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Sunday, 3 September 2017

Per Ardua Ad Libitum

From Blushes Uniform Girls 1
Group Captain Brian Marshall’s office was to say the least, sparsely furnished. However, he liked it that way. His desk was bare but for his diary and a single sheet of paper. In front of his desk was a plain wooden chair; on the wall facing him hung a mirror. In this the Group Captain could see himself reflected. Vanity? Possibly... but the mirror had been there when he had arrived on the station and he had never bothered to have it removed.
Now he looked into that mirror, seeing a head which was steadily balding and a face somewhat lined after twenty four years in the Royal Air Force — ever since he was twenty. One year to go before he could take retirement and a nice fat gratuity. But would he do that? Now, having risen steadily through the ranks to become a Station Commander, with his highly respectable rank, there were quite a number of perks which he would surely miss in civilian life.
Like Flight Lieutenant Mary Rawlings, for example. He looked down at the piece of paper before him which carried her name, rank and number and a note from the Station Adjutant. This read — The above is to be cross-examined regarding frequent trips to Pakistan when on leave and breaching of British Currency regulations. It promised to be quite an interesting little case, he thought. The Group Captain opened his blue bound diary and noted that the young lady was due in his office at midday. And she was young to be a Flight Lieutenant. Only twenty two according to her records. She must be very bright and efficient and could go to the very top in course of time.
If, of course, she kept her nose clean. Which, by the look of it Mary Rawlings had not done.
It’s hot in here, thought the Station Commander. Still, it would be unwise to open the double-glazed window or to pull back the curtain across the one window in that room. He had done that, he told himself, to keep out the strong sunlight but, he was secretly aware, there was another reason too. He stood up and removed his service jacket which proudly carried four braided blue rings on its sleeves. Then he hung it on the only other item of furniture in the room, a coat-stand. One would have imagined that, having spent five years in the ranks, a little bit of luxury would not have come amiss to Brian Marshall, but not so. Spartan-style living appealed to him. He still even took a cold shower every morning.
A knock on the door. He glanced at his watch. Just she was dead on time. He would have expected no less.
‘Come in —’
The door opened to disclose a smartly uniformed young woman with shortish, dark hair and brown eyes. She closed the door, about turned and literally marched up to the desk where she flung a salute at her Station Commander.
‘Flight Lieutenant Rawlings reporting, sir,’ she announced in a crisp, clear voice. She seemed well in control of herself, thought the Group Captain, though her cheeks were rather pink. That wasn’t make up, either. Well, this would be quite an ordeal for a woman in her position. He didn’t stand up as he would have done for a woman in civilian life. Wasn’t military etiquette. That was another thing he liked about Service life — you could treat the women just like the men. Moreover, the women had to show you proper respect and obey your orders. You would have found it difficult to handle some female office executive in the fashion he intended to handle this young woman.
‘You may sit down Flight Lieutenant.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ He saw a pair of nice, straight limbs, noting that she did not cross them but sat rather stiffly erect in the upright chair.
‘You may remove your jacket if you wish, Flight Lieutenant,’ said Brian Marshall. ‘It is rather hot in here. In any event, I want to keep this as informal as possible.’
‘No thank you, sir,’ she replied, rather to his disappointment. Of course, he’d seen the girl around the station quite frequently and they had exchanged formal greetings and pleasantries. However, in view of his rank, he had had to keep his distance and so had never had what you might call a close look at her. He would like to have seen what was under that jacket; it certainly looked promising. Still, all in good time.
‘You know why you are here, Flight Lieutenant?’
‘Not exactly, sir.’
Could that be true, he wondered. She wasn’t stupid. Probably just being cagey. ‘It is, in the first place, about your frequent trips to Karachi.’
‘I spend my leaves there, sir. That’s not an offence, is it?’ She was suddenly and defensively sharp.
‘No,’ he replied. What she said was correct. ‘But it might be unwise, Flight Lieutenant. As far as your career is concerned, I mean. Your fiancé is a Pakistani, is he not?’
The pink in the girl’s cheeks became rather more red. ‘He is,’ came the answer. ‘But surely that is a personal matter.’
‘In the services,’ said the Group Captain with some gravity. ‘Some things cannot be entirely personal. It would not, for example, be very wise for someone in your position to be engaged to a Russian, would it?’
‘My fiancé is not a communist,’ answered Mary Rawlings stoutly.
‘You never know,’ said Brian Marshall. He had almost added ‘with these wogs,’ but bit it off just in time. It somehow annoyed him to think of this pretty young English girl having it away with some coloured bastard — even if he wasn’t actually a black. Like many service men, Brian Marshall was racist in not wanting to admit (or, perhaps, not even realising) that the race from which this man came had a longer history of civilisation than our own. Probably got a great big donger on him, was Brian Marshall’s typical Anglo-Saxon reaction. That annoyed him too. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘that is just one aspect of this affair. There is a far more serious matter.’
‘Oh, what is that?’ The voice was defensive but a shade defiant. ‘Sir...’ she added after a pause.
‘The matter of illegal currency dealing...’
Mary Rawlings frowned. ‘I don’t... know... quite what you mean?’
Could she be genuinely ignorant about this? Naive, perhaps. Or simply bluffing it out? ‘You admit you regularly bring gold coins back from Pakistan with you? Considerable quantities? Which your fiancé gives you?’
‘Yes,’ came the straight reply. ‘It is his savings and they will be put to buying our home when he gets an entry visa.’
God, yet another immigrant, thought the Group Captain testily. ‘Are you not aware that this is illegal, Flight Lieutenant?’ he asked.
The girl’s colour heightened further. She wriggled on her chair and unfastened the buttons of her jacket. It was either a nervous gesture or she was feeling the heat now... ‘No, sir,’ she answered quietly.
Again he wondered if she were telling the truth. Not that it made any difference. Ignorance of the law was no excuse. ‘You do not pay VAT on these coins, do you Flight Lieutenant?’ seeing the girl’s eyes widen with shock. Seeing realisation beginning to dawn in them. So, he thought, she hadn’t known. That damned Paki had conned her.
‘No, sir,’ came a whispered answer.
‘That, Flight Lieutenant, is an offence. A serious offence.’
‘I... I didn’t know...’ she began.
‘Nobody will believe that,’ said Brian Marshall flatly. ‘Especially at the present time when the Government is cracking down hard on such irregularities. Why, only the other day, a firm in the City was fined over a million pounds for doing what you have. On a larger scale, naturally. But the principle is the same.’ He paused. ‘I am afraid, Flight Lieutenant, you are in serious trouble.
Mary Rawlings agitation increased. Now her jacket was fully open and she was even fumbling with the tight restriction of her waistband. Approvingly, Brian Marshall noted the delightful swell beneath the white shirt-blouse.
‘I...I didn’t know...’ she repeated.
Brian Marshall shook his head sadly. ‘That is no excuse, Flight Lieutenant. I am afraid this is a court martial offence.’
‘Oh no...!’ It was a disbelieving, despairing wail. Quite obviously a court martial was just about the worst thing in Mary Rawlings book. Rather naturally on account of her military training.
‘Yes,’ said the Group Captain. ‘If I report this to the Ministry, I am sorry to say you are truly for the high jump, young lady.’
Deliberately, Brian Marshall adopted this informal mode of address and his tone was almost fatherly. Chiding, you might say. It seemed more appropriate now that he was approaching the ‘crunch’ of this so-called cross-examination requested by his Adjutant.
‘Oh how awful... how awful!’ Mary Rawlings covered her face with her hands and bent forward. ‘I couldn’t bear that... oh...oh... why didn’t... he w-warn me?’
‘I am afraid your fiancé will be arrested as well,’ said Brian Marshall, putting the knife in.
‘Oh no!’ the girl jerked upright, hands leaving her reddened cheeks. ‘That...that... would r-ruin his chances of c-coming here...’
‘Precisely,’ nodded the Group Captain. He would have liked to have smiled but refrained from doing so.
Flight Lieutenant Rawlings began to cry softly.
‘Kindly pull yourself together, Flight Lieutenant,’ said Brian Marshall. He had given the girl a couple of minutes for her weeping, now it was time to call a halt. Mary Rawlings stopped dabbing a sodden tissue to her eyes and pulled her shoulders back. That nicely emphasised the thrust of her breasts.
She had now, at last, removed her jacket.
‘Does it... does it... have to go any further?’ she asked tremulously.
Brian Marshall raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t know quite what you mean.’ He was, needless to say, very pleased by the query.
‘Couldn’t it... well... be dealt with summarily... here?’
She would be aware, he realised that a man of his rank could deal with cases Summarily (if they were not too serious) awarding anything up to a Severe Reprimand which would go down against an officer’s record. Well, he thought happily, Flight Lieutenant Mary Rawlings is going to receive more than a severe reprimand if she is going to get out of this one!
‘It is too serious an offence...’
Oh whole whole at stake.’
‘I realise that,’ said Brian Marshall solemnly. He put his hands to his cheeks and tapped gently, allowing a long silence to ensue. ‘You are putting me in a very difficult situation, young lady.’ He was back to the fatherly touch. ‘Very...’
Mary Rawlings saw a chink of light. ‘Oh please...please...’ she gasped out. ‘I realise now it’s so serious. Yes...yes...I do. And, Sir, I am prepared take your punishment, Sir. But, please don’t let it go beyond these walls. Oh please!’
Most, most appealing! In her wide-eyed anguish she looked even prettier, he thought. Doubtless she had a severe reprimand in mind. Poor dear! She was in for quite a shock.
‘You say you are prepared to take my punishment?’
‘Yes...oh yes!’
She was positively eager, was she not? That was good.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes...yes! Oh yes...sir!’ Still that respect, even under stress.
Another long silence filled that hot, bare room. He saw those mounds rising and falling fast under their thin, white covering.
‘Very well,’ he said at long last. ‘In that case, my dear, you will now remove your skirt.’
An intriguing couple of minutes ensued during which questions and answers went to and fro like a ping-pong ball over a net.
Stunned at first, disbelieving, outraged even, Mary Rawlings kept asking the reason why. Did she have to? What did he intend? What was this all about? It wasn’t right that a senior officer would give such an order.
‘Right or not... I’m giving it,’ stated Brian Marshall firmly. ‘It’s either that or a court martial.’
‘I suppose you’re going to rape me...’s disgusting... for a man in your position...’ In her distress she had stopped calling him ‘sir’ now. For his part, he no longer called her Flight Lieutenant. A quite new and different relationship had sprung up between them. Something uniquely intimate. Nothing would ever be the same again.
‘Rape you?’ he answered in mock surprise. ‘Oh no, my dear young lady, I’m not going to rape you. I’m going to cane you...’
‘...yes... you heard alright. I’m going to cane you. Six of the very best.’
‘Oh my God...’ once again that face was buried in those well-manicured hands. ‘Do you... do you really mean it?
‘I do,’ came the prompt answer. ‘It may seem a little old-fashioned to one of your generation, Mary, but it’s happened often enough before. Especially in the services. Had it, he wondered, realising he had just used her Christian name for the first time. ‘It’s an easy way out when you think about it. All over in a few minutes and no one any the wiser. think about that.’
Silence came again. He could see that Mary Rawlings mind was very concentrated indeed. Mulling over a court martial, thinking about her fiancé’s ruin.
Then comparing all that with a caning. Common-sense finally overcame the humiliating shame of the idea.
‘Alright,’ she said weakly. ‘But do I have to take my skirt off?’
‘Yes,’ came the emphatic reply. ‘To be truly effective, a caning has to be given on the bare flesh.’
‘The... the b-bare flesh?’ The colour was flooding back again.
‘That’s what I said. Now, get on with it, Mary... or get out and I’ll send the papers to the Ministry. Come along... we haven’t got all day.’
Almost joyfully, he saw the girl unfastening her waistband. ‘Oh this is a-awful... h-horrible...’ she was saying.
‘Better than a court martial though. Agreed?’
Mary Rawlings gave him an almost savage look. ‘I...don’t know how a man... a man like you...’ she began, then spluttered into silence.
‘It will be easier to get your skirt off if you stand up, Mary,’ said Brian Marshall with a casualness he did not feel. The old adrenalin was truly starting to flow. He had not been in this happy position for some time now. Aden had given him the last opportunity, hadn’t it? Yes... that WRAP non-comm who’d gone AWOL. What a bottom she had on her. He’d given her a dozen and she’d taken them really well. Mary had a much trimmer figure and she was getting officer treatment. Only six. He watched the girl turn so that her back was to him before she dropped her skirt. A pair of thin, white cotton panties were exposed and, to Brian Marshall’s delight, also a fancy little white suspender belt holding up a pair of stockings. So he was not the only old-fashioned one! Didn’t see many of those about nowadays, especially in the services. Very sexy. Mmmm...yes...a nicely, firmly-rounded young bottom. Very white skin. Ideally suited to a cane.
‘Take your knickers down, young lady.’
‘Oh m-must I?’ came a pleading wail. She was still turned away from him. ‘They’re so... so thin... they won’t make any difference.’
‘Take them down, Mary... it makes all the difference!’ snapped the worthy Group Captain. He stood up and opened the drawer of his desk — in which he had earlier placed the slim, whippy willow cane. It was always best to be well prepared in the services. Normally the cane was kept well hidden in one of his kitbags.
Reluctantly... oh so reluctantly... the little briefs were pushed down. Down first to the tops of those tapering thighs. Then lower. The charming young bottom was quite bare but for the decoration of the suspender belt. That could remain, Brian Marshall decided, for it would certainly make no difference.
‘You will bend over my desk, young lady, and grip its far edge,’ he said, coming round to the front. As he did so, Mary Rawlings turned, hiding her bush from him. Brian grinned. She wouldn’t be able to hide anything when she bent over. He saw the girl trembling, heard her sobbing now. Yes, quite an ordeal. ‘Haven’t you got any guts, Flight Lieutenant?’ he asked with sudden sharpness.
That did the trick. It was a challenge to the martial spirit which had been trained into her. With an even louder sob, the girl did as he had ordered.
That well-formed bottom curved more tautly... the cleft widened between the nates... and Mary Rawlings was forced to display what she dearly wished to keep hidden.
‘This is going to hurt, Mary,’ said Brian Marshall, his voice a little throaty. He tapped the taut flesh, seeing her flinch and twist...  ‘It has to! Your crime was a serious one. I hope you realise that. I hope you fully understand.’
Whether she did or not, he got no answer. Brian Marshall raised the cane high and laid on a full-blooded cut. God, how she must have felt that! As the blood-red, twin-tracked weal leapt over the buttocks, Mary Rawlings jerked up off the desk, hands flying back to clamp to her squirming bottom. A bottom that went on squirming and squirming as, crying out breathlessly, she fell to her knees on the bare floor.
Group Captain Brian Marshall’s teeth bared sadistically. He had enjoyed that... and he was going on enjoying it. Oh yes... it was good... very good... to be able to make a young woman squirm like this.
Flight Lieutenant Mary Rawlings teeth were also bared. But hers were bared in pain. She had not enjoyed that cruel cut one little bit... and she was going on not enjoying it. It burnt and burnt... deep, deep. How was she going to be able to survive five more like that?
It took far longer to cane Mary Rawlings than Brian Marshall had anticipated. And he didn’t mind one little bit! He was very happy for her to be so slow and reluctant to replace herself over his desk to receive the stroke to come. It gave him more time to study her shapely posterior... and the weals striping it... as well as other most attractive parts of the girl’s anatomy.
He loved to hear her gasping and sobbing. He loved to hear her pleading so desperately. Yes... he was forced to admit to himself he was a real swine.
Still, if you’re made that way, what can you do about it? Nothing really. Except to take full advantage of the all too infrequent opportunities that come one’s way in life.
It was after the fourth stroke that Mary Rawlings took longest of all to get back into position. He had to keep threatening that court martial again... and then remind her she was over halfway. When she did at last get herself stretched out once more... bottom twisting and flinching with dread, nates clenching and unclenching with dread... Brian Marshall deliberately kept her waiting. It all added to the severity of her punishment, he told himself. And to the intensity of his pleasure.
Strokes five and six were finally and fully, delivered and for a long time Flight Lieutenant Rawlings remained kneeling on the floor, hands pressing, eyes flooding with tears. Brian Marshall returned to his desk where, thoughtfully, he had made other preparations apart from the cane. He opened a side-drawer and took out a bottle of brandy and two glasses.
He could do with a good stiff drink and he reckoned, so would the girl when she had recovered somewhat.
Kneeling by her, Brian Marshall had to force the first one down between chattering teeth. It had an instant and remarkable effect. Within a minute, Mary was seated (albeit very gingerly!) on her chair, extending her glass for a second shot. She had not, Brian noted happily, even bothered to put her knickers back on. Brian poured a generous measure for each. He was surprised at the pace with which Mary put it down, even though it made her choke.
He suspected she was an amateur as far as booze was concerned.
Brian was right. The shock of what had occurred, pushed Mary Rawlings into doing something she had never done before. That is, to drink strong liquor.
Inevitably, after a couple of big ones, she was half tipsy. She extended her glass again, even grinning rather feebly at the two Group Captains who seemed to be seated behind the desk.
‘I... mmmf... ummpphh... I’m glad that’s o-over...’ she stated.
‘I expect so,’ nodded Brian sagely. He poured the girl a slightly smaller measure and was thankful she drank it more slowly this time. Didn’t want to have her passing out on him.
Thoughts.... very naughty thoughts.... were beginning to drift through his mind. He liked the way things were developing. With care, with a little nudge along the way here and there, who knew what might now happen? He was glad to see, the girl had made no move to replace her knickers. Let alone her skirt. That must mean something.
‘Oh Lord... mmmfff... how my bum’s b-burning... oh you are a b-beast!’
What an unladylike word, he thought. And what a way to address your Station Commander! Yes, things were developing nicely.
‘So it should be, you wicked girl,’ he said. ‘You know you deserve it.’
‘D-do I... mmfff... do I?’ Her speech was becoming more slurred.
‘Yes, you do. Currency smuggling! Goodness me... I let you off lightly. You should have had a dozen across your backside.’
‘If you s-say so, Groupie...’ she giggled. ‘Oh Lord... I don’t think I could have s-stood that.’
‘You’d be surprised.’ He ignored the glass which was thrust at him again. ‘No more for the moment, Miss,’ he said, helping himself.
‘Oh you are a bastard... mmmfff... ummfff... f-first you... mfff... c-cane me... now... you d-deprive me...’
‘You’re getting pissed.’
‘I don’t c-care... oh how my bottom hurts! It’s the only thing... that helps...’
‘I don’t know about that,’ smiled Brian Marshall. Ah yes, how wise it was to be always well-prepared! He opened the other drawer of his desk and took out a large jar of cold cream. ‘How about this?’ he enquired. Mary Rawlings gazed at it like a thirsty desert-traveller sighting an oasis.
‘O-oh... yes... yes...’ she cried. She stood up suddenly, gasping and wincing at the increased intensity of pain. ‘Oh let me... have some of that!’
‘Certainly,’ smiled Brian Marshall. ‘Kindly go back over my desk, young lady.’
There was no reluctance now. Only eagerness. Nor, it seemed, was there any longer any embarrassment. As the Station Commander began to sooth cream on to the warm-soft bottom of his errant subordinate, he noted that the thighs were parted. Slightly but definitely....

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