In
the era in which she lives, society has not progressed; in fact it has become a
lot less ‘liberal’. Indeed, when it
comes to morality, discipline and punishment, a new and even harsher ‘Victorian
Age’ has set in.
Lisa
Cavan, tall, blonde and shapely, has been condemned to spend a year in a Reform
School Grade I (the most severe kind)
for having sexual intercourse under the age of 25 whilst unmarried. This is an offence under State Regulations of
the time. In addition, it was discovered
she was a member of the illegal Freedom For Youth Movement.
Finally
she insulted her judge at the trial.
For
these ‘crimes’, Lisa has suffered severely during her seven-month stay at Redesdale Grange ... enduring the harsh prison regime of
School Classes, Physical Training, Drill and Field Work, as well as being
mercilessly strapped, caned or birched for the slightest disobedience or
infringement of the Prison Rules. Her
fate is no worse nor better than that of any other prisoner. Except that, possibly, on account of her
exceptional good looks she specially attracts the venom of tough, jealous,
female prison guards.
In
addition, Lisa attracts the attention of Charles Bradstone
... the balding, greying man of around sixty years old who originally sentenced
her. He pretends his interest is of an
‘official’ nature and no more that part of his duties. However, it need hardly be said he has
ulterior motives.
The
time is coming up when Lisa will be due for possible parole. This will be decided at a series of
interviews conducted by the learned Judge himself. If parole is granted, Lisa will first
automatically become a ‘Trustie’ in the prison,
acting as an assistant to a Block Supervisor for a set period prior to release.
Meanwhile,
the regime at Redesdale Grange goes on ...
THERE
WAS A sombre heaviness about the study of Erica Krane,
Governor of Redesdale Grange. Mark you, that was nothing unusual for it was
something contrived by its occupant - who was a great lover of Victorian
life-style. This included the
furnishings and fashions of the time as well as its moral values, harsh
standards, exacting demands and regimented methods.
To
look at Erica Krane as she sat behind her huge,
leather-topped desk, one could well have imagined oneself back in the 19th
Century, rather than two hundred years on.
She wore a full-length black taffeta dress, relieved only by a cameo
brooch at her throat. Her black hair -
now fully greying - was drawn back severely over her scalp and fastened in a
small ‘bun’, through which a green comb was planted. In Erica Krane’s
hand was a quill pen which scratched over parchment-like paper. The writing was immaculate Gothic
script. So far, she had written:
Dear
Judge,
I
would like to take up with you again, the matter of parole for Lisa Cavan. Normally, I would not consider this before
eight months but, in view of your special interest ...
At
that moment, there was the sound of a low-pitched, shuddering moan from the
Governor’s right side. The pen stopped
scratching and Erica Krane glanced at her
wrist-watch.
“There’s
another ten minutes yet, Pauline,” she said.
The
figure addressed would have made a somewhat startling spectacle anywhere but in
such a place as Redesdale Grange. It was that of a young woman stretched across
the right-hand end of the large desk, her fingers gripping the edge on the
Governor’s side and her hindquarters towards the door. The woman, who was maturely buxom, wore a
bizarre, abbreviated version of a ‘schoolgirl’s uniform’ which included black
stockings held up by a black suspender belt.
A tiny pair of white knickers were in tatters about the high-heeled
shoes she wore and the short skirt had been pulled up high above her
waist. Across the ample buttocks,
nakedly presented, ran ten twin-tracked weals of a
red-mauve hue ... that hue being deeper and more mauve on the woman’s right
hand flank.
After
no more than a glance at this stretched-and-strained figure, the Governor
resumed her writing:
...
I think Lisa can begin to be interviewed for parole immediately.
I
know you would like to undertake this task over the coming weeks and am
arranging to have a room set aside for your work. May I suggest you attend here every Tuesday
and Friday, at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, whilst the Courts are on
Vacation? Please let me know if this is
convenient. A telephone call will do.
Yours sincerely,
ERICA KRANE.
As
the Governor put down her quill pen, there came a knock on the door. A pair of thin, black eyebrows were raised
fractionally; dry pale lips were pursed.
“Come
in ...”
A
female prison warder, garbed in a military-style black uniform, came in.
“Reporting
the arrival of a new prisoner,” said the warder in a crisp voice.
Erica
Krane’s nose wrinkled. “Why have I not been informed of this?” she
demanded in that flat, harsh manner of hers.”
I have had no preliminary papers ...”
“I
beg pardon, Governor ... it must be a slip-up by Admin. She came half an hour ago. Name of Janet Hale ... three-month sentence.
“Oh
well ... you’d better bring her in, I suppose ...”
“Prisoner
... step forward!”
A
pale-faced young woman, with soft, brown, shoulder-length hair stepped
hesitantly through the door, with another prisoner guard behind her. Her eyes went first to the black-clad figure
behind the desk ... and then swivelled at once to the exposed hindquarters at
the end of the desk. Those eyes widened
in shocked horror and a hand flew to a quivering mouth, only partially checking
an incredulous gasp.
“Forward
... step forward, girl ... right up to the desk!” bellowed one of the guards.
The
girl stumbled forward, eyes still fastened in seeming disbelief on the
weal-striped buttocks. She had heard the
Reform Schools were severe ... but this ... but this! Not only a barbaric punishment, but an
indecent public display of a woman!
“Name?”
queried Erica Krane.
“Er ... er ... J-Janet ... H-Hale
...”
“This
is the Governor, girl ... address her as such. And look at her!” The warder emphasised her words by thumping
the new-arrival on her back. The girl,
Janet, tore her eyes away from the terrifying sight to her left and obviously
strove to pull herself together.
“J-Janet
... H-Hale ... Governor,” she said in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
“Speak
up! Age?”
“N-Nineteen
... G-Governor ...”
“They
gave you three months?”
“Y-Yes
... Governor ...”
“I
... I was a m-member of the Freedom For Y-Youth M-Movement, Governor ...”
“Hummpphh ... well, it won’t be long before that ridiculous
organisation is stamped out entirely,” said Erica Krane. “This girl here was also a member. I don’t think you’ll find her joining
up again.”
The
s-called ‘girl’ - who was in fact a mature, very well-developed woman of 25
(the maximum age in the Reform School) - uttered another of those low moans.
“Isn’t
that so, Pauline?” rapped the Governor.
“Yes
... yes ... Governor,” answered the stretched figure instantly.
Erica
turned back to the girl before her.
“Pauline is leaving us tomorrow,” she said. “After three months. Same sentence as you, Janet. As is my custom, this afternoon I am giving
her something to take away with her.
Something to remember me by, you might say ..”
Janet
Hale was looking paler than ever; she had begun to sway slightly. Erica Krane signed
to the warders to grip her arms.
“...
Pauline is getting twenty strokes of the rod.
Five every half hour,” continued the Governor in her grating voice. “As you may note, she has had ten ... and so
there are still ten to come ...”
The
big, plumply rounded buttocks gave a convulsive
quake, which also set the ample soft flesh of the upper thighs quivering.
“One
day it will happen to you, Janet ...”
“N-No
... aaahhh ... n-no ... ooo
...”
“But
you will be glad, Janet. Glad, do
you hear? For it will mean, on the
following day, you will be leaving here.”
“No
... ooohh ... NO ... OOOO!”
“Yes!”
The
Governor glanced at her wrist-watch and stood up. She signed to the warders to take the girl
back a little, so that she should have a better view of Pauline’s curving
bottom; then she opened the drawer of her desk ... and out came a rod, to the
accompaniment of a louder gasp from Janet and another convulsive twitch from
Pauline’s buttocks
The
rod was somewhat longer that those customarily used at Redesdale,
mainly on account of the amplitude of Pauline’s bottom. Erica Krane wanted
it to feel as much of the biting length as possible, particularly the last
twelve inches which had been lacquered into a polished hardness (a Redesdale custom, originally suggested by the
Governor). This rod was, in fact, four
feet long as against the customary three feet ... the more usual rods having
the last six inches lacquered ... and was what was known as Grade II. This gave it the thickness of a man’s little
finger, whereas Grade I, the most severe rod, was of the thickness of a man’s
index finger. Despite its hard
appearance it flexed with consummate ease in Erica Krane’s
hands. A semi-circle ... then another,
then another, as she came around the desk, black taffeta dress rustling loudly.
A
groan from the prostrate figure; a whitening of the knuckles as hands gripped
tighter on the desk edge ...