CHILDREN OF THE CHURCH

BY NAP

[ part 3 ]

Note: This story is a fantasy for adults only. The author utterly condemns any form of actual abuse – physical, sexual, psychological and emotional – to any person of any age.

Author’s Note: People who have read this story elsewhere may notice some small changes in this version. I have added some bondage and slightly increased the humiliation of the main characters. I have also changed the sex of one of the child characters – Charles has become Charlotte. These amendments are aimed at making the story more suitable for this site by complying more closely with its policy. Also, I hope the changes may make the story more entertaining.

The St Cuthbert’s Cadet Corps

Marcia Shore shut and locked the bathroom door behind her. She lifted her skirt and eased down her panties. Even now, a couple of days after she and her brothers and sister were shamefully beaten in public at the front of their father’s church, the twelve-year-old’s bottom still felt tender whenever she had to touch it. But at least the pain had lessened, whereas the disgrace of being stripped in the presence of the entire congregation had not faded at all. And whenever she had to bare her bottom, even in private as now, she was reminded of her humiliation. Marcia carefully balanced her bottom on the toilet seat and began to empty her bowel. Just as she had come upstairs, she had seen the arrival of Colonel Dashforth at the vicarage. She wondered what he wanted with her father. She shuddered; the colonel had been right at the front of the church in his family pew with his wife and that brat of a granddaughter Rowena and they had all seen her shame. She blushed at the thought. She finished her evacuation, wiped her bottom and pulled up her knickers. She crossed to the basin to wash her hands. Whatever the business of Colonel Dashforth it couldn’t possibly affect her.

* * *

“It’s like this padre,” Colonel Dashforth said, “what you did in the church on Sunday was an inspiration – a damned inspiration!”

The Reverend Daniel Shore’s thin mouth smiled bleakly. He wished the colonel would not call him ‘padre’ and objected to the epithet ‘damned’, especially in connection with his church, but Colonel Dashforth was the most important man locally, whose family had been in charge of affairs in Wormsford St Cuthbert for generations, so it did not do well to go against him.

“I am pleased my humble sermon was so well regarded,” he said with bogus humility.

“Bloody right!” boomed the colonel and the vicar flinched fastidiously. “Let me tell you, padre, your sermon stirred the lady wife and me to thrash our granddaughter.”

“Rowena?” asked the vicar with a flash of interest.

“Just so. And the Welkin brats whose parents were at lunch. You know them? New to the village – go ahead sort of couple.”

“I regret they do not attend church.”

“They will, vicar, they will. And so will plenty of others who hear about your sermons! What! And then my daughter Deirdre came over with her two. The times I’ve thrashed that girl!” Colonel Dashforth reminisced fondly, “but it was her own two brats I beat on Sunday afternoon.”

“So that would be five children who received the benefit of my injunction,” mused the vicar.

“What? Oh, bloody right! What! Anyway, afterwards I came up with a happy thought: The St Cuthbert’s Cadets!”

“I beg your pardon?” The vicar was mystified.

“A cadet corps for the children of the village aged between seven and fourteen. Something like the scouts but with a lot more discipline. Discipline! I’d be in command, of course. Boys and girls together – I’ve been thinking about the uniform: brief shorts for the boys and little skirts for the girls – not that they’ll be wearing either much of the time – what! What! The thing is, padre, with your support the mission will go with much more of a swing.”

“Ah,” the vicar said, enlightenment dawning.

“Yes, if I could guarantee your brats in the business we’ll have captured the fort without a fight.”

“Of course,” beamed the vicar, glad to have the colonel owe him a favour, “you may be assured of the membership of my own children.”

Upstairs Marcia dried her hands quite unaware she had just been enrolled in the St Cuthbert’s Cadet Corps.

* * *

Most of the parents in Wormsford St Cuthbert received the idea of the cadets with great enthusiasm. The combination of the vicar and the colonel gave the plan a definite kudos and the majority of parents wanted their children to participate. The kids were not so keen, believing their bodies were going to be in the front line. They were right.

So uniforms of brown shorts or skirts and green shirts with a bright gold Celtic cross on the breast pocket were designed by Colonel and Mrs Dashforth, bought by eager parents and worn by their less than wholehearted children, and soon came the day of the first meeting of the St Cuthbert’s Cadets.

Colonel Dashforth inspected his force of about eighty children. He had split them into two companies – red and blue. Each company was made up of a junior section – 7, 8, 9 and 10-year-olds, and a senior – 11, 12, 13 and 14-year-olds. And then each of these divided into three sections. A fine body of kids, Colonel Dashforth thought as he ran his eyes over the assembled ranks. Rowena attended, naturally, and the vicar’s kids. There was Marcia looking snooty as ever – he’d have her stripped pretty damned quick if he knew anything about it! The Welkin kids were there, and their parents too as Jeremy and Sybil had volunteered their services as his assistants. He had put Jeremy in charge of Blue Company. Little Lisa Wakefield, who had been notably spanked through the village under the arm of he father after the vicar’s celebrated sermon, was in the front rank of seven-year-olds. Rumour had it that she’d been spanked at least once a day ever since. Perhaps he should just take her knickers down there and then and see if she had a red bottom! What!

He continued to look over his troops. Aha – Paul Noble! The aptly named thirteen-year-old had an air of delicate dreaminess. Well, he’d soon wake the lad up! Fiona Fascally – a copper-haired, big-bottomed girl, of ten who was tall enough to be at least three years older contrasted with little Lois Fleet, dark-haired and fine-boned child who was eleven and looked about eight. There was Tommy Treadle, a cheeky, freckle-face eleven-year-old and—

* * *

Rowena Dashforth watched her grandfather inspect the cadets. She fervently hoped this new interest would distract attention from her. She had not been caned again since the Sunday of the vicar’s sermon, but she had been spanked several times and humiliated more often than that. Last night, for instance, Aunt Deirdre had been round with Emily and Anthony and it had been decided that all three cousins should have a bath a bath – together! The big old cast iron tub was large enough, but understandably, she’d not wanted to share it with a little girl and boy. But by now she knew better than to argue even when Aunt Deirdre had said she was going to undress each child herself. She had started with young Emily, quickly stripping the little girl before lifting her up by putting one hand under her bottom and the other round her chest and dumping her in the warm water. Next came Anthony, who was probably used to being naked in front of his mother, but squirmed uncomfortably to feel Rowena’s eyes on his little penis. He got his own back though, because after he had been picked up in the same way and put alongside his sister, it was Rowena’s turn to be undressed. Rowena’s face glowed with shame as Aunt Deirdre‘s fingers undid zips, buttons, hooks and eyes. She was just glad it wasn’t Uncle John taking her clothes off, but she had an uncomfortable feeling that next time it could be!

When Aunt Deirdre had Rowena down to her underwear she unhooked the girl’s bra and threw it into the corner saying, “I don’t think you should be allowed to wear this any more. I shall suggest so to your grandma and granddad. You don’t really need it anyway,” she added contemptuously, flicking Rowena’s small breasts with her fingers. “They didn’t allow me to wear a bra until I was fifteen, and I was a lot bigger than you.”

Rowena’s eyes filled with dismay at this loss of the treasured symbol of maturity, but Aunt Deirdre was already slipping down her panties to utterly denude her in front of her inquisitive little cousins who watched wide-eyed. Rowena tried to cover herself with her hands as she stepped towards the bath, but Aunt Deirdre insisted on lifting her into the tub in the same way she had her own children – that is with one hand under her bottom and the other arm encircling her developing chest. Rowena was really too big for this handling, but Deirdre was surprisingly strong and plonked Rowena into the water between her own pair.

Although the tub was big, the three sitting children did take up the space so that Rowena found herself in close contact with the bare bodies of the two smaller children, and they with her. They spread their legs to accommodate her. Rowena, being an only child, was used to bathing alone and shrank away. Then, when she accidentally brushed Anthony’s willy with her hand, she leapt as though she had received an electric shock. “Don’t cringe from my kids like they’re contaminated,” Aunt Deirdre ordered with a grin, “or you’ll be getting another spanking. How many have you had since the other Sunday? Four? Or is it five?”

Rowena didn’t answer. Her grandparents seemed to smack her a lot more often than that, but she supposed that the random slaps to bottom and legs did not really count, whereas the lengthy bare bottom session with her grandmother and a hairbrush last night, for example, did. But Aunt Deirdre didn’t seem to want an answer as she hauled little Emily to her feet and began vigorously rubbing her body, arms and legs with a bar of soap. Emily patiently endured this rough treatment being well used to such forceful washing. She cooperated by lifting her arms and opening her legs so that her mother could clean in all her little nooks and crannies of armpit and groin then obligingly turned around for her back to be washed, starting at her neck. “Bend forward,” ordered her mother curtly when she was half way down and Emily complied. Her mother pulled apart Emily’s chubby cheeks. “You really ought to be able to clean yourself properly after you’ve been to the toilet,” she complained and soaped and rinsed well inside the crack before giving the little girl’s bent bottom a couple of sharp slaps. So close was Rowena’s head to the little girl’s buttocks that the spray from the impact spattered against her face.

When Aunt Deirdre had finished with her daughter, she turned to her son. Anthony stood so that with Rowena sitting next to him his little willy and balls were only inches from her face. She looked at the little worm-like thing hanging there and wished it were Matthew Shore who was standing naked next to her. The idea sent a ripple of excitement through her body, centred on her groin. Aunt Deirdre began washing her son’s body. Rowena waited for her to reach the most interesting bit. When she did so she handled the boy’s genitalia quite roughly as she soaped him well, but he didn’t seem to object. Then Rowena was surprised to see Aunt Deirdre pull back the little lad’s foreskin to reveal the glans, which she cleaned, making the boy flinch a little. “This has to be kept clean or it goes a bit cheesy,” she explained conversationally to her niece. When she’d finished with his front she washed his back. “Bend forward so I can see your bottom,” she instructed. “Hm, a bit cleaner than your sister’s, “ she commented as she opened him up and washed him.

“OK, you can sit down,” Aunt Deirdre told her son, “and you can get to your feet,” she went on to Rowena.

“But I can wash myself,” Rowena objected in horror.

“Maybe, but today I’m washing you. So stand up fast or you’ll be having your bottom smacked. Have you ever been spanked on a wet bottom?”

“No,” Rowena muttered miserably.

“Well it stings more, doesn’t it, Emily?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

Rowena rose reluctantly from the water. She was shamefully aware of the eyes of the two little children examining her body without inhibition. Aunt Deirdre began soaping her throat. “Lift up your arms.” Rowena obeyed and she twitched as her aunt’s soaping fingers tickled. Worse was to come when Aunt Deirdre began to soap her chest. She was horrified to find her nipples standing up hard as waves of sensation flowed over her. She squirmed away, hunching her shoulders. “Don’t be silly, Rowena,” snapped her aunt, “or I shall get Anthony to smack your bottom.”

“Can I, Mum?” the boy asked excitedly.

“Oh, if you like,” his mother consented carelessly and Rowena immediately felt a surprisingly hard slap on one cheek from the boy’s small hand.

“Ow! Stop it,” objected Rowena.

“Can I smack her too, Mummy?” Emily asked eagerly as her brother continued to slap Rowena’s bum with enthusiasm.

“No. And you’d better stop now, Anthony. You are splashing.”

By now Aunt Deirdre was working her way down to the area where Rowena’s body met her legs. The young girl knew what was going to happen even before her aunt began to lather her light pubic hair. More shameful sensations began to flood her body and she gasped and squirmed as soapy hands slid over her. “My, you are a randy little brat, aren’t you!” Aunt Deirdre grinned. She washed down Rowena’s legs. “Turn around,” she instructed and soaped Rowena’s back. The twelve-year-old knew that Aunt Deirdre would wash her bottom and hated the thought. She hoped it was properly clean. “Bend forward,” came the command. Rowena bent and felt her cheeks being prised pulled apart. Then she was aware of Aunt Deirdre’s soapy fingers. This tickled too in an oddly pleasurable way. She wriggled. “Ha, a bit ticklish, eh?” laughed her aunt and washed down the backs of her legs.

* * *

So Rowena now stood to attention in the ranks of Red Company’s Second Section wearing no bra beneath her uniform green shirt. She turned her attention back to her grandfather who was now speaking:

“—discipline, hard work and plenty of exercise and outdoor activity,” he maundered on.

Elsewhere, Marcia Shore grimaced. Her idea of fun was a good book, a bar of chocolate and a soft chair. She knew she was going to hate the cadets, but her father had enrolled her and that was that. She loathed the uniform too – the skirt was ridiculously short – it barely covered her knickers! Still, at least she had a bra, unlike stupid Rowena – not that that bitch had much to hold up anyway! Still, Rowena’s grandfather must be jolly strict and he was the man in charge. She’d better keep in his good books. The boys weren’t any better off, she mused; their brown shorts were very brief and tight. But her brother Matthew seemed proud of his uniform and pleased to be in the cadets. Boys – she just despised them!

Thirteen-year-old Matthew was indeed happy to have joined the cadets. Unlike his twelve-year-old sister, he was an energetic, athletic lad who liked sport and outdoor activities. And he loved his uniform. He thought he looked good in it – which he did – and was proud of the single gold stripe on his arm that signified he was the second cadet in seniority in his section. Rowena was in his section too. He glanced round to where she stood. She looked good in her uniform too; the short skirt made her legs look even longer. The David Welkin said her grandparents had beaten her nude, and Marcia had told him Rowena was not allowed to wear a bra any more. The idea excited him and he felt his penis stiffen inside his shorts in response.

The colonel finished speaking and sent the four groups to different activities. Red Company Seniors were to have instruction in drill from a sporty fourteen-year-old girl named Laura Brown who had been appointed Company Drill Major. Most of the kids knew her to be a bully and she was now to have the chance to indulge her spiteful tastes The colonel had decided that for parade purposes the cadets should adopt a high stepping, arm swinging style and it was this that the Red Company seniors now energetically practised under Laura’s cruel command.

“Left! Right! Left! Right! Get those knees up! Higher than that! Swing those arms! Shoulder high! Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup!”

Marcia struggled to perform these movements. Her brother Matthew had no trouble. Neither, infuriatingly, did Rowena, but Marcia, ungainly, unfit and unpractised in physical pursuits, was making a mess of it. She could see from the corner of her eye the colonel glaring critically at his troops. She desperately didn’t want that eye to catch her. Luckily for Marcia, there was at least one other cadet who was worse than she. The colonel had a brief word with the strapping Laura.

“Red Company – halt!” Laura screamed “Cadet Paul Noble – to the front – march!”

The curly haired lad self-consciously shuffled from the ranks.

“March – you imbecile!” bellowed Laura. “Left! Right Left Right!”

The refined boy, who liked to paint watercolours and compose sonnets, did his best to move in a military manner. When he reached the front of the assembled company, Laura made him march up and down, but he seemed unable to coordinate his arms and legs. The colonel whispered something new to Laura and she grinned maliciously.

“I know what is wrong with you, Noble,” Laura screamed at the flinching boy, her mouth only an inch from his face, “your clothes are getting in the way. Get them off – now!”

“B-but Laura—” stuttered the lad.

“Don’t you ‘Laura’ me! I‘m Drill Major Brown and don’t you forget it. Now – strip!”

Blushing hotly the Paul’s sensitive fingers began undoing his shirt buttons. His hands were trembling and her fumbled clumsily.

“Faster than that!” shrieked Laura. “Get on with it! You can keep your shoes and socks on, but everything else – off!”

Paul struggled out of his shirt to reveal a slim, pale torso. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. He lowered his shorts, straining to pull them over his shoes. He stood in his brief white underpants.

“Off! Off! Off!” Laura screamed in rage.

Wretchedly, the boy slipped them off. He stood, protectively cradling his genitalia in his fine-fingered hands.

“Stand to attention! Feet together! Hands by your sides! Head up! Shoulders back! Stomach in! Chest out!”

As the sensitive boy obeyed this barrage of commands, all the girls manoeuvred their heads to get a clear view of his revealed private parts, which were disappointingly small and completely hairless.

“Now, let’s see you march! Right turn! Forward march! Left – right – left – right! Lift those knees! About turn! “Hup – hup! Higher than that! Up above your cock – if that insignificant little worm can be called a cock!”

Paul was forced to strut up and down some minutes, his face blazing from the indignity of his position and Laura’s raucously sneering insults. Then Laura brought him to a halt, made him turn towards the assembled company and ordered him to mark time. The lad was obliged to face the three dozen or so boys and girls and stamp his feet and swing his arms vigorously while they watched. His little white willy swung and jumped, bouncing against his balls in time to the high-stepping action. “About turn!” yelled Laura, and Paul was compelled to perform the same actions with his back to his audience. The insubstantial muscles of his pale bottom cheeks undulated in time with his movements. “Keep your back straight!” Laura bellowed. Paul tried to obey, lost his rhythm and somehow managed to trip over his own feet.

“You incompetent imbecile!” Laura raged. “Bend over! Touch your toes.”

Apart from the four gold stripes on her sleeve, the Company Drill Major’s badge of office was a swagger stick made from a length of rattan from one of the Colonel’s many canes. Putting such an implement in the hands of a girl like Laura was just asking for her to beat someone’s bottom with it – which was precisely why the colonel had provided her with it. The unathletic Paul winced as he stretched down, tightening his small bottom. Laura wasted no time on finesse, but brutally swung the whippy cane across the boy’s taut cheeks. “Ouch!” yelped Paul, but already the stick was whistling down to strike his buttocks again, and his second yell merged with the first – as did the third and fourth.

“Stand up!” Laura screamed. “Don’t rub your bum! Stand to attention! About turn! Mark time! Left – right – left – right!

By this time, the remaining cadets were enjoying watching the public ordeal of one their number and had relaxed a little. One, a big ginger haired lout of fourteen named Jake Meadows, so far forgot himself as to call out an insult to the tormented boy. This breach of discipline outraged Drill Major Brown. “Cadet Jake Meadows – to the front – march!” Laura screamed. Jake tried to put a brave face on his comeuppance and stamped smartly to the front. “Right!” bellowed Laura, “You’re so clever – you can show us how it’s done. But first – get that uniform off!” Jake’s face blazed, but he was a bold lad and didn’t like to show fear to anyone, so he swiftly stripped. He was a stark contrast to Paul. Jake was the son of a local farmer and well used to hard work. As a result, his shoulders were broad, his chest deep and his arms and legs firmly muscled. But the most obvious – and impressive – distinction was that Jake’s cock hung thick and long from a coarse carpet of red curls. The other children stared at this revelation – the boys wide-eyed in envy and the girls open-mouthed in admiration.

Laura put the lads through their paces, making them march up and down and then to mark time, first facing the other cadets and then turned away from them. Jake’s dangling penis flapped and swayed as he vigorously swung his arms and stamped his feet. His prominent buttocks rippled as firm muscles powered his sturdy legs. Anyone watching – and that meant everyone – knew that Laura Brown would soon find some excuse to beat that bum. And so she did – except she now knew she needed no real reason and simply ordered Jake to bend over and thrashed him with her swagger stick. The tough lad remained stoically silent as the rattan whistled down and landed with sizzling crack across his brawny buttocks.

Keeping Paul and Jake separate from the main body of cadets, Laura marched them all up and down again and again, keeping her beady eyes alert for any failure from among the marching children. She soon spotted one. Little Lois Fleet was eleven and so a Senior, but she was still smaller than many of the Juniors. Consequently, her short legs could not keep up with the longer strides of her companions and she had to take little skips now and then to catch up, losing the step and spoiling the uniformity of Red Company’s motion. This irregularity upset Laura’s orderly mind. She brought the company to a halt and turned the ranks to face her. “Cadet Lois Fleet!” Laura yelled, “To the front – march!”

Dejectedly, the red-faced girl did her best to obey in a martial manner, but her little stamping steps looked simply silly as her diminutive figure marched forward. “You horrible little girl!” yelled Laura. “You are ruining my parade! You should be with the Juniors, you puny, pathetic wimp! Get those clothes off – now!” But even before the command was completed, Lois was hastily unbuttoning her shirt and within moments, Lois, like the other two, was wearing nothing but her brown shoes and brown, knee high socks. Laura now made the nude little girl march up and down in front of the assembled cadets while she screamed at her to “lift those knees” and “swing those arms”. But despite Lois’s best efforts, it just was not good enough and before long Lois was bent over with her tiny bottom towards the other cadets while Lois beat her cheeks with her stick. After this, she ordered the three offenders to march up and down together, and very funny, they looked as little Lois contrasted with the meaty Jake, who was different again from slender Paul. And of course, there was still the problem of different length of stride, so when Lois led Jake’s sturdy knees crashed into her insubstantial bottom, but when Lois was at the back she still had to half run. All of which threw Laura into a frenzy of frustration and soon all three were bent over for another beating that left Lois and Paul crying loudly.

Laura returned to the rest of the company and drilled them. By now, Marcia and most of the others were scared silly that they might be the next to be called out. Marcia did her best, but the more she concentrated the more mistakes she made. In desperation she prayed more fervently than she ever had in her father’s church that Laura’s critical gaze might not be directed towards her, but maybe God’s attention was elsewhere, or perhaps He had a sense of humour, because once again the cadets were brought to a halt and Laura’s voice rang out angrily, “Cadet Marcia Shore! To the front – march!”

Marcia advanced stiffly. “Don’t you know your left from your right, you stupid prat?” Laura demanded. Marcia was a clever swot and the not over bright Laura was delighted to get one over her.

“Yes, Drill Major Brown,” Marcia snivelled correctly, hoping to gain the other girl’s favour, “but I sort of made a mistake. Sorry.”

“Sorry!” Laura screamed. “I’ll give you sorry! Take that uniform off!”

“Please, Laura…” Marcia pleaded.

“Off!”

Her eyes blurred with tears, Marcia’s fingers tugged at the buttons of her green shirt. She managed to take it off and then undid her short brown skirt. She stood in her bra and brief white panties. “Please don’t…” she began to beg.

“Off!” Laura insisted, swishing her swagger stick.

“Oooh,” Marcia moaned, and unhooked her bra to release her small pointy breasts. Sniffing loudly, she slipped her panties down her legs, and over her socks and shoes. Although she knew it to be hopeless, she did her best to protect her modesty with her hands. “Hands by your sides! Chest out! Stomach in!” Laura ordered vehemently and the miserable Marcia was obliged to stick her rather shapely breasts towards the rest of the company. Those children who had not been in church when the vicar’s kids had been publicly stripped and thrashed, now saw for the first time the snooty Marcia’s unprotected, full frontal nudity. They enjoyed it, as did those who had seen the sight before.

Laura ordered the four offenders to mark time facing the rest of the company. While Laura screamed instructions, the four children all swung their arms and brought up their knees just as high as they possibly could in the hope of avoiding more punishment. First there was Paul with his pale skin and little willy wagging. Next to him, Marcia’s little pointy breasts jigged vibrantly. Alongside her, Jake’s long cock swung rhythmically from side to side and back and forth. Lastly, Lois’s little body was too immature for fleshy parts and only her dark pigtails flapped in time to her pounding feet.

After some time of this, Laura ordered the unfortunate four to about turn. Now the ranks of cadets saw four very different bare bottoms. First Paul’s lean cheeks, then Marcia’s plumply rounded bottom, then Jake’s beefy buttocks and finally Lois’s miniature bum.

Laura ordered the four delinquents to turn and marched them up and down for the entertainment of the watching cadets. When they marched one way, Lois led, followed by Jake, Marcia and Paul, when they turned about, Paul was in front and little Lois brought up the rear. The arrangement soon showed its hazards for the marching children. When Lois led, Jake’s much longer stride had him stumbling over her heels causing Marcia’s nude body crash against his meaty buttocks and in consequence Paul’s naked self to collide with Marcia’s bare bottom – making her the meat in the sandwich, so to speak. These repeated bodily contacts soon had an unfortunate effect on Paul and his little knob rose to its full, though somewhat insubstantial, length. So now when he bumped into Marcia, she felt his stiff little cock against her cheeks. This added to Paul’s nervousness, and when he was the one in front he stumbled awkwardly, causing a chain reaction as the other three fell over each other s o that they all ended up in an unruly heap of arms, legs, bottoms and genitals.

Laura was beside herself with fury at this clumsiness and stridently ordered them all to their feet. As they scrambled up, Colonel Dashforth leaned across and spoke softly to the Drill Major. She grinned and nodded.

“Cadet Meadows, Cadet Noble – go and fetch those trestles and bring them over here.”

The two boys swiftly obeyed. The trestles, which were used to support boards to make temporary tables for jumble sales and so on, consisted of two simple A frames joined by a horizontal square pole at the top and two flat boards along the sides. When the two trestles had been placed broadside on to the assembled cadets, Laura ordered Matthew and Rachael Clark, another senior cadet, to come out to the front. Matthew’s heart sank. He knew he had performed well and could think of no reason for punishment, but at the same time, he was no stranger to humiliating discipline that seemed to him to be undeserved. Rachael, a shapely fourteen-year-old, was nervous too, despite being certain of her own competence. But on this occasion, neither had any cause for concern – they had been chosen only for their skill with knots.

“Right – Meadows and Noble – bend over those trestles – now!”

Reluctantly, but obediently the two boys obeyed, but not well enough for the exacting standards of the tyrannical Drill Major.

“Right over you useless pair of imbeciles!”

So the burly Jake and the slightly built Paul heaved themselves further over the trestles so that their feet left the ground and they hung, doubled over, their stomachs pressing against on the crossbar being the only support to their weight.

Laura now ordered Matthew and Rachael to tie the victims’ wrists and ankles widely stretched to the sloping supports of the main A frames. The two assistants tugged the boys’ arms and legs across as near as possible to the to the required position, pulling them painfully wide.

Jake’s muscular thighs were forced apart and his long legs secured, exposing his big bag of balls to the other cadets. As the girls – and a few boys – took in his brawny buttocks and hairy scrotum they felt themselves go weak at the knees and their breath go short. It was unfortunate for Jake that the feel of the hands of Rachael – whom he passionately fancied – was enough to give him a painfully hard erection. On the trestle next to Jake, Paul was a very different sight. His shorter arms and legs would not reach the frames, but Matthew and Rachael hauled each as close as they could, making the sensitive boy cry out with pain. But neither Matthew nor Rachael dared show any mercy to the young lad, but yanked ruthlessly on the rope and pulled the knots cruelly tight while he squealed in pain and apprehension.

While this was going on, Laura went over to Jake’s discarded shorts and pulled his thick leather belt from the loops around the waistband. She doubled it, turned the buckle end over her fist and slapped the free end lightly across the palm of her left hand. Then she walked purposefully back to the trestles and stood alongside the one across which Jake was bound.

“I’ll teach you to ruin my parade, you great useless lump,” she said. She raised her right arm so that the belt hung back towards her shoulders. Then she lashed it down hard against the big lad’s buttocks where it landed with a loud CRACK! Jake’s body jumped involuntarily, but he remained silent – just as he did for the next nine similar lashes despite the teenage Drill major’s very best efforts to wring some sound of distress from the big lad.

Laura had no such problems when she moved across to Paul Noble. The sensitive thirteen-year-old was already pleading and pulling at his bonds before Laura raised the belt. But the tough girl showed no mercy. “You pathetic wimp!” Laura said scornfully and lashed his small bottom cheeks without compunction while he yelled and cried.

Marcia watched this in increasing terror. She was hoping desperately that the punishment would be delivered only to the boys, but in her heart, she knew that this was being absurdly optimistic. It was inevitable that once Laura had finished beating Paul, the boys would be released, and she and Lois would be forced to take their place. Not only would she have to suffer the agony of a brutal belting, but also the ignominy of the public display. It says little for the Christian ethics of the vicar’s daughter that she gave no thought whatsoever to the plight of little Lois.

Sure enough, when the pokerfaced Jake and wailing Paul were released, Laura ordered Marcia and Lois to take their places. But it was not only Jake’s face that was like a poker, and the pious Marcia was confronted by several inches of stiff prick. The prissy miss blushed hotly, but could not tear her eyes away from Jake’s thing. The beatings had done nothing to reduce Paul’s small erection and so his stiff cock wagged above balls bouncing between slim thighs, but his little willy paled into insignificance beside Jake’s monster. But Marcia soon forgot even this entrancing sight, as fear forced her to obey the sadistic Drill Major and bend her naked body over the trestle.

Matthew and Rachael moved forward to secure the offenders. It felt strange to Matthew to be tying up his sister. They had never got on right from infancy. Marcia had always told on him to get him into trouble, which meant he had received many beatings for misdeeds he might otherwise have got away with. Marcia herself was sly and, on the surface, virtuous. But this had not completely saved her from their father’s wrath and rigorous discipline, as had been shown at the time of the now famous sermon. But Matthew had never had a hand in punishing his sister and so now he welcomed the chance to get his own back. Accordingly, he firmly secured the cord to her wrists, looped the free end to the frame and tugged hard. His sister squealed as she felt as if her arms were being pulled from their sockets. She wriggled to try to ease the strain by moving her body forward, but Matthew ruthlessly took up the tiny amount of slack by tightening the rope still further and tying it off. As he made the knot, his bare forearm accidentally brushed the nipple of Marcia’s left breast. Both children jumped as though an electric shock had passed though them.

Matthew blushed guiltily. He knew he should not find his sister’s body exciting, but this intimate contact stretched his already stiff cock even further. He moved round to the back of the trestle towards the assembled cadets. Rachael was already pulling Marcia’s right leg over towards the frame of the trestle ready to secure it there. Matthew hoped the attractive teenager would not notice the telltale lump in the front of his tight shorts. He took hold of his sister’s left leg and pulled to his side of the frame. Marcia yelled as she felt as if she was being split apart. Startled, Matthew hesitated, but Rachael was made of sterner stuff and continued to drag Marcia’s ankle towards her side of the frame. Matthew was embarrassed by his momentary weakness and determinedly hauled his sister’s leg to the edge of the frame on his side. Marcia screeched again, but this time her brother showed his resolve and persisted unwaveringly. He and Rachael tied Marcia’s ankles to the opposite sides of the trestle and stepped away. Matthew was shocked at obscenely open display of his sister. With her hips raised and her legs widely stretched, her slightly gaping quim was on show for all the rest of Red Company Senior Cadets to see. He felt fascinated and ashamed simultaneously. He tore his eyes from the shocking exhibition and turned with Rachael to attend to Lois.

At least now he had no reason to concern himself about touching Lois’s breasts – she did not have any. The physically immature eleven-year-old had no more shape to her chest than a child of seven. Matthew tied the little girl’s wrists together and pulled them firmly, but not too tightly towards the frame. But his partner, Rachael, showed no inclination to show consideration for Lois’s physical frailty. She took charge of the rope and pitilessly heaved till it was taut. The pair then turned their attention to Lois’s legs. These were short and slender, but Rachael continued to show a callous disregard for their victim. She wrenched squealing Lois’s right leg until it was almost at right angles to her body and then tied it to the edged of the trestle. Matthew followed his tough partner’s example and twisted up the little girl’s left leg. Luckily, Lois did gymnastics and was very flexible, but the position was nonetheless painful for her. The tying up completed, Matthew and Rachael stood to one side.

The assembled cadets stared awestruck at the sight before them. The vicar’s toffee-nosed daughter was tied bent over the trestle. They could see her inverted face looking fearfully back through the crossbars and between her own legs. Her dark plaits hung towards the ground. They could see the top of her body, also upside down. Her small breasts were firm enough to sag only slightly and remained pointing towards her audience. Marcia’s plump and prominent bottom was bent over the top bar and her legs tide widely separated to the sides. Her hairy twat gaped slightly to reveal its pink interior. Next to her, little Lois was similarly secured. She too gazed back at the parade. Her upturned head faced the cadets; her tiny bottom was bent ready for punishment, and her legs were almost doing the splits. Her unfledged quim was also lewdly displayed.

Laura hefted the belt with a sadistic leer and marched over to the smaller child. She raided her right hand and vigorously lashed the little girl’s miniature buttocks while she screamed piercingly. Every blow left a red welt about an inch wide. On Lois’s little bottom, they soon met and then overlaid each other. Poor Marcia, stretched on the adjacent frame awaiting her turn, sobbed in dread for what was to come. And come it inevitably did. Laura finished with Lois and turned gleefully to the conceited prig. She lashed Marcia even harder with unconcealed spite, and the vicar’s daughter screamed even more stridently than Lois had as the bands of colour spread over the surface of her bottom, crossing each other to leave a dark mottled mass of burning pain . When the belting was completed, Matthew and Rachel released the bawling, red-bummed girls

This brought the drill session to a close, to the great disappointment of the majority of the cadets. The colonel was well pleased with the parade and chuckled over it long afterwards. “Like the blasted Keystone Cops,” he guffawed, referring to the four victims’ ineptitude at marching in formation. He had been highly satisfied with his protégé, Laura, though he decided that the time would come when this virago would need to taken down a peg or two. He was looking forward to doing it.