"Just three for IT this evening, sir."
Betty Rowlandson, bursting out of naval uniform, always
managed to put a mischievous emphasis on the capital I T of Camp regulations;
or so it seemed to Edward Tasker.
"Thanks, Chief. Just put the book down there, would
you? Nobody yesterday or the day before;
I'll be getting out of practice."
Edward Tasker was known affectionately throughout the
camp, of which he was principal proprietor, as Uncle Eddie. He tried to live up to the name by speaking
as nonchalantly as he could, under the circumstances. He moved aside the NO PAIN NO GAIN brass
embossed paperweight for his Adjutant to lay down The Book, a ledger open at
the day's list of offenders, their offences and their due retribution. It was just cool enough for his Camp T-shirt
and powder blue track trousers to be comfortable.
A soft summer twilight had taken over the Camp; as always,
the Adjutant came close to his right side with a sensuous Grecian bend and the
room seemed to darken as she did so.
'Here you go, sir. Six of the best for each and every
"You posted the list?"
'In the Mess Hut, sir."
"And no complaints, except where they hurt
most." She patted her flank. "We haven't had an appeal for months
"I wonder why?" he said wryly and she
smiled. Both knew quite well that a
failed appeal meant a doubling of its count, as a minimum.
"I can say that none of them seemed to be looking
forward to it, sir, oddly enough. Least of all that Russian discus thrower,
Olga Essenin. Second offence this month."
"Then why isn't she up for eight?" The increment of two strokes per doubled and
sometimes trebled Camp fault had proved a most successful deterrent.
"It was Untidy Locker, sir, and she managed to
convince me she hadn't really had time to straighten it out properly after Gym
Three. I checked with Maggie, she had extended the hour a bit."
"Then what about the other trainees in that class?
Were they not Untidy, too?"
"She held Olga back in particular, sir."
No doubt hoping to see some juicy marks on that
remarkable Slavic bottom in the shower, he thought.
His faithful lieutenant's lips curved in a smile as she
"You can always make a sixer with one of these, sir,
something a girl would rather keep her seat from." She pointed to the two
soulless glossy yellow exclamation marks lying on the desk beside The Book. How
innocent they appeared, how viciously they could sting the fat of a bottom.
Dread personified. Achingly ready to be used.
"Bendy, but not too much, sir," she said,
Betty remained half bent to one side of him at the desk,
hands flat on nylon-clad knees, everything taut about her. She was a twenty six year old brunette and
had volunteered for the job after learning from the athletic grapevine of the
NO PAIN NO GAIN regimen for Camp trainees, many of whom were trying to improve
track personal bests, better their fitness generally, or simply shed
weight. They were all carefully sifted,
as she had been; her nickname coming from the fact she had been a Chief Petty
Officer in the WRENS; whose uniform she now sumptuously filled in her
director's office. Her heels were high, as was her splittingly tight navy
skirt, shelving out strongly over the bunch of her buttocks, above which was a
close fitting bum freezer jacket and cute little middy cap. She looked in prime condition, the picture of
Eddie knew by now that his chief really enjoyed watching
a supple cane curl round the cheeks of a female defaulter, one whom she had
methodically positioned and prepared for her licks. Eddie found himself
reacting as his eyes sought the two long lissom whipping canes, fashioned for
nothing more than the infliction of intense pain on bent buttocks and then
looked at hers, full of flesh, under tight serge. Decorum was decorum and he sighed, dragging
his mind away from that topic.
"Who's Number Two?" he asked. "This Rhoda
Ley, isn't she the former South African sprinter?"
Betty nodded, and grinned. "Just about ready to
break the hundred metre dash to the loo after that clyster Matron gave
"Really? Did she enema them all?"
"No, sir, only Rhoda. Two quarts. It's in the regs
now for secreting a chocolate bar in a girl's possessions. Choc in, choc out.
Excreting for secreting," she smiled an impish smile. "Fitting, I think you'll agree,
"Did I sign that into Orders? I forget."
He stood up and stretched, making no real effort to hide
the turgid tube which had grown to one side of his trousers. The lean whipping cane and offenders to come
in, what more could a man want? And
Betty understood, she had seen it all before.
"Well, I suppose we'd better get on with it,
eh? Much as I regret the occasion."
The Camp covered five thousand acres of Yorkshire Moors
and included every piece of athletic equipment available in the fitness
market. Its intake was only of the top
drawer and under the eagle eye of his all too eager henchwoman, it was flourishing.
More and more applicants had to be turned away. Only women were accepted. They
were all over eighteen and, for the most part, were former athletes striving to
regain their shape, but there was also a handful of mature wives seeking to
condition themselves - like his own Susan. The Camp had an accredited staff of
women trainers, mostly in their twenties and thirties, each capable of dishing
out a six month course of eye-popping rigour, absolutely guaranteeing weight
loss, as well as a lot besides. The
training had one absolute attached to it: under the NO PAIN NO GAIN rubric the
candidate signed a release acknowledging the necessity for strict corporal
correction of any infringement of Camp rules. She was given a copy of them when
she arrived, so there could be no mistake. There were also the
Humiliation/Degradation orders, including incontinence in clothing, which was
particularly disliked by the more senior trainees. All this was added to other
various physical strictures that had been found to fortify the stamina. Eddie
found it quite astonishing how many fit women presented themselves as agreeable
to these conditions. Not everyone was
accepted, some he considered unacceptable for different reasons and they were
not taken in. It caused less problems in
the long run.
In the office hut Eddie flexed the lissom stick between
his hands, letting go the end so that it vibrated with a wasp-like whirr that
had his assistant blinking. With a
stride, he thrashed the eager cane into the back of a low leather chair,
watching the surface indent.
"Ouch," grinned Betty, with a provocative
Eddie strode in and again and cut. It seemed remarkable
that the buttoned leather didn't split. The sound was satisfactory but there
was something missing, the punishing snap when a cane was abruptly stopped by
firm female buttocks.
"Oh my aching back," he sighed with a gleam and
then said casually, "I often wonder if I'm hurting them enough after all,
we mustn't let our campers get soft."
"The way they get it is hardly calculated to let
them get soft, sir, but I think you could go a little easy on the other orders
at times, if I may say so. A dose of pillory makes an excellent follow up to a
"Standing or sitting?"
"Both can be made extremely tough by a keen young trainer;
while as for a ride on the rail," her eyelids fluttered modestly.
"That really gets a girl where she's all girl. Some dislike it more than shellacking on the
bottom, but they don't seem to enjoy either, exactly."
"The next time you get us an order for these bendy
beauties, Chief, see if you can get some with the tips a little tougher. Sizing
helps, of course, but the last two inches should be hard."
"Catches them where they're soft, sir; sure."
"Naturally the amenities have to be observed. I've frequently considered making them take
it on the bare, but discarded the notion as immodest. And not only that: a pair
of skin-tight gym shorts holds up and moulds the part to be punished
"Ours don't offer a lot of protection, either."
"Maybe it would be good idea to make them soak them
first. They do say it hurts more when wet. What do you think?"
Chief went coy, her eyes lowering to the rampant corona
ring in her employer's track pants.
"To tell the truth, sir, I have taken it upon myself
to add an innovation in that regard - to augment the natural sting and bite,
which you so admirably administer to their hind ends. Each candidate on Orders
for a beating must now do a brisk fifteen minutes on a heavy treadmill in one
of the hot cells. If that doesn't get her sweating, nothing will. The result
will be that her britches will be glued to her behind and in between the cheeks
at the witching hour of six. They'll cut like butter like that, just you see,
He chuckled, one hand straying to her cheeks, which felt
surprisingly log hard.
"You think of everything, Chief. All the same, I
think you should have asked my permission before ordering that little
"I didn't mean to exceed my authority," Chief
fluttered. "I'm sorry if I did, sir."
"Not to worry; all in the interests of sorrier
He went to the desk to pick up Cane Two and handed her
"Who's the third sinner tonight then?"
Chief kept her eyes demurely turned down, though a slight
smile curved her soft lips.
"I'm very much afraid, sir - it's ... "
"Susan!" he exclaimed, his cock kicking.
"Hell and damn, I thought the last sixer I gave her would have brought her
to her senses, I hit her hard enough.
What for this time?"
"Cutting a run, sir.
Even though she is your wife, I recommend a really sound beating. She
has the bottom for it."
Eddie knew that. It was what he had married her for.
"Very well, then. Let's go and do our reluctant
Betty adjusted her cap, smoothed her skirt, squared her
shoulders and led the way out, down the passage, off which were the now empty
rooms of the steno staff, and into the dark lawns. It had become a tradition
that she marched in front of him across the lawns on these occasions and the
swing of her behind made the canes in his grasp tremble in anticipation.
Each trainee had her own well separated hut and from
these there glowed lights, making it look cosy. Inside they were less cosy,
especially when you were awaiting six from Eddie.
Chief directed their steps first to Olga's billet.