The Punishment Officer - photo story

Photo story from Janus 20.

The Punishment Officer
By Our Further Education Correspondent


RESIDENTIAL finishing academies offering wealthy parents a strict regime for their problematical post-school age daughters have become something of an anomaly in this lukewarm brave new world – but are not yet altogether extinct.

Dedicated students of the arts of disciplining and correcting wayward young ladies would surely have lived in vain without coming to a thorough understanding of the methods and principles embodied in the organisational structure of one of the last remaining establishments of this kind still functioning today.

Its educational facilities may not be of Oxbridge calibre but there can be no doubt whatever that this institution – which is featured in the video The Disciplinarian on our centre pages – does indeed provide a unique form of training for life.

A complete and detailed analysis of the Academy would require several volumes of close type – and might well result in its being closed down by that ever-zealous brigade of spoilsport bureaucrats. On this occasion we must therefore content ourselves with a careful inspection of the unusual system of corporal punishment orders in force at the Academy.


Officially, all such punishments should be given by the Academy's uniformed Punishment Officer to whom any member of staff may send a girl for correction. The tutor has only to fill out a standard Punishment Order form naming the girl to be punished, her offence and penalty: the punishment instrument and number of strokes she is to be given.

The girl must take this form to the Punishment Officer's room in the basement of the main college building, often having to wait her turn in a queue of up to a dozen girls all waiting to be flogged. The Punishment Officer, following a precise ritual, will then administer the chastisement and return the bottom half of the form, the completed Confirmation of Punishment slip, to the punished girl to take back to the staff member who ordained her correction as proof of its infliction.

During our brief but most enjoyable stay as honoured guests of the Academy's hierarchy, the Janus photographer and I were permitted to witness and record a number of typical punishment sessions. In this issue we present for your edification and delectation two consecutive sessions in the Punishment Room which took place on the morning of the second day of our visit. We felt extremely privileged to be present.

The Academy's taciturn Scottish uniformed Punishment Officer, Mr McTaggart, told us that Diana Parsons was no stranger to the strap and cane. A minor but persistent offender, she would be sent to him at fairly regular intervals by different masters – usually for silly school-girlish misdemeanors. Diana was only the third girl that the very busy Punishment Officer had seen that day; she had been sentenced the previous evening by Mr Bathurst to eight strokes of the tawse for talking after Lights Out.

It was explained to us that punishments are in general more severe at the Academy than in other educational institutions, in keeping with the Director's philosophies, but that Diana had been unfortunate to get caught by this particular master who awarded girls twice the number of strokes that most members of staff would for any listed offence.


After handing her Punishment Order to Mr McTaggart, Diana Parsons was ordered to remove her dress and then stand in front of the long wooden punishment bench and table, facing the centre of the room. Whilst she stood there, bare-legged and looking extremely nervous, the tense silence was repeatedly violated by announcements booming over the loud-speakers of the college public address and paging system on a shelf behind the punishment table.


When the standard four-minute pre-punishment Expectation Period had elapsed Mr McTaggart shouted a command for Diana to make a smart about-turn to face the punishment table. A second bark, and Diana pushed her knickers down to her ankles. A third – and the now-trembling girl bent forward, legs together and stretched taut, over the hard wooden punishment table. We were keenly aware of her fear as we appreciated the glory of those finely sculptured legs and buttocks. Diana did not want us to see her face and in the initial stages of the ritual tried to keep it averted from us.


We felt sorry for her, with her bottom so exposed to receive a punishment that could only prove very painful indeed – for an offence which hardly seemed to warrant it. When we studied the Punishment Officer's long triple-tailed tawse we knew that poor Diana was in for a treatment that would probably keep her awake all night long.


The Punishment Officer's stance was dramatic, and his use of the cracking leather tawse most energetic. The first two strokes were a warm-up, relatively speaking, for the ferocious above-the-shoulder strokes Mr McTaggart employed to make Diana's bottom sting the six final times. The pain of that strap landing at a fantastic velocity across the twin upthrust mounds of Diana's buttocks was very obviously quite unbearable for the lithe recipient, and we saw her writhing and heard her groaning long before the poker-faced P.O. had given her the full quota. We were fully conscious however that Mr McTaggart was only performing his duty to the best of his abilities and derived no personal reward from following the Academy Director's punishment directives to the letter, by laying on all punishment instruments with maximum force.


As connoisseurs we on the other hand, ironically enough, found ourselves embarrassingly appreciative of the potent effect of the uniformed officer's very hard strapping of Diana's bare backside. It was like watching sheer poetry in motion, hearing those explosive percussions and the girl's bleated mewings, her inflamed buttocks churning under discipline. They probably felt like wheels of fire by the time that Diana was ordered to stand with her hands on top of her head while the Punishment Officer completed and signed the tear-off strip on the punishment order form. We did not blame Diana for being unable to fight back her tears and admired her for pluckily trying.


The overall impression we had formed of Diana Parsons before, during and after her actual punishment was that of an extremely polite and deferential well-mannered meek and humble girl. This in fact was the general impression we had of all the girls at the finishing academy. We were therefore intensely curious about the next girl on the punishment list, who had earned a reputation for being the cheekiest, most impertinent and insubordinate girl at the Academy. Building images on what we had been told, we were expecting to meet some kind of wilful demon. Imagine our surprise when Antonia du Bois walked through the door of the Punishment Room, striking us as not only a very attractive blonde pupil but also impeccably polite! But at that time we had not yet understood just how very high are the standards of decorum demanded at the Academy – where behaviour would be classed as abominable that would pass for near-perfection in the outside world. It was certainly pleasant to spend a few days amongst such respectful and well-disciplined girls who seemed much more feminine on account of this quality that they shared in common. This, we felt clearly, was far closer to a female's ideal state than the superficial, irresponsible, egotistical little bitches it is our misfortune to meet only too frequently.


Antonia du Bois had been sent to the Punishment Officer by Mr Hetherington to be given twelve strokes of the cane for 'Gross Insubordination'. We did not learn what form this insubordination had taken, for it was not Mr McTaggart's duty to concern himself with the reason for punishment, but simply to apply it. His uniform definitely impressed the girls and made being sent to him that much more of a dread ordeal.


Antonia was apparently not one of these girls, however. One felt she had too much self-possession, far too much for her own good. It was perfectly evident to us that Antonia was very nervous at the prospect of her imminent 12-stroke caning but she had received too many punishments for them still to have the proper reformative shock effect. Even we were surprised to see her cheek the Punishment Officer by acting in his presence more as a sex object than a contrite punishee – although in the sweetest way of course.


The Punishment Officer ordered Antonia to strip entirely save for her shoes – the customary procedure, we learned, when a girl has exceeded a certain number of punishments in a given period. Antonia did not appear in the least embarrassed to have to appear naked before the uniformed Punishment Officer and our searching lens and ever-ready notebook. She even seemed to enjoy being the centre of attention, and appeared to perversely relish our attendance at her punishment as witnesses. We could not help but feast and feast our eyes... but the Punishment Officer, not a man of many words, began to get angry with her over her attempt to turn what was supposed to be her nude humiliation prior to being caned into an act of erotic exhibitionism.


The Punishment Officer, bless his heart, also could not prevent himself staring fixedly at Antonia's beautiful body, but unlike us he felt guilty about it. The Punishment Officer lost his temper when Antonia started smiling at him and licking her lips suggestively.

Then she shattered all our previous misconceptions about her. Even we were outraged.

'You think you're God with that uniform and that cane of yours, sir. Why don't you be honest and admit that you find me sexy. I know you're dying to touch me. Why don't you, sir? I don't mind!'


Mr McTaggart's response was almost incoherent in its fury. Unfortunately he did not possess Antonia's gift of telling the truth so pertly. He abruptly terminated Antonia's period of what was supposed to be 'nude humiliation', shouted at her to turn around and with a further yell brought his cane slashing down on the top of the punishment table. 'Kneel on the bench – get over it girl!' he bellowed. 'The Director will hear of this himself!'


At this, Antonia du Bois scrambled to comply with the Punishment Officer's orders. She positioned herself most fetchingly over the dreaded table and instantly assumed the requisite posture – bottom arched and upthrust, the highest point of her body – a posture in which frankly she excited us enormously, as our photographic evidence may perhaps explain.


Having witnessed and applied so many punishments ourselves we felt ready for anything the Punishment Officer could do to Antonia – but the actual reality almost shocked us. At intervals of one minute per stroke Mr McTaggart gave Antonia her twelve strokes for insubordination, but he applied them all so extremely hard – from the top of her bottom to the crease where her buttocks joined her thighs – that our spontaneous reaction was to want to intervene. Antonia's totally naked bottom received the indiluted vicious slashes of Mr McTaggart's senior cane, applied in sheer anger, and the girl clearly found the pain intolerable. Those ear-splitting sounds of swishing and impacting, the violent welts of the cane across Antonia's bare bottom and the humiliating ritual of her punishment seemed to us barbaric. Yet the very cruelty of her punishment, causing her to squirm and shriek and then yell as if undergoing an operation without anaesthetic, was what made it so mesmerising, stimulating and unforgettable. Antonia's facial responses under severe castigation were quite frankly erotic... her manifest suffering, the distortion of her exquisite feminine countenance, delighted and aroused us as addicts of corporal punishment drama.


Undoubtedly Antonia underwent excruciating pain over Mr McTaggart's punishment table. We saw tears coursing down her fullsome cheeks, and the unmistakeable evidence of her agony in the form of those fantastic cane marks covering her very attractive backside. She was sniffing and rubbing her bottom with one hand when Mr McTaggart ordered her to stand upright again and face into the room with her hands on her head... for more of the Academy's famed 'nude humiliation'.


Antonia should have loathed this controversial aftermath to her whipping as the dreadfully embarrassing conclusion to the ceremony for which it was intended. Being marshalled and drilled by the uniformed officer, nude except for her high-heeled shoes and with her bottom blazing from the cane, would have reduced most girls to floods of tears in the smarting abjection of pain, shame and contrition. Many girls, we are certain, would have died rather than be forced to submit to the indignity of being paraded by the Punishment Officer in this condition. So salutary would have been its effect that at the least they would have scrupulously avoided committing any transgressions serious enough to warrant this 'nude humiliation' treatment devised by the Director of the Academy, Dr N.Z.Weltscheim. But once again we were granted a sharp insight into the unusual mentality of this beautiful, wayward girl being disciplined in front of us.


As soon as she had recovered from the initial unbearable agony of her twelve-stroke caning, Antonia du Bois gave every appearance of enjoying her 'humiliation'! Before our bewildered, disbelieving eyes she stood to attention and, on the Punishment Officer's shouted command, placed her hands on top of her head in a submissive posture. And then she smiled!

Antonia's smile was no ordinary expression of pleasure or friendship. It was an extremely sassy face, radiant with erotic lust, a clear expression of the sexual stimulation she had so disgracefully derived from the caning, and at the same time somehow unspeakably cheeky and defiant. The Punishment Officer, who had dealt with hundreds of girls, had never in the course of his duties encountered such an indecent and brazen female who so blatantly revelled in the drama of being disciplined.

'Oh sir! You've made me feel so randy!' Antonia du Bois whispered and the smile she gave the no doubt sexually frustrated P.O. at that moment would have blown the lid off your mind.


Not a single word of Mr McTaggart's outraged reply was comprehensible to us – or, we suspect, Antonia. After uttering a staggering collection of Scottish oaths the Academy Punishment Officer seized hold of the heavy grade three-tailed leather tawse which he had used on Diana Parsons a little earlier, and ordering Antonia to stand facing the punishment table and bend across it he immediately administered an impromptu strapping of unmentionable severity.


Having transcended the lower threshholds of pain, Antonia du Bois was now very obviously starting to enjoy being physically thrashed – as well as psychologically humiliated in the nude – and she received the Punishment Officer's final strapping in a state which outwardly resembled ecstasy.

Mr McTaggart told us afterwards, when we were still reeling from Antonia's antics, that he would send her to the Director. 'Only Dr Weltscheim knows how to deal with a girl like that, gentlemen,' he said, mopping the heavy perspiration off his brow.

'He's a real expert disciplinarian, the Director is. Hell know just what to do with her, I'm sure he will...'

Next week we will be able to find out what happened to Antonia du Bois!

Nice on the farm

Story from old Swish.

Nice on the farm

"It'll be nice for you on the farm – a free summer holiday", Linda had been told, but it didn't look like the sort of farmhouse one saw pictured in books. It was a sort of Georgian and stood by itself. You didn't really realise that it was a farm until you took in the acres that surrounded it and realised that it was 'all one piece'.

So Linda thought when she lay in bed on the first night of her arrival. She had had a few too many liqueurs, she thought, and felt a teeny bit whoozy, but nice. They were a strange lot, anyway, Mr and Mrs Plummer and their two daughters. The miniskirt era was long over, but the two girls still wore them. Mrs Plummer said they looked nice, and Mr Plummer had nodded as if he agreed. – "You will have to wear one indoors, too, Linda", Mrs Plummer had continued, and had given her a plaid one which made Linda blush because when she sat down her knicks showed at the crotch.

"I like her there", she had heard Mr Plummer say as she went up to bed and, though Linda didn't connect the words with a state of revealment that seemed quite common, the also heard his wife say, "Yes, dear, I thought you would. I think we can bring her out. After that, that's what is wanted apparently and we must do our best".

Maybe Mrs Plummer meant that she was shy, Linda thought. A slight noise disturbed her then in the gloom and she sat up quickly, only to watch her door open and her hostess appear, carrying something in her hand which, wordlessly at first, she placed against the unit at the side of Linda's desk, saying quietly, "This one's yours, dear; you'll need it in the morning, I expect. You'll be nice and warm first thing". And before Linda could recover herself, Mrs Plummer had swept out again and closed the door.

Focusing her eyes and reaching out nervously, Linda saw and felt soon enough that it was a cane, a thin one. It had a slight bend to it that she guessed meant it was well-used. – "Oh no!" she gasped half aloud and slid down under the bedclothes and hid herself, as if the darkness might protect her. Not the cane – no, no! She had been spanked several times before coming here, and that was awful enough. Her blushes filled the dark when she thought of it. She always screeched. She wasn't to screech, she had been told.

Linda was always a late sleeper and she knew how warm her bottom COULD become first thing in the morning when she had sometimes been surprised by having her nightie whipped up and a smacking palm attending to her brazen young cheeks, urging both them and her up, up, up until she was haplessly showing everything. But when her bedroom door opened at eight that morning, Linda was caught napping again, though on this occasion by Mr and Mrs Plummer, and the former immediately picked up the cane at his wife rolled down the bedclothes, finding a drowsy Linda as ever on her tummy.

"WOW! HEY!" Linda jerked in that rude awakening, for in one sweep of her hand Mrs Plummer had uncovered her ripe young bottom as well and Mr Plummer was saying, "Hold her hips up for it, dear", and it was all happening so suddenly that Linda had not time to recover before the lady's strong arms scooped her bare bottom up and the cane gave it a first light twitch.

"YEE-OWK!" Linda squealed, though it was but a touch, and Mrs Plummer saying, "Now, be quiet dear, be quiet – you have to learn to be quiet. All right, Harry – just three, and then she can get up". – "No! I don't want!", shrilled Linda, endeavouring in vain to resist the arms that were looped together under her slim waist and so bringing her peach full up to Mr Plummer's admiring view.

"What you think you want and what you are going to get are two different things, I do believe", Mr Plummer uttered smugly, and with that brought the cane in a sweeping search across Linda's offered bulb. – "NAH-HOOOOO!" came her cry straight away, while from the bedrooms of the two girls she fancied she could hear giggling.

As Linda's cry died and her sobs sounded, so Mr Plummer sighed. – "It won't do, my dear. I think we'll have to put her up properly. We can't have the house being disturbed like this by an untutored girl. CAN we Linda?" he asked sharply and therewith brought a choking howl from her with another deep-stinging sweep of the cane. – "Well, we understood that this IS the problem, Harry. I'm holding her up still, dear – come on now".

"Ah, yes", uttered he as if he had almost lost the drift. "A little stillness, Linda, please. Wriggling is all very well, but not quite so much. It makes it difficult to apply the...." – "FEEE-OUCH!" Linda's cry interrupted him, or perhaps he interrupted himself with that third strike which left a 'triple tramline' across her heat-bleared peach. Then Mrs Plummer's arms released her and she slumped down, squirming like a landed fish while the pair watched dispassionately the urgent squeezings of her nether cheeks.

"Up now, darling, get up. The girls will be getting up as well. Breakfast is almost ready. Bacon and eggs and fried bread – you like that?" And with that bizarrely cheery remark the couple departed, leaving Linda clutching desperately at the edge of her pillow as she tried to sustain the burning in her bum.

"I'm going home!" she wanted to wail, but a desperation seized her that she mustn't act up in front of the girls, for then they would really know – though she could swear they did already. They both had pink nylon panties on, she saw, as she finally reached the breakfast table, for they were sitting facing her.

"You are late, Linda; we can't have this. Have to do something about it, won't we? You haven't seen our stable yet, have you? No, of course not. We'll show it you afterwards. Fill your tummy first, dear. A good meal sets you up for it", Mrs Plummer said, and all seemingly in one long breath so that Linda sat quite still and, partly to her own suppressed fury, ate as sedately as she could.

Stables were boring, she thought, and her bottom was still stinging so much that it was all she could do to sit still, but she had to, had to. And Mrs Plummer observed the restricted movements of Linda's hips on her chair and smiled to herself. Maybe that first little lesson had cut its first notch after all, but they still had a way to go yet. Briskly enough Linda found herself ushered up and out as soon as breakfast was over. The girls were going off somewhere, she gathered, so they had to get out of their miniskirts. As for herself, she wasn't going anywhere except to a boring old stable, Linda thought, and dully accompanied Mr and Mrs Plummer there across the paddock.

"You'll find it nice in here, Linda. I've got things to do but Mr Plummer and Miss Carstairs will handle you. See you later", breezed Mrs Plummer and was gone before a startled Linda even found herself being greeted by a young woman emerging from the stable doors. She was dressed in a riding habit and carried a small funny-looking whip in her hand.

"What a lovely young body – such curves! You are bringing her in, Mr Plummer?" purred the unknown retreating backwards as Linda felt her elbow taken and her host's voice boomed in her ear to reply, "I am indeed, Miss Carstairs. She was twitched a little first thing, but only that".

"Only that?" asked the young woman archly and tut-tutted playfully at Linda as the two large doors closed. "We have to do better than that at your age, don't we, eh?" – "No, no, look!" quavered Linda who didn't at all like the look of that multi-thonged whip. – "Look? Yes, we're going to, dear. A first look at your bottom? Oh no, it's second one for Mr Plummer, the lucky man, of course. Are you coming to the bale? You are, aren't you, Linda?"

"Oh no – look!" Linda repeated wildly and would have stepped back if Mr Plummer had not urged her forward to the bound hunk of straw. – "She's always saying that, but she never allows anyone to", Mr Plummer said sadly. – "Oh, we'll soon see to that little inhibition. Bottoms were MADE to show, Linda, and especially one as plum-rich as yours, my love. Get her over. No more nonsense now. This bum of yours, my pet, is ready for treatment".

"No! YAH!" Linda squealed, but in reality Mr Plummer had few problems in putting Linda over while Miss Carstairs ripped down her panties and rolled her plaid miniskirt up high. Not being a time-waster, and having the girls to attend to later, the latter stepped back, straightened out the twenty-four-inch thongs of her teasewhip and brought the flaying tips burningly, maddeningly, full into Linda's unveiled orb.

"GEE-YOOOO!" came from the girl as a hundred bees seemed to assail her pert cheeks. – "Yes, it's nice, unusual, eh? You'll get to like it, Linda", Miss Carstairs laughed and swept the heat-spraying thong-tips in again, each one biting sweetly into and between Linda's nether checks. – "BOO-HOO-HOO! You mustn't!" Linda sobbed. – "But we must, my dear, for this is your teaching ground", put in Mr Plummer who had only to hold the nape of Linda's neck to keep her pinned over.

A sperming ground also, Miss Carstairs thought, but she didn't say so. Her treatments, at she styled them, were only preparatory. What happened to all the hot-bottomed girls afterwards was not her business, though she was not past comforting them herself sometimes, and THAT was a very nice exercise when a girl's mouth was bubbling away under her own lips and creamy-rich pussy was delicious to touch.

"GOO-WAH! GOO-WAH!' – Linda's cries rent the air for a full minute while the thongs splayed and sprayed everywhere over her bottom and sometimes even under it. Pressing into the side of the bale didn't help, and if she pushed her bottom out she would be really lost – though in Mr Plummer's view she would then be 'found'. A difference of opinions, one might say.

"I'm going to give you the application, Linda, until you quieten down, you realise that, I hope", Miss Carstairs clipped tones cut in on Linda's cries and sobs. And the message did seem to take effect, for in but two more sweeping cuts her tones softened and she began instead to moan and whimper, churning her hips this way and that as the thongs took her.

"She's hot now, you think....?", queried Mr Plummer when finally Linda was allowed to sink down fully on to the top of the bale, her rose-red orb displayed to both and her fingers clenched as she strove to contain her sobs. – "That? Oh I NEVER enquire as to that, Mr Plummer, do I now? I think she had best be taken back to the house first – as usual", Miss Carstairs replied. She tossed the little teasewhip aside regretfully. It wouldn't be needed again for a couple of hours yet.

"Yes", Mr Plummer said. He always admired Miss Carstairs discretion in such matters. She was dedicated to her task, and that was what mattered. His pumper was stiff though, damned stiff, and he needed to use it. Linda was in a fully ripened state now, although she didn't know it. They never did until you slid the poker in and gave them what the Victorians used to call 'a cooling draught'.

"Please, I want to go!" Linda mewed as she was raised up and her knicks left lying on the stable floor. – "We are going, my dear", Mr Plummer said magisterially and led her stumbling across the paddock, though several times urging her to pull herself together. – "I'll give you a glass of milk", he said when they reached the large square kitchen – just as if, Linda thought, they had come in from a pleasant walk. – "No, I don't want...." she began, but then she meekly accepted it and saw how he was looking at her again and blushed.

"It is good to see a girl blush, Linda. Don't worry about that. There are many things that are good which you have not realised yet. – "I'm going to tell my Mum", blathered Linda, but she know she never would. Besides, her mother was the type who would say vaguely, "Well, I expect it was good for you, dear", having only half listened. And Mr Plummer didn't answer her, anyway.

The milk cooled Linda's tummy, making a strange contrast with the continual sparking in her bottom. She couldn't help wriggling it sometimes and she was almost past caring that he was observing with great interest the urging movements of her bum. Taking the glass from her, he said gravely, "My wife and the girls are out. Shall we go upstairs now, shall we?"

Linda wanted to say "Eh?", but she thought better of it. – "Go up?" she echoed, feeling a blush steal again into her cheeks. – "Upstairs, yes. You want to come upstairs now – do you?" And he was looking at her in a new way, Linda realised, and there was a bloody great hump in the crotch of his trousers where his jacket had swung open.

"I'm not going to cane you again, Linda. At least I think not. It won't be necessary, will it?" he asked as they entered the hall and mounted the wide stairs. And Linda quiveringly knew that there was only one answer to that and held her tongue. Her skirt was being gathered up at the back, she realised, and his hand was groping around and under her flaring bum. – "Won't be necessary – won't be necessary, Linda, I'm sure. Let's go in here. I call it – just jokingly, of course – the statutory obedience room. You can see why. Can't you?" he urged as the door received them and closed upon them.

"Mmm....", Linda said. She wanted to wriggle her hot bum more to cool it. There was a comfortable double bed and mirrors and there was a miniskirt lying on the floor. Above the bed were three small hooks, and hanging from them was a cane, a teasewhip, and a tawse. – "Will you – will you need them?" Mr Plummer was asking gently. He had bared her throbbing bottom completely now and was palming the cheeks, and Linda leaned back a little against him with a sigh, moving her naked bottom haplessly against his stiff tool.

It was the only answer she could give now, as she knew. And after all, it couldn't be half as bad as getting caned again......

Delight in store

Story from The Roue 02.

Delight in store

Claire Hepworth walked slowly down the aisle between the hair-care and make-up counters, closely scrutinizing each of the dozen or so female shoppers in turn who were examining the displayed items. None of the women, intent on their selections, paid Claire any undue attention, though they might have experienced some trepidation, had they known their innocent perusals were being analysed by a store detective.

Suddenly, Claire came to an abrupt halt, her pale-blue eyes fixed on a very attractive redhead standing close to the make-up counter. Claire appraised her from some twelve feet away. She placed the redhead somewhere in her early to mid-thirties and, judging by her simple, yet smart attire, probably a middle-class housewife. The weather outside was very warm and the redhead wore only a thin, white cotton dress, cinched at the waist by a tie belt. The thinness of the cotton dress clung in a very revealing fashion to the woman's buxom figure, and Claire noted the fullness of the large, heavy breasts, tapering to a passably trim waist, then flaring out into wide, very womanly hips. And her bottom, it was breathtakingly curvaceous, firm, yet with that bounciness that makes a large bottom appear so deliciously enticing when it wobbles. Claire could well imagine what it would look like when totally bared, like a huge split peach with a ripe, moist, sweet-tasting centre.

However, Claire was not only watching the ravishing redhead because she found her to be most attractive. No. Claire's instincts were roused, and she felt sure that before much longer the woman would take something from the display and secrete it inside her shoulder-bag, the flap of which just happened to be open. And, sure enough, after watching for a few more seconds, Claire's vigilance proved successful, for the redhead surreptitiously palmed two items from the display and dropped them inside her shoulder-bag.

Got you! Claire thought triumphantly, a wicked smile creeping onto her sensuous lips. Then, wasting no more time, she quickly approached the redhead and placed a restraining hand on her arm. The redhead turned, startled, fixing Claire with a surprised, perplexed look.

"It's not your lucky day, dear," Claire said, not even attempting to hide the pleasure this apprehension brought her. The redhead opened her mouth to protest, but Claire silenced her by continuing, "I'm a store detective and I saw you take two items from this display and place them inside your bag, obviously having had no intentions of paying for them."

For a moment the redhead looked as though she might panic and try to run off, but then she shrugged and sighed. "All right, I admit it. So what happens now?"

Claire pondered momentarily. "Well, I should take you upstairs to the manager's office and let him call the police, which is the usual procedure. However..."

The redhead glimpsed a thread of shiny hope and said quickly, "Yes? Look, I've never ever done anything like this before. I just don't know what came over me. If it's a question of... well... money..." She left the offer of an obvious bribe unspoken.

Claire made a show of considering the prospect of accepting a bribe, but then shook her head slowly. "No, I'm afraid not. You see, I'm a firm believer that crimes like this shouldn't go unpunished. Now, do you agree you do need to be punished? I mean, if not, you might just do the same thing again..."

The redhead was becoming obviously a little impatient, and she couldn't see where all this was leading. She gave a slight, yet distinctly exasperated sigh. "All right," she admitted, "so I deserve to be punished. So what do you suggest?"

Claire smiled. "Well, I was brought up to believe that naughty girls should be spanked..."

The redhead had to exercise great control over the pitch of her reply, not wanting to attract the attention of the other shoppers. "Spanked?" she said incredulously. "You must be joking, I've never heard anything so ridiculous..."

Claire raised her eyebrows.

"Isn't that better than going to court on a shop-lifting charge? You are married, I take it... what would your husband say? Have you thought of that?"

The redhead obviously hadn't from the expression she displayed.

"But... well... it's... so..."

Claire shrugged. "Well, of course, it is entirely up to you..."

The redhead thought quickly, her lovely features wrinkled by indecision. "Oh, all right... but when, where?"

Claire took a note-pad and a ballpen out from the breast pocket of her smartly-tailored jacket, scribbling her address quickly, then tearing the page off and presenting it to the redhead. "My address... let's say you're to be there no later than eight o'clock tonight, shall we?"

The redhead sighed resignedly. "Oh, very well... it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Luckily my husband is away on business, otherwise I don't know what excuse I could make to get away..."

Claire smiled. "Eight o'clock, then... oh, and what's your name, by the way?"

The redhead was now blushing slightly, the somewhat embarrassing facts of this bizarre situation suddenly dawning on her. "Wendy Palmer," she said rather too quickly, a further display of her sudden nervousness.

Claire enjoyed the other woman's obvious embarrassment. "Very well, then, Wendy... until later, then..."

Five minutes past eight found Wendy Palmer nervously seated on the settee in the living room of Claire's flat. Claire was fixing them both a drink at the drinks' cabinet, and she crossed to Wendy, handing her a gin-and-tonic, then sitting down beside her.

"Do you do this... often?" Wendy asked, taking a sip from her glass. She was very grateful for the drink, hoping it would steady her nerves.

Claire smiled. "Oh, yes, whenever I catch an... attractive woman shop-lifting, I always offer her the same alternative I offered you..."

"And do most accept?" Wendy inquired.

Claire nodded. "So far every single one of them has... accepted."

Wendy gave a puzzled frown. "But why do you do it?"

Claire laughed. "The answer to that is very simple, Wendy... I enjoy spanking beautiful women's bottoms."

Wendy blushed at this most forthright reply. "Oh... I see."

"Their bare bottoms..." Claire added.

"Oh!" Wendy's blush intensified by fiery degrees and she squirmed in her seat, suddenly very conscious of that part of her anatomy which now seemed very exposed, even though she was sitting on it. She took another quick sip of her drink to fortify herself. "Does your remedy for shop-lifters work?" she inquired tentatively.

"Work?" Claire said, raising her eyebrows curiously as she sipped her own drink.

"Yes, you know..." Wendy hesitated a moment. "...do these spankings prove effective in deterring women from attempting to steal things from the store again?"

Claire chuckled. "Oh, yes, I'll say. People think of a spanking as being a punishment solely for children, but it isn't. Oh, no, it's a very fitting punishment for a great many wrongs committed by women. For example, imagine the vast number of hypochondriac women who visit their doctors several times a week, wasting valuable time those doctors could be donating to patients who really are sick – not to mention the staggering cost of drugs prescribed, which these stupid women take needlessly! Now, if those same doctors were to put those women across their knees and give them a jolly good smacked bottom... don't you think that would really cure them?"

Wendy considered this hypothesis carefully. "Well... yes... I suppose you've got something there..." She giggled suddenly, the drink relaxing her to such an extent that she almost forgot her own particular predicament. "Sorry, but I couldn't help visualising all those weeping females coming out of doctors' surgeries throughout the country, ruefully rubbing their smarting situpons... with cheeks glowing remarkably healthily – all four of them!" She giggled again, finishing her gin-and-tonic.

Claire giggled with her. "Yes, it certainly would be a sight worth seeing!" She then noticed that Wendy had finished her drink. "Would you like another?"

Wendy pursed her sensuous lips. "Well, I shouldn't, but yes, please, I wouldn't mind."

Claire smiled at her, relieving her of the empty glass, standing up and crossing once more to the drinks' cabinet. Wendy watched her, for the first time, realised just how attractive the other woman was. She possessed a superb figure, not as ample as her own, but, then, Wendy had always considered herself to be too overly well-endowed in the breasts-and-bottom department.

Claire returned, handing Wendy her replenished glass and once more seating herself beside the shapely redhead. She suddenly placed a hand on the fullness of Wendy's thigh, feeling the button of a suspender-strap beneath her palm.

"I'm so glad you're beginning to relax, Wendy," Claire said.

Wendy didn't attempt to move her thigh, in fact she was enjoying this unexpected contact with the lovely store detective. She even shuffled a little closer in her seat. For the first time, when their eyes met, Wendy didn't shyly avoid the other's gaze, but held it, looking deeply into Claire's, suddenly glad she was sitting here, in the company of a beautiful woman who soon – oh, yes, please, soon – was going to spank her like she was a naughty child.

It was almost as if Claire read her mind because she then said, "You better finish that drink soon, young lady... because I hope you haven't forgotten the reason why you are here..."

Wendy gave a wanton pout. "Oh, how could I? Are you going to smack me... hard, Claire?"

Claire arched one carefully-plucked eyebrow, benefitting Wendy with one of her wickedest smiles. "Oh, yes, you naughty girl..." And, suddenly relieving Wendy of her drink, she added, "...I'm going to spank you very, very hard... so hard that you are going to blubber like a baby and plead with me to stop spanking you!"

With that, she stood up, took Wendy's hand, hoisted to her feet and, before the startled redhead knew what was happening, she was tipped over Claire's shoulder with surprising ease, the sexy store detective displaying astonishing strength for a woman! Wendy, her shapely legs wildly kicking, suddenly found herself almost upside-down, but it wasn't an untoward position in which to find one's self because it gave her a chance to smack Claire's bouncy buttocks – which she did with both hands!

"Hey!" Claire cried, the smacks raising the temperature in her shapely nether regions. "I'm supposed to be spanking began!" And, flicking up the hem of Wendy's tight dress, she began to belabour the giggling redhead's pantie-clad bottom with extremely hard smacks, causing the huge twin-mounds of wobbly flesh to jiggle deliciously in such close proximity with Claire's face. It didn't take long for the most experienced spanker to win out, and soon Wendy forgot all about smacking Claire's bottom – she was far too busy waving her hands frantically as her fat bottom began to feel as if someone had sat her down on a cooker's hot-plate! But this was only the beginning, because Claire then carried her from the room into another room – the like of which Wendy had never, ever seen before!

It was bare except for a solitary upright chair, a contraption that resembled a vaulting-horse and, suspended from hooks on one wall, a variety of swishy, crook-handled canes; large, leather paddles; and two Scottish tawses, each possessing three, wicked-looking tails! To poor Wendy these all appeared like the accoutrements to a veritable torture chamber and, with mounting panic, she suddenly wondered just what she had got herself into! But she was not left in suspense for long, because Claire carried her across to the collection of smacky weapons, selected a large black paddle, and carried her across to the upright chair. She was then set down on her feet, but for only a moment, and the very next thing she knew she was being drawn effortlessly down and across Claire's accommodating lap! Wendy now began to struggle, reaching back to protect her very vulnerable bottom which, because her dress was now well up around her waist, was scantily protected by her thin nylon panties. But Claire was quick to grab her wrist, forcing her arm up her back so that further struggles would only prove extremely painful, and then, in one swift blur of motion, Wendy felt her panties being yanked down clear to the dark tops of her sheer seamed stockings!

"Oh, please, Claire!" she almost sobbed, now that her large wobbly bottom was completely bare. "Oh, please, just use your palm, I won't be able to sit down for a week if you use that thing on me! What will my husband say? How will I be able to hide the damage from him? Oh, please, Claire – pleeeeease doooooon't!"

Claire laughed, these pleas like music to her ears, her eyes widely fixed on the vast, creamy expanse of the delectably fat bottom wriggling over her knees. It was very fetchingly dimpled, and the delightful crevice, which separated those bouncy cheeks, was devinely deep, dark, and extremely inviting. She hoisted the now almost hysterical redhead even further across her knee, nearly swooning as she watched that delicious split widen, the cheeks spreading, so that Wendy's pink little anus and the juicy lips of her sex were plainly evident! This all served to whet Claire's appetite and she couldn't wait any longer, raising the wide-bladed paddle high above her, casting a shadow across Wendy's sumptuous backside, then bringing it down with all the force she could muster!

THWACK!

Even though Wendy's bum was extremely expansive, the paddle covered both huge mounds as it swiped down with almost unbelievable impact, splaying those great fleshy buttocks even more widely, causing them to bounce and wobble like two enormous jellies! And how the unfortunate Wendy shrieked! But all to no avail for, no matter how loudly she screamed, Claire continued to tan her relentlessly, and all Wendy's lewd bum gyrations were useless in the attempt to evade the flailing paddle as it spanked her fat, opulent backside mercilessly!

After five minutes over Claire's lap, nobody would have recognised Wendy as being formally a haughty, middle-class housewife in her mid-thirties... for she was now just a blubbering baby with a very sore bottom, her beautiful face all blotchy and tear-streaked, with her mass of red curls dangling before her.

Claire was highly delighted with her handiwork, but not so delighted to stop her from hoisting Wendy up once more, displaying that same, astonishing strength so unusual in a beautiful woman, carrying her over to the piece of equipment that so resembled a vaulting horse, and placing her face down across it. In a trice Wendy's wrists and ankles were tightly secured with leather straps, and her widely-spread, bright-scarlet backside was thrust up at the ceiling in the most provocative angle imaginable!

"There, my girl!" Claire laughed. "Now it's the cane for you, my fine lady!"

"Oh, please, Claire, no more! Please, I'll do anything – but don't give me any more! Oh, God, no – my poor arse won't stand it!"

Claire returned, brandishing the whippy length of rattan, taking a stance alongside Wendy and measuring the cane across that inviting spectacle of ripe, wobbly rump. She loved the way those fat cheeks twitched to the touch of the cane's tip, and the way they tightened as she brought the cane back, anticipating the fiery agony that would all too soon be streaked across them!

Swisssh – THWACK!

"Owwwwwwwwww!"

Wendy screamed and pleaded, wriggled and writhed, but her broad hindquarters could not elude the chastising rod as it smote her rump with amazing accuracy! But then it was all over and Wendy sagged almost lifelessly over the horse. Her welted bottom was now even more widely spread and, unable to hold herself back any longer, Claire buried her face deep into that moist, fleshy core her lips and tongue busily active.

Wendy was now moaning as spasms of ecstacy suddenly oozed through her and, beginning to grind her sex against the horse's cushion, she just managed to say, "Oh, Claire that was dreamy... like all your fantasies are... tomorrow let's do the one where I play the bossy traffic warden... pleeeeease, Claire... H'mmmmmm..."

Training ship "Viceroy"

Story from old Blushes.

Training ship "Viceroy"
England expects –

FROM ADMIRAL I.C. TRAINING COMMAND TO COMMANDING OFFICER T.C.'VICEROY'........MESSAGE BEGINS: H.M. INSPECTOR OF TRAINING ESTABLISHMENTS WILL VISIT YOUR SHIP THIS A.M. 11.00 HOURS. MESSAGE ENDS........10.37


Although the afternoon sun struck dazzlingly across the water in the harbour, there was a breeze off the sea that was distinctly cool against the cheek as it blew up little waveletts to chuckle against the planking of the boat. Bare skin chilled in the intermittent gusts and there was plenty of unclothed girl-flesh in the whaler which had been sent to ferry the inspector across to the training ship moored in the deeper water of the main channel.

The bespectacled figure sitting awkwardly at the stern beside the girl handling the tiller looked now and then towards the tall-masted vessel riding quietly at her bouy, but his attention was more often focused onboard, where the girls on the thwarts laboured clumsily against the weight of their oars, dashing up little flecks of spray that spangled the man's raincoat and got onto his glasses so that he had to take them off several times and wipe the water away. The girls' legs were bare up to their shorts winch cut close across the tops of their thighs and pulled intimate creases up from between their legs. Their tee-shirts left their arms bare and their alternate leaning forward and straining back gave glimpses of flat naked bellies at each stroke. Nipples pushed against tight-stretched shirts as each pull had the girls inclining backwards and breasts bounced youthfully as they leaned forward again. Plump little peach-clefts strained juicily against white cotton between suntanned thighs and the healthy pink of physical exertion suffused young, smooth cheeks below bright eyes which watched the watcher watching.

Ten minutes saw them rounding the bow of the ship to pass under the boom and along the side to the ladder. A girl stood straddle-legged in the bow with a boat-hook held erect between her feet like a lance tipped with brass. Only when the girl had got to her feet had the inspector realised just how immodest the girls' shorts all were. Self-consciously this girl had looped a finger up under the leg of her shorts and eased the cotton down over the perkiness of her buttocks, aware no doubt that her saucy young bum would offer the inspector a fresh place to rest his eyes after their exploration of the other girls' thighs, but her buttocks could still not be entirely secluded from interested eyes, the diagonal upsweep of the shorts being cut high on the hip, emphasising the length of a girl's legs but making no secret of the roundness of her bottom in so doing. The inspector eyed the up-pull of the shorts between the girl's bum cheeks, noticed the edge outlined shape of brief knickers underneath and noted too the way the boat's crew-leader, a girl older than the rest with three red diagonal tags on the left breast of her shirt, one for each six months of her service, weighed a short straight cane in her hand and constantly turned her head to judge the distance still to go to the ladder and then looked back at the girl with the boat hook.
The boat swept down beside the ship, swinging sideways across the tide as the girl at the tiller heaved on the shaft. The crew-leader whacked her cane loudly down across a thwart. "Pull, oars, pull!" she bawled, and the girls threw their weight back and the boat stemmed the tide for a moment. "Hook on!" yelled the girl and the boat-hook swung for the ladder – and missed!

"Thwack!" The bow-girl's bum-cheeks trembled with the stroke's impact. With a squeal she clutched desparately at her bottom and the boat-hook splashed into the water. Squeezing her bum, her knees clamping together with the pain, the bow-girl's bare thighs caught the next one, loud and meaty across both legs at once. Her anguished yelp caused several of the girls at the oars to look round and then everything went wrong at once. One of the crew swept at the water with her oar and skimmed it across the surface instead of making it bite deep. A shower of salt water drenched the inspector, the oar slipped from its rowlock and went over the side, and the girl slipped backwards off her seat to end up half-lying between the knees of the girl behind her with her legs still hooked over her thwart and the seat of her tight-stretched shorts in a puddle of water in the bottom of the boat. With the girl behind unable to move because of the first girl's arrival in her lap, and the girls on the other side still rowing, the boat began to swing broadside to the tide flow and away downstream. The crew-leader shouted orders at the top of her voice, and dealt the bow girl a third wicked stroke up under her half-bare bum out of sheer spite. The girl at the helm stood up to lean all her weight against the tiller but the rudder blade caught against the ship's side and swung her hard across the boat into the inspector's lap. He helped her struggle to her feet, his hands alternately full of firm young breasts and chubby buttocks as he handled the situation the best way he could, while the crew-leader snatched the boat-hook from the water and yelled "Catch that oar there!" A second time the inspector found his lap full of warm young femininity as the tiller girl dived across him to grab the floating oar. At full-stretch she found she couldn't lift the oar, but she hung on determinedly until help should arrive. The inspector did what he could. He held the girl round the hips and tucked his fingers into the waist of her shorts for the sake of security, and while the crew-leader lent a hand to recover the oar, the inspector affected a look of embarrassed surprise as he found that the girl's shorts slipped down very easily when he tugged at them, under the pretence of keeping her steady. A nimble readjustment of his grasp on the shorts ensured that he had her knickers clutched in his fingers too.

"Oh Christ!" It was the tiller girl still struggling to hang on to the oar as both her shorts and her knickers slipped down off her hips. As though more concerned not to embarrass the inspector than she was about falling out of the boat, she turned her face back towards him and stuttered that she was – "Sorry sir, only there wasn't much I could do about it, Sir, honest!" With his lower hand cupped under the girl's pubic swell, the inspector clung on to her hips until the oar was back in the boat.

"Thank you, sir" gasped the tiller girl, struggling to pull up her knickers while the crew-leader regained control of the debacle and shouted for the boat to be steered up into the current. With her pants still only half-way up the girl had to attend to her helmsmanship. Gallantly the inspector volunteered to help her. He could have taken the tiller of course, but instead he retrieved her knickers, made quite sure that they were snugged up into all the warm little places knickers are meant to keep snug, and then did the same with her shorts.

With the bow-girl relegated to holding the boat's painter, the crew-leader herself supervised the pull up-current and hooked on to the ladder. Solicitously she helped the inspector onto the steps and with anxiety plain in her face she offered her sincere apologies for the incident.

Relieved to be out of the whaler – he didn't like small boats at the best of times – the inspector regained his dignity as well as his sodden condition would allow and gave her a thin smile.

"Miss, er –?''The inspector paused for her to tell him her name.

"Marley, Sir" said the girl helpfully, and after a hesitation as she realised that he was looking at her nipples poking themselves erect under her wet shirt, she added "Allison Marley, actually sir" just in case the discreet suggestion of informality might do some good somewhere along the line.

"Well, Miss Marley" – She really did have very nice breasts, didn't she "– um – I was going to say that I don't get paid to risk life and limb on these visits, you know. I should like to think that you'll give that crew of yours something to wake them up, eh?" He glanced down at the cane which was still in her hand, remembering the way she had whacked it across that girls bum, and the tantalising thought occured that he'd really like to see it being used on her bottom. "Er – will you see to that for me, Marley?".

"Yes sir – I certainly shall!" she said, the cloud of apprehension lifting instantly from her face now that she realised she wasn't going to be held personally responsible for the fiasco in the boat. The cane flicked eagerly against her leg – it seemed probable that she would enjoy herself "seeing to it" as she'd been told to.

As a tall girl came along the deck to salute him and take him below, the inspector heard the crew-leader's voice calling "let go for'ard!" down near the waterline, and then quite distinct, although distant, the 'thwack' of cane against cotton shorts. The plaintive yelp which floated up over the side confirmed that Allison meant to discharge her duty with a will.

T.S. "Viceroy's" intelligence system hadn't had much warning of the inspector's impending arrival but it had coped perfectly nevertheless. While the whaler had been pulling across the harbour towards the jetty to fetch the inspector, the motorboat had slipped away on the far side of the ship in the direction of the signals office, and while Senior Cadet Marley's crew were still making a pig's ear of hooking on to the ladder, a breathless girl had been tapping at the door of the Captain's cabin.

"Sir – a signal, sir". The captain had read it in a moment.

"Thank you. No reply".

The Educational Petty Officer's grape-vine had back-tracked to the inspector's last three visits and the word had come back – "Bent as a nine bob note". Susceptible, persuadable, a man who liked to enjoy his work like most of them on the Inspectorate. The Captain had already summoned the girl who, for lack of a proper officer in these straitened times, acted as his First Lieutenant.

"Who's on punishment detail for this afternoon?"

"Um – Cadets Howard, Cranley and Everwood, Sir. I dare say I could muster a few more, sir –".

"Right. Put Cranley on Captain's Steward for lunch. This one probably likes 'em young and pretty – don't they all – and see that she looks her best, Fairbrother – I imagine you know the drill by now".

"Yes sir". The girl had licked briefly at her lips, checking through the myriad items that would have to be seen to if the inspector's visit was to be a success. "Punishment parade on the foredeck as usual, sir? Eighteen hundred?"

"Yes – oh and see if we can arrange some kind of tour of the harbour or something for this afternoon – get the sod off the ship while we smarten the place up eh?"

"Yes sir. Will that be all, sir?"

"I think so. Right then – get up there and smile at him girl – and wiggle your bum!"

"Yes sir!" Senior Cadet Fairbrother had taken herself off and the Captain had had a moment to himself before he needed to turn on the charm.

With the information from the Educational Petty Officer's dash ashore, he was at least equipped to deal with the situation with his eyes open. More than once it hadn't been that easy – but never mind. This inspector it seemed, was a man after his own heart. He had snatched up his cap and gone up to meet the man from the Ministry.

The Captain leaned back from the table, took his pipe from his pocket and fed it slowly and carefully with an aromatic mixture from a leather pouch. This operation absorbed his attention and the inspector seated opposite was free at last to stare unhindered by considerations of politeness at the softly-plumped pout at the bottom of the girls belly – the girl who had stood a little behind and a little to one side of the Captain chair throughout lunch, when she had not been waiting on them during the meal. The impudent fullness of the girl's pubic swell, enhanced by the snug fit of her little knickers which quite failed to conceal anything of the underlying shape of her pubes, had fascinated him for the entire time he had been at the Captain's table, as had the mere fact of the girl's virtual undressedness in the presence of the Captain and, most surprisingly, himself, without any conscious intimation having been made on his part that such an unusual circumstance would even be permissible according to his own lights, far less something for him to be confronted with over lunch on his first hour aboard the ship. He had said nothing however, because disregarding the oddness of it all, the truth was that the titillating effect of the girl's presence had excited him considerably and he hadn't seen enough of her yet by any means.

Cadet Cranley, the girl whom Senior Cadet Fairbrother had reported as being on punishment parade and who was now acting as the Captain's Steward, stood smartly to attention with her whole posture as militarily correct as she could make it after only nine weeks training, but with the effect entirely disipated by the maidenly blush which heightened the colour in her cheeks and by the virginal downcast of her eyes each time the inspector's penetrating gaze could disengage itself from her pubes or her nipples long enough to take in her face as well. She started suddenly as the Captain spoke.

"You may clear away now, Cranley" he said, as he put his pipe between his teeth.

"Yes sir". The girl came round the table to take the inspector's coffee cup – the Captain hadn't wanted coffee – and then she had to lean across to reach the pot with her knickers stretching across her round young buttocks under the inspector's very nose. The inspector, who had been invited to watch the girl's forthcoming chastisement – in the line of duty of course – which was scheduled for that afternoon immediately after the Captain had finished his lunch, rather self-consciously eyed the solid look of her bum under the flimsy pants and found himself wondering how it was going to respond to a good hard whack with a cane.

"Ooh!" The girl's gasp took him aback, as though she had read his thoughts and felt the imaginary stroke as he had pictured it landing. Even the Captain, couldn't restrain a grin as she stood back from the table with a petulant look on her face and kept the hot coffee-pot well away from her bare breasts this time. "S-Sorry sir" she whispered, aware that she had caused a little bit of a stir by her clumsiness.

"Clear off, Cranley!" said the Captain mildly, "and you can come back with two brandies – you'd like a brandy wouldn't you Mr. Vallis? – in five minutes".

"Yes sir". The girl's scantily-knickered bottom bounced indiscreetly behind her as she left the cabin while the Captain kept an eye on his guest's interest in her retreating shape. He waited until the inspector withdrew his glance and then he puffed on his pipe and allowed a convincing chuckle to lighten the atmosphere between them.

"Pretty little thing isn't she?"

"Oh – yes, she is". The inspector seemed undecided about something. The Captain wondered for a moment whether he had judged his man amiss. He thought he'd better let his visitor make the pace.

The inspector wondered for his part if he oughtn't to stamp his authority on this meeting and demand to know what the Captain meant by having his girls wandering around virtually naked – on the other hand, he knew perfectly well what he meant by it, and it would save him the awkwardness of having to suggest a bit of mutual back-scratching himself. He made up his mind to play the ball as it lay.

"I wonder – perhaps you know that one of my tasks on these visits is to interview a few of the girls – in private, that is – to get an idea of their points of view with respect to conditions as they apply to them at these establishments. Ah – d'you think your steward – Cranley? Was that her name? D'you think she'd make a suitable interviewee?"

"Er – yes, I should say so". The Captain wasn't sure of his man any longer – but he could hardly start any cover-ups now, not with the cards already dealt. Perhaps it had been a mistake after all. He began to think about his pension entitlement and wondered whether he was about to say goodbye to it.

"Fine. Well, would you mind if I had my chat with her when she comes back?"

"Alright with me, Mr. Vallis" said the Captain, a trifle too heartily. This had all the makings of a catastrophe, if his information had been wrong.

"Good, so that's agreed then". The inspector reached for his briefcase and took out an ominous-looking pad of forms, then looked up at his host. "By the way – the crew-leader in the boat which brought me across – Marley, I think she said her name was".

"Marley? Oh yes". Now what was he up to.

"How old is she?"

"Er – coming on eighteen, I should think. I could find out".

"No, no. It's just that she seems a little inexperienced in handling her cadets – she made rather a mess of coming alongside this morning, you know".

"Yes, I heard –" What was he up to?

"I wondered whether you thought she ought to be replaced – perhaps temporarily, that would be up to you – and another of the girls in her crew given the chance to show what she could do".

"Ah – well, I don't see why not, if you think so". It seemed best to go along with him – that way things wouldn't get any worse!

"Fine". The inspector shuffled his papers. "And out of interest, what would you say would be a suitable punishment – I'm speaking of corporal punishment, of course – for a senior cadet whose negligence in boat-handling put the safety of a passenger at risk? And here I'm speaking of myself, Captain". He eyed the Captain in a bland way that was somehow all the more threatening for its lack of expression.

"Well, I suppose the rules allow for her to be caned, just as any cadet might be –".

"Would you think that to be a suitable punishment – a caning?"

"Ah – well, yes. But I rely upon my senior cadets quite heavily – I wouldn't want to undermine the girl's authority in front of her juniors. I mean, I shouldn't think I've had Marley's knickers down – for punishment that is, of course – in the last six months".

The inspector smiled a thin smile. "Whereas you've had her knickers down for other purposes, Captain?"

"No no. Of course not. That wasn't what I meant at all". It hadn't been what he'd meant, needless to say, although the inspector's interpretation had been too damned near the mark for comfort. The Captain gave in. "Well, let's say the girl does deserve a caning shall we, Mr. Vallis. May I take it that you'd like to see her get it?"

Knowing that he'd hit upon a chink in the Captain's armour, the inspector felt free to say "Yes, you may take it that I should like to see the girl punished, Captain".

The Captain puffed aggressively on his pipe, nodded his approval, and turned suddenly to bark at the unfortunate Cadet Cranley, who had reappeared in the doorway with two glasses and a brandy bottle on a tray.

"Don't you know better than to barge into this cabin without knocking girl?"

Cadet Cranley stopped in her tracks and a glass toppled over on the tray and broke into pieces.

The captain got to his feet and caught the girl a hefty slap on the buttocks.

"I'll deal with you when Mr. Vallis has had a word with you, Cranley. Right now I need a breath of fresh air". He left the cabin and shut the door heavily behind him, leaving Cadet Cranley bewildered by the suddeness of events and worming her hips distractedly as the sting of the spank sank in. Her frightened eyes met the inspector's and she burst into tears.

The inspector watched the girl, who was no more adequately covered than she had been earlier, and slowly she stopped her crying and attempted to concentrate upon her asigned task.

"Um – s-sir, would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you". The inspector crossed his legs and motioned to her to put down the tray.

"What's you're first name?" he enquired pleasantly.

"Sir – Susan, sir". She stood now with her hands folded demurely in front, but her attempt at a modest pose was altogether spoiled by the impudent thrust of her young breasts and the rather snooty way her pink nipples pointed in different outward and upward directions.

"Susan - are you happy here? Hmm?"

The conflict between self-preservation and the longing to tell someone just how awful it was on this ship was evident in her troubled face, but her eyes met his, frank and appealing, as though she thought that he might be someone she could trust.

"Sir – n-not really sir. I wish I could go back home sir".

"Do you my dear? And what is it that's so dreadful here that you wish you could go home, eh?"

Stuck for words, fearful of saying too much, Susan could do no more than gesture hopelessly with her hands – the plump pout of her pubes was disclosed for a moment. She saw the inspector's eyes drop to the level of her knickers and folded her hands there again, but then in a gesture which she probably hoped would be interpreted as an expression of trust, she let her hands swing down to her side. It wasn't lost on the inspector.

"Ah – have you been Captain's Steward on other occasions, Susan?"

"Sir, once sir, about two weeks ago".

"I see – and is that –" He indicated the girl's near nakedness – "the usual dress for a steward on this ship?"

"Umm – well, no, not really sir". She seemed embarrassed.

"So it's specially for my benefit, eh?"

"Sir – I suppose it must be". She blushed as she sought for the words. "Um – we – we aren't usually allowed knickers, sir". Her cheeks were crimson as she looked down at her feel.

"No knickers?" He said it mildly, but if anything the flush in Susan's cheeks heightened.

"N-no sir – not on Captain's Steward sir. It – it's very humiliating sir".

"I see". His crossed-over leg swung lazily, the girl watching his polished brown shoe for somewhere to cast her nervous glance. He left the obvious question aside for the moment.

"And what else do you find makes you unhappy – mmm?"

"Sir – getting caned is worst sir".

"Hmm". He caught the momentary flutter of her eyelashes as she looked up at him then away again. Greatly daring, she risked initiating a fresh turn to the convention.

"Sir – the girls say you're someone important sir. Someone from the Ministry. Are you sir, someone important?"

The inspector noted this development with interest. "Yes – I suppose you could say I'm sort of important. Why d'you ask?"

Susan swallowed audibly before she risked speaking again. "Sir – after this – after you've finished with me – the Captain's going to cane me sir. I-I hate being c-caned –". She looked at him pathetically, near to tears again. The inspector smiled at her, seeming sympathetic.

"So –". The girl's tack was transparently obvious "– you'd like me to intervene? To save you and your pretty little bottom from the Captain and his cane? Is that it?"

"Er – well, yes sir, I suppose that's what I mean". Her hands moved to her hips, thumbs tucking into the waistband of her insubstantial knickers. The inspector watched – there was no mistaking the inference of that little motion. He watched as she plucked up her courage then inched her pants down from her hips, a crinkle of pubic hair appearing as she slipped the knickers down to the tops of her thighs. She put her hands behind her back and wouldn't look at him – this helpless offering of the only thing she had, her sweet youthfulness and her body's most precious secret – stirred the inspector to consider the possibilities; possibilities which had to be rejected the moment they came into his mind for fear of the consequences which might ensue it he gave way to his natural impulses and was then discovered by someone coming in unexpectedly. But the girl had advanced, hesitantly but still determinedly, to within arms-reach of his chair. The fresh, warm smell of her body was in his nostrils the invitation becoming more difficult to decline. Almost unconsciously the inspector's hand reached out, stroked the inside of her upper thigh with the back of a finger, delved between her legs, slipped two fingers along the warm, moist tunnel and felt her shiver at his violation of her modesty, or perhaps it was shock at her own invitation to him to have done it. The full, soft weightiness of her bum-cheeks, explored briefly from between her legs, made him think of the caning the Captain was about to give her – the caning which he would let the Captain give her, sweet pleading or not. He withdrew his hand, letting a finger trail down between her cheeks, feeling her little start as he touched a sensitive area on the way back.

"Well now Susan – I'm not sure I should interfere in the Captain's plans for this nice little bottom of yours, you know".

She edged a little away, just a sort of mental distancing from the disappointment that the inspector's words implied.

"Sir – please, I really don't want to be caned – it frightens me; even thinking about it scares me sir!"

"How many strokes will the Captain give you d'you think, Susan?"

She swallowed again, her nerve beginning to go now that this last chance to avoid her punishment seemed to be slipping away. "Er – t-twelve sir, probably sir. Actually I don't know –" She trailed off, her voice catching in her throat.

"Well I'm really not at all sure I should interfere, Susan". He looked up at her, his face bright as though he'd just had a good idea. "But if you're really frightened –".

"Sir – I am sir. I don't want the cane sir –". She looked terrified, in fact, her lips moistly apart, her eyes wide, her cheeks pink. "Please sir –".

"Very well, Susan – I shall stay here and see it through with you". He said it boldly as a man would who was preparing to demonstrate his great loyalty to a friend by the making of a considerable sacrifice.

"Oh – sir, please –".

"No, no, I insist. It's the least I can do". He slapped her bottom playfully. "Now then, run along and tell the Captain I've finished with you – oh, and this conversation is to remain strictly between you and me, alright?"

The girl looked at him fearfully – he slapped her again. "Come on – don't worry. I shall be here to look after your interests Susan".

Susan backed awkwardly away. The inspector 'shooed' her towards the door with a wave of his hand and she turned and went, her step leaden her face turning towards him one last time, only to be waved away again. Bursting into tears she turned the door handle, realising only when she had opened it that her knickers weren't where they ought to be. With a sob she yanked them up – too much, because they slid up between her cheeks and left her bottom virtually bare but she seemed not to notice and scampered from the cabin, her crying fading with her running footsteps.

Susan's caning was a very noisy affair. Swishy canes on girl's bare bottoms make a sound that might not be heard very clearly through a heavy oak door, but a girl's yells as she is thrashed have a more piercing quality which no door can adequately muffle. Susan's caning was no secret on that ship.

Spreadeagled across the cabin's big table, her knickers taken down and off and stuffed nonchalently into the Captain's pocket, Susan began her sobbing even as the cane was first presented to the impudent upswell of her satin-pink bum cheeks, then flicked as if to assess this particular bottom's firmness and resilience to the cane. With the inspector holding both her hands and keeping her well stretched-out, her face, when she looked up, was no more than a couple of feet from her "supporter's" own as he sat in his chair and leaned a little back to exert a slight but constant tension on her arms. Her young breasts were squeezed against the table by her weight, her belly squeaked against the polished wood as she fidgeted nervously while the Captain's cane toyed with the insouciance of her bum – then "thwack!" The cane descended.

Susan's head jerked back – over her shoulder the inspector could see the twitch of her buttocks as the cane's venom sank home. Again the captain brought the cane down across the crowns of both cheeks, and Susan's tears splashed onto the inspector's lap as she threw her head from side to side, her mouth open as she first gasped then sobbed in a series of descending tones, over and over again.

Her caning proceeded methodically; when her legs began scissoring up and down the Captain trapped them against his side with his free hand and caned the agile buttocks with a backhand stroke diagonally across the cheeks, although even his sizeable bulk was barely sufficient to anchor the squealling cadet in the moments immediately following the cane's crisp arrival. By the time the twelve strokes had been delivered, her reactions to it were virtually uncontrollable. When the inspector finally released her there were reddening marks around the girl's wrists from the tightness of the grip it had taken to hold her. His glimpse of her thrashed bottom as she stumbled back from the table and the colouration that the cane had engendered in those previously pale pink cheeks was startling. Hardly recognising that what the Captain was holding out to her was her knickers Susan struggled to stand to attention as the Captain entered the fact of her punishment into a book, and doing things strictly by the rules because of the inspector's presence, read out to her the entry he had made. The girl's legs alternately bent and straightened convulsively and one knee lapped over the other even when she could stand up straight, and all the while her buttocks trembled and squeezed together in an independent little routine which they maintained even when Susan had stepped into her pants and hauled them up.

Weeping still, Susan was dismissed and the Captain poured himself a brandy into the remaining glass without even thinking of offering a drink to the inspector. Perhaps it was just as well – Mr. Vallis' heightened blood-pressure might not have been able to take the additional stimulation of the Captain's brandy. Besides, there was still the business of crew-leader Marley's punishment to superintend – that he was really looking forward to!

The Senior Cadet's public humiliation took place on the deck immediately below the Captain's cabin. Had the ship been at sea they might have bared the girl's bum to the sea air and done it on the upper deck, but the Captain quite sensibly preferred to keep his disciplinary activities as a matter for shipboard awareness only. The ten girls of Senior Cadet Marley's boat were assembled to witness their crew-leader's punishment. Allison Marley herself was told to parade them and to report her crew as being all present to the Captain, during which piece of ceremony she was presumably not supposed to notice that the bow-girl – the one whose bottom she had whacked when the boat-hook had fallen into the water – was carrying the cane which was to be used across her bottom in a few minutes time. Bravely Allison ordered her crew into two ranks and turned to present them and herself to the Captain. She saluted smartly and reported the parade as being ready for punishment to proceed, and then while the Captain inspected the girls ranged behind her, followed by an inspection, chiefly from the rear, of Allison herself, who somehow managed to avoid an eyeball-to-eyeball meeting of glances between herself and the inspector, who was hovering on the gringes of this often-performed ritual and keeping his options open as to his exact position during the forthcoming entertainment, since he hadn't yet worked out which would be the best vantage point to view it from. Of course, he was already enjoying it – the girl herself was as fascinating a picture of teenage femininity one could have imagined. If he had been called upon to record the event for a report back to his ministry, he might truthfully have stated that the girl had been wearing gym shoes, socks, shorts, a tee-shirt and her cap, which she had now passed to one of her crew to hold. On the face of it, nothing to raise an eyebrow about. A more accurate report, however, would have recorded that Allison had been less dressed than undressed and a photograph might well have given an upward lift to more than eyebrows in the office.

Allison's tits, which had excited the inspector's attention earlier up on deck, were an especial treat; not particularly because they were large, they were not; nor because they were exactly womanly – Allison's whole presentation of herself made her look more like a healthy sixth-form schoolgirl than a woman; no, it had to do with the way they carried themselves – firm but inviting, uplifted but cuppable in the hand – in fact, very much like the girl's bottom in all these respects. And that was a comparison which in the circumstances, was easy enough to observe. Allison's tee-shirt, no doubt specially "tailored" for just such occasions as these, stopped short on a horizontal line just below her nipples – the fine upcurve of the underside of her breasts could be plainly seen. As she had saluted the Captain, the raising of her arm had been the cue for the nipple of her right breast to peep cheekily from below the angled hem of the tee-shirt, the whole firm weightiness of both tits bobbing faintly as the girl had brought her hand snappily down to her side. As for her shorts, they had been trimmed and hemmed to proportions no more generous nor modest than the tee-shirt; at the back they curved up so steeply across each buttock that they hardly departed from the crease of her bum until they had reached the top of that soft division of bum-cheeks, whilst at the front, the same tailoring technique had pared down the material until it was little more than a wide seam which appeared between the girl's thighs, dipped snuggly between softly swollen labia and ascended in a narrow downward pointing arrow to the girl's waist. If presentation counted for anything, Allison was the most erotically decorative young cadet that the inspector had ever seen.

Allison wasn't required to remove any part of her scanty clothing – there was, indeed, hardly the need – before she was told to step forward and spread herself laterally across an overturned half-barrel – an unusually large one – which, as the inspector noted, had been provided on one side with cut-out hand holds and on the other with similar but larger places, padded inside on their lower surfaces, into which the girl to be punished would place her knees, these lodgements being sufficiently widely-spaced as to require that her legs were parted at an angle to each other which approached some forty-five degrees. Thus presented, with her body curved across the barrel's fat belly and her bottom conveniently at waist height, Allison was ready for her punishment.

The girl carrying the cane stepped smartly forward and handed it with both hands to the Captain, then stepped back into line. Across her own semi-exposed bottom-cheeks the marks of Allison's cane was plainly visible beyond the coverage line of her shorts – her expression, though not so unseamanlike as to be worthy of remark, held a glow of satisfaction as she resumed her place and bent her glance upon the upturned bottom of the girl who had made her life miserable for the previous few months.

The eighteen strokes of the caning took some ten minutes to administer – Allison's conduct, as the cane whipped across her plumped-out bum-cheeks, was that of an ordinary teenaged girl whose bottom was an vulnerable to the cut of a cane as that of any girl who was trying desparately, almost endearingly, to be very brave yet failing to be quite brave enough. The first stroke, which was hard and low across the undercurve of both cheeks together, wrenched a shudder from her body and a shiver from her buttocks, but no more than a faint gasp in the way of vocal protest. The second stroke, an inch or so higher up the swell of her bum, brought a little forward jerk across the barrel and a convulsive tweaking together of her bottom-cheeks while the cane was drawn back and held in readiness for the next stroke. Allison's gasp was clearly audible this time; in the ranks of watching girls more than one pair of buttocks reacted in sympathy with twitching of the crew-leader's bottom.

By the sixth stroke, Allison's bum had livened up considerably. As the "whack" of the cane still echoed along the deckhead, there was a scrabbling noise as she lost her hand-hold on the far side of the barrel and a gasp that had more than a hint of panic in it. A second gasp, sounding more frantic, accompanied a lift of her hips and a slow worming of her bottom which took several seconds to subside and which was the first of a series of such pathetic little movements that after a few more strokes would become a sustained squirming that persisted through the interval between every subsequent cane stroke.

Stroke number twelve, and Allison's gasps were now hearty sobs which died away only just before the cane whipped across her buttocks for the thirteenth time. Allison squealed and wrenched her bum sideways across the barrel. She lost her finger-hold again and her hand waved plaintively back towards the twitching buttocks as if to clasp the crimsoned cheeks. "Stop that!" came the Captain's stern voice – Allison's hand returned reluctantly to its proper place and the caning continued.

Thereafter Allison's active young bottom didn't desist from its panicky wriggling at any time, and every stroke accelerated the rate at which it swerved from side to side, with little liftings-up and bumpings-down when the cane delivered a particularly meaty whack across it's crimson-wealed target.

With stroke sixteen, Allison at last gave way to the tears which she had so nearly defied altogether, and her weeping marked the end of her determination to be a brave girl. The seventeenth stroke had her blubbering for it to stop – "Oh please sir, please no more!" – but the last stroke swept down and cracked as hard as all the rest across Allison's frantically squirming bum. Her panic-stricken yells gave way to uncontrolled sobbing as she was ordered up from her place across the barrel and she couldn't help but clutch at her trembling bottom even when she saluted the Captain and turned to march her squad away. The girls, although they all had reason enough to want to see their crew-leader whipped, helpfully obeyed, sobbed words of command even though they were almost incomprehensivel, and the girls marched away followed by the unsteady, still weeping Allison with her bobbing cane-reddened bottom perfectly displayed in all its nakedness by the almost non-existent shorts.

Some twenty minutes later, his visit having achieved its various objects both official and otherwise, the inspector climbs down the ladder over the side of the ship and drops awkwardly into the whaler alongside. Averting her eyes from him, indeed from everyone, Allison stands in the bow of the boat with the boat-hook, holding the whaler close to the hull of the "Viceroy". Someone, presumably the new crew-leader who was to have taken over as soon as Allison's punishment had been completed – has obviously refused the other girl permission to change into her regulation shorts. She is wearing the same tee-shirt as all the others but her punishment shorts still display the plump canedness of her bum cheeks and a glance at the new crew-leader, the girl who had been bow-girl on the outward trip – convinces the inspector that Allison's lack of covering for her bottom is no mere piece of cattiness on the new crew-leader's part. Although she has a respectful air about her with the inspector in her boat and probably hasn't had time to gain sufficient confidence to assert her authority properly with a VIP looking on, from the way she carries the cane across her knees and flicks it now and then against her own bare thigh, the inspector would guess that she is quietly assessing what degree of swish the implement needs to induce what decree of sting on bare flesh. Once the inspector is out of the way the ready accesibility of those bare and well-caned buttocks, glowing tenderly in the bow of the whaler is no doubt going to be exploited to the full.