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At St Severine's School for Turbulent Girl, young ladies between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one are sent receive the discipline they so desperately require...In these three sexy stories, three innocent and not so innocent young woman are punished for their sins....~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~A horse-drawn carriage waited for me, and I was to sit alone inside of it - I was under strict orders to refrain from conversing with the coachman. My mother and father looked at me, the harsh expressions of last night melting away as they realized that this was happening - at eighteen years old, their precious daughter was being sent away. One last time, I decided to ask the question that they'd seemed uncomfortable with answering."Where am I going?"My father heaved a sigh as the coachman came to retrieve my suitcase and put it in the boot of the carriage. Seeing as there was no turning back now, he decided to explain my fate to me, for which I was immensely thankful."We're sending you to Saint Severine's School for Turbulent Young Ladies. You'll attend for three years, after which the faculty will send you back home to us. If you work hard enough, you might be able to come back even earlier." He explained, his eyebrows furrowing in a guilty fashion that made me somewhat nervous."What am I going to learn there?"My father looked down at his feet briefly, before shifting his gaze over to my mother. She bit her lip worriedly as she looked at me - I knew that this school was not going to be a pleasant experience for me, and the fact that my parents deemed it acceptable to send me there was infuriating.I frowned, muttering my goodbyes. My parents saw me off with as much empathy and emotion as they could muster, and I climbed into the carriage with the utmost reluctance. The coachman took his seat at the front of the carriage, and suddenly, we were off. I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep - I knew that this ride was going to be a long one.
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The Complete Trilogy
Victorian Spanking and BDSM Erotica
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Anna Austin
Written by Anna Austin
~~ All characters in this book are 18 or over. ~~
My family had always been uptight, to an extent. Due to their status as aristocrats, my parents held very firm views and values that they were absolutely unflinching on. This meant that growing up, I was held to their impossibly high standards - a feat that I could never have been expected to accomplish.
Unlike my older sister, I have always been rather rough-and-tumble. I preferred the company of the neighbour boys to that of the young girls my parents had tried to arrange playdates for me with. Me and the boys would have far more fun together, even if our afternoons always ended in my dresses being muddied.
My parents did not approve of my childhood companions, and looking back, I supposed it had been something of a warning sign. The disagreements with my family only grew as I got older. I was taught etiquette by a particularly dusty tutor, who would slap my wrists with a ruler if I dared to rest my elbows on the table during a lesson.
When I turned eighteen years old, my parents revealed to me that I was to be married off to a rich young gentleman from a noble family. His name was Christopher, and he had come over to have dinner with us that night. I was outraged, believing that I should've been the one to decided when I would get married, and who I would get married to. It was supposed to be a lifelong commitment, after all!
The dinner that night had been an absolute disaster for everyone involved - Christopher was a kind young man, but I had acted excessively rude towards him that evening. My temper, which I'd inherited from my hot-headed father, was something to behold, and it was set off that night, unfortunately.
In a fit of rage, I'd stood up and stormed away from the dinner table, declaring that I would never and could never marry a man that I didn't even know. My parents were humiliated by this outburst, and Christopher's family began to snicker at my misconduct. It was a shameful display, and in hindsight, it makes sense that I would be punished for it.
My father, angered, had stood up and grabbed me by the wrist, attempting to drag me back to the table. I resisted - I had already gone past the point of no return, so I figured that I might as well make a spectacle of myself. I had flounced back over to the table as though nothing had been the matter, and I had promptly poured my entire glass of wine atop poor Christopher's head.
That was that - my fate was sealed in that moment. Christopher was embarrassed, and his family quickly escorted him out of our manor (though not before giving my mother and father a sharp lecture regarding their parenting style). Following that, my family's once-friendly faces had turned as stiff as stone, and just as harsh. They faced me, nostrils flared in a show of anger, and told me, very simply, to go and pack my things.
I had complied, knowing that defying them would only worsen my fate. I knew not where they planned to send me, but the following morning, I stood outside of my family's gorgeous manor, suitcase in hand.
A horse-drawn carriage waited for me, and I was to sit alone inside of it - I was under strict orders to refrain from conversing with the coachman. My mother and father looked at me, the harsh expressions of last night melting away as they realized that this was happening - at eighteen years old, their precious daughter was being sent away. One last time, I decided to ask the question that they'd seemed uncomfortable with answering.
"Where am I going?"
My father heaved a sigh as the coachman came to retrieve my suitcase and put it in the boot of the carriage. Seeing as there was no turning back now, he decided to explain my fate to me, for which I was immensely thankful.
"We're sending you to Saint Severine's School for Turbulent Young Ladies. You'll attend for three years, after which the faculty will send you back home to us. If you work hard enough, you might be able to come back even earlier." He explained, his eyebrows furrowing in a guilty fashion that made me somewhat nervous.
"What am I going to learn there?"
My father looked down at his feet briefly, before shifting his gaze over to my mother. She bit her lip worriedly as she looked at me - I knew that this school was not going to be a pleasant experience for me, and the fact that my parents deemed it acceptable to send me there was infuriating.
I frowned, muttering my goodbyes. My parents saw me off with as much empathy and emotion as they could muster, and I climbed into the carriage with the utmost reluctance. The coachman took his seat at the front of the carriage, and suddenly, we were off. I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep - I knew that this ride was going to be a long one.
I had slept soundly until we had reached our destination - after which I had been shaken awake by the coachman. I sighed, stretching as I sat up. He retrieved my suitcase from the boot, and as I stepped out of the carriage, he thrust it at me and went on his way, leading the horses elsewhere. I was utterly alone, and very, very confused.
The next few hours had been a whirlwind of activity - an older man, dressed very sharply, informed me of which room I would be staying in, and he guided me to the correct wing of the academy. I was overwhelmed, especially upon seeing the uniform that I was expected to wear. All the girls around me were dressed in clothing that would make any decent man's cheeks flush pink.
The tartan skirts were sinfully short, and the blouses were so tight that I thought my new classmates (especially the more ample-chested ones) were going to rip them open. The thigh high stockings added a bit of innocence to the look, I supposed, but there was still far too much skin exposed for my tastes - I wondered exactly what sort of academy this was!
As it turned out, this academy relied heavily on outdated methods of discipline.
Over the course of the next few days, I learned this hands-on. The students here were regularly abused, though not in a violent sense. The more I saw my classmates get punished, the more sexual the act seemed. Spankings and canings were common, and though they were not always public, quite a few of these punishments were carried out in front of the class.
I kept to myself for the most part, opting to remain as obedient and demure as possible - I didn't want to stay here any longer than I had to. The uniform was uncomfortable and all too revealing (a button actually had popped off of my blouse, at one point), and the lessons were utterly useless, but I knew that as long as I remained compliant, I would not butt heads with anyone.
That is, except for Professor Knott.
Professor Knott was decidedly one of the more reasonable professors at the academy, but for some reason, he had taken a shining to me in the worst way possible. During his lessons, I had to be on my absolute best behaviour, seeing as I was the student he focused on the most. Though he had not punished me yet (and I had given him no reason to), he was constantly asking me to come to the board to solve a problem, or asking me questions seemingly unrelated to the lesson itself.
I knew not why he was so interested in me, but it was clear to me that I had to stay under the radar if I was to escape the humiliating punishments. So I answered all of Professor Knott's questions, solved all the problems he wanted me to solve, and did whatever was asked of me with nothing more than a smile.
Though he was older (I would assume that he was around my father's age), he was quite striking, looks-wise. He has a sharp, well-defined jawline, and his dark grey eyes were intimidating to the point where looking him directly in the eye would reduce me to a puddle. I tried my best to avoid thinking of him in this way, but he made it nearly impossible, seeing as he taught me every day of the week.
His main subject was maths, which just so happened to be my worst subject. My brain didn't work in that way, and solving problems in front of the whole class was a nerve-wracking experience, to say the least. I'm sure Professor Knott got some sort of entertainment out of putting me on the spot, though. So far, the problems had been easy enough, but according to the other girls, things would get progressively harder as the year went on. I dreaded that.
After a week and a half at the academy, I'd started thinking of Professor Knott more regularly. Though I was thoroughly ashamed of it, I had been seeing him in my dreams, as well. The dreams had been very sexual in nature - dreams wherein I longed to be punished by him. He would give me a once-over with those piercing grey eyes of his, and order me to bend over.
And bend over I would, exposing myself to him and waiting for the inevitable strike of the ruler. I had been hearing rumors that several of the teachers caned their students, as well - though the thought terrified me in real life, it aroused me immensely in the world of my dreams. Professor Knott hurting me in such a way was admittedly exciting.
Before I had gotten up that morning, I'd been immersed in yet another one of those dreams, and I'd awoken to a pair of wet panties. It was embarrassing, and I made sur ethat none of my roommates were aware of what had happened. I got prepared for the day quicker than usual.
As I showered, I tried to erase last night's dream from my mind. I soaped myself up as though trying to scrub away the lecherous thoughts. I wasn't attracted to Professor Knott - I couldn't be. I had to remain demure and obedient, lest he punish me for being too precocious. However, the thought of being punished by him was sounding better and better.
I had no idea where these feelings were coming from - I had never been a masochistic sort of girl, never! But I found myself longing for it, especially during those dreary math classes of his. As I rinsed the soap off of my body, I tried my best to collect all my feelings and regain my composure. I'd certainly need it, seeing as my was the first class of the day.
Stepping out of the shower, I toweled off, thankful that most of my roommates were still asleep. The wing was far more quiet than it usually was. After having dried myself off, I slipped a clean pair of panties on, and threw the soiled ones into the laundry hamper, hoping that none of the other girls would recognise them as mine.
I put on the brassiere - all of the young women here were given black underwear, despite the way it clashed with the uniform. You could usually see our bras through our shirts, a fact that I still found highly embarrassing, though most of the girls now found it commonplace. My breasts had always been on the large side, something that my older sister had envied me for (it was perhaps the only area of life in which I was superior), and therefore the blouses were hard to wear.
I had to keep my blouse's top two buttons undone if I wanted to survive the day without popping my shirt open. However, this also meant that I inevitably had cleavage, and Professor Knott never failed to take notice of it. Though I found it humiliating at first, lately I'd taken to emphasizing it.
After putting on the rest of my uniform, I made my way to the classroom, textbook in hand. I was feeling quite nervous today, especially considering how raunchy last night's dream had been. I hoped that my perverse thoughts didn't show on my face.
Unfortunately, it seemed as though they did, for one of my classmates, Madeleine, approached me.
"Good morning, Penelope!" She chirped. Her bubbly attitude made her quite easy to get along with, though I personally found her rather annoying. She'd been attempting to befriend me over the course of the last week, but I'd rebuffed most of her advances. She was too much like my sister - though I did have to wonder what a girl like her was doing in an academy like this - what wrong had she committed?
"Good morning, Madeleine."
"What are you blushing for?" She asked, leaning in a little too closely, that obnoxious grin of hers already ticking me off. Was my blush really that obvious? I looked towards my feet, feeling ashamed of myself. I didn't want any of the other girls thinking of me as a lecher who enjoyed studying in this sort of environment.
"I'm not blushing." I huffed, though I knew this response wouldn't convince her.
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