The Indulgences of Isabelle Read online

  Katie shook her head again, urgently this time. We both knew that I'd never make her do it, but it was nice to see her react.

  'Perhaps even in the Red Ox?' I went on. 'In front of Stan Tierney and all his horrible friends, all leering at you as you peel your clothes off, touching their dirty cocks to the sight of your bare boobs, laughing as you peel your knickers down with your bottom stuck right out so they can see your rear view . . .'

  She gave a sudden fierce shiver, as if she'd had a tiny orgasm, although she was still shaking her head. I laughed at her reaction and slipped a hand between her thighs to where her pussy made a soft bulge in her trousers. I began to rub her there.

  'No, Isabelle, please,' she gasped. 'You'll make me all wet and the patch will show.'

  'Good,' I told her. 'You can walk back to Foxson with a damp patch underneath and everyone will know what a little trollop you are. Either that or they'll think you've had an accident in your panties. I wonder which you'd hate more?'

  Katie shook her head violently, just once, but made no effort to remove my hand. I continued to masturbate her, amused by the thought of her having to walk halfway across Oxford with a damp patch between her thighs and enjoying my power over her more than ever.

  'I won't really make you strip at the Red Ox,' I promised her, 'but you will have to attend to some men this term. There's Dr Appledore for one. He can hardly expect to have me, but he's sure to want his little treats. I'll let him spank you – bare, of course – and touch you wherever he likes while you're over his knee. Then you can sit on his lap and pull on his cock for him while he feels you up, or maybe I'll make you suck him off. I do love to see that pretty face with a big, thick penis stuck deep in your mouth.'

  Katie began to whimper and to shake her head again, with a desperate urgency this time, but she was coming, wriggling her bottom on my leg and pressing herself against my hand, with her breasts and hair bouncing to the motions. I watched as she came, utterly helpless in my hands and with her head full of the thoughts that I'd put there, of how I'd let my tutor spank her and make her gobble his penis.

  It was hard to hold back until she'd finished properly, and the moment the shudders of pleasure had finished running through her body I was easing Katie down to the floor. Both of us were far beyond the point of worrying about being caught, so I jerked up my dress and lifted my bottom to let her pull down my knickers without hesitation. A quick tug to lift my bra and I was naked for her – not very dignified, maybe, with my knickers around my ankles and my tits out, but I needed to come too badly to care.

  Katie buried her face in my pussy, and as her tongue pushed in between my sex lips I closed my eyes in bliss. So many times she'd been on her knees for me, or licked me from behind, or had me sit on her face, but I never tired of the sensation, nor of having such a shy, pretty girl do something that I still felt was dirty. She seemed to get better every time, and now was no exception, with her tongue flicking and teasing in the folds of my sex. My breasts seemed to be straining in my hands, while every touch to my nipples was adding to the shivers already passing through me. Katie seemed to know, choosing exactly the right moment to suck my clitoris in between her lips. I screamed as I came, unable to hold it back, but with embarrassment at the thought of my neighbours hearing already flooding through me as I started to come down from my climax.

  We were left red-faced and giggling as Katie finally rocked back from between my thighs. I kissed her quickly, tasting myself on her lips, before we adjusted our clothes. Since we were in the only part of the college not yet modernised all I had to wash in was a vast china sink, certainly pre-war and probably older. It was so big that I could have sat in it but I contented myself with a dab of water. As she had predicted, Katie had a damp patch – and it showed, outlining the swell of her pussy lips.

  'You'd better borrow a skirt and a pair of knickers,' I advised her, trying to not to laugh.

  She made a face and began to undo her trousers, only to stop as we heard the creak of the ancient wooden stairs.

  'It's probably for one of my neighbours,' I said as Katie hastily fastened her trouser button. But the footsteps continued and came to a stop outside my door.

  There was a pause. Then there came a knock, very faint, as if my visitor wasn't quite sure if she really wanted to come in.

  'Hello?' I said as Katie hastened to open a window.

  Again there was a pause, before the door opened to reveal a young woman, obviously a fellow student but nobody I knew. She was short, maybe not even five feet tall, with a round face framed in dark hair, big round glasses, and large round breasts pushing out the front of a purple jumper. Her waist was small and was completely hidden by the baggy jumper, but she had full hips and thighs that hinted at a bottom as big and round as the rest of her. She reminded me irresistibly of a slightly surprised owl.

  'Isabelle Colraine?' she asked.

  'Yes, hi,' I answered. 'How can I help?'

  'I'd like to join the James Malcolm Rymer Society, please.'

  Two

  'Who is this owl girl, anyway?' Sarah demanded.

  'She's called Amy Jane Moffat and she's reading maths at Newman,' I explained. 'She saw my room booking at the Bodleian and decided she'd like to join.'

  'I said it was a stupid idea to call ourselves after a real author,' Portia said.

  'She's a first-year,' I retorted. 'She's probably just trying to find her feet. Maybe if we arrange a reading group or something she'll get bored and move on.'

  'You can,' Portia told me, 'but I'm not. And meanwhile, you ought to be punished.'

  'Why?' I demanded.

  'For introducing strange girls into the society!' Portia laughed. 'At least Tiffany's kinky!'

  'I haven't introduced her to the Rattaners,' I pointed out, 'only to the supposed James Malcolm Rymer Society.'

  'I still think you ought to be punished,' Portia insisted.

  'Shut up,' I told her firmly. 'Never mind the Owl. How about Tiffany and Yazzie?'

  'What do you think?' Eliza asked.

  'Tiffany's a little . . . a little strange,' I told her, 'but she'd definitely fit in, and—'

  'I told you so,' Portia interrupted, 'which makes it so unfair . . .'

  'Do let Isabelle finish,' Sarah told her. 'And stop playing the brat. We all know what you're after but you're not going to get it, not in Katie's room.'

  'I don't see why not,' Portia complained. 'Not me, of course, but Isabelle. We could gag her with her panties and—'

  'Shut up,' Sarah said firmly.

  Portia went quiet, but the sulky expression she'd been wearing since the beginning of the meeting only grew more intense. She was determined to get me punished after what had happened in the Bodleian, but it simply wasn't going to happen. I shook my head at her sadly before I went on.

  'Yazzie is also acceptable to me, but with reservations. It's absolutely vital that her father doesn't find out, so I'd like to move for a temporary addendum to the rules to the effect that nobody is allowed to talk to Mo, Stan Tierney or any of those people.'

  'We have to, occasionally,' Jasmine pointed out.

  'Except for Jasmine and Caroline,' I agreed. 'Is that acceptable?'

  'I certainly have no wish to talk to such people,' Sarah answered. Nobody else objected.

  'And the punishment for any breach of this new regulation?' Eliza asked.

  She had taken a book from her bag. Although the Rattaners was technically my society, everybody deferred to Eliza as the oldest and most experienced among us. I'd made her secretary and responsible for maintaining the rules, because I knew she was both honest and discreet. Even the notebook was written up so that the contents seemed to be no more than random columns of figures and symbols. But each entry had a meaning.

  The punishment would have to be harsh, otherwise Portia was likely to break the rule just to make things awkward for me. That meant I had to make sure it was targeted squarely at her, which wasn't easy because for all her sulky attitu
de she was deeply into corporal punishment, at least when it was administered by women. Unlike Sarah she could even cope with men to some extent, but not with really dirty old men. The best choice would be Walter Jessop, who ran an antique shop in Why-tleigh and liked nothing better than to fiddle with young women.

  'The punishment is to be given to Walter for the night,' I said, 'for him to do anything to the offender that he wants.'

  An expression of disgust crossed Sarah's face and Portia's eyes went wide.

  'That is disgusting!' she said.

  'Then make sure that you obey the new rule,' I told her, feeling well pleased with myself.

  Eliza made a careful note in her book, then looked up again.

  'We just need to agree on a venue, then,' she said. 'I've spoken to Isadore Treadle, and he's more than happy to act as host.'

  'I bet he is,' Jasmine remarked.

  'I suppose he'll want to tickle us?' Caroline added, half hopeful, half in disgust.

  'That's only fair,' I pointed out.

  'That's all very well for you to say,' Portia answered me. 'You won't be the one being tickled, or dressed up like some school tart, or getting spanked bare in front of him.'

  'Do you have a better suggestion?' I asked.

  'No,' she admitted.

  'Then Dr Treadle's it is,' I concluded, 'and as he'll obviously be there I suggest we invite Duncan Appledore as well.'

  'If we must have men at all,' Sarah replied.

  'At least Dr Appledore and Isadore are civilised people,' Eliza pointed out.

  'It would be kind to invite Walter too,' Caroline said. 'He's letting me sell my corsets in his shop and share his stand at antique fairs and re-enactment events for nothing.'

  'Hardly nothing,' Portia remarked with a meaningful glance at Caroline's ample chest.

  'I do not!' Caroline protested. 'Well . . . only out of sympathy, and not often. Can he come?'

  'I suppose so,' Sarah sighed. 'Is there any other business?'

  'I still say Isabelle should be punished,' Portia said sulkily. 'At least a spanking . . .'

  'You'll be the one getting a spanking if you're not careful,' I warned her.

  'It's not fair,' she protested again, addressing Eliza. 'I get it, when it was perfectly obvious that Tiffany was suitable, but Isabelle gets us tangled up with this owl girl and she gets away with it! Who agrees that Isabelle ought to be spanked?'

  I couldn't help but glance around the room as she spoke, because if they voted for me to get it I would have to submit. That would almost certainly mean being gagged with my knickers and getting six of the cane – or, if Portia had her way, being made to kneel bare for a spanking first, just as she had been. Fortunately she was the only one who thought I deserved it, while everybody else knew she was just being petty. Not a single hand went up except her own, so I'd escaped.

  I couldn't help but feel sorry for Amy Jane, and tried my best not to think of her as the Owl. She was as shy as Katie, and like most mathematicians her brain seemed to work in a different way from everybody else's, so that she could seem to be thinking ahead of me all the time and yet miss nuances of tone and other social subtleties. Her first choice had been Merton, but she'd gone into the clearing system and ended up at Newman, which had been one of the last colleges to hold out against admitting female undergraduates and was still full of rowing hearties and rugger buggers. Even the girls tended to be sporty, extrovert types, so I could well understand that Amy Jane would want some different company.

  I didn't mind that, and nor did Katie. The three of us got on well, and Amy Jane came to see me at St George's several times during the first two weeks of term. We'd arranged the Rattaners meeting for the Saturday of the second week, and as luck would have it Amy Jane asked if Katie and I would like to come and see a film with her that night. I had to turn her down, and she looked so hurt that I gave her a hug and promised we'd go out with her during the following week. At that moment Stan Tierney's leering face appeared in the window of the porter's lodge, next to where we were standing. He was still scouting for the same rooms he'd been responsible for when I was a first-year, including my old one, so it was impossible to avoid him completely. All I could do was ignore him, but I was terrified that he'd say something inappropriate in front of Amy Jane so I quickly made my excuses. She left, but as I turned back into college Tierney followed me, speaking as he caught up.

  'She's nice. Nice tits. I like 'em fat.'

  I walked a little faster, looking straight ahead, but he wouldn't shut up.

  'Nice arse, too. Big and wobbly. Or is she firm? Some fat girls are firm.'

  I walked faster still, until Tierney was struggling to keep up, but he wouldn't take the hint.

  'What's it like to spank her? I bet she howls.'

  'Shut up, Tierney – you're disgusting,' I snapped.

  'Yeah? I'm not the one who likes to spank fat little first-years. What sort of knickers does she wear?'

  'I don't know. She's just a friend.'

  'Yeah, sure she is,' he laughed. 'Like your Katie's just a friend, and that stuck-up tart Portia. Don't forget that I know what you're like, Isabelle.'

  'Will you just go away, please?'

  'What, not good enough for you any more, ain't I? Nice, that is! I was good enough for you when you needed my help to get into Caroline Greenwood's knickers, wasn't I? And when you wanted to get your dirty little girls' society together.'

  'How dare you!' I snapped back, finally losing my patience. 'You tricked me, you lied to me, you coerced me into . . . into things I'd never do of my own accord!'

  'You loved every minute of it!' Tierney sneered.

  'You're vile,' I told him. 'Go away.'

  He stopped, but he hadn't finished.

  'You'll be back,' he said, 'begging for a suck of my cock like the little tart you are!'

  I felt the blood rush to my cheeks as he spoke, not because of his words but because the Bursar was walking towards us in company with the College Secretary and some woman I didn't know. They might or might not have heard but they could hardly have missed my blushes, and they gave me distinctly peculiar looks as they passed. I hurried back to my room, my eyes full of tears – tears of anger, and also of frustration. There was absolutely nothing I could do, because Tierney knew far too much, all of which would come out if I made a complaint.

  A cup of tea helped to calm me down, but I was left with a nagging suspicion that there was something wrong with what Tierney had said. Another cup and I'd realised what it was: how had he known Amy Jane was a first-year? Admittedly she looked like a first-year, with a satchel over her shoulder most of the time and the red and white Newman College scarf that made her look like an Aberdeen fan. That didn't actually guarantee she was a first-year, while it was also a little off that she had managed to pick up on the Rattaners so quickly. Not that Tierney knew anything about the supposed James Malcolm Rymer Society, and it was hard to see how he could have corrupted a first-year mathematics student from Derbyshire, especially when he couldn't have had more than a week to do it.

  I tried to tell myself that the idea was ridiculous but it wouldn't go away. Tierney had tricked me before, and for all his sleazy manner and dirty habits he was no fool. Just possibly he'd come up with some Machiavellian plan to get me back under his influence, but if so it wasn't going to work, not this time. I'd been naive then, but not any more. This time I'd be careful and keep a careful eye on Amy Jane – on Tierney as well. If they seemed to be trying to draw me into anything I'd know what to do about it.

  Getting ready for the Rattaners evening was less easy than it should have been, although the effort I had to put into secrecy always made it more exciting. There were altogether too many beady eyes around St George's for me to risk dressing there, or even for me to leave in company with Duncan. Not that there was anything wrong in going out with my tutor for the evening, but it would be sure to cause comment, which at the very least meant risking a breach of my own strict rules. Natural
ly I had to abide by them, but I was determined to get through the term, and the year, without having to suffer the indignity of a punishment.

  I'd left quite a lot of my clothes with Jasmine and Caroline for the summer anyway, and their house was far safer than college. The beautiful black silk corset that Caroline had made for me in my first year was there as well, and I felt it deserved another outing. Just walking there from college felt deliciously naughty, knowing how I would be dressing and what was likely to happen, and the others were no less enthusiastic.

  They were in the kitchen, Jasmine, Caroline and Yazzie, all three of them already dressed. Jasmine had chosen her image carefully, in order to reflect her desire to return to a dominant role but without giving Eliza, Sarah and me too obvious a challenge. She had put her pale blonde hair into a plait and coiled it at the back of her head, making her elfin face as strong as possible, while her purple satin corset would have been indecent had she had just an inch more chest. Black silk panties, seamed stockings attached to her corset by suspenders, and short black boots completed her look, which was more burlesque than either dominant or submissive.

  Caroline had no such qualms. She was in one of her striptease outfits, a school uniform which would have had her sent home from even the most liberal of comprehensives. The skirt was in Royal Stuart tartan, but so ridiculously short that even as she leant across the table to retrieve a coffee mug for me it lifted to show off a pair of overtight white panties with as much bottom cheek spilling from either side as they managed to cover, leaving her yellow and black jasmine-flower tattoo on show. Her blouse was no better, with the buttons straining across her ample breasts and no bra beneath so that her nipples made dark circles under the fabric and pushed up two enticing bumps. She'd put her hair in bunches, tied with red ribbon, and had painted some freckles across her nose, while her choice of pink pumps and white ankle socks did nothing to soften her appearance. She looked like a slut, which she was proud to be.