A Glimpse into 1994
Story from Janus 40 by R.T. Mason, published in 1984…
1984 did not turn out quite as George Orwell predicted,
although few perhaps would dispute that there has proved to be a certain timely
symbolic truth to his allegorical fantasy. But things can change very rapidly.
Perhaps 1994 could be the year? The year when the State and Big Brother take
over, especially against undisciplined excesses of youth. Discipline is
naturally the keynote: a strict non-nonsense regime reinforced with a liberal
use of corporal punishment. Females will undoubtedly be treated as strictly as
males. If not infinitely more so…
‘Oh no!’ burst out Christine. ’Look at
the time!’
The digital watch on her wrist said quite unequivocally
20:57. And equally unequivocally the Curfew for schoolgirls in term time in
1994 was 21:00 hours. She struggled desperately to her feet and went to grab
her bike, propped against a nearby tree. Christine’s companion, her boyfriend
Roger, began frantically bundling up the blanket they had been lying on. His
face bore a dazed look. One moment he and Christine had been quietly lying
there smooching, and then suddenly… this awful frightening realisation.
They were on the Common outside their home town of
Southdown. The Common was a very pleasant place to be on a peaceful, still-warm
June evening such as this. It had in fact been rather too pleasant
and seduced by the tranquil evening and each other’s company they had quite
forgotten the time. And the Curfew.
The Curfew did not apply to Roger because although he was
the same age as Christine he was no longer at school. In 1994 boys could leave
at 17 but because of the unemployment situation girls were kept at school for
two more years, until they were 19. Both Roger and Christine were now 19; and
Christine was in her last term at school. But while she was still at school all
the School Regulations had to be strictly observed.
One of the most strictly observed Regulations was the
21:00 term time Curfew when all girls must be indoors, at home. The only
possible exception to this would be if you were attending a State rally or
lecture or something similar: you certainly couldn’t be out on the Common with
a boyfriend, or even cycling back home.
‘Oh God!’ wailed
Christine, straightening herself up and buttoning her blazer. ‘Someone’s sure to
see me.’
And indeed that did seem very likely. For one thing she
was in the full school uniform of State School for Girls Number 2417
(Southdown) . White blouse and navy-blue knee-length pleated skirt, and
red-and-blue striped tie with the red blazer with blue piping and its crest ‘Southdown
School for Girls’. And of course dark nylons and black court shoes. All as in
the School Regulations.
Because also in those School Regulations was the
requirement that every girl must wear full school uniform at all times and not
just during school hours. One reason for this was that then a girl could be
immediately spotted anywhere if her behaviour was in any way incorrect. Such as
for instance being out after Curfew.
The situation was pretty hopeless, for both of their homes
were over a couple of miles away on the other side of Southdown. And you could
be sure there would be plenty of good honest citizens about with their eyes
wide open. Older male citizens, naturally. Indeed they were known to come out
especially at about this time simply in the hope of finding a young and pretty
female who had somehow missed the Curfew deadline.
‘Well, we can only hope for the best.’ said Roger. But his
voice did not sound very confident.
They started pushing their bikes across the rough grass
towards the road. And almost immediately, as they rounded some bushes, there
was the very type they had hoped to avoid. A good honest middle-aged citizen.
His name was Arthur Mannings and he came here most evenings, walking his dog,
on the off chance that he might come across what he now saw: a girl in school
uniform. Because it was clearly a good citizen’s duty to see that breakers of
Regulations were apprehended.
The good citizen immediately waved for them to stop. Roger
felt a momentary impulse to try and make a run for it. But he knew that would
only make it worse. They stopped. The man with the dog hurried towards them.
He was panting a bit when he caught up to them. Panting
with the extra effort to get to what his keen eyes now confirmed was a nice
tasty catch. Mr Arthur Mannings’ eyes were small and rather piggy-like in a round
middle-aged face now pinkly perspiring. The eyes were of course focused on
Christine as she stood nervously holding her bike.
‘Lovely evening,’ he observed, a bit breathless. But his
thoughts were clearly not on the evening but on this quite tall but decidedly
well-built specimen of girlhood. His eyes greedily took in the pretty
shoulder-length blonde hair and the clean attractive features. Even more they
took in the rest of her: the indication of firm breasts under the blazer; the
nyloned calves; the shapely rounded hips under the pleated skirt.
The good citizen’s gaze broke off to check his watch. It
was now exactly 21:01. ‘But late for a schoolgirl to be out, though. Southdown
School for Girls, eh?’
He added, ‘By the way, my name’s Arthur Mannings; I’m with
the Ministry of Social Affairs,’ while his hand reached out and tapped the
crest on Christine’s blazer. And then the hand gave a quite deliberate squeeze
to the breast below. Christine flushed and backed away. The hand let go.
‘Can I see your ID, Miss?’ He bent down to let his dog off
the lead.
Fumblingly Christine felt in first one and then another
pocket. She experienced a wave of panic for to be caught without her ID Card
would really be the end. Finally, with relief, she found it and meekly handed
it over.
Mr Mannings studied it, reading out the details. ‘Christine
Susan Allison; 21 Westbourne Avenue, South down. Aged 19 years. Pupil,
Southdown School for Girls (State School No. 2417). State identification No.
043,892,124/F.’
He looked at the photograph, comparing it with its owner,
then slipped the ID Card in his pocket.
‘Don’t worry your pretty head’ he said to Christine’s look
of alarm. ‘You’ll get it back. But we are past the deadline
for pretty girls to be back home in bed. Aren’t we?’
Christine flushed red. ‘We…we just forgot the time. Pl…please
don’t report me. I’ve n…never broken the Curfew before.’
The good citizen had the expression of a cat with a big
bowl of cream. He didn’t in fact intend to report her, as indeed Christine and
Roger might have guessed. Well, why let some Official of the Education Ministry
have all the fun. The fun of bending this mouth-watering girl over a caning
horse and slipping her tight knickers down. And then getting to work on her
undoubtedly splendid 19-year-old rump with a nice supple three-foot cane.
Yes, why let some official have that pleasure when he,
Arthur Mannings, might just be able to do a bit of that himself.
He gave them both an owlish look. ‘It is of course a very
serious matter as you both know. A girl could very easily get herself in
trouble, that’s why we have the Curfew. What’ve you two been doing anyway? If
you’ve been having intercourse then you’ll both be in very serious
trouble.’
That was true. In 1994 it was strictly forbidden for a
girl to have sex while she was still at school and girls caught transgressing
this rule were sent off immediately to a Reform Centre. Which was not a place
any girl would enjoy going to.
‘No!’ gasped Christine, flushing afresh. ‘We… there was
nothing like that.’
Good citizen Arthur reached forward and took hold of the
hem of Christine’s skirt. And simply lifted it up in front of her waist. His
eyes gazed greedily at what was revealed: Christine’s thighs in the dark
nylons, the full pale flesh above crossed by taut narrow white suspender
straps; and, above, her brief tight white knickers.
She stood crying, with Roger also having gone bright red
in the face, but both knew they could do nothing.
‘Well, you have got knickers on,’ Mr
Mannings acknowledged primly. ‘Though of course you could have
had them off and just put them on again.’
‘No!’ blurted Christine.
‘Turn round’ ordered our good citizen.
Christine hesitated, then did so, still holding onto her
bike. Mr Mannings now lifted her skirt up at the back, to her waist. Christine’s
bottom was displayed, a splendidly full but firm specimen, the twin rounded
cheeks tightly encased in the scanty skin-tight briefs. Roger’s face bore a
sick look as the hand reached out and intimately fondled his girlfriend’s
bottom; then gave it a sharp slap.
‘Mmm … Well we’ll have to see. You should be reported of
course: but maybe we can find some other solution. Both of you can come back to
my place and we’ll discuss it.’
He asked for Roger’s ID and after a quick glance put it in
his pocket. Then told them to leave their bikes there and they could collect
them in the morning. He could take them back in his car, first to his house and
later he would drive them to their own home.
Christine and Roger glanced at each other but they both
knew they had no option. What the man planned… well, it obviously wasn’t going
to be pleasant but they were well and truly caught.
He called his dog over. They left the bikes in the bushes
and walked to where his car was parked. They got in, Christine in front next to
Mr Mannings, and he drove off. His hand was almost immediately down on
Christine’s thigh.
Looking straight ahead, she felt her skirt being pushed
back. The slightly pudgy hand took a firm grip on the nyloned thigh beneath.
----//----
It didn’t take long to reach his house, in a neat
tree-lined street at the opposite end of the town to where Christine and Roger
lived. In the hall Mrs Mannings appeared, a pleasant-looking lady of about her
husband’s age. He explained that he had a couple of young visitors; a little
problem of the Curfew. Mrs Mannings asked if they would like some tea: yes,
that would be a splendid idea, said her husband.
She went off to the kitchen taking the dog. She could see
Arthur was quite excited and no wonder. Muriel Mannings knew that when he went
walking the dog he always hoped to catch a girl breaking the
Curfew, but of course it was a reasonably rare event. He would be in a really
good mood tonight after this. She felt a little sorry for that pretty girl,
knowing what she would get from dear Arthur; but then it was her
own fault. Young people, including young girls, had to be kept on a firm rein.
Otherwise you’d have them running wild with drugs and vandalism like in the old
days.
In the lounge Mr Mannings took Christine’s blazer: the
promise of full firm breasts, he saw, was amply born out. He mentally licked
his lips.
‘Yes,’ he observed judiciously, ‘the Education Ministry
Inspectors take a very serious view of Curfew breaking, as you know. You could
easily be sent off for a session at a Reform Centre.’
‘No… please!’ whimpered Christine.
‘But clearly you have to have some punishment:
for your own good. And I would be failing in my duty as a citizen if I let you
go scot-free.’
Arthur Mannings’ eyes gazed steadily at the shapely girl
and the equally unhappy boyfriend at her side. Then pursing his lips he said
it.
‘I could of course, instead, give you a caning here and
now.’
It was what they had both half expected. He badly wanted
to cane Christine himself, that fact had been lurking just below the surface
ever since he’d caught them. And what choice did Christine have — unless she
preferred going to a dreaded Reform Centre?
Looking down at the floor, she stuttered, ‘Yes… I’ll t…take
a c…caning.’
Arthur Mannings this time actually did lick his lips. ‘You’re
very sensible, my dear. Don’t you think so, Roger?’
As Roger remained dumb Mr Mannings moved in close to
Christine and cupped her breasts in both hands. She gave a sharp grasp but kept
still. The breasts in Arthur Mannings’ hands were firm and ripe. Squeezing
them, he looked smugly at Roger.
‘A very nice-looking girl, eh Roger? But she’s got to take
a little punishment and I want you to be here to see it. That way I think it
will be a bit more of an ordeal for both of you. Because you must
bear some of the blame for this.’
He let go of Christine’s breasts as the door opened and
his wife entered carrying a tray with the tea. She smiled sweetly at all three,
then put down the tray and silently left.
They sat down and drank their tea — at Mr Mannings’
insistence, though neither Christine nor Roger wanted any. Then Christine was
simply told to stand, lift her skirt and take down her knickers. Mr Mannings
went briskly to a corner cupboard… and came back holding a wicked-looking
30-inch rattan cane.
He placed a stool in the centre of the room. Christine was
to kneel on it and bend down so that her head and hands were down on the
carpet.
The pretty girl looked at Mr Mannings, then at the stool.
The humiliating position he was telling her to get into would be almost worse
than the actual caning. She could picture herself over that stool — with Roger
having to watch.
‘Please …’ she pleaded. ‘C…can Roger go. Please!’
Mr Mannings’ piggy eyes glistened. ‘Certainly not, my
dear. I’ve told you that is part of the punishment: for both of you. He has to
watch. Now come on: up on the stool.’
With beads of perspiration tingling her skin Christine
forced herself to comply. Knelt on the 18-inch-high stool and then bent forward
and down. Her hands down on the carpet, then lowering herself further until her
face was down there as well. Her bottom by far the highest part of
her body…
Arthur Mannings, with a look of gloating anticipation,
took the hem of Christine’s skirt and flipped it up, over her back.
Atrociously, her knickers were then lowered from her bottom, and there, thrust
up and out by her posture, were the twin swelling hemispheres splendidly bare:
a beckoning target of ripe resilient flesh.
He primly slipped the lowered knickers down a little
further, to the taut tops of her nylons. Then his hand came back to openly
fondle those swelling rondures, glancing as he did so at the red-faced
boyfriend who was trying to look anywhere but at Christine’s bared bottom.
His voice sharp: ‘I want you to watch remember,
Roger!’
As Roger reluctantly brought his eyes back in the required
direction Mr Mannings took up the cane again; and testingly applied it across
the upthrust rear. Two or three teasing transverse taps causing the firm flesh
to wobble slightly. Christine, already cringing with humiliation, now felt a
shiver of fear. For Arthur Mannings everything seemed ready to go. A quick
glance at the youth, and the cane was raised in earnest. Smoothly accelerating
up in a high arc… and then, gathering momentum, down.
Whi…iipp… CRACK! A
sound like a pistol shot. Almost simultaneously a strangled gasp from the
victim and another, in involuntary unison, from the watching boyfriend. At the
same time the raised buttocks went into a desperate jerking dance with their
pale form suddenly displaying the stark twin lines of the cane’s impact.
Good citizen Arthur Mannings evidently knew how to use the
cane and he knew the value of a suitable pause to let the sting of its impact
be fully appreciated. He was well enough aware that the crescendo of pain from
a soundly applied cane stroke climaxed a few seconds after delivery.
And then the cane came zipping up through its arc again… and again descending…
Whi…iipp… CRACK!.. The
pistol shot, the gasps, the desperate jerking of the stricken bum as before.
And now two pairs of those bright red tramlines.
Arthur Mannings, eyes gleaming, was in his element. A
heady sense of sexual excitement filling him as he continued, repeatedly
whipping the cane down. A sense of sexual excitement which from the very
beginning had the front of his trousers tightly distended. He kept on, the cane
rising and falling, intoxicated by its solid meaty smack into the girl’s
defenceless bottom; intoxicated by the increased desperation of her gasping
cries, her tortured writhings.
He didn’t want to stop but eventually he had to. Even in
1994 there were limits. And the limit this evening came when after ten strokes
and Christine’s bottom a welter of criss-crossing red lines, she simply
collapsed forward onto the floor crying her eyes out.
Arthur Mannings reluctantly realised she had had enough
and, panting, put down the cane. In any case he needed to break off himself. He
briefly watched as the stunned red-faced boyfriend sprang up from his seat to
go and comfort the girl as she lay sprawled on the carpet; and then Arthur
Mannings went quickly out, to the bathroom. His excitement had reached such a
pitch that this was his necessary destination.
In the lounge Christine still lay sobbing. For Roger,
having to watch her get it from Mr Mannings in that savage manner had been an
almost mind-blowing experience: distressing and yet at the same time with an
awful fascination. That cane repeatedly jolting with its sickening thwack! into
Christine’s bare bottom…
He realised guiltily that he would have felt compelled to
watch whether Mr Mannings had made him or not. Because for Roger, as for Arthur
Mannings, the proceedings had also had a fierce sexual excitement. And from
about the third stroke of the cane Roger had shamefully found himself in the
same state of response as the man who had been wielding the cane. He knew that
he would never ever be able to forget hearing and witnessing those explosive
percussive thrashing impacts.
----//----
Christine Allison’s evening encounter with Mr Mannings was
not particularly unusual in 1994 — though getting the cane in front of her boyfriend was a
special refinement thought up by Arthur Mannings. Christine, and most other
girls, were usually careful to avoid breaking the Curfew but there were also
numerous other rules and regulations which could lead to your getting a
thrashing. Rules of deportment and dress and what you could and could not do:
in fact rules about pretty much every aspect of life, in school and out. Rules
which if you were caught infringing usually led to a sound caning or strapping.
Apart from in school, where it would be one of the
masters, the caning was supposed to be done by an Education Ministry Official
in the local Education Office where they had various small rooms set aside for
the purpose, with caning horses, caning benches, etc. But many middle-aged
middle-class men who would almost by definition be themselves State Officials
of some sort, would feel free, like Arthur Mannings, to beat girls themselves.
Like Arthur Mannings, they tended to keep a keen eye open
for any chance infringement of a regulation, however petty; and then, also like
Mr Mannings, they could usually persuade her to submit to a little unofficial
caning. Because if you went to the Ministry Office there was not only an
on-the-spot caning, there was also a good chance of being sent to a Reform Centre.
Where, for three weeks or whatever it was, you could be caned or strapped, or
beaten with a crop morning and night if deemed necessary; and the caning wasn’t
all, there was plenty more to make sure you didn’t want to return for a second
visit.
All of this in England in 1994 was designed to keep the
youth of the nation firmly in their place, and girls in particular very firmly
in their place. That was partly State policy and partly just the way it
operated: State Officials were 99 per cent men and the average middle-aged man
undoubtedly found more pleasure in dealing with a pretty girl than with a
youth.
So 19-year-old Christine Allison inevitably knew all about
the cane: she got it regularly at school, at least once a week, and there were
those other occasions when she got beaten as well. Like two weeks earlier when
another good honest middle-aged citizen — not unlike Arthur Mannings — had
accused her of being rowdy on the bus. It was not true but that did not help.
Did she want to be reported?
And so she had gone with him to his house where she had
had to take her knickers down and bend over his dining table to receive six
stinging strokes of the cane on her bare bottom. Don’t bother to complain, that
was simply what happened in 1994. As it had with Mr Mannings. Mr Mannings was
only special in that he had chosen a particularly humiliating posture for the
caning and, more than that, had insisted on doing it in front of Roger.
For Roger Wilkins, though, things were rather different.
He knew girls got caned and therefore Christine got caned, but it was not
something he had ever discussed with her. It was not a pleasant thought,
Christine for instance having to bare her bottom for her school Principal, and
so he preferred not to think about it. But now having been forced to watch he
could not avoid thinking about it. That scene in Mr Mannings’
lounge was not something he would easily forget: disturbing and upsetting but
at the same time mesmeric.
After the caning when Mr Mannings had dropped Roger off at
his house his feeling of sexual arousal continued and got worse, becoming more
centred on a sharp desire for Christine. He and Christine did have sex from
time to time although sex before marriage was strictly prohibited by the State,
with the girl especially being severely dealt with if it was discovered; and it
was an urge for this — an urge simply
to fuck Christine — that Roger felt welling up in him now.
He knew it wasn’t on: for one thing they only dared do it
out in the country where they wouldn’t be discovered and Christine anyway was
now home with her parents. But the desire grew stronger as guiltily Roger found
himself imagining what it would be like to be that awful Mr Mannings, lashing
that cane down onto Christine’s defenceless bare bottom. He couldn’t get to
sleep and finally there was only one thing for it… picturing in his mind the
cane being wielded first by Mr Mannings, then by himself, then by Mr Mannings
again, but crucially, by himself…
Needless to say he felt awful afterwards. And his guilt
was still present next morning.
The next day was a Saturday, with no work or school, and
Christine and Roger met after breakfast to walk up to the Common and collect
their bikes. It was another lovely day but neither had any thought for that as
they set off in embarrassed and tongue-tied silence. Both inevitably had their
minds full of the evening before: Christine remembering the dreadful
humiliation and Roger with the guilty memory of using Christine’s caning for
his own selfish pleasure.
Finally for want of something better to say Roger stated
the obvious. ‘It…it must have hurt.’
Christine bit her lip; then after a pause managed an
almost inaudible, ‘You get used to it.’
Her words produced again that guilty surge of excitement
for Roger.
Those canings that Christine got, that every girl got in
1994, and which he had never wanted to know about before. Now although it would
still be like a knife in him, he did want to know. It was too
fascinating a subject to let drop.
With his heart pounding he asked, ‘How…how often do you…
get it?’
Christine didn’t want to talk about it but Roger
persisted. He just had to know now. Flushing, as they walked
she told him first bits and pieces, then more and more: the details.
About school where all the senior masters could cane you:
six masters plus the Principal. And how in the final year, to ensure that you
were properly disciplined by the time you left school, the caning was twice as
bad. So whether you had done anything or not you had a weekly appointment with
the Principal and very often after a little chat the cane would come out.
And of course the other times. Like Mr Mannings last
night. Like that man on the bus…
By the time he had got all this out of her they were on
the Common and had reached that fateful spot where they had been caught. Their
bikes were still there in the bushes. And it was there that Christine told
Roger the final bit. That Mr Mannings hadn’t finished with her. After he had
dropped Roger off last night he had told her she had to go round to his house
again this afternoon.
She glanced up at Roger, then down again. ‘I haven’t any
choice of course. Otherwise…’
It was another vicious twist of the knife — but one which
sent Roger’s heart pounding like a train. This on top of all she had just told
him… it was just too much.
He pulled Christine to him, putting his arms round her. He
felt sick that she was presumably going to get another dose like last night,
but he also felt himself quite weak with desire. Almost collapsing with the
intensity of his feelings. He pulled Christine into the bushes behind their
bikes, then down on the ground on their blanket.
Christine at once realised what Roger wanted and said No.
When they had done it before it had been further out in the country, a remote
spot, whereas there was usually someone walking on the Common. And besides she
didn’t feel like it at all, especially with that other visit to Mr Mannings to
look forward to. She felt far too wound-up to do that now.
But Roger was adamant and finally he managed to overcome
Christine’s reluctance. Christine could see he was tremendously excited, more
than she’d ever known him, and some of his excitement communicated itself to
her. In spite of her fear that someone would suddenly burst through the bushes
and catch them, she found herself responding.
Afterwards Roger’s behaviour was a bit strange: after
never wanting to know about caning he suddenly wanted to be told all the
details. She could sense that it excited him… in a way just like all those
older men who so clearly enjoyed doing it.
She pulled him down on the blanket again and then simply
said it. ‘That turned you on last night, didn’t it: watching me get that
caning?’
A hot-faced Roger vigorously denied it, but Christine didn’t
believe him. ‘Anyway you won’t be there to watch this afternoon. At least I won’t
have that humiliation.’
----//----
That was evident, Roger wouldn’t be able to watch, but
what was going to happen again in Mr Mannings’ lounge that afternoon was like a
powerful magnet holding him in its grip. After the episode in the bushes they
had cycled back into town where Christine had to meet her mother for shopping.
But Roger left to his own devices, could think of nothing else. His mind,
regardless of the realities and with a will of its own, immediately started
telling him that maybe he could see. He could sneak into the
house or maybe get in the garden and look in the window.
It was crazy, he knew. In 1994 you could be sent away for
five years or more for illegal house entry. As for getting in the garden, well,
that was crazy too. Although he had noticed that Mr Mannings’
lounge faced onto a rather overgrown plot full of trees and shrubs. Where you
could possibly hide. But then Mrs Mannings would probably be out there and
anyway how would you get in unobserved?
Yes, it was crazy, but after lunch, almost as if he had no
control over himself, Roger found he was walking in the direction of Mr
Mannings’ house. Christine was due there at 15:00.
He reached the street still hardly believing he was doing
this, it was like being in a dream. He recognised the house, then walked on. It
was 14:45. Several houses further on there was a cutting leading through to the
back on Mr Mannings’ side of the street. He went down it, and there at the foot
of the gardens was a lane running along parallel to the street.
With his heart thumping Roger walked back along the lane
in the direction of Mr Mannings’ house. There were gates opening onto the lane.
It meant that perhaps there was a chance. He came to the gate
with Mr Mannings’ number: 27. It was not locked. He looked cautiously in but
there was no one to be seen in the garden.
The gate was not in view of the house and he slipped
inside. If he was discovered he would just have to say he thought he had left
something yesterday — his pen? — and had come back to check. Though that would
hardly explain his lurking in the garden. It was very overgrown, Mr Mannings
was evidently not a gardener (perhaps all his energies were taken up with girls’
bottoms?) and Roger was able to get close to the house while keeping out of
sight.
Crouching behind a large bush (it looked like a lilac) he
had a good view inside. It was all as before, that vividly remembered setting
from last night. The stool which Christine had been made to kneel on now moved
back to its place by the wall. The room was empty. Roger looked at his watch.
15:02. He had a sudden thought that perhaps Mr Mannings might use another room
this time: a bedroom perhaps. But then the door opened.
It was Christine, in her school uniform of course,
followed by Mr Mannings. And then another man. A reasonably ordinary-looking
middle-aged man, not unlike Mr Mannings. Mr Mannings had evidently brought a
friend… to join in the fun.
Mr Mannings closed the door, then said something to
Christine. Standing in the centre of the room she meekly took off her blazer.
Mr Mannings moved round behind her and his hands came round under her arms,
cupping her breasts. He was obviously discussing Christine’s breasts with his
friend because he then removed his hands and the other man took hold of them.
They were laughing to each other, with Christine just standing there looking a
bit sick. And then the man let go of her and both men sat on the sofa and it
was evident that Christine had been told to take some more of her clothes off.
Standing in front of them her hands went to the waist of
her school skirt. It was unfastened and she stepped out of it. There were just
her white knickers underneath and after a moment’s hesitation Christine took
them down and off. She was bare below the waist apart from nylons and suspender
belt. Then Mr Mannings pointed to his friend and Christine came forward and got
herself down across the man’s lap. Roger, watching, felt faint and dizzy with
excitement.
Holding the girl firmly with his left arm the man simply
started spanking that ripe bare bottom. His hand rising and falling in a
regular rhythm, the firm flesh quivering at each impact and Christine’s rump
rapidly becoming a bright hot pink. This went on for some time. Then something
was said and she got up and, a bit trembly, moved over to get across Mr
Mannings’ lap. The spanking was resumed. For Roger the excitement was now so
intense it almost made him feel ill.
After a while the spanking by Mr Mannings came to an end
and Christine, red-faced and red-bottomed, was stood on her feet. Would they
now? Yes they would. Mr Mannings, as yesterday, went to that corner cupboard
and came back with his cane. It was to be the same position: the stool in the
centre of the room and Christine kneeling on it, head and hands down on the
carpet. Perhaps Mr Mannings always used this position when caning girls.
He and his friend admired the presented buttocks, patting
and fondling them, apparently commenting on their shape and dimensions. Then Mr
Mannings got into his caning position. And the cane was rising and falling…
rising and falling… Roger, in his hiding place, his blood pounding, was part of
what was happening. He felt himself carried away, riding the intense excitement
of what he was doing.
The cane was handed over to the second man. Christine,
gasping, taking deep breaths in an effort to cope with the pain, wondered
desperately how many more she was going to get. She thought fleetingly of
Roger. That young man, now feeling a bit sick with himself. was at that moment
creeping back out of Mr Mannings’ garden.
He met Christine again 40 minutes later, as if by chance
but in fact knowing the route she would take back home and waiting for her.
They walked in silence to Christine’s house: as earlier that day neither knew
quite what to say. Finally when they were almost there Roger asked her about
her visit.
‘What d’you think!’ blurted Christine. ‘He caned
the daylights out of me, that’s what. And not just him: he brought a friend
along to have a go as well!’
Roger made sounds of shock and commiseration, though
obviously he knew what had happened. His blood began to stir again at the
memory.
When they got to Christine’s house her parents were in so
Roger suggested they go up to her room. She gave him a questioning look: a look
which he understood well enough. It would not exactly be private because The
Eye would be watching.
The Eye was installed in the bedroom of every girl from
the age of 16 just until she got married. It was a video camera which
automatically switched on when the room was entered, relaying its picture back
to the local Education Ministry Office. It was all part of the surveillance
system: helping to ensure that a girl had no secrets from the State.
Thus a girl always had to undress for bed standing in
front of The Eye, down to the nude, before putting on her pyjamas or
nightdress. At the same time it ensured that she was in bed by the correct time
(21:30 for 16-year-olds ranging up to 22:30 for those over 19). Needless to say
there was no possibility of any misbehaving, any covert indulgence in sex, with
the unblinking Eye recording everything.
There was the tell-tale click as
Christine and Roger entered, then the low hum as The Eye began its work. They
went to sit at Christine’s desk; sitting there and talking at least did not
transgress any rules. But they spoke in lowered tones because no one really
knew whether The Eye picked up sound or not.
‘At least he seems to be finished with me’ whispered
Christine. ‘But God, they really laid it on.’
Roger felt that guilty excitement mounting again. ‘Let me
see where they beat you.’
Christine went slightly pink. ‘You’ve got to be joking!’
Revealing her bottom to her boyfriend would undoubtedly come under the heading
of improper behaviour.
Roger looked up at The Eye, then back at Christine. He
really wanted to see those red stripes. ‘Let… let’s go in the bathroom’ he
whispered. ‘You can show me in there.’ There was no Eye in the bathroom.
Christine said No, but in the face of Roger’s persistence
reluctantly agreed. They got up and walked circumspectly out past The Eye. They
went in the bathroom, locking the door after them.
‘Look, I’d rather not.’ protested Christine.
But Roger was not going to be put off now. He made her
bend over the edge of the bath and excitedly grabbed her skirt up, then yanked
down her knickers. There were the criss-crossing red stripes all right still
clearly showing and covering the whole of Christine’s ripe rear. They certainly
looked hot and sore. His blood pounding again, Roger greedily pulled her
knickers on down and off over her shoes.
‘Hey!’ she gasped. But it was obvious what he
wanted and he was in a desperate state. This whole business of Christine’s
tawsing had become overwhelmingly exciting to Roger. He could scarcely control
himself as he pulled Christine close.
She struggled at first but then began to return Roger’s
embrace. They were alone, weren’t they, with the bathroom door
locked? And the horrid Eye was safely on the other side of the wall as well as
being switched off. Gradually Christine’s ardour began to match Roger’s. But
this whole business did seem to be getting to him and she was going to have to
have a serious talk with Roger. He was just going to have to learn to accept
certain things.
----//----
The serious talk with Roger was not to be needed, though.
The next morning the Allison household had two visitors. Two Inspectors of the Education
Ministry wishing to talk to Christine. White-faced she was confronted with the
accusation of what had happened in the bathroom.
She started to stammer. One of the Officials bleakly told
her it was all on video tape. She was to pack a suitcase. She would be taken
immediately to a Reform Centre. Christine’s mother started weeping as the two
men marched Christine up to her room.
Yes, there was an Eye in the bathroom,
hidden in the light fitting. Perhaps, in 1994, the possibility should at least
have been considered, but neither Christine nor Roger had thought of that.
In her room Christine was told to pack her things: change
of uniform, underwear, toilet items. For the very serious offence which had
been committed it would be a long stay at the Reform Centre — up to a year. But
first of all before she was taken off, a little something else.
A preliminary taste of what she would be getting rather
frequently at the Centre. Christine was told to strip, completely. One of the
Inspectors took a vicious-looking two-tongued strap from his case.
The nude Christine was bent down over her bed.
The Eye watched impassively as the strap rose and fell;
whistling through the air, splatting down onto already striped buttocks. It was
all recorded but then there was nothing happening which would cause any
questions back at the Education Office.
When Roger came round for Christine an hour later he was
told by her tearful mother that she had just been taken away.
Marvellous stuff.
ReplyDeleteA real classic. My favourite of the 'new social order future' type. So pleasing to see a girl who indulges in all that sexual promiscuity, like Christine, getting her come uppance. Serves the little hussey right! As I see it, concerned citizens such as Arthur Mannings, although acting contrary to the precise regulations, are actually doing society a favour by voluntarily patroling the neighbourhoods to catch any rule breakers. Being able to mete out an unofficial caning to a wayward girl is fair payment for their efforts.
ReplyDeleteYes indeed, Anonymous, a splendid vision of how things should be and quite possibly my favourite R.T. Mason story. Mrs Mannings is quite right. We cannot have young people running wild with drugs and vandalism like in the old days. That is why Arthur is quite justified in his actions and long may he continue to enjoy the perks of his active citizenship. A very nice position he had her in for her caning too! As you point out also, the girl is an incorrigible sexual miscreant and fully deserving of her eventual removal to a 'Reform Centre'.
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