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Monday, 18 June 2018

The Two Hours’ Traffic of Our Stage

Photo-story by Julie Holmes from Februs 6
‘Another damned American idea; what a waste of time!’
‘Hey, don’t knock it — a two hour session here has to be better than losing your licence. We’re probably some of the lucky few; you know how the government is forever starting “short, sharp shock” measures and then dropping them just as they start to work. They’re not going to let a good idea like this run for long.’
The girls tittered. It might mean they were losing a Saturday afternoon’s shopping, but Anne was right — it was better than being banned from driving, getting fined or collecting points. They sat at their desks and waited for their tutor, instructor or whatever they were meant to call him.
‘Traffic School!’ Maisie chortled. ‘Who’da thunk it?’
The door opened and a rather dapper, avuncular gent entered. He was unhurried and gave the impression he was about to suggest a game of croquet before tea was served. The girls sat straighter in their seats and felt genuinely curious about the programme.
‘Ladies,’ he boomed theatrically, ‘you’ve been very naughty, haven’t you? I have been charged with the task of showing you the error of your ways and helping you become the model citizens I am sure you once were. Now let us check we have the right persons here: Maisie Taylor and Anne Jenkins I believe? Yes. And I am Mr Martin. So, let’s get this show on the road, as the saying goes.’
He turned and began writing on the blackboard. ‘Come along, copy my notes and then we’ll discuss them. I want you to take them home and read them every time you are about to go out in the car.’
Astonished, the girls picked up their pens and began writing. They had expected to be quizzed on the more obscure aspects of the Highway Code or to be put on simulated roadways. Instead they were copying down notes that seemed to have been lifted from an ‘A’ Level Sociology paper. They glanced sideways at one another and inevitably started to giggle.
‘What’s so funny, Taylor?’
‘I thought we were going to talk about driving skills and traffic laws but this is all about deviance and conformity. I don’t understand. Is it like writing lines in detention or something: it doesn’t matter what we do as long as it keeps us occupied?’ She flicked her long blonde hair back over her shoulders and both girls waited for an explanation.
‘Why are you here, Taylor?’
‘Because those stupid cameras caught me speeding on the motorway three times in one afternoon.’
‘And you, Jenkins?’
‘I parked on double yellow lines while I popped into the bank. I was only there a few minutes and the road was very quiet…’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t legal, was it? You both failed to conform: your behaviour was deviant. Deviant behaviour is dangerous behaviour; you go a little too fast in your car; you park in an inappropriate place; you fail to signal, you go through a red light… you regard these as minor infractions, but they are the small beginnings that bring about the corruption and destruction of our society if they are not checked. Do you understand?’
‘Well, to be honest, Mr Martin, no I don’t. I don’t see how copying down a load of long words I don’t understand is going to improve my driving or why doing 90 mph on the M42 is an act of treason.’
‘Then come here, girl, and I’ll make it clearer.’ His voice was icy now, no longer the chuckling uncle, but rather a cold taskmaster.
Maisie stood slowly and sensuously, like a snake stretching in the sun. Her simple black dress gave a misleading air of innocence that did not fool Mr Martin. Her languorous movements just fuelled the tutor’s anger and he led her roughly by the ear to the corner of the room, like a strict parent in an old-fashioned comic.
‘There are many ways to learn a lesson,’ Mr Martin boomed across to Anne. Since neither of you seem capable of the academic approach, we’ll try more basic means.’ He turned his attention back to Maisie. ‘Raise your skirt,’ She hesitated.
‘Raise it.’ She inched it up her calves. ‘Come along, girl, higher — like this.’ He tugged her dress and held it at her waist.
‘You see these pristine panties?’ he asked Anne. I’m going to spank them to impress upon your friend the importance of conformity. Come along, Taylor, I want you bending over my desk for this.’
Maisie was astonished by this turn of events and slumped, cowering in the corner, whimpering pleas for clemency.
Martin remained unmoved and simply waited in angry silence until she complied with this instruction. Once again he lifted the floor-length skirt to expose Maisie’s athletic legs from the tops of her thighs to her clumpy trainers and ankle socks.
He spanked her sharply at the edges of her knickers, producing the effect of pink lace around her plump bottom-cheeks. It was undignified and it stung somewhat, but Maisie reckoned she could take a dozen or so if she had to.
Mr Martin, however, had other plans. From his pocket he produced a short-handled leather strap. From her position, Maisie was unable to see it and wondered why Anne had gasped: she soon found out! The leather came down swiftly and hard across the meatiest part of her buttocks and then again before she could even begin to work out what was happening.
‘This will warm you up,’ he taunted, patting her rear as though indeed checking for a rise in temperature. ‘Let’s move over to the stool, arms and legs straight, if you please; and, Jenkins, I want you to watch closely.’
Anne had turned away from the sight of the harsh treatment being meted out. She felt a morbid fascination with what was happening, but was afraid that she, too, would be destined to experience it before the afternoon ended and she was afraid she would not bear it as well as her companion was doing. She forced herself to look again at the strange drama being enacted and was shocked to see that Maisie’s panties were now pulled down to her thighs. She had never seen another woman so intimately before and was ashamed of her curiosity.
The strap struck over and over, the sounds of it impacting on the soft buttock-flesh echoing around the room. Maisie was struggling to remain composed, but could not help bucking and yelping every time the leather landed on her burning nates.
‘And now we’ll have these right down, I think,’ Mr Martin decided, yanking her briefs to her calves. ‘Get those legs as wide apart as you can.’
Hobbled by her pants, feeling vulnerable and exposed, Maisie sobbed in resignation as Mr Martin beat a rapid tattoo with his fearsome implement.
When he finally said she could stand, she slumped wretchedly in front of the blackboard, too distressed to gloat when Anne was summoned to the man’s desk.
‘I expect you are already beginning to understand some of the advantages of conforming to society’s rules, aren’t you Jenkins?’
‘Yes, Mr Martin.’
‘I thought you might be. I’ll have to make sure you do not lose this new understanding. Perhaps you should go across my lap.’ He sat down and had her drape herself over his thighs.
At first, he simply hand-spanked her bottom through the protective fabric of her dress but then he raised it and there was just a pair of dark panties to defend her from the sharp slaps from his palm.
Inevitably, even her modesty was soon denied her and she struggled wildly as he delivered a thorough spanking that covered the whole of her nether regions. She kicked and struggled, cursing him loudly, but to no avail. He had warmed to his task and would not be hurried or diverted.
When he was finally satisfied that her bottom was an even shade of red, he pushed her off his lap and had her kneel with her legs lewdly spread to receive the attention of his favourite “toy”. Her already-tenderised flesh absorbed the heat and held it so that she felt as if her buttocks had swollen to at least twice their normal size. The sensation of the leather striking her was akin to being stroked with red-hot sandpaper and the only way she could endure it was to silently chant to herself that it would soon have to end.
‘Alright, ladies, let’s see how much progress you’ve made. Stand up.’ They did so.
‘Strip.’ They stripped. ‘Kneel down: heads low, tails high.’ They knelt.
Marius Martin stood behind them and couldn’t believe his luck. At last he had found a job that allowed him to utilise his army training, teaching experience and his interest in “disciplinary activities”. It seemed amazing that he was being paid for this: he felt as though he should have been paying a fee for the privilege. He glanced at his watch.
‘Half an hour to go. Time for some reinforcement, I think.’
He amused himself by having them perform some traditional physical exercises. Something in Anne Jenkins’ manner seemed to displease him and he had her kneel while he delivered a rapid six stripes from a riding crop.
Despite her claims that she had learned her lesson, he remained unconvinced and made her stand to receive a further six strokes from a particularly pliant cane.
She was both amazed and alarmed at her own acquiescence and wondered at the transformation that had taken place in the previous two hours. Maisie watched in silence, wondering what was in store for her.
When he was certain Anne had reached the limit of her endurance, he turned his attention to Maisie. He liked the shapely lines of her body and her long straight hair. He took her over his lap, stretched as far as her limbs could manage.
She tried to convince herself what she was getting off lightly with a hand-spanking but as each blow seemed to get heavier and more deliberate, she began to crave the swift streaks of the cane or crop that her friend had received.
Five minutes to go. The girls knelt, naked save for their trainers and socks, and read aloud the tract on the board. It seemed to make a lot of sense now and they would each remember it clearly, every time they got into their cars.

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