No Rum

Working in a social club with military roots causes a young lady some discomfort.

By Kane Strokes

It’s 1966, and twenty- three year old Penny Archer got off the bus, crossed the road and entered the main doors of the Seaman’s Welfare and Social Club. The club had a long history dating back to Victorian times, set up to look after ex naval service personnel. Since then, the club had evolved to include any one who had a connection with the sea, Royal Navy, Merchant Navy, Trinity House or the Lifeboats, but the Royal navy traditions hold firm within the club, there are no ranks, no officer can pull rank on anyone, they are all seafaring men.

Penny is a secretary to the quartermaster, although she helps out in other areas when need be. She’s worked in the bar, and on the reception desk where members and any guests check in, but she hasn’t done any chambermaid work. Penny has been in this job for six months now, and loves it.

When she got the job, she read the paragraph about disciplinary procedures carried out in naval tradition. She had wondered about that and thought, with a silly grin, that perhaps she had to wear a sailors’ hat whilst getting told off, not that she was going to do anything wrong; she liked this job far too much.

Penny got to her desk when the quartermaster came in.

“Miss Archer, come through to manager’s office, please.”

‘Miss Archer?’ Penny thought. ‘He always calls me Penny. Wonder what this is all about?’

Penny followed the Quartermaster to the manager’s office. As she entered, she saw a single chair placed in front of a long desk. Sat at the desk were two managers and a high ranking naval officer.

The quartermaster told Penny to sit on the chair in front of the desk, then he left. One of the managers explained the problem; no rum! The club prides itself on maintaining Navy traditions. Every man is allowed a free tot of rum per day. The bar was dry of rum. An audit trail had been run. The quartermaster ordered the rum in good time. The order had faltered at Penny’s desk.

The horror of the situation suddenly dawned on Penny. The rum supplier wouldn’t take the order over the phone, it had to be posted. Penny was going to post the order on her way home, but the order was still in her handbag!

With tears in her eyes, Penny confessed to what had happened. The managers told her they recognised her hard work, but they were considering her dismissal as befitting the gravity of her oversight.

The manager continued: “Not only is the club unable to full fill it’s rum ration obligations either this week, and for most of next week, as an apology to the club members we’ve had to issue everyone a free bottle of rum, at considerably more cost than our usual supplier. We therefore feel your dismissal is our only option.”

Penny broke down in tears, pleading with them not to sack her.

At this point, the Navy Officer spoke: “As the club is run on Navy traditions, at sea you can’t sack someone. A rank, similar to Penny’s position would Kiss the Gunner’s Daughter.”

There was silence; no one wanted to be the first to admit they knew nothing about the term.

Sensing this, the officer continued: “Kissing the Gunner’s daughter means a boy sailor, found guilty of a charge, would have to bend, bare bottom, over a gun barrel for a set number of strokes of the cane in front of his peers, even in front of the ships company.”

He turned and looked at Penny. “Miss Archer, would you be prepared to accept corporal punishment over dismissal?”

Penny couldn’t believe what she had just heard. ‘Caned on the bare bottom.’ She shuddered at the thought. She had never been caned, never really spanked, just the odd slap on the bum from her mum.

The first manager spoke. He suggested adjourning the meeting to discuss the options so the full implications could be explained to Miss Archer. Penny left the meeting still crying. She found the quartermaster and confided in him what had been said. They talked about her options, he didn’t want to lose her, it was a silly, but extremely costly, mistake.

He left her one thought: “A sore bottom will get better. How long will it take you to find an equivalent job?”

In the manager’s office, they were drawing up the conditions of how and where Penny would be caned if she agreed to corporal punishment. The details finalised, Penny was recalled to the meeting. She entered the room and the Naval Officer asked her once more to sit facing the panel.

He continued: “Miss Archer, you have a choice; dismissal, or kiss the gunner’s daughter. There’s no gun barrel, but an armchair in the members’ lounge will suffice. You will take twelve strokes of the cane on your bared backside in front of the ship’s company, in this case the members of this club who have been inconvenienced by your actions.”

Penny gasped at the number of strokes and the fact it was a public caning.

The officer took note of her gasp. He told her: “You are saving your job. The number of strokes reflects that. So, Miss Archer, do you want any further time to consider? Dismissal or take a caning?”

“I’ll kiss the gunner’s daughter,” Penny blurted out in a daze, and then wondered who had said those words that had just come from her mouth.

Penny was told to return to her post and await an escort. In the meantime, the managers were to talk to members to have all guests out of the club. A meeting was called, the members were informed of the day’s proceedings and the outcome. It was considered strictly an internal club matter and not for public knowledge.

The day passed slowly for Penny, double, no, triple checking everything she did. The quartermaster tried reassuring Penny it would be alright, it will hurt, but it will be done with.

The club cleared of guests. All members were waiting in their private lounge. A young WREN and a young Seaman arrived at the reception desk and told Penny they were her escort. She was told she must go with them. The three left, the seaman leading, then Penny, followed by the WREN. They marched to the nurse’s station.

The seaman announced: “Prisoner for examination.”

Inside the nurse explained to Penny she had to examine her to ensure she was fit for punishment. Penny was told to raise her skirt, drop her knickers and bend over the end of the couch. After examining Penny, the nurse asked her once more if she was certain as once the forms had been signed, there would be no going back.

Penny reaffirmed she was certain and the forms were signed.

Penny was then escorted to the members’ lounge, marched past staring eyes and raised eyebrows, and taken to the far end of the lounge. In the middle of the floor was an armchair with its back turned to the room. A crook handled cane rested along the back edge. The officer waited beside the chair.

The escort stopped in front of the chair. The nurse walked around to the front.

The officer addressed Penny: “Penny Archer, you were charged, and by your own admission, found guilty of allowing the daily rum ration to run out. You have opted to kiss the gunner’s daughter in preference to dismissal. You will take twelve strokes of the cane on your bared bottom.”

The words sent a shiver down Penny’s spine; there was no going back now.

The officer continued: “Prepare the prisoner and place her in position over the armchair.”

The WREN stepped forward to release the clasp and remove Penny’s skirt. Then, placing her thumbs in the waistband of her knickers, she lowered them to her ankles, instructing Penny to step out of them.

Penny didn’t think she could blush harder than she already was, but as the WREN helped Penny to bend over the back of the armchair into the required position, Penny blushed harder, well aware of her most private and intimate parts being displayed to the assembled audience.

The WREN guided Penny’s hands to hold the front edge of the seat cushion. She placed her hand in the small of Penny’s back, pushing it down and raising her bottom high on the back of the armchair, exposed and vulnerable, her black stockings and suspender belt providing a framework around the target area.

The officer holding the cane positioned himself to Penny’s left. He tapped the cane across the middle of Penny’s bottom and drew the cane back. It swished through the air as it sped mercilessly towards Penny’s unblemished bottom. The officer, a past master at using the cane, snapped his wrist, the cane accelerated seconds before it struck Penny’s bottom, delivering a fiery kiss of pain before bouncing away.

Penny yelled as the cane struck her, the initial pain unbelievable, not realising it would crescendo to be more intense. Despite the soft furnishings within the lounge, the sound of rattan striking bare flesh reverberated around the room similar to a pistol shot. The officer waited, allowing the pain to build before he delivered the next stroke.

All eyes were centred on Penny’s bare bottom. They saw the briefest flash as the cane snapped across her bottom. They watched a thin white line rapidly start changing colour, passing through the various shades of red. The second stroke laid a line of fire below the previous one. Penny couldn’t hold back the yelp as the cane stung her bottom, her eyes already beginning to water.

Another wait, and the officer laid the third stroke lower on Penny’s bottom. She yelled and the tears started flowing. Each stroke of the cane struck lower than the previous stroke, delivering it’s payload of pain, with it’s fiery stinging kiss. Every stroke was as effective as it’s predecessor, each stroke spaced to leave a gap.

With each stroke, Penny yelled in pain, the clear stream of tears now polluted with her mascara. The room was quiet, the silence broken by Penny’s yell and crying, the swish of the cane as it sped to its target, and the crack of the rattan as it created another painfully rising welt that traversed Penny’s bottom.

The sixth stroke crossed the crease where her bottom became her thighs, causing Penny to scream and cry harder than she was already crying.

Everyone watched as the welts grew. They admired the officer in his accuracy as he now began to fill the gaps as he swished his way back towards the centre of Penny’s bottom. She was no longer worried how many charms she displayed, she just wanted this awful agony over.

With all the gaps on Penny’s bottom filled, the officer positioned himself to deliver the final stroke, determined that the last stroke should be both memorable as well as being a reminder of how serious Penny’s offence was.

If Penny thought she had cried her hardest, she was to discover she could cry even harder as the officer unleashed the twelfth stroke, whipping hard diagonally across her bottom and crossing as many of the previous strokes as possible.

Penny screamed. She slumped further into the chair, her welted bottom high, her charms shamelessly exposed. Through her crying she heard the nurse tell her it was done. Then the nurse organised the escort pair to stand in front to act as a privacy shield whilst she helped Penny up and to replace her skirt. The nurse put Penny’s knickers in her apron. Her lower half covered, the nurse helped Penny out of the lounge with a consoling arm around her shoulders and back to the first aid room.

In the first aid room, Penny laid face down on the couch whilst the nurse examined the damage to Penny’s bottom.

“As you can imagine, you’ve got some fair sized bruises forming. I’m afraid, though, I’m not permitted to offer you any treatment for them. Tomorrow, though, come and see me and I can get some cream rubbed into those welts.”

Penny spent a restless night sleeping on her front. In the morning, as she dressed, she decided she would go knickerless, although she would put a pair in her handbag. Her next thought was which skirt to wear. The usual skirt she wore to work, and most of her other skirts, were far too tight across her bottom to be comfortable. She had a skirt that would do, full and flared, but that skirt had a history of being easily lifted above her waist by the gentlest of breezes!

During her journey to work, Penny stood, politely refusing seats offered by gentleman passengers. She was always able to find someone more worthy of the seat; an elderly man, a pregnant woman.

She stepped stiffly down from the bus, wincing as welts rubbed against clothing. As she crossed the road to where she worked, her worst fears about her skirt were being realised. A stronger breeze than at home, the hem already threatening to lift, Penny readied herself to brush down the skirt, back and front. Then the horror of the skirt lifting both back and front dawned on her. Penny reached the front door of the club without exposing her welted bottom or lack of underwear. Now she had to face the rest of the day ahead of her. How many members would remind her of how much she had exposed? She blushed at that thought. How many would tell her she deserved every stroke, and maybe more?

The quartermaster was the first to greet her. With a grin, he pointed to her chair piled high with cushions. Next the officer who had carried out the caning told her she had earned the respect of everyone in the way she took her punishment and hadn’t take the coward’s way out by accepting dismissal.

Penny spent most of the day standing, and blushing, as she faced club members. Many were sympathetic, some reminding her that naughty girls are never too old for a sore bottom. The heinous crime of letting the club run dry of rum never happened again.

The End

© Kane Strokes 2016


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