Chapter 24

Two weeks after her last appearance in the Detention Room, Anna Dobson finds herself back in there again in front of the Colonel dressed in pyjamas just as before.

“Back here again so soon, Anna? It seems our last little session together didn’t make much of an impression judging by your exam results.”

“Oh, yes it did Sir, really it did. I’ve tried my hardest, I promise.” By God, I have too, reflected Anna. More than anything she desperately wanted to avoid another painful and humiliating lesson like the last one at the hands of this awful man.

“Let’s have a look at you,” said the Colonel. “Turn around… hands on your head.”

Anna obeyed, feeling cold and vulnerable dressed as she was.

The Colonel’s gaze fixed on the young woman’s buttocks inside the childish pyjamas, plumped out ripely across her bum cheeks, stress lines in the thin blue striped fabric pulling up and out from the tops of her thighs at the back, leaving the soft lateral folds under each bum cheek to delineate the plumpness where it met her upper thighs.

Anna’s pyjama bottoms were a little faded, he noticed, the material worn more or less smooth by much washing, and on each bottom cheek, at the high point which might be called the crown, there was an area which was slightly more faded still than the remainder of the originally dark material, the lightness in tone at these two places serving to highlight them and seemingly add fullness to the rotundity of each firm cheek. These highlighted summits appeared to be the result of a slight thinning of the cloth, the thinness spreading tantalisingly across those twin high points and covering such an area as might well be the favourite aiming point of a cane or a slipper, so that it might be imagined that the supposed thinness itself was due to the frequent application of some such punishment to those very places.

To his knowledgeable eye, and notwithstanding the schoolgirl impression created by a sulky pout and platted pigtails, this was a young woman whose hips had softened in their outline and whose bottom had filled out a little beyond the capacity of the faded navy blue striped pyjamas. And it was just such a knowledgeable eye which loitered with a certain proprietary interest upon this young lady's pyjama clad bottom.

The Colonel’s blue-grey eyes turned his glance down to the exercise-book upon his desk, following the neat lines of handwriting and noting irregularities by underscoring in red.

‘English grammar.’ He says, and Anna stiffens her legs and seems at once all attention, though she dares not turn her face away from the wall. She seems to be strung-out and nervy, as if those two simple words herald some fearful happening. They do. She is hopeless at English grammar.

“Turn around.”

Anna shivered involuntarily as she saw the slim, hook-handled school cane lying on the polished surface of the Colonel’s desk, knowing just how much it would hurt through her thin cotton pyjamas.

“Sit down, Anna.”

Obediently, Anna eased her long legs under the desk.


‘Infinitives.’ says the Colonel. 'What exactly is an infinitive Anna?'

'Um - mm - I think they're verbs sir.'

'And I think you're half right Anna, which probably means you've been half listening. However, in this class work of yours - tell me, do you have anything specific against infinitives?'

'Sir?'

'Is there lurking within you such a loathing of infinitives that you feel compelled to ill-treat them?'

'Er - I -I'm not sure what you mean sir.'

The Colonel resists a smile and teases the young woman a little more.

'Let me put it another way Anna. Can you think of anything which you should not do to infinitives, ~ and I have in mind our last Detention lesson?'

Anna winced mentally. She too has in mind her last Detention.

'Sir - I - I think they shouldn't be - um - split?'

'Bravo! . . So will you kindly explain why, in this class work, you have split two perfectly inoffensive infinitives?'

'Sir?'

'For example: ‘When I've been naughty in class I sometimes have to be punished. I have to usually take my knickers down for this. And, when I've had my bottom smacked, I have to always stand in the corner’. Now then, Anna, how do you explain these lapses?'

Anna fidgeted awkwardly, quite at a loss. Horribly conscious of her bottom's vulnerability, she is well aware that it is about to suffer retribution. Even if she knew what the Colonel was talking about she doubted that it would save her. Her bottom cheeks clenched involuntarily at the prospect of further punishment, but even more dreadful was the utterly humiliating nature of the work she was expected to do. She felt her face flush with embarrassment, hearing the humiliating things she was expected to write about read out in the Colonel's mocking voice. And even worse, she didn’t know where she had gone wrong. She knew only that infinitives oughtn't to be split; what they looked like was another matter.

The Colonel watched her fidget again.

'So you have no explanation?'

'N - no sir. I - I'm sorry…'

'Very well then.' His voice carries the promise of a fate sealed. He adds insult to the threat of injury.

'Subjects and objects.' he says.

Anna cringes inwardly.

'In the sentence; 'I have not done my class work very well, and will have to take my pyjamas down for being a naughty girl: what is the subject?'

'Er - I think it's p-p-pyjamas sir'

'And what is the object?'

'Um. . . me, sir? I mean I. . ?'

'No. The object is to teach a silly little girl a lesson, and also to encourage a more diligent attitude towards class work.'

Anna realises that she has been 'taken down' another peg by the little joke. Her bottom trembles as she shifts her weight nervously again and her thighs press defensively together. She doesn't need to be told what's next on the agenda for 'taking down'.

'Do you agree, Anna?'

'I - I don't know sir.'

The Colonel gets up from his chair and clears some books from his desk.

'Come here!'

Anna knows better than to argue. She follows his gesturing hand obediently and stands with the front of her thighs just touching the chill wood of the edge of the desk-top, her eyes cast demurely down to the floor.

'Bend over.' He says it calmly, matter-of-factly.

Nervously Anna bends forward at the waist then sinks her tummy down onto the hard desk-top, her panicky eyes following him as he picks up the slim crook-handled cane. He walks round behind her as she lies unhappily over the desk.

'Legs out. Straight now. . you know the drill girl!'

Dutifully she straightens her legs, her bottom plumping up as she does so, and an experienced eye casting a glance over the young woman's obediently offered bottom would be able to confirm that this is indeed not the first time that a cane will have caressed her buttocks.

The Colonel’s hand strokes intimately across the warm cheeks and Anna's legs sag a little as she presses her soft thighs together and nips in her buttocks. He then touches the cane once across the backs of her thighs. It quivers as it hovers for a second and then it flicks waspishly across the very tops of the Anna's legs.

'Ooh!' She sags even more and her knees bump against the front of the desk.

'Legs straight now Anna! . . . I won't tell you again!'

Anna shoves her legs out straight and her bottom fattens again. The cane swinging nonchalantly from his fingers, he walks round the desk to pick up the exercise book with the red ink corrections in it. She clamps her bottom lip between her teeth and winces still from the sting. Her hand sneaks back and kneads tentatively at the top of one thigh, her indrawn breath hissing past her teeth as she screws her pretty eyes half-closed. The Colonel turns back towards her and she snatches her hand away out of sight.

The book in his hand, the man counts mistakes. The pyjama-clad young woman keeps her legs stretched straight out behind her, her bottom meekly positioned across the uncomfortable edge of the desk.

'Twelve mistakes Anna. . . Twelve, in one piece of work. What have you to say for yourself?'

Anna can't think of a thing. She tries, but there's no excuse. She's just useless at grammar, just as she's useless at almost everything academic.

'S-sir - I - did my best Sir. I tried, honestly, but. . . ' The cane swooshes' quietly as he swings it to and fro beside his leg and Anna tails off, unable to speak.

The cane stops swishing and stretches itself lightly across both bum cheeks, nuzzling up under the plump outward swell. It titillates the twitching cheeks with little condescending taps. Anna squirms and squeezes her bottom cheeks together in nervous anticipation.

The Colonel savours the moment, making her wait, as he watches the involuntary flinching of her bottom. His voice is as calm and unhurried as ever.

'Now then Anna, we have a little rhyme for occasions such as this, haven't we?'

Anna nods with quiet desperation.

It is a piece of doggerel she knows by heart. Its stupid verses having been caned into her at least once a week ever since she was first sent to the reformatory for ‘correction’. She feels the cool touch of the cane trembling against her tender bottom and wishes fervently that she'd been more attentive at school. The cane flicks stingingly up under her defencelessly elevated bottom and she gasps through moistly parted lips.

'Haven't we, Anna?'

'Oh. . .Oooh. . y-yes sir. I-I'm sorry.' Her eyelids begin to prick and she feels the very first tear squeeze out between her eyelashes. The smart in her bottom, and above all the utter humiliation of being treated like a naughty schoolgirl is too much for her to bear without crying. Struggling against the dragging weight of her misery she forces the first idiotic words out.
'B-bottoms up is the. . Oh. . th- the. . .' The sprightly cane swooshes' stingily across the plumply rounded underside of her bottom, reaching around both cheeks with its admonitory finger.

'Ooooh - ooogh!' Anna shoves out convulsively with her legs and the desk scrapes a fraction of an inch forward. Her bottom snatches its blushing cheeks together and her hips wriggle tentatively from one side to the other.

'Bottoms up is the what, Anna?'

'Aaah - the - the golden rule!'

'That's right.'

Swhack!!

'Oooooow! Oh - n-no - I. . '

'Go on Anna.'

'Oooo. . .f-f-for girls who will not... learn. .'

Swhitt!!

'Oouqh! Owwooo - !'

'Will not learn - ?'

'At school! Ooh s-sir... s-sir, please..'

'That's right Anna. And - ?'

'S-sir … And kn- knickers down - nmmgh - is what's required…'

Whaaaack!!

'Oooooow - oooh - hooo - !'

Anna squirms helplessly against the desk, her thighs drifting apart unheeded and then back together again as she tries in vain to wriggle the sting out of her smarting bottom. She weeps wretchedly, her tears splashing onto the polished desk-top. The cane is placed quite deliberately across the two quivering bum cheeks and she flinches even as it touches her burning skin.

'Go on please'

Whaaaaack!! 'Owwwwhhhhaaa!!. . S-s-sir b b. . '

'Go on please Anna!'

Anna worms her hips frantically and gasps out the next few words.

'Ooh - Oooo - of - of naughty girls who haven't tried…!'

Anna's bottom still trembles as she lies weeping across the desk. Breaking the rules she reaches back with both hands and rubs gingerly at the tender, reddened places low down on each buttock, her knees sagging lower and lower as she attempts to alleviate the burning sensation.

Anna snatches her hands away from her bottom and pushes her legs straight in a panic. She isn't allowed to rub her bottom, and the punishment might be an extra couple of strokes across her legs. She clamps her hands together under her chin and prays that she hasn't been observed.

The cane descends unannounced around the tops of her thighs, and then again as she pulls her knees up and they bang against the desk. She can't help herself. She clutches desperately at her legs with both hands and squeals wretchedly.

'Naughty little Anna - we mustn't rub our bottom, must we eh?' mocks the Colonel.

'Now then - ' The cane taps insistently on her pyjama-clad buttocks. 'Legs straight Anna!'

It takes another sharp little flick across the lower part of her thighs before Anna will do as she's told.

'Now carry on. . . !'

Anna heaves in a deep breath, trying to steady her voice.

'An - and bottoms b-bare. .

Swhiiiiickl!

'Oooow - owwwwooh - n-no, pleeeassse!'

Whackkkkk!

'Ooooogoooh! Mmnnngh!'

'And bottoms bare - ' coaxes the Colonel.

'Ooooo - b-bottoms s-s-sir. . b-bottoms bare are just the th-thing - '

Thwack!!

Anna dissolves into a fit of sobbing, her whipped bottom writhing frantically. The Colonel waits, knowing that she is near the end of her tether. Several minutes pass before she can force herself to push her bottom back up into position. She weeps dismally, the sting in her poor bottom vying with the utter humiliation of being caned at all. The dreadful, belittling words of the stupid poem by far the worst, making her seem a complete fool even in her own eyes.

The cane touching against her sore buttocks makes her shiver, even though it merely rests there for a moment. It taps impatiently, exciting the sting in her buttocks again.

'Now where were we -? Ah yes - bottoms bare are just the thing -'

Unprompted, Anna gabbles out the rest of the line. 'F-For swishy canes to smack and sting - '

Thwaaaaappp!!

'Oooooo - Owwwwoow! S-sir - Please Sir - p-please - !'

'So naughty girls?. . '

'Unngh - so n-naughty girls like. . '

Whaaaaack!!

'OOW! OOOGH!!!'

Anna rears up then thumps back heavily onto the desk as she blubbers, and then, desperate to complete the stupid lines, she blabbers on.

'So naughty g-girls - oooh - oww - like m-me must try, or get - '

Thwiick!!

'Owwwww - oohaa - plee - please!'

'Or get what, eh? . . Or get what?'

'Unn - nngh - g-get the c-cane that m-makes them - c-c..'

Swhaaaaack!!

'. . CRY!!. . . OOOOGH! OOW!! - OOO!. . CRY Sir. . .OWWWWW!!. . '

The last stroke cracks hard across her tossing buttock-cheeks. She gasps and pants and her bottom bounces in anguish. The Colonel leaves her to it, her weeping going on unabated for three or four minutes, as he calmly seats himself at his desk again.

Anna gets her sobs under control at last. Exhausted with her crying she lies slumped across the desk, her tear-streaked face hardly more than a foot or so from where her tutor thumbs idly through another exercise-book, sparing her barely a glance.

The Colonel ignores her for several minutes, and then his matter-of-fact voice mocks her patronisingly.

'So - you'll make a better job of your homework next time Anna. Won't you my dear?'

'Mmmngh - y - yes . :'

'Yes, of course you will. Now then kindly go back to your desk.'

Anna levers herself up from the chill desk. A tear still rolls down her pink cheeks as she looks wretchedly at the Colonel, seeing his eyes on her but too miserable to care. She turns away and shuffles to her desk.

The Colonel raises his eyes from the books upon his desk every now and then, less to check that Anna is still properly installed at her desk than to gloat over the extremely rewarding view of a grown-up woman who has been well punished, and with all the humiliation attendant upon such a childish chastisement. Therein, more than anything lies the satisfaction.

'Right then, it's early to bed for you today my girl!'

Obediently Anna stands up. She can think only of her poor, punished bottom, and the punishment still to come. Early to bed is a euphemism which holds no mystery for her.

'Oh, and the weekend's homework is trigonometry . . . book three, page ten. . Yes. . .??'

'Y-yes, sir.' She turns to face her tutor, her pretty face clouded by a look of hopelessness. If there's one subject she's worse at than English Grammar its trigonometry.

'. . . Right young lady. We'll see you here again on Monday. . . two o'clock sharp!?'

Anna nods despairingly, and knows that she'll be very lucky indeed if by half-past two her bottom isn’t getting another dose of that beastly cane

Chapter 24

Anna’s ‘dressing lesson’ had continued for another hour before finally Miss Jackie had tired of making her change from pyjamas to school uniform and back again, each time having to neatly fold the garments she had taken off. And each time Anna failed to complete the process within the sixty seconds time limit allowed – which was almost every time – she was made to bend over in her pyjamas and receive two more strokes of the warden’s paddle across her backside.

Anna lost count of the number of times she had dressed and undressed out of her hated schoolgirl uniform: rough cotton blouse with rigid starched collar and tie, bottle green wool stockings held up by a stiff, deep suspender belt, all securely encased in thick elasticated-leg navy bloomers worn under a dark green serge gymslip. The clumpy school shoes and a grey felt hat worn with elastic behind the ears and under the chin that completed the humiliating outfit. After a while she no longer cared how ridiculous she looked as she struggled in and out of her clothes, trembling fingers fumbling to fasten the buttons of her blouse and tie her tie. The faster she tried to dress, the more awkward and ungainly she became as she attempted to pull on her bloomer-style knickers, all the time being urged by Miss Jackie to go faster.

“I can’t go any faster,” Anna protested, begging to be allowed to stop. After a while, she had been reduced to a state of pleading, weeping exhaustion, longing for her ordeal to end. “No more, please, I can’t go any faster,” she implored again and again, but to no avail. Again and again she was made to change from uniform to pyjamas and then back again into uniform, stepping into and out of her knickers and pyjama bottoms, pulling on and taking off her blouse and pyjama jacket, each time buttoning and unbuttoning each garment with trembling hands.

To add to her misery, each time she failed to complete the process in time, she was ordered to bend over in her pyjamas and receive two or three strokes of Miss Jackie’s paddle. When at last the dressing lesson came to an end, Anna was left slumped on her knees, red-eyed and sobbing with fatigue, her bottom red raw and stinging. It was a lesson she did not want to repeat.

****

After her ordeal Anna made her way along to the classroom block, dressed in her schoolgirl uniform, for afternoon class was due shortly. Miss Cleo was the Form Mistress, a pretty, bright-eyed girl several years younger than Anna. Someone who had happily made Anna suffer, day in, day out, for months. The more attractive a prisoner was, the more Miss Cleo liked making them suffer. And Anna was very attractive.

That was something of which she had once been proud but, since coming to Redesdale, she bitterly regretted.

Miss Cleo came striding cheerfully into the classroom. As usual, she was wearing a full-length dress of powder blue satin. In her hand was a cane which flickered whippily up and down. She removed the one which hung by the easel and put the new one in its place.

‘You may sit down,’ she said. ‘Well, girls ... I see we have a new member of our class today!’

Miss Cleo was referring to Virginia Bradley-Jones, the ex-MP who had arrived at Redesdale that morning having been sentenced to six months for fraudulently claiming expenses. Her arrival had caused quite a stir among the other inmates, not least because at 39-years-old she was several years older than everyone else and her fall from grace as a former politician was more acute than anyone else.

The class settled itself in silence. The silence of resignation. And of dread. Several hours of each day were spent in the classroom of Miss Cleo. She was much to be feared ... even if the instruments she was empowered to use were lighter than those used during the evening Punishment Detail.

'Right,’ said Miss Cleo. ‘Classical History. Get your text books out.’

Many hearts sank in that room, but none more than Anna’s. It was a difficult subject for all, but perhaps Anna’s worst.

Although Miss Cleo would have been the first to admit she enjoyed punishing anyone at any time, she would also have admitted she liked punishing women like Anna most of all. The shapely ones. The sexy looking ones. The ones she felt possibly more attractive than herself.

Accordingly, it would amuse her to see to it that Anna was the first one to experience the new cane. Needless to say, that was not something too difficult to arrange!

Towards the end of the class, with six errors in her test on Classical history, Anna found herself kneeling on the trestle stool in front of Miss Cleo’s desk, bending over that desk ... pulling up her gym slip skirt high .. and pulling her knickers down to her knees.

‘Six errors, Anna,’ said Miss Cleo, flexing the new cane and running her fingers over its smooth hard end,’ what do you think that merits?’

Anna had been positioned often enough before where she was. She had even learnt to take both strap and cane with no more than clenched teeth gasps. Something which, at one time, she had never thought it possible for her to do. Now she was facing something new ... different ... more painful. Her lushly rounded buttocks gave an involuntary twitch .. for all to see.

‘Six ... I suppose, Miss,’ answered Anna.

‘You suppose correctly,’ said Miss Cleo.

The arm rose and fell. The cane whistled and hit. The bright weal leapt up across the twin curves.

‘Agghh ... owww ... aagghh!’

Anna’s cry was uninhibited and she jerked violently. The stinging, burning pain of the cane seemed twice as bad as usual.

Sssswweee ... craacckkk!

‘Owww ... oowww ... aahhh ...’

Anna’s shapely bottom squirmed frantically. Round and round, as well as juddering up and down. Miss Cleo observed it with evident relish.

‘Hurts more, eh Anna?’

‘Y-Yer .. esss ... y-yes ... Miss ...’

‘Good!’

Sswwweee ... craacckkk!

Another series of breathless yelps from Anna. More convulsive contortions of her bottom. The class looked on in shocked dismay. All were aware that Anna could take the normal cane with relatively silent stoicism. What must this new one be like!

Anna’s yelps and writhings continued unabated until she had received her ration of six. Then, with a smug smile on her lips, Miss Cleo ordered the tall blonde to pull up her knickers and return to her place in class. The new cane was replaced on its hook.

There was a strangled gasp from Anna as she resumed her seat.

Miss Cleo smiled even more smugly. ‘I think it was evident to all,’ she said, ‘that Anna found those six rather more painful than usual. Yet I gave them to her no harder than usual. All of you, if you don’t watch your step, will soon be finding the same. Now let’s get on with the next lesson. Get out your Mathematics books.’

Within minutes the class had settled down to another couple of hours of slogging mental grind.

Yet every mind was keen and alert to its task. Putting in maximum effort.

Perhaps Anna, with six brand new, throbbing weals across her bottom, was the most keen and alert of all!

Chapter 23

Another cold grey early morning with a sharp little breeze out of the east and a hint of drizzle in the air. The three women in detention are once more awakened by the yells of the wardens.

"Waaake up! Get out of bed, NOW!"

Two of the three fall groaning out of bed. Catherine has to wait for release. Once Melanie and Anna are able to get up all three are lined up at the foot of their beds. Pyjamas are unclipped and they are ready to be inspected. They stand there shivering in the early morning chill; Melanie is aware of Miss Jackie’s eyes running her over. “What’s Matron going to find in your plastic panties this morning?"

Melanie stares sullenly back at her.

"Cat got your tongue? Well let's make sure you're nice and warm for Matron. Get running!"

Melanie is made to jog up and down the dorm, waddling awkwardly from the thick padding between her legs, the binding around the legs of the plastic pants scraping at her sore skin where it has been digging into her all night. Her present discomfiture is brought to an end by the arrival of Matron.

She starts with the naked and shivering Catherine, but once again a minute examination of her pyjamas produces no evidence of morally debilitating activity.

Anna groans as her pants are pulled down and the padding falls to the floor, revealing the hessian pad, dark with sweat, running between her legs. As Matron releases the bindings and removes the belt the others can see the red and irritated patch that the scraping of the hessian has produced. Anna groans with relief as it is removed.

"I trust that this will be a reminder to you to restrain yourself in future, Dobson?"

Anna can only groan in reply.

Matron turns her attention to the remaining two. She indicates Melanie to the wardens: "Get her pants down, while I check this one."

Miss Jackie moves forward and starts to ease down Melanie's pants, her thumbs deep inside the waistband.

Anna winces as Matron yanks down her plastic pants and pulls out the pad. Inspection over, the wardens unclip the last of the mittens and bonnets and send the women scattering for the showers, with a few slaps over their aching bruises.

The showers are as icy as ever, but this morning they are provided with shower caps which do a little to mitigate the head aching impact of the deluge.

Once more it's the naked run back to the dormitory, showing off their lividly bruised bottoms to the world, not that there's anybody about to see them at that still early hour. Upstairs in the dormitory their uniforms have been laid out on their beds. The same scratchy woollen stockings and vests, the same baggy knickers and navy bloomers with the thigh-pinching elastic. Rough cotton blouses and tight collars, heavy serge gymslips and clumpy shoes.

At last they are dressed and ready for Miss Jackie Frayn's inspection.

"Arms by your sides!"

Miss Jackie adjusts Anna's tie, straightens the bodice of her gymslip, giving her breasts a little squeeze; pulls down the legs of her knickers and presses her hand against Anna's crotch. All the while Anna fights to stand still and keep her arms by her sides. Miss Jackie tears Anna off a strip for the untidiness of her uniform; she is particularly annoyed at her failure to have her hat elastic running in the prescribed fashion behind the ears and under the chin, where the extra distance makes it much tighter and uncomfortable.

“Since you don’t seem to be able to get dressed correctly, Dobson, I think we had better give you a dressing lesson. You can begin by getting back into your pyjamas and be quick about it. You have exactly one minute!”

While Miss Jackie looked at her wristwatch, Anna hesitates momentarily then hurriedly pulls her gymslip over her head, undoes her tie and begins unbuttoning her blouse, kicking off her shoes as she does so. The other women prisoners watch in silence as Anna peels the tight-fitting elasticated bloomers down her legs, followed quickly by stockings, suspender belt and knickers. Naked from the waist down, she grabs her pyjamas and pulls on the trousers, removes her vest and finally puts on her pyjama jacket.

“Thirty seconds,” Miss Jackie announces as Anna hastily fastens the buttons and ties. “And don’t forget your bonnet.”

Anna had certainly not forgotten her bonnet. Nor had she overlooked the fact that she would be expected to fold the clothes she had just taken off. Squatting down, she carefully folds each garment, placing them in a neat pile in the prescribed manner, shoes and stockings on top, underclothes, shirt, tie and gymslip underneath. Standing up, she holds them out for inspection.

Miss Jackie glances at her watch again, then studies the pyjama-clad girl standing nervously to attention in front of her.

“Right Dobson… You now have one minute to get dressed again.”

Anna knows this is going to be the hard part, with so many more items of clothing to put on. In a matter of seconds, she has stripped off her pyjamas and is pulling on the woollen vest, baggy grey knickers and rough cotton blouse she has just removed. Putting stockings on while standing proves more difficult, causing her to hop about in an ungainly fashion while pulling them up her legs. Next the suspender belt, its unfamiliar fastenings proving awkward, then on with the navy bloomers.

“Thirty seconds!”

Jackie Frayn’s time check spurs Anna to even great effort to finish dressing within the time limit, but her fingers struggle with the tiny buttons of her blouse and, to make matters worse, she has considerable difficulty knotting her tie. Gymslip and shoes follow, and finally on with her hat just as Miss Jackie announces: “Time’s up!”

Anna makes a face of sullen despair as she stands to attention once more. Her pyjamas lie in an untidy heap at her feet where she has discarded them in her anxiety of beat the clock. Yet she so nearly succeeded.

“Not good enough, Anna,” Miss Jackie says mockingly. “You’ll have to do better than that.” She bends down, picks up the pyjamas and thrusts them at Anna. “These won’t do, will they? They’re supposed to be neatly folded on your bed, not on the floor.”

Anna takes the pyjamas and carefully folds them before placing them on her bed, all too aware that she is probably going to have to put them on again.

Miss Jackie watches her, enjoying the control she had over the young woman in front of her.

“Now let’s see if we can do it properly this time.” Miss Jackie glances at her watch. “Go!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Anna quickly pulls her hat off, lifts her gymslip over her head, undoes her tie, unbuttons her blouse and removes both it and her vest together. Shoes are kicked off and down come the navy bloomers again, elastic snapping at the flesh of her thighs as she frantically pulls them off, quickly followed by stockings, suspender belt and knickers. Then it’s on with the pyjamas again, jacket buttons and trousers fastened and finally the bonnet just as Miss Jackie calls “Twenty seconds!”

This time Anna doesn’t wait to be told to fold the clothes at her feet. Stockings, underwear, blouse, tie, gymslip, hat and shoes are all folded neatly again and held out for inspection.

“Don’t forget your bonnet, Dobson.”

Anna has certainly not forgotten her bonnet. Nor has she overlooked the fact that she is expected to fold the clothes she had just taken off. Squatting down, the pyjama-clad girl carefully folds each garment, placing them in a neat pile in the prescribed manner, shoes and stockings on top, underclothes, shirt, tie and gymslip underneath. Standing up, she holds them out for inspection.

“Still not quick enough, Dobson. I think it’s time to stimulate that big bottom of yours into action. Now get into position.” Miss Jackie was determined to teach her charge a lesson she would not forget in a hurry.

Anna knew that getting into position meant bending down and presenting her backside for a spanking just as she had done on many previous occasions. Feeling suddenly cold and vulnerable, she stepped into the middle of the room. Bending over, her ample backside was thrust out invitingly as she touched her toes, stretching the pyjama material tight. Anna’s hair fell forward untidily and her buttocks trembled nervously, making ripples in the fabric that betrayed her growing apprehension as she waited.

For a moment Miss Jackie eyed Anna’s pyjama-clad backside and then, taking careful aim with the leather-covered paddle in her right hand, struck the left buttock cheek a resounding blow that dented the thin pyjama material deep into the soft, yielding flesh.

THWACK!

In the stillness of the room, the noise was like a firecracker going off, and Anna’s head shot up, her hair flying out as she gave a sharp intake of breath. Holding her position, she waited for the next, her buttocks clenching convulsively in anticipation.

THWACK!

This time, Miss Jackie struck the woman’s right buttock with as much force as she could muster, almost causing her to topple forward. Unable to see clearly through the tears in her eyes, Anna fought to stay in position as the pain seared into her bottom, determined not to cry out. Worse almost than the pain itself was the awful humiliation of having to submit to a spanking at her age like a naughty child.

Chapter 22

There's a heart-stopping pause before one of the wardens points at Anna. The slow crooked finger beckons, then indicates the horse. Very theatrical. But no sooner has Anna shuffled her leaden legs forward than she's told to stop.

"Take off your pyjamas!" The wardens are grinning again and Miss Jackie makes no move to contradict them.

Anna's hands are shaking as she struggles to unbutton her pyjama jacket and then steps out of the trousers. She goes to undo her bonnet, but no… "You can leave your bonnet on, Anna!" The wardens can’t help laughing at the sight of the chubby young woman standing naked except for a bonnet on her head. "We wouldn't want you to catch cold."

Then they advance on her, marching her over to the horse once more. She's dragged across it, and, like the others, she's strapped down by wrists and ankles but she also gets a broad strap around her middle, this time making sure she can't ride up from her ankle straps and thrash about in an unseemly fashion.

At last she's firmly secured again. The wardens retreat to enjoy the show and Miss Jackie begins to take up the measure of her target. Anna's stomach churns at the faint whistling sounds of the measuring strokes; she flinches at the light touch of the cane as it taps on her. By the time the first stroke lands she's already keyed up to fever pitch. Anna thrashes about, as much as she can, her determination to withhold from the wardens the satisfaction of seeing her struggle lost in an angry wave of memory and resentment. Not that it makes any difference to Miss Jackie. The restrained gyrations of the bare bottom in front of her do little more than induce a degree of divergence in the angry welts she's raising on the flesh.

Her rancour sees Anna through the first four strokes and an incoherent yelling boosts her through the next two, but Miss Jackie is not having any more of it. She pauses while Anna's jerky struggles and noise subside. "Have you finished making an exhibition of yourself, Anna? I would have expected a little more self control from a schoolgirl, even one sufficiently lacking in it to have ended up in detention in the first place."

Anna is drenched in sweat and rigid in her restraints. Her breath is coming in a shallow rapid panting and she would gladly have leapt off the horse and punched the nearest warden on the nose, if she was able.

Miss Jackie is still waiting. "Well, Anna, have you regained some semblance of composure?"

The need to acknowledge her surroundings grounds Anna with a bump and she manages a sullen "Yes, Miss," knowing it will be the permission for her caning to resume.

"Very well." Miss Jackie takes up her stance again, once more measuring her distance, although this time the two or three measuring taps are hard enough to make Anna wince.

One… Anna jerks at the fiery diagonal stroke. Two… she's twitching at the matched burning across the other buttock. Three… she's groaning at the cross hatched bruising. Four… she's giving choking, tearless sobs as the bone deep ache and burn spreads to the other side.

A little rational part of her has watched and counted; she's had fourteen: Melanie had twenty. Catherine had ten. Surely that's her quota done.

She hears Miss Jackie move around from the rear striking zone and out of the corner of her slightly misted over eyes she sees her come just into her restricted view looking back down her left side. Anna groans and slumps in her restraints. At last it's finished.

No it isn't.

Anna gasps at the hiss of the descending cane and squeals like a stuck pig as it carves a line half way down across the back of her left thigh. The strokes aren't nearly as hard as the earlier ones, but they still have a stinging bite, and with less padding over the muscle, raise bruises every bit as livid as those on her backside. Miss Jackie finishes the four on Anna's left thigh and calmly moves around the other side to lay on four matching bruises on the other side.

Anna is wriggling and whimpering and her eyes are tight shut. They open wide when Miss Jackie Duncan another shallow diagonal across her buttocks and re-ignites the fire smouldering there. That, and the final counter diagonal which sets Anna squealing afresh are Miss Jackie's little extras to reward Anna for her earlier exhibition.

"Thank you. You may let her down." Jackie Frayn tosses the cane aside, nods to the wardens and makes to leave. "I'll inform Matron that these girls are ready for bed."

Anna lies panting on the horse, overwhelmed by the agonising pain enveloping her rear, momentarily too exhausted by her fight for control to notice that the wardens aren't exactly rushing over to release her. Her attention is attracted by one of the wardens tweaking her nipple. They are gathering around her.

"You've disappointed us, Anna."

"You didn't cry for us."

They are curling her hair between their fingers, flicking at her breasts. Anna has a sick sinking feeling that the wardens haven't finished with her yet. She feels a cool hand sliding over the burning ridges carved into her buttocks.

"So we'd better see if we can finish the job."

Anna gives a choked cry as the hand on her rear gives her a stinging slap. The other wardens quickly surround Anna and undo the straps restraining her, holding her upright as she is hauled off the horse. Matron and the maids return as the weeping Anna is dumped across the end of her bed.

"Right, time these girls were in bed."

The warden hustle around Melanie, securing her pyjamas and tossing her into bed. She whimpers as the rough flannelette material scrapes her sore skin, but she's glad to be in the security of her bed.

Catherine stands sullenly as the maids pull her up from over the end of the bed and then lie her on her back on the bed. She winces at the feel of the rough woollen blankets on her backside, but makes no sound as a thick pad is placed between her legs and held in place with a pair of tightly fitting briefs.

Next comes a pair of thick plastic pants, stiff until they warm up. Catherine loathes these. She knows only too well the sweating and itching they cause and just hopes it will not be a warm night. They are drawn up until they encase her from her waist to the top of her thighs and her private parts are secure from all reach. Her pyjamas are secured in position and finally her hands are wrapped up in thick padded mittens, clipped and secured like everything else.

Catherine climbs stiffly into bed. Despite the ache in her buttocks she feels she has got off more lightly than on her last visit to the detention dorm. The presence of Anna seems to have drawn the wardens' attention away from her, at least for the moment.

While Anna's still bent over the bed, the thick padding is pushed between her legs and the tight cotton briefs pulled up her legs to hold it. Only then is she pulled to the bed and pushed on to it on her back. Anna groans as her backside impacts on the lumpy old mattress. She cries out as the binding on the leg of her plastic pants scrapes the bruises on her thighs as the trainer pants are drawn up. Soon she, like Catherine, is encased waist to thigh in thick plastic and she is dressed in her heavy flannel pyjamas. Thick padded mittens, firmly secured, reduce her hands to blunt formless appendages.

Chapter 21

The wardens disappear off to notify the Governess that the women prisoners are ready to receive their long awaited punishment. They return with the Governess’s niece, Jackie Frayn, carrying a solid looking contraption between them. The flogging horse. Often talked about, rarely seen, no woman who has ridden this steed is likely to forget the experience.

Even at this stage Anna can't really believe this is happening to her. Surely she's suffered enough already. But no, the wardens are advancing on Catherine Rowe who is unceremoniously lifted up between them and carried over to the horse, pyjama trousers trailing from her ankles. She struggles feebly as her wrists are fastened by the leather straps attached to the front legs and her ankles similarly secured. The short lecture delivered before preparing to set to with the cane is lost on Catherine: she's already started sobbing and can hear only her own tears, perhaps hoping that her abject contrition may yet give her a last minute deliverance.

Catherine feels the cane tapping on her bottom as Miss Jackie measures her swing: then comes the faint whistle of the descending blow. The sound of the contact is drowned by Catherine's screech and renewed sobbing. Each stroke follows the same pattern: the pause to let the wave of pain from the last stroke peak; the initial light touch setting the target for the next; the taps as the swing is measured; then the hiss and scalding pain, aching and burning together.

Miss Jackie takes not the slightest notice of the howling and wriggling of the wretched Catherine. She has a job to do, to give out the customary twelve and deliver the maximum pain in the process. Cold efficiency is the order of the day, punish and deter. Naturally it's expected that the recipient of the caning will be deterred from future misbehaviour, but Jackie Frayn intends that each of the women prisoners will be a visible example, carrying the marks back to their classmates as a public warning. So now she concentrates on raising a dozen glaring welts, twelve parallel proclamations of punishment in deep bruising purple for her classmates to stare at in changing rooms and dormitories for days to come.

To Catherine it seems an eternity on the horse, though it's no more than three minutes. Her backside is a screaming mass of pain, the twelve welts neatly spread from top to bottom. She longs to touch it: try and soothe it, apply cool water, but no, she's bent face down over her bed, hand clasped on the back of her neck while the attention switches to Anna.

"The rest of you, get up and turn around!"

Melanie and Anna raise themselves from the bent over postures they have held since their tastes of the hairbrush. One of the wardens hauls Anna over the horse by her ear and by some insistent tugging persuades her to get astride it. Her wrists and ankles are quickly secured and she's ready to receive her quota. Strapped down to the horse, all Anna can hear is tapping of heels on the stone floor: but Miss Jackie squats down so she's eye to eye.

"All ready are you now, Dobson? And when you've received what you most certainly deserve, then there'll be a little something extra from me to look forward to." She moves back to get a good view, but stays where Anna can still see her, relaxed, waiting for the show to commence.

And then Miss Jackie sets to work in the same fashion, targeting and marking: just another backside to be inscribed with the maximum of pain. Anna holds out for three before she begins to cry, but not loudly enough to drown out Miss Jackie's mocking comments: "But that's only three, Anna. I thought you were so grown up, but here you are blubbing like a baby.."

The tears continue to flow freely through the next nine strokes while Anna acquires her same twelve fiery welts. Being taller than Catherine, with the restraints unadjusted, she can raise herself slightly off the horse, like a jockey standing in the stirrups, but all that achieves is to expose a little more of the tender flesh below the curve of the buttock. Miss Jackie is not slow to take advantage, raising a purple welt right in the buttock crease across the tops of Anna's legs. If Anna could thrash wildly, she would: each movement of her swollen buttocks sends another stab of pain through this latest bruise. She is reaching a crescendo of pain, boosted by a final cut of the cane in almost the same place, which has her screaming all the louder.

When the sobbing Anna is released to join Catherine bent face down over a bed rail, Jackie Frayn points the cane at Melanie Perkins: they've been down this road together before and Melanie can expect no leniency this time around. "Come here you, and get yourself over the horse."

Melanie grits her teeth and shuffles forward for her turn, kicking one foot free of her pyjama trousers so she can mount the horse.

Face down on the worn leather she can smell the rank odour of the sweat and fear of the terrified embrace of every girl who's been strapped down there - but Melanie has her extensive experience of being caned to draw upon. Even as the wardens are tightening the buckles around her wrists and ankles she's disconnecting, forcing herself to lie relaxed and limp, concentrating on the sound of her own breath. She tries to resist every temptation to take any notice of what is being done to her: the straps don't chafe, she can't feel the cane sizing up its target; she doesn't see the wardens grinning at her.

Her concentration sees her through the first four strokes with little more than a grunt under the impact of each landing. Even when she's wearing her twelve livid stripes she's uttered little more than a hiss between clenched teeth. In the next few seconds she fights to keep her mind clear of any anticipation of the feel of the first diagonal cut she knows is coming.

Despite her best efforts she jumps and jerks against her restraints as the ugly red line erupts across her existing aching bruises. The second cross cut draws a low groan out of her and she's breaking out in a cold sweat with the effort of staying in control. As Miss Jackie prepares to finish marking Melanie with a full strike on each buttock Melanie prepares to let go, with yelling and crying; she knows she's not going to get away with less than the twenty, but she also knows it would be most unwise to give them any idea that she's holding on to any shred of resistance.

Time now, though, for respectful contrition, as Miss Jackie inspects the swollen mass of bruises criss-crossing Melanie's bottom. Melanie has a suspicion that Miss Jackie's fingers linger a little longer and a little lower than is strictly necessary but she remains a model of tearful compliance until she is at last unstrapped and released to bend back over her bed rail.

Chapter 20

Upstairs on the top floor of Blackfriars Grange, three young women report to the Matron’s office as instructed. Each is attired in the bizarre, humiliating schoolgirl uniform to which she had now become accustomed. And understandably, each of them looks pale and nervous.

One of them, 29-year-old Melanie Perkins, knocks and enters, followed by Catherine Green, aged 24, and Anna Dobson. Inside the room the Matron is waiting, accompanied by a hard-faced nurse in her mid-thirties with straw-coloured hair, piled up high and held by a blue ribbon.

“What are you doing up here? Who sent you?” Matron demands sharply.

“Miss Jackie told us to report for Detention,” replies Melanie.

“Right, you had better go with Nurse and get yourselves ready then,” says Matron. “Off you go.”

The three women follow the nurse in her starched white overall along a corridor and into a small side dormitory where they are instructed to undress and hand in their clothes under the watchful eye of another much younger ‘nurse’. Their clothes are taken away and they are sent naked into the showers. The dormitory is in an old part of the building where the ancient plumbing delivers a torrent of freezing water. One by one the women are showered. Anna watches the other two shiver in the downpour, waiting to be pushed into the icy deluge, while they stand shivering and dripping, longing to dry off. When all are showered they are given small hand towels of coarse grey cotton. Just about adequate for the job, but not exactly a joy to use.

Then it's time to get changed for bed. Thick cotton pyjamas in broad blue and white stripes. The trousers have long tie tapes that thread through the jackets, and the nurse clips the ends with little plastic seals. Once the pyjamas are on they stay on until the seals are snipped through. There are cotton bonnets to match the pyjamas, the chin ties again secured with seals, but they aren’t sealed up yet – they’ll be coming off again later. In silence, the women pull on their pyjamas and tie up their bonnets under the watchful eye of the nurse. Even the coarse cotton feels better than remaining shivering and naked. Then on with their ill-fitting slippers and they’re ready, dressed for bed at 3.30 in the afternoon…

"Right, girls, it's time for tea. March out!"

The marching is more of a shuffling stumble, their slippers slipping and threatening to fall off, but they manage only a few paces with swinging arms before the loose-fitting pyjama trousers begin to slip free of their fastenings. The nurse finds this hugely amusing as she watches the women grabbing at their pyjama bottoms, trying to maintain a shred of dignity. Catherine manages to trip over her fallen trousers and go flying before they even get out of the dormitory. This amuses the nurse even more and so they continue on their way, shuffling and stumbling up the corridor until they are permitted to hold up their trousers to descend the stairs towards the kitchen.

Hoots of laughter greet them as the women prisoners arrive and shuffle towards their table in the middle of the kitchen, grasping the loose waistbands of their pyjama trousers to keep them from falling down. The maids have a good laugh at the three women standing in their pyjamas and bonnets, waiting miserably for permission to be seated.

When they are seated, they chew their way through the unappetising fare. One of the wardens comes over with another large jug of milk and makes them finish their first glass so that she can refill them. The cheap margarine tastes sour but they have to force it down: no waste is permitted. When the women have finished their meagre meal, there's no time to lose. They are escorted back to the dormitory. The women prisoners stand up and shuffle over to the top table, still holding up their trousers, chivvied along by another warden who fixes them with a cold look.

All the women feel a rising apprehension, although with Anna, whatever is rising is practically running down her legs. Only Melanie, with her previous experience, knows exactly what is coming next and why Matron and her nurses are there. The knowledge does not comfort her.

Matron's tone is brisk and sharp. "Bend over the end of your beds and hold on."
As they bend forward and brace themselves, one of the nurses comes round and pulls their pyjama trousers down to their ankles, pulling them free from one leg. Their pyjama jackets are pulled up and clear.

Anna cries out in shock as a lubricated, rubber gloved finger is inserted in her rectum and moved around, thoroughly greasing her rear passage. The nurse moves on down the row with a fresh slippery finger for each woman. Melanie has been there before, and Catherine is too scared to move, but struggles as the nurse attempts to prepare her. Those struggles are to no avail: the other nurse holds her down while fresh lubricant is smeared on and the finger rammed home and turned around. Then, for good measure and to teach her the value of co-operation a second finger is pushed slowly and painfully in.

With the three targets prepared Matron can now get to work with her equipment. A large enema nozzle is pushed into Anna's waiting passage and she feels the internal stretching as the retention cuff is inflated. The nurse holds her wrists as the warm water begins the flow and distend her. Anna begins to groan and struggle as the flows goes on and on and the bloated, cramping feeling in her grows.

At last the container is empty but there is no relief: the tube is clamped off and she is instructed to remain where she is, bent over the end of the bed with the tubes dangling from her backside. Matron and the nurse move on to Melanie who submits in silence to being tubed and filled and lies there gripping the bed tightly and clenching her buttocks as Matron moves on to Catherine who cries and wriggles but is easily connected up and given her enema.

Only when all three have been filled up are they allowed to rise from their bent over positions, but the pressure of the water in their distended innards increases as they stand upright and soon they are groaning and wriggling with the cramping in their bowels.

"Right, girls, you may sit on your chamber pots."

Laid out on the floor in front of them are three white china chamber pots. The pyjama-clad women squat down awkwardly.

"Place your hands on your heads and remain there until I say you can stand."

There they are, all in a row in their pink striped pyjamas and bonnets, squatting bare bottomed on their chamber pots, hands on heads as they strain in their desire to empty their bladders.

One of the nurses is approaching with a large china basin. "Which one first, Matron?"

"Do we have any volunteers?" Matron asks dryly. "Who would like to be first to have their mouth soaped? No-one? Well I think we'll start with little Miss Uncooperative here." She points at Catherine.

The nurse kneels down in front of Catherine squatting on her potty and takes a bar of clear, slick glycerine soap from the warm water in the basin, with which she thoroughly soaps up a small flannel. "Open wide, Missy, I'm going to give you a good cleaning out."

Catherine recoils from the soapy cloth in front of her face, but the other nurse is behind her, holding her head.

"You can struggle if you want to, but you're still going to have your mouth washed out and it'll just be that much longer before you can rinse it away."

Realising defeat is inevitable Catherine opens her mouth to the sickening taste of the soap. The nurse is grinning as she scrubs around Catherine's mouth, holding her jaw. "That's better, but I'll have to give you an extra good soaping now, just to teach you the value of co-operation." And she keeps on scrubbing the cloth round until Catherine is drooling foam from her open mouth.

"Keep your mouth open.." The nurse turns back to the basin to fish out a bar of soap, which she inserts into Catherine's mouth. "Now close your mouth: I want to see your lips wrapped around it."

With Catherine thoroughly soaped the nurse turns her attention to Anna, who is groaning from the cramping of her enema. "Your turn now, little girl." The nurse is no more than four or five years older than Anna and finds the routine amusing.

"Have you been a bad girl then, sent to bed early with the naughty girls?” The nurse is diligently spreading the soapy foam around Anna's mouth. "I would have thought you were much too big to be sitting on a potty having your mouth washed out, but here you are."

Anna's bar of soap is held at the ready. "Here's a nice bar of soap for you to suck on, little baby." And there is a second detention girl with a bar of soap sticking out of her mouth.

That leaves only Melanie, already snivelling. No sympathy for her wretchedness though. The nurse tucks Melanie's head under her arm and applies the soap cloth deep into her mouth so the snivelling turns into a spluttering cough. The bar of soap threatens to fly out of her mouth once it has been pushed in, so the nurse presses her jaw closed, making her bite into it.

Matron calls out to the waiting wardens that she will be finished shortly so that they may prepare to administer the punishment that the women prisoners have been dreading....

The wardens find the sight of the women prisoners on their chamber pots, pyjama trousers round their ankles, each with a bar of soap sticking out of her mouth, hugely amusing, as indeed it is. The three women prisoners find the sight of the wardens, each carrying a cane, very alarming, as indeed they should.

Now the nurses come around again: one at the front holding the basin for the girls to drop their soap bars into and spit out the foam, one to deflate their enema tubes and pop them out of their bottoms. Melanie is left until last, of course. Any last shred of dignity left to the women prisoners vanishes as they noisily expel the contents of their bladders into the chamber pots. There is much straining, gasping and splashing from the women prisoners and hoots of laughter from the watching wardens.

Now it's back over the ends of their beds for the women prisoners. Three clean bottoms, each with a little cotton wool pad taped on to soak up any last leakage, each with the target area encircled by the impression of the chamber pot rim still visible.

Two wardens pin Melanie's arms to the bed to hold her still while a third prepares to warm her up with the hairbrush. It's actually a clothes brush, a good, solid wooden backed brush. Plenty of weight, imparting a vicious sting from its highly lacquered surface. One stroke is enough to set Melanie wriggling and yelling, which amuses the wardens greatly.

"Don't be such a cry-baby. This is just a little warm-up."

Each slap of the brush leaves a brilliant red oval-tipped mark on Melanie’s pale buttocks, until the marks blend together into a fiery red all over and Melanie is howling and crying.

On they move to Catherine. Same approach, two to hold, one to spank. It's just as methodical as before, as a warm up is exactly what it is, getting the flesh hot, inflamed and, most importantly, sensitised. After this thorough brushing even a light slap feels painful - and the women prisoners are in line for much more than a light slap or two.

While the hairbrush is ringing out its message over the rising sound of Catherine whimpering, two of the other wardens are chatting to Anna: that is to say they're holding her pressed down on to her bed and are whispering to her of the delights to come... "Hear that, Anna, it's your turn in a minute...can you feel it already, that hairbrush, imagine how we're going to warm your botty for you?"

They're sniggering over her. "Hear how much they're getting, Anna? Well you're going to get more than that: you won't believe how much we can make that brush sting you."

So to Anna, who is pinned down in the same way, but also has her other two tormentors leaning on the bed, eye to eye with her, waiting to enjoy her reactions.

Anna would like to be tough, but it's not long time before she's been on the receiving end of the treatment and she soon begins those involuntary wriggles that show the wardens that they're getting to her.

"You're going awfully red, Anna. Are you going to have a little cry soon?"

"No, surely not, you're not a little cry baby like Melanie, are you?"

There is much sniggering as Anna becomes more and more agitated. Her sight is going all blurry and she can feel the tears welling up, ready to trickle down.

"Give me the brush." One of the wardens stands up from her close observation of Anna. "I'll have a go now."

Anna's ample bottom is already bright red and the wardens don't want to risk overdoing it - that might get the next bit curtailed - so now the brush is employed for its bristles, stiff and prickly, tap, tap, tap over the hot and inflamed flesh, irritating it, making it hypersensitive. Then quickly with a scrubbing motion, up and down, around and around. Anna screeches at this: it feels like the flesh is being sandpapered off. She yells and she struggles and the wardens delight in sitting on her to hold her down while she's treated to another round of spanking with the flat of the brush.

Anna is gulping in breath and making sounds suspiciously like sobbing, but the burst of struggling seems to have diverted her away from crying, for the moment anyway. The wardens reluctantly desist; there's the serious business to get down to...

Chapter 19

A few days following her horrible ordeal at the hands of the Colonel, Anna found herself once again sitting squeezed behind one of the small desks in the same classroom. Somehow the cramped size of them just added to her sense of discomfort and humiliation as she forced her long thighs under the low desktop.

On this occasion however, the lesson was being taken by Jackie Frayn, the 18-year-old niece of the Governess. Anna’s heart was pounding. Mainly with hate. For a few brief moments she let her mind dwell on what she would like to do to the girl... then switched away. Such thoughts were too dangerous. Her hatred for this teenage bitch - who held temporary power over her - knew no bounds. But as always, there was nothing she could do about it. Or, rather, nothing she dare do about it!

Jackie Frayn looked round her classroom with complacent satisfaction. Before her, eight heads were bowed down. Black, brown, dark blonde, light blonde, even red. Her 'pupils', whose ages ranged from 20 to 35, were all dressed in schoolgirl uniforms - at least, a bizarre travesty of school uniform designed deliberately to degrade. And that afternoon they were doing long division sums. Twenty of them. The concentration and the silence was intense. The penalty of failure in this arithmetic exercise was known by all.

One stroke of the cane for every wrong answer and a period of detention for some.

This classroom regime was one of the integral parts of the discipline at Blackfriars Grange, one of half a dozen Senior Reform Schools throughout the United Kingdom. Others were planned over the next three years. The Reform School inmates, mature young women each of whom had been sentenced to a term of strict re-education for their crimes, were being treated as schoolgirls again.

"Five more minutes," announced the young warden complacently. She turned a page of the novel she was reading ... hearing a gasp or two of anguish form various members of her class. Some were very bad at arithmetic ...

A little thrill of pleasure went through Jackie. She loved her work. Being the niece of the Governess also gave her a special kind of authority. She was not simply another prison official; she was in charge of the 'educational' side of Blackfriars. Like her aunt, she adopted a Victorian style in dress, although her long gowns were rather more frilly and fanciful, as befitted a young woman. Her gown that day was of pale lilac with a white ruffed lace collar. Very fetching.

"Two more minutes," announced Jackie.

Again came that anguished murmuring ...

Yes, it was tough at Redesdale, thought Jackie. But then, it was supposed to be tough. The state decreed it so. Amelia Frane, her aunt, like all the other officials in the place, were only doing their duty. Carrying out policy laid down.

"Time's up. Bring up your exercise books."

Each woman stood up and extricated herself from the small desk at which she had to sit. Those with long legs had an uncomfortable time of it. In a tense silence they filed up and, in turn, placed their work on Jackie's desk. She looked at each pale, frightened face ... seeing the tension and the dread in uneasy eyes ... sensing which ones had made the biggest hash of the exercise. Well, she would soon know for sure.

The women returned to their places where they waited, still and silent, hands clasped on top of the head - the obligatory posture whilst an exercise was being marked. Many an eye flickered with anguish to the cane which hung on display behind Jackie Frayn. It had a hooked handle, was three feet long, slim and whippy, and highly polished, especially at the last twelve inches. This was because this 'business end', as it was sometimes referred to, had been lacquered to increase its hardness. And, thus, its efficiency. This lacquering had been the idea of the Governess, and had swiftly gained Ministry approval. It was with some pride and pleasure that the Governor had recently learnt that these lacquered canes were now used in all Senior Reform Schools.

Certainly, each woman in the classroom knew just how painful a full-blooded cut from such a cane was.

Jackie's blue pencil was busily at work. She worked from a crib, slashing through each incorrect answer and noting how many problems had not been solved. Then she sorted the pile of books into some order. Though she sometimes dealt with the women at random, it was more usually her policy to summon out first those who had done best. Thus, those who remained at their desk had to watch the preliminary punishments, all the time knowing that her punishment was bound to be worse! That indeed was a most salutary experience.

Jackie looked up and then slowly round the class. By then you could almost cut the tension with a knife.

"Some good efforts from a few," she announced, "but bad efforts from the majority. Some VERY bad efforts." Jackie could see many of them trembling. Lips being bitten. Tears already beginning to form in terrified, despairing eyes. Well, they were there to suffer ... and suffer they would!

"It seems to me," she continued, "That this class is particularly inept at this form of arithmetic. Very well. I intend to change that. We shall have more long division in future. Also, if there isn’t a rapid improvement, I shall increase the penalties. Two strokes instead of one for every error might make some of you wake your ideas up! And anyone making more than three errors will have a spell in Detention"

There was a low horrified gasp ... Detention was feared even more than the cane.

Then Jackie stood up and took down the cane. She flexed it and then ran her fingers almost lovingly along its smoothness. It was her favourite corrective instrument.

"Alice Williams!" she barked. "Come out here ... "

With something like relief, a tall young woman with red hair stood up. She had a willowy figure and rather small breasts.

"Not a bad effort. Just the one sum uncompleted."

It was no mean feat to have got nineteen of the sums correct! Jackie didn't pay compliments.

"I ... I'm sorry, Miss ... I didn't quite have ..."

"Silence, girl! Get over my desk."

Without demur or delay, Alice knelt on the trestle stool that ran along the front of Jackie's desk, her back to the class. Then she pulled down the absurd bloomer-style shorts and regulation knickers worn by all inmates. Her bottom was unmarked and the flesh exceedingly white, as it often is with redheads. Alice bent across the desk and clasped the back edge ... and Jackie, almost casually it seemed, measured the naked bottom before her.

Then the cane went up fast and high ... and came whistling down even faster.

It lashed across the waiting buttock cheeks ... instantly raising a vivid twin-tracked weal. Seeming all the more vivid on account of its extra-white background.

"Oww ... oww ... aaaahh ... ooowwww!" gasped Alice, red head jerking up and back, bottom squirming uncontrollably as it absorbed the excruciating pain. She managed, however, to maintain her grip on the desk edge.

Oh how thankful she was to be getting only one!

"Back to your place!"

Alice wriggled her knickers and shorts up, stood down and walked back to her desk. For her it was over. Just one burning weal to be endured. But when one had had a dozen or more ... sometimes many more ... to endure, that was really nothing.

"Deirdre Smith!"

A mousy-haired, rather plain woman came out to the front.

"Again ... not a bad effort. Two errors. Over you go, girl." Deirdre was a rather ungainly individual with a big bottom and thick thighs. That bottom was exposed to the class. Not very attractive, thought Jackie; on the other hand, it was a bottom made for corrective treatment. Plenty of flesh, Jackie liked that. The soft, rather loose whiteness quivered as she touched it lightly with the tip of the rod. She could see Deirdre's knuckles clenching white. The woman was a relative newcomer to Blackfriars.

The stroke came lashing down.

As with Alice, the twin-tracked weal flamed instantly over both big buttock cheeks. But, unlike Alice, Deirdre lost her grip. As she uttered an agonised yelp, her arms were flung back and her hands clasped urgently to her jerking-juddering bottom.

"OOOWW ... OOOWW ... AAAAAGGGHHHH!" she cried, head thrown back.

"I've told you about that before," said Jackie acidly.

She was supposed to keep her grip and not interfere with the punishment as Deirdre had done - even if she were a newcomer and unused to withstanding pain. The penalty was that the girl got the stroke again.

Deirdre's hands unclamped form the weal encircling her bottom and gripped the edge of the desk again. Too late!

"Here it comes again, Deirdre," said Jackie.

Deirdre's bottom seemed to quiver all over in anticipatory dread.

Up went the cane ... down it came ...

"OOOWW ... AAAGGHH ... OWW ... OOOWW"

A second long weal over the madly juddering flesh and Deirdre jerked under the grip of the Monitors. But there was nothing she could do, except take whatever Jackie had to hand out. Luckily for her, on this occasion, it was but one more stroke.

She got it ...

Sssswwweeee ... ccrraacckkkk!

"AAAAGGHHH ... OOOWWWW ... AAAGGHHHHH!"

A third encircling weal striped the big bottom vividly. A bright red which purpled towards the end of the weal where the lacquered part of the cane bit more effectively.

Deirdre was sobbing, even though she had received only three cuts ... a potent sign of her lack of experience.

"Back to your place ..."

A struggle with the knickers and her baggy shorts, then Deirdre stepped down and went tearfully to her desk.

The next three punishments ranged from two to four strokes. All the girls, Jackie knew, were considerably more experienced than Deirdre.

One by one they were called out to the desk ... knelt and pulled down their shorts and knickers ... gripped the edge ... and got their stripes. But each girl was far tougher than Deirdre and all maintained their grip to the accompaniment of breathless gasps and whinnying yelps.

Jackie was warming up nicely, rather like a golfer hitting practise shots before the real thing. She was just in the mood to hand out this kind of mass caning ... which was becoming a pretty regular event in her class. They were coming at something like once a week now and, needless to say, were much dreaded. The long drawn-out aspect of them was a terrible thing to have to endure. To witness the torment of others while one waited one's turn. For the women who were left, it was worst of all, in every sense.

In her long, lilac-coloured dress, Jackie faced the class. She was a pretty young woman - but in a rather hard way. Especially hard were her dark brown eyes. And especially now, as they glinted round the classroom.

Oh how terrified of her they were!

And rightly so!

"That has disposed of those who made some effort to use their brains," she announced. "Now we come to a wider band of defaulters. Those who made between five and a dozen mistakes, or failed to finish problems. There are three of you ... a disgraceful performance," continued Jackie. "There is NO excuse for it. Long division is not difficult. It simply requires effort and application. Each of you will spend the rest of the week in Detention. As for the rest of you," Jackie tapped the cane in the palm of her hand, "I want you to remember my warning. If there is not a distinct improvement in the near future, any girl is likely to find herself getting TWICE the number of strokes!"

She consulted the books on her list.

"Melanie Perkins!"

An attractive young blonde girl rose from the back row and came forward, moving with a natural, seductive grace. Just 29, Melanie had served five months of a nine month sentence for having illegal sexual intercourse with three young men on different occasions (three months for each man she had taken!).

"Six errors, Melanie," said Jackie, smiling at her.

The pretty blonde bit a fulsome, pink lower lip. She knew only too well what fate awaited her, having been in Detention before.

“Next, Catherine Green…”

Catherine had so far managed to avoid Detention but she was nevertheless aware of what others had had to endure there. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she slowly made her way to the front of the classroom.

Anna waited for her name to be called out. She knew, almost certainly, that she had not got many right. Her brain, never too good when it came to arithmetic, had seemed like putty that afternoon.

“… and Anna Dobson!”

Nervously, Anna extricated herself from the small desk at which she had been sitting at and joined the other two women at the front, each of them pale and fearful ...

“Right, you three. Report to Matron upstairs for Detention.” Jackie dismissed them with a wave of the hand towards the door. “Be quick about it... and no talking.”

Dejectedly, the three women made their way up the long staircase to the top floor in silence, broken only by Melanie muttering under her breath: “It’s so fucking unfair. Just for getting a couple of sums wrong”.

Anna sighed miserably in agreement. There seemed no end to their wretchedness in this awful place.