From Uniform Girls 23
Journey in the Dark
The big car sped along the fast lane of the motorway, considerably in excess of the legal speed limit but with no sound of effort from its powerful motor. It was dark outside apart from the passing lights of other vehicles, a cool November evening; inside it was dark too, in the rear seat certainly, but snug and warm. Behind the black-suited shoulders and peaked cap of the driver the big middle-aged man turned to his scarcely visible companion.
‘What did you think, Michelle? Did that go all right?’
Mr Barnard was referring to his lecture, delivered in a hall in the suburbs of Birmingham a little earlier. Delivered to an audience of Organisation members, though not of its elite, inner circle of initiates. He knew it had gone well and he knew his young companion would in any case parrot uncritical approval and praise but that did not mean he was averse to hearing it. The youthful face turned to him in the dark. The lights of a passing car momentarily illuminated the pale full-lipped mouth and shining eyes.
‘Oh yes, sir. It was marvellous. Super. They really loved it. It was a great experience for them.’ All delivered in a breathy, ecstatic young voice.
A large hand came across to her knee. ‘ Yes, I thought it went well. It is always very draining though, Michelle. A drain on a man’s electricity. His EQ. I shall need a good soak in a hot bath when we get back. And a massage.’
Michelle said an enthusiastic but respectful, ‘Yes Mr Barnard.’ His hand had slid up her bare thigh, fingers down in the warm narrow space between it and its mate. Knowing what was expected of her Michelle parted her knees. Not excessively but sufficient: the Leader did not want immodest or tarty behaviour but he did want a girl to be co-operative, compliant, especially when he was low in his EQ, his Energy Quotient. That was a girl’s prime function in the Organisation, her duty and of course a high honour. Quite a few girls would give a lot to be where Michelle was now, with the Leader in the plush rear seat of the Daimler: snug in the warm dark and with his hand up between the hot smooth thighs. Replenishing his EQ.
The hand discovered, with Michelle sliding her thighs apart a little wider, that there were knickers. This was all right and quite correct. Again a girl must not be immodest and simply because she knew she would be travelling with the Leader in the Daimler leave off her knickers. Some girls, early on in their training and with an excess of zeal, might think that but it was wrong. There was a time and a place for everything: that was a basic tenet of the Teaching. Michelle’s knickers however were brief and diaphanous. They covered what a girl’s knickers were meant to cover but in no way concealed or hid or prevented Energy Flow. She spread her legs wider. It was not wrong once the hand was there, the Leader’s hand, seeking Energy and in any case it was quite dark. Mr Barnard’s hand had found her special spot through the silky thin knickers, was rubbing it. Michelle’s soft mouth opened in a little moan. Energy, electricity, was being transferred all right, she could feel it, a hot and heady tingle. She squirmed. Her short skirt was high up on her hips.
The short skirt was part of Michelle’s uniform as one of Mr Barnard’s Angels. It was navy-blue and very brief even when it wasn’t pushed up round her hips as it was at this moment. The short skirt was worn with a matching tight, short-sleeved navy shirt, buttoning down the front and displaying a number of badges and marks of proficiency: badges earned during a girl’s training and progression through the various grades. Michelle’s shirt bore the badge of an Angel Grade One: the very highest level that a girl could attain. With the navy shirt and skirt were worn white knee-socks and polished black shoes which could be high-heeled or flat. Michelle was today wearing high-heeled courts in recognition of her important presence at the lecture when she had sat, the Leader’s chosen Angel Grade One for today, at a special table at the front of the hall.
Other than these items of clothing there were of course the knickers, as already mentioned. A bra could be worn or not, depending. It was not considered immodest for a girl to go without a bra. Michelle did not have one on today; her only undergarment was the skimpy pair of knickers, the crotch of which was now feeling the rhythmic attentions of Mr Barnard’s fingers.
Michelle moaned softly again. Passing energy, electricity, to the Leader was always a highly emotional and heady thing whatever means was used. When they got back there would be Mr Barnard’s bath and also his massage which too would be highly emotional situations. Sometimes the emotional current was so high it could reduce a girl to tears, though naturally not tears of unhappiness.
Mr Barnard’s other arm was behind Michelle’s slim back. It came up now, to cradle the back of her sleek head. Pulling her close. Michelle’s soft pink mouth came obediently open as it met the Leader’s. His large and aggressive tongue thrust in and she accepted it, sucking it into her mouth. More energy was transmitted, making her shiver afresh. Mr Barnard took his mouth away.
‘I’m getting off the bottom,’ he said in a husky voice. Meaning the bottom of his EQ. ‘Just a little.’ Then more loudly, addressing the impassive back of the driver, ‘Not too long now I guess, Parks.’
They were in fact still a good hour’s drive from base, the Organisation’s Headquarters, because once the big black car had left the motorway there was still some distance to cover on lesser roads. There was time enough for more energy to be transferred from the nubile Michelle before they reached home; time for the Leader’s EQ to be raised a further notch or two. In the snug darkness he was now working at the buttons of the tight navy-blue shirt. Below which there was of course only the warm and eager-to-please Angel Grade One.
On The Table
The sign on the substantial brick pillar which with its partner supported the heavy iron gates said Hartfield Hall and underneath The Science of Astrodynamics. Hartfield Hall nestled in the middle reaches of the Thames valley and its grounds backed onto the river. A small houseboat was kept moored at its jetty and there was also a larger sea-going craft kept at a South coast mooring for the voyages of study and training which were undertaken at more clement times of the year. This nautical aspect was reflected in the fact that the Leader and his lieutenants would not infrequently appear in naval-type kit: a navy-blue uniform complete with braided cap which in the summer months might be exchanged for a white outfit. The Angels too had a white version of their navy-blue uniform.
The large iron gates presented a formidable barrier against uninvited individuals and were kept locked. Formidable also were the high brick walls extending in both directions from the gate pillars to completely enclose the property on the landward side. Within were maturely wooded grounds, lawns, etc. and Hartfield Hall itself: a substantial early Victorian country manor. It had been acquired by the Organisation for use as its headquarters some five years earlier, during which time such modifications and improvements as were deemed necessary had been carried out. A heated outdoor swimming pool and also an indoor one; a jacuzzi, a gymnasium. It was not only young persons’ minds that had to be trained but their bodies too.
As for the mental training, the Science of Astrodynamics, less major modifications were needed. Rooms were already present that could be used with very little modification for teaching, tutorials, etc. All that was needed, apart from bringing in suitable furniture, was the installation of upgraded locks.
It is 7 o’clock on this cool November evening. The Leader’s Daimler is still some three-quarters-of-an-hour away. Here at Hartfield Hall the darkened grounds are empty save for whatever small nocturnal creatures there may be going about their business, and the river is silent and still-seeming. The gates are locked, as they always are except when a bona fide person or vehicle is entering or leaving. The place is still and silent but the house is not empty. Lights shine in a number of rooms and a number of persons are busy at their duties. The domestic staff for instance: in addition to any other requirements Mr Barnard is likely to want a meal on his return, as will his companion Angel Grade One and the driver. And there are of course others here, not only the domestic staff.
There is Mr Liebman for one. Mr Liebman is a very senior man in the Organisation though naturally subordinate to Mr Barnard. He is, like that gentleman, middle-aged and also of American origin; a smaller man though and with sharp, ferrety eyes. He is at present in shirt-sleeves, the dark trousers of a suit and gym shoes. In this small room, Tutorial Room A, he is standing at the table which is set squarely on the centre of the carpet. It is rather like a dining table, of polished mahogany.
On the highly polished surface is lying a girl. An attractive blonde lying on her back with arms and legs outstretched to the four corners of the top. In this supine position her breasts which are full and, in an upright state, thrust firmly forward, outwards, are now flattened though still forming significant peaks, pink-capped. This and the fact that she is a true blonde, the collar matches the cuffs as they say, can be seen because she is nude. She is gazing up at the ceiling whereon is a screen displaying major constellations of stars. The girl is called Janet; an Angel Grade Three.
Mr Liebman is questioning Janet regarding the constellations, at intervals placing a black mask over her eyes so that she answers with the sky unseen. When he is not holding the mask to Janet’s face Mr Liebman’s hand is between her legs. Stimulating her energy flow and thus her memory. Janet may imagine that she could concentrate much better on the stars if Mr Liebman’s hands were not between her legs stimulating her, but this is because she is only an Angel Grade Three and has a long way to go, a good deal to learn.
All girls in the Organisation have to know their stars. The stars and their motions, their all-embracing effect on human life and the Energy Flow; all this is central to the science of Astrodynamics which of course the great Leader, Mr Barnard, has developed. And at a more mundane level too, though still highly important, a girl needs to know her stars for navigation — on one of those sea voyages of training and mental discovery, or perhaps a night hike across country to test a girl’s resolve and fortitude.
‘The Big Dipper.’ Mr Liebman is shaking his head in some frustration.
‘You just don’t seem to be able to get that, Janet.’ His hand returns to its place between her spread thighs, into that slippery-wet fulcrum. Janet’s EQ needs elevating. She moans, and squirms. There seems to be plenty of Energy Flow, but somewhere there must be a block. The spread-out girl grips the edge of the table and produces another whinnying gasp.
Mr Liebman removes his hand and reaches into his shirt pocket. A felt-tip pen. ‘What I’ll do, Janet, is draw it here, on your leg. Then you can study it. OK?’
He proceeds to make a diagram on Janet’s leg. The area he has chosen is high on the inside of one thigh. It is an area of high sensitivity. Janet squeals as the pen begins its tracery. A tickling, tingly feeling and of course… so close… to where she has just been so achingly stimulated. Mr Liebman is concentrating on his diagram. It is like drawing on silky vellum. And perhaps the pen, producing its shivery squeals, will somehow be able to impart the information directly: a direct flow of information electricity.
Be that as it may, something else of course is needed. The constellation has been inked onto Janet’s thigh for her to study and commit to memory but something else is needed to reinforce the message. Something else that will stimulate a considerable Energy Flow. Janet is well aware that she will get it; it is inevitable after three incorrect attempts at the Big Dipper. If Mr Liebman hadn’t been doing what he was doing with his hand she would probably have got it right, so Janet thinks. And as a result also of that, with her all shivery and shaky and almost on the point of coming… well it will be ten times as bad as if she wasn’t in this high energy state.
But of course a caning is always most effective when delivered to a girl in that state. Just before she reaches that critical point, the highest energy point. Some will argue that just after is even better; when her EQ has reached the peak and is rapidly going into a dip. Zap it right up again, only now with…
The whippy bamboo.
It is in Mr Liebman’s hand. Janet is hauling her shivery nude self off the table top. To spread her body again over it, only this time standing at the side, her upper torso face down. Her nice firm tits down, squashed against the polished surface.
‘Stick it out then, Janet. Give the cane a proper chance…’
The big iron gates loom in the Daimler’s lights as it comes to a purring halt. The front door opens and clunks shut and there is the figure of Mr Parks coming across in front with his key. Michelle looks, wide-eyed in the half-dark. Mr Barnard’s EQ is off the bottom all right but he is going to want to raise it further, and probably right away before his meal. Michelle shivers. Her own emotional state is high too although for a good deal of the journey she has been imparting energy to the Leader. Because of course when a girl gives energy she does not necessarily lose it, she will gain as well if the transfer is correctly done. Energy is created, or rather is tapped from the stars. That is the teaching, the secret, of Astrodynamics. And now…
Yes, Mr Barnard tells Mrs Spingley, head housekeeper at Hartfield Hall, that they will eat in perhaps an hour. Mrs Spingley smiles understandingly, and smiles at Michelle. Michelle goes smartly off to her room, in the corridor passing Janet who is an Angel Grade Three.
Janet produces a smile but it is a rather forlorn one. Her face is red, her eyes especially. Janet has been crying. A Grade Three can frequently be crying, but then so not infrequently can a Grade Two or One. When your EQ has been zapped right up the tears can suddenly flood out — and also when it is at rock bottom. This is not a problem, although of course a girl may think it is, especially a Grade Three.
In her room Michelle quickly undresses. Everything off and then her dressing gown on. A glance in the mirror and a quick brush at her flaxen short-cut hair. Michelle’s big blue eyes are not red — but who is to say they will not shortly be? She puts on a dab of pink lipstick: not a lot, nothing tarty of course, but Mr Barnard likes a little. Another look in the mirror, and a little grimace. Even a Grade One can feel those butterflies in her insides. Her heart beats a bit faster, Michelle’s EQ is high, buoyant. Not at the top, though. Not yet…
Mr Barnard’s bathroom is large and resplendent, with a sunken bath and a low marble massage table. There is also greenery sprouting in all directions, like a hothouse. Michelle is familiar with this splendid room not only from her ministrations to Mr Barnard but also because she is allowed, as an Angel Grade One, to use this bathroom herself. A special privilege. There are of course other bathrooms in the house, and also a jacuzzi, but Mr Barnard’s bathroom is naturally the most splendid. Michelle goes to draw the bath, carefully checking the temperature. Steam rises, for the Leader requires it hot. As the bath fills Michelle removes her dressing gown and hangs it up. Her enticing young body is now nude but that of course is how Mr Barnard expects a ministering Grade One to be in his bathroom. All vibrant pink tits and quivering pink bottom-cheeks.
Quivering and vibrant, Michelle reaches in the cupboard to take out bath oils, soaps, body unguents. The bath is filled. The room is hazy with steam. It all seems to be ready. Excellent timing, as Mr Barnard now enters.
His bulky person is also clothed in a dressing gown, plus slippers. Closing the door he slips open the cord of the gown and takes that garment off. He is nude. Michelle, big-eyed, steps forward, docilely, presenting herself: vibrant, nude, trembling. Mr Barnard is… well, it is clear his EQ is not now at a low ebb. Not at all. Michelle’s presence in the back seat of the Daimler has clearly been most effective in that regard, also perhaps the stimulus of anticipating his bathroom pleasure. Mr Barnard, one could say, is springingly vibrant. As he now clasps the vibrantly nude girl to him. She utters a gaspy little sound, a sound perhaps of high voltage energy being tapped from the stars and flowing. She also parts her legs. Well…
But no. It is not that. It is just for the moment a clasping: one slim nude form by a large and somewhat hairy bear-like one.
After his bear-like greeting the Leader descends into his bath. Michelle reaches for soap, oils, sponge. Kneeling, pert tits pendant, at the Master’s side. This part is nothing really to worry about. Rubbing the soap and oils into the Leader’s abundant flesh. Well certainly it is nothing to worry about, it is a signal honour to provide this intimate service for Mr Barnard. And afterwards: the massage. Etcetera. Well it is all massage really. The flesh stimulated. Yes, all that is an honour too. A Grade Three, say, who is not yet trained, may have her qualms. But that is ignorance, a very incomplete knowledge of the ways of the stars and their Energy Function. The tapping of the galaxy’s Energy and its transformation…
Mr Barnard lies supine on the marble slab, to the non-initiated eye like some stranded whale. Michelle working the solid flesh. Pummelling with her small hands. Squeezing. Kneading. The Leader’s EQ is rising. That is abundantly evident. The tapped galaxial energy is concentrating in his generative staff which now stands magnificently upright. Purple-headed. It is quivering. An unstable situation…
The Leader pushes himself upright. The massive legs come down, feet onto the floor. Sitting now on the slab, thighs apart. Michelle kneels. Obediently. Her heart bumping. Michelle’s own EQ is very high. Her soft mouth open. It won’t take very long, no time at all. She can see that. It won’t take very long for the Leader’s EQ to be there, at the top.
The alarm, a buzzer on the wall, abruptly begins its nerve-jangling call. It is greeted in the darkness by exclamations of girlish distress. The buzzer continues and it cannot be turned off — at least not by the room’s inmates. After 15 seconds of this awful sound the room lights come on. The buzzer continues for a further 15 seconds and then there is merciful silence. Apart from a groaned ‘Bloody Hell!’ from one of the girls in the small bed. From the other there is just another unhappy moan!
The bright light, from which the two groaning girls are shielding their eyes, reveals a smallish room with two single beds, two simple wooden dressers, chairs etc. On the two bedside chairs are placed, neatly folded, items of uniform clothing as worn by members of the Institute of Astrodynamics’ Angel Brigade, viz: navy-blue skirt, shirt, white knee-socks, etc. All neatly laid out the previous night for the morning which has now, with a shock as it always does, duly arrived. In front of the two chairs are likewise neatly placed two pairs of flat-heeled black shoes.
‘Oh Christ!’ This comes from the pretty lips of one of the girls, eyes tightly shut and covers pulled up to disclose only her face. It is the face of Janet, the blonde who yesterday evening was having such problems with the Big Dipper. It is Janet who has seconds earlier exclaimed ‘Bloody Hell!’ Janet as we know is an Angel Grade Three. Her companion in this room is called Penny. Penny does not yet have a grade, she is an Angel Probationer. She is new, has only been here at Hartfield Hall for three days. And like many new recruits, to the Institute of Astrodynamics’ Angel Brigade as with other organisations, she is at the stage of having second thoughts about the wisdom of what she has done. Second thoughts can especially come with the rude awakening of the buzzer at 7.30 in the morning.
‘Get up’ says Janet. There is only another distressed groan from Penny who likewise has her eyes shut and the bedclothes pulled tight up round her face. ‘If you don’t get up, right away, you know what you’ll get,’ advises Grade Three Janet, eyes still also closed against the stinging light.
But it is not only Probationer Penny who will get it. No. It will be meted out to all and sundry who are not standing smartly at their beds in ten minutes time — and especially if they should be discovered both in one bed, where the less experienced girl has crept under the other girl’s covers for a little sympathetic company in the dark hours of the night. Ten minutes to be out and have a pee and brush your teeth and have your bed neatly made and your pyjamas neatly folded and be standing at attention…
With another groan Janet staggers out. Opens one eye and with an un-angel-like exclamation quickly closes it again. She grabs the bedclothes and abruptly removes them from the cringing Penny. ‘Get up!’ she hisses. Janet has finally opened both eyes. Her hand reaches out again. This time the target is the crotch of blonde Penny’s pink pyjamas. Penny shrieks as the clutching hand takes hold.
‘Well get up then. Or we’ll both get it.’ This is true. As senior girl in the room Janet is responsible for both herself and her companion. If they are not both in spick-and-span order then Janet will get it as much as Penny. From Mr Liebman, on his Morning Inspection. At 7.40. Precisely.
Precisely. They make it. Just. Well hopefully they have, everything is just so, as it should be. Standing at attention, girlish muscles tensed, quivering slightly, but no real movement that can be complained of. At attention at their beds. Nude. Chins up. Backs straight. Tits firmly forward. Hair — short-cut medium brown and longer, more wavy, ash-blonde — neatly brushed; teeth brushed. Beds properly made, with pyjamas folded under pillows. The neat pile of clothes on the chairs of course are still there. Part of the inspection. Mr Liebman.
Janet first. She is after all the senior girl here. Standing as still as she is able, scarcely breathing, as Mr Liebman comes close. Close up in front of her. His hand comes up… to play not too seriously with the pert nipples.
‘So. Young Janet. Know the Big Dipper now, do we?’
‘Y…Yes, Mr Liebman. I… think I do.’
‘Still got it there, have we?’ His hand slides down, to the silky brown bush. Taking hold of it. ‘Not washed it off. I hope?’
‘No!’ A gasping exhalation. ‘No sir.’
‘We’ll look, shall we? Get on the bed. On your back.’
Oh Jesus. On her back at an angle (the bed is too narrow for Janet to lie across). Knees up and legs spread. The Big Dipper is still there. But Mr Liebman’s hand seems not desperately interested. It is interested in something else. A girl’s primary site for galaxial energy transformation. He has hold of it.
‘Yes. Well we’ll have another test later. If you don’t know it… ah… ’ Mr Liebman seems definitely more interested in what his hand is doing. His fingers. One finger… has slid right in… ‘Ah… yes…’
He finally lets go and tells Janet to stand up. At attention again. A cursory inspection of her bed. It is now a little creased where she has had to lie on it. He gives her bare bottom a quick feel. ‘Yes… OK.’
That is it for Janet. Now Penny. She is shaking a bit. She is very new for one thing and also has had to watch Janet’s going over. Maybe Penny will say she wants to resign. If she can pluck up the courage. But for the moment forget that. Stand straight. Eyes front. Try not to blink. Mr Liebman’s face has come very close. Those scary eyes. And… Ooooh! … His hand is on her tits.
‘Penny. And how are we settling in?’
‘All right… Mr Liebman. Very nicely, I think.’
There is no mention that she would like to resign. That being an Angel is not exactly what Penny had thought. Not at all in fact. That some things really make you… want to be anywhere except here at Hartfield Hall. Standing here in front of Mr Liebman for one thing. With no clothes on. With his hand where it is at the moment… and, even worse, where she knows it will shortly be. But Penny doesn’t say ‘Look, I’m going. Leaving.’ No. She can’t really see herself saying that. And if she does… they wouldn’t let her go. Janet said that. Now she knows the secrets of Astrodynamics. Or some of them. No. ‘Ooooh!’
The hand has slid down.
‘Keep still,’ Mr Liebman says. ‘Can’t you keep still?’
‘No!’ she squeals. Squirming and shaking. ‘I can’t…’ Not with his hand there.
‘Then a lesson is needed, Penny. A girl needs some self-control before she can start on the meaning of the universe. Come on.’
Mr Liebman is sitting down on Penny’s bed. Janet knows what he is going to do. He is going to spank her bottom. Penny shortly knows this too, as she is pulled down over Mr Liebman’s lap. Janet is told she can get dressed and go down to breakfast. While Mr Liebman…
‘Come on, Penny. Get further over. And open your legs. I don’t want them stuck together like that.’ A stinging smack accompanies this instruction.
Penny is perhaps wise to keep her doubts to herself. Girls do occasionally voice such doubts, or even claim they wish to resign from the Angel Brigade. When this happens action has to be firm and decisive. What has happened is that there has been some sort of blockage of Energy Flow, the girl’s Personality Factor, her PF, has not made the right conjunctions. This in turn may result from some bad experience, Bad Vibes, in the past. Whatever the situation, immediate positive action is needed. Any request to leave can certainly not be acceded to, that would be the worst thing for the Angel herself, a Negative which would leave her at the mercy of her Bad Vibes and with no hope of correcting her PF. She will not be allowed to leave; instead she will be taken in hand, given a special intensified course of study. As for instance Cheryl.
Cheryl is a Grade Two. It is somewhat rare for a Grade One or Grade Two to have this problem; when it happens it is usually a Probationer or less frequently a Grade Three. By the time an Angel has been elevated to Grade Two she should be well trained and directed, Energy Flow good, everything Positive. But sometimes there can be a fault which has gone undetected, some Bad Vibes which only now will surface to start producing Negatives. Cheryl has a day ago had a crisis: something with Mr Liebman. A refusal in a certain energy transfer situation. A new experience which she was being brought to and somehow a refusal and suddenly things were boiling over. Tears of course are not unknown, even for Grade Ones, but this went further than mere tears. Tantrums. Wild accusations. General uncontrolled behaviour.
Cheryl is at present confined to one of the small Tranquillity Rooms on the top floor — except when she is taken out for training etc. which needs to be conducted elsewhere. A Tranquillity Room is merely a little single bedroom furnished with the bare essentials and with a good lock on the door. At least that is all it seems to the occupant, but there are in fact a couple of hidden spyholes in the walls through which her behaviour can be observed. To facilitate this the room remains lit, though with a moderately dimmed light, throughout the night. These measures are of course for the doubting Angel’s own benefit. Her behavioural patterns when she thinks she is unseen will greatly aid elucidation of her problem and then recovery.
Elucidation and recovery are also aided by, for instance, the cane. That instrument is now at 7.45 this morning being energetically applied to Cheryl’s bare bottom. ‘Tranquillity’ clearly does not describe Cheryl’s lot at this moment: that descriptive is intended rather to signify those periods of quiet, solitary contemplation which should generally take place here. But not all the time; a doubting Angel certainly needs to feel the cane. Vigorously applied.
First thing in the morning and last thing at night as a bare minimum. Cheryl of course is also wearing the bare minimum. Nothing, that is.
Lying face down over the foot of the bed. Legs spread as instructed. So that the cane can reach not only the sweetly-rounded cheeks of her bottom but also, by dextrous application, the oh-so-sensitive inner thighs. Excruciating! But of course just what a doubting Angel needs to clear her mind.
The cane is being thus dexterously handled by Mr Mountling who is another lieutenant of Mr Barnard. Third in the hierarchy and the only Englishman but that does not mean he canes more or less severely than those other two gentlemen. Or anything else. Mr Mountling like the Leader himself and Mr Liebman seeks to explore all avenues and byways of Energy Flow with Angels. Caning of course and all the others. That problem that Cheryl had, that baulking, as a young horse may baulk when faced with what looks like a difficult and unpleasant fence, it is not going to go away. Cheryl will have to face that fence again, and not only with Mr Liebman in the saddle as it were but with Mr Barnard and Mr Mountling up. A girl must become adept at engaging in Energy Flow in all its forms and situations. Cheryl will have to face that. Right now though it is only the cane that occupies her mind. An Energy Flow situation that she has maybe become somewhat accustomed to but cannot yet learn to accept. But still, even Grade Ones don’t actually like it.
Desperate spluttering gasps and cries erupt from the trembling-lipped mouth. Counterpointed by the crisply thudding sound of springy but solid bamboo impacting on silky-soft flesh.
The caning does eventually come to an end, after what no doubt seems like an eternity to the distressed recipient. The cane abandoned, Mr Mountling seats himself on the side of the bed. Cheryl’s slim body is making little jerky movements which have their origin in convulsive sobs into the bedcover. The twitching bottom, and the thighs, bear bright red stripes. Quite a lot.
Mr Mountling makes sympathetic sounds. In a soft and caring voice he reminds the whimpering Angel that what she has suffered is very much for her own good. It will help drive out all those Bad Vibes that have got her into her confused state. Cheryl understands that, doesn’t she?
What Cheryl understands is that if she makes any show of defiance, of attempted independence, if she does not show abject agreement in fact, she will get more of the same. A caning can go on for as long as it takes for this simple truth to sink in. Cheryl knows this because it was made clear to her, in practical demonstration, yesterday.
It is not a sound of defiance or disagreement. Cheryl, it seems, is learning that lesson. Mr Mountling strokes the shivering bottom. ‘That’s a sensible girl.’ Patting it. ‘Very sensible. Get your legs open a bit wider… Come on.’ Helping her. ‘That’s better.’
The long slim legs have, with Mr Mountling’s assistance, rather clumsily parted wider. Clumsily because Cheryl does not seem to have a lot of control over legs or anything else. Mr Mountling strokes a silky inner thigh. High up, next to where a girl’s thighs start, and down in between, where the cane has not reached. A most sensitive area, hot and moist. Slightly slippery with something: emanations from sweat glands perhaps, activated by shock, fear, etc. Further up Cheryl is even more hot, and slippery. The prime Energy Flow site. Mr Mountling’s hand is at work as, soothingly, he talks of Bad Vibes and PF. Of galaxial conjunctions. Of Energy Flow and EQ.
Cheryl’s EQ is rapidly rising again as a result of the hand. Her EQ has been high from the zippy impact of the cane, then a bit of a dip when that stopped coming down. Now Mr Mountling has got it zapping right up again. It is that hand that Cheryl’s mind is on rather than what Mr Mountling is saying. Well she can’t help it: with her blood pounding and her hips now writhing (once more) it is impossible… to concentrate on the words.
What Mr Mountling is saying is now more specific. No longer the generalities of galaxial energy, it is quite specific. To the effect that now, before Cheryl has breakfast, she is to be taken outside for some lung-searing exercise. Running round the grounds hard for 20 minutes. In just a T-top and gym shoes. She is going to be taken out now. Well not exactly now, this second. As soon as Mr Mountling has finished his present Energy Flow exercise is what he means.
A sunny and quite mild November afternoon. Days in November in southern England can of course be pretty nasty (come to that days in July and August can too) so the pleasant weather is very welcome if you have to be outside engaged in exercise, training. Mr Barnard, or one of his deputies, may at times decree that afternoon training must go ahead outside even though there is a thunderstorm or a howling gale. Sometimes. Of course they don’t particularly like unpleasant weather themselves but they can wrap up snug in woolly jumpers, comprehensive waterproofs, etc., standing quite dry under large and colourful umbrellas. The Angels naturally do not have such protection. The Angels are after all engaging in training. Unpleasant weather can be good for character, also freedom of limb movement is essential.
The training outfit may vary, depending on the training exercise — and also on the whim of the instructor. It may for instance be the uniform shirt and brief skirt with knee-socks and gym shoes. It may be just that: i.e. no knickers or bra. This is most frequently the case when Mr Liebman is taking training: he seems to prefer no knickers. Greater freedom of movement, he says. Or it may be only a T-shirt that is specified; i.e. with no skirt. Again Mr Liebman is likely to say no knickers either, though with Mr Barnard or Mr Mountling knickers will probably be allowed.
If the exercise includes swimming in the river then, regardless of who is in charge, it is likely to be in the nude, though here again Mr Barnard may sometimes say that brief knickers (only) may be worn. There is a lurking fear amongst the Angels that their swimming can be observed from the opposite bank where people sometimes walk. It is not the actual swimming so much because from a distance only a girl’s head will be seen, but getting in and out. Either in the nude or in just a pair of skimpy, semi-transparent (and completely transparent once they are wet) knickers. Being nude or virtually so at Hartfield Hall is one thing but being observed in that state by strangers is something else.
At this time of year of course there is another thing to think about as regards swimming. The temperature of the water. Freezing! The very thought can make your blood run cold. You are not kept in all that long, Mr Barnard presumably doesn’t want his Angels coming down with pneumonia, but all the same… Afterwards of course there is a hot bath — and very likely when you come out of the hot bath all tingly and glowing, something else, an Energy Flow exercise that will zap your EQ right up again. But even so…
At this moment, though, this afternoon, swimming in the river is only a nasty thought in girls’ minds. There may not be swimming today. It is not always on the schedule, but there is no way of predicting. It is merely at the whim of whoever is taking training. This afternoon it is Mr Liebman and Mr Mountling. Mr Barnard is here at Headquarters but busy inside, perhaps writing another lecture. Mr Liebman and Mr Mountling are taking training and it is semaphore at the moment. Semaphore is a very valuable, indeed essential skill when you are on board ship, also out in the country on a hike, etc. It is additionally an excellent mental and physical discipline in itself. Girls therefore have to be proficient and semaphore practice is frequently scheduled.
Angels are out in the grounds, here and there. Some are up in trees. Michelle is on the deck of the houseboat, The Astro. Girls are semaphoring to each other in pairs, with the two instructors going round checking. Any shortcomings — either actual errors or for instance letters sloppily displayed — are dealt with by on-the-spot ‘reminders’. Each instructor has a rattan cane in his hand.
The Angels are today in their uniform dress of navy shirt and brief skirt with the white knee-socks and gym shoes. They are not wearing knickers under their skirts which of course makes the handing out of ‘reminders’ that much more straightforward in that there are no knickers to take down. Reminders may take the form of a quick and vigorous caning or in some cases the lesser ‘reminder’ of a bare bottom spanking. Cheryl is out here doing semaphore with the rest; being at the moment in disgrace does not preclude her from taking part in training. The fact that Cheryl is in disgrace, though, is clear to all: she is wearing only her shirt with no skirt and moreover her Grade Two badge has been removed from the shirt. A little humiliation in front of her fellow Angels is all part of her treatment, and it will also serve to encourage — or rather deter — any other would-be doubters.
As might be expected Cheryl is having an especially hard time of it, the two men looking for the tiniest fault in her performance as an excuse for constant ‘reminders’. Another one who is having something of a hard time, from Mr Liebman at least, is, perhaps surprisingly, Michelle. In spite of being a Grade One and that high honour yesterday. Michelle’s semaphoring is correct and smart but Mr Liebman still manages to find fault.
It is not in fact the semaphore but is that honour yesterday. Angels who are given a special public appearance like that can sometimes let it go to their heads. Or at least they might do. There is no sign that this is the case with Michelle but Mr Liebman wants to make sure. In the space of half-an-hour he manages to give Michelle two hard canings (no question of a mere spanking) for in effect nothing at all. Partly because it seems so unfair, and also of course the very real pain of a hard caning, Michelle has been in tears both times.
Semaphore has been going on for about an hour now. Very probably there will be a different exercise shortly. It could be a hard run round the grounds, or a session of gymnastic exercises. Or rope and rigging climbing in the practice area behind the house. Or it could be of course… a very nasty cold dip in the river. An invigorating dip as Mr Mountling and Mr Liebman will undoubtedly say if they have decided on it. It is Wednesday and there has not been a swimming session all this week. Which makes it definitely on the cards. The thought looms in every Angel’s mind: stripped off on the landing jetty and having to jump in… with probably Mr Liebman’s cane to help steel you to it. It is a horrible and distracting thought. It can distract you from concentration on your semaphore, causing simple mistakes. So that at the moment canings are coming pretty regularly.
What Mr Liebman says in a little while, after blowing his whistle and gathering them all together, is: ‘Right. That will do for that. Some of you are getting a bit slack. Now we’ll finish up with a brisk run and you can go in.’
What a relief! But Mr Liebman has not finished. ‘Except for Cheryl who is going to do some swimming instead. And… I think a Grade One to accompany her. Yes… Michelle. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Michelle dear?’
A TRIP ON THE RIVER
A training expedition on The Astro. Up the river this afternoon and then returning tomorrow. The Astro will moor overnight on a stretch of bank about five miles up that is owned by the Organisation and some members of the party will sleep on board while others will camp ashore. The ones camping will be Mr Barnard and Cheryl. The Leader wishes to check how that little problem she had, those Bad Vibes, is responding to treatment. Cheryl has had three days now of the Tranquillity Room plus scheduled extra exercises and does seem to be getting over the problem. Seeing the True Astral Light of Astrodynamics again. Mr Mountling who has been mostly dealing with her thinks she is responding well. A lot more Positives now. A night with her under canvas, in the close intimacy of a double sleeping bag, should enable the Leader to see for himself This is one main reason for the expedition, though trips on the river are always good for girls, excellent training for when they go to sea in The Astrodynamo.
Mr Barnard will be accompanied by Mr Mountling and there will be a party of six Angels with Angel Grade One, Michelle leading. Michelle has just about got over that business yesterday when Mr Liebman was picking on her for no reason, with the cane and then making her get in the icy water when all the others except the disgraced Cheryl were let off. In the bathroom afterwards Mr Liebman told Michelle why it was — so that she didn’t get conceited. Michelle didn’t think that was a very good reason, or very fair either, but naturally she didn’t say so. An Angel didn’t argue but meekly accepted whatever she was told.
‘Yes, Mr Liebman. It is a temptation, I can see that. But I’ll really fight against it. Thank you.’ That was a Positive thing to say — but wasn’t it really a Negative if you didn’t strictly believe it?
Anyway right after that, after Michelle’s bath, Mr Liebman had her up on the massage table and engaged her in an Energy Flow exercise. Michelle didn’t really feel like co-operating fully but that of course would definitely be a Negative and she thrust the thought out of her mind. Afterwards Mr Liebman said he was very pleased with her, Michelle was an excellent Grade One.
So Michelle is in charge of the other five girls on The Astro, Mr Barnard and Mr Mountling on board of course but the girls are sailing the vessel. Everyone naturally is in uniform including the two men, and the Angels in recognition of the fact that they are afloat are wearing smart little navy caps in addition to their normal shore uniform. It is another nice day so everyone is in good spirits as the motor starts chugging and they cast off from the jetty.
Actually getting The Astro from A to B only strictly speaking takes two girls, one steering and the other checking on the engine, but there are as well all those other nautical jobs to be done. Scrubbing the deck. Polishing brass until you can see your face in it. Wiping down paintwork. Coiling ropes of course and generally seeing that everything is ship-shape. And last but not least work in the galley because everyone is going to be hungry later and there are not the normal Hartfield Hall staff here for such chores.
Michelle has to organise all this, making sure everything is running in an orderly fashion, no sudden nasty hitches, etc. It is a very demanding job but being a very capable Angel Grade One she is up to it. Mr Barnard and Mr Mountling meanwhile, as The Astro progresses steadily up the river, can wander round and observe the girls at their tasks. Here and there encouragingly squeezing a busy bottom. And when necessary, if something isn’t being done quite as it should be, taking the Angel in question into one of the cabins for a quick knickers-down session. Keep them on their toes is the motto.
Mr Barnard has especially got his eye on Cheryl. Naturally. Bad Vibes have to be nipped in the bud. Mr Mountling has assured him that everything is going well with Cheryl now but a man with Mr Barnard’s responsibilities cannot but feel a little nervousness when this sort of thing happens. Especially with an Angel as pretty and generally delightful as is Cheryl. If things have indeed been sorted out the coming night under canvas will be most pleasurable. Mr Barnard has not yet had any real intimate congress with Cheryl. It can happen: with quite a number of Angels about the place one particular one can somehow be rather overlooked. And then suddenly, for some reason or other — even as in this case Bad Vibes — she becomes noticed. Becomes a major focus of attention in fact with astral energy flowing. So that a man can experience a real frisson. The tingling. The feeling almost that he cannot wait…
This is the feeling that the Leader has on coming round the deck and suddenly espying Cheryl vigorously rubbing at a brass plate. Her back view but it is unmistakable: the glossy dark hair beneath the blue cap snapping to left and right as she energetically rubs, and the brief skirt tight over her sturdy haunches which thrust vigorously in contrapuntal motion to the snapping bangs. Those thrusting hips… thrusting Energy Flow. Mr Barnard blinks. Stellar motion. At the sight of those haunches, that slim back, his EQ is soaring. He is not at all sure that the galaxial conjunction can wait until tonight. No…
Stepping close, his hand, with a will of its own, takes hold of a busy bottom-cheek. Cheryl starts. A quiet word from the Leader. And she obediently leaves the already burnished plate and follows him. Into the Leader’s cabin. The door is closed, and locked.
The Leader, EQ rising, comes close again. Cheryl gives him a doe-eyed glance and then lowers her gaze. She has had a really hard time of it in the last few days and the message has got through. Toeing the line is a much easier option than trying to fight authority. And she can’t leave, Mr Mountling has made that quite clear to her. That is just not possible. And really… she doesn’t really want to leave, does she? She wants to be with them. A good Angel. So Mr Mountling has argued, cane in hand.
‘Getting rid of the Bad Vibes now, Cheryl?’ Mr Barnard’s voice is a bit husky.
Cheryl says a subdued ‘Yes sir.’ Meek and subdued, briefly raising her soft eyes again. Mr Barnard gives a quiet instruction. Obediently Cheryl lifts the short skirt and slides down her knickers. Steps out of them.
Mr Barnard is sitting down on the bunk. Cheryl lifts her skirt up round her waist and gets over his lap. The Leader’s hand strokes the warm, springy flesh. He can feel Positives. A positive Energy Flow. Testingly he slips his hand down in between the hot thighs. She makes a little moaning sound. Yes, Positives. Definitely.
Mr Barnard proceeds to spank the resilient cheeks. A vigorous spanking. Get the EQ up. Get the energy flowing. Tonight under canvas will be truly pleasurable, he can sense that. A major stellar conjunction. And right now is going to be truly pleasurable too. The sweet sensation of white hot energy in conjunction. He is pushing this sweet Angel off his lap. Telling her in that husky voice. It is the same as what she baulked at with Mr Liebman, but Cheryl is not baulking now. Kneeling in front of the Leader, her hands doing what they have to do.