You Naughty Girl!

Gillian had been disappointed with her first clients since she had started work as a professional sub. The men who had claimed to be turned on by the idea of dominating women had turned out to be, well, useless, dominant neither in demeanour nor in behaviour. As for the CP, the cruel canings she enjoyed so much, well, it was best not to mention that. Really a sub shouldn’t have to tell her dom how to punish her should she?

When the man who identified himself only as the Headmaster called she felt that things might be different. He was well spoken, informed her that he was fed up with the decline in moral standards in society and particularly the breakdown in discipline in schools and that things had particularly gone downhill since the abolition of the cane. Cheeky sluts in particular needed putting in their place.

When he turned up he did not disappoint. He had an immaculate and expensive looking three piece suit, his shoes gleamed and creaked as he walked. Gillian had put on her tartan school pinafore dress, her tie was a giant knot that barely reached the second button, she had garish red lipstick on. Let’s see how he deals with sluts she thought.

‘You have been sent to me for sluttish behaviour’ he began holding her chin and moving his face in closely enough for her to smell his sweet breath. ‘Stand facing the wall and place your hands on your head.’

Gillian did as she was told.

‘Now put your right leg in the air.’

Gillian stood like that. The Headmaster said nothing but walked up and down, his shoes creaking as he did so.

‘Please Sir’ said Gillian after a few minutes as he felt her standing leg tiring and thought she might fall over, ‘please may I change my leg?’

‘No you may not.’

Gillian continued to stand on her left leg, feeling herself getting both wet with excitement and apprehensive. This quiet man made her nervous. For the first time in her professional career she felt that she was not in control.

After a while he said ‘You may put your leg down and stand on both feet.’

He came up close and said

‘You have been fucked by every boy in 4B haven’t you?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And where was this, in the chip shop doorway? I bet they told you you couldn’t get pregnant if you did it standing up didn’t they?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And you believed them didn’t you?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Why did you believe them?’

‘Don’t know sir.’

‘Because you are a stupid little slag.

‘Because I’m a stupid little slag Sir.’

‘Show me how you do it. Kiss the wall and grind your slutty little cunt against it.’

Gillian moved forward, spread her hands against the wall, pushed herself against it and began to grind, as she noticed that her kiss had left a red mark on the magnolia paint.

‘Now, slut, imagine a big fat cock coming out of the wall. Push against it, let it penetrate you.’

And Gillian moaned and pushed backwards and forwards against the wall faster and faster as the Dom send the cane whistling through the air. As she pushed back off the wall she felt the first sting on her buttocks.

‘Carry on grinding. Imagine that huge cock inside you, you dirty little slut.’

And she did and ground and realised that she was leaving a stain on the freshly painted wall.

‘You’ve marked the wall. Kneel down and lick it off.’

Gillian did. She licked her juices, savoured them, felt her clit harden and swell again as the cane crashed into her buttocks. She hadn’t been dominated like this for a long, long time.

‘Stand up and face me’ he ordered.

Gillian stood, her pinafore dress and panties arranged around her ankles. She was completely shaven and presumably even he could see that her proud clit, the ultimate symbol of her sluttiness.

He motioned her to the whipping bench and secured her, pulling the thick leather straps so tight that she winced as the edges dug into her skin.

‘As per school rules’ he began ‘you will receive six strokes for each offence. There are 18 boys in Form 4B and if you have been fucked by all of them as I am sure you have calculated yourself, you will receive 108 strokes.’

‘No sir’ said Gillian ‘104 surely sir. 18 x 6 is 104 isn’t it….’

She felt a sudden anxiety as he said nothing, made no movement, then she saw his face fold into a smile followed by mocking laughter.

‘If you’d spent more time in the maths class and less up the field or in the chip shop doorway on Saturday night you’d be able to do maths wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes sir sorry sir.’

‘You will write two hundred lines for next lesson. I must attend maths class and stop fucking around like a dirty slut.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And you get an extra ten strokes for stupidity.’

‘Please sir may I have twenty more. I’m very naughty and deserve it.’

‘I’ll give you a round 150.’

He said nothing more. She felt his large hands began to squeeze her buttocks to knead the cheeks like dough before digging his nails in, rubbing gently then slapping each side twice. She still felt the thrill of anticipation as he heard the cane being raised and descending onto her buttocks with a fearful swish through the air.

‘One thank you sir’

‘Two thank you sir.’

He caned hard and accurately. He needed no tuition. The strokes were swift and brutal, each one building on the last, sting upon evil sting, until by eighty she had had enough. She wanted it to stop and by the time he finished she was in tears.

He laughed as he untied her and led her to the mirror to show the red lines, the blood. He laughed as the tears flowed, now tears of happiness. She would have paid money for a flogging that good.

Before he left, still without disclosing his name, he booked and paid for another session. As soon as the door closed behind the man Gillian carefully placed the envelope of cash in a drawer and went to her study. She took out a clean piece of paper and began to write. Her bottom was raw and painful, it hurt to move on the wooden chair at her desk but she had to do this now, precisely because it was so painful. She wrote

‘I must attend Maths and stop fucking around like a dirty slut.’

As the professional she was, she was taking this task very seriously. As she wrote she played with herself even though she had been forbidden to. She would confess this to the Headmaster next time he came and he would surely punish her. She needed a good hard caning, oh how she needed it!

Friday the 13th

This year has flown by and it is hard to believe that Friday 13th has come round again.  This is, of course, the day on which we are asked to declare our support for sex workers as Maggie McNeill reminds us here. Events in the last couple of weeks have demonstrated yet again the importance. Labour MEP and Swedish Model advocate Mary Honeyball has been particularly vocal, starting with her ill informed article in the Independent on 25th November and followed up with a quite mind boggling performance on BBC Woman’s Hour when she kept telling us about all the research she had done, seemingly blissfully unaware that her opponent in the studio discussion, Belinda Brooks-Gordon is an academic expert in the field who has done, one would expect, more, and more rigorous, research. I’m sorry Mary, but reading pieces by Melissa Farley and PR handouts from the Swedish Embassy wouldn’t constitute research at most academic institutions that I am aware of. Then she was at it again in yesterday’s Guardian. in a piece that included a comment from Kajsa Wahlberg, the Swedish Police’s Whorebasher in Chief that anyone who speaks out against prohibition is part of a pimping propaganda machine. Do you include in that, Kajsa, your professional colleagues in Northern Ireland  who have submitted a detailed and well argued response to the Stormont consultation on the new Trafficking Bill, in which they oppose the criminalisation of sex workers’ clients?

The intellectual argument has been won by those who oppose criminalisation but the prohibitionists are refusing to go away. Like members of a cult they cling ever more fiercely to their beliefs, that sex work is ‘violence against women’ and that ,there are hundreds of thousands of sex slaves in the brothels of Europe, even as those beliefs are exposed as absurd on matters of fact and logic. They are dangerous because they have the ear of politicians of all political colours.  There are major battles ahead. Today I just want to show my colours again and say

‘Sex workers, I support you in your fight,’

Hoping that ToMorrow Never Comes

A look out of the window at the greyness that cloaked the Midlands today tells me that  time has moved on from last summer. Some things seem not to have changed. Unfortunately one of them is the quality of responses to consultations on proposals to criminalise the purchase of sex. Last summer it was Scotland, this time round it is Northern Ireland. I did blog about the Scottish consultation here but will not be doing the same for Northern Ireland. There is no need to as pretty much everything I said about that consultation applies here – not least the preponderance of copy and paste responses from people who clearly know nothing about sex work. You can find a list of the responses here. If you only have time to read a few please read the submjssions of Amnesty International, the Police Service of Northern Ireland   and of Wendy Lyon who submitted what is pretty much a fully annotated academic paper. The police say that, as far as they are concerned, the majority of sex workers in Northern Ireland are independent and not trafficked or pimped, that the proposed legislation would be difficult to police and consume large amounts of police time better spent on dealing with real trafficking, and that by cutting the police off from sex workers and clients it would close off a valuable source of intelligence.

The Northern Ireland Bill is not actually only, or even primarily, about sex work. It is actually a Bill to do with combatting human trafficking and it is Clause Six that would criminalise the clients of sex workers. The Clause is not an essential part of the Bill and could be dropped without impairing the legislation in any way. In fact it would improve it  since, as the Police point out, Clause Six is not really compatible with the rest of the Bill. A stubborn insistence on retaining the clause could, of course., lead to the whole Bill, with its worthwhile provisions, being lost.

Will the supporters of Clause Six, notably the Democratic Unionist Lord Morrow, listen? Sadly experience suggests that the noisy advocates of the Swedish model and similar are immune to fact and argument. Ideology rules.

While the police in Northern Ireland are making a positive contribution to a public debate of importance, thing are, sadly, different in West Yorkshire.  I heard on Twitter last week about a case involving Polish brothel keepers where the sentencing hearing had to be postponed because the useless Capita Applied Language Solutions could not find an interpreter. I was intrigued but depressed when I read about the case today. Poles are enterprising and hard working people at least when not in Poland where enterprise is held back by labyrinthine bureaucracy . and these ladies had been suitably enterprising. They were sex workers who, fed up with exploitation at the place they were working, set up on their own, effectively a co-operative brothel. Things were fine until the police raided the premises and the ladies were prosecuted, receiving unbelievably harsh sentences of long hours of community service and suspended prison sentences, the main effect of which will be to prevent them earning a living in the way they choose.

So in Northern Ireland we have a Bill that purports to end the sexual exploitation of women while in Bradford two women receive a criminal record for escaping exploitation.  There can be no more eloquent, no more depressing comment on official policy towards sex work in the UK. The time for decriminalisation has surely come.