Reformatory For Girls by Justine Johns
Time: the mid 21st century. Place: the “Special Unit” for young woman offenders. The discipline: corporal punishment. Jenny is a proud girl, no natural submissive, and she’s there for a crime she didn’t commit. Not a combination to keep her out of trouble in this place. The cane on the bare bottom is the standard punishment here, at best in semi-private, often as a public spectacle. Six of the best, twelve in the gym, a public flogging – Jenny is destined to suffer all the variations, and to watch it given to others too. And the main pastime of the prisoners is the love of girl on girl. Jenny was straight before she got there, but how long will she resist the open culture of the inmates? We follow our heroine’s adventures through painful punishments and sensual encounters, a passionate affair, orgies, a too-enthusiastic prison officer, a volatile unit, and all the time canings, canings, canings, for a truly memorable six months. Corporal punishment and lesbianism, with vivid scenes of canings and of sex amongst girls.
That afternoon the whole unit was summoned to Hall, to witness a public flogging. It was the ginger girl, Mariette.
Jenny eyed her curiously as she was brought in, wrapped in a blanket: In trouble from the start, as bad as Jenny, and now this. What had she done now? There was no clue in Mariette’s demeanour as she stood on the stage; she was expressionless as ever. She remained so when the blanket was removed and she faced them in the nude.
The reason given for the flogging was vague: refusal to accept the disciplinary environment of the unit. Mariette was apparently calm while the Governor made a preliminary speech, with everyone standing to attention.
Jenny went on eyeing her, then wondered about the way she was looking. Since the only other public flogging she’d attended had been her own, she should surely have feelings best described as mixed at watching one from the audience. But that was not the way she was looking at Mariette. She gazed at her well built body, full but firm breasts, wide hips, and the tuft of pubic hair, darker than the hair on her head, just a touch of ginger there, pointing downwards, hiding, yet hinting, at what lay between her legs. A big girl wasn’t the type she’d have expected to fancy, if she’d thought of fancying a girl… There was no doubt of it, her interest was sexual.
Disconcerted, she looked away, and was no longer standing to attention, which got her a warning look from the nearest screw. She stiffened again. This must stop. The other girls could all go lesbian if they liked, but she would remain a straight.
Mariette took the six opening strokes, the ones on her hands and legs. Her face was still impassive as she held her hand out, and showed no reaction as she received the first swipe. Her eyes did water as the pain set in, but she held out her other hand calmly enough to receive the second stroke.
The Chief knelt to deliver the four strokes on the back of the legs and ankles. Mariette jerked slightly each time, but she held her head up and didn’t even grimace.
She was turned round, and escorted to the bar with the saddle seat. Her bottom wiggled as she walked, and swayed as she halted at the bar. A wave of desire burst through Jenny.
Mariette bent over. Her wrists and ankles were tied, and she was hoisted. Jenny gazed compulsively at the bottom which was the focus of everyone’s attention, pushed out provocatively, full on to the audience. Between her legs you could see, only just but clearly enough, what you would expect to see. Everything on view.
While a screw chalked the cane and handed it to Chief, Jenny tried to reason with herself. These feelings were crazy – and in the context wicked too. The only feelings which were acceptable at the moment were of sympathy for the girl, or at least of intimidation.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Mariette received the first set of eight terrific whacks on her bottom. She didn’t make a sound. Jenny remembered vividly what it was like being on the receiving end. Also, she could now see how each stroke left a great red weal: eight lash marks across the cheeks, darkening rapidly, while the rest of the bottom blushed a ruddier shade of red. But all there came from Mariette was one involuntary movement at the second whack as if trying to push through the bar, and a few seconds’ writhing at the finish.
The screw chalked the thin cane and handed it to Chief. Mariette took the eight strokes across the back of the thighs.
Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!
Jenny watched how Chief moved expertly down the thighs for the first four strokes, from just below the buttocks to half way to the knees, then back again. Mariette moved a couple more times, but didn’t shiver and still made no sound.
Another pause, the screw re-chalked the firm cane, and handed it back to Chief.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
This last part was the worst, as Jenny knew too well: the second set of eight on a bottom which was already in agony. The lash marks from the first eight had widened and were joining, and the new marks went on top of them, giving the bottom a triple striped effect.
It was over. Mariette had not given one cry throughout.
“At ease!” Deputy Chief shouted. The Governor made a few announcements, then everyone was marched out, one line at a time. Mariette remained a spectacle on stage, hoisted and bent over, her rear glowing angrily in many shades of red.