Blackfriars Grange was subject to occasional inspections by the same chief magistrate who had presided over Anna Dobson’s trial. A middle-aged retired army officer known to all as the Colonel, he was permitted, encouraged even by the Governess to take an active interest in disciplining the inmates. In return, he was content to report favourably on the regime there.
Looking down the corridor, the Colonel saw a prisoner with long dark hair standing outside his office door. She was dressed in the standard 1930s style schoolgirl uniform worn by female inmates: white cotton blouse with starched collar and tie, grey socks and bottle green knickers worn under thick elasticated-leg bottle-green bloomer-style shorts. Brown plimsolls completed the outfit.
As he got closer she snapped to attention staring straight ahead, wondering no doubt whether he was the staff member in charge of her punishment. The Colonel ignored her completely and even walked past her, sensing her relief that the time had not yet come.
He then stopped, turned abruptly and stared at her intently.
A look of panic came over her pale freckled face as she smartly curtsied to him, resumed the attention and spoke:
“Angela Millard-Stokes reporting for punishment…er… Sir!”
Her voice was that of a well-educated young lady from a privileged background. She appeared to be in her mid twenties and stood around five foot seven inches tall with a round pleasant face and large green eyes. She looked a little heavy around the hips and had a noticeably large bust. Her legs, as far as he could see were sturdy rather than slim.
She was visibly shaking and felt wretchedly apprehensive as a myriad of thoughts raced through her mind. While she had a little experience of being punished by other females at her girls’ boarding school, the prospect of being dealt with by a man was far more terrifying. Since leaving the all-girl environment, she had spent most of her time working at her friend’s riding stables. Apart from one boyfriend that lasted only a few weeks, she had little experience of men.
She looked into the Colonel's eyes and could only see a hard dispassionate man who would tolerate no reluctance on her part and offer no kindness or compassion. She knew the things the female staff ordered prisoners to do and knew that the male version was likely to be even more inventive and intrusive. It was bad enough having to strip in front of a wardress… but would this man make her parade in front of him? Would he be as sadistic as some of the female staff members and look for excuses to inflict pain? If he did, how would she cope?
He continued to stare at the woman, running his eyes up and down her without any attempt to help her embarrassment. She had been sent to him for punishment for some minor infraction of the rules and he intended to teach her a lesson she would not forget easily.
He opened his door and with a curt flick of his head towards the opening he gave her the first of many orders for the evening.
“Move yourself girl!”
Looking at her uniform, with its old-fashioned school style, he thought of the fun he would have unwrapping such a parcel.
The time had come to take a good look at the prisoner and he began by telling her to take up the ‘present’ position, hands behind her head and elbows back so that her pronounced breasts thrust at her uniform shirt front. He emphasised that after every order she should resume that well braced, feet-apart position so that he could enjoy an uninterrupted view of her.
He then ordered her to remove her tie and gymslip.
Slowly and nervously the young woman unknotted her tie and placed it on an adjacent stool. She then pulled her gymslip up over her head and, carefully folding it, placed it too on the stool leaving her standing self-consciously in a pair of thick bottle-green bloomers with elasticated legs that gripped the tops of her thighs tightly. Absurdly, she still wore the schoolgirl hat on her head.
He told her to unbutton her uniform blouse and pull the tails clear of her waistband. A tantalising glimpse of her heavy old-fashioned vest could be seen as she did so and, although almost all of her ample breasts were restrictively covered, a small area of flesh could be seen. On his next order she removed her blouse and handed it to him.
He saw that the material was of a heavy cotton type, tailored slightly to fit the bust area and designed to keep a schoolgirl warm in the freezing conditions of an English boarding school in the middle of winter. Even without the other garments it would be far too thick to wear with comfort in warm weather, especially indoors. As she snapped back to attention, her discomfort at having to wear such old-fashioned style underwear became even more apparent. The ridiculous schoolgirl uniform was certainly effective in humiliating the women prisoners and making them feel inferior. It was, it seemed, yet another way of guaranteeing that they would feel embarrassed just by undressing as well as being extremely hot and itchy to wear, particularly whenever they were required to exert themselves.
He made her turn slowly around so that he could assess her from all angles. When she was facing him he told her to remove her knickers.
Reluctantly she eased the elastic waistband of her bloomers down over her thighs and legs, revealing a pair of regulation gym knickers beneath as she stepped out of them.
“Give them to me,” he instructed.
Blushing, she handed them to him and resumed the present position, standing in just her vest, socks and baggy green knickers, all of the type that might be found in a museum of dress for the first half of the last century. The red marks around her waist and thighs stood out vividly and sweat drops could be seen against her white skin.
Next he had the still blushing prisoner remove her vest. He looked her over as she again resumed the present position. A heavy white support bra was now fully displayed. When she was told to remove her brassiere, she stood frozen to the spot staring at him. He knew that women prisoners who wore the old-fashioned dress style become unusually modest about their bodies, almost as if they lived in the 1930s themselves.
Trembling with fear, Anna reached behind her back, unclasped the broad back clips and leant forward to slip the garment free of her shoulders. As her large firm breasts came into view, he found himself staring at the milky whiteness of her skin that contrasted with the pink of her nipples.
“I now have to deal with your disobedience. Don't think that you will be getting off lightly because this is your first punishment. I will give you…let’s see… ten strokes and I hope that you will learn your lesson girl. Take off your knickers and hand them to me.”
It took the woman some time to force down the garment as the elastic around the waist and both legs gripped her tightly. Eventually she handed the knickers to him and resumed the present position now wearing just her grey socks and hat.
The knickers were heavy and damp to the touch. As he opened them out he could see the white gusset that ensured that the dark material did not obscure any traces of carelessness. They would certainly be uncomfortable to wear in warm temperatures, he thought to himself.
Doubting the woman's ability to accept the punishment without some form of restraint, he ordered her to lie across the table and reach out with her hands.
Taking his time, he removed his uniform jacket and slowly rolled up his sleeves. He picked up the instrument and stood to the victim’s left, shuffling to find a point of balance. Two practice swishes were taken then, with a sharp intake of breath, he brought the cane down across the alabaster flesh of her buttock cheeks.
The impact made the woman jump slightly, but he realised that this was simply in response to the impact. He firmed up his grip of her wrists just as the pain reached her brain and she responded by almost leaping off the table. Her eyes opened unbelievably wide and then screwed themselves shut as she absorbed the agony, knowing that she had no other choice. That first stroke, a real bitch, set the tone for the others. The rest were delivered each with brutal force and total objectivity. They continued with monotonous regularity with the woman first squealing in pain then simply sobbing her heart out in the all too short intervals between strokes. Several times she lifted off the table leaving a damp sheen where her breasts had been pressed down, only to bring them slapping back down onto the hard surface… all thought of their sensitivity forced from her mind by the swishing cane.
Eventually it was over. Having cautioning her to grip the edge of the table with her hands and not to attempt to touch herself, he wandered around to her rear to inspect the results. This had been a thorough but fair punishment and only what the girl had deserved, he thought, as he ran his fingertips over the red swollen lines that crossed her white skin. Each was laid squarely across the cheeks, parallel to the floor with a separation between them all.
Soon the shaking woman was back in the present position in front of him, tears running down her face.
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