Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
Trixie woke to her alarm the following day from a deep sleep that had been troubled by frightening nightmares. The moment she opened her eyes, the horror of the previous evening flashed before her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the blanket over her head as she tried to shut out the painful memory. However, the memory stayed, and the alarm continued its insistent buzz. Yielding to the inevitable, she sat up and stopped the sound.
The dim light of a DC March morning filtered in through the curtains. A new warmth in the light promised that Spring was on the way. The season of renewal and new life was about to dawn. But Trixie felt no comfort in any of that.
As she had fallen asleep last night, Trixie had resolved never to tell anyone anything of what had happened. She was too deeply and totally ashamed of herself. It was all her fault. She was such a loser, she thought. Why had she hoped to hide her shameful background? Didn't the disgraceful life that she'd come from earn such treatment?. Trixie reproached herself for the ease with which she had descended to being a filthy whore for those men. Perhaps she was just her mother's slutty daughter. She was just cheap goods!
She was positive that her new 'friends' would desert her when they realized what trash she was.
Trixie carefully examined her appearance in the vanity mirror. Most of her marks would be hidden by her clothes. Only a small bruise over her left cheekbone where Watson had struck very hard would not be covered. She applied more than the usual foundation and makeup to cover it up and dressed in casual and baggy clothes to go join the team.
Emerging from her room, she immediately caught the inviting smells of breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, sliced ham toast, and coffee. A wave of pleasure swept over the girl as the aroma brought her slightly back to normal life and away from her self-blaming doldrums. The revulsion for food of last night had faded. As she hurried upstairs, her fasting since lunch left her ravishingly hungry.
Susan and Dolly immediately greeted her and asked how her session had gone. Trixie attempted a happy smile and said, "I'm getting my certificate!" Both whooped and gave her a big hug. Trixie managed not to flinch with pain.
"Never a doubt in my mind, girl," cried Dolly.
"I'm proud of you," said Susan, in softer tones.
Trixie sat between the two at the table and they all dug into the tasty breakfast. Her friends followed up with conspiratorial questions and knowing grins about her absence the rest of the evening. She'd prepared her story well. She had wanted to go out and celebrate on her own and apologized for not including them. It was all waved off until Dolly noticed the bruise. In her typical blunt manner, she asked, "Someone been beating on you, girl? Tell me who it is, and I'll knock their balls off!"
Again, Trixie was ready with her excuse. A little too much to drink, she said. While slipping off the barstool when leaving, she'd hit her face on the rail and then wisely took a taxi home. She added the last part in case anyone had seen her arrive.
Later, at the Institute, Trixie's main effort was to normally walk and sit despite the aching soreness between her legs and the bruising in her heavily spanked butt. Her mind was in a daze, and she had great trouble paying attention to the teachers. Visions of hands hitting her, of penises forced down her throat, and of cocks ripping her cunt and anus kept flashing before her. It took all her willpower not to just bolt from the room screaming.
Fortunately, the teachers were all in the end-of-term mode and mostly just sharing their own war stories from overseas to help prepare their charges.
Partway through her third class, Tom Watson entered in his usual way, heartily greeting all and giving Trixie a broad smile. Trixie thought that her heart stopped. Total consuming, irrational, paralyzing fear seized her mind and body. Her hands gripped the desk so tightly that her knuckles went white. She prayed that no one saw her bright red blush. It took a minute and several deep breaths before she could see and hear the teacher again. Even then, several shivers gripped her body as she saw her abuser smiling benevolently at her.
When the class ended, she bolted unceremoniously from the classroom and to the nearest restroom, where she sat in a stall and wept uncontrollably for several minutes.
Trixie woke to her alarm the following day from a deep sleep that had been troubled by frightening nightmares. The moment she opened her eyes, the horror of the previous evening flashed before her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the blanket over her head as she tried to shut out the painful memory. However, the memory stayed, and the alarm continued its insistent buzz. Yielding to the inevitable, she sat up and stopped the sound.
The dim light of a DC March morning filtered in through the curtains. A new warmth in the light promised that Spring was on the way. The season of renewal and new life was about to dawn. But Trixie felt no comfort in any of that.
As she had fallen asleep last night, Trixie had resolved never to tell anyone anything of what had happened. She was too deeply and totally ashamed of herself. It was all her fault. She was such a loser, she thought. Why had she hoped to hide her shameful background? Didn't the disgraceful life that she'd come from earn such treatment?. Trixie reproached herself for the ease with which she had descended to being a filthy whore for those men. Perhaps she was just her mother's slutty daughter. She was just cheap goods!
She was positive that her new 'friends' would desert her when they realized what trash she was.
Trixie carefully examined her appearance in the vanity mirror. Most of her marks would be hidden by her clothes. Only a small bruise over her left cheekbone where Watson had struck very hard would not be covered. She applied more than the usual foundation and makeup to cover it up and dressed in casual and baggy clothes to go join the team.
Emerging from her room, she immediately caught the inviting smells of breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, sliced ham toast, and coffee. A wave of pleasure swept over the girl as the aroma brought her slightly back to normal life and away from her self-blaming doldrums. The revulsion for food of last night had faded. As she hurried upstairs, her fasting since lunch left her ravishingly hungry.
Susan and Dolly immediately greeted her and asked how her session had gone. Trixie attempted a happy smile and said, "I'm getting my certificate!" Both whooped and gave her a big hug. Trixie managed not to flinch with pain.
"Never a doubt in my mind, girl," cried Dolly.
"I'm proud of you," said Susan, in softer tones.
Trixie sat between the two at the table and they all dug into the tasty breakfast. Her friends followed up with conspiratorial questions and knowing grins about her absence the rest of the evening. She'd prepared her story well. She had wanted to go out and celebrate on her own and apologized for not including them. It was all waved off until Dolly noticed the bruise. In her typical blunt manner, she asked, "Someone been beating on you, girl? Tell me who it is, and I'll knock their balls off!"
Again, Trixie was ready with her excuse. A little too much to drink, she said. While slipping off the barstool when leaving, she'd hit her face on the rail and then wisely took a taxi home. She added the last part in case anyone had seen her arrive.
Later, at the Institute, Trixie's main effort was to normally walk and sit despite the aching soreness between her legs and the bruising in her heavily spanked butt. Her mind was in a daze, and she had great trouble paying attention to the teachers. Visions of hands hitting her, of penises forced down her throat, and of cocks ripping her cunt and anus kept flashing before her. It took all her willpower not to just bolt from the room screaming.
Fortunately, the teachers were all in the end-of-term mode and mostly just sharing their own war stories from overseas to help prepare their charges.
Partway through her third class, Tom Watson entered in his usual way, heartily greeting all and giving Trixie a broad smile. Trixie thought that her heart stopped. Total consuming, irrational, paralyzing fear seized her mind and body. Her hands gripped the desk so tightly that her knuckles went white. She prayed that no one saw her bright red blush. It took a minute and several deep breaths before she could see and hear the teacher again. Even then, several shivers gripped her body as she saw her abuser smiling benevolently at her.
When the class ended, she bolted unceremoniously from the classroom and to the nearest restroom, where she sat in a stall and wept uncontrollably for several minutes.