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     The gates stood gleaming in their black paint to almost the top of the imposing brick
wall as the minibus waited outside for the gates to swing open. Inside the vehicle six
fresh-faced young females sat looking forlornly out of the window. 
      “Soon have you lot inside,” said the driver cheerfully. The drive from the
Fieldings Young Offenders Institute had taken nearly two hours and the four warders that
sat in the front seats had looked grim-faced throughout the journey.
      The gates opened, the bus passed inside and the gates closed again. Two minutes
later the minibus pulled up outside the main entrance and the driver switched off the
engine.
      “Good luck with the rest of your education,” he smirked and winked at the warders.
      “Right you bitches,” said the lead warder, “it’s time to introduce you to your new
home. Everyone out and get your bags.” The doors on the minibus were opened and a couple
of minutes passed while the girls assembled on the gravelled driveway.
      The front door to the impressive mansion opened and a tall, severe-looking man in a
headmaster’s black gown looked down the staircase menacingly at his new charges.
      “Ladies, welcome to St. Anne’s Training College For Young Ladies. I am your new
headmaster, Ian Markham. Come inside and into the assembly room where I will introduce you
properly to our ways here. Mr Sniggs, if you would care to come with me to my office we
will deal with the paperwork.”
      Sniggs was evidently the head warder for he left the other three to escort the six
girls into the building while he marched on ahead. Markham’s study door was shut by the
time the girls reached the entrance to the building and they could hear muted voices from
behind it. Ten minutes later the girls were sat on wooden upright chairs facing a small
platform on which sat six chairs.
      Suddenly the double doors at the back of the room flew open and six men entered the
room, marching right up to the platform. The three warders at the back of the room stood
silently as they were joined by Sniggs.
      “Do we get to see what happens next?” Dave Marshall whispered to his boss.
      “Sure do and I think it will be fun. Markham is in no mood for messing around
today. “Here we go…”
      Markham stood on the platform scowling at the terrified girls in front of him.
      “Welcome to Saint Anne’s. You are all here because you are persistent offenders who
have failed to respond to normal regimes of rectitude and rehabilitation. You are deemed
to be a menace to society and costing the hard-working tax payer an inordinate amount of
money to keep you off the streets. Our mission at Saint Anne’s is to correct your
attitudes, complete your education and get you back out on the streets in a few months
time. I guarantee that one way or another you will all leave here as reformed
characters.”
      Markham threw a quick glance to the back of the room and noticed the smirk on the
faces of the warders.
      “Right, at Saint Anne’s we have a zero tolerance for any form of misbehaviour, any
rule breaking and any lack of effort on your part. By virtue of the kind of place we are
you, as of this moment, have absolutely no rights, including no right to question anything
you are told to do. Is that understood?”
      “What about our human rights?” The pretty bespectacled girl with blonde,
shoulder-length hair that fell over her pert breasts was called Freya Brown. 
      “Young lady, you can fuck your human rights in here – they basically no longer
exist.”
      Freya looked alarmed.
      “Sorry, sir, you mean we have no rights at all?” Her voice was squeaky.
      “Precisely Miss Brown. We will do whatever it takes to break you from your
antisocial past, so it is up to you whether your time here is an easy one or a painful
one.”
      “Painful, sir?” Freya looked ashen.
      “Yes, painful. Before you are your principal tutors and educators. They are at
liberty to punish you in any way they see fit for any breach of the rules. This
establishment condones and promotes use of the cane, paddle, flogger and whip as well as
more severe forms of punishment if they are required. Do I make myself clear?”
      All the girls nodded.
      “Good, because we are going to make a start right now. Dawn Chivers, which one of
you is Dawn Chivers?”
      Dawn turned out to be a pretty six foot girl of nineteen years, a brunette with
shoulder length hair, hazel eyes and a chest that looked to be about a 36D. She nervously
put her hand into the air.
      “Stand up girl,” said Markham.
      Dawn stood, biting her lip nervously.
      “Yesterday, despite knowing you were being sent to a special place, here, you
pushed another girl down the main staircase at Fieldings.”
      “No, sir,” she mumbled.
      “It was not a question, young lady, but a statement. You were taken to the
Governor’s office and the offence placed on your record which I now have in my office.
Unfortunately, there was no time at Fieldings for you to be punished as any privilege
removal would have been of little consequence, so Mrs Rawlings, your previous Governor has
added a note to your record requesting I assume the responsibility for your punishment.
Come up to the stage, Miss Chivers.”
      Dawn looked as if she was going to protest, thought better of it and walked forward
the few paces to the front of the stage.
      “Stand there a moment while I fetch your punishment.” Markham walked over to a
cupboard on the side wall, opened a drawer and extracted the three foot rattan cane he
intended to use; then he returned to the small stage.
      “I think a dozen strokes of this will suffice as this is your first experience of
St. Anne’s.”
      “You’re not seriously going to use that on me!” Dawn blustered, though there was a
tremble of fear in her voice.
      “I most certainly am, young lady.”
      “But caning is illegal and constitutes actual bodily harm,” she protested.
      “In here it is quite legal and it constitutes punishment. Now you will not answer
me back again or I will double the punishment.”
      Dawn looked as if she was going to say something but instead tears began to well up
in her eyes.
      “Now Miss Chivers, turn round and face the stage, then bend over and grasp your
ankles. You will remain in position until the full twelve strokes have been administered
and then you will remain in position until told to move. You will not swear or utter foul
language, though you can cry if you need to. If you stand up or attempt to protect your
backside then the stroke will not count.”
      “Sh…,” said Dawn as she realised the horror of her situation and turned slowly so
her backside faced the other girls. Dawn was wearing a knee-length blue skirt made from
wool. Barely had she grasped her ankles when she felt the back of the skirt being lifted
up over her taut, full buttocks.
      “No, you can’t do that,” she straightened up.
      “I can and you will bend over. That is one extra stroke for disobedience.”
      “Fuck you,” she blurted and then immediately apologised.
      “Apology accepted. That is one further stroke for swearing. Now bend over, girl.”
      Dawn bent over again and clenched her teeth as her skirt was once again raised up
over her bottom cheeks, exposing her pale, taut flesh. She was wearing full, white panties
that covered much of her bottom, but Markham soon pulled them back down over her cheeks
and let them drop to her ankles. Finally, he pinned the skirt up over Dawn’s waist,
bunching the front up tightly around her stomach so it could not fall over her bottom and
protect her from the caning she was about to receive. In addition, Markham knew the skirt
would not fall down at the front when she stood up again.
      “Fourteen strokes, Miss Chivers. Please be good enough to count off each stroke
after you have received it, loudly enough so everyone in the room can hear you.”
      It was those words that made Dawn realise her backside and her young, pouting pussy
lips were on full show to all the other inmates who she’d arrived with barely twenty
minutes earlier. The feeling of being helplessly exposed was hugely embarrassing though
Dawn was grateful the girls would not be able to see that she was shaved.
      Before she had time to realise that the masters on the stage would get a good view
of her after her caning, Dawn felt the length of rattan as it rubbed across her waiting
flesh.
      A moment later there was a whistling sound in the air as the cane was whipped back
and then crashed into her backside, leaving a bright red mark in the same instant that
Dawn let out a loud howl of pain. As she shrieked out, both hands raced up from her ankles
to protect her poor bottom.
      “That is one more stroke for not staying in position and if you don’t call out the
count in a few seconds I will add another stroke for disobedience.”
      “One,” Dawn cried.
      “Get your hands back down on your ankles and keep them there, young lady,” said
Markham fiercely. “God these Institutes for Young Offenders are too soft on you bitches,
by half. Well you will find St. Anne`s is different – very different!”
      Swish! Crack!