I'll Never Forget Auntie!

Story from London Life Vol.1 No.7

I'll Never Forget Auntie!

Reading the magazine "London Life'' prompted the following story sent in by one of our lady readers. She has asked us not to publish her name, and we respect her wish. In her covering letter she tells us the following:

'When I first saw ''London Life" I thought it was just another sex magazine with emphasis on the female bottom! My dear husband is bottom mad, believing it to be the most attractive part of the female anatomy; every time I bend down he gives me a wolf whistle... and I am middle-aged! However, when I started to read "London Life" the memories came flooding back to me. My husband often spanks my bottom for fun... and sexual pleasure — I told you he was a bottom "fiend". But I remembered another occasion, when I was sixteen and boy mad. The story I have sent you is mainly fiction, though some of it is factual. I got great pleasure in writing it, and my husband enjoyed reading it, as I hope you do. It amazed me how certain events clicked into my mind once I got on my typewriter, forgotten incidents flooded back to me, the events that led up to my ultimate punishment, even how I felt at the time. I do hope you find it suitable for your magazine.'

We did find it suitable, Mrs K., and we have pleasure in publishing it, more or less as you wrote the story down.

* * *

Auntie Gladys wasn't really my auntie, she was an old friend of my mothers who lived in Nottingham. I'd always called her auntie from being very small, as most children do to special friends of the family. I must have had a dozen aunties and uncles, just like other children. But Auntie Glad was someone special to me. She lived alone in quite a large house just on the outskirts of Nottingham, a place called Mapperley Park, and I used to visit her for a few weeks during the school summer holidays. She was kindness itself to me, playing with me in the garden when the weather was nice, or draughts with me in the large room when it was raining. I think I loved her almost as much as I loved my mother. As I grew up she would advise me, especially warning me about boys! This amused me more than anything. She had been married, but lost her husband early in the marriage. I only vaguely remember Uncle Sid, as a man who bounced me on his knee while singing: 'This is the way the ladies ride'.

At sixteen it was to be my last long holiday with Auntie Glad, I was going to start work at an office in September. I could have started earlier, but I wanted a few weeks rest before joining the rat race of the outside world... there was also a boy in Nottingham I was sweet on! I'd met him the year before, when I was fifteen, and although we hadn't exactly made love, we had been very near to it. He could excite me, and work me up more than any other could, and I had already made up my mind that if he wanted to go the whole way with me, I would let him. Girls of sixteen are very impressionable, and I had been reading a lot of books loaned to me by other girls, and making love was depicted as the most beautiful experience in the world. The books are right of course, making love is beautiful, but what they ommitted to say was, to a girl of sixteen it can be a traumatic experience, and rather frightening. However, my seduction by Billy is not the main part of my story, although it does play a part!

I arrived at Auntie Glad's on a glorious Saturday morning, the sun shining down from a cloudless sky. Auntie met me at the station as she always did, and we took a cab to her home.

Nothing bad changed, it never did, the same furniture that had been there since I was quite small. I unpacked my suitcase, then telephoned Billy to tell him I was once again in Nottingham. He was older than me, at least eighteen or nineteen, I forget his exact age. Auntie heard me talking to him of course, and when I put the 'phone down she looked at me very seriously.

'You're getting to be quite a young woman Maureen, I suppose you have a lot of boy friends?'

I told her I had a few, but I liked Billy the best of the lot.

'You want to be very careful of Billy,' she said. 'I see him quite a lot, and he always has a different girl with him. I don't want you to do anything that would upset your mother, I am responsible for you during the next few weeks. I realise of course that you will want to go out dancing and to the cinema, and you won't want me hanging around you all the time... not like you did when you were a child. Heavens Maureen, I still look on you as a child, and here you are, a young woman on the threshold of her life!'

I told auntie I would be a good girl, but thought what a silly old frump she was getting to be!

'I hope you will be', she murmured, 'I'd hate to have to spank you, like I did when you were small!'

I laughed. 'I don't believe it auntie, I don't remember you ever spanking me.'

'Oh yes I did, when you were small. I used to give you a slap when you were naughty. Why, once when you threw your dinner onto the floor in a rage I took your knickers down and smacked your bare bum.'

'Well I'm too old for that sort of thing now,' I giggled.

'You're never too old my dear,' said Auntie darkly. 'Now, what do you intend doing tonight?'

I told her I had arranged to meet Billy, but I had no idea where we were going.

'Don't go into any public houses my dear, you're not old enough.'

I didn't tell her that was the intention... I looked older than my sixteen years, biggish bust etc. I didn't go drinking a lot at home, just the occasional glass of cider or shandy.

I put on my fancy underwear, some that my mother had never seen, a friend of my sister's had given them to me. Black frilly panties, and a bra with two holes cut in the front for my nipples to peep through. I felt delightfully wicked and grown up wearing them. I smoothed my hands over my body, wondering what it would be like if Billy did that! I didn't put much make-up on, somehow I felt that Auntie would frown at me wearing make-up, that would wait until later.

Billy had arranged to meet me at seven-thirty outside a public house on Mansfield Road, and he was late and I felt very embarrassed standing outside. All sorts of men tried to chat me up and invited me in for a drink. I was very grateful when I saw Billy. He had another boy with him and a girl, Mark and Sheila. Sheila was eighteen and ever so nice, she made me feel comfortable straight away. I told Billy I had promised auntie I would be home by eleven o'clock.

'A right little Cinderella,' he laughed, 'home before the last stroke of midnight!'

'Last stroke of eleven,' I corrected. 'She will worry if I am home late... anyway she has promised me a spanking if I am a naughty girl.'

That made them all laugh!

Later Mark and Sheila went off on their own, intending to go to the Palais. I would have loved to have gone, but it would make me very late, and I didn't want to upset auntie on my first day. I felt a little bit tipsy when we left the public house, I'd had a lot of cider, and I had to cling onto Billy's arm as he walked me home.

We stood in the porch kissing and cuddling. He caressed my breasts over my jumper at first, then he slid his hand up while kissing me. When he felt my nipples through the holes he kissed me more passionately.

'You're very sexy,' he panted, obviously very worked up. I could feel him throbbing against my leg. He then put his hand up my skirt and between my legs. I started to breathe heavily, the way he touched me was beautiful. He took my hand and placed it between his own legs, he had taken his penis out and it felt very hard. Oh but I wanted him to make love to me, but not there on auntie's front porch, it was too dangerous, I knew she was still up, the light was on in the lounge. I made him stop it, but he insisted I play with his penis while he caressed me. This I did, until with a groan he ejaculated.

It was just turning eleven when he went.

'Enjoyed yourself dear?' asked auntie when I got in. 'Where did you go tonight?'

I told her that we had just walked around the town, seeing as it was a warm evening. I sat down on the sofa, and I noticed auntie staring at me thoughtfully. Then I remembered my skirt, there was a damp stain where Billy had ejaculated. I hurriedly covered it with my hand, muttering that we'd had a glass of lemonade and I'd spilt some. She just nodded, thin-lipped. When I went to the bathroom I sponged the stuff away!

I had just taken my jumper and skirt off when auntie came in my bedroom with a cup of Horlicks for me. I'd forgotten, she always brought me a nightcap to bed. She took one look at me in my fancy underwear and nearly dropped the cup in her astonishment.

'Does your mother know you have such underwear?' she wanted to know.

'Oh yes auntie,' I lied, 'she was with me when I bought them.'

She put the cup of Horlicks on the bedside table. 'Well I think they are positively disgusting, and please don't wear them again while you are staying with me. Girls who go on the streets wear such underclothes, not sixteen-year-old girls. Now drink up your Horlicks, you can have a lie-in tomorrow. I'll bring your breakfast to you in bed, then we'll go to church for the morning service.'

Auntie Gladys was a devout church-goer, that was the only thing I hated about staying with her, going to church every Sunday morning... the Vicar had clammy hands! I lay in bed that night thinking about dear Billy, and what we had done. I had never touched a boy before, not down there anyway, and it had given me a great thrill. I felt all itchy thinking about it, so I opened my legs and played with myself until I had an orgasm. I don't think I did anything wrong by masturbating, most girls at sixteen do such things.

We sat next to Mr and Mrs Underwood in church, and their son, Ken, the same age as me.

'Now there is a nice boy,' whispered auntie. 'Well brought up and very polite.'

Personally he made me sick, always had done. When small he would cry at the slightest thing, and he was a cheat and a tell-tale. Once when pinching some apples when I was fourteen he had told auntie and she had been cross with me. So I was very cool to him. To make it worse, auntie had invited Ken for Sunday tea.

'I'm going out with Billy again tonight,' I whispered in alarm.

'Well you'll have to ring him up and say you can't make it,' she said. That put me in a bad mood straight away.

Sunday afternoon I went for a walk with auntie around the park. She spotted Billy before I did. 'Look, go and tell him you aren't coming out tonight.'

At least I would be close to him, if only for a few seconds. Billy told me not to worry, he would see me tomorrow night, his parents were going out. I would be able to spend the evening alone with him. My heart beat wildly in my chest, alone with Billy in his home, we would be able to make love properly, no-one to disturb us.

Ken was his usual obnoxious self, though auntie fawned over him like a long-lost son. I decided to have a bit of fun with him, see if he had any natural feelings in his body. I deliberately hitched my skirt up before crossing my legs, knowing he would be able to see the tops of my stockings. At first he ignored me, then his eyes kept flickering across. I pulled my skirt higher and parted my legs. Now he would be able to see the gusset of my white knickers. Suddenly he asked to be excused and went to the toilet. I smiled to myself. Now what had he gone to the toilet for... to play with himself? When he had left the room auntie glared at me.

'Maureen!' she snapped. 'Please pull down your skirt, most immodest. You are making Ken feel embarrassed, showing all your legs.'

'Sorry auntie,' I murmured, and pulled down my skirt to a more modest level. Of course, a few minutes after he came back, looking flushed I thought, it managed to ride high again. I was turning a boring evening into quite a pleasant one. When it was time for Ken to go, auntie suggested I walk part of the way with him. Heavens, he only lived around the corner, on Lucknow Drive.

Just around the corner he gave me the surprise of my life. He pushed me against the wall, kissing me hotly and trying to run his hand up my skirt. I pushed him away, telling him to behave himself.

'Let me touch you Maureen, just once, honest. I won't try anything else.'

'Indeed I won't,' I stormed. 'I'm not that sort of girl!'

'Please,' he panted, 'you've been teasing me all the night, making me want to touch you, showing me your... your legs.'

He pushed his hand up my skirt again. This time I smacked him across the face. 'Stop it Ken, or I'll scream!'

That frightened him to death, he kept away from me. 'I'll bet you let Billy play with you,' he muttered.

'It's nothing to do with you what Billy and I do... anyway he's older than you are!' I left him then and went home. Auntie was surprised.

'You're back quick,' she said.

'I do not like Kenneth Underwood,' I said. 'He... he is sloppy and coarse, and anyway his hands are sticky!'

That amused auntie for a few moments, then she said: 'You were teasing him tonight Maureen, something a girl of your age should never do. Ken is just growing up, and staring at your legs all night made him act the way he did.' She half smiled. 'I used to tease the boys when I was young, but not as young as you! Now run off to bed like a good girl, Ken will be feeling very ashamed of himself at this moment.'

In a way I felt quite gratified that I had teased Ken into making a pass towards me. He wanted me, and Billy wanted me. Maybe after I had let Billy make love to me, I would let Ken touch me where he wanted.

The following morning I stayed with auntie, helping her to clean her large house. Mrs Underwood came around and invited me to go for tea on the Wednesday, and stay for a few hours.

'Ken has some lovely records he would like you to hear. You can sit in the lounge, we won't disturb you!'

This was getting to be a conspiracy between auntie and Mrs Underwood, trying to pair us off.

'She'll be glad to come,' said auntie, for me. 'I'll send her around about four.'

I was getting my dates made for me!

I put on my fancy underwear before going out to meet Billy; I was talcumed and perfumed, ready for anything. Auntie didn't like the idea of me meeting Billy again, and she gave me a bit of a lecture before I set off.

'Just slap his hands and leave if he does anything you don't want him to.'

I promised I would, but I couldn't see him doing anything I didn't want him to.

We had a few ciders first, waiting for his mum and dad to get out of the way, then went to his home. He played a few Frank Sinatra records as we cuddled on the sofa. He got very excited of course, and so did I, and I made no objection when he pulled my knickers down. How can a girl describe the first time she makes love all the way? To me it was two things, painful yet exciting. I was so in love with the boy, I adored the closeness of his body, and after it was all over I told him I loved him very much. A little later he made love to me again, and it wasn't as painful, more like the beautiful experience I had read about.

It was when I got back that it really got to me!

I lay in bed shivering, worried to death. What if I had a baby? Would auntie know what had happened by looking at my face. I clambered from the bed and stared at myself in the long wardrobe mirror. My breasts looked a bit different, a bit swollen, and there was a mark on the right one where Billy had sucked me in his excitement. I examined between my thighs. I didn't look any different there, only felt a little sore, which was natural after what had happened. Then I had a good cry. I don't know to this day whether I cried because I was sorry to lose my virginity, or whether it was a cry of relief!

I went with a heavy heart to Ken's house for tea. I was dreading it, I felt sure that he would try it on with me again, and I didn't want that. I was in love with Billy, and I couldn't bare the thought of Ken mauling me about. We had a nice tea, and afterwards we went into the lounge to listen to records. I didn't mean to tease the boy, but I must have done; he kept staring at my legs. Everytime I caught him, I would push my skirt down over my knees. Anyway, the inevitable happened, he started messing about. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't; kissing me, trying to slide his hand under my skirt, and pawing my breasts.

In the end, this constant pawing aroused me, and I relaxed, returning his kisses and letting him feel me about. I was surprised that I could feel sexy with Ken, when so in love with Billy, but I was, and was ready for anything he wanted to do. He had my jumper pushed up around my neck, kissing my nipples, his hand between my legs, under the knicker elastic, his finger pushing in and out of my vagina. The lounge door opened and there stood Mrs Underwood with a tray in her hand. She gasped, and I hurriedly pushed down my skirt and straightened my jumper.

'How disgusting!' she said. 'Maureen, I think you had better go back to your aunties at once. My husband will see you home.'

Mr Underwood took me home in silence, and at the gate he took my hand.

'I'm not angry,' he said, with a smile. 'I was once sixteen!'

When I went in auntie was waiting for me, a stern expression on her face. 'Mrs Underwood had just phoned and told me why you are home early. She is most distressed that this has happened. Ken doesn't go out with many girls, he is shy and reserved, yet a few moments with you, and well... it was disgusting.'

'It wasn't my fault,' I protested. 'He started it, I couldn't stop him!

'I saw the way you behaved on Sunday, showing him your legs and knickers. No doubt you did the same thing this evening, leading him on, making him act the way he did. You wanted him to... to touch you. I am annoyed with you Maureen, Mrs Underwood is a good friend of mine, what is she going to think now? You gave that boy immoral thoughts.' I sat down and sulked. It was so unfair, he had started it; if he had behaved himself it would never have happened, anyway I was in love with Billy. I told auntie that. Her face darkened. 'I see. If you are in love with this Billy I dread to think what you get up to with him! I'm going to teach you a lesson Maureen. A long time ago I spanked you for being naughty. Now I am going to spank you again. I am sure that your mother would agree were she here.' She sat down on a hard-back chair. I stared at her.

'You must be joking!' I exclaimed. 'You can't spank me, I'm sixteen.'

'I don't care how old you are. You have misbehaved tonight, caused Mrs Underwood a great deal of distress. No doubt she will punish Ken in her own way, and it is only right that I should punish you. Now come over here and lay across my lap.'

I hesitated, the colour flooding to my cheeks. At sixteen I was very conscious of my body, and showing my bottom, even to my auntie, would cause me embarrassment.

'I told you to come here Maureen,' said auntie, in a tone of voice I had never heard her use before. 'If you insist on disobeying me I will have no alternative but to send you home with a letter explaining why. I am going to spank you, then I can tell Mrs Underwood that you have been punished for your disgusting behaviour.'

'It wasn't disgusting,' I muttered. 'It was nice!'

I shouldn't have said that, I knew it the moment the words came out. Auntie's face went grim, her lips set in a tight line. I looked down at the carpet, knowing I would have to be spanked, it was the lesser of two evils. It would upset my mother if I was sent home under such circumstances. Slowly I got up.

'What do you want me to do?' I asked in a small voice.

'Pull your skirt up and lay across my lap.'

Thank goodness I hadn't my sexy underwear on, that would have made auntie even more angry. I lay across her lap, feeling very exposed, my skirt pulled up to my waist. It seemed ages before she started to spank me. She pulled at my knickers, making them stretch across my bottom, settled herself comfortably, then brought her hand down. Crack! It seemed to explode and I jerked as a dart of stinging pain went through me. Crack, down came her hand again, landing in exactly the same place. I wriggled and squirmed.

'Keep still,' commanded auntie, 'or it will be the worse for you.'

She gave me six hard spanks on my bottom, each one seemed more painful than the last, and when she released me there were tears in my eyes.

'Don't think I enjoyed that Maureen,' she said, 'because I didn't. I do not like punishing anyone, least of all a mature young woman. Now get off to bed and we'll say no more about it.'

I went to my bedroom and got undressed. My bottom felt to be on fire, but it was only slightly reddened when I examined it in the mirror. As I lay in bed I became aware of a warmth running through my loins. My bottom didn't feel as painful to the touch any more. I fell into a troubled sleep, my mind filling with strange thoughts. Billy was spanking me, on my bare backside while Ken watched, in a sort of gleeful fascination. Then it all changed. I was making love to Ken, not in the proper position, but with me on top of him, and all the time we loved, Billy was spanking my bare bottom. When I awoke I was covered in perspiration, my hand between my legs. My mind was in a turmoil, I couldn't get rid of the strange images in my brain. I lay in the darkness trembling with sexual excitement, my fingers caressing down below. Billy would never spank me, not like auntie did, so hard. His spanks would be caresses, loving caresses. Or would they? Would he get as excited as me when spanking me. Would I like to spank his bare bottom. I moaned to myself as an intense orgasm swept through me. Then I fell asleep again, and didn't dream anymore.

For the next two weeks I did behave myself, I only went out with Billy once, and all we did was pet each other. I saw Ken a couple of times and studiously ignored him. As for Mrs Underwood, every time she saw me she swept by me like a darn duchess! On Thursday nights auntie went to the whist drive. I had been twice with her, but didn't enjoy it. A whist drive isn't the place for a sixteen-year-old, having old men playing 'kneesie' under the table. Horrid I thought. So I arranged to meet Billy, telling auntie I had a headache. She nodded knowingly.

'I understand dear,' she said sympathetically, 'I had a lot of trouble when I was your age.' I didn't bother to tell her how wrong she was!

Billy must have watched for her leaving, because he was in the house within a couple of minutes, jacket off, snogging and caressing me on the sofa! He had me half undressed before I knew, telling me how beautiful I was, and how much he wanted to take me to bed and love me properly. So we went to my bedroom and got on the bed. I didn't take all my clothes off, I kept my knickers on. This was even better than making love on the sofa, we could be more intimate with each other. Just as he was about to come over me, I asked him if I could come over him. He was very pleased, closing his legs so that I could sink down onto his erect penis. As soon as I felt his hands clasp my bottom I was filled with a strange urge.

'Slap me,' I muttered. 'Not hard, but just taps.'

And he did, not hard, but light stinging slaps that made me very passionate. I had an orgasm before he did, and managed to get away before he ejaculated. When we got up from the bed I just pulled my knickers on, then slipped my jumper and skirt over them. I wasn't going out anywhere, I didn't need my bra, and anyway, I wanted him to caress my bare breasts again before he left me.

We sat on the sofa, cuddling and kissing, and quite forgot the time, until the front door opened and in walked auntie. I just managed to get my jumper down and my skirt straightened before she came into the lounge. Her eyes raked over us, and I glanced down at Billy. His flies were undone, and he hurriedly covered them with his hand.

'I thought you had a headache Maureen?' asked auntie.

'I had, but it's gone now.'

'I can see that.' I didn't like the tone in her voice. 'I think you had better leave young man, it is getting very late.'

Billy got up and put his jacket on.

'Good night,' he murmured, red in the face.

When he had gone auntie sat in the chair and gazed steadily at me. 'You must think I am an idiot Maureen. Tell me, why haven't you got a bra on?'

Instinctively I looked down. My nipples were jutting the front of my jumper, making it obvious I was braless.

'I am beginning to think you are becoming somewhat of a slut,' she said, evenly. 'My spanking the other night didn't do anything for you. Don't try and interrupt me. You lied tonight when you said you had a headache. You were expecting that young man to call. Why didn't you tell me?' I didn't answer, I stared down at the rug. 'I suppose you have been doing with him what you were doing with young Ken. I am not having it Maureen, even if I have to spank you black and blue. Go on like this and I'm going to have every boy in town hanging around my front gate looking for you. This time I am going to spank you very hard, last time was not hard enough, you haven't learned your lesson.'

'Weren't you ever young auntie? Didn't you ever have any boy friends who... who wanted to... touch you?'

She took a deep breath. 'The only boy I ever had was your Uncle Sid, and we waited until we were married before we did anything like that. Come across my knee young lady.' I sighed heavily and got up. If it would satisfy her she could spank me. I lifted up my skirt and lay dutifully across her knees, and thinking about what Billy and I had done in my bed earlier.

She spanked me three times over my knickers and I didn't make a movement. I hardly felt anything, and anyway I was concentrating on Billy. Then, to my chagrin she put her hand in the waistband of my knickers and drew them down to the backs of my knees. My bottom was bare and vulnerable! I felt awful on her knee in that position, knowing what she could see of my body.

The blow landed and I cried out. 'Ouch, auntie, that hurt!'

'It is meant to hurt,' she said grimly, 'I'm not giving you love taps.'

Her hand came down again with a slap that seemed to echo around the room. It was terrible, I could feel my buttocks quivering and burning. Her hand came down again and again, slap, thwack, slap, thwack, until I felt to be on fire. I started to sob, but give her more vigour.

'I'll teach you young lady,' she growled, laying her hand into me fast and hard. 'Before I have finished with you, you will be sleeping on your tummy.'

Tears were streaming down my cheeks, blinding me. All I could see was the blur of the carpet. When she stopped I tumbled from her lap and sank to the floor, crying bitterly. Her face streamed with perspiration, and I got a little satisfaction when she rubbed her hands, as though they hurt her. They ought to, the number of times she had spanked me.

'Now get off to bed, Maureen. If you do anything like this again I will more than spank you, I will cane you!'

That put the fear of God in me. I had once been caned at school, and the memory will live with me forever!

I stumbled up the stairs and got ready for bed. I tried to bathe my sore bottom, but even luke-warm water was painful. She was right. I couldn't sleep on my bottom, I had to sleep on my tummy.

It was three days before I felt any-think like. Needless to say I behaved myself for the rest of my stay, never being alone with Billy.

Now to something that may surprise you. For a few years I didn't visit auntie, going on holiday with friends, until I was twenty-two and went to stay with her for a week. I met Ken again that week; we made love on our second date. We fell in love, and now he is my husband. He told me that his mother had spanked him the night she caught us petting. We spank for pleasure, not punishment, we are both stimulated by the act. I don't get a very sore bottom, not like when auntie spanked, more a pleasant tingling that sets my loins on fire. There is a huge difference between being spanked because you are naughty, than being spanked for fun.

Persuading Sarah

Story from Swish Vol.5 No.2

Persuading Sarah

Even at twenty, Sarah had never had her panties off for a spanking. It was time she learned – the hard way, maybe, but she learned to love it.

* * *

When the doorbell rang, Vivienne Masters went herself to open it. Blonde, stately and five feet ten tall, she carried herself like a model, as she had once been. Her firm, heavy breasts jiggled beneath a white nylon blouse. Beneath her short, tight black skirt her bottom cheeks rolled sensuously.

"It's Sarah, isn't it?" she asked as she opened the door and stepped back, weighing up with a quick professional eye the slim and pretty girl who stood there hesitantly. Sarah nodded and would have remained frozen where she stood had not a large male hand impelled her gently in to the wide hall of the private house. "How old are you, Sarah?" Vivienne asked gently. "Tw...tw...twenty," the girl stammered. She wore a neat oatmeal costume, dark tan high heels and a fawn and frilled blouse.

"You look younger," Vivienne murmured and, before Sarah could move, had taken her soft hand. "She always did," the middle-aged man with Sarah said and ran his hand lightly over her bouncy hair. Sarah said "Yes" and blushed. "Well – we'll go in," Vivienne said comfortably and led them through into a large drawing room where another tall and shapely girl sat, attired as Vivienne was save for black, gleaming boots which stretched up over her rounded knees.

"Lana will get you a drink, Sarah," Vivienne announced, taking Sarah forward. Lana got up smiling and extended her hand in turn. Loosing her gentle hold on the girl, Vivienne turned to the man and said quietly, "We'd better talk." He nodded and, while Sarah turned her head and gazed at them wonderingly, they moved into a small side room where Vivienne closed the door. "Tell me about her," she whispered, "I know we spoke on the phone, but.... yes.... I see. For how long? Uh-huh. Yes, they can be difficult. Give me a few days. It may even be less. Call me tomorrow evening. She won't know. We're always VERY discreet. Best if you go now or she'll wonder."

"O.K." he nodded and swept his eyes so obviously up and down Vivienne's glorious figure that she smiled. "No – that's extra. Costs lots more," she said teasingly and took his elbow, guiding him out. Sarah, seated with Lana on a sofa, made to jump up. "You're going?" she asked anxiously. "Not for long," he said. Vivienne stepped towards her. "Sarah – you're in good hands," she murmured and watched the girl's woebegone expression as the three of them were suddenly alone. "Sarah, you're not a child – take your jacket off," Vivienne said.

"B...b...but I'm not staying. I thought he had a meeting with someone here. I don't understand!" Sarah wailed and ran to the window just in time to see the Rover departing. "Sarah – come here!" Vivienne said sharply, bringing a startled "What?" from the pretty girl's quavering mouth. Lana stepped towards her and she backed away, bumping her hip against the window sill. Wildly, Sarah fended her left arm back but it was taken. "I d...d...don't understand!" she blurted. "Vivienne wants you," Lana said, "don't be silly now, Sarah."

"I w...w...want to go!" Sarah wailed. She made a sudden run for the door, found it locked and jerked despairingly at the handle, bringing a laugh from Vivienne. "I'll SCREAM!" Sarah threatened, bringing Vivienne and Lana both over to her. "Will you?" Vivienne asked quietly, "but HE'LL say you wanted to come – asked to come. Wouldn't that sound a bit silly now? You fight too much, Sarah – that's your problem. A girt has to know when to give it, and when not to. We'll teach you both."

"I d...d...don't understand!" Sarah wailed. They had both taken an arm and were leading her towards the sofa again. Her feet dragged in vain, heels scouring the thick carpet. "Darling, you WILL – you soon will. It's only a little training session, nothing more. All right, Lana, get her over the arm, head down. I want her in her spanking outfit."

"NO-OH!" Sarah screeched madly. In a flash the upper half of her body was bent over the high rolled arm, her legs at full stretch so that she was forced on to her toes. "YES, Sarah!" cut in Vivienne's voice, "skirt off usually, isn't it? But ONLY your skirt to date, apparently." Sarah's arms flailed wildly but caught only empty air. With Vivienne's hand clamped firmly over the nape of her neck she was powerless to rise and let out a high-pitched shriek as she felt Lana unzip her skirt and rip it off.

"How DARE you, how dare you!" came her sobbing cry. Vivienne with her free hand stroked her hair. "Oh, we dare, Sarah, we dare. How many spanks d'you get normally?" – "I do-oh-on't! Are you mad? Stop it. YEEE-ARGH!" the cry forced out from Sarah's lips as a hearty SMACK! landed on her pert bottom whose ripe, tight cheeks gleamed through her white semi-transparent panties.

"Yes, I can see the problem you are, Sarah," Vivienne murmured, giving a nod to Lana whose palm swept in right under the delicious globe, bringing an outraged shriek from the girl who tried frantically still to rise. "AND she makes such a noise. It must ring through the whole house," Lana laughed, running her palm lovingly over the wriggly orb whose cheeks showed faintly pink from the two big smacks.

"She can't be allowed to fib as well, though," Vivienne said almost sadly, "so go on smacking her adorable botty, Lana, until she confesses that she IS spanked. How silly of her to deny it, anyway." – "No, no, I'm not, YEEE-EEEK! Oh, stop it! It stings, oh it st...st....stings!" Sarah howled, jiving her hips madly to try and throw off the blasting smacks that burned right through her nubile bottom. "OOOOH-HOOO-HOOOOO! No!" came her despairing cry as another caught her exactly as before, right under the sweet bulge of her cheeks, bringing her up on to the very tips of her toes.

"Twenty years old and all this fuss, would you believe," Lana said chidingly and again ran a sensuously caressing hand over and around the heated hemispheres while Sarah sobbed on and jerked again. "Uh-huh, eighteen months of spankings and she's still like this. I think we'd best have her panties off," Vivienne said, controlling the would-be upward thrust of Sarah's quivering body. Blubbering as she was, Sarah managed just to cry out, "No! you can't!" before relapsing again into tears.

"They never have come off yet for a spanking, have they, Sarah?" Vivienne asked quietly. Sarah's flushed face moved wildly from side to side. "N...n...no!" she bubbled. If she fibbed again she would get another big spank, she knew, and she hated it, she always had. "I see. Get up, then – at least you've confessed that much. Sarah, get UP!" Vivienne snapped. With even just her skirt off, the girl was delicious to look at. Good legs balanced a good waist. Her boobs were smaller than Vivienne's or Lana's but firm and round like juicy pomegranates. Her bottom jutted beautifully when she stood as she did now, reaching blindly for her skirt which, however, had vanished.

"SIT! Lana, make her sit," Vivienne instructed, taking her seat on the sofa and calmly filling three glasses. Sarah jerked "OH!" as she was made to do so and immediately squirmed on her taunted bottom. "Drink this – you'll feel better and – Sarah – do NOT interrupt or the next spanking will be twice as hard and twice as long. DRINK it – it's only wine, silly. Don't you like wine?" Sarah sniffled and took the glass with shaky hand while Lana settled on the other side of her so that the thighs of both women nestled warmly against her own. Sarah opened her mouth to speak but then seeing the warning look in Vivienne's eyes wriggled again and relapsed into sulky silence.

"That's better," Vivienne said and sipped her wine smoothly. "Want a ciggy? No, all right, later then. I won't beat about the bush, Sarah dear. You're one of a number of girls who are sent to me for training. Yes, training. You should be past it at your age, but still. NO, Sarah – I've warned you – don't speak, just listen. You have been spanked regularly – we know that. Even better we know how you are when you are getting it – noisy and silly. Still.... spanking IS a bit much for a young woman of your age. If you promise me just one thing, Sarah, I'll not be too stern with you. Well, girl, speak!" Hand shaking still so that her wine almost slopped over the rim of her glass, Sarah asked "Wh...what?" in a quavering voice, her eyes misted with tears. "That you will be QUIETER, dear. I mean ALWAYS, in future. It's really very indiscreet of you to make such a noise. WELL?"

Sarah tilted her head back and drank quickly, more and more convinced that it was all a vivid dream. "Wh...what are you going to do to me?" she asked, making them laugh together. "Oh! so you CAN put the little girl voice on, Sarah, can you? Well, that's always an asset. Sarah, we're all women together. That's the first thing to remember," Vivienne said and slid of a sudden to her knees, running both hands up the girl's rounded silky thighs. Sarah quivered and bit her lip, aware that at any moment Lana might seize her hands. Lana took the empty glass from her nerveless fingers and laid it aside. "Sit still," she said softly. "It's true what Vi says – we're women together. We're going to teach you pleasure."

A startled "WHA-AAAH!" broke from Sarah's lips as without warning she felt her knees lifted swiftly up and over Vivienne's shoulders while Lana clamped one arm full around her from the front, imprisoning her arms. "Pleasure, darling – we will give it to you first – HE will give it to you afterwards," Sarah heard Vivienne say from below her. "NEEE-OH!" she screeched and made ineffectually to struggle as delicate fingers drew aside the crotch of her panties, baring the moist lovelips between which Vivienne's long pointed tongue slid and curled.

"B...b...b...b..." stammered Sarah. She tried to kick, but she couldn't. Vivienne held her legs as firmly clamped as were her arms. Seizing her chin, Lana's rich lips misted sensuously over her own. "Th...th...th...." Sarah stuttered quickly against Lana's mouth. No one had ever tongued her before – not down there. Vivienne's mouth was now deep into her fur and Sarah could feel herself swimming. Gliding her free arm down, Lana felt for Sarah's silky, stinging bottom which was just beneath Vivienne's chin and cupped it tightly.

"AH-HAAAR!" Sarah moaned. They had her firm between them now. Vivienne's tongue snaked in and out, sweeping its tip up to curl around her clitty. Lana's worked its way within her mouth. The breath hissed in through Sarah's nostrils. Catherine wheels were spinning and exploding in her tummy. Her spiky heels beat a wild tattoo on Vivienne's back, but Vi knew the signs. Rising quickly while Sarah quivered and moaned her frustration, she drew the girl's legs together high up so that her knees all but touched her forehead and her bottom bulged over the edge of the sofa.

"Wh..wh...wh...what?" babbled Sarah madly, doubled up as she was an unable to see what Lana – who had risen was doing. "YEEE-EEEH-EEEEH!" squealed Sarah as then without warning, and with her ankles held tight up together by Vivienne who sat at her side, a broad thick strap whistled in precisely at the bulge of her cheeks. "YA-AAAAAAH! NO!" Sarah screamed. "YES, Sarah!" she dimly heard Vivienne answer and then the strap come in again, on and on, burnishing and searing her half naked bottom that was so delicately poised until with a back-arching cry Sarah loosed a pelleting succession of orgasms such as she had never known before.

"All right," Vivienne said quietly even as Lana raised the strap again. Lana's arm relaxed while Sarah's legs – suddenly released – fell to the floor and she flopped sideways, mouth open, eyes closed, the crotch of her panties clinging so stickily to her that her lovelips showed clearly through the nylon.

Vivienne's arm snaked about Sarah's shoulders and drew her up again into a sitting position. "There, there – well put you to bed now," she coaxed, "Sarah have nice sleepy?" The journey upstairs to an ornate bedroom was not one that Sarah remembered except dimly. She was tired, drowsy, swimming – her bottom burned, but the glow now was different to that she had ever experienced from a spanking. Limp and sobbing quietly she let herself be stripped and slid under the sheet. "She'll sleep well," she vaguely heard Vivienne say, and then the closing darkness came upon her...

* * *

"Sarah, this is your regular evening uniform in future," Vivienne said to her two days later, adding with a smile: "By the way, your deportment has improved, too. You stride better instead of those silly hesitant steps. How d'you feel?" she asked softly, extending to Sarah a neat bundle. The girl took them, eyes wondering. It was like Vivienne's outfit except that the skirt was so short it would hardly cover her bottom. There were black self-supporting stockings and a white see-through blouse. "E...e...evening?" she stuttered.

"At least you're quieter – much quieter. You didn't howl at all this morning when Lana strapped you," Vivienne said with a smile in her voice. "Yes, EVERY evening, Sarah. You may put them on when you get back. You may have to be brought back here, you know, if you misbehave. You know that?" Sarah shook her head dumbly. "I don't want...." she began. A tear trickled down her cheek. "Don't want what? Don't want to leave? Silly, you can return now whenever you want – if you're obedient, Sarah. Are you going to be?"

"Yeth," Sarah lisped. They had pleasured her between them always before she was strapped, but it would be different now, when she went back, she knew that – and they had told her. She raised her face shyly to Vivienne's soft kiss. Their mouths brushed and lingered. "You'll be a good girl tonight, won't you? Promise? I don't want you back here tomorrow," Vivienne said, searching Sarah's eyes. Sarah nodded. "I 1...1...love you," she stammered quietly and began to cry. Vivienne stroked her hair. "I know. Come back tomorrow evening and tell me, huh?" "Yeth," Sarah mumbled, her eyes brighter with tears. She started as she heard a car stop outside. Vivienne laughed and gave her bottom a little pat. "Go on with you," she said, "and put your outfit on when you get there, right?"

Sarah nodded blindly, going into the hall where Lana in turn waited and kissed her. There were no panties with her outfit, she realised suddenly and felt her legs go wobbly as she entered the car and sank down. "You all right?" he asked quietly and she nodded blindly. "Wh...wh...what t...time is it?" she asked as the car sleeked forward. "Eight," he replied, "I booked a table. Well eat out."

"I'm not, I'm not hungry," she stammered. Cheeks bright red she stared away from him at the passing traffic. She wasn't going to be able to do it, she knew she wasn't. Stumbling indoors at last, she sat huddled on her bed, starting up as the door opened. "Put your things on, Sarah, and come down," he said. How she obeyed she never knew. Cheeks hot and flushed she descended at last, her thighs flashing white above the black stocking tops. Smiling he stood there, holding the strap.

"Well, Sarah, are you going to obey now?" he asked quietly. She gulped, staring past him. Her long legs quivered. The moment she bent over the arm of the sofa where she had so often been spanked, her naked bottom would show, rich and white between the black hem of her ultra miniskirt and her stockings. Blindly she turned and sank the upper half of her body over the arm, hiding her face.

"SARAH!" he barked. Biting her lip she eased her tightly-stockinged legs apart and turned her toes in, as Vivienne had taught her to. Behind her she heard the rustle of his clothing and closed her fingers tight. She could almost feel the heat of his huge cock as he neared her with the strap coiled ready. High-poised as she was, her bottom cheeks tightened and then relaxed. Tomorrow night she would see Vivienne again and it would be beautiful. "YEE-EEE-EEEE!" Sarah squealed as the first snaking caress of the leather hissed across her bottom. Her legs jerked, her torso twisted, and then she remained still again. HOOOOO! it burned!

"YA-AAAAH!" It had snaked in again, sending tongues of fire through her pert cheeks. Cupping her hands over her face, Sarah began to moan. She WAS being quiet, she was. "Rear your bum up and let him take you – you know he's going to, Sarah," Vivienne had said, "once he's got it up you, you'll want to." "WA-HA-HAAAAAR!" Sarah sobbed, but the noise was in her mind – the slap-cracking of the leather making her bottom rotate like a ball-bearing was the only sound now in the room.

"Now, Sarah, now – come on, give it!" she heard him growl after a seeming eternity. Her hips were uncontrollable now, her tummy bouncing and smacking on the rolled arm of the sofa, her legs spread wide, bottom glowing bright as a brazier. Sarah then heard her own voice at last ring throughout the room. "Yes, all right, yes – give it to me, put it up me – OOOOOH! Make me have it! AAAAAR!"

And miraculously Vivienne and Lana were forgotten, forgotten, in the breathless hot desiring of the night....

Jilly

Story from Janus 35.

Jilly
by Andrew Grantham

JILLY looked down at the flowers in the carpet. From her position, she had an excellent view of the closely-woven pattern. It wasn't the first time she had been in that position – with her blonde tresses brushing the floor and her fingertips touching the toes of her black, shiny, high-heeled shoes. It wouldn't be the last time either! Jilly's record at St Mary's High School was vastly different to that of her elder sister. Julie had made it all the way to the top and she had become Head Girl in her final year.

By sharp, and painful, contrast Jilly became known as the Bottom Girl – for the obvious reason! Here she was, about to have her arse scorched yet again by Mr Rogerson!

Her heart beat faster as she felt her skirt being raised and tucked in around her trim waist.

She knew it was going to be a bare bum caning. Mr Rogerson allowed a girl to retain her knicks only on the occasion of her first beating. After that, knicks were dropped to the ankles.

It wasn't that the thin material offered any protection. It was part of the deterrent – a bare bum caning being the ultimate punishment at St Mary's. Jilly felt his warm hands on her flesh as he took hold of the elasticated top of her skimpy briefs. Soon, they were fluttering down her legs to land around her ankles. Now she was all ready for another dose of the cane.

Mr Rogerson however, wasn't quite ready. He had a habit of preparing a girl by uncovering her bottom and then going to fetch the crook-handled cane which hung from a hook behind the door. Whenever an errant girl closed the door of the study she was immediately confronted by the sight of the cane swinging, menacingly, from its perch. Jilly moved her head slightly. She watched Mr Rogerson's feet as they progressed across the carpet, paused at the door and then returned to position themselves to the left of her posterior.

Even though she was about to receive the first stinging cut, she could not help thinking how clean and shiny Mr Rogerson's shoes were.

The feet swayed slightly. Jilly knew that the cane was high in the air. Any moment now!

Whoosh!

Whapp!

Jilly grunted as the cane landed in the centre of the rich moons of her arse.

That was a real stinger all right. Mr Rogerson could certainly lay it on when he wanted to. Jilly knew that he was really going to lay into her backside. Indeed, the Bottom Girl of St Mary's expected nothing less than a good hiding.

The cane dug into her bottom again after Mr Rogerson had judged that the earlier hurt was ebbing away. Suddenly, the pain rose sharply to a new peak.

Jilly's only response was a sharp exhalation of breath, although she could feel the hurt spreading through her. Before Mr Rogerson was finished with her, her young body would be totally engulfed by the searing hurt.

She didn't know just how many strokes she was in for. Gone were the days when she could expect a mere six!

'Oooh!'

The third cut made her cry out and she rocked on the balls of her feet. Her bottom stung like mad. She knew that the three stripes emblazoned across her buttocks would be spaced exactly two centimetres apart. (Mr Rogerson liked to joke about the distance between each stripe, saying that he had gone 'metric'!) There was still plenty of room on Jilly's lovely bottom for lots more strokes!

Crack!

'Youch!'

This time, Jilly's vocal reaction was just a shade higher. She screwed up her eyes as the flaming pain coursed through her body. Her bottom wriggled but she maintained her position.

She opened her eyes again and looked at Mr Rogerson's feet. Jilly was able to tell when the next blow was coming up. Whenever he raised the cane, Mr Rogerson dug his heels into the carpet.

He did just that and she clenched her bum cheeks as she awaited the next stinger from the slender stick. It stung all right. Her arse felt like it had been attacked by an army of wasps!

'Yowch!' she yelled out, her face now contorting with the pain from her rear. Still, she managed to maintain the required stance. However, two strokes later, her knees buckled and she let out a shrill scream. The pain was now acute.

The next cut had her fighting back the tears. She wondered why she wasn't like her elder sister? Eventually, Mr Rogerson's shiny shoes disappeared from her sight. She knew then that he was returning the cane to its place on the back of the door. Still Jilly waited, her bottom ablaze with pain.

Mr Rogerson always ended his sessions in the same way. Ordinarily, it would be just a pat on the bum. On Jilly's angry, corrugated rear however, it was quite a painful blow.

'Ouch!' she cried, waggling her wounded derriere from side to side. The slap caused her almost as much distress as one of the finale strokes of the cane.

'Up you get!' ordered Mr Rogerson brightly.

Jilly pursed her lips as she straightened up, aware that he was gazing at her tuft of pubic hair. She didn't mind in the slightest. He'd seen it lots of times before. And, during the course of her many canings, he must have seen much, much more!

Fully dressed again, Jilly smoothed out her skirt. 'Thank you,' she smiled graciously.

'You're welcome,' replied the teacher as he picked up her bag of shopping and handed it to her. 'Is your husband still working on the rigs?' he enquired.

Jilly nodded. 'He went away last night.'

Mr Rogerson rubbed his hands. 'I'll be seeing to you again before he gets back, I presume?' he asked her with a big smile.

'Yes please,' smiled back the former pupil of St Mary's. 'If you don't mind.'

Pauline's First Week

Story from Roue 15.

Pauline's First Week

The continuation of the story "Governor's prerogative"

It was Saturday morning, the end of Pauline Duncombe's first week at St. Angela's, and with some free time before lunch she was sitting on the garden seat near the tennis court. She was supposed to be reading her History textbook but found she was more interested in the impromptu game of tennis which three girls were playing in front of her. They had invited her to join them and she would have liked to, except that.... unfortunately she had no knickers on.

It is easy to laugh. Not again! those readers already familiar with Pauline Duncombe (Roue 12) will think. Surely Pauline not again without her knickers! But needless to say it was no laughing matter for Pauline. And indeed the whole of her first week at St. Angela's could fairly be described as no laughing matter. Ever since that first lesson from Mr. Fowler, on Tuesday, only her second full day at school.

Yes, Mr. Fowler who as we know had a thing about nylon knickers. And it may be recalled that Pauline's outfit, bought for her by the generous Mr. Grimsley, had unfortunately included nylon knickers and not the cotton ones which were the official St. Angela's wear. This had in fact been an honest error on his part: he was not deliberately trying to create problems for his new protegee. But he had forgotten that cotton was the correct type and possibly also was confused by the fact that one could in any case certainly come across nylon knickers in wear at the school.

So Pauline had arrived with five pairs of white nylon knickers but no cotton ones and had started wearing them in blissful ignorance. With any kind of luck she would have learnt of her mistake from another girl, but unfortunately she did not get that luck.

It had been her very first lesson from Mr. Fowler, on Tuesday, and he had asked her to stay behind at the end of the lesson intending simply to have a friendly word with the new pupil and certainly not suspecting anything about her knickers. Well, it was almost always the older girls who attempted to get away with it and Pauline, brand-new to the school and particularly innocent-looking, did not fit that bill. Not the type at all. But, as he liked to do when he had a girl standing at his desk and really it was quite an automatic response, he had, while they talked, slipped his hand up her skirt. To her bottom. And there quite unmistakeably was taut nylon where there should have been cotton.

Mr. Fowler had reacted like some minor volcano going up, his anger especially aroused by the thought of this young and apparently innocent girl now openly flouting the rules. Poor Pauline's tearful protestations of innocence fell on very stony ground. 'Be at my room at beginning of Prep this evening, young lady, and see that you're not one second late!' And when he'd got her there he made no allowance whatever for the newness and inexperience of the young transgressor. Girls had to be taught a lesson if they were unable to follow rules. 'Knickers down and get over the seat of that chair, if you please.' Wide-eyed, fearful, Pauline fumbled her knickers down and got over the chair. 'Further over! Head down and bottom up. That's better.' Her skirt pushed up round her waist. 'Now, legs straight and keep the bottom still, Miss.....' And Pauline's firm ripe rearquarters were given their first taste of the cane: six real stingers on the bare bum which left her sobbing wretchedly.

The nylon knickers were confiscated as was Mr. Fowler's custom. 'And you will go without knickers for a full week, my girl, that is 7 days from today, to complete your punishment. And just in case you cannot be trusted you will report to me here each morning before classes commence. So that I may check that you in fact have none on and are not cheating. Is that clear?'

Well it was all a terrible shock, both the caning and the confiscation of her knickers, on just her second day at school: and that night she just cried herself to sleep. And in the morning waking up to remember that it wasn't over, that she had to report back to Mr. Fowler first thing. She washed and nervously dressed, remembering to leave her pants off. 'What, no knicks!' quipped a dorm-mate, noticing, and on being told the situation, 'Oh, a visit to the Foul Fondler!' Which didn't make Pauline feel any better.

Yes, as any girl at St. Angela's could tell you, Mr. Fowler, sitting at his desk and beckoning Pauline to come and stand close at his side, would check on the absence of knickers in a very predictable manner, by sliding his hand up her skirt. And proceeding to fondle her bare bum while he unctuously spoke at some length of the need to abide by rules. Finally saying: 'Yes, that's how we become good citizens, Pauline,' he took his hand out of her skirt and stood up. Her ordeal was over, she thought thankfully. But then as she turned towards the door Mr. Fowler's hand suddenly, like a darting snake, came back up her skirt, this time at the front, running up the front of her bare thighs and just for a moment took hold of her between her legs, his hand on her bare private part, cupping it, for just an instant, and then darting out again. And Mr. Fowler, ignoring her involuntary gasp and looking as if nothing had happened, simply saying "Off to your classes then. Mustn't be late, must we?'

Well, it had been such a shock and he had done it so quickly that she found herself wondering afterwards if it had actually happened, or if she had imagined it. But the next morning there was no doubt as it had all happened exactly as before. The fondling hand at her bottom for some minutes and then as she was about to leave, and Mr. Fowler saying 'I wonder if it will rain today', his hand darting back up her skirt to briefly but firmly grasp her hair-covered mound. And the next day just the same. It was really awful but what could she do? She told a girl she had got to know a bit, Wendy Thomas, who was sympathetic but said 'That's just the kind of thing you get here, worse luck. But if you go to Matron she'll just send you to the Head for telling tales. And you don't want to go to him if you can avoid it!' Pauline agreed that she didn't, although not having been to the Head yet she didn't really know what he was like. He couldn't be worse than awful Mr. Fowler, she thought.

So what else? She would desperately like to write home asking to be taken away from this place: but her Mum would only say it was homesickness and she would settle down. And anyway you had to take your letters to your form-master, unsealed, so that he could check what you had written. So there was just nothing she could do about that awful thing Mr. Fowler did.

And what Mr. Fowler did was not the end of it. For apart from his daily assault on her person, which at least at 9 o'clock each day was over with, there was the more general humiliation of having to go without knickers all the time – all part of her punishment of course. And during the week several other masters had become aware of her predicament and had been making her stay behind after class, ostensibly to discuss some point of work but in fact to slip a hand up her skirt and fondle her bare bottom, like Mr. Fowler. That was unpleasant enough, although at least they had not tried to feel anything else yet, but it also meant that she would be in trouble from the master of the next class for being late.

Yes it was all an awful start to her new school, she thought dismally as she watched the other girls darting about on the tennis court. And none of it her own fault. And Mr. Fowler and the other masters with their nasty hands up her skirt had not been all: there had also been Miss Davies, the Gym Mistress....

It had started in Pauline's first gym lesson – a lesson she had looked forward to, not least because for once she would be wearing the same as everyone else, just the gym top and tight shorts under which no-one was allowed to wear knickers. And the lesson had been quite enjoyable except that from the beginning Miss Davies did seem to take a special interest in her. Perhaps it was just that she was a new girl, she'd thought. But then when the class had finished changing after the lesson she called Pauline back into her little office and to Pauline's surprise said would she like to come round to her room for tea after lessons that afternoon. Taken a bit aback Pauline stammered that she would and Miss Davies said 'Oh Good!' and had put her arm round Pauline's waist, squeezing.

Well it was nice to find someone being friendly – friendly, that is, without them wanting to put their hand up your skirt on your bare bum. Well, that was what she thought before she went to Miss Davies'....

She had given Pauline quite a nice tea in her rather cozy room, at the same time asking all about her, her home etc., and it was all very nice and friendly except, well, she had looked at her in rather a strange way, kind of staring with those bright eyes. She was quite attractive, Miss Davies: older of course but not that old – Pauline thought maybe late 20's. And she had a very good figure; shapely and firm, like gym mistresses did have with all that exercise.

But then when Miss Davies was showing her the pictures she had on the walls.... they were both standing looking at them, and she put her arm round Pauline's waist. And squeezing her she asked if she had a boyfriend. Pauline said No & well, she hadn't, and Miss Davies said, laughing 'I don't blame you. They're only after one thing anyway.'

Pauline had rather foolishly said 'What?' – if she had thought for a moment she would have realised what the gym mistress was referring to. But Miss Davies pulled her round so that they were half-facing and said 'This of course, silly!' And her other hand, not the one she had round Pauline's waist, went down to Pauline's you-know-what.... between her legs.... taking hold of it and squeezing....

The hand was outside her skirt, not on the bare like Mr. Fowler, but nonetheless Pauline had jumped like a scalded cat, it was so unexpected. The gym teacher hadn't kept her hand there, just the squeeze and then took her hand away: but she kept her arm round Pauline's waist and laughed a kind of forced laugh as she said 'Now don't be shy: its just between us girls.'

And then, as it must have dawned on her from what she'd felt 'Hey! Haven't you got any knicks on?' And Pauline had blurted out the whole Mr. Fowler episode, and feeling sorry for herself had sniffed a bit, though not actually crying. Well, at this Miss Davies was all sympathy, pulled Pauline round to face her again and then pulling her close, putting both arms round her, stroking and fondling as she made sympathetic noises.

She said 'Those awful men, they're always trying to pull something like that,' and before Pauline knew what was happening Miss Davies was kissing her on the mouth. She could feel the whole length of the gym teacher's strong body pushed hard against her – the firm breasts, and especially her pelvis which she started rubbing up against Pauline while holding the girl firmly against her with a hand cupping her bottom, squeezing. And the hand, really just as those awful masters did, then went down to the hem of her skirt and up again inside to now hold Pauline's nude bottom. Miss Davies was groaning and saying things like 'Oh, you're such a sweet kid' and then her mouth was back on Pauline's, this time pushing open the girl's lips. And Pauline felt Miss Davies' hot probing tongue invading her mouth....

But all this had been abruptly interrupted by a providential knocking at the door, arresting the gym mistress' ardour in full flight. She jerked her head away from Pauline with a rather desperate look 'Oh God! Of course, its Thursday....!' Shouting 'Just a minute.' she started frantically straightening herself up, then doing the same to Pauline. 'It's... it's an appointment which I completely forgot about. Look Pauline, you'll have to come round again, of course. I.... I'll let you know when I'm free...'

She went to the door where Tina Chidwick was found to be waiting: 6B and like Pauline a new girl, although naturally she'd arrived at the beginning of term rather than half-way through. And, well, she was rather similar to Pauline blonde, with a fresh innocent-seeming appearance. Miss Davies had greeted her with a rather guilty look and Pauline was sent on her way.

She was not sorry to go though, her head in a complete whirl from what had happened. She was pretty much innocent in matters of sex but she knew enough to realise that the gym teacher obviously 'fancied' her: although what that might fully involve was something she didn't want to think about. What had happened already was enough to make her knees tremble. But on the other hand, with her other problems at St. Angela's the fact that Miss Davies obviously liked her.... well, in a way that was nice. And what she had done wasn't really unpleasant.... In fact Miss Davies kissing her.... like that... hadn't been unpleasant at all. It was the first time Pauline had been kissed in that way – french-kissed – and it had been a shock, sending tingles all through her. But definitely not unpleasant. Miss Davies' tongue.... oooh...!

But for the gym mistress the path of true love (or desire at least) was not to run particularly smoothly. She had managed a fleeting meeting with Pauline yesterday, suggesting that today (Saturday) they could go for a drive in her car after lunch. But by then Pauline had been given another appointment so that fortunately she could not say Yes. Miss Davies' face, when she was told, had registered obvious disappointment. Still, perhaps she could take Tina Chidwick instead.

Yes Pauline had another appointment this afternoon alright, and as she sat there by the tennis court it was difficult to keep her mind from continually returning to its dread possibilities. For on her visit to Mr. Fowler yesterday he had said right at the end and after his now customary grope at her private region: 'Oh Pauline, I suppose you're free tomorrow afternoon?' There were no classes Saturday afternoon and girls were normally free unless something extra had been arranged. 'Good! Well, in that case I'd like you to come round here after lunch. I want to have a talk with you...' With an awful sinking feeling Pauline had said 'Yes, Sir.'

Yes, that was what was in store for her on this nice sunny day which otherwise after lunch she would have had to herself – or of course could have taken up Miss Davies' offer to go for a drive. Another visit to Mr. Fowler! And now she saw that the other girls were finishing their game: 'Time for din-dins, Amanda!' 'Ugh! Pigswill you mean!' And looking at her watch she saw that it was indeed almost lunch time. She would have to go although she was sure she could not manage to eat anything. Not the way she was feeling....

Pauline did manage to drink her soup but that was about all. And then at 2 o'clock sharp was outside Mr. Fowler's door, knees trembling. She had no idea what she had been summoned for but she was sure it was going to be unpleasant. Hesitantly she knocked....

'Ah Pauline. Yes.... come in, please.' She went in and the door was closed behind her. The sound, outside, of the key being turned in the lock....

-o-O-o-

Outside – outside Mr. Fowler's room with its locked door and, one would see if one walked by his window, its drawn curtains, for he was a master who liked his privacy – the afternoon progressed as a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon at St. Angela's might be expected to progress. Being Saturday the afternoon is 'free' – unless you have been unfortunate enough, like Pauline, to have its freedom curtailed for some reason or other by a member of staff – but other than that girls free to do what they wished. Some writing home or reading in a sunny or shady spot in the grounds. The tennis courts again in full use. A number of girls sunbathing, some in swimsuits, bikinis, others in uniform blouse and skirt but with these garments unbuttoned, pushed back, to expose youthful limbs to the hot sun. Some others, those with a Pass, have cycled into the nearby town to do some shopping or, over a Coke in the cafe, to complain, as schoolgirls will, of the iniquities of school life. And perhaps inevitably, it being St. Angela's, there is, about 3 o'clock, a caning in progress: in the Head's study Julia James bent over his desk with knickers lowered to mid-thigh, her bare bottom thrust reluctantly out to receive Mr. Payne's stinging cane. She has had four with a scheduled four more to come but the way her nicely rounded bottom is now wriggling and squirming, to Mr. Payne's annoyance ('Julia, will you keep that bottom still!'), this number could well be increased or at least be followed by a further spanking over his lap.

Yes, all this varied activity, some enjoyable and some obviously less so; and in addition one other which normally must not be mentioned in polite conversation, although we all know that inevitably it takes place in a community, such as St. Angela's, which contained a large number of girls and especially during a period of 'free' time. Inevitably on this afternoon there are girls doing it and others having it done to them. It? Yes 'it' – 'the stimulation of the genital organs to achieve sexual pleasure' as the dictionary has it, or in other words masturbation.

There is for instance Susan Rhodes in a quiet corner of the dorm, lying on her bed and thinking pleasurably of her boyfriend Kevin, her hand down the front of her knickers fondling herself.... There is Charlotte Lawson in a deserted changing-room half-lying on a bench with her knickers off, a rapt tense expression on her face as she uses that illicit instrument of pleasure, a vibrator. (It is quite definitely an illicit item at St. Angela's, possession of which, if found out, will bring immediate and particularly severe punishment. So you do your very best to ensure you will not be found out and Charlotte has placed a chair behind the closed changing-room door so that she will get sufficient warning if she is suddenly disturbed.)

Of course not all of these acts are solitary. For instance there are Paula Fletched and Anita Gray who have wandered off into the woods just south of the school grounds. They are known to be close friends but fortunately no-one – certainly no member of staff – knows just how friendly.... They are standing up against a tree-trunk, embracing and each with her hand up the other's skirt. Paula: 'Let's take our knicks off.....' Anita: 'Are you sure it's alright? I mean if we get caught with them off....' Paula: 'No-one's going to come out here.' And she starts slipping Anita's knickers down. Yes this would certainly rate along with use of a vibrator in the ranking of heinous crimes at St. Angela's.

And those familiar with St. Angela's will by now not be surprised to learn that there are also examples of this type of activity taking place involving members of staff. For instance there is Mr. Gray who just earlier has happened to come across Brenda Holmes sunbathing – in her uniform but with her skirt pulled up to reveal her knickers as she lies on her back in the sun. Brenda is inevitably getting aroused by what the master is doing although at the same time she does not like the fact that he is doing it: and there is also the possibility that someone could come along and see. Talking quietly, Mr. Gray is suggesting that they find a secluded corner where he could take Brenda's knickers off. Brenda does not want to, but she knows he could quite easily make up some excuse to take her knickers down for another reason – a caning. Of the two alternatives, well.... After a while they get to their feet and walk off.

Miss Davies, of course, is already in a secluded spot, out in the country, having driven down a quiet lane and then walked with Tina Chidwick across a field to where they will have their picnic. The picnic things are not yet unpacked and are placed, together with two pairs of discarded knickers, to the side of the blanket on which Miss Davies and Tina Chidwick are now lying side by side in close embrace. The gym mistress has her tongue deep in Tina's mouth and her hand between the girl's parted legs. Tina is moaning and shaking convulsively and is obviously moving rapidly towards an orgasm.

Yes, on this warm and sunny afternoon there was quite evidently a lot of it going on. So that what was happening in Mr. Fowler's room behind those drawn curtains was not particularly unusual; although to poor Pauline, sexually innocent, it was the culmination of an unbelievable week. For Mr. Fowler was doing 'it' to Pauline although, devious master that he was, this was under the guise, the pretence, of 'Sex Instruction'.

-o-O-o-

It had been a truly traumatic hour, ever since her hesitant knock at his door and his prompt 'Ah Pauline. Yes.... come in, please.' He had locked the door and then immediately gone to draw the curtains and turned on all the lights. And then....

'Yes. Well Pauline, I suppose you'd rather be outside on a day like this but I did think I should see you. Because all the other new girls had Sex Instruction at the beginning of term and, of course, you missed it. And at 16 it is important that you do not remain ignorant in these matters I don't suppose you had anything of this sort at your other school?'

Pauline shocked and stunned at what Mr. Fowler had said. Sex Instruction! 'N...No, Sir.'

'Hmmm. Many schools are very remiss in this regard. 'And then he did what he did every morning: his hand went up the front of her skirt and took hold of that hair-covered bulge at the top of her legs. 'No-one has told you anything about this?'

Pauline squirming, flushing: 'N...no, Sir.' This time it wasn't the quick in-and-out grab – his hand was staying there....

'Keep still, girl, there's no need to be shy with me.' The hand took its time, squeezing, feeling, before finally letting go.

'Yes, well then it is indeed high time you had some guidance. You seem to be a well-developed girl and certainly now quite capable of having a baby. And you will find that all kinds of unprincipled men, and boys too, are going to be after this now.' His hand back up to give 'this' another squeeze.

And then another bombshell: 'So, Miss, if you'll just take your clothes off....'

She just stood with a horrified look on her face as he repeated: 'Yes, your clothes please. Come along! Take them all off....'

Miserably, with no option, she had done as instructed: her blazer, her shoes and socks; then, turning away trying to hide herself, her blouse, her skirt, her slip, finally her bra. Mr. Fowler had a short towelling dressing-gown for her which she frantically got into. It only came to the tops of her thighs but she desperately wrapped it round and tied the belt: only to have Mr. Fowler immediately undo the belt and open the dressing-gown, to expose that well-developed bush and those equally well-developed pink-nippled breasts. His hands grabbing, groping, at both these regions as he said musingly: 'Mmm, you're certainly getting to be a well-developed young lady. All the more reason, of course....'

That had been the start, and then still in the opened dressing-gown having to sit with him on his settee and watch a short film on sexual intercourse. A short explicit film in which a young wife had intercourse with her husband, shy lying over the side of the bed with her legs spread and her feet on the floor – this position presumably adopted so that the action, and the actual penetration of the husband's large erect penis, could clearly be seen. To poor Pauline it seemed just enormous – how could it ever go in that young woman? And yet... it did, and quite evidently she enjoyed it.

'There!' said Mr. Fowler when it was finished and he had turned the lights back on, 'I'm sure that was most instructive. And when you leave school and get married you will now know exactly how it's done.'

And it was then, after the film, that Pauline had 'it' done to her. Mr. Fowler said that as a supplement to the film he was now going to do something which would give her some idea of what sexual intercourse was like and it was nothing to be nervous about; and then he made her lie across the settee with her thighs up over the arm.

Pauline's hand had automatically shot down to cover herself but that naturally was not what Mr. Fowler wanted. He firmly removed her hand ('Now then, we mustn't be shy!') and replaced it with his own. 'Now I'm just going to stimulate you a little....'

And that is what he did, in very much the same way that, about this time, Miss Davies was doing to Tina Chidwick and Mr. Gray was doing to Brenda Holm.

Moments in C.P. History. Numbers X-XII

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

Number 10. Princess Batthyany (Original text from Februs 41)

The name of Princess Irene Batthyany is not one which is familiar to most people but, nevertheless, she had a brief flirtation with both fame and humiliation as the beautiful wife of Count Lajos Batthyany whose reign as President of Hungary was brief and tragic, ending in his execution. The widowed Princess, though spared such a fate, was nonetheless subject to a very public shame which forms the basis of this particular 'Moment'.

In the mid 19th century, Europe was controlled by mighty empires, one of the biggest being the Austrian Empire which then included part of Germany, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Croatia, Serbia and Hungary. The year of 1848 became known as the year of revolution because, almost simultaneously, many of these subordinate nations began to flex their muscles and demand varying degrees of self government. In the forefront of these nations was Hungary. The politics involved in the issue were complex and so the reader will be spared too much insomnia-inducing background. To understand how Irene Batthyany arrived at her humiliating fate however it is necessary to mention a few names and look at a brief summary of events.

The first of these people was Louis Kossuth. He was the leader of the opposition to Austrian control and in 1848, amid a tide of revolt, he saw the opportunity to demand a certain degree of self government for the Hungarians. Austria at first reacted with anger and indignation, but when revolution actually broke out in Vienna itself, the Austrians, fearing Hungary might secede from the empire, capitulated.

Amid scenes of joy, a fellow member of the Austrian opposition, Count Lajos Batthyany, was appointed provisional President of the new semi independent Hungary and the provisional government sought to form a type of government acceptable to the people, which turned out to be a pseudo monarchy with Batthyany at its head. So Batthyany adopted the courtesy title of Prince and his proud and lovely wife became Princess Batthyany. Irene Batthyany was a dark haired beauty in her early forties at the time of the revolt, the mother of five children including three adult sons who were serving in the Hungarian army.

The joy was short lived for, though Hungary had its limited self government, it immediately inherited problems. Within Hungary's borders lay the state of Croatia whose people also sought self rule. Given the lesser of two evils, if the Croatians had disliked being 'slaves' of Austria, they positively detested falling under the writ of the 'Magyars' and immediately began to agitate against the situation with their overall rulers in Austria.

So a new key name in the saga emerged when Austria appointed a new Commissar for Croatia, a Colonel Joseph Jellacic, who was fanatically anti Hungarian. Once in power he broke off relations between Croatia and Hungary on 19th April 1848, putting the new Hungarian regime immediately in trouble from that point on. On 10th May, a Slovak minority in Hungary asked for independent rights within Hungary and 5 days later the Romanians condemned the new union with Hungary.

Prince Batthyany, realising that his newly self governing nation was facing trouble from all quarters, tried to do deals with his Austrian masters if they disavowed the Croatian leader Jellacic. Batthyany and his wife were contemptuous of Jellacic and his motives and made no secret of the fact in public utterances, which drove the Croatian leader to fury. Given subsequent events, this was to prove a terrible error of judgment by the Batthyany family, for the Austrians, while apparently sympathetic to Batthyany's problems, were secretly boosting Jellacic in undermining the Hungarian regime.

Confident now that he had Austria's blessing, Joseph Jellacic's Croatian army, together with a Serbian force, attacked Hungary in June of 1848 and very quickly captured most of South Hungary.

The hapless Prince Batthyany resigned and the Hungarian government attempted a compromise with their Austrian masters but to no avail, Batthany's resignation proving to be the catalyst for an open war between the young Hungarian government and the Austrian monarchy.

Despite the Prince's resignation from government, the brave and determined Hungarians were at first remarkably successful on the battlefield, turning the early tide against them, and prompting the abdication of the Austrian emperor Ferdinand in favour of his nephew Francis Joseph. Soon, however, the weight of numbers was too much and the reconstituted Austrian army launched new assaults taking the Hungarian capital city of Pest within 2 weeks.

The outcome of hostilities was finally decided when the Russians, under Czar Nicholas I, who had stood by and watched developments, finally decided that if Hungary proved successful, revolt might begin within the Russian empire, and so decided to crush the Hungarians in order to deter such thoughts.

In June of 1849, two Russian armies entered Hungary, a total of nearly half a million men now opposing the Hungarian regime. It was too much. The Hungarian government fled into exile and, on 13th August 1849, the Russian Commander Marshal Paskievicz was able to report to his Czar. 'Hungary lies at your feet your Majesty.'

Now the full weight of Russian retribution hit Hungary. The country was placed under a military administration and thirteen of Hungary's senior officers were publicly hanged. Prince Batthyany, unable to escape from the country with his family, had tried to commit suicide by cutting his throat but was forcibly prevented from doing so. He was arrested and on October 6th 1849 was shot by firing squad. The occupying forces then proceeded to run riot, tearing down Hungarian flags and wrecking Hungarian shops. About 100 more executions followed until an amnesty spared the remainder, including the widowed Princess Irene Batthyany who was allowed to remain in the her lavish home until it was decided what to do with her.

The mood of the mob, which at first had been so supportive of Hungarian independence, turned sour in the aftermath of humiliating defeat, much of the anger turning on the exiled Government and the Batthyany family. Boosted by the public mood, a group of Russian officers decided one weekend in November of 1849 to teach the widowed Irene Batthyany a humiliating lesson. A dozen Russian soldiers gate crashed the Palace of the Batthyany family and found Princess Irene alone apart from her serving maid. Frightened, she demanded they leave only to be told that, for her arrogance and because her sons had fought with the rebel Hungarian forces, she should accept her share of responsibility and punishment for bringing her country to such a parlous low.

Despite her shrieks of protest, Irene Batthyany was carried out of her palace by the officers and taken, kicking and screaming to the Pest market square where an enthusiastic mob soon gathered to witness Irene's humiliation. The terrified Irene was put up onto a platform and her head and hands secured in a pillory reserved usually for the vagrants and prostitutes who were regularly punished in public.

If her shame at such treatment was not enough, Irene was further mortified to see the Croat leader Jellacic, who she had oft derided, seated on the platform with a group of Croat officers all thirsting to witness her degradation. Cheered on by the mob, the Russian officers lifted Irene's dress and petticoats, securing them to her shoulders, then pulled down her lace drawers exposing her naked bottom to the jeering mob. One of the Russians then removed his thick leather belt and proceeded to spank the bare bottom of the shrieking Princess before handing over to another soldier who continued the punishment. The punishment continued until all the officers had administered the belt to Irene's by now scarlet and roasting bottom for some considerable time.

When Princess Irene Batthyany was shrieking in anguish, her bottom crimson and swollen with pain, the Russians relented and she was released. She was made to kiss the hand of Jellacic and offer apologies for past slights before being allowed to pull up her drawers and adjust her dress. The poor woman, having adjusted her clothing, was then compelled to drag herself home on foot, completely humiliated, through a howling mob who pelted her with rotten fruit and vegetables.

Eventually the military dictatorship was replaced, in July 1850, by a civilian one which eased up on the brutality but made certain that any traces of Hungary's abortive attempts at independence were carefully removed. This included dispersing the Batthyany family into the countryside and rehousing them in more frugal accommodation, taking them and their brief acquaintance with fame out of the limelight for ever.

Number 11-13. Jeanne Du Barry and Caroline de Rozen (This is the text from Alex's blog, edited by Alex in 2008)

The future Countess du Barry was born on August 19th 1743 in Vaucoleurs, France, as humble Jeanne Becu, a child born out of wedlock to a pastry cook named Annie Becu. It is suggested that Jeanne's father may well have been a friar who served as spiritual advisor to the local convent (the irony is not lost!) a man named Jean Baptiste Gormand of Vaubernier who was certainly Annie Becu's lover.

Thanks to the friar's influence, Jeanne had a better education than she might have expected at the convent of Saint-Aure in Paris. At fifteen she left school and took on several positions as lady's maid to the wealthy and influential, thus she had access to the nobility of Paris. In 1763 she met a notorious rake named Jean du Barry, and eventually became his mistress. He was known in Paris as 'Jean the Vile' and was frequently interviewed by the police for his custom of prostituting his lovers, Jeanne Becu included. It appears from journals written to friends that Jeanne had begun to loathe the degradation into which she had sunk and was anxious to attain more respectability.

In 1768, Jeanne Becu was introduced at court and came to the attention of Louis XV who was immediately attracted to her and wanted her as his mistress. Convention at the time decreed that, in order to deflect gossip, a mistress had to be a married woman who would thus arrive at court with her husband, the husband then presumably waiting patiently while the King dallied with his wife, and would then, dutifully, take her home. Decorum was thus preserved. So Jeanne Becu married Guillaume Barry, the brother of her procurer, Jean, in order to become one of Louis XV's many mistresses. Her future was thus secured and she became a woman of some influence.

Jeanne du Barry became a patron of the arts and a known protector of artists and intellectuals. She was an attractive, excitable woman of strong passions and little patience. It is said that she made friends easily thanks to her outward-going nature and easy laughter, but frequently lost them again thanks to her jealousy and sensitivity to perceived slights.

Among the many contacts the Countess du Barry made at court were the Countess of Provence and her teenage lady-in-waiting, Caroline, Marchioness de Rozen. While the relationship between the two Countesses was never more than cordial at best, Jeanne du Barry formed an immediate attachment to the pretty young lady-in-waiting who was eighteen or nineteen at the time of their first meeting. It appears to have been reciprocal for the young Marchioness appeared to revel in the company of the vivacious Jeanne du Barry. So much so that the two became firm friends, the young Caroline always being on Du Barry's guest list for every social function. There was no suggestion of any sexual liaison, they were like two sisters, happy in each others company, and the young Marchioness would boast to her friends that she was one of Jeanne du Barry's favourites, never far away when she was needed and always present at every glittering ball and social function.

Given natural human jealousy and possessiveness, such an idyllic existence could not last for ever and the Countess of Provence, who had watched the developing friendship with growing anger, finally put her foot down. She told her young lady-in-waiting, in no uncertain terms, that this close friendship with Du Barry had to stop. It was, she told the girl, demeaning for herself to be excluded from so many functions to which the young Marchioness was invited and that the girl was not to continue the friendship any longer. Frightened of the wrath of her mentor, the Marchioness ignored future invitations to any of Du Barry's social occasions and, when compelled to go to the Palace with her own mistress, treated Jeanne du Barry with coldness and indifference.

Jeanne was furious and very upset by this snub and complained to Louis XV about the slight she had received. The King, most probably in jest, replied that the Marchioness was little more than a child with all the temperamental vagaries of a child. He apparently suggested that 'a taste of the rod would do that little thing no harm' and chuckled that he wouldn't mind watching Caroline's young bottom get a taste of it either!

Whether this was intended to be taken seriously or not, the angry Jeanne du Barry took him at his word. She sent a message to the young Marchioness asking if she could visit in secret the next morning as there were important matters that needed to be discussed relating to her future at court, suggesting it would be to her benefit if she could get away. Flattered by the hint, and undoubtedly curious, Caroline made some excuse to her mistress and took a carriage into Paris to Du Barry's sumptuous home.

In the meantime, Jeanne du Barry had informed the King that, if he were to arrive in secret and hide behind a dressing screen in her boudoir, he might see something to his liking. Puzzled, but happy to play his lover's games the King duly arrived and took his place behind the screen.

Downstairs, an apparent reconciliation had been effected with Jeanne and the young Marchioness breakfasting together amid great cordiality. Once the repast was over, Jeanne du Barry told her young guest that there were documents pertaining to her future role at court in Jeanne's boudoir and that they should go up there with all haste. Suspecting nothing, Caroline de Rozen followed the Countess into her bedroom whereupon the door was rapidly slammed shut and four very strong chamber-maids grabbed the young Marchioness and dragged her, screaming, over to the bed where she was thrown face down.

As the girl shrieked in fear and shame, at a word from Jeanne du Barry, her long skirts and petticoats were hoisted up high on her back, completely baring her bottom. Jeanne then angrily told the girl this was the price for snubbing the Countess du Barry, and that, after today's experience, she would never do such a thing again.

Before the delighted eyes of the King secreted behind the screen, while two of the maids held the struggling Caroline, the other two picked up stout birch rods and began to whip the young Marchioness across her bare buttocks very severely until the skin broke and little spots of blood began to run down her thighs. At this point Jeanne du Barry ordered that the whipping be stopped and the girl be allowed to rise. This she did with great difficulty, weeping hysterically before fleeing back to her carriage and home... presumably kneeling all the way!

Unable to tell her mistress, the Countess of Provence, what had happened for she had broken a promise and would be in more trouble, Caroline de Rozen wrote directly to the King complaining about her treatment. She received a reply, apparently sympathetic, saying he would question Jeanne du Barry on the matter , but that of course he would be unable to do anything unless Caroline was prepared to come to court and display the evidence to him. Such a humiliating proposal made it obvious to the Marchioness that her complaint was falling on deaf ears, and she sought advice from her friends on what to do next.

All, without exception, suggested that she make up with Jeanne du Barry with all haste for the Countess was too powerful an enemy to confront, and Caroline took the advice. She wrote to Jeanne asking if she could visit once more, apologising for past slights and confessing that her chastisement was no more than she deserved.

Delighted by the success of her actions, Jeanne was pleased to welcome back her young friend and agreed that the friendship would continue in secret in order that the Countess of Provence would not be discomfited in any way, and so it was done.

In 1774, Louis XV died and, for some time, Jeanne du Barry became a forgotten figure in France. Not one to let the grass grow under her feet for long, she courted the new power in the land, the Duke of Brissac and became his lover of many years. in 1789, the French Revolution began and Jeanne began to make many trips to London, ostensibly to secure her jewellery in safe banks. She made contact with a number of exiled aristocrats while in England, a very dangerous practice, which led eventually to her downfall and death. The Revolutionary Government considered her actions as treacherous and, in 1793, Jeanne du Barry was arrested and charged with working against the revolution.

She was sentenced to death and on 8th December 1793, at the age of fifty, the Countess Jeanne du Barry went to the guillotine. She did not meet impending death with any great courage or dignity (and who could blame her!), collapsing several times in the tumbril en route to the guillotine and screaming to the crowd from the platform "Why do you want to hurt me? Why?" and eventually becoming so hysterical that she was difficult to restrain. The last words she ever spoke are probably her most famous, "Encore un moment, monsieur le bourreau, un petit moment," ("One moment more, executioner, one little moment") and then the blade did its work.

Number 11-13. Catherine the Great (This is the text from Alex's blog, edited by Alex in 2008)

Catherine the Second of Russia, later to be known as Catherine the Great, was born Sophia Augusta Fredericka, Princess of Auhalt-Zerbst on 2nd May 1729 in Stettin, Prussia. Her father was Prince Christian August, a general in the Prussian army but the driving force in the young Sophia's eventual rise to fame was her mother, Princess Johanna Elizabeth, a woman of great ambition.

The seeds of influence were sown early when Prince Karl August, one of Princess Johanna's brothers, became engaged to Elizabeth, the Empress of Russia, but the boy died unexpectedly in 1727 before any nuptials could be arranged. Johanna's cousin, Karl Frederick, had also married the daughter of Peter the Great, so the strength of relationship between the Prussian and Russian courts was firmly established by the early part of the 18th century.

When Empress Elizabeth sought a wife for her son and successor, Peter III, much deep and earnest correspondence ensued between Elizabeth and the Prussian Princess Johanna with the result that, on January 1st 1744, the young Sophia and her mother were invited to St. Petersburg by Elizabeth and her son. Sophia was then just fourteen years old. The Empress was delighted by the young Sophia for she found a very attractive young girl, intelligent and perceptive beyond her years. Thus it was agreed that, subject to Sophia's conversion to the Russian Orthodox Church, the girl would marry Peter. As part of the conversion process, Sophia had to be given a new name ordained by the Empress and Elizabeth chose to call the girl 'Catherine' in honour of her own mother.

Peter III proved to be a sickly young man and had several bouts of serious illness during Catherine's visit, and had survived a serious bout of measles in 1743 which left him sterile. This fact appears to have been withheld from Catherine until well after the two were married on 2nd August 1745.

Marriage thus proved to be a horror for Catherine. Her role was to produce a male heir and it didn't happen. She began to feel guilty and fractious, leaning on only a few trusted advisors and friends. She saw little of her husband, spending her time riding horses and reading the works of Voltaire. A few months into the marriage, the Empress Elizabeth reorganised Catherine's court circle, dismissing many of the girl's close friends and replacing them with advisors of her own choosing. One of these was Sergei Saltykov, a long time friend of the Empress and. many dared only whisper, probably more than that. Saltykov had a reputation as a strong and virile ladies man who was encouraged by Empress Elizabeth to become close to the young Princess Catherine. It soon became clear to the young girl what her mother in law was doing and she acceded to the Empress's clear desire that she take Saltykov to her bed in order to produce a child, a task for which her husband was incapable.

After two miscarriages Catherine finally gave birth to a son on 20th September 1754, the child being named Paul. The fact that the child was a boy took all the weight of expectation from Catherine's shoulders and allowed her greater freedom of movement and a chance to study English, at which she rapidly became fluent.

In 1761 the now ailing Empress Elizabeth died on Christmas Day and Peter III became Emperor of Russia. If his health was not a big enough handicap, Peter lacked any political savvy and consequently, during his period of waiting to step into his mother's shoes, had made himself very unpopular. Catherine, his wife, on the other hand, had steadfastly cultivated her own friends, her own advisors and her own 'court' and, amazingly for someone who was a foreigner, was very popular throughout Russia.

Catherine was advised, even before Elizabeth was laid to rest, to overthrow her husband and take the Russian throne but she sought various counsel and decided against it.

The coup was not long in coming, however, and by June 1762, Catherine and her advisors realised that there could be no further prevarication for the situation in the country was becoming ever more hostile to Peter so, on 28th June 1762, Catherine led a march through St Petersburg which picked up support and momentum along the way. Peter and his mistress escaped from the city to a country retreat where, on July 6th, he was tracked down by Catherine's agents and murdered. It became clear that Count Alexei Orloff, one of Catherine's most trusted advisors, had conspired with her in this murder but she justified it on the grounds that Russian independence was threatened by the Prussian links of her late husband..... of which she, of course, was the first!

Catherine was crowned on Sunday 22nd September 1762 in the Kremlin and proceeded to install all her trusted advisors in key positions, including the aforementioned Count Orloff who became Minister of Police and the Interior, a role in which he would exercise more than a slight taste for corporal punishment. Catherine ruled as a benign dictator who, in fact, scrapped the death penalty and brought in some enlightened social legislation.

If Catherine was basically a benign and enlightened despot, there were two areas in which she would have no patience or sympathy. One was her lack of regard for anyone who, whether through foolishness or malice, might betray Russia, and the other was anyone who would spread malicious gossip about Catherine herself. Catherine had ample cause to worry on both counts for revolts and minor uprisings were rife in the early years of her reign and her propensity for affairs with countless men left her vulnerable to attack. In both areas her wrath was manifested through severe physical retribution.

An example of such was an incident which followed a masked ball at the Palace of St Petersburg where a very well connected lady, the wife of a senior Russian general, had apparently drunk a little too much and was making very indiscreet remarks concerning Russia's alliances and her husband's opinion of them. The ball was attended by a number of foreign dignitaries who could clearly hear some of the lady's opinions and were not best pleased. The lady's indiscretions soon came to the ear of Catherine and she passed word to Orloff to get something done about it. The lady was told that her husband, who was away in the army, had left word for her and she was to return home. Unsuspecting, the General's wife left the ball in the company of Orloff's men, but instead of being taken home, she was taken to Orloff's Interior Ministry and down to a basement.

To her horror, she saw that the room contained a vaulting horse and an array of rods and birches. Count Orloff himself came into the room and read her the riot act about loose tongues undermining the Empress and the State. To her shame and horror, the frightened lady was told to strip naked, at which she protested violently, citing her position in society and her husband's rank. Orloff told her, in no uncertain terms, that her husband would have no military rank if she did not do as she was told and, as far as her position in society was concerned, the punishment had been ordained by the Empress Catherine herself, and that her future at court was very much in the balance.

The lady hesitated no longer and stripped naked, then was firmly strapped down over the vaulting horse. On Orloff's command, she was birched soundly until her shrieks rang round the room and her bottom was red raw. She was then released, allowed to dress, and sent home with a warning that any repeat of such injudicious behaviour would result in imprisonment.

An example of what happened when Catherine's personal trust was betrayed can be illustrated by the experience of one of her most trusted Maids Of Honour. The girl was responsible for the Empress's intimate dressing and bathing, thus of course found herself privy to some very private secrets including the sight of certain of Catherine's lovers arriving and departing the boudoir. The girl was engaged to be married and could not resist passing some juicy tittle-tattle to her fiance who, in turn, repeated it at one of his dining clubs in St Petersburg. Inevitably the gossip got back to the Empress who was livid with rage. Instead of reacting immediately, Catherine bided her time until the girl's wedding. After the happy couple had retired to the bedroom to consummate their marriage, the bedroom was forced open by six men of Catherine's personal bodyguard. Without ceremony, the sheets were stripped from the naked couple and the girl dragged out of bed. She was 'horsed' on the back of one of the guards while another birched her bottom mercilessly. The helpless husband was ordered to kneel naked and watch the proceedings on his knees.

When the birching was over and the girl was crying in anguish, the couple was told to enjoy their married life and, as far as Catherine was concerned, the flogging was the end of the matter. The couple was told that should any further indiscretions occur, however, both would be sent to a labour camp in Siberia. Needless to say the 'hint' was taken seriously.

Catherine's reign was a difficult one in many ways, yet she ruled Russia for over thirty years. Although she had her critics, she was greatly loved for her enlightened social policies and her military wisdom. Her final years were haunted by illness and depression, including a loss of faith in her son, Paul, who she attempted to have removed from the line of inheritance. The attempts failed and the now ailing Catherine died, following a stroke, on 5th November 1796. Her son did indeed inherit the throne of Russia, immediately tried to reverse many of his mother's reforms, and in fact, restored the memory of his 'father', Peter III, holding a new lying in ceremony so that Peter was buried next to his wife in the Peter and Paul Cathedral of St Petersburg.