The Institute Girl and Back to the Institute by Colin Weaver with Illustrations by Paula Meadows

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The Institute Girl by Colin Weaver

Illustrations by Paula Meadows from Februs 25

When the Birley Institute was built in 1830, the wealthy businessmen on who were financing it out of civic pride and the hope of a mention in the Honours List could not agree about its purpose. Should it be a museum, an art gallery or a library? The local firm of architects and builders who had got the contract under The Old Pals Act tried to please everyone, and the result was a queer, undecided mongrel of a building, like an oversized Nonconformist chapel on the outside, and with an interior which was such a maze of galleries and stairways and rooms and passages that a stranger should not enter without a native guide.

At least, that is what Mr Mytton told Lucinda. After a month in Birley, the sardonic, middle-aged curator of the Institute was one of the few people she was on easy conversational terms with. The other teachers at St Jude's were civil enough, but they were obviously suspending judgement, waiting to see how this suspiciously good-looking young woman from "down South" was going to fit into their well-established ways. Her neighbours in the block of flats where she had found a home were evident mainly as noises through the walls and ceiling. In due course she would have some kind of social life; meanwhile she explored Birley and discovered the Institute.

'Why,' demanded Lucinda, 'has this weird old place not been turned into a bingo hall or torn down to make way for a supermarket? It happens everywhere else.'

Mr Mytton chuckled. He was a big, homely man who smoked an unfashionable pipe and reminded Lucinda of a favourite uncle. All the bright new development happened on the other side of town,' he said. 'Where the land just happened to be owned by Council members. And no-one is going to interfere with the Institute while the Mayor's son-in-law has the contract for repairs and renovations. It doesn't cost them much to run. They haven't bought any new exhibits for fifty years and the only staff are a couple of part-time cleaners, and me to discourage vandalism and keep out the tramps and druggies. It's a quiet life; I'm glad when someone shows an interest in the place. Though I should think there are better ways for a pretty girl to spend her time.'

Lucinda raised an elegant eyebrow. 'In Birley? Perhaps I'll find them eventually. Meanwhile I'll look round your Palace of Mystery again.'

Mr Mytton laughed. 'That's not a bad name for it. You never know what you might come across.'

Lucinda, though, had a good idea where her tour of the Institute was likely to finish, no matter what other explorations she made first. She had discovered the statue in a gallery on the second floor on a first visit, and had returned to it again and again. The label said simply, "Seated Man" and that was just what it was. A life-size marble figure, naked except for a brief kilt, sitting on a plain block. The thin lips were unsmiling, the eyes lowered as though in thought. The open right hand was raised to shoulder height, either in greeting or command.

It was to this gallery that Lucinda's wanderings through the Institute finally brought her again. She stood before the figure with her hands clasped behind her back, licking her lips, trembling with nervous excitement as she slipped once more into the fantasy she had devised.

'Lucinda Horton reporting for punishment, sir,' she said. She paused as though listening, then said, 'I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to be late.'

Another pause while the fantasy voice spoke in her mind. 'I know I shouldn't make excuses, sir,' she said. 'Please don't be angry.' Then, almost immediately, 'Yes, sir, of course.'

She moved to the right side of the figure and started to bend over. Then she straightened up and said, 'Oh sir, must I?' Another brief pause and then, 'I'm not arguing, sir, honestly I'm not!'

She lifted her short, pleated tartan skirt and pulled her black tights down to her knees. Then once more she bent forward and laid herself across the figure's thighs, reaching back to flick up her skirt. She was wearing plain white cotton knickers, brief enough to expose the plump lower curves of her delightfully rounded bottom. The marble beneath her body was polished, and to keep her balance she placed her impeccably manicured hands on the floor and stretched out her long shapely legs behind.

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Her eyes were half closed and she was breathing heavily as she lay quite still for a few moments. Then her body jerked a little, as though in response to an unseen hand landing sharply upon that delightful derriere, so invitingly offered.

It happened again and again, and Lucinda grimaced and gasped as though she was actually feeling the phantom smacks. She started to squirm across the figure's lap, her gasps became louder, took the form of words. 'Please, sir, please don't smack me! I'll do better, I promise, I'll try so hard! Please, sir, I'm so ashamed, I'm too old to be spanked and it hurts so much! Yes, I know I'm in disgrace!'

More wriggling, each foot leaving the floor in turn, swinging back as though in a vain effort to protect her twitching buttocks, then again the gasping, almost tearful voice. 'I'm sorry, sir, I won't do it again, I won't! Ah! Ah! Ah! I – I know what I've got to say, sir.' A brief, squirming pause, and then, in tones of the most abject humiliation, Lucinda whimpered, 'I am a very bad girl and I deserve to have my bottom smacked really hard and – and the next time I'm naughty I will have to take my knickers down and have my bare bum strapped and caned in front of everyone!'

The wriggling and gasping stopped, and Lucinda lay limp and passive across the statue's thighs for perhaps three minutes. Then she said softly, 'Thank you, sir,' slid backwards and stood up. Automatically smoothing down her skirt she stared at the figure for a few moments. Her rapid breathing gradually returned to normal, though her face was still flushed as she ruefully shook her head. 'Anyone would think I'm crazy,' she said. 'But it is only a harmless fantasy, after all.'

Needing to regain her composure she resumed her tour of the Institute, inspecting the stuffed birds and the beetle collection and the watercolours contributed by the Young Ladies Christian Sisterhood in 1923. Finally she returned to the entrance and Mr Mytton's office.

'Had a nice look round?' he enquired.

Lucinda nodded. 'Yes, thanks.'

'And paid your usual visit to Gallery Three?'

His expression was benevolent, his tone inoffensive, but Lucinda felt a sickening premonition of disaster. Gallery Three was where the Seated Man was. She tried to speak but no words would come. Could he have followed her, spied on her? It didn't seem possible, and yet.

'I was rather hoping you'd take your knickers down this time,' he said placidly. 'A proper spanking should always be on the bare bottom. Of course, that marble must be a bit cold.'

'How did you know?' she whispered.

'We're not behind the times in Birley,' said Mr Mytton, proudly. 'The Borough Treasurer's grandson knows all about this electronic business, and last year he fixed up a really good security system, very reasonable.'

He opened what Lucinda had assumed to be a cupboard door.

Behind was a monitor screen and speaker with a row of switches beneath. 'Saves a lot of walking round, this does. I can see and hear what goes on in any part of the Institute.' He touched a switch and the Seated Man appeared on the screen. 'It's all recorded on video too,' he said.

'Just what I needed!' said Lucinda, bitterly. 'Oh Christ, I was just beginning to feel my feet here. Now I've got to move on again and hope to find some school too desperate for teachers to ask too many questions.'

'What for?' said Mr Mytton, sounding surprised. 'Don't you like it in Birley?'

'Well enough,' said Lucinda. 'But how can I stay once word of this gets out?' She pointed at the figure on the screen.

'What kind of bloody fool do you think I am?' demanded Mr Mytton. 'I get along very nicely by hearing a lot, seeing a lot, and saying nowt! Why should I go telling everyone you're – well, one of them that enjoys a smacked bottom?'

'Oh aye!' said Lucinda in a mocking imitation of the flat Northern accent. 'I'm one of them all reet!'

Mr Mytton grinned. 'You're a cheeky young madam. I think I should do something about that.'

He walked to the front door, locked it and put up a "Closed" sign. The he returned to the office.

'You've been a bad girl, haven't you Lucinda?' he said.

'Yes, sir,' said Lucinda, meekly.

'What do you deserve for being a bad girl?'

Lucinda took a deep breath, looked him in the eye and said, 'I think I deserve a really sound spanking, sir.'

'So do I,' he said.

Feeling blissfully familiar mixture of fear, shame and excitement, Lucinda watched as he took off his jacket and neatly rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. He put a chair in the centre of the floor and sat down. 'Come here, Lucinda,' he said.

She moved towards him and he reached for her, half pulling, half supporting her as she went unresistingly across his broad thighs. She stared at the worn grey carpet as he turned up her skirt and put his hand under the waistband of her tights. He pulled her tights down. He pulled her knickers down. She felt the blood burning in her face as his hard, rough hand stroked and patted her naked buttocks with a sort of affectionate approval.

'Very nice,' said Mr Mytton, and his voice was almost a sigh. 'Very nice indeed.'

Then his hand came down hard and she jerked a little, just as she had done during her fantasy-spanking in Gallery Three. She heard Mr Mytton laugh softly and she squirmed with humiliation as the hand came down again and again, punishing her tender bare cheeks with solid, stinging spanks. She gasped and squealed, and her suffering bottom was soon so sore that she could not resist a plea for mercy. 'Please, Mr Mytton, not so hard!'

'Oh, you're just getting nicely warmed up,' he said cheerfully. 'You can take a lot more yet, a healthy young woman like you!' The punishing hand was withheld for the moment.

'Oh, thanks!' said Lucinda, wriggling. Then she yelped shrilly as a dozen resounding slaps punished the tender flesh of her upper thighs.

'You're forgetting to call me sir,' said Mr Mytton, reprovingly.

'Ah! Oooh! I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to be impertinent!'

'Don't like it on your legs, do you, Lucinda?'

'No, sir,' whimpered Lucinda.

'But naughty girls have to take what they don't like, eh, Lucinda? That's the whole point of punishment.'

He gave her four hard slaps on her right thigh, paused for a few moments and gave her four more on the left.

'Am I being cruel, Lucinda?'

She struggled to find the right words to placate him. 'You – you're being very strict, sir.'

'But you want me to be strict, don't you, Lucinda? What shall I smack next, your legs or your bottom?'

'My bottom, sir!'

'Only if you ask me nicely.'

Oh God, his hand was patting her stinging thighs again!

'Please, sir, please smack my bare bottom! It's such a naughty bottom, it deserves to be spanked really hard!'

'So it shall be!' said Mr Mytton with obvious amusement.

Once more her wincing buttocks quivered under the impact of a heavy male hand. The spanking continued remorselessly with occasional pauses for question and answer.

'When did you get your first spanking, Lucinda?'

'When I was nineteen, sir. From a boy I met at university. We couldn't afford to go out anywhere much, so we usually went to his flat and he smacked my bottom.'

'And how old are you now, Lucinda?'

'Oooh! Oww! Twenty-seven, sir.'

'So you've had eight years of hot bottoms. With the cane and strap too?'

'Yes, sir, but not all the time. Only when I found someone I could trust.'

'And you trust me? That's a good girl.'

'If I'm a good girl,' wept Lucinda, 'why am I crying across your lap with my knickers around my knees and my bottom on fire?'

'I suppose it's just your lucky day,' said Mr Mytton. 'Cheer up, you're nearly half-way through your spanking.'

'Half-way? Oh but sir – Ow! Oooh! Aaaah!'

By the time she had spent half an hour facing the wall hands on head, the fire in her smacked bum had cooled a little but she still gasped and screwed up her face as she pulled her knickers up.

'And now,' said Mr Mytton, 'since you've shown such an interest in the Institute you shall have the privilege of visiting the Reserve Room.'

'The what?'

'Many museums,' explained Mr Mytton, 'have private areas not available to the general public, reserved for an elite few. You, Lucinda, are about to join the elite.'

'Why do I have a feeling I am going to regret this?' said Lucinda.

* * *

They went up stairs and through doors and along passages Lucinda had never noticed before. Finally Mr Mytton opened one more door. 'The Reserve Room!' he said.

Lucinda stared. 'I'm not surprised you keep the public out of here,' she said. 'It's hardly politically correct, is it?'

Mr Mytton snorted with amusement. 'There's not much of that in Birley,' he said. 'Still, you're right, it wouldn't do to let everyone see this.'

What Lucinda saw was a room devoted to all kinds of equipment for corporal punishment. There was a sturdy wooden trestle bolted to the floor; it had a padded leather top at waist height.

An equally sturdy oak table with a long, faded cushion along one side. Several chairs. On one wall, about six feet up, were two substantial metal rings bolted into the brickwork. And, in racks on the wall, lying on the table, hanging on hooks and pegs were canes, straps, whips, paddles, a rich variety of punishment implements.

'The furniture and some of the other things came from the old Birley Reformatory which closed in nineteen-thirty,' said Mr Mytton. 'Someone must have thought it would he a waste to have them scrapped.'

'Not all this goes back to nineteen-thirty,' said Lucinda, inspecting the table. 'I'm sure they didn't have plastic rulers then.'

'The equipment has been kept up to date,' said Mr Mytton, 'by SPOC.'

'You don't mean...?'

'No, not him! The Society for the Purpose of Correction.

A group of local people with interest similar to yours. Some like to give punishment, others to take it, some are happy either way. And – I happen to know they have a vacancy for another member.'

'Well,' reflected Lucinda, 'it would be better than playing silly games with a statue. Have you any influence with them?'

'The Secretary,' said Mr Mytton, 'is an old friend of mine. Would you like me to ask her?'

'Please!' said Lucinda.

Mr Mytton produced a mobile phone. 'Helen? Jim Mytton here. How are you? Yes, fine thanks. Are you still looking for someone to take Molly's place in SPOC now she's gone to Canada? Yes, I think so. Her name is Lucinda. She's not been in Birley long. She's twenty-seven and she's a teacher at St Jude's. She's very attractive and she dresses nicely, and she can take a good spanking What? Yes, of course I've spanked her. I wouldn't recommend her if I hadn't tried her out. She's with me now, in the Reserve Room. All right, I will.'

He handed the phone to Lucinda. 'Helen wants to talk to you.'

'Hello?' said Lucinda, uncertainly.

'Hello, Lucinda,' said a warm contralto voice. 'I'm Helen Withington. Jim sounds very pleased with himself. He always is when he's had some poor girl across his knee. Are you very sore?'

'I am!' said Lucinda.

There was a sympathetic chuckle over the phone. 'Jim has a hard, heavy hand. I should know, it's smacked my bottom often enough.'

'I shouldn't have cried, though, at my age,' said Lucinda. 'I felt really ashamed of myself.'

'My dear, it's only natural!' said Helen. 'I'm forty-five and when my husband takes me across his knee and bares my bottom I'm soon bawling and blubbering disgracefully! Mind you, Robert uses the back of a hairbrush and he does go on and on!'

'Is your husband a member of SPOC?' asked Lucinda.

'Oh yes. So is my daughter Kelly. She's our youngest member at twenty.'

'Then she knows about your punishments?'

'She does,' said Helen, calmly. 'She teases me awfully too. She's not allowed to watch Robert punishing me at home but she claims she can tell whether my bottom is receiving the cane or the tawse or the martinet by the sound of my yells from the bedroom.'

'Is Kelly punished at home?'

'Robert says it wouldn't be right for him to do it, and she says she's too old now for Mummy to spank. Which is rather disappointing really – I used to feel so happily maternal when I had her wriggling over my lap while I smacked her bare pink bottom! But when we go to SPOC meetings I tell my friend Marjorie if Kelly has behaved badly. Marjorie's favourite instrument is the extra-long Glasgow tawse and she makes Kelly go across the table with her knickers down in front of everyone for a really first-class leathering.

Later in the meeting she can be sure of one of Jim's special spankings, and one or two of the other members will probably chastise her too. At the last meeting, as well as the strapping and the spanking, Kelly had her legs well smacked by Mrs Morris. She always seems to find that especially shaming and of course it's intensely painful. Kelly's thighs and calves were crimson by the time Jane Morris had finished. Then she took three strokes of the cane on each hand from Frank Kay, and finally her bottom was well and truly birched by Miss Foster. Not surprisingly, poor Kelly was sobbing her heart out all the way home in the car, and for the next few days my dear, delinquent daughter was unnaturally well-behaved.'

'Oooh!' said Lucinda. 'I've never been birched – yet. Is it horribly painful?'

'Miss Foster will be happy to demonstrate,' said Helen. 'Personally, I think I shall see how your sit-upon responds to a nice, whippy rattan. Do you wriggle nicely when you're caned, Lucinda?'

'I don't know!' said Lucinda. 'All my attention is on what it feels like!'

'We shall see,' said Helen. 'But Marjorie shall deal with you first. I'll suggest that we shall have you and Kelly across the table side by side for a double strapping. I'm sure we'll hear a very heartfelt soprano duet from the pair of you. Marjorie's enthusiastic and experienced and she really puts her heart and soul into it! I speak from experience – she's my dearest friend but when she has a tawse in her hand and my bottom at her mercy, oh my God!'

'I'm accepted as a member of SPOC, then?' asked Lucinda.

'Certainly,' said Helen. 'Of course, there is a little initiation ceremony.'

Lucinda gulped. 'I thought there might be.'

'You shall choose,' said the cool voice. 'Select any implement you see in that room.'

Lucinda looked around, then reached for the wall rack. 'I'm holding a cane,' she said.

'Give it to Jim, please. Now, how many strokes are you to receive, and where?'

Lucinda glanced at Mr Mytton. He grinned and flexed the cane in his hands. 'I'll take six strokes on my bottom, Helen.'

'Very well. Bend over please, Lucinda.' Again the friendly chuckle. 'Remember, I shall be listening!'

Lucinda put the phone down and bent over the table, gripping the far edge. Her skirt was turned up and she lifted her hips so that Mr Mytton could take down her tights and knickers. She felt the smooth, thin cane stroking the cheeks of her buttocks, still tender from the spanking.

'Ready, Lucinda?' said Mr Mytton.

'Yes, sir.'

Whap! The cane struck where it had just been stroking.

'Aaaaah!' it was something between a gasp and a yelp as Lucinda screwed up her face and briefly lifted her feet from the floor in automatic reaction to the shock. It way six months since she had last been caned; she had almost forgotten how painfully a swishy rattan could punish a plump bare bottom.

Whap! The second weal rose an inch below the first.

'Ooooooh!' Lucinda blushed furiously as she thought of Helen listening over the phone, perhaps laughing at her shrill wail of dismay.

Whap! Oh God, it hurt so much! She mustn't cry. She'd disgraced herself already when she was spanked. Surely she could be brave enough to take her punishment without tears.

Whap! A real scorcher across the tender lower curves.

'Oh! Oh sir! Oh, please sir!' She hadn't meant to call out but her bottom was blazing so furiously that she could not help it.

Whap!

'Aaaah! Please sir, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!' She had done nothing to deserve the caning, but the words came so naturally. One more stroke to come.

Instead of giving it Mr Mytton put down the cane and picked up the phone. 'Helen,' he said. 'I thought you'd like to know – she does wriggle very prettily! Yes, I'm sure you will... all right, I'll tell her.'

He put down the phone. 'You attend your first meeting three days from now,' he said. 'You'll have a nice set of marks to show when Marjorie takes your knickers down for the tawse. Meanwhile, we haven't quite finished, have we?'

The delay had played havoc with Lucinda's resolution. She could no longer hold back the big warm tears which rolled down her flushed cheeks. She felt bitterly ashamed, and yet there was a strange kind of satisfaction in the shame. She had tried so hard to be a brave girl, and if she had failed, if she had surrendered to her own weakness, then her failure and her surrender would be more than adequately punished when she next came to this room. Her bottom would be bared in front of Helen and her friends and she would endure the searing discipline of tawse and cane and birch. She would hold out her hands to be strapped, she would feel the biting lash of the martinet and the riding switch across her thighs and calves. She would suffer the ignominy of squirming and weeping and imploring across a man's lap as her bare bottom was soundly spanked with hand and hairbrush before an amused and applauding audience.

Lucinda knew beyond doubt that in three days' time she would receive the soundest thrashing she had ever had in her life. As she sobbed and squirmed in delicious terror at the prospect she heard Mr Mytton's laughing voice behind her.

'Yes, Lucinda, you wriggle very nicely indeed!'

And the cane descended for the final stroke upon the burning bare flesh of her exquisitely sore and sensitive bottom.

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Back to the Institute by Colin Weaver

Sequel to The Institute Girl

Illustrations by Paula Meadows from Februs 31

The stretch of pavement in front of the Birley Institute is about fifty yards long. Lucinda Horton had walked along it twice, and was in the middle of her third preoccupied perambulation when she became aware that someone had fallen into step beside her.

She turned her head and looked into the pale, plump, bespectacled face of a fiftyish man with the general appearance of an undertaker's chief clerk.

'I was wondering',' said the man, with a grimace meant for a smile, 'if you were – er – looking for business, love?'

After a moment's stunned surprise, understanding came to her, and the expression on her face was obviously an adequate answer. The man backed away hastily 'Sorry!' he said. 'My mistake! No offence meant!' He was almost running as he turned away and crossed the road.

Staring after him, Lucinda uttered two explicit words which would have horrified her fellow teachers at St. Jude's. Then she marched up the steps of the Institute and rapped sharply on the door. It was long after closing time but the door opened almost at once.

'Come in, lass,' said Jim Mytton, placidly. 'I thought you were going to wear a groove in that pavement. And you gave Sam Earnshaw a bit of excitement, didn't you? He won't have decided yet whether he's disappointed or relieved.'

Lucinda remembered, blushing, that the window office overlooked the street. I said I'd come,' she retorted defensively, 'and here I am.'

'I knew you'd keep your word,' he said quietly. 'You're an honest girl, and a brave one.'

Lucinda felt a comforting glow at the approval in his voice. This sardonic, middle-aged man had been the closest approach to a friend she had made in the month since she had moved to Birley. A tall, attractive woman of twenty-seven, something in her speech and her dress and her manner had seemed just a little exotic for that rugged Northern town, and people had been a trifle wary of her, taking their time to offer acceptance. She had become a regular visitor to the Institute, and it was there, thanks to sophisticated surveillance equipment, that Mytton had watched her acting out an absurd charade, lying across the marble thighs of a statue in Gallery Three and pretending to take a spanking.

Mytton had not been shocked, he had not reacted with derision or unwelcome lust, and he had made it clear, thank God! that he would not gossip. What he had done was to order her across his knee, take her knickers down and give her an exemplary, uncompromising spanking which surpassed any she had experienced in the eight years she had been submitting her shapely bare bottom to various disciplinary hands.

Afterwards he had taken her to the Reserve Room, which housed the equipment of the old Birley Reformatory. It was there that he had told her about SPOC, the Society for the Purpose of Correction, a group of local CP enthusiasts with room for another member.

She had used his mobile phone to speak to Helen the secretary of SPOC, and when she was accepted as a member she had endured the initiation of six scorching cane strokes fig across her tender rump from Jim Mytton. And now, she about to attend her first meeting.

'Jim,' she said as they walked towards the Reserve Room, 'Do I look all right? I wasn't sure what to wear.'

He looked at her thoughtfully. She was wearing a sleeveless, dark blue dress, snug at the waist, with a modest scoop neckline and a full, knee-length skirt. Her legs were bare and she wore cream peep-toe shoes with a medium heel.

'Just right,' he said. 'We don't go in for black leather or St. Trinians stuff. You look fine, Lucinda.'

They reached the door with the sign: RESERVE ROOM. STRICTLY PRIVATE.

'You can still turn round and walk away,' he said. 'We'll be disappointed, but we'll understand.'

Lucinda took a deep breath. 'I made my decision outside,' she said. 'Let's go in.'

* * *

The room was as she remembered it; in effect, a workshop equipped for every variety of corporal punishment. There was the sturdy wooden trestle with the padded leather top at waist level, bolted to the floor. An equally sturdy oak table with a long, faded cushion along one side. Several chairs. On one wall, about six feet up, were two substantial steel rings, bolted into the brickwork. And in racks on the walls, lying on the table, hanging on hooks and pegs, were canes, straps, whips, paddles, every kind of punishment implement.

Three days ago she and Jim Mytton had had the room to themselves. Now it seemed full of people, all looking towards her as she entered. A woman came forward, smiling. Slim, blonde, elegant, fortyish. 'Lucinda!' she said. 'Welcome to SPOC. I'm Helen Withington.'

'Hello, Helen,' said Lucinda, blushing a little as she remembered the last time Helen had heard her voice, when she was yelping under the cane.

'This is my husband, Robert.' A burly man with a broad grin beneath a bristling, sandy moustache.

'And this is my daughter, Kelly.' A line from a song came into Lucinda's head. "Tall and tanned and young and lovely," Kelly, at twenty, was all of that; her shining fair hair was plaited into a thick pigtail and tied with a red ribbon. She wore a tight white top and a red miniskirt.

'As you see,' said Helen, affectionately, 'Kelly is rather too big to go across Mummy's knee now. In fact, she sometimes threatens to put me across hers! Do you think I should let her, Lucinda? I read a letter in a magazine once, from a woman whose daughter gives her a good smack-bottom when she misbehaves. It made me wonder.' Kelly smiled at Lucinda. 'I don't really think I'd spank Mum,' she said. 'But I've taken an awful lot of punishment since I joined SPOC – it's about time I had a chance to spank someone!'

'Perhaps that can be arranged,' said Mytton, enigmatically.

A handsome, athletic-looking woman wearing a burgundy coloured shirt and white jeans stepped forward. 'I'm Marjorie Taverner,' she said. 'I gather Helen's described me in rather unflattering terms, a real she-devil with the tawse, in fact.'

Lucinda recalled her phone conversation with Helen. 'Something like that,' she admitted.

Marjorie shook her black curls. 'I shall discuss that with Helen later. Yes, I can be severe, but I object such an ogress of me!'

'Rubbish!' said Helen, unrepentantly. 'You know you enjoy using that strap, Marjorie.'

'I shall certainly enjoy using it on you later, Helen!'

There was obviously no malice in the exchange, and the friendly bickering made Lucinda feel more at ease. 'Do you take punishment as well as giving it, Marjorie?' she asked.

'Oh yes. The others would never let me play the stern dominatrix all the time, even if I wanted to.'

'Let me introduce you to the others,' said Helen, 'and then we can make a start.'

So Lucinda exchanged greetings with Frank Kay and Jane Morris and the elderly Miss Foster, who smiled grimly when Helen described her as, 'Our expert with the birch'.

'And now,' said Helen, briskly, 'let's start with someone giving my darling daughter the thrashing she deserves! Kelly has not been a good girl since we last met here.'

'I'm always first!' pouted Kelly. 'And anyway, Jim said I'd have a chance to spank someone else.'

'Did I?' said Mytton.

'Well, you sort of hinted.'

'In that case,' said Mytton, 'you'd better put Lucinda across your knee and spank her.'

Overcoming the sensation of a sudden drop in a fast lift, Lucinda said, 'Rather Kelly than you, Jim! But have I done anything to deserve a spanking?'

'Of course you have!' said Mytton. He turned to the others. 'You should have seen Lucinda a little earlier, trying to kid Sam Earnshaw that she was on the game!'

'I did not!' protested Lucinda, red-faced.

'I can't blame Sam,' said Mytton, solemnly. 'There she was, strolling along, wiggling her hips, oozing sex appeal!'

'Jim, please!'

'I think he expected her to produce a price list,' went on Mytton. 'You know, so much for straight sex, a bit more for the kinky stuff.'

'Please!' begged Lucinda, squirming, 'can I have my spanking and get it over with?'

'Oh, how I am going to enjoy this!' said Kelly, gleefully. 'Lucinda, come here!' She sat down and beckoned imperiously. 'You have been a very naughty girl and I am going to take your knickers down and smack your bare bum in front of everyone.'

'Yes, miss,' said Lucinda, meekly.

If Lucinda had been embarrassed by Mytton's teasing, that was nothing compared to her feelings as she lay bare-bottomed across Kelly's lap. She had only once before been spanked in front of an audience, and that had been at a party when she had been pulled across someone's knee and given a dozen quick smacks on the seat of her skirt. The same thing had happened to some of the other girls and it was all in fun anyway, so it hadn't been too shaming, but this was very different.

Kelly began to spank. Although she smacked with vigour and enthusiasm it was by no means as painful as the spanking Lucinda had taken from Mytton three days earlier, and her first reaction was to lie quietly, showing little response. Then she realised that she must be disappointing Kelly and the spectators by her impassivity, and when Kelly paused, as though wondering whether to continue, Lucinda quickly began to squirm and moan. 'Please, Kelly!' she gasped, 'That really hurts! I didn't think you'd spank so hard!'

'A half-hearted spanking is no use at all,' said Kelly. 'You have to learn your lesson, Lucinda.' It sounded like something Kelly had heard many times when her own bottom was suffering. She started to spank again and Lucinda wriggled and yelped and kicked to everybody's great satisfaction. It wasn't all acting. Kelly's spanking technique might have been inexperienced but her slaps still stung, and by the time she said breathlessly, 'That's it, you can get up now,' Lucinda's shapely rump was very sore.

'I thought you took that very well,' said a quiet voice beside her. It was the man who had been named to her as Frank Kay. During the introductions he had just been a hand to shake, a face to glance at before passing on to the next. Now she saw him as an individual, a stocky man a few years older than herself with a square, pleasant face and an air of good-humoured self confidence. His smile did not seem to be mocking her, but rather inviting her to share his amusement at the unlikely, bizarre, often downright ludicrous antics of the human race in search of pleasure.

'Thank you,' she said. 'Of course I've had plenty of experience – and I expect you'd be delighted to give me more!'

She became embarrassingly aware that her knickers were a forlorn little tangle of fabric around her ankles. 'There doesn't really seem much point in putting these on again for a while,' she said, and stepped out of them.

Frank stooped and picked them up. 'I'll take care of them for you,' he said.

'Somehow,' said Lucinda, 'I don't think this is the first time you've pocketed a warm pair of panties from a girl with a well-smacked bottom!'

Frank grinned. 'It isn't. Although I'm usually the one who's been doing the smacking.'

'The girls you spank,' said Lucinda. 'Is there... are they...'

'If you mean, is there a deep, meaningful relationship,' said Frank, 'the answer is no. Brief, casual encounters, that's all, great fun but nothing serious. And anyway they usually come to an end after the first spanking.'

'You find the girls resent it?'

'Usually they're more startled than resentful,' said Frank. 'But even the ones who seem to enjoy it don't generally stay around for a repeat performance.'

Lucinda shook her head. 'You'll get into trouble one day, Frank. It only needs one girl to turn nasty.'

'You're right,' he said. 'What I need is a steady relationship with a nice girl who understands what it's all about and enjoys her part in it as much as I enjoy mine.'

'Anyone special in mind?' asked Lucinda, casually.

'Lucinda,' he said, 'when I saw you across Kelly's lap and your knickers came down, I thought, that's a bottom I would he happy to tan frequently and thoroughly.'

'Oh Frank,' she said teasingly, 'you say the most romantic things. Ow!' The concluding yelp came as a vigorous bottom-slap stung through the thin material of her dress.

She glared at him indignantly, but then his hand returned to her bottom, not punishing this time but stroking, caressing, gently squeezing. She became aware of the most delightful sensations, glowing, throbbing, spreading. 'Oh Frank!' she sighed. 'Oh, that's nice.'

'Can you two leave the lovey-dovey stuff till later?' enquired Jim Mytton, drily. 'There are more bottoms to be tanned at this meeting.'

Blushing vividly Lucinda moved away from Frank, trying not to catch anyone's eye.

'You enjoyed spanking Lucinda, did you, Kelly?' asked Marjorie. 'Well now it's your turn. Weren't you among that crowd of young rowdies who filled the car park of the Birley Arms with broken glass?'

Kelly looked crestfallen. 'I don't know how you found out about that,' she blurted. 'It was just a bit of fun that got out of hand.'

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'Really? Well, tonight, Kelly, your elders and betters are going to take you firmly in hand. To begin with, you can take off your skirt.'

Kelly quickly obeyed, displaying diminutive black bikini pants beneath her white top. Marjorie picked up a leather paddle from the table. 'Touch your toes, Kelly.'

Again, Kelly obeyed immediately. Little muscles were jumping in her long, shapely bare legs. Her firm, apple-round buttocks were the focus of every eye.

Marjorie swung the paddle and tough leather cracked resoundingly upon bare feminine flesh. Kelly gasped but stayed in position. Crack! The paddle landed again. A louder gasp, and Kelly's outstretched fingers turned into clenched fists.

Marjorie missed nothing. 'I told you to touch your toes, Kelly!' The fingers uncurled again, touched Kelly's trainers. 'You are going to learn obedience before I've finished with you girl, indeed you are!' Crack!

A fourth impact of the paddle across Kelly's shapely seat and then Marjorie commanded, 'Stand up!'

Kelly did so, looking puzzled rather than relieved. Marjorie handed her the paddle. 'Now go to every person in the room in turn, Kelly, hand them the paddle and ask them to give you four stingers.'

Kelly looked around at the assembled, expectant members, hesitated for a moment and the approached Jim Mytton. 'Please, sir,' she said, 'will you whack my bottom four times with this?'

'Certainly Kelly.' Mytton took the paddle and waited for her to touch her toes again. 'Your cheeks are looking nice and rosy already. I'll warm them up a bit more for you.'

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Four thwacking impacts of the paddle upon Kelly's near-naked bottom, each bringing a shrill yelp from the unfortunate culprit.

'Stand up, Kelly. Now, what do you say?'

'Th-thank you, sir,' mumbled Kelly, head downcast.

'That's right. Here's the paddle. Who's going to be next?'

Kelly stood in front of Lucinda. Somehow she managed a wobbly smile. 'Here's where you get your own back, Lucinda. Please lay on really hard, or Marjorie will say they don't count.'

She bent over, hands downstretched. Lucinda looked at the leather-scorched curves, obviously very hot and sore already, and remembered the delight with which Kelly had welcomed the chance to spank her. 'You'll have to excuse my inexperience, Kelly,' she murmured, 'but I'll do my best for you.'

She gave Kelly four hard, deliberate strokes of the paddle, pausing after each to let the fiery sting reach its peak before whacking the next one across Kelly's squirming bottom. When Kelly stood up there were big tears rolling down her face and it was an obvious effort for her to whimper, 'Thank you, Lucinda.'

Lucinda watched as the girl went from one to another, offering the paddle, dutifully bending over to present her delightful posterior for punishment, howling, weeping and pleading as the paddle did its disciplinary work but always, somehow, managing to miserably stammer out her thanks for the punishment. When she finally returned the paddle to Marjorie she looked extremely sorry for herself.

'So far so good, Kelly,' said Marjorie, approvingly. 'Now I shall just put you across my knee and take those absurd little panties down.'

'Oh no!' wailed Kelly. 'Oh please, Marjorie, don't smack my bum, not yet! Let me cool off for a few minutes, please, just a few minutes, that's all!'

'Come here, you silly girl!' said Marjorie, impatiently, and sitting down she pulled the weeping girl across her broad thighs and peeled her briefs down. 'Making such a fuss about a sore bottom at your age! I've half a mind to take the back of a hairbrush to you – and I will, later! For now, five minutes under my hand will teach you to respect other people's property.'

'I'm sorry, Miss!' blubbered Kelly, squirming under Marjorie's firm grasp. 'I won't do it again, I promise I won't! Waaaah!'

Five noisy minutes later, Kelly was sobbing her heart out in a corner, hands on head. 'Now,' said Marjorie, cheerfully, 'who's next?'

'I want to smack Helen!' announced Jane Morris. 'It's about time – I haven't punished her for two meetings.'

Lucinda looked at Mrs Morris in some surprise. She was a plump, bespectacled, amiable little woman who looked like the winner of the home-made jam contest at the village fete. Anyone less like a strict disciplinarian was hard to imagine.

'How do you want me, Jane?' asked Helen.

'Stand on that low stool,' replied Mrs Morris. 'Now lift your skirts. Right up, dear, let's all see your knickers!'

Blushing and reluctant, Helen displayed very shapely legs in tautly suspendered stockings, topped by bare white thighs and pale green French knickers. Mrs Morris calmly unclipped the suspenders and rolled the stockings to Helen's ankles. 'And now, Helen,' she said, 'I am going to smack your legs.'

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It did not, at first, sound a formidable threat, but as Lucinda watched the tender flesh of thighs and calves redden under Mrs Morris's methodical slapping, saw Helen wince and heard her gasp, she realised that it was more of an ordeal than she had supposed. Soon Helen was squirming and hopping on the stool, performing an odd little dance of shame and pain, while the smacking went inexorably on. When Mrs Morris stopped smacking, it was only to pick up a martinet, and soon Helen was weeping bitterly as the biting thongs lashed her crimson thighs and calves.

When the whipping was over, Mrs Morris noticed Lucinda's fascinated stare and nodded pleasantly to her. 'People do seem to concentrate on the bottom when they're punishing,' she said calmly. 'That's all very well, but other parts of the anatomy should not be neglected. Remember that when you come to correct someone.'

'Usually,' said Lucinda, ruefully, 'I'm the one who's corrected!'

'Speaking of which,' said Frank, 'has your bottom cooled down after Kelly's spanking?'

'A little,' said Lucinda, warily.

'Have you ever been walloped with one of these?' said Frank. He held out an eighteen-inch plastic ruler.

'As it happens,' said Lucinda, as calmly as possible, 'I haven't.'

'Then this is a good time to try it,' said Frank. He took her by the wrist and led her to the padded trestle.

'Over you go, Lucinda,' he said. Very aware of the watching, amused faces, she obeyed.

'You'll find a bar low down on the other side,' he said. 'Keep hold of it. It will help you to stay in position. Jumping up without permission automatically means six strokes of the Lochgelly tawse across your bottom, and the original punishment starts again from the beginning.'

'Thanks for telling me!' said Lucinda. Her face burned as she felt her dress turned up to expose her naked bottom and legs. She had already suffered the indignity of a spanking before people she had only just met. This would be worse; she would be making a squirming, pleading, weeping exhibition of herself without even having deserved punishment.

'I won't decide on a specific number of strokes,' said Frank's voice behind her. 'I'll just whack that lovely rear end of yours until it's hot enough to make toast on. Your thighs too, remembering Jane's advice. I've a feeling we're going to have a long and interesting relationship, Lucinda, and I'd like to have some idea of what you can take.'

'And when you've got her nicely roasting, Frank,' said Helen's voice, 'I will take over. Jim says her bottom wriggles very nicely under the cane and I want to see for myself.'

Lucinda grasped the bar firmly and took a deep breath. By coming here she had invited punishment, offered herself as a willing victim. Now it only remained to endure and, in that incredible, inexplicable way, to enjoy her ordeal.

First the plastic ruler, smacking and stinging her wincing buttocks and her quivering thighs, again and again and again to the very borders of endurance, while she yelled and implored and wept. Then a brief pause, sobbing, gasping, half convinced that she must, after all, have done something wrong and desperately trying to remember what it might be, 'I'm sorry!' she moaned. 'I'm truly, truly sorry!'

'That's what I like to hear,' said Helen's voice. 'The genuine sound of true repentance which only a well-tanned bottom can inspire. And now, Lucinda, I am holding a brand new rattan cane, which I am going to apply to those rosy checks of yours with considerable severity. Jim gave you six of the best, didn't he? Well I'm going to cane your legs as well, so I think we'll say ten this time.'

'Please, Helen,' moaned Lucinda. 'I'm not a very naughty girl, really I'm not!'

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And then the cane slashed across her naked, ruler-roasted buttocks. Helen took her time and the torment seemed never ending, but despite the anguish of her exquisitely hot and sore bottom and the incredible pain of a wickedly wielded cane biting into the tender flesh of plump, bare thighs, Lucinda managed to hold onto the bar until she was told she could get up.

They made her stand facing the wall afterwards with her hands on her head and her dress pinned up to expose her punished bottom and legs, they warned her that she would go back across the trestle if she spoke or moved without permission, but even in that position of disgrace Lucinda felt a secret pride. She had endured to the end, she had proved a worthy member of SPOC. She thought that Frank would be pleased with her. That seemed very important.

Behind her she heard Kelly taking the second stage of her punishment, howling across Marjorie's lap, naked from the waist down, receiving the hairbrush spanking she had been promised. She heard Frank say, 'Hold your hands out, Kelly,' and then the crack and the yelp as Kelly took the first of six scorching strap strokes upon her palms and fingers. And finally Kelly pleading, 'Not the birch! Please, please, don't birch me!'

'You shall be birched, Kelly,' said Miss Foster's voice.

'Most soundly birched! And Helen shall go across the table at your side for an equal dose. A dozen apiece to begin with, I think, and then I shall decide how many more you need.'

The heartfelt soprano duet of birch-inspired eloquence seemed to go on for a long time, but when it was over Lucinda was allowed to turn around, in time to hear Jim Mytton say 'Marjorie, you've been getting away scot free so far. I reckon you're overdue for a damn good hiding!'

Marjorie smiled. 'What have you in mind, Jim? Knickers down and a good smack-bottom? I'm rather in the mood for that.'

'That's not a punishment for you!' said Mytton, good-humouredly. 'It's just fun and games. No, I think we'll try something different. Strip, Marjorie. Everything off.'

She hesitated for only a moment before starting to unbutton her shirt. 'This is something new,' she said. 'I don't think we've had anyone punished completely naked before.'

She took off the shirt, kicked off her shoes, unzipped her jeans and removed them.

'You can keep your socks on,' said Mytton.

'That would seem more indecent somehow,' she said. She took them off, reached back and unhooked her bra. At least my tits are in reasonable shape,' she said, as her full breasts swung free.

'Fancy your blush going that far down,' said Mytton. 'Get your drawers off, Marjorie.'

'You bastard!' she said, and threw her knickers at him.

He caught them, grinning, and handed them to Frank. 'Add those to your collection, lad.' He picked up two narrow leather straps. 'Hold your wrists out, Marjorie.'

'You want me on the rings?' she said. 'All right – but I won't be fastened. Put the straps away, Jim.'

Mytton stepped to a wall rack and looked round at the watching group. 'You've heard of women being whipped at the cart's tail back in Tudor times?' he said. 'Most people think it was done with a kind of cat o' nine tails. Usually it was with one of these.' He showed them a wooden handle with a long, heavy leather strap attached. 'It didn't cut the back to pieces like a cat would,' he said. 'Though it sometimes drew blood because they did the entire whipping on the back. I'm going to spread it out a bit. That's why I didn't just have Marjorie strip to the waist.'

'And bloody chilly it is standing here without a stitch on!' she said. 'If I'd known this was coming I'd have asked you to turn the heating up.'

'You'll soon be a damn sight warmer,' he said. 'On the rings, Marjorie.'

She walked to the wall and stood facing it, one hand grasping each steel ring. They all looked at the white, unblemished flesh of arms and back and buttocks and legs.

'Ready, Marjorie?' said Mytton. 'Here we go, then.'

He swung the whip and the leather thong cracked across her back at shoulder level. She jerked and cried out sharply. The whip left another weal, just below the first. This time she choked the cry down to a gasp, but she writhed where she stood with her nipples pressed against the brickwork. He gave her four more strokes, working downwards, and by the time the last one landed she was moaning loudly and her forearm muscles stood out as she gripped the rings. Then he started again, from the top. As the whip landed on flesh already swollen and throbbing she shrieked. By the time the second set of six lashes was over Marjorie was howling out sobbing entreaties, but she still clung desperately to the rings.

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Mytton stepped back. 'Now someone else can warm her backside,' he said. 'How about you, Lucinda? You've taken a lot more punishment than you've given so far. Anyway, it used to be the job of schoolteachers to make sure naughty girls couldn't sit down in comfort.'

'Before my time, I'm glad to say,' said Lucinda. 'The idea of beating children never appealed to me. Having a grown woman offering her arse for punishment is another matter. Twelve of the very best on the way, Marjorie.' She swung the whip hard to crack solidly across the meatiest part of Marjorie's generously curved buttocks.

* * *

'Frank,' said Lucinda, some time later, 'I hope my fidgeting doesn't annoy you, but to tell the truth I can hardly bear to sit down!'

Frank smiled at her as she sat, or rather wriggled beside him in the car. 'That's the usual effect of a girl's first visit to SPOC. I hope you haven't found it too – er – exciting.'

'It won't put me off coming to the next meeting, if that's what you mean. Three weeks between meetings will be just the right interval for the marks on my bum to fade and for me to anticipate the next time. Anyway, I couldn't abandon the friends I've made – and one in particular. Why are you stopping the car?'

'It's a road junction,' pointed out Frank. 'If we turn left it leads to your flat, where I escort you to your door, shake hands and drive away. If we turn right, it leads to my home, where other things may happen.'

'Do you usually invite girls home on the first meeting, Frank?'

'Only very special girls.'

Lucinda smiled. 'You mean pretty girls with good figures who've shown they don't mind having their bottoms tanned?'

'Such girls,' said Frank, sadly, 'are all too rare.'

'And when such a girl visits you, is there a good chance she'll be soundly spanked and sent to bed, no matter how sore she may be already?'

'Not sent to bed,' said Frank. 'Taken.'

'Frank,' said Lucinda, 'I already know you're a good man with a plastic ruler. It would be very interesting to discover what you can do with your open hand when you've got a girl comfortably settled down bare-bottomed across your lap, and plenty of time to make a good job of it.'

'Even if her bottom is very sore already?'

'Especially since her bottom is very sore already. Drive on, Frank. Turn right!'

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Artwork by Lynn Paula Russell aka Paula Meadows can be purchased on the Talisman Fine Art website.