Debbie - Crane Driver
Chapter 1

Caution: This True Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Rape,

Desc: True Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Debbie finds that getting to the top in a man's profession can be a difficult and painful experience.


Caroline Bates

Editor, High Girl

Strand, London

Dear Caroline,

It was great to meet up with you again after so many years and it pleased me greatly to learn how you had been able to get on in your chosen profession to become editor of a prestigious magazine. Still you always were the clever clogs in school. I was only a little jealous of that, I much preferred to be doing practical things while you always had your head in a book. It was a rather strange relationship we had. What a pity we couldn't talk for longer in the café and find out how each other's lives fared after I was moved to the posh girl's school. You seemed to hear of some of my exploits from the newspaper reports but I'd completely lost touch with you and what you did. Maybe you and Geoffrey would like to come over for dinner sometime and we can do some more catching up.

You asked me to write the story of how I became a tower crane operator (driver), and most of the writing has actually been done on my laptop whilst sitting in my cab waiting for orders from the ground crew. The manuscript is, I know, far too long and is intended more to bring you up to date with my life from when our paths parted. You did ask me to give all the sexual details so I hope you won't find them too explicit. You will have to edit them considerably for use in the magazine otherwise you could end up with a libel suit. Please omit all references to Lord Brackenbury's family so as not to cause offence to them. I have no objection at all to you using my name or any of the others contained within.

Please let me know if you decide to publish the article(s) and when they are likely to be found on the bookstalls.

Yours sincerely.

(Signed), Deborah Wesley-Harris

Hi, I'm Deborah Wesley-Harris, usually everyone except my family and their posh friends call me Debbie, Deb or Debs. I'm twenty-eight years old and I'm employed as a 'builder' or perhaps more correctly, a 'civil engineer' with Hanson and Weeks, a firm specialising in restoration of churches and cathedrals and other ancient buildings and the building of huge shopping malls and office blocks. Yes, I actually work on the buildings, laying stone and bricks and humping mortar and concrete or doing whatever else needs to be done. At least that used to be my main job, now I drive cranes, usually one of those tall tower cranes you see looking like flimsy toys on the skyline. Not the normal sort of job you would expect a woman of my so-called 'breeding' to do but I've been with the same firm for ten years now and have risen in status from labourer to their chief crane driver. It's a job that I enjoy doing and is far removed from the plans my parents had for me. When I was eighteen I finally rebelled against them and decided to go my own way. For the previous five years I attended a private school for girls where the emphasis was on academic education, which bored me stiff especially as the only subject I excelled in was handicrafts particularly pottery but we only had one hour a week at that. Early on at that school I kicked against the system and paid the price but I was able to get some concessions. When my education looked likely to end without sufficient grades to get into a good university, or indeed any university, I decided to take a civil engineering course. My parents practically disowned me and it was our housemaid that persuaded them to let me do the course. It was only the fact that I am a fairly attractive woman who, in their minds at least, might be persuaded to use her wiles to marry the unsuspecting son of some nobleman or other, that they didn't throw me out of the house there and then. Not that would have mattered; I have enough money of my own from an inheritance, that I have no need to work for a living.

So why did a rich, or at least well off, young lady decide to become a labourer doing manual work alongside burly men on the hurley-burley of large building sites with men who swear and use crude language in their general speech? I guess the answer to that goes way back to my childhood and to a stubborn streak in my nature.

My parents, Roger and Emiline, (never are the names shortened), made their money from dot-com enterprises and are now part of what is termed the 'nouveau rich'. Both are highly skilled in computer / Internet management and academically brilliant. Unfortunately for much of my childhood, and even now, they are frequently away from home. Cecelia, my older sister by six years, is much more glamorous than I am, and has an outgoing personality. She's more of a socialite too and is always concerned over her appearance. In many ways she takes after my mother and seemingly flew through the courses at university and came away with an honours degree. Through the hi-tech consultancy job she obtained, she met Pierre, a wealthy Frenchman and moved to Lyons to live with him. Again this wasn't really what our parents wanted but they had to accept it and found that the contacts she made with Pierre's rich friends helped their business. I was expected to follow her through university but even in Junior school I was only a mediocre student. Much of my childhood therefore was spent alone in our big old house. Well not really alone because 'Auntie Laura' was always there to look after me. Certainly she was more of a mother to me than my real one.

Auntie Laura was not a real aunt but I always called her Auntie, (and largely still do even though she tells me not to), when she was really only our live-in cook, housekeeper and a nanny for me in my early years. She's a big, friendly woman and didn't mind when I wanted to help in the kitchen and encouraged me with any craftwork I wanted to try. She didn't stand for any nonsense from me though, and several times I felt her hard hand on my bare backside. It was perhaps one of these spankings that got me into my building career.

I was about eleven years old and during the summer we employed a local jobbing builder to replace a dilapidated fence with a brick wall. There were only a couple of workers, one laying the bricks and another making up the mortar and doing the pointing. It was the start of our long summer vacation and Auntie Laura made tea at morning break and I went with her to take it to the workmen. We were surprised to find a lad of about my age there too, practicing laying some of the bricks. Auntie told me to run and get another mug of tea and more biscuits for the boy. When I returned I learned his name was Michael and that he was the son of the bricklayer. I watched him for a while and said, "I bet I can do that as well as you."

"Not in those clothes you won't," his father said.

"Well I'll have to go and get my 'clay-clothes' then," I retorted. My 'clay-clothes' were smock type overalls that I used for pottery and other messy work. It wasn't quite as easy as I thought, but after being shown a couple of times I could lay them as well as Michael. I suppose now with all the health and safety at work regulations, neither of us would have been allowed anywhere near to the site, but then it didn't seem to worry anyone. By mid afternoon my hands were quite sore from handling the bricks but I was determined not to give up and I think Auntie realised this and called me in to help in the kitchen when she brought out the afternoon tea.

For the next couple of days, I 'helped' build the wall whenever I was allowed and in the end, Bert, (Michael's father), admitted he couldn't tell which bricks I'd laid or where my pointing finished and Harry's, (the other man on the team), started. Mind you, Bert laid about ten bricks to my one! I also learned of some of the other practices that went on. Like how the men disappeared behind a bush when they wanted to pee. In those days there were none of those little chemical toilets that we have now. I even did the same and no one remarked on it. It was at that time that I got my first sight of a man's prick. Harry had gone for a pee and not knowing I walked around the bush and caught him in full stream. He didn't bother to turn away but after a few seconds, I did.

Michael and I got on quite well together even though there was considerable rivalry as to who laid the most bricks and who kept them in the straightest line. However, on about our fourth or fifth day, we were sat side by side pointing some of the work we'd done. Bert and Harry were making concrete ready to pour the next length of foundations. Pointing is a pretty boring job but one that Harry didn't seem to mind; he would sit for hours carefully filling and smoothing all the joints to a neat bevel. Suddenly a small dob of mortar landed on my smock and when I looked at Michael, he just grinned. For ever afterwards he staunchly refuted any suggestion that he did it deliberately but I thought he had so I flicked a bit from the end of my trowel on to his overall. Of course that led to a miniature battle with larger amounts of mortar being projected. Inevitably Bert caught us but by then we'd gotten the mortar all over us and in our hair. As was the fashion at the time, Michael's hair was shoulder length like mine.

Bert was not best pleased I can assure you and marched us both into the kitchen. "These two little buggers have got themselves into a mud fight Laura. Sorry to trouble you but would you mind if they use the sink to get the mortar out of their hair before it sets? I don't know what started it all and we'd only turned our backs for a few minutes and they were shying the stuff at each other. I can tell you there'll be one young boy who goes home tonight with a sore arse." Bert was not one to mince his words even when children were present.

"And there'll be a girl whose bottom will match it," Auntie Laura stated. She made us take our overalls off outside and then I had to wash Michael's hair and he mine. "Come back at break time and have your tea here and we'll deal with this pair then." Both of us apologised profusely, but it made no difference. Auntie Laura stood us in opposite corners until Bert and Harry came in for their tea. I was very worried. I'd had a few smackings from Auntie and she'd always put me across her lap and took down my knickers so she could lay the slaps on my bare bottom. "Will she do it like that in front of the two men and Michael?" I wondered and it was this thought that caused me more concern than the actual spanking, at least until I felt her hand. The answer was yes and she left me in no doubt that if I made a fuss, I would get more.

"I think we'll make it ladies first," she said when Bert and Harry were seated with their tea. "Come here Debbie, over my lap. You know the drill." I noticed she positioned herself so my bottom faced the men and also Michael who had turned round so he could see. No doubt she wanted to embarrass me a bit too. Seconds later my working trousers were around my knees and my knickers joined them. I know I blushed because at eleven, I had begun to know a bit about boys and was very shy about showing myself to them. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Auntie Laura seemed to be hitting harder than she'd ever done. Perhaps she was showing off in front of the men. Whatever, I was soon howling. Fortunately it didn't go on for too long, but my bottom was extremely sore and red when she'd finished.

One thing about Auntie's punishments, once they were over, that was it. Finish. She let me down and gave me a cuddle but didn't attempt to pull my trousers up and my bottom was too sore to even think about scraping the elastic of my knickers over it. I heard Bert order Michael to drop his trousers and pants and I turned to look. I caught a quick glimpse of his semi-erect prick and wondered if seeing me being spanked had caused it to harden. He draped himself quickly over his father's lap I think to hide his embarrassment from me. Bert wasted no time in pasting his bottom really hard and soon Michael was sobbing. I felt really sorry for him. When he stood up, I noticed his prick was soft again but his bottom was fiery red and I wondered if mine was the same colour. It certainly felt like it.

"Pull your trousers up now Debbie and go and give Michael a hug to show that there in no ill feeling between you," Auntie Laura ordered. There wasn't any ill feeling anyway, at least not against each other. I suppose it was more against the adults who had spanked us for what was really only a game. We were allowed our tea and biscuits then and apart from our sore bottoms, things seemed more or less back to normal. Afterwards I was made to wash Michael's overalls and he had to do my smock.

"Will your dad let us continue working with him?" I asked as we hung the clothes on the line.

"Probably that will depend on whether he tells mum or not Deb." Michael answered.

Bert was non-committal when I asked him. "I will think about it over the weekend," was all he would say.

On Monday when Michael came to collect his overalls I thought we were forgiven and was surprised when Bert stood us side by side and gave us another lecture on how we should behave. Then he went on, "I'm going to give a chance to prove yourselves and to see if you can work together. Debbie, your dad has asked us to put in one of these new barbecue things. He wants a brick one like this." He showed us a drawing which we didn't understand until he did a rough sketch of the finished job. "First you'll need to peg out the site and then remove the turf to a depth of six inches. I'll want to check each stage so there's no mistakes..." He went on to give us detailed instructions on preparing the base. By the end of the day we were very tired and Harry had to help us shovel the sand and cement into the mixer but we got the base poured and tamped down. Bert praised what we had done so we felt very proud. "You can have a day off tomorrow," he told us, "The concrete won't be hard enough to do anything else." We completed the barbecue over the coming week and it is still there today, although the metal grill has rusted away.

I suggested to Michael that we might go and see my Uncle Joseph on our free day. He was a real uncle, my father's oldest brother and a keen model engineer and metalworker. He'd retired some time ago and lived alone in a large house across the fields from my home. Most of his time was spent in his very well equipped workshop. I loved that place and in the holidays, often visited him and he allowed me to use some of the machinery, particularly his Myford lathe. I had a little platform he'd made so that I would be high enough to use it and was in the process of making a simple oscillating steam engine. It was far removed from the traction engine and steamroller that he'd made or the triple expansion marine engine he was working on at that time. Yes, I knew the terms even if I wasn't too clear on what they meant and I was able to show off my knowledge to Michael. He seemed impressed by the workshop facilities but not by the state of the house when we went into the kitchen.

On the way home I had my first sexual experience with a boy although it was really only a minor one but I remember it clearly. It started innocently enough when Michael asked, "Has the redness in your bum gone?"

"Yes. Has yours?" We walked on a few steps and I asked, "Did seeing me being spanked make your Willie get hard? Did you see my... ?"

"Cunt?" Michael used a word that I thought very rude. "Yes, I saw it especially when you kicked your legs but I didn't get a good look. I'm sure it made my prick start to stand up. Did you get a good look at me? I kept trying to hide it but forgot when Dad beat my arse."

"Like you, I only got quick glimpses," I admitted.

Again we walked on and then he said, "Would you like to see my prick? A proper look? No one will see us if we go into the copse and down by the stream."

I can remember being strangely excited but it was some time before I said, "Yes. Will you want to see me?" Of course he did.

We found a sheltered grassy bank by a small stream but we were both hesitant to actually show the other until Michael said, "I need to piss and I'm going to do it into the water. You can watch if you want." To my surprise he turned his back on me and slipped his shorts and pants off instead of just opening his flies. Later he confessed he did it so that I would have to do the same. He didn't think he would get a good look at my slit if I only lowered my shorts enough to pee. There was no sign of his spanking on his white bum. His little prick had already started to harden and he held it so I could see and I watched as he used to it to hose his urine in patterns into the water. I felt a little jealous of the way he could play with his and wondered what it would be like have a prick and to be able to swish my pee around. "Your turn," Michael said when he shook the last few drops into the gravel at his feet.

When it came to the crunch, I almost didn't do it but knew I would have to put up with a lot of taunts if I didn't. Like him, I turned and slipped off my shorts and knickers before walking to the water's edge and crouching down. It took me a little while before I could pee and in the meantime, Michael knelt down so he could see between my legs. Finally I was able to pee into the gravel and by the time I finished Michael's prick was standing up and rigid. He stood so I could see it in all its glory. "Do you masticate it?" I asked. I was fairly well educated in what boys and girls did together from school talk but I'd no practical experience.

Michael laughed at me. "You mean masturbate. Wank. Yes. Do you?" I just nodded, yes. In truth I had only recently discovered the pleasure of rubbing my clit. "Show me what you do," he almost ordered me but there was a questioning tone in his voice.

After hesitating for a bit I answered, "Only if you show me how you do it." Probably it was more the feelings I was experiencing between my legs from seeing a boy's hard prick for the first time that decided me. The grass was warm and I sat and spread my legs and rubbed myself. Michael started to wank himself too and I watched as he pushed his foreskin back and forth at quite a speed. "Can I do that to you?" I asked.

"Only if I can do it to you." He paraphrased my words. It wasn't long before we masturbated each other but it was still a surprise when he spurted his spunk in the air and over my hand. "That's what makes babies if it goes up inside you," he informed me in a knowing way. I made him continue playing with me until I had a climax although he couldn't tell that I had.

For the next couple of years Michael and I were often together at weekends and holidays but only twice did we repeat our sexual play. The last time, Michael had me undress completely so he could see my tits that were developing. I know he wanted to have proper sex with me but I firmly resisted that and, as I was now bigger and stronger than he was, he couldn't force me. Frequently we worked on building jobs with his father and on several occasions, when they were sub-contracting, with larger groups of men. By the time I was thirteen, Bert acknowledged that I was better at the jobs he gave me than his son. That I think was partly because I had the tenacity or stubbornness, if you want to call it that, to stick at a job until it was finished. I also found that I was not afraid of heights, whereas he got squeamish if we were more than a few feet off the ground. We had a job to replace a stone coping on the parapet on a church tower a couple of villages away. I had no problem in leaning over and trowelling the surplus mortar from the joint but Michael would not go anywhere near the edge and only went up the tower once.

Unfortunately there were many times where Bert and Harry were working that we weren't allowed to go but then I or we went to Uncle Joseph's. I'd completed my simple steam engine and was working on a Heinrecci hot air engine using castings that my uncle bought for me. "There's a lot of work in it," Uncle told me when I started, "And many of the parts must be precisely fitted and free otherwise it won't work." The whole thing stood well over a foot high and I needed to use the big Harrison lathe to machine the flywheels. Uncle seemed very pleased with what I did and I didn't have too much to do to finish it when father dropped a bombshell. Or rather it was Auntie Laura who had the job of telling me.

It was near the end of the August holidays and I was a little surprised when Auntie Laura instead of telling me to scrub my hands after being in Uncle's workshop all day, told me to sit down. I knew from the look she gave me, that I wasn't going to like what she had to say but I couldn't think of anything that I had done wrong. "Deborah..." This was serious; she called me Deborah. "Your father has asked me to pass on this message although why he couldn't do it himself, I don't know. Probably knows what your reaction is going to be and he wants me to soften the blow. I don't think I can do that so remember I'm only passing on the message and had nothing to do with the arrangement." For the life of me I couldn't fathom what she was likely to say. She seemed to pause for the longest time and went on, "Debbie, your father has arranged for you to attend The Agnes Willishaw School for Girls and they take them from age thirteen. It's a boarding school." I knew that. I also knew that it was for snobbish girls and that I wouldn't fit in very well.

"Fucking hell, no!" I yelled forgetting that I didn't swear in front of Laura. "He can't do this! I won't go!" Auntie Laura tried to calm me down but without much success but she made it clear that she didn't agree with my parents. I was so upset I ran to my room and missed dinner. It was 10:30 before my parents came home and by then I had worked myself up into a fury. As soon as they closed the front door I stormed down and swore and carried on. At first I said I would refuse to go, then I pleaded, then begged. Daddy just listened and let me go on until I more or less ran out of steam.

"Deborah you WILL be going to the Agnes Willishaw School starting on September 16th. Cecilia went to a similar school down in Sussex and she got on very well. This school is closer to home and has an excellent reputation for getting girls into university and you will meet the right kind of girls to help you get on in life. It's a great opportunity for you to better yourself and get yourself in with the upper class crowd. They'll teach you deportment and the correct way to speak and hopefully you'll lose this tendency to swear like the builders you've been associating with. You'll be able to put all this building and engineering nonsense behind you and become a more refined person so that perhaps you'll find a suitable man to marry."

"I won't because I won't be staying there for long. I won't do any of their work. They won't be able to make me!"

"They might just do that. As they're a private school, they are still allowed to use corporal punishment and I've signed the form that agrees to it." I argued but both daddy and mummy were adamant that I would go. I was equally determined that I wouldn't.

Early on the morning of the 16th, I quietly dressed and opened the door of my bedroom ready to creep away. "Sorry miss, you are to stay in your room until I take you to school." A well-built man in chauffeur's uniform blocked my exit. "And don't bother trying the window miss, one of my colleagues is outside."

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck the sodding bastards." My swearing made not one jot of difference.

Auntie Laura came to see me off but I there were tears in her eyes and she again made it clear that she didn't agree with what was being done to me. "Sorry Debbie. Just go along with it the best you can and see if you can keep your nose out of trouble. That may be difficult seeing most of the girls there will have what they think is 'breeding' and I guess will consider you uncouth. Don't let them put you down though. You're as good as they are even if you don't have an aristocratic name going back centuries."

Later that morning, I was escorted into see Miss Sommerville, the headmistress. She tried to sound cheerful and friendly as she welcomed me but I sullenly kept my mouth shut. She must have been warned about my reluctance to attend because she ended by saying, "Some girls find their first few days here a little difficult and strange but always they come to enjoy their time with us and later in life many indeed send their children here. Please try and take part in the activities and do your best in all your lessons. I see from your records that you will have a lot of work to catch up on but I am sure you will be able to do so given the way my staff will help and guide you. Now I'll see if we can find Miranda Fischer, who is your roommate for the term. She will show you to your dormitory and you can change into your proper uniform and after lunch, you can start your orientation."

"Sorry miss, I can't do that," I smirked.

Immediately her face changed from being friendly to authoritarian and severe. "And why not pray?"

"I dumped all that stuff before they forced me into the taxi."

"Well we'll just have to phone them and get them sent here. I hope this is not going to be the start of a period of disobedience on your part Miss Wesley-Harris." I shrugged. She went to the secretary and asked her to phone my parents. They wouldn't be in and Auntie Laura was taking a day off now she didn't have to look after me.

Miranda came and waited while the secretary tried to phone through to home but had to give up when no one answered. Miss Sommerville looked very annoyed. "Wipe that smirk off your face girl." She opened a drawer and pulled out a leather tawse. "Your parents have agreed that we can use this if your behaviour warrants it and it looks very much like it will. We don't use it often but when we do the recipient finds it a painful experience. Very painful. You may not have wanted to come here but you are here now and your fees are paid for this term so you will learn to do things our way, even if the learning is hard and painful. Show her where she is to sleep, Miranda if you please and then take her to the dining hall and see she gets to the lecture theatre for 1:30."

"You've really upset Sommers," laughed Miranda as we went to the dorm. "Be careful though, she pretty strict on rules." Miranda was older than me and had already been at the school for a year. I got some peculiar looks and comments from the other girls as I went into the dining room. My tatty jeans made me stand out, as did the way I ate a full plate of food. In a way I was glad when my uniform arrived next morning; at least I wasn't as conspicuous.

By the end of the first full week, I was planning to escape. Nearly all the lessons were academic and well above my standard. In addition we were given lots of 'homework' or 'prep' as they called it, to do in the evening but I was so bored with it all, I left most of it half done, if I did it at all. Only two lessons in the week appealed to me. We had a one-hour long craft period in which I did some pottery. I'd done pottery before and was good on the wheel and liked the feel of the messy, wet clay moving under my fingers. It appeared that most of the girls disdained this and went for more ladylike crafts such as drawing or embroidery. The other lesson I liked was science. The woman was a good teacher and we did practical experiments, which suited me. However, I was soon in trouble for my other work and given frequent lectures and detentions and made to work on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Soon everyone seemed to regard me as a rebel and they knew that sooner or later I would be in trouble.

I nearly was on the Monday of my second week. One of the seniors, a prefect, ordered me to carry her books to her room. "Fuck off Garcia. Carry them yourself you lazy bitch. I'm not your bloody slave," I told her.

For a few moments she looked as if she hadn't heard me right and then in her plummy voice, "How dare you speak to me like that. I'm a prefect and am making a perfectly legitimate request. It's traditional for juniors to carry the books of prefects." I knew this but none of the others had dared to ask me. She, being with a group of her friends, thought I wouldn't retaliate even though I was bigger than she was.

When I went to walk away, three of them tried to grab me but they hadn't reckoned on muscles built up from shovelling cement and heaving bricks. My fist sent one of them sprawling and holding her stomach and my knee hit another painfully in the groin. They released me. "I'm nobody's slave and nobody's servant," I hissed. I walked away fully expecting there to be repercussions later. For some reason there wasn't.

Games and physical education was another no-no as far as I was concerned. I'd developed into a large girl and certainly wasn't lithe and able to do some of the exercises the mistress demanded. It caused some merriment when I repeatedly fell over or could not leap-frog over the horse. I got some of my own back on the hockey field when I wielded the stick and yelled like a banshee until I was sent off the pitch.

It all came to a head when at the end of my third week, my form mistress informed me that I would not be doing my craft class until I caught up on my english and maths. I sat in the room, folded my arms and refused to do anything. At afternoon break I was told to report to the headmistress. She looked grim. "I've been getting most unfavourable reports on your work and your behaviour from the teachers and prefects. It seems my warning when you came has not been heeded and you've left me no alternative but to use the tawse."

I was incensed. "You have a very good alternative you stupid bitch. You can expel me. I never wished to set foot in the snotty place and have no wish to remain in this prison for a minute longer than necessary. Phone my parents and tell them that you've kicked me out."

"If I expel you it will be after giving your bottom a good warming." Miss Sommerville's face was ashen but she took the tawse from her drawer. "Get yourself over that stool, Deborah Wesley-Harris."

"No!" I drew my hands up into fists. She didn't argue but went to the secretary and asked to speak with my father. She of course got Auntie Laura who said that she had no authority but she gave the phone number where dad could be contacted. It seemed to take ages before they got through. They spoke for a while and then handed the phone to me.

"Deborah, I've told Miss Sommerville that she is to punish you in any way she thinks fit. You are not to be expelled. You will take your spanking and perhaps you will then have the sense to do what you are told."

"This whole thing was your crappy idea daddy and now you don't like it when it doesn't work out. No, I won't take their punishment and if they force me, I shall escape and perhaps become a prostitute or something just to keep myself. It can't be worse than the hell here." The phone went dead. I ran from the room but the corridor was full of girls changing lessons.

"Hold her!" Miss Sommerville yelled. Ahead of me was Garcia. I head butted her but there were too many others around and eventually I was returned to the head's office and then locked in a storeroom. Through my sobs I could hear some activity going on outside but couldn't make out what was going on. Suddenly the door opened and I was faced with Miss Stevens, my dreaded P.E. mistress and Miss Bradbury who taught English literature. Both were big women and although I was big for my age, I was no match for them and they dragged me out and took me on to the stage in the main hall. The whole school was assembled and I knew I was to be punished in front of everyone. Miss Sommerville was going to make an example of me. My anger flared again and I struggled and kicked determined to go down fighting. Miss Stevens winced loudly when my toe connected with her shin but that only served to make her grip my arm tighter. Using some of the most colourful language that I'd picked up on building sites I berated them and the headmistress as she tried to explain to the assembled girls my misdemeanours. Unless I could free myself, they were going to thrash me and expel me so what did it matter if I swore? A few more 'sins' wouldn't make any difference.

Moments later I was propelled to a table, forcibly bent over it and my breasts and face were pushed against the hard wood. Still I kicked but now my feet only connected with air. Miss Sommerville raised my skirt and for a few moments I thought she was going to lower my knickers but she didn't. Probably that was against school policy. Vaguely I heard her say that I would get a dozen strokes with the tawse and shortly after it cracked hard across my bum. God did it hurt. The bitch must have put every ounce of her strength into it. I yelled and screamed and swore to no avail. Another tremendous band of pain had me yelling again. I'd never experienced such pain but even then I was determined to get my own back somehow. Slowly the headmistress bitch laid the tawse across my arse until I thought that I would pass out. Finally I felt my skirt being pulled down and I was allowed to stand but my arms were still pinioned by the two teachers. I stood sobbing in front of the school while Miss Sommerville babbled on about the behaviour she expected from girls at her school. At the end of her speech I gathered enough strength to yell, "You're nothing but a sadistic bitch who doesn't care anything for the needs of her pupils." I could see some of the girls were crying in sympathy for me, but others were smirking and were glad I'd been thrashed. I just wanted to rub my bottom.

"You will go to your room now Miss Wesley-Harris and pack your things ready for your departure," the headmistress ordered coldly. "Miranda will help you." As soon as my arms were released, I unashamedly rubbed my sore arse and then limped off the stage but before I left I turned and yelled, "I hope I never see your snotty faces again!"

Miranda caught up with me in the corridor and put her arm around my shoulder and I started to sob in earnest. "Have a shower first," she whispered when we neared our room, " I've some prescription painkillers that I take when my period pains get too bad and a cream that might help. My God that was some beating she gave you. At least you're now free of this place." We didn't realise how wrong she was.

The painkillers did help and Miranda very gently put some cold cream on my swollen and now purple arse. It was a pleasant sensation but the pain was still too much for me to enjoy it. I wanted to put on the jeans that I'd arrived in but settled for my P.E. shorts, which were much looser.

Miss Matthews, my craft teacher knocked at my door. She seemed genuinely distressed. "Oh Debbie, I'm so sorry this happened. I've volunteered to drive you home when you are ready or when you think you can sit long enough. They've phoned your home and Laura is expecting you." Fortunately it was only a short drive and when she left, Miss Matthews wished me the best of luck and hoped that I would find a school more suited to my needs.

Auntie Laura fussed over me. "Your father's furious and has threatened to give you another hiding when he gets in so maybe you'd better disappear over to your Uncle Joseph's. As usual he's unplugged his phone but I don't doubt he'll put you up for a while." He did and looked after me for three days until my father agreed that I could go back home without getting another hiding. Auntie Laura must have had a lot of persuading to do to get him to agree. What I didn't know was that he'd done a lot of persuading with Miss Sommerville and I heard later he'd made a considerable donation to the school's new gymnasium fund to allow me back after a month long suspension. However, the terms were more favourable to me this time. I was to be one of the few day students and my timetable cut down so I could drop two subjects and could now have craft twice a week. I'm sure Auntie Laura had a hand in the negotiations because daddy would not have made as many concessions. She also agreed to supervise my 'prep' for an hour and a half each evening. My weekends would be free.

Much to my surprise, when I returned I was treated with much more respect. In the eyes of many of the younger girls, I was a hero and even the older ones didn't give me any of the hassle I expected. Not even Garcia. With a month away from school and being below the standard of many of the girls in my group anyway, I was always the dunce of the class. Now though, it seemed that the teachers realised I wasn't going to pass or even take any exams and just let me get on as best I could provided I didn't give them any grief. To their credit, they didn't ignore me but they set me work of a lower standard and Miss Sawtry even went as far as to set my maths into a building or engineering context which did indeed help me later. It started when Uncle Joseph who I now started to call Joe, tried to explain about gear ratios for a thread that I needed to cut on the lathe for a tool I was making. He knew what to do but couldn't explain why and just reading from a book didn't sink into my brain. He suggested I take the book and ask Miss Sawtry to explain it, which she did after she'd taken the book home to read. Perhaps one of the good things about that school was the small size of the classes. Twelve in my maths group instead of twenty-eight at the comprehensive.

While I cannot say that I enjoyed my time at The Agnes Willishaw School, I began to accept it. My desire to be doing things in a practical way set me apart from the others. This was immediately apparent when one Monday lunchtime after a half-term break, the girls were discussing what they'd done during the vacation. Horse riding, sailing, going to dances and being with boyfriends were the most popular answers. "What did you get up to Debbie?" Miranda enquired.

"I finished my hot air engine and got that running, tarmacked a drive, helped dig a trench for sewer pipes and cemented in a gargoyle that was becoming unsafe on our church." Most of them didn't even know what a gargoyle was until I explained that it was a carved stone beast that had a hole through it to shed rainwater from the church tower clear of the wall.

"That sounds a bit dangerous," Miss Matthews who sat on our table remarked. "Aren't they usually high up at the top of the building?"

"Yes Miss. It was about a hundred feet up. Bert and Harry did most of the work cementing it in place but then they put a harness on me and lowered me over the edge on a rope to clean off the excess mortar and to cement the loose knapped flints that had fallen from under it."

"They had you hanging on a rope a hundred feet above the ground? Cementing stones? Weren't you scared?" Miranda looked horrified.

"I was safe enough. They had the end tied around the flagpole. It would have cost a fortune if they'd had to erect scaffolding up the tower. Michael wouldn't even watch. He can't stand heights."

Next morning at lunchtime Miss Matthews came into the lower form common room. That was fairly unusual as the teachers normally left us alone in there. "Have you seen this?" She thrust the county newspaper at me. There was I on the front page. One photo taken from below making the tower look extremely high, another a close-up taken with a telephoto lens, showing me with a trowel cementing stones and a third of me climbing back over the parapet with all my gear on.

"Look what the well dressed girl of today wears. I like your hat," laughed Miranda who sat next to me. She referred to my bright yellow hard-hat with Deb stencilled on the front. She went on to read the opening paragraph out loud which brought all the other girls around. "Fourteen year old Deborah Wesley-Harris, a pupil at The Agnes Willishaw School for girls, on Saturday swung perilously 150 feet above the ground as she fixed a 500 lb. medieval stone gargoyle safely back in place. A job that would have scared many men..."

"What a load of bullshit!" I exclaimed without thinking. "They exaggerated everything. I was no more than a hundred feet up, probably less; I wasn't swinging because I was in a proper harness with two safety ropes and side ropes to prevent me swinging and three of us could lift the gargoyle so it was no where near 500 lbs. Where did they get their facts from?"

"I would have wet my knickers if I had been asked to lean over that tower, let alone hang over the edge by a rope," Nicola exclaimed, a sentiment echoed by others in the room. Even Miss Matthews said she wouldn't have done it if they'd paid her. I'd done it for free.

A prefect asking me to report to Miss Sommerville's office interrupted our conversation. "Wonder what I've done wrong now?" I muttered. She had the paper open on her desk. "Deborah, we've had to answer many calls this morning over this article mainly from parents who seem to think we gave you permission to do this..."

"I'm sorry Miss. I had no idea it would get into the paper. It was the vicar who took the pictures and I thought they were for the parish magazine. Half of what it says isn't true anyway."

"You're not in trouble this time Deborah although you have caused our secretary and myself considerable extra work. While I don't agree with the concept that your activities constitute suitable employment for a young lady I do have to admit that you were very brave to do it. Very brave indeed." She shook my hand and allowed me to go back to class.

For the next few days I had to withstand a good deal of teasing from the girls over what I did in my spare time, the way I dressed and what I supposedly got up to with the men on the building sites. By now though, I had learned to turn their comments back on them. However, it was through the article that I got my job with Hanson and Weeks.

About three weeks later on a Saturday morning I was working with Bert and Harry trying to chisel a hole in a concrete gatepost to take the gudgeon for the hinge of a pair of large wrought iron gates. Harry was doing one post and I attacked the other. The concrete was extremely hard and progress was slow for both of us. It turned into a little competition to see who would be the first to chisel the hole deep enough to take the ironwork. I was thumping the cold chisel with a lump hammer when a van drew up. "Morning Mr. Weeks," Bert greeted the driver.

"Mornin' Bert," the man replied, "That the girl that gets to hang 150 foot from an 80 foot tower? Doesn't look like one of them private school gals to me and I wouldn't want to meet her in the dark when she's got a hammer in her hand like that!" I stopped and glared at the man.

"Debbie, stop and meet Mr. Weeks. He's one of the bosses at Hanson and Weeks. We did a bit of subbing for them a few months ago on Icklinton Manor." Bert introduced me.

"I've heard quite a bit about you. Do you ever think of taking up building as a career?" Mr. Weeks enquired.

"Yes sir, I have but they don't seem keen to let me out of prison school yet. Until I'm eighteen they can keep me there."

"Well when they put you on parole," he paused and laughed, "And if you're still keen, give me a call." He gave me his card and after talking with Bert for a while, he left.

Much of the talk in the common room, at least when the teachers were not around, concerned sex. I was amazed at the number of girls who openly admitted to having sex with boys of their own age or with older men even though they were still under age. Many made it sound so enjoyable that I began to wonder at what I was missing. There were also a number of girls who were in lesbian relationships and this seemed tolerated by the others and the staff providing it was done covertly.

Michael was still my boy friend although we weren't lovers and I always paused between the word boy and friend. By the time I was fifteen and had grown to my full height of 5' 10" and big with it, we had messed about sexually probably about four times. Always it was a spur of the moment thing like when we peed by the stream. More usually we were together when working with his father or at Uncle Joe's. So it was pretty much a spur of the moment thing when he took my virginity.

We'd been working in a barn across the fields from my house. The weather was hot and the work dusty from all the chaff we had to move before we could get to the damaged timber and brickwork from where the farm worker had reversed a tractor and trailer too far back. When we cleared the work area we couldn't do much more until Bert and Harry were able to get the timber and that wouldn't be until Monday. They went off to get some special bricks from a supplier over in the next county so Michael and I started to walk home. "I shall be fucking glad to get in the shower and wash this chaff shit out of my bra. It's beginning to itch like hell," I complained.

"Yeah and I'll need to wash it from my pants otherwise I shall be scratching my balls to pieces," Michael grinned.

"I'll wash you if you wash me," I teased.

"You're on! Last one in the shower washes the first."

We ran the rest of the way to my house and, as I expected, Laura was out. She wouldn't be expecting me home for several more hours and was visiting her friend in the next village. Since my altercation with my parents over the school, I rarely saw them. They steered clear of me and I largely kept out of their way. With much pushing of each other we arrived at my bedroom and started stripping off. He wore fewer clothes and I could see he was going to win so I picked him up and put him outside the bedroom door. I could easily lift him now that I had grown so much more than he had. I leaned against the door to prevent him entering while I removed my bra and knickers. "You cheated!" he said in mock anger when I entered the shower a split second before him.

"Yes, but I knew you wanted to wash me first." Of course that led to him playing with my tits, which by then were well developed, and taking longer than necessary to clean my pubic area. By that time he had a full erection and I noticed how much larger it had grown since my first sight of it when we were only eleven. I was a little disappointed when he spurted during my washing of it but it didn't go down for long and when I used a soft fluffy towel, it became hard again. Without any conscious effort I found myself lying on my bed, a towel under me, and inviting Michael to fuck me. He did. I felt a stab of pain but that was over quickly and soon I began to enjoy the feel of his prick inside me. It was probably a good thing that he had shot his load earlier because it took him longer to come when he really fucked me.

"Can I go all the way?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm on the pill." I was really thankful that Auntie Laura had suggested that some months previously. I think she was more concerned that one of the building workers might try and seduce or rape me but she might have had Michael in mind too. I came and finally Michael did too. He thanked me and I thanked him and we went and had a quick shower again and I left the bloody towel in the shower to soak away the telltale evidence of my torn hymen.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Rape /