The magistrate wrote something in his ledger, then looked up at the girl standing apprehensively before him. ‘You could be given a custodial sentence, young woman. I don’t suppose you’d fancy that. Mmm?’
‘No… No sir… Scared words popping out from her soft, vulnerable looking mouth. She is a pretty, dark-haired girl in a pink patterned dress. The dress has a narrow white belt at her slim waist which serves to emphasise the voluptuousness of the rest of her. Large, firm breasts and equally ripe hips and bottom. Below the knee-length hem of the skirt the shapely legs end in white high-heeled court shoes.
The magistrate observes her in silence, as if considering whether such a sentence should be imposed. He is sixtyish, with rimless spectacles, in a sober suit and tie. Behind the glasses his eyes are on the girl’s ripe body, on the twin melon-like protuberances in particular. The offence of which she has been accused (and found guilty) ‘non-cooperation and unhelpfulness’ is not a particularly serious one and looking at the girl’s voluptuous body the magistrate can imagine why the accuser (male of course) brought it. It is not in fact an offence for which a custodial sentence is prescribed and a lenient magistrate might well have dismissed the charge. James Garford is not known as a lenient magistrate, though. Especially where attractive young females are concerned. And indeed magistrates are advised not to be lenient with young women. Leniency can promote social irresponsibility and the breakdown of law and order. (The same is true for young males of course but that is a different matter.) But anyway a custodial sentence could be seen as excessive in this instance — although Magistrate Garford is free to impose it if he sees fit. He taps his pen on his polished desk. His eyes are still very much concerned with this voluptuous figure before him. The girl nervously shifts her weight from one high heel to the other.
He has finally come to a decision. Writing now in the ledger. ‘Community Service,’ he pronounces. ‘One month, evenings and weekends. At the end of the month you will come to me again when I will assess your reports. If they are not satisfactory I may have to give you another month or of course a custodial sentence at that stage.’
‘Yes sir. Thank you, sir.’ There is evident relief in the girl’s voice. One hand comes up to nervously push back a lock of her soft brown hair. The magistrate has closed the ledger and is getting to his feet.
‘That is what will appear on the record, Miss. However because I have dealt leniently with you I should like to give you something else, off the record, so that you are fully aware that this is a serious matter. I am talking about a quick caning. Not a lot; four strokes shall we say. Is that satisfactory?’
Her face has flushed an abrupt pink. Being asked is of course purely rhetorical; she has no choice but to agree.
‘Good. That’s a sensible girl. We shall want your bottom bare of course. Take your knickers down and then raise your skirt up round your waist and bend over the desk.’
The magistrate is going over to the book-lined wall, in the corner of which, unnoticed thus far in the interview, there is standing a rattan cane. He takes it up. The girl, her breathing now more agitated, is doing what she has to do. Pulling up the full skirt of her dress and likewise the white slip underneath. To get at her brief white knickers. Magistrate Garford’s eyes are of course on her. On what is being unhappily revealed. She has beige stockings on, with a lacy white suspender belt. Above the stocking tops is the pale full flesh of her thighs. And above that, as the brief pants are now pulled down… the ripe, heavy cheeks of her backside.
There are little gaspy sounds now, from what she is having to do and also in anticipation of what she is about to get. She stumbles the two steps to the desk. The knickers are at stocking-top height and she yanks her dress up, then bends forward and down. The ripely fleshy bottom now fully exposed. The magistrate’s eyes gleam behind the rimless glasses. He has whipped his cane into some female bottoms but none more fruity looking than this one. It seems to be the very epitome of femaleness: soft and ripe, almost but not quite over-ripe; seductive; hugely inviting. The springy cane twitches in his hand.
The bent-over girl lets out a strangled yelp. The stricken bottom, all that pale soft flesh, goes into convulsions. Writhing. Clenching. Attempting in vain to come to terms with the vicious pain, with that bright pink transverse stripe.
He said he would give her four. In fact it is six. The excuse is that she has been wriggling and writhing about so much, she should have kept that ripe bottom still, or approximately so. The real reason of course is that after four Magistrate Garford hadn’t quite had enough.
As soon as the girl left, her face and bottom feeling as if they were glowing with equal intensity but at least her clothing in place again over the latter, Magistrate Garford was on the phone. To a certain Mrs Hilfield.
‘Elaine: how are you?’ Elaine Hilfield was fine. ‘Good. Anyway this is just a quick call to say I’ve something rather nice for you. Yes, Community Service. She’s to report to you on Saturday. Nine o’clock.’ James Garford’s dry little chuckle. ‘A big girl. And I do rather think you’ll enjoy her, Elaine.’
Linda had been given two names for her Community Service. The first one, for Saturday and Monday to Wednesday evenings, was at least a woman. Mrs Hilfield. Sunday plus Thursday and Friday evenings was a Mr Finnings. A woman wouldn’t be so bad she thought…
It was a house in an expensive area of the town a couple of miles from where Linda lived and she took a bus ride. She could still feel that caning the magistrate had given her. The mind-boggling cane plus also his creepy hand roaming over her bared bottom before and after. Thinking of that Linda felt a shiver of apprehension about tomorrow. Mr Finnings. But today… hopefully not so bad. She would do whatever she was told without hesitation. So that this Mrs Hilfield would have no cause for complaint. Things could have been worse, the magistrate had been clearly considering sending her away. A custodial sentence. Linda shivered at the thought of that.
It was a big house in a quiet leafy street. The door was opened by a handsome looking woman of perhaps forty, her blonde hair worn up. Linda was evidently expected. ‘Hello. You’ll be the girl of course. Linda is it? Good. Come in…’
She had keen and piercing blue eyes. Eyes that fixed on Linda’s and seemed to look right into her. Mrs Hilfield was quite tall but slimmer than Linda, in a patterned blouse and dark slacks. Telling Linda to take her coat off she led her through into an elegant drawing room.
Mrs Hilfield sat down but did not invite Linda to do likewise. With her coat off now she stood in front of Mrs Hilfield in a plain pink blouse and dark pleated skirt. Mrs Hilfield’s eyes were taking her in in very much the same way as the magistrate’s had in his office. Taking in the slim-waisted but voluptuous figure. The seated woman gave her a little smile.
‘Yes. You’re a pretty girl, Linda, aren’t you? And with rather a splendid figure. Of course some ladies might think it too much but I’m sure most gentlemen are very impressed. Very eager. To get their hands on it I expect. Mmmm? And do you perhaps encourage that? Like to tease them at least?’
Linda said a quick ‘No, Mrs Hilfield.’ Feeling her face flushing. Her figure of course did cause problems at times. As it had on this occasion, it was essentially why she had been sent up before the magistrate. That man who had wanted to handle her and Linda had refused…
‘No Mrs Hilfield,’ Mrs Hilfield repeated sardonically. ‘I should think Yes Mrs Hilfield was more like it. I am well aware what girls of your age can be like. Especially a pretty girl with a shape like that. How old are you?’
‘N…Nineteen,’ the word stuttered out. Mrs Hilfield with her sharp upper class accent and those stary eyes already scared Linda.
‘Nineteen and leading men a dance I’m sure. What you need, Miss, is a taste of discipline. And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Anyway let me have a proper look at you. Take all your clothes off please, Linda.’
It was like being told by the magistrate that she was going to be caned. The words sending a hot surge of adrenalin through her. All her clothes off!
‘Come on, Miss. Look sharp! You’ll have to learn to look sharp, you know. Or should we give that big bottom a good caning right away?’
Linda’s fingers went to her blouse. Her ideas about Mrs Hilfield were obviously way wide of the mark. But it was difficult to believe she could mean… all…
Mrs Hilfield did mean it. When Linda was unhappily down to brief white knickers and bra and flashed her a pleading glance all she got was a peremptory ‘Keep going then.’
Moments later Linda had fumbled the two remaining garments off. She was nude. Her big ripe body fully displayed before Mrs Hilfield’s unwavering gaze. The melon-heavy tits, jumbo-nippled, settling only slightly under their own weight with the containing bra removed. The statuesque belly and thighs, at their centre a russetty-brown swatch of hair. Linda felt a desperate need to cover herself, to put her hands in front of her blatant boobs, her crotch. To hide herself from the glittering blue eyes. But that clearly would not be allowed. Her hands had to be at her sides. Mrs Hilfield was getting to her feet.
‘My! A really ripe one. Fat some people would probably say, Linda. Keep still!’ Mrs Hilfield’s hand was at one of Linda’s tits, sending shock waves through her. ‘Yes, a big fat cow one might say. Though I suppose not many gentlemen. Most gentlemen are like big schoolboys, greedy for sweets. Aren’t they?’
She moved round behind the trembling girl. A hand slid over the nude buttocks, then sharply smacked one cheek. The flesh juddered; Linda squealed.
‘Yes it’s a good job you’ve been sent to me, my girl. A gentleman might simply wish to play games with you. Play with all this soft flesh. And not give you the discipline you clearly need. Whereas with me, Linda dear…’
Linda gave a shuddering moan. Mrs Hilfield was close up behind her and her two arms had come round. To cup Linda’s big tits, one in each hand… The upper-class voice low but precise in Linda’s ear. ‘With me, my dear, you’ll be jumping out of your skin. You won’t know which end is up. Do you understand?’
The elegant hands were stroking Linda’s big nipples. Stroking them into stiff erection. Linda couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop them responding. She felt sick with fear of Mrs Hilfield, of what she might be going to do, but her sensitive nipples were coming up anyway.
‘Mmmm. You like this, don’t you? Sexy Linda likes it. Have you had a woman make love to you? Or has it only been men so far? Have you had a woman… cane the daylights out of your big bottom? So that you think you’ll never, ever be able to sit down again. Mmm?’
Linda thought she was going to faint, or actually be sick. Something. Mrs Hilfield’s fingers sharply pinched both nipples, then let go of her. Linda swayed on now rubber-like legs. Gasping for breath. Stepping back, Mrs Hilfield hit Linda’s bottom as hard as she could.
‘Get upstairs, girl. The bathroom. You can clean out the bath and the sink. I’ll be up shortly. And we’ll give you your first lesson of discipline.’
Shaking like a leaf and still quite nude of course, Linda stumbles up the stairs. Head swirling she does what she has been told, finding cleaner and a cloth under the sink and then frantically getting down to it, her big bare boobs jouncing and swaying with her efforts. Linda can’t bear to think what Mrs Hilfield might be going to do to her. She has just finished and is standing, gasping, when that lady strides in. Linda whimpers. In one hand Mrs Hilfield has a cloth, a tea-towel possibly, and in the other a cane.
She doesn’t bother to look at what Linda has done, Mrs Hilfield’s interest is in what she is going to do now. Regardless of Linda’s efforts. She stands the cane in the corner. ‘Kneel down then, Linda. Do you think there’s room to do it in here? We’ll try anyway. Kneel and bend over the edge of the bath.’
At the sink she is running cold water on the cloth. Getting it fully wet, then wringing out the excess. Whimpering Linda has got down. Kneeling. A shuddering wail as the wet cloth is applied to her bottom. Mrs Hilfield’s voice, cool and business-like.
‘The cane is much more effective if a girl’s bottom is wetted first. Did you know that, Linda? Much more effective. Now get right over. Yes. I think have room to swing it properly…’
The wet cloth is draped over the kneeling girl’s shoulder. Linda lets out a squawk of fear. Mrs Hilfield is stepping over to retrieve the cane. ‘Now keep quite still, Miss. Don’t make it difficult for me. Or I’ll keep on at it all morning. You wouldn’t want that…’
The feeling is as if she has been cut in two. Like a knife-cut and then a crescendo of red-hot pain. Undoubtedly worse than the magistrate’s cane. Linda is struggling for breath, struggling with the killing pain.
‘Keep in position, Miss. That wasn’t very good at all. Do you want it all morning? I can easily oblige.’
It doesn’t go on all morning but in Linda’s head it goes on forever. For ever does eventually finish, though. And Mrs Hilfield is pulling Linda to her feet. Leading her stumblingly into a bedroom. Mrs Hilfield is saying things that with the hot pain in her bottom and everywhere else it seems and the state of her head Linda is unable to take in. Mrs Hilfield’s eyes have a hot, intense look. In the bedroom she pushes Linda down on the bed…