walked quickly from the tram to her office in the building occupied by the
Clearance and Reconstruction Authority, glancing over her shoulder for any sign
of followers and conscious of how many of the men she passed glanced at her
collar and placard then looked to their wrist bands. She knew that they were reading the output
from the electronic device around her neck.
She was wearing a
short black dress, close fitted and long sleeved but with a deeply swooping
neckline that exposed most of her bouncing breasts, the naked brown aureoles
shyly peeping, then disappearing as she walked.
The skirt clung tightly to her hips, then expanded in flounces about the
tops of her thighs, not quite preventing a flash of white flesh with the black
stripe of garter tab at the tops of her sheer black stockings that also
appeared and disappeared as she walked.
She had been conscious of the resentful eyes of the respectable women on
the tram; in their flat heels, modestly long skirts and demure headscarves,
assessing her flimsy attire, her exposed legs and bare bosom. She was torn between a hopeless attempt to be
demure and brazen defiance. With all
unattached girls so modestly covered up, except for some daring eye makeup
visible behind fashionable lace veils and the married women seldom seen
unaccompanied at all, she was the only man-exciting thing on show.
She might not have minded attracting lustful
glances from the men here on the street except that, marked as a Common Woman,
she would have no choice but to submit to any man who pursued it further. Probably none of the men would bother to do
more than to note down her name and address at this time of the day, since she
was obviously on her way to work and not immediately available. They would think they might see some other CW
later on, whom they fancied a bit more.
Window shoppers was how she had heard others of her status refer to
them. Of course for that reason, the
more likely time for her to be Taken-up in the street or on the tram would be
on her way home. But by the time she
returned from work to her flat, she could expect to find that at least one or
two of those who had taken note of her in passing this morning, would have
posted a Take-up notice on her home screen.
She wobbled on
four-inch heels up the marble steps of the Yourgov office building, registered
her entry time with the internal security system and submitted her security
collar to the scanner of the elderly uniformed ex-soldier who was the security
man as well as the Social Service Delegated Supervisor for the building. Victoria knew that there were plenty of
applicants for that post, but the SS nearly always chose such middle-aged,
married men, stolid and not too bright.
This one had always seemed a jolly sort of man before she became subject
to his supervision.
“Five minutes late,
Miss! And you are already subject to Summary Justice, I see!” he said sternly
as he scanned and downloaded the contents of her collar into the building’s
computer. She sighed dismally, she was
five minutes late because of an encounter with a stupid old man in the street
outside, who had to have her temporary unavailability explained to him. Of course she should probably have bowed to
necessity, affected to accept his Take-up and then let security eject him, but
being almost right outside the building had affected her judgement. She could offer no excuse that would have
availed her. Even to have argued with a
man probably entailed a penalty and being late of course certainly did.
“You will have to
report to have that discharged before you leave, Miss,” he said. Victoria flinched instinctively and glanced
unhappily at the terminal. This would be
the first time that a punishment session had been assigned to her
workplace. The central supervising
computer would assess the penalty for lateness and add it to her accumulated
total since her last session. She walked
upstairs and through the open plan office to her desk, clip-clopping in her
high heels, conscious that any incautious movement could reveal even more
intimate details. Fortunately she was
not alone in her conspicuous garb; there were several other CWs in the building
though she was the only one in her particular office. She settled to her chair, wriggling as her
bare bottom felt the cool seat cushion, keeping her knees together to conceal
the dark flash of pubic bush between them.
She stood her placard, on her desk, the single flashing word ‘Vacancies’
on the screen, advertising to colleagues and visitors alike her availability
for that evening. Take-ups were not
allowed by colleagues in the workplace but outside of working hours, like any
of the other males she had passed in the street, even the old fool outside if
he had the sense to wait, any of the men in her office might book her to be
herself desperately into her work, dealing with builders and architects applying
for alterations in the allocation of Work Corps units. By doing this she hoped to banish from her
mind such speculations as to which of her colleagues would be first to post his
Take-up notice this week and whether there were any visitors to the office whom
her line manager would favour. The
threat of her coming punishment was pushed entirely to the back of her mind.
Monday was a quiet
day for visitors. She only had to take
one during the coffee break. “Ah, Miss
Thompson!” Mr Forrest, her line manager, said, appearing just as she got to her
feet and rubbing his hands. “This is Mr
Jones, the Yourgov Auditor, who finds he has a few minutes to spare.” Alongside him a tall cadaverous man with
thinning grey hair and a stoop was already smirking in anticipation. “He has noticed your availability and the
Hospitality suite is vacant.” Forrest
extended his wrist to Victoria’s placard and duly authenticated her Take-up
during her break time as being for Official Business Purposes.
“I’m sure you will
find Miss Thompson a satisfactory performer,” he said fawningly to the
accountant. “She is overdue on her
disciplinary reckoning and will not want to increase it further!” The Auditor took up the full twenty minutes
of her coffee break, taking her along to the building’s Hospitality Suite,
positioning her upon her back on one of the comfortable black leather couches,
not even having the decency to take her from behind in the approved
manner. He fucked her slowly and methodically,
collar and tie still in place, addressing her as Miss Thompson throughout and
she of course addressing him as Sir. She
became almost mesmerised by the way his tie dangled and swung regularly to and
fro above her nose in time to his thrusts.
He managed to cum precisely on the twentieth minute and then he ordered
coffee for himself, briskly dismissing her, so she was left to clip-clop
straight back to her desk, his cum still squelching between her legs, reluctant
to risk the inevitable added penalties for delay.
She lunched at her desk
on the excuse of pressure of work this day, rather than risk the possibility of
there being visitors in the canteen, someone whose eye she might catch. On
different days during the previous week she had been Taken-up in the lunch
break by an IT technician, a couple of delivery men and one of Mr Forrest’s
business friends. She wriggled her
unprotected bottom on the chair seat a little, however, for she was uneasily
conscious that the SS computer, which ran surveillance upon her, had a
comprehensive and well-tested program.
For all she knew it might be running an electronic comparison of daily
movements and activity that might expose her evasion and allot corresponding
punishment. The computer’s summary of
her current disciplinary account came up on her screen for her to print out,
only a few minutes before she finished work, a CWP12.
At five o clock,
Victoria made her way out with the rest of the departing staff of the YCRA,
lagging behind the rush, clutching the printout, conscious of the surreptitious
glances, curious, pitying, or excited.
In the entrance lobby, the doorman was waiting for her, coat and cap set
aside; his uniform shirt already had the right sleeve rolled up, the bared,
muscle corded and hairy arm looking at odds with the polished Pre-collapse
marble surrounds and the gleaming glass and aluminium doors leading to the
street. In his fist a long bamboo cane
tapped restlessly at his trouser leg.
Behind him a shamefully large number of people were already seated in
the waiting area, ready to watch, many more than were required as official
witnesses. The other CWs from the same building were kneeling in a meek row,
her line manager, Mr Forrest, the auditor, Mr Jones, as he had loudly promised
himself before allowing her to depart, some of her colleagues, male and female;
even one of the business visitors had lingered.
They were more or less the ones Victoria had expected but she dared not
show any resentment.
away, her eyes fell immediately upon the government-issue Punishment Frame,
which the SS’s delegated enforcer had already brought out and positioned in the
centre of the lobby in front of the reception desk and from that flew back to
the bamboo cane.
“Make your request,
Miss Thompson,” her manager said. “Remember that any default will have to be
reported to the Social Service Authority.”
Choking back her sobs and trying to stiffen her wobbling legs lest she
incur a further charge of indiscipline, Victoria began to read.
“Please Mr…” She hesitated while she took-in
the name of the security man, which she had unfortunately forgotten. “Mr
Johnstone. I have made myself subject to
Summary Justice by failing in my duties as a Common Woman. I request you to give me a public caning of…”
There was only a slight tremor as she read out the number, for of course she
had already registered that the form was a P12 rather than a P6 or P18, “of
twelve strokes,” she continued, swallowing, “with a cane of not less than 12mm
diameter. As representative of public
morality, it is your duty to cane me severely across my bare bottom, in the
presence of as many occupants of the building as wish to represent the
necessary public witness.” She started
on the succeeding paragraph, but then checked guiltily. That paragraph had been asterisked. It was an expression of her contrition and
gratitude for her punishment, but the small print of the corresponding note
below made it clear that she was to read and sign it only after receiving the
Mr Johnstone clicked
his tongue. “Careless as ever, Miss! One
stroke extra for failing to read the form properly!” Victoria swallowed her instinctive
protest. She was uncertain whether he
could order extra, but protest might incur a Recalcitrancy Notice. At the foot of the form were the indicated
spaces for the signatures of six witnesses testifying that she had been
properly caned on the bare bottom and had been given the full number
She bent over the
apparatus. It consisted simply of two
square frames made from shining tubular steel inclined together at the top to
form an A-shape. Midway along the top
bar was a narrow leather saddle, from either side of which protruded a stout
metal tongue and clasp. The small wheels
had been retracted to set the frame down solidly upon its heavy rubber-lined
pads. A frantically heaving victim could
shake, but not overturn it. It was a
little higher than Victoria’s waist, but a step was provided to lift her
sufficiently to bend right over and slide her belly over the curved saddle,
reaching down to clutch the lower crossbar between the stainless-steel
uprights. At each side, broad leather
straps dangled from an adjustable slide, but she hoped to avoid the penalty she
would incur if those had to be put to use.
She was supposed to accept the punishment voluntarily. She wriggled her hips over the smooth saddle
so that her bottom cheeks were uppermost, leaving her toes well clear of the
lobby carpet. Her short
flounced skirts tumbled back immediately to beyond her waist, leaving
the naked white rounds plumply framed by the curving suspender straps and the
arched span of black lace provided by her garter-belt. The security-man pulled up the thick woven
strap out of one slot in the saddle and, passing it across the small of
Victoria’s back, slotted it into the other with a clunk and click of
metal. The effect was like the old
pre-Collapse car seat belts except that this one drew tauter with every attempt
to escape it.
He stooped, grunting.
“Well apart, Miss!” he admonished.
Victoria reluctantly allowed him to draw her legs wider and felt him
fasten her ankles with the straps from the rear uprights, making sure to
tighten the slides and stretch her legs taut.
She knew by the touch of cool air that she was now revealing every
detail of her sex to view, but she was more relieved to find that the
positioning had been so careless that the seated witnesses could not easily
check her expression. Under the scrutiny
of so many people whom she knew and, given that being subject to Summary
Justice she was perforce becoming used to being on the receiving end of a cane,
Victoria thought she might have managed three or even six without any great
display, but being given the full dozen and one extra, was going to be hard to
bear with the correct stoicism. Then
lifting her head a little, she realised that her audience had a perfectly
adequate view after all, in the mirrored panels behind the reception desk,
though at least passers-by peering through the glass doors from the outside,
could only identify her as an CW undergoing punishment by a view of her naked
rear elevated above the frame.
“Begin the count,
Victoria squeaked reluctantly. Almost
before she had got it out the swish of the cane, loud in the expectant lobby,
warned her of its descent just a split second before its impact across her
tautening bottom cheeks. Swishhh-Thwackkk!
She forgot all resolution; Mr Johnstone’s jovial manner had not extended
to laxity in this part of his duty. The whippy cane seemed to sink its length
in her suddenly yielding flesh.
she responded in wobbly tones. She took
a shaky breath, feeling every inch of what was now surely a deep crimson stripe
marking the track of the cane across trembling creamy curves. But she had to go on. “T…Two…p-please” she
Swishhh-Thwackkk! “Ah…ah… thank you…sir!” Her voice cracked,
and her fingers let go of the crossbar, writhing loose for a moment but not
daring to reach back however much she desired, to interpose between the
descending cane and the scarlet stripes across her bottom. She knew what would happen if she did. She desperately sought for breath and got out,
The cane continued
inexorably to swish and crack, the blazing lines multiplying across Victoria’s
behind, with each one having to be kept count of and its successor invited by
her, each delivery having to be responded to with the obligatory expression of
gratitude, forced from her hoarse throat loudly enough to make sure that her
auditors registered every word. When the
count reached six there was a pause. At
first she thought it was because the delegated arm had tired, but she heard the
murmur of voices. Mr Johnstone moved
closer and, reaching down to re-engage the wheels, pulled and pushed the mobile
frame, swivelling it round ninety degrees with Victoria helpless aboard it.