("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Pacific Islander in Nebraska by Quadruple Delta (triple--delta@hotmail.com) *** Arihi Nakamura was born on Guam, but moved to Nebraska when she was six. Since then, she's been enrolled in the Lincoln Private School for Catholic Girls, an isolated bordering school far from her parents. Arihi, however, is a free bird, and doesn't take well to the school's restrictive policies. Unfortunately for her, the school has its own way of enforcing its policies, much to Araihi's suffering. (M/fff-teens, reluc, v, tor, bd, spank, asian) *** Author Note: This is a work of fiction. Any similarities within the story to any person, living or dead, to any historical event, or to any physical location, are purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. None of the events depicted in this story should ever be imitated. This work is released into the public domain by the author, and it can be freely redistributed, published or edited without the author's consent. *** If somebody had walked by the antechamber to the Headmaster's Office right about now, they probably would have seen something somewhat out of the ordinary. A teenage schoolgirl, still in her uniform, with her hands handcuffed behind the back of her chair, both ankles shackled to the legs of the chair, with a long chain keeping her hips firmly rooted to the seat, a cleave gag between her teeth. The girl with her hands behind her back? That's me, Arihi Nakamura. If my name doesn't sound American, that's not surprising. I was born on Guam, on the other side of the Pacific Ocean from mainland America. My father was a Japanese marine biologist working in the unincorporated U.S. territory, and my mother was a native to the island, whose ancestors had inhabited the island before the Europeans arrived. When I was six, my parents moved to Lincoln, Nebraska, because, quite frankly, Guam sucks. Apologies to all the Guamanians, but it is not somewhere I'd want to spend my life, all things considered. So, my ethnicity is half-Pacific Islander half- Japanese, a little hard to visualize, I suppose. I've got straight hair that goes down to my shoulder, mostly brown but with some black highlights. I've got emerald green eyes, and I'm about five foot six and a hundred and fifteen pounds with seventeen years behind me. I'm slim, but athletic, so I'm decently built, I've got notable breasts and, in my opinion, a rather outgoing attitude on life. I'm normally rather enthusiastic, but a trip to the Headmaster's Office is not something any student would look forward to, let alone one involving handcuffs. I attended the Lincoln Private School for Catholic Girls, the only school in a twenty-kilometre radius of my rural home. It's a bordering school, with heavy spoonfuls of religious 'education' incorporated. The uniform was a solid grey, itchy skirt that stopped about an inch above my knees, with a pair of matching grey socks and like-colored (well, not really a color) tie. We all wore white blouses tucked into our skirts, with black leather belts and similar dress shoes. To say the uniform policy in the school was 'strictly enforced' would probably be an understatement. Before every class, the teacher personally inspected every student's uniform, individually, down to the button, for any punishable anomalies. So, there I was, middle of my fourth-period Spanish class (I already speak it, so it's pretty boring), when Assistant Headmaster Arnold McCarthy comes into the room, calling me specifically out of class. Once in the hallway, I curtseyed like I was instructed to, then clasped my hands behind my back and placed my feet together. That was when, much to my surprise, two pairs of handcuffs came out. Sure, I mean, I suppose it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise. Right there in the student manual (Chapter II, section 3, subsection x) it says that students may be restrained by an employee of the school if they are deemed to be a safety risk to other students. Well, I suppose I was kind of guilty of breaking some of the rules, but I wouldn't have exactly called myself a safety risk. VH McCarthy turned me around, placing my hands on the concrete wall and spreading my legs. He carefully patted me down, moving up my calves, at first, then up my thighs, underneath the skirt, almost causing me to laugh from the ticklish feeling. He then patted down my sides, my breasts (seriously), then moved up both my arms before feeling through my hair. Satisfied that I wasn't concealing a weapon, he pulled out the first pair of handcuffs and locked my hands together behind my back, palms facing outwards. Using an identical pair of handcuffs, he shackled my ankles together. We began the long march to the Headmaster's Office in silence. The chain binding my ankles together wasn't exactly liberal, so I was forced to slowly hobble my way, which made navigating the two flights of stairs somewhat difficult. I got a handful of unusual looks from passing students and teachers, but none of them said anything. Nobody wanted to be associated with me right now, so I can hardly blame them. Truth be told, I had broken some rules. Apart from one day for Christmas and another for Easter, we were never allowed off school property, and even then, not without parental accompaniment, except for arbitrarily designated 'special circumstances'. My father was still studying fish in Guam, and my mother was in Buenos Aeries on a business trip last Christmas. Admittedly, my childhood, both in Guam and in Lincoln, Nebraska, had given me quite a large amount of freedom to go wherever I want. I'm a free bird, so to speak. I just don't take being cooped up for long times very well. So, I took it upon myself to shimmy down a drainage pipe last night, scale the twenty-foot chain-link fence and take a swim in a nearby pond. Not all that harmful, right? VH McCarthy brought me into the Headmaster's antechamber and sat me down in one of the wooden chairs reserved for students. Apart from the Headmaster's secretary, the antechamber was empty. Carefully, McCarthy undid my shackles, before spreading my legs apart by cuffing my ankles to separate legs of the chair. He then stepped behind me, carefully undid my handcuffs, then redid them with my hands behind the back of the chair, palms facing out. McCarthy than took a length of metal chain from behind Secretary Jennifer Smith's desk, wrapped it around my waist and the back of the chair before tightening and locking it. "Keep an eye on her," murmured McCarthy to the secretary. I had to snort, perhaps a little too loudly. My hands were cuffed behind the back of the chair, my ankles shackled to the legs of the chair, a waist keeping me from so much as being able to shift my weight. "You think something is funny, Ms. Nakamura?" demanded McCarthy, pronouncing it 'nake-a-mura instead of 'knack-a-mura', as he always did. "Well, for starters, sir," I said, my tongue seeming to defy my brain's commands to avoid doing something stupid, "I'm trussed up like a recently-capture pig. I hardly think I need watching. Sir." Ah, shit. McCarthy, as everyone knew, did not like to e contradicted, even on things such as historical dates, where he was clearly in the wrong. Contradicting him in front of the secretary, when he was supposed to do have the upper hand... Crouching down, McCarthy took my dress shoes off, pushing them away. He then took my grey dress socks off, undid the buttons around my dress shirt's collar, and removed my matching grey tie. He then stuffed both socks into my mouth. The move, I have to admit, caught me off-guard. McCarthy than took my tie and cleave gagged me with, pushing the socks deeper into my mouth and tightening the tie until it was far behind my teeth. "Keep an eye on her," repeated McCarthy to the secretary, before leaving the office. That just about brings you up to speed. So there I was, completely helpless in the Headmaster's waiting room. He hadn't exactly had comfort in mind when he restrained me, which became abundantly clear after the first fifteen minutes of silent waiting. The cuffs on my ankle and wrists were digging into my skin, and my elbows were beginning to ache from the uncomfortable position of my wrists. On top of that, I'd had Physical Education period three, and whilst we had a separate Gym uniform, I'd changed back into my socks whilst my feet were still sweaty, so they didn't exactly taste like lollipops. Even the sides of my mouth were uncomfortable from the tight cleave gag. Of course, as my father had taught me, showing pain is just what 'they' want, whomever 'they' might be. That was probably the source of my quasi-happy-go-lucky attitude. I had a mouth that just filled with insults whenever I was at a disadvantage, and joking was my way of dealing with tough times. Other people didn't always see eye-to-eye with me on this, however, occasionally ending with someone adding an unnecessary cleave/stuff gag in my mouth. After forty-five minutes of increasingly uncomfortable waiting on a hard wooden chair, the black wood door to the Headmaster's office opened, and the Head of Students, Mark Renaldo (no relation), exited. Right behind him was the old-school British-style Headmaster John Anderson, both wearing well-cut business suits. Renaldo had obviously been on his way out, but upon seeing me, turned to face the Headmaster with a look of both curiosity and excitement. Ah, shit. "Well, what do we have here?" inquired Renaldo, rhetorically. I cocked my head sideways, trying to send him a what-does-it-look-like message with my eyes. Renaldo and I had had several talks in the past, because whilst I exceeded academically and had passed the psychological evaluation with flying colors, most of the teachers hated me, and honestly, I can't imagine why (I say that sarcastically). "Ah, yes, our immigrant student," said the Headmaster, softly. I had once reminded him that Guam was technically part of the United States, but he continued to refer to me as 'the immigrant' at every encounter. "Arihi and I have quite a few things to discuss, don't we?" inquired the Headmaster. I said nothing, knowing whatever sound I made would just come out as a humiliating moan. Jennifer Smith passed the Headmaster a handful of keys. The Headmaster unshackled my feet from the chair, then shackled my feet again using only one pair of handcuffs, binding my knees together with the extra pair. Yeah, like I was really going to be making a break for it as it was, I wanted to say. The Headmaster than undid the chain binding my hips to the seat, then helped me stand up. My hands were still cuffed behind my back, and the region beneath my torso was completely incapacitated. The Headmaster than walked me into his office, accompanied by Renaldo, then closed, locked and bolted the door behind him. The Headmaster's office was pretty damn large, with two bookshelves covered in hardcover novels, and two floor- to-ceiling windows staring out at the acres of school- owned property. There was a long leather sofa and a handful of wooden chairs in front of his desk, a massive oak one imported from the United Kingdom, which was covered with a handful of papers. The thing that was disturbing, however, was a bin in the corner of the room, behind his desk, which contained a handful of rather unpleasant looking implements, including a long, thin cane of South African origin and a firm wooden paddle. Nobody I knew had ever seen, or heard of him, using them, but they unnerved me nonetheless. I was immediately marched up to the nearest area of open wall, where the Headmaster placed his hand on my back and pushed me into the wall, hard. "Looks like you could use a hand," said Renaldo, with a small laugh. As the Headmaster kept me pinned to the wall, Renaldo felt around my hips to the black leather belt. Undoing the buckle, he removed the belt, and placed it on the floor. My skirt stayed up, obviously, as the belts were a completely unnecessary accessory. Renaldo than grabbed the edges of my skirt and yanked. The skirt fell to my feet in a puddle, and I was prompted to gingerly step out of it, trying very hard not to get snagged on the handcuff chains. I was wearing a pair of regulation white panties underneath, tightly hugging my ass, but, apparently, I could be concealing something. Instead of undoing my chains, Renaldo simply grabbed the back of the panties and yanked, again. The sound of the thin fabric ripped filled the office as the panties were somewhat painfully ripped away from my bottom. They turned me around, and I instinctively moved my thighs closer together, for obvious reasons. The Headmaster took a pair of scissors out, and indiscriminately cut my dress shirt to pieces, successfully managing to remove it without undoing the cuffs on my hands. Underneath was a black bra I'd smuggled in when I'd arrived, which the Headmaster had no troubles undoing, unlike, I'm told, most males. So there I was, completely nude, in front of two of the Senior Staff of my Boarding School, ankles, knees and wrists cuffed together and my mouth stuffed and bound shut. All due respect, I'd rather by studying Spanish. Instead of seating me on one of the comfortable leather chairs, or even one of the hard wooden chairs form the waiting room, the Headmaster opened the door to his step-in closet and withdrew a heavy, steel chair from the inside, that looked like it weighted about fifty pounds. Carefully placing it down in front of his desk, the Headmaster pushed me into the seat, which, quite frankly, nearly froze my bare ass on contact. Once again, my ankles were spread and tightly cuffed to the solid iron legs of the chair. My hands remained cuffed behind my back, with a small chain locking them to the back of the chair. A chain kept me firmly seated as they had done in the waiting room, but then two more chains were wrapped above and below my nude breasts, forcing my chest to the back of the seat. The chains and the seat were bloody freezing, and I felt horrifically exposed, but like hell was I going to let them know it. The Headmaster took a seat in the high-backed leather chair behind his desk, swivelling ever so slightly as he did so. Renaldo, meanwhile, came behind me and undid the cleave gag, then pulled out the socks that had been stuffed into my mouth. Well, at least that was a slight improvement of my situation. Renaldo proceeded to close the blinds of the windows and close all the lights but the one directly over me. "So, Arihi," began the Headmaster, with an unusual warmness in his tone, "could you tell me where you were last night?" I noted the tape recorder on the desk, undoubtedly recording every sounds in the room. Lying, at this stage, would be pointless. The fact that they'd brought me in here the day after my evening escapade meant that they damn well knew that I'd gone AWOL. "Last night? Well, first we had dinner at six, as usual," I began, knowing this was the wrong attitude for such a 'serious' situation. "Then I went back to my room, as per the rules, and waited there for a few hours." I waited for him to interject something, but he said nothing. "Then, at one in the morning, I slid down the drainage pipe outside of my window, hopped the fence, and went for a swim in that pond about half a mile off of school grounds." "Really?" asked the Headmaster, with a tone suggesting the exact opposite of belief. "None of the girls here have bathing suits, Arihi. What did you go swimming in?" Well, that one wasn't exactly hard to figure out. Nobody had any swimwear, but since I was going alone, I figured I might as well skinny-dip. I mean, it's not exactly unheard of in Guam, so I doesn't have the same sexual association to me as other Americans may have. "I skinny-dipped," I said, with a completely straight face. "Indeed?" said the Headmaster, in an identical tone as his last word. "Did you, perchance, meet anyone at the pond?" "Meet anyone?" I blurted out what I was thinking. "No, I went alone. Why?" Who would I even go with, I wanted to ask. It's not like there were a large number of communities in the nearby area. There wasn't even a road, dirt or otherwise, anywhere near the pond. It was in the middle of a small forest, to the south of the school. "No, of course not," agreed the Headmaster, sarcastically. "And I don't suppose you could possibly have traded drugs with a person you didn't meet, and then pulled a knife on that very same non-existent person?" "Sir, with all due respect," I said, incredulously, "your source of information is bullshit." Like fuck it was. Pardon my British, but I had not bloody clue what he was talking about. "Really, Arihi, you use that kind of language in front of your Headmaster?" He pretended to be wounded. Anderson opened one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out something metallic I couldn't quite make out in the low light. Then I realized it was a bit gag. Bit gags were very similar to the bits that were used on horses, in order to make them easier to control. A horizontal bar was fit through the mouth and between the teeth, and then fastened behind the head. It was, in essence a metal cleave gag. As the Headmaster approached, I cocked my head to the side, gave him an exasperated look and opened my mouth. The cold metal bar slid into my mouth. I felt the Headmaster tighten the leather straps behind my head, buckling them tightly. The bar was pushed deeper into my mouth, pinning my tongue, and resting almost on my back teeth. The Headmaster stood back, as his surveying his work. "Now, Arihi, it's particularly inappropriate to call someone's information," he coughed, "bullshit, when that information is a human being, who happens to be waiting outside this office right now." He walked over to the intercom on his desk. "Jennifer, you can send her in now." As Renaldo undid the locks on the door, I struggled in my chains to turn around, only able to turn my neck. The person who stepped in... Adriana Lopez. My former roommate, Adriana was a Portuguese-American who, quite frankly, hated me. She was, for starters, a fervent Roman Catholic, a calling I never quite heard, and my somewhat apathetic attitude towards the religious aspects of the school caused her... infuriation, would probably be the best word. She requested a room change, which she got, and I ended up with another girl whom I get along with quite well. "Ms. Lopez," began the Headmaster, in a tone suggesting he was trying to calm down an excited child, "could you please tell Arihi here what you told me earlier?" Adriana was still wearing her school uniform, awkwardly in the 'at-attention' posture we were all taught to assume when speaking directly to a staff member. She was standing beside me, so I had to crane my neck to face her, but she seemed to be avoiding eye contact with me. "Last night," began Adriana, awkwardly, "I was returning from Omaha form an orthodontist's appointment. I only had fifty dollars for the taxi ride, so I had the taxi driver let me out about two miles away from the school, because that's all the money I had. I was about half a mile to the east of the school when I heard the sound of a girl laughing, in the woods off the side of the road. I... I just took a peak in, and I saw this girl, she looked like she'd been skinny-dipping – she was all wet and naked. She a knife, and she was taking a Ziploc bag of white powder from this guy. "Well, I ran back to the school and went to my room. I... I didn't know what to do. I asked around in the morning, and found that Arihi had been skinny-dipping last night. I mean, I can put two and two together." I groaned, one of the few sounds that came out unfiltered by the bit gag. To the east of the school? Okay, there are two ponds within reasonable walking distance of the school. The one I went to is about half a kilometre to the south of the school. It was nestled in the woods – completely isolated from the outside world. The one Adriana was referring to – that was to the east, right beside a semi-busy road. Maybe it's just me, but skinny-dipping loses some of its relaxation elements if a truck passes by every thirty seconds. "Arihi, now, do you continue to call this information," he coughed again, "bullshit?" After a pause, Renaldo removed the bit gag from my mouth. I glared furiously at Adriana, before quickly repeating the flaw in Adriana's statement. As I spoke, the Headmaster's expression of smugness turned quickly to puzzlement, then to a grudging comprehension. "Well," said Renaldo, speaking for the first time in a while, "there is a pond to the south. I don't think it has a name, but it damn well isn't near any roads." My trump card, was my roommate, Florence Lambert. Florence hailed from South Africa, and I had told her, before I left, that I was going to the southern pond. I had offered to bring her along, but she couldn't swim. I didn't want to get her involved with this, if that was possible, but I sure as hell didn't want to get busted for drug trafficking or armed robbery or whatever it was. "Arihi appears to have a point here, Ms. Lopez," said the Headmaster, calmly. "Were you, Ms. Lopez, at the wrong pond?" "I... I guess I was, sir," stammered Adriana. There was an awkward silence. "Well, bringing false allegations to a student is a various serious offence," began the Headmaster. "I take it, then, that you did not visually confirm it was Arihi in the pond, as you had told me this morning?" "No... no, I guess I didn't, sir." "Lying to the Headmaster and bringing false allegations to a student," said Anderson, like a parent chiding a child. "I believe you know what the penalty for that is." Adriana seemed to choke back a tear as she walked up to the Headmaster's desk. Renaldo replaced the gag in my mouth, but I hardly noticed this time. Without any word from the Headmaster, Adriana undid her belt, placing it on the Headmaster's desk. She then lowered her skirt to her ankles, shortly accompanied by her white panties. She placed her forearms on the desk, whilst letting her ass jut out, her head bowed. The Headmaster picked up her belt. SMACK! The Headmaster's arm flew back like a baseball pitcher before swinging forward. The leather belt raced through the air, making a brief sound before colliding with Adriana's rear end. Adriana let out a yelp of pain, struggling to keep her position. SMACK! The Headmaster repeated the move, causing Adriana to this time yell in pain. The slap of leather on exposed flesh seemed to echo through the large office. Adriana's legs were shifting about uncomfortably. SMACK! Adriana was bawling now, tears rolling down her cheeks and onto the wooden desk. The Headmaster had a solemn resolve, however. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! I lost track after the eighth blow. The leather belt was flying through the air like a whip, slapping Adriana's ass seemingly harder each time. Her bottom was rapidly turning solid red, and her knees were shaking, trying to hold the position. Finally, after what must have seemed like an eternity to Adriana, the Headmaster stopped. "Adriana, you are to kneel on that wooden chair, with your hands behind your head," said the Headmaster. Adriana, still sobbing uncontrollably, clumsily walked over to a nearby wooden chair, hobbled by the skirt and panties around her ankles. She knelt on the chair, her feet hovering over the edge, her fingers lanced together behind her head. For the final touch, the Headmaster took her belt, pushing the end through the buckle to form a loop, then put the leather loop around Adriana's neck. "Well, Arihi," said the Headmaster, after an eerily long silence. "Ms. Lopez has an hour of corner time ahead of her, so we appear to have dealt with that problem." I wanted to make a sarcastic remark to him about checking his sources, but the bit gag/common sense prevented me from doing that. "But, you still have two unpunished offences on your record: leaving school property with authorized leave, and swearing to a Headmaster." Ah, shit. "Since I frankly don't want to take the time to release you just to spank you, we'll have to do with a more creative punishment." The Headmaster walked behind his desk. I starred at Adriana, who had begun to stop crying. When I glanced back at the Headmaster, he was in front of me again, with a long, thin cane in his hands. "This cane," he began, like the History lecturer he had once been, "was made in South Africa back in 1890, when it was still a British colony. It's aged very well over the years, if I do say so." He let the tip of the cane rest in the palm of his left hand. "Back in my day, swearing at a Headmaster would have been punishable with, oh, twenty strokes of the cane to the ass." He walked behind my chair. "Since your ass is covered, we require an alternate target. And we'll have to double it to, oh, fifty strokes." I said nothing, not even to correct his math. I glared at him, bit gag and all. Walking in front of me again, the Headmaster extended his arm, with the foot-long extremely-thin cane in his hand. It made a sound like a knife as it cut through the air. There was a brief sensation of confusion that swept through my body. Then, the thin end of the cane hit my exposed left nipples, and I realized what he had been aiming for. Okay, I've been beaten up, even spanked before, but that has nothing on the cane. I imagine it felt somewhat like getting stabbed, as my exposed nipples screamed in agony. I managed not to yelp, but only for the first stroke. After the first five, I lost all self-control. My breasts literally felt like they were on fire. I was sobbing uncontrollably, and letting out yells of pain with every stroke, awkwardly muffled by the bit gag. Sweat was covering every square inch of my naked body, and I couldn't see because of the tears in my eyes. I was visibly shaking, but my multiple restrains kept me from actually going anywhere, except my head, which shot around with every blow. On the fifty-first 'for good luck' stroke, the Headmaster stopped. To my credit, I managed to collect myself much faster than Adriana, who was still kneeling on the chair. Blinking away tears, I found, to my surprise, that my nipples were, in fact, not bleeding, as I had previously suspected. Both of my breasts were completely red, and I could make out half a dozen horizontal lines across my boobs where the cane had fallen. Well, that hurt worse than falling face-first into a hornet's nest. I was panting, still – not quite sure why. Anyway, things seemed to go uphill from there. Renaldo undid the chains and cuffs binding me to the chair, followed by the bit gag which had muffled by yelps of pain for the past five eternities (it seemed). I was given a new uniform (which the Headmaster strangely kept in his closet), and told sternly never to leave school property again without official leave. And that was it. But, come on, if they think stripping me nude, putting me in some serious bondage and a couple dozen breast canings is going to stop me from being who I am, they still have so much to learn. END This work is authored by Triple Delta, although it was submitted under the name 'Quadruple Delta'. The Kristen Archives has a one-story/week policy, which is somewhat inhibiting to budding authors. Triple Delta stories will be added to the Archives as rapidly as possible. To find these articles, simply type in "Triple Delta" into the Archive's general search, not the author. Make sure you put quotation marks around the name. This will pull up all articles where the phrase "Triple Delta" is mentioned. If the author's name ends with Delta, you have the right author. Otherwise, you can search for the number 57001, or the author's e-mail address, listed below. This author is open to comments, suggestions and criticism, and would be interested in your feedback. If you have a story request, feel free to contact the author at: triple—delta@hotmail.com Note that there are TWO dashes between 'triple' and 'delta'. Thank you for your time. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 57