Three cadets get into trouble on a weekend pass
By Jill Waterhouse
It was the early autumn of 1982. Earlier in the year, the country was gripped by the developing situation in the South Atlantic as the British Task Force was beginning the struggle to retake the Falkland Islands from the occupying forces of the Argentinian invaders. Recruitment into the armed services mushroomed in all areas and both sexes.
Here at the Royal Navy, many young women were also coming forward to serve with the Navy and, whilst not allowed to serve at sea at that time, they were doing fantastic work behind the scenes. Logistics, nursing, training and administrative duties were particular areas where the young women recruits really proved their worth.
Basic and some advanced training for these women all took place aboard what were known as ‘stone ships’, or land-based training units. I was based at one of these units as a training officer, and during September a new intake group came under my watchful care. The group of just 12 had all joined straight from school or college and were all aged 18 or 19. Being they had all come straight from school, one of my jobs was to knock a few raw edges off the recruits. Older recruits with a bit of real world experience made the transition much more easily than those coming straight from education. Conversely, the younger group were much more likely to accept the discipline regime, both standard regulations and local rules.
My role in the set-up was squad training. At the ripe old age of 33 at the time, being a Petty Officer was about the limit of expectation at the time for someone having entered service as a basic rank. As well as the official role of squad trainer, which involved fitness training, general discipline and some class teaching, I also had to act as a mother figure for some of the young women who had rarely been away from home before. It was not uncommon during basic training for some to get home-sick and leave. Others just needed a shoulder to cry on as they made the transition, usually very successfully in the end, from school leaver to a valuable member of Her Majesty’s armed forces. Others needed much more intervention, including on-the-record disciplinary hearings and eventually termination of service training. Thankfully, the latter were quite infrequent.
Remarkably, the first 3 weeks passed easily with ‘Q’ squad. There were no major issues and no leavers. Some had a few tears in the first week, but we had the first signs that the squad was becoming just that rather than a group of dysfunctional young women.
The end of the third week was a key part of the training. They received a 2-day pass. The women could either go home, stay on base but come and go as they wish and be out of uniform. Leave comes with conditions; no getting totally drunk in town, no drug-taking. All of them would be drugs tested on Monday morning. No fighting, which would be unlikely with this group, I suspected. No lewd behaviour either on base or off it.
At 4.30 pm on Friday, we had the final inspection before their weekend off. I walked proudly into the parade room and 12 pairs of gleaming boots stamped to attention as I entered.
‘Very good, girls,’ I thought to myself as I walked over to check each uniform very carefully. I made a cursory inspection of each of their kits, finding minor problems with most to keep them on their toes.
“Ok, listen up, ladies!” I barked.
“Yes, Petty Officer Evans,” they replied in force.
“You are now at liberty until 23.59 on Sunday evening. God help anyone the military police have to bring to me over the weekend or about whom I get a detailed report on my desk on Monday morning. As for anyone being picked up by the civilian police, well that will just make things even more difficult for your future prospects in Her Majesty’s Navy. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Petty Officer,” screamed 12 voices in chorus.
“Then you are dismissed. Enjoy your weekend. You deserve it, and it is rare that I add that comment. Well done in your first 3 weeks.”
With that, they turned, marched out and within 10 minutes were all changed and out of uniform.
As for myself, I headed into town for a dinner date with Captain Tessa Wright. We had been stationed at the camp together for 6 years now, were good friends off-duty and worked well together on the base. I was maid of honour at her wedding 2 years ago.
“So, how is Q squad shaping up? You seem unusually relaxed after week 3,” she asked over starters.
“Yes, pretty good actually. It helps that there are only 12 of them, and I thought that, as school leavers in the main, I would still have my work cut out. So far, so good. No leavers, hardly any tears, only 2 extra parade punishments, and, as you know, no referrals up the ladder to you, ma’am,” I said, making a mock salute which she returned as always with just two fingers.
We both sniggered into our drinks.
“That said, I have a funny feeling I will be seeing some of them returned to camp this weekend. They are still a bit wet behind the ears and after 3 weeks cooped up on camp, and with all those randy sailors out there, I suspect we might have a busy couple of days.”
“What’s this ‘we’ rubbish? I’m off all weekend, Jane, so anything major I’ll deal with on Monday. Only call me if one of them robs a bank or steals a ship, or the likes. Husband and I are having some ‘us’ time, and the Navy can wait for once,” Tessa replied with a wicked look in her eye.
“Looks like I’ll be headmistress this weekend then. Sorry to talk shop, last question, honest,” I began.
“Go on then.” Tessa rolled her eyes.
“As you are going absent this weekend,” I began my question.
“You mean, I’m going absent with permitted leave, if you don’t mind, Petty Officer Evans,” she teased.
“Sorry, ma’am. As I was saying before being interrupted, without you as senior officer being available, may I ask how I am to proceed with minor to moderate offences which may come my way?” I emphasised the ‘my’. “Am I able to deal with most of these minor offences off the record and refer anything else up to you on Monday? Or do you want a dozen tired and hungover 18 and 19 year olds waiting outside your room for a yelling at on Monday morning?”
“As far as I am concerned, so long as any punishment is proportionate, which I know it would be, then be creative. Revoking passes, square-bashing or corporal punishment as you see fit. You’ve been doing this for 6 years. I am sure you can deal with most things by now,” she said warmly.
By now, our puddings had arrived and we finished our meal swiftly as Tessa’s husband was picking her up at 8.30. They were then having a romantic couple of nights on Dartmoor, whilst I was left babysitting Q squad. Woe betide anyone who caused me to get out of bed!
After dinner, I returned to the base and had a couple of games of pool in the Petty Officers’ mess where I played the pants off a couple of leering male Petty Officers. At £1 a game prize money, it paid for my beers before I turned in at 10.00 pm, hoping for a good night’s sleep.
To my amazement, my alarm went off at 07.00 am and woke me up. I had an uninterrupted night’s sleep. It seemed I had misjudged my girls. After taking a shower, I went over to the mess for a full English breakfast. I had just taken my first mouthful when a male trainee from ‘R’ squad, 2 weeks into training, screeched to a halt and saluted me.
“Don’t salute a Petty Officer, cadet. I’m not an officer. I am far more important,” I said, scowling as my egg yolk begged me to eat it immediately. “What is the meaning of keeping me and my fried egg apart for a moment longer than needed?” I tried to put him at ease and failed miserably.
“Ma’am,” he started.
“I’m not a ma’am either. Nor a sir,” I half smiled. It was such fun messing with the newbies, but it was a tried and tested way of making them understand the complex, and frankly outdated, pecking order of the Navy. “For future reference, refer to a Petty Officer as Petty Officer, or even Petty Officer Evan if you know their name. Our name is on our badge, so that should be reasonably easy. Then call us PO thereafter. So come on, spit it out!” I said sharply as my egg yolk broke and ran over my breakfast.
“Petty Officer Evans, the Officer of the Watch has requested your urgent company in his office,” he finally told me.
“I will be there in 5 minutes,” I told him while taking a quick bite of toast.
“Begging your pardon, PO, he did order me to get you straight away. I am sorry to spoil your breakfast.”
He eyed my breakfast with envy; trainee food was nowhere near as good as that in the Petty Officer’s mess.
“Very well,” I grabbed a sausage, and looked at his sad eyes. “It’s a shame to leave good food. Help yourself to the other sausage,” I said kindly, and he smiled as though he had won the football pools. That is what they don’t teach officers at training school; the simple but very effective ways to earn a bucket-full of respect for your rank with a simple but well-targeted act of kindness.
We both hurried across the parade ground, trying to make it look too obvious that we were both enjoying our sausages en-route. Mouths empty, we went into the administrative block, down the corridor and into the door second from the end.
“Allow me, PO,” he said, sharply knocking on the Officer of the Day’s office for me.
“Enter! Ah, Petty Officer Evans. Thank you for coming over so quickly. I hope I didn’t interrupt breakfast?” Captain James asked chirpily.
“Oh not at all, sir. I had just finished,” I lied.
The trainee grinned from ear to ear. He was a quick learner, this lad. I made a mental note to tell Sam, his mentor, over a pint in the mess tonight.
“Well, I am afraid it is bad news. Some of your girls got into a smidge of trouble last night, down in the town. Nothing too serious. Our chaps dealt with it, not the local civilian police. I understand Captain Tessa Wright is away with her husband this weekend?” He could not stop a schoolboy grin coming over his face as he said this.
“With it being a ladies squad,” he continued. “I was sort of hoping you could attend to it in the first instance, and then pass any outstanding matters on to Captain Wright when she is back on board, as it were.”
“Very well, sir, not a problem. In fact, Captain Wright and myself discussed this very possibility before she left, sir. She instructed me to take all appropriate and proportionate actions I feel fit, but to refer anything else to her. I may contact her, sir, and I quote, if any of the girls are arrested for bank robbery or stealing one of the ships, sir,” I said with a respectful smile.
He laughed, “Oh, jolly good, PO. Very good. Alright, I will leave this in your very capable hands. Please feel free to knock on my door at any time if you need any advice.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I said, saluting at attention before the trainee kindly opened the door for me. All that training success with just one sausage! Boy, I should have been an Admiral.
I made my way down to the holding cells at the guards’ building.
“Morning, Bill,” I said informally to the duty guard. We had dated briefly 5 years ago but were good mates still. “What have they been up to then?” I sighed.
“Hi Jane, you’re looking well. Nothing too serious, you’ll be glad to know. The military police were actually on site for another incident when this kicked off, and they brought them back more for their safety than anything else,” he explained. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to play down what had happened so I’d go easy on them.
“So, what happened then?” I pressed.
“The taller of the three, Mandy is it, was chatting in a pub minding her own business when the MPs took a rating out for who knows what. A civilian took a fancy to her bum and gave it, by all accounts, quite a substantial smack. Naturally, that didn’t go down too well. She turned around, he said something to her, and she turned his lights out with one punch. I don’t know what you are teaching those girls, but more power to your elbow, Jane. I’d have given good money to see that. Anyhow, his mates kicked off. The other two girls defended their colleague and gave much better than they got.
Before anything got too serious, the MPs came back in, sorted them all out and brought the ladies back here. To be honest, I didn’t know whether to lock them up, buy them a pint or what. In the end, Jack and I decided, at least for the sake of appearances, we had better hold them here overnight and sort it in the morning, especially with Captain Wright being off base and all.”
“You should have got me out of bed. I’d have sorted it for you last night,” I chastened him.
“No way. I’ve seen you when you’ve been got out of bed at midnight. Not on my watch, Jane. Oh, no way,” he laughed.
I punched him firmly in the shoulder, which made him laugh all the more.
“I’ll open up,” he continued. “You can take them back to their quarters and deal with them there if that suits you best.”
“Perfect!” I said.
Bill opened the large cell door. Inside the cell, a spartan room with 4 beds and a separate toilet room attached, were recruits Mandy Jones, who had thrown the punch, and cadets Lines and Stewart.
“Well, well, well, ladies. What have we here?”
“That was not an idle question!” I barked, and they snapped to attention.
Mandy Jones started, “Petty Officer Evans, I was assaulted physically, then verbally, by a civilian in the Queen’s Head in town. He smacked my bum very hard and when I turned around to confront him, he made lewd comments about my breasts and was about to touch them, so I gave him that right uppercut you taught us last Wednesday, PO. You said at the time that it was a weapon to be used at close quarters and without warning. You were right, it worked a treat,” she said almost proudly.
To be honest, if I were her mum I’d have given her a huge hug and said good on you girl.
“And you two? What is your involvement in all this?”
Stewart spoke next. “Petty Officer Evans, trainee Lines and I were with trainee Jones when she was assaulted, and I can confirm that is exactly what happened. I cannot condone her actions fully, but I think they were proportionate. The man’s friends then started giving us all grief and laying their grubby hands on us, so we slapped them down and that is when the Military Police intervened, removed us from the premises and brought us back to base. We are all sorry for disappointing you. We did not go looking for trouble but had to take action when it found us. I expect we will be punished. We accept that, but if we can get this over and done with, all the better, PO.”
“OK, back to quarters and we’ll try and put this behind us. Thank you, Petty Officer Miles,” I said to Bill as we left the cell. “I will take it from here.”
With that, we marched across the base, back to quarters, and I locked the door behind us. It looked quite strange, me in my standard uniform addressing 3 recruits in lovely evening dresses that barely covered their bottoms.
“Right, what are we going to do with you three, eh? I could have had you held in the cells over the weekend until Captain Wright gets back from her weekend leave, but I don’t think you are what she wants to come back to, do you?”
“No PO!” they chimed in chorus.
“Very well. There are two ways this can go for you now. The official route, or the less official route.” I paused for a moment for effect. “Officially, I should write you all up. Jones, as you threw the first punch, you could be dismissed at worst or held back and not qualify with your squad. Lines and Stewart, as you became involved a little later, you could be held back, but more likely receive extra duties and no weekend passes until the end of basic training. All that would depend on how good a weekend Captain Wright has had and how she feels on Monday morning. Any takers?”
“Please, PO,” asked Lines. “What is the more unofficial route?”
“I am pleased you asked me that, Lines. Before she left, Captain Wright told me to try and deal with any incidents firmly but proportionately, depending on the case. To quote the captain verbatim, she said, ‘Revoking of passes, square bashing or corporal punishment as you see fit’.”
Again, I paused for effect.
The girls all looked at each other and then at the floor.
“May we have a moment to think about this together please, PO?” Stewart asked.
“You have five minutes,” I said.
Five minutes later, I went back to them. “OK ladies, do we have a consensus?”
Lines spoke for the three. “We would prefer not to have to stand before the Captain on Monday if that is possible, PO. We would prefer you dealt with the matter off our official records, if that is possible, please.”
“Very well, that is the choice I would have made in your place. You have been very foolish. You have let me, yourselves, your squad and, most importantly, the service down. Cancelling your weekend passes is nowhere near sufficient punishment, but it is a start. Marching about in the square would ruin my weekend and I have not done anything wrong. I would be amazed if any of your three avoided a taste of corporal punishment whilst you were at school, so I guess you know what is meant by the term. Am I right?”
All three nodded.
“Very well, then that’s how we are going to keep this off your records on this occasion, and this occasion only. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Petty Officer Evans,” they chimed, far less enthusiastically than on the previous occasion.
“What exactly are you going to do to us, Petty Officer Evans?” asked Jones.
“Probably nothing you haven’t had or heard of before. Lines and Stewart, I will be placing you across my knee, raising your skirt, or what little there is of it, and spanking your bottoms very hard indeed. As for you Jones, clearly your involvement was more significant and, although provoked, your punishment will be more severe. You will receive the cane 12 times across your bottom. Any questions?”
“Very well. Lines and Stewart, whilst I fetch the cane for Jones, decide between you who wants to go first.”
I made my way to the store cupboard and retrieved a very old rattan cane. I had often swished it, wondering what it would be like to use it. Now was the moment to find out.
Returning, I instructed Jones, “Please bend yourself over the table and grip the far side with both hands. Do not move until I give you permission to stand. If you do stand, that stroke will be null and void. It will be repeated and an extra stroke will be added. Am I clear? No swearing either!”
Bending slowly across the empty table top, Jones just relied, “Yes, Miss.”
Clearly that was a throwback to her school days, and under the circumstances I was not going to be pedantic about naval etiquette.
“Now stretch further, I want your bottom over the edge of the table and pointing out nicely, please Jones.”
I corrected her position both with my voice and by pushing and prodding with the end of the cane until she was in place. I then raised the back of her short skirt and tucked it into her waistband at the back, revealing a pair of skimpy black silk panties. Under other circumstances, I would have admired her choice; pretty, comfortable, certainly sexy, but offering little protection for what must sadly follow.
“Hold still and hold on tight. I can promise this will not take too long, but will not be pleasant. You two, stand to attention and watch what is happening.”
With that, I stood to Jones’s left, rested the cane against her pert, firm bottom, and tapped it three or four times. Then I raised it to above shoulder-height before bringing it whooshing down with a loud crack as it struck across the centre of her exposed bottom.
“Oww!” she exclaimed as the pain registered. She half stood but managed to stay down and take a grip again as the second stroke cracked down an inch below the first. Her bottom distended under the impact and she let out a four letter word.
“Swear again and I will reset the count to zero!” I scolded.
The cane whooshed again, landing with a crack. Tears now flowed freely down her reddening face. With each stroke, I tried not to hit the same spot twice, but with 12 strokes on a fairly compact target, and with my inexperience with the cane, this wasn’t entirely possible. By the eighth stroke, only the sound of sobbing was emanating from Jones’s mouth now. All traces of crying out had been consumed by the sobbing.
The other two looked on with ashen faces as three more strokes landed. Bright red welts could be seen outside the thin cover provided by the silk panties. The twelfth and final stroke landed dead centre, and it was all over.
“I am sorry I had to do that to you, Jones. Next time you are out and about, keep your fists in your pockets, or even better, wear enough clothes to have some pockets to put them in! Take your time and stand up when you are ready. Then stand over there with the other two.”
After a few seconds, she managed to stand up. Her short skirt popped out from the waistband and fell gently to cover her sore, reddened bottom. Unsurprisingly, she felt no compulsion to rub her bottom at this stage, no doubt even the weight of her skirt bouncing off her panties as she moved was painful enough.
I placed the cane on the desk, drew out the chair from behind it, and placed it in front of the desk, facing the three recruits. Then I sat down on it.
“So, who is first?” I asked.
Lines nervously raised her hand and took a step forward.
“Very well, come here and stand to my right hand side. Then bend across my lap.”
This she did without much hesitation. Either she had done this before, or having seen Jones’s punishment she wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. Bless her, she was actually shaking. Without much hesitation, I took her skirt hem and tucked that into her waistband. She too had made a poor choice of underwear. Her panties were lacy silk French knickers in a subtle pink colour with a lace trim. Excellent for a hot date, but not a spanking.
I rubbed her bottom briefly, noting it’s well toned orbs which bore testament to her commitment in the gym sessions. I raised my right hand and brought it down with a firm smack, bringing a loud cry from her mouth. I built up a steady rhythm and each spank was greeted by her firm bottom which yielded slightly, but her head and breasts swayed as the force of my spanking carried through her body. Her bottom was becoming increasingly hot to the touch and was soon glowing red through the lace of the French knickers. After a few minutes, tears were gushing down her face and she cried loudly. I spanked on for another minute.
“Alright Lines, you may get up and sort yourself out. Then stand back over there,” I ordered.
As she rose, her skirt remained in her waistband, and she rubbed her bottom vigorously, putting her hands inside her knickers as she did so. I suspect it offered little in the way of comfort or relief though.
“Stewart, last but definitely not least. Come here!”
Stewart, like all the women, was toned and fit, but she appeared a little sheepish when I called her forwards. She hesitated and moved her weight from foot to foot, playing awkwardly with the hem of her well-tailored red satin dress.
“Come on, I haven’t got all day. Unlike you three, I do have a pass left for the rest of the weekend, so once your spanking is dealt with and I have filled in some forms, I intend to make the best of it.”
After 15 or 20 seconds, Stewart began to bend across my waiting lap. Her long blond hair, which was usually worn up on camp, tumbled down to the floor as she got into position. Like the others before her, I pulled up her dress and held it in place with my left hand. However, to my surprise and to the amusement of both Lane and Jones’s obvious amusement, instead of revealing a covered posterior for me to spank, two peach-like bare buttocks were now revealed in front of me.
“Err, Stewart, we seem to be a little lacking in the underwear department, do we not? Where are your panties?” I enquired.
Brushing her hair aside and turning her head awkwardly to look at me, I could see Steward’s face was a bright, bright red. She had not been over my knee long enough for it to be the blood running to her head.
Clearly embarrassed, she said, “I had an assignation with one of the ratings. The pub backs onto the woods and we went out for a cigarette. One thing led to another and somehow my panties got left behind.”
“Oh well, I would normally spank you over your panties, but as you appear to have lost them, on your bare bottom it will be then.”
With that, I raised my right hand and brought it smacking down on her firm toned bum. Being well toned, it barely deformed under the shock of the spank landing, but made a very satisfying ‘smack’ sound. This was repeated many more times as I worked my way around both buttocks from top to bottom and side to side. Her hair and head bobbed with each impact in an endless backwards and forwards motion. Her bottom soon matched the colour of her face. Tears, as much from the embarrassment of her confession as the pain of my spanking, ran down her face and stuck some of her hair to her cheeks. Eventually, I was satisfied she had been punished adequately for her misdeed, and I stopped spanking her, but I left my hand on her bare bottom for a moment to assess the heat I had created, which was quite intense.
“I should spank you further, both for your lude actions in the woods and for coming onto the base inadequately dressed, but I will let that go, this once!” I scolded. “Now get up and join your mates.”
As I stood and put the chair back, looking back at me were three recruits all now rubbing their bottoms with differing degrees of speed and effort, all looking very sorry for themselves after a near sleepless night in the cells, and with tear-stained faces from my spanking and caning efforts over the last 10 minutes or so.
“Right, I want you three to get out of my sight, and I don’t want to hear you have been up to anything else this weekend on base. Remember, your passes have been rescinded, so if you leave base you will be AWOL and dismissed from the service. Now out, out!”
I clapped my hands and they scattered out of the door and back to their quarters.
I finished up the paperwork the three women had landed me with, commenting that all three had been dealt with in barracks and that no further action was required. Their weekend passes had been cancelled. Rather than getting a recruit to take the papers back to the guard post, I handed them to Bill who took a quick look and smirked.
“Dealt with in barracks?” he commented. “I suppose that means you spanked their pretty little bottoms for them, Jane?”
I smiled playfully, “It might do, it might not.” I hesitated, then added, “Oh, and one of them had lost her panties in the woods last night. Could you organise a search and recovery operation?”
He smiled and then burst out laughing. “I would be fighting the lads off with a stick if I offered them that assignment!” he said, and then went back into his office to stamp the forms I had taken him.
I changed quickly and drove out of the gates and into town to do some shopping. The afternoon passed and the evening brought no further issues.
Monday morning at 08.00, I knocked on Tessa’s door, entered, saluted, and took a seat when invited.
“So how was your weekend?” I asked her. “Romantic as ever?”
“Very much so. We hardly left the hotel. How was yours? I see you had three returned but dealt with in barracks. Anything I should know about?” she asked, changing the subject rapidly.
“Jones, Stewart and Lines got into a row with some locals, but came out on top. MPs delivered them back, more for their safety than for behaviour. One of the locals smacked Jones’s bottom and it kicked off from there.”
“So, the navy won? What action was taken?” she enquired.
“I spanked two over their knickers and gave Jones 12 with the cane. One spanking was actually bare bottom as she had lost her knickers earlier in the evening. It’s a long story and I’ll tell you next time we go for a pint!” I said cryptically.
Q squad all completed basic training with no further issues and were in fact probably the best behaved and most cohesive group we had with the ladies in many a long year. I did eventually tell Tessa the details of that weekend and she was extremely amused.
© Jill Waterhouse 2022