From Uniform Girls 14 (also published as Into the Storm in New Blushes 2.23)
Naval Instructor Eric Ponsonby studied the latest communication from the Ministry for a second time. He was, to say the least, rather irked by it. Were they going soft in the Youth Service Section at the Home Office? It certainly appeared so.
As head of a Remedial Training Centre, he certainly didn’t consider that a maximum of nine strokes of the cane in any day could be properly termed ‘remedial’. Admittedly, at the small Coastguard Station of which he was in charge, he was used to having a pretty free hand. Certainly a freer one than if he had been attached to one of the larger Naval Centres. Before now he’d given a girl conscript 24 strokes in a day and thought nothing of it. She, on the other hand, thought quite a lot of it, of course! His kind of Centre was meant to be tough. Girls sent there had been trying to buck the system... and an ordinary Training Centre was not considered sufficiently disciplined for them. They had to be brought up sharp so that, when, after seven days, they returned to their YTC, they would spread the word of what went on and so frighten the lives out of their companions.
Eric was pleased to note, however, that if a girl received no strokes of the cane on any one day, the allocation of nine could be carried forward to the following day. Thus, on that day, she was liable to receive eighteen. That was more like it. Also, he suddenly realised, that no mention was made concerning manual spanking. Therefore he could assume there was still virtually no limit on that. Well, that was certainly something.
The memorandum concerning security which arrived the same day did not disturb him. Eric ran what he termed ‘a very tight little ship’, even if he were land-based. No prying press man or Opposition MP would ever be able to penetrate into Glenvorran without his knowing. That task was made easy by the remoteness of the place since the Coastguard Station was situated north of Inverness. Eric liked such isolation; he was used to it. Many would have found it intolerable for any length of time. All the more surprising, then, that a Chief Assistant at the Ministry, by the name of Miss Carver, had warned that it was possible that, in the near future, the Permanent Deputy Under-Secretary himself might be paying a visit. It was a hell of a long way from London and the comforts offered by the bright lights. Still, he supposed, these big-wigs felt it their duty, from time to time, to show an interest in the fringes of their domain. Not that Eric was at all worried about such a high personage inspecting the place. In fact, he would be proud to show it off.
Once a naval man, always a naval man. Standards were maintained.
The only thing that did give Eric pause for thought was the fact that he could only receive such a small number of conscripts at any one time. No more than four, in fact. There simply wasn’t the accommodation. Perhaps the man from the Ministry might decide that this was too small an establishment to be maintained. That would be most annoying for Eric, who had to admit he thoroughly enjoyed living in this bleak outpost with four nubile conscripts completely under his authority. There was a kind of cosiness about it which one did not get at the larger Naval Centres.
Eric glanced at his watch. All four girls would be engaged on their Navigation Examination for another hour yet. There was no need to monitor them. All knew that, all the time, their activities could be seen and heard on a TV screen. No cheating, therefore! He smiled. With modern aids, things in the 1990’s were very different from what they once had been. There was time for a stroll along the barren cliff top before tea. After that, he noted in his diary, Conscript Cadet Carol Burgess had an appointment ‘aloft’. ‘Aloft’ was, in fact, the attic of the Station and a place where he gave certain special Naval Instruction. Also where, quite frequently, a girl had to report for discipline. Eric guessed that it was most likely that Carol Burgess would receive both. She was very weak on her Semaphore Signalling... and he had given her a stern warning to brighten up her ideas only a couple of days before. Would she though? She seemed to have more blonde hair than brains!
Taking his stroll along the cliff top, Eric decided that he would ignore the Memorandum he had received that day and only action it when a new intake arrived. Carol, who was due to return to her YTC on the following day, would benefit from a good hiding. Certainly, Eric would not be averse to giving it to her! Nice and shapely was Conscript Cadet Burgess.
Through a wide chink in the panelling at one end of the attic, Eric watched the girl standing there awaiting his arrival. She wore ‘Dress of the Day’ which every Conscript had to put on when she was summoned ‘aloft’. This Eric had designed himself and, as with most uniforms in the Centres, it was deliberately designed to humiliate. All part of the discipline, one might say. There were no firm instructions laid down by the Ministry as to uniforms in RTC’s but he knew a blind eye was turned to the sort of thing he had created. For, without saying so, officials were aware that humiliation was an integral part of punishment.
The uniform consisted of a knitted navy blue beret and what could be described as the upper part of a similarly coloured sleeveless sweater. If pulled down hard, this sweater might just cover a girl’s breasts. But, quite naturally, it invariably rode up (especially if the breasts were of the size of Carol’s) so that the lower half of them were nakedly exposed. How sweet she looked, thought Eric, as she stood there looking rather apprehensive. Didn’t appear to be a bad girl at all. However, from his experience, some of the toughest of them gave the surface impression that butter wouldn’t melt in their mouth.
There was a round, brass pip on each shoulder and a whistle on a cord hung from Carol’s neck, swinging gently between those rounded orbs. A very tight pair of white shorts, white ankle socks and a pair of black buckle shoes completed her outfit. Simple but satisfying... to an observer such as Eric, that is. The girl, he was well aware, would be very glad to don something less revealing as soon as possible.
Eric smiled as he watched Carol start doing some practice signals with the small, white Semaphore flags she had brought with her. Her lips moved as she mouthed the letter she was signalling. Those breasts bounced deliciously with her movements. Semaphoring wasn’t at all simple; not something that could be learnt quickly. However, in an RTC, a Conscript had to make every effort to get it all right as soon as possible. Most did not get it right in the time they spent there. Doubtless that was why it was one of Eric’s favourite pieces of training!
The girl jumped as he came into the attic suddenly. ‘Attention!’ he bawled. Carol leapt to the attention position, heels together, hands at her sides, flags trailing down. As usual, Eric made an inspection, walking slowly round and round the tense young figure. He could find no fault. Especially not when he was inspecting from the front. It was all he could do to resist giving those two big, white apples a squeeze. Bad for discipline that. Of course, one could take more liberties on the last day of a conscript’s stay. It didn’t matter so much then.
‘Made any improvement, Cadet Burgess?’ he asked.
‘I...I think so... s-sir. But it is very difficult.’
‘Maybe, I hope for your sake you have improved.’ He sawed the cane he had brought with him gently across the white clad bottom. The fulsome buttocks were bursting out of the tight white material. She shuddered at the feel of the supple willow, well aware what was in store for her if improvement had not been made. ‘Well, let’s make a start. We’ll have those shorts down first, I think.’ He saw the cheeks colour and the lower lip bitten. Another piece of sheer humiliation. ‘Make the letter N.’
Carol moved her arms so that they were away from her sides, each pointing down at the same angle. That made it easier for Eric to push down her shorts.
‘Oh!’ gasped Carol as the shorts settled halfway down her thighs.
‘O,’ smiled Eric. ‘Make it, Cadet Burgess.’ The flags swung to one side. Incorrectly. ‘Wrong,’ he announced. ‘The right hand flag should be above the left-hand horizontal one. Not below it.’ He hung up the cane on a hook and gave the girl’s bottom a stinging slap. Best to start like that. He reckoned this was going to be a long session.
‘Ow!’ gasped Carol.
‘Make O and then W,’ ordered Eric. It was rather amusing to have her signalling her own painful emotions both vocally and then semaphorically! This time she got it right. There was a bright red splodge on that lush young behind. ‘T,’ continued Eric. This involved raising both flags high and both breasts were fully exposed. ‘I,’ said Eric, grinning inwardly. Carol got it right again. ‘T’. Again it was correct. ‘S,’ he concluded. Did the girl realise what she had just spelt out, he wondered, or was she concentrating so hard on each letter, it had meant nothing?
‘There is some improvement, Cadet Burgess,’ he said, ‘but you are still very slow.’
‘I…I’m sorry, sir... I’m trying so hard...’
‘Glad to hear it. But things have simply got to be speeded up.’ Eric positioned himself so that he could smack that inviting bottom without let or hindrance, bending down slightly, clasping a warm, bare flank. He felt her flinch at that. ‘Now, Cadet Burgess, make the following signal, at speed: A SMACKED BOTTOM TEACHES...’
‘Oh sir… that’s so long...’
‘Get on with it!’
Carol began to move the flags up and down and from side to side. Obviously she was in a bit of a panic... and every time Eric spotted a mistake, his palm came whacking down on to resilient flesh. Perhaps not surprisingly, this seemed to have the effect of producing even more errors. She must have received a dozen hard wallops. ‘P...please... sir... oh please... sir I’m trying!’
‘You’re very trying,’ said Eric, admiring the glowing flesh before him. ‘Now make: BUT A CANE TEACHES BETTER.’
‘Oh, sir...’ The flags began to wave again but at least 50% of them waved incorrectly. However, Eric had ceased smacking; he took down the cane and flexed it.
‘That,’ stated Eric, ‘was disgraceful. You seem to have made no effort at all.’
‘I have, oh I have, sir!’ Carol was eying the flexing cane with dismay.
‘Don’t bandy words with me, Cadet Burgess. Just bend over. I’m going to give you a dozen. Let’s see if that stimulates your brain cells.’ That’s already three more than I’ll be able to give under the new regulations, he reflected unhappily.
‘Please... sir… please... I really have tried!’
‘Just bend over, Cadet Burgess. Unless you want to make matters far worse for yourself. You realise I have complete jurisdiction over you in this place?’
‘Oh... yes... yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir...’ He watched the girl bend, bottom jutting out, those little flags now resting on her shoulders.
‘A dozen,’ repeated Eric, ‘and, if there’s a lot of fuss and nonsense, I’ll make it more. You’re not a new conscript. In my book, you’re a hardened trouble-maker who likes to defy authority.’
‘No... no... not... really, sir!’ That bottom was flinching apprehensively.
‘Don’t lie to me. And that backside of yours will already have had plenty of this kind of treatment. It will get plenty more, until you reform your ways!’ Eric measured the reddened flesh. Up went the rod, then down it whistled. It bit hard into the softness. She jerked up, gasping. The little flags waved merrily for a few moments and were then dropped. ‘Bend over again.’
Carol bent, most reluctantly, bottom twisting to one side. ‘Oh sir... if only you knew how...’
Words became gasping cries as the cane bit a second time. For a moment, hands came back but were replaced on Carol’s thighs. She was well aware that Naval Instructor Eric Ponsonby did not like interference of that nature. ‘Keep bending, Cadet Burgess,’ came his relentless voice, ‘and don’t give me a lot of trouble.’
Carol clenched her teeth. She knew... somehow... she’d got to keep bending. And take it.
Four more strokes lashed down at measured five-second intervals. As each bit, Carol jerked upright, whinnying between clenched teeth. But her hands remained clenched to her thighs. Eric was quite impressed. It was a measure of this girl’s toughness and experience.
‘Halfway, Cadet Burgess. Do you think you’ll make a better effort in future?’
‘O-oh... yes... sir... I’ll try.... really try!’ There was no doubt of the sincerity in that young, high-pitched voice. Eric kept her waiting, seeing the repeated flinching and twitching of Carol’s thrusting behind. It would have been hypocritical of him to deny that he enjoyed that very much. At the same time, his conscience was clear. He was in Government Service and merely doing his duty. The State had decreed that youth should serve the nation instead of running wild. Discipline was necessary to ensure that decree was carried out. He was simply acting as an agent of the State.
Eric raised the cane again and lashed the seventh stroke across Carol’s taut bottom-flesh.
‘Yeeooowww…!’ she was up and jumping but still managing to keep her hands away. How much she must have wished to press them over those burning weals! But no... it wasn’t allowed.
‘Bend over, Cadet Burgess, you are beginning to try my patience. Anyone would think you hadn’t been caned before.’
‘O-oh... but, sir... you do it so hard...’
Well, that was true, reflected Eric. ‘That’s because you deserve it hard, Cadet Burgess,’ he answered. ‘You are just about one of the laziest and most brainless conscripts I’ve ever had under my command. It is little wonder you were sent here.’ This produced a series of heaving sobs. ‘Now bend over again... and stay bending over. There are five more strokes still to come... and I intend you shall truly feel each one. You’ll leave this place reformed believe me!’
True to his word, Eric laid on the five remaining strokes with almost maximum force and, though it was impossible for the girl to remain fully bending all the time, she got down again just as quickly as she could. Now, though she was sobbing quite uninhibitedly, Eric was most impressed by her fortitude. Not many girls could take, in this fashion, what he was handing out that evening.
The weals were vivid, the fleshy nates clenched repeatedly. This, thought Eric with satisfaction, is a really sound thrashing.
Then at last it was all over. ‘You may stand up now, Cadet Burgess,’ said Eric in a quite charitable tone. Carol stood, wincing. Yes... those long weals must really be stinging! Tears trickled down soft cheeks and she strove to wipe them from her eyes.
‘Pick up those flags, Cadet Burgess.’ They were picked up. ‘Now you will relay a final message. But this time, you needn’t hurry over it. Just think out each letter and make sure you’ve got it right. Understood?’
‘Yes... y-yes... sir...’
‘The message reads: THANK YOU FOR CORRECTING ME, SIR. Got that?’
‘You may begin... and take your time.’ Eric stood close to the sobbing girl, flexing the cane menacingly, as she tried to gather thoughts. She looked at him pathetically... pleadingly... as if to say, I know I’m going to make some mistakes.
The flags moved. One held straight upright, the other pointing to ten o’clock. Correct. Breasts nicely exposed again, too. The flags moved again. One arm horizontal to the left, the other below it, pointing to eight o’clock. Again correct. Eric nodded with satisfaction.
There could be no doubt at all about the educational qualities of a cane!
In the end, Cadet Carol Burgess made only two errors. Not bad out of 26 letters. Indeed, one might say, very good. Generously, Eric decided that those two errors could go unpunished. He patted that soft, so-tender bottom encouragingly. ‘Well done, Cadet Burgess. There certainly was improvement that time. Just keep it up.’
‘I’ll try, sir... I really will...’
‘I’m sure you will, Cadet Burgess. And now you may pull up your shorts... and go back to your billet.’
A few moments later, Carol stumbled from the room and went ‘below’. Only two more days to go, she thought with some relief. But I bet that brute will test me again on this damn stupid system of signalling. Who signalled with flags these days? Who had signalled with them since the First World War? No one, of course. Nowadays it was all done by electronics. The whole thing was quite, quite ridiculous. Typical of so much of the Youth Training System. Yet there was no avoiding it. Everyone went through the same mill.
Carol sobbed with frustration as she went carefully down the wooden stairs, hands pressed to the throbbing weals over her poor bottom. Worst of all, she knew now that you couldn’t buck the system. She’d have to knuckle under... like all those others she had once so heartily despised.
From: PERMANENT DEPUTY UNDER-SECRETARY, YSS Div, Home Office.
To: MISS J CARVER, Assistant Chief Executive, YSS Div, Home Office.
Date: 18th April 1997
I intend to combine a short fishing holiday on the River Oykel with a visit to the Coastguard RTC at Glenvorran. Though this is a small establishment I think it should receive my attention. Apart from that, it fits nicely into my schedule. Please do not inform Naval Instructor Eric Ponsonby of my pending arrival. I prefer to see things as they really are, from day to day, and not artificially contrived for an Official Inspection.
I will fly to Edinburgh and collect a Ministry car there.