Or several remembered

Jesse bent forward. Bracing his slender hands upon his knees against the gentle sway of the Maglev. From here he could look the seated Mrs Mullally in the eye and meet her smile, as the old lady watched what was occurring behind him with salivating interest. The first blow came swiftly; the snap of palm meeting cotton echoing around the fascinated carriage. The sissy felt the sharp, bright sting of initial impact… and the tingling, tender warmth that rushed to the surface afterwards. Both were familiar to him now. It would seem his perky, little ass had some unknown quality that just demanded it be spanked, making that by far and away the most cheap and common service that was demanded of him in public. The insulating, white fabric of his legwarmers helped dull the blows a little… but at the same time seemed to just invite the excited participants to hit harder. For without the ability to see the rosy-red prints they were leaving upon his pale skin, they only had his squealing little yelps to gauge by.

So squeak he did, holding no trembling gasp back in fear of sounding timid, frail or effeminate. That was what they wanted, after all… and the song his never-deepened vocal chords were tuned for. The ever-supportive old lady had paid for every single commuter present to have a turn, while she just sat back and enjoyed the show. Jesse braced himself against each flurry, but always returned to that encouragingly proffering position: handing his rear out for those who wished to mark it. After three or four new sets of hands of hand the femboy was beginning to feel quite sore… Yet he never failed to prop himself back up and offer the next inviting little wiggle.

Madame Stanfield had once given one of the senior students permission to utilise the freshman class for her ‘performance art piece’ in a square near the city centre. He and all his compatriots had been concealed within a large and moulded structure, with only their little bottoms poking out visible. Passers-by were then provided with a variety of different canes and paddles, invited to enjoy some strange mutation on whack-a-mole. Competition had apparently been fierce… yet all the chosen students could see or hear were the tight confines of their own claustrophobic tunnel and the echoing, muffled cries of their fellow targets. The delighted laughter of strangers following after each unpredictable series of strikes and spanks. It was there that Jesse really started to realise he quite liked feeling the callous, debasing shock of another human setting about his rear. It was arousing in such a strange way as they provided such momentary slivers of pain and surprise that you could never quite tell when would be coming. It had been an embarrassing, but deeply personal moment… cumming in that dark and stifling plastic tube. Aware that no one but him could really know that he had been brought to climax by nothing but those endless blows. When finally they had all been set free for lunch, none of the trainee slutwives mentioned it… but he saw it painted plain on every face: Just another humiliating, little truth about the nature they all together shared. There would never be a complaint at the order to return to their posts, obviously… but an ashamed struggle against eagerness showed bright on several faces.

That had been near eight straight hours of on and off abuses. Madame Stanfield herself had come down to admire the glowing backsides of those who had been representing her institution so publicly. She strode straight over and began helping the senior and Ms Julian apply salves and moisturising ointments. Jesse had felt so terrifyingly honoured to feel those strong and methodical hands massaging and soothing his welts. The woman instilled so intense a fear and respect in him, to be hands-on attending her property… that he very nearly fainted right into her arms. She smiled at him warmly and applauded all of them for their diligence. Informing all of them that such theatrics reminded the world what made their proud academy so internationally regarded. Then she sent them all home with orders not to pick up any extra clients till tomorrow, for ‘pacing oneself is also an important lesson for any slutwife still learning!’ The class as a whole had looked to be glowing with pride from both ends after such a rare allotment of praise. It truly felt like they were a team that had done their school colours some justice, unified in a shared show of fortitude.

So… if Mrs Mullally thought she might win a genuine wince from her favoured early-morning ****-toy; she would need to come up with a better game tomorrow. Jesse smiled ever-especially sweetly at her as his stop arrived and he reached back to untuck his skirt hem. Today was going to be another good day… he could already tell. Wondering what new tricks and tools his teachers might unveil in all the hours ahead?