Formers. My tastes had altered slightly by then, and I'd been to bed with some very talented lesbians all across Europe, so I had higher expectations.

"Domestic bursars are a strange breed, Yvonne, stuck in limbo between the teaching staff and domestics, and with a less formal relationship with the Girls. We know everything that goes on. In School, I merely listened to the jungle drums to work out which girls were having it off with each other, and blackmailed them. It was a bit more complicated and subtle, I suppose, but you get my drift? Not exactly subtle, but I had four major conquests out of it. Rather neat actually, they were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen. Although not in that order."

I lose the thread and my mind wanders. When I gather my thoughts, you're looking at me indulgently.

"Don't look at me like that, young lady, or I'll put you over my knee" I joke, "I was merely shepherding my recollections into order. Oh yes, my Mistress Whiplash phase. Well, I had a jolly good time. There was no need to go gently: these precious young things simply had to do as they were told, or else I'd ensure they were exposed as dykes and probably expelled to boot. I didn't fall in love like I did with you, Yvonne. These spoilt young tarts were there for my pleasure and I didn't care especially if they got anything out of it.

"They had little choice. And the more I played with them, the stronger my hold over them. I had one of the first of those instant cameras, you know, and once I had a few snapshots to hold over them, each one became putty in my hands.

"Oh, Yvonne, do you think I'm terrible?"

You shake your head.

"I was so awfully beastly sometimes. There was one, Jennifer, a cute Chinese from HK: I caught her in the act, the little slag, behind the pavilion with her tongue up the Head Girl's backside! She was untouchable, of course (not just not my type but also being fucked regularly by both the Head Gardener and his wife!), but from that day on, little Miss Jenny Soo was mine.

"A bit like you, she of course found it hard to go home for the holidays and so I arranged for her to spend Christmas with me in my little flat. School was deserted - good egg that I am, I'd volunteered to look after the place over the holidays. Five whole days alone with the run of the School - what a wild time!

"For an Asian of her age (did I mention she was about fourteen at the time?), she had the most wonderful tits. Small, but quite hard, and really prominent aureoles and juicy brown nipples, which pointed skyward most cutely when hard. Needless to say, they were irresistible! Oh, Yvonne, I was shameless. I kept her in bed most of Christmas Day, making her bring me off over and over again and then on Boxing Day, I went over the top. I put on my full PE kit, whistle included, and told her she needed some proper exercise. I led the poor, shivering girl naked through the school, wearing nothing but her School tie. It was like something out of a bad film: in Chapel, I spread her legs on the altar and frigged her with a candle; I fucked her with a strap-on across the Headmistress's desk and then I took her down to the gym. I put her through some circuits, setting impossible targets and generally exhausting her until she was fit to drop. Once she had justified some punishment by slacking, I produced some rope and tied her to the wallbars. Then I took a riding crop to those fabulous nipples. What a sound! The swish and thwack, and her screams, echoing around the empty school. It was bloody cold in there, and they stood out like organ stops, Yvonne. Three strokes on one, three on the other, over and over again. It was amazing.

"I have to tell you, I was dripping - it was running down the inside of my thighs. You might remember I always have been a somewhat prolific secretor from the nether regions. Talk about randy! The more I abused her, the better it got. I let her get her breath back and then I put her over the vaulting horse, tied her tight by her ankles and wrists, and started again with my souvenir collection of crops and floggers. Since nobody other than me would be likely to see her undressed for the best part of a fortnight, it didn't matter if I gave her the odd bruise or mark.

"So that's what I did. She pleaded and yelled, but that only made matters worse for her. I did it all very slowly, I suppose we must have been in that gym most of the evening and well into the night: just her, me, a flask of malt and plenty of hard discipline.

"I'm not sure where the cruel streak came from, Yvonne. I would beat her bottom with a cane, until she was hoarse. I'd offer the alternative of licking me, which of course she would, but as soon as she had made me come, I'd need to punish her again, so it would be back in cuffs or roped to the parallel bars, and I'd start all over again. I had a fierce little flogger, with short but very soft leather, which was ideal for tormenting her. I put her on her back, and spread her legs so wide over her head that I thought I would split her in two, tying them at the ankle and knee to those nasty beams which came out of the wall at right angles.

"There was a tannoy, and I played some tapes used for gymnastic displays, dancing around her like a demented gym teacher, flicking the flogger down on to the insides of her thighs and creaming myself with her yelling. Obscene, it sounds now, but at the time, it was divine, my dear.

"I had refused her permission to pee for hours, and left her tied up, suspended from a pipe in the changing rooms whilst I went back to my flat for a snack. Of course she couldn't help herself and when I came back, she'd pissed all over the floor, so I made her roll around in her own piss and mop it up with her hair. Then I made her cram inside a wicker laundry basket in the drying room, to spend the night in her own filth.

"First thing the next morning, I put her through a cold shower in the changing rooms, and walked her back through school, the long way, snivelling and moaning and dripping all over the marble floor. She thought it was all over. I made her kiss me and tell me how much she loved me, and to prove it, she sank her tongue deep inside me on one of the sofas in the senior common room, sucking my clit so attentively I must have come three times in quick succession.

"To tease her, I led her up to my flat, but left her tied to a radiator in the hall to get warm whilst I freshened up and she ate and drank what she could from some bowls I'd left outside the door. Then much to her dismay, I took her straight back down to the science labs.

"You'd be amazed at the useful things you can find in a lab, when you're in the mood to torture a young girl. I found ice from the freezer, and alternately froze those luscious big nipples and then tweaked them with tongs warmed over a bunsen burner. In the biology lab, it was back down below the waist, with her roped over the demonstration table, crying her little heart out as I experimented with my own interpretation of Chinese acupuncture on her labia, using those sterilised needles they use to pin down insects for vivisection. There is definitely something you'd call the smell of fear, Yvonne: you could have cut it with a knife in that lab."

I've been watching your reaction. I suppose I had expected to see a growing unease, or look of disgust. But instead you are enthralled. I can't seem to shock you. It's doing me good to tell you this - a bit of unburdening after all this time.

"Frankly, by then, I was knackered, Yvonne, and we were equally grateful to go back to her dorm, where we fell fast asleep, entwined in her own bed. However, in the early evening, I crept out of bed and put on a full-body leather catsuit, that had been lurking guiltily in my wardrobe since the Tabby episode. Quite pervy, it was - little flaps to give access to various orifices and expose the nipples! Can you imagine me togged up, Yvonne? So, she woke up to the feel of warm, soft leather pressing down her body, a glove over her face, and a mean bitch in heat grinning in her sleepy face."

That makes you smile.

"It was the only time I've ever given a girl a proper whipping, with a pukka whip, that is. Tabby had bought it for me, but then chickened out of letting my try it on her.

"I made the girl carry it. In her mouth.

"By torchlight, I took her down again into School. Very eerie. I'd dusted off all my old toys, finding her a nice thick leather collar, with a long, heavy chain by which to lead her. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and just for fun, I made her wear a spreader bar between her ankles: you know what one is? You do? Oh, fine. Anyway, it was bitterly cold; although in the leather, I was warm as toast. And so wet!

"Earlier in the day, I'd put out some candles in the Great Hall - that's what we called the refectory at St Margaret's. I'd set the place out as of for some midnight mass. Top Table stood on a raised platform at the end of the huge room, and I'd already attached some stout rope to the legs. I stood little Jenny Soo in front of the stage and tied a rope to each wrist, so that she was suspended, Christ-like, but facing away from the room. All very ritualistic, with her pale little body lit by the flickering candles.

'If you really love me, Jenny, you'd ask me to whip you,' I murmured in her ear. She was shaking from the cold, and, I hoped, the prospect of being punished.

"Then I realised she still had the whip handle in her mouth!"

I can see I have your full attention, Yvonne. You find this fascinating. I'll spin it out a bit, for your very own titillation.

'Do you love me, Jenny?'

'Oh yes, Miss Masters.'

'Shall I whip you, Jenny?'

The poor creature was in a proper mix. She burst into tears and shook her head.

'Oh dear, Jenny, you don't love me after all,' I sulked. 'You know I'll have to write to Mummy and Daddy, to tell them what a dirty little slag they have for a daughter? With those nice pictures.'

'No, no, Miss Masters. I didn't mean that. You know I love you Miss. I will do anything.'

'Then ask me nicely to whip you.'

'Please whip me, Miss Masters.'

'And when I've whipped you, will you still love me?'

'Yes, Miss Masters.

'And you will still be my special girl?'

'Yes, Miss Masters.'

'Who must make me come whenever I want?'

'Yes, Miss Masters.'

'Very well, Jenny. What do you wish to ask me?' I prompted.

'Please whip me, Miss Masters.'

'Again.'

'Please whip me, Miss Masters,' she said out loud.

'Again'

"She shouted it out and I made her repeat it over and over again, her thin voice echoing around that great room until 'Swoosh, crack!'. I landed a really solid blow right across her behind. That shut her up, and then she screeched.

"I nuzzled up behind her, grinding my leather-clad crotch against her stinging buttocks and closing my gloves over her lovely tits.

'Do you love me, Jenny?' I asked again.

"Through the sobs, she said yes, and I told her to tell me she loved me after each stroke. Wasn't I a real bitch, Yvonne?"

You are listening so intently, you don't reply.

"I took my time to whip her, after each one, waiting for her to recover and declare her love. I would stop and make her suckle my nipples for a while, or French kiss her, or simply sit on the stage and run my fingers over the welts swelling up on her back and bottom. She was cold as ice, but clammy with sweat. Her fanny tasted divine. And then I'd ask her if she wanted to be whipped some more, and she'd reply with a pathetic 'yes' and I'd do it again.

"All the way from her neck down to the backs of her knees, she had a cross-cross of angry red weals. She was barely conscious, hanging by the ropes around her wrists.

"Once more, I pressed my body against her.

"'Do you really love me, Jenny?'

"She croaked the obligatory reply.

"'And do you love my nice whip?'

"'Yes, Miss Masters.'

"That's good, because the whip likes you too. In fact it likes you so much, it wants to fuck you!'

"And with that, I forced the handle hard up her minge. Scared the little fucker half to death. She had a great little cunt - stupendous muscle control - but this was much thicker than anything I'd put inside her before."

You interrupt, "You always had a thing about muscle control, Hils. Remember that shiny metal pole thing you kept under your bed?"

I frown - your memory must be better than mine.

You continue, "You used to make me put it inside myself, and then stand there with my legs apart, whilst you timed how long I could hold it in. Then if I didn't do better than the previous night, it was six of the best across your knee before I could climb in your bed."

My goodness, I really had forgotten that little gem. Oh dear, I've lost my thread again.

"Hils? You were telling me about how you put the whip up the little Chinese girl?" you remind me.

"Right, dear. Oh goodness me, yes. Well it all turned a bit nasty. Of course I'd popped what was left of her cherry and she just wouldn't stop bleeding. I had to take her down; half carry her to my room, and put her to bed in a sanitary towel. But all the next day it went on, no matter what. Put the mockers on any more sex that Christmas. I was worried I'd done something serious. I couldn't take her to a quack though, because of all the whip marks"

"So what did you do?" you ask.

"I just gave her plenty of TLC and by New Year's Eve, she was right as rain, thank goodness. Anyway, it taught me a lesson, and I've never allowed myself to get quite so carried away again. When Term started, I found another victim, gave Jenny the incriminating photos and told her she'd earned them. Never touched her again, and she never mentioned it. Funny girl - I still get a card from her every Christmas and guess what she does now?"

You don't reply so I deliver the punchline.

"She runs a chain of sex shops in Kowloon!"

We have a jolly good laugh about that.

The girls are still playing outside. You try to adjust the crotch of your bikini but I notice and you feel the need to explain.

"I'm getting so horny, listening to your tales, Hils, I simply must get Zoë upstairs soon or I'll explode. Tell me a bit more about your 'dark' period and then I'll call them in."

You refill my cup yet again and I decide to describe the Camilla incident.

"I wouldn't want to keep you from a hot date, Yvonne, but you might like this one. It's undoubtedly the dodgiest thing I've ever done - not just risky but downright stupid.

"She was almost the last before I chucked it all in and married the Colonel. A real minx, she was, Camilla, just sixteen and she'd been in trouble throughout her time at St Margaret's. In her favour, she was drop-dead gorgeous - really slim, with the tiniest hips and decent 34Bs, dusky skin, short black hair in a page-boy cut, and a really long, versatile tongue!

"She was on her final warning. She'd done the lot: truancy, backchat, smoking and so on, and even the soft old bat of a Headmistress had had enough - one more infringement and she was gone, no matter what money her father offered to keep her. Yes, it was a bad as that. Anyway, I caught her smoking. The look on her smug little face, when she realised that she had really blown it this time. She lost her cockiness and pleaded with me to turn a blind eye. I asked her what was in it for me, and when she rashly promised 'anything', I held her to her word, took her straight down to the boatshed, stripped off her uniform and had her lick me until her jaw ached. So far so good.

"I think a bit of lesbian action appealed to her rebellious nature. I didn't need to chivvy her along too much and she was a regular visitor to the flat. I worked all my charms on her, and eventually she would let me tie her up and give her a light spanking before sex, but when I tried to get her to be properly submissive, she threw one of her tantrums.

"Well, suffice to say I diffused the situation, but no amount of pressure, carrot or stick, seemed to have any effect. She was willing to share my bed for some slap and tickle but that was about it. I had resigned myself to having to find a replacement for the last few weeks of the summer term, when the horrid creature turned nasty. She had just taken her last 'O' Level exam and had an almost empty timetable and I'd just suggested she meet me in the bedding store for a quickie, when she turned on me and had a real go. Typical teenager stuff if course, but it annoyed me. She told me she was moving to a Sixth Form college next term and so as she would never return to the School, she planned to settle a few scores for the dreadful injustices she imagined had been played on her. One of these was that she was going to denounce me as soon as she left the School gates.

"I wasn't too concerned, after all, over the years there had been quite a few fingers that could have been pointed in my direction but nothing was ever taken seriously. I mean, no one could ever think lovely Miss Masters could interfere with the girls! But Camilla was a serial troublemaker and I wouldn't put anything past her.

"So I let her rant and left it at that. But I was mightily pissed off and decided to teach her a lesson that should seal her foul little mouth once and for all.

"Now," I continue, settling into the chair and well into my stride, "all girls schools attract their share of perverts and flashers and St Margaret's was no exception. A year before, one dirty little man had been caught wanking in the grounds but the Bursar had declined to press charges, to 'save the School from unwelcome publicity' and the man had been let off with a firm police caution. I rifled through the files one evening and found out the man's identity and set about making contact with him. As you can imagine, he was highly sceptical and I had to meet him twice before he warily agreed to my devilish scheme. He was a quite odious little fellow, with a weasel moustache and habit of constantly licking his lips. The deal was struck, although I had to give him a handful of my polaroids to demonstrate goodwill. I can see him now, furtively ogling them in the corner of the pub, trying desperately not to shove his hand inside his flies then and there.

"He was a lazy little sod: I had to do almost all the spade work, and provide the equipment. To my delight though, he was able to get a trusted friend to participate and so I suppose he did his bit. And of course both of them had the essential things I couldn't provide. Between their legs.

"With considerable cunning and subterfuge, I managed to persuade Camilla to come to the flat on my afternoon off. I laced her fizzy pop with some ground-up tranquilizer (an old standby of mine), which was enough to make her suggestible, shall we say? We took a walk in the grounds, on the pretext that I was trying to reason with her. The little cow thought she had the upper hand and was enjoying having something over me for a change.

"In the grounds, one of the lodges was empty, being redecorated for a new teacher the following autumn, and who held the keys? Me, of course. I took her inside and locked the door behind us.

"'What do you say, Camilla?' I asked her. 'Let's end this as friends. We've had our moments haven't we? Why don't you let me say goodbye properly?'

"I laid it on with a trowel and to my relief, she let me kiss her, with the promise of more. I steered her upstairs, where there was a convenient double bed and proceeded to get her down to her bra and knickers, giving her my best seductive moves. The drug made her sleepy and she didn't take any persuasion to lie down and enjoy it.

"Right on cue, weasel man and his pervy mate burst out of the cupboard, where they had been watching the spectacle, and in an instant, randy young Camilla was gagged and her wrists cuffed to the headboard. I scarpered at that point, to fetch the 8mm movie camera from the room next door, much relieved that I was no longer having to do my stuff in front of two foul men squeezed in a wardrobe, playing with their cocks!"

Your face is a picture. You can't believe I'd do such a terrible thing, even to a nasty young girl, but I can assure you, Yvonne, it was all my own work.

"I thought the pervs had chickened out at that point. They just stood there, watching the girl thrashing about on the mattress in her undies. I had to take charge. I dragged them into the next room, out of Camilla's hearing.

"'For goodness' sake, you two,' I chided, 'I've presented you with a gorgeous little girl, brought her two you, half undressed her and given you a free cabaret to give you a hard on. There's not much else I can do for you is there? Get back in there, scare the shit out of the little bitch and provided you don't hurt her, you can do what the heck you like. And yes, I promise to keep your faces out of shot.'

"I shepherded these two back into the bedroom. I suppose weasel man got his kicks from being a peeping tom and when faced with the real thing, he was at a loss what to do. So what could I do? I ended up directing my very own dirty movie!

"I leaned over and growled in Camilla's ear, something really corny like, 'Boarding schools are rather like the Mafia - you can't escape the Organisation. Wherever you go, I'll know how to find you. If you ever open your stupid little mouth, you'll regret it. Just imagine leaving school with a few 'O' levels and a face so scarred, no-one will ever bear to look at you...'

" All her bravado had evaporated, the rebel was just another frightened little girl. I laid it on thickly. 'This is just a little taster. I wanted these gentlemen to get to know you, so that if you ever cross me in future, and I have to send them after you, they'll be able to recognise you.'

"She stared up at me, petrified, wondering just how much I had gone off my rocker and what I was planning to do to her.

"And as I've put them to all the effort of coming here, it would only be common courtesy to let them have a small reward for their trouble, don't you agree, Camilla?

She just trembled and I turned to the big, dopey one and said, 'Those big, thick blue knickers of hers are hardly flattering are they? I'm sure she would like to look her best for her two new admirers. Why don't you take them off for her?

"He didn't need any further encouragement at that point. He was a youngish chap, mid-twenties, and solidly built, if a bit slow. He felt her up and then slipped his podgy great fingers under the elastic and hauled them down her legs before she realised what was happening. Weasel was still stunned, hardly able to keep his eyes off her lovely young pussy. I nodded to him and he sat down next to her, gingerly reaching out between her legs.

"The girl panicked, thrashed around, squealing into the gag (one of my old stockings, as it happens).

"'Don't fight it, Camilla,' I told her, my voice deep and menacing, 'You brought this on yourself by making silly threats. We don't like threats. We don't like anything which might damage the reputation of the School. If I were you, I'd just accept what's coming to you and learn. Learn to keep quiet. Or else the next time it might be a lot less civilised.'

"Do you understand, you stupid little girl?'

"By now, both men had overcome their shyness and had her legs held open and they were fumbling around, tugging her pussy open and poking her. Camilla's eyes flashed with fear and she nodded frantically. I ignored her and fired up the small cine camera I had borrowed.

"'Gentlemen,' I informed them, 'she's no virgin: do feel free to fuck her if you wish.'

"And they did. Or rather the big dopey one did, dropping his pants and shafting her without ceremony. Not exactly my scene, but there was something rather arousing about watching his big hairy arse pounding away between her legs. I have to say, he was rather well built, Yvonne! Camilla looked so pale and small beneath his huge body, recoiling each time he lunged up into her. Her face barely came up to his chest. He didn't take long, climbing off with a big, daft grin, when he had finished inside her, leaving her wet and sticky and gaping wide open. He fair squeezed the breath out of her. She was flushed and sweaty. Weasel joined in a bit around half way through, slipping his hands inside her bra, drooling disgustingly and playing with her nice tits as his pal puffed and grunted inside her. It looked quite good on camera.

"I let them get their breath back and then instructed the men to untie her wrists, pick her up and take her down the stairs to the entrance hall. They held her between them: she could hardly stand, still under the effect of the drug, exhausted and humiliated from her rape, and very, very afraid. Smashing!

"I took the ropes and tied them to the banister on the landing, dropping the free end down to them, where they were at last showing a bit of gumption and were helping the miserable girl out of her bra.

"'Hang her up by her wrists, please, gentlemen,' I ordered. I was having such fun, Yvonne!

"They did so and I passed Dopey the camera, so that he could film me give the helpless little bitch a few well-directed strokes with my riding crop. I reminded him to keep my head out of shot, too. Half a dozen sharp ones across those pert little tits, another half-dozen hard ones on her buttocks, and with a really nasty taunt, I popped a couple right on her fanny for good measure. She yelped and bucked and howled. I was really hot, but I had no desire to perform any more in front of those two, so for once, I was left damp and unsatisfied. But with a bit of encouragement, Weasel got his kicks, dropping his trousers and rubbing himself against her skin, and feeling her up and down and slobbering horribly in her ear. She winced each time he touched a sore bit, which was quite often as her nipples and backside were glowing pink from the beating.

"I had promised Weasel, and so the last torment for Camilla was to give him a blow-job. I threatened to take the crop to her again unless she consented. She was desperate and agreed to behave, incredibly grateful to be rid of the gag at last. We lowered her down on the rope until she could kneel and then she did the business on Weasel's small cock. I had to offer some instruction and encouragement with the crop before she got it right. I can still see her, with her haughty lips wrapped around him, licking and sucking for all she was worth. He came almost immediately, which was a relief to all concerned. I made her swallow the lot.

"As a finale, I wanted her to acknowledge she understood the stakes. Weasel and I had even rehearsed it, and he produced a fearsome knife, and held it to her cheek as I restated my threat in words of one syllable. Well, Yvonne, we should have one an Oscar for that performance: the little bitch actually wet herself.

"I left her snivelling, knelt there in a puddle of piss, her arms still strung up over her head, and escorted the pervs out of the School grounds. Maybe twenty minutes later, I finally let her down and chucked her clothes at her, telling to get back to School and stay out of my way for the rest of Term."

"And did she?" you ask, enthralled.

"Oh yes," I reply, "we never exchanged another word. I believe Daddy sent her to a finishing school in France and she was never heard of again."

You relax back in your chair, with a look that I hope reflects a degree of admiration for your old mentor.

I shrug my shoulders. There you have it, Yvonne. Confessions of a pimp!

You're thinking. You start to say something but change your mind. I glance behind me: the girls are coming back indoors.

Actually, you don't look at all surprised or fazed by anything I've said, Yvonne. Wait a mo' - from that gleam in your eye, I get the impression that you're rather more familiar with this sort of thing than is truly becoming a young lady!

You smirk, leaving me to draw my own conclusions. Well, well, young Zoë is in for an interesting time. It is as if we are reading each other's mind. Spontaneously, we explode with filthy laughter.

The girls have heard our cackling and come in to investigate. Melanie has scraped her knee and I insist she put her foot up on the arm of my chair so that I can check it out. My other hand steadies her bottom, sliding absently over the shiny fabric of her briefs. I look beyond her knee, which is barely grazed, studying the indentation where the costume pulls into the crack of her little pussy. Not too long now.

"Think I need a lie down," you announce loudly. So the moment has arrived, eh? "Coming Zoë? There's something I want to give you..."

Zoë leaps to her feet and follows you enthusiastically up to your room. I admire her long, slim legs and slender back, with its deep furrow up her spine that simply begs to have an inquisitive tongue search out each and every vertebra. I wink good luck, and am so envious.

I can recall a parallel moment, all that time ago, when I took you on from being just my little lover. Your eleventh birthday, the previous Exeat, Spring term. It was frosty and the school was deserted, save for a few girls like you, whose parents lived abroad and who had been unable to be booked out by other relatives or family friends. We had spent most of the afternoon huddled together under the blankets in my cramped bedroom in the attic above the dormitories. We were dozing - you had a lovely habit of seeking out my nipple and suckling gently when you were half-asleep. By the bed was your present, beautifully wrapped, and I teased you by making no effort to give it to you.

I held you to my breasts and you listened drowsily as I explained how you were now old enough to become a grown-up lover, and that from now on, you should expect me to tell you to do certain things, and that I would expect you to obey me always and without question. I don't think you understood what I was saying, but it became much clearer when I finally let you open the parcel and your eyes stood out on stalks when you lifted out the cute pair of handcuffs and found the little dildo underneath. It was a game to you, sweet Yvonne, but to me it was a revelation: the first time I had dared to make real the inexplicable fantasies I had felt for so long. I remember your ashen face, so nervous, the first time I locked your wrists behind your back, and how carefully you followed my instructions, bending on all fours between my spread thighs, tentatively brushing my burning labia with your little girl's tongue. Christ, I was wet! I seemed to come and come! You looked so worried when I bucked and thrashed about - you were determined to keep your mouth pressed over my cunt no matter what. Dear, Yvonne. I hope Zoë will bring you as much joy in a few moments.

Oh my! The rest of that term, I think we wore away your hymen by attrition, so often did we play with that dildo! You never knew how damned difficult it was for a well-brought-up young woman to get such things then, I can tell you. When I eventually found a backstreet boutique and summoned up enough courage with the help of a few G & Ts, I bought several, I seem to recall - I gave you the tiny one and... well, you know the rest!

Melanie is smiling down at me. I am still clutching her bottom, with my hand resting over her sore knee. She is a proper cutie. I so want her.

Bright and breezy and plenty of girly laughter - that's the way to handle a shy pre-teen. At Melanie's age, you really don't know the form; you have no idea what's 'the done thing' and so you find it most comfortable to take your cue from your seniors and hope you blend in. And I find I haven't lost my touch. At my suggestion, she readily leads me upstairs to find the bathroom so that I can shower to cool off, and once I've got her in there, my matter-of-factness soon has her unbuttoning the back of my dress, and then cheerfully slipping off her bikini bottom and squeezing into the shower cubicle with me, so that we can wash each other's back. She tries not to stare too openly at my adult body, with its mysterious wedge of manicured pubic hair. She is every bit as innocent as were you, Yvonne.

Each small step, each subtle intimacy. A masterclass of seduction crammed into a few hours of a glorious summer's evening.

Soon I'm sitting downstairs on the sofa, holding Melanie's hand and chatting conspiratorially about her teachers. My towel has fallen open and I let it slip right apart: I quickly whisk away the girl's one when she sat down ('let's dry off naturally'). We are great friends now, after the giggly, chummy shower. I haven't yet made a proper advance, but take every chance I can to touch her. She's getting used to me.

I'm not sure if she heard those telltale noises coming from your room, Yvonne. If she did, unlike me, she wouldn't have had an inking what was going on in there. Must be going well - you've been at it well over an hour. How I envy you.

At last, the creak of the stair.

Melanie's mouth falls open as she looks up and sees you lead Zoë by her new chain down the stairs, naked save for the fine choke collar about her neck. You are both a little pink around the gills from your lovemaking, but I notice too a distinctly rosy blush to the slim girls lovely hard young bottom, and I assume you've treated her to a first decent spanking too. My little friend looks to see my reaction and is puzzled that I don't find anything out of the ordinary. I hold her hand just the teeniest bit tighter. She is totally perplexed, but hides her confusion.

I hadn't expected your public display, but I keep a straight face. Inside I'm a bit concerned: Melanie mustn't be spooked now or I might lose her.

Zoë blushes fiercely and meekly curls up at your feet when instructed. She studies the floor, mortified at being shown off to her young cousin and your mature visitor. You admonish her, ordering her to sit cross-legged so that 'everyone' can enjoy her 'randy little minge'. I take the opportunity to put my arm around the shocked Melanie's shoulder and pull her against me. I whisper an explanation of sorts.

"Zoë is so lucky to have Yvonne as her Mistress. Not many girls these days get the chance to learn how wonderful it is to be a submissive lover. Doesn't she look beautiful with that collar on?"

The eleven-year-old finds this so incredible, she just gawps at her older cousin, sitting obediently at you feet, whilst you stroke her long, dark hair proprietarily. You are a proper mischief, Yvonne. I noticed how you part your long legs and rest a finger between your nether lips when you see you have caught Melanie's eye. The poor kid didn't know where to look.

The evening passes well, all things considered. Here we are: four girls of various ages, enjoying each other's company in this delightful cottage. We have a nice supper, and then play some silly board games. All wonderfully innocent and normal. If it weren't for the fact that three of us are wearing light summer clothes and the fourth is naked, with a sturdy collar around her neck and a dainty little pinny tied over her crotch. We let the girls have a glass of wine each, slightly watered down, and they're now both in high spirits.

By ten, I can tell you're becoming horny, Yvonne. You let Melanie and I win the deciding round of the game so that you can get on with clipping on Zoë's leash and taking her back to your room for the night.

Which leaves me and the over-excited, over-tired young eleven-year-old, pressed dreamily against me in an armchair. I slip the dregs of the wine into her glass and wink at her. We tidy away the cards and counters and other detritus and I let her go up first, to use the bathroom.

She's already curled up on the bed when I finish cleaning my teeth. When I passed your door, Yvonne, I could hear some muffled girly squeaking, alternating with a faint thud. More spanking, or have you graduated to something else? I can't discern what you're doing to her, but whatever it is, it's making me decidedly randy.

Our room is heavy and hot, despite the wide-open windows. I take off my underwear and lie down on the crisp sheet beside her. I leave a bedside lamp on. It is intimate. Expectant.

"You'll be far too hot in those PJs, Melanie," I joke, "C'mon, let's get them off you."

She is putty in my hands, grinning cheerfully as I slowly unfasten the buttons down her chest and ease the cotton jacket from her shoulders. I brazenly admire her chest, the deep shadows from the lamp emphasising the slight swelling of her breasts and the truly spectacular furrow which runs from her throat, down her hard young tummy and inside her pyjama bottoms. I need to see where it goes, and playfully turn the elastic downwards. I let my head fall close to her stomach, my hair falling down and brushing her skin. I ease the trousers over her bottom and down her thighs, my mouth just inches from her perfectly smooth little pussy, trimly closed, with the merest hint of her clitoral hood peeping out between her labia. I inhale deeply.

I toss the pyjamas aside and look her straight in the eye. Glassy, a little tipsy, but sparkling with excitement. Nothing needs to be said. I take her hand and place it over my breast, shaping it to cup my sensitive nipple in the palm. Closer. I have a wide, 'trust me' smile. She looks at her hand and back at me, but she makes no effort to remove it. I stroke the hair from her shoulder.

She watches my lips. I open them a fraction, and play my tongue slowly across my teeth.

The little girl swallows hard.

I lean my face forward. She is so very still.

My lips caress hers. A brief, soft touch, and when she closes her eyes, a longer, gentle, loving kiss.

I lower her to the pillow, running my fingers down from her shoulders to explore her own tiny, stiff nipple. She lets me kiss her again, finally responding with an endearingly stiff little peck of her own. She is mine.

My vagina is on fire. My heart is pounding. My nipples ache and I am already feeling a slippery warmth between my legs.

She lies motionless and silent and big-eyed: I can almost hear her heart pounding. My mouth descends, nuzzling her throat, flitting lightly over her chest, wandering casually down her hard, trembling tummy.

Goodness gracious, I had no idea how much I missed the fresh scent and incomparable flavour of a hot little girl.

I try to imagine you in the next-door bedroom, Yvonne, teasing and tormenting that lovely young brunette of yours. I look up and along the hard, flat body of my own little bed mate, watching me open-mouthed and nervous as I tickle my tongue along her succulent pussy. My mind races. You know, with a bit of effort, some careful planning and some subtle persuasion, I could well see this dear girl soon becoming a regular guest in my own home, freshly spanked and hovering naked and chained, waiting eagerly to be told to put her face between my legs. Cripes! So much for retirement.

Thank you, Yvonne.