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Monday, 25 May 2020

Artwork — Justice 32

Continuing on the theme of orphaned artwork not connected to a specific story or comic strip, here are three fabulous drawings by the illustrator for early Blushes (I think maybe Alan Bell), which were featured in issue 32 of Justice magazine. Each of them tells a story in itself.
Firstly, here is The Volunteer:
What is going on here? The headmaster stands, hands on hips holding a cane, surrounded by a group of girls — three senior-looking ones (prefects?) one of whom is holding a report, and seven younger plump-bottomed girls in vest and pants, one of whom has her hand up to volunteer. What is she volunteering for? Is this a group punishment and she has offered to go first, or is she volunteering to offer up the name of the culprit the Head is looking for? Are those punishment marks already on the volunteer’s bottom and that of her neighbour? What is that expression on the face of the girl on her left, and what is the role of the prefects here?
Food for pleasant thought, I’m sure you’ll agree.
Next is Punishment Crosses:
In this picture, the young lady has been given a sound strapping on her bare bottom, and has been left in the uncomfortable position of having to hold onto an overhead pipe while not letting her feet lose contact with the wide-apart crosses marked on the floor. Those look like school knickers, tie and socks, so we might guess this is a schoolgirl, but the open blouse, the dingy basement room and the unconventional punishment posture all point to this being an unofficial punishment. Has the caretaker got a new victim maybe? The girl peers over her shoulder in fearful anticipation of her punisher’s return and her toes look like they might lose contact with the crosses any moment…
Finally, here is My Upside Down World:
This is a more straightforward case of a rosy-bottomed schoolgirl receiving her comeuppance over the lap of a teacher, maybe Mr Howell from The Bookstore and Detention Room, while he holds her head down. She looks up slightly and the look on her face is of shame and humiliation — has  someone just entered the room to deliver a message maybe?

Sunday, 24 May 2020

Secret Lives — Molly

Interview by Roy Tersley from Februs 42
Thank you for coming here today. Firstly, tell us a little about your background.
I am 19, I was born in High Wycombe. I am studying, I am doing my Art Foundation in London and I do some part-time modelling.
What do your friends and tutors think about your modelling?
They know I do glamour work, my friends think that’s cool. Obviously, my male friends find it extremely intriguing. My tutors find it amusing, but one said that it is very enterprising and good for my confidence which will help at university! It is a common topic of conversation down the student bar. I also have a part-time job with an internet company where customers can watch me strip and ask me to do anything they want.
Such as?
Well, some just like the thrill of seeing me strip. Some, well quite a few actually, like to watch me masturbate in front of them. I like to do it for real if I’m really in the mood. I’m sure they can tell because my face goes really red! I don’t have any inhibitions about it at all. I like to think that I am educating men in how to make a woman have an orgasm. It’s amazing how many men don’t seem to know how to do it properly, so I think I’m doing some good!
Now, let’s delve a little further back into your past; your childhood, your schooling.
Well, firstly, I went to the local church school but then my mother sent me to a private school. It was very enlightening. It was so strict and it took some getting used to. The girls were very bitchy and it was all very competitive. Having boys there too kept a slight balance. It was a very old school and there were many stories floating around about corporal punishment in the old days. Apparently, they used to use the slipper and the cane even on girls. I used to imagine what that must have been like.
I believe you have some experience in the home, tell me about that.
My Mum and stepdad were quite strict and I was always in trouble for untidiness. In fact, being the oldest, I used to get the blame for the mess in the bathroom, even if I hadn’t even been near it. The ritual was after what seemed like an hour’s lecture we’d all be bent over the couch, quite often after bath time, and have to lower our pyjama bottoms and take 10 smacks with the slipper in succession, and we had to count them! It was very embarrassing, not to mention painful on damp skin.
What about your experiences in adult life?
Yes, I have experimented with spanking in my sex life but to be honest I do have a rather low pain threshold and I get more pleasure from dishing out spankings. Although, I am very submissive in the bedroom when pain is not involved. I like being tied up and blindfolded and sexually dominated. I like to be flung across the bed and held down, I like knowing that the man is totally in charge. The best sex I ever have is when I am tied up and I am face down on the bed, not knowing when he is going to fuck me. I do like to be put over my boyfriend’s knee and smacked but I like sexy spanking, not too hard. That makes me horny. When I was doing the shoot [For Want of a Horse] for Februs, it was nice to be put over a man’s knee, especially as my bottom is very sensitive and he kept stroking it!
I believe you have appeared in a spanking video. How did you cope?
They told me that I would have to be punished for real and that it was going to be very painful but nothing could have prepared me for quite how painful it was. I had to dress up as a maid and it was shot in this beautiful house. I was so nervous when I was on my way to the location, it was like visiting the headmaster for a caning in real life! The man in the video was nice and kind but he spanked me really hard. He then whipped me on my bare bottom with a bunch of long thin twigs which stung like hell. I can tell you one thing, the tears in that video are definitely real!
You told me on the phone that you wanted to explore your dominant side. Tell me how you intend to do this.
Well, some time ago I was seeing one of my old boyfriends who I still sometimes have sex with and he wanted me to dominate him. I had been hinting about this to him for ages. I made him strip and I tied him face down on the bed. I undressed down to my bra and knickers and fetched my long thin riding crop. I teased him in all sorts of ways. I stroked his bottom and I told him I was going to give him such a whipping. I was so excited by being in this position of enormous power that I knew this was really me. I had always harboured secret fantasies of being a dominatrix where I could whip men for pleasure and now I had the chance. I started to whip him, quite gently at first but then soon I was really thrashing him. His bottom was bright red with whip marks. He started to protest but I knew he was as excited as I was. I have never felt so horny in all my life. I untied him and dragged him to the bathroom where I made him lie in the bath while I stood over him and I pissed on him. These things just came to me, I don’t really know where from. I ordered him to shower and return to the bedroom. I tied him again to the bed, this time face up. He was just like a big baby, he was going to let me do anything I wanted. I teased his prick, I had never seen it so stiff! I licked and sucked it in a really teasy way and I stopped just when I knew he was going to come. I told him if he dared to come without permission I would whip him severely. I was rampant myself by this time so I pushed my pussy into his face and made him lick me. The sensations were fantastic, of course, but I was really getting off on having this man totally in my power. God, can I have that glass of wine now!
Certainly, I think you have earned it!
Anyway, I let him make me come and of course he wanted to fuck me but I was determined not to let him. I untied him and decided he was a very naughty boy and I was going to spank him like one. So I sat on the end of the bed and ordered him over my lap. I spanked him until my hand was really sore. I could feel his stiff prick rubbing against my thighs. I really enjoyed this role-playing. I was coming out with all this dialogue; God knows where it all came from. This really was a liberating experience. He was desperate to come so I ordered him to masturbate in front of me. He found this really embarrassing which was quite funny.
Have you had any other experiences of this nature?
Well, no, not exactly. I have played around with one of the girls I share a flat with. She liked the Februs shoot I was in and is always on about it, asking questions and things. Anyway after a few drinks one night we were chatting about it and I ended up spanking her…
Do please continue!
Well, we ended up playing around and I threatened to spank her just like I was in the magazine. She was just wearing a long T-shirt and knickers. I pulled her over my knee and started to spank her. She offered absolutely no resistance so I knew she wanted it. She has a really good figure and a really peachy type bottom. I pulled up the shirt and pulled down her knickers. I don’t want you to think I’m a lesbian or anything, but I did enjoy touching her bare bottom. So soft and smooth. Anyway, I gave her a good hard spanking and massaged it afterwards with baby oil. But again I was getting great pleasure from being in control I really think I have a lot more to learn and I need a lot more practice!
Have you visited any S&M clubs?
I went to one with a boyfriend some time ago. It was interesting but I don’t think it’s really me. I like to keep things more private, although I did see a couple of good whippings there. I think I might go again to see if I can get some contacts. I really want to be a dominatrix. I feel I can really express myself that way and gain real satisfaction. I am hoping to get some more video work with me in the dominant role and perhaps I can make a name for myself. I need some willing victims to practise on. It has become my major obsession. When I am having sex I like to have a whip in my hand just to show who’s in charge!
Thank you.

Saturday, 23 May 2020


From Blushes 30
The summer of 1940 was a strange time. Not only were the German armies pouring across Europe, leaving a trail of destruction, but many people found themselves uprooted from their usual surroundings and involved in unusual adventures. Peter Wilson was one of these. Whilst waiting to go into the Army, he answered an advertisement requiring a tutor for six months at an address in Southern Ireland.
He was accepted for the post, the pay was good, and, a week later, he arrived at Strathbally Castle to find that his job was to teach two girls. They were the nieces of Lady Strathbally, the owner of the castle and a widow. Their parents were in Singapore. Peter was alarmed to discover that both girls were almost as old as he; old enough, indeed, to be in the services had they been in England. But they were not, and Lady Strathbally was determined that their education should be continued.
His employer made it perfectly clear that her only interest was her horses, and that the girls were a nuisance, and that his job was to keep them occupied and well away from Lady Strathbally. She had certain other ideas too. ‘The girls are in your sole charge, Mr Wilson,’ she said. ‘You may think that I should have had a governess for them, but I consider that they could do with a bit of firm male discipline, so I decided on a tutor. The eldest has a long way to go before she is too big to have her bottom warmed. You have my full permission, here and now, to give them both a good thrashing, if you think fit. It won’t be any good them running to me with tales. I’ll just send them back to you for more of the same medicine.’
With these encouraging words ringing in his ears, Peter went off to find his charges. They were in the teaching wing, where there was a large room where they ate, worked, and lived, two bedrooms for the girls, a bathroom, and a pleasant bed-sitting room for Peter. Both girls stood up when he entered. Debbie, the eldest, was well developed, with her grey jersey stretched tightly across her breasts, and her short pleated skirt outlining a plump bottom. Janet, the younger, was more boyish, although the outline of her breasts also made their mark under her jersey. Her tight, neat posterior was more like the sort of target that Peter had enjoyed as a target for his cane during his last year at school, when he had been Head Boy, despite her eighteen years.
The girls worked diligently and did as they were told, and all went well, until one day a red-cheeked Janet brought him a note. It was from Lady Strathbally, and read, ‘Janet has been extremely rude to me. I wish you to punish her. Six of the best.’ There was no way out. Peter told the weeping girl that she was to be punished. As he went out to the garden to cut a hazel switch to use, he reflected on the problems of punishing girls. A witness would be desirable in case the girl made a complaint. Debbie could be that witness.
Thus we find Debbie standing with her thighs tightly pressed together, watching Janet being prepared, bent over the arm of the armchair, her skirt folded back. She saw Peter feel the blue knickers to ensure that only one pair were being worn, and the strangest melty feeling began right down there. She pressed her legs together and it became stronger. Peter was so strong and so good-looking, it would almost be worth the cane to have him do all those things to you. The hazel switch was raised and brought down on the tight little bum. Janet yelled and sprang up. Peter forced her down and held her there, but the whole scene was one of weeping, cries for mercy, and struggles. She got her six and was sent to bed. All this Debbie had found strangely thrilling, and that melty sort of feeling had got more and more, until something happened, and Debbie found that she was all wet between the legs, and there was a damp patch in the crotch of her knickers. She found it very hard to concentrate on her lessons.
Peter had been tempted to give the girl a token caning. It was just as well that he did not. Lady Strathbally came up to the teaching room, and, taking Peter with her, went to Janet’s room. The pyjama-clad girl was ordered to get up. ‘Take down your pyjama trousers,’ ordered Lady Strathbally, ‘and let’s see what sort of a job Mr Wilson has done.’ Peter made as to leave, but was ordered to stay. ‘Don’t let the girl get any fancy ideas about modesty, as far as you are concerned. I hope you caned her bare, anyway. That’s how I expect you to do it in future.’ The pyjamas fell to the floor. Peter glimpsed a generous tuft of black curly hair between her legs. The girl was ordered to turn, and did so to expose six angry red stripes across her backside. Lady Strathbally signified approval and left.
Peter was left with his thoughts. He had enjoyed caning his first girl. Her struggles and cries had been most exciting. It was an experience to be repeated. He reflected on what Debbie might be like, particularly in view of his orders about removing the girls’ undergarments. He stiffened against his trousers at the thought, but his reflections were disturbed by a light knock at the door. It was the pyjama-clad Janet.
‘Please sir, I can’t sleep,’ she said pathetically, ‘My bottom’s so sore.’
‘What do you expect me to do,’ was Peter’s unsympathetic reply.
‘Could you rub in some cold cream?’ the girl replied. ‘I’ve got it here.’ Peter was tempted and gave way.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘Get across my knee.’ He rubbed some attractive smelling cream into the girl’s sore posterior. Janet moaned from time to time, but from pleasure or pain was not clear. Peter wondered if the girl could feel his hardened member against her stomach, as she lay supine. Her firm bottom and thighs were deliciously smooth to the touch, apart from the ridges where the cane had done its work. He shifted the girl further over his knee, so that her head hung down near the floor, and her bottom was more exposed to his gaze. From conversations with the two girls he had learnt that their parents had been very strict. The girls had been carefully supervised. There was no question of boyfriends, and their virginity could be guaranteed. They were not unacquainted with corporal punishment but had always been allowed to keep their knickers on. The elder girl, Debbie, had been the naughty one, and had suffered very frequent spankings and canings. With the girl in her new position, Peter inserted his hand between her thighs and began to ease them apart. There was no resistance and no protest. He could now see right down between her legs, and the tight virgin slit with its surrounding downy hair. His finger ran along the cleft. There was still no resistance. He became bolder, and a fingertip pressed in and rubbed back and forth. His fingertip felt wetness, and the girl moaned and spread her legs wider. He began to bring her to a climax.
‘Is it nice?’ he demanded.
‘Oooh, yes sir,’ was the eager reply.
‘Would you like it some more? You must be a good girl, otherwise I won’t do it for you, and it must be a real secret, even from Debbie.’ All this was warily agreed to, and the blushing girl departed for bed.
Peter was not particularly worried about the consequences. Consent was all, and the girl had certainly consented to what had happened. What an odd country it was, he mused. It had the lowest age of consent in Europe, and the latest average marriage age for men, and astonishing sexual ignorance, which was encouraged by the priests. Even at this minute, in some hotel bed, there must be some forty-year old bachelor trying to force his rigid organ up inside some bewildered innocent. Later, the young bride would find that if she failed to do the housework, she would feel his belt across her bottom, and after her thrashing she would have to remain in the same position, whilst her husband dropped his trousers to mount her. Yes, an odd country indeed…
Lessons next day were rather stressful. Janet could not concentrate. All she could think about was Mr Wilson’s finger tickling her between her legs and how nice it had been. Peter, in his turn, now at last realised the power that he had over these two girls, and how they were completely at his disposal. The caning of Janet had made him determined to exercise his rights over the older girl. He visualised her reluctant disrobing to receive her punishment. He would strip her completely and uncover that much plumper and more feminine bum, and the two well developed breasts, not to mention the triangle of curly hair between those thighs. Debbie was a redhead, and her bush would be red too. He had already issued some instructions to both girls. The dress for work in the teaching room was to be cotton dresses and ankle socks. Vests were to be worn, but no stockings or suspender belts, and particularly no brassieres.
Debbie, in her turn, was in a turmoil. She suspected that something had taken place after Janet’s whipping the previous evening. She had been in Mr Wilson’s room for ages, and refused to tell her anything. In a perverse sort of way, she wished that she had been the one to be punished. She had daydreams of Mr Wilson taking down her pants and forcing her to do unimaginable things. She was determined to attract his attention and sat, deliberately, legs apart, so that her tutor could get a good look up her legs to her white briefs which she had put on instead of the blue knickers that Mr Wilson had ordered. Peter had not failed to spot this ploy. From his seat, he could see these forbidden white briefs, and, from the immodestly sprawled way she was sitting, he could even glimpse a wisp of red pubic hair showing from the loose legs of her knickers. The maid came with the afternoon tea. She was a country girl, not more than eighteen herself.
‘Maeve,’ he said, ‘I want to ask you a question. What would your father do to you if he found you dressed in an immodest manner?’ Maeve coloured and replied ‘Why sir, he’d take me to the bedroom and belt the hide off me.’
‘Thank you’ said Peter, ‘I want you to go to the stables and get me a strap like your father uses on you and bring it back here. Miss Debbie has been behaving most indecently, and I am going to whip her bare bottom.’ The maid scuttled off, and Debbie blushed scarlet, the cold hand of fear now grasping her. Maeve the maid was soon back. She delivered the strap and made as to go, but was told to lock the door and remain. She watched fascinated. The haughty Miss Debbie was about to have her big bum tanned. She didn’t believe that this sort of thing happened to the gentry. She watched as Peter unbuttoned the girl’s dress and hauled it over her head. Then, my goodness, down came her pants. Her Dad had always let her keep her pants on. My goodness, Mr Peter was a fine-looking man. She wouldn’t mind him taking down her pants.
Debbie was then made to stand in the corner like a little girl, in nothing but her vest and socks. Then the surprise came. Mr Peter got the maid to take up Miss Debbie on her back and hold her. Her bare bum was sticking right out, and he fairly gave it to her. It was quite a struggle to hold Miss Debbie, and her cries and wriggling against her back made Maeve feel all funny.
Eventually, Miss Debbie was sent to bed crying, and Miss Janet was sent out for a walk. Mr Peter then began to ask the maid a lot of funny questions about how her dad punished her, what she felt, and what she felt this time.
‘Have you wet knickers, Maeve?’ he asked sternly. She denied this, but her blushes betrayed her. He knew she was lying and said, ‘Right, if you are telling the truth, here is ten shillings for you. If you are not, I shall have to tell Lady Strathbally.’ Before Maeve could even gasp, his hand was under her skirt and feeling the big damp patch at the front of her knickers. She pleaded with him that her employer should not be told. She would get the sack and a whipping from her dad as well. It was, of course, agreed that she would submit to a bottom smacking.
During the negotiations, Peter kept his hand up her skirt, feeling her. Then she had to pull up her skirt, and he hauled down her knickers. She was a big well-grown country girl with a generous bush of pubic hair. She took her smacking, which was nothing like so severe as one of her father’s beatings, and ran off giggling…
Debbie was not a bit surprised that Mr Wilson should come and have a look at her bum, when she was having a bath, but what was a surprise was that he should decide to dry her.
He held out the big towel and wrapped her in it. Then he dried her breasts. It was nice and she got that feeling down there again, and her titties all stood up. Next he made her part her legs and dried her there.
‘I wonder if you are ticklish’ he said and began to touch her between her thighs. She didn’t like to protest in case she got punished again, and, anyway, when he stroked her there it was really nice. It got better and better —
Some days later, the family doctor called. He was a grim looking middle-aged man, and he took the two girls with him into a bedroom. When he emerged, he was much more friendly and said to Peter, ‘Lady Strathbally asked me to examine the girls. I think you’re doing a good job with them. I must say, I had my doubts about a young male tutor, but I’m quite happy now. Don’t make the mistake of being soft with them because they’re girls. If they misbehave, there is nothing like a good hard thrashing on the seat of the knickers.’
‘Lady Strathbally has given me permission to punish them on the bare backside’ said Peter.
‘Even better’, said the doctor over his shoulder as he left.
Janet was cross-examined as to what had happened.
‘He made us take our pants off and lie on the bed with our legs wide open,’ she said. ‘He fiddled about down there and looked with a torch, and said he was making sure that we were good girls. What did he mean?’ Peter promised to tell her later. It was a narrow escape. The doctor had been sent to see if the girls were still virgins.
Later that day, when the girls were out riding, Maeve brought him his tea, but clumsily managed to break a cup.
‘Now I’m for it’ she said, ‘Lady Strathbally will deduct this from my wages. Will you be kind sir, and say you did it?’
‘Why should I?’
‘You could smack my bum and then it would be finished with,’ replied the pert girl, giving him a sideways glance.
‘That might be an idea’. He slipped his hand under her skirt. He felt her firm peasant thighs through the black cotton stockings, but when he progressed, there was just warm soft flesh. ‘Why aren’t you wearing your knickers?’ he demanded.
‘Well, sir, I just thought you might find some reason to smack my bum like last time,’ was the cheeky reply.
In seconds, Maeve found herself in the bedroom, her dress off, lying on her back, with her legs apart. This was not going to be a spanking. She was just a bit frightened, but eager all the same. Peter looked at her and saw a well-built girl, legs splayed, her vest pushed up, big peasant breasts and a generous muff of black hair hiding the slit between her sturdy thighs. Maeve watched fascinated as Peter undid his trousers. There was a glimpse of a long hard organ and a clump of hair, and he was on top of her. In spite of herself, she was wet and ready and he slipped into her. There was a little tightness, but the games she had played with the boys in the village had stretched her and she could hardly be called a virgin. Back and forth he thrust, she too pressing against him until she felt the spurt of warm wetness enter her… Peter had now decided that Lady Strathbally fully trusted him, and, as he had only a short time before he returned to England to join the Army, he would have both girls before he left. Things had settled to a routine. Maeve had been sent away for some reason, and the two girls only occasionally offended. Usually their behaviour merited no more than a smacked bottom, but once or twice both Debbie and Janet found themselves bent over the sofa for the cane. This was invariably followed by the rubbing-in of cold cream to the sore bottom, later that evening. Peter’s fingers always seemed to stray during the process, but this was something that neither girl would complain about.
He had long suspected that both girls played with themselves and fantasised about boys after they had gone to bed. His suspicions were confirmed one evening. Debbie’s door was ajar and he heard the tell-tale creak of bedsprings and faint moans of pleasure. He entered and found the girl, face flushed, lying legs apart. He whipped back the covers. Her nightdress was around her waist and her hand between her legs. Seconds later he had the girl in his bedroom with the door locked. She was fully prepared for a sound whipping, and in fact bent over his armchair ready for it, when she glanced back and saw Mr Wilson advancing, not with a cane in his hand, but something else. She felt his hard muscular body press against her and force her forward as he pushed up her nightie and fondled her breasts. She felt her nipples harden, and his fingers moved down to her virgin slit. She felt the wetness come as it had when she was playing with herself. She also felt his hard organ begin to penetrate between the soft lips of her vagina, into her body…
Janet’s initiation was slightly different. One of the girls used to bring him his tea in the morning. It happened to be Janet’s turn, and he found her beside his bed. As she bent forward, her dressing gown parted to disclose that she was wearing nothing underneath. Almost as a matter of habit he leant out and fingered her. Janet giggled and moved her feet apart.
‘My goodness, you do like it, you naughty little minx,’ he said.
‘Oooh, yes sir,’ she replied. He pulled her down into the bed.
‘It’s time I taught you a little more,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll show you some advanced tickling…’
The very next morning, it was Debbie’s turn to bring the tea. On the tray were two envelopes. One, a brown one, was his orders to join the Army. The other was a note from Lady Strathbally to tell him that both girls had been rude to the gardener and were to be severely punished. The gardener was sent for. His eyes lit up when he learned that he was to witness the beatings. Debbie and then Janet took down their knickers and bent over the table for six hard strokes of a swishy cane. He eyed the gardener covertly as he whipped first one squirming bottom then the other: the gardener didn’t take his eyes from the girls. Peter felt sure that he had found a replacement whom he could recommend with full confidence when he left…

Spanking Art — Darcy

More illustrations from Darcy:
Caught Smoking Again
Step-Daddy Knows Best
Weekend at Uncle's
Caught Stealing at the Allotment

Friday, 22 May 2020

Letters from Roué 1

Time for some letters from Roué, where they were always a significant part of the magazine. The fact they had such a bulging postbag even in issue 1 might make a cynical reader suspect a fictional element to the correspondence, but it is entertaining nonetheless.
As with most Roué features, the photos have a charming/infuriating lack of relevance to the item they are illustrating.
A Highland Fling
Dear Sir,
Asked to contribute to your correspondence section, I have been unsure of quite what to write about from my own personal experience, which is somewhat limited.
However, there is one incident, in which I was in no way involved, which has stuck in my mind for some six or seven years. It was reported in the national press, but, unlike the almost classic story of the man who caned his filing clerk because she stole some money, and who was subsequently sent to prison for his rashness, I have never seen it referred to in any publication dealing with corporal punishment, although it was round about the same time. I feel it to be worthy of mention because it seems to me that it raises some interesting points.
The incident occurred in Scotland, sometime in the sixties, in a tourist spot somewhere near the border. Apparently a man who ran a souvenir shop, assisted by his wife, was accustomed to take on some extra help during the peak season, and on this occasion he took on two girls who were on holiday from school.
Like the man who caned his filing clerk, this gentleman also found that, on a number of occasions, money was missing from the till at the end of the day. The newspaper reports that, having questioned the two girls, who admitted that they had taken the money, the shopkeeper then informed them that he was going to punish them. No threats were made. He simply stated it as a fact.
After closing the shop, the man then produced a cane, which he just happened to have handy, and, with his wife holding the girls’ hands, he bent them one by one across the counter and proceeded to cane them on the seat of their knickers. So far this doesn’t seem unlikely, if slightly risky. But the remarkable thing is that, by the time he was apprehended and charged, it is reported that this regular punishment had been going on for something like six weeks, more or less every day, and the two girls had been calmly bending over the counter with their skirts up around their waists, with their bottoms getting between six and a dozen strokes, and had then been unconcernedly going home, saying nothing to anyone, and then turning up for work again the next day in the full knowledge that by the time they went home again they would very likely be doing so with yet another sore bottom.
Obviously, the canings must have been more than little tickles as the man’s wife had to hold the girls down across the counter, and I don’t suppose their knickers gave much protection even if the shopkeeper didn’t occasionally pull the legs of their pants up a little so that he could use the cane on their bare cheeks.
When this affair came to light, and, mark you, it only did so because of a chance remark by one of the girls which was overheard, the man and his wife were taken to court.
The court merely fined them, because, apparently, the only charge which could be brought against them was one of common assault, though it could have been indecent assault had the man taken the girls’ knickers down, and the situation was yet further eased because neither of the girls could be persuaded to testify in court in any but the most complimentary terms. The saving factor, of course was that the man had made no threats about what would happen if they had failed to comply, which would have been a much more serious matter.
Speculating on this incident has given me more than a little pleasure, and I would be grateful to know if any of your readers could give me a convincing explanation of why two schoolgirls should willingly allow themselves to thus be caned on a regular basis. As I say, this is a perfectly factual account published in a national newspaper. One wonders, in the light of this, how many other girls get caned in similar circumstances and never report the fact.
Rough Justice
Dear Sirs,
In response to your request for ideas and suggestions for your forthcoming publication, I thought you might be interested in my wife’s account of her experiences in the Women’s Royal Air Force, which, incidentally, have given me food for thought now that she has discussed the matter with me fully for the first time.
‘After doing our basic training at an ‘Induction Centre’, we girls were then sent on to other, more specialised establishments which were to undertake our training in the occupations which we had been told we must follow. I, along with a number of other girls, went to an RAF station in Kent. At this station, and I’m talking about the early nineteen sixties, we lived in barracks, called by the slightly nicer name of dormitories, with about eighteen or twenty girls in one long room, with beds and lockers and very little else. There were also showers and loos adjoining, and each of these little units was overseen by the corporal, who lived in comparative luxury in her own room at the landing end of the dormitory. She was responsible for us to a certain extent, and was also theoretically responsible for the standards of efficiency and cleanliness in our accommodation.
Our particular corporal was named Waverly, or something like that, and she was a girl of about twenty-one or two, and therefore older than most of us by a couple of years. This, combined with her two stripes and her undoubted position of authority meant that, in all practical details, her word was law.
The first brush with her authority wasn’t long in coming. Young girls can be boisterous, just like young men, and a couple of us, me included, got back rather late one evening to the accompaniment of excited squeals and giggles and the unpremeditated eruption of a fire extinguisher, which somehow contrived to fall off its hook and spurt foam all over the highly polished floor of the dorm.
Corporal Waverly appeared, her face a mixture of amusement and affronted dignity. She looked us up and down, while we stood anxiously in an untidy group and waited for the knell of doom.
The blow, when it came, seemed catastrophic.
‘Confined to barracks, tomorrow night, the lot of you. And I mean all of the dorm, not just you four.’
There was an immediate howl of protest from the other girls, but Corporal Waverly remained unmoved.
‘There will be an inspection here tomorrow evening at eighteen hundred. No one is excused. That’s all.’
The four of us who had caused this calamity suffered the displeasure of all the other girls until the following evening, by which time, as we got ready for the special inspection, some of our dormitory companions looked as if they could cheerfully have killed us.
At eighteen hundred, Corporal Waverly appeared. We had expected a ‘dressing down’, but we got rather more than that!
Corporal Waverly knew exactly what she was doing. She obviously realised that, having allowed enough time for resentment against we four culprits to fester for almost twenty-four hours, any suggestion she might make as to an alternative to being confined to barracks, particularly if it included an opportunity for the rest of the girls to get their own back, would be very well received.
Having delivered the expected lecture, she slipped in the punchline.
‘The alternative to my punishing you all by restricting you to the dorm tonight, is one which you might possibly prefer.’
The chance of a reprieve was at once received with considerable enthusiasm.
‘The alternative is that you, and I mean those of you who were not responsible for last night’s fracas, might prefer to punish the culprits yourselves.’
Possibly you can imagine the spirit in which this suggestion was received. Shocked by the animalistic shrieks of glee which erupted from the others, the four of us withered with frightened anticipation of what this punishment might be. There was considerable noisy discussion as to just what the other girls ought to do to us. Corporal Waverly waited for the hubbub to subside and then mentioned that, if all were in agreement, she might have a satisfactory solution. The four of us were ordered to wait in the shower room, across the landing. We waited for what seemed ages, and our qualms were by no means eased by the sounds of giggling and uproarious agreement which carried to us from the dorm.
Then the press gang arrived, headed by Corporal Waverly. They pounced on poor Linda, who was about the youngest of us all, and led her protesting into the dorm. The remaining three of us were told to wait where we were, with threats of dire consequences if we didn’t.
As soon as Linda had disappeared through the double doors of the dormitory the giggling and laughter resumed, and now and then a shriek which didn’t sound like one of amusement sounded shrilly above the babble. With considerable trepidation we realised that the squeals must be Linda’s.
Whatever they were doing to her seemed to go on for ages. Certainly it was a good ten minutes, which can be an age. And then they came back. For me.
Scared stiff by the yells Linda had been making, I didn’t want to go, but I hadn’t a chance. Kicking and struggling, they dragged me through the door.
Immediately my eyes found poor Linda. I was absolutely shocked by the sight. Her hair was straggling all over her face, she was half-naked, with only her blouse and tie still more or less in place, and was lying face up across a bed with her arms and legs pinned by four of the girls, her thighs spread-eagled and her eyes staring with fright as she lifted her head and looked at me.
As I was brought in and shoved to the middle of the long room, Linda was hoisted unceremoniously to her feet and propelled forcibly to the far end of the dorm. With shocked amazement, I saw the hot looking red blotches on her bare bum, and the same angry crimson spank-marks down the backs of both thighs. She was dumped, bottom uppermost, across the bed at the end of the dorm, and threatened that if she didn’t want another dose she’d better stay where she’d been put.
And then it was my turn. Struggling, I was dragged to a bed, forced face down across it, and my shoes, stockings, skirt, slip and knickers literally yanked off me, while someone sat on my neck and someone else clung onto my hands. Half-stripped, I was then pulled to my feet and taken back to the middle of the room, amid jeers and catcalls and considerable laughter.
The girls were to be armed with various implements, mostly hairbrushes. Corporal Waverly, also equipped with a hairbrush, stood in front of me with the most angelic smile on her face. I suddenly found that someone had slipped a pillow case over my head, so that I could see only vague shapes through the linen, and then I was forced to my knees on the floor. Strong thighs clamped either side of my waist, hands held my wrists, and then it started. My poor bum jumped with the first swipe, and I yelped with a mixture of pain and fright. Again and again the pain sizzled into my bottom, a dozen or twenty, I don’t know. But I do know that before it had finished, I was bawling like a child and wriggling like mad to escape the sting of that hairbrush.
Then the thighs released me, and their place was taken by another pair. I squirmed, trying to get free, and I felt yet another pair of thighs clamp either side of my ears, and the weight of someone’s soft, heavy bottom on the top of my head bearing me down to the floor. The spanking started again. I screamed and bawled, but I was absolutely helpless, and the smart grew in my stinging backside until I hardly knew how I would stand it. This process was repeated again and again. I was absolutely breathless from crying, and my knees were bruised and raw from scrabbling about on the wooden floor. At last they had finished with me. Absolutely wretched, I was eventually lifted to my feet, and then I, like Linda, was spread-eagled face-up over a bed without an ounce of fight left in me.
The giggles grew louder, and then something cold and slippery started to worm its way up inside me. I screamed, but it still splodged into me, and then, at last, it was over.
The pillow case was removed, I was plonked down on the bed at the end of the dorm next to Linda, and I heard them bring in Anne, heard them stripping her, and listened as they spanked her naked bottom as they had mine. Then it was Julie’s turn, while the three of us lay across our beds too terrified to move.
They finished with Julie, and then Corporal Waverly’s voice sounded behind us. We got another dozen or so each across our sore and quivering bums, before they let us up at last.
As a spanking, it must have rated as a pretty severe one. There were fourteen other girls, besides us four, in the dorm, plus Corporal Waverly, and they must have each given us a good twenty stingers each. The bruises on my bum stayed for almost a week and, honestly, I couldn’t sit down comfortably for a couple of days.
I never got spanked like that again. But, I have to admit, when it was someone else turn to get it, I was as eager as everyone else, and I should think I got as much enjoyment from it as the other girls had when it had been my turn. And incidentally I found out what the goo was that they’d squirted up inside me. It was only toothpaste. But with your head inside a pillow-case, a tube of toothpaste can feel like a hundred other bloody awful things.
Whether that kind of thing was common enough in Corporal Waverly’s dorm, but with the benefit of hindsight it is perfectly clear that she thoroughly enjoyed it, and engineered repeat performances on every possible occasion.
Perhaps someone else will be able to shed more light on this kind of thing.
Michael M.,
Homely Discipline
Dear Sir,
Following the recent, and well-publicised decision of a Midlands County Council to reintroduce corporal punishment in its children’s homes, I have read several accounts in various magazines which detail the punishments involved. As many people will already know, the pupils, including girls up to seventeen, may now be caned, by a female member of staff, over not more than one layer of clothing, which presumably means a pair of knickers or shorts, and always in the presence of the headmaster, which is a necessary part of the routine as laid down by the council.
This decision is naturally regarded as a novelty, and has been reported as such. I would like to point out however, that though it may be a novelty to have girl pupils caned in council run homes, it is by no means a new idea in certain other establishments.
There are thousands of other homes, run by all sorts of charitable and other associations, where corporal punishment, whether sanctioned by officialdom or not, goes on nevertheless. Obviously I cannot speak authoritatively of the majority, but from personal experience I can say that in one, at least, official policy turned a blind eye to the actual facts of life.
I lived in a privately run home from the age of thirteen until I was sixteen, and then, having no other home to go to nor a job, I stayed on, as did several other girls, as domestic staff cum children’s nurse.
The head of the establishment was a man whose scholastic qualifications were minimal, but whose experience in running organisations for young people apparently made him a suitable person to administer the home.
His methods were fair enough, I suppose, and he was certainly a ‘father figure’ to many of us. Which no doubt excused, at least in his mind, the exercise of ‘parental discipline’ on occasions. The nature of this discipline was common knowledge to all members of staff, and as I happen to know, to one at least of the governors of the home.
Discipline was ‘unofficial’, in that its application was casual rather than ritualistic.
Being sent to the principal, for the boys, usually meant a bit of a lecture and then some imposition such as additional duties or a loss of privileges. For the girls, it meant much the same, unless you were one of his favourites. To qualify as a favourite, you needed to have a pretty face, a naturally obedient nature, and as few visitors from the outside world as possible. It also helped if you were one of those whose school life, which was outside the home, wasn’t a particularly happy one, which meant that you weren’t likely to have made any close relationships with the teaching staff.
A ‘favourite’ really had to suffer the usual impositions and punishments, but her ‘discipline’ was carried out on a much more paternal level. A fairly common imposition involved dusting the bookshelves in the principal’s office, for which purpose he kept a little step-ladder. The girl dusted the shelves, and then each book in turn had to be taken down and shown to him for inspection, while she stood up on the ladder. Any book which still retained a speck of dust would bring a ‘Tut-tut’, or a ‘Dear me’, and an admonitory pat on the bottom, delivered from underneath the girls’ skirt. Having gone through this ritual on several occasions, without her having complained of the intimate liberties which he took in the process, it was only a small step to finding herself across his lap with her knickers pulled up tight and getting a mild spanking. She would then graduate to a bare bottom spanking, by which time the precedent had been established, and she took it for granted that having to go to the principal’s office meant taking her knickers down, a performance which quickly became an almost automatic response.
Cold showers were another ‘favourites’ favourite, witnessed, of course, by the principal, to be sure you didn’t duck your punishment.
These admittedly mild punishments, because I have to say that even a bare bottom slapping was never really more than a token affair, were not at all out of the ordinary for some of the girls. But it was when I officially ‘left’ the home, as a pupil, and rejoined as a member of staff, that punishment came to figure more ominously in my life.
On the day before I ‘left’, I was called to see the principal. The transition from inmate to staff had, of course, already been discussed with him and others on the staff. The interview was designed to put me firmly in my place. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that although I had passed from his responsibility in one respect, nevertheless as an employee I now had my own responsibilities to him, and he had a duty to the home’s governors. In future, if I wanted to stay under the roof which had protected me for the last four years, I must expect to be treated as a responsible adult, and grown-up girls, in his opinion, needed more than the odd smack on the bottom to keep them in order. With this menacing thought firmly implanted in my mind, I moved into my own upstairs room, in a corridor up under the eaves where the other girls on the staff had their accommodation. I was, of course, in no position to defy him. I had no family, and no money of my own, and there was really no possibility of my leaving at that stage. And also, to tell the truth, I, like the other girls who had stayed on, was uneasy about starting life anew elsewhere. The home was home, that’s all there was to it. And after four years, taking my knickers down for a spanking didn’t seem particularly dreadful. I was used to it, and anyway, despite his own particular style of discipline, the principal was in every other respect a likeable man, whom I had come to look upon as a substitute father.
I had been ‘on the staff’ for only a few days when I found out just how it was that he ‘kept the girls in order.’
For some reason or other which I forget, I found myself in trouble. I paid a brief visit to his study, expecting to be put across his knee as usual. Instead I was told to be in my room at nine that evening, ready for bed.
Dutifully, I did as I was told. Ready for bed presumably meant in my pyjamas. By nine I was ready, and waiting for his arrival, which was right on time.
In his hand he carried a cane. I stared disbelievingly. I was told to take down my pyjama trousers, which I did, and then I was instructed to lie across the bed, my bare bottom held up high, and then I was given my first ever caning. I have to admit that I blubbered, it stung like mad, and he had to hold me down for the last few. I got a dozen, and the marks stayed for about twenty four hours.
Thereafter, even when it wasn’t my turn, on six nights out of seven at least one of the girls upstairs was caned. The rest of us could hear the swish and whack of the cane, and the unlucky girls’ weeping coming muffled from her room. Nor was it only the principal. Now, the matron also took a hand. I got the cane on average about three times every two weeks, and got slippered by Matron about once a week. And several times, when I got a little older, I was told to report to Matron’s room where, naked except for my bra and pants. I was ‘introduced’ to a man whom I recognised as one of the trustees. On each occasion I was stripped naked, then pulled across a table and my hands held by the man, while Matron thrashed me with a strap across my bum and my thighs. Then, with a patronising peck on the cheek and a lingering pat on the bottom from this man, I was packed off to my room, my place over the table being taken by another girl.
This arrangement continued for the two remaining years that I was there. At any time, I suppose, I could have left, but having become ‘institutionalised’ I could never quite get up the nerve to actually try and make my own way outside the home.
Now, I can’t say this is typical of homes like mine, but from several other girls I have met, one way and another through associations connected with these institutions, it seems more probable to me than not that there is a good deal more goes on out of sight than anyone might imagine. The councillors who so daringly recommended the introduction of corporal punishment in establishments under their jurisdiction are simply giving the seal of approval in their own homes to something which goes on anyway, officially or not, in plenty of other places of a similar sort.
Getting the Message
Dear Sir,
Perhaps you will be interested in the story attached, which is about my time as a messenger in a merchant bank in the City, in the early nineteen sixties.
At that time I was in charge of messengers, and there were three others under me. It was our job, amongst other things, to go round to each of the offices at the end of the day and collect any letters or packages left in the messenger’s trays. So that we didn’t inconvenience the staff, particularly the directors and senior executives, we would usually wait until all the offices were empty before collecting.
One evening, later than usual, while on my rounds, I ambled unannounced into an office, and saw something which completely took me aback. Across the large, polished desk which was opposite the door was the incredible sight of a girl, whom I took to be one of the secretaries, spread-eagled face down against the top, with her dress tucked up around her waist and her bottom unashamedly on display, covered only by a pair of nylon knickers.
I stopped in my tracks, but she didn’t move. Presumably she hadn’t heard my footsteps on the thick carpet. Confused, but with sense enough to realise that I ought to make myself scarce, I slipped away into an adjoining office, where I sat down and collected my thoughts. I decided, out of sheer fascination, that perhaps I ought to hang around and see what happened.
The topmost eighteen inches of the wall which divided the offices was built of glass, no doubt to let a little light through into the inner room, and by very quietly moving a desk, and by placing a chair on top of it, I found that I could see over the partition. I installed myself in my vantage point and awaited developments.
Nothing happened for a while. The girl was quite alone in the office. I reckoned she must have been about nineteen. She was dark-haired and although I couldn’t see her face properly, I gained the impression that she was quite a pretty girl. She was certainly a nice shape. Her bottom looked solid and plump, and her thighs were nice and full where they swelled out above her stocking tops. Her posture across the desk gave me the distinct idea that she was there for a spanking. The thought of that got me very excited indeed.
Patience was rewarded, and in a little while a man, one of the bank’s directors, arrived. I knew him fairly well, on an employer/employee basis.
To my surprise, he seemed to completely ignore the girl across his desk, while he fiddled with some papers in a filing cabinet. Only when he’d finished whatever he was doing did he seem to notice her. Then he came round to the front of the desk and started to talk to the girl, while he stroked and fondled her half-naked bottom from behind. I heard him talking, but I couldn’t catch her answers. She seemed very anxious.
Then, from a cupboard, the man produced a short, thin cane, about two feet long. Walking up behind the girl, he started to cane her, not very hard, across the two heavy swells of her buttocks which were left bare by the briefness of her knickers. I could hear the soft ‘popping’ of the cane as it landed. He caned her slowly, and little by little she began to wriggle after each stroke, and to do a kind of little jump forward against the desk.
He gave her about thirty like this, then stopped. I couldn’t see any actual marks on the girl’s bum, but it looked faintly red more or less all over the exposed parts of her cheeks. He said something to her, and I saw her start to fumble with her knickers, then stop.
Suddenly, even taking me by surprise, he whacked the cane quite hard across each of her bare thighs in turn. I heard her squeal, and then almost at once she had wriggled her knickers down off her bottom, down past her knees, and lay looking nervously back over her shoulder. Her bare bottom looked very nice indeed, especially with the redness covering the lower parts.
Then, much more determinedly, he began to cane her properly. She squirmed about after each one, and I heard her gasp even through the glass. He whacked her slowly and methodically, waiting for what might have been thirty seconds between each stroke.
I watched, enraptured, as the livid weals began to swell up, plain to see even from my observation point. She got about twenty more like that, the last few taking a long time because she started to jump up almost to her feet as the cane landed, and would only get back down again very reluctantly. The whacking made her cry, and I could plainly hear her sobs, but for some reason she stuck it out.
When he’d finished with her, he left her face down across the desk while he put the cane away, then he came back, took her knickers down to her ankles and lifted her feet out of them, then undid his trousers and slipped his cock up inside her from behind.
I watched him screw her, which he took his time about, and all the while the girl clung on to the far edge of the desk and let him have her just as he wanted.
When he’d finished, I imagined that it was all over for the poor girl, but no. He straightened himself up, then, spreading her legs as wide apart as they would go, he took a ruler from his desk and began to slap the insides of her thighs, above her stocking tops, while she rolled about across the desk top, clamping her legs together every now and then, when he would prise them apart, though with some difficulty, and resume her punishment, which went on until she was in tears again after something like fifty or so slaps with the ruler.
At last he seemed to have finished with her. She stood up, and wandered miserably around the office, touching at her crimson bottom in a very dubious and careful way, yet still holding her dress up, apparently on instructions from him.
I imagined at this point that it was all over. She’d been soundly caned, and the marks were still visible, she’d been fucked and then she’d been punished yet again with the ruler. Whatever she’d done to deserve it, she’d certainly paid the price.
So I was rather startled when, on his instructions, she stopped her wandering about and started to take her dress off, then her slip and finally her bra as well, leaving her in nothing other than her shoes, stockings and suspenders.
They walked together to the door, then he had her bend over while he gave her a couple of hefty spanks on her sore bottom, then she was helped into her coat and they left.
I gave them ten minutes, then emerged myself. I could only suppose, from what I had just seen, that the unhappy girl’s punishment was not yet over, though her bottom had certainly taken a good walloping. I can’t imagine what she could have done to deserve it, unless there was more to it than that.
Fascinated to discover who this girl was, though I hadn’t recognised her, I spent the next few days searching every office in the building, without finding her. I never did find her. Who she was is still a mystery to me, though obviously she couldn’t have worked at the bank. Somehow, the idea that she had come to the bank specifically and presumably by appointment, to wait across the director’s desk with her dress up round her waist, for him to then turn up and punish her at his leisure, adds a flavour to the episode which I still find exciting after all the ensuing years.
Asked for a contribution, I have concluded that the most sensible and realistic thing I have to say is this:
I am old enough to remember Teddy Boys, and Girls, as something of a nuisance to one who was twenty years or so older than their generation. I also remember Beatniks, Beatlemania and Ban-the-Bomb demonstrators, who were also a damned nuisance.
But for sheer arrogance and vicious disrespect for other people’s values, this present wave of Punk, whatever that is supposed to be, takes the bloody biscuit.
The other day, I watched two young girls, still obviously of school age, insulting and mocking a porter on a London railway station, making obscene remarks and even throwing things at him, apparently secure in the knowledge that, apart from the extremely remote chance of court action, their behaviour could go unchallenged and completely unpunished.
If they were fourteen years old I’d be surprised, but, for all that may be criticised for saying it, I would cheerfully have collared them and taken their pants down for a good whipping there and then. Their arrogance and lack of consideration would have evaporated if I’d been able legitimately to get my hands on them. I would have spanked their bare behinds until they squealed for pity, and I would not have desisted until their impudent rumps were scarlet all over.
The sooner something is done about this disgusting tendency to disrespect in the young, the better. The psychologists have had their turn, and failed dismally. It’s about time that educationalists were given the go ahead to put the emphasis back where it belongs, across the backsides of these hooligans, and preferably with a good swishy cane!
Retired Schoolmaster,