Chapter 25

“Do you have any idea,” Samantha said, gripping the steering wheel, “how humiliating it is to get a call that my daughter attacked someone in class?”

Lucy swallowed. “I said I was sorry.”

“You said it,” Samantha replied. “But I don’t recognize you anymore, Lucy. You barely eat. You barely sleep. And now...” She shook her head. “A fight. With some little slip of a girl. My God, I was mortified, how on earth am I to face Ms Trunchbull!”

“I don’t want to go to Ms Trunchbull’s,” Lucy whispered.

Samantha sighed. “Well, you’re going. She’s dealt with thousands of girls your age. I would have hoped that your visits to her might have made you more ladylike, but they seem to have failed.”

Lucy had no idea what was going to happen once they got to Ms Trunchbull’s house.

“Mummy ... did you ever get detention? Did you ever get into fights?”

“Most certainly not,” Samantha snapped. “I was well-behaved.”

“Ms Trunchbull said you weren’t,” Lucy murmured. “She said when you were her pupil...”

“Enough,” Samantha said sharply, blushing. “You will keep quiet now. And you’re going to hear from your father later. Believe me.”

They arrived at Ms. Trunchbull’s house. Samantha wore tight black pants, a red blouse, and heels, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun. Lucy was still in her green and white school uniform, though she had changed into a fresh pair of purple panties adorned with unicorns having soaked through her earlier pair.

When Ms. Trunchbull answered the door, Lucy noticed she was refreshed and changed. Her grey hair was loosely tied back, framing her handsome, mature face and her dark eyes glittered at the sight of the McSworleys. She wore a loose black dress, the fabric hanging past her knees, her bare arms relaxed at her sides. It wasn’t immediately obvious, but she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples pressed faintly against the thin material every now and then. She smiled as both females stepped inside.

“Ms Trunchbull, I am so terribly sorry about my daughter’s behaviour,” Samantha began at once, rushed and apologetic. “It’s completely unacceptable. I don’t know what’s gotten into her...”

Ms Trunchbull lifted a hand gently.

“Please, Samantha,” she said. “We’ll talk about all of that in a moment. Come through to the sitting room.”

Lucy followed, looking at the walls lined with old photographs, rows of girls in uniforms, serious faces staring back across decades.

Samantha perched on the edge of the sofa. Lucy sat beside her, her legs falling open, and seeing Ms Trunchbull slyly look up her skirt, blushed and crossed her legs.

“Your daughter,” Ms. Trunchbull finally said, settling into an armchair opposite them, “has quite the temper. Such a surprise from such a normally quiet, shy girl.”

Lucy watched her mother’s throat bob as she swallowed nervously.

“Ms. Trunchbull, I will discipline Lucy, I promise you. I don’t even know how to explain how disappointed I am in her. I am her mother, and I should have long since...

“Samantha, I do not want to question your parenting methods but you should be aware your daughter has been doing rather more than getting into tiffs with other girls.

Samantha turned to Lucy, slowly, primly, her expression like ice.

Lucy spoke for the first time. “Please Ms Trunchbull, please don’t tell mummy...”

“I’m not going to say anything, Lucy,” Ms. Trunchbull replied. “I think your mother should see something, instead.”

Ms. Trunchbull crossed her legs slowly. The slit of her dress parted, revealing the pale length of her thigh almost up to her crotch. She leaned forward, her unbound breasts swaying slightly beneath the black fabric, and picked up a remote.

“What is this...” Samantha began, her voice faltering as the screen flickered to life.

“No—” Lucy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

All three women turned their gazes to the large TV screen mounted on the wall. The image that filled it was unmistakable: Lucy, naked and exposed, her pale torso and freckled skin rendered in stark high definition. The background was a grimy, unkempt bedroom, the sheets rumpled and the walls stained.

She was bent over, her back arched unnaturally, one hand pressed between her buttocks, spreading herself open for the camera. The other hand was shoved into her mouth, her fingers gagging her as if to stifle a scream. Her blue eyes, wide and terrified, darted between the camera and someone just out of frame.

“I’m a horny slut,” her recorded voice trembled, “and I love sticking things in my cunt.” She reached for a carrot lying on the bed beside her and, with a shuddering breath, pushed it inside herself.

“LUCY! What on earth!!!” Samantha’s hands flew to her face, her jaw dropping in horror as she recognized the purple panties Lucy pulled from somewhere off-camera. The same panties Samantha had wondered about, the ones that had gone missing.

Ms. Trunchbull turned up the volume, her smile widening as the recording continued.

“Oh, and while I stick things up my pussy,” Lucy’s eyes glistened with tears on the screen, “I like to lick my mummy’s dirty knickers.” She produced the purple panties and brought them to her nose, inhaling deeply. A faint male voice, cold and commanding, echoed from behind the camera: “Say it.”

Lucy hesitated, her small tongue darting out to trace the fabric. “Hmmm ... my ... my mummy is a...” The voice growled again, more insistent this time. “Say it.”

Lucy nearly screamed it out in frustration onscreen. “My mummy is a filthy bitch, and I like to lick the ... the cream from her ... her...” She faltered, eyes downcast. “Her cunt.”