Part I, Initiation
The reader may be familiar with the characters in this story, some of whom appeared in the earlier series “Miss Harding,” Joan and I, happily married, are still Head and Deputy Head of our school, and Carol is the lusty gym teacher at the school. All three of us are switches, revelling more and more in the heady excitements of CP, with a small but growing circle of like-minded friends.
“Before you may be accepted as members of the Club, you must be initiated. This involves an ordeal. You must say at once if you wish to undergo the ordeal. What is your reply?”
We had been warned to say in a loud voice, “I wish to undergo the ordeal, Ma’am.” I quickly said my piece, and heard Joan say exactly the same.
“Very well, we shall proceed. You will each take six strokes of the cane followed by public display for fifteen minutes.” The woman’s voice was confident. “If at any time you wish to stop proceedings, you need only call out the word ‘RED.’ In this case you will be removed from here, still blindfolded, and will lose the right to join this club.”
I stood silently while they dealt with Joan. Unable to see anything, I heard a scuffling and a clink of buckles. After a short silence the familiar swish-crack of a cane striking bare flesh – Joan’s flesh. My skin tingled. I hated this. Joan, my darling wife, whom I regularly flogged, to whom I often made love; I knew she could take a beating but I hated not seeing who was caning her. I waited, depressed, and loathing every moment while the six strokes were laid on.
Joan kept silent throughoutll by strangers.
ing most but not all of our backs. latte, and I was proud of her.
More scuffling, and they came for me. I felt myself propelled forward and bent over some sort of horse. I could smell leather. Wrists and ankles were expertly strapped. Fingers unfastened the ribbons at my back and the stiff garment was drawn aside. I was effectively naked and the air was cool on my back. When they passed a strap across my back and tightened it I had a brief panic attack.
It was the blindfold that caused my distress. I didn’t even know if it was a man or woman who was securing me, and I had no idea if I would be flogged by a woman or a man. The lack of sight caused all my other senses to sharpen acutely. My genitals pressed on the end of the horse, but I was not aroused. Dread of the caning built up in my brain, and every nerve-end was poised and sharpened for the expected pain.
The caning, when it started, was not severe. I’d taken much tougher beatings from Madam over the last year or so, and afterwards I could tell the marks were trivial compared with some laid on by her. But normally I could watch my tormentor. Sometimes the scene was so erotic and my mind so overwhelmed by the female flesh all around me that I could stand up afterwards with no memory of pain.
This was different. All my faculties were concentrated on the pain which was about to invade my buttocks. Pain receptors were on full activation, and when the first stroke landed they magnified the pain to an unbearable level. Whoever wielded the cane paused for six or seven seconds, just long enough for me to appreciate the full exquisite agony, that special kind of pain which a cane delivers. Then a renewal, a progression to a higher level of pain as the second stroke bit.
I tried to find some easement by writhing against my bonds, but they held me too fast.
I hated every long second of that beating. It was the worst of my life, and I never want it repeated. It must have been over in less than a minute, but it seemed an age.
“Display them both,” said the voice of authority.
Strange hands unfastened me and retied the ribbons at my back, preserving some sort of decorum. They drew me from the horse and escorted me to the other end of the room. I was still wearing the wrist straps. Someone clipped them onto chains and my arms were hoist towards the ceiling. My ankle straps were clipped onto a spreader bar which forced my legs apart, though I was not uncomfortably stretched.
“Display them both!” said the voice, and fingers unfastened the ribbons letting the garment fall away. Now I was once again naked, with every part of me on public display except my face. A chain was clipped round my neck, and something dangled against my chest.
“Its OK,” said a female voice alongside me. “Its amber.” I had no idea what this meant.
It was Carol who had first mentioned the Justice Club. She had asked to see the Head, (Joan, my wife), and myself after school one day. We finished our business and called her in.
“Well,” she said when asked what she wanted. “Well, I’ve got a suggestion for you . . . I think you will like it . . . just up your street.”
“Well get on with it,” I thought.
She pulled herself together and went on. “It’s the Justice Club. I’ve been a member for a couple of years, and its wonderful. And I think you would both love it too.”
“What is this Justice Club?” asked Joan.
“Its for people like us – switches – who like to use the cane and maybe get caned as well. The court sits every three weeks or so, and there is always someone, usually several people, who want to be caned. So they are brought before the court and tried. There is always something they’ve done wrong. People usually confess, or sometimes a wife provides evidence of a partner’s sins (we’ve several married couples, some of our keenest members).
“Who runs this club?” asked Joan.
“Oh, Judge Emily,” replied Carol. “We call her the Judge. She’s a titled lady who lives in an old hall in a village a few miles away. The court sits in an extension at the rear of the hall. Its ideal . . . private, plenty of car parking, and she’s made the courtroom warm and cosy. It needs to be as we spend a good deal of time under-dressed.”
I looked at Joan with raised eyebrows. “Well,” she said, “what do you think?”
“Sounds good to me,” I said. “How do we become members?“
“Oh, you have to undergo an ordeal. A kind of initiation ceremony. I would be your sponsor, and I’d prepare you first. Make you undress in a side room and you would put on a special gown. You’d have to wear a blindfold. Then I’d take you into the courtroom, where it all takes place.
“Sounds superb,” I said. “Would I get a chance to cane some females, do you think, Carol? Cane you, perhaps?”
“Ah well, as a newcomer you would only be a novice member. And they aren’t allowed to cane anyone. You have to qualify by proving yourself. To become a novice member, you only have to take six strokes of the cane, not too onerous for you two. Then you will be entitled to wear a white gown, which they will issue you with when you’ve been initiated. If you want to become a full member, then you take a much stiffer beating, a dozen strokes . . . full-out, no-holds-barred, top quality caning. And then you’re allowed to wear the black gown.”
“Are you a full member, Caroline?” Joan asked.
“Funny you should ask that,” smiled Caroline. “Last year. Twelve strokes, pretty tough. I managed it without losing too much dignity. So I got my black gown, which I’ve been allowed to wear at club meetings ever since. They didn’t manage to draw blood, though I hear that can happen when people try to qualify for elite membership.
“Elite membership?”
“Ah, yes. There are about a dozen elite members. They wear the prized scarlet gown. Very impressive. And they’ve really earned it, so they say. I haven’t witnessed this yet.”
And so it was arranged. Caroline would enter our names, and with any luck we would go along for our ‘ordeal’ in a couple of weeks time.
On the appointed day I drove Joan and Carol to the hall. The drive took us past the main building, and round the back we came across the extension, an expensive-looking building with a row of windows high above the ground. About twenty cars were parked outside.
Inside the main door we entered a short passage and Carol took us into a small dressing room. The sign on the door read ‘Applicants and their Sponsors.’ There, with nobody else present, we all got ready.
When Joan and I had stripped off all our clothes including shoes, stockings and underwear, Carol fitted first myself and then Joan with odd garments which she flattened across our chests. Ribbons sewn into the edges were passed round behind our bodies and tied behind our backs. Our fronts were covered from neck to knee, and the garment almost met behind us, so covering most but not all of our backs. It was not a comfortable garment, being rather stiff and exceedingly badly fitting.
When she was satisfied with us, Caroline stripped off her own clothing down to underwear. Her long legs looked magnificent in fine black stockings. She retained her smart shoes, which I recognised as medium-heeled evening shoes which Joan had bought for her. From a bag she produced a black gown which she fitted about her shoulders.
At intervals, while we were preparing, we could hear the unmistakable sounds of caning. The series of ‘thwack’ sounds came through the walls, even though we could hear nothing else. We paused each time this happened, counting. The first lot was a series of six, then a minute or two later eight, then another eight. After a pause there was another six, during which I thought I could hear shouting, or perhaps screaming. But the solid walls muffled these sounds more than the cane-noises.
The last thing Carol did was to fit blindfolds. These appeared to be made of black velvet, and fitted snugly so that we could see nothing at all, not even our feet.
We waited a minute or two, and I was suddenly very nervous. The courtyard clock struck eight, and we heard a thumping on the door. My insides gave a lurch.
“That’s it,” said Carol. “It’s time to go.”
As the double doors opened Carol took us both by our elbows and propelled us out of the room. Though I could see nothing at all, I sensed a lot of people around me. It was warmer now, and there were faint sounds; a cough, the grating of a chair.
My bare feet sensed the cool of a wooden floor, on which Carol’s shoes clicked. We walked some way into the new room, evidently a large one, and Carol made us stop. She released our arms. I felt very exposed in my strange garb, surrounded by strangers.
“Are these the two applicants?” cried a female voice.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Carol. “On my left is John, and on my right Joan. They are asking to join the Justice Club.”
“We already have a John in the club,” said the voice. “You shall be called Michael John here. And the other is Joan, you say? Very well, that shall be her name at the Justice Club.”
Mercifully the Judge, for I assumed it was her voice, lost no time. I will always remember standing, unable to see the slightest glimmer of light, senses alert, listening to Joan being flogged, knowing it was my turn next. I’ll remember the relief when Joan was lifted off and I was taking her place. And my awful concentration on the pain. If only I could have been distracted by watching some nubile young woman wielding the cane.
I’ll always remember, too, my first experience of being displayed. Carol had not prepared me for that. I was acutely embarrassed at being displayed completely naked, especially as I could not see the people clustered around me. They were touching me, too. As soon as the chain was placed round my neck, someone’s hand touched my bum. It wasn’t unpleasant; quite the reverse. I was sure it was a female hand, and in fact I could only hear female voices around me.
“Nice body, then,” someone said. “Nice slim hips.”
“I wasn’t looking at his hips, love,” said someone else. “He’s got a lovely little bum.”
“Not much flesh on it,” said another voice. “I’ll bet that cane hurt.”
I could feel several hands passing over my bottom. “It’ll get right through to the bone,” said another voice.
They were very gentle and soothing. Then someone grasped my right cheek, the one which had taken the brunt of the caning. Grasped it hard, fingernails biting. I couldn’t help but give a grunt, more from unexpectedness than pain.
“Ooh, sorry love,” said a new voice. “Did it hurt?” And she squeezed again, harder, twisting the sparse flesh as cruelly as she could.
There were protests from kinder souls in my audience, and the gentle treatment resumed. Occasionally a finger would stray between my legs, passing as far as the loose skin of my sack, and that was lovely. Just once I had a nasty shock. A hand slid between my legs and closed round the sack. The hand slowly squeezed and I jumped. Before the pain worsened the hand released me and was pulled back the way it had arrived. I managed not to cry out, and I thought nobody had noticed.
I had ceased worrying about my erection, which had been growing throughout my display, (especially during the fingernail treatment).
“Look everyone, when I squeezed him he loved it. Just look at his cock! Go on . . . You have a go, Amethyst.” Two new hands grasped me. They were strong and the fingernails sharp. The nails dug in, and it was all I could do to stop myself crying out.
“He loved that, Amethyst. Just look at that!”
My cock was leaping in a series of jerks. I couldn’t help myself. There were cries of amazement and delight all around me. “We’ve got a right one here. . . Talk about enjoying pain. . . Do it again Amethyst. . . He loves it when you give him a squeeze.”
Amethyst did indeed give me another squeeze. I nearly jumped out of my bonds. It was the most erotic situation I could have imagined.
In short, I was almost enjoying myself when it all came to an end. I heard the Judge’s voice. “Take him down.” Evidently she was ignoring my vertical erection.
My arms were lowered and the chain removed from my neck. Lastly the blindfold was removed and I blinked madly in the brilliant light. When I could see again I looked across to find Joan. They had released her, and were just removing her blindfold. She looked absolutely calm and I was sure she had come through the experience as well as myself. There was an admiring cluster of men around her. Joan blinked several times and then looked for me. Our eyes met, and we smiled.
The judge’s voice brought me back to my own circle. “Michael John, you have undergone the ordeal bravely, and I have pleasure in welcoming you to the Justice Club as a novice member. Here is your gown, which you will wear at all meetings. She held out the snowy white gown.
I put out an arm and she slipped the gown onto me. She pulled the gown closed in front of me, but it fell slightly open again, as there were no buttons or clips. I was sure my erection was showing through the gap, but nobody seemed to mind. I looked at the Judge.
She was dressed in a travesty of a judge’s outfit. A judge’s wig perched on her head. She wore a vivid scarlet gown, not secured at the front so that I glimpsed brief black underwear and a lot of pink flesh. She was a small woman, and quite trim for her age. High heels made her appear slightly taller than she really was. She carried herself very erect, and the women around us deferred to her. She obviously had their respect.
“You took it well,” she said. “I think we will enjoy your presence at the Club. You are very welcome.”
With that she moved on to present a white gown to Joan. I would have followed to watch, but the women clustered round me, chattering. I had a hundred questions to ask.
“Who is the Judge?” was my first.
“Someone said, “Oh, Judge Emily. She runs the club. In fact it was all her idea in the first place, and she had this new courtroom built specially. Built onto the back of her own house.”
Someone else added, “Loaded, she is. We hardly pay anything. Just an annual sub, which probably doesn’t even cover the drinks we have.” I noticed several of them had drinks in their hands. And someone brought over a whisky, which was very kind. In fact just what I needed at that moment. I took a sip, craftily trying to ease the gown closed in front of myself, but somehow it swung open again, no doubt revealing how excited I still was.
They told me I could arrange to be caned any time I wished, and one of the black-gowned women said, “Yes, and I’ll volunteer to hold the cane.” The others laughed. “You’ll be lucky,” said one. “The Judge will reserve Michael John for herself. She likes tall young men like you. But seriously, if you want any particular girl to flog you, just make it known before your case comes up. We do pander to peoples’ special needs here.”
I thought about that. Then, “OK, I’ll remember that. But what was that about amber? Something was hung round my neck.”
A very large girl was standing right in front of me. So far she had said nothing. “Ah,” she said. “Anyone who is being displayed gets a plate hung round their neck. Either red, amber or green. Female applicants have a red card. That means the men aren’t allowed to touch. They can look, yes. But naughty fingers . . . absolutely forbidden!”
“And men?” I asked.
“Men get an amber plate, which means we girls can touch your bottom. Nowhere else! If anyone is caught touching any other part of you, they’re up for punishment at the next meeting. Then they’re in trouble.”
“And what does green mean?”
They all laughed. “A free-for-all,” said someone. We can touch you anywhere, and probably will.” I must have looked shocked, because she added, “But don’t worry. Men can’t touch men, under any circumstances, and women can’t touch other women. You’d get thrown out of the club for something like that.”
“Well, to be fair,” added the very large lady. “If a woman wants, she can make it known she is bi. And then anyone can touch her.”
“Of course, darling,” murmured her neighbour, lifting the hem of her gown and grasping one very large buttock-cheek. “We all know what you like, and we’re very glad to oblige, aren’t we, girls!” They all grinned, especially the large woman.
“No,” said a voice just behind me. “This one needs serious pain, don’t you, my darling.”
“What do you mean, Amethyst?” said the plump woman.
I turned round and saw the biggest woman ever. Not especially tall, she was just wide. Her bulk was too much for the tent-like gown which she conspicuously failed to close, revealing enormous sagging breasts and hanging belly. Underwear failed to control any of this flesh. She smiled happily at me, and I thought her lovely, the sexiest woman in the room. This was Amethyst, then, with the sharp fingernails and powerful squeeze. I felt my prick jumping again.
“I mean,” said Amethyst, “I mean this one needs a serious caning. Not little taps, like the rest of you organise for yourselves. He needs me. I’ll cane him one day, then you’ll see. I’ll cane him so hard he’ll cum all over the horse.”
I wasn’t sure it quite worked like that, but she certainly had my measure. I imagined bending over for her, and I was sure she’d take me to the limit all right. The others laughed gaily. “Good for you, Amethyst,” said one. “I’d like to see that, for sure.”
I gulped the rest of my whisky and someone took the glass. I saw Joan coming towards me, elegant in her new white gown. Like most of the other women, she allowed it to swing open, showing glimpses of her splendid body. I was so proud of her at that moment. The other women moved aside to let her reach me, and started chattering to each other.
Joan reached up to my ear and whispered, “I want you to take me home, John. And I want you to fuck me rigid. Quick!”
We quickly found Carol, who said it was OK, she’d get a lift home easily enough. “You can get off right away, if you like. Here, I’ll see you to the changing room.
We changed quickly and stumbled out to the car. I don’t remember the drive home, but it was pretty fast. It took me three tries to get the key into the front door, but once inside we raced upstairs, shedding clothes all the way. We flung ourselves on the bed and shagged ourselves empty.
When we had exhausted ourselves, Joan rolled onto her back. “I think we’re going to enjoy the Justice Club, my dear. Don’t you?”
I could only agree.
