Song and Dance

This follows on from my 6^th story and was not planned, but as in so many events in life it just happened.

David and I married in 1987 soon after he divorced Victoria.

He never went home to Victoria and the abusive relationship that he had survived. His wounds are healing. The physical wounds healed quickly but the psychological wounds took longer, and it has taken a long time for him to understand that his opinions matter and he and I are in an equal partnership.

I remain a sadist and enjoy the giving of pain, but up until a year ago I had with one exception only ever engaged in non-consensual discipline. Sadly, the only individual I ever punished who did not seek discipline was the man I now love more than anything in the world.

I will never again lift a hand to David. He has suffered far too much already.

But as you are aware I have a dark side, and after divorcing Christopher and before meeting David I had continued to satisfy my desire to administer pain. I only administered CP to a small exclusive clientele and offered no sexual or any other services. I worked from premises I owned in town.

Following the start of my relationship I discontinued working as a dominatrix. At the time It did not seem appropriate given the experience through which David had lived.

And then things changed. The wheel turned.

For many years, the do-gooders with their unrealistic views of the fundamental goodness of human nature have ruled the roost. In the UK corporal punishment was made illegal in prisons in 1967 and state schools in 1986. Meanwhile minor and street crime had worsened to epidemic proportions. And then along came Maggie Thatcher.

In 1998 corporal punishment was re-introduced in England for several crimes where it was considered a short and very sharp lesson would do more than a custodial sentence which in all probability would be suspended because of overcrowding in the prisons. And so, corporal punishment in the form of birching, paddling, strapping, or caning to the naked buttocks was introduced.

Several crimes for which this would be appropriate were identified. These included drunk or dangerous driving, minor crimes of violence, public drunkenness, and shoplifting. Additionally, a tariff of punishments for each type of crime was published. A drunk driver for example might expect a more severe punishment than a drunk found urinating in public.

It was decided on the grounds of public decency that men would discipline men and women discipline women. This also satisfied the sensibilities of orthodox religious groups who might otherwise have protested. There were a few dissenting voices that complained this was soft on women who would necessarily be punished by somebody from the "weaker sex." This was until it was pointed out that women have softer, plumper, and less muscular buttocks and therefore generally feel the pain of a flogging, and mark more easily than their male counterparts. And if you think women are weak, consider how hard modern women tennis players can strike a tennis ball.

One day Big Brother, who was obviously watching, wrote me a letter offering me a job interview at one of their newly opened re-education centres. It is obvious that even in the 1980s the government knew more about us than we would have liked.

The invitation was on official UK Prison Service headed paper. After a brief preamble outlining the changes to the law and what offences would now be punished by corporal punishment the letter cut to the chase and informed me that in view of my experience in providing consensual beating I had been selected to apply for a post as a female corporal punishment officer. The post would be part time and probationary in the first instance until a core group of officers had been employed. Following this those amongst us who delivered the most proficient punishments would be offered employment on a full time or part time basis as we wished.

I was invited to attend for interview.

At first my reaction was to throw the letter away, but after a little thought I started to reconsider. I knew I would have to discuss this with David and did not want to reopen old wounds, but the old urges remained, and I knew this was something I would be both good at and derive satisfaction from.

I need not have worried. On the evening of the day the letter was posted through our letterbox David had been watching the news on television and remarked that they were recruiting punishment officers for the new centres, and he was surprised I had not applied. From there it was easy to admit I had been approached and he jokingly smiled and said I was made for the job, and that of course I should go for interview.

The details of the interview itself are not important. Suffice it to say that the first part of the process was designed to weed out individuals who were psychologically unfit and would have done lasting physical damage to anybody they punished, and those who thought that the process was a good idea, but "when the chips were down" would be either not be able to do the job properly or would feel guilt afterwards. They were looking for level-headed individuals who could coldly, impersonally, and efficiently deliver a court ordered thrashing.

Following this process, we were subjected to a physical examination and finally made to administer corporal punishment to dummies. Those who did not have the correct technique were shown how and made to practice until they were proficient.

Having passed the entry process, I was eventually given a provisional job three mornings a week from 9am to 12pm. Each morning. I would be expected to give six punishments in each half hour slot. For the first month we worked in pairs. All sessions were recorded on video tape from three different cameras with audio. This was for legal purposes to ensure we were not unduly brutal and although some talking was permitted we were not meant to unduly taunt the miscreants.

The process was always the same. The victim was asked to attend the centre reception one hour before their appointment and was registered and tagged with their name and sentence on a wrist band. They were told to strip naked and go to the toilet and then shower before putting on a loose smock. They would then be taken into the punishment room by the reception team and bound naked to the punishment trestle exactly ten minutes before their punishment was to start. They were instructed never to talk to a punishment officer unless spoken to first and any disobedience would incur a penalty.

Early in my employment even after I was trusted to work alone I was sometimes randomly assessed by a supervisor standing behind the one-way mirror in the wall next to where the video cameras were placed. After 6 months this supervision became less and less frequent and then stopped, and I was then confirmed as being a certified Officer and offered a full-time post.

Normally I take little interest in the identities or offence of the women I punish. They come in all shapes and sizes and all colours and creeds. Every Monday morning a list of offender's names and sentences with their appointment time and date with the punishment officer allocated to them is pinned on the wall on the common room where we can sit, chat, and have a tea or coffee. I always check this list to learn what my workload for each day will be.

One Monday morning I was reading the list when a familiar name leapt out at me: Victoria Green. Alongside her name, her date of birth and sentence: twenty-four birch strokes for repeated shoplifting, were printed. I did a double take, and then to make sure this was THE Victoria I went down to the administrative office and checked the address against her name, and sure enough it was David's old address.

She was timetabled to appear at the centre on 12.30 pm on the following Wednesday afternoon when I was scheduled to finish at 12 pm. Fortunately Victoria was due to be birched by a colleague Julia, and when I explained that I would like to be the one to discipline Victoria she was happy to ask for permission to be half an hour late for work because of a dental appointment, and I agreed to step in to take her place

It was not usual for the offender to be told the name of their punishment officer and I saw no reason for this to change.

And then, the following Wednesday at 12.28 pm I entered the punishment room

Victoria had been strapped to the punishment table in a kneeling position with her hands thighs and ankles firmly bound, and a strap was in place around her waist holding her fast against the padded leather bench and another over her upper back. He soft pale and amply rounded bum was perfectly positioned and immobilized for her correction. There would be no escape from the birch I held in my right hand although I looked forward to seeing her bum cheeks writhing in agony as pain built on pain.

The birch was a bundle of eight freshly cut hazel stitches I metre in length and bound together by cloth over the lower one third of its length to form a handle and hold the rods together. It was one of three birches constructed the previous evening and that had been soaking in water overnight. The other two birches sat in the tall aluminium container in the corner of the room.

I shook the water of the birch and then made sure the hazel twigs were well splayed apart so that as large an area of flesh as possible would be impacted with each stroke.

As I looked down at Victoria I could see she was trembling

"Hello Victoria" I said.

"Do you remember me because I remember you."

"David says hello."

And finally.

"I'd love to stop here chatting, but I have work to do."

And I saw her body stiffen although she said nothing

"Here are the rules. I am going to give you the twenty-four strokes of the birch you have been sentenced to. It will be very unpleasant as it is intended to be. I am then allowed to give extra strokes at my discretion up to a maximum of one third of the strokes you have been sentenced to, but never more than a total of thirty-six strokes. Happily, this means you can receive an extra twelve strokes for any transgressions you make today. You can scream all you want, but you must not use insulting or bad language or ask me to stop or talk directly to me. If you do you can expect extra strokes."

And then.

"I have not forgiven you for what you did to David. Simply put it was evil. And now Fate has delivered you into my hands and I can punish you for what you did. And that is what I am going to do."

Victoria had the good sense to say nothing since as she was tied down she had been warned never to talk to the punishment officer on pain of extra penalty strokes.

I lifted the rod over my shoulder and then brought it down and across in a wide arcing path. It whistled as it moved and struck over the top third of her nates with a rattling bite. Victoria was silent. I stood back a little and readjusted position and aim and struck again but this time I twisted at the waist to add force to the stroke and was gratified that this time the rod whistled louder as it passed through the air before impacting across the middle of her bum cheeks. Victoria grunted. The third stroke landed over the lower third of her bottom so that already her plump bum cheeks were entirely pink in colour. And then after the fourth stroke bit into the middle of her arse she screamed, and I knew that her real punishment was about to begin.

The effect of the first strokes of a birch rod is illusory. The pain starts off at what appears to be a manageable level, but recipients report that the pain intensifies after each stroke and after a few strokes the pain is truly dreadful, and their arse feels if it is on fire. Furthermore, the bitch does not bite into the flesh and cause bleeding as the cane dies. The effect of the multiple light switches of which it is made is felt almost exclusively through the pain receptors on the skin with negligible effect on the underlying muscle. That is why a birching must always be on the bare.

The fifth and sixth strokes followed. Each one was laid onto skin that had already been previously visited, and by then her entire arse was bright pink with a patchwork of slightly darker red lines covering both cheeks, whilst here and there red pinprick spots were visible in the skin.

And Victoria continued to make a great deal of noise.

The rose and fell whistling and rattling and with each stroke tiny splinters of birch flew into the air as Victoria's plump buttocks gyrated and twitched, as they grew redder and redder, and as she continued to shriek.

After 12 strokes the birch was used up and splinters lay all over the floor. I crossed to the metal pail, selected a fresh hazel bundle, and waited for Victoria to quieten. And then as she sobbed softly I struck again for the thirteenth time.

They say the number 13 is unlucky and it was doubly so for Victoria because as the fresh whippy hazel switches impacted she screamed Nooooooo!

And then I slowly rhythmically and very deliberately administered the remaining strokes. And as she tugged at her bindings and her buttocks frantically and uselessly attempted to escape from their punishment I repeatedly placed the strokes from top to bottom of her cheeks.

And whilst I gave the last strokes and Victoria wailed and her buttocks writhed I was reminded of the true derivation of the phrase "song and dance."

And then it was over. After a few moments Victoria stopped wailing and lay over the bench crying gently. Her torso was damp with sweat. Her arse was bright red with a myriad of tiny red lines and tiny red spots but nowhere was the skin broken. And when I placed my hand on her cheeks they were hot to the touch.

I Knew then what I wanted to do. I waited, composed myself, and then walked around the punishment trestle and stood looking down at Victoria from where she could see me.

"Victoria, Victoria" I said gently

"When you shouted No! you broke the rules. And you earnt yourself more strokes. I have decided because you like corporal punishment so much that I am going to give you the maximum twelve strokes permitted by law. But I am going to do you a favour. We will not be continuing with the birch. I have decided to use the cane. There is a nice one metre rattan dragon over there. It is remarkably like the one you used to cane David except this one has been soaking in water just in case I would need it to use on you."

I paused.

"Now do you have anything to say. Feel free to say it. You cannot make it any worse. I cannot give you more strokes even if I wanted to."

Victoria sniffled

Please don't. I'm sorry I can't take any more. It hurts so much.

I silently ignored her pleas and after retrieving the cane stood to her left and a little behind and swished the cane through the air several times before measuring it across her swollen red buttocks. I held the cane lightly and flicked my wrist just before impact whilst ensuring I put all my weight between each stroke time and delivered a dozen venomous biting strokes across her already tortured behind. I made sure that the tip bit into each buttock cheek in turn, and whilst she yelled and entreated me to stop her bum cheeks clenched and tightened and wiggled from side to side. The cane whistled and cracked as it rose, fell, and rose again and when I had finished a line of twelve parallel and darkening ridges had been laid down over her bright red nates and I knew she had been properly punished.

Later I told David I had a treat for him. He watched the recording of Victoria's punishment silent and wide eyed and when the recording finished all he said was "Please play it again". When he had watched it a second time he spoke.

"I don't suppose she'll being doing any more shoplifting any time soon."