Come into my Parlour

Story from Fessee 01.

Come into my Parlour
A short story by Paula Meadows

She was young. She was beautiful. She was titled with a paragraph in Debrett. I was forty two, manifestly undistinguished and in awe of her. I had not won the second world war, driven racing cars or climbed mountains. I had worked all of my life as a professional with various charities and had considered it a feather in my trilby when I was appointed General Secretary to A.S.F.A.T.A. & I. which stands for Associated Societies for Aiding the Aged and Infirm. We ran homes for elderly and invalid men and women, put out to grass and otherwise neglected by our basically uncaring society. A very worthy cause. Subscription list enclosed!

I was not afraid of the aristocracy per se. Oh no. All major charities rely on patronage, Royal, aristocratic or merely City Rich so I was accustomed to meeting and working with volunteer helpers many of whom also had paragraphs in Debrett. But Lady Millicent was young, beautiful and I'd seen her photograph in Country Life, riding, swimming, and being received at Buck House long before we actually met. When we did meet she was aloof, condescending and her life outside my committee remained a closed book.

Her smile was ravishing, but polite. It invited no familiarity, and the fact that she caused me to have an erection every time I saw her was a fact that only I knew but she did not begin to suspect. I think. I hope. I believe.

* * *

Until the day, almost four years after she had come into my office to introduce herself, when she casually asked me to escort her to the house of an amusing friend she thought I'd be interested to meet. The friend was considering an annual commitment in the form of a financial donation which was tax free. The friend was a famous high society portrait painter.

I agreed at once and a London taxi whirled us to a very good address in Belgravia. A trim housemaid answered the door and Lady Millicent and I were ushered into a stately parlour where our hostess, Amanda Felicity Cummins greeted us. She was clad in trousers and a woollen jumper that was filled with bosom which jiggled. A mannish girl, this artist, with short hair and an abrupt manner which got down to business at once.

Lady Millicent seemed unexpectedly nervous and withdrawn, perching herself primly on a hard high backed wooden chair. I was offered a portion of a large settee and a cup of Lapsang Souchong, with lemon. The business of the evening was accomplished within ten minutes. At which point I expected to be ushered out of the house and on my way.

Instead our hostess rounded on Lady Millicent with an abruptness that startled me.

"Well Millie," she snapped. "Don't just sit there like Patience on her bloody monument. Strip!"

Lady Millicent's hands fluttered in agitation.

"Oh Mandy. I can't. Not in front of —"

"Don't be so damned silly," Amanda exploded. "I'm painting you in the nude, aren't I? Let's have a look at you then. Don't play the spoiled aristocratic bitch with me darling. I know you too well."

"But, but — I CAN'T! Not in front of — er 'um."

Did she mean the maid? Or me?

I sat glued to the settee, my arms wrapped around my kneecaps.

"Get 'em off," Amanda said tersely. "Stop wivering and waving your scruples about. You haven't got any. You know it and I know it and so does Polly Perkins over there."

Two nervous hands undid two unimportant buttons. A pleading look mixed with reproach and outraged modesty. Amanda, hands on hips smiled grimly. "Move it duckie," she said. "Or you know what happens, don't you?" From behind her back she produced a riding crop which she flexed in her large, spatulate hands.

Polly Perkins, the housemaid moved around from behind the settee. She winked at me.

Slowly the blouse was removed and creamy shoulders emerged and then the bra was hesitantly unhooked baring the breasts, pink tips erect, which I had only seen in masturbation fantasies. The protests and the hesitations proliferated as the skirt was unzipped and silken french knickers were pulled unwillingly down.

"That took far too long," said Amanda. "I insist on instant obedience Millie. YOU know that. Kneel over the stool."

And she did. She did. She DID.

What followed thereafter is best described in pictures and that is how it is described overleaf. I learned a lot about Lady Millicent I'd never suspected before.

The distant hauteur of her public persona dissolved into cries, twisting and turning as a network of welts covered her buttocks crimson and she melted into a warm sensuality that permitted every possible liberty to be taken.

On Monday, at the Annual General meeting she swept in, greeted me with her usual polite condescencion and her ice blue eyes warned me to keep my place and act as if it had never happened.

So I did. For a while.

Strict Schooling

Story from Swish Vol.7 No.4

Strict Schooling

"I will leave you to it for the first couple of weeks, then, Jeremy", Hilda said to her nephew. As she spoke she gazed proudly out of the window of her old-style detached house at a large white board which had just been erected in the front garden. The bold black letters on it, in old-fashioned script, simply read: St. Hilda's - Prop. Mrs Hilda Birch. It gave her name a saintly air, she thought.

"Thank you, yes", Jeremy answered quietly. He was a tall young man – the sort that novelists used to call 'clean of limb'. He had left university three years ago to potter around, using an inheritance from his father. Then he had visited his aunt and from there on had begun to find himself in the midst of a new life. An ex-headmistress of a girls' private school, Hilda had decided views on the disciplining of young ladies.

"It's no use dealing with girls underage, Jeremy," she had lectured him, once she had expounded her basic philosophy to him, "The girls to take in hand are those who fritter away their time at discos and such and who seem nowadays to be able to evade parental discipline – or at least to receive so little that it really has no effect on them. They have to be drilled, you know", she had said, causing Jeremy to raise his eyebrows at first, but little by little her ideas had got through to him.

When his aunt had first shown him her little collection of canes and tease-whips, he had thought them fearsome looking instruments, but the more that she explained the techniques of using them, the more he understood. In the two months that had passed since he had stayed in her house, he had begun to admire her more and more. "You will consider me old-fashioned and out-of-date, Jeremy, but believe me there are young ladies out there just crying for the sort of attention they will receive here. It's rather like being in the Forces, you know. At first you resent being given orders, but then gradually you come to see it as a way of life, and you gain a certain pride in being moulded to a set routine. There is safety in it, I suppose".

Jeremy had never heard anyone talk in that way, and he was fascinated. In her early forties, as Hilda was, she could look at times extremely grim and forbidding. In private, though, she could show a warm womanliness, and a firm, ripe figure to go with it.

"I can see that", he had said slowly in response to her remark, "But surely these canes and small whips must hurt frightfully". The remark had brought a smile to Hilda's lips as they sipped after-dinner liqueurs. At the time of this conversation, Jeremy had only been with her for a week and knew little enough. "They could – but in proper hands cruelty is not applied. The actions are DISCIPLINARY, Jeremy. I want you to keep that word constantly in mind. Other terms are sometimes used. 'Training' is one. I do not object to that. The important thing is to show a caring attitude – perhaps you might even say a motherly one. There are times when no harm is done by comforting a girl after she has received bottom-treatment".

As she had spoken, Hilda had rolled a cane in the fingers of her free hand. Her other one held her glass elegantly. Ever since she had decided to open her house as a training college for young ladies, Hilda had started carrying one about. In anticipation, Jeremy had thought, and had felt a curious mingling of thrills and apprehension in him. It was an apprehension that Hilda had known she had to allay, and she did it that night in the boldest possible way.

Jeremy gave her a cue when he replied. "Yes, I know, but the fierce stinging, surely...." Hilda had put down her glass and had said, "Jeremy – get up, please". – "Eh?", he had answered nervously. His aunt was dressed rather severely that evening. She had kept her outdoor black boots on and wore a black knee-length skirt, a crisp close-fitting white blouse, and a tie that nestled between her imposing tits. – "I said, get up, Jeremy", she had repeated and rose to stand above him. Her skirt was thin and he could see the impress of her suspender clips through it. He knew that she always wore stockings. Often enough she left her bedroom door half open and he had frequently glimpsed her drawing them up her still-shapely legs.

What had happened in the ensuing ten minutes was something that Jeremy could still hardly believe. Taking his hand, she had led him firmly into the dining room and closed the door. Then, facing him and with her breasts rising and falling visibly beneath her blouse, she had said gently, "I am going to cane you, Jeremy – or rather, I am going to give you a FEEL of the cane. After all, if you are going to wield it on the naked bottoms of our students, then you have to know what it feels like".

"Here, I say!", he had expostulated. It seemed to him that he could see her nipples through her blouse and that they had grown more prominent even as she spoke. And at the same time she had turned him about, telling him sharply to bend over the end of the long dining room table.

That he had obeyed her was itself ridiculous, but that she had then calmly unzipped and unbelted his trousers and drawn them down to his ankles, together with his underpants. – "No!", he had wanted to yell, but the firmness of her free hand in his back had held him over, not so much by force as by sheer will-power. Then, with his buttocks shamefully naked and offered, Hilda had stepped back, warning him in a clipped voice not to rise.

"But you....", Jeremy had begun to say, though in reality he had little idea as to how he were going to finish the sentence, and in any event he had no chance to. SWOOO-ISSSH! sang the cane and in the next half-second a shrill cry of utter dismay was emitted from his lips as it bit into his buttocks, causing him what he thought to be the most fearful stinging. – "Be STILL!", she had barked at him as his hips waggled and he tried to suppress further gasps. What seemed to him then an eternity passed as Hilda waited, cane-poised behind him. He could hear her speaking to him softly – hypnotically almost – but could hardly distinguish the words through the haze of redhot sensations he was experiencing.

At the second, which came a whole minute later, he had cried out almost girlishly, "Oh, NO!" and had gritted his teeth against the deeply-insurgent stinging. But then something else happened, too. His penis had begun to stir, and the thought terrified him that his aunt would see the beginning of an erection – but in the very midst of that mental and physical turmoil he had felt the cane tapping gently and rhythmically against his seared buttocks, on and on, until he thought she would never stop.

With each little bounce of the warning cane, so his prick extended itself more until to his horror and excitement it stemmed full up his belly. Then.... SWEEE-ISSSH! again, and a howl broke from him. – "NO-WOH!", he yelped, but as he did so, the cane fell at a right angle firmly across the nape of his neck, preventing him from rising immediately not by strength but by her silent determination which he could feel like a perfumed cloud over him.

His sobs resounded. – "Now rise, Jeremy", she had said calmly, though in fact it was almost the last thing that he wanted to do, with his penis thick and long and at full stretch. Haltingly he had pressed himself up, tightening his seared buttocks and screwing up his eyes – none of which appeared to impress Hilda who had placed one hand on his shoulder and turned him about to face her.

Feeling utterly stupid and yet incredibly wild with desire at the same time, his eyes narrowing as he fought against the deep stinging in his bottom, Jeremy had felt her fingers slip tenderly under his swollen balls and then glide up to ring his swollen stem.

"You see, my dear, it disturbs in more ways than one", she had murmured. No longer able to contain himself, Jeremy threw his arms about her and hugged himself to her rather than vice versa. His thrumming prick tapped against her belly through her skirt and he began to sob boyishly while her arms enfolded him.

"Were you a girl, you would not be comforted in this way after a first caning – brief as yours was. The hands may touch gently afterwards, and a soft word might be said, but that is all. A promise is held out – nothing else. The girl will be told that she will be disciplined again. That is all. The first time. As for you, my dear, you cannot help but display your manliness. That will often happen, but you must realise here and now that men have to discipline themselves, too. It is all part of it. NO, Jeremy!", she had snapped, for even as she spoke he had begun to fumble up her skirt until his stiff cock protruded between her black-stockinged thighs, just above her knees, her nylons rasping softly against his powerfully-throbbing member.

"I am sorry", Jeremy had heard himself sobbing. She moved her voluptuous body away from him as he spoke and loosed her arms. – "You forget, Jeremy, that it is a discipline. That must be inculcated first. Later, when all is firmly established, there comes mutual pleasuring. I say MUTUAL, Jeremy – not enforced. Young ladies do not display as visibly as males, of course, but close observance will often show that their nipples are erected and their pussies moist. There may also be a touch of stickiness elsewhere. Such signs are promising. The desire to yield utterly becomes so overwhelming that all inhibitions disappear. Even so, a sense of discipline still obtains, and thus the most delicious results are achieved".

Jeremy had listened to all that in a daze, and yet he had understood better than a million words could otherwise have told him. He had been told then to go to bed, and he had gone, like a stricken schoolboy, with Hilda smiling at him behind his back. The next morning she had produced the minor bombshell that her daughter, Diana, would be joining him to teach at the college – or the training institution as Hilda preferred to call it.

Diana was no softie, Jeremy had been told. "There was the case of the Peeping Tom – I will not otherwise name him, Jeremy, who liked to peek into her bedroom to see if he could see her in her undies. Diana was at the peak of her own training then, but I had taught her caution and she well understood that discipline was mutual. I had her cane him, and she enjoyed it", Hilda had said.

But now that the moment had come for Jeremy to take over, in concert with Diana who was due to arrive later in the day, he kissed his aunt a temporary farewell. For a brief moment he experienced the moist warmth and voluptuousness of her lips and the bulging of her mature tits into his chest and longed to pass his palms around her superb bottom. As ever, though, Hilda drew herself away. "Discipline, Jeremy", she murmured, and his eyes hazed. – "Yes, I know, but....", he began. Her hand waved the rest of his words away. – "Really, dear, you have not caned me yet. My own bottom has not received from you. I do not accept an intruder without that", she said, and twiddled with the front door knob, her large bottom turned provocatively to him.

His eyes, piercing her skirt, Jeremy imagined the large pale orb which her undoubtedly tight and skimpy panties netted, the halfmoons glossy, rich and full. – "Intruders?", he echoed. She smiled at him over her shoulder, easing the door open. – "A private term, Jeremy. When, years ago, I yielded completely to the cane at last, I was asked next morning by Mama whether I had also received an intruder. I knew what she meant and had to answer yes. Be good, dear. Bye-bye!"

Discipline – thought Jeremy admiringly as he watched her hips swaying in her departure. She could easily have let him fondle her lightly for a moment, but that was obviously not the way it was. Every minute he was learning....

* * *

Discipline was also the word in the mind of Tina Brown who – at the railway station three miles away from St Hilda's – was tapping her foot impatiently in waiting for a taxi. A bright red sling-bag hung over one shoulder and she had a suitcase by her side. Her blonde hair glinted in the pale sunlight. – "What a ridiculous wait", she said suddenly to the unknown girl who stood close to her and who was also obviously waiting for a lift. In a moment they were chatting, and amazed to find that they were both bound for the same place. Carole was the other girl's name.

"I didn't particularly want to come, but jobs are so hard to find right now, and I was told it would be good for me. Did you see the brochure about the place?" – "Yes", Tina said, and seemed to be struggling to find words as a cab finally drew up and both got in. "It's disciplinary – that's what it said", she remarked. – "I know – and I'm told I need it. Were you told that?", Carole asked, although she guessed the answer would be in the affirmative even as she spoke. Her tight round bottom wriggled uneasily on the seat.

"I think it's ridiculous these days", Tina said, looking out of the window at the small country town. – "Me, too. I said I wasn't coming here, but that didn't wash. I got...", Carole began and stopped suddenly. Tina turned her face sharply to her. – "You got what? You mean, you got... spanked,?", she asked so knowingly that Carole had a job to conceal a nervous grin.

"Why? Did you, too?", Carole responded. Both suddenly half laughed and then grimaced and clutched one another's hand. – "I was told it would be worse here", Tina replied obliquely. – "Yeah. Me, too", Carole said with awe, and then both fell silent. – "Oooh-wow!", Tina could still hear herself squealing as a broad, leathery palm had descended again and again on her rudely-bared bottom that very morning when she had refused to get up. If only she had known it was going to happen again, she wouldn't have worn that filmy, shorty nightie. And she never wore panties in bed, either, which had made it worse.

Carole had similar memories. Her tummy swirled a little as they got closer to St Hilda's. The same sort of feeling one had on going to the dentist. – "You'll have to obey there", she had been told. – "You'll learn", Tina had heard only five hours before when she lay sobbing with her reddened, naked bottom still showing and her long, slim legs all awry....

* * *

As for Diana, she arrived earlier than expected. So early in fact that her car passed her mother's en route and they both laughed and waved to one another. "You'll be the real boss – the Headmistress – until I get back", Diana's mother had told her before that. Catching Jeremy by surprise as she did, Diana had him running downstairs to open the front door to her. He hadn't seen her since she was a child, but now Diana was a stunner. He couldn't imagine anyone not wanting to see her in her undies. Her voice, though, could be as crisp as her mother's.

"I have a list of house rules here that I drew up, Jeremy", she said as soon as they were seated at coffee. – "Yes?", he asked tentatively. There was something in her tone that told him that he wasn't going to be in charge after all. With something of an inner quiver, he accepted that. Every time that Diana crossed and recrossed her legs he could see the darker bands at the top of her charcoal-shaded nylons.

"I will read them to you", Diana said, and began: "Rule One: Pupils – they are not allowed to call themselves students here, Jeremy – will be utterly obedient at all times; Rule Two: They will wear regulation outfits that mother has already stored upstairs. Wantonness is not permitted. High heels to be worn at all times; Rule Three: Each new girl will be disciplined once daily for her first week by a firm spanking on her naked bottom; Rule Four: For the first week of their training they will be taught to walk for an hour or so with their panties rolled down to their stocking tops. This produces a delicate, mincing step; Rule Five: On her second week, each girl will bare her bottom to the tawse; Rule Six: No girl will refuse her caning in her third week, or she will be held over, I regret that, but it may be necessary; I will apply the cane first in all instances; Rules Seven: A recalcitrant girl – a rebel, if you like – will be made to stand, knicks down and holding her skirt up, for twenty minutes; Rule Eight: Each pupil will receive her third or fourth caning stripped to self-supporting black stockings and high heels; Rule Nine: Whether she has been disciplined or not, each girl will be taught to display – this is later in the term I might say – and will permit her naked bottom to be fondled while she stands perfectly still. I may, of course, have to add a few more rules as we go along".

"Yes", Jeremy said faintly, and gazed at her in wonderment. The devil of it was, his cock was twitching again, but Diana didn't seem to notice the bulge under his flies. And then the doorbell rang.

"Ah – our first, I expect. I will let them in", Diana said brightly. Her bottom wiggled adorably as she walked. Gazing after her, Jeremy could see the tightly updrawn vee of the back of her panties through her skirt, and he rather wondered who was going to have all the fun.....

* * *

Well – YOU are, for certain. There's going to be more about St Hilda's next month!

Two Daughters Dealt With

Story from Janus 36.

Two Daughters Dealt With
by Simon Banks

Well, what do you do with a 17-year-old daughter who has got to the stage of telling you, her father, that she's old enough to do what she wants? And what she wants includes staying out at night to all hours with God-knows-who. And not just one such girl but two. Two close friends both still at school: Elaine Baxter and Tracy Watson.

What do you do if you are their fathers?

At least you can put your heads together, which is what Steven Baxter and Michael Watson, both in their early forties, were doing in the Pig's Head over a pint. Something had to be done, but what? It had been building up for a while but last night was the end; when both men had waited up till after 1am before their daughters finally came in. And where had the girls been? 'Just out, Dad,' had been Elaine Baxter's answer. While Tracy had advised her father, 'Don't worry, Dad. I can look after myself.'

'We've got to do something,' said Steve Baxter. He wiped the beer froth from his moustache.

'Yes, but what?'

'Actually, what they both need is a good caning.'

That was probably right, Tracy's father agreed, but where were they going to get it? Certainly not at school, not the way schools were nowadays. 'And, well,' admitted Mr Watson, 'I don't exactly fancy caning my own daughter.'

Steven Baxter took a swallow of beer. He felt the same: he also couldn't really see himself caning his own now shapely and decidedly nubile Elaine. It wouldn't seem right somehow, though he'd be quite happy for someone else to do it and inject some sense into her.

He looked up as the thought suddenly came to him. 'There is an answer of course. We could swap. You cane Elaine and I could cane young Tracy.'

Michael Watson's eyes gradually widened as the sheer beauty of the idea sunk in. It was the obvious answer.

'Steven Baxter! I think you've hit on it! That's it!'

Steve Baxter grinned. 'Parental approval will not be a problem!'

'You're bloody right it won't!'

There was nothing like striking while the iron was hot, when the offence was still fresh in the offenders' minds. It was decided therefore that the next day, a Saturday, would be ideal. For one thing on Saturdays both wives would be out shopping, for the presence of wives could well weaken the hard resolve that this called for. And obtaining the necessary instruments of chastisement did not present a problem for after leaving the pub they went round to have a chat with old Jack Crabtree, a retired village schoolmaster.

That gentleman duly produced a pair of nice whippy rattans. It was about time, he said, that these two mementoes of his teaching days saw some action again. The three men laughed. To the two girls it was all going to come as a very nasty shock.

* * *

Elaine Baxter first became aware that something was up when after breakfast her father told her he was taking her over to the Watsons'. Elaine, a very pretty blonde young lady with a well filled-out figure which this morning was on show in a tight pink T-shirt and equally tight blue jeans, opened her blue eyes wide.

'I'm not seeing Tracy this morning.'

Her father simply said it was not Tracy she was to see but Mr Watson.

'Whatever for?' asked Elaine.

'You'll see,' said Mr Baxter. 'But whatever he does or tells you to do you can be sure he's got my authority.'

That made it even more mystifying but she could get no more out of her father. When they reached the Watsons' house in Holden Avenue there was an equally mystified-looking Tracy waiting.

'What's this all about?' she wanted to know.

She got the same 'You'll see' which she had also earlier got from her father. Very shortly Steven Baxter was driving back the way he had come; his passenger now not his daughter but the equally attractive Tracy Watson.

'What is this all about, Mr Baxter?' she asked yet again when the two of them were inside the Baxters' sitting room. 'Is it some kind of joke?'

Steven Baxter gave her a thoughtful look. She was an attractive young piece all right; a gaminely pretty face framed by chestnut hair cut short, while down below, her figure, fuller than his own daughter's, curved in all the right places in her pale blue sleeveless top and full black skirt.

'No, it's not a joke, Tracy. It's about Thursday night. Your and Elaine's gallivanting about.'

'Oh that!'

'Yes, that. And for that, young Miss, you are going to have the cane. On your bare bottom.'

She looked... and a pink flush gradually suffused her cheeks. 'You – you've got to be bloody joking!'

'Not joking, Tracy. And please don't use that language. It's going to be six strokes of the cane. Six with your knickers down on your bare bottom. That's the basic. I shall then want you to tell me what you were doing on Thursday night and who you were with. If you refuse then there'll be some more of the cane on that no doubt pretty bottom.'

Tracy's face was now crimson. 'No way! That... this is just ridiculous. Look, if you try anything I-I'll tell my Mum.'

Mr Baxter laughed. 'Your mother's got nothing to do with it, Tracy. This is being taken care of by me and your father. And for your information he is right now going to be dishing out the same medicine to Elaine. So, if you'll remove that skirt. And then slip your knickers down.'

'No!' she blurted. 'I simply refuse!'

'Take your skirt off!' he growled. 'Or I'll do it myself. Or would you on the other hand like to be sent to an Approved School for six months? Parents unable to cope with juvenile delinquent, etc. You could quite easily, you know. And at those places they can cane you twice a day.'

This was a bit of Steven Baxter's own imagination but it sounded good. Or correspondingly horribly bad if you were the naive and gullible Tracy Watson.

'Look...' she pleaded, 'isn't there... something else?'

'No. The cane. Your Dad and I are both quite adamant. You've got to be taught a lesson.'

Tracy looked at him... then up at the ceiling. Then down at the floor. And then at last, cowed by his truly adult supremacy, her hands went to the waist of the black calf-length cotton skirt. Pops were unpopped. The skirt came down and she stepped out of it. Underneath, her ripely rounded hips and bottom were in a skimpy pair of brief blue knickers under transparent tights.

'Now take the tights and knickers down.'

'Look... this is just awful!' Her voice was cracking.

'Take them down!'

Tracy hesitated again, then turned her back but was sharply told to stay facing Mr Baxter. Reluctantly the tights came down, to mid-thigh, and then even more reluctantly the brief knickers were slid down off the rounded hips. There was a well-developed bush of black hair which she covered with her hand.

'This is simply awful!' Tracy wailed again.

'I know,' he said. 'It's meant to be. Now let's see: let's have you over the arm of the armchair, shall we?'

Tracy hobbled over to the chair and Mr Baxter pushed her down so that her hips were up on the chair arm and the upper part of her body was down in the seat. The twin globes of Tracy's succulent rear were thrust sharply up to present a bewitching target.

Steven Baxter pushed one creamy flank. 'Open your legs.'

'No!' protested the half-muffled voice.

'Yes! This is a punishment, remember. And the more unpleasant it is the more you'll think twice about your behaviour in the future.'

He placed her feet as far apart as the lowered knickers and tights would allow. It was a revealing position of course and Tracy knew it. She gave a groaning wail of embarrassment.

Steven Baxter now had Mr Crabtree's cane in his hand. He gave it an experimental swish through the air, then tap-tapped it across the crests of the pouting bottom globes. There was an apprehensive hiss from Tracy. The cane was raised...

THWATT!

It struck with juddering impact, momentarily sinking into the soft resilient flesh before springing out again. 'Aaaeeeooohh!!' Tracy's anguished yelp resembled the cry of a cat in heat, her hands coming automatically back to clutch at her burning bum which now displayed a bright red double-edged stripe.

Mr Baxter whipped the cane lightly across the backs of the clutching hands. 'Hands away, or you'll get extra ones. Come on!'

The hands were reluctantly removed; the jerking bottom became somewhat less agitated. Again the cane was raised and whipped down.

THWATT!.. Once more it bit sharply in, an inch lower than the first contact line. Another banshee yell from Tracy and a renewed frenzied dance of her ripe round bum. From the depths of the chair seat there came desperate cries.

'Stop, Mr Baxter! No more! You're killing me...'

Steve Baxter drank in the splendid sight of the now doubly-striped bottom, relishing his power over the nubile half-naked teenager. 'You're getting six, like I said.'

THWATT!.. 'Aaaoooowwch!!'

He had laid the third into the exact curve where bum cheeks became fat upper thighs, a splendidly tender region which produced a correspondingly desperate reaction from young Tracy. How that must have hurt her! He waited until her violent motion had subsided somewhat, and then went back up to the full crest of the bottom for the fourth.

THWATTT!...

She seemed to be sobbing how.

The final two Mr Baxter put on in a nice cross, top left to lower right and vice versa. A cross on top of three transverse shots, although he wasn't quite as accurate as he had wanted to be with the last of the six strokes. Then he let the cane fall to the floor. The girl's bottom, twitching and writhing, was an impressive sight and it was clear he'd done an excellent job. Gasping and sobbing, Tracy made no attempt to get up.

He reached out to pat the red-striped bum. 'Come on, it's over now. At least it is if you're sensible.'

He pulled Tracy to her feet, then put his arm round her. She was a nice kid, or had been until this recent bout of wildness. The sorrowful chestnut head reached his shoulders and her tear-stained face was pressed into his shirt-front, quickly wetting it. A bit further down a pair of firm full tits were pressed in as well. Very pleasant. Steve Baxter patted her back, then one hand slid down to likewise pat her bare bum. At which she flinched and gasped.

'Going to tell me about it now?' he asked.

She made a sound like 'Nnngghh...'

Mr Baxter backed towards the armchair, taking Tracy with him. He sat down in the now vacant seat, as he did so twisting her so that she finished up face down – and bottom up – over his lap. His left hand held her while his right slid softly and caressingly over the now heated bare bottom.

'You're going to have to tell, Tracy; otherwise I'll just have to continue your medicine.'

There was a silence and then, intermixed with sobs, it came jerkily out. They had gone to the disco where these two fellows had picked them up and taken them out in their car. Two young reps it seemed. According to Tracy's halting account nothing much had happened. So were they planning to see them again, Mr Baxter wanted to know?

'Y..yes...'

'No! Definitely not! You understand?'

She was silent. He gave the bare bottom which he had been stroking a sharp smack. 'Understand?'

'Y..yes,' she said, wincing.

The hand resumed its caressing. With a sniff Tracy said, 'You... you're awfully mean, Mr Baxter...'

* * *

A little later Michael Watson arrived with Elaine. The two men had a brief private word. It seemed that things had gone just as well at Holden Avenue as they had at the Baxters' house. Mr Watson went off with Tracy leaving Steven Baxter alone with his daughter.

'OK?' he asked. 'Had a nice little lesson then?'

Flushing red, Elaine made a face.

'Let's see,' he told her. 'Slip down your things.'

Elaine tried to refuse but her father insisted. Reluctantly she slipped down jeans and knickers, as she had earlier reluctantly slipped them down for Mr Watson. Her bottom bore six transverse red stripes, not the same pattern as Tracy's, but the effect would have been very similar.

'OK,' he said. 'That looks good! Pull them up.'

The two girls got together that afternoon, at Tracy's house. It was nice and private for her parents had gone out. Up in Tracy's room the girls commiserated with each other over their dreadful experiences of the morning. They told each other how really terrible their fathers were as they contemplated the prospect of no more late night discos and the fact that they wouldn't be seeing those two men again.

When they had said all this though, the fact remained that it had been a bit exciting, as well as painful. Awful but exciting at the same time. Because men were men and Mr Watson and Mr Baxter were both rather attractive in an older-man way. And having to submit to them in that very physical manner... well, the thought of it could undoubtedly make a 17-year-old female heart beat a bit faster. Not that they admitted this to each other.

'Do you think,' asked Elaine with a shiver, 'that they're going to want to do it again?'

'Gripes!' said Tracy.

* * *

In fact the two men decided, a couple of evening later in the Pig's Head, that a little reminder for the girls would be no bad thing. The short sharp shock had obviously been excellent and a second dose could only improve matters. Indeed they were both agreed that more doses could with advantage be handed out at regular intervals for although they didn't actually say so, each had found it a highly agreeable duty. For the second session, though, it was decided that the cane itself could be dispensed with. A sharp spanking would do.

It was not specified, the details were left open, but each of them privately decided such a spanking for the other's daughter would be more effective if it was delivered on her bare bottom with skirt raised and knickers suitably lowered

Tracy and Elaine were both this time given prior warning by their fathers of what was to take place on Saturday morning. There were looks and expressions of shock and indignation – while at the same time each felt a shiver of excitement. It was frightful but it was also an undeniably heady prospect, in a way as exciting as being asked out by those two men at the disco.

And indeed when the weekend arrived both girls prepared for the ordeal as if they were going on a date: washing their hair the night before and on the appointed morning having a bath and putting on some scent and blusher and eye-shadow and, in Tracy's case, some pink lipstick as well. And dressing in what they both considered to be their most glam outfits.

Furthermore both Tracy and Elaine decided that if they were going to be forced to reveal what was underneath their skirts, then boring old tights would not be good enough. So they arrayed themselves in eye-catching nylons and suspender belts, just like in those glamorous Sixties. Well, if you were going to be suffering the exciting indignity of having a man spank your bare bottom you had to be looking your best.

Caning as punishment

Story from Roue 07.

Caning as punishment

An account of some disciplinary methods in a South African girls school

There are many different views about what constitutes a sound spanking. For some a few smacks with the hand or a hair brush is sufficient. For others three or four cuts with the cane will suffice. Yet again there are people who would regard such mild treatment as ludicrous and nothing like adequate punishment. If punishment is given in all seriousness, and not as some kind of play-acting, then it must be severe, though it must be administered in a just manner.

This latter view is held by many strict disciplinarians who feel that much that is written about corporal punishment is unrealistic. One such lady has agreed to put forward her attitude and to relate some of her experiences. As she spent a long time in South Africa, a country well-known to be strict in the administration of justice and punishment, her remarks will be particularly pertinent and likely to throw considerable light on the subject. While not every one will agree with her, we feel that what she has to say is both interesting and relevant.

She is a widow in her late fifties and worked for many years as a teacher in Pretoria. During her last eight years there she was the Deputy Headmistress of a senior girls seminary. The pupils were white, of course, and of predominantly Dutch extraction, a people noted for their strong, puritan views and disciplined life.

She states that many people may not be aware that corporal punishment is still widely retained in South African schools and, at the discretion of the school governors, may be employed to correct wrongdoers of both sexes.

As she was raised in a well-disciplined environment herself, where defiant or unruly behaviour by herself or her sisters inevitably earned them a good whipping, she is a confirmed believer in the benefits of a sound thrashing for miscreant children.

She states, quite categorically, that in her experience, contrary to the views of so-called progressive educationalists, that most children and adolescents respond quickly and effectively to a painful spanking on the backside, providing they know why they are being punished and that justice is metered out fairly.

Here is what she has to say on the subject in her own words, in which she makes a strong case for the punishment aspects of spanking.

I am fully aware of the erotic interest that many men find in the subject of spanking and as a woman I cannot ignore the sensual attraction of the female bottom, but it is plainly apparent that the punishment view of spanking is only secondary to the erotic pleasure they are seeking. I am not a prig and I do not deny these erotic instincts. It would be hypocritical of me to do so. However, it is the punishment element in which I am most interested and it is about this which I wish to write.

A spanking or whipping must hurt to be effective. It must be inflicted to the point where it becomes unbearable. On the other hand, it must be stopped before there is any chance of doing serious injury to the person being punished.

It is for this reason that the buttocks are best suited as the place of chastisement for they are resilient and quickly recover in normal circumstances. They can be beaten quite hard, much harder than most unenlightened people may think, and because they are also quite sensitive, the punishment can be made to hurt as it should, and hurt abominably! Fortunately, the fierce unbearable pain is short-lived, and diminishes considerably after the cessation of the whipping, to a more tolerable though still uncomfortable level.

In my school, the youngest girls were 12 and the eldest approaching 18 – all boarders and well catered for in all matters of welfare. Those that behaved well had nothing to fear, but those who didn't were given punishment of a severity that generally assured a marked improvement in their behaviour very quickly. We employed two instruments of chastisement, the leather strap (similar to the Scottish tawse) and the rattan cane. The teaching staff were authorised to use the strap for routine cases of discipline or unruliness, in the classroom, but caning was restricted to myself or the Head and would be inflicted privately in the Punishment Room adjacent to my study. Canings were awarded for persistent misbehaviour or for more serious offences such as foul language, stealing, bodily assault, drug-taking, etc. Active lesbian or other forbidden sexual practices automatically merited a caning of extreme severity, and after this it was rare that a girl would commit a similar offence again.

In class the strap could be administered on the seat of a girl's knickers or if her teacher felt justified she could beat the pupil on the bare flesh. The maximum number of strokes allowed in this manner was twenty, but sentences were left to the discretion of each mistress. Class punishments were undignified as well as painful of course, for the miscreant would have her bottom strapped in full view of a dozen or more of her classmates, Usually she was held across a desk at the front of the class where the sight of her taut knickers (or bare seat, if the occasion warranted) being loudly and thoroughly thrashed had an intentionally sobering effect on any other would-be offenders. On these occasions a hushed silence would prevail, broken only by the loud cries and wails of the suffering culprit squirming across the desk.

On the other hand, a caning in the Punishment Room was always administered on the naked buttocks, in private. The Head was generally happy to delegate this task, when it was necessary, to myself and I don't deny that I invariably made a much better job of it. If one is talking seriously about a punishment whipping rigorously carried out, anyone who believes a girl will simply bend over and remain in position while the cane is laid on with full force is either ignorant or foolishly misled. My Punishment Room housed a small whipping horse which enabled the wrists, ankles and knees of the culprit to be secured with appropriately positioned straps riveted to the supporting legs. The horse itself was an old gymnasium item lowered and modified for the purpose, and when a girl was properly mounted she may have been reluctant and unhappy to find herself in such a revealing and helpless position but because of the padded upper surface she was not in any undue discomfort. I liked the horse because no amount of writhing or jerking, inevitable during a caning, would harm the girl's bare hips and tummy as they moved about on the padded leather.

As I said previously, a girl would only be awarded the cane for a serious offence, so it was mandatory that the whippings were appropriately severe and painful. They were intended to be, as a mild thrashing, in my view, would be quite ineffective and fail to have the permanent deterrent effect that was needed. The lightest sentence was 15 strokes of the cane, but 20 or 25 were more often given, and once I administered 30 strokes to an 18 year old who after two previous offences was discovered on a third occasion to be interfering sexually with young girls. She was also expelled afterwards as being a totally incorrigible and incurable lesbian.

I would like to describe the caning procedure which I normally adopted as it may be of interest to other disciplinarians.

The commission of any crime would first receive a full hearing of all the facts, and if I judged the offender guilty, a caning sentence was awarded. This would be administered after supper at 7.30 pm., when the culprit reported to my study. My reputation and ability with the cane was well known to all the pupils so the girl in question was usually more than a little nervous, blanched somewhat, and often visibly quaking. I would then instruct her to enter the Punishment Room and follow her, locking the door behind me. (It was not unknown for a girl's courage to fail her before mounting the horse, causing her to run to the door seeking escape. Locking the door precluded this eventuality.)

Inside, the girl was ordered to take off her pleated grey gymslip, fold it neatly, hand it to me which I then placed on a chair near the door. I never removed more of a girl's clothes than necessary and without gymslip the girl would be left clad in her short waist-length cotton blouse, black viyella knickers (all pupils were required to wear standard undergarments), dark-tone tights and lace up shoes. She would be told to stand facing the horse while I obtained the cane from a cabinet where several were kept, and then instructed her to climb across the horse and lie in the appropriate position. Any tardiness at this point was quickly dispelled with a deft cut across her calves. This made a reluctant culprit mount the contraption with some alacrity after which I made her fast with the straps buckled firmly around her wrists, knees and ankles.

I was aware that this part of the preparations was unnerving for the culprit, but necessary to prevent her leaping up or turning round during the caning, which could lead to possible injury of more vital parts. Once immobilized, I then proceeded to uncover her buttocks by taking down the girl's tights and knickers, well below the target area and as far down her legs as the straps around her knees would allow. In my view, the 'horsed' position is the nearest to the ideal presentation for an effective and painful caning. The doubled over position raises the backside into maximum prominence and causes a pronounced backward thrust that tautens and distends the buttocks in the most vulnerable manner. The position is a most ungracious one for any young lady to have to adopt since it unfortunately separates the stretched bottom cheeks and immodestly exposes her very private parts. If one intends to make the caning severe, and make it painfully effective, such immodest exposure cannot be avoided and this is why the cane was always administered privately between the walls of the Punishment Room. The indecency of a girl's position never offended me. Any young miss finding herself in this room was there for some form of gross misbehaviour, and I had no pity for her predicament! She was there to be punished and drastically so, and my feelings as a no-nonsense disciplinarian were those which produced an innate sense of satisfaction with the system that allowed me to administer the one form of punishment that produces the proper degree of regret in a girl for her bad behaviour.

Before commencing the caning I always took a few moments to study the field of operation very thoroughly, mentally assessing the size, texture and resilience of the two fleshy moons awaiting penance. As an experienced chastener, I am well aware of the most sensitive parts of a girl's bottom to strokes of the cane, but to administer for example, a twenty five stroke caning of maximum severity without unduly damaging or breaking the skin calls for a considerable amount of care and skill, and to some extent a pre-planned schedule of where one is going to place all the strokes.

After this short assessment I would then take up a position to the miscreant's left side, at the right distance to enable me to deliver a full-armed swing with the cane. Placing the end half of the long rod horizontally against that part of the taut cheeks I intended to strike, and ignoring the inevitable flinching of the flesh, I would raise the cane far back on high and deliver the first whistling cut with deliberate ferocity and force! The explosive crack of a flexible cane travelling at high speed as it connects with a properly presented pair of naked buttocks never fails to impress me. The effect is dramatic and astounding! One sees the thin, hard rod almost enveloped for a split second by the soft yielding flesh, then as the cane is lifted away, the momentary white impression across the reverberating mounds becomes a bright crimson. The success of the stroke is measured by the anguished scream it produces and the simultaneous writhing and squirming of the whipped backside. If I do not think the vocal protest is sufficiently loud, or if the girl's bottom fails to perform those adequately frenzied contortions, then I know that an even harder stroke is called for and adjust the infliction accordingly.

A thrashing, to be really effective should be systematically performed with timing, force and precision. The entire surface of the buttocks should be methodically whipped from just below the tailbone to no more than one inch below the gluteal area adjoining the thighs. In the transverse direction it is desirable that the striking end of the cane does not extend further round the body than the hip bone joints. With precision and care it is possible to convert the whole expanse of chastisable bottom into a uniform sheet of intense crimson, a mass of closely spaced cane weals that I guarantee will produce the most excrutiatingly painful behind conceivable.

When I cane a girl I invariably achieve this effect by dint of patience and a relentless determination to place every stroke where I want it to fall. This is very important, to place the strokes accurately. If the whipper does not do this properly the strokes will be applied wildly and likely to cause unwarranted damage to the victim's bottom, while at the same time failing to cover the whole expanse. It seems obvious that if the proper procedure is not carried out then some parts of the buttocks will receive an excessive amount of punishment, while the remainder will be scarcely touched.

To achieve my aim I ignore the unpleasant assault of the girl's screams on my ears, and the abandoned convulsions of her well-whipped hindquarters, waiting calmly for movement to subside before applying the next stroke. This is not to say that I am not impressed by the intense reactions the rod has aroused. They are necessary and satisfying and signify that the caning is having the desired effect.

The incredible gymnastics of a bound girl over a whipping horse, having her bare buttocks severely caned can even be quite awe-inspiring at times. Within the restrictions imposed by the straps, which clamp her arms and legs, her naked buttocks can become a veritable frenzy of jerking, twisting movement. This is no doubt one of the features which adds so much interest to the act of spanking.

In addition, the increasing degree to which the gluteal flesh undergoes spasmodic muscular contractions, as the whipping proceeds, is visibly reflected in the shivering ripples which run up and the taut flinching cheeks, before and after each stroke of the cane.

Sometimes there is an even more dramatic effect on the nerves and flesh of a teenage girl as she feels the agonising rod against her tender bottom. The combined stress of fear and pain can cause a girl to lose her self control. I have seen a number of young ladies reach this state to such a degree that they lose the contents of their bladders and urinate uncontrollably during a caning. I have no wish to offend anyone by revealing this unusual response to corporal punishment but I feel I have to mention it in the interests of understanding more about the effects which can arise, although rarely, when the recipient of a caning is an unusually sensitive or nervous subject. If note is taken at the time of this phenomenon it can be avoided on a future occasion by ensuring that the miscreant goes to the lavatory before she receives her punishment.

After I had completed a caning, the girl in question was always made to remain on the horse for a further ten minutes or so. This was in order that she could regain her composure, have time to stop any crying and howling she may have been indulging in and, most important, to give her time, in a most humiliating position, to reflect on her misdeeds and the punishment she had so richly deserved.

When I was satisfied that sufficient time had elapsed and that she had suffered enough pain to ensure her repentance and fervent resolve never to give cause for another visit to the punishment room I would release her. But before doing so I would apply some relief by applying a cooling ointment to her chastened buttocks.

I believe that this close personal contact with the girl helped her to understand because she then knew that I cared for her and that any punishment she was awarded was just; I do not bear any resentment towards her. She is in my charge, she has done wrong, she must bear her punishment but over-riding all the pain and humiliation she has suffered is the fact that it is all for her own good. It is my duty to discipline her, one I cannot flinch from. It grieves me to have to deal out punishment to my charges but I could not in all conscience allow that to influence my judgement in the interests of justice. In time those girls came to realise the truth of this and many of them thanked me for the way in which they had been treated.

Any sensitive, intelligent girl will learn that a strict regime is necessary for her eventual well-being. It is just not possible for them to grow up into well-behaved, decorous young ladies, capable of living in a civilised manner in a civilised society, if they are not taught and disciplined properly.

The application of corporal punishment, carried out under proper supervision, in a firm but just way is essential and I am convinced that any such action I have taken has helped in some way to avoid a more serious delinquency. Most of my pupils have eventually realised the truth of this proposition. They know in their heart of hearts that I had helped them.

The campaign to abolish corporal punishment in British schools is sadly misguided. Unfortunately, discipline has become a dirty word, and if the strap and the cane finally disappear, we will live to regret it. The writing is already on the wall as more permissiveness and lack of discipline and respect for properly constituted authority leads to a breakdown in society. The proof of this is the vast increase in vandalism, hooliganism and general disregard for the rules at the present time.

Moments in C.P. History. Numbers IV-VI

Moments in C.P. History
A Series by Paul Melrose

Number 4. Rose Keller

A woman stood outside the Church of the Little Fathers in the Place des Victoires in Paris begging for alms. Her name was Rose Keller and she had done this every day since losing her job as a cotton spinner. She had been a respectable married woman from Strasbourg but the premature death of her husband and the loss of her job had reduced the thirty six year old Rose to a life of begging of which she was ashamed. In the Paris of 1768, however, there were few choices for working women thrown into penury and Rose had taken the one she believed to be the least dishonourable... the other choice being one such a modest woman would not contemplate. Who knows how long Rose would have continued this sad ritual until disease and ultimately death from cold and exposure would claim her... but it was not to be, for one fateful day, events occurred which would have significant consequences for both Rose and for another.

The day was Easter Sunday, April 3rd 1768 and the man who approached the wretched woman begging for alms was named Donatien Alphonse Francois, the Marquis de Sade. He watched for a few moments as passers by thrust their small change into her grateful hand and then offered her two livres, a substantial sum, if she would follow him to his country cottage. Rose Keller was no fool and immediately sensed what she might have to do for such a considerable sum. Indignantly she protested that though she may have been reduced to begging she was 'not THAT sort of woman' and initially refused Sade's invitation.

Sade glibly informed Rose that, temporary resident in Paris as he was, he needed a housekeeper and this was a way to help her out of her difficulties. She was persuaded that the job carried a guarantee of plentiful food and shelter and this seductive promise convinced her to accept, a welcome relief from the desperate circumstances in which she had been living. De Sade's coach took them both to his cottage at Arcueil, just outside Paris, where the smooth convincing nobleman showed his guest to her new bedchamber and promised her some food and drink. Rose was overwhelmed by her new surroundings, hardly able to believe her good fortune, when Sade returned and invited her down to the breakfast room.

Once inside, Sade locked the door and ordered Rose to take off all her clothes. Genuinely shocked, Rose angrily refused declaring that she had been tricked and had explained that she was not a prostitute. Sade told her brusquely that unless she did as he ordered he would kill her and bury her in the garden. Terrified, Rose began to undress but, being a modest woman, refused to remove her chemise. The enraged Sade tore off the chemise then pushed the terrified naked woman face down onto his bed and began to whip her back and buttocks with, alternately, a bundle of canes and a cat o' nine tails.

During the whipping, as Rose was later to testify, Sade poured what felt like molten wax into her weals. The louder Rose screamed the harder Sade whipped until eventually she heard the Marquis shudder and groan, a sign that he had reached orgasm, and only then did her whipping cease.

Sade then locked Rose Keller in the bedroom after telling her he would take her back to Paris that evening but the shocked and terrified woman still feared that she might be murdered.

Left alone, Rose tore the sheet into strips and knotted the strands, escaping through the bedroom window. The woman then ran down the village street despite being spotted by Sade's valet who ran after her and offered a purseful of money for her silence. Hysterical and afraid, Rose brushed him aside and kept running until she reached the village where three women took her in hand, ultimately taking her to the home of the Chief Bailiff and to a police officer, where she repeated her story. The Bailiff's wife, a Mme Lambert, heard the story and examined Rose Keller's wounds, an experience which upset her so much she burst into tears and retired to her room.

The next day, Easter Monday, the charge was heard by a judge and it became apparent that Rose Keller was a very reliable witness. Sade's family was now certain that the Marquis was in serious trouble. A deputation was dispatched to see Rose, who was still recovering at the home of the town bailiff, and they were shocked to find that this 'simple' beggar woman had a sound financial head on her shoulders despite the ordeal. She demanded 3000 livres, the equivalent of about £9000, in order to drop any charges. The Sade family were stunned by the demand but eventually Rose Keller settled on 2600 livres, a truly sizeable sum.

Rose Keller's life changed for the better overnight as a result. A nightmare encounter which she feared might result in her death had in fact provided her with riches beyond her dreams, a chance of a new life and the opportunity to meet and marry a new husband, thus fate can deal a strange hand. For the Marquis, who appeared to have got away with it, this incident allied to others provided his enemies, primarily his mother in law, with the opportunity to convince the King that Sade should be put away for good. Ever the hedonistic libertine, Sade managed to commit more outrages on the moral senses of his neighbours, including a weekend long orgy involving sexual and flagellant activity with a number of very young girls before his eventual capture. Finally, after protracted attempts to fend off the inevitable, Sade was arrested and sent away to prison where he would spend most of his life until released by the forces of the Revolution, an old and sick man. During his long incarceration, Sade wrote some of the most controversial works of literature, the content of which is now being reevaluated by literary critics as something deeper than merely hideous and cruel pornography, a label with which it was once dismissed.

Number 5. Boadicea

The humiliating flogging of the Druid Queen Boadicea, certainly the earliest example in this series, was truly a defining moment in the history of corporal punishment and prompted a violent and unexpected backlash which took the occupying Roman army by surprise and forced it into a terrible and bloody conflict.

Boadicea was the wife of Prasutagus, Druid King of the Iceni, a tribe whose lands spanned the modern counties of Norfolk, Suffolk and parts of Cambridgeshire and Huntingdonshire. Prasutagus ruled his people through a long period of Roman occupation and, politically astute, had allied himself with his Roman conquerors in order to guarantee a peaceful life for his people. The Romans were prepared to allow this arrangement, like most occupying armies, on the basis of mutual benefit. However by the year AD60, Roman patience with the ancient Britons was running very low and anger had replaced tolerance, particularly following an attempt to subdue the ancient Isle of Mona, long a refuge for Druids and discontented Britons who wished to escape the Roman yoke. Although the Romans eventually triumphed on Mona they had at first to suffer the humiliation of a retreat under the onslaught of more than 2000 virtually naked Druid women and priests, their hair wild, eyes wide and screaming abuse as they charged the Roman ranks armed only with fiery torches. The terrified Roman soldiers broke ranks and backed off to a safe hillside fort only to be galvanised by the anger and contempt of their officers for an army which had allowed a group of women to intimidate them. They regrouped, advanced and took a fearful bloody revenge, killing virtually every man, woman and child in the community.

The atmosphere in the rest of Britain was close to boiling point with anti Roman revolt simmering everywhere. Prasutagus, by now ailing, was aware of the danger to himself and his family of the highly volatile climate. He sought to protect his wife and daughters from harm by making a will which gave his master, the Roman Emperor Nero, a third share in his property and lands on his death. Duly in AD61 Prasutagus died in the misguided belief that his wisdom had ensured a safe outcome for his family.

Unfortunately, when the terms of Prasutagus' will were made known to Paulinus Suetonius, Nero's British Consul, he was roused to irrational anger that this Druid underling should have the temerity to decide exactly what the Emperor was entitled to receive. Telling his commanders that these Iceni needed a lesson in humility, he told them to take whatever steps were needed to achieve just that. The result was swift and shocking for within days of the decree a Roman force, including some slaves, was despatched to Prasutagus' palace where they forced an entry and the slaves began to ransack the palace of all valuables.

Boadicea, then aged around 45, and her two daughters, possibly in their twenties, were then dragged out of the palace by the Roman soldiers into the grounds where the shocked Boadicea was forced to watch while the two girls were stripped and raped by the Roman soldiers who then handed them over to the slaves for further violation. Boadicea herself was taken to Winchester where she was put on a platform in front of the Roman troops and many of her Iceni subjects, tied to a whipping post then stripped naked and flogged severely with a whip until blood was drawn.

Before this moment, Boadicea had been a quiet and dutiful Queen but these events were to scar her mind and from that moment she lived only for vengeance. With powerful and emotional speeches, Boadicea and her daughters travelled their tribal lands inciting the Iceni to rise up against their cruel masters, a plea which needed little urging and soon the Iceni were joined by other neighbouring tribes sick of the Roman yoke. Because Britain had been relatively quiet compared to problems elsewhere in the Empire, there were only four Roman legions, approximately 20,000 men, in the whole island. Two of these were in Wales, one in Lincoln and the other in Gloucester as the furious Britons marched on Colchester, the centre of Roman culture and religion, defended only by a handful of town militia.

The inhabitants hadn't a chance. Everything Roman that stood was burned to the ground and everything Roman that lived was murdered. The temple was destroyed and the town burned to a cinder. Part of the Roman legion at Lincoln was despatched in haste to the scene but, to their horror, found a tribal force twelve times their size. By sheer weight of numbers the Britons slaughtered every one of the Roman infantry, the commander escaping along with some of the cavalry, on horseback.

Suetonius, whose humiliating treatment of Boadicea had begun this reaction, was horrified and went with a small force to London expecting to be reinforced but his Legion commander refused to commit his troops and Suetonius decided he must leave the Londoners to their fate. The Britons fell upon the town killing every man, woman and child who stood in their way including those Britons who had given aid to their Roman masters. After that Boadicea's army turned on St Albans with similar results, the death toll in the three cities exceeding 70,000.

In the face of such military might as the Romans possessed, it was inevitable that these successes would be short lived and, within weeks, Suetonius was reinforced and now had two legions totalling ten thousand men at his command. Still they were outnumbered 8 to 1 by the Britons, but the Romans' military skill had led them to choose a battlefield which suited their strategy. With consummate nerve they awaited the onslaught of the populous but indisciplined Britons, Boadicea and her daughters riding through the British ranks in a chariot exhorting their troops to victory. It was not to be, for the tactical skill of the Romans overcame the weight of numbers and at least 80,000 Britons including many women were massacred without mercy, the Romans losing only 400 men. The battle was one of the earliest recorded examples of deliberate terror tactics being used, the Romans mutilating the bodies of the dead Britons, men and women, and hanging them up for all to see.

Boadicea herself, seeing defeat inevitable, took poison and died on the battlefield, while her daughters were captured and sent into slavery. The price Britain paid for the revolt was massive, Nero sending forty thousand more troops from Germany to keep the province under control, which they did with dreadful violence. Thus, finally, Suetonius prevailed but at what an appalling cost. One wonders if he ever reflected on his original decision which had sparked all this and decided 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scourged!'

Number 6. Lady Sophia Lindsay

In 1660, after a bitter Civil War and many years of Oliver Cromwell's Protectorate, England was restored to a monarchy with the triumphant return of Charles II as King. For many, their delight at seeing the restoration of the monarchy was soon tempered by the degree of retribution exercised by the new King for past crimes against his father and his own followers under the Cromwellian regime.

Before his return from exile, the new King had promised that all religious opinions throughout the lands of England and Scotland would he respected, yet soon signed a series of Acts of Parliament which outlawed any religious gatherings except those which pursued the authorised Prayer Book. Dungeons in England and Scotland were soon overflowing, a prime target for the new King being the rebellious Presbyterian Scots whose religious dissent was put down with ruthless ferocity.

The King's brother James, Duke of York, became extremely powerful and, in many parts, feared, because as well as being a man of ruthless ambition he was a Catholic and therefore distrusted by the new restored Anglican Parliament. After some years as a kind of roving ambassador for Charles II, James was given a Scottish estate and appointed his brother's unofficial representative for Scotland, which gave him sweeping powers of attorney. The Scots were suffering great hardship and torment in defence of their religious beliefs and rose up in revolt, eventually being routed at Bothwell Bridge by an army led by the Duke of Monmouth. The Duke of York now increased his campaign against Scottish dissenters but, with breathtaking hypocrisy, secured his brother's permission to institute a Scottish Protestant Parliament dedicated to preventing a 'return to popery' while ensuring that he, a Catholic, would remain all powerful in Scotland.

The new Scottish Parliament instituted an oath which was confusing in the extreme but which intended to ensure that every sitting Member pledged allegiance to the organised Protestant faith. One of those members was the Earl of Argyll who was a Presbyterian and took the opportunity of such confusion to announce that he saw nothing in the oath which would prevent him from favouring changes to the law regarding Church and State while still remaining loyal to the Crown. In such a climate, these words were as a red rag to a bull and Argyll was arrested and charged with high treason. The Earl was tried by a jury of which the Marquis of Montrose (a Charles Stuart loyalist) was foreman, found guilty and sentenced to hang.

The news was received with horror by Argyll's family and it was resolved that something daring needed to be done to avert this fate. One of the visitors allowed the Earl during his incarceration was his beautiful daughter, Lady Sophia Lindsay, the wife of Alexander Lindsay, Earl of Buccleugh. Lindsay himself was known to be a 'soft' Anglican thus trusted by the King's representatives but who allowed his wife her Presbyterian views just so long as they were not publicly expressed. A very daring plan was hatched within the Earl's family, apparently unknown to Alexander Lindsay, whereby Lady Sophia would visit her father accompanied by maidservants and pages. Because of her position, the family gambled that no obstacle would be placed in the path of such a visitation. They took extra clothing with them and, after distracting the guard for some minutes, they made up the Earl's bed with blankets to make it appear that he was sleeping then the Earl of Argyll escaped, dressed as a page, as part of his daughter's entourage. The deception was not discovered until too late and the Earl had contacted influential friends who spirited him away in a boat to Holland.

When the prime agent of this deception was discovered, Lady Sophia Lindsay was arrested and tried by a Civil Council. Such was the anger at her effrontery that the Council voted that the young woman should be stripped to the waist, tied to a cart tail and whipped all day through the streets of Edinburgh. The sentence was received with horror by Lady Sophia's family, not least by her husband who sought urgent talks with the Duke of York, pleading desperately for some reduction in the sentence, emphasising the degree of humiliation for the whole family including himself, a Stuart supporter, should such a sentence be carried out.

The Duke of York listened sympathetically and, to Lindsay's relief, agreed to substitute an alternative private punishment. He told Lindsay that as his young wife had behaved like a spoilt child she would be treated like one and pronounced his alternative judgement.

Thus it was that on a May morning in 1681, a very tearful Lady Sophia Lindsay was taken to a private room in Edinburgh Castle and there she found waiting a Sergeant-at-Arms, her embarrassed husband and her frantic mother. Knowing her intended punishment, she pleaded with her husband that she be spared this indignity but Lindsay bluntly pointed out that she had brought this upon herself and was fortunate that the affair was not public as originally intended. The Sergeant-at-Arms motioned the duty guard that Lady Sophia was to be made to kneel down over a low stool with her face pressed to the carpet, bottom thus fully raised. When that was done, her long dress and petticoats were lifted up and pinned to her shoulders thus completely exposing her naked bottom. The Sergeant-at-Arms then took up a birch rod and proceeded to give the young woman a very thorough and painful birching lasting half an hour after which she was released into the custody of her husband, amid floods of tears, presumably unable to sit down for a week! Some unsubstantiated reports have said she was given 50 strokes of the birch rod, wearing out two substantial birches in the process. The experience must have been painful and deeply embarrassing but surely preferable to the original sentence!

Sadly, the lady's sacrifice was all too short term for the Earl of Argyll made his way secretly back to Scotland where he was caught, tried once more and this time he was executed.

In The Land Of Utopia

Story from Janus 35.

In The Land Of Utopia
by R.T. Mason

'I just hope you see one you like,' said Mrs Greenaway, smiling across the breakfast table at her husband.

Henry Greenaway, in his fifties like his wife and like her quite ordinary-looking, put the official letter down with a look of satisfaction. It stated that there was a consignment of maids coming through Southwood on the train on Monday next; that four of them were as yet unassigned to homes, and that Mr Henry Greenaway's name was now at the top of the Maid Assignment List in the Southwood area.

Mrs Miriam Greenaway had a look of satisfaction too, for Henry had been growing noticeably ill-tempered and snappy just lately and it had been getting on Miriam Greenaway's nerves a little. The trouble was that Henry was used to having a maid and it was now all of three weeks since the last one, Rose, had left.

In a way of course it was Henry's own fault because he did tend to change maids rather frequently. He liked to have a girl until her novelty wore off and then change her for another. That was all right, quite legitimate, but on this occasion he had let Rose go and then there had been no other unassigned girls coming through. Or at least insufficient of them to get as far as Henry's name on the Assignment List. Yes, it had been largely Henry's own fault but Miriam had naturally refrained from telling him this.

'Yes, Henry dear,' she had said, 'I agree with you,' when he had gone on yet again about inefficiency in Utopia in general – and in particular regarding the supply of maids. 'Yes Henry,' she said, and got on with her knitting. All Miriam wanted was a nice quiet life. And so she was naturally quite relieved now that the letter had arrived.

With four girls to choose from Henry should be suited. And then for some month to come, until he got bored with her, everything should be nice and relaxed at Number 14, Plumtree Lane, in the pleasant little town of Southwood. Except for the girl that is – things would not necessarily be relaxed for her. Because Henry, in spite of his mild appearance, could be quite fierce with the cane. But then that was the purpose of Maid Service: to instill a proper sense of discipline into teenage girls.

'Yes, it certainly will be a relief,' Miriam said as she poured Henry another cup of tea. 'And have you seen that new shop in the High Street? They have some very nice maid's things. Quite, well, sexy, some of the outfits.'

Henry was not about to count his chickens before they were hatched. 'First of all I'll have to see if there is a girl I like the look of. But, yes, I have noticed the place. Isn't it called Maidenly Modes?'

* * *

The train drew into Southwood precisely on time and as the letter had stated carried a consignment of ten girls in the charge of a junior official from the Department of Education and Youth Discipline. All ten girls were taken off the train and into a waiting room. Six of them had already been assigned to homes – one in Southwood and the other five at various other stopping points on the way to Ashdown.

The four unassigned girls were available for selection by those householders at the top of the Maid Assignment List. And at the very top of the Southwood List, giving him first choice, was, as we have seen, Mr Henry Greenaway. Once any selections had been made here the remainder of the girls would embark on the next train, to resume their journey towards Ashdown, at the end of the line.

This was standard procedure, taking place all the time and all over the State of Utopia: daughters of Lower Class families, once they had reached the age of 18, being first given a period of preliminary training in the Ministry and then assigned to Middle Class homes to fulfil their State-required one year of domestic service.

A householder could keep a girl for her whole year of service or he could, as Mr Henry Greenaway tended to do, have a girl for a shorter period of time after which she would be available to another householder, or more than one, until her one year's service was up. After that a girl's obligation to the State in this respect was over; and she was free to do as she wanted: get another, paid, job; get married; etc etc.

Middle Class girls, while not required to do Maid Service, had to attend special educational establishments between the age of 18 and 20. The regime at these places was notably strict so they, like the Lower Class girls, would get a frequent taste of the cane or strap. All young males of the same age had to do State Service on farms or in factories. All in all, the system seemed to work very well, producing a sense of discipline and responsibility in young adults which had been singularly lacking before all this had been introduced.

In Southwood then, on this Monday morning in June, the four unassigned girls were taken from the other six into a separate smaller ante-room. The middle-aged man from the Ministry who was their escort ticked off their names, then went out to where five hopeful-looking Southwood citizens (all male naturally) were waiting.

One man, certainly not our Mr Greenaway, said, 'What're they like? Anything nice?' Then with a loud laugh added, 'I'm looking for one with a nice big pair of tits!'

His fellow citizens did not find this at all amusing. You might well be looking for a girl with large breasts but you did not announce it to all and sundry in this coarse manner. Quite probably this man had only recently achieved Middle Class status and with it the privilege, among other things, of maid-ownership.

The official said primly, 'I think this consignment of girls includes the normal range of physical sizes. Now, I have a Mr Greenaway first on my list.'

Henry stepped briskly forward and followed the official into the anteroom. The four girls who were sitting in docile fashion all stood up obediently as the two men entered. All four were wearing the standard summer version of Ministry training dress – a short-sleeved, knee-length, blue cotton frock buttoning down the front – with stockings and brown sensible shoes. Once a maid was in a person's employ, of course, he could dress her as exotically as he liked.

All the girls wore silver Ministry necklaces with their names inscribed on the plate in front. And each had a matching bracelet on her right wrist with a blank plate on it. This would take the name of her employer.

Henry Greenaway looked at the four girls standing submissively in a line – and almost immediately knew he wanted the blonde, second from the left. She was of medium height and he could see at once had a good figure. And her face, softly pretty with big blue eyes and full-lipped mouth, in a frame of short blonde curls, was decidedly appealing. Yes, very much the type of young girl Henry liked.

He told her to step forward. Her name, he saw on her necklace, was Susan Smith. Henry reached out, to feel her breasts. They were a good size and nicely firm in the light bra she had on under the dress. He told her to turn, then lifted the back of her skirt. Her bottom, in tight blue regulation knickers, really was very good – quite full cheeks but at the same time firm and resilient as he ran his hand lightly over the taut knickers.

Henry dropped the girl's skirt and told her to stand back in line. He had a cursory look at the other three: two brunettes, a redhead. They were all quite attractive, so that the whole of this morning's assignment was good. But Henry's mind had been made up virtually from the beginning.

'I'll take the blonde: Susan,' he told the official.

The man nodded, then looked through his papers. 'Yes, I think you've made a good choice. She's straight out of Training – no previous employer – and she had very high marks in both obedience and all-round performance. I think you'll be well satisfied with her.'

They collected Susan's suitcase. Henry introduced himself and Susan said politely, 'Thank-you for choosing me, Sir.' Then they walked out onto the sunny Southwood street to Henry's waiting car.

As they drove the short distance to Plumtree Lane Henry asked Susan about her Training Establishment. They differed of course and some were regrettably a little more lenient than others. But it seemed that Susan's had been quite strict for she said she had received the cane each evening before supper.

'Any strapping?' asked Henry.

'Yes. We got the cane from our tutor but the other instructors used the strap. I suppose most days I got a strapping as well as the cane.'

Henry slipped one hand down, pushing back the blue Ministry skirt to lightly squeeze a stockinged thigh. 'It sounds as if you're well-trained then.'

'Oh yes, Sir. I think so,' she answered.

But well-trained or not Henry Greenaway was certainly going to want to use the cane and the strap himself. That quite frankly was one of the chief pleasures in having a maid. He squeezed the nicely-rounded thigh in keen anticipation.

At Number 14 Plumtree Lane, Susan was introduced to Miriam who said she'd make her a cup of tea. She would tell Susan her household duties a bit later, when Henry had got her settled in. Household duties would not be very onerous of course because of extensive use of labour-saving devices. Susan's main role was to be at Henry's beck and call and, well, keep him amused.

Susan drank her tea and then Henry asked if she would like a bath after the hot journey. Susan, eager to agree to anything her new employer might suggest, said 'Yes please'. She got her wash things from her suitcase and Henry took her into the bathroom. It was naturally an excellent opportunity for him to have a good look at his new acquisition. He ran the bath, then sat down on the bathroom stool to watch Susan undress.

Shoes, blue Ministry dress, bra, knickers, finally white suspender belt and the brown stockings – they all came off. She really was a comely young person: all sweetly rounded curves, adorned with two pink nipples and the neat light-brown bush down below. She climbed shyly into the bath. Henry, eyes glowing, soaped her back... and then her front...

Susan rinsed herself and climbed out. Her employer was ready with a large towel. 'Have you got a boyfriend?' he asked as he rubbed her dry.

Susan said shyly, 'Yes, Mr Greenaway.'

Henry playfully flipped the end of the towel at the brown bush. 'Well, he's welcome to come and see you, Susan. I know a girl can get rather frustrated if she's got a boyfriend and never sees him.'

Susan gratefully said 'Thank-you' for this, then started dressing: fresh knickers and bra plus the other things she had taken off. They would go to the shop after lunch and see about some outfits, said Henry.

Then he said there was another matter he might as well mention. Sex. Although of course in Utopia a maid could be required to have sex with her employer, and many employers did insist on this, Henry himself would not be requiring it. He would naturally be using the cane and the strap on her but she would not be required to have sex.

Susan looked decidedly relieved at this and said 'Thank-you very much, Sir.' Although Mr Greenaway seemed a very pleasant gentleman she was glad she wasn't going to have to do that. Being strapped and caned – well, it hurt but you knew you couldn't avoid that.

Henry took Susan along to her room and then he did what quite frankly he had been wanting to do ever since he had set eyes on her. He gave her a good sound spanking. Not for any specific short-coming on Susan's part but simply the fact that a maid should be spanked (and caned and strapped) regularly and often. It was really the most important part of her training.

And so Henry Greenaway sat down on the girl's bed and took the pretty 18-year-old across his lap. And pulled up that blue skirt and then pulled down that fresh pair of blue cotton knickers, down to the tops of her stockings. And after a little preliminary fondling of what really was a splendidly ripe bottom, he proceeded to deliver sharp stinging smacks to first one plump cheek and then the other.

Henry was an expert at spanking girls' bottoms – it was after all one of his main pleasures in life – and he really knew how to make it sting. So Susan, if not actually crying, was at once oooching and ooowwing and squirming that delectable backside in a frenzied dance, as her new employer's hand vigorously rose and fell.

Henry was still engaged in this invigorating work when the door opened and Miriam walked in. She was greeted with the sight of lowered knickers and the new maid's bare bottom, now decidedly rosy in colour. And Henry's hand in mid-descent.

'Oh, I'm so sorry dear,' apologised Miriam who did not like to disturb Henry when he was busy in this manner. 'I was just wondering when you'd be ready for lunch.'

Henry rested his hand on the reddened rear. His own face likewise had a healthy glow. 'I'll be ready very shortly, m'dear. I had just about finished giving Susan a little warming up.'

Miriam went out and Henry, after a few more spanks, pushed the girl to her feet. She was red-faced as well as red-bottomed.

'You can pull your knickers up now, Susan. And then go and see if you can help Mrs Greenaway in the kitchen. Oh, and you can bring me a sherry in the lounge.'

* * *

Susan brought the sherry and then served the excellent lunch which Miriam had cooked. Then she cleared away and brought Mr and Mrs Greenaway coffee in the lounge; and then had her own lunch.

And after that, well, Henry felt he really must. It was an urge he couldn't resist – or certainly felt no need to. Just a couple of strokes with the cane: nothing serious, merely a touching-up of that delectable bum which before lunch he had so enjoyably spanked. He took Susan up to her room again and made her lie herself over the bed. The skirt came up again and the knickers came down.

He used his favourite medium-weight rattan cane: an instrument which had over the years bitten into the bottoms of a whole succession of 18- and 19-year-old girls. It duly bit into the bare bottom of Susan Smith – four times. And produced four desperate yelps of pain, because Ministry training or not, a caning was a caning and it really stung. As it was meant to.

It was just what Henry needed after lunch and as far as he was concerned, and indeed as far as the State of Utopia was concerned, it was just what Susan needed as well.

After that Henry told Miriam that he thought he'd take Susan down to that new shop in the High Street. Miriam herself was going out to visit one of her friends. She smiled happily at Henry. It really was good to see him so buoyant and cheerful again and quite got over that rather grumpy patch. But then she had known that all he needed to get him right was a new maid, and he certainly seemed taken with this Susan.

Under a cloudless blue sky Henry Greenaway and Susan walked briskly towards the High Street and that new shop, Maidenly Modes. It was such a nice afternoon that Henry had decided not to take the car so as to give himself and his new maid a little healthful exercise. For Susan, walking at least did something to ease the sting in her bottom.

'Well, what d'you think?' asked Henry when they reached the shop.

Its two windows were filled with a splendid display of maids' clothing, ranging from demure Victorian outfits to the most exotic creations. There were short slinky form-fitting outfits, and others with the skirts slit virtually up to the waist. There were backless dresses and topless dresses. There was one dress in white silk in which the back of the skirt was deeply scooped out to display the cheeks of the wearer's bottom. 'For wear with or without knickers' said the caption.

There were silk and nylon stockings in all shades and textures, and a similar range of suspender belts. There were knickers and bras in all colours and degrees of brevity. There were glossy stiletto-heeled shoes. There were running shorts and tops, and swimsuits, for those who thought their girls should engage in healthy exercise; and there was a range of glamorous bed-time wear, presumably aimed mostly at those with other, indoor, activities in mind. And of course together with all this was an excellent selection of canes and straps.

At one of the windows two youths with bicycles were standing gazing raptly at the display. They had glanced up as Henry and Susan arrived, then one of them exclaimed, 'Hello, Mr Greenaway.'

Henry saw it was the son of one of his acquaintances, Jack Easterby. The boy, Tom, was in his last term of school and would soon be doing his one year's State Service.

Both boys now looked with interest at Susan. Tom asked, 'Is that your new maid, Mr Greenaway?'

Henry said it was, and introduced Susan to Tom. The youth's eyes ran greedily over the pretty girl. 'Gosh, she's really nice, Mr Greenaway. Are you buying her some clothes? Why don't you get her that dress with no bottom. She'd look super in that!'

Susan flushed scarlet at being discussed like this by a boy virtually her own age.

Henry smiled and said, 'Maybe I'll think about it.'

Patting Susan's bottom he pointed her towards the shop entrance. He knew Jack Easterby was rather lenient with Tom and let him spank and cane the family maid (in fact Henry had suspicions that that was not all Tom Easterby was allowed to do to her). Frankly Henry did not believe in such an indulgent attitude. The strict State Service regime which the boy would shortly be getting was exactly what he needed, as far as Henry was concerned.

Inside the shop a pleasant-faced man, fortyish, came forward to greet Henry. He introduced himself as Arthur Fairfield, the proprietor, and said that although he had only recently opened this Southwood branch he had had a Maidenly Modes shop in Ashdown for some years.

'So I think I know what the discerning customer wants,' he said. Then looking at Susan: 'A new maid, is she?'

Henry said Yes she was. Mr Fairfield looked Susan over, then reached behind her and squeezed her bottom.

'Very attractive!' he pronounced. 'Yes, you've got a nice one there. Mmm: I wouldn't mind tickling her up with the cane myself.'

Mr Fairfield looked again at Henry. 'I tell you what. Have a good look round. Then if there's anything you like you can have 20 per cent off the price – if I can have a few swishes at this young lady's bottom.'

Henry looked thoughtful. Such offers were by no means unknown in Utopia when you walked into a shop with a pretty maid. Well, during her year of Maid Service a girl was supposed to get plenty of caning. The only thing was, he hadn't really had a chance to have a good go at her himself yet. On the other hand he did want to buy a number of things and 20 per cent off was not to be sneezed at.

'Twenty per cent off the total purchase?' queried Henry.

Mr Fairfield confirmed this, and Henry then said Yes. Susan, who had had to stand submissively by while it was decided whether or not she would get the extra caning from this stranger, did not look at all happy.

But liking it or not was neither here nor there. Henry told her to take her Ministry dress off and then began trying various dresses on her – including that white silk one which displayed the bottom. For this Susan was made to take her knickers off as well, so that the dress could be seen at its best. It was form-fitting, high-necked and calf-lengthed and the rounded cut-out at the back displayed the whole of Susan's bare bottom superlatively.

Henry and Mr Fairfield and the young male shop assistant all looked admiringly. Mr Fairfield stepped forward to make some slight adjustment – but really simply an excuse to run his hand over Susan's beautiful backside. Henry really liked the dress, but it was expensive.

Henry finally purchased quite a range of items: dresses, underwear, night-attire. And after considerable thought he did take the no-bottom dress. All in all, with the 20 per cent reduction in mind, he bought quite a lot more than he would otherwise have done. Mr Fairfield rang it all up at the till: quite a tidy sum.

The proprietor beamed. 'Very good! Now I'll take my 20 per cent, Mr Greenaway. Shall we take her into the back room?'

He told the assistant to mind the shop, then took Henry and Susan through to the back room. There was an upright chair which Mr Fairfield placed in the middle of the floor; and the unhappy Susan, now dressed again, was made to get over it, so that her bottom was up over the seat and her hands down on the floor.

Mr Fairfield pulled her skirt up to her waist, then slipped down the blue cotton knickers. Susan's bottom was once more on display. The shopkeeper ran his hand appreciatively over it. Henry watched with a quizzical expression. He wasn't really happy about letting Mr Fairfield get at her when she was so fresh and new, but, well, he had made a considerable saving. And he was watching...

Mr Fairfield, eyes gleaming, went to get his cane. And shortly there was an agonised 'Aaooohh!' from Susan. The pretty bottom was desperately dancing and now had a bright red stripe transversely across the fullest curve of the cheeks. Mr Fairfield had really lashed that cane down! Henry's face bore a rather green look. He did not at all enjoy the sight of that red stripe put on Susan by a stranger.

Four more red stripes followed. At which point Henry said that that was quite enough. After a more-or-less friendly exchange between the two men it was agreed that Mr Fairfield could give her two more. There were tears in the pretty blue eyes, and also running down the pretty cheeks, when Mr Fairfield had finished. For he really had made sure he'd got his money's worth. And once a cane stroke has been applied, there is naturally no way it can be rescinded.

The tearful Susan was told she could pull up her knickers. Henry felt quite glad to have them up again and, needless to say, Susan was even more relieved that the painful caning was over. Mr Fairfield said 'Very nice!', then promised he would have the goods delivered to Plumtree Lane that same afternoon.

Out in the sunny street again Henry said they might as well drop in at the engraving shop, further up the High Street, to get Susan's bracelet done. Here in the centre of town there were quite a few people about; mostly housewives doing their shopping or chatting, and retired men of Henry's age or older. Some of the housewives and the men were accompanied by a maid.

Occasionally an unaccompanied maid was to be seen, doing an errand or shopping for her family. Many men, though, did not like to send a maid out by herself as she would inevitably be stopped, and not infrequently handled, by strange men. This could legitimately be done on the excuse of checking up that a girl had a local address on her bracelet and thus had not run away from her home.

Maids did not frequently run away, even from homes where they were badly treated, because the penalty for such an offence was severe. But it did occasionally happen and this provided an excuse to stop an unaccompanied girl, check her bracelet and then, as she was further questioned, fondle her breasts and/or her buttocks. It was also not unknown for an accoster to make some trumped-up accusation – that she had been loitering, chatting to young Lower Class males, etc – and threaten to report her for this unless she went with him for an impromptu spanking or caning.

A maid caught in this predicament would usually submit and subsequently say nothing about it rather than risk having the charge brought against her; because to be accused of such offences could mean not just trouble with her employer, she would also be up before the Maid Disciplinary Board. And that was certainly not something a girl could contemplate with equaminity.

So while there were one or two unescorted maids to be seen in the centre of Southwood, there were no more than that. Those that were about were presumably from homes where the master wasn't too bothered if his maid got manhandled or worse; or indeed a man might deliberately send a girl out on her own as a punishment for something or other, with the full knowledge that she might get a casual caning from a stranger.

Henry and Susan found the engraver in a conveniently slack period and he said he could do it there and then. The engraver, a white-haired but sprightly man in his sixties, obviously liked the look of Susan, as Mr Fairfield had. And he reacted in a similar way to the Maidenly Modes proprietor. Henry could have the engraving done for half price if he, the engraver, could have Susan over his lap for a spanking.

But Henry now had had quite enough of seeing his property used by strangers. The engraver got a polite but firm 'No thank-you'. He smiled philosophically and got on with the job – though working in such a way, when he'd got Susan seated in his chair, that one of his bare arms was pleasantly rubbing across the peaks of her breasts. Then, still smiling, he charged Henry a price that was somewhat over the odds.

With Susan's bracelet engraved Henry had planned to return to Plumtree Lane, but then he thought that as it was nearby they might as well have a look in at the Maid Disciplinary Board offices. At this time of the afternoon there was frequently a Public Caning taking place and that was always a stimulating sight. At the same time of course it would do Susan no harm to see it, for such a spectacle was most effective in keeping a girl up to scratch.

They went into the Disciplinary Board offices, and through into the Public Caning Room where sure enough a girl was just being led out into the central caning area. The room was like an auditorium with tiers of seats rising on three sides from the central well, and there was a good number of male Southwood citizens present. They would not only be Middle Class men of course; Lower Class citizens were also permitted to watch Public Canings and indeed these were very popular with Lower Class men, in part at least because they were not themselves allowed to have maids.

The girl, a pretty, well-built brunette, was wearing the Disciplinary Board caning dress – a plain green knee-length cotton frock, the skirt of which had a central split up the back from hem to waist. She would have nothing else on. The dress would have been put on her after the Board had considered her case, whatever her offence was, and had come to their decision. The Board was made up of Local Middle Class men serving in rotation. Henry Greenaway himself had served on the Board a year ago.

The brunette was with a Board member, a middle-aged man in slacks and shirtsleeves and tie, with a cane in his hand. In the middle of that space at the focus of all the seats was a narrow trestle bench, about hip high. The girl, with her back to the audience of male watchers, was made to bend over the bench and grip the rail low down on the other side.

Her bottom, facing the watchers, was thus elevated and was automatically bared as the two sides of the split skirt slid apart. The man with the cane pushed the sides of the skirt further open, to fully expose the girl's plump bare backside.

He then announced, 'The girl is to get eight strokes.'

He proceeded to give her them. Eight viciously searing slashes that produced desperate yelps and frenetic writhings from the unfortunate offender. But though her bottom and legs went into the frenzied dance each time the cane landed, she made sure she hung onto that rail, with tensely clenched hands. For she had been told there would be an extra stroke for every time either of her hands broke away.

Henry and Susan, in seats quite near the front, had a perfect view of the performance. For Susan it was so awful she didn't really want to look, yet at the same time there was a horrible fascination which forced her to do so. She could all too easily picture herself out there with everyone's eyes focused on her bare bottom while that cane came thrashing down. Watching this at least made that painful caning she had just got from the Maidenly Modes man not seem quite so bad.

Henry, next to Susan and with his arm possessively around her shoulders, watched with keen interest. A Public Caning was always exciting. What was perhaps even more exciting, though, was to have one's own maid in here for a Public Caning: although he would only want to do that with Susan when he had had her a little while and was not feeling quite so possessive about her.

Henry had had Rose, his previous maid, here for a Public Caning on three occasions before he let her go. All three for minor more-or-less imaginary faults, but it had been a real turn-on to see Rose get the canings before the assembled groups of his fellow citizens. He pictured Susan out there, with bottom bare. The thought was very arousing but he would not want to do it yet awhile. He tightened his arm round her slim shoulders, loving the feel of her...

They watched a couple of other girls get canings and then went out. Outside the sun was still shining brightly down on the pretty town of Southwood.

'How would you like a touch of that?' asked Henry, slipping his arm round Susan's pert waist.

Susan shuddered. 'I... it... was just awful, Mr Greenaway.'

Henry laughed. 'Well it's only for naughty girls of course. You'll just have to make sure you're not naughty, won't you?'

Henry Greenaway's hand slipped down and his fingers nipped his maid's shapely bottom.

* * *

Back at Number 14 Plumtree Lane Miriam had returned and the delivery from Maidenly Modes had also arrived. Miriam said there had been a phone call just a quarter of an hour earlier from Fiona Easterby.

'She seemed to know you had the new maid, Henry. Did you see Tom in town or something? Anyway it was obvious that Jack wanted to come round and see her so I invited them round for drinks this evening. That's all right, isn't it?'

Henry frowned. It wasn't really all right. Well, he'd only got the girl that morning and already people were wanting to come round and meet her. Meeting her of course meant giving her a spanking or strapping or something, because that was what Jack Easterby would want and you could not refuse it to a social acquaintance. Not that Henry minded that much but, well, he would have preferred a quiet evening with the girl to himself. And another thing:

'I suppose the boy, Tom, will be coming as well?' Henry queried testily.

'Well, I think so, dear. Fiona said she thought Tom would like to come, and I could hardly say No. Tom is a very well-mannered boy, Henry.'

He might be well-mannered – but he would also want to have a go at Susan like his father. Henry could almost hear Jack Easterby: 'Come on, Henry, the lad's almost 18.' And Henry would be obliged to acquiesce.

However Henry could only accept the situation, with as good a grace as possible. After all he had caned the Easterbys' maid – on more than one occasion. Give and take – and try to smile politely.

Susan made Henry and Miriam a pot of tea and then had to prepare the vegetables for the evening meal, while Henry showed his wife some of the items he had bought at Maidenly Modes. Frankly Miriam had no great interest in sexy wear for maids but she did her best to appear interested. Henry, like most other men, liked to dress his maids up in sexy clothes and Miriam regarded it as a harmless enough whim. It did mean he was happy to be at home rather than out drinking or whatever.

There wasn't really time for Henry to have a leisurely trying-on session with Susan, what with those Easterbys coming after supper. That pleasure would have to wait until tomorrow, but at least it was something to look forward to. Henry had decided for tonight on a tight slinky black dress which had the short skirt slit up both sides to mid-thigh. He certainly wasn't having Susan in that no-bottom dress for the benefit of Jack and Tom Easterby.

The visitors arrived on the dot at 8 o'clock: Jack a genial heavily-built man of about 50 and Fiona, a few years younger, a well-preserved good-looking brunette. Tom, their son, Susan had already seen. She took their coats and then brought drinks into the sitting room. The two male Easterbys with Henry were soon crowding round her, while Fiona and Miriam sat with their drinks on the sofa.

'Yes, I see what you mean: she really is a smasher!' observed Jack Easterby heartily. 'You'll have some fun with this one, eh Henry?'

Susan flushed – and flinched. Jack Easterby straightaway had one hand at her bottom, squeezing it through the tight dress. She certainly was looking very attractive, her full soft mouth emphasised by the wet-look pink lipstick that she had put on at Henry's suggestion.

Young Tom was looking greedy-eyed at Susan as she stood somewhat uncertainly holding the drinks tray. Behind her Jack Easterby's fingers were intimately reaching in under the curve of her bottom. Fiona looked up at the three men with Susan and gave a little laugh.

'Henry dear, please put Jack out of his misery. You know he'll just be on tenterhooks until he's had that girl over his lap! And I don't suppose that boy of mine is much different.'

Henry put a brave face on it. 'Certainly Jack. You're my guest, so feel free to give her a little spanking whenever you like. She needs plenty of it, anyway, being new.'

Jack Easterby was not going to need a second invitation. 'Well, if you don't mind, Henry. I'll take her up to her room, shall I?'

Henry was certainly not keen on that. He would much rather it was done down here in front of all the others: where for one thing the presence of the two wives might have some inhibiting effect on any major liberties Jack felt like taking. But on the other hand he could hardly insist.

Henry tried to sound nonchalant. 'Of course: if you don't want us to see you in action.'

Jack Easterby could have a very thick skin when it suited him. 'Yes, I think I'll take her up to her room. What d'you say, young Susan?'

Young Susan didn't say anything – as Jack's fingers pinched into the undercurve of her bum. And then propelled her towards the door.

Hot-faced, she ascended the stairs – with Jack close behind her and his hand now up inside the tight skirt, between the soft bare thighs above her stocking tops. Cringing, she led the way to her room. Jack Easterby closed the door behind them.

'Up!' he barked, hot-eyed, indicating her skirt. 'Get it up round your waist. And then come here.'

Susan struggled the tight black skirt up round her waist. Underneath, her black seamed nylons were fastened with the narrow straps of a black suspender belt. Her brief nylon knickers were black too. Mr Easterby, sitting on her bedside chair, pulled her over his lap, then unceremoniously grabbed the black knickers down, to the tops of her stockings.

And then his hand was fondling – and spanking; and spanking and groping; and then yet more spanking interspersed with fondling gropes. It went on and on and it was simply awful. But then being a maid in Utopia was intended to be a rather unpleasant experience. Jack Easterby, while enjoying himself, was also doing what the State recommended, ie, giving a Lower Class 18-year-old female a thoroughly unpleasant time.

Jack was finally finished and the distressed Susan was pushed to her feet. Then after some more unpleasant touching she was permitted to pull up her knickers and pull down the tight skirt. Jack Easterby, aroused by the spanking, would have liked to do something else to Susan but he knew that would be overstepping the mark. He was aware that Henry Greenaway didn't have sex with his maids himself and would certainly not sanction anyone else doing it. Still, there was Jack's own maid, Anne, at home – not to mention his still attractive wife.

Mr Easterby and Susan duly reappeared downstairs in the sitting room. 'Most enjoyable, Henry!' said Jack enthusiastically. 'She's got a lovely bum on her.'

Young Tom, eager-eyed, was immediately pleading, with the urgency of youth, 'Mr Greenaway: can I have a go now, please!'

It was no more than Henry had expected. He would like to refuse but knowing the attitude of the boy's parents, there was no way he could. Furthermore he had to let Tom, like his father, take Susan up to the privacy of her room. (According to Fiona Easterby the poor boy was still a bit shy.)

And so once more the unfortunate Susan found herself in her room with a male Easterby – this one perhaps even worse than his father.

'C'mere you hot little slag!' commanded the youth who Miriam had described as a well-mannered boy, as soon as the bedroom door was closed.

He just grabbed Susan and pushed her down on the bed, one hand snaking up between her legs and his tongue thrusting itself wetly into Susan's mouth. She struggled wildly with her previous assailant's son who was of course stronger than she was.

'I'll give you a pound if you let me do you and you don't tell Mr Greenaway,' Tom gasped, his fingers clawing at the buttons of Susan's dress.

Struggling as best she could, Susan desperately shook her head. She at least realised Mr Greenaway would not make her give Tom what he wanted. When Tom saw there was no way he was going to be able to do it without his host knowing he changed his tack. He let go of Susan and got up off the bed.

'Right, you slag! Take off all your clothes and we'll see how you like a taste of my belt.'

Half sitting, half lying on the bed, Susan watched him take the belt out of the loops of his trousers and wind the buckle round his fist. She knew there was no way she could stop this happening. She started crying.

'Come on, you snivelling slag!' spat out the Easterbys' well-mannered son. He whipped the end of the belt across Susan's bare arm.

* * *

Two hours later Susan Smith, in a fetching waist-length white nightie, lay still and silent in her bed. Her first day at Number 14 Plumtree Lane was at last mercifully over. It had been a really awful day culminating in that session with the Easterbys' dreadful son: when she'd been forced to take off all her clothes except her suspender belt and nylons and shoes, and then was made to lie face-down over the bed while he laid into her buttocks and thighs with the belt.

The hateful youth had made a couple of further attempts at getting what he fervently wanted but Susan had adamantly refused – and of course simply got more of that belt, 'for being such a cold bitch'. He had only finally finished when he'd got bored with it.

Downstairs afterwards, with Susan still whimpering, Mrs Easterby had smiled indulgently at her son. 'All right, dear?' Shortly afterwards the visitors had left.

Yes, it had been a truly dreadful first day but probably no more dire than many another Lower Class girl's introduction to her year's State Service in Utopia. And quite possibly, Susan thought, shuddering, no more awful, either, than the way life was going to continue here at Number 14 Plumtree Lane.

Susan knew her alarm was going to go off at 6 o'clock tomorrow morning and she would have to jump immediately out of bed, wash and brush her teeth, and then put on a dressing gown over that virtually non-existent nightie she was wearing, to go downstairs to make morning tea for her employers. Then take the tea into first Mrs Greenaway's room and then Mr Greenaway's.

But before she went into Mr Greenaway's room she must first take off the dressing gown and put on, with the waist-length nightie, a pair of white silk stockings and a white satin suspender belt and high-heeled white shoes. Mr Greenaway had told her this a quarter of an hour ago when he had helped her get ready for bed. He wanted Susan to be looking really nice first thing in the morning, he said.

And the rest of the day: well, doubtless her employer would have his cane and his strap in action again. One thing Susan did know was that in the evening there was to be a party at the Easterbys'. A number of men were going to bring their maids round. The wives would not be there – because apparently it was not the sort of party that wives would be invited to.

'We'll probably play some amusing games,' Mr Greenaway had said.

Susan had no idea what these games were but she felt pretty sure she and the other maids would not find them very amusing. She turned her face into the pillow, trying to think of her boyfriend back home, trying for the moment anyway to forget this whole nightmare. One day was gone at least: only 364 to go.