INTRODUCTION

 

Those who have read 'Reform School Parts I and II, may well skip this preface. As I said at the outset of the series, this is a fantasy of the future. Instead of 'liberalism' spreading, civilisation has returned to a much harsher way of life. Back to Victorian days. Or, if you prefer, taking a leaf from the Islamic book. Under both systems corporal punishment was, or is, part and parcel of everyday life.

So, we move on a hundred years or so ...

The soft approach has lost out. Being kind and considerate to youngsters has caused more trouble than it can possibly be worth. They have not responded; they have not contributed. They have simply considered the elders in society an easy touch. Drinking, drug-taking, sexual licence, casual violence, stealing ... all became endemic amongst the young. In the end, the Establishment ... representing the major part of society ... had to take over. It had found a new kind of regime, based on respect for authority and law and order. A regime which accepted rules and discipline.

Some would call it a fascist kind of society ...

Well, maybe. But it was a society which checked the headlong rush of lemming-like creatures into the abyss of anarchy.

It was a society with faults. Over-aggressive. Over-compensating. But, at least, it was positive ... and checked a downward trend which had been in progress for a century.

Great Britain was one of the first nations to implement a new, rigorous regime for youngsters - both male and female. Germany was another. France, Spain, Russia and the Slavic countries soon followed suit. In Islam it was already there.

Under Government direction, Reform Schools were re-introduced in all these countries.

Within a few years, the crime rate amongst the younger generation had reduced remarkably. Only the 'liberals' were surprised. The majority nodded in silent approval. This new, disciplinary regime had made their lives safer and more satisfying. No longer were respectable citizens plagued by the noisy rowdysim and violence of teenagers. Those immature youngsters who got out of line soon found themselves undergoing a most unpleasant experience.

The Establishment had, at last, got a grip on things.

It had got things ordered. Set standards. Assessed values. Restored sanity to the relationships between young and old.

There are many who wish that such a revolutionary programme could be initiated today. Instead of a hundred years hence ... which is the period in which this story is set.

Now for the more immediate background ...

Lisa Cavan, an exceedingly attractive young woman of 22 years ... blonde and busty ... was originally sent to Redesdale Grange, having been sentenced for having sexual intercourse while under the age of 25. This was an offence under State Regulations (unless one was married). She received six months at a Grade II Reform School. However, after an outburst in Court, during which she insulted the Chief Magistrate, the sentence was changed. Lisa Cavan was sent for twelve months at a Grade I Reform School. Here the regime was far, far stricter than in a Grade II School.

Over the months, Lisa Cavan suffered agonies and humiliations far beyond anything she had previously remotely considered possible. Certainly, she paid the full penalty for her misdemeanours. Ultimately, she was paroled after some eight months ... but only because she submitted to the vile sexual lusts of her Parole Judge. Who (surprise!) turned out to be the same Judge who had originally sentenced her.

At this point, Lisa - now an utterly different person from the one who had entered Redesdale Grange, formed a relationship, with the Governor's niece, Miss Cleo. A lesbian relationship.

For obvious reasons, Cleo persuaded Lisa to stay on in the Prison Service, starting off as Junior Officer.

Lisa surprised herself by agreeing.

She was even more surprised to discover how much she enjoyed her work. Perhaps it was because the world had treated her so harshly that Lisa so enjoyed getting her own back.

Taking it out on others.

In any event, she made a most satisfactory Prison Official. And she and Cleo continued to have the happiest of relationships. The iron regime of Redesdale Grange grinds on. Lisa, once a victim of it, is now a cog in its disciplinary wheel ...

Chapter 1

 

Cleo Krane looked round her classroom with complacent satisfaction.

Before her, eighteen heads were bowed down. Black, brown, dark blonde, light blonde, the occasional red. Her 'pupils' were doing long division sums. Twenty of them. The concentration and the silence were intense. The penalty of failure in this arithmetic exercise was known by all.

One stroke of the cane for every wrong answer.

This classroom regime was one of the integral parts of the discipline at Redesdale Grange, one of a dozen Grade I Reform Schools throughout the United Kingdom. Six more were planned over the next three years.

The Reform School inmates, whose ages ranged from 16 to 25, were all dressed in schoolgirl uniforms. At least, in a bizarre travesty of that uniform. It was designed deliberately to degrade. A see-through blouse, a short skirt, minuscule knickers, suspender belt and stockings, high heeled shoes. These mature young women were being treated as schoolgirls again.

"Ten more minutes," announced Cleo 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 girls were very bad at arithmetic ...

A little bubble of pleasure went through Cleo. She loved her work. Being the niece of the Governor also gave her a special kind of authority. She was not simply another prison official; she was in charge of the 'educational' side of Redesdale. 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. Most fetching.

Cleo's mind drifted ... and settled on Lisa. Lovely, lovely Lisa. Who had once (poor girl) been one of her pupils but who was now her assistant. A prison official. But more than that. Far more. Lisa was her friend and lover. Oh such a wonderful lover!

What nights they had together!

Locked, palpitating, in each other's arms!

Cleo sighed. Life would not be worth living without Lisa, she told herself. Which, of course, was a ridiculous thing to say. For Cleo had enjoyed herself very much before Lisa had come along ... and was perfectly capable of doing so if ever Lisa went away. After all, if you were a sadist, and had a constant supply of young women under your absolute control, one could hardly be anything but happy!

"Five more minutes," announced Cleo.

Again came that anguished murmuring ...

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

Cleo's mind drifted back to Lisa. What was she doing, she wondered? It was a rest period for her. The whole morning off before she took a different class in the afternoon. Probably, thought Cleo, she was having some fun with the Duty Girl. They had an understanding about that. Any Duty Girl (that is to say, a prisoner assigned as a personal servant to an Official for the day) was considered to be fair game ... and there would be no objections from either if they wanted to amuse themselves with her. The girl on duty that day, Cleo recalled, was Linda. A petite, pretty thing of 17 who had served one month of a three-month stretch. Yes, Lisa would probably be well relaxed by now ...

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

Each girl 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 Cleo'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 short-skirted figures returned to their places.

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 Cleo. 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 Governor, Erica Krane, 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 Grade I Reform Schools.

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

Cleo'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 girls 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.

Cleo 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." Cleo 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 is not 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!"

There was a low horrified gasp ...

Then Cleo stood up and took down the cane. She flexed it and then ran her fingers almost lovingly along its smoothness. Though the tawse and the birch had their merits, without doubt the cane was Cleo's favourite corrective instrument.

"Alicia!" she barked. "Come out here ... "

With something like relief, a tall girl 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! Cleo didn't pay compliments.

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

"Silence, girl! Get over my desk."

Without demur or delay, Alicia knelt on the trestle stool that ran along the front of Cleo's desk, her back to the class. Then she lifted up her short skirt high and pulled down the tiny little pair of black knickers she wore. Her bottom was unmarked and the flesh exceedingly white, as it often is with redheads. Alicia bent across the desk and clasped the back edge ... and Cleo, 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 nates ... instantly raising a vivid twin-tracked weal. Seeming all the more vivid on account of its extra-white background.

"Oww ... oww ... aaaahh ... ooowwww!" gasped Alicia, 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!"

Alicia wriggled her tight knickers 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!"

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

"Again ... not a bad effort. Two errors. Over you go, girl." Deirdre was a rather ungainly girl with a big bottom and thick thighs. That bottom was exposed to the class. Not very attractive, thought Cleo; on the other hand, it was a bottom made for corrective treatment. Plenty of flesh, Cleo 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 girl was a relative newcomer to Redesdale.

The stroke came lashing down.

As with Alicia, the twin-tracked weal flamed instantly over both big buttock cheeks. But, unlike Alicia, 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 Cleo acidly.

The rule was, if you were only getting a few cuts, no Monitors were called for to hold a girl down over the desk. 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!

"Monitors ... " intoned Cleo.

Two girls specially designated for this task rose from their seats. Naturally they were the biggest and strongest in the class. There were also two deputy Monitors who were called upon to hold the Monitors down when they were being punished.

Out they came ... two strapping young women, who seemed to be almost bursting from the ridiculously brief outfits they had to wear.

"O-Ohh ... n-n ... oooo ... " moaned Deirdre as her arms were pulled to each side of her along the flat top of the desk. Each Monitor, facing the class, gripped a wrist and pressed firmly down on a shoulder. Now there was no longer any possibility of interference. No way of escape!

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

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 Cleo 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 released by the Monitors. She 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 little knickers, then Deirdre stepped down and went tearfully to her desk. Cleo signed for the Monitors also to return.

They would not be needed - or, should not be needed - during the next four punishments, which ranged from two to four strokes. All the girls, Cleo knew, were considerably more experienced than Deirdre.

One by one they were called out to the desk ... knelt and pulled up a skirt ... pulled down their 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.

Cleo 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 girl who came last, it was worst of all, in every sense.

In her long, lilac-coloured dress, Cleo 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 nine of you ..."

A quick calculation gave the answer that there were three who had made more than twelve mistakes and who would get the cruellest thrashings last of all.

"... a disgraceful performance," continued Cleo. "There is NO excuse for it. Long division is not difficult. It simply requires effort and application. Now, while each of you is getting this across her bottom ..." - Cleo 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!"