Haven't done a futuristic story for a while and this is probably the first one on my whacking tales blog. Setting something about 100 years hence gives a rich seam for unfettered imagination. I seriously doubt if such clinics will ever come about but, as long as civilisation exists, I am convinced that the fascination for smacking bare bottoms will remain. Comes with a twist at the end for those with staying power in this unexpected heatwave. Alfred Roy
THE CLINIC
Journal of Deputy Director Leah
Wilson (Thursday)
It’s 4.45 pm on Thursday afternoon. A quiet day by our
standards. Three referrals this morning, three assessments early this afternoon
and two inspections at four o’clock. Pretty easy really. One of the
assessments, the girl, was let off but the two boys, a year older and more
culpable, were sent for Inspections and the previous days referrals were dealt
with. We do the latter in the mornings, gets it over with, but assessments and
inspections are subject to who is available and how many are coming through our
doors on any given day. As I said, today was quiet by any standards. School
holidays and lots of kids on vacation. And the previous weekend, when most
trouble starts, is as far away as it can be. Thursdays, our last operative day,
is usually the quietest of the week. Gives me time to clarify my notes for
tomorrow’s visitors. A group from Japan who are interested in our methods.
Speak Japanese, don’t you? Janet, the clinic administrator, amplified this. No,
I said, don’t even know where it is. No matter, I have been nominated to show
them round. Mainly because I have covered all aspects of the AIR programme in my time. And mention
of that means I need to explain what is going on. In English, not Nippon.
AIR. Assessment, Inspection, Referral.
That’s what we call the programme and that is what it is. You get assessed, you
get a medical inspection, you get referred for correction. That’s all it is and
the ‘you’ is the kids who have stepped out of line. Big time. Central Control Clinics were set up by
the government in 2035. Seems a long time ago now and, when proposed, the
clinics seemed pretty revolutionary. Created a lot of fuss and reams of media
comment. Search through the archives and it is all there. Nowadays they are as
a part of our daily fabric as dentists and hairdressers and gymnasiums. One in
every large town. And some smaller ones. And all set up with one fundamental
purpose. To keep the young in line. It works, no doubt about that. The streets
are clean, vandalism is almost nonexistent, and fights are few. The clinics
were a logical extension of new legislation in 2028. Corporal punishment was
re-introduced in homes and schools back then. Moderately applied for those up
to age 15. And it worked. But something else was needed for older kids. The
16-21 year olds. Parents and teachers didn’t want the role, even if allowed,
for maturing youth. Too difficult. So in 2035 legislation was passed to allow
the opening of Control Clinics and the employment of appropriate staff. It took
time. The first didn’t start to operate until 2039, Sheffield I think it was,
and even by 2043 there were only seven of them. But in the 2050’s they
mushroomed due to early success, the results were obvious, and at the last
count there were 178 such clinics. Each employing around 20 staff divided
between administrative, medical, corrective and client liaison. We call them
clients, it sounds nice. I started in medical when they did a large recruitment
of ex nurses. The job appealed, so much so that within two years I got trained
on the corrective programme. I still cover that aspect occasionally but, these
days, most of my time is taken with administration. There are 23 staff in our
clinic and I sit as joint deputy director to Janet. She’s Chief Administrator
and boyish Mark (the other deputy) and I divide the daily workload between us.
We make the AIR programme work and
it is about time I told you what it is.
A.
Assessment. Get sent here by a local court
(still as old fashioned as in the last century) and we decide if you need our
services. The client has no choice in the matter. If we decide, usually a panel
of three officers, that a warning will suffice you are issued with a recorded
ticket and sent on your way. The ticket goes on your file and there is no second
chance. Come up again and it is straight to Inspection and, normally, Referral.
B.
Inspection. This is the medical and, assuming
you pass it, a spelling out of what punishment you are going to get. Takes
place the first operative day after the assessment to allow the client to sleep
on it and prepare themselves. The medical is deliberately humiliating and embarrassing
as that has proved to act as a greater repeat deterrent than any punishment
meted out. Stressful though, as it is here that the miscreant learns the extent
of their punishment. And that induces tears, in boys as often as girls. Punishment
is graded but on a very simple scale. Only one implement. Cane or strap. 4, 8,
or 12 strokes. No more and no less. And all administered to the bare bottom.
Minimal necessary clothing removed.
C.
Referral. This takes place the first operative
day after Inspection. Again allows the client to sleep on it. Conducted in a
soundproof room during the morning session prior to that day's Inspections and
Assessments. The client is prepared and tied to a trestle bench. This is done
whether it is 4 with a strap or 12 with a cane. As all clients are aged between
16-21 no other allowance is made. At one time, so I gather, it was considered
supplying lighter straps and canes for the female sex but that was quickly
dropped. Medium weight implements are applied to both sexes. As was pointed
out, it reads quiet funny in the dry governmental report, bottoms come in all
shapes, sizes, and durability regardless of the gender. We make no allowances.
If you have a small bottom and wafer thin skin, that is your bad luck. You got
yourself here is our maxim.
The whole process from assessment to referral is three
operative days which means the unlucky lot who get sent to us on Wednesdays and
Thursdays don’t get their bottoms whacked, if sanctioned, until the following
week. Drags out the process but it is still pretty quick. The Juvenile courts
sit Monday to Wednesday and anyone sent for assessment comes in the same day.
So you could commit an offence on Sunday and be whacked for it on Wednesday.
Swift justice by any standard. The downside is that there is no appeal. Used to
be but it clogged up the system too much. Our attitude anyway is that you might
be getting a cane or strap on your bottom unfairly this time but on other days
at other times you probably got away with something. Times have certainly
changed.
Journal of Deputy Director Leah
Wilson (Monday)
It all went off very well with the Japanese contingent on
Friday. We held over a couple of assessments to this day so they could get a picture
of the proceedings but God knows how much, if anything, they understood. They
certainly understood the Inspection and referral sessions though. Only on
video. Reckon a couple were disappointed judging by their not so inscrutable
faces. We had decided that real live situations were not fair on our clients
and so a couple of government issued filmings was all they got. Pretty graphic
though and, as Janet said, gives a flavour of the place. I offered Mark, my
counterpart, as a flesh and blood substitute but, unsurprisingly, he declined.
Pity. He’s young and tasty. Difficult time this morning with Monday’s
assessments. My second lot, sitting with two assessment officers, was four
teenagers who had set fire to a barn they had been smoking cannabis in. Not
deliberate. That became clear through reading court proceedings and
interviewing them. That’s why they were sent to the local Control Clinic.
Considered deliberate and they would have been placed in young offenders
prisons. Just teenagers who let things get out of hand and deserved a salutary lesson.
We let the younger boy off. He hadn’t smoked and he was outside the barn when
the fire started. But we gave him a ticket and warned him of its implications.
Turn up here again and his trousers would be down so quick he may consider it
hardly worth putting them on. But with the other three, two seventeen year old
girls and an eighteen year old boy, we told them that corporal chastisement was
warranted. That’s the standard phrase. Corporal chastisement was warranted. You
can hear them telling their parents this all over the town. Inspection times
issued and dismissed. They still did not know what was actually coming. They
would find out on Tuesday.
That left us to debate for quite a while on what the other
three should get. Agreeing the boy deserved the maximum twelve strokes of the
cane was easy. He was the eldest and the ringleader, and he supplied the
cannabis. Legal, but only for those over twenty one. And we all agreed that
both girls deserved four or eight stripes. They were seventeen and almost as
culpable. The issue was whether it should be cane or strap. We eventually opted
for the strap and, being the lesser of two evils, went for eight for each.
Satisfactory solution, but difficult for me. This was the only assessment I sat
in on where I would give the sanctioned punishment. Vested interest you could
say which is why it does not usually happen. We try to avoid it and it is not
allowed for standard assessment or corrective officers. But Deputy Directors
are exempt and it solves staff shortage problems on occasions. So I sat in on
this one knowing that the bottoms of the fearful and fresh faces watching would
feel an implement wielded by me. It makes you concentrate. Saw Mark afterwards.
He said that he hoped my decisions were not influenced by the malefactors. I
have no idea what he means.
Journal of Deputy Director Leah
Wilson (Tuesday)
Heard from the medical director that today’s Inspections did
not go well. The boy was well behaved. I think being told he was to get twelve
with the cane knocked all the stuffing out of him. His only hope was that he
would fail the medical. No chance of that. The medical officer, Nadine, is a no
nonsense Jamaican lady of twenty years experience in such matters. Her verdict
was very young, very fit, and ideal bottom cheeks for a whacking. Blushed like
a beetroot when she pulled down his underpants for a detailed inspection but,
otherwise, remained stoic throughout. All he said was ‘Will it hurt Miss?’ Yes,
Nadine said, it’s meant to, but the cane would bounce off him and it would be
quickly over. Not sure if he was convinced and she reckoned a small tear was
escaping as he dressed and left. She rather liked him. The two girls were more
problematic. The first girl refused to strip and it took two assistants to get
her clothes off. Usually the miscreants remain in underwear for the inspection
and only briefly lower undergarments for the genital and buttock inspection.
The boy, touchingly, squeezed his eyes closed whilst Nadine inspected his. Most
boys do apparently. The theory is that they are fearful of getting an erection,
especially if it is female hands doing the exploring. Closing eyes blanks out
all thoughts. As I say, just a theory but an interesting one. Girls are usually
less of a problem in such matters but the ones that are can be very difficult.
Refusing to divest even one garment is a common response. Clinic policy,
rigorously enforced, is a complete strip in such circumstances. Show them who
is boss. It took a few unseemly minutes but the first girl, big for her age and
with very large buttocks, was soon completely naked. A tongue lashing from
Nadine and the information that her sentence was to be increased from eight to
twelve strokes of the strap had the desired effect. By the time the inspection,
rougher than with the boy, was completed the girl had completely calmed down.
Nevertheless Nadine was glad to see her dress and leave the inspection room.
The second girl was slight and small and overly tearful. She didn’t object to
undressing but the information that she was to receive eight strokes of the
strap across her naked backside, subject to passing the medical, increased both
the volume and quantity of her tears. Never in her seventeen years had she had
as much as a smack, that was the gist, and she was as scared as hell at what
was to come. Not surprising really. When Nadine took the girl’s knickers down
she revealed the smallest bottom it had ever been her experience to uncover. So
tiny she was convinced the strap would cover every inch of it. Pert and boyish
it would feel every sting. As the girl dressed, still shedding tears that never
ceased, Nadine mused on who the corrective officer was. If she laid into this
girl with the same force as she would no doubt attack the buttocks of her
sister in crime then expect some screaming. Not unusual at the clinic, but not
desired. Not sure if I welcomed her thoughts. Clinic policy is that all whacks
with whichever implement should be at medium to full force, regardless of age,
gender, or physicality. But we are human, so it is rumoured, and I and others
regularly make small and unofficial adjustments. You won’t find it on any forms
though.
Journal of Deputy
Director Leah Wilson (Thursday)
Had a meeting with Janet this morning. The Japanese contingent
has put in a request for two of our corrective officers to visit one of their
trial centres next month. Apparently they have a few Japanese bottoms that need
chastising and they want our girls to show them how it is done in England.
Given our wide experience. I am tempted to volunteer myself as they
specifically requested female chastisement officers. Janet vetoed that. Too
valuable here she said, would rather send Mark. I resisted pointing out that he
was a male but did observe that he had little corrective experience. He did it
once and hated it and, so he says, never again. All the more reason I need you
here, Janet said. We finally agreed they could have one of our girls for a
week. We can spare her, Janet said, providing you fill in if required and that
led on to Wednesday’s corrections. She gathered I had been impressive. Might be
out of practice but the old skills still remain. That was evident, so the
feedback suggested. Couldn’t disagree. I only had two of our miscreants rather
than the expected three. The large girl’s chastisement had been postponed until
the following week for the usual female reasons. She would be someone else’s
problem. But I had the stoic boy and the tearful elf to deal with. Ten o’clock
was the appointed time and they both turned up with parents in tow. Some kids
come on their own but it is unusual. Most need moral support for what is to
come and friends would be inappropriate. The parents wait in a reception room,
no consent is required and they are not allowed to witness proceedings, and the
clients are taken off to the referral area. This is three rooms, one each for
the two sexes to prepare and the correction room. They don’t see me. The
corrective officers and the medical officer always wait in the correction room for
the clients. Those to be punished are accompanied by a client liaison officer
and these assist in the preparation. Given the manner in which the caning or
strapping is delivered, bare bottomed, their gender is not considered relevant
but, as a policy, they are always of the same sex as the miscreant. Avoids
problems. The gender of the corrective officer and corrective assistant are
usually female, mainly because our sex is considered to be more effective. Read
the research if you want reasons. But there are always three or four personnel
in the room when the punishment is carried out so gender is irrelevant. Each
miscreant has to strip completely and put on the official corrective attire.
For boys this is a short grey cotton vest and a pair of grey cotton shorts. The
latter do not have to fit because they will be taken down, but it allows a
little modesty before proceedings commence. Also adds to the juvenile
humiliation having your pants taken down before being whacked. So we say
anyway. For girls the attire is similar but grey knickers take the place of
shorts. Bras are not allowed as this suggests maturity and part of the
procedure is a re-affirmation of juvenile correction. For the same reason boys
are not allowed to wear jockstraps. All jewellery, watches, necklaces,
bracelets, earrings, are also removed. There is a logic in what we do. When we
say naked, we mean naked and before the vest and pants are issued that is the
state our clients are in.
We dealt with the girl first. My thinking was that I
needed to get my eye in before attacking the boy with a cane. A stray stroke
with the strap would do less damage. I wasn’t that sure when they tied the
still tearful girl to the bench. Her bottom was nicely raised but when the
assistant took down her knickers I was reminded of how small it was. She would
certainly feel what I was going to give. I placed the strap, pretty thick I
thought, against her trembling cheeks, and it almost covered it. She couldn’t
move. Her arms and legs were tightly tied to the trestle legs and a thick belt
was tied across her equally small waist. Her bottom, nicely prominent, was
firmly held and the knickers around her knees completed a pleasing picture. I
reminded myself why she was here and, ignoring the incessant tears, raised the
strap and lashed it across the centre of her small backside. She screamed. Not
surprised. This young girl had history and it was good stroke. Her pale white
bottom immediately flagged up a wide splat of scarlet indicating that I had
found my mark and that the strap was doing its work. I gave her two more on the
same central space and as the marks darkened and spread the screams and howls
grew louder. This young lady was not enjoying this spanking of her behind.
Clinic style. I warmed to my task, God I was enjoying it. It had been quite a
while since I had whacked a bare bum and it was pleasant. Certainly getting me
in the mood for the boy who was to come. Control yourself Leah, I said. This is
work. But nice work all the same. I spaced the last five out. Whack after whack
I landed the strap full and square over the girls little white bottom. Never
been smacked in her life she had said. Well she was getting smacked now. On her
bare behind with a Central Control Clinic approved strap, by an approved
corrective officer who was giving her all. Her screams echoed the scarlet fire
enveloping her behind and both indicated a job well done. I was sweating when I
delivered the last stroke but well satisfied. If it wasn’t the girl’s copious
tears or the burning in her behind, couldn’t resist touching it at the end, it
was the assistant’s response when I finished. She undid the straps, pulled up
the girl’s knickers and gave me an affirmative nod. Professional job Leah she
seemed to be saying. Now for the boy.
Journal of Deputy
Director Leah Wilson (Thursday) – continued
Was surprised to see that Mark was the officer who
accompanied the boy into the punishment room. No one else available, he said,
so he had to stand in at the last minute. He looked almost as flushed and
nervous as the boy. The medic, Nadine again, did a cursory check on the boy and
my assistant, Rita, bid him to bend over the trestle bench. He looked almost in
tears but meekly obliged. He knew resistance was futile. Rita tied him down and
strapped the restraining belt across his lower back. I could hear him
whimpering but ignored it. You learn how to. She pulled the grey vest to his
waist and deftly whipped down the regulation shorts to his knees. Soon be over
she said as he involuntarily shuddered. I could see what Nadine meant by the
cane bouncing off him. His chubby little bottom cheeks looked as if they were
moulded rubber. Not a blemish in sight and beautifully formed. Nature had
clearly designed this boy for whackings even if, as far as I knew, he had never
had one. As I swished the cane, always in my hand when the client enters, the
boy shuddered again and, I am sure, Mark took a deep breath. For a moment there
was total silence as everyone readied themselves for what was to take place. I
tapped the cane against the naked skin and the boy flinched. Twelve strokes, I
said, twelve strokes of the cane on your bare bottom boy. I won’t stop unless
Nadine intervenes, however much you howl. It is going to hurt but it is going
to be quick. So grit your teeth and remind yourself why you are here. And with
that I raised the cane and lashed it across the centre of his behind. It was a
magnificent stroke, even if I say so myself, and the vivid red line across the buttocks
was only matched by the first of many piercing screams. You have to be extra
careful with boys. When they wriggle and struggle the bits between their legs
can bounce around a bit. Especially if they are not short in that department.
The trestle table is specifically designed to raise the bottom and allow
genitals to swing freely so not a problem providing the strokes are true and
accurate across both cheeks. But you have to take care if you don’t want to
damage their marriage department. Being right handed I always target the right
cheek to ensure no accidents but, perfecting my style over the years, I always
ensure that the left cheek gets a fair share of attention. It’s all in the
swing and how you land the stroke. The twelve I gave to this boy were some of
my best. Straight and true and hard, and wriggles and howls came forth in equal
measure. By the time I had finished, it took no more than three or four
minutes, the boy’s backside was well and truly striped. All over. Other than
the fact that he had wet himself, a problem with males who get a lot of cane
strokes, I was well pleased. At least he did not have an erection. Seen that
more than once and it always amazes me. I was still sweating a bit as the boy
put on his shorts and left. Mark and Rita went with him and, left alone, Nadine
and I laughed. Not at the boy, that would be unkind. But at Mark. I may be
wrong, Nadine said, but I reckon our dishy deputy director was a little turned
on by that. You learn something new every day. As I say, we both laughed.
Journal of Deputy
Director Leah Wilson (Friday)
Janet was looking a little stressed today. Apparently one of
the Japanese contingent had purloined one of our government films. The discs on
which the demonstrations are recorded easily fit into a willing pocket. Useless
without the code of course but, knowing the Japanese, that won’t be
insurmountable. She blamed Mark, he was in charge of all that, and reckoned he
had slipped up somewhere. Shall have to report it, she said, but hopefully Rita
can get it back. Rita was volunteered for the Japan trip and, if I am any judge
of character, she will enjoy herself. Her arm was constantly itching on
Wednesday and I know from witnessing she can lay on a mean strap. She whacked
seven bottoms on one memorable morning a year or so ago and hardly broke sweat.
All she said, manfully pulling up the last bleater’s regulation shorts, is that
one day they will let me use a cane. People constantly surprise. As did Janet
this morning. Have a word with Mark, she said. I think he is losing
concentration. Wouldn’t like to lose him. Neither would I. Surrounded by women
he is welcome relief in this place. Very good administrator. And very boyish.
Is that relevant, I ask myself?
Coda to Journal of
Deputy Director Leah Wilson (Sunday)
Need to record this very carefully. Shall do the conversation
line by line. No quotation marks. Too time consuming. Friday. End of day.
Everyone gone bar me and Mark. Having a tipple in the office. We usually do.
All locked up and records finished. Mark has changed into his casual weekend
gear. Jeans and Gabbici top. Both light blue. Nice. I am still in clinic gear.
Strict black suit. Contrasting styles for what turned out to be an interesting
hour. Never to be repeated and, except here, never to be told. I start the
subject on my mind. If I had known where it would go I might not have done. But
then again.
You do know that you are not in Janet’s good books today?
She told me. Some Nip has nicked a disc.
Hopefully Rita can get it back.
She will.
Embarrassing for Janet though. She hates things to slip.
But she isn’t going to take it further?
He was looking a bit
concerned, I will say that for him.
No. These things happen. Just bloody annoying.
And my fault?
Seems so, Mark. And not the first time apparently.
Been checking Leah? Not like you.
Janet said you were getting slack lately. Not concentrating
she said. Lost some files last week.
He looked sheepish and
downed a good half of his drink.
The Eastfield kids. Don’t remind me. Had to delay their
spankings for half an hour while I found them. Embarrassing. Four kids waiting
to be whacked and me feeling a right prat.
Puts the Clinic in a bad light.
So stop being a naughty boy Mark. Is that it?
I downed some of my
drink and looked at him seriously. I liked Mark, he was very good at his job.
But Janet was not pleased and he needed to get that message.
Don’t get on the wrong side of Janet. I paused. Any troubles at home?
No. Just me. This place can affect your concentration.
Don’t let it. We are professionals.
I’ll try Leah.
Good. So let’s pack up and have a good weekend. I’m off to
the beach with the kids so need to pack. It’s been a hectic week in more ways
than one. What are you doing?
Not a lot. Chilling out, mainly.
He finishes his drink
and, picking up his bags, walks to the door.
You locking up, Leah?
My turn, Mark.
Always just you and me on a Friday evening. Rounds the week
off nicely, I always think.
Yes.
Nice to talk. And unwind.
Yes. Unwind anyway.
He stops in the doorway
and turns. When he speaks again his tone is different. Quieter, more serious.
That affected me Wednesday, Leah. Been thinking about it.
Don’t. That’s my advice.
Easier said than done. I saw the way you caned that boy.
I like to keep my hand in.
You were very good. Unnerved me a bit.
You didn’t have to be there, Mark.
No.
So why were you?
I don’t know. Wanted to I suppose. And I had the opportunity.
And?
Nothing, except.
Except what, Mark?
He put down his bag.
Can I tell you something Leah?
I said nothing, waiting
for him to continue. He looked nervous and his face was very flushed.
Been thinking about it for a while. And Wednesday confirmed
it. You and Nadine knew I was affected. He
paused, choosing his words carefully. But it wasn’t as you thought Leah. It
wasn’t the boy. It was nothing to do with him. It was me. Me and you.
Meaning me as the corrective officer?
Yes.
And you as the boy?
Yes.
Are you saying what I think you are saying?
I think I am. Thought about it for a long time. He was breathing heavily now. I would
like to be caned Leah. And I would like to be caned by you.
I looked at him. Not in
surprise, I had my suspicions about Mark. Had done for months. Nothing he was
saying was new in this place.
Have another drink Mark and sit down. We need to talk this
through.
He did as I said and,
breaking the rules, lit a cigarette. In the circumstances I thought it best to
say nothing. We didn’t, either of us, for a couple of minutes.
When you are ready, Mark. Get it off your chest. It may help.
Difficult to know where to start. I knew there were dangers
when I took this job. I know me.
And?
It has just got worse recently. Wednesday just capped it all.
I didn’t feel for that boy but I wasn’t detached.
No.
I was envying him. Do you understand that Leah? I envied him.
I wanted to be where he was.
Then he poured it all
out. His thoughts, his needs, his desires. Even his intention to resign from
the clinic. He was going to do that anyway. Taken a job in Canada. Our
conversation was just clearing the slate. I carefully chose my following words.
So you would like me to cane you?
Yes.
Here?
Yes.
Now?
He flinched, realising
the way things were going. This wasn’t planned, that was clear, but it was
probably his only opportunity to fulfil a constant fantasy.
Yes. Yes, Leah. I think I do.
As I do it to our clients?
Yes. Yes I think so.
You think so?
I know so, Leah. I want you to do to me what you did to that
boy on Wednesday. He paused. All of
it, exactly the same.
You know what that means, Mark?
Yes.
It means we go into the correction room. You take down your
jeans or, better still, take them off. You go over that trestle table and I
take down your underpants and cane you. On your bare backside. Is that what you
want?
Yes. Yes I do.
I won’t hold back, Mark. If I agree that is. It won’t be a
bit of fun spanking. You will get what our clients get.
That’s what I want, Leah.
Twelve hard strokes of a regulation cane? On your naked
bottom? Are you sure?
Yes.
Excruciating pain and humiliation?
Yes.
I won’t stop once I have started. You know that.
Yes.
And just to make sure I will strap you to the bench.
As you do with clients?
I looked at him
closely. He was sweating and breathing hard. All this had taken a lot of
courage. I could send him home and forget it, or try to. But his demons would
not go away. To cane him, as he desperately wanted, seemed an act of kindness.
I responded quietly but firmly.
For the purposes of this you will be a client.
Then you will do it.
Yes, Mark. As a one off. For a friend.
Thank you, Leah.
Thank me afterwards, if you still want to. It’ll all be over
in ten minutes. I suggest you go and get ready.
Yes. Yes I will.
And Mark?
Yes.
No illusions. No going back, Mark. When I enter the
correction room, there is no going back.
No. No going back, Leah.
And on that note he
rose, kissed me lightly on the cheek, and went off to the correction room. I
swear I saw a small tear in his eyes. Unlike our recalcitrant clients, these
were a small indication of joy. The other kind would no doubt come later.
Second coda to Journal
of Deputy Director Leah Wilson (Sunday)
I have been employed by the Central Control Clinic for eight
years and for six of them I have been a correction officer. Don’t do much these
days due to my administration role, usually only once a month or so, but in the
early days I had about four or five clients a week. So I reckon I have whacked
at least a thousand bottoms in my time. Large, small, black, white, yellow,
dimpled, smooth, hairy, male, female. They come in all designs. Rounded, flat,
bouncy, wide, narrow, pronounced. Still, twitchy, trembling, cheeky,
struggling. All fascinating in their own way. All behinds bare when the cane or
strap lands. Some scream, some howl, some whimper, some stay completely silent.
Some mark at the slightest touch, others absorb both pain and force and look
almost as pristine as when the pants came down. Nothing surprises. I have seen
erections from boys and juices from girls. I have seen tears, many times, and
occasional laughter. Some curse you, some thank you, and one or two even kiss
you. One boy, after eight vicious strokes of my cane, pulled up his pants and
asked me to marry him. So I reckon I have seen about everything. But Mark was a
first. All of my clients, everyone of those thousand or so, were unwilling
clients who had been referred to us. All of them dropped their pants and
exposed their behinds because we and the courts said it must be so. When the
strap or cane landed its sting it was sanctioned, approved, determined by a
higher authority. They had no choice in the matter. Mark did. Or he did until I
entered the correction room. When I strapped him down there was no going back.
He had taken off his jeans when I arrived, cane in hand, and
neither of us said anything. He looked so boyish in his light blue Gabbici top and
pale blue underpants that he could easily pass for a real client. I indicated
the trestle bench and he gave me a weak smile and dutifully bent over it. The
rear view was immensely pleasing. Small and chubby cheeks pronounced by the
clinging pants. A bottom designed for spanking as Nadine had said many times. I
had always suspected as much and now I was close to seeing all. I tied his
hands and legs to the trestle, tighter than I usually do, and was conscious of
his heavy breathing. But still he said nothing and I had resolved to let my
cane speak for me. It has an eloquent and scorching tongue. I lifted his top
and placed the central strap across his back, the skin was warm and sweaty, and
completed the pinning down. The trestle and straps are beautifully designed.
The body is firmly held in place and the important buttocks stick out
prominently. Raised slightly by the angle of the bench the twin cheeks of our
miscreants present inviting targets. Mark was no exception and he sensed the
experience he desired was getting closer. I was enjoying it all so much that I
was in no hurry to continue. We would not be disturbed. I had changed the
clinic entrance codes so no one could get in if returning unexpectedly. And the
correction room was soundproofed. It was just me and Mark and my cane. I moved
towards him and placed my hands in his underpants. He shuddered slightly in
anticipation of the sensations to come. I still said nothing. He knew it was to
be twelve strokes and he knew they would be as hard as I could give. He had no
illusions and all words seemed superfluous. I slowly peeled his pants down,
slower than I usually do and gradually revealed a divine backside that was
almost kissable. It twitched and clenched in readiness and, as I pulled the
underpants right down to his knees, I could not but help see that the readiness
had a customary manifestation. Mark’s penis was as rigid as the most rampant
pole. It had a hardness that seemed fit to burst. As I placed the cane across
one of the loveliest boyish bottoms I had ever seen I could not help thinking
that this boy had been waiting a long time for this. No wonder he shed a small
tear in the office. The cold cane touched his skin. I tapped twice to indicate that
the caning was about to commence. The bottom trembled, the body shivered, and
the penis twitched. I took a deep breath and, raising my arm, lashed the cane
across him. It was the most glorious stroke and beautifully indicated the start
of, hopefully, a most glorious caning.
It was. Thwack.
The pale skin picked up a livid weal, right across both cheeks and left a
pleasing view. Thwack. I did it
again, quicker than I usually do. Two stripes across that bottom would look
even better. I was eager to see the results of my work. Thwack. I did it again. All three straight and true, all leaving
fiery marks on the lovely boy cheeks.
Thwack. A fourth and now he howled because I was hitting harder. Thwack and Thwack. The fifth and sixth, lower and higher, completed the first
half. Six glorious stripes emblazoned the virgin skin. And now Mark was giving
out serious signs of distress. Time for a rest. I drew my breath as he howled
and whimpered. Christ, he said. I smiled and moved back towards him. And then I
did something I never do with real clients. I put my hand between his legs and
touched his balls and penis. Not sensuously. I just wanted to check. It was as
I thought. The penis had lost its desire and was semi flaccid. Mark’s desire
for punishment was in his head not in his manhood. He may get erect again,
indeed there were signs of it returning, but his were of the before and after
variety. I can only think of one boy who maintained a massive erection
throughout, although a number arrived with one, and that was the one who wanted
to marry me. I smiled and tapped Mark’s bottom. He twitched, knowing its
indication. He was right. I placed the cane across his lacerated cheeks and
finished the job he had, almost, implored me to do. Thwack, Thwack, Thwack, Thwack. Four hard and true across the
centre of his bottom and then one, Thwack,
high and one Thwack, low. The former
produced continued howls of distress. The latter two produced piercing,
frightening, screams of despair. It was a real caning, no doubt of that from the
weals and the cries of anguish. But it was all over.
Mark took a long time to dress. It was almost as if he wanted
to prolong the humiliation. He stood by the bench rubbing his exposed bottom
and oblivious, or so it seemed, of his renewed hardening in front. It struck me
that he welcomed the continuing exposure. Some clients were like that,
especially males. Having had their backsides bared and thrashed they show no
urgency to cover up. Rita had a theory that it was throwback to childhood.
Mother’s saw all and when we thrashed a bare bottom we were surrogate mothers.
She may be right but I had no interest in pursuing it. As far as I was
concerned it was time this thrashed boy put everything back in his trousers.
Eventually he did so and, smiling weakly, came and gave me an enormous hug and
a kiss on the cheek. Thank you, he said. Thank you, Leah. I shall never forget
what you have just done. I shall never forget, but I shall never tell. Ten
minutes later we locked up and left for the weekend. I had just got to my car
when I remembered I needed to change the codes back. Janet would not be best
pleased if, come Monday, she could not get in.
Journal of Deputy
Director Leah Wilson (Tuesday)
Mark gave in his notice yesterday. Janet said she was
expecting it, even though she tried to talk him out of resigning. The lost disc
was no big deal she said. But he said it was nothing to do with that. He had
been after this new job in Canada for some time. I shall miss him. We worked
well together as joint deputies to Janet and he was very popular. Nadine gave
him his medical when he first joined the clinic and always said he had a bottom
to die for. It was a comment I did not pursue, even medics have impure
thoughts. Rita was more up front and, hearing the news, said she would have
liked to have thrashed him and then fuck him. Out of hours of course. Too late
now, she said. I just laughed. The staff here are incorrigible, I said. Must be
because of the job we do. I didn’t tell her, then or later, that I had
fulfilled one of her desires. For ten or fifteen minutes, one Friday afternoon,
Mark had become one of my clinic clients. And it was good. Very good.
Alfred Roy (2013)