Search This Blog

Tuesday, 19 November 2019

Hazards of The New Dawn

From New Blushes 2.03
Paul had remarked that she was very quiet. Pretty, dark-haired Penny had denied it, almost aggressively. And had then begun talking in an overly animated fashion, in effect to show him she wasn’t quiet. But she knew she had been quiet all evening. Pensive. Because of the man on the bus of course.
Her regular bus home from work and as usual in the rush hour there were no seats and she had to stand. And the man had begun fondling her bottom. A deliberate groping and in the warm spring weather she was wearing just a light short jacket over her dress so he had easy access.
She should have just let it happen of course, when the groping started. She should have known he was probably one of the so-called Category A citizens. It was highly unlikely that anyone else would try such a thing, if only because such anti-social behaviour could easily land a man in jail. Anyone other than a Category A citizen, that was. But she had automatically reacted, trying to squirm away, although that wasn’t easy on the crowded bus.
The man had kept at her though and then she was more or less letting it happen. Because after those first minutes she had realised the likely situation, that he was a Category A. She had got a sideways look at him now and his appearance confirmed this: an older man with glasses and greying hair, soberly dressed. Category A males were prosperous middle-class, 40 years of age and upwards. And they could do more or less what they wanted with Category C women.
The groping continued, purposeful and persistent. Some time later he got his hand up her skirt. Up the warm bare back of Penny’s thigh to her buttocks in the tightly-encasing nylon of her knickers. She was sweating, but now her thought was that she must let him do it, but it would soon be her stop to get off the bus. It would be all over then. She could forget about it, or try to. Obliterate this hateful experience from her mind. So just hang on…
A little bit before her stop he reached for her wrist and pulled her hand behind her to his groin. She could feel his penis stiff and erect. He made her grip it through his trousers. She felt sick, as if she was going to faint. But the bus stop was only minutes away. The man was making her pump his penis. Making her masturbate him…
‘Don’t be silly,’ she told Paul, quite sharply. ‘Of course I’m not quiet. Anyway what should I be doing. Shouting and dancing! Is that what you want. I thought we were just enjoying a nice evening together. Not quiet but not noisy either.’
And then she went across from her chair to sit with Paul on the settee. Needing to be close to him. She really needed to tell him about the man on the bus. Because it hadn’t finished when she got off at her stop. He had followed her off. Speaking sternly he said he hadn’t liked her attitude. And then he had forced her to give him all her ID details. Name. Address. Phone number at home and office… She needed to tell Paul all that — but of course she couldn’t
Penny and Paul were 22 and 23 and had been married two years now. They both had jobs and a nice little flat. So, young marrieds of rising expectations, they were almost archetypal Category C’s. With the expectation that in perhaps 20 years’ time, if there were no problems along the way, they might well be reclassified as Category A. Category B were old-style working-class of any age; Category D included various social misfits; drop-outs; not gainfully employed, etc.
The classification had been brought in several years ago now, by a right-wing government wishing to return to so-called old-fashioned moral values. It was grandly called The New Dawn. The actual result was that Category A’s ran the country and controlled everything. Category A’s had all the power, the others had nothing. And on a personal basis it worked that way too. It didn’t help for a Category C to complain about the actions of an A. Not at all. Because the other thing was the Rehabilitation Centres which had also been brought in with The New Dawn. You could very easily be sent to one of those if your behaviour was considered anti-social. Simply making a complaint about a Category A could be considered anti-social.
The man had said, after noting down all the details which Penny had reluctantly relayed, ‘Would you like to be sent to a Rehabilitation Centre, Mrs Manners? I think I could make out a case for it. Unfriendly and anti-social behaviour in a public place.’
Although this suggestion was quite outrageous Penny knew it was possible. Another young married woman on their estate, Julie Wilmot, had recently been sent away to a Rehab Centre for a similar trumped up offence. In Julie’s case, as she had told Penny confidentially, it was her boss at work. A similar thing in fact, wanting sexual favours and Julie had tried to refuse. So her boss had had her sent to a Centre for two weeks. She was back now. Julie had told Penny something about it, about what those guards at the Centre did to a young and pretty woman. It had sorted Julie out of course, she was now letting her boss have everything he wanted.
So Penny had pleaded with the man. Saying she hadn’t really meant to be unfriendly, etc. He sort of grunted, as if he was considering this. When they had got off the bus he had made her come with him round the corner, to a deserted little alleyway. He had her pushed up against the wall. Now he pulled open her jacket and squeezed her tits, one in each hand.
‘Hmmmm… Perhaps I could deal with you myself, Mrs Manners. One or two private visits to your flat. Because I do think you need a little correctional training. The cane, Mrs Manners. The cane on your bare bottom. That is the remedy for pretty young women who don’t know their place.’
Now, on the settee, Penny kissed Paul. An urgent, wanting kiss. She desperately needed some solace. Sex. Her hand reached for Paul’s penis. She tried to shut out the man on the bus, and being forced to hold his erect organ. Just concentrate on Paul. Herself and Paul. They had a good, loving relationship. Plenty of sex. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, as she could feel Paul responding. His organ hardening. Her fingers moved to the zip.
Yes, she really had no choice. She just couldn’t face a stay at one of those dreadful Rehab Centres. And so… that man was coming round tomorrow. In the afternoon. She would have to get off work, say she felt ill…
His name was Mr Frankling. He had told her that when finally he had let her go.
Penny went off to work in the morning but managed to get the afternoon off pleading sickness. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything all morning anyway, her head was so full of the coming ordeal. It was still possible Mr Frankling might decide he was going to get her sent to a Centre after all. He had said that at the bus stop. It would depend on her response, and how satisfied he was with her.
What did that mean? And what was he going to want? He had mentioned the cane. Caning her! That thought made her feel sick. But there were other possibilities too. Other dreadful things. She tried not to think of that ghastly bus ride. His hand up her skirt — and then being made to hold his stiff organ.
Back at the flat she could only wait. What was she supposed to wear? Nothing had been said about that. Penny still had on the dress she had worn to the office. Then she had the horrible thought: maybe Mr Frankling was going to make her take everything off, so it didn’t matter.
He had said he would arrive at 2 o’clock. At precisely that time the flat bell rang…
Her heart was pounding as she went to let him in. Yes it was Mr Frankling, with those intent eyes behind the rimless spectacles.
She showed him through into the lounge and in a shaky voice said she would make some coffee. It delayed by a few minutes whatever was to come. But only a few minutes. And then… they had to get down to business…
Mr Frankling, fastidiously sipping his coffee, said, ‘I trust we will not be interrupted, Mrs Manners. Either by your husband or anyone else.’
Penny said a nervous no.
‘Good. Because any such disturbance of our meeting would certainly result in a referral to a Rehabilitation Centre. And I am sure you wish to avoid that, young lady. Tell me, did you have sexual intercourse with your husband last night?’
Penny, flushing, said a hesitant yes.
No need to be shy. I am sure you both enjoyed it. But I simply wished to make the point that at a Centre you would inevitably be required to have intercourse with various members of the male staff. Officially of course it doesn’t happen, but in fact I am afraid it is so. You probably wouldn’t enjoy it. And there would be other matters too which I am sure you would not find at all congenial either.’
Slightly hysterically, Penny blurted, ‘No! Please! I’ll do whatever you want…’
‘That is what I like to hear, Mrs Manners. That sounds very co-operative. Well as I indicated I am going to use the cane. A sharp caning is always a salutary experience. So, how shall we have you? Wearing what? Perhaps you could stand up, and take off all your clothes. Then we can consider the matter…’
It was like an awful dream. Standing in front of this stranger in her own lounge and taking all her clothes off. Her dress and slip. Hesitating now as she stood with only her white bra and knickers covering her voluptuous form. He did mean everything? Yes. Brusquely he told her to take off the rest. So reaching behind her to her bra strap. Slipping it off too. To free her big pink-nippled boobs for the hungry eyes that were eager to see them. And then her knickers. Plain brief white nylon ones. Sliding them down and off. So everything bare now. Her ripe hips and at the centre the quiet luxuriant dark brown bush which didn’t completely hide the lips of her pussy.
‘Stand up straight then. We mustn’t be shy, must we?’ He was getting up from the settee. ‘We mustn’t forget what the alternative is if we don’t show full co-operation.’
He had come round the coffee table and his hands now took hold of her. Hands hungry for her boobs. The mellow curves of her bottom-cheeks. And her pussy. His hard urgent voice telling her to part her legs. So that his hand could go in there. His fingers greedily inside her.
Penny’s knees were trembling. She had the same feeling as on the bus, that she was imminently going to collapse. She was going to faint. She struggled to keep control.
‘I believe you’re enjoying this.’ His mocking voice. She shook her head. But it was true her body was responding. The teats of her tits had stiffened up, and her pussy was stickily wet. But there was no way she was enjoying this dreadful ordeal.
‘Yes, but that’s not the object of the exercise, is it? Although I believe that when a woman is hotted up she feels the cane that much more keenly. Well, let’s try it, shall we?’
He let go of her and Penny almost fell. Mr Frankling was going to the coat he had carried in with him. He had placed it carefully on the end of the settee. Now he was opening it — and she saw there was a cane concealed inside it. A long, thin bamboo cane…
Smiling grimly he swished it menacingly through the air a couple of times.
But maybe for your first caning, Mrs Manners, we should have you wearing something. I expect your husband would think that was right and proper. Just a little something. Let’s see what you’ve got, shall we?’
Nude tits trembling, Penny was forced to go through into the bedroom with him. There he rummaged through her drawers, examining various things: underwear, sports clothes, etc. Finally he picked on a little beach outfit. White cotton shorts which had been cut-off extremely briefly, and a matching little halter.
‘Yes I think this will do admirably. I believe that a first caning should be carried out with due decorum. Though not too much decorum naturally. This outfit will do very well. Put it on. Nothing under the shorts of course. We do want you to feel the cane, don’t we?’
Penny struggled into the garments. The shorts were so brief that a good deal of her bottom was left bare. She in fact had never worn them in public. She could remember cutting them off as a dare with her friend Elaine. But Penny had only ever put the shorts on for Paul in the flat. They had turned him on alright. Within minutes he had yanked them down, then fucked her on the settee…
Penny was back in the lounge now, but with Mr Frankling of course, not Paul. Her unwelcome visitor had found the double step-ladder from the spare room and brought it through. He had thought it would be ideal. He wanted her kneeling up on one of the steps and bending over the top with her hands and head down on the other side.
If you wanted to cane a woman’s bottom it was an excellent piece of equipment. Penny was forced to get into position so her ripe rear was ideally placed; thrust outwards by her bent-over posture and at a perfect height for a man’s arm to swing onto. Additionally in the cut-off shorts most of Penny’s bottom was bare. The shorts were going to be effectively non-existent as far as the cane was concerned. In fact they were little more than decorative.
Mr Frankling murmured his gloating satisfaction with the arrangements. His hand made minute manipulations to Penny’s position. Then he drew back. Transferred the cane to his right hand. And whipped it in.
She let out an anguished cry. The cane had cut viciously across the full, exposed meat of both bottom-cheeks. Her head had automatically jerked up, and Mr Frankling briskly thrust it down again. ‘Keep the position!’
The hot pain from the first was still welling out, pushing up to a crescendo, as the second sliced in on a line immediately adjacent to its predecessor. The combination was almost impossible to bear. Her hands desperately gripped the seat…
Penny howled out as the third landed. She couldn’t take any more of this…
She had no idea how many he gave her altogether. After a while her mind went semi-blank. There was just that pulsating torture in her red-raw bottom. But at some time later she was stumbling down off the step-ladder. Mr Frankling’s hands were creepily helping her. As his unctuous voice hypocritically enquired if she was alright. ‘A little sore perhaps?’
She was being conducted through into the bedroom again. Her mind still semi-blank but conscious of the fact that Mr Frankling was taking the halter off… and then agonisingly the shorts down off of her blazing bottom. His hands fumbling her bare flesh again. And then she was being pushed down. He was sitting on the side of the bed and she was being pushed down between his spread thighs. He had it out. That thing she had been forced to grip behind her on the bus. It was out and bare now. Bare hot, stiff flesh. And she was having to take it in her mouth.
Penny had not planned to say anything to Paul, but when he came home she couldn’t control herself and it just came out. Intermixed with sobbing spells, she eventually blurted out the whole thing. The Category A man who had accosted her on the bus and who had been round at the flat that afternoon. And had caned her for her so-called anti-social attitude to him. (No, she didn’t tell Paul quite all of it; not the last bit in the bedroom.)
Paul was white and tight-lipped, but did his best to be comforting. He knew Penny would have had no choice. Not with a Category A. And there was nothing she or he could do about it. But there was of course a crucial question:
‘Is it… all over…?’
Penny stammered that she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been able to think straight at the end and she wasn’t sure if he intended to have more of these visits.
Paul suggested that Penny have a hot bath. Ruefully she said she already had. All he could further suggest was an early night, with a hot whisky and milk. Was she going to work in the morning? Penny said she supposed she’d have to.
They did both go to bed early. Penny was feeling a bit better now. Paul had put some cold cream on her bottom, which was soothing. He had winced a bit at the red stripes still much in evidence. In bed he found he was feeling horny. Penny’s ordeal must have been really dreadful. But… it was a little bit of a turn-on. Picturing her over the step-ladder in that sexy little outfit (yes he had made her tell him all the details). In fact more than a little bit of a turn-on…
Penny said she couldn’t. Not possibly. Not have intercourse right after that dreadful ordeal. But as Paul’s desire persisted she did finally consent to masturbate him with her hand.
No, it wasn’t the end. George Frankling had had such a stimulating time that he certainly wanted more. He had done this kind of thing before, accosting attractive young women and forcing his attentions on them, but Penny Manners had proved more hotly arousing than any of the others. His visit to her flat had therefore simply left him hot for more.
So he phoned Penny at her office the next morning. Desperately she pleaded that she couldn’t get more time off work. Mr Frankling told her she’d better think of something — or would she prefer a stay at a Rehabilitation Centre?
‘No!’ she breathed. ‘No! I’ll think of something…’
All Penny could think of was an evening visit. She phoned her tormentor with this. He asked about her husband. Remorsefully she said Paul knew, she had had to tell him. Mr Frankling’s ears seemed to prick up. He asked what Paul’s reaction had been.
Penny stammered that her husband was very unhappy. But he knew she had had no choice, not with a Category A.
Mr Frankling said, ‘Well that’s fine. Good, he sounds very sensible, your husband. Alright then…’
So Mr Frankling came round the next evening. Paul went out for two hours, to allow the Category A a free rein to take his pleasure. This was the first of many evening visits. They were very unpleasant — but no doubt to be preferred to the Rehab Centre. And Penny guessed that Mr Frankling would tire of her, maybe after just a short while. She just prayed that when that time came he didn’t finally send her off to a Centre.
To try to avoid this fact she did all she could to please Mr Frankling, each time he came round. But would Penny’s efforts be enough?


  1. the perfect society. the law on our side and young sluts unable to refuse our desires

  2. I think these stories set in a dystopian (or rather utopian?) near-future are my absolute highlight of these classic spanking mags.

    1. The great thing is that it removes the suspension of disbelief that is so often necessary to varying degrees with stories set in the 'present day' - the underlying feeling that in reality "this couldn't happen". However, when the law of the land is on the side of the cane wielding roue this problem is not only resolved, it also means that pretty young ladies can be put to sufferings and indignities which would strain the bounds of credulity even further if set in the present context.

    2. yes i would particularly enjoy entrapping sisters (or even better twins) to entertain myself and friends at a get together

    3. I think I preferred historical ones and I was quite happy that it was unrealistic history...the time difference back or forward basically achieved the same result of freeing the writer from modern day restrictions.

    4. If you were a high up member of the regime you'd no doubt be able to have your pick of twin girl teenies. 18+ of course. Category C parents would be bringing them to you. By this time they'd have learnt some respect for their betters.

  3. An almost perfect story from that great magazine
    The ideas involved in it, the dystopian future, the 'New Dawn', the oppresive atmosphere, the casual acceptance of the necessity of corporal punishment, very much influenced my own thoughts and writing.

    1. are your writings online charles?

    2. yes, if you email me I'll send you a link

  4. Mainstream authors are playing the same game, sometimes claiming more lofty motives than "suffering sells".

  5. A tremendous story depicting a world which sadly we must only fantasise about. So many Category C females running wild and in need of such no nonsense discipline. I know some of you are familiar with my little blog which depicts a similar world which for now must remain in the realm of fantasy.