Assignment in London

Somewhere in North London - in a location that must remain a Company secret but could be Crouch End or Highgate - one day in August 1926, G was standing next to the single-ring gas cooker in her bedsit, making a rice pudding. It was six o'clock on a Friday afternoon. Work was done for the week.

She sighed. Her Company work was, as ever, interesting and satisfying, but the accommodations it provided in this time frame were dowdy and dull. They made G feel dowdy and dull as well, as did the clothes she was given to wear. She had no idea why she had to dress herself in so much wool and rough cotton, even in summer. Other girls of this time - she had often seen them from the top of a double-decker bus - were wearing light silks and pretty cloche hats in pastel shades. Jazz Age fashions were a liberation from heavy and stuffy Victorian and Edwardian styles, so why couldn't she wear them too? She might be a bit too well developed in the figure to match the contemporary boyish look, but careful dieting was the key, she had been told, together with close binding of her breasts. 'Big bosoms are so vulgar,' magazine articles said, and big bottoms were apparently no better. G didn't consider either her bosom or her posterior excessively large, but she wanted to fit in so she did as she was told and dieted to reduce her size.

A girl from the 1980s, G was used to rather higher standards of personal hygiene than were the norm at a time when a regime of weekly bathing along with a washstand rubdown at with a damp flannel was considered adequate. But she learnt how to keep herself dainty, as the expression went, and not to wince at others' body odour and halitosis.

The rice pudding bubbled in the pan. Another few minutes and it would be done and, once it had cooled, she would eat it. And then, she would probably meet up with some of the girls from the office and they might go to see a West End show.

It would all be entertaining enough. And at the weekend she could join the gang, as they called themselves, on a day trip to Brighton, or Worthing or Southend. They would go by excursion train, and walk up and down the prom, and exchange banter with young men who had also come down from London on third-class tickets, freed from their weekly drudgery at desk, bench or shop counter.

It was rumoured that some of her friends were well and truly up for it, and it was true that they sometimes separated from the party and re-joined an hour or two later slightly dishevelled, with grass stains on their summer dresses. G did not emulate them, although there was no reason why she should not go with a clerk from the Peninsula & Orient Shipping Company to a nearby wood or park and show him what a healthy and disinhibited girl from the 1980s could do with a shy lad who might never before have got so close to such an attractive and extremely horny young woman.

The truth is that she was missing D. They had made no claims on each other when they parted, but still G kept herself for him. One day their assignments would overlap once more and for a time, however brief, they would be able to enjoy one another as they had before. She desperately wanted him inside her again.

At this thought G squirmed, and a trickle of moisture ran down the inside of her right leg. If only there were something she could do to quell this endless yearning for D! She had tried drinking brandy, but that only made her sick. She threw herself into her work, but that only relieved her for a third of each day. Even then, her supervisor PP had only last week caught her with her hand under her desk, rubbing herself. He had directed her to his office - splendid in antique mahogany and brass - where at his stern command she had taken off her skirt and underskirt, unclipped and rolled down her cotton lisle stockings and removed her white linen drawers. She had knelt on the carpet in front of his desk with her hands locked behind her head and her forehead resting on the floor and taken twelve wicked slashing strokes of the vinegar-soaked birch on the bare bottom for the offence of committing a sexual act in Company working hours. She had writhed and screamed, but throughout the course of the Physical Sanction she'd imagined that it was D who was flogging her and not PP. She found that thought intensely exciting.

G learnt no lesson whatsoever from her switching, except that she should be more careful in future and only masturbate in her own time and in her own room. She was surprised by the savagery of PP's whipping of her behind. He had seemed such a nice man when she had joined his department; mild, even jovial, in spectacles, brogues and knitted cardigan. G wondered if perhaps he wanted her and had felt affronted when she had called out D's name in her distress.

But when they encountered each other at work, he was as unassuming and helpful as he had been before.

A few days later, once the marks on her buttocks had faded, PP stopped by G's desk.

'Don't worry,' he said, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. 'I've got an assignment for you; one I think you'll enjoy. Finish off what you're doing and pop round and see me. I'll be waiting for you.'

'Yes, sir. I won't be a moment.'

PP gave G a smile. 'See you soon.'

G wrote a few notes on the document she had been reading and closed it. In the London office of what appeared to be a small accountancy business in 1926, this meant returning a piece of paper to a cardboard folder and putting the folder in the correct hanger in the correct drawer in the correct filing cabinet in the filing room. At least this is one data server that won't go down or need a software update. The thought amused G, and she was still half-smiling when she knocked on PP's door.

'Come in, come in,' said PP, and G entered the office. The first thing she saw instantly removed the smile from her face. It was a cane, resting on top of PP's desk. In front of the desk stood a simple wooden chair with a moquette-covered seat and back. The street sounds of London could be faintly heard through the window - passers-by, brewers' drays, omnibuses and taxicabs, newspaper boys, old soldiers on crutches selling boxes of matches.

'Sir?' said G in alarm. She unconsciously touched her bottom. It was still quite sore from her birching.

PP smiled. 'Don't worry, Miss G. Kindly take a seat,' and he indicated the chair. G sat gingerly, not at all reassured by PP's manner.

'I've been reviewing your progress, Miss G.'

'Sir?'

'And I'm pleased. You've adapted well to field conditions. You came to us with an excellent report from the House, but people who put on a good show when they've got the whole panoply of Company resources at their fingertips often struggle in the real world, especially if that real world is in their past.

'Your disciplinary record is also encouraging. I always prefer it when we are sent people who have experienced the PS in its various forms. Someone who's only ever received a rap on the knuckles, so to speak, is rarely sufficiently seasoned to perform well with us.

'All clear so far?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good, good. Now then, the reason I've asked you to join me is that I'd like to offer you the chance to extend your work experience beyond the immediate confines of these Company premises. Let me explain.

'This timeframe is different in many ways from your home milieu, but similar in many others. Despite the after-effects of the Great War, people live and go to work in much the same way that they did fifty years ago and will do fifty years hence. You know this; you're an educated twentieth century woman. Likewise, the business of the country is conducted in much the same way throughout the century, with exceptions for wartime.'

G nodded. The Second World War was still thirteen years in the future and Company employees were strictly forbidden to allude to it at any time when they might be overheard by contemporaries. Time-breach was a serious offence that merited serious punishment.

'The same is true for government. MPs do their parliamentary work and, when time permits, they go home to their families or, if their constituencies are remote from London, they occupy rooms in the capital and go to their clubs in the evening to eat and drink and socialise. Naturally they like to spend time with people of their own kind and so these clubs tend to act as a sort of second parliament, where alliances may be formed and broken, and secrets may be shared or, maybe, betrayed. There's nothing politicians like more than a good conspiracy, whether they are inside or outside it.

'Clear so far, Miss G?'

'Absolutely, sir. But are you suggesting that I stand for election to parliament?'

PP laughed. 'No, Miss G. It will be many years until a young woman such as yourself will be a credible candidate. No, I've got something else in mind.

'It's a funny thing, but MPs - who need the common people to vote for them at elections - find the hoi-polloi easy to ignore at other times. They tend to forget that they're there. This is especially true of Conservative MPs, who tend to be wealthy and used to being attended by servants.'

G nodded. 'Do you want me to become a servant?'

'Pretty much. I've arranged a position for you as a waitress at the Carlton Club. Your job, apart from your duties as a servitor, will be to keep your eyes and ears open and report back to me everything you see and hear, whether you think it's important or not.'

'You want me to be a spy?'

'I won't mince words. Yes, I want you to spy for the Company. The information you obtain will be invaluable to us. For example, we did not get enough information about this May's General Strike to derive the greatest possible advantage from it. That was before you joined us, of course.'

'I see... Do you think I'm cut out for this?'

'Yes, I do. But...'

'Oh. I knew there would be a "but"!'

'I must be frank. These people will regard you as a non-person. A drinks tray on legs. Practically a robot. Could you handle that amount of dehumanising?'

'I... I think so.'

'Good. But it goes beyond that. Many of these men will have been kept apart from their wives and mistresses. They will want sexual relief. Would you feel able to provide that relief?'

'You mean, let them fuck me? Fuck them?'

'It probably wouldn't go that far. They would need to be able to deny extra-marital sex in a credible manner. But they might ask for a discreet hand-job in a private room or the toilets. Or maybe an act of fellatio.'

G blushed. 'Sir!'

'I am being frank, as I said I would. You have not used the word yourself, but you could say that I am asking you to prostitute yourself. You would be providing sexual favours on behalf of the Company. And I think that even if you were to say yes now, you might balk when it actually came to it. There's only one way to be sure.'

PP stood up and walked around to the front of his desk.

'If you want this assignment and the kudos and promotion it could bring to you, you must prove that you can do it.'

'Do you want me to fetch you a cup of tea or a sandwich?'

'No. You must suck me off. Here and now.'

'But... but the Rules!'

'Do not apply in this case. This is Company business, and therefore exempt.'

'How do I know this is real? How do I know you're not just trying it on with me?'

'This meeting is being videoed, streamed and recorded. If any impropriety is committed it is I who will suffer, not you. You have my word on that.'

'But it's 1926! TV hasn't even been invented yet!'

'Actually, I think you'll find that this is the year when John Logie Baird first demonstrated an early form of television. But that's beside the point. You have to prove that you are prepared to perform sexual favours for Conservative MPs and overhear and report on what they say. Do you want the assignment or not?'

'If I did as you ask, would you be able to let me meet up with D? I miss him terribly.'

'He is on assignment in Istanbul in 2034, I believe.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Hmmm. I can make no promises. I do not have the authority to arrange a casual transfer to your boyfriend's milieu. I have no Adepts at my disposal. But I would be able to make a favourable report to my superiors and it is possible that they might look kindly on any application you might make. I can promise you nothing, you understand. All I can do is put in a good word for you. However, I must warn you that any attempt at bargaining with the Company could be viewed as insubordination and subject to punishment.'

D considered. On the one hand, she faced the prospect of whoring herself to a group of overprivileged men who would despise her for what she did for them. On the other was the hazy prospect of seeing D. The Company's punishment regime was strict, but it also looked after its people very well, especially if they made a useful contribution to its fortunes. Did she want to remain a junior staffer all her life?

'All right, sir. I'll do as you ask.'

'Then get on your knees in front of me, undo my trousers - there are buttons, not a zip - take out my penis, and place it in your mouth. Work on it with your lips and tongue until I come. Make sure that I enjoy the experience and that you swallow all the semen I ejaculate.'

'Yes sir.' And G knelt in front of PP and began to undo the buttons of his fly. She was a little clumsy, but PP encouraged her, saying that she shouldn't appear too practiced or well-rehearsed.

She could not help noticing a stale, musty smell around PP, the effect, she supposed, of irregular bathing. With his buttons undone, she freed PP's penis from its confinement in his not altogether fresh underpants. She suspected that this was their second or third day of wearing.

PP's penis was uncircumcised and erect. It glistened at the tip and gave off a not particularly pleasant aroma. G ran her tongue up and down it a few times and then took the whole head into her mouth and sucked on it.

PP grunted and thrust. G tasted his penis - not bad, she supposed, but rather salty-vinegary-sweaty. Expert at resisting the gag reflex, she allowed it to reach to the back of her throat. She bit lightly, and PP groaned and put his hands behind her head. He wrapped her fashionably bobbed hair around them and pulled her head down onto him. His still-growing penis penetrated her throat.

PP vigorously fucked G's mouth for five minutes. From time to time he paused to let her draw breath before thrusting himself into her again. Apart from these brief respites he had no regard whatsoever for her comfort.

He's using me, thought G. I might as well be a rubber doll for all he cares.

PP finally came liberally into her mouth. He withdrew and his last spurts spattered over her face. He pushed G away, and she rocked back on her heels and fell over.

G swallowed. Then: 'Fuck! What was that about!'

PP buttoned up his fly. 'That was about making sure that you know how they will treat you. They will use you, and then casually discard you until they are ready to use you again. You are a worthless piece of meat at so far as they are concerned. You're lucky I didn't piss on you as well. That could easily happen.'

'I... I see.'

'Now. There is one other matter to consider.'

'One other?' Oh... wait.

'Most of these MPs were educated at one or another of the country's top boarding schools. That is true in your time also, is it not?'

'Yes, sir.' G wiped her face with a handkerchief.

'And at these schools they learnt that they are entitled to be the leaders of this country, by reason of their inherited, innate superiority. They learnt that to be seen to be trying too hard is utterly infra dig. Everything must appear to come naturally. Of course, in practice their social inferiors do the actual work while they claim the credit with an easy insouciance. Along with this comes a powerful belief in hierarchies. There is a societal pyramid, with them at the top and the likes of you and me at the bottom. This pyramid is emulated in schools with older boys having power over younger ones - the new eggs. Hierarchical discipline - the maintenance of the structure - is enforced by a punishment system in which schoolmasters may beat anyone and senior boys can beat junior boys.

'Paradoxically, many Old Boys or alumni of these schools remember these beatings with fondness. They were a part of the system that made them what they are. And it's not just the times they beat their inferiors either. Many recall with a feeling of great nostalgia the time when a senior boy on whom they had a crush, or who occupied a high position in the school - a sports captain or a member of Pop - put them over a desk or made them grasp their ankles and gave them a brutal thrashing with the cane.

'Sometimes one of these men, longing for a simpler time when all they had to do was what they were told to do, likes to take the position of an offending junior and asks a trusted person to beat him. This is a psychosexual action and quite complex in nature. However, the actual request and response are perfectly straightforward.'

PP leaned forward.

'Miss G, I have been caught smoking in Henderson's Quad after Lights Out. You are to castigate me and punish me as I deserve. There is an appropriate implement ready on the desk. Off you go!'

G had a think. She had read some of her brother's school storybooks, so she had an idea of how such a scenario would unreel.

'Stand up straight,' she said to PP. 'Now then, I am told that you have been found in possession of tobacco.'

'Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.'

'Have you been smoking, boy?'

PP's eyes fell and he examined his shoes. 'Yes, sir,' he murmured.

'I am very disappointed in you. You know the rules, and yet you have chosen to break them. Smoking is strictly forbidden during termtime in school premises and elsewhere. You know that, do you not?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Very well. I shall punish you for your offence, for your own good. You will receive a House Caning. Remove your shoes, jacket and trousers. Place them on the back of this chair. Come on, chop-chop!'

'Yes, sir.' PP removed the garments.

'Now, you will kneel on the seat of the chair, facing its back. Hurry up, I haven't got all day.'

PP knelt on the chair as instructed.

'Finally, you must grasp the legs of this chair beneath the seat. Bend yourself right over, boy.'

'Is this right, sir?' PP's arms reached nearly down to the ground; his Aertex underpants drawn taut over his behind.

'That is correct. Now, listen to me, boy. I am going to beat you most severely. You agree that you have earned this punishment?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Then I expect you to thank me for it. You will count each stroke out loud and you will express your gratitude to me for taking the time to correct your behaviour. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Excellent. Make sure that you do. Any omission on your part, or any attempt to reduce, by any means, the impact of the instrument on you will earn extra cuts. I can assure you that they will be most forceful.

'Are you ready?'

'I think so, sir.'

'Louder please.'

'Sorry sir. Yes, I am ready for my punishment.'

'Good. I shall commence presently.'

G took up the cane from PP's desk. She examined it carefully. It tapered from a thickness of ten centimetres at the handle to a mere three or four centimetres at the tip. She bent it in her hands. It easily turned through one hundred and eighty degrees. It was a most flexible and whippy cane, designed to wrap around its target. It would doubtless cause terrible pain to its recipient. A brass ferrule at the handle was engraved thus:

Punishment cane, Grade 1. Imperial Scholastic Supplies Ltd, London W1. By appointment to His Majesty King George V.

It was a high-grade product then, intended for the training and disciplining of the better class of malefactor.