From the Top Shelf - Military Discipline

Over a year ago we lost a valuable member of the spanking blog world. Alex Birch maintained a huge collection of spanking stories in his now-defunct blog, Taste of the Birch. Sadly, his blog has been hacked and the stories were deleted, so I won't include the URL. But fortunately, while I was at Hogwarts, I learned a spell for resurrecting blog posts that have vanished, and was able to restore a favourite of mine.

I'm a big fan of a television series called Foyle's War, set in England during and after the Second World War. It features a civilian detective, Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle (Michael Kitchen) and his lovely driver, Samantha "Sam" Stewart (Honeysuckle Weeks - isn't that a fantastic name?)

Military Discipline by Laurel Aspen reminds me of this unlikely couple. I can hear Sam's voice speaking the words of Private Terry.

‘Ah, good day to you Appleton.’

‘Sir!’

‘No need to come to attention old chap, sit down, take the weight off, how’s the leg?’

Major Appleton sat gratefully. ‘Coming along sir, although I may never regain full flexibility in the knee.’

‘Shame,’ said his host shortly but with evident sincerity, ‘can’t think for a moment why we had to blindly follow the Yanks into south east Asia in the first place, God forsaken place Korea and we were never going to win. Political vanity as always.’

Slightly taken aback by this candour Appleton, who’d fortunately been forewarned of the canny old civil servant’s habit of communicating in staccato bursts of rhetoric, wisely kept his own counsel. Sir Archibald Piercy, intentionally unknown to the man on the Clapham omnibus, was the senior permanent secretary at the Ministry of Defence. When Piercy called you came running, or in Appleton’s case at a brisk limp.

‘Sorry to drag you back from sick leave,’ Piercy continued in an avuncular tone, ‘but we’ve a pressing problem we rather hoped you might lend us a hand with.’

That would be a governmental rather than a Royal ‘we’ Appleton surmised. ‘Glad to be doing anything Sir,’ he answered enthusiastically, ‘convalescing is driving me mad with boredom.’

‘Thing is,’ said Piercy, ‘and this is strictly entre nous, the PM’s lately got the wind up about the state of readiness of some of our military bases. “Much Binding in the Marsh” and all that is a tad to close for comfort in a few cases.’

‘I’d heard rumours Sir,’ said Major Appleton, who kept his ear to the ground, ‘one of the problems of a conscript army.’

‘Quite so,’ agreed Piercy sagely as he keenly observed the young officer before him. Walking stick and limp apart he saw a bright, battle hardened veteran. A fellow who knew his own mind and wasn’t afraid to speak it. ‘Cut a long story short,’ Piercy went on, ‘we’d like you to make a series of unannounced inspections. Turn up out of the blue, shake the buggers out of their torpor.’

‘I see Sir,’ Appleton brightened visibly at the prospect; a chance to something useful at last and just when he’d reconciled himself to being pensioned off to some dull Whitehall desk job.

‘Report problems personally to me pronto then return a few months later to check they’ve been sorted out,’ Piercy continued.

‘Splendid Sir, I can’t wait,’ responded Appleton smartly, ‘only thing is I’m going to need a driver to get about. Dam leg won’t work a clutch pedal yet.’

‘Yes thought as much,’ said Piercy, always a step ahead. ‘Not to worry old chap, I’ve requisitioned a decent enough Humber from the pool and after a lot of badgering, apparently your rank isn’t automatically entitled to one, finally managed to blag you a driver, name of Terry. Dam bureaucratic nonsense if you ask me,’ he concluded clearly oblivious to any irony.

‘Marvellous Sir, thank you, when may I start?’

‘That’s the spirit, knew we’d chosen wisely. The car will be at your flat, Marylebone isn’t it?’ he checked a file on the desk, ‘tomorrow 9am sharp. Organise your own itinerary and I’ll expect the first report in a week. Good luck.’

***

‘You’re Terry?’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘But I…’

‘Was expecting a bloke? Happens all the time Sir. Private Eileen Terry Royal Corps of Transport reporting for duty.’

‘I see,’ said Major Appleton, who didn’t, doubtfully.

‘You’ve nothing to worry about,’ announced the young Private, correctly interpreting his look. ‘I can drive ‘em, I can mend ‘em and,’ she smiled cheekily, ‘I can type as well, what more could an officer want?’

‘A little more respect for a start,’ replied Appleton, struggling to suppress a smile.

Despite the unflattering cut of her standard issue khaki tunic there was little doubting that Eileen Terry, aged he guessed early 20s, some 10 years his junior, was something of a dish. Somewhere under that ill-cut serge - say what you like about the Jerries but at least their uniforms had always looked good – lay a trim little figure.

Private Terry stood a good few inches shorter than his angular six foot frame; a trace of lipstick and curly brown hair tucked under her peaked cap preserved a vestige of the femininity her clothes otherwise so successfully concealed. Unasked she picked up his case and carried it to the boot. As Eileen bent forward to stow his belongings in the Humber her skirt tightened across what Appleton couldn’t help but notice was a potential peach of an arse. Full, firm and… yes well quite, concentrate on the task ahead man.

They set off down the A24, a perfect spring day, traversing the sun-dappled North Downs en route to a costal defence battery near Worthing.

‘What’ enquired Appleton after several miles, ‘brought a girl like you into the army?’

‘Girl like what Sir?’

‘Well spoken and clearly educated for a start. Unless I’m mistaken National Service hasn’t been extended to women?’

‘To travel and see the world,’ replied Eileen promptly. ‘My dad’s a vicar, not far from here in fact, and mum’s very involved in the Parish, all very pleasant but rather dull and not at all for me.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because in that cosy little existence nothing unpredictable ever happens. Nice middle class girls either seem to work in an office until some bloke takes pity and proposes or trot off to teacher training college…’

‘Then back to the same town to teach for a couple of years until some bloke takes pity and proposes,’ chimed in Appleton.

‘Exactly sir, well done, gosh, people don’t usually have an inkling of what I mean but you’ve got it in one,’ said Private Terry, clearly delighted by his empathy. ‘Mum and dad weren’t at all thrilled when I joined up at 18 but in the last five years I’ve been to Aden Cyprus, Germany…’

‘And it’s still only 1955,’ smiled Appleton, already impressed by her radiant smile and positive, can-do, attitude to life.

‘That’s right,’ agreed Eileen cheerfully, ‘who knows what’ll happen next?’

***

On the military front nothing radical was the short answer.

During the following couple of weeks the pair visited half a dozen bases, two excellent, one average and three, as Appleton was not slow to point out to the OICs ‘downright diabolical.’

Quietly observing Appleton’s working methods, often at his behest taking notes, Eileen soon learned to respect her new boss. Assertive rather than aggressive he suffered fools and blusterers not at all yet listened carefully to reasoned arguments, frequently taking to the trouble to perform small acts of kindness without apparently feeling any less of a man.

Which, she knew, having once arrived early at his billet and caught him coming out of the shower Appleton most definitely was, lean muscular, often pained by his leg wound yet uncomplaining. An alpha male to set a girl’s heart racing.

For his part Appleton was equally taken with his willing assistant for Eileen, quick on the uptake, sparky and possessed of plenty of initiative, soon expanded her role. Careful not to overstep the hierarchy of rank she nevertheless occasionally ventured perceptive opinions and, to Appleton’s relief, could happily chat about an eclectic range of non-military matters during their long hours on the road.

All went swimmingly until the morning when Eileen mislaid the car keys. Sure enough she found them somewhere obvious some 30 minutes later but the time lost made Appleton late for his appointment to check progress at a particularly slovenly camp. Which in turn, he felt, diminished his authority and put the normally even-tempered Major in a decidedly frosty mood for the rest of the day.

That evening after dinner Appleton finally simmered down and regained his sense of perspective. The girl had done dam well up until now and there was no sense in damaging a perfectly serviceable working relationship because of one minor mishap. Besides which he’d privately become rather fond of Private Terry; better to have the matter out that very evening he thought and summoned her to his temporary quarters.

Eileen for her part had been feeling guiltily wretched all day and was desperate to make amends to someone who she not only admired professionally but also rather… ‘hmm, no sense thinking like that girl, it was your mind wandering which got you into this jam in the first place.’

‘I should report this,’ said Appleton severely, although in truth he was considering doing no such thing.

‘Please don’t Sir, my record’s spotless so far, I don’t want to ruin it with something so silly.’

‘How else are we to resolve this matter Private? This is the army, we must maintain discipline above all else.’

‘Well Sir,’ Eileen blushed, her eyes downcast, ‘I did have sort of an idea…’

‘Really? Well come on woman let’s hear it, your suggestions have generally been jolly good thus far.’

‘Sir, I was careless I know, and I deserve to be punished but perhaps if you could do it yourself rather than putting me on report...?’

‘Go on,’ Appleton had been considering nothing more than brief verbal bollocking but this development was intriguing.

‘Sir when I was in Aden the CO at the military hospital sometimes spanked the nurses instead of sticking them on a charge.’

Did he indeed, thought Appleton, his trousers twitching at the image Private Terry had created in his head. ‘Did he indeed?’ he said out loud struggling hard to keep his voice neutral, ‘and you thought, what exactly?’

Eileen squirmed at something resembling attention before the Major unable to look him in the eye, cheeks red with shame. ‘That you might do the same Sir?’ she whispered tentatively.

Appleton let the silence hang in the air. Uncanny, his favourite fantasy – until now apparently destined to remain nothing more – made flesh. He hadn’t even broached the subject of spanking, she had. Not that if anything went wrong this fact would save him. He was after all the senior officer, the one in authority; and there was nothing the tabloid newspapers liked more than embarrassing the establishment.

He looked up gravely at Eileen, anxiety written all over her face. That had taken some guts, he thought, not just to suggest such a punishment but then possibly suffer the humiliation of being a grown woman willingly submitting to getting her bottom smacked like a naughty little girl.

‘Very well,’ Eileen he said carefully, Christ, was that his voice? It seemed to echo from another dimension ‘I’m prepared to accept your propped alterative. A short, sharp physical chastisement,’ she winced at the words, ‘and then the matter will be forgotten.’

Eileen’s mouth opened to reluctantly assent but no sound was audible, just a silently mouthed ‘yes.’

‘No time like the present Private,’ he continued in brisk, business like tones, ‘ so get yourself over here now.’

Taking a deep breath Eileen crossed the room to where Appleton sat on an armless, upright chair.

‘Hat and tunic on the desk please,’ Appleton continued brusquely, ‘then stand next to me.’

Fingers fumbling over buttons, hat dropped on the floor in haste and retrieved by visibly shaking hands Eileen silently complied, her attractive features a mask of apprehension.

Butterflies danced frantically in her stomach as she stood as bidden. ‘Hands on head Private and face away from me,’ ordered Appleton. Knees knocking, heart thudding, she obeyed standing rigidly, feet together, shoulders back and stomach pulled tight in the approved parade drill fashion as he lifted the hem of her skirt.

Slowly, carefully, the Major exposed slender legs in unflattering regulation stockings, broad suspender straps taught over curvaceous hips and a most irregular pair of silk French knickers, which certainly weren’t HM’s standard stores issue.

‘Hmm,’ breathed Appleton with classic English understatement, relishing the sight. Her legs were very bit as delectable as the accidentally teasing glimpse of thigh - occasionally revealed when Private Terry climbed from the car during the preceding weeks - had led him to hope

The knee length skirt, bunched out of the way around her tiny waist, further emphasised the fullness of Eileen’s buttocks as his strong arms easily turned her around and over his knee. Finger tips on the bare wooden boards on one side, toes of her highly polished clumpy lace-ups just touching the floor on the other. Across his lap Private Terry’s exquisite peach silk covered derriere positively invited the visitation of the hand that Appleton bought determinedly down to the centre of the target area with satisfyingly audible slap.

Carefully, methodically the Major set to smacking every inch of her obediently proffered bottom. Save for the noise of each ringing blow his victim lay rigid at first, taking her medicine in exemplary silence. Gradually though the skin at the edges of her lace trimmed knickers began to turn pink in tandem with the inexorably increasing heat of her punished posterior. In reaction to each ringing, stinging slap the entire surface of her vulnerable nether regions began to smart unbearably. Involuntary grunts and mews of distress escaped the unfortunate soldier’s lips. Private Terry’s feet kicked thin air, her hips twisting on his lap; waist held firmly in Appleton’s steely grip escape was impossible.

In no hurry to rush to a conclusion the Major rested his hand lightly on his delinquent driver’s delectable rear and felt the heat emanating from her soft, pale skin. Absently he stroked her heaving globes sending shivers of pleasure darting to Eileen’s sexual epicentre. The impromptu pause in punitive proceedings permitted Eileen to catch her breath and discover that, though her poor little backside felt as if had been toasted, the resultant fire was beginning to permeate her very core with an unmistakable adrenalin rush of arousal. Every nerve end of her pink flushed behind tingled with unaccustomed stimulation. The young Private’s private parts, shamefully neglected by any hand but her own these last few weeks, dampened in an enthusiastically libidinous response.

An embarrassing position to be in perhaps, but viewed another way there were worst fates which could assail a girl than being pinioned firmly across the knee of a handsome officer who, if the impressively sized blunt object nudging her thigh was anything to go by, was experiencing a not dissimilar pleasure.

Agreeable though this interlude was proving Appleton thought it prudent to conclude events, this was after all, dam it, supposed to be a punishment. Grabbing her French knickers in his left hand he pulled the already damp crotch tightly into Eileen’s buttock cleft, sending further pulses of pleasure through her body. As the thin strip of material sank deep between her labia so wisps of fair hair appeared, damp with the tell tale moisture of Eileen’s evident arousal.

‘Well well,’ he mused quietly. Her head pointed floorwards Eileen missed the smile of comprehension that creased her tormentor’s features. So she was enjoying this almost as much as he; Appleton would soon see about that.

A dozen hearty concluding smacks fell onto what was essentially bare flesh leaving livid fingerprints across her milky under cheeks and eliciting heartfelt wails of distress. Appleton waited patiently for Eileen to compose herself and helped her clamber stiffly from his knees as eyes damp with tears, hands clutching her burning bottom she somehow contrived to maintain her dignity.

‘Thank you Sir,’ Eileen said in a small but firm voice, her hands all the while massaging her hot and sore buttocks. ‘Will there be anything more?’

‘If only,’ thought Appleton silently, ‘if only,’ but that would be pushing events too far, too fast. Better to see how things panned out. A precedent of sorts had been set tonight and both of them were now in no doubt as to the aphrodisiac effects of the spanking. However, where one thing might have quickly led to another in Civy Street they were in the army now.

‘Off to your quarters with you and report at 8am sharp tomorrow please Private Terry,’ said Appleton shortly in as neutral a voice as he could muster.

‘Understood Sir,’ Eileen saluted smartly and Appleton could only marvel out how quickly she regained her self-possession marching purposefully, albeit a little tenderly from the room. Dam it all, there was even twinkle in her eye and an incipient smile on her face.

There's more to the story; enjoy part 2 here.