Production Line

Story from Sapphire 27.

Production Line
by Teresa Joseph

It had been the worst act of civil disobedience in this private girl's school's one-hundred-year history. Outraged at the reintroduction of school uniform for 'A' level students, every one of the school's 60 upper-sixthform students had walked out of lessons in protest, staging a sit-in in the common room and refusing to attend classes again until the policy was scrapped.

Needless to say, when word of this 'strike' had finally reached her, the Headmistress had been absolutely furious. Alter all, whilst she might have been young and attractive, only twenty-seven years old, the school council hadn't hired her because she would be able to 'relate' to the pupils. And so as the wave of sedition spread first to the lower-sixthform and then to the rest of the school, she sought to break it by any means necessary.

At first, whenever a ringleader had marched into her office to reiterate the girls' demands, Ms Dexter had pulled the impudent bitch over her knee, spanked her bare bottom purple and men sent her back to the common room wailing like a baby. But whilst she had hoped to intimidate the strikers, this blatant coercion merely strengthened their resolve, meaning that in the end, Ms Dexter was forced to hammer out a deal with the girls, giving them the freedom to leave the grounds during school hours in exchange for accepting the uniforms.

It appeared as if the sixth formers had won. But at the end of the day of course, it had all been a manipulative ploy; a means by which to get the girls back into the classroom so that Ms Dexter could punish them for their audacity, make an example of them and ensure that no other year would ever follow their example. If the girls had thought that they could bully the Headmistress into bending to their petty demands, they would all soon realise that they were sorely, sorely mistaken.

Nevertheless, despite having to wear their new school uniforms, the upper sixthformers were all quite cheery as they filed into the main hall for their weekly assembly. But when they noticed that a dozen female teachers were stood waiting for them wielding paddles, straps and canes, the penny finally dropped.

There was a stampede back towards the double doors, but since Miss Wilcox had already locked them the girls' only option was to stand quietly and listen to Ms Dexter's ultimatum.

"I will not accept such seditious behaviour in my school!" she barked, marching back and forth before the crowd of cowering teenagers. "An example must be made, so now you have two choices. Either stay here and accept proper punishment for your actions, or file out to the school office and sign the expulsion papers that have been prepared for you."

A deathly silence fell across the room as the girls all considered their actions. None of them wanted to take a hiding, but the idea of confessing to their parents that they'd been expelled was ten times worse. And so very reluctantly, they all agreed to stay and take their medicine.

"Very good," smiled the headmistress, happy to see that she was back in charge where she belonged. "Now divide yourselves up into two equal groups and line up single file behind Mrs Dunston and Mrs Archibald with your hands behind your head, quickly and quietly if you please." Having long since accepted what was in store, the girls obeyed without incident. And so lining up like lambs to the slaughter, the girls waited for each of the teachers to fetch a chair from the side of the room, sit down, make themselves comfortable and beckon forward the first girl in line.

Of course, as the first in line, Lucy and Carol were the first ones to have the hems of their skirts tucked up into their waistbands ready to have their thighs smacked into another incarnation. But although many of the other girls were glad that it wasn't them, they both consoled themselves with the fact that their punishment would be over with first. And biting their lips as they gripped their fingers together behind their heads, they both braced themselves for the first eye-watering smack.

"What's the matter baby?" teased Mrs Dunston, patronising the whining class sissy as she reddened first her left leg, then her right. "Is it hurting you?"

Mrs Dunston may have looked like Mary Poppins, but in truth she was more sadistic than most of the other teachers combined. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing more amusing then seeing a weeping schoolgirl begging for mercy as she wriggled like a worm on a hook.

Lucy nodded; whimpering pitifully as she skipped from one foot to the other, in too much pain to stand still and to terrified to run away. And barely able to keep herself from giggling, the teacher simply had to pick up the pace.

"Do you want me finish?" she chuckled. "Well maybe we should get it over with a little more quickly then shouldn't we."

In any other circumstances, Carol would also have been laughing herself to death listening to Lucy beg for mercy. But now of course, after years of bullying the class wimp, she was far too busy fighting back her own tears to pick on the petite little blonde.

Mrs Archibald might not have been as severe as the Headmistress or as sadistic as Mrs Dunston, but she was far less subtle, and no matter how tough Carol might have thought she was, this teacher was tougher.

She tried to appear resolute, fighting in vein to look cool in front of her friends who were standing in line, but as Mrs Archibald smacked her, the poor girl couldn't help but weep and beg for mercy as the teacher darkened her deep olive skin even more.

"Turn around," she snapped, unwilling to put up with the girl's childish snivelling any longer. After all, both she and Mrs Dunston had another 29 miscreants to deal with and she didn't have time for games.

As regular as clockwork, both teachers' then began tanning the backs of each girl's thighs as tears streamed down their faces. But then without any warning, less than a minute later, the girls were both shoved down the line towards Miss White and Miss Finchley as Samantha and Janet were both called forward. Before they could even yelp, Miss White and Miss Finchley had pulled Lucy and Carol's knickers down and pulled them across their knee, ready to spank their bottoms red raw. And as they listened to their classmates yelping behind them as their thighs were beaten rosy, Carol and Lucy braced themselves for the worst.

One after the other and two by two, the girls made their way along the production line, weeping more with every stroke. If they'd thought that the smacking was painful, Carol and Lucy quickly realised just how naive they really were as the teachers tanned their rumps. Lucy yelped as much as ever as Miss Finchley spanked one cheek after the other, cupping her hand to ensure as much pain as possible on the girl's part and as little as possible on her own.

Despite being laid across the women's knees, both girls were still ordered to keep their hands on their heads. And although their position made this difficult enough to begin with, it became almost impossible to do so as the teacher's stung their cheeks.

Were they whipping them both with stinging nettles? The girls couldn't turn their heads back far enough to tell. Their checks were burning hot. With every stroke the teacher's seemed to plants a seed of pain that blossomed in a fraction of a second, covering their cheeks with pins and needles as painful as hornet stings and forcing them to shriek like scolded cats. After the twentieth stroke, neither Lucy could hold on any more. Tears were pouring down their faces like Niagara Falls, and no matter how afraid they were of the Headmistress, they simply had to fight back.

Almost on queue, the girls both began bucking like donkeys much to the disgust of both the teachers and their Headmistress. Miss White and Miss Finchley tried everything to shut the girls up from arm twisting to a full force spanking. But with a single stroke of her riding crop across their checks as she marched up to each one of them in turn, Ms Dexter quickly reasserted the teachers' authority and put Lucy and Carol back in their place.

The single lash they received was so harsh that it might as well have come from a bullwhip, and left such an agonising purple welt that from that moment on, the girls bit their tongues, crossed their ankles and took their spankings without question. But of course, there were still four steps left to go.

Hearing the lash and the leather and the howls of pain of the girls who went before them, Sam and Janet took their spankings as quietly as could be expected. But although another beating from Ms Dexter was the last thing that they wanted, Carol and Lucy could not help but howl and weep as Mrs Kelly and Mrs Lee paddled their bottoms purple. Gritting their teeth as they bent over and grabbed hold of their ankles, the girls tried their best to fight the urge to run away as the teachers' stood beside them brandishing their oval leather paddles, laying stroke after stroke full square across their bare defenceless cheeks. But each time the leather struck them, it became more and more difficult to resist.

"I'm Sorry!" howled Carol, jumping like an electrocuted kangaroo and then running for her life. "I'm Sorry! Please Stop!" But her punishment was not yet over.

"Do you want to be expelled?" demanded Ms Dexter, grabbing Carol by the wrist and bringing her to heel.

Carol shook her head violently, spattering her Headmistress with tears.

"Well then get back over there! And then when you've finished, you can just rejoin the back of the queue and go through it all again."

Whacked across the thighs with Ms Dexter's crop for a second time, Carol did what she was told without question, ensuring that she wouldn't agitate Ms Dexter any further, but also destroying any dignity that she might have had left. And touching her toes once again in front of Mrs Kelly, Carol wept and pleaded, but she didn't move an inch.

Lucy would have run long before Carol if she hadn't been so afraid. And biting their lips as Miss White and Miss Finchley spanked their bottoms red raw, Sam and Janet could hardly conceive of the paddling that was in store for them. After all, the girls were in enough pain as it was.

As one of the girls who had organised the strike in the first place, Janet had received more than a dozen spankings from Ms Dexter in her attempts to get them to follow her instructions. But with Miss White whacking each cheek in turn and setting her rosy young bottom ablaze, all of that was a distant memory, and Janet was weeping just as hard as ever. Fifty strokes later, each pair moved up to the next teacher in line. And if Lucy had been too scared to run away from the paddle, the tawse soon had her jumping halfway to the moon.

"Hold still!" snapped Mrs James, twisting the wriggling girl's arms up behind her back as she fought to keep her across her knee. Miss Simmons was also having problems keeping Carol across her knee as well. But after a while, after a dozen or more vicious strokes of infernal, split-tongued leather across their burning purple cheeks, both girls were forced to submit and take their medicine.

In fact, when the time came for them both to step forward and take the martinet, they all but ran up to Mrs Jennings and Miss Falkirk and leapt across their laps, hoping against hope that blind obedience and submission might buy them a little compassion.

As it was though, no matter how much the teachers might have taken pity on them, the martinet showed no mercy. Even the gentlest of strokes across their swollen purple cheeks was enough to sting them into tears of excruciating pain.

"Stop crying you baby!" snapped Miss Falkirk, sick to death of Carol's incessant whimpering. "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!"

Carol didn't listen, but if she hadn't been crying so bitterly then she might even have laughed at the irony. It was bad enough that the teacher had used such an obvious cliché, but to suggest that she wasn't in pain already... that was just far too hilarious to bear.

Lucy meanwhile was being given more than enough to cry about. After all, Mrs Jennings might not have been very skilled, but she wasn't very subtle either. On this production line, compassion and sympathy were in short supply. None of the teacher's even seemed to acknowledge the fact that the girl that they were punishing had already received a vicious beating from each one of their colleagues before them. None of the teachers were prepared to put up with any rubbish from their students, and so when Julia took her knickers off prematurely, Mrs Archibald decided to give her a spanking as well.

"Do you need to take your knickers off to have your thighs smacked?" barked the teacher as she dragged the tearful girl down across her knee and laid the flat of her hand into her firm young checks.

"No Miss!"

"You only take them off to take a spanking don't you!"

"Yes Miss! Please Miss, I'm Sorry!"

At first, Ms Dexter hadn't been sure about this. Alter all, it held up the line and delayed the punishment of a number of girls who were far more deserving. But watching Julia howl and struggle as Mrs Archibald did what she did best, the Headmistress soon came around.

After five dozen strokes of the martinet, Carol and Lucy's flaming bottoms were absolutely covered with flaming purple welts; a reminder of the bitter, eye-watering kisses that each stroke had left behind as the sharp leather bit into their cheeks. But now with only Miss Kennedy and Mrs Williams and their 3' bamboo canes standing between them and the end of their torment, they both knew that soon they would have much more than that.

Rubbing their bottoms as hard as they could without increasing the pain and with tears still streaming down their red and swollen faces, the girls reluctantly edged forward towards the impatient teachers, dreading what was to come. At long last, with Janet and Samantha already howling with agony as the martinets inscribed their signatures across their swollen purple rumps, Lucy and Carol finally bent over to touch their toes, clenched their teeth and shut their eyes as tightly as possible, hesitantly awaiting the first brutal stroke.

In the fraction of the second that it took for Miss Kennedy to lay the cane down full square across her helpless cheeks, Carol heard it as it cut through the air behind her and instinctively tried to pull away. But by then it was too late. And with a deafening crack, eight inches of bamboo cut deep into her derriere and sent her running from one end of the hall to the other and howling like a wounded wolf.

She didn't get far too however before Ms Dexter grabbed hold of the girl and dragged her back to Miss Kennedy to take her last five strokes. Time was of the essence. There were 58 other girls to punish and they couldn't waste time chasing after them after every stroke. Efficiency was everything, and so bending Carol over, twisting her arms up behind her back and holding her head down between her legs, Ms Dexter held the squealing, struggling girl in place as Miss Kennedy administered another two dozen brutal strokes; stopping just short of scarring her for life, but only just.

After that of course, it was all over; at least that is until the rest of the girls had received their medicine. And so ordering the wailing girl back to the end of the line, Ms Dexter grabbed hold of Lucy, and placing the girl in the same debilitating double arm lock, held her fast as Mrs Williams' cane went to work on her rump. When it was all finally over, Lucy's bottom truly felt as if it had been covered with stinging nettles and set ablaze. The poor girl was utterly inconsolable, and so whilst Ms Dexter tried three times to order her into the corner, in the end the Headmistress had to whip the girl over to the corner like a disobedient mare and put her hands up on her head herself.

"Keep it going!" she commanded, marching up and down the line of teachers, ensuring that everything ran smoothly. "Anyone who holds up the line gets a cropping from me and a double helping from my colleagues!" And seeing how distraught both Carol and Lucy were after just one ride of the merry-go-round, every girl in line decided there and then to do exactly as they were told.

"It's okay Carol," soothed Helen, hugging her best friend better as they both waited together at the back of the line. "Don't worry. It's all over now."

"No, its not," she wept, crying on the young blonde's shoulder. "It's never over."

Janet and Samantha both took their canings as well as could be expected under the circumstances. And so even though Ms Dexter had to force both girls over to the corner beside Lucy and all three of them continued to howl like wounded banshees, the line moved on without a hitch.

"Are you going to keep your hands on your head darling?" asked Mrs Dunston as she hitched up Kia's skirt and gently smacked each thighs in turn. But the tall, slim redhead never even said a word. Instead she just stood there, wincing with pain as the smacking grew more and more forceful, the tears welled up in her eyes and her tender white thighs were turned an ever deeper shade of red.

At that moment however, Ms Dunston noticed Carol and Helen hugging at the back of the line and practically blew her top.

"I told you to keep your hands on your heads!" she barked, storming up to the girls, grabbing them both by the hair and dragging them out of the line. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

With that Carol squealed and kicked with agony as the Head' beat her sore and tender thighs with her sharp leather crop.

"What's the matter? Didn't we punish you enough?"

The pain was unbearable, but with Ms Dunston pulling at her hair the poor girl couldn't help but try to break free, much to the Head teacher's satisfaction.

"There you are!" she mocked delightedly. "See how easy it is? Now just keep your hands up there and take it like a woman!"

Doing as she was told, Carol did her best to stay still as Ms Dexter cropped every inch of her thighs, beating them until they were covered with angry purple welts. But in spite of her best efforts, the girl soon began dancing on the spot like a member of "River Dance," twisting and turning this way and that, ensuring that Ms Dexter was able to crop her front and back.

Helen meanwhile didn't even dare to move. After all, Ms Dexter was mad enough as it was, and she didn't want to risk the possibility that scratching her nose might anger her even further.

Having already cried until her tears stained her blouse, Carol was weeping as hard as ever when Ms Dexter finally sent her to the front of the line, ensuring that her second helping would come as soon as possible. And then as Mrs Archibald stung the poor girl's swollen thighs even further, Ms Dexter turned her attention to Helen and gave the girl her first taste of discipline.

"Stop squirming girl!" snapped Mrs Archibald, tired of Carol's relentless struggling. But with her thighs ablaze, the slightest touch would have been enough to make the girl yelp with pain. And as it was, Mrs Archibald was striking the girl with a great deal more ferocity.

Helen too was now howling with pain as the Headmistress beat her thighs. And with every other girl who had been punished howling just as loudly, it was becoming increasingly difficult for the teachers to be heard. But thanks to the efficiency of Ms Dexter's plan, there was little need for spoken commands.

And so it went on, with every girl in the upper-sixthform receiving their just punishment from all six teachers in line, as well as severe cropping from the Headmistress if they even tried to resist. Sometimes they took it obediently and sometimes they had to be restrained. But in the end each and every on of them submitted to their Headmistress' authority.

It took all afternoon, but by four o'clock all sixty of them were stood weeping in the corner with their hands on their heads and the stripy purple thighs and bottoms on display for all to see.

"That's better," smiled Ms Dexter, proud of her accomplishment and happy to see that their rebellious nature had been broken once and for all.

"Now then girls, the school buses will be leaving in about five minutes. So the question is, have you learned your lesson or shall we punish you again before letting you walk home?"

"No Miss," they all whimpered in perfect harmony. "Please, we've learned our lesson. We're sorry that we challenged your authority. Please let us go home."

"Okay then girls," she said with an almost sincere air of forgiveness. "Put your knickers back on and run to the bus stop. And don't forget to tell your friends what happens to you if you step out of place."

Gathering together in the corner of the Hall, the teachers then watched, barely able to keep themselves from laughing as they watched the girls wince with pain, carefully slipping on their knickers and then running out into the corridor as fast as they could.

"Do you have any idea how course and rough the upholstery is on the seats on the school buses?" asked Mrs Kelly, not sure whether to smile or wince at the idea of the girls having to sit on them the whole journey home.

"Oh yes," declared the Headmistress. "Why do you think I let them off so lightly?"

The Thursday Night Club

Story from Sapphire 14.

The Thursday Night Club
by Lisette Ashton

The door was opened by a naked woman. Tall, blonde and strikingly beautiful, she stood in the open doorway completely unashamed by her immodest display. Beth turned her face away, trying not to notice the dark cerise of the woman's areolae or the fluffy golden curls of her pubic bush.

'You're Beth, aren't you?'

Beth nodded. The opening lines that she had shaped and reshaped to introduce herself were forgotten as her checks turned a flustered red. She mumbled the word 'yes' but it was barely heard beneath the embarrassed rush of blood that pounded through her temples. Nervously, she tried to find a discreet corner of the doorway that she could study without having to look at the woman's desirable curves.

'Get away from that door and stop frightening the poor child, Suzie.'

This was a different voice. When Beth glanced into the shadows of the house she was touched by a wave of relief as she recognised its owner. 'Carol,' she whispered, as the woman pushed her way past the naked Suzie. Smiling at her work colleague Beth heaved a thankful sigh that there was a familiar face to stare at. Casting an embarrassed glance in the direction of the naked blonde, Beth said, 'I thought I'd come to the wrong house at first.'

Suzie laughed, standing to one side and allowing Beth to enter the house. She didn't move completely out of the doorway and Beth had to brush her body against the naked woman's as she tried to step inside. Although she was trying not to think about, she felt sure she could feel the pressure of the blonde's nipples stroking at her back through the fabric of her blouse. The sensation was intimate and disturbing and Beth refused to dwell on the emotions it generated. 'You never know,' Suzie grinned. 'Before the night's over, you might think you have come to wrong house.'

Carol and Suzie made a silent exchange and although Beth couldn't work out what they were inferring to one another, she sensed that Carol was displeased with the naked blonde's outburst. 'Are you going to parade around in the nude all evening?' Carol asked. 'Or might we have the pleasure of seeing you in some clothes later?'

Suzie shrugged, her grin slanting to a coquettish angle. 'You've never complained in the past,' she purred. Carol's frown deepened and even Beth could see that the blonde had overstepped the mark in some way. 'I was coming to see you when the doorbell went,' Suzie told Carol. Her tone was placatory and her words were rushed as though she was anxious to explain herself by way of an apology.

'Why were you coming to see me?' Carol asked.

Suzie turned to show her bottom to Carol and pointed a manicured fingernail to one exposed cheek. 'I was about to go on the sunbed when I noticed this and I wondered if it would effect my tan.'

Beth couldn't stop herself from staring at the peach-like orb. She was modestly proud of her own naked body but she knew it could never compare to the magnificence of Suzie's curves. The blonde's long legs were firm with well-toned muscles that accentuated the perfection of their shape. Her waist was painfully narrow, whilst her breasts were the size and shape of ripe melons. The cerise areolae were tipped with fat, pink nipples that seemed inordinately erect considering she was only undressed in readiness for a bout on the sunbed. However, it was the right cheek of Suzie's backside where Beth's attention focused. Against the pale skin there was a fiery red handprint, that made it look as though Suzie had suffered a punishing slap.

'Is this going to spoil my tan?' Suzie asked. 'I'm going on the bed naked so I can become an all-over brown. I don't want a white mark shaped like Helen's hand on my right cheek. It would spoil the uniformity.' There was a petulance in her voice that Beth couldn't understand. The blonde did not seem to mind that her body had been marked in this way and her only concern seemed to be the effect it would have on her sunbed session.

Carol looked to be considering the problem seriously. She reached out and began to caress the flaming handprint with delicate fingers. Rather than performing a detailed study, Carol stroked her fingers lovingly over the bruised cheek and Suzie caught an excited breath.

Knowing that she shouldn't be watching such a scene, Beth tried to snatch her gaze away but it was impossible to shift the focus of her attention. Suzie had such a pretty backside that Beth yearned to follow Carol's example and reach out to caress the smooth flesh. Knowing that such behaviour would be unforgivably forward, she resisted the impulse and forced her gaze to study the hall carpet.

'There's only one solution if you want some uniformity to the appearance,' Carol decided. Without another word, she raised her hand and brought it smartly against Suzie's left cheek. The echo of flesh striking flesh sang from the hall's acoustics like a faraway thunderclap. Beth gasped, thankful that her own cry of surprise was lost beneath Suzie's squeal of shocked displeasure.

'That bloody hurt,' Suzie protested.

'It makes you even,' Carol said.

Beth had to agree that Carol was right. Suzie now bore two handprints on her buttocks and they were relatively similar in size, shape and position. She only dared to cast a meek glance at the sight, not sure that she should be witnessing any of this intimacy.

'Now, unless you want a couple more handprints on your arse, I suggest you get on the sunbed and join us when you're finished and clothed.'

Suzie looked as though she was going to say something else, then hesitated. She turned a warm smile on Beth and extended her hand, saying, 'it was nice to meet you, Beth. I look forward to seeing you again, later on.'

Beth took the naked woman's hand and shook it gently. She still felt painfully conscious of Suzie's nudity but she forced herself to meet the blonde's welcoming smile us though this was a normal way to greet people.

Once Suzie had left them alone, Carol made a half-hearted attempt to apologise for the incident. 'You'll have to excuse Suzie,' she explained. 'She has a gorgeous body and I think there's a touch of the exhibitionist inside her. We're a fairly informal group here at the Thursday Night Club and I sometimes think she shows off to make the others jealous.'

Beth nodded, as though this explained everything. Her cheeks were still crimson and her thoughts were racing as she tried not to ask those other vital questions that niggled at the back of her mind. She wanted to know who the mysterious Helen was, and why the woman had been chastising Suzie's backside. She wanted to know what had possessed Suzie to allow such an indignity and why she had happily tolerated a second smack from Carol. Those were the questions at the forefront of her mind but timidity stopped her from voicing any of them.

'Aside from the obvious reason, why is it called The Thursday Night Club?'

Carol shrugged, leading her down the hall towards a slightly ajar door at the end. 'We all meet on Thursday Nights,' she explained. 'Here at the village Thursday is a traditional night out for the men. A handful of the girls and I decided it would be the best night for us to stay in and enjoy ourselves.' She spoke as she walked through the door at the end of the hall and the tail-end of her explanation was heard by all of those in the back room.

A sullen brunette sat at a card table, nonchalantly sucking on a menthol cheroot. She studied Carol and Beth with a moody eye as they entered, trying hard to feign disinterest. In her free hand she held a fanned fistful of playing cards but her attention was riveted on Beth rather than the two women she was playing with. 'Yes,' the brunette agreed. 'Welcome to the Thursday Night Club – the last bastion of reprieve from a world doomed by pathetic patriarchs.'

'You'll have to excuse Helen,' Carol told Beth. 'She tries to be intense and philosophical but mostly she just sounds pompous and dull.'

Helen made a rude sound. She turned her attention back to her cards, blowing a white plume of smoke against them.

Beth noticed that one of the other women was wearing only a skirt and a bra, whilst the other looked as though she was only dressed in a blouse. Trying not to attach any importance to this state of casual undress, she turned her helpless expression on Carol. 'And what do you do here?' Beth asked, forcing her tone to sound normal. 'Here at the Thursday Night Club, I mean.' Carol shrugged and looked as though she was about to respond when Helen spoke up.

'We have a few drinks, we swim, we play cards and we try to think up games that will quell the endless ennui of village life,' she intoned dramatically.

Carol glared at Helen, then exercised a wry smile on Beth. 'Perhaps I should have told you a little more about our club before I invited you,' she said carefully. 'It was only with you being new to the village that I thought you might get a kick from meeting the girls this Thursday.'

Beth didn't consider herself to be a suspicious person by nature but she could tell that Carol was keeping something from her. The idea of having a female only night out was exciting and it did promise to break some of the monotony that she had been troubled by since moving to the village. But Beth felt sure there was something more to this club than just a swimming pool and a sunbed und she felt even more certain that Carol hadn't said what that something more was.

'Like Helen said, we have a few drinks, we play a few games and we try to think of new ways to relieve the boredom of village life. I've got a sunbed here and a swimming pool, so there's usually something to do and...' '...and if that fails,' Helen broke in. 'We get out the slipper and the riding crop and...' There was a wicked lilt to her voice and she looked as though she would have said more in spite of the weight of Carol's furious glare. Before she could voice her unspoken words, the door burst open and Suzie burst into the room. She was still naked, displaying herself with no hint of shame in her posture.

'Has anyone got some fast tan?' she asked. 'I need a "sunbed safe" accelerator, did anyone bring one?'

'We all know what you need,' Helen told her. 'And it's not a sunbed lotion.'

'Stop being such a bitch. Helen.'

'I'll stop being a bitch when you stop being a tart.'

An icy silence thickened the atmosphere. Beth glanced from Helen to Suzie, aware that there was a tension between the two women.

'Could you two show a little consideration for our new guest?' Carol asked. There was an edge to her voice that defied argument. Beth had heard Carol use the same firm tone with the adolescent office girls but she had never imagined Carol could use it to such effect on women of her own age group.

'What am I supposed to do when she calls me a tart?' Suzie demanded.

'Perhaps you should stop acting like one and stop calling her a bitch?' Carol suggested.

Suzie scowled, an unpleasant expression that spoiled her pretty features. 'That's not fair,' she said sullenly. 'You always take Helen's side. You're a bitch Carol.'

Beth swallowed and turned from Suzie to Carol. She could see her friend's expression turning thunderous and although Suzie looked confident enough to deal with the older woman's temper Beth did not envy her position beneath Carol's fierce gaze.

'You have a nasty mouth on you some days, Suzie,' Carol growled. 'Some Thursdays I think you just come here for the punishment.'

'No way,' Suzie said. She took a step back and held out a defensive hand. 'Helen started this, not me and I'm not going to suffer because of her.'

'Go on, Carol,' Helen encouraged gleefully. She had doffed her cheroot and placed her cards down forgotten as she cheered the two women on. 'Use your slipper on the little tart.'

Carol rounded on Helen with a threatening finger. 'I'll use a slipper on both of you,' she decided swiftly.

Beth saw Helen's face fall whilst Suzie's lit up gleefully.

'You can't be serious,' Helen told her.

'The pair of you have been acting like spoilt brats all evening and Christ only knows what poor Beth thinks of the pair of you.'

Beth wished that her name hadn't been mentioned and she tried not to meet anyone's eyes as the argument's onus rested on her.

'I want both of you,' Carol said again. 'And now,' she hissed, 'or you know the penalty.'

With a weary sigh, Helen eased herself out of her chair and went to Suzie's side. She had grabbed a slipper from beneath the card table and she passed it to Carol with a truculent hand. 'This isn't fair,' she mumbled.

'Life seldom is,' Carol told her. She turned to Beth and said, 'don't be too shocked by this. I'm sure that you'll soon get gist of what happens here.' Without another word of explanation she slapped the slipper against her open palm and said, 'bend over. The pair of you. Skirt up and knickers down, Helen.'

Beth tried to tear her eyes away from the scene but she couldn't think of anywhere else to look. The two women who had been playing cards with Helen were both watching the scene with lascivious smiles. Carol's attention was focused on the task in hand and Suzie and Helen were both facing away from her.

Making her acrimony known, Helen tugged her panties down, then flipped her skirt over her back as she bent forward. She was exposing a backside that was slightly larger than Suzie's but no less shapely. Between the cheeks, Beth could see a cleft of dark pink that was coated with dense raven curls. However, it was the woman's arse cheeks where her gaze lingered. Nestling on either side of the puckered ring of her anus, they were pale and smooth, broken only by the fading memories of earlier chastisements. The vague reddening of an earlier slipper's sole bruised one cheek.

Beth swallowed, aware of the room's anticipatory silence.

'Stop drawing it out, Carol,' Helen growled. 'Just get it over and done with.'

She had barely finished the words when the slipper landed against her backside. Beth sucked air, only then becoming aware that she had been holding her breath.

Carol raised the slipper and delivered a second blow, this time to Suzie's backside. Beth watched the shape of the sole brand a fiery mark against Helen's cheek. The sound of the slipper striking flesh jolted her from her lurid study. Administering six blows between the pair of them, Carol raised the slipper again and again. She paused for an instant, snatching a greedy breath as she studied their reddened cheeks. Her smile slanted wickedly and she began to reign a further barrage of slaps. Surprised to find herself counting, Beth heard each girl gasp a dozen times.

Each crack was loud enough to make Beth flinch and she watched the backside's of both women beginning to glow. The peach-like orbs turned into a raspberry flush that darkened when the slipper was drawn away. Wishing she wasn't watching so closely, Beth noticed that the dark curls at Helen's cleft had become blacker. It wasn't her imagination she realised, and that thought was confirmed when she saw the woman's pussy lips split open. As shocking as it was to contemplate, Helen had gleaned a good deal of pleasure from the slippering and her labia were parting in an eager pout. Before Beth had a chance to peer any closer, Helen was brushing her skirt down and modestly putting her panties back on. When she turned to face the room her cheeks were rouged with the same rosy pallor that had blushed her backside. 'I still say there was no need for that,' she told Carol. Although she was trying to sound unhappy Beth could hear the husky inflection of arousal colouring her words.

'You can kiss and make up now,' Carol told the two women. 'The pair of you can apologise to Beth later.'

Suitably dismissed the two women turned around and left the room.

Beth realised that there were a thousand and one questions she now wanted to ask but she couldn't think of a way to broach any of them. A drink was placed in her hand and she was escorted to a chair at the card table, sitting next to Carol. A handful of cards were placed in front of her and she studied them blindly, still trying to think of a way to ask Carol about the slippering.

'Does that sort of thing happen very often here at the Thursday Night Club?'

Carol laughed and shook her head. 'Of course not,' she said happily. 'It barely happens three or four times a night.'

The first hand came and went before Beth had a chance to realise what was happening. Carol spread her cards on the table and said the words, 'full house', only to be treated to a chorus of groans from the two other players.

The woman wearing only the bra and skirt reached behind her back and unfastened the clasp of her bra. The other woman began to tug the buttons of her blouse open, revealing herself absolutely naked beneath. Beth stared from one to the other, then cast an unhappy glance in Carol's direction.

'Surely you've played strip poker before,' Carol grinned. 'Come on. Take your blouse off, Beth.'

Fearful of the retribution that might occur if she disobeyed, Beth began to work on the buttons. She tried rationalising the moment to herself, insisting that she was only displaying herself to other women and there was nothing wrong or untoward in what she was doing. Surprising herself, she almost found the inner voice convincing.

The deck was passed to the topless woman and she dealt five cards to each of them. Carol barely seemed to glance at hers before slamming them down on the table, face up. 'If anyone can beat a royal flush, say now.'

There was another chorus of moans and Beth could see herself standing as naked Suzie before another two games were completed. Squirming with embarrassment at the thought, she took the offered deck of cards and clumsily passed out five cards to each of the players. Aware that she still had to remove some item of clothing, she modestly chose to remove her skirt. She did not know what good fortune had made her wear matching bra and panties for this evening. But she thanked the fates that had delivered her to the card table dressed for such a lewd match.

Not daring to meet anyone's eyes as she placed her scantily clad bottom back at the card table, Beth tried to hide her embarrassed face behind a fanned fist of cards.

'She's got seven cards,' one of the women screeched. 'Look, Carol, she's got seven cards.'

With her stomach lurching, Beth realised they were pointing at her. Through a hazy mist of embarrassment she saw that she had inadvertently dealt herself too many. 'I'm sorry,' she began. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she apologised.

'I think you will be sorry,' Carol agreed, easing herself out of her chair. 'We have punishments for those who cheat at cards.'

'I wasn't cheating,' Beth insisted. 'It was an accident, honestly. Just an accident.'

Carol nodded. 'I'm sure it was,' she agreed. 'But we have rules here and if we are going to have any sense of order, those rules have to be adhered to. You've already seen what happens. Bend over now, or suffer the penalty.'

Beth didn't need to know what the penalty was to realise that it had to be horrible. For Suzie and Helen to have both chosen to suffer the indignity of a slippering rather than face the penalty, it had to be a consequence of the direst proportions.

'This is so humiliating,' she whispered.

'It's more than humiliating. It's painful too,' Carol laughed wickedly. 'Bend over, Beth. This should teach you to take more care when you're dealing cards.'

Blushing furiously, Beth did as she was instructed. She moved away from the card table and stood in the classic position to touch her own toes. Her mortified thoughts were saying a prayer of thanks that Carol had not asked her to remove her panties when she felt the woman's hand on her back. Carols' fingers teased along the elasticated band of her knickers and with her stomach folding over, Beth realised that the woman was going to take them off for her.

A sound at the door distracted everyone's attention and Beth glanced up to sec Suzie and Helen re-entering the room. The pair were holding hands and smiling at one another with an affection that ridiculed their earlier animosity. Although Beth had no way of knowing, she felt sure that the pair had genuinely been upstairs to kiss and make up. But she did not think that their reconciliation had ended with a mere kiss. Judging by the flustered pallor of Helen's cheeks and the sodden hairs at Suzie's cleft, Beth guessed that they had settled all of their differences.

The thought was no more than a passing fancy and was lost when she saw that the two women were studying her with mild reproof.

'Has Beth been a naughty girl?' Helen asked.

'She's just receiving a simple lesson about concentrating whilst dealing,' Carol explained. Without another word she raised the slipper and threw it hard against Beth's backside.

The indignity was one thing that Beth thought she might have been able to tolerate. Admittedly she was in a roomful of peers but none of them seemed to attach any shame or stigma to this demeaning punishment. However, there wasn't just the indignity – there was also the pain. Her backside flared in a howl of protest and she longed to yelp, or scream, or give some release to the agonising sting that burnt her arse cheek.

A second blow landed on the other cheek and the pain of the first was forgotten. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes closed against tears of shame. For an instant she wished she had found out what the penalty was, then dismissed that thought, knowing it would have been a damned sight worse. The third strike knocked the wind from her and her arse felt as though it was burning. She heard herself hiss a protesting grunt, but there was no thought of moving herself from beneath Carol's hand.

The fourth and fifth slaps struck in quick succession: one for each cheek. A distant voice – Beth thought it was probably Suzie – gave an encouraging cry and giggled cheerfully. Another voice, and Beth felt certain this was Helen, began to count each fall of the slipper. The sound rang in her ears as her arse cheeks began to glow.

Beth told herself that she couldn't tolerate this humiliation any longer. As two more blows struck her she repeated the thought like an incantation. She had almost come to terms with the indignity but each new slap rekindled the pain of her aching buttocks. Her legs trembled with the effort of standing beneath the punishment and her eyes felt sore with the tension of holding back tears.

'You're taking it well,' Carol murmured.

If Beth could have thought of a response, she didn't think she would have found the voice for it. She drew a shivering breath and spat it out when Carol struck her again.

'Nine,' Helen whispered.

Beth squeezed her thighs together, trying to dissipate the pain through her body.

Carol hurled the slipper down hard.

'Ten.' This time the rest of the Thursday Night Club sounded as though they were taking up the chorus.

Beth tried to shut their voices out, wishing that the punishment would end. She heard them all cheer the eleventh blow as it racked her frame and realised gratefully that they were nearing the climax.

The final blow landed and she was gratified to hear Carol tell her that the punishment was over. Before she had a chance to pull her panties back up, she felt feminine fingers stroke the reddened cheeks of her backside. The touch was soft and sensual. Against the searing flesh of her arse, the cool caress was like a comforting balm.

A casual finger brushed through the pubic hairs over her cleft and Beth held her breath as a tremor of excitement fluttered through her stomach. She felt her face turn purple and tried to hide the fact that that a wave of euphoric pleasure was sweeping through her body. The effort left her trembling and the power of the climax, although subtle, was almost enough to make her fall to the floor. She was helped back to her seat at the card table and the other players tactfully said nothing about the incident. Swallowing a mouthful of wine, Beth turned hesitantly to Carol and said, 'you mentioned a penalty – if I hadn't chosen to be chastised.' 'That's right,' Carol agreed.

'What was it?' Beth asked. Her face burning bright red she knew that everyone was watching her rather than playing the game. Ignoring their inquisitive expressions, she asked, 'what was the penalty?'

Carol grinned and placed a reassuring hand on Beth's knee. 'The penalty is expulsion from the Thursday Night Club.' With a wicked smile, she added, 'and I'm sure that you wouldn't want that.'

Thinking about it, Beth had to agree that now she had discovered this group, expulsion from the Thursday Night Club would be the last thing she would ever want.

Hot ticket

Story from Sapphire 14 (A fantasy journal of girl to girl C.P.)

Hot ticket
By Michael O'Connor

Gillian Graves enjoyed a well-earned reputation as the bitch queen of traffic wardens, though she was officially employed as a "traffic control officer". Unlike many of her kind, she loved every minute of her job. Not for Gillian any traces of self-loathing or the bothers of conscience. When she donned her crisp dark blue uniform, fitted her cap over her boyishly short black hair and tugged the peak low on her brow, she switched on an aura of righteous authority. Wielding her pen and notebook like lethal weapons, she strutted the streets of Dukesbury, administering justice with a hard-faced, ruthless efficiency.

Gillian had not always wanted to be a traffic warden. But a minor, dope-related indiscretion at college had ruled her out of a career with the police. Fortunately, the vetting procedures employed by Dukesbury council were somewhat less stringent. Though she was twenty-four years old, Gillian retained a vivid imagination. She treated her job as a game, in which she was the hunter, stalking the four-wheeled beasts that dared infringe even the most minor parking regulations. Each vehicle ticketed was a "kill". Tickets resulted in fines, which meant increased revenue for the council and generous bonuses for the most productive traffic warden they had ever employed.

Saturday was her favourite day. On a good afternoon, when the town was filled with shoppers and parking spaces were at a premium, she frequently notched up more "kills" than in the rest of the week combined. Regardless of whether her victim was a boy racer in a turbocharged XR3 or a pensioner in an ancient Mini, once the hunter had unsheathed her pen, all protestations fell on deaf ears. Authority without mercy was Gillian's motto.

She was in a particularly vengeful mood when she espied the fire-red Ferrari, double-parked, engine running, like a getaway car in a gangster movie. What a way to crown the most productive Saturday for months! she thought elatedly, as she homed in on her quarry, notebook already in hand. Catching a glimpse of the uniformed figure in the rear-view mirror, the blonde in the passenger seat turned around. The realisation that the traffic warden was a woman caused her appealing smile to fade somewhat. As she moved around to the front of the sports car, Gillian was unable to resist a lingering glance. The exceptionally attractive blonde was in her early twenties and dressed for the hot July afternoon in ripped denim shorts, reflective shades and a black bikini top that could scarcely contain her ample breasts.

"Hey, hang on, please!" she cried, as Gillian began noting down the personalised registration of the Ferrari. "She'll only be a minute. My friend just popped into the shop for a newspaper."

Gillian displayed not a flicker of response.

"Aw, give us a break!" the blonde pleaded. "Look, she's at the counter now, just inside the window. Hey, what's the matter with you? Do you understand plain English?" Gillian finished writing, ripped the ticket from her book and clapped it on the windscreen.

Then, mission accomplished, she turned on her heel and proceeded onwards, like the stone faced, silent stranger in a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western. She had taken only a couple of steps, when the owner of the Ferrari - an elegant and attractive red-haired woman in her forties - burst from the shop, brandishing her rolled up newspaper like a truncheon. "What do you think you're doing?" she shrieked, in a West Coast American accent.

Gillian almost smiled as she turned to face her. Few things gave her a better adrenaline rush than a heated confrontation with an irate, motorist. That which most traffic wardens dreaded, Gillian savoured.

"You're double parked, you're booked," she flatly replied.

"I was parked here for three minutes maximum!" the woman stormed. Pavement traffic ground to a halt, as a crowd gathered eagerly around the protagonists in the high-street confrontation. "I don't care if you were parked for three seconds," Gillian retorted. "You've been given a ticket, end of story." The woman stepped up to her on six-inch stilettos, until only a few inches of air separated their faces. Her expensive perfume was intoxicating.

"Do you know who I am?" she rasped.

"I couldn't care less if you're the Queen herself," Gillian answered, keeping her stare locked on the emerald-green eyes behind her gold rimmed spectacles.

At this point, even an outraged sixteen-stone skinhead would have retreated. But the American offender was obviously made of sterner stuff.

"You think that uniform makes you something special," she sneered. "Lady, you're nothing but a jumped-up little street sweeper. Now, either you take that ticket off my car, or you'll be fucking sorry."

"Are you threatening me?" rasped Gillian.

"Damn right I am," the woman snarled. "Well, are you gonna take it off or take the consequences?"

"Ma'am, if you don't like that there ticket on your windscreen, I suggest you take it off yourself and shove it up your fat ass," Gillian drawled, in a crude pastiche of her adversary's accent. The woman's jaw dropped and her eyes appeared on the brink of exploding from their sockets. For a moment, Gillian thought she was going to strike her.

"What did you say?" she demanded, her voice trembling with rage.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" Gillian retorted, loud enough to coax a titter from several bystanders.

"You haven't heard the last of this, you foul-mouthed bitch," the woman growled, before turning abruptly away.

"Traffic Nazi - one; Yankee - nil!" brayed a voice from the crowd. As the Ferrari screamed away from the kerb, Gillian could not resist bidding the incensed driver farewell, by raising the middle finger of her right hand in the universally recognised American gesture of contempt.

She basked in her triumph until the following Tuesday afternoon, when she found herself unexpectedly summoned to the office of the Chairman of Dukesbury Traffic Authority. One look at her superior's face provided sufficient warning that she was not about to receive yet further praise for her continued good work.

"Miss Graves, I have received a serious complaint," he began, having invited her to sit. "Last afternoon, in full view of several dozen witnesses in the high street, you were involved in an altercation with a member of the public."

"She was double parked and I was just doing my job," Gillian replied.

"Your job does not involve subjecting members of the public to verbal abuse," snapped the chairman.

"The woman in question was abusive to me," she retorted. "She shouted at me and threatened me."

"In which case, you should have warned her that you would call the police," he replied. "You've been in this job long enough to know that you do not retaliate in kind to an angry motorist, under any circumstances."

"I tried to explain that I was only doing my job," said Gillian.

"It might interest you to know that I have seen the entire disgraceful episode," he told her. "It was captured on a street security camera. You may well be able to claim that you were merely trying to placate the woman, but I'd be interested to hear your explanation for the obscene gesture you used as she was driving away." Only then did Gillian realise she was in serious trouble.

"Perhaps I did overreact," she murmured. "But....."

"This isn't the first incident of its kind," the chairman interrupted sharply. "Up until now, I have overlooked your unacceptable behaviour, because of your obvious dedication to your work. Efficient traffic wardens are difficult to find, but this time you have gone too far. I don't suppose you realise who that woman was?"

She shook her head.

"Tabitha Wakeman, the American writer," he continued. "She has only recently moved into this area and she's the closest thing to an international celebrity to take up residence in Dukesbury. You might be able to intimidate the local breed of errant motorist, but Miss Wakeman is a different story. This morning, I received a letter from her solicitor. As a result of your heroics, she is threatening to sue Dukesbury District Council. With plenty of witnesses and the video-taped evidence, she has a watertight case for substantial damages. The council has a similarly strong case for your immediate dismissal."

"Perhaps she's only bluffing," Gillian said, in desperation.

"A woman like that doesn't bluff," he retorted. "Were I to dismiss you this instant, I would be quite within my rights. However, in view of your service record, I'm prepared to give you a chance. Persuade Miss Wakeman to change her mind about suing the council and I'll let you off with a written warning."

"How can I do that?" she wailed.

"An apology would be a good place to start," he replied.

Late that evening, Gillian drove slowly up the driveway to Tabitha Wakeman's ivy-walled mansion. The sight of a silver Alfa Romeo parked next to the Ferrari was almost enough to make her turn around. It would be humiliating enough to have to apologise to the bitch, without doing so in the presence of a visitor. Despite her reluctance, she knew she had no choice but to swallow her pride. There was no denying she had given the council ample grounds to dismiss her. She had a horrible fear that, no matter how abjectly she apologised, the American woman would not be placated. As she climbed the steps to the front door, she reflected that it might have been a good idea to change out of her uniform. Despite the fact that wearing it gave her a greatly increased sense of confidence, it was likely to merely antagonise the other woman. She rang the doorbell, then steeled herself. Humble pie was a dish she was not accustomed to and the humility required for this particular ordeal was going to prove difficult to muster.

A few anxious moments later, the door was opened by the young blonde who had been in the passenger seat of the Ferrari. Her hair was tied up in a bun and she was wearing only sandals and a gleaming red swimsuit that made love to her long-legged and amply-proportioned body. "What do you want?" she curtly demanded.

"Is Miss Wakeman in?" asked Gillian.

"She's in, but I doubt she's got anything to say to you," the blonde replied.

"I'd like to apologise to her, if I could," she said. The girl studied her derisively.

"Would you now? Perhaps you'd like to apologise to me first."

"Of course." Gillian cleared her throat. "I'm sorry I was so rude to you. I was having a bad day and......"

"I didn't ask for excuses," the blonde snapped. "And you don't sound very sorry either. But come in anyway. Tabitha could do with a laugh."

As she followed her down a long hallway, Gillian could not help admiring the girl's rear view. The back of her swimsuit was practically non-existent, leaving the tanned globes of her bottom almost as bare as if she were naked. She opened a door at the end of the hallway and Gillian followed her into the room beyond. Tabitha Wakeman was draped across a black leather covered couch, a seductive vision in purple silk kimono and matching panties. She was engrossed in applying scarlet varnish to the toenails of her right foot, but the appearance of the uniformed figure caused her to almost drop the bottle.

"Well, well, if it isn't the ticket happy traffic Nazi!" she cried, springing from the couch. "And what brings you slithering into my home?"

"She's come to apologise," her friend giggled.

Gillian nodded. "That's right. There's no excuse for my actions last Saturday. I was rude and obnoxious and I want to apologise."

"Your boss sent you, right?" Tabitha demanded.

"No, I'm here of my own free will," she lied. "I've been thinking about what happened and..... well, it's not right that I behaved the way I did. You have every right to be angry with me, but I just want you to know how truly sorry I am."

"You're a fucking liar!" the other woman spat. "I've informed your boss that I intend to sue and he sent you crawling over here to try and persuade me to change my mind. Come on, look me in the face and tell me that's not the real reason you're here."

"Please, I could lose my job over this," Gillian pleaded, forcing her rising anger to remain in check.

"You should have thought of that before you publicly humiliated me," Tabitha retorted. "Go back to your boss and tell him I don't accept your half-assed apology. Nobody shits on Tabitha Wakeman and gets away with it."

"You arrogant bitch!" Gillian snarled, unable to restrain herself a moment longer. "What's a twenty quid parking fine to you, with your fancy Ferrari and your big house? You think you can come over here, treat people like dirt and park where you like. Well, fuck you, Miss big shot writer!"

"Mandy, show this insolent slut the door, before I do something I may regret," Tabitha said, in a trembling voice.

"Maybe we should give her a chance to show us if she really is sorry," the blonde suggested. "What exactly do you have in mind?" said the other woman.

Mandy smiled. "You know, what you said you'd love to do to her. It'd be a lot more fun than suing her out of a job."

"What are you two talking about?" Gillian demanded.

"The sweetest revenge of all," Tabitha replied, her anger suddenly evaporating. "I'll do a deal with you, Miss Ticket Fuhrer. In return for me dropping my lawsuit, you come with me to the naughty girls' room, where my friends and I will be glad to teach you the error of your ways." "Friends!" Gillian cried.

She nodded. "Mandy, why don't you go see if Jo is awake?" She turned to Gillian. "Well, I'm waiting for your answer."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she pleaded.

"You'll find out soon enough," replied Tabitha. "Sufficient to say it will be quite painful, though the effects will not be as long term as losing your job." Only then did Gillian begin to get the picture. Her first instinct was to storm out of the house, with a few choice phrases in parting, but the very real possibility that she would never again wear her beloved uniform was too distressing to bear.

"Show me to this naughty girls' room of yours," she finally murmured.

Without further ado, her hostess led her upstairs and into a large bedroom that resembled the set of a blue movie. Strong beams of yellow light glared from several strategically placed lamps. The window was shielded with thick red drapes and the walls and ceiling covered in mirrors. The large wooden bed in the centre was flanked by a pair of huge iron chairs. Dangling from chains bolted to an overhead beam was a timber contraption that resembled a swing. But it was the rack at the foot of the bed that caused Gillian to gasp in astonishment. The wooden branches were hung with an appalling arsenal of whips, canes, straps and numerous other implements of similar sadistic potential.

"My God, this can't be for real!" she cried. "Oh, it's all too real, as you're about to discover," Tabitha assured her. "This is the place where I like to teach naughty girls manners and you have a lot of manners to learn. At this point, you can either leave or take off your uniform. What's it to be?" Gillian felt a tremor run down her spine that was more than just fear. She felt as though she had just stepped into some kinky lesbian's bizarre fantasy. Almost unconsciously, she began unbuttoning her jacket. Tabitha breathed heavily as she watched her slowly remove her uniform.

When she was stripped down to her dark stockings and lacy black underwear, she directed her to bend over the swing and clasp her hands around her ankles. As Gillian adopted the position, her panties rode up into the cleft of her bottom and half-moons of creamy flesh lay helplessly bare below the lace trimmed edges.

"Very nice," Tabitha mused, selecting a long, sleek birch rod from the rack. "Last chance to change your mind."

"Just do what you have to do," Gillian whispered.

An instant later, she was yelping at the top of her voice as the birch slashed across the unprotected portions of her buttocks, branding a fiery red furrow across the full expanse of flesh. She had only a second to catch her breath, before the evil rod bit again, with a resounding thwack!

"Owwwwwww....!" she yelled.

"Not such a strutting figure of authority now, huh?" Tabitha sneered, drawing back the birch for another swing.

Fourteen blistering strokes creased Gillian's buttocks and thighs, before Tabitha's young blonde friend appeared in the doorway. She was accompanied by a dusky skinned girl of similar age and stature, who was naked but for a tiny G-string of shiny white silk. Her curly black hair cascaded untidily about her shoulders, partially obscuring her bare breasts.

"Ah, Jo, thought you wouldn't want to miss this," Tabitha greeted.

"Is this your traffic warden friend?" the girl demanded, in a smoky voice.

"In the soon-to-be very sore flesh," she replied. She swished the rod sharply across Gillian's backside as she started to rise. "Stay as you are, Missy. We've only just begun. Well, don't just stand there, ladies. Help yourselves from the rack. We're going to have a thrashing party." Gillian wondered just what the hell she had let herself in for. To be chastised by one woman was her idea of fun, though she would prefer the punishment to be dished out by somebody she at least liked. Three sadistic ladies was an altogether more terrifying prospect.

"Let's have her pants off, for starters," said Jo. "Mandy, my favourite strap, if you please."

Hooking a finger in the waistband of Gillian's panties, she yanked them all the way down to her ankles. The already punished portion of her buns contrasted sharply with the remaining pale flesh. The blonde handed her a stout black leather martinet, upon which the legend BITCH was engraved in round silver studs. Jo ran the leather strip over her outstretched tongue, then cracked it across the perfectly-presented rear end of the trembling traffic warden. Gillian's response to the stinging whack was a satisfying cry of pain.

While she proceeded to vigorously flog her quivering checks, her two companions stood to either side of Gillian, holding their own weapons at the ready. Tabitha had swapped her cane for a leather-padded wooden paddle, while Mandy flexed a particularly fearsome-looking riding crop. Jo's right arm was a near blur, the three hard leather tongues of the flailing martinet striking Gillian with a rapid-fire rhythm. Long before this instalment of her punishment ended, she had lost the battle to hold back the tears that stung her eyes. When Jo finally laid down the strap, every inch of her bottom glowed an angry shade of sunburn. Gillian's brief respite lasted as long as it took her to stagger to the bed and lay herself on all-fours on the rock hard wooden base. Mandy then cut loose with the riding crop, counting out the lashes aloud as she stoked the fires of Hell across her sobbing victim's hindquarters. At the count of twenty. Gillian finally screamed for mercy.

"Had enough already?" demanded Tabitha.

"My arse...... oh my poor arse!" she blubbered.

"It sure is red," the bespectacled woman agreed. "But we're not through with you yet, not by a long shot." She indicated the chair to the left of the bed.

"Let's try another position."

"Haven't I been punished enough?" Gillian pleaded.

"Has she been punished enough?" Tabitha asked her friends. Both were adamant that she had not. Gillian continued to protest, until it became obvious she was succeeding in only further humiliating herself. If she backed out now, the sufferings she had already endured would have been in vain. Gritting her teeth, she climbed from the bed und lowered herself gingerly onto the chair. The cold metal against her throbbing buttocks was as welcome as a bucket of ice.

Her comfort was short-lived. After she had relieved her of her bra, Tabitha ordered her to hook her legs over the arms of the chair and raise her tits with both hands. In this uncomfortable position, her bottom was once again vulnerable.

"Two asses for the price of one," Tabitha grinned, drooping to one knee in front of her. "Make the most of those juicy titties, ladies." Gillian squealed again as the wooden side of the paddle beat a rhythmic whap! whap! on her scalded cheeks. Mainly and Jo each selected a slender leather strap, then took up position to either side of her and began whacking her breasts. Tears dripped onto the helpless globes as they were strapped from rosy pink to raging red, the razor-sharp sting fusing with the raging inferno in her nether regions. Tabitha paddled her until her aching arm finally forced her to stop.

Smiling proudly, she touched a fingertip to Gillian's roasting hot cheeks, then traced it slowly up between her thighs. When it touched the dewy pink slit that pouted from her thick thatch of dark pubic curls, the punished woman shuddered and moaned softly, her dark brown nipples swelling beneath the whacks that continued to rain down upon her. Tabitha continued to stroke and probe her with her finger, until the exhausted pair finally laid down their straps. Leaning over Gillian, they each fastened their lips around a rock hard nipple. The pleasure that rocked her was as intense as the accompanying pain. "Ohhhhh, that feels so good!" she moaned, thrusting her breasts against the faces of the two girls and urging Tabitha's finger deeper into her hungry sex.

A moment later, in a supreme act of sadism, the trio stepped abruptly back from her, leaving her stranded on the brink of blissful release.

"Time to go," Tabitha announced.

"You're so cruel!" Gillian sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"And you're so lucky," the American woman retorted. "You can tell your boss I've accepted your apology and I'm dropping the lawsuit. So, you can go on dispensing justice in your own inimitable fashion."

"Thank you," whimpered Gillian, wincing as she bent down to pick up her clothes.

"One more thing," said Tabitha. "Next time you see me double-parked and you're tempted to write me a ticket, think of the consequences for your bottom, if not your career."