made to lie bottom-upwards over the rubber pillows. They knew quite well what the gaoler would make her do as she lay there. Indeed, a bamboo cane and a loop of whipcord had been placed by the toilet articles to enforce her obedience. Mr.
Bowler inspected more closely the broad curving pallor of Noreen's bottom-cheeks. They were slacker in sleep. The pillows packed under her loins also raised and filled out the swell of her seat, causing the two rear mounds to part lightly but suggestively. Thin-lipped and vindictive he gazed from a few inches into the cleavage where Noreen's buttocks curved in together. So close did he sigh over her backside that his breath gently warmed the two cool globes of her behind. He settled down to enjoy this view of Noreen's sturdy young arse at little more than kissing distance. The night was warm and heavy. It excited him to breathe the humid and intimate girl-scent emanating from between the cheeks of Noreen's bottom. With disciplinary relish his eyes lingered on the dark tight little vortex of Noreen's anus. How different was his expression from the meek adoration of Lord Augustus! Mr. Bowler longed to have Noreen at his disposal in a harem like that of Ahmed Pasha. The sight of Noreen's arsehole and bum-cheeks, her thighs and what lay between them, made him dream of extreme and exemplary punishments for her insolence and defiance. He longed to rid society of her malign influence. As he inspected her robust and vulgar rump, he dreamt of penalties which less resolute moralists call torture. Bowler Pasha imagined himself concluding all this by tightening the sinister leather collar round her throat, slowly and inexorably. He was not dismayed at his desires, for such were the images which Noreen inspired in this worthy magistrate.
He stroked her lightly along the inward cleavage of her bum-cheeks. Noreen woke with a start and tightened herself instinctively against his intruding fingers. Mr. Bowler smiled.
“Lie still while I inspect you, Noreen!” he said sharply. “Don't clench yourself! The bench of justices condemned you to a prison whipping. You'll be getting it tonight! Ah, that makes you tense your buttocks with fright, doesn't it, Noreen? The pony-lash across your bare bottom-cheeks will smart like red-hot wire! But first we must make you wait an hour or two for it, just to make sure you're really in the mood!” He began to examine her robust bare thighs with his hands and, when Noreen tried to twist away from him, he pinioned her legs firmly by a strap just above her knees. “In a while, you'll hear the gaoler cracking the whip to test it,” he said teasingly.
“It's a sound that will make those strapping young bottom-cheeks tingle with fear, Noreen! He badly wants to acquaint himself with your bare backside and teach you a lesson in obedience. You'll get your punishment in the soundproof vault late at night I'm sure you can guess why!” He coaxed the warm folds of Noreen's cunt back through the rear of her legs, his fingers playing with her lightly as she panted and squirmed in a futile resistance. “I must slide my other hand under your bare belly, Noreen. Excellent! I can feel the first flutter of panic there. I promise you that the cheeks of your bottom will itch with fright before you receive the first kiss of the snakeskin lash across them!” He stroked the soft folds of her cunt, holding it gently in his fingers, as if he might be comforting a nestling bird. Noreen bowed her face, allowing the short length of her lank dark hair to fall about her features, as if to hide herself from him and deny him the pleasure of watching her reactions. She gasped through clenched teeth at the indignity of his masturbation of her.
The line of her young chin was still firm and resolute in her defiance of him. “Calm yourself, Noreen! It is your bottom that interests me most of all tonight!” Flicking back her hair, she watched in dismay as he chose the jar of vaseline. One heard the light sound of a gentleman unbuttoning himself. For some time, Mr. Bowler had secretly wanted to show Noreen his prick, to make her stare at it in dismay while he described the manner in which she would get it. One does not spy upon a gentleman in his private enjoyment of a young bitch like Noreen. Yet some most suggestive words and glimpses merit consideration. Mr. Bowler's obsession with the girl's broad-cheeked backside left no doubt that it was where he wished to pay the tribute of his loins. One applauds his moral prudence for there was no danger of giving Noreen a baby there. Thus the parish was saved the expense-and the girl avoided the shame-of a swollen belly and a brat to feed. The marriage of December and May is sometimes frowned upon by ignorant persons. Noreen was nineteen. The erection which Mr.
Bowler, smiling, showed her rose from the grey-haired bush of a man in his fifties. But his magisterial balls were swollen big and tight with a prodigious load of sperm, thus defeating the objection. Those unfamiliar with the art of discipline may complain that all the pleasure was to be Mr. Bowler's. Noreen must lie there and receive the spending in her arse with no reward or enjoyment. Yet justice often employs deplorable means for laudable purposes. To cut off a man's head or to disembowel him was prescribed by our law as punishment for treason. To hang a woman or to whip a girl has been a cornerstone of jurisprudence. The Romans made a faithless young wife wear a massive radish up her bottom. How lewd these things would be-how barbaric!-unless sanctioned by law. How trivial, by comparison, was the ordeal which Magistrate Bowler inflicted upon Noreen to curb her insolence! “Another rubber pillow under your belly, Noreen, to swell your bare bottom out even fuller! Excellent! Why, you offer your young buttocks parted as shamelessly as any bride on her honeymoon night!” Held by the straps, Noreen was obliged to lie bottom-upwards over the pillows and present her anus to the magistrate. The amount she must receive in her arse would not be determined by what she could take but by what Mr. Bowler needed to spend. The brown eyes under her level fringe slanted fury at him and the points of her broad cheekbones glowed with anger! The springs of the divan creaked as Mr. Bowler ignored this and sat down level with her waist and racing her feet. He tightened his left arm over her waist to steady her and bowed his gaze. The pale swelling globes of Noreen's behind deserved his attention. He settled down for a long browsing and kissing upon them. Leather strained noisily as Noreen pulled at her wrist-cuffs and gasped her detestation of what was being done to her. Mr. Bowler paused from time to time and smilingly wagged his stiffness in her face. “It makes your buttocks tighten to see the size of the knob, Noreen! Can this truly be your first time?”
Those whose ears were pressed to the door heard the unscrewing of the vaseline jar. Noreen exclaimed in anger and refusal. One heard a slipperiness being smeared between her rear cheeks. When the springs creaked again, there was a suggestion of Mr. Bowler kneeling astride and much talk of the hammerhead knocking for admission at the tight rear entrance. One caught the whisper of Noreen's dark hair threshing from side to side as she squirmed and gasped her refusal. “No! I won't! I won't! Oh, no-o-o-o-o!” The shrillness of the last syllable told its own story of the drama. Noreen, frantic not to have it, was getting it just the same. Mr. Bowler gasped a tribute to the tightness of the rear dimple which passed so thrillingly over his knob and Noreen gave a cry of panic as she felt him press in to the very hilt. Through clenched teeth once more, she panted out her contempt and revulsion for him. But Mr. Bowler was able to enjoy himself at will. For half an hour the springs moved in a steady rhythm. Then they moved faster and with more vigour. Mr. Bowler breathed hard, like a champion winning a race. His fleshy muzzle became a load in Noreen's backside of which the girl desperately needed to ease herself. When his climax came, the tightness of her nineteen-year-old bum on his shaft was exquisite. He shot jet after jet of thick passion into the depths of Noreen's bottom, as a sound of repugnance rose from her throat. Tearing paper from the roll, he mopped a final splash or two of his passion from Noreen's bottom-cheeks and wiped the guilty vaseline smears from between them. Decency forbade that the compromising paper should be found in the folds of Noreen's sheets by a female guardian. Making a convenient wad, he therefore thumbed it firmly into Noreen's behind. Yet he could not resist leaving the last corner protruding like a little flag. It added a suggestive rudeness to Noreen's rear view which would greatly increase the enthusiasm of the magistrates who watched her punished that night. An hour later the turnkeys came for her. Noreen's knickers and riding-jeans were pulled up. Then three of these stalwart fellows escorted her to the vault, where the county magistrates and their ladies were waiting eagerly to see justice done. A strapping young trollop of Noreen's kind is always punished to the limit on these occasions. It is therefore prudent to inflict the discipline at dead of night in one of the soundproof and subterranean vaults. The guests, including Lord Augustus, were assembled there. Gaslight flared on the whitewashed walls of the stone-flagged room. Two hurdles of heavy timber, their top bars padded with leather, were bolted to the floor, parallel to each other and a few feet apart, restraining straps riveted to their structure. An array of whips lay on a nearby table. It was about half an hour before midnight when a door opened and we glimpsed Noreen in her white singlet and working-denim. She was struggling with a wild energy in the grip of the three turnkeys who were propelling her to the place of punishment. How desperately Noreen fought and panted to break free! How violently she braced her strong young legs against the flagstones, contesting every inch of the way! There was still anger in the slant of her brown eyes. Her mouth and chin remained tight with defiance. The collar-length of her lank dark hair fell about her face as she bowed her shoulders and twisted her arms against the grip of the men. The washed jeans-denim strained taut over the sturdy mounds of Noreen's bum-cheeks as she squirmed her hips and cursed her captors, lunging with her haunches to drive the men from her. At nineteen years old, Noreen is a strongly built girl but fortunately the three men were more than a match for her. They made her bend forward over the first of the hurdles, both structures being built of solid timbers, heavy and substantial enough to support her easily. Being bolted to the floor and
