Introduction

 

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 ...

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

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 ...

ZZZZWWWEEEEEEEE!

SSSSWWWWWEEEEEEEEE!

Twice the long rod swished experimentally through the air, the hard tip flying and quivering ... and twice the big buttock cheeks clenched closer together in dread.

"No ... NO ... OOOO!" came a choking cry from the new arrival, "You c-can't ... you m-mustn't!"

Erica Krane did not even deign to notice the interruption. She was measuring Pauline's bottom with the long, swishy rod.

"Now you're going to begin to really feel it, Pauline," she said coldly. "Remember this when you are outside, girl ... remember this whenever you feel like breaking State laws again!"

Up went the rod high ...

Down it cane ...

ZZZWWWEEEE ... CCRRAACCKKKKK!

It whiplashed across Pauline's curving big bottom ... instantly raising another red-mauve weal ... the lacquered tip obviously biting most agonisingly of all into the right flank.

Uttering a howling, breathless shriek, the buxom Pauline catapulted up off the desk ... at once losing her grip ... and her hands came flying back to clamp themselves on her twisting-writhing bottom as she thrashed down to her knees in front of the desk.

"Yyyaaaiieee ... eeeggh ... AAAGHH ... AAGH ... A-A-A-AGGHH!" she cried, head thrown back, mouth wide, eyes screwed shut in torment.

Three seconds ...

Four seconds ...

Five seconds passed ... as Pauline squirmed in breathless agony on her knees.

But no more than that interval was allowed for respite. She knew it ... everyone in the room, but Janet, knew it. If she delayed but a second for two longer, she would have to present herself to get the stroke again. There was no escaping that ...

If a girl ever found herself incapable of doing such a thing ... if she failed for whatever reason ... she would be held down over the desk and the thrashing would be resumed. With a minimum of five strokes extra ... and more likely ten. Certainly no means at all of escaping any of that.

Thus it was, in just about the time permitted, Pauline struggled up, removed her hands from her tormented bottom, stretched back across the broad desk, and clasped the far edge.

Relentlessly, Erica Krane measured the big curves of flesh again.

"No ... NO ... OOO!" shrieked Janet Hale, struggling wildly with her captors, "Stop it ... ooohhh ... stop it!"

The Governor raised her head briefly. "Perhaps you would care to take Pauline's place," she said.

Janet recoiled as if struck. "Oohh ... God ... NOOOOOO!"

"Then hold your tongue!"

Janet Hale's head slumped and twisted away from the scene before her. The unimaginably frightening scene. Instantly one of the warder's gripped her by her soft brown hair and jerked her head up and round again.

"Keep looking!" came the rasping order.

The eyes that had to look were wide and liquid with terror, like those of a stricken deer.

Tap ... tap went the rod ... and then another stroke came lashing down.

Pauline's reactions were almost an exact replica of those after the first stroke. The pain that seared her could not have been more aptly portrayed than by every threshing-kicking squirm she made.

"YYYAAAGHHHH ... AAAAGGGHHH ... A-AGH ... A-AGH ... A-AGH!" she howled as her big bottom twisted and turned frantically.

And again, only just in time did Pauline manage to drag herself up and back over the desk.

The third stroke bit viciously almost before she had got a grip of the desk edge ... and instantly Pauline was back on the floor, hands clamping as, this time, she twisted right over.

"Mercy ... aaahh ... MERCEE ... EEE ... N-NO ... MORE ... NO ... MORE!" she begged, her face distorted almost unrecognisably.

The rod swished just once ... but so menacingly. Sobbing like a child, Pauline once more made the supreme effort of dragging herself up and back.

"M-Merceee ... eee ... merceee ... eeee ..." she kept on pleading, her ample nates clenching and unclenching uncontrollably with anticipatory dread. This time Erica Krane kept her waiting for the cut ... and Pauline's hindquarters kept flinching away and twisting half over as she expected it to come at any second.

"Keep your backside square girl ... or you'll get five extra!" snapped the Governor. "I'd be happy to give them to you. You know that!"

Groaning horribly with the effort, the wretched Pauline forced herself (she knew not how!) to present her bottom full on to the awaiting rod. Then down it came for the fourth time ... and down went Pauline again, writhing and shrieking in her agony.

The watching Janet's mouth was wide, the tears were streaming down her cheeks. She simply could not believe what was happening before her eyes! It was impossible that a young woman could be treated so ... yet ... yet ... there it was, all happening!

For the fifth time a blubbering, retching Pauline made the supreme effort. Back she went over the desk ... round curved the weal-striped buttocks ... and down came the deadly rod.

ZZZZWWWWEEEEE ... CCCCRRRRAAAACCCCKKK!

A banshee howl that went up and up and on and on ... another violent catapulting of the body, first up then down twisting down to the floor. Oh how urgently, yet vainly, those hands clamped!

"AAAAHHHH ... AAAAIIIIEEEE ... AAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Kick ... twist ... kick ... twist ... jerk and judder ... over then back again ... squirm ... squirm ... squirm ...

Unconcernedly Erica Krane walked back around to her side of the desk, put the rod back in the drawer, and resumed her seat. From the impassivity of her granite features, one could never have guessed what she had just done to this sobbing young woman. It appeared a matter of complete indifference to her. And perhaps it was ...

Ahh no! Deep down inside her, yet never revealed, was that throb-throb-throb of cruel pleasure. Such incidents were meat and drink to Erica Krane. But she always salved her conscience by saying that what she did - or had done - was 'all in the line of duty'. She was head of a Reform School and she was paid to see that those within it were reformed!

Slowly Pauline dragged herself up for the sixth time and slumped back over the desk. Her broad shoulders heaved, her sobs were long, deep and shuddering ... subsiding only slowly. There were, she was well aware, still five strokes to come.

The most agonising strokes of all! With another half hour still to wait ...

And in those moments of torment, it was cold comfort to know that those were the last strokes she would receive at Redesdale Grange.

"Where were we?" asked Erica Krane, shuffling some papers on her desk. "Oh damn it ... I haven't got this girl's papers, have I?"

"I could go down to Admin., Governor, and see if they are there," offered one of the warders. Both of the black-clad women were still gripping Janet Hale tight. Most likely she would have fallen to the floor if they had let her go.

"Don't bother ... I think I can manage without for the moment. This girl's case is similar to Pauline's ... so she will be treated similarly ..." The Governor took out a large black Journal from a cabinet and thumbed through it. This recorded the names of all those who came to Redesdale Grange ... and what Initiatory Punishment was meted out to them. A podgy finger ran up and down the pages. "Ahh yes ..." said Erica Krane at last, "here it is. Pauline Mace ... three days of 6/6. Very well." The governor closed the big book and looked up at the petrified Janet. "You will undergo the same treatment," she said.

Janet Hale blinked back her tears. "W-What d-do you m-mean ... what does it m-mean?" she moaned. Instantly her face was slapped and slapped until her teeth rattled.

"I told you to ... address the Governor ... with respect!" shouted one of the warders.

"Oh ... ooohhh stop ... oh s-stop ... p-pleeee ... eeeease!" cried the girl. The rain of slaps finally ceased.

"What it means will be explained to you, Janet Hale," said the Governor sourly. "Take her away ..."

"Stop ... oh ... plee ... eeease ... G-Governor ... please let me ... let me see ... s-see someone ... someone from the M-Ministry ... Governor ... p-pleee eeease ..."

Erica Krane continued to look quite unruffled; a faint sardonic smile passed over her features. "A rather pointless request," she said flatly, "The Ministry fully approves of everything that happens here."