Edmund and Fiona reminisce

“Do you remember,” said Fiona, some time later, “how the girls and I used to steal your kit on sports days? Miss Whippe, our cruel gym mistress, always made you play in the nude. I can still see you streaking across the field in front of the girls’ hockey team from St. Hilaria’s with your hard cock bouncing around.”

“Do you remember the day I stole your clothes while you and the rest of 4-B were bathing in Farmer Bunbury’s pond, and you had to run five miles home across the countryside? I can still see your titties jiggling as you sprinted through the grass.”

“Do you remember how we used to steal your uniforms, and leave you with nothing to go to class in but girls’ bloomers or maid uniforms or ballerina tights? And that one time I framed you for stealing all of Miss Beaubois’ sexy French panties, and she wouldn’t let you wear anything else for a month? I can still see you cowering in class in those lacy girly knickers, terrified that she’d call you up front to ask a question.”

“Yes, but do you remember how I sold the headmistress that disappearing swimsuit, and she decreed that every girl in school would be deprived of all clothing privileges until the culprit was caught? Only I was spared, since she thought the prank was too clever for a boy to pull off. I can all see you trembling at your desks with your bottoms bare, with me fully clothed and staring as much as I wanted.”

“Ah, but do you remember our school trip, where we visited every major young ladies’ boarding academy in Europe? Thousands of pretty schoolgirls, and we made sure to embarrass you in front of every single one of them. Remember that trick we played on you in Stockholm, where all those princesses got to see you tied to the flagpole with my panties in your mouth and your willy painted pink?”

“But those schoolgirls had some tricks to play on you as well, I seem to recall. Remember the sleepover in Prague, when they tied you down naked to the dormitory beds, painted your bodies all those crazy colours, and charged the public a florin a head to come in and see the art exhibition?”

“Mortifying,” admitted Fiona, energetically riding Edmund’s cock as the naked pair bounced up and down on the bed of their hotel room. After he’d made her play with herself, stroking her clit and fingering her pussy to half a dozen screaming, sweaty, panting orgasms in front of the cream of Raj high society, who all thought it was a delightfully amusing practical joke to play on a woman who obviously very much deserved it, he’d used the pipe’s power to make her dance out the building and into the streets of Calcutta. Still naked, of course. And he’d brought her to a nearby hotel, unable to wait any longer to do what he’d obviously wanted to do since the moment he saw her.

“It’s almost like,” said Fiona, moving her hips sensuously, grinding herself against Edmund as she felt his cock throb deep inside her, “there’s something sexy about being naked and humiliated.”

“Some renegade Hindu mystics have broached the subject. But conventional philosophy considers the proposition absurd.”

“Yes, you must be right. There’s no reason that the memory of Miss Beaubois bending me over her knee in the middle of Paris, pulling down my knickers and spanking my bare bottom in front of everyone should make me…”

Suddenly, the bed tilted forward, and Fiona and Edward slid off the silk sheets through a trapdoor that had mysteriously opened up in the floor. They landed in a large net, erected in the middle of the hotel ballroom, which had been commandeered by the Ladies’ Moral Decency League to act as a secret base.

“Aha!” said Lady Bluesnap, the witheringly scornful English blonde who was the international head of the LMDL. “With our booby-trapped hotel, we’ve finally caught you!”

“Susie? From school? Is that you?”

“I don’t believe we’ve met. Anyway, the two of you are notorious perverts. Fiona has been travelling around the world with no clothes on…”

“Not by choice!”

“...and Edmund has been playing his little game with the pipe on far too many of his old school chums.”

“Including you,” pointed out Edmund. He and Fiona were now tangled up in the net, in a deeply, intimate, sweaty, nude embrace, in front of hundreds of stern, scowling, disapproving, though undeniably extremely beautiful women in severe gray dresses, hailing from all corners of the globe. “Could we, um… get down from here?”

“Why, of course,” said Lady Bluesnap, smiling coldly. Edmund and Fiona were taken down from the net, and grabbed by the strong hands of countless women so they couldn’t move. Voices chanted “SHAME!” as Lady Bluesnap massaged a brilliant crimson mix of Indian spices and unguents, containing both a clever combination of burning, tickling and itching powders and an incredibly powerful aphrodisiac, into Fiona’s breasts and pussy, and Edmund’s hard six-inch cock.

Shrieking and hopping about, Fiona and Edmund were in no position to resist as they were bent over a conveniently padded nearby bench, and given six firm strokes of the cane each across their naked bottoms. Fiona was then spanked by countless hands until her entire bottom glowed bright red, and Edmund was made to watch while Lady Bluesnap tickled his throbbing cock with a feather and refused to let him cum. The positions were then reversed, with Edmund being spanked and Fiona having her clit tickled.

Finally, having been totally humiliated in front of the entire Ladies’ Moral Decency League, as well as each other, the red-faced pair were bound together on top of a hotel cleaning trolley. Fiona was bent over with her bottom in the air and her tits hanging free on the other side, and Edmund stood behind her with his cock deep inside her incredibly wet pussy.

The crimson spice powder made the whole thing about a hundred times more intense. And they were paraded in that position around the whole hotel, for all the guests to see, then taken outside and pushed through the streets so that all the denizens of Calcutta’s upmarket Chowringhee neighbourhood could laugh at their predicament, with more loud chants of “SHAME!”.

Finally, with much fanfare, Fiona and Edmund were taken back to the ballroom, where the entire Ladies’ Moral Decency League looked on with contempt and disapproval as the shamefaced, sweaty, red-hot pair of lovers fucked each other silly. Edmund’s orgasm, when it finally came, left about a litre of cum trickling down Fiona’s thighs as the couple collapsed, exhausted, onto the floor.

“I hope you enjoyed that,” said Lady Bluesnap, grabbing Edmund by his ear and hauling him back up to his feet. “It’ll be your last for a while. We’re sending you to our secret base in Switzerland. Just you and two hundred beautiful female moral decency experts, alone in an alpine village. They’re experts at humiliating dirty little perverts such as yourself, and are under strict instructions not to let you cum again for at least six weeks. Though of course they’re allowed to sit on your face and tickle your willy with a feather, if they deem it’s medically necessary.”

“Oh, no. How dreadful!”

“And then it’ll be an educational tour of every ladies’ boarding school in Europe. I think the girls will be very interested to see what Miss Beaubois made you do at morning assembly all those years ago.”