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.