Reorientation Centre Part 1

The whole of Uniform Girls 35 was devoted to this Youth Training Services saga in eight parts using photos and stills from the shoot of What Bottoms Are For. I will split into two posts.

1. Reorientation Centre

The swimming pool of a country house. The pool and its crazy-paving surround are enclosed by a brick wall on one side and on two others by the house. A large sliding glass panel gives access from the living room. It is quite early in the morning — 8 o’clock-ish — and cool. We are in July but it is England and spells of warm weather do not last long. The recent period of hot dry days broke up yesterday with a violent storm. This morning it is dry but windy and the temperature has dropped by 20 degrees or more. So it is not really a morning to be out here swimming or sunbathing. That is what these two nude girls think.

They are shivering, their teeth chattering. Standing at attention, desperately trying to keep still. If they don’t keep still they will be caned and the thought of the cane on your bare bottom when it is freezing like this… is not something it is easy to contemplate. So they must keep still — but that is virtually impossible when you are nude and freezing.

The man with them is not exposed to the elements in the same manner as the girls. Not at all. He has on a Barbour over thick sweater and trousers, plus sturdy boots. And in his hand is the wherewithal to deliver mind-boggling cuts to bare and quivering female nates which has the girls’ eyes wide with panic. Yes, a long, thin, whippy cane.

‘Would you like to be first, Pamela? Because I wouldn’t call that still. Everything seems to be moving. Not least those pretty tits. Shaking and shivering like two jellies. Can’t you keep them still?’

‘It… It’s freezing. Pl… Please… I am… am still.’

The girl addressed, Pamela, answering through chattering teeth, is the taller of the two nude girls. Taller and slimmer, her boobs not as full as her companion’s: firm ripe apples rather than, say, smallish melons. Both of them are pretty blondes, of about 20 or thereabouts.

‘If you’re cold then we’d better do something about it, hadn’t we? To warm you up. What would you prefer? The cane? That is very effective in warming a girl up. Or the other answer… is a swim. Jump in and do five or ten brisk lengths.’

The water looks diabolical on a morning like this. You can imagine large lumps of ice floating in it. So the second alternative is certainly no more attractive than the first. Both suggested options make you want to faint with fright. Pamela is weakly shaking her head.

‘What about you, Linda? What would you prefer?’

The other girl, Linda, numb flesh quivering, shakes her head in turn. She also has no wish to opt for either offer. The cane describes a couple of cuts through the cold morning air. ‘Well let’s have you doing a little warm-up before we decide, eh? Twice round the pool at the double. OK? Get going.’

There are yelps as the cane makes contact with first one and then the other of the shivering bottoms. The girls set off, bottoms and boobs jouncing and bouncing. Running is at least a whole lot better than standing still. Or swimming…

Oh God, the thought of it. But they are not swimming, they are running. He has said they can run instead of going in that freezing water.

They are running hard, and getting warmed up, One circuit and round onto the second. Breathing heavily but… gasp… it is almost over. They come to a breathless halt in front of the man. Chests, boobs, heaving. And… he simply pushes them in. In the water. Pamela… and then Linda. Into the freezing water. ‘Aarrraaaaagh…!’

2. File on Pamela Millings

Pam’s mother asked, as she almost always did, if she had had a good day. It was always easier to say yes if you didn’t want a minor inquisition, even if it hadn’t been a brilliant day. If Mr Hawthing Pam’s boss had been a bit impossible for instance, as he sometimes was. Pam didn’t like to tell her mother about Mr Hawthing’s impossibleness. His hands which some days were — well, impossible. Pam had never told her mother, or anybody else, about Mr Hawthing and his hands and so she produced a routine bright ‘Yes. OK. Good!’

Actually today hadn’t been so bad at work. Mr Hawthing was busy with clients for most of the day with no time to come in for a grope. No, the day at work had been OK: it had been on the way home. On the bus.

On the bus a man had done the same thing. Like Mr Hawthing. Groped Pam’s bottom. She had been standing of course, it was almost always standing only at that time, evening rush hour, where she got on. They were packed like sardines and it started almost immediately, the hand at her bottom. She didn’t have a coat on; it was July and warm, it had been all week, and Pam was wearing only a summer dress and not a lot underneath, no tights or stockings, just knickers in fact. So… there had not been any doubt when he started that he was doing it. It certainly wasn’t accidental, not an accidental touch in the crush, because the hand was right away cupping the cheek of her bottom. She tried to turn, to move her bottom away from the hand. And then he leaned close, his mouth close against her ear, so that apart from anything else there was no doubt who was doing it. ‘Stop squirming about,’ the voice in her ear said.

The voice was low and as close to her as he was, no one else was going to hear. In any case Pam was pushed over to one side and most of the other standing passengers were behind this man. So no one else was going to hear. ‘Keep still,’ he said (Pam had anyway momentarily at least stopped trying to squirm away, with the shock of him speaking to her). The hand was still there. ‘That’s better,’ the voice said, still in the low but clear whisper. ‘Because you wouldn’t want to be sent to one of those places they’ve got now. Those places for young women who need training. Would you?’

The hand from nowhere and then this whispery voice… in the middle of the crowded bus but with no one else aware of what was happening… It made her want to scream out. Turning her head slightly she could get a half-view of him: an ordinary-looking man it seemed, with glasses, hair greying at the temples. An ordinary-looking man going home from the office. Although clearly being ordinary-looking didn’t stop a man groping a girl’s bottom because Mr Hawthing looked ordinary enough. But a complete stranger… and talking to her like this… Pam felt a surge of panic. Apart from the hand and the voice it was hot and almost airless. For a moment she thought she might faint. The hand was still there, and bolder, more aggressive now. The fingers underneath her bottom and thrusting in through the thin material of her loose-skirted dress. ‘Would you?’ the whispery voice insisted. And Pam, almost gasping for breath now, heard herself whimper ‘No… No…’

In spite of the shock she knew what he was talking about. The Training Centres that had recently been set up. Reorientation Centres was their official title. They were intended for the unemployed because in many people’s eyes a lot of these were unemployed because they didn’t want a job, it was easier living off State benefits. The Reorientation Centres were intended to break them of this antisocial attitude. There were separate centres for young men and girls, but it was the latter ones, for girls and young women, that you heard most about. What you heard… well, it was certainly enough to make any young woman eager to avoid being send to one at all costs. If a girl had a job, as Pam had, then you might imagine there was no reason to concern herself about such places. Yes, but it seemed that not only unemployed young women could be sent. Now it seemed that others were going as well. Apparently all it needed was a recommendation from a Category A citizen. Mr Hawthing in fact had jokingly referred to this at work — with, coincidentally, his hand on Pam’s bottom at the same time. Now, on the hot and crowded bus…

Pam got off at the next but one stop. She stopped trying to squirm away from the hand — although she was shaking like a leaf. The hand was still there, boldly groping her, but she did nothing to stop it. Just praying for her stop to come and then… she would get off and this little daylight nightmare would be over. But… what if he followed her off? What would she do then? The man had not said anything else, no more whispery words. He was just getting on with what he was doing… and she was letting him. Because she was dead scared of what he had said. No one seemed to know anything about it, no facts, but everyone seemed to think that now any girl could be sent to a centre. For no real reason. So the words had simply instilled a sense of panic in her. Pam could only stand and let it happen… and tell herself that he wouldn’t follow her off when it got to her stop. But…

But he did. As soon as she started moving to get out Pam realised that the man was getting out too. Pushing through behind her. Even with his hand staying mostly holding her bottom. As she pushed her way out, her legs feeling a bit like they were made of rubber. He can’t be getting out, she tried to tell herself… when it was quite obvious that he was.

She almost fell off the bus. Perhaps she would have fallen, but the man took her arm. His hand high up, between her arm and her body, firmly gripping her. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘P… Pam… Pamela Millings,’ she stuttered. She didn’t have to tell him her name. In fact with the way he was bothering her, and what he had been doing on the bus — why didn’t she tell him she was going to report him? If he didn’t leave her alone immediately. But Pam wasn’t doing that. She was telling this awful man her name — and shaking with fright.

Pamela Millings eh? And where do you live, Pamela Millings?’

This was awful… but she was telling him that too. Stuttering out her address. ‘And where do you work, Pam? I assume you’ve got a job. What do you do?’

The bus had gone now of course, and the other people who had got off. To the casual observer it would no doubt look like no more than a man and a girl having a casual, friendly chat: a middle-aged man in a dark suit, and a very pretty blonde girl of 20 or so (Pam was just 20), tallish and shapely in a loose-skirted yellow dress and white high heels. If you looked more closely you might see that the man had hold of the girl’s upper arm, but that wouldn’t necessarily mean anything. You wouldn’t be able to see the tight, indeed painful grip of his fingers… or know that the pretty girl was in a state of panic.

Pam stammered out that too. Where she worked, as a secretary. Then, ‘Look… Please…’ in a despairing whimper. ‘I… I’ve got to get home.’

‘Not this instant. We’ll go for a little stroll. Through here. I want a short chat. Won’t take a moment.’

He had turned her round with that still painfully gripping hand and was moving Pam forward, making her walk. There was a derelict building just behind the bus stop with a little passageway at the side. Pam had seen it before plenty of times but never thought about it or wondered where it led to. But now she was being made to walk down it. She made another whimpering protest but that was clearly not going to get her anywhere. Unless she started fighting it… And Pam wasn’t… she couldn’t…

He took her in behind the building, to an old, disused parking lot. The place was deserted, the tarmac crumbling. Opposite, the vacant windows of the building, some of them broken, stared out. The man pushed Pam up against the wall.

‘Now then. Our quiet little talk, Miss Pamela Millings. I’ve seen you on the bus before. Always getting on when it’s nice and crowded so you’ll have to stand up. And with just a thin dress on and hardly anything underneath I imagine, like you have today. So that you can rub your bottom up against strange men… and get a nice big thrill. Eh?’

Pam gasped out something. What he was saying was so incredible she was virtually speechless. Pam shook her head. The man took hold of her boobs. His two hands squeezing them through her dress. ‘Yes you do. And these too. Getting these rubbed up as well.’

Pam’s head was spinning. It was a nightmare. Still squeezing her tits the man said, ‘With that sort of behaviour a girl can get herself sent to a Centre. That’s what they’re for, the Training Centres, to curb that sort of behaviour.’

Was she crying now? Pam didn’t know if she was or not. She should be home by now. Greeting her mother and then going upstairs to change. Instead… ‘Do you want that?’ the dreadful man asked. ‘I can certainly get you sent. A very good friend of mine is manager of one.’

Pam was desperately shaking her head. She probably was crying now. Her face certainly felt wet, all of a mess.

‘In that case,’ the man said, ‘you at least need your bottom smacked. At the least. We’ll do it, shall we, young lady?’

And he did do it. Pam couldn’t stop him. She had no strength to resist it seemed. As he walked her over to a low wall. Sat down on it. And pulled Pam face down over his lap. In a disused parking lot a couple of minutes walk from the bus stop, with all those empty windows looking on. Pulled Pam’s skirt up round her waist… and then yanked down her brief white knickers. Baring the ripe cheeks of her bottom which on the bus, a little earlier, he had been freely groping. Now… that same hand began cracking down…

----//----

‘You’re a bit late,’ Pam’s mother said, after her routine. ‘Had a good day?’ Pam had managed to produce her regular reply to that and now said something about the bus being late. It was impossible to believe what had happened. Just minutes ago. That dreadful man. ‘I… I’ll go up and change.’ Trying to keep her voice normal though to Pam it sounded funny, sort of jerky.

She could still feel the hot sting in her bottom. Not surprisingly because it had only been minutes ago — perhaps ten minutes now — and it had seemed to go on and on. The hand slamming onto her bared bottom as Pam lay upended, her face down near the ground, over the man’s lap. At last he had stopped and let her get to her feet. Let her pull her knickers up again. And then he had said… he wanted to see her tomorrow. At lunch time.

----//----

Why didn’t she just not turn up? In the town centre, he had said. One o’clock. He would pick her up in his car, a blue Volvo. Why didn’t she simply not be there. And if he started any -thing again, on the bus, she would tell him she wasn’t having any more of it and she was going to report him if there was any more trouble. Why didn’t she do that. Instead of…

But Pam knew she would be there. In the same way that she had this morning put on what he had told her to. Her yellow dress and the white high heels again, but today with sheer stockings and a suspender belt. He had told Pam to wear that today, after finishing spanking her bottom in that lot, and she had done it. And he had told her to be there at that place in the town centre at one o’clock and… in spite of trying to tell herself otherwise Pam knew she would do that too. Because she was afraid of the Training Centre. Afraid that he could get her sent away to one.

Mr Hawthing was pretty awful again. Halfway through the morning Pam had to take some work in to his room and his hand was at her bottom right away. He quickly discovered the stockings and suspender belt of course which made it worse, an excuse for even more animated groping. Mr Hawthing wanted to know if perhaps she was seeing her boyfriend at lunchtime and had worn the stockings to get him excited. Mr Hawthing with his grabby hand was pretty awful but even then Pam was mostly thinking of who she actually did have to see at lunchtime. That man. Mr Shinly he had said his name was. Mr Shinly who had said — and Pam didn’t doubt it — that he could get her sent away if he felt like it. To a Training Centre…

So Pam was there waiting when the Volvo pulled up. She had been praying that perhaps it wouldn’t show up, for some reason. But it did, right on time. The door opened — and she had to get in.

‘Good. Right on time. That’s what we like. Full marks for that, Pamela. And do we get full marks for dress too?’ His hand had dropped to Pam’s knee. It began sliding back, pushing her skirt with it. ‘Stockings?’ Panicky, Pam held her skirt down, sure that someone would see in this public place.

Mr Shinly laughed and drove off. ‘We need a quiet spot,’ he told her. ‘For a little chat.’

He found what he was looking for without any trouble (probably Mr Shinly had reconnoitred it earlier): a quiet little lane where he could park. Mr Shinly pulled off the road, switched off the engine, and put his hand on Pam’s knee again.

‘Well, Miss Pamela Millings. Did you enjoy having your knickers taken down and your bare bottom smacked? I can imagine you did. A girl who’s in the habit of rubbing her bottom up against strange men on the bus is going to enjoy that. Yes?’

‘I don’t! I don’t!’ Pam yelped. ‘And I… hated it.’

Mr Shinly was pushing back her skirt. There was no point trying to stop him. He had the skirt back to Pam’s stocking tops. Fingers tweaked at a suspender clasp. ‘Hated it, did you? You can get a lot of that at the Training Centre of course. Bare bottom spanking. And also the other. The cane. That’s a whole lot worse, naturally.’

‘No!’ Pam yelped. ‘They can’t send me. I… haven’t done anything. I don’t… do what you say.’

Pam’s skirt was bunched right up now to reveal suspenders and knickers. Mr Shinly pinged a suspender strap against her thigh. ‘I think every girl should have a spell at one of those places. Disciplinary training is what every young woman needs. Just a short spell.’

‘No!’ she yelped out again. The hand had slid further up Pam’s thigh but she hardly noticed it.

‘What you can do,’ thigh-fondling Mr Shinty said, ‘is go for a weekend. It’s a new scheme. Aimed especially at girls who are in employment, like yourself. Going at the weekend means there’s no disruption, and of course no one really needs to know. It can be kept nice and quiet. No embarrassment. How does that sound?’

Pam couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t done anything.

Mr Shinly said, ‘It’s either that or a proper two-week stay, young lady. You can choose what you want. I know what I would choose. Unless of course you think you might enjoy a longer spell.’

The hand was up even further. ‘And while you’re making your mind up, Pamela, I’m going to give your bottom another spanking. Perhaps that will help you make up your mind, eh? Get out of the car and take your knickers off. And then come back in over my lap…’

And that was what Pam had to do. Get out of the car in this lay-by at the side of the country lane, then slip her knickers down and right off over the white courts. And then holding the skirt of her dress high, get back in face-down across Mr Shinly’s thighs. It was a pretty sickening thing to have to do, as bad if not worse than that sickening business over Mr Shinly’s lap yesterday. But Pam was only half thinking about it. The rest of her thoughts, even with Mr Shinly’s hand on her bare bottom, fondling it and then splatting stingingly down, were on the other thing. The Training Centre. A weekend stay…

3. Three Girls Reorienting

It was called Twyfield Grange. A white sign on the grass outside the gates said: Twyfield Grange. Government Reorientation Centre. The large iron gates were open and the driveway led beyond through mature trees. At the end was a substantial mellow stone Victorian country mansion; before being taken over for its present use a year ago it had been a private house. The blue Volvo came to a halt on the tarmac in front of a low block that had in earlier days been the stables. Two other cars were already parked. Two cars which had conveyed other girls for the weekend?

It was Friday evening, just after 7. Mr Shinly had picked Pam up in the town, close to where he had met her on Tuesday lunchtime when he had first mentioned weekend visits to Training Centres. Now three days later Pam was here, her small suitcase in the Volvo’s boot. No one else knew she was coming here; Pam had told her mother and a couple of girls at work who had asked about the suitcase that she was going to stay with a friend. So at least no one knew… that she was here at Twyfield Grange, Government Reorientation Centre. Here until Sunday evening.

Also Mr Shinly… Mr Shinly was going to be staying. He had only told Pam that on the drive over. He would be staying so that he could personally conduct her training. Mr Shinly could do this because he knew the manager. ‘That will be very beneficial to you, Pam. Because I am sure I know exactly what you need.’ Pam hadn’t replied to those words spoken as the Volvo sped along the motorway. It was all like a horrible nightmare. It was unbelievable. The whole thing: getting into the blue Volvo again; the drive; and now here. This nightmare place — although in fact it was a very pleasant country house. The weather was not a good augur, though. The fine dry spell seemed to be over. There had been a violent thunderstorm on the motorway, and now as Pam got out of the car steady rain was falling. It felt suddenly a lot colder in her summer dress. She half ran the short distance to the house — not that Pam was at all keen to get in there.

In the hall was a maid; a girl of about Pam’s age. A pretty brunette in an extremely short version of a maid’s dress; so short that several inches of bare thigh and black suspenders showed below the hem, the suspenders fastening dark stockings. There was a tiny apron tied round her waist. She also had on black high-heeled shoes and a little maid’s cap. She smiled rather wanly as Pam entered.

Almost immediately a man came in from one of the other rooms, with a second girl. This one would also be about 20; a good-looking blonde in a short pleated navy skirt and white blouse. The man was in a sweater and would be Mr Shinly’s sort of age. He smiled at Pam.

‘Pamela Millings? Another weekend visitor to Twyfield Grange, yes? My name is Mr Karmer and I’m the supervisor here. And this is Linda who is also a weekend visitor, and of course Janet who is doing maid’s duty is on a two-week stay. Aren’t you, Janet dear?’

The two girls produced smiles of greeting and Pam said a nervous ‘Hello.’ So they were both here for the same reason as herself, including this Janet dressed as a maid. Pam looked apprehensively round. What was going to happen now? Something dreadful?

Mr Shinly was coming in with his suitcase and Pam’s. He greeted Mr Karmer who introduced him to the other girls. Mr Shinly grinned at Janet, lifted her short skirt at the back and gave her a sharp smack on the seat of her brief knickers. Janet was then told to take Pam up to her room. Pam was to get changed and be back down in 20 minutes.

Janet had been at Twyfield Grange for three days. ‘What is it like?’ Pam asked in a half whisper. The answer was not exactly reassuring. ‘Awful! Diabolical!’ Janet had taken Pam upstairs and into a small bedroom. It seemed there were no other girls in residence at the moment. Two girls on two-weeks stays had left earlier in the day. ‘It’s not so bad for you,’ Janet said. ‘Just on a weekend. But I suppose you’ll have to be back for more weekends. Do you know how many?’

Pam didn’t know she had to come back for more: Mr Shinly hadn’t mentioned that. ‘Weekend girls usually have to have at least four weekends,’ Janet said. ‘One of the other girls told me that. Anyway you’d better get changed. Or Mr Karmer or your Mr Shinly will be at you with the cane. What’s he like, your bloke? He’s staying, isn’t he?’

Pam tried not to think about the prospect of four weekends. One was bound to be bad enough. She had to take off her dress and put on what was on the bed: a skirt and blouse like Linda downstairs was wearing. ‘Tomorrow you could be doing maid’s duty,’ Janet said. ‘Then you’d be wearing this awful outfit.’

‘I… is that worse?’ Pam asked. Janet made a face. ‘Yes. But the other’s bad enough. You’ll see.’

Pam had on stockings and a suspender belt with her dress, on the instructions of Mr Shinly. Janet said she thought Pam should take them off: with the little pleated navy skirt she should be bare-legged. Possibly a pair of white ankle socks could be worn with Pam’s black high-heeled sandals but nothing else. But there weren’t any ankle socks so Pam had to put just the sandals back on.

‘If that’s not right he’ll tell you soon enough,’ Janet told her. Then, ‘Come on. You’d better get down there. I imagine Mr Karmer’s going to want to give you the cane. He’ll want to as soon as you’ve got here.’

He couldn’t if she hadn’t done anything, Pam thought. She told herself that — but Pam didn’t believe it. She was going to be caned — and the cane would be killingly painful. Much, much worse than those spankings: There would be no comparison.

‘I… I can’t… take a caning,’ Pam whimpered. ‘I can’t. I… I’m very sensitive. I’ll die!’

Janet shrugged. ‘I’m very sensitive too but it doesn’t make any difference. Mr Karmer won’t want to hear anything about being too sensitive. If you complain he’ll just do it anyway — and give you twice as many. Mr Karmer’s sure to want to cane you first thing. And your bloke too. He’ll want to do it as well. You’re going to have to take it from both of them I shouldn’t wonder.’

Janet didn’t sound all that sympathetic. And as she was getting the cane herself pretty regularly why should she be? Perhaps she even rather relished the thought of Pam getting it for what was presumably the first time… and probably being able to watch it.

Quivering with fright, Pam was led down the wide oak staircase and into a large sitting room where the others were: the two men sitting on a sofa and Linda standing at the side, a rather anxious look on her face. One side of the room had a sliding glass door through which you could see a swimming pool. It was still raining out there.

‘Ah, here she is at last,’ Mr Shinly said. ‘We were beginning to wonder. Mr Karmer is anxious to get better acquainted, Pam. Better acquainted with your pretty bottom, I expect!’

Pam felt her stomach turn over. Mr Karmer laughed. ‘Well I do like to see our girls first thing. Tell them what’s what. What’s expected of them. Are you a swimmer, Pam? Would you like a dip? Quite nice out there now in the rain. Invigorating. That’s what a girl needs.’

Pam, glancing out of the glass door, shook her head. It would be freezing. ‘No? Not even a quick dip? In the nude of course. Show the rest of us what you can do?’

‘N… No thank you,’ Pam stuttered.

Mr Karmer shook his head. ‘Oh dear. Well she’ll have to do something else, won’t she, Linda?’ He reached out and slapped Linda’s leg. ‘Pam will have to show us how she can take the cane in that case. Get your knickers off, Pam.’

Pam bit her lip, and glanced again at the sliding door. Steady rain was still falling and it had been freezing outside even with her clothes on. But… ‘I… I’ll swim. I… If you want me to.’

Mr Kanner grinned. ‘I do want you to, Pam. But not right away now. I’m going to cane you first. And I expect your friend Mr Shinly is going to want to cane you as well. Then we’ll have you out there. Without your clothes on and I expect with some nice red stripes on your bottom. Whereas if you’d said yes in the first place well, there wouldn’t have been any red stripes, would there?’

Pam was going to start crying, she knew she was. With the two other girls as well as the men looking at her. She couldn’t stop herself. They were both going to cane her. And then… send her out in the rain, into that freezing water…

‘Come on, young lady. Get those knickers off. Or shall we ask Janet to get them off for you?’

Don’t look at anyone. Pretend there’s no one else here. Pam’s hands slipped up under the navy skirt. Thumbs in the top of her knickers. Just do it… Mr Karmer was getting to his feet. Going to get the cane. Of course. So he could cane her bare bottom…

‘Get on the sofa,’ Mr Karmer said, coming back. He did have a cane in his hand now. ‘Kneel up on the sofa. And get your bottom stuck well out.’ Pam’s knickers were off. She was feeling sick… but doing as instructed.

‘And you other two girls watch carefully. We’ll see how Pamela manages on her first go. Both of you other two will be getting it afterwards. So pay careful attention.’

Linda and Janet were watching wide-eyed. Janet had been here for-three days and had seen quite a lot of caning; Linda had only arrived earlier today but she had also spent last weekend here, so she certainly knew all about the cane too. Seeing another girl caned had an awful fascination. Watching the other girl get it was just a little bit exciting — but at the same time you were bound to imagine it was your own bottom being thrust out to receive it. That dreadful whippy cane cutting into your own bottom. It gave you an awful queasy feeling which mixed with the excitement of knowing it was really the other girl getting it. This new Pamela…

Pam produced a desperate yell as the first stroke whipped in. Mr Karmer had tucked the short skirt up at the back to leave the whole of her nicely rounded bottom quite bare. The bare cheeks jerked and writhed. There was now a pink stripe squarely across the centre of both of them. Linda shuffled her feet. Feeling a sudden need to go to the bathroom. She had had one caning already… but Mr Karmer, had said she and Janet would both be getting it again right after.

Another frantic yelp as the cane landed a second time. A second stripe alongside the first, which was already deepening in colour. Linda glanced across at the glass door. The swimming pool. Would he make them all go in? Or only Pam. It would be freezing, and it was still raining…

Linda’s eyes jerked back as the cane sliced in on Pam’s frantic bottom again. That was three. How many would he give her? And then… how many would she herself get? The urge to go to the bathroom was sharply stronger. Did she dare ask to go? If she didn’t… Linda was afraid she might actually… wet her knickers.

The cane whipped down once more, followed by another blood-curdling yell from Pam. She was certainly making a lot of noise. Mr Karmer evidently thought so too. After that stroke — the fourth, there were four stripes on Pam’s rear now — he transferred the cane to his left hand and stepped closer. He took hold of the squirming bottom, his hand clasping the near-side cheek.

‘Too much noise, Pamela. If you like we can practise all evening. All night in fact. Until you can learn to control that racket. Is that clear?’ Mr Karmer’s hand which had been clasping the red-striped cheek slid lower. Pushing in between the tops of Pam’s thighs. She let out a whinnying sound.

Is that clear, Pam?’ Mr Karmer repeated. What was clear to the two watching girls was that Mr Karmer had his hand on Pam’s pussy. The kneeling girl made a strangled sound that no doubt was meant to signify desperate assent. Mr Karmer said, ‘I hope so. Open your legs a bit wider.’

What was worse? Having him do that, in front of the two other girls, not to mention Mr Shinly. Or that quite impossible cane. Not that Pam had any choice in the matter. The hand did what it wanted to until Mr Karmer had had enough. Then the hand came out… The cane was transferred to it. This time Pam’s vocal response to the zipping cut of the cane was more muted.

4. More Training Details

Mr Karmer didn’t make them go in the pool. Not because he took pity on them. Or presumably not as he did make all three girls do something else instead that was not exactly pleasant. Which was to run round the grounds non-stop for half an hour, wearing only ankle socks and tennis shoes (Pam had been told to bring her tennis shoes and the socks came from Mrs Artwright, the housekeeper, who kept a stock of certain items that might be required). The three girls, nude except for this footwear, had to run as hard as they could on the path that went round the five acres of grounds. Mr Karmer and Mr Shinly were both out there — with canes in their hands. Stationed at different vantage points and eager to revive any flagging efforts with a sharp stinger to rain-wet bare buttocks. Because it was still raining: a cold and unpleasant downpour. Mr Karmer and Mr Shinly of course were well protected against the weather in Barbour jackets etc.

The running session came after all three of them had been caned by both Mr Karmer and Mr Shinly. Six strokes from each. And then out into the cold and miserable evening with nothing on. ‘I want you all running hard,’ Mr Karmer told them. ‘The hardest you’ve ever run. Do you understand? And the slowest girl… well, we’ll decide what her fate will be.’

So there was that — some dreadful thing without a doubt — to spur them on. It became immediately obvious, though, that Pam was slower than the other two. Unless her stamina over the full half hour proved to be better… she was definitely going to be last.

And Pam’s stamina wasn’t better. Naturally the two men did their best to spur her on, in the later stages when Pam’s running had degenerated into a stumbling half jog one or the other of them running along with her and applying a constant stimulus of little whippy strokes. In spite of this unwelcome assistance, though, Pam was half a lap behind the other two at the finish.

The three exhausted girls were allowed to take a hot bath. ‘We don’t want you going down with pneumonia,’ Mr Kramer said cheerily. And after that there was the little matter of the loser’s reward, as it were, for coming last. The girls had been brought back into the sitting room and given hot drinks by Mrs Artwright. They were in towelling dressing gowns now, nothing else.

‘Are you ready then, Pam?’ Mr Karmer asked. ‘Nicely recovered and all set?’

Pam was still half exhausted from that awful run, her legs aching, her lungs sore from the half-hour’s gasping for breath. She was always telling herself she should get fitter — but she had never imagined it would be needed in this dreadful manner.

‘I think we should have that race every day,’ Mr Karmer said. ‘But clearly Pam needs some extra training. Perhaps she should get up at 5 o’clock for an hour’s training?’

Pam blinked. Was she going to start crying again? He hadn’t yet said about…

‘Anyway, for today, Pam… Your little reward. Janet and Linda are going to cane you.’

That clearly came as a bombshell to all of them. Janet and Linda looked distinctly unhappy. Pam’s face went bright red. Mr Karmer wasn’t joking?

No, he wasn’t. ‘We’ll have it over the coffee table. Take the dressing gown off, Pam, and lie yourself over the table. Linda will cane you first with Janet holding your arms to keep you still. When she’s finished she will change places with Janet. And if either of you doesn’t cane hard enough… well, that girl will be over the table as well. Understood?’

With that sort of threat there was not a lot of choice. Linda and Janet had to hit Pam hard. Pam, nude and spread-eagled over the low coffee table, her arms firmly held, making low moaning sounds interspersed with hissing yelps when the cane landed. It was sickening having to do it, to hit hard, but if the alternative was being over the table yourself…

When at last Mr Karmer decided that the two of them had done a proper job on Pam and she had had enough, it was time for bed. Pam got up, shaking and crying, and not sure that her legs would support her. Mr Shinly put the dressing gown round her shaking nude body. ‘Yes, I think she needs a good night’s sleep, don’t you, Henry?’ Mr Karmer observed. ‘And all three of you had better get a good night’s sleep. We’ll want you up early in the morning…’

Pam had just climbed gratefully in between the comforting sheets of her bed when the bedroom door opened. She heard it and could also just about see it in the gloomy light. A man… It was… Mr Shinly. Crossing the narrow room… to sit on the chair next to her bed.

‘Not asleep yet?’ he murmured. His hand came out, to fiddle with the bed cover. ‘How are you enjoying your stay at Twyfield Grange so far, Pam?’

What a question! So far in one short evening Pam had been caned by both of these dreadful men as well as by the two girls. Plus made to run for half an hour to the point of extreme exhaustion in freezing rain. There was no answer to such a question… but maybe Mr Shinly didn’t really expect one. His hand was sliding in under the cover. ‘It’s all very good for you,’ he went on softly. ‘All of what you’ve been getting…’

The hand was pulling up Pam’s short nightie. Sliding it up above her boobs. Pam was lying on her back… so her boobs were there, accessible. Mr Shinly’s hand roaming over them, over the bare, hot flesh. And then sliding down, down over more bare, hot flesh… until it reached…

Mr Shinly’s hand took hold of her… as his low voice said, ‘Disciplinary training is essential… for any girl…’