Synopsis

For those with ‘the gift of seeing’, the mirror takes them into a dark satanic world of pain and sex. Dianne finds she has that gift. For the background to this story read Satanic Mirror-Its Acquisition. This time she is caned for committing adultery and trained to become a pleasure lady.

Satanic Mirror: Punishment for Adultery

by obohobo

Warnings

The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

MF NC. Spanking,

If you are underage or offended by such material, or if viewing this file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental. The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure fantasies. In real life, at the very least they would be unpleasant and probably illegal. Fantasies are like that; daydreams where we can contemplate and imagine the sensations without suffering or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation.

© obohobo 2011

Satanic Mirror: Adultery Punishment

Guilty

With much apprehension as well as more than a little excitement, I sat naked in front of the mirror and removed the cover. When the image cleared I found myself in a courtroom being lectured by a sour faced judge.

“Dianne Annette Grearson, by your own admission, you are guilty of multiple accounts of adultery and by the laws of this state, I hereby annul your marriage to David John Grearson and award him sole custody of your two children, Antony and Kate Grearson. This annulment is effect as of,” he consulted the courtroom clock, “12:43 on this day, April 23rd, 2023.” Judge Horace Walpole smacked his gavel smartly and looked at David Grearson, “You, Sir, are now a single man and may take another woman to your bed without compromising your status.”

I kept my head bowed down but thought, “Of course, I am guilty on my own admission; how could it be otherwise when you are questioned whilst coupled to the truth machine? I knew if ever they caught me, my marriage would be over, the main questions now being, what other punishments would the judge order? And would David take me back as a mistress, as a pleasure lady?”

“Ms. Grearson, you opted for marriage in order for the state to sanction your having two children and in doing so, agreed, legally and on oath as part of your marriage vows, your sexual activity would be confined your husband and to him only until your children became adults. Your blatant disregard for the vows you made in front of your husband and others, particularly that of fidelity, spread over many years, only came to light when your office manager chanced to enter a normally vacant room and found you naked and having intercourse with a boy much younger than yourself,” the judge droned on. The mirror flashed back to the scene.

“What’s going on?” Ray Middleton, the office manager, burst into the room and caught me lying naked on my back on a desk with my legs wide apart and Roger Kempton, the twenty year old office boy, trousers on the floor by his ankles, enthusiastically ramming his prick into my cunt. I enjoyed his youthful vigour and he delighted in filling a cunt twice as old as his prick. Without allowing me to dress or Roger to restore his trousers, Ray marched us through the building to the main office where we stood, waiting for the boss to call us into his office and all the while humiliatingly suffering his secretary’s watchful eye until Mr. Oldham, the owner of the business, finally found time to see us.

After a short interview I knew my life as I knew it was over; Roger, on the other hand, would be sore for a while but in a week or so would be back to normal and maybe even enhanced his status after the office girls saw his prick. “Mrs. Grearson, as you are a married woman, I am duty bound to report your behaviour to the authorities and they can decide how best to deal with you, but I can, and will, deal with you, Roger. You wasted a considerable amount of work time, time I am paying you for, having a sexual relationship with another employee and wasting her time too. If the works council agrees, I propose to give you two-dozen strokes of the cane, and fine you one weeks wages. Of course, the alternative is to clear your desk and leave but I’m sure finding another job without a reference from me, will be rather difficult.” After the formality of the works council agreement, we were marched, again without allowing us to dress, to the canteen where all the staff were assembled. Tears ran down my face at the humiliation of being stared at by the men and women comprising the workforce, people who I knew personally. Roger, on the other hand, started to become erect and while discipline with the owner in attendance, curtailed any rude remarks, I noticed a number of girls and women taking an interest in it.

Mr. Oldham, spoke of our crimes, emphasising various points by swishing and prodding with the white cane he’d brought from his office, and went on, “Roger Kempton, please bend over this table ready to receive your due punishment.” Two men were ordered to hold him in place during his ordeal and from the smile on his face, I’m sure Mr. Oldham enjoyed the power he had over us. I knew this wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed an employee receiving the cane at his hands but until then, never more than ten strokes, more usually, six.

“Aaaah!” Roger cried out when the first vicious strike cut into his buttocks. His erection quickly subsided and it became clear to those watching, our boss put considerable force behind the stroke and this continued for the whole two dozen by which time, Roger screamed with agony. I looked on with much fear and trepidation and wondered if I too would be caned but, notwithstanding the apprehension, I felt my vaginal juices start to flow and I suspected other girls and ladies in the audience had similar sensations as they watched the rise and fall of the cane and the erotic writhing movements of Roger’s arse. We knew our boss had not been trained in the use of the cane like the officers at the correctional centre, because the strokes landed somewhat haphazardly and a couple that crossed drew trickles of blood but didn’t cause a serious cut. Roger wouldn’t sit comfortably for a while though even though the boss ordered him to return to work after lunch; he could hardly stand without help.

Sentenced and punished

The mirror returned me to the courtroom.

“Mr. Kempton for his part, received a caning of twenty-four strokes and lost a week’s earnings, your role in the affair, Ms. Grearson, is far more serious in that you admitted to seducing the boy and almost forcing him to fornicate with you, your punishment must, therefore reflect this and take into account the other breaches of your marriage contract. You will, immediately after this hearing, be taken to the Behaviour Correction Centre to receive four-dozen strokes of the adult cane. This is the maximum for this offence.” I staggered and almost collapsed. Rarely were so many strokes (strokes? - they were downright hard hits) given to a woman and I knew from the times I’d been able to get a pass to view a caning, they’d be delivered at least as hard as the ones Roger received and laid on with skill so that the whole of the buttocks area would be one huge mass of tramline welts. I wondered if I would be able to withstand the pain but knew I would have to, the officers at the centre knew how to inflict extreme pain and still keep the victim awake. The judge hadn’t finished.

“From your statements to the interviewing officers it is quite clear that you are no longer fit to be a wife and mother...”

“I am, I am!” I interrupted, “I love my husband and children and they love me...” I didn’t get any further before Judge Walpole rapped his gavel rapidly on the block and ordered silence.

“It is quite clear that you are no longer fit to be a wife and mother or to continue to work in an office where you may be tempted to seduce other employees, and that your preferred lifestyle is that of a whore, you will therefore, be taken to the Training and Rehabilitation Centre for a fourteen day course to become a Pleasure Lady. At forty years old, you will be far older than most of their trainees but I understand some men prefer older women and with your excessive sexual desires, you should be able to satisfactorily complete the training course. On the completion of your training, your ex-husband and family will be given the chance to take you into their home as a Pleasure Lady and you will have to service all the extended family needs, young and old, male and female, and the needs of their friends. If you do not perform well enough, they are at liberty to punish you to the limits prescribed in the Correction of Recalcitrant Pleasure Workers brochure. If, after your treatment of him, your ex-husband refuses to have you back into his house, you will be taken to the State Pleasure Palace to work there. Take her away.”

I found myself in the Correction Centre. “Remove all your clothing and place them in the box,” a burly guard ordered, “They will be sent to your old address. Hurry up woman, you’ve shown yourself to enough men before and will be doing so many more times in the future. Give her a hand, Jack.” Another elderly officer roughly unbuttoned my trousers and pulled them and my knickers down. I protested that I could do it but a hard slap to my now bare arse and a harsh warning, shut me up. They wanted the opportunity to handle and maul me and they did, particularly my tits and nipples. Finally they finished and handcuffed me in an upright position to an iron-framed chair in a small anteroom, no more than a cubicle, with a floor to ceiling glass panel overlooking the punishment room. From previous visits to the Correction Centre as a visitor, I knew they forced offenders to watch others receiving their punishment whilst waiting their turn. I also knew that the design of the cubicle allowed the audience a good view of my naked body and in a futile attempt to shut out the image, I closed my eyes. “You’ve about twenty minutes to wait before they take you down. There are four students ahead of you. Behave yourself otherwise the officers can give you extra strokes. The room is watched from the control room as well as by the spectators,” the chief guard said before they left. My fascination with seeing others punished didn’t allow me to keep my eyes closed for long, but this time, the situation was very different, my arse would be exposed and the recipient of the cruel cane.

Left on my own, I cried quietly, the thought of the upcoming thrashing and my future as a Pleasure Lady foremost in my mind and I prayed David would want me back because of the stories I’d heard about the way older ladies were treated at the State Pleasure Palace. For my age, I’m still attractive. I’m fairly tall, have long brown hair, large tits and I’m not overweight but even so, many men want MILFs more for sadistic pleasure than sex. Would David want to hurt me to get his own revenge for my behaviour? I doubted he would be as cruel as patrons who bought time with me even if he did punish me. What would it be like to submit to my son and daughter’s sexual demands? And those of his parents and mine? They’d all be allowed access to my body so I wouldn’t have to rely on one prick for my enjoyment, but first I had to get through my caning and the ordeal at the rehab centre.

The recording cameras showed a young girl being led to the caning bench and fastened down with her legs spread and her cunt and arsehole in clear view, the image being shown many times full size on the large screen at the end of the hall. A male officer took up his position and gave the girl a dozen hard strokes as punishment for ‘unruly behaviour’ so the announcer informed us. Fortunately the glass front to my cubicle reduced her crying and yelling and I did not get to hear the full extent of her suffering.

While they took her away, I had time to look around at the audience and in the dim light, recognised my husband, no, my ex husband now, and his mother and father sitting behind the front barrier. Much to my relief, Tony and Kate weren’t there; they were too young to attend. With my terror mounting as I watched the students get their thrashings, watched the livid lines appear across both white buttock cheeks, knowing mine would be infinitely more severe and painful, and all because I wanted a little extra sex, sex that David didn’t give me as frequently as I desired or needed.

Finally the wait was over. The guards came and released my arms and dragged me sobbing into the hall. I saw my family briefly when I passed them but didn’t have a chance to speak before being thrust unceremoniously over the punishment bench and strapped down with my arse higher than my head and my legs widely spread. For a moment I thought how much nicer it would be if a well endowed man came and thrust his hard prick in my open cunt but the thought quickly disappeared when a woman, a stereotype buxom lesbian dyke in appearance, stood to one side, gently swishing the deadly thin, white, Dentrile cane while they fastened me down. The sight of it terrified me because I knew from seeing the previous canings, the tough springy plastic would curl itself round the form of my buttocks and produce a lengthy stripe only broken in the centre by the crease in my arse. I shook violently and released my bladder, the warm liquid trickled down my leg but I had other worries on my mind. None of the staff showed any concern about it either, no doubt it happened regularly, but I heard sniggering from the crowd. My crime and sentence were announced over the speaker system, “Dianne Annette Grearson, forty-eight strokes of the adult cane for multiple adultery. Sentence to begin.”

I didn’t hear the hiss as the woman swung the cane but I certainly felt its impact across the back of my thighs. I screamed. A quick glance at the screen showed a thin stripe across both thighs. No heroic stoicism for me, I yelled and cried and pleaded as the cane cut its painful way into my legs and lower buttocks, but it made no difference. To the cane-wielding bitch, my arse was just another area of flesh to decorate and cause as much misery as possible. She succeeded. By the halfway mark, I hoped to pass out, but unfortunately I remained conscious although my voice began to give way and by the end, I only hoarsely croaked my protests. The applause from the audience barely registered when the announcer called 48 and the final stroke bit its painful way into my swollen bum. I felt the cold antiseptic spray cover the fiery welts but it did nothing to relieve the pain and without support, I doubt if I would have made it into the recovery room where a doctor checked me and nonchalantly proclaimed, “She’s fit enough to travel when you’re ready.” Transport had to wait for two other women to receive their punishments later in the day. At least I would get a longer rest before having to move again.

The recovery room had a twenty or more cot-type beds covered with a thin mattress and a number were already occupied with crying or moaning men and women, all naked, but as I walked between the cots, I noticed none had as many stripes on their bums as me. I came to a vacant cot and the guard supporting me actually helped me to lie down and I found myself facing a teenager in the cot alongside me, who showed me his dozen stripes. To try and take my mind off the awful pain, I showed him mine and noticed he had an erection but I didn’t dare touch it. The pain made it difficult to move anyway. “Why did you get so many?” he asked quietly and when I told him, he seemed shocked that I got so many for a bit of extra fucking. In turn he said, “A group of us, those on the cots over there, got a bit drunk last night and did some damage. Ended up at the police station on that damned truth machine and they found I’d thrown a stone through a window. Magistrate sentenced me to a dozen with the junior cane and the others got the same or less. They should let us go home soon.”

Training starts

An hour later two guards ordered me up. I cried out as the muscles had to move and take my weight but the officers didn’t worry and made me walk or rather, stumble, without help, still naked and with my wrists cuffed in front of me, to a van parked outside. At first sight, I thought that for once the authorities were being kind in providing a mattress covered floor to the van for us to lie on but once the journey started, I found the guards arranged it for their comfort when they fucked and fondled the inmates on the way to rehab. Only six of us were detailed to go to ‘rehab’, two men and four women, the other three girls were attractive youngsters who only had minor cane marks for not making the effort to get a job and now were being sent for training as Pleasure Women. The men too were young, twenties probably, and one had a similar caning to me and had difficulty in keeping quiet when ordered.

It quickly became obvious the guards were intent on fucking the three young girls and I guessed my age ruled me out and I hoped for a peaceful journey to Rehab, but it was not to be. “Dianne, get your mouth around Carl’s cock and suck him hard and then let him fuck you. You might as well start your training now,” the biggest guard ordered.

“No, please...”

“Slap, slap!” His hand hit my tits first in one direction and then the other. Carl didn’t wish to move either but seeing that his arse could be the next target, slowly crawled and knelt with this prick near my face. Under other circumstances I might have enjoyed it but this time I did it mechanically worrying more about hurting my arse than giving him satisfaction. Nevertheless he quickly became hard and gently lowered me to the mattress and suggested I kneel instead of forcing my arse to take my weight. Fortunately the hover-powered vans gave a smooth ride even on rough roads. “Ram it in hard, Carl,” the big guard, already well into fucking the blonde haired girl, shouted.

Carl, I know, found thrusting into me a painful exercise and I did too especially as the pain delayed his ejaculation but eventually he released his sperm. “Clean him up, Dianne and then give Tom a chance.” The guard already had his prick in the blonde’s mouth. Tom, in far less pain, didn’t hesitate to fuck me hard, even though I whimpered every time his loins hit mine and his balls hit my arse. His cuffed hands found my tits and gave them a mauling too but he couldn’t control his climax and soon sent his seed in me. I cleaned him like I knew I had to, but he insisted on keeping it in my mouth longer then necessary.

“You’ve got time to do her again, Carl, Tom will suck you to hardness this time.” Following the guard’s instruction, Tom dutifully took his fellow trainee’s prick and wanked and sucked it hard enough to enter me and then hit Carl’s arse forcing him deeply into me at one thrust. I guessed Tom had almost volunteered for this rehab course and wanted to become a male whore.

We arrived about 5 o’clock and were taken to the canteen and given a meal and an ‘energy drink’ which they said would help to heal our welts and increase the libido of men and women. Sitting on plastic seats to eat without crying out in pain, proved a challenge but I saw other inmates, not only with cane stripes across their bums, but their back, stomachs and tits showed the bruises left by the straps the guards carried. Women outnumbered the men, which isn’t surprising when we were to be trained as whores, male whores being is less demand. I looked across the room to a raised area where fully dressed men and a few women ate their meal and I rightly guessed, these and the guards, would be the clients we’d have to service.

Before this the Director, a middle-aged matronly woman with cruel eyes, lectured us. “... A few of you may become privately owned Pleasure Ladies or Pleasure Men but most will go to a Pleasure Centre and it is to this end we direct our training. There you will certainly be fucked up to ten times in an evening session and you will need to service at least five clients in that time in order to make a decent living for yourselves and the Centre. Here at Training and Rehab, for the first few days you will not have to woo your clients. We have arranged for sufficient clients, old and young, male and female, to be on hand to service you with only a short break, for five hours. You will allow them full access to your body and all your holes are available for their pleasure, regardless of your feelings and any pain it may cause you. If you do not perform well enough in their opinion, they are at liberty to use the light strap that hangs on the back of the door to your room and award up to a dozen strokes on any part of your body between the neck and the knees. There are bracelet cuffs fastened to the head and foot of your bed to secure you and cameras in your room monitor your behaviour and theirs.” She emphasised our need to give the clients the satisfaction they paid for, “This applies equally to those of you who are a little sore from your time at the Correctional Centre and failure will only add to your pain.”

A little sore! I almost passed out at the thought of being fucked for five hours when I could hardly move a muscle without bolts of pain flashing through my body, let alone getting further punishment because of it.

“Hello, I’m Steve, your personal trainer. We have about half an hour before your first client is due so lets get you into the shower and looking a little less dishevelled and I’ll also oil your arsehole in case one of the clients wishes to use it. I’ll be watching the monitor and making notes of your performance and we’ll work on the weak areas tomorrow.” I wondered if he’d fuck me in the shower but he didn’t although he became erect. All the time he kept informing me of things I needed to do when a client arrived and during his stay and I did try to remember them but only the main points registered in my mind. A buzzer sounded and Steve left with the rejoinder to smile and be welcoming to the clients. Smile, even after the shower water had eased my pain just a little, I still hurt and felt grim and very worried over my future.

The large bed at least had a soft mattress but my eyes quickly went to the leather bracelets at the head and foot and then to the strap hanging conveniently behind the door, a strap about twenty inches long with one end doubled to form a handle. Even wielded with less than full force it would hurt and leave a mark.

My career as a whore did not get off to a good start.

A soft knock and much to my surprise, a lad, probably an early teenager, entered. I knew there wasn’t a lower age limit for boys entering a Pleasure House because my son Tony, wanted to go but found it too expensive and made use of a girl in his class. Some fathers took their sons to give them the experience of fully trained whores but David didn’t and thought it better for boys to find girls of their own. As I’d been instructed, I greeted the boy with a hug and a full kiss and helped him to undress. I still hadn’t received any clothes and my nakedness already had its effect on his prick because it jutted firmly from his body. “This will be an easy start,” I thought, “A small young prick will cum in only a short while so I’d better try and slow him down a little and spend longer with him and not some old fellow.” Despite the pain, I tried to return his thrusts. The strategy worked out and we cuddled and he played with my tits for a while after he’d sent his cum into me. What came next shocked me.

“May I use the strap on your tits before I leave?” he asked somewhat apprehensively as though he expected me to refuse. Not wishing any more punishments or pain, I did. Bad mistake.

“I thought I’d given you a good time so there should be no need to use the strap on me.” He looked a little downcast but left and shortly after a paunchy man in his forties entered and I’d started to remove his jacket when a guard entered with the boy.

“Get back on the bed, bitch. You do not refuse any client, not even a young one, any reasonable request. He would only have given you a few light swats but now I’m ordering him to deliver the full dozen he could have requested and to lay them on good and hard. Afterwards I’ll give your arse a further warming with my harder strip of leather. Put your hands by the bracelets.” I begged and pleaded, all to no avail of course, and he quickly spread-eagled me on the bed. My new client undressed himself and watched eagerly as the boy took the strap from the door and listened while the guard graphically explained how to use it to the greatest effect.

The sight of the boy, poised to one side of me, raising the strap ready to bring it forcibly down on my breasts perhaps frightened me more than the earlier caning. The sensitiveness of the target and the fact that I could see and hear the strap as it descended filled me with fear even before feeling the pain of the strap’s impact as it flattened my tits against my chest. I screamed and begged, I writhed in my bindings, and, if he’d been on his own, the boy may have desisted, but, encouraged by the guard, he had no choice other than to hit hard and give me the full dozen. I didn’t believe my body could take any more punishment, but it did. The guard turned me over forcing my tortured breasts to the mattress and placing my welted and swollen arse in a position to receive further punishment.

I screamed, I yelled, I felt myself fading when the second lash from the punishment strap crashed on to my bum but I didn’t actually pass out and just lay sobbing when my legs and arms were freed and barely heard the guard offer the boy a free turn after the man finished, nor when the client ordered me to kneel on all fours ready for him. My lack of response earned me a couple of swats with his hand before he roughly pushed me into position, and entered me forcibly from behind. I didn’t respond too well; I couldn’t. The bastard didn’t spare me and laughed at my efforts to avoid his thrusts and used his doggy position to hold and squeeze my battered tits. Fortunately, he left after he’d ejaculated and I’d sucked him clean.

“I’m sorry,” the boy apologised a little tearfully when he returned, “I didn’t complain but they saw and heard it on the monitor. I don’t think I can get it hard enough now so will you give me a blowjob instead?” I did and made it last.

That first evening I had three more clients, all men, one elderly who fucked for ages before he came and none of them showed any sympathy for my plight, indeed, they took great delight in adding to my pain. One fucked my arse and at each thrust I swayed and would have collapsed had he not taken me bent over the side of the bed and all three commented on my pathetic performance and used the strap on my mound, belly and thighs. They left hardly an area unmarked.

Steve came and took me to the shower and put cream on the welts and bruises but only commented that we’d have to work on my technique in the morning. I had to give him a blowjob before he climbed into bed with me a fell asleep. Sleep didn’t come easily to me and I lay awake trying to control my crying and only moving when I couldn’t stand the pain of lying in one spot so as not to incur Steve’s wrath and further punishment. I needn’t have worried. The pain increased during the night and a fever overcame me and when I awoke I found myself in a hospital bed. “You’ve been here two days and we’ve kept you sedated for that time to let you heal a little but the director wants you back in training again so we’ve had to stop giving you the sedatives,” the nurse informed me. From the state of my skin when I saw myself in a mirror, I didn’t believe much healing had taken place.

On my fourth evening, they gave me three clients to service. Having had painkilling injections I could move better but my body looked grotesque with its awful array of bruises in a range of colours and my skin stretched taut with the swelling. I wondered that anyone would want me in that state, but they did. Only the woman used the strap on me, again she sort to torment my tits because I failed to lick her to a climax in the half an hour of her session. I’d never been into lesbianism and this combined with weariness resulting from the fever, didn’t allow my tongue to work as hard as she wanted.

For the last week of my training when the other, younger girls were hardly marked, I became the target for the wrath of the trainers, guards and clients in a Catch 22 situation; the beatings made it more difficult to move and when I didn’t move well enough to satisfy them, they gave me another dose of the strap. My age didn’t help. The others in my group were all lithe and fit and could do the exercises and maintain the required sexual positions the trainers required, positions I couldn’t have done even if I hadn’t been whipped.

Home?

The scene switched; a guard escorted me to the door of my former home. I prayed fervently that David, my ex husband, would take me in and not send me on to the State Pleasure Palace and my spirits lifted when he answered the door and signed the guard’s tablet. I hadn’t been told of my return home until minutes before transport arrived but they must have informed him of my release because the whole family stood waiting to greet me. David quickly made my status known to the others and to me. “Friends and family, may I introduce and welcome Dianne, our new Pleasure Lady,” he started as though I were a complete stranger, “She is here in my care for a month, after which I have the option of passing her to the Palace or keeping her. You may have known her as your mother or daughter but the court dissolved all blood ties and each and every one of you is free to use her for your pleasure at any time she is not required for other duties. Please remove your coverall, Dianne, so they can see what they have to play with.” When I did so and stood before them naked except for my ‘whore’s collar’ as it became known, a collective gasp and murmurs of disgust went up when they saw the extent of my bruising and all the cane and strap marks that still showed very clearly.

Kate, my teenaged daughter, ran forward and hugged me and cried into my breasts until David gently sat her down. At least one of my family had sympathy for my plight.

“I was going to say,” David went on in the silence that followed, “As she is a registered whore, you are free to punish her if she doesn’t perform well enough but seeing the state of her body, I will, as the person ultimately responsible for her, need to sanction all such punishments until she has healed. I’m sure you already know, all three of her openings are available to you and that the law does not consider it adultery if you have intercourse with a registered Pleasure Lady. For now, I suggest we put her on my bed and give each of you fifteen minutes to become familiar and fuck her if you wish.” My life as a whore had begun.

At this point the mirror went black and I stood shakily to replace the cover, glancing at my body to make sure there were no marks even though the pain had suddenly ceased. This feature of the mirror completely baffled me. After wiping the chair where my juices had oozed on to the seat and taking a glass of wine that I’d placed close at hand, I lay on my bed and reviewed the experience. The mirror supposedly reflected thoughts that were in my mind, so where did my having a husband and children come from? How had I aged from my middle twenties to being forty? Did the mirror foretell the future? I couldn’t answer any of these questions but thought instead of the cocks I’d had both young and old and wondered if the time had come to experience them for real. Of course the thrashings returned frequently to my mind and my ability to become aroused when being caned or whipped but I’d never experienced that for real either and after the horrific virtual pain I wasn’t sure I wished to do so. If old Mr. Baines viewed a programme with me, would he spank me afterwards? Maybe I might find out one day.

Finis