Fit for Punishment

A Sequel to Stacey’s Gym Skirt

by Katie Hammond

For the second morning in a row, the alarm clock had awoken me in the middle of a dream or, more accurately for this morning, a nightmare. I reached for the off button and closed my eyes. It was a dream wasn’t it? Going back to school, the teachers, losing my gym skirt, walking around school in gym knickers, the spanking and that photograph. Within a few seconds, my still sleepy head awoke enough to confirm my fears; yes it was real all too real.

I reached down to the floor and picked up the paper, turning to the inside back pages. Yes, it was there for all to see; Claire and Heather holding me up open-legged in my gym knickers under the headline: “Volleyball Star’s Double Spread.”

‘Idiot’s! It’s netball,’ I thought as I yawned and lazily dropped the paper back onto the floor.

My last day at school yesterday had turned into a nightmare but today would be better, I thought. I was finally going to meet Mrs Jane Martin again after she had requested she be placed into my custody following her release on licence from prison.

My plan for Mrs Martin today was a home visit in the morning followed by a ‘prison medial’ and judicial punishment at the JPS building in Portsville in the afternoon. I looked at my alarm clock, giving me five more minutes in bed before I got up. I reached for my mobile on the bedside table and turned it on. My boyfriend had sent a text last night saying he was staying around his friend’s place.

I didn’t really care anymore, if I was honest, and I’m not sure if he did either. Since meeting Jane Martin in August, my feelings for my boyfriend had changed. David was immature, irresponsible, selfish and although he was a bit of a bad boy which I was attracted to, it was becoming boring. Jane, on the other hand, was mature, responsible but funny and I sensed a connection between us even though she is twice my age, married with children older than me. I also have to admit that I was physically attracted to her.

I had replayed in my mind many times the August day we had met. Jane walking to the punishment room in front of me in her tight black skirt wrapped around her shapely bottom framed by the outline of her knickers, instructing her to remove her skirt, her slight smile as she asked me if I wanted her to take her knickers off and giving her the judicial spanking that I had sentenced her to. I also loved it when she addressed me as ‘Miss’; the power dynamic of this forty-one year old married woman addressing a teenage girl young enough to be her daughter as an authority figure was exquisite.

Now smiling, I pulled the duvet away and got up. Today would not just be better, it would be much much better.

I started my normal weekday morning routine of tea, toast and shower and then quickly selected my clothes for today; white blouse, black jacket, skirt and tights. I picked up Jane’s file from the living room table. I wasn’t in the frame of mind last night to read it so I would have to improvise when issuing punishment to her later today. I put my coat on and picked up the file and my handbag and left the flat.

Walking to the car, I couldn’t help but think how many people in these flats which had windows facing the car park had seen that picture in last night’s evening paper and knew it was me. It was embarrassing, for sure, but I have to admit there was just a little bit of me that got a bit of a kick out of it. I got in the car, put the heater on and started the short drive to Jane’s house.

Draycott is an affluent market town although, like everywhere, it had good and bad parts. The town centre area is nice and the town centre properties, although pleasant, can sometimes be blighted by the anti-social, drink fuelled violence and disorder that occurs routinely.

To the south east of the town centre is the ‘working class’ area of Draycott; lots of flats and council housing, but there were generally few problems. To the north east of the centre was the slightly more affluent three bed suburban semis type housing, that’s where my family are from. To the north west of the town centre contains the three/four/five bedroom houses located on tree lined, often private, roads; to live it that area would probably cost nearly one million pounds for the cheapest property. Finally to the south west of the town was Dunstan village, which was formerly a separate village but now joined onto Draycott. Dunstan village was the most exclusive area of Draycott; large big houses often with huge gardens. These houses would easily cost two million pounds plus, out of the reach for all but the very well off.

Jane’s address was listed as: ‘Aston House, off Manor Drive, Dunstan Village’. As I drove from my flat near the town centre you could see the change in the areas as I made my way to Jane’s house. The houses got bigger, the streets were less congested with cars, but the cars parked in the drives were much more expensive. I arrived in Dunstan village, and no wonder they called it a village. A pub, church, post office and small row of traditional shops made it look like the archetypal English village.

The SatNav took me past the shops and a row of cottages with neatly tendered front gardens, and instructed me to take the next left turn. I indicated and briefly looked in my rear view window. It was still there, an old red Volkswagen Polo driven by a young woman who had been following me now for over five minutes.

As I turned into Manor Drive, the SatNav announced: ‘You have now reached your destination.’ To my right were four or five large modern executive houses set well set back from the street. I kept driving, looking out for Mrs Martin’s BMW in the drive; on my left, a long laurel hedge gave way to a grey stone wall. I came to a gap in the wall and I stopped my car. It was the entrance to a large Georgian house. The driveway and front gardens were no less impressive; it was stunning.

‘This can’t be it,’ I thought before noticing a gold-plated sign set in the grey wall: ‘Aston House, Dunstan.’

This was serious money. Suddenly, for some reason, I felt slightly nervous as I turned into the drive, noticing the red VW Polo following me into the property. My heart started thumping. I got close to the house and stopped.

The VW Polo parked up and she got out. She looked a bit like me, in fact; dark hair and eyes, slim but slightly shorter at 5’9, she was dressed rather strangely in a blue track suit top white tennis skirt and trainers. My first reaction was it might be a tennis coach, but seemed a bit early for that. Then the penny dropped; it must be her daughter, Amy, who I had yet to meet.

I quickly opened the door and smiled as this girl approached me. She smiled and said: “Rebecca?”

At exactly the same time, I looked at her and said: “Amy?”

We both smiled and said: “No,” in unison.

I said: “I’m from the JPS. I have an appointment with Mrs Martin today.”

She smiled again and said: “Oh, ok, I’m a nurse from the prison service. I had arranged a session of physical exercise with her this morning.”

Realising we were both working for government agencies responsible for Mrs Martin, we introduced ourselves and shook hands. I phoned the JPS and Sarah Evans phoned HMP Send. It quickly became apparent the JPS had failed to register my home visit.

Sarah looked at me and said: “I’m sorry; I can arrange my visit for another time.”

I quickly replied: “No, don’t do that. It’s the JPS fault I’ll arrange my home visit for another day.”

Sarah then said: “There’s no need to do that, I’m only taking Mrs Martin for a quick run. It won’t take any more than an hour and a half so you’re…” Sarah stopped talking as the front door of this very impressive house opened and Jane appeared smiling.

Sarah, who was standing slightly nearer to the door, said: “Good morning, Jane, ready then?”

“Yes, Miss,” replied Jane.

The pit of my stomach tightened as I looked at her, her figure, her blonde hair, those eyes, that smile and that girly laugh. I really did have a crush on this woman and was already jealous of Sarah having all of Jane’s attention. Jane then looked at me and I smiled at her; she then returned my smile. Just her smile made me feel happy.

“I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon, Miss Richardson.”

I was immediately disappointed that she didn’t just address me as ‘Miss’ and nothing more; adding my surname made the conversation more informal and elevated her status to near equal, while just addressing me as only ‘Miss’ would have created a teacher/student or mistress/submissive dynamic; perhaps that latter scenario was wishful thinking on my part, I admitted. I quickly agreed in my mind that it was I was here to do a job and had better get on with it.

Getting my thoughts together, I said: “There was a mix up by the JPS, Jane, so I will re-schedule my home visit.”

Carrying on from where she left off, Sarah said: “Well, I will only need Mrs Martin for an hour and a half for a cross-country run, then she’s all yours.”

I thought I could see just the slightest smile on Jane’s face. I looked at her and tried to replicate her facial expression.

Sarah said: “Miss Richardson, why don’t you join us on the run?” Realising what she had said, she added: “No pun intended.”

Jane sniggered and again I couldn’t believe I was getting jealous of anyone other than me having Jane’s attention. As I didn’t have any suitable clothing for the run and a bitterly cold wind had picked up, the answer was going to be no. I was about to decline when I remembered the gym kit from yesterday still in my car.

Just as I was going to then accept the invitation, I remembered (how could I forget?) that I now didn’t possess a gym skirt, so I would be running around for the second day in a row in a jumper and gym knickers. Would it be humiliating? Probably. Would I feel exposed? Yes. Would it be embarrassing in front of Jane? Yes. Would I feel sexy? Yes. Would it be a massive turn on? Oh god yes, of course it would. I couldn’t believe this was happening again after yesterday.

I looked at Sarah and said: “Yes please, Miss Evans.”

I grabbed my bag from the car and Jane said I could get changed in the house. Sarah waited outside while Jane and I entered the house. The interior was also stunning, contemporary, but it suited the house; whoever chose the furniture and furnishings had very good taste and a lot of money.

Jane showed me into a spare bedroom and left. I stripped off to my underwear. I put the sports T-shirt and jumper on which I hoped would keep me warm enough. I pulled my green unbranded (although they did have four ‘go faster’ stripes on each side panel) gym knickers on and over the blue knickers that I was already wearing, before finally putting on my white ankle socks and then trainers. I walked to the front door where Jane and Sarah were standing talking. They both looked up, Jane even seemed slightly shocked.

Sarah smiled and said: “I can see you’re ready for this.”

By now, I had reached them and I said to Sarah: “I had to finish a module at school yesterday; that’s why I had this in the car.”

Sarah looked at me and said: “You have to wear that at school?”

I replied: “Yes, but we also get a gym skirt, although I don’t wear it for running.” This was not exactly true, but I didn’t want to go into the story of the lost skirt.

Sarah asked: “What school did you go to?”

“Wyners,” I said.

Sarah nodded and said: “Okay.”

Jane didn’t say anything and I got the sense she was holding something back. I looked at her and caught her off-guard staring at my legs. I turned slightly to avoid any awkward eye contact. As I tried to suppress a big smile I started to feel very, sexy.

Sarah said: “Ok, let’s get going. We will go in my car.” As Jane approached the car, Sarah looked at her and said: “In the back.”

“Yes, Miss,” replied Jane.

She had also changed at the same time as me and was now wearing a green track-suit top and blue tennis-type skirt; strange clothing for running, I thought. Sarah started the car and we left the house and turned right back towards Dunstan village.

Sarah turned to me and said: “We are going to go to Binwell. We know the farmer there and we have permission to run on his land. It’s a good little run.”

I nodded and we continued on.

Binwell was a tiny hamlet about three miles southwest of Dunstan with about half a dozen or so houses and a farmhouse on the main road. I had been through Binwell many times but never stopped. The journey was completed in silence and we soon pulled up in the farm yard. We all got out and Sarah immediately told Jane to warm up, which she did with various stretching exercises. I thought that was a good idea and did some myself.

One car passed through the hamlet and I became quickly reminded of what I was wearing as the driver did a double-take when she saw me.

Sarah, who had been texting while Jane and I were warming up, put her phone away and said to Jane: “Ok, get ready.”

Without saying anything, Jane took her tracksuit top off and put it in the car. It looked like she was wearing a very tight fitting red top; very strange, I thought. I continued looking at her as she undid her skirt button and it fell to her feet. Wow, what on earth was she wearing? It looked like a red swimsuit with the logo: ‘View From’ written on the back with black and blue side panels. The back was mostly all covered although the shoulder blades were slightly exposed. As Jane turned towards me, the front also had the ‘View From’ logo on it. I had never seen anyone wear one of these before; it was certainly more Baywatch than Binwell. “Sarah, what is Jane wearing?” I asked.

She said: “Oh, they are called sprint speed suits, or running leotards; out of fashion now but in the 1990s a lot of the track and field girls wore them for running, high jumping, pole vaulting, long jump that sort of thing. The prison service purchased a load of old stock from an ebay supplier and they are prison issue now.”

I was really surprised they expected grown women to wear this. I asked: “You mean, like, all women have to wear this?”

Sarah smiled and said: “No, not at all. Only the women who are able to do sport to quite a high level.”

I turned and looked at Jane who had our back to us and thought: ‘Or Sarah, do you mean only the women who are good looking, in good shape and have bums that you want to stare at for hours?’

I couldn’t really work Sarah out. She seemed equally nice, and then tough and not that chatty either. Jane did seem a little subdued. Sarah called Jane over and we went over the route, Sarah would lead and set the pace, Jane would follow her and I would follow Jane. I smiled. If there was ever an incentive to keep up, then I had one.

The wind had picked up a bit and it was now quite cold. I could see Jane was wearing a bra but could not see any other undergarment.

When Sarah went back to her car, I asked directly: “Are you wearing any knickers, Jane?”

“No, Miss,” came the matter of fact reply.

Just after answering, Jane then stuck each index finger just inside each leg of her leotard to pull out a ‘wedgie’, although I didn’t remember seeing one a moment earlier.

Sarah returned with a beanie hat and woollen gloves and gave them to Jane. I’m not sure if this was the prison service or Sarah’s logic to send a woman out running on a cold autumn day dressed in what was basically a swimsuit, and then give her a hat and gloves for warmth. Having said that, I had forgotten that I wasn’t wearing all that much more.

We started and ran a few yards along Binwell high street, if you can call it that, before turning off and running along a country track. Sarah was setting the pace just right and I was able to keep up. Even after two minutes, I had warmed up and was feeling good

Suddenly, Jane wearing that leotard didn’t seem quite as mad as it did a few minutes ago. The compression bandage on her left leg was still in place although I didn’t think she still needed it as her left leg looked exactly the same as the right one. The run continued and I started to feel a little tired although I didn’t want to fail in front of Jane, especially as I had her all to myself this afternoon.

After a good half hour of a shallow climb, we arrived at Binwell Hill. From here, you could see Draycott to the north and down to the coast, and Portsville to the south. It was a great view but Sarah didn’t stop. We then turned left down the hill back towards Binwell.

As we passed a wooded area we saw three lads who had obviously bunked off school.

“Good morning, ladies,” said the tallest lad who was probably around my age.

Sarah ignored him.

Jane replied: “Morning, Sir.”

I laughed at that while replying: “Alright,” to the tall lad who smiled back at me.

A few seconds later he shouted: “I can see your knickers.”

Still running, I looked behind me. He was tall and dark with a nice bit of stubble; my type of guy. He was fit. I jokingly stuck two fingers up at him and laughed. He smiled. It dawned on me this was the first guy I had liked the look of for months, after thinking about Jane so much.

We continued on at the same pace. The wind had picked up even more and Sarah’s white skirt was now constantly blowing up. She made no effort to do anything about it; it would have been futile anyway.

We had all been running for nearly an hour and I didn’t think I could keep it up much longer. We came to a field where I guessed a lot of farm machines had recently been used. It was muddy and bumpy and we all slowed down. Within a few minutes, we were ankle deep in mud with mud splashes up our legs. The wind was still howling and Sarah’s once spotless white skirt and knickers were sprayed in mud.

We got back onto the road for the final mile. A car passed us and I could see the occupants were stunned by what they were looking at. However, I didn’t care one bit. We had run over six miles non-stop. I just wanted to finish. I didn’t care who saw me like this anymore.

Binwell finally came into sight just ahead of us. Sarah slowed down and let Jane and I catch up. I think she was surprised I had managed to keep up.

“Ok, let’s race back to the car.”

At once Sarah and Jane broke into a run. I couldn’t manage it and just continued jogging. Ahead of me, I could see the leotarded Jane race ahead of Sarah and turn into the farmyard. By the time I arrived, Jane and Sarah had finished warming down and were getting into the car. Sarah had put a track suit on and there was a towel on the seat for me and Jane.

On the drive back I told Sarah how much I had enjoyed the run and she seemed genuinely pleased that I did.

We pulled up at Jane’s house and Sarah said to me: “Thanks, Stacey, you did well. I’ve got a half day today so will shower at home. She’s all yours.”

I smiled and replied: “Thanks.”

Jane opened her car door and said: “Thanks, Miss,” to Sarah.

“Same time next week, Jane.” She replied.

I got out of the car and Sarah drove off.

Jane got her front door key from under a plant pot. Looking at her now, I forgot about that lad we had passed on the run. I certainly wasn’t thinking about David now, or any other man for that matter. My feelings returned. She looked fantastic. In a minute, once inside her house, I could tell her to do anything; peel her leotard off, shower with me, followed by massage and spanking. Oh god, yummy.

I reminded myself again that I was at work, before I got too carried away. I would never tell Jane to do anything like that anyway without her consent. I would be in a lot of trouble; besides, I had a lot of respect for her. She opened her front door and we left our trainers outside before walking in.

Jane said: “There’s an on-suite bathroom in that room for you. I will have a shower as well and meet you back here.”

“Great,” I replied, although in the back of my mind I was hoping she might have said: ‘Please Miss, help me peel my leotard off me and let’s shower together.’

Again, this was fantasy and I was beginning to wonder if Jane had any feelings for me at all. During my quick shower I told myself I was being stupid about Jane. There were plenty of guys out there. Why was I fixating on this one woman who probably enjoyed my company and the spankings but was ultimately married, straight and unavailable?

Thinking about it, I was straight, or certainly had no lesbian feelings until I had met Jane. The feelings that I had for her were certainly lesbian. I couldn’t deny that so I either had to forget about her, or be brave enough to come out and ask her out. At the end of the month her period on licence expired and she would be out of my life. It was a now or never moment.

I got out of the shower and put my gym clothes in my bag. My blue knickers had also got splattered by mud so I couldn’t wear them and they went in the bag too although I had my tights so it would not be that cold. I came down and met Jane in the hall. It was approaching noon and I was behind schedule.

Jane made some coffee and I got her case file and my handbag from the car and put it on the dining room table. Jane came back in with the coffee and I started my adjudication.

“Mrs Jane Caroline Martin, I am charging you with losing a pair of prison issue knickers at JPS Portsville on Friday 25th August 2018, in contravention of HMP Send local prison rule 51. How do you plead?”

Jane immediately replied: “Guilty.”

I looked at her and said: “In light of your guilty plea, I now sentence you to corporal punishment at JPS Portsville today, Tuesday 6th of November 2018. Also, you will be undertaking a medical prior to this, in order to make sure you are fit for punishment.”

“Yes, Miss,” came the slightly downcast response, which I could understand given she had just run over six miles, probably not at her maximum, beating two girls both young enough to be her daughters and is then told she has to have a medical to prove her fitness.

I opened my handbag and passed the lost knickers back to her over the dining table. She smiled and said: “Thanks.”

Just at that moment, my phone rang and I assumed it was the JPS asking where I was. I walked out into the hall.

“Hello,” I said.

“Oh hello, is that Stacey?” Said the unknown caller.

“Yes it is, who is this?” I replied rather abruptly.

“Sorry to trouble you. It’s Rebecca,” came the response.

“Sorry, where are you from?” I said, confused.

“It’s Rebecca Martin from Wyners.”

Blimey, she sounded much friendlier than yesterday.

“Oh sorry, yes, of course.” I replied.

“If it’s a bad time I can call back,” she said.

“Yes, it is really. If you could call back tonight, that would be good,” I added. “I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”

Then I smiled and thought: ‘Well, I’m not, but your Mum will be soon.’

Rebecca replied: “No problem, will call later, bye.”

I walked back to the dining room. Looking at Jane, I said: “We are running a bit late, Jane. You better go up and get changed into some sports gear if you’ve got any.”

Jane got up and asked me to accompany her. We reached her bedroom and she opened a wardrobe.

“I’ve got other leotards or I can wear the standard prison gym kit, Miss.”

We agreed the standard kit would probably be the best option and, with me still standing next to her, she stripped down to her underwear, which was plain white and almost certainly prison issue. She then selected a yellow collar T-shirt, yellow jumper, black adidas race briefs and black gym skirt.

Watching her put them on, I couldn’t help but think how similar her prison gym uniform was to mine at Wyners school. Jane also put her ‘normal’ clothes on a swimming pool type hanger. The black jacket, white blouse and black skirt were on the hanger. She put her hold-ups, knickers, bra, and handbag in the basket below the hanger.

We then went to the car and Jane’s hanger went on the back seat. I put Jane’s case file in the boot. Jane then wisely decided she also wanted her handbag to go in the boot.

I drove quickly to Portsville and made up some time. The JPS building car park was pretty full but I managed to find a space without too much trouble and parked up. We got out but I didn’t lock the door. I walked around to the other side of the car.

Jane was expecting us to start walking to the building, but I stood there and said: “Take your skirt off.”

Jane was stunned and I saw a look of anger in her face when she said: “You can’t ask me to do that here.”

I looked at her and said: “Yes I can, and I’m not asking you, Martin, I’m telling you.”

She glared back at me. “You’re telling me, are you? Who the hell are you, anyway? Just an eighteen year old clueless stupid little kid. I’m old enough to be your mother and you have the nerve to tell me what to do?”

I was shocked. I couldn’t believe Jane could get like this but I admit I shouldn’t really have asked her to remove her skirt. On the other hand, she should never have responded to a JPS Officer like that. I think she then realised she could be in big trouble so she undid her skirt, took it off and opened the rear car door. After chucking the skirt on the back seat, she slammed the door shut and almost shouted: “Yes, Miss,” followed by: “Happy now?” She was obviously still angry.

We walked to the front of the JPS building. I could understand Jane’s anger. Nowadays you can see a lot of strange things and people, especially at place like the JPS, but even so a woman walking around in pants was on another level of weirdness. There were plenty of stares as we walked to the reception area just inside the main entrance doors of the building.

I introduced myself to the receptionist and asked for a female medic. She would be down in a few minutes, I was told. Jane was staring into space, trying her hardest to avoid any eye contact with any admin staff, receptionists, delivery drivers, offenders and their relatives or anyone else unfortunate enough to have to be in this building.

“Hey!”

I turned around. It was Mick, the building caretaker.

“Hey, Stace, it’s a shame you remembered.”

“Remembered what?” I said, confused.

“To wear your skirt,” said Mick.

Christ, I had put that photo out of my mind today. No doubt he was not the only one around here to have seen it.

“Won’t be doing that again,” I said.

Mick said: “Well, that’s a shame. I would love to see that smile again.”

I don’t know what that referred to but it made me laugh. I liked Mick. He was an older man but a right giggle, and I had had thoughts about accepting his advances in the past, but I wouldn’t be telling him I wasn’t wearing any knickers now.

He looked back at me and pointed to Jane. “I see it’s catching.”

“Long story,” I replied.

He nodded. He liked a laugh but knew when to stop. “Laters,” he said as he disappeared into his office.

I looked at a woman walking quickly down the stairs dressed in a blue tracksuit top, short white tennis skirt, ankle socks and trainers. It was exactly the same gear Sarah had been wearing, and I guessed this was the medic. The medic did in fact turn out to be a prison nurse and not exactly what I was expecting. Late forties, short blonde golden hair, 5’7” or so and very stern looking, and when she did smile it looked like an effort.

She took a folder from reception and we followed her up the stairs and then past my office, continuing left into a corridor I had never been down. We entered the first door on the left, which turned out to be a small gym. There were a number of chairs around the side of the gym. She pulled two out for us and instructed Jane to sit on the floor.

She introduced herself to Jane as Miss Andrews and gave her a run-down of what would happen before commencing the fitness medial. I sat back and watched as Jane started with climbing up what look liked a kids’ climbing frame, then she had to get to the other side of the frame using hoops which were suspended on ropes. It was difficult but she managed it.

She then had 15 minutes of running around the edge of the gym before being literally made to jump through hoops. Men’s Press ups, star jumps and squat thrusts followed before a slightly kinky wheelbarrow exercise where Miss Andrews held Mrs Martin by the thighs and then got her to walk around on her hands. It didn’t escape me, either, that Miss Andrews spent the whole time looking down at Mrs Martin’s bottom. It was tough physical exercise but I was pretty sure Jane would be more than capable of handling it.

Miss Andrews and Jane then ‘walked’ towards me, still in wheelbarrow mode. Miss Andrews, or Melanie as I learnt she was called, said they were going to have a five minute break before the second part. Melanie released Jane from the wheelbarrow position and let her stand up before pointing to the floor, saying: “Sit,” to Jane like she was talking to a dog.

I did feel sorry for Jane now. Jane sat and drew her legs up to her chin. Melanie asked what I wanted to drink and then left the gym for a few moments.

Jane looked at me and said: “I’m really sorry about earlier, I can explain.”

I looked at her and said: “Don’t worry, I shouldn’t have asked you to do that anyway.”

She smiled and said: “You weren’t asking me, you were telling me. Remember?”

“Yes I do,” I said.

“Am I in trouble, Miss?” Jane asked.

“No, of course not.” I said.

Jane replied: “Thank you,” before adding: “Can I ask why you wanted me to take my skirt off?”

“I can explain, but not now.”

Jane nodded and I asked: “Are we still friends, then?”

“Yes, of course we are,” said Jane.

I came off my chair and offered my hand to Jane, who took it. We looked at each other and we both leant forward. Just as our faces got closer, the door swung open and Melanie walked in with two plastic cups of coffee from the vending machine.

I did some quick thinking to explain why I was holding hands with Jane and said: “Mrs Martin thinks she is coming out with a rash on her hands.”

Thankfully Melanie seemed to believe it and said: “Well, better get it checked out with probation service doctors, and if it needs treating you will have to go back to prison, young lady.”

Jane, presumably out of relief that she had fallen for it, responded with a naughty schoolgirl style: “Yes Miiiiiiiiss!”

That was something I had done only yesterday myself. Jane also slightly shifted on the floor so she directly faced Miss Andrews, and opened her legs a little to give Miss Andrews an unrestricted view of her gusset; something I, and obviously Jane, suspected might be the type of thing that would float Miss Andrews’ boat, if you understand where I am coming from.

Miss Andrews and Jane then got up and set up the high jump equipment. I got the feeling Jane was going to be in for the high jump in both senses. The bar was set quite low but Jane was having problems. Even after removing her jumper there was still no progress. I could see Melanie Andrews getting rather frustrated at Jane’s poor performance.

Without any warning, she took her skirt off and did a couple of high jump demonstrations. Like Jane, she was in good shape but had none of Jane’s girly ways or charm that I liked, and quite frankly was not as good-looking either. Also like Jane, she was wearing white knickers; exactly the same type Sarah appeared to be wearing this morning. What was it with the prison service and white underwear, I thought?

Finally, Jane managed to firstly jump the first bar height and then the next one which was a good six inches higher. Thankfully, Melanie seemed very pleased.

The high jump equipment was put away and some high intensity interval training started. Just as Jane was starting to flag, Melanie saw a woman in a white coat walk past in the corridor and ran out to her without having put her skirt back on.

She shouted: “Miss, Miss,” to get her attention.

I could see the woman had stopped and they had a conversation. They both walked back into the gym. It turned out, perhaps not unsurprisingly, the woman in the white coat was a doctor and she asked to see Jane’s hands.

“There’s no rash here at all. Why did you think something was wrong?” Said the doctor.

Jane muttered a pretty unconvincing response.

Miss Andrews then said: “Erm, not too sure about you, Mrs Martin. I think it was more like an excuse so you could hold hands with your young Miss. In fact I’ve got a good mind to report you for LA.”

The doctor left and the high intensity training resumed. After a further ten minutes the session finished and Jane, totally exhausted, lay on her back and put her hands up to her head. I’m really not sure what came over me but I got up and walked over to her. She seemed oblivious to my presence and I bent over, put my hands on the top of her knickers and pulled. She stretched and straightened hers leg which helped me de-brief her.

Melanie, who had now put her skirt back on, came over and asked Jane to sit up. By this time, another woman and physical exercise instructor were at the other side of the gym talking. Jane sat up and raised her legs to her chin. It was just how I was sitting yesterday in the St John’s Ambulance training, but at least I was wearing pants. This was so much more embarrassing.

Melanie seemed to be giving Jane a bit of a telling-off, for some reason. Then she got up, telling me: “Back in a minute,” as she passed.

I went over to Jane who looked up and asked me: “Why did you pull my pants down?”

I looked her in the eye and said: “Sorry, shouldn’t have done that. I will explain later. Are you angry with me?”

Jane shook her head.

“What was she on about, reporting you for LA? What on earth’s that?” I asked.

Jane laughed and said: “Lesbian Activity.”

“What, with me?” I giggled.

Jane smiled and said: “Yep you can be reported for LA for anything from full on action to holding hands.”

I didn’t reply but realised how stupid I was for taking her hand here of all places. It nearly landed Jane in trouble, and possibly me.

“Where’s Miss Andrews gone?” I asked.

“She’s just about to belt me,” said Jane.

I was just going to tell Jane I thought I was supposed to be doing that when Miss Andrews returned holding what appeared to be an old leather chastity belt type thing with hand restraints sown into the back.

Jane was instructed to stand and step into the device, which she did. Miss Andrews then stood behind Jane and reached between her legs and grabbed the leather ‘front to back’ strap which she then pulled up to the rear section of the waist belt. She pulled it fairly tight and the small leather strap sunk into Jane’s bum crack. She then put Jane’s arms into the restraints and did them up.

“We are finished here, you did ok, Mrs Martin,” was Miss Andrews’ assessment of Jane’s performance.

We followed Miss Andrews down to reception, Jane in front of me. If being at reception in pants was bad enough, wearing a g-string type chastity device was awful. We got to reception in thirty seconds and I stood closely behind Jane to minimise embarrassment.

Melanie gave a form to the receptionist and bade me goodbye. The receptionist typed some information into a computer, smiled at me and said: “She’s fit for punishment, take her away.”

I needed to get Jane’s clothes from my car so I told Jane to wait at reception and I jogged to the car and back. I could not have been gone more than two minutes but by the time I got back there had been a disturbance in reception. There were three or four security guards holding a man down and a woman was shouting at Jane from behind another security guard.

The receptionist told me the man had been making advances at Jane and then, when she ignored him, he lunged at her, managing to grope her for a few seconds before security stepped in. I was unsure what the still shouting woman’s role in all this was. What a day this was turning into.

“I’m really sorry, Jane,” I said.

‘This woman is going to hate me before long,’ I thought.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault,” came her sympathetic response.

We quickly walked up the stairs towards my office where I would plan the punishment. My manager’s office door opened. Lisa Williams appeared and asked us to come in to her office.

“Can I second on Mrs Martin’s punishment?” Lisa asked me.

Being in front of Jane, I didn’t want to address Lisa by her first name, so I said: “Yes please, Miss. I was just going to think about who I could get.”

It didn’t go unnoticed by Lisa that I had called her ‘Miss’ and she smiled. I think this was the first time I had addressed any woman as ‘Miss’ other than at school and I have to admit it turned me on a bit.

There was a knock at the door and a young woman in her, I guessed, mid-twenties came in. Lisa introduced her as the ‘observer’ only and she remained standing. There was a small room attached to Lisa’s office with a bed and a shower unit in it. Lisa pointed to the door and said to Jane: “OK, go to that room. Shower, change and be back here in five minutes,” adding to the observer: “Ob, let her out of the belt and supervise her shower.”

I gave the newly named ‘Ob’ Jane’s clothes hanger and they entered the room and closed the door. We walked towards Lisa’s desk which was located near to the door Jane went into. After around four minutes, Jane walked back in.

Lisa looked up sternly. “Hang on, Martin. You knock when you enter a JPS Officer’s office. Do it again.”

Jane walked back to the room. Seconds later, there was a knock.

“Enter,” commanded Lisa.

Jane walked in and stood still. Lisa walked round her, inspecting her clothes. She found a little bit of Jane’s blouse that had come untucked from her skirt.

“Why are you presenting yourself to a JPS officer with your blouse not tucked in? It’s not good enough. Go back in and try again.”

Jane went back into the room for a few moments then knocked.

“Enter,” commanded Lisa again. As soon as Jane entered the room, Lisa, without even looking at her, barked: “Strip.”

That was pretty tough on Jane. There seemed to be a side to Lisa that I didn’t know about. It didn’t seem to faze Jane, though, and she started to quickly strip. The ‘Ob’ motioned to Jane to hand her each item of clothing. First, her skirt came off. She undid her blouse buttons quickly and gave it to ‘Ob’. She speedily removed the hold-ups from each leg, again giving them to ‘Ob’.

Standing in her knickers and bra, she paused just for a second or two probably trying in her mind to come to terms with what was about to happen. Both hands reached behind her back as she undid her bra; both breasts remained firm after her bra was removed. I stared at her breasts. They were slightly larger than mine, but firm with small nipples. A lot of women would kill for those, I thought.

The Observer, aka ‘Ob’, was inspecting Jane’s bra then, having found something, said to Lisa: “Prison Brassiere.”

I nearly laughed at her description.

Jane then pulled her knickers down and offered them to ‘Ob’. Again she looked for the label and said: “Pants,” before correcting herself a moment later saying instead: “Prison Knickers.”

Again I nearly chuckled.

‘Ob’ then handed Jane a red dressing gown which she put on along with a pair of flip flops. We left Lisa’s office and headed for the punishment rooms. Lisa told me that HMP Kingston were using the punishment rooms today and that the punishment room area was temporarily designated as a prison. As such, ahead of us were two overlapping office partition screens manned by two women prison officers; this point designating the change of jurisdiction between JPS and HMP.

We were then by overtaken by two women, one in smart civilian clothes who I recognised as a JPS Officer, but didn’t know her name. The other was completely nude apart from a pair of flip flops and she held both arms up keeping her hands on her head.

They both stopped at the temporary check-point and we quickly caught them up. The woman’s hands remained on her head whilst talking to the two prison offers. I glanced at her for a couple of seconds. She was, I guessed, early twenties, possibly eastern European. They were then waved through, although not before she glared back at me before walking on, her fleshy bum disappearing into the dark corridor.

Lisa and I provided our JPS ID cards. The ‘Ob’ also provided her Ministry of Justice ID card. I looked down at her card and discovered her name was Kate Beatty. The two women prison officers looked at Jane and she responded with: “Martin, C8976541, Miss.”

One prison officer looked down at her notes and I could see in the corner of my eye Jane fiddling with her dressing gown. The prison officer looked up and nodded. Then Jane did something I don’t think I will ever forget. She opened her dressing gown and exposed herself to one officer who nodded, then turned slightly to the other officer while keeping her gown open. The second officer nodded and we were waived through. Although this took only a matter of seconds, I don’t think I had ever seen anything so weird or damn kinky before in my life. We walked the short distance up the corridor to room P1 and entered.

Punishment room P1 didn’t look as though it had been used since that August day when I had first spanked Mrs Martin. I looked around the room. There was a wall clock, a medical cabinet, a desk with two chairs either side and, of course, the horizontal St Andrews cross.

Lisa then produced a blindfold and told Jane to put it on. She guided her to the St Andrews cross and Jane climbed on aided by Lisa. I walked over to assist. I wondered why Jane couldn’t be blindfolded once in position, but without too much trouble Jane managed to get in position face down on the cross. The hand and ankle restraints were then fastened and I walked back to Jane’s feet.

Lisa looked at me and I received tacit approval from her to go first. I stepped forward and looked directly down at Jane’s lovely bottom, rounded but firm, and delightfully spankable. I told myself to savour the moment; this was probably never going to happen again.

“Ready, Mrs Martin?” I asked.

“Yes, Miss,” came Jane’s instant reply.

I raised my right arm and as my hand forcefully connected with both cheeks of Mrs Martin’s derriere, you could hear the sharp SMACK of hand to bottom contact.

Jane let out an: “Arrgg,” and then said: “Yes Miss.”

I then raised my arm again and delivered a harder blow, this time without warning. SMACK. It caught Jane off guard and she cried out: “Ouucccchhhhhhh,” more for my benefit than in genuine pain and surprise, I assumed. I then heard another: “Yes, Miss.”

I looked down at her bum; it was already getting slightly red. I said: “Here we go,” before raising my arm even higher and then forcing my hand again onto both cheeks of the lower part of her bum. WHACK. This was really hard.

“AAAAArrrggggggggg! Oohhhh! Ouch,” muttered Jane before she slightly lowered her head and shifted very slightly before giving a slightly desperate: “Yes, Miss.”

I looked at her bum again; already it had taken a pounding. I raised my arm again and struck her right buttock only. SMACK. This was not as hard as the first three and I detected some relief in her voice as she announced: “Yes, Miss.” I lifted my hand again and did the same with the left buttock.

Again Jane said: “Yes, Miss.”

I heard another person say: “Miss,” and turned around to Lisa who was holding a leather paddle.

I walked over to her with my back to Kate, smiled and said: “Thanks, Miss.”

Lisa, who was facing Kate, couldn’t smile but gave a knowing nod. I walked back in between Jane’s spread legs and looked at her bum. It was by now glowing.

“Ready, Mrs Martin?” I asked.

“Yes, Miss,” came the unsurprising reply. What else could she say, I thought? ‘No I’m not. Give me two minutes’ or ‘Please Miss, can we stop I’ve had enough?’

I raised the paddle and crashed it on the lower part of her buttocks. THUD. Jane tensed her bum and drew an audible intake of breath, before breathing out saying: “Oh god,” under her breath. She regained her composure and said: “Yes, Miss.”

I then raised the paddle again and spanked her right buttock slightly softer. Before she had the chance to say anything, I quickly raised the paddle up and crashed it against her left buttock. W-H-A-C-K. This was the hardest one so far and it caught her off guard.

“Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggg! Oh god, please no, Jesus.” She strained her arms and legs against their restraints and then started to move her buttocks up and down against the cross in a bid to cope with the pain. I have to admit that it made me feel good that I had got Jane into this state even though I didn’t want to hurt this poor woman. Jane belatedly said: “Yes Miss.”

I returned the paddle to Lisa and walked back to Jane. I raised my hands and gave her another bare hand spanking across the full buttock. WHACK. This was hard but nowhere near as hard as the paddle and, again, I detected a thankful: “Yes, Miss.”

I looked down at Jane’s now red behind. I was sure this would be the last time I ever spanked Jane and for a few seconds I placed both hands on her buttocks. When I removed them I gave her left buttock a little pinch before raising my arm and then, seconds later, connecting with her rear. THUD. It did not connect that well and I’m sure it didn’t hurt. In fact, I didn’t mind that at all. I really didn’t want to hurt her anyway. “Yes, Miss,” said Jane.

I looked at Lisa and said: “Over to you, Miss.”

She stepped forward and said to Jane: “Ok, Jane, ready?”

I could hear the dread in Jane’s voice as she said: “Yes, Miss.”

I stood back as Lisa paddled Jane’s bum hard. SMACK. “Arrrrrrgggg.” Jane moved her head down and then back to its resting position before saying: “Yes, Miss.”

Lisa lifted the paddle again, this time SMACKING it on her left buttock. Jane tensed her buttocks and legs and I could see she was stretching her legs and ankles against the restraints. Jane let out a tired: “Yes, Miss,” and I could see she was getting tired.

I hoped Lisa would take it easy on her. Thankfully she must have read my mind as she put the paddle down and used her hand to again SMACK the lower end of both buttocks. Jane did tense her bum slightly but I thought it was more to demonstrate that she was actually feeling it and for Lisa not to go any harder. She let out another: “Yes, Miss,” and she sounded almost contented. I guessed this could be, in some way, partly enjoyable for her. It certainly was for me.

Lisa then raised her arm and her hand connected again with Jane’s now sore bum. Jane let out an: “Aaarrrrggghhhh” She tensed her bum again and said: “Yes, Miss.”

I thought this would be it as the spanking had been hard and Jane did seem both mentally and physically tired.

“Miss, I don’t know how much more of this I can handle,” Jane almost pleaded.

“Shut up,” was Lisa’s quite nasty response.

I didn’t think this was right and I squeezed Jane’s shoulder to give her some comfort.

Lisa then paddled her hard again and Jane cried out: “Arrrrgggggggg!” I’m sure she was close to tears.

Lisa then said: “Ok, that’s it. I will let you off the last one, seeing as you can’t handle it. Miss will now apply some cream.”

Kate said: “I’ll get some from the cabinet.”

I had forgotten she was there, and that must have meant she was doing her job as an ‘observer’ well. Again I squeezed Jane’s shoulder and whispered in her ear: “You brave girl,” and I really meant it. I would have loved to have kissed her as well now but obviously couldn’t.

Kate came back with a small round black and silver tub of cream and a slightly quizzical look on her face. She held the tub up for me and I read it. It turned out to be branded ‘after spank cream’. Someone naughty in the JPS had replaced the Arnica Cream I had used in August with something slightly racier.

Lisa asked Kate: “Are you happy to massage her bum?”

Kate replied instantly: “Yes, Miss!”

Yes, I bet she was. I really wanted to do that. Kate then said: “I’m just going to put some cream onto your bum, Mrs Martin.”

“Yes, Miss,” said Jane.

I loved it, how we were all calling each other ‘Miss’. Kate undid the Jar and rubbed the cream into Jane’s bottom. I could see Kate was loving this and, without looking at Jane’s face, hearing her contented sighs I knew Jane was as well.

After about ten minutes of pure bliss for Kate and Jane, Lisa said: “I think that is enough now. Leave her in position for another ten minutes for the cream to sink in.”

Lisa went out of the room, returning a couple of minutes later with Jane’s clothes hanger. Ten minutes passed and Lisa told me to release Jane’s legs and let her get up. I held Jane’s hand and she slowly dismounted the cross and got to her feet, and I then removed her blindfold. Lisa gave the clothes hanger to Jane and briskly told her to get dressed.

Jane looked at Lisa and asked: “Please, Miss, can I leave my knickers off?”

Lisa looked at me and said: “Miss Richardson?”

I was not sure why Lisa was giving me this authority, but I looked at Jane and said: “Yes.”

Jane quickly put her bra and blouse on, followed by her hold-ups and skirt. Just as she put her shoes on and stood up straight, Lisa said to Jane: “Well, you’ve got all your stuff so there’s no need to come back into my office. I will now log your punishment on the JPS Intranet. You did well today, Mrs Martin, but this is the last time I want to see you here. Your licence period ends at the end of this month and you’re a bit too old for all this nonsense, aren’t you, Jane?”

Jane replied: “Yes, I am, Miss.”

Before Kate could say anything, I said: “I’m taking her home.”

Lisa then left after finally wishing Jane the best of luck, as did Kate. That left Jane and me standing in punishment room P1 alone. It had now just gone 7.00pm. We were hours behind schedule.

I looked at Jane and said: “It’s been such a long day, hasn’t it?”

She nodded.

I took her arm and said: “Let’s get you home.”

We walked down the corridor. The partitions had gone and I guessed HMP had now returned to JPS. We walked down the stairs and,as I passed reception, one of the ladies said, with a knowing smile: “Have a good evening, ma’am.”

I said: “Thank you, and you.” I’m sure it was the woman who I had spoken to last night on the phone about Jane’s medical.

A TA soldier who was standing just inside the main door recognised me as a JPS Officer and saluted me. I acknowledged his salute and continued walking though the main revolving doors. Jane didn’t say anything but I wondered if this impressed her or not, it was difficult to say.

We got in the car and I said: “Sorry, but we ran over time in there. I need about another hour or so with you. Can I come back to your house to finish the interview process?”

“No problem at all,” Replied Jane.

There was still quite a lot of traffic trying to get out of the city and we hit a traffic jam.

Jane turned to me and said: “Do you mind if I ask you a question about today?”

I was a bit nervous it might be a bad one, but said: “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

She waited a few seconds then said with a smile: “You pinched my bum, didn’t you?”

I looked at her and said: “Yes, I wanted to get to know you better.”

She laughed almost hysterically.  “I wouldn’t normally let someone do that to me unless they’d bought me dinner first.”

I suddenly had a thought. “That’s an idea. With all this traffic, we’re going nowhere very fast. Do you fancy a bite to eat?”

“Great! That would be good,” said Jane.

I said: “Well, I’m buying.”

Jane looked at me, still with that big smile on her face. “Thank you, and so you should!”

I laughed; she was funny. We decided on our venue. It was either going to be ‘The Bay of Bengal’, a great Indian that I used to go to a lot with David, or an Italian restaurant, which I also liked. Jane had the casting vote, she chose Italian.

We parked up and walked in. We were shown to our table for two, and sat down. The restaurant must have been about two thirds full; not bad for an early weekday evening. There was a guy playing a piano and an indoor tree with white lights on it. The smell of the pizza’s cooking mixed in with the smell of coffee, ladies perfume and men’s cologne, along with the tasteful décor, made you forget you were in Portsville and somehow transported you for the hour or so you were in there to somewhere slightly more pleasant and affluent; ok, a lot more pleasant and affluent.

For starters, Jane ordered Arancini and I ordered some bread and olives. The waiter then asked us for our drink order. I ordered a coke and Jane ordered an Italian Chardonnay.

The drinks came and, before she took a slip, she said to me: “I had an awful row with Amy the other day.”

I’m not sure what that had to do with me but I said: “What about?”

Jane said: “Me having a drink.”

“You’re not an alcoholic, are you Jane?” I said, slightly taken aback.

Jane laughed. “No, not at all, but Amy said one of my licence conditions was that I was not allowed alcohol and she would be in big trouble if I was caught drinking.  My friend came over last night and Amy didn’t give me permission to drink, it was so embarrassing.”

I should really have known the rules on this, but I didn’t. I reached into my bag and found Jane’s licence. There were a couple of sentences relating to alcohol on Jane’s licence. She was not banned from drinking but it was a little vague and inferred that some supervision might be necessary.

I said to Jane: “Yes, I can imagine that was uncomfortable but I can see what she means. Basically it’s open to interpretation. Ok, as you have only three weeks left on your licence, I don’t think it will be too restrictive If I stipulate that you only drink alcohol in the presence of either of your custodians, with their approval, for the duration or quantity that they allow. Fair enough, Jane?” I asked.

She looked directly at me and said: “Yes,” then took a big gulp of wine before putting the glass down and adding: “Miss,” in what I was sure was her ‘sexy voice’.

I smiled and replied: “I didn’t give you permission, Jane.”

She laughed. “You will have to spank me again, then, won’t you, Miss?”

Just as she said that the waiter arrived with the starters. It looked really nice and being both hungry we ate quickly. We finished the starters and Jane had almost finished the wine.

I pointed to the wine glass and asked: “Another one, Jane?”

“Please, that would be nice,” she said adding: “This place is not cheap. I don’t want to give you a big bill.”

I could afford it and probably it should even be put on JPS expenses, but I wasn’t going to do that, and I had my overdue wages coming at anytime, so it was no problem.

“Don’t worry, Jane, It’s my pleasure.” And it was it really was.

The second glass of wine and coke came, and shortly afterwards the pizza’s. Jane had ordered a Margarita and I had a Fiorentina. It was really nice and we laughed and joked; she was such a nice woman I felt guilty that I was involved in any sort of punishment of her, let alone whacking her bum, but I had to admit I suspected she liked it. I was beginning to feel soporific. It had been such a long day. The run, driving to the JPS building and everything that had gone on had drained me but I was so happy being in the company of this woman I had a crush on.

We passed on desserts but ordered coffee and as the lights dimmed I looked at Jane and thought she looked gorgeous. She laughed at me looking so intently at her.

Just at that moment, the waiter put the coffees down and said: “You two are so happy, any special occasion?”

Despite feeling on top of the world being with Jane, I just said: “No, not really.”

The waiter responded by saying: “Oh, sorry. The way you were looking at each other I thought you were partners.”

I laughed. “Oh, no, erm, we are just…” I paused, trying to find the right word, then said: “Friends.”

Jane laughed it off.

The waiter said: “Enjoy the coffee.”

I took a sip of coffee. Just as I put the cup down, Jane took my hand and said: “Seriously, thank you for looking after me, Stacey.”

I was a bit surprised, but pleased she had used my first name for the first time and held her hand.

“That was the least I could do. You never should have been in this situation to begin with.”

She replied: “Thank you,” waited for a few seconds, then with a smile said: “You’re going to put me on report now for calling you Stacey, aren’t you?”

“Depends on how you behave, young lady.” I said, smiling.

Jane laughed and said: “I’ll be a good girl for you, Miss.”

“You’d better be,” I said.

I paid the bill and we left. What a fantastic time I had with her, but I feared this was the last time I would see her. By the time we left Portsville the traffic had gone and we got back to Draycott slightly after 9.00pm.

I pulled into the drive and said: “Nice place you have here.”

Jane looked at me and said: “Well, it’s not mine by any means. Steve is the one who has paid for it.”

I didn’t reply and stopped when we got to the house.

Her BMW was on the drive and I asked her: “I didn’t see that this morning.”

“My sister took Harry and a few of his friends out today in the car,” Jane stated.

“How old is Harry?” I asked.

Jane said: “He’s 15, the girls are 18 and 20.”

I nodded. We got out of the car and Jane opened the front door. Just as we were walking to the TV room, Jane’s son and sister appeared.

“Eleanor, this is Miss Richardson, my JPS Officer.”

We smiled and said hello. Jane didn’t formally introduce me to Harry but we also smiled and said hello to each other. Apparently Eleanor was staying over for the night as she didn’t want to drive back to London at that time of night. Jane told Eleanor that we would need to work in the dining room for around an hour. Eleanor offered to make everyone tea or coffee, and I asked for a coffee.

With the four of us standing there, I said to Jane: “Are you sure you’re ok working another hour, Jane?”

Without any thought she said: “Yes, Miss.”

Both Eleanor and Harry did a double take and then carried on as if nothing had happened. We got to the dining room and Eleanor came in with the coffee. She was older and taller than Jane, but didn’t have the same girly warmth or laughter that Jane did. Eleanor left and shut the door and we got round to business.

I said: “Firstly, Jane, I appreciate your good manners, but you don’t have call me ‘Miss’ in front of any of your friends or family.”

She smiled and said: “Oh, don’t worry. Most of them have seen ‘Bad Girls’. They know the score. In fact, when I came out of prison that was the first thing some of my friends asked me.”

“Asked you what?” I enquired.

“What I called the prison officers,” she replied.

“And so you said?” I asked.

“Sir or Miss, of course,” said Jane.

“What did they say?”

Jane laughed and said: “I got a number of opinions. Gemma said it was a bit kinky. Linda reckoned it was degrading. Tina said it would turn her on. Elaine said it was a power trip. Vicky said it would be humiliating for her, and Polly said it was sexy. Sarah said it was just weird.”

“And how do you feel about it?” I asked.

“All of the above,” laughed Jane, which was, I guess, code for: ‘I don’t want to answer that question, Miss’.

I opened her case file and we went through the formalities of the termination of the licence in just over three weeks. Jane was about as low risk as you could get and we worked speedily through the process. On one of the last pages I noticed there was a legal case pending in her file.

“Jane, what’s this?” I asked, pointing to a sentence reading: ‘Martin v BWM Publishing.’

She said: “I’m taking a photographer to court over a photograph that appeared in South Today.”

“Of you?” I said.

“Yes, of me arriving at court for sentencing.”

“Why would you take someone to court for that?” I asked.

Jane got up and walked to a cabinet. She got some papers out and then put the photo in front of me. I could then see why.

She had just climbed the steps going up to the entrance to Portsville Crown Court and then collapsed; three guys were attending to her. Jane’s legs were slightly raised up and then the photographer took a photo. You couldn’t see Jane’s face as people had crowded around her, but he had somehow managed to get a perfectly focused picture of up her skirt, of her black hold ups and white knickers. I could totally understand Jane’s fury.

I asked Jane: “What happened?”

She said: “I had already been found guilty and was bailed for sentencing. By the time I had to go to court for sentencing I had got myself into such a state about going to prison. After climbing those steps, I saw a prison officer for the first time walk towards me, and I fainted. The photographer, who had already taken a few photographs of me walking up the stairs, then took advantage of my predicament and took this photo.”

She then showed me a second photograph and continued.

“The prison officer realised I had only fainted and lifted my legs up so the blood ran back down my body. The photographer then managed to snap this shot. Thankfully, as you can see, the prison officer’s legs stood in the way of my bum.”

I looked at the photo again. It was not done in the best of taste, especially given the circumstances.

I replied: “At least the prison officer done the right thing.”

Jane laughed. “She knew exactly what she was doing. You should always raise the person’s legs when they faint.”

Remembering yesterday’s events, I laughed and said: “Yes, I know. I learnt that at school. By the way, did that prison officer turn out to be that scary?”

“No not at all. She was only coming out to see how I was and to reassure me about the court process. We got on really well when I was in prison.”

I didn’t want to hear about Jane getting on well with anyone else, so I continued.

“So, it was the first photo one which was published?”

“Yes, that’s the one we are going to court over,” Jane said.

I looked at the photo again and saw the photographer’s name: BW Mitchell. That was the guy who took the photo of me yesterday.

I asked Jane: “You don’t have a copy of yesterday’s South Today paper by any chance?”

Jane smiled and said: “Oh, the one of you being lifted up in your little sports pants?”

I smiled back at her and said: “Yes, that’s the one.”

She walked over to the magazine holder, picked it up and gave it to me.

“It’s not like I’m keeping it or anything.” She said.

I turned to the inside back page. Sure enough, there I was and I looked at the photographer’s name in small writing at the bottom left of the picture: BW Mitchell. It seemed this guy had a bit of track record for this sort of thing. I decided to leave it at that. Jane was, of course, completely free to take legal action against anyone she wanted.

I said to Jane: “That’s the same guy that took both of our photos.”

“That figures,” said Jane.

“One more question, Jane: “Do you always wear white underwear and black hold ups?”

She laughed and said: “I’ve got plenty of different coloured underwear, but I’ve only seen you when you’ve been in your JPS capacity, and then I have to wear white, don’t I?”

I nodded and she continued.

“As for the black hold ups, that’s personal preference. I do wear tights sometimes, but I find hold ups more comfortable.”

I nodded. “Fair enough. So how come you were wearing white knickers before you went to prison then?”

Jane said: “You could get them supplied when you arrived in prison, but I was worried I might get some second-hand ones which they occasionally issue. The other option was to buy them before going in.”

“Where from?”

“Debentans in Draycott or Portsville. Tell the cashier they are prison knickers. They will ask for your surname and then take them around the back and stitch the name in for you. It avoids any problem with them being stolen, etc.”

I asked her: “What about the prison number that’s on all of your knickers that I’ve seen?”

Jane said: “That’s added on in prison, and by the way, the same goes for bras. So don’t just buy five pairs of knickers, you have to buy the bra’s as well.”

“Well, I can’t buy them anyway, can I?” I said.

Jane replied: “Yes, anyone can, as long as you make sure you’re buying the right bra and nicks. Tell the cashier you’re going to prison and they will  stitch  your surname in.”

“Isn’t that a bit embarrassing?” I asked.

Jane admitted this, saying: “Yes, of course it is, but it’s better than running the risk of wearing second-hand underwear.” Jane walked to the magazine holder again and got out the Debentans catalogue. “Here they are if you’re interested; the knickers are item code 1580103020 and bra 1520104020. If you don’t buy these then the cashier won’t accept them when you tell them what they are for.”

I said: “Thanks.” I wasn’t going to deny that I was interested. I then asked Jane for the order code for the photograph, which she gave me. We were almost done.

I started putting my paperwork into the file and generally clearing up when Jane said: “Miss, I would like to apologise for my behaviour earlier today in the car park.”

I replied: “No apologies needed, Jane, it was completely wrong of me to ask you to do that anyway.”

Jane retorted: “But even so, I was wrong to speak to you like that and I do owe you an apology and explanation.”

I said: “Ok, if you feel the need to.”

Jane went into details about her personal life, mostly about her spouse. It seemed that despite being married to Steve Martin, her marriage was no laughing matter and they were thinking about divorcing. This was making her snap when she was under pressure.

“Jane, you really should have told me about this before,” I told her. I didn’t want to sound like a primary school teacher but as she was in my custody it was something she should have informed me about before.

Jane said: “I know, sorry, Miss.”

I let it go and got up. “Well, that’s about it, Mrs Martin. Please remember you are still in mine and your daughter’s custody until 23:59 on the 29th of November. After that, you will no longer be under JPS authority. Until then, please remember to comply with your licence conditions and tell Amy about the conversation we had about you drinking alcohol.” I looked her straight in the eye and said: “On a more personal note, I don’t think you should ever have been brought before the courts, let alone been sent to prison and having to deal with me and the JPS system. It really was a pleasure meeting you, Jane, and in other circumstances I’m sure we would be great friends. I wish you all the best for the future.”

I held out my hand she took it.

“We are friends though, aren’t we?”

I took a step closer to her and said: “Yes, of course we are.”

She turned her face so I could give her a kiss on the cheek. Just as I moved towards her, the door opened and we both stepped back. It was Eleanor, who offered us another coffee.

I said I was just on my way out and I said goodbye to Harry, Eleanor and finally Jane who thanked me for dinner. Back in my car, I put my file on the passenger seat and waved one last time to Jane, who was standing at the door. I put the key in the ignition and drove away, tears streaming down my face. I liked Jane a lot and felt that I should never have got retribution today for the events of yesterday with Jane’s daughter. I had got pay back from Jane big time.

I drove slowly back trying to get myself together before going back to the apartment. I arrived in Falcon Mews, parked up and walked to the flat. I turned the key and entered. There was no sign of my boyfriend, which was good. I needed to be alone.

I poured myself a Bacardi and coke and sat back on the sofa. What a day! And I thought yesterday was manic. After another drink I got my laptop out and googled: ‘Women’s sprint speed suit’. Bingo! I couldn’t believe it; they still sold them, exactly the same ones as Jane wore this morning. I ordered one each in black, red and blue and another red one made by Mizuno, all by expedited shipping.

I ran the bath and went to the fridge. ‘There is a god,’ I thought as I discovered an unopened bottle of white wine. I quickly poured a large glass and went back to the bathroom and poured some of my favourite bath oil in. I took my clothes off and slowly climbed into the now full hot bath. I sat back in the hot bath and slipped the cold wine, heaven.

After a fantastically relaxing soak I climbed out.  It had to be fairly late now. I looked at my phone; the reading said: ‘21:47 06/11/18’, not quite as late as I had feared. I put the phone back down and stood in front of the mirror thinking back to that girl earlier in the day. I put my hands on my head and laughed but I kept them there and before very long I was starting to feel a bit turned on.

Still feeling sexy, I managed to find the one pair of hold ups that I own and put them on. I got my silk dressing down and put that on also. The last two days had drained me and, although it seemed like I was wimping out, I sent a text Lisa to see if I could have tomorrow off. I still had a few days holiday left. She text back saying no problem, then asked how the home visit with Jane had gone. I said it had been fine, which it was, and we left it at that. She probably wanted to get to bed now, I thought.

Knowing that I didn’t have to get up early tomorrow, I relaxed a bit and returned to the mirror just inside the bathroom. Standing in front of it, I opened the dressing gown and ‘flashed’ at myself. I was still young and looked good, and I imagined ‘flashing’ to those two prison officers like Jane had done this afternoon. I carried on opening and closing my gown in front of the mirror, getting more and more turned on. Jane had to have liked doing this even if it was only for a couple of seconds.

I poured myself another white wine and by now I was feeling very aroused. I draped my dressing gown on the red leather sofa before lying down on it. I really did want to see David now but guessed tonight would probably be another no show.

Just as I picked the glass up for another sip, the phone rang. Startled, I spilt some wine on my legs.

I picked the phone up and said: “Hello.”

“Hi Stacey, it’s Rebecca Martin,” the young female voice replied.

Slightly tipsy and still very much aroused, I said: “Sorry about earlier, Miss.”

“No problem, Stacey. I just wanted a word about your required attendance at Wyners. As you know, you were put on report for losing your gym skirt yesterday, and as a result of that you are up on a disciplinary. I know you work full-time so I would like you to come in at 9.00am sharp on Saturday.”

Light-headed, and feeling sexy and submissive, I said: “Yes, of course, Miss.”

“Good,” was the straightforward reply from Rebecca who paused and then asked: “Any questions?”

“Yes, Miss. Do you want me to wear my school uniform?”

“Yes, of course,” replied Rebecca.

“How long will I to be there for?” I asked.

“Oh, probably around three hours,” said Rebecca.

“What will happen, Miss?” I asked.

“Firstly there will be some form of penalty for your offence. Secondly I will decide on an activity that would be of benefit to the school. We are lagging behind in the cross-country league at the moment so probably a 10K cross country run to gain us some valuable league points. You’re still a schoolgirl, Stacey, until I sign you off, so if you do the run we will qualify for some league points.”

“But Miss, will I have to do the run in gym kit as I’ve lost my skirt?”

There was a pause before Rebecca responded: “I should really make you run in gym knickers, given that it’s your own fault for losing your skirt. But, as it will be a Saturday and you’ll most likely be running out of the school grounds, I will let you wear suitable sports kit of your choice.”

‘Great! I shall wear my tracksuit bottoms and jumper,’ I thought.

I said to Rebecca: “Thanks, Miss, and I’m sorry I lost my gym skirt.”

Rebecca replied: “I will deal with your contrition or otherwise when we meet on Saturday, goodbye Stacey.”

“Goodbye, Miss.” I said, then hung up.

I went back and draped myself on the sofa and took another slip of wine. I closed my eyes and wondered what ‘Miss’ would have in store for me on Saturday. I decided I would wear my shorter skirt with plain white knickers and hold ups and put on a bit of a girly voice for Rebecca, probably saying stuff like: ‘Have I been a naughty girl, Miss?’ ‘Please, Miss, don’t spank me,’ (Knowing full well she would), ‘I’m so sorry I lost my skirt, Miss,’ ‘Anything for you, Miss’.

I was getting really turned on now. ThenI heard someone at the door. I grabbed my dressing down and put it on, then ran to the door. Thankfully the door was very secure; it would take a lot of time and noise to open it. I always felt safe here. Just as I reached the door I heard a key turn and the door opened.

“Jesus Christ, David, you gave me a real fright!”

He smiled and gave me as kiss, saying: “Looking good, babe.”

He had about four days stubble growth but he still looked great. It suited him. We walked to the living room and I put my high heels back on.

“Sorry I haven’t been around for a few days,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” was my honest reply.

He noticed I was wearing high heels with hold ups and said: “Have you got a fella here?”

I laughed. “I’m not interested in any fellas,” which again was an honest reply, although that statement meant completely different things to me and to him.

He then started talking about what he had done and who he had seen during the last five days or so. I wasn’t interested. I got up and stood facing him. Looking directly at him, I half smiled and undid the dressing gown belt before pulling each side of the gown apart.

He smiled but looked bemused. “Stacey, what the hell?” He said.

“Spank me,” came my immediate reply.

He laughed and I knew he was game. I had never spoken or suggested spanking to David before, and I knew this was probably not the best way to introduce it. I then took my dressing gown off and put my hands on my head.

I was sure he had never done this sort of stuff before and thought I would have to initiate everything but, surprisingly, a few moments later he commanded: “Bed, now!”

I smiled and gave a very enthusiastic: “Yes, Sir.”

We walked into the bedroom and I kicked my high heels off. I opened my bedside cabinet and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold before resting face down on my bed.

“I always knew you were a kinky bitch, Stacey.”

With no warning, I received a bare-handed whack on my bum. The feeling was divine. I said: “Yes Sir.”

He did it again, harder, and I squealed out in pain but even greater pleasure, before saying: “Yes, Sir.”

David then handcuffed me to the metal bed frame and spanked me hard again. After replying: “Yes, Sir,” he then put the blindfold on and proceeded to spank me yet harder.

I cried: “AArrrggghhh! God! Jesus!” Regaining my composure, I said: “Yes Sir.”

Another WACK followed and I could almost physically feel the spank vibrations of my hit bottom pulsing. I held the bed-frame by my restrained hands and started to move my bottom up and down to reduce the pain. David saw this and knelt down on me, putting his legs over the top of my legs, restricting my ability to move my bottom.

Another hard blow followed. W-H-A-C-K and I cried out in pain.

Not being able to move my bum, I tensed my buttocks instead and buried my head into the pillow in an act of submission and defeat.

Thankfully David could see this and said: “That’s enough for you tonight, girl.”

I was quite surprised how good he was at spanking and reading the signs that I was giving out.

“Thank you, Sir,” I said before telling him to get some cream from the bedside cabinet. It was the branded spanking cream that I had taken on temporary loan from the JPS. He started massaging my bum with the cream and it was worth getting spanked just for this. I had never let him play with my bum before and I just hoped he was having half the fun I was.

I awoke late the next day. The winter sun was shining outside and for a second I had a slight panic before remembering I had the day off. David was fast asleep next to me, my sore bottom testament to last night’s awesome fun. It was fantastic but I couldn’t stop thinking about Jane, how we talked, how we very nearly kissed, the laughs we had and how I sensed a connection between us.

Of course, for all his failings I had to admit I still liked David a lot, especially after last night, but if I was really honest would I have rather done that with Jane?

The answer had to be, yes, of course it would. If that made me a lesbian or bi then I didn’t care, I just wanted to be with her. In the end it wouldn’t matter anyway, I thought. The moment had passed and Jane would just become a memory of a person I used to know. I tried to stop myself, but the tears welled up and I quietly sobbed.

I had a text and reached for the phone. It was from the bank.

“YOUR ACCOUNT HAS BEEN CREDITED WITH £2018.89 YOUR CURRENT BALANCE IS £2113.43 CR.”

My overdue October wages had finally arrived. I smiled. That was the biggest bank balance I have ever had. None of my friends earned anywhere near that.

My thoughts turned back to Jane again and if ever the saying: ‘money can’t buy you love,’ seemed relevant to me, it was now. I put my head back on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling. The tears returned and I felt sad. I believed in destiny; little did I know what fate had in store.

To be continued.

© Katie Hammond 2015