The New Regime

From Blushes 5

The year is 1989. A wave of teenage crime and violence has been sweeping the country. In response to increasingly strident public demands for something drastic to be done to reverse the trend the Government has at last instituted a new policy towards the corrective punishment of young offenders. The old concept of a ‘short, sharp shock’ has returned to favour with increased vigour born out of desperation.

At Hazeldene Reformatory for Girls a new Principal has been appointed with instructions to implement the new approach with full rigour. Now Stephen Carpenter, warden of C Block, enters the dormitory to inform the girls under his charge of the Principal’s new regime…

‘Right! Come on! Get out, all of you. Jump to it! I want you all standing by your beds in five seconds. Move!’

Twenty nubile girls in pyjamas and filmy nightdresses leapt from their beds.

‘Now, stand still! Shoulders back, chests out, stomachs in, eyes front! And listen carefully. I have news for you. The party’s over at last. We’re going to have some changes round here — not before time, in my opinion — and you girls are going to learn what real discipline means. By the time you leave Hazeldene you’re going to make jolly sure you don’t come back! I’m here now on the instructions of Mr Matthews, the new Principal, to tell you what to expect from now on. When I have finished, you will go and collect your new uniforms. You will hand over to the storekeeper everything you possess at present. Everything! Understand? In return, each of you will be issued with a tee-shirt, skirt, knickers, socks and shoes. And that’ll be all. No bras, no slips, no nightwear — you’ll sleep raw from now on. And what’s more, you’ll only have a single blanket on your bed. You’re going to have to learn to rough it in future!

‘No need to look so startled, Hunter. That’s only the start! You’ve all had it too easy up to now. From tomorrow, you’ll all get up at 6.30 a.m. and start each day with a two-mile run through the grounds in your knickers. You’ll look great doing that Davis, with those huge knockers of yours bouncing in all directions! I know we’re starting in the middle of January, but that’s just your hard luck. You’re not likely to miss your run unless there’s a ten-foot snowdrift outside the door, so you’ll all have to get a move on if you don’t want your fannies to freeze!

‘Then it’s a nice cold shower for the lot of you, followed by breakfast at 8.00. You’ll go to your classes for academic work and P.T. in the mornings, and afternoons will be devoted to outdoor activities such as sports, forestry and working on the school farm. Evening meal is at 6.00; then you’ll have an hour or so for recreation before you go to bed. There will be a Punishment Parade at 8.30 when necessary, and Lights Out will be at 9.00 p.m. Sharp.

‘It’s going to be tough from now on, so you’d better buck your ideas up. Any shirking, and insolence, or any breach of discipline will be punished severely in future. Step out of line and you’ll feel the cane across your bare backsides. Our new Principal has firm ideas on discipline. Stop snivelling, Williams. You’ll survive. But you’ll know you’ve been through it by the time you leave us, and you’ll never want to be sent here again!

‘Now, you’ve got fifteen minutes to get all your things together and hand them in to the storekeeper. Get a move on!’

Shortly after this dramatic briefing, Stephen Carpenter was appraising with a somewhat lecherous gaze the nubile young bodies of the twenty youngsters as they lined up along the corridor outside the storekeeper’s office, blushing with shame and embarrassment as they tried to shield their nakedness ineffectually behind their bundles of folded clothing. A few minutes later, he became the privileged spectator to a delightful display as each girl self-consciously slipped into her new issue of uniform. He had the opportunity to properly assess their individual charms, from the slender girlishness of Lisanne Chambers, the youngest of his charges, to the overdeveloped voluptuousness of Mandy Davis and the big West Indian girl, Donna Smith. He surveyed with particular interest the variety of lovely young bottoms on show — some small and tight, others full and fleshy, and all perfectly fashioned for the application of the cane. Carpenter smiled to himself as he contemplated the dramatic change in his charges’ fortunes. Life at Hazeldene was definitely becoming interesting!

At 6.30 a.m. on the following morning, the girls of C Block were roused from their slumbers by the persistent blasts of a piercing whistle. In nervous haste the twenty youngsters responded to the summons, Tumbling from their beds, they shook the sleep from their heads and scrambled to pull on their tight blue knickers and training shoes. Nothing else. That had been the instruction — though they obeyed it now with renewed consternation and considerable reluctance.

Stephen Carpenter was waiting for them at the assembly point in the yard with Bill Patton, the head P.T. Instructor. It was a cold January morning with frost lying on the ground. An east wind was blowing, and both men were well wrapped up against it as they surveyed the line of trembling youngsters. The girls shivered in the cold wind, teeth chattering, nipples standing out stiff with cold on the delightful assortment of blossoming breasts and developing bodies.

‘Stand still, you miserable bunch of delinquents! Davis, get those hands down by your sides! This isn’t the time for childish ideas about modesty!’ roared the P.T. Instructor. He was an ex-mercenary soldier, a tough, no-nonsense individual, and the new regime at Hazeldene suited him fine.

‘So! We’re a little cold, are we?’ he continued. ‘Poor little darlings miss their creature comforts? A nice brisk run should help to warm you up! You’ll do one full circuit of the grounds. Flat out. No slacking. I want to see those lovely legs moving so fast that your feet don’t touch the ground, and your tits shaking like jellies! The last one to return will be sorry, I promise you. Now, get moving!’

The girls, miserable, cold and frightened, set off. They ran for dear life, knowing full well that the penalty for lack of effort would not be pleasant. The course was long, but the two supervisors were able to keep the girls within sight for most of the circuit. At length they stumbled in, sweating, gasping for breath and sobbing from their exertions. Stephen Carpenter was somewhat disappointed that both Mandy Davis and the athletic Donna Smith came in well up the field. He was rather hoping that one of them might be last. But then his attention was drawn to a drama unfolding among the back-markers.

The last two girls were Julie Brown and Stella Summers, two pretty sixteen-year-olds. They were both wildly trying to avoid coming in last. They were almost home, having reached the edge of the tarmac of the parade ground. Suddenly, in desperation, Julie Brown gave her rival a violent shove, knocking her over in full flight. Stella Summers fell headlong, crashing to the ground, as Julie Brown triumphantly completed the race. A couple of other girls ran over to console Stella, who was crying over her bruises.

Bill Patton was furious.

‘Brown!’ he roared. ‘Come here, you vicious little cow! I saw clearly what you did. Get those pants off this instant and get yourself over that barrel!’

He indicated a large oil drum lying on its side a few yards away. Then he reached for the leather tawse that he had brought with him. Julie Brown hesitated only a moment before tearfully obeying instructions. Reluctantly she dropped her knickers and stepped out of them, then draped herself over the oil drum, lowering her naked body gingerly onto the ice-cold metal surface.

‘Campbell! Sheppard! Come over here and hold her steady. Spread her legs apart… Wider than that, you stupid cats! I want her doing the splits! That’s more like it! Now, hold tight!’

Between her cruelly spread thighs the young girl’s most intimate secrets pouted provocatively. Her rude exposure shocked and horrified her watching companions. Then the tawse cracked down, cutting a blaze of fire across the top of her clenched bottom cheeks.

THWACK!

‘Eeeoooowww!’ Julie Brown shrieked from the burning pain of the stroke.

THWACK!

‘Eeeeaaahhh!’ Again the tawse struck, lower this time, across the fullness of her young bottom. The third and fourth strokes were each delivered lower still, directed across the lower slopes of her buttocks. Each blow forced a cry of pain from the punished girl as she writhed across the oil drum.

THWACK!

‘Eeeeaaaaggghhh!’ The fifth cut struck her again across the full meat of her bottom, harder than the other, making her jerk violently against the arms of the girls holding her.

Bill Patton was enjoying himself. He was reliving his days as a mercenary in Africa, and the way he dealt with captured terrorists and their sympathisers. He altered his position for the final stroke, swinging the wicked tawse with full force diagonally across the reddened marks of her punished bottom.

‘Aaaaaaggghhhhh!’ A prolonged wail rose from his victim, who bucked and convulsed against the hard metal surface of the drum.

‘Release her!’ commanded Patton.

‘Now, Brown. Stand up! Come on, get up this instant. And stop clutching yourself. Keep your hands away by your sides. And do stop that howling! You’ll get no sympathy here.’

Stephen Carpenter surveyed the squad of girls standing at attention, shivering as the cold wind dried the sweat from their aching bodies. Their eyes registered shock and horror at the scene they had witnessed.

Bill Patton was still addressing the punished girl.

‘Your knickers are confiscated for two days. You will report to me tomorrow evening to reclaim them. But now, because you would have been last to finish the course if you hadn’t pushed Summers, you must do the run again. Right now. Get moving. If you slacken just once, you’ll get another dose of the strap. Move!’

Knowing protests were futile, the snivelling teenager turned and scampered away. As she set off the angry red marks left by the tawse stood out vividly upon the whiteness of her plump bottom. She ran as fast as she could, not wanting to give the instructor an excuse to inflict further punishment. Eventually she struggled back to the rest of them, sweating like a pig, with tears streaming down her cheeks. She was sucking air into her burning lungs in great gasps which caused her breasts to shudder.

‘Well, Brown. Did you enjoy that? That’s what happens to slowcoaches. We’ll see who’s last tomorrow!’ sneered Patton. ‘But it’s getting late. Come on, girls, at the double! It’s time for your showers.’

Within minutes the girls of C Block were squealing and gasping under jets of ice-cold water, as it washed away sweat and grime and eased the aches in their bodies. It had been a rough initiation into the new regime at Hazeldene!