The Dominant Male

whose colour and accent suggested a Caribbean culture. Blondes – some extremely pretty, some fairly plain; redheads, dark-haired girls, in all kinds of schoolgirl uniform.
    There was a girl in a very short Japanese schoolgirl sailor suit, ‘Sailor Moon’ she called it, and an American cheerleader, complete with pom-pom. There was a Girl Guide in a uniform from a much earlier age than those she’d seen anywhere outside a school annual. Another wore a red plaid skirt, like posh American schools. Two more were in gymslips, in bottle green and Navy blue, with contrasting sky blue and red sashes.
    One was in PE kit with an extremely short, pleated kilt-style skirt in red, like her own, a white T-shirt that accentuated rather than hid her bust, ankle socks and plimsolls. I thought mine was short , she thought, anyone can see her knickers all the time, unless she stands straight without moving.
    There were two in gingham summer dresses, one in pink and indecently short, one in purple that was a rather more modest length. Both wore gingham-topped ankle socks like hers, with gingham tops and scrunchies to match the colour of their dresses. ( It’s a shame my hair’s now so short, she thought, that’s a cute touch, and there was one free with the dress .)
    One other girl wore a version of her outfit, but with all the short-sleeve blouse buttons done up, and the blouse tucked in, patterned ankle socks, and all in virginal white.
    ‘She’s going to have trouble keeping that looking clean,’ she thought, knowing from experience just how easy it was to get a white skirt grubby.
    Their figures ranged from emaciated to chubby, boobs from enhanced and buxom, to almost flat, and each had tried to choose an outfit that made the best of their figure.
    Three of the girls had whistles on lanyards around their necks. Louise was one of them, the girl in PE kit and one of the others.
    Louise explained that for the first hour or two of the party the gentlemen would sit down, and the girls would each introduce themselves to one of them, and then lie over their laps for a spanking.
    ‘I, or one of the other girls will blow the whistle every three minutes or so, to signal you move on to the next man’s lap. Sooner if we think a girl is being spanked harder than she can take, or we otherwise think it’s time things are moved on. We’ll leave things a little longer if everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. If you’re struggling a bit, ask them to be gentle, if you want it harder ask them, “have you swatted that fly yet” or something cheeky like that. Let them take your knickers down, have a feel of your bum and legs, but don’t let them take liberties. I’ll be keeping a special eye on you, if you need help, cross your calves between knee and ankle as a little signal to me.’
    ‘Anyway, SHOWTIME!’
    She took Elizabeth’s – no Wendy’s – hand and led her and the other girls downstairs. It was a once-classy pub, now shabby chic, all dark wood panels, stained glass, leather benches, solid wooden tables, mostly red Paisley-patterned carpets, and just the faintest tang of stale beer and hint of old tobacco smoke.
    The gentlemen had begun to arrive, and eyed up the girls as they came down the stairs. Mostly they wore blue lounge suits, one a grey suit showing its creases, one in tweed, and one was in a Navy blazer and fawn slacks. They were of all ages, from their twenties to seventies, maybe even eighties, mostly clean-shaven, a moustache or two, and a few older ones in full beards or goatees.
    There was one in a tracksuit and Wendy recognised the logo as being expensive, though she couldn’t quite recall which brand it was. ‘At least it’s not a shell suit and medallion,’ she thought.
    She recognised another familiar face, again in unfamiliar garb. Last time they’d met she’d been ‘Miss Arbuthnott, Headmistress of Imperial College’. Instead of the severe blouse and tweed skirt the Headmistress had worn, this time she had on a kilt skirt in tartan to match the Earl’s, a sort of tight dark waistcoat and white blouse with puffy full sleeves. A splendidly matched couple , she thought. She was sort of softer this time, not so stressed and commanding.
    ‘I’m Abigail here; Countess Abigail if you want to be really formal, but everyone calls me Abby; really all I’m here for today is as hostess to prepare and serve the food, this is his show.’
    Indeed there was an impressive spread of finger food,