In The Land Of Utopia

Story from Janus 35.

In The Land Of Utopia
by R.T. Mason

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Any strapping?' asked Henry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Susan said shyly, 'Yes, Mr Greenaway.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday Practice

Story from Uniform Girls 21.

Wednesday Practice

High in the church tower the bell tolls out the hours: One... Two... Three... Nine O'Clock. An owl hoots in accompaniement: a warning to small creatures to lie low, stay close to their nests. As we may assume most human inhabitants of the village are staying close to theirs. The telly of course; the lives of most of them nowadays will revolve around the telly. The Nine O'Clock News. Some others will naturally be in the pub, The Cock Pheasant, but for those individuals, most of them, this will be their normal evening habitat. But one or two are not at home or in the Pheasant.

Delia Greenaway for one.

In spite of her spouse's protests. 'Your choir night's Mondays. Why every Wednesday as well?'

The Greenaways, Delia and Raymond, 21 and 23 respectively, have been joined in holy wedlock for less than a year. It is perhaps little wonder therefore that Raymond, no chorister himself, feels some annoyance at this loss of connubial evenings. He complains but of course he knows the answer.

'You know why, Raymond. I need the practice. You know Mr Plummer says I've got talent and it needs developing. I wish you wouldn't try to make me feel guilty all the time.'

The talents of Delia which interest Raymond lie in another direction: though if he says something along these lines he will be accused of being crude and never thinking of anything else. 'And anyway...'

Anyway those talents are displayed, practised, in the Greenaways solid double bed and Delia is not reluctant in that respect. It is only that Raymond does like to refer to it in a way Delia finds embarrassing, and does seem always to be thinking about it. There are other things to be thinking about. The choir, singing, for instance.

So on this Wednesday evening Delia is not at home, Summertime Cottage, where a disgruntled Raymond is glowering alone at the Nine O'Clock News presenter. Delia is at Mr Plummer's. Mr Plummer, Oswald, is choir-master at St. Margaret's.

They are in the cosy sitting room. Just Delia and Mr Plummer. It is of course a private lesson. Others in the choir are not deemed to need this extra tuition. But then others do not look like Delia. Not at all. Stunningly yellow-blonde, violet-blue eyed, with handsome, firmly chiselled features. And of course the rest of her. A stunning figure too, mouth-watering, which no doubt at this moment, were she at home at Summertime Cottage, Raymond the insatiable spouse would be grappling to get at even though it is only nine o'clock and what he wants is not proper for the lounge sofa (even, such is Raymond's depravity, the lounge floor) at nine o'clock in the evening.

This stunning form is not clothed as when Delia left home this evening. No, it is not in that neat blouse and skirt she was wearing when saying goodbye to irate Raymond ('I won't be late.') It is not actually an outfit Raymond has seen. Raymond, Delia is quite sure, would not understand. It is... well, it is just a little thing between chorister and choirmaster. A jokey little thing you could say. Well, a sort of joke. Mr Plummer said it was his little joke when he first produced it. Because it is a sort of variant of the normal chorister's robe — but this particular variant is not one a young lady chorister would think to wear in church. Or anywhere else in public. For the skirt of the robe is extremely short. The hem mid-thigh high. To show off sexy white, lacy-patterned stockings. Proper stockings, not tights, their tops fastened to the slim straps of a white suspender belt. The skirt of the chorister's robe is sufficiently short that these suspender straps, and bare thigh, can be seen in any slight bending movement Delia makes.

Not that Delia is bending at this moment. She is standing at Mr Plummer's side, in the white high-heeled courts which are also part of this outfit, while Mr Plummer discusses something: one of the works they are to practise. As Mr Plummer speaks...

One hesitates to say this, especially when one is mindful of Raymond Greenaway back at their home morosely watching the news. But still, he is not likely to find out and what the eye does not see, etc. Mr Plummer, then, has his hand up Delia's skirt. Up the back of that short skirt and it is fondling Delia's bottom which is clad — more accurately partially clad — in a vestigal pair of cobwebby white knickers. (These knickers are part of Mr Plummer's special outfit too.) The hand is fondling Delia's partially bare bottom and she is not struggling to get away; she is standing there accepting it.

All of this — Mr Plummer's groping hand and Delia's apparently meek acceptance of it, and also her special chorister's outfit — is quite a surprise. It would certainly be a surprise to Raymond Greenaway or to any of the young Greenaways' acquaintances who know Delia as a somewhat prim and proper young woman. Hands up skirts? How can this be? How can Oswald Plummer have managed to get to this stage — and indeed he has got further. If the evening progresses as most recent Wednesday evenings have we shall see him go further. How...?

It is all to do with the singing lessons. And with a certain gullibility on Delia's part. She has fallen first of all for Mr Plummer's line that she has a gem of a voice, an un-cut diamond which he can cut and polish if Delia will only place herself in his hands. In fact Delia Greenaway's voice is nothing special. Pleasant enough but it can only become special if you consider the rest of her: the face, the dazzling hair, and of course that womanly shape. (For Oswald Plummer it is Delia's bottom that is of especial interest — as evidenced by the fact that his hand is at present handling it — but we will come to that.)

So gullibility and credulity get Delia to Mr Plummer's house on Wednesday evenings and once there he works even further on her credulity. Oswald Plummer might be an ordinary looking gentleman but he has a persuasive way with him. Persuading Delia to accept... well, first of all this outfit. 'Of course you won't wear it anywhere else, Delia dear. Only here at our private lessons. It is merely my little joke. I'm sure you won't begrudge an old gentleman his little joke.'

No, not when this old gentleman is telling her she has what is basically one of the most marvellous voices he has ever heard. It lacks only work and training. Mr Plummer incidentally is not that old. In his 50s. Old enough, though, and sufficiently innocuous seeming for Raymond Greenaway easily to dismiss any thoughts he might harbour that there could be an ulterior motive in the Wednesday singing lessons.

Once Delia has accepted this unexpected outfit which Mr Plummer produces the choirmaster's next move is not that difficult. His hand up the back of the short skirt. Delia has unfortunately shown that she is gullible. And that she can't, or won't, oppose his will.

'Stand quite still, my dear. I want you to show you can concentrate. Put other distractions out of your mind. All the great singers have the ability to concentrate.'

It is of course awful for Delia. Her mind knows that Mr Plummer is doing an outrageous thing. His hand stroking the bare flesh high up on her thighs. It is the sort of thing that Delia's straight-laced mind utterly rejects. Mr Plummer is feeling her up in a particularly disgusting manner. Her mind screams that at her. In any other circumstances... but now... well, it is Mr Plummer. Who has got himself into this very special position. Her private singing instructor. She can't object. She can't slap his face, spit out that he's a dirty old man. As she did when old Mr Merrydrew, another village worthy who has eyed Delia, attempted the same sort of thing one evening in a corner of the Cock Pleasant. No...

So for several Wednesday evenings now, at least, that hand of Mr Plummer's... lessons in concentration. He does not necessarily make her sing whilst he is doing it, though. He mostly does it while he is talking. So really that business about learning to concentrate on her singing... No, Delia knows really that Mr Plummer simply likes doing it. As Mr Merrydrew would like doing it if he got half a chance. This totally abhorrent thing. It makes her perspire to think about it. When she is at home with Raymond for instance. Delia can scarcely believe she can do this: stand here and let Mr Plummer do it. But she can, she does. And this is not all. Oh no. There is the rest of it.

Unbelievable but there is more. Which is even worse. In fact very shortly now... Mr Plummer will say... he will take his hand away from Delia's bottom, which is something, but it is only a temporary respite, and he will say...

'Let me see then, Delia dear. Lift up.'

Yes. Today is no different.

At home, reliving this awful business in her mind, Delia tells herself that next time she won't. She will speak simply but firmly to Mr Plummer, not getting excited... 'Look. Please Mr Plummer. I really don't think this is necessary. I can practise concentration and discipline in some other way. This doesn't help me, it simply makes me nervous, so that I can't sing properly.' And Mr Plummer will say, 'Yes, you're probably right. OK. We'll stop all that business.'

But today, as on those other days, Delia cannot make herself say this. Even if she could she knows that Mr Plummer would probably take no notice and make her anyway. So she doesn't speak. Trembling from that hand at her bottom Delia meekly does what she has to. It is another test: supposedly self-discipline rather than concentration this time. She must raise her skirt, up round her waist. Standing quite still and straight, high heels together, she must lift the short skirt up to her waist and thereby display what is underneath. Which is only that suspender belt plus the brief web-like knickers.

Could Raymond or Delia's friends imagine this?

How many times has she broken out in little beads of perspiration at the very thought!

It is dreadful — but there is more. For these last three Wednesdays there has been more, diabolically so, and there is to be tonight. Delia's bottom, which from the very start Mr Plummer showed an especial interest in. Those delectable rear divisions which he has had his hand on up her skirt. Yes...

'Very good, my dear. And now we will do the other. After that you can try the first piece.'

Yes, any actual singing on these evenings takes second place to these other exercises. Correction; discipline, etc. This final exercise is also in the interests of disciplinary training according to our choirmaster. It is nothing less than a hard and stinging spanking of Delia's bare bottom.

Over his lap. Chorister's robe pulled high over her back. Brief little knickers slid down to the region of her knees. (Mr Plummer sometimes requires his pupil to reach behind her when she is in place on his lap and take them down herself). Legs extended, knees kept straight. And then... but perhaps we should pass over the final desperate, humiliating business in silence.

Not that Oswald Plummer's sitting room, curtains drawn against the soft and vibrant evening world, is silent. The sounds are of flesh sharply meeting flesh. And consequent feminine yelps and half-muffled cries. Well, a girl does her best not to cry out.

Delia is not late back. Not later than normal, certainly. Her lesson with Mr Plummer occupies two hours, which has come to be the norm. Part of this time has been spent in singing. 'Making excellent progress,' is the verdict of Delia's mentor.

It is of course time for bed when Delia gets back. A cup of cocoa first and then bed. Bed at least takes the edge off of Raymond's acute annoyance. And as it happens Delia is more responsive than usual after an evening with Mr Plummer. Thinking of it, the enormity of it, that she can allow herself to be party to such a thing, and moreover the heart-stopping possibility that perhaps Raymond might find out... All of this does tend to make a young woman more active and responsive in the marital bed. Sex is a release, a relief, after all.

Under The Cane

Story from Swish Vol.7 No.1

Under The Cane

LAST MONTH in Stern Stepsister, Fiona made her first acquaintance with the secretarial college that her stepsister, Marjory, has recently opened on the South coast. Having secretly watched one of the girls being caned on her bare bottom by Marjory, life is taking quite a new turn for Fiona...

* * *

"Here we are, then", Marjory announced as she led Fiona into the lounge of the new house that she and her husband, Terry, had bought recently. It was lavishly furnished, as Fiona expected it might be. "Terry won't be home for an hour yet. I'll make a cup of tea and then we can talk", Marjory went on. In the way of young women, Fiona followed her out into the kitchen. She had so many questions to ask about what she had just witnessed in Marjory's study at the college, but didn't know where to begin. It was her twenty-six-year-old stepsister who answered one of them for her – though in an indirect way.

"Did you like seeing Semantha get caned? You see, I do treat my girls strictly", Marjory said, plugging the kettle in. – "So I saw. I wonder how they stand for it", Fiona answered curiously, Marjory smiled and turned about to face her. "It's in the rules, darling; they know what they're going to get if they misbehave, and so do their parents. I'm quite explicit, you know, about what I intend to do, and it's accepted. Those who don't accept it don't get a place at the college".

"But the cane, of all things. It must hurt so!", protested Fiona wonderingly. – "You only say that because the nearest you ever came to getting a hot bottom, darling, was when I used to spank you, or hold you over to be spanked. Semantha, now – the girl I caned today – has had a score of bottom-treatments from me, AND she gets her knicks peeled down during vacation time, I know. I insist on no backsliding just because they are temporarily out of my control. I tell you, Fiona, sales of canes and tawses in this area have leapt up since I opened the college. Some very respectable, bowler-hatted gentlemen have been buying them, as I happen to know."

Fiona flushed as Marjory turned back to switch off the kettle and fill the teapot. – "You mean, Semantha gets caned at home now as well?", she asked, bringing a silvery laugh from her sister-in-law. Stepping across to Fiona, who was two inches shorter than herself, she embraced her lovingly and so pressed Fiona against the door. – "Honestly, Fiona, you're so sweetly naive, but I think you'll make a good assistant for me at the college, if you care for the idea. I teach my girls the sweetest kind of discipline – severe but nice. Sure, they fret and whimper a lot at first, but they learn to take it.... across their bottom cheeks and, er, right up under. You saw that Semantha came into my study without her panties on – the good girl. You watched her bend over my desk, you watched me sting her bottom with the cane, but you never heard her scream – right?"

"N...no, but it was AWFUL! I mean, that cane really bit into her bottom! I mean, I saw the awful pink streaks and how she weaved her hips around trying to escape it and how she clenched her fingers every time you...." – "Shush, darling, and listen", Marjory interrupted her, "You're thinking of it as a sort of school punishment, which it is not. Semantha is of age, as all my girls are. They are all upper middle class, as we used to say. They are a select band. I refuse more girls than I accept, I can tell you. Semantha was a little rebel when she first arrived. Every time she had been spanked, apparently, she kicked and howled and tried to pull her knicks back up. We can't have that, can we? The cleft orb of a girl's naked bottom, well-striped and heated and wriggling divinely, is a treat for a male or a female. I bring them to a state of obedience".

"What?" gulped Fiona, feeling her sister-in-law's tits against her own. Marjory had always got the better of her – it wasn't fair. She could feel Marjory's fingertips groping down to the front of her skirt and drawing it up. "Hey what are you doing?", she gasped and tried in vain to wriggle away. – "Just seeing what colour knicks you have on pet. Black, I hope", rejoined Marjory whose hands proved so persistent that despite Fiona's wriggles she succeeded in baring first her stocking tops and then the crotch of her pale blue panties, puffed out by the bunching of hairs beneath.

"St...stop it, Marjory, I don't want to know!", Fiona blurted when, to her horror, the door was pushed strongly into her back by someone from the dining room. At the same moment, Marjory clasped her young sister-in-law's waist and held her around her waist with both arms, holding the back of the girl's skirt up at the same time to reveal to the 'visitor' the half bare cheeks of her bottom bulging palely from out of the backstrap.

"What's going on?", a voice asked, and to Fiona's frozen horror she recognised it as Terry's. – "Darling, I'm just trying to indoctrinate her", Marjory replied, whereat – ashamed of her exposure before her brother-in-law, Fiona began beating with her fists against Marjory's shoulders. "Hey, that's naughty, Fiona; we can't have this", Terry exclaimed as – most adroitly – he and his wife exchanged arms, as it were, as his own ringed Fiona's slender waist from behind and he lifted her off her feet, retreating backwards out of the kitchen and carrying her – despite her kicks and howls – across the hall and into the living room, with Marjory following swiftly in his rear.

"Stop it! What are you doing! NO!", screeched Fiona as she found herself swung around and then unceremoniously hoisted face down over the back of an armchair with her elbows resting on the cushioned seat and the tips of her toes just making contact with the floor.

"Darling, she was always difficult; she was the same at home", Marjory sighed as a horror-stricken Fiona saw her taking a whippy cane out of the sideboard. – "Terry, you hold her over and I'll get her knicks down", Marjory added, advancing back to the chair while Fiona made frantic attempts to lever herself up, but all in vain, for Terry moved swiftly round the chair – still pressing her down – and then perched sideways on the front of the seat and took a firm hold on Fiona's shoulders.

"NO, Marjory NO!", screeched Fiona then as Marjory came behind the chair and thumbed Fiona's panties swiftly down to her ankles, tucking her skirt right up as an afterthought so that the girl's hips and peachlike bottom were totally exposed.

"I was about to tell her how the girls are trained, but she wouldn't listen, would you, Fiona?", Marjory asked with assumed sadness as her sister-in-law's stockinged legs twisted wildly, her toes scraping the floor. "I was telling her how Semantha – and others, of course – get caned during the vacations.... like this", Marjory went on. Even as she spoke the cane arced silently up and then.... HOOOT-ITTT!", cut a clean path exactly across the twin hemispheres, bringing a long-howling "NEEE-AAAARGH!" from Fiona who had never felt such awful fire before.

"Of course, Semantha, Karen, Nikki, Susan and the others simply don't make this silly noise", Marjory said as she watched the divine quivering and contracting of Fiona's cheeks while she allowed her to absorb the deep sting. Marjory expected no reply from her husband who was as much under her thumb as her pupils. In line with his wife's expert 'teachings now', he laid one hand on the nape of Fiona's neck and with the other cupped her chin, so holding her head from twisting about as the girl blubbered and sobbed. It was a good hold, as Terry recognised. It was impossible for the girl to slither back and gain purchase with her feet fully on the floor.

"A silly noise", repeated Marjory more sternly. Raising the cane again, she brought it searingly across Fiona's cleft derriere, exactly an inch below the first strike. – "GOOO-OW!", came a heartfelt cry from the girl as now, long tongues of flame licked everywhere over, beneath and between the cheeks of her bottom. But this time, Marjory gave her no time to recover. – WEEE-HIPPPP! sounded the cane once more and this time Fiona's shrill cry bounced as surely off of the ceiling as did the supple cane from her springy cheeks.

"NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!", came Fiona's sobbing plea as her hips rolled and jerked on the very top of the chair-back. – "YES, darling – preliminary training is VERY strict, and there are all sorts of good reasons why it has to be. Keep her head still; a good posture is the first thing she has to learn", Marjory breathed heavily as she surveyed the three pink streaks that seemed to almost encompass the delicious tight moon that Fiona was being made to offer up.

"DON'T, Please! DON'T, PLEASE! I can't t...t...take.... NEEE-HAAAR-OOOH!", screamed Fiona, her words cut off in mid-flight by a fourth scorching stroke that skinned the straining, hot flesh of her bum.

"You will be surprised what you will learn to take UNTIL you are OBEDIENT, darling", Marjory told her. "This, my pet, is called the five-bar gate – four parallel and once across. Funny thing, though, it doesn't close the entrance". Marjory said in a crisp, authoritative – though with hidden laughter in her voice – tone, and then altered the angle of her wrist to lay that fifth and even more biting and searing one at a forty-five degree angle, as she had said.

"THEEE-EEEH-EEEEH!", gritted Fiona through her teeth. Her shapely legs opened, closed, and then dangled limp some four inches apart. Not quite wide enough for after-treatment – Marjory thought – but not bad. There was unconscious receptance here by Fiona of what she was being caned for. – "OH-WOH-WOH-WOH!", Fiona sobbed brokenly and in great gulps.

"All right, Terry – let her go", Marjory murmured and stepped back, still holding the cane. As Terry released his dual hold on her, Fiona's fingers scrabbled desperately into the twisted cushion which sprang into her hands as he got up. Marjory was waiting to see how and if Fiona would move. At first she made as if to slide down right over the back of the seat, but seemed to realise what intimate exposure she would be offering to Terry if she did so and so started to slide backwards and to collapse, as she hoped, on the carpet behind the chair. Even as the soles of her high heels lowered themselves tentatively, and with her hips writhing wildly, she received a SMACK! from Marjory's palm, bringing a blubbering howl as Fiona felt the impact full against her tender bottom.

"NO! STAY, girl, STAY!", barked Marjory who remembered well enough what a handful Fiona had been a few years before at home when it was spanking time for her. Another heartfelt screech from Fiona, and she hung limp again, her bottom cheeks squeezing frantically.

"All right, Terry, you can start getting the dinner ready. I'll see to her", Marjory uttered, bringing a look of resentment to his face, though he dared not disobey for his wife was quite capable of bringing the cane across his own bottom, and often did. Scouting past the chair where Fiona hung sobbing, he glanced back over his shoulder – Marjory moving aside deliberately to let him view the "miscreant", as she was fond of calling her learner-pupils. Heavens, what a bottom Fiona had! Apple-round, tight and redhot, globing above two pearly, lovely thighs, and all the bewitching slimness of her legs beneath. Then the view was gone from him as he reluctantly closed the door.

"Get up now!" Marjory was saying quite roughly to Fiona whose tear-streaked face had moistened the cushion. With the departure of Terry, she seemed to want to hang helpless – seeking attention. It was the way that Marjory eventually wanted her to be, though she could not herself provide the sort of 'attention' a hot-bottomed female ought to receive after a caning. That would come later when Fiona had learned deportment, stripping, displaying, and so on.

"UP!", Marjory repeated and hauled Fiona back so that she slumped against her with Marjory's would-be calming and cupping palms feeling the delicious weight of Fiona's bottom which squirmed madly at the contact. – "I'll tell Mummy, I'll tell Daddy!", Fiona blubbered babyishly, referring to her own mother and to her stepfather who was sire to Marjory. – "So? You'll tell them", Marjory replied curtly and stayed Fiona's hands from pulling down the back of her skirt. She knew very well that Fiona wouldn't, and that it would do her no good, anyway. It might encourage Marjory's Dad to get his own cane out, the one that had made both his second wife's AND Marjory's bottom writhe often enough when Fiona had been out.

"Now – stand in the corner, skirt up!", she commanded Fiona now and gave her a push. "Won't! I won't I... YEEEECH!", squealed Fiona as again a hefty, full-palmed smack met her blazing nether cheeks and sent her stumbling forward. In but a moment she stood head bowed miserably her shoulders shaking, and her back to the room, her cherry-red botty properly displayed where Marjory deftly wreathed her skirt up tightly again at her hips.

"I'm g...g...going home and I'll tell....", sobbed Fiona, bringing a laugh from Marjory who laid the slender cane warningly against her seared bum. – "Darling, I promise you that if you do you'll end up with quite a sparky bottom by bedtime from father's cane, which you haven't even tasted yet! Ankles neatly together and hands behind your back now – come on!"

"I hay-hay-hate you!", Fiona sobbed but nevertheless, with the cane laid warningly against her heat-blaring cheeks, she obeyed, bringing a gentle, pleased sigh from her sister-in-law.

Fiona half closed her eyes, surreptitiously squeezing her nether cheeks still. She knew about her stepfather's cane all right. He had recently begun making jokes about 'giving her bottom a treat', but Fiona knew it wasn't only joking. Once, years ago in her bedroom, after Marjory had held her for a spanking and then put her into bed, Marjory had whipped up her own skirt and turned about and Fiona – to her amazement – had seen that she had no panties on and that there were six precise-placed red stripes across her plump bottom.

"My medals!", Marjory had laughed, and Fiona had known then that it was true and that Marjory must have been caned just before she herself got in that night. Quivering and with her shoulders hunched, Fiona felt the cane caressing up and down the backs of her thighs where her stocking tops bit into her flesh.

"A good girl is still after her bottom has been seen to, Fiona. Remember that. Oh, I know it takes a lot of effort – especially when you are bent over or kneeling up on a bed – but eventually you will take pride in being able to do it. You will rarely be able to quell the wriggling of your hips, of course, but that is not important. To the contrary, it looks very feminine, very pretty – AND most enticing. Now – I was telling you about Semantha and the others, wasn't I. WASN'T I!" Marjory repeated sharply, giving Fiona a little tap across the backs of her thighs.

"YEH-ES-ESSS!", whimpered Fiona who sensed that this was a private talk and that Terry would not reappear for quite a while.

"Good. Now listen carefully. I'm putting you on a crash course, darling, because I know you have it in you," – or are going to have, soon enough, Marjory thought mischievously. "Semantha, Karen, Nikki – and several others – have had three terms with me, but they still came back for a fourth. Ask me why? Go on!"

"Wh...wh....why?", gritted Fiona as the cane pressed into her hot bulb again, at a full right angle across it.

"Because they admire me, and they admire themselves. They take pride in having overcome a silly and unnecessary pride that once caused them to wriggle and squeal if their bottoms were so much as gently fondled. They have learned to offer up and to hold themselves in a disciplined way when their bottoms are stripped naked. They walk properly after they have been seen to, for they know also that they are admired for it, even cosseted and spoiled occasionally. They may grit their teeth occasionally when and if the cane bites deep, but they ride through it, proud. Their punishment – though it is not the most appropriate word – is for the naughtiness they seek. Is that a conundrum to you. Well? Is it?"

"D...d..dunno", mumbled Fiona. She hated herself for standing bare bottomed in a corner in front of Marjory, and yet deep within her something was stirring. Did she feel 'proud', in some strange way, to have been so horridly caned? Did she feel 'proud' – both conquered and yet not – in standing displayed like this?

"You DO know, darling, but you won't let yourself understand that you do. We all like to succumb sometimes – all of us. It gives a rare salt to life. To be made to bare your bottom in otherwise unthinkable circumstances is delicious. It helps to unfold your most secret dreams. After you had been spanked, I used to slip in bed with you and make you come so easily – didn't I? EH?"

"WEEE-OW!" squealed Fiona as, failing to answer, she received a stinging stroke across her bulbing orb that made her reach up on her toes. It was true, and Marjory knew it was true, but she wasn't going to say.

"You don't have to answer, darling. Silent consent is sufficient. Take Semantha now. After a term and a half with me, Semantha entered a new phase. Under crisp, stern commands she would strip daintily to her stockings and high heels. She has a lovely pubic bush, and I had taught her not to hide it by fluttering her hands about. Then she would walk slowly and proudly to the back of a chair – just like this one – and glide gracefully over it until her head and shoulders were concealed and just her lovely tight bottom and long, stockinged legs showed. Shall I go on? Yes, your silence bids me to – an obedient silence – so I shall.

"A little twitch of the cane would ensure that Semantha's legs were planted apart, her toes straining a little on the floor. Nothing would be said. She knew all that she was showing at last, and what she was going to receive for it – a sixer, or a full dozen. All in silence, Fiona. The silence of acceptance".

"WHAH!", blurted Fiona then, for as Marjory spoke so her hand came up cupping right up Fiona's bottom, and so far beneath that her forefinger twiddled the girl's puffy lovelips.

"Be quiet and keep UP on your toes. Miss!", Marjory barked while Fiona blushed, sniffled and felt her fleshy-firm bottom held the tighter from beneath and urged up another inch. "Let me warn you, Fiona, that you are going to be caned again after dinner. Whether it will be a sixer or a dozen will depend on your responses to me NOW, and your total obedience. Listen carefully. It will bode well for your future. Being so positioned, and entirely of her own volition, Semantha gripped the forward edge of the seat beneath her and waited for the first bite of the cane. I know that she did, for I was secretly present, and watching".

"At the first hissing sweep of the cane, she uttered a little bleat, but no more than that. Her hips rolled once and then were still. Her adorable nether cheeks twitched and tightened, as one expects them to. High-slung as she was – and as you have just been – one could see the very pretty peeping of her lovelips, all hazed with curls. Ten seconds passed and then the cane hissed up right under her cleft globe. That time, a long sob escaped her and she rolled her hips more violently on top of the chairback, but then at last mastered herself. She was almost in profile to me, in my hiding place. I watched her lips part almost in wonderment and a slightly strained look come over her pretty face as she commanded herself to remain over.

"Oh, I admired her for that! My training held, you see. Deep within herself she desired the discipline to which she was being put in every way. The silence was quite awesome. I adored her for her submissive attitude – she who but eight months before that had fought like a little she-cat when she was to be spanked. She was displaying herself in all her naughtiness. It did not need to be spoken of. I saw how hard her nipples became when the cane swished in again. She screwed up her eyes and uttered a little animal-like cry. I could almost feel the stinging, demanding heat in her tight cheeks. She knew what she was going to have at last, after the last searing stroke took her bulb. As you will – tonight – with Terry. I'm not jealous, Fiona, you see''.

"WHOOO!", quivered Fiona, for at that Marjory moved to the side of her and cupped her pubic bush fully. Her eyes rolled, her head flopped sideways onto Marjory's shoulder.

"I am going to smack your bottom now, darling. As I do, rub your lovelips on my palm", Fiona heard and then uttered a sound midway between a moan and a squeal as SMACK! came sharply to her bulbing, hot cheeks causing her quim to squirm and rub its pouting lips over Marjory's palm. Half swooning, caught between the wicked stinging and a delirium of desire, she caught only a few of her stepsister's words as their mouths hovered close together.

"Afterwards.... carried her upstairs, legs limp, her bottom rolling on his palm.... Her creamy tits bobbed, her nipples like thorns. I heard her moaning no, but it was a no that meant yes. I heard a bedroom door kicked open and the bedsprings sing. For a moment she grappled beneath him, rolling her bottom tempestuously, but then the big knob of his cock slipped up into her, and I could hear only her moans of pleasure and..."

"Mmmmmm....!, whimpered Fiona. She was falling, falling, and Marjory was falling with her until the carpet received them and she was blindly groping up under Marjory's skirt. "I want to!", Fiona heard herself whimpering helplessly. Marjory soothed her hot forehead, mashing her lips into hers. – "I know you do, darling, and tonight is just a start. After you've taken Terry's cock, there's another cane waiting for you and it'll be a real biter".

"I know, I know", Fiona moaned, her fingers under the crotch of Marjory's knickers. It was going to sting and burn her like mad, but it would serve her right for being so naughty afterwards...

The Scourging of Sonia

Story from Janus 17.

The Scourging of Sonia
by Andrew Grantham

AFTER a tour of her new school, Sonia said goodbye to her father and carried her belongings to the room she knew she would share with three other girls. The long-legged raven haired beauty had been a pupil at several schools, but al 17 years of age this would be her last.

The door was ajar and she could hear the sound of sobbing from within. She poked her head inside and her eyes opened wide at the sight in front of her. A bare bottom was sticking up in the air. Its owner was kneeling on the bed, her face buried in the bedclothes. Her shoulders heaved with little sobs.

It was easy to see just why the girl was sobbing – her bottom was a mass of fiery, criss-crossing weals!

Two other girls were also present. One was comforting the sobbing girl by patting her on the bare shoulders. The other girl was smoothing cream into the ravaged buttocks.

The girl with the cream, a small-boned attractive brunette looked up and smiled. 'You must be Sonia, our new room-mate.'

'Yes.' Sonia forced a smile in reply.

'Come on in! I'm Beverley. You don't mind if I don't shake hands, do you? I've got them full of cream at the moment.'

The girl comforting the beaten victim turned around and greeted Sonia. She was a tall, leggy blonde. 'Hi!' she smiled. 'I'm Nicola.' Indicating her stricken friend she said, This is Janine.'

Sonia noticed that the girl with the damaged bottom was a redhead, with beautiful short copper curls. She dumped her belongings on the empty bed. 'What happened?' she asked, horrified that such treatment could be inflicted upon young female flesh.

'Janine got a School Punishment,' Beverley informed her as she gently smeared the cream over the redhead's bottom. Janine clenched her bum-cheeks.

'A School Punishment!' echoed Sonia. 'What exactly is that?'

Beverley continued to rub cream into the raised tramlines as she replied to the question: 'It's the worst of all the punishments.'

'Don't talk about it!' pleaded Janine, her voice muffled by the bedclothes. 'I don't want to be reminded!'

The other girls obeyed her wishes.

Sonia moved her belongings into her lockers, assisted by the helpful Nicola.

Beverley continued her tender ministrations with the cream. Once or twice, her fingers inadvertently went a bit too far. It had the effect of turning Janine's sobs into little giggles.

'I'll give you 24 hours to stop,' said the redhead, raising her face from the bedclothes.

Beverley reprimanded her by finding an undamaged area of bottom and giving her a slap.

Janine, her sobbing now subsided, raised herself up and greeted Sonia, 'I suppose it's a bit unusual to see someone's bum before seeing their face,' she chuckled.

All the girls joined in the laughter and Sonia knew that she was going to enjoy pleasant company for the couple of terms remaining before she started at University.

Although it was called a 'mixed' school, the young males and the young females were kept very much apart. Just about the only time they were allowed to meet the opposite sex, officially, was at the twice-daily school assemblies.

The older students naturally had ways of beating the system. Varied were the ruses devised for boy to meet girl. Indeed, the plans put into effect would have done great credit to the wartime inmates of Colditz Castle.

Very soon Sonia had made friends on both sides of the 'barrier' between male and female. Some of the staff she liked and some she loathed. One of the latter was Miss Leathers, the School Matron. She was a great deal younger than most people's conception of School Matrons, being only a few years older than the senior girls themselves.

It appeared that Nicola and Beverley had accidentally tripped her up during a friendly game of hockey and she had never forgiven the two girls over the incident. Because Janine and Sonia were room-mates of the other two, they found themselves being treated in the same way by the young and not unattractive Matron.

'She should have stopped my beating!' complained Janine as the four girls sat around one night discussing the staff in general and Matron in particular. 'That's why she is present at House and School Punishments. It's her job to intervene when we've had enough!'

'What's the difference between a House Punishment and a School Punishment?' Sonia asked again.

There was a silence as the other three girls ail looked at each other. It was Janine who eventually spoke. 'A House Punishment is really terrible, but a School Punishment...!'

Here, the freckled redhead put her face in her hands and scurried to the washroom. Somebody changed the topic of conversation and all talk of punishments ended.

Yet it was not to be very long before Sonia found out exactly what a House Punishment was. Her room-mate, Nicola, was unfortunate enough to be caught in an 'out of bounds' area and was sentenced accordingly by the House Master, Mr Prime.

All the girls sympathised with the luckless blonde, but they knew that all they could do was to offer comfort and soothing cream.

'Miss Leathers will take great delight in this!' fumed Beverley as she accompanied Sonia and Janine to the large School Hall. A little earlier Nicola had made the same but tearful journey on her own, carrying her gym kit under one arm.

When Sonia and Janine reached the Hall, they found they were amongst the first to arrive. Attendance was compulsory, Sonia learned. The girls' names were ticked off on a list by a House Prefect upon their arrival.

It was customary for the friends of the victim to obtain the best positions in front of the stage. This was done purely to deny anyone who did not like the recipient of the punishment, a good view of their discomfort.

Nicola sat alone on the stage in her gym kit, a disconsolate figure as the unwilling spectators trooped in to witness the chastisement.

The sight and sounds of a cane being laid across bare flesh was supposed to act as a deterrent to would-be wrongdoers. But for some of the pupils, and certainly for most of the staff, it caused some considerable pleasure.

Nicola forced a smile for her friends and repeatedly crossed one long leg over the other as the numbers in the Hall began to swell.

Members of the staff started to arrive and they sat, grim-faced, in a semi-circle on the stage.

There was a low murmur around the Hall as everyone waited for the punishment to commence. Sonia's heart went out to her likeable friend and she wondered what was going through Nicola's mind at that moment. The agony of waiting must surely be just as terrible as the pain that would be inflicted.

Miss Leathers appeared on the stage and sat down right next to Nicola. The young Matron, a green-eyed honey blonde had a smug smile on her face. She looked at Nicola who immediately turned and looked the other way.

Beverley nudged Sonia and when she had the tall girl's attention, she whispered to her. 'Mr Prime has been seen coming out of Matron's room late at night!'

Sonia pulled a wry face. 'Had he now? It's a pity he can't be punished for being 'out of bounds',' she hissed in reply.

The low murmur subsided into a still silence as Mr Prime appeared. He was a tall, athletic young man and very good-looking, too. Nicola, who had a crush on him, paled visibly when he appeared. She stopped crossing one leg over the other.

Sonia noticed for the first time that Mr Prime was carrying a long thin wand of rattan. The lovely blue eyes of the trembling blonde on the stage were instantly drawn to the rod that was going to slash into her flesh and cause her acute pain and discomfort.

She dutifully rose to her feet as Mr Prime mounted the steps. Miss Leathers rose, too. She quickly turned around the chair on which Nicola had been sitting so that its back was now to the assembly.

'Nicola Lee!' Mr Prime spoke out in a loud, clear voice. 'In contravention of school rules you deliberately entered an 'out of bounds' area, namely the Senior Boys' Accommodation Block!'

Nicola hung her head at the implication. She had tried to explain that she had gone there to get help with her prep for next day. Mr Prime, however, refused to believe her story, preferring instead to believe that she had been there for some sinful purpose.

The House Master cleared his throat and continued. 'You will receive nine strokes of the cane for your misconduct!'

The shock of the announcement reverberated around the large Hall. Nicola's mouth dropped open. She went to say something but thought better of it. Her shoulders sagged wearily.

Janine was furious and she hissed to Sonia, 'I'll bet that bitch, Miss Leathers had something to do with the three extra strokes.'

Mr Prime flicked the cane with his wrist. Nicola jumped. 'Bend over, Miss Lee!' he ordered.

Nicola turned around and put her hands on the back of the chair so that her long legs were at a 90 degree angle to her horizontal body. Then Miss Leathers stepped forward and rolled up the girl's gym vest to just below her tiny, pointed breasts.

'She's getting it on the bare?' Sonia could hardly believe what she was seeing. Janine did not reply. She bit her lip and Sonia knew that she was re-living a horrible experience she had herself been through not so very long ago.

Miss Leathers grasped hold of Nicola's gym shorts and yanked them down to her ankles, exposing for all to see, long, lean but shapely thighs below slim and un-marked buttocks. All the male members of the staff leaned forward to obtain a better view of the derriere they had not seen before. Nicola kept her legs tight together to protect her privacy.

'This is awful!' breathed Sonia. Those around her silently agreed.

Mr Prime took up his position, laying the cane across the target area first of all before starting his swing, so that he could get the range.

Whoosh!

Smack!

All the girls in the assembly winced as the cane hit flesh. Nicola did not cry out, but the force of the blow buckled her knees.

Mr Prime waited before delivering his next blow. Expert that he was, he wanted the young backside to glow in agony before inflicting further punishment.

Sonia's heart continued to thump as she saw the imprint of the cane springing up instantly on the taut skin of her friend's bottom.

Two of the male staff put their heads together, whispered, grinned and then nodded approvingly. They obviously appreciated Nicola's curving, girlish hips, her narrow waist, her slender, creamy-skinned torso as well as the tight bottom that waited for another dose of the springy cane.

Sensing that the pain from the first blow was now receding, the House Master delivered another cut.

'Ooh!'

This time Nicola did cry out and her knees buckled once more. Again the imprint of the rattan showed up on Nicola's tender globes. As the blonde girl waited for the next stroke she sought to obtain some relief from her agony by clenching and unclenching her bum cheeks.

Swish!

Crack!

'Ay yee!' shrieked Nicola. Her back arched and she threw back her head.

Sonia looked at Miss Leathers. She was breathing heavily and licking her lips.

Nicola raised one ankle in the air and waggled her bottom from side to side. She began to sob.

'She's cracking up already,' whispered Janine urgently to Sonia. 'I don't see how she can possibly take another six!'

The fourth stroke made the stricken blonde jerk bolt upright. She let out a piercing yell.

'He's really laying into her,' whispered Janine. 'I'll bet that awful Miss Leathers told him to give her a good thrashing!'

Mr Prime tapped Nicola's stinging bottom with the tip of the cane. His clean-cut features expressed keen concentration, even some pleasure. 'Bend over!' he reminded her.

The fifth bite into the already scored flesh caused Nicola the most distress of all the cuts she had received so far. Her legs sagged and an 'ooh' went up from the shocked spectators. The wand had whipped diagonally across the first three horizontal marks. Nicola buried her face in her hands.

'Get up, Miss Lee,' ordered the House Master.

'I can't!' wailed the distressed Nicola.

Mr Prime bent down and whispered something to the Matron. She shook her head.

'Bitch!' hissed Janine, knowing that Mr Prime had asked her if he should stop.

Somehow Nicola struggled to her feet and bent over the chair. She was no longer concerned with trying to protect her privacy and she spread her legs wide apart.

Whirr!

Thwack!

'Oh ... oh ... oh ...!' Again Nicola slumped to the floor and she clutched her blazing buttocks, rubbing them fiercely with the palms of her hands.

'Up, Miss Lee!' ordered Mr Prime.

Sobbing bitterly, Nicola made no move.

'Come on, Nick!' urged Janine quietly. 'Only three more and it's all over.'

The House Master spoke to the two young teachers who had earlier given approving nods at the sight of the semi-naked girl stretched over the back of the chair. Instantly, they jumped to their feet and made for Nicola. They pulled her to her feet, first taking a good look at her thighs and golden bush as they did so.

The tall blonde was stretched by the two men so that only the tips of her toes were touching the floor. Her hands were secured in the two masters' vice-like grips.

There was a thud as a young member of the school fainted and hit the floor. Several of her friends hurried to her aid to remove her, and thankfully to remove themselves, from the sight of the popular blonde sixth former being beaten and humiliated.

'This is horrible.' murmured Sonia.

Nicola's slim and tender buttocks were now a criss-cross map of suffering, but Mr Prime lined up the cane for a further infliction of agony.

Crack!

'Yaroo!' screeched Nicola, her legs threshing wildly. Her bottom being so slim, the target area was therefore relatively small and the latter cuts were now landing in the already hurt places of earlier ones.

Sonia thought it a good job that it was an all-female audience in front of the stage, the way Nicola was now revealing herself. The disclosure of her intimate parts was the least of the distraught girl's worries.

Mr Prime waited until the long legs had stopped moving and the girl's toes were again touching the floor. He again raised the thin wand and almost every single onlooker tensed as they waited for the blow and the anguished reaction. Only Miss Leathers seemed to be not affected by the canework of her friend on the bared, crimson arse.

Swish!

Nicola's scream was the worst yet. Many of the girls who had covered their eyes before this stroke opened them wide in horror. The distraught girl continued to yell long after the fresh weal appeared. The two men who were holding her wrists had their work cut out to keep her bent double over the back of the chair.

Still Mr Prime waited for the pain to climax and start to ebb before delivering the final cut. This time the House Master caught her on one of the worst of the weals. Nicola let out a long, low moan and dropped to her knees again as she was released by the two men. Crying bitterly however, the beaten blonde struggled to her feet and again presented her buttocks for further punishment.

'Poor kid!' breathed Janine. 'She doesn't realise it's over!'

Miss Leathers got up from her chair and pulled up Nicola's gym shorts.

The audience filed out and the three room-mates climbed on to the stage to comfort the victim. Somehow they got the dazed Nicola back to their room where they laid her on her tummy and again pulled down her shorts.

'Oh God! Look at those marks!' wailed Beverley.

'It's horrible!' choked Sonia.

'Matron shouldn't have allowed it,' complained Janine. The whole of Nicola's bottom was suffused an angry sullen red, against which the darker lines of individual cane marks stood out evilly.

The girls gently tended her wounds but it was some time before the blonde moved so much as a muscle. Eventually, her bottom caked with cream, she was covered up. Clutching her teddy bear for comfort, Nicola sobbed herself to sleep.

Beverley, Janine and Sonia sat disconsolately on the bed discussing their friend's terrible ordeal.

'A School Punishment is even worse than that!' groaned Janine.

'Will somebody please tell me what a School Punishment is?' asked Sonia.

Beverley looked at Janine. The memory of her own suffering still fresh in her mind, the redhead became tight-lipped and shook her head, signifying that she did not want to upset herself by even talking about the dreaded punishment.

Next morning's talk in the refectory was all about Nicola, who did not herself put in an appearance until just before lesson time. She then walked in, head bowed and stiff-legged before gingerly resting her battered bottom on the hard wooden bench. The blonde then leaned across the table and whispered in confidence to her friends, 'Miss Leathers had Mr Prime in her room all last night.'

The girls 'oohed' and 'aahed'. 'I wish somebody would teach that bitch a lesson,' someone remarked.

Sonia looked thoughtful. Then her lovely eyes gleamed. 'I have an idea,' she smiled.

Her audience giggled as they listened to Sonia.

'It's very risky!' cautioned Janine.

'No, it isn't!' protested Sonia. 'As long as you all keep a good look out.'

At tea time a full jar of mayonnaise disappeared from one of the tables!

Once it was dark, the girls crept towards the out of bounds staff quarters. The ground floor window of Miss Leathers' room was open and the room was in darkness. Sonia clambered inside, armed with the jar of mayonnaise. She made straight for the bed, turned back the sheets and emptied the contents of the jar before replacing the sheets.

'Hee hee!' she chuckled. 'Miss Leathers and Mr Prime will get a nasty shock when they tumble into bed tonight. That will dampen their ardour!'

Suddenly the room was flooded with light and Miss Leathers appeared from nowhere. Sonia had forgotten about the adjoining bathroom. The young Matron had been in there the whole time! Sonia dropped the empty jar and she heard her friends outside the window scurrying away to safety.

* * * * *

Sonia stood before the Headmaster, Mr Whipp, and heard herself sentenced to the dreaded 'School Punishment'.

'I will call a special assembly in fifteen minutes to deal with the girl,' he informed Mr Prime. He had heard Sonia's 'confession' along with the Head Girl, a tall sturdy pupil called Carolyn. Carolyn was a girl who thrived on punishments. Sonia saw her grinning from ear to ear as the dire sentence was pronounced. Also smiling was Miss Leathers, who had given her evidence in floods of tears, thereby convincing the Headmaster that drastic punishment was necessary to safeguard the disciplinary standards of the school.

Mr Whipp addressed Carolyn and indicated the ashen-faced brunette. 'Get her ready!'

'Yes sir,' Carolyn responded eagerly. She pulled Sonia away by the arm.

Poor Sonia had lain awake all night fearful lest she be given a 'House Punishment' and now here she was, only fifteen minutes away from what was something infinitely worse. Her three friends had tried to comfort her. But the sight of Nicola's bum, still a glowing sunset of fiery red, had done nothing to relieve her mental torment.

In a daze, Sonia stepped into Matron's room – only a short way from the large Hall, where just a few days earlier she had witnessed Nicola's punishment.

Carolyn stood before her, hands on hips. 'Strip off!' she ordered.

Sonia's mouth dropped open in horror. 'Strip off?' she repeated.

'That's right,' smirked the Head Girl. 'I have to be naked for this?' gasped Sonia disbelievingly.

'Practically,' giggled Carolyn. 'Now hurry up!'

Mechanically, Sonia unbuttoned her crisp, white blouse. Then she took it off and slid out of her skirt. Forcing back the sobs, she raised first one leg and then the other, to peel off the sheer nylon stocking from her smooth, shapely legs.

'The boys will see my boobs,' she complained.

Carolyn nodded, an evil smile on her face. 'They'll see your bare arse as well,' she reminded her brusquely.

Sonia took a deep breath and reached behind to unhitch her brassiere. She handed the garment to Carolyn who looked approvingly at Sonia's milky-white, cherry-tipped breasts. Breasts that would soon be seen by everybody in the school.

She hesitated for a moment before starting to remove her panties. However they were soon on the floor and Carolyn's gaze was fixed on the naked girl's thick, dark bush.

The door opened and Miss Leathers walked in. The Matron pressed something into her hand. 'Put this on!' she ordered.

Sonia looked at the tiny, black G-string. 'What's this for?' she asked.

'What do you think it's for?' snapped Miss Leathers. 'It's to conceal your private part without covering up your bottom!'

With the willing assistance of the Head Girl, Sonia put on the tiny thong. Her black hair spilled out from all around it! Both Carolyn and Miss Leathers shook their heads.

'Take it off!' ordered the Matron. She produced a pair of scissors and sat on a chair in front of Sonia.

There was a knock on the door. 'Come in!' called out Matron.

Sonia gasped and one arm moved to cover her breasts whilst a hand covered her black 'vee'. The newcomer was the Head Boy, an attractive youth called Clive.

'Take your hand away!' snapped Miss Leathers. Sonia did as she was told and the Head Boy leched at her lovely, nubile body. She felt a thrill run through her and her tongue flicked over her dry lips.

Snip, snip, snip went the scissors and a dismayed Sonia watched as the outside of her pubic thatch was cut away. The scissors were cold on her warm flesh.

Both Carolyn and Clive walked around to the back of Sonia and they stared hard at her bare bottom. Somehow, despite her fear, she enjoyed the almost prickling sensation of their eyes on her flesh.

'Is everything ready?' asked Carolyn of Clive as she watched the crinkly hairs fall to the floor.

'Yes. It's all ready for her,' smiled Clive.

He held out the G-string. This time the tiny scrap of material covered what was now left of her pubic mat.

Clive leered at Sonia. 'You've the nicest backside I've seen for a long time. It's a pity it will look pretty horrible before much longer!'

The floodgates opened. Tears coursed down Sonia's beautiful features. Any further reminder she may have needed of her plight was given to her by the sound of a multitude of footsteps in the corridor as the entire school assembled for the flogging.

'You can save your tears for later!' hissed Miss Leathers.

The footsteps died away as the Hall was filled. Sonia's heart gave a lurch. It was almost time!

Without warning the door was thrown open and both Mr Whipp and Mr Prime entered. Their eyes drank in the sight of the bare-breasted girl who seemed to be somehow proud of showing off her gorgeous body to them. The Housemaster carried a bundle of four canes and Sonia wondered why one wasn't enough.

The mutterings and whisperings in the Hall died away as the small procession entered. It was led by the two teachers, each carrying a cane over one shoulder. The near-naked Sonia walked behind them and the small parade was made up of the Head Boy and the Head Girl each carrying a cane in the same way as the teachers.

Sonia kept her head high, knowing that her body was the centre of attention, particularly among the boys of the Upper School. Each step gave a sensual flounce to her breasts. She was almost enjoying the occasion. It was such a powerful drama, all centred on her, and the atmosphere was sheerly electric.

At the end of the Hall, on a raised dais, were two horizontal rails. Sonia knew what they were for!

Carolyn pushed her forward through the throng of pupils and staff who were to witness the beating. Sonia stumbled towards the tiny stage, a strange pang of excitement coursing through her vaulting stomach.

She then recalled that Janine had been through this experience and she looked for her. There she was, along with Beverley and the recently thrashed Nicola where she knew they would be – as near to her as possible, as a token of their friendship and affection for her. The audience packed around the place of punishment in a tight horseshoe. For some reason, a lot of the boys were huddled close to the sides of the dais.

Sonia stood proudly for the school's inspection – she would not have minded if she had been totally naked! She was still frightened about what was going to happen but at the same time she was secretly pleased with being put on show. She aspired to becoming an actress when she left school, but all the same she was shocked by the intensity of her mixed feelings.

Mr Whipp made a short speech and then Sonia was instructed to lean over the first bar and to grasp hold of the second bar. She did as she was told. Now she was in a complete right-angle position.

'Wow – Ouch!' she yelped. Sonia had not expected the stroke so soon and she had not prepared herself to receive the pain. It had been worse than she had expected it to be. She looked over her shoulder. It was Carolyn who had delivered the blow. She knew then the reason for the four canes. She was to be punished by no less than four different people!

'Oh please!' she gasped unthinkingly, seeing Carolyn raise the rod high into the air. The Head Girl was obviously enjoying herself. Sonia turned her head away and waited.

'Erhh!' She stifled a cry, being somewhat prepared this time. The hurt however was awful. And this was only the beginning!

Sonia clenched her bum-cheeks and waited for the next one. It came – and with it, another dose of stinging pain like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Hardly had the hurt died away than Carolyn struck again – harder than ever! Sonia heard a yell and then realised it was herself crying out.

Her hurt flesh was throbbing and pulsating. Grimly she waited for the next cut. She took a quick glance behind her. Carolyn had now made way for Clive. Four strokes of each cane? Another twelve to go! What shape would she be in after it was over? She had seen the aftermath of her friends' beatings. Would she cope as well as they had?

Sonia forced herself to watch as the Head Boy prepared to administer his first stroke. The rod whirred and whipped through the air to land on a previously unhit part of her bottom. She choked back a cry and frenziedly shook her posterior.

Swish!

She heard the second one coming,

Crack!

'Ay...ee...ee...!'

Her cry tailed off and she slumped over the rail. Sonia had hoped that the Head Boy might take it easy on her. After all, they had fondled and petted on several occasions. Not so. It was as if the sight of her breathtaking nudity inspired him to greater effort.

Sonia fairly screeched when he struck her for the third time. She now knew why a lot of the younger lads had positioned themselves in front of her. Hanging under her, Sonia's breasts wobbled and swung as she squirmed under the goading cane! This was further humiliation for the elegant, beautiful girl. At least, her G-string prevented those who desired it a view of her most intimate, personal part.

'Eee...ee...eek!'

The fourth and most vicious cut of all caused her to shriek louder than ever. She clutched hold of the bar. Tears flooded down her face.

To her surprise, Miss Leathers appeared in front of her and motioned her to stand up. Panting, Sonia did so. Her backside felt as if she had sat down in a cauldron of fire. She smiled gratefully at the Matron for calling a halt. It was none too soon. Miss Leathers offered her a glass of water and Sonia grabbed it with trembling hands. In fact, she was shaking so much that as she raised the glass to her lips most of it spilled out and cascaded down her breasts, much to the delight of the droolers at the front.

Matron took the empty glass from her and, to her horror, told her to lean forward again. Her ordeal was not over after all! Once again, her glowing, striped and pained buttocks were to be offered as a sacrifice to the wicked rattan wands that waited to slice into her young, tender flesh. She sensed the erotic atmosphere in the Hall heightening even further as she resumed her position.

Mr Prime took a practice swing before lifting the cane above his head. The fierce stroke knocked the breath out of Sonia's body. Her face became a mask of pain and every muscle in her body tightened in reaction.

Whirr!

Slap!

'Yeek!'

Her breath came in long, noisy gasps. A lot of the girls had their faces in their hands. Janine buried hers in Nicola's shoulder. Beverley wiped away tears from her eyes. The members of the opposite sex, however, seemed to be revelling in the spectacle.

Swish!

Crack!

'Ow...ow...ow...ow...!'

Sonia's bottom bounced and quivered. Without the support of the bar she would surely have slumped to the floor.

The pain from one stroke now merged into pain from the next.

The Matron leaned forward to get a better view of Sonia's backside. The young blonde woman marvelled at the sorry derriere that until so recently had been a splendid example of how a female bum should look – fleshy, creamy and nicely curved.

Mr Prime's final stroke hit a previously unmarked spot. Sonia yelped like an anguished puppy as the fire coursed through her body.

There was a brief respite whilst Mr Whipp changed places with Mr Prime. Sonia thought back to the interview in his study on her first day. Her father had had no hesitation in signing the punishment consent form. If only he could see her now! Closing her eyes and nearly at the end of her resistance to the suffering, she waited for another onslaught.

The rod whistled, cracked and bit across the already weal-striped rump. Sonia did not have the strength to cry out; she merely moaned as more pain was injected into her body.

Whoosh!

Mr Whipp's second stroke caught her across the tops of her thighs, just below the rounded buttock.

Crack!

This time Sonia did not utter a sound but her whole body quivered. Her breasts swayed from side to side.

Sagging wearily, Sonia waited for the last cut of all. She would soon be free to go!

Snap!

'Oh...oh...oh...!' The relief sounded in Sonia's long drawn-out moan. The stroke itself was not a particularly severe one but it landed exactly on one of her weals, just as if the fiery swollen line had been a pathfinder for the rod.

Sonia's face was dripping with tears and her lovely thick curls were now tousled and untidy. She waited to be freed. However her ordeal was not yet over! The punishment had mercifully ended, but there was further humiliation in store for the wretched girl. One by one, every member of the school was made to pass close by her and to gaze at the inferno of criss-crossed tramlines that was now Sonia's bottom. To a lot of the pupils this was the highlight of the whole affair. Several inconsiderate members touched her battered rump and trailed their fingers along the weals. Sonia squirmed and yelped.

Eventually the last pupil passed by and Sonia delivered her weary, agonised body to her friends. All evening the faithful three room-mates tended to her needs.

Eventually, next day, she was able to get up and make her way slowly and painfully to the refectory. With her head downcast and reluctant to speak to anyone, Sonia started on her meal.

She responded to a tap on her shoulder. Miss Leathers peered down at her, a grin on her face. She pressed something into her hand.

'Have some mayonnaise, my dear,' she said cruelly.

Sonia screamed, dropped the jar and buried her face in her hands.