From the Top Shelf - Three

I have such a fun story to share with you today by Colin Weaver, called "Three-Two-One". It was published in Februs magazine over a decade ago, and is one of those "corporal punishment by the state" stories that I am so fond of. Set in the future, the tale contains an interesting twist to the way punishment is meted out. The story is rather long, so I have split it into three parts. I hope you enjoy it.

Myra walked out of the courtroom and down the steps of the House of Justice. She felt grateful that the trial had been held in private, without the archaic mummery of bewigged barristers and the gaping faces of moronic jurors pretending to give wise verdicts upon matters they could not possibly understand. Just the three Assessors, considering the evidence against her and courteously listening to her defence.

Not that there could really be any defence. Even now that sentence had been passed and she wore the scarlet sash from shoulder to waist to announce her assessed guilt to the world. She was glad she had not tried to lie, to bluff, to make futile excuses for an offence which had been so blatant. The quiet, grave voice of the Senior Assessor had asked the only question that really mattered. "Myra Leverson, did you pollute the atmosphere and breach the climate control regulations by using an illegal petrol-engined lawnmower on the fourth of April, two thousand and thirty eight?"

Which of her neighbours had informed on her she didn't know, and it hardly mattered. Whoever it was, she felt almost grateful to them. How could she have been so irresponsible as to tinker with that shameful relic from the Years of Waste, the antique machine inherited from her grandfather, and then bribe that sly, smirking man with the dubious reputation to obtain the petrol for it? As it was she could only be grateful for the compassionate laws which allowed consideration to be shown to her sex. A man convicted of the same offence would certainly have gone to prison. As it was...

Her friends were waiting for her at the foot of the steps, Lucille and Toni and Cheryl. It was plump, loquacious little Toni, incapable of discretion, who asked the inevitable question, "What did they give you, Myra?"

Myra licked her lips and swallowed, reluctant to say the words, as though to repeat the sentence would somehow confirm the awful reality of it. But it was real and somehow she must accept and endure her punishment as many a foolish woman had done before her. When it had happened to others she had laughed and made unfeeling jokes, as people did. She did not feel like joking now. She took a deep breath and said "Three-Two-One!"

"Oh!" That was Lucille, always tender-hearted, Myra's cousin and oldest friend. "Oh, poor Myra!"

Myra shook her head. "I deserve it," she said. She managed the ghost of a smile. "Next time I visit one of you I hope you will find me your softest cushion to sit on!"

"How long, Myra?" asked the practical Cheryl.

"The sentence has to be completed by two weeks from today. I-I suppose I better start as soon as I can."

Three-two-one. Three sound spankings, two thrashings with a formidable tawse and one application of a supple stinging cane, at least twelve strokes on Myra's naked, squirming buttocks. All of which Myra would have to arrange herself.

It was not considered desirable for the State to maintain official chambers of punishment as paid agents of correction. Instead the culprit, once sentence had been passed, had to seek out for herself those who would carry it out. It might only be a single spanking. It might, for serious offences such as tobacco addiction, amount to six months of regular exemplary chastisement, at the end of which the culprit would be utterly determined never again to offend against the law.

When the system had begun there had been attempts to evade it. Some women had persuaded or bribed people to merely go through the motions of punishment or to omit it altogether an simply sign the official form certifying that correction had taken place. In every case the deception had somehow become know to the Assessors and their reaction had been draconian. By the time that a dozen people had started long terms of hard labour it was generally agreed that only an idiot would try to beat the system. Even the slightest suspicion that any of the punishments had not been carried out with sufficient vigour meant that the culprit could expect an order for it to be repeated.

"For God's sake, let's find a pub!" said Myra. "I've never needed a drink so badly."

When they entered The Grapes several of the other customers glanced with sympathy or amusement at Myra's red sash, but only the buxom blonde barmaid commented. "Hard luck, dear," she said. "I got done last year for vandalising my boyfriend's car when we fell out. Before the month was up I was sure I was never going to sit down in comfort again."

"If that was meant to be consoling," said Myra, when she had served them and left, "it didn't work! It's no use putting it off, I'd better take my first spanking today. Now who's the best person to ask for a good smacked bottom?"

Parents and blood relations were generally ruled out by the law. "Not," remarked Myra, "that I would fancy going across my mum's knee for the first time at twenty-four years old!"

Sometimes husbands or other male partners were called upon to execute justice. "The trouble with that," observed Cheryl, "is that once they've had the chance to tan your arse, they just want to keep on doing it. It doesn't take much to give some men ideas."

"It doesn't take anything to give my Gunnar those ideas!" said Toni plaintively. "I've been spanked at least once a week the past year whether I deserved it or not!"

They all knew and liked Toni's burly Swedish flatmate.

"It's because you have such a lovely spankable bottom!" said Lucille. "Honestly, sometimes I'm tempted to put you across my knee! Anyway, when Gunnar spanks you, you know it's not really punishment!"

"Well it feels like it by the time his big hard hand has been smacking my poor bum for five minutes!" pouted Toni.

"I suppose you've been spanked, Myra?" asked Cheryl. "I mean, surely we all have at some time, haven't we? Who was the last person to turn you over and spank you?"

"It was a man called Terence Sheldon," said Myra, thoughtfully. "I worked for him for a little over a year. He spanked me five - no six - times."

"Bare bottom?" asked Toni with prurient interest.

"The first time I got it on the seat of a tight skirt and he laid it on long and hard enough to make me very very sore! When he realised I wasn't going to make a fuss about it - I had deserved it, after all - he promised to take my knickers down the next time - and he did! Yes, I think Mr Sheldon would be a good man to approach."

When she phoned him a little later his voice was comfortingly matter of fact. Yes, he'd heard about the conviction. Of course, she could visit him that evening.

Had there been a trace of amusement in his voice? Myra hoped not; he was perfectly civil and good-natured when he welcomed her at the appointed time.

"Come in, Myra, nice to see you again. You remember my wife don't you?"

Yes, Myra remembered the tall elegant woman who smilingly greeted her. The family also included, she recalled, a teenage son and daughter. As though reading her mind, Mrs Sheldon said, "Michael and Fern are out with their friends. We thought you'd rather not have them here while..."

"That was thoughtful of you," said Myra, blushing. Of course, Mrs Sheldon knew why she was there. Her nervousness and embarrassment increasing, Myra looked from husband to wife and stammered, "Shall we - can we - ?"

"You wouldn't like a cup of tea first?" enquired Mrs Sheldon. "Oh I suppose you'd rather get it over with. You won't mind if I watch, will you?"

Of course, Myra did mind, but there was supposed to be a witness present during punishment. Anyway she could hardly banish Mrs Sheldon from her own living room. Myra gulped, "I'm ready when you are, Mr Sheldon."

Mr Sheldon calmly removed his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and sat down. "Come here, Myra. I'm sure you remember exactly what to do."

Remembering all too clearly, Myra went towards Mr Sheldon and went across his lap, wriggling until she was in the right position, keeping her balance with outstretched hands and toes. That afternoon, Myra and her friends, giggling nervously, had discussed the most appropriate costume for a young woman who was going to be soundly spanked. As a result she had ruled out anything provocative, despite Lucille's suggestion of, "Wear your sexiest knickers, and perhaps he won't smack quite so hard!" She was wearing a plain white sweater, a short, pleated fawn skirt, white ankle socks and flat brown shoes. Now she felt her skirt being turned up, and her simple white briefs pulled down almost to her knees. She recalled the extremely unhappy occasion when she had last displayed her bare bottom to him. This time she was also displaying it to Mrs Sheldon which did not make her feel any better.

"If it's any consolation, Myra," said Mrs Sheldon, unexpectedly, "I know exactly how you're feeling - and I don't suppose it will be long before Terence has me in that position again!"

Myra was so surprised she almost laughed - until Mr Sheldon's hand descended with the first resounding smack. As spank followed stinging spank it seemed obvious that Mr Sheldon had been keeping in regular practice. No doubt the graceful Mrs Sheldon had often gasped and yelped and wriggled just as Myra was doing now. Smack! Smack! Smack! Mr Sheldon's hand slapped Myra's bare burning cheeks with a relentless rhythm and her eyes filled with tears. She had always tried to take her punishment bravely, not to start weeping too soon, and though her bottom was stinging furiously she knew that the spanking was far from over. He hadn't even smacked her legs yet.

When at last he commenced a methodical slapping of her soft white thighs it was almost a relief, momentarily, to have her suffering bottom spared the impact of his practised hand. By the time her legs had been thoroughly smacked, though, Myra was howling, sobbing and imploring as she writhed across his lap.

"Oh, p-please, sir, please, I'm sorry! That's enough, surely that's enough?"

"I must make sure, Myra," he said, "that the sentence of the court is adequately carried out. We'll continue with something you haven't had before, at least not from me. Jane, do you remember where that big wooden-backed hairbrush is?"

"Where you left it last time you paddled me with it!" was his wife's reproachful reply.

"Bring it to me, will you? It's just what Myra needs."

"It's not fair!" wept Myra, wriggling. "The court only said sp-spanking. That means with your hand."

"It means with hand or slipper or hairbrush, as you know full well," said Mr Sheldon. "I really should have used the hairbrush on your delightful arse while you worked for me. How fortunate to have the chance to to make up for missed opportunity!"

Myra did not feel at all fortunate when she heard Mrs Sheldon return and felt the smooth, hard wood of the brush resting on one roasting bottom-cheek. She stared at the floor with tear-blurred eyes and remembered that she was only at the beginning of her fortnight's penance, that there was much worse to come. Then she shrieked as the hairbrush smacked into her bottom for the first time.

Whew! I need a cold shower after that! And it was only the first of three spankings. There's much more to come in the next two weeks, and Myra will be very, very sore by the time she has served her sentence.